#cassian andor fics

[tenelkadjowrites]

Reclamation - Cassian x Reader (NSFW)

👰‍♀️Summary: After spending ages carefully constructing a plan to flee from your arranged wedding, it threatens to shatter at your feet. But a mysterious stranger named Cassian may offer a way out...and a deeper personal connection.

👰‍♀️Word count: 6.5k

👰‍♀️Genre & warnings: one shot. smut. strangers to lovers. descriptions of an abusive relationship. mentions of alcohol. reader is in a wedding dress. unprotected sex. some dirty talk. oral sex, reader receiving. use of a knife to cut clothes during sex. creampie.

               The contact isn’t coming.

               You figured as much over ten minutes ago yet still waited. Your hand is curled around your drink which has formed condensation along the rim, lazily rolling down the glass, colliding with your skin. You’re trying to keep your breathing steady but the nerves are buzzing in your head. The fear is growing, bubbling in your chest.

               You need to leave now. If you manage to get off world tonight, you’ll be safe.

               Yet you remain rooted to your stool at the cantina counter, staring ahead at the collection of bottles that line the wall. Some of them glimmer in the dim lighting, others give off a bioluminescence that is entrancing and not for human consumption. All of them offer the alluring promise of drinking enough and forgetting your problems.

               But you need a clear head tonight, especially if your escape plan is turning to ash right in front of you.

               It doesn’t help that the cantina, so quiet every other time you staked it out, is busier than usual tonight. That meant a lot of curious stares at the woman in ornate wedding garb.

               You take a small sip of your drink, trying to figure out your next move. But your brain is stuck on the fact that your months of planning, all the sneaking around, the negotiations, finding a pilot willing to piss off one of the most powerful people on the planet, has gone to waste.

               The guests will be entering the venue for the wedding now. How much time until they realize you fled? How long until your image is blasted on every port? An hour, two at the most.

               The cantina is doused in a blue glow. A band is in the corner, playing softly. Unlike the loud and raucous cantinas that are in the hub of the entertainment district, this one offered a place for private conversation and the easy ability to abscond to the hotel above it. At the time of your planning, it made sense to use this cantina along with the hotel to escape. But now, you wish that there was a cacophony of noise and lights to get lost in.

               “Would you like another?” The droid bartender slides over, tilting its head with a small click.

               “No,” You mumble and it slides away without another word, going to the next patron.

               There is a sense of movement next to your right side as someone sits in the stool. You glance in his direction only to find the man leering at you openly. Your grip tightens on your drink. Impossible they could find me already, you think, wondering how fast the glass could be smashed in his face if he made a move.

               His mouth twists up cruelly when he opens it to speak. “Nice dress,” He drawls.

               You don’t reply. The droid bartender returns to take his order. Something moves on the other side of you. A quick glance out of the corner of your eye shows a weary looking man, a loose fitting jacket hanging off him, a slightly scruffy beard and mussed up brown hair. He sticks out, just like you do.

               He shows no interest in you, lost in thought. You discard the concern about him, instead focusing back on the man who is still gawking at your dress. You removed all the jewels that were laid upon a separate netting that was then placed over the dress, stashed as many as you could in a secret pocket you sewed in the inside of the skirt, and left the rest behind for some lucky person to find.

               “Why you all dressed up and alone?” The man asks – he already reeks of alcohol and there is an energy to him that you mislike.

               Luckily for you, he doesn’t seem to realize your dress is traditional wedding garb of this area. With the intricately woven long sleeves that puff out a little around your wrists, down to the beading along the bodice depicting two waves coming together which was done painstakingly by hand, ending in plenty of billowing soft blue ruffles that swirled gently when you walked, the dress was beautiful – even more so when the net of jewels was slipped on over your head and laid against the entire length of fabric. There was a large headpiece that came with the dress as well; it was heavy and made your neck ache, dangling with sapphires. That had been ditched back in your quarters.

Since the planet was a seafaring one, the bride’s dress typically illustrated waves crashing together but not done in beading. Nor was the headpiece usually filled with sapphires. That was because you came from a family with a lot of credits – but not as much as your fiancé.

               But this man is not only a distraction but possibly will attract more attention than you want. You needed to end the conversation and get out of here quickly.

               “She’s not alone,” came a low voice, “She’s with me.”

               Both the inebriated man and yourself look over in the direction the voice came from. It’s from the gruff looking man next to you, the one who showed no interest in anything but getting a drink. At some point, the droid bartender had given him a glass of something clear.

               You may be sheltered but you aren’t naïve enough to think this gruff man is your savior. He could easily be hopping in just to rob you later. But between your narrow options, you’ll take your chances with him.

               “That’s right,” You reply stiffly.

               “Bullshit,” The drunk man growls, leaning forward so that a cloud of heavy booze wafts over, “She didn’t spare you a glance when you sat down.”

               But if the gruff man is perturbed by the intensity the conversation is taken, he doesn’t show it. Instead, he tilts his face in your direction, looking up from his drink. You are struck by the depth in his brown eyes, so deep that one could get lost in it.

               “Not that it’s any of your business but we’re in the middle of an argument,” You say swiftly, tearing your gaze away from him to shoot daggers at the drunken man.

               “Which I didn’t start,” The man with the beautiful eyes replies curtly, “But you immediately jumped in with the ‘Cassian, how many times do I need to tell you that my mother is just like that’.”

               You pick up quickly on the fact he’s told you his name in a manner that won’t attract attention, easier to pretend familiarity to get this drunk idiot out of here.

               “I wish you wouldn’t be so dramatic.”

               “Me, dramatic? You’re the one that took off for the closest cantina after lecturing me about being late. Now, we’re both going to be late. I hope you’re pleased.”

               You purse your lips together in a motion of displeasure. “Maybe my mother was right about you. She warned me, the first moment we met, that you were trouble. And my life has been nothing but hell since you came into it.”

               You can hear the drunken man shuffling off with an irritated sigh. Even so, you continue the fake argument with Cassian until he finally drops the act, his shoulders slumping forward as he resumes his earlier position.

               “He’s gone,” He remarks.

               You look over your shoulder, relief swooping through your body. You are silent for a minute or so while making sure the man truly left before looking back at Cassian.

               “Thanks for your help.”

               There is a quick glance from the corner of his eye before offering up a curt nod. The droid bartender circles back around. Cassian motions to send it off but you speak quickly.

               “Let me buy you a drink as a thanks, at least.”

               “It’s okay.”

               “I insist.”

               Cassian relents, taking a long swig of his drink to finish it off. He places the glass on the counter with a soft clink and orders. The droid bartender beeps and spins off to go make it. Cassian turns in the stool, his full attention now on you.

               He’s handsome, you think out of the blue and then push the thought aside – talk about the worst time to notice such things. You’re supposed to be getting on a ship off planet right now and somehow you’re buying an attractive man a drink – damn it, you just did it again.

               Handsome but tired, you amend. There are dark circles under his pretty brown eyes, and a heaviness that clings to his shoulders as if being weighed down by something invisible. His jacket is well worn, fraying at the edges of the sleeves. His hands are dotted with tiny scars, nails bitten to the quick.

               Even though Cassian looks exhausted, there is a level of alertness in his eyes that shows that nothing is getting by him. He is aware of every movement, every person stepping into the cantina. This piques your curiosity. You wonder if he has a ship.

               “Is Cassian your real name?” You ask, pushing your glass that is now mostly ice water away from you.

               “It is. And yours?”

               You give your name as the droid bartender returns with his drink. Cassian looks at your glass. “Surely, you’re going to have another. Not leaving me to drink alone?”

                You hesitate, knowing time is short. But you are unsure where to go and there is a chance this stranger might have a ship to take you off world.

               He picks up on your hesitation. “Somewhere to be?”

               “I thought so. But it seems my transport fell through. So, I suppose I can have another drink.”

               “Going off world?”

               “Trying to.”

               “Funny, I didn’t think it was tradition to hold the weddings off world.” His words make you freeze. Cassian motions to the droid, saying, “She’ll have another.”

               At first you think that maybe your feeling had been right – Cassian does work for your fiancé and is toying with you before lugging you back to that monster. But he is still at ease, seemingly in no hurry. He catches your expression and waves his hand.

               “I’m not here to make trouble. It was merely an observation. It isn’t any business of mine if you’re running out on your fiancé.”

               “If that was true, then why step in and help me with that man?”

               “Now that had nothing to do with your wedding dress. I was just helping a pretty lady out.”

               The droid slides the new drink in front of you before buzzing off. You stare at Cassian incredulously. “Are you hitting on a woman on her wedding day?”

               He gives a small shrug, bringing the glass to his lips. “I don’t see the fiancé around,” He remarks before taking a sip.

               Your thighs clench, forcing your gaze away from this handsome stranger who knows you’re supposed to be at a wedding but instead sitting here. Logically, if he can tell you’re in wedding garb, so could others. Suspicions could be raised especially with a high profile wedding like yours. And meanwhile what are you concerned with? How attractive he is, how nice his brown eyes are, how strangely comforting of an aura he has.

               Since your fiancé had been shoved into your life and the arranged marriage contract signed, every waking moment was about how to escape the chains that were threatening to bind you. The plotting and planning to escape left no room for dalliances. It wasn’t even something that was on your mind.

               Yet here you are now, right at the most important moment of escape, and you’re getting sidetracked by Cassian.

               You swirl the liquid in the glass slowly, thinking about how to word your next sentence. “You don’t look like you’re from here. How do you know what traditional wedding gowns look like?”

               “And what makes you say I am not from here?”            

               “Your clothes, your posture, the way you’re hunched over your drink so no one will talk to you. We’re close to the port on top of that so a lot of travelers come in. But most of all, your voice. The accent…it isn’t native to here.”

               Cassian studies you for a moment. There is a note of approval in his gaze. After a beat of silence, he replies, “I’m just passing through.”

               “When are you leaving?” You can’t help but ask.

               He leans forward, closer to you than ever. You can see the stubble that grazes his jawline, the depths of his dark eyes and how his hair curls slightly at the back of his neck. You swallow hard, wishing that this stranger hadn’t burst into your life tonight of all nights. Maybe if things were different, you would have been able to take him as a lover, a distraction, for a little bit. But not now…

               In a whisper, Cassian goes, “Where are you looking to go?”

               There is a hint of desperation in your reply. “Anywhere. But I need to go tonight.”

               It is difficult to express vulnerability to a stranger in a cantina. There is always that risk, no matter how small, that he could turn you over to your powerful fiancé. There would be credits in it, after all, to return the bride to the clutches of the groom.

               But the fact of the matter is your original plan might have fallen through due to your fiancé’s machinations, leaving you on less time than previously thought. On top of that, Cassian has not given you any mental alarm bells going off. This might be your only shot.

               “They’ll be looking for you,” He murmurs, his pleasant expression not matching his words. This man is used to lying, you think. “Checking the ports tonight.”

               “They’ll be checking them tomorrow too,” You counter.

               “It’ll be worse tonight. They’ll be waiting for you to go off world.”

               “How do you know?” You fire back, impatience creeping into your voice.

               Cassian brings his drink to his lips, taking a small sip before replying. “I know you’re not getting married to a local farmer.”

               There is a thud in your chest at the realization he knows who you are – this man passing through, this mysterious stranger who is good at play acting and has a ship – and if he is aware of who you are, there is no way other people in the cantina don’t.

               Your voice is so quiet that you aren’t even sure if Cassian can hear the words. “Are you seriously suggesting I stay here tonight and leave tomorrow?”

               “That’s right.”

               Your fingers nervously run across the fabric of your dress. You did have a hotel room booked tonight only because originally it was going to be where the pilot was going to hand over a bag with your disguise and new ID card. But I won’t be getting that either.

               A thought strikes you. “It can’t be here. If the pilot was compromised, he would turn over the room key.”

               Cassian gives a small shake of his head. “No, not here. I have a room.”

               Your hands flutter uselessly at your sides. Your nerves and panic are starting to impact your thinking. “How can I trust you?”

               “You were going to trust the pilot and that wasn’t a sure bet either.”

               “We’d been planning this. I don’t even know you.”

               “Then stay here. But I have a room for tonight. We leave first thing in the morning. I can get you off world. I can’t tell you what planet we’re going to. All I can tell you is that it’ll be a lot safer than here.”

               The entire conversation was in hurried whispers, bodies leaning together as if two asteroids are about to collide. You realize that Cassian did this intentionally. To anyone staring at the two of you, it looks like lovers making up from the earlier fight. It would be easy to lean into him, pretend you’re leaving the cantina to become intimate. He’s set up the story. It’s up to you if it is to be followed through.

               Cassian continues quietly, “They’ll know you’re trying to leave tonight. Every port, every ship, will be searched. Come tomorrow morning, they’ll believe you stayed on world. They’ll tighten security here, start looking in hotels. That’s when we leave.”

               “How can you be so sure?”

               “I’m not sure of anything. But we can say this wouldn’t be my first time smuggling something or someone off world.”

               What are your other options? To wait to be discovered, hauled back to your fiancé, forced into a marriage you don’t want with a man who would only torment you? That meant risking it and going with the handsome stranger with the beautiful yet sorrowful eyes is your only option – your only shot at getting out of here.

               You tentatively rest your hand on his knee. Cassian’s gaze flicks down to the sight before raising to meet your gaze. “Alright,” You murmur, “Let’s go.”

               He takes a swig of his drink, finishing it and pushing the glass away from him. He then slides a few credits onto the bar top, slinking off the stool. He looks down at you and in that moment, you know that you’re risking your future to this stranger – while battling an intense attraction to him as well.

               “Follow me,” Cassian says simply.

*

               The sky has streaks of purple through it by the time you reach the hotel with Cassian. It is on the outskirts of the red light district which ended up working in your favour. No one questioned the way you leaned into the faded leather of Cassian’s jacket, the manner in which you’d tilt your head and giggle at something he said (which actually were just quiet directions on where to turn) or how his arm slinked around your waist and his hand rested lightly on your hip.

               Admittedly, even given the tense situation that your brain was well aware of sitting in, you are still noticing the stubble along his jaw, his bitten fingernails, the way his hair curls slightly against the back of his neck – all things that aren’t important given the situation. But all the mental lecturing in the world doesn’t stop you from taking note of these things.

               Finally, you arrive at the hotel. It is small and nondescript, crammed in between yet another cantina and a droid repair shop that is shuttered. It’s only three floors and looks like the sort of place that people would meet up to have an affair in. In other words, it’s perfect. Your fiancé believed you to be a fool which you took advantage of while plotting and planning your escape. Even now, he is probably confident of finding you at a luxury resort or stumbling into the space port. He wouldn’t believe that you would be someplace like this, simply because he would never go here himself.

               The lobby is run down and empty. You wonder if the wedding party has realized you’ve given them the slip. By now, they must know, are probably searching the estate grounds for you, beginning to question the staff. Your fiancé is going to start searching the spaceports, if he hasn’t already, because he would assume you’re going off world. The original plan had it that you would be in hyperspace by the time they realized you weren’t at the wedding. To still be here, in the city, made your nerves jumpy.

               Cassian takes you up to the third floor, walking down the hallway together. One light is burnt out, another flickers ominously. You can hear someone having sex in a room when you walk past and duck your face away from Cassian’s, feeling strangely embarrassed. Does he feel your attraction to him? He must find it absurd, given the situation.

               He stops at the last room on the right, scans the key card and enters. The doors shut behind you and your eyes get adjusted to the low lights. The room is small, one bed in the centre, one window overlooking a shabby building. The walls are painted blue although the paint is chipping in spots. Blue, blue, everything is blue no matter where I go, you think while pressing one hand against the wave design on your gown.

               You realize your arm is still entwined with Cassian’s. With warm cheeks, you separate, dropping the act of being his lover coming to the hotel. Cassian is already going to work, crossing the room and pulling a bag from underneath the bed, rummaging through it.

               “We’ll leave tomorrow at the first sign of light. My ship has a smuggling compartment which you’ll use just in case we get boarded. But I have a fake ID and falsified ship logs. Shouldn’t be a problem.”

               “What else are you smuggling?”

               Cassian looks up, brushing some of his hair away from his eyes. He’s sizing you up, trying to figure out what to tell you, this strange woman in a wedding gown trying to escape her fiancé.

               Finally, he settles on, “Some records.”

               You slowly walk through the small space, heading towards the window, peering out of it. From here, you can just see the night sky, barely making out the stars. It is dotted with ships leaving and your heart swoops with longing to be safe among hyperspace.

               “This is the right choice,” Cassian says gently from his spot near the bed, “I know it doesn’t feel like it. But this has the highest odds of success.”

               “I was supposed to be off world by now,” You mumble wistfully.

               “Well, you’re not,” He says bluntly, “But you’re alive and you’re not at the wedding. So, you haven’t lost yet.”

               You look over your shoulder. Cassian is slipping a blaster from his holster onto the bedside table. His back is to you. His posture is different; he is no longer acting, no longer in a character. Who is this man? You wonder. He’s a good liar, clever, at ease with a blaster and quick to come up with a plan. He isn’t smuggling weapons or drugs but merely records. But you bite off any questions before speaking them. It’s better to know little. To learn more about him meant getting involved and if complications arose, that would be bad for you. Better to focus on yourself and only yourself.

               When you turn back to look out the window, you realize the sky is emptying. The last few ships blink out like soft stars exhaling a final breath and nothing else remains.

               “They’re shutting down the ports,” You say as your heart jolts, “They know I’m gone.”

               Cassian’s voice is closer when he speaks next, eyes to the sky. “Grounding ships…” He glances at you out of the corner of his eyes. “Your fiancé is a powerful man.”

               Perhaps a tiny bit more powerful than originally thought. You didn’t think air travel would be cut off. Suddenly, you know that Cassian made the right call.

               He senses your train of thought because he leans closer while saying, “This isn’t my first time doing this.”

               You tilt your face in his direction. The heat from his body seeps into yours. You wish he wasn’t so attractive. Or maybe you wish to have met him in different circumstances so you could have taken this mysterious stranger as a lover and twiddled away the time sneaking from your fiancé with him.

               “Swooping in to save someone from an arranged marriage?” You try to joke but the words come out a bit more fragile than intended. “Because her plan fell apart after so much scheming?”

               Cassian’s eyes soften. “It happens to the best of plans. To dwell on what went wrong in the moment…does you no good.”

               You like the way he looks at you. Is it because you’ve been looked at with distaste or indifference for so long or because he looks at you so gently? It’s difficult to know – the time with your fiancé and all the struggles you’ve gone through way heavily on you. There has been no time to be in the present moment. Every second is plotting, withstanding, scheming.

               But there isn’t anything to do now besides wait for morning…and Cassian looks so inviting.

               “Just feels like I never have any time to even dwell on things,” You reply, “I’m running from one plan to the next or one interaction to another, just trying to get through it with as much of myself intact as possible.”

               It is the most vulnerable you’ve been with someone in a long time and it’s with a stranger. Maybe that’s why it’s easy. Cassian’s eyes grow distant. You wonder what he is thinking about, what memory is floating to the surface.

               Your bodies are close now. Close enough that you could touch him. It’s alluring, the idea of tumbling into bed with him, because he’s here and he’s present and he has those pretty eyes that seem to be holding a similar pain to yours.

               “Maybe dwelling in those precious few quiet moments isn’t what we should be focusing on,” Cassian finally says, “Taking those moments and making them our own is what matters.”

               Maybe he’s right. Or perhaps you’re both lonely and looking for an excuse. Regardless, you’re not going to overthink or brood on it. Instead, your lips find his, pushing all thoughts of the wedding and escaping out of your mind. Cassian’s hands are on your waist immediately, angling your body towards his. You can feel the urgency in his kiss, the desire to blot out the past and the future – you can feel it because it’s in your lips as well.

               The force of the kissing has you up against the wall a few moments later. Your hands are gripping his hair while his tongue is in your mouth. He tastes like the booze from the cantina and you cannot get enough of it. All the time and energy spent in fear and on schemes is wiped clean by the sensation of this stranger’s lips on yours and hands resting on your hips.

               You’re tugging off Cassian’s jacket. It falls to the floor, already forgotten. He is fiddling with aspects of your dress but the urgency is growing by the second and the entire thing is too cumbersome to remove. You make an impatient noise in the back of your throat.

               “Just forget it,” You say urgently, “Just keep it on.”

               Cassian hoists you up onto the small table in the corner, pushing the chair out of the way. It clatters to the floor next to the jacket. His hands are running up along the gown, bunching the fabric in between his fingers as the two of you work together to bring it up around your waist. You’re wearing stockings with pearls running down the sides – more expensive pageantry to show off at the wedding, to deflect from the terror that resided in the bride’s heart.

               The two of you are grappling for one another, swept up in the present moment and the relative safety of this run down hotel on the outskirts of town. Cassian’s hands glide up along your stockings, looking for the top so he can yank them down. But the band is buried underneath the layers of the dress.

               “Just rip it,” You plead and he doesn’t hesitate, grabbing the stockings and tearing them. The seam splits and the pearls go flying, rolling across the floor and making a mess of things. You don’t even make a mental note to collect them later to sell for money; you’re simply too swept up in Cassian. The remains of the stockings fall off your legs as Cassian is unzipping his pants.

               The wedding dress gets smushed in between your bodies as Cassian presses the tip of his cock against your entrance. Your legs wrap around his waist, pushing his length inside you. It’s been so long since you’ve been fucked but judging by Cassian’s impatience, it has been a while for him as well.

               He grunts as his cock is engulfed by your warm walls. Your hands grip the edge of the table as he begins to rock his hips while you inhale sharply through gritted teeth at how good it feels to have his cock. After a minute or so of getting used to being inside your pussy, Cassian picks up the speed ever so slightly.

               His hands are lost in the many layers of your gown. The delicate beading and pretty imagery isn’t made to be fucked in and you’re running the risk of ruining it. But you don’t care – there is something exciting about being fucked by a stranger in your wedding dress, an act of rebellion you didn’t know was possible.

               Each thrust of Cassian’s hips rattles the table against the wall. You’d feel sorry for the neighbors if this wasn’t a hotel that basically existed to be fucked in. You urge Cassian to keep going, your legs bouncing every time he slams his cock in you.

               “Is this what you thought your wedding day would be?” His voice is shattered, aching, lacing each word with lust, “Being fucked by a stranger in your pretty dress?”

               “You can ruin the thing,” You say with a bitter note, “Just keep fucking me.”

               “Gladly,” Cassian grunts.

               He pulls out of you then which is the exact opposite of what you want. His cock is slick with your wetness as he helps you off the table and towards the bed. The dress is a bit cumbersome to move on, even more difficult to lay down in. Cassian removes his pants and boxers hastily before climbing onto the bed.

               “W-wait,” You remember something with a jolt and Cassian stops immediately while you fumble along the side of the dress. Your fingers slip into the secret pocket and pull out a small switchblade, not wanting it to somehow accidentally hurt either of you.

               “Turning your weapons over?” He asks in a slightly teasing voice.

               You retrieve the gems from the pocket too, showing them in the palm of your hand before closing it. “Didn’t want to lose these either.” You slip the gems back into the secret pocket.

               Cassian makes a noise although you can tell he isn’t interested in the gems nor the switchblade because he is too busy lowering himself in between your thighs. He’s lost among the billowing pieces that make up the bottom of the gown but you can feel his tongue along your skin, moving closer and closer to your pussy.

               His tongue probes your slick folds before slowly tasting your hole. There is something dirty about having this man you barely know licking your pussy with the beautiful skirt of your wedding dress splayed out around him. You’re clutching the blanket of the bed while gasping as Cassian’s nose bumps softly against your clit. This lovely dress is not meant for obscene acts in this run down hotel. Your fiancé is tearing the space ports apart searching for you in a wicked frenzy to claim what he thinks he is and meanwhile your head is blissfully blank while Cassian brings the tip of his tongue flat against your swollen nub.

               Cassian’s hands are on your thighs, spreading you open wide for him. All you can hear outside of your moans is the dress rustling and the obscene sound of him sucking and licking your clit. He slips a finger inside your wet hole, pumping it hard and fast while flicking his tongue over your clit. Your thighs shake from how good it is and then you’re cumming, losing yourself to the pleasure as Cassian gives one last hard suck on your sensitive clit before untangling himself from the dress.

               His hair is a mess and he seems annoyed with his shirt which he pulls over the top of his head, exposing his fit chest and broad shoulders. Cassian doesn’t seem to care he is entirely naked while you’re in a wedding dress – in fact, you’re starting to suspect he’s getting off on it.

               Your face is hot and you’re out of breath from the intense orgasm. He attempts to enter you but the dress is getting in the way and he makes an impatient noise. An idea strikes you, one of passion and throwing caution to the wind. You push the handle of the switchblade in his hand.

               “Just cut through it,” You tell him, “I don’t care.”

               Cassian looks at you with a glint in his eye. He grins quickly and the blade catches the blue light of the hotel room, blinking briefly like a star, before he takes it to the dress. The fabric is delicate and can’t withstand the force of the blade. In only a few seconds, layers of the gown are gone, laying across the bed and falling onto the floor.

               There is something liberating about ruining the wedding dress. It is a signal to the universe that things are going to happen due to your own choices, not to survival. Allowing Cassian to cut the dress just to make it easier to fuck is something you decided because you wanted it.

               It reignites your passion and you reach for Cassian as he puts the blade away and tosses it aside before propping himself up over your body. Your legs, now freed without the constraining fabric, wraps around his waist and pushes his cock inside you.

               The beading of your dress is coming undone, spilling over the bodice and onto the bed. But neither of you care as Cassian slams his cock into you before lowering to press his body against yours. His lips are on your neck, up along your jaw until he finds your lips. His tongue is in your mouth, moans muffled between the two of you. Your hips lift to meet each thrust, taking his cock all the way to the hilt each time.

               Gone are the worries of all the plots and plans. Gone is the concern of getting out of here and fear about the wedding. All that exists in the moment is the way Cassian is inside your pussy and the warmth that rolls across your skin.

               Cassian’s fingers are on the top of the dress, tugging it down hard enough that a tearing noise fills the room. He exposes your breasts, bringing his mouth to one of your nipples and gently biting down on it. Moans are falling from your lips, urging him to keep going. He switches to the other nipple, swirling his tongue around it before straightening up. He grips your legs, resting your feet on his shoulders as he begins to fuck you in earnest.

               You love how it feels to be fucked by him in your ruined dress and judging by the way his eyes roam across your body, he’s enjoying it just as much. Cassian leans forward a little, adjusting the angle of his cock before ramming it hard and fast in your wet hole. His hair has fallen in front of his face and he’s panting as both of your orgasms draw closer and closer.

               Just to hear him talk in that sexy voice of his you like so much, you prompt, “You still like my dress after it’s been ruined?”

               Cassian hisses sharply and his cock goes all the way to the hilt for a second or two before he pulls out. “I think I like it even more now. Better like this than walking down the aisle.”

               You couldn’t agree more although your reply is lost by the next jerk of his hips which hits the sweet spot. Your fingers dig into the bed to hold onto something as Cassian’s thrusts grow erratic and messy.

               “Cum around my cock,” He urges quietly, “Let me feel you tighten around me.”

               Cassian fucks your cunt so hard and fast that each pump of his hips makes your body jolt. Your tits bounce, squeezed out by the bodice of the ruined wedding dress. This was not how you thought the night would go and definitely not how you thought the dress would end up.

               “Come on, pretty girl,” Cassian continues, “Cum for me in your nice dress.”

               Your eyes practically roll into the back of your head as your orgasm starts. It’s more intense than the first one and your walls clench around Cassian’s cock. He groans, giving one last thrust before unloading inside your pussy. Spilling out in your hole while you squeeze every drop from him, he moans again, going still. Together, you and this stranger finish.

               After a few moments, Cassian gently rolls off you, trying to collect himself. You gingerly stretch out your legs, basking in the afterglow of fucking like that. You tilt your face in his direction. His eyes are closed, hair a mess, toned chest rising and falling as he tries to catch his breath.

               Your eyes fall to the window, seeing a sliver of sky.

               A small dot is going across it, tracing a steady arc towards the stars, signaling they are no longer keeping ships grounded.

               You smile.

*

               Your breathing is unsteady, your legs cramping from being bunched up in the smuggling compartment on Cassian’s ship. Even though ships are being allowed to depart off world, there is extra security and scanning being done. It had been tricky enough to get to the ship without drawing attention, wearing Cassian’s extra clothes that didn’t fit properly and a cloak tossed around your shoulders. Better not to risk it further.

               You can hear the low hum of the engine idling but nothing else. It is difficult not knowing how it’s going. Your nerves are swimming in your stomach. You’re picturing getting caught, dragged back to your fiancé. You’re picturing something terrible happening to Cassian because he’s helping you. You rub the palms of your hands against the baggy pants but it doesn’t seem to help.

               And then, when time seems to stretch into an eternity, bending and threatening to burst with your impatience, the engine grows louder, a roaring that you can feel across your body. Still, you remain crouched, knowing Cassian made it very clear not to leave the compartment until he came to get you.

               Even though you hardly knew Cassian, it hadn’t entered your mind since sleeping together that he would turn you in. He gained nothing from it because he didn’t seem interested in any money. He carried a past within him, just like you did.

               The rumbling of the engine changes; it shifts into the familiar sensation of hyperspace. A few seconds later, the door to the compartment opens and Cassian is peering down at you.

               He grins.

               “Just entered hyperspace.”

               Relief bubbles up in your chest and you laugh. He reaches down for you, helping you out of the compartment. You could almost cry due to the intensity of emotions you’re experiencing.

               Cassian, with his gentle brown eyes and tender expression on his face, asks, “What now?”

               The question is a powerful one. Limitless with the universe at your fingertips. You aren’t sure how to show your appreciation to this man who helped you escape your wedding when the plan seemed to be in shambles.

               “I don’t know,” You reply, unable to stop from laughing, “I guess…I guess whatever the hell I want.”

               And Cassian laughs too, reveling in your personal freedom that he helped bring to fruition.

the end.

[chromaherder]

Been thinking about them lately.

[happydragon]

Everyone look at this amazing art by @jojobaaaa !!! This was made alongside my Prequel Big Bang Fic for @swprequels-big-bang !!

Many thanks to jojobaaa for the amazing art, @prowlingthunder for beating my fic, and @yeehawgeek for hosting this event!!!

[flightlessangelwings]

Since we’re in Latino heritage month now I want to bring something up again that’s worth talking about when it comes to reader insert fic:

Can we as writers please be aware that latine people are present in fandom and not make the assumption that the reader does not speak Spanish?

Especially when writing for Latino characters, latine people look to them for representation and it feels very exclusionary to assume the reader doesn’t know Spanish. Latine representation is hugely important for us. Actors like Pedro Pascal, Oscar Isaac, Diego Luna, Gabriel Luna, and more are so important for that representation and they all understand that importance. With the lack of latine and poc characters, it’s always very meaningful when we are represented. And it’s very hurtful that people can assume that their audience is only white.

Some ways to work around and be inclusive: You could use italics to indicate Spanish, say “you didn’t hear” instead of “you didn’t understand” so that way it’s more open to interpretation, provide an immediate translation in or out of the context and let readers decide for themselves if they understood it or not. Very simple things make a huge difference in inclusivity and don’t change your story at all!

And another note too: please be respectful when writing Latino characters and actively work to avoid getting into fetishization territory. Be aware of harmful tropes and stereotypes that exist while writing Latino characters. I.e. the Latin lover trope, the whole papi thing, “spicy Latino” etc. The characters aren’t real but the impact it can have does affect real people and it can make latine people uncomfortable to see it in fic.

Remember that inclusivity is a kindness and people of all walks of life read fics to let’s work to make everyone feel welcome and loved and seen in our reader insert fic!

[izloveshorses]

sometimes I wish for falling, wish for the release wish for falling through the air to give me some relief...

[thewulf]

Frosted Steel || Cassian

Summary: Request -Can i request a Cassian x Reader?? Here's what I'm thinking-Reader is from winter court. She's gifted with unique ice-binding magic from her home and arrives in Velaris to help Rhysand finalize a critical peace treaty?... Read Rest Here

A/N: Well... this one got away from me hahaha but I had a blast writing it. Def in the zone writing these ACOTAR fics so please keep sending them my way!

Pairing: Cassian x Female Reader (Winter Court Reader)

Word Count: 9.8k + (WHOOPS)

TW: swords, reader gets cut, blood, general ACOTAR warnings

In the silent, shimmering halls of the Winter Court you stood before Kallias, your father and the formidable High Lord. His piercing blue eyes reflect both concern and determination as he addresses you. The throne room was usually a place of austere beauty but felt colder today. The frost patterns on the walls mirroring the tension in the air.

"Velaris is not just another city, and this is not merely a diplomatic visit my daughter," Kallias begins. His voice resonant and commanding. "Rhysand needs our support to finalize a peace treaty that could stabilize relations of the Winter Court for generations. I need someone who can represent our interests with both power and delicacy. Someone like you."

You shift slightly with your boots whispering against the icy floor. "But father, my magic is suited for creation not conflict. Surely there are others better suited to navigate the intricacies of a peace treaty?" You tried your best to convince him, but it was sure to fall of deaf ears. When he had a plan there was no talking him out of it.

Kallias rises. His height and presence filling the room with an almost tangible force. "No one else possesses your unique abilities or your perspective," he insists. "You understand the fragile nature of peace. This treaty needs more than just political acumen… it needs the trust and bond that only your magic can foster." You knew exactly what he was doing. He was trying to flatter you. You lowered your gaze knowing there was no talking him out of this. You felt the weight of his expectations pressing into you. It is an honor yes, but a daunting one, nonetheless. The responsibility feels as heavy as the ice that clings to the peaks of your homeland.

Seeing your hesitation Kallias softens before stepping down from the dais to place a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "I would not ask this of you if I did not believe in your ability to carry our hopes," he says. His tone infused with a rare warmth. "You have always risen to the challenges presented to you, greater though they may seem."

Drawing a deep breath you nod, accepting the mantle he's offering. "I will go to Velaris. I will help broker this peace." You spoke even though you truly did not want to go.

Kallias smiles with pride evident in his eyes. "Rhysand has arranged for an escort to meet you at the city gates. They will ensure your safety and aid in your acclimation to the Night Court's ways. Spend some time there. Get to know them. It will only aid in our recovery efforts after the war.” As you turn to leave your heart steadies itself. The path ahead is uncertain and is filled with potential alliances and hidden perils. But as the frost air fills your lungs you feel your resolve harden. You will meet this challenge as you have met all others with the cool grace and quiet strength of winter itself.

He didn’t give you long to get ready to leave. Within a day you were already finding yourself at the outskirts of Velaris, the once hidden city of the Night Court. As you step through the threshold into the city your senses are immediately overwhelmed by the vivid contrasts. Unlike the icy, silent elegance of your homeland, Velaris pulses with life. Its streets bustling with faeries of every conceivable form and hue. The air here carries the warmth of starlight even into the night. It was a stark contrast to the crisp, cold air of the Winter Court. Your unique ice-binding magic was a rare gift in your cold dominion, and it stirred within you responding to the latent energies of this foreign land.

Your arrival isn't just a mere visit as your father had informed you. It's a mission charged with the weight of potential peace or conflict. Directed by your father you are here to assist Rhysand, the famed High Lord of the Night Court and one you were incredibly intimidated by, in finalizing the critical peace treaty. The responsibility weighs heavily on your shoulders as the outcome could define the future relationships between your frigid realm and the temperate lands of the Night Court.

As you glide through the throngs of fae your eyes marvel at the architectural wonders of Velaris. The buildings around you display intricate designs that emit an ethereal glow, seeming both ancient and vibrantly alive. Despite the surrounding beauty you remain vigilant, your magic at the ready. Your heart beats a complex rhythm of excitement and caution as you near the meeting point. In Velaris, amidst allies and strangers, you must navigate the intricacies of court politics. Utilizing your magical talents for diplomacy and perhaps learn to defend yourself in more ways than one.

However, a different sensation stirs within you—a blend of nervousness and unease—as you anticipate your first encounter with Rhysand and Feyre. Both are Daemati, a kind of power that deeply unsettles you. This fear stems from a harrowing past encounter with a Daemati under Amarantha's command who had mercilessly killed twelve children of the Winter Court. One of these children was your Ivy. She was a young fae you were mentoring. Ivy, like yourself, possessed potent abilities but her promise was brutally cut short. She was a loss that still haunts you to this day.

Now as you approach the House of Wind with your escort a mix of fear and determination tingles through your nerves. You replay the pain of your past and the loss that continuously gnaws at your spirit. Yet, you steady yourself with the knowledge that your father has prepared you well to shield your thoughts. He had trained you relentlessly once he returned from under the mountain. At the time it frustrated you but now, in this moment, you are profoundly grateful for his persistence.

Rhysand and Feyre greet you at the grand entrance. Their presence was both awe-inspiring and intimidating. Rhysand's dark hair and piercing gaze are balanced by a surprisingly warm smile. While Feyre's poise and grace exude a calm strength. Though their reputations are fair and just leaders precede them you can't shake the lingering trepidation of their unique abilities.

"Welcome to Velaris," Rhysand says. His voice both smooth and inviting. "We are honored to assist the Winter Court in these crucial talks."

You manage a polite nod making sure to keep your mental shields tightly woven, an invisible armor against any potential intrusion. Rhysand’s eyes seem to glimmer with a hint of understanding, but he makes no move to address the unspoken tension.

Feyre then steps forward with a gentle smile. Her empathy palpable even without words. "We hope you find comfort here during your stay. If there's anything you need at all, please let us know."

As they lead you through the corridors of their home filled with the light of glowing crystals and the scent of night-blooming flowers you remind yourself of the mission at hand. You are here to negotiate peace. To secure a future for your court. Despite the warmth of their welcome, you remain vigilant, prepared to protect your thoughts and heart from the painful memories of the past and the daunting power of the present.

After showing you to your room, a beautiful space with a view of Velaris that twinkles like a starlit sky, Feyre gently suggests that you join them for dinner. As you follow her down to the dining area your nervousness manifests subtly. Your leg shakes rhythmically, a silent tick showing the unease churning inside you. The room is beautifully set with candles flickering softly. They cast a warm light over the array of dishes that smell of spices and something sweetly floral.

You take your seat making sure to deliberately avoid the gazes of Rhysand and Feyre who try to make the atmosphere as welcoming as possible. Your leg continues to shake under the table and despite their friendly demeanor you find yourself unable to meet their eyes. You choose instead to focus on the intricate patterns of the tablecloth. You felt terribly out of your element. Why had your father sent you here? You couldn’t even look them in the eyes, how were you going to negotiate peace with them?

Noticing your discomfort Rhysand addresses the elephant in the room with a gentle directness. "It must be quite unsettling being far from home and surrounded by strangers. Especially strangers who possess abilities that might seem... invasive. We both understand the significance of mental privacy and consent," he begins. His tone imbued with empathy. His acknowledgment of his and Feyre's Daemati powers catches your attention prompting you to glance up briefly.

"We're committed to using our powers to protect and heal, never to harm or coerce," Rhysand continues hoping to ease your worry. "It's a rule we hold sacred in Velaris. A promise to each other and to those we welcome into our home."

As Rhysand speaks there is a sincerity radiating with each word. You find the courage to lift your eyes and meet his gaze for the first time this evening. Something in his expression, a deep-seated earnestness, cuts through the fog of your apprehension. You nod slowly acknowledging his pledge and the safety it promises.

"Thank you," you speak quietly. "I've heard much about both of you and your abilities. Forgive me for being so… cold." The smirk that follows is light and tinged with the irony of your homeland's icy reputation.

Your gaze shifts between Rhysand and Feyre. Their attentive postures encouraging you to continue. "The reason for my caution," you explain, "stems from a… an awful experience. One of the children taken by Amarantha's enforcer was under my protection. Her name was Ivy. I was supposed to shield her. Protect her. To nurture her abilities. But I could only watch helpless as her mind was torn apart. Piece by piece. It was... traumatizing to say the least. The fear of that power. The fear of it being used again so mercilessly has stayed with me." You let out the breath you were holding feeling a weight being slowly lifted off your shoulders in your admission.

Taking a deep breath, you fight through the tide of emotion threatening to overwhelm you. "Ivy was more than just a pupil to me. She was like a daughter," you begin. Your voice trembling as the words spill out. “Young and brilliant. Her very presence could brighten the darkest winter nights. She had a rare gift for ice magic. The kind that comes once in a generation. Ivy could weave frost into intricate sculptures of breathtaking beauty. She could coax snowflakes into patterns that told stories. Her magic wasn’t just powerful, it was art. Art in the purest and most captivating form."

Your voice cracks as the memory surges forward, raw, and as sharp as the day it happened. "When the enforcer came, I tried to shield her. I stood between them. I begged him to take me instead. But he just laughed..." Your hands clench into fists at the memory with you nails digging into your palms as if to anchor you against the pain. "And then he turned his attention to her. Ivy was just a girl. A beautiful little girl brimming with potential, and I had to watch from a distance… utterly powerless, as he ripped it all away. Her screams... the look of sheer terror in her eyes... it's etched into my memory. A nightmare that never fades."

Pausing, you swallow hard, feeling the sting of tears as they threaten to breach your composure. "I couldn't save her. The guilt of that moment, the utter helplessness. It’s haunted me ever since." You wipe away a tear that manages to escape, your voice a whisper now. "That’s why I’m so wary around Daemati. That’s why your powers… even though I know you use them for good, initially stirred such deep fear in me. The memory of what was done with similar abilities. It terrifies me still."

As you finish the room is enveloped in a heavy silence. Rhysand and Feyre absorbing the depth of your pain. Each of their faces etched with compassion and sorrow for your loss. Feyre's reaction is immediate and visceral. Her eyes fill with tears, and they silently overflow as she listens to the end of your harrowing experience. Moved deeply by your pain and the horrific loss of Ivy, she can barely contain her distress, reflecting her profound empathy.

"I'm so sorry," Feyre whispers. Her voice quivering as she reaches across the table, seeking to provide comfort even as she struggles with her own reaction. "That you had to go through that, to witness such horror... it's just unthinkable. I can't express how deeply sorry I am for your loss and your pain."

Rhysand's expression is one of solemn resolve as he observes both you and Feyre. He places a reassuring hand on her shoulder offering her a silent strength before turning his attention to you with a serious yet compassionate gaze. "What happened to Ivy, the terror she endured—such things are what we fight against every day," he says firmly. "Under my watch we hold ourselves to a promise: that we use our power to protect, to heal, not to harm. What you experienced will not happen here. You have my word." He nods his head in reverence.

The sincerity in Rhysand's voice and his protective assurance coupled with Feyre's empathetic tears create a poignant moment of understanding and solidarity. It offers a small yet significant reassurance that in Velaris you might find not only safety but also allies who genuinely care about your well-being.

As dinner progresses the conversation gradually shifts towards lighter topics. Focusing on the details of the peace treaty. The atmosphere has eased significantly with Rhysand and Feyre both engaging in thoughtful dialogue about the future plans and the roles each court might play in fostering peace. You find yourself becoming more invested in the conversation feeling a bit more at ease with each passing moment.

Just as you're beginning to relax fully the door bursts open and two figures storm in, deep in a heated debate. Their voices are raised, each trying to overpower the other with their arguments.

“You think charging in without a plan is the answer, Cassian? That’s reckless, even for you,” the darker-haired one asserts, his expression intense and clearly frustrated.

“And you think waiting around is going to solve our problems, Az? We can’t just leave it unresolved!” the larger man retorts with his broad frame gesturing emphatically.

Rhysand sighs, setting down his utensils before looking between his two friends. “Alright, what’s this about?” he asks, ready to mediate with a practiced ease.

As Cassian and Azriel's loud entrance interrupted the dinner your eyes immediately locked with Cassian's. Despite the intensity of their ongoing argument something about his direct gaze halted all other thoughts. It was as if a gust of wind had swept through the room, leaving you momentarily breathless. Amidst the unexpected disruption the corner of your mouth quirked up in amusement. Such candid, boisterous dynamics were a rare sight back in the Winter Court and the sheer openness of it all struck you as refreshingly odd. Even as the argument continued your focus remained riveted on Cassian. You found it impossible to break away from his gaze, his eyes holding a mixture of passion and warmth that was intensely captivating.

Catching your amused smile, Cassian halts mid-sentence. A playful glint appearing in his eyes. “And who do we have here?” he asks. His tone shifting to one of curiosity mixed with a hint of charm. “A spy from the Winter Court come to watch us squabble like market hagglers?”

Azriel rolls his eyes at Cassian’s dramatics. “Ignore him. Cassian thinks every new face is part of a grand intrigue.”

Rhysand chuckles and intervenes before Cassian can respond. “No spies here, just Kallias’s daughter from the Winter Court. She’s here to assist with the peace treaty negotiations. Remember?” Rhysand explains gesturing toward you with a warm smile. “And apparently to witness the Night Court's General and Spymaster in their, let’s say, natural habitat.”

Cassian’s face lights up with a broad grin as he extends a hand in greeting. His earlier fervor now redirected into welcoming you. “Well then, welcome to Velaris! I’m Cassian, the General. And the brooding shadow over there is Azriel, our Spymaster. Seems you’ve got a front-row seat to our tactical disputes.”

Azriel gives you a nod, his earlier annoyance fading into a reserved smile. "It’s good to meet you. Please don’t mind us. We argue, but it’s all in the spirit of making the best decisions for our people."

Your initial amusement grows into a genuine smile, touched by the warmth and candidness of their welcome, even amidst their lively disputes. This evening has certainly turned out to be full of surprises. Painting a vivid picture of the Night Court as a place of vibrant personalities and fierce loyalty.

As the energy from their spirited discussions simmers down and the laughter echoes into a comfortable lull you take the opportunity to express your amusement at their robust debate. Greeting Cassian and Azriel warmly you share how refreshing you find the candid nature of the Night Court. It's a stark contrast to the more reserved and formal interactions typical of the Winter Court, sparking your curiosity about the dynamics of this lively group.

"Well, it's certainly different here," you comment with a light laugh. "I'm looking forward to seeing more of this... enthusiasm during my stay. I'll be here for a month or so. I hope to learn as much as I can."

Rhysand, seizing on your mention of an extended stay, exchanges a quick glance with Cassian. He gave him a sly smile as he senses his brothers attention shifting toward you almost immediately. "A month or so gives us plenty of time," he says thoughtfully. "If you're interested in learning more than just politics perhaps you'd like to join some of our training sessions? Cassian here leads our warriors and I'm sure he could arrange something that accommodates your skills and interests."

Cassian’s eyes light up at the suggestion. He was always eager to bring someone new into the fold of his training regimens. Especially someone as unique as you seemed to be. "Absolutely," he agrees with an enthusiastic nod. "It’s not all sword swinging and strength training. We focus on strategy, agility, and even some elemental control that might align nicely with your ice magic. It could be a good way to blend some of the Winter Court techniques with ours."

As Rhysand suggests joining the training sessions you hesitate, a flicker of doubt crossing your face. "I appreciate the offer but I'm not really a fighter," you admit slightly apologetic in your nature. "My strengths lie more in diplomacy and magic, particularly ice magic. I'm not sure how well I'd fit into a warrior's training regimen."

Rhysand, observing the interplay at the table, seems particularly keen on your participation. His insight as a leader might allow him to sense the undercurrent of interest from Cassian toward you. Something potentially deeper than it appears. He pushes gently but with a knowing smile, "It’s not just about fighting. It’s about understanding different perspectives and disciplines. It could be a valuable experience."

Cassian although typically straightforward and jovially aggressive, adopts a slightly softer demeanor. His usual bravado tempered by earnestness. "Training can also be about balance and harmony. About integrating the physical with the magical. Your skills could bring a fresh perspective, not just to our tactics but to our understanding of magic and combat."

Then Azriel, who normally stays quiet in such discussions adds his own encouragement. His subdued voice carrying weight. "It’s worth exploring. Sometimes stepping into unfamiliar territory reveals more about our strengths. It could be enlightening for all of us."

Cassian's expression briefly reveals his surprise at Azriel’s interjection. It was a small, almost imperceptible lift of his eyebrows signaling to you that Azriel's encouragement is out of the ordinary. This small gesture subtly hints at the importance of the moment.

Feyre as if sensing the nuanced shifts in the conversation supports their suggestions with a warm and inclusive gesture. "It’s also a way to connect with everyone here. Our training sessions are as much about building relationships as they are about building skills. It would be wonderful to have you join, even just a few times to see how it feels."

Encouraged by their collective support and Cassian's surprised yet approving glance following Azriel's seemingly rare endorsement you find yourself reconsidering their proposal more seriously. "Alright. I'll give it a try," you agree, a tentative excitement building within you. "This will be very… interesting."

"Excellent," Cassian says. His eyes brightening with enthusiasm. "We’ll start at a pace that feels right for you. It’s about growth and learning, not just exertion."

As the dinner concludes and plans for your training begin to take shape you can't help but feel an intriguing pull towards what lies ahead. The possibility of new friendships and perhaps deeper bonds begins to form, hinting at the start of an enriching journey within the Night Court.

On your first day at the training grounds, the crisp morning air of Velaris is invigorating, filled with the sounds of clashing weapons and distant calls from sparring partners. Cassian leads you to a quieter section reserved for one-on-one sessions away from the more vigorous activities of his usual warriors. The atmosphere is slightly tense. The space between you filled with cautious curiosity. Each of you is clearly gauging the other trying to find a comfortable rhythm in this new training partnership.

"Let’s see what you’ve got," Cassian suggests. His tone friendly but carrying a hint of challenge. He watches intently as you demonstrate some basic maneuvers with your ice magic. You created delicate yet sharp frost patterns that float gracefully in the air. His nods of approval are sparing, and you can tell he’s mentally noting each display of skill though he keeps his feedback measured and professional.

As the days progress the initial stiffness that marked your interactions begins to melt away. Cassian’s coaching style is intense. His commands are sharp, his expectations high. However, as you meet his challenges with increasing confidence you begin to understand the method behind his rigor. You also start to catch glimpses of humor in his sharp eyes. A sign that there’s more to this formidable warrior than just discipline and strength.

"Try not to freeze my soldiers. We’re running out of good men as it is," he jokes one morning after you skillfully direct a swirl of ice around a training dummy skillfully stopping just short of a group of soldiers watching nearby.

With a small laugh you shoot back, "I thought the Night Court could handle a little cold."

His laughter in response is hearty. A sound that seems to echo around the quiet corner of the training grounds. It's a turning point, signaling a shift from mutual respect to something warmer, more friendly.

By the end of the week your training sessions are characterized by easy banter and playful challenges. One afternoon Cassian dodges your icy projectiles with nimble grace only to slip slightly on a patch of ice you cunningly left in his path. "Not bad for a scrawny little thing," he grins while steadying himself with the agility of a cat.

In response you flash a mischievous smile and with a subtle flick of your wrist, you freeze his boots to the ground. "And not bad for a brawny brute," you retort. Laughter bursts from a few nearby trainees who have started to look forward to these exchanges between the two of you.

Cassian manages to break free before brushing ice from his boots with mock indignation. "You’re going to pay for that one," he warns though his eyes sparkle with amusement.

As the week draws to a close the training ground has transformed from a place of cautious appraisal to one of growth and friendship. Your sessions with Cassian are no longer just about learning to integrate your ice magic with physical combat. They’re also about the laughter shared over slipped footing, the shared grins after successful maneuvers, and the light-hearted jests that now flow freely between you. This evolving camaraderie promises not just improved skills but a deepening bond, hinting at the development of a relationship built on respect, challenge, and mutual delight in each other's company.

The atmosphere at the training grounds is usually charged with the sounds of diligent practice but today there’s an added layer of excitement due to some young onlookers from the Night Court. Cassian plans a session that balances demonstrations of your unique ice magic with some basic combat techniques hoping to impress not just you but the eager young fae watching from a distance.

Wearing your elegant Winter Court attire, which was more suited for display than combat, you find yourself not in your usual training leathers. Today was supposed to be about finesse and control not full-contact sparring. As Cassian readies the next exercise you catch the eyes of the children peeking out from behind the trees. Their expressions were filled with awe and curiosity. Smiling back at them your attention momentarily drifts from the task at hand.

Cassian notices your distraction and the intricate fabric of your attire raising an eyebrow in mild concern. "Are you sure you wouldn't prefer to change into something more... practical?" he asks you once more. His voice laced with skepticism.

You shake your head while stepping forward confidently. "I believe today's session can benefit from a different approach," you explain. Your voice steady, confident. "My attire from the Winter Court is designed not only for aesthetics but for mobility in a certain style of combat. It’s more strategic and less about direct confrontation. It might offer a new perspective for your warriors."

Cassian looks dubious but intrigued by your assurance and the potential learning opportunity for his trainees. After a moment of consideration, he nods slowly. "Alright," he concedes. His tone cautious yet curious. "We'll adjust today's training to focus on technique and precision. We'll go light on the physical combat to accommodate your attire."

Grateful for his flexibility you prepare to demonstrate that finesse and strategy can be as effective as brute strength hoping to prove the value of your unique approach and the versatility of your court's combat style.

As dusk deepened over the training grounds, the session with Cassian was intensifying. He was fully focused on you, guiding, and challenging you with each swing of his blunted training blade. He did not notice Azriel's silent approach until his brother was almost beside them, landing softly. The sudden appearance of Azriel, so smooth and silent, caught your eye at the crucial moment.

Cassian, thinking you were prepared and about to dodge, continued with his planned attack and swung the blunted blade in a broad, sweeping motion towards you. Normally you would have sidestepped smoothly but distracted by Azriel's unexpected arrival you froze. The blade, though blunt for training, struck directly against your side with surprising force due to your lack of movement. The impact was hard enough to slice through the delicate fabric of your Winter Court dress and nick your skin, drawing a line of blood.

Immediately realizing the mishap Cassian dropped his sword and rushed to your side, his expression flooded with concern. "Are you alright? I thought you saw me coming," he asked quickly as his voice was laced with worry.

Trying to mask the sharp sting and the sudden warmth of blood seeping through your dress, you attempted to reassure him, "I’m okay, Cassian, really, it was just a shock more than anything—"

But as you spoke a wave of dizziness overwhelmed you, your knees buckling under the dual assault of pain and sudden faintness. As you started to fall Cassian instinctively reached out, catching you just in time. His hands which were initially meant to steady you felt the wetness of blood through the fabric of your dress. His eyes widened in horror as he saw the bright red on his hands realizing the cut was more serious than a mere scrape.

Without a moment's hesitation Cassian scooped you up into his arms. His movements were swift and filled with urgent care. He looked up at Azriel who had stepped forward, concern etching his features. "Keep the training going, Az. I’m taking her to Madja, now," Cassian instructed firmly. His voice carrying the weight of his resolve.

Azriel nodded understanding the gravity of the situation and stepped back to allow Cassian to pass. Cassian, holding you securely, moved with purposeful speed towards the infirmary. His mind was racing with worry. The flight was quick. His powerful wings beating against the cool air of the evening, each stroke propelling you further away from the training grounds and closer to the healing hands of Madja.

As he flew you clung to him feeling the cool air against your face, which helped alleviate some of the dizziness. "I'm really okay, Cassian," you tried to assure him again, your voice soft, noticing the tension in his body, the way his jaw was set with worry. "It’s just a little cut, I think. I’m sure it’s already healed up."

Cassian only tightened his hold, a gesture of protective care. "We're not taking any chances," he said firmly. His tone brooking no argument. "You’re getting checked out, no arguments."

Suspended in the air, held securely in Cassian's embrace, you noticed the tension in his expression. His jaw set firmly as he navigated through the skies. Wanting to alleviate his concern and lighten the mood you looked up at him, your voice competing with the rush of the wind. "Okay, no arguing," you conceded with a soft, reassuring smile. "But how about an even less swordy day at training tomorrow?"

"You know, maybe we should consider taking a rest day tomorrow," Cassian suggested hesitantly. His voice carrying a protective tone. "Just to be sure you're fully recovered. It might not be wise to jump right back into training."

You looked up at him feeling the warmth of his care but also a spark of your own determination not to be sidelined by a small injury. "I appreciate your concern, Cassian, but really, I feel fine," you countered quickly. A hint of stubbornness in your tone. "A light day as planned with some tactical drills. Nothing too strenuous. I think it would be good for me. For you"

Cassian raised an eyebrow with a small smile breaking through as he sensed your resolve. "Oh, how quickly you've changed your tune, princess," he remarked with a playful smirk. The affectionate tease in his voice floated on the wind as he continued to fly, his grip around you reassuring and strong.

The brief exchange brought a light-heartedness to the moment and Cassian's smile broadened slightly appreciating your spirit and resilience. "Alright, tactical drills it is then. But at the first sign of any discomfort, we're taking a break," he conceded. His tone still carrying a hint of caution but softened by his growing trust in your judgment.

As you both neared the infirmary the flight through the crisp evening air felt less like a rush to aid and more like a shared journey back to stability. Cassian's initial hesitation faded, replaced by a quiet confidence in your resilience and a deepening sense of connection between you. The city of Velaris spread out beneath you, a silent witness to the bond that was strengthening with every beat of Cassian's wings and every word exchanged above the rooftops.

Landing smoothly at the infirmary Cassian carried you inside where Madja was already preparing her tools. Cassian gently laid you down on a cot as his hands lingered for a moment longer than necessary. His eyes were searching yours for any sign of further distress.

Madja quickly assessed the situation. She cleaned the wound and confirmed it was shallow. Though the blood loss and the shock had caused your faintness. "You'll be fine. Just a little rest and you’ll be up in no time," she reassured both you and Cassian, more so Cassian, who finally allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief.

You turn to Cass with a smirk playing on your lips. "See, told you so, General," you tease in an attempt to ease the palpable tension that had followed you from the training grounds.

Cassian's relief is immediate and visible. He lets out a deep breath, the tightness in his shoulders relaxing as he returns your smirk with a wry smile. "Fine, you were right. But let’s avoid making this a habit, shall we?"

Before you can respond the infirmary door swings open abruptly. Rhysand strides in, his expression a mixture of concern and command clearly having been summoned by Cassian’s urgent mental call. His eyes are wide as he quickly scans the room landing on you sitting relatively unscathed on the infirmary bed.

"Are you alright?" Rhysand asks. His voice tight with concern. He moves closer. His gaze flicking from you to Cassian, seeking an explanation.

You nod reassuring him with a calm smile. "I’m just fine, Rhys. Really, it was much less dramatic than it seems. Cassian has been worried enough for everyone," you say, glancing at Cassian with a playful raise of your eyebrows, signaling that all is truly well.

Rhysand's gaze softens though the lines of worry don’t completely disappear. "Cassian briefed me but seeing you well makes a world of difference. These training accidents... Well, they shouldn’t happen. We’ll review the protocols to ensure this is an isolated incident."

Turning to Cassian, Rhysand claps him on the shoulder. A gesture of support mixed with a mild reprimand. "Take care of her. Make sure she follows all of Madja’s instructions," Rhysand instructs, his leader’s tone resurfacing.

Cassian nods solemnly, "Understood. I’ll make sure this doesn’t happen again."

With a final nod and a comforting smile directed at you Rhys exits the infirmary, his presence leaving as quickly as it arrived. The room feels lighter now, the earlier tension dissipating with the confirmations of your well-being.

Cassian stays by your side. His relief evident but his watchfulness remaining. "Now, about that 'less swordy' day tomorrow..." he begins, ready to shift back into the lighter, teasing dynamic that has marked your growing friendship. Grateful that the day’s scare has ended on a reassuring note.

As Cassian suggests a less physically demanding day focused more on magic you can’t help but giggle. A slight relief moving away from any activities involving bladed weapons. “That sounds perfect,” you agree with enthusiasm brightening your voice as you discuss potential exercises that would let you showcase and refine your control over ice magic without the physical strain.

As the conversation continues Cassian helps you up ensuring you’re stable on your feet and offers his arm for support as you begin the walk back to your quarters. The corridors of the Night Court feel quieter than usual. The soft echo of your steps mingling with the fading adrenaline of the day’s events. There’s a palpable shift between you and Cassian. A new layer of closeness brought on not just by the day’s scare but also by the accumulated time spent together over the past few weeks.

Cassian’s voice breaks the comfortable silence. His voice softer, more reflective than before. “I’ve really enjoyed these last few weeks with you,” he admits. His gaze fixed ahead. “You’ve taught me more than you’ll ever know.” His words hang in the air laden with a sincerity that draws your attention fully to his expression. It’s open, honest, and there’s a hint of vulnerability there that you hadn’t noticed before.

You look at him, touched by his confession, noticing the slight hesitance as if he wants to say more but is holding back. Maybe it’s the fear of crossing an unseen boundary or the uncertainty of your reaction that keeps him from continuing.

Encouraged by his openness you respond warmly, “And I’ve learned a lot from you, too, Cassian. Not just about fighting or training but about what it means to really care about your warriors, your friends.” You pause searching his face for a reaction. “It means a lot to me, all of this time we’ve spent together.”

Cassian’s eyes meet yours and there’s a moment of silent communication. A mutual understanding and appreciation that seems to deepen the bond between you. “I’m glad,” he finally says with his voice low. “I hope we can keep this going, no matter what the training schedule says.”

As you reach your quarters there’s a reluctance to part between the both of you. A desire to prolong the connection that has clearly grown beyond the confines of instructor and trainee. Cassian lingers at your door, his usual confidence tempered with a newfound tenderness.

“Get some rest princess,” he says softly before stepping back with a reluctant smile. “We’ll start fresh tomorrow. Less swordy, more... magical.”

You nod, smiling back at him, feeling a warmth that extends beyond the fading pain from your injury. “I look forward to it, Cassian. Thank you for everything today.”

He nods, then turns to leave, but not before throwing a look over his shoulder. It was a promise of more shared moments, more lessons, and perhaps, deeper revelations yet to come. The door closes softly behind you leaving you with a sense of anticipation for what the next day might bring, both in training and in your evolving relationship with Cassian.

After the incident at the training grounds and a night of rest you dive back into the treaty negotiations with renewed focus. As the talks commence you are at the forefront, your diplomatic skills shining as you navigate the complexities of the discussions. Your adept use of magic not only impresses but also serves as a poignant reminder of the Winter Court's strengths and capabilities. The treaty talks progress smoothly and a successful agreement begins to take shape much to the relief and satisfaction of all parties involved.

However, despite the importance of the negotiations and your central role in them your thoughts intermittently drift to Cassian. The memory of his concerned eyes, his protective stance, and the warmth of your conversation lingers with you, distracting you more than you'd like to admit. As you mentally rehearse your next points in the discussion, you find your mind replaying moments from the training sessions, his laughter, his teasing remarks, and his unexpectedly gentle care.

Unbeknownst to you, your mental shields—usually so meticulously maintained—begin to slip slightly amid your daydreams. Rhysand, who was not actively probing but is always somewhat attuned to the emotional and mental state of those around him, picks up on your wandering thoughts. He catches snippets of your internal musings about Cassian, not enough to grasp the full context but enough to piece together the gist of your distraction.

Throughout the meeting a knowing grin slowly forms on Rhysand's face, amused by the realization of your burgeoning feelings for his brother. He doesn't comment on it during the talks. Making sure to maintain his professionalism and focusing on the successful closure of the treaty. However, the little smile that occasionally plays at the corners of his mouth doesn't go unnoticed by those who know him well.

Later, as the meeting concludes with handshakes and a collective sigh of relief over the treaty's ratification. Rhysand pulls Cassian aside just before your evening training session. In a quiet corner away from prying ears Rhysand's grin broadens.

"I think someone has managed to catch more than just your training expertise," Rhysand teases as his eyes twinkled with mirth. "Our Winter Court princess seems to be a bit distracted by a certain general." As Rhysand delivers his playful revelation, Cassian's initial surprise quickly shifts to a broad, almost uncontrollable grin that spreads across his face. The sudden display of joy is uncharacteristic of the usually composed general, revealing just how deeply the news has affected him.

"Oh? And what makes you say that?" Cassian tries to maintain a semblance of composure, but his voice betrayed a hint of excitement beneath the casual façade.

Rhysand notices the change in Cassian's demeanor. The light in his eyes that hadn't been there moments before. "Well, let's just say that her thoughts were a little less guarded than usual," Rhysand replied. His voice laced with amusement. "She might be more interested in the person teaching her than just the lessons themselves."

Cassian's smile widens and he shakes his head slightly almost in disbelief but clearly delighted by the prospect. "Is that so?" he murmurs more to himself than to Rhysand, his mind already spinning with the implications.

Rhysand watches Cassian's bright grin, a knowing look crossing his face as he teases, "Seems like those training sessions are about more than just tactics and spells."

Cassian’s expression remains upbeat but a hint of seriousness creeps in. "They’re enlightening," he admits while giving a nod. "There’s something unique about her… beyond just her skills."

Sensing the depth in Cassian’s tone, Rhysand's demeanor shifts slightly, becoming more contemplative. "Just be careful, Cass. It’s easy to let your guard down when strong feelings are involved."

Cassian pauses as he felt a weight in Rhysand's caution. He looks at his brother, a silent plea for understanding without words. Rhysand, ever perceptive, senses the depth of Cassian’s feelings, realizing this might be more than just a fleeting fascination. "Cassian, do you think she could be…" Rhysand trails off leaving the implication hanging in the air, heavy with the weight of possibilities. His question is subtle, probing—asking if Cassian feels the deep, fated connection of a mate.

Cassian meets Rhysand's gaze with his own eyes reflecting a mix of hope and uncertainty. "I don’t know," he confesses softly. "But there’s something there. Something that feels… right. More than I've felt before."

Rhysand nods slowly as he processed this new revelation. His initial caution softens into a more supportive stance. "Then take it seriously but carefully. If this is what I think it might be, it’s not just significant for you but could be for the Night Court as well."

He places a hand on Cassian’s shoulder with a firm, reassuring grip. "Follow your heart but keep your head with you. She’s not just any visitor. She could and is likely to be much more."

As Rhysand walks away leaving Cassian to ponder the future the conversation not only cements Cassian's resolve but also clarifies the stakes. It’s a turning point. Marking a shift from casual interest to considering the profound potential of a deep, lifelong bond. Cassian feels empowered and cautious now acutely aware of the significant path that might be unfolding before him. This is no longer about training or simple affection. It could be the beginning of the rest of his life, your life.

As dusk settles over Velaris with the fading sunlight casting long shadows across the training grounds, Cassian awaits your arrival. His mind a jumbled swirl of thoughts from the earlier conversation with Rhysand. His anticipation is palpable, heightened by the significant discussions about feelings and futures that may be closer than he's admitted to himself.

During that first meeting in the dining hall his mind was a whirlwind of emotions. As he and Azriel entered mid-argument his initial focus was entirely on their spirited debate not the important dinner he was walking into. The sudden sight of you was an unexpected and striking presence. You brought a sharp halt to his thoughts.

Cassian was immediately struck by your poise and the quiet confidence with which you held yourself among such esteemed company. His first impression was of your elegance and the serene way you observed the dynamic entrance he and Azriel made. There was something about the way you carried yourself as a blend of strength and grace that captivated him instantly.

Embarrassment quickly flooded him with a blush creeping up his neck as he realized the discordant note their arrival struck in the otherwise serene setting. There you were, seated elegantly among the dignitaries of the Night Court with an aura of quiet confidence radiating from you. Despite the potentially disruptive entrance your expression remained unflustered. The slight, knowing smirk playing at the corners of your lips, and the amusement twinkling in your eyes spoke volumes. It was clear you were not only unfazed by the raucous disruption but also mildly entertained by it.

What struck Cassian more deeply was the way your attention seemed focused solely on him, as if the room and its other occupants had faded into the background. This singular focus, paired with the amused arch of your brow, left him feeling both exposed and intrigued. It was as if you could see right through to his typically hidden insecurities prompting a mix of vulnerability and a compelling desire to engage further.

Cassian felt a twinge of chagrin for not having presented a more composed entrance. Especially in front of someone who commanded such a presence as you did. The initial embarrassment, however, slowly morphed into a quiet determination. He was keenly aware that he had an opportunity to make a more meaningful second impression. One that could perhaps intrigue and draw you in just as you had captivated him from that first shared glance.

As he moved to regain his composure, smoothing back his hair, and adjusting his jacket, Cassian was already plotting how to transform this awkward beginning into an opening for deeper connection. The evening had just begun, and he was determined to show you a side of him that resonated with the depth and discernment he now saw reflected in your gaze.

When Rhysand later suggested that Cassian take the lead on your physical training, he seized the opportunity without hesitation. Training was his domain where he felt most in command and most himself. He anticipated that in the structure and discipline of physical training, among the straightforwardness of drills and exercises, there might be space for more informal interactions. For laughter and light conversations that could bridge the gap between formal dining hall introductions and a genuine connection.

Cassian saw each upcoming session as a canvas. As an opportunity to impress and engage you, not just with his skills but with his insights and his approach to teaching and leadership. Privately he knew he’d have to thank Rhysand for the suggestion—whether it was a calculated move or just a fortuitous throwaway idea, it had given him a golden opportunity to explore the potential that he sensed bubbling beneath your initial poised exterior.

He was intrigued, more so than he had been for a long time. The initial physical attraction was strong. Yet it was your demeanor, the intriguing mix of diplomacy and candor, that truly piqued his interest. Cassian left the dining hall that evening with his mind full of questions and curiosities about you. He was eager for the next opportunity to interact and perhaps to understand the compelling figure you were beyond just the surface.

From the memories of that first dinner to the present moment on the training grounds, Cassian's journey of understanding and admiration for you had woven through weeks of anticipation and subtle discoveries. Each interaction had added layers to his initial perception, enriching the image he held of you in his mind.

Then as if to punctuate his thoughts you appeared for the training session, garbed unmistakably in Illyrian warrior attire. Much different than the training leathers and Winter Court apparel he had grown used to see you in. The traditional leathers of his people clung to you, accentuating both strength and grace in your every move. The sight of you in such commanding attire sent a jolt through Cassian. His reaction visceral and immediate. His eyes widened with a mixture of surprise and admiration flashing across his face as he took in every detail—the way the leather fit you, how it moved with your body, and the undeniable air of confidence it brought to your demeanor.

The transformation was not just in your appearance but in the energy you exuded. Standing there you embodied the strength and resilience of an Illyrian warrior, qualities that resonated deeply with Cassian’s own identity. It struck him then how seamlessly you seemed to integrate into his world. How naturally you adopted its symbols and its strength. This was no longer just about training or sharing skills. It was a visual affirmation of your integration into his life and culture.

As he approached you his initial shock gave way to a profound respect. The way you carried the weight of the armor, the casual yet respectful nod you gave him as he walked up. These small actions spoke volumes. Cassian felt a renewed sense of connection. A deeper bond forming not just from shared interests and conversations but from seeing you embrace a part of his heritage with such ease and honor.

In that moment as he closed the distance between you, Cassian realized how deeply he was drawn to you, far beyond the physical allure. It was your spirit. Your willingness to step into his world, to don the armor of his people and stand ready to engage on equal footing. This realization brought a warmth to his chest and a smile to his lips. One that was both proud and welcoming.

As you stood before Cassian in the Illyrian warrior attire your presence was a striking blend of determination and slight apprehension. The soft evening light cast long shadows across the training grounds accentuating the quiet resolve in your posture. You were about to propose a change to the day’s lighter, planned routine. While confident in your suggestion there was a hint of nervousness tinged your voice, reflecting the care you took in challenging the agenda.

"Um, Cassian," you started, your voice carrying a cautious undertone, "I know we planned for a less sword-intensive session today..." You paused trying to gather your thoughts. But before you could continue your eyes met Cassian’s, their intensity like a direct challenge, causing a sudden vulnerability to flutter in your stomach. His gaze was penetrating, studying you with a warmth and focus that unnerved you. For a moment the confidence you felt started to waver under his scrutiny. The depth of his attention making you want to melt into a puddle right there on the training grounds.

However, drawing a deep breath, you summoned your resolve. Despite the shake in your confidence, you pressed on bolstered by the knowledge that this was an important step in your training. "I feel fine. But I've been thinking. I'm already quite familiar with my magic, and not as much with swordsmanship." Your voice grew slightly firmer as you continued, "Maybe, if it’s alright, we could incorporate more of that?" As you reached the end of your proposal a slight stammer betrayed your nervousness. "If you're okay with that, that is," you added with a nervous smile. Eager yet uncertain of his response.

Cassian, still somewhat in awe of your striking appearance and the commanding aura you exuded in the traditional leathers was momentarily taken aback. His response was on the tip of his tongue, an agreement forming, when Azriel quietly joined the duo. Observing the scene, Azriel noted your determined stance and Cassian’s admiring gaze. A knowing smirk crept onto Azriel’s face. "Looks like she’s going to give you a run for your money, brother," he teased unable to hide the amusement in his voice.

Cassian was caught between his brother's teasing and your challenging proposal but managed to regain his composure. He cleared his throat and stepped forward, his confidence rekindled by the familiar banter and the prospect of a spirited training session. "Alright then," he agreed with a nod. A smile breaking through as he embraced the challenge, "swords it is. Let’s see what you’ve got."

As the session progressed Azriel lingered on the sidelines, his eyes shifting between the clashing swords and Cassian’s animated instructions. Every now and then he couldn’t resist throwing in a light-hearted jab especially when it seemed like Cassian was particularly impressed by your quick learning curve or deft movements. "Careful, Cass, I think she might just outdo you in your own game," Azriel called out after a particularly skillful maneuver from you. His tone teasing but proud of you.

Cassian shot a mock-glare at Azriel, but his eyes sparkled with humor and something softer, an undeniable delight in your prowess and enthusiasm. Despite himself Cassian found that he enjoyed this, the mix of training intensity and the undercurrent of playful rivalry. Not just between him and you but with Azriel's involvement as well. It felt oddly, natural. You’d found a way to integrate yourself into the court within only a month of being in Velaris.

Throughout the training Cassian’s admiration for you only grew. Every block, every parry you performed with increasing confidence seemed to not only impress him but also deepen the sense of connection that he felt. This wasn’t just about teaching you how to handle a sword. It was about sharing a piece of his world, his passion, and seeing you embrace it with such fervor was both exhilarating and endearing.

As the sun dipped below the horizon Azriel’s teasing remarks faded into the background, replaced by a quiet acknowledgment of the shift he saw in Cassian. It was clear to him that his brother was, indeed, in trouble. But in the best possible way. Cassian's usually unshakeable demeanor was softer when he looked at you, filled with a mix of pride, respect, and a burgeoning affection that went beyond the confines of the training ring.

When the session finally wound down and the cool evening air settled around, both you and Cassian were catching your breath, reveling in the afterglow of intense physical exertion. It was then that Azriel, unable to resist the opportunity for a little brotherly teasing, stepped forward. Clapping Cassian on the back with a broad grin he couldn’t help but comment, "Well, that was quite a performance. And here I thought today was supposed to be less about swords."

Cassian, still a bit winded from the session, shot Azriel a quick, warning glance. But even he couldn’t hide the amused smile that tugged at his lips, indicative of his own acknowledgment of the shift in plans. Your puzzled look darted between the two brothers catching the tail end of their dynamic, your smile mirroring Cassian's albeit with a touch of confusion.

"Less swords, more magic, but I guess plans change when you're dressed for battle," you chimed in attempting to play off Azriel's comment, still somewhat oblivious to the deeper layers of teasing.

Azriel’s smirk widened as he observed the interplay, his eyes glinting with mischief. "Absolutely, plans do change. Especially when a certain someone decides to show up looking ready to join the ranks of Illyrian warriors," he teased you, turning his gaze back to Cassian with a sly expression. "Makes a general reconsider his strategies."

Caught in the moment, you shared the origin of your attire, a light chuckle escaping you. "Feyre absolutely insisted on me wearing the traditional leathers," you explained, your smile fond as you recalled Feyre's insistence. "I thought it was just for protection, given the training. She seemed really adamant about it."

Cassian’s expression softened at this with a brief smile acknowledging the hidden hand of Rhysand in this setup. Though he connected the dots, realizing his brother's likely involvement in Feyre's insistence, he chose to keep this revelation to himself. Instead, he simply nodded, appreciating your earnestness and perhaps, deep down, thankful for the unintended push it gave him to see you in a new light—strong, capable, and utterly captivating in Illyrian leathers.

As the training session drew to a close and the night deepened around them, the playful banter and shared laughter began to ebb. Azriel's remarks, though lighthearted, had hinted at the shift he observed in the dynamics between you and Cassian. A development that seemed to promise much more than just companionship in the future.

Recognizing the cooling air and the perfect, serene evening that enveloped Velaris, Cassian suggested a leisurely walk back through the city. "How about I walk you home tonight? It's a nice evening to cool down and stretch out after training," he proposed. His voice casual but with a hopeful undertone.

Azriel caught the subtle inflection in Cassian’s tone and simply couldn’t resist one more jab, his knowing smile broadening into a full-blown, mischievous grin. "Sure, take your time," he teased, his voice rich with implication. With a final chuckle and a wink at Cassian, Azriel spread his wings and took to the skies leaving you both to the quiet of the evening streets.

Cassian walked beside you there was a thoughtful distance in his initial steps. As if he was contemplating the right words or simply savoring the shared silence. Gradually, he drew closer, his presence a comforting constant at your side. The soft lighting from the streetlamps cast gentle shadows and the faint rustle of the leaves created a backdrop that enriched the moment with a quaint, almost magical quality.

Every now and then his hand would lightly touch your arm or guide you around an uneven patch on the cobblestones. Each contact sending a quiet thrill through you. Despite the casual nature of the walk there was an undercurrent of something deeper. A thread of anticipation weaving through the air between you.

"Same time tomorrow?" Cassian finally broke the silence. His voice a blend of softness and something undefinable yet unmistakably tender.

"Definitely," you replied with your smile genuine and wide. The connection you felt with Cassian was undeniable and while you might not fully grasp the depth of his feelings, the pull towards him was strong and only growing stronger with each passing day.

When you reached your quarters Cassian lingered for a moment, his demeanor protective and gentle. He seemed reluctant to part ways, but he was satisfied to know you were safe for the night. "Make sure you rest well tonight," he said with his hand resting briefly on your back, his smile warm and lingering as he wished you a good night.

Retreating to your room, the echoes of the evening replayed in your mind. The laughter, Azriel's teasing, the soft, serious timbre of Cassian's voice asking to see you again. There was an excitement brewing within you. An eagerness for what these sessions and these new feelings might lead to. It was an intriguing mix of anticipation and a bit of nervousness, stepping into this newfound connection with Cassian, but every instinct told you it was a path worth exploring. As you settled down with thoughts of the next day’s training, and more importantly, of seeing Cassian again, it filled you with a warm sense of expectation and a quiet joy.

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[koipepo]

"weaponized handsomeness to lure the unsuspecting" Cassian honeypotting imperial pervert sickos confirmed

[panakinthedisco]

❀ #USERANJ | AO3 | MASTERLIST | NAVIGATION | ONE SHOT REQUEST ❀

these are my recommended fics/one shots across tumblr, wattpad and ao3 <3 will update this every now and then. so, enjoy going through my personal favorites and please give them a follow and please also give these wonderful writers your support!

ONE THING I'M MISSING by. @joelscruff

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JUST FRIENDS by. @joelsgreys

MORE THAN FRIENDS by. @joelsgreys

LET ME by. @swiftispunk

coming soon!

HEART OF A LION by. @studioghibelli

EVENSTAR by. @heartofmortis | also available on wattpad and ao3

ANTIBIOSIS by. @mandalhoerian | also available on wattpad and ao3

HOMEBOUND HEART ― Cassian Andor by. @alderaandors | silksenses on wattpad (this fic is currently unpublished)

WONDERLAND ― Ahsoka Tano by. @heartofmortis | available on wattpad and ao3

MIRRORBRIGHT ― Captain Rex by. @heartofmortis | available on wattpad

DREADNAUGHT ― Luke Skywalker by. sanktham | available on wattpad

ENTWINED FATES ― Din Djarin/Luke Skywalker by. ewgender | available on wattpad

REDEMPTION ― Han Solo by. @courscants | available on wattpad

[blackseafoam]

✨It’s not your fault✨

Cassian knew he was starting a fight he couldn’t win.

He walked down the empty brick road that opened up to the square, walled in on each side by familiar buildings. His breath shuddered in the cold as his pace quickened, leaving breath clouds trailing behind. The boy’s heart hammered, his sternum an anvil, vision blurry with red hot rage. He could feel the presence of Clem’s hanging body on the street side, though he could not bring himself to look again.

The Clone Troopers had noticed him, blasters cautiously pointed as he made his approach.

Now at a full sprint, Cassian hefted his makeshift weapon over his head and used all of his momentum to try and hit one of the soldiers wherever he could.

The trooper on the far left reached out and pushed the kid over. The swing of the club went wide and hit one of them on the vambrace, leaving a significant dent. Cassian’s back slammed on frozen brick street with a meaty thud, knocking the wind out of his lungs. He curled in on himself and tried to catch his breath, as the three troopers stood over him. One leaned down and cuffed the collar of his jacket in case he tried to make an escape, but the boy wasn’t moving for the time being.

“Command, we have a situation on Rix road, some kid just ran up and tried to hit us with a pipe.” One of the clones said into his helmet comm. A moment of silence passed as he listened to his orders, he nodded and turned to his comrades. “They said we need to… teach him a lesson and send him home.”

Cass’s breath was just starting to return to him as the three men loomed over him, the one holding his jacket lifted him up to a limp standing position.

The Andor’s apartment felt vacant, even with Maarva’s closest friends there to support her. A hollow space where Clem should’ve been standing. As she sat on her chair in the living room, it was easy to think that maybe he was just out of sight in another room. Maybe he was tinkering away at his desk while it seemed the entire town of Ferrix had come and gone all day, braving the icy walkways to bring their condolences.

When the door opened again she was expecting more visitors, not her son covered in blood, shivering and crying.

“Cassian!” Everyone leapt to their feet, even B2EMO rolled over as quickly as he could. Maarva led the boy to a seat and began looking him over.

“What happened to you C-C-Cassian?” The droid stuttered.

Cassian looked down “I… I wanted to make them sorry… for what they did to Clem.” His cheeks flushed and he shivered, clutching his arm closer to his chest. “I know it was stupid.”

Maarva sighed as she wiped the blood off his face with antiseptic gauze. Her intense worry and grief had softened. “That certainly was stupid.” She gave Cass a knowing look with the ghost of a smile.

“I’m sorry.” He winced as she cleaned a gash on his chin.

“It’s okay Kassa, I understand. It’s okay to be angry, it’s okay to want to do something about it. I’m angry too.” Maarva set the cloth down and grabbed a pair of shears, she got to work cutting away his jacket sleeve to inspect his arm. “But you could have been killed, and then I would have lost both of my boys in the same day.” Her voice choked on the end of her sentence.

“I’m sorry Maarva.”

“It’s okay Kassa”

“No, it’s not.” He sniffed and tried to hold still as the adrenaline was slowly being replaced by white hot pain in his wrist. “I could’ve stopped him. I could have told him to stay with me. I could’ve-“

“No.” Maarva put her shears down on B2’s head with a metallic snap, using the droid as a makeshift table for the first aid supplies. “Don’t ever blame yourself Kassa. It is not your fault.”

Kassa looked down at his unsleeved arm and saw just how bad the break was for the first time. His face went pale and all he could do was sob as Maarva pulled him into her embrace. They both shook as they cried.

“C-C-Cassian your arm is bent the wrong way! We mu-must find you a mechanic.” B2’s head tilted with concern and the supplies went clattering to the ground.

Maarva sighed and gave her son one more squeeze before she straightened. “He’s right, let’s get you to that mechanic before it starts to hurt worse.” She patted his shoulders before she let go and went to the door.

Cassian couldn’t even imagine his arm hurting worse than it already did, but didn’t argue as he stood and followed Maarva as she donned her heavy yellow duster jacket.

Their bootsteps echoed off the alley walls as they walked. “You should see all the treats that got dropped off today.” Maarva smiled as she squeezed her arm around Cass’s shoulder. “When we get back we’re going to sample every single one until we’re absolutely sick.” She laughed and shook his shoulder. “Does that sound good?”

Yes, that did sound good.

A.N.- I had absolutely no intentions of writing anything when sat down to post this art today. I’m rewatching Andor at the moment and completely forgot how much I LOVE Maarva and her monologue in e7. Also I am approaching my rewatch from an emotion-focused perspective, rather than action-focused like I was during my first watch, and it really packs a whole different punch. Examining what each character might be thinking rather than just following the plot. The amazing introspective moments that are told through the cinematography alone, just wonderful. Gushing over, my fingers are tired.

[callioope]

EN GARDE

A rising star in youth fencing, Jyn Erso once hoped to compete at the Olympic level, until a change of circumstances compelled her to quit unexpectedly. Three years later, she still refuses to discuss the subject, even with family and former teammates. But it’s fine. She’s found other purpose. She’s even met a guy — he’s kind, smart, talented. There’s just one problem: he’s also an Olympic-level fencer. When she breaks off their burgeoning relationship, she’s forced to confront the truth about what she’s really running from and what she really wants.

Read on AO3

[tenelkadjowrites]

I Want You Back (Cassian Andor x Reader) - NSFW

💬 Summary: When your ex-boyfriend, Cassian Andor, stumbles to your apartment wounded, it brings back not only memories of your time together but a promise of something starting anew.

💬 Word count: 12.7k

💬 Genre & warnings: one shot smut. fem pronouns for reader. exes to lovers. mentions of blood and injuries. drinking. dirty talk (a LOT of it). reader is called sweetheart a couple of times and slut once. oral sex, reader receiving. unprotected sex. creampie.

💬 Tags: @thewonderofkpop - @obligatoryidolblog - @violetwinters - (I’m not doing my usual tag list for this fic given it’s in a different fandom than usual, you can lemme know if you want to be added for any future Star Wars fics)

               You stare at the door, holding your breath, waiting. I might’ve dreamt it, you think but the way your heart is racing makes you believe otherwise. Your blaster is cold in your hands, a grim reminder of what you might have to do. The only source of light is leaking through the shuttered window in the living area. Your entire apartment complex is cramped and indoors; only artificial light can enter here.

               The knocking comes again. It is heavy, more of a thud. Your chest is like ice, your legs moving forward before your brain can stop it. Living on the outskirts of the galaxy your entire life, you know how to handle your own but that doesn’t mean you derive any pleasure from doing so.

               Your finger hovers over the trigger as your free hand slams down on the button to open the door. It glides open soundlessly –

               “Cassian?” You blink in shock at the sight of someone you never thought you’d see again in your doorway.

               He is slumped against the doorframe, one hand underneath his jacket. There is a sheen of sweat on his forehead, his hair stuck against his skin which has a sickly pallor. He looks as if he is crumbling underneath his own weight.

               Cassian tries to smile but it looks forced and pained. “Did I wake you?”

               “Uhm, yes. It’s the middle of the night,” You frown, whispering, “You look like shit.”

               “I feel like shit. Can I come in?”

               Even though he looks like hell, you hesitate. Maybe it is selfish but the last thing you feel like dealing with currently is your ex-boyfriend showing up in your new life, bringing in who knows what sort of hell with him. You had spent so long trying to forget him after things went to shit and now to find him right outside your apartment…

               Cassian moves his hand out of his jacket and you can see his fingers are smeared with blood. It dawns on you only then that he is injured. The sight of the blood kicks you into gear from years of training.

               “Hurry up before someone sees you,” The words are gruff and unpleasant but Cassian doesn’t seem to notice nor care because he lurches forward on the final bit of energy he has and is over the threshold.

               Cassian slumps forward and you catch him quickly before he can strike the floor. The door seals behind him as your blaster drops to the floor when you take on his weight. He is familiar yet different; the weight of him sturdier than in the past, his frame harder, more stubble on his chin than you’ve seen before. It is like looking at a painting through water and trying to make out all the individual bits of what makes it feel so personal.

               You manage to get Cassian successfully to the living room before his legs give out. He is splayed on the couch at an awkward angle which you have no time to adjust because you’ve scurried off to find your med kit.

               After you told Cassian that the relationship didn’t work, that the chaos burning inside him without an outlet proved to be too exhausting for you, your mind had drifted to him often in the weeks that followed. You wondered what his life was like without you around, wondered if he was happier without you and if he regretted how things went.

               It took a long time to get over him. And now here he was, bleeding all over your cramped and small living room in the middle of the night with no explanation – including how he knew that you lived here.

               Returning to Cassian, you motion to the jacket that he still has on. “Come on, I can’t see your injury with the jacket.”

               Cassian has managed to right himself in the short time you ducked out of the room. He is slumped on the couch, his head rolled back, breathing labored.

               Still, he shifts enough to shrug out of his jacket which you take gingerly, making a mental note at how it has seen better days. His black shirt is wet on one side, stuck against his skin. You sit next to him, a twinge of anxiety hitting your chest. Cassian’s eyes are closed, and the sight of this brings back a storm of old memories, none of which you want to linger on.

               “Do I even want to know what injured you?” Your voice wavers a little, betraying your nerves. Cassian would normally pick up on such a thing if he weren’t in his current state.

               “No,” is all he mumbles.

               Tentatively, you reach for his shirt, carefully peeling it upwards to expose the wound. It’s a gash, sticky with oozing blood, dark red smeared all over his abdomen. It isn’t the sight of the wound that sends your stomach churning; you work at the local clinic and have seen similar injuries more times than you can count. It is the fact it is on Cassian that makes anxiety bloom in your chest.

               “I don’t have any equipment here and I don’t have any bacta. I can try to get you to the clinic –”

               “No,” He rasps out and his hand reaches for yours. His skin is hot, too hot, and you realize he is feverish. “Too dangerous. Do what you can here.”

               “Too dangerous? Cassian, what exactly were you doing before you got here? How did you even know where I lived?”

               But his head has rolled back against the couch, eyes fluttering closed, too weak to reply. Knowing that you would get no answers now, all you can do is go to work on the wound and hope for the best. Exhaling slowly, you study Cassian’s face for a moment, your chest constricting. You hadn’t ever allowed yourself to think about what it would be like to see him again.

               Your time with Cassian was a flurry, the sort of passion and romance that normally didn’t apply to your life. But there was a wildness with Cassian that at the same time meant it was impossible to pin him down. He had no desire for cozy nights in, always on the move as if there were a target on his back, running from his past and sidelining his future. Eventually, it grew more exhausting to deal with that versus the passion, sex and love you felt for him.

               But that didn’t erase history nor did it erase your feelings for him. As you work, your mind flashes through a set of memories: seeing Cassian when you were introduced to him, the expression on his face when first kissing you, the way he’d slink into the apartment in the dead of night after doing universe knows what, how he would storm out in the morning when the two of you would fight again, the sex that would follow, only for the cycle to start again. Cassian seemed empty and even your love couldn’t fill it – a hard lesson to learn and one that ultimately ended with you leaving.

               And now…

               Well, now, it is up to you to make sure your ex-boyfriend makes it through the night.

*

               At some point after patching Cassian up to the best of your ability, you doze off next to him. The next time your eyes open, you aren’t sure what time it is and for a split second, you can’t remember how you ended up on the couch.

               But the sight of Cassian brings the memories flooding back, the adrenaline hitting as if you just drank some caf. To your relief, his breathing has steadied. Gingerly, you reach out to touch his forehead. He’s still a little too warm but not as feverish as a few hours ago. Your fingers linger there and you gently push some of his hair off his forehead, studying his face. You wish that there wasn’t this tidal wave of emotions when looking at him, no feelings of fondness, no memories to contend with.

               Cassian stirs and your hand flies back to your lap. You hope he didn’t catch your moment of tenderness because you aren’t sure that he would let you live it down. You’re the one that left me, you could hear him say and it sounds so real in your head that you can feel yourself withdrawing.

               He shifts slightly as his eyes open groggily. You are busying yourself with the medical kit, getting ready to change the bandage on the wound, knowing that it is a serious injury and needs a lot of tending to. You are aware of Cassian’s eyes on your back, a sensation so familiar that it makes a shiver roll down your spine.

               “How are you feeling?” You ask curtly.

               “Like shit,” He mumbles.

               “You still have a fever. Here, you need another round of medication.” The glass of water is still on the table and you turn to face Cassian, thrusting it at him.

               He reaches out and the tips of his fingers brush against your skin. The touch, so minor it is nothing, knocks your insides apart, your heart banging like a gong in your chest.

               “I don’t remember…” He takes a swig of the water, stopping to get the medication from you and then takes another gulp, “Don’t remember much.”

               “You showed up bleeding all over my front door. I need to change your bandage now.”

               “Is it bad?”

               “Well, you’re doing a better now than last night so I think you’ll live but the wound can still get infected and your fever hasn’t diminished as much as I would like.”

               For some reason, you cannot bring yourself to look at Cassian directly. On top of that, examining him while he’s basically unconscious is one thing. But having him awake and semi-alert as you do so makes you jittery. Gingerly, you reach out, raising up his shirt just enough to expose the bandaged wound. You’re trying not to think about all the times you held onto him here when he fucked you, trying not to remember how he sounded when he was –

               “Like old times, huh?”

               Your thoughts shatter, quickly flicking your gaze upwards at his face. He’s teasing me, you think half in wonder and half in frustration. You were hoping for more time before Cassian brought up the past even with a small sentence like that.

               “You mean when I’d patch you up after a bar fight?” You look away, back to tending to the wound, gently peeling the bandage off.

               Cassian winces as it tugs at his skin while going, “Always wanted someone who could patch me up for free.”

               “Old habits die hard,” You reply wryly, examining the injury closely although you can feel his eyes on you, “You going to explain how you knew where I lived? Or what happened to injure you like this?”

               It still looks bad, you muse, disliking the shiny tautness of the skin around the wound. If only you had some bacta gel…but there is none in your apartment, having used it all up on a small child who got injured in the complex two weeks ago.

               There is a pause as Cassian considers what to say. You know he is debating lying because the tiny bits of himself he allows others to see are not given freely. You once had access but in the passing of the years, you don’t know what he feels comfortable with anymore. Cassian is good at gambling, drinking, burying his feelings in the search for fun, in the search for something to blot out the burning in his heart that seemed to spill out of him in a rage against the universe. You have no clue if that’s changed, how much he’s changed, but when your gaze shifts to meet his, the silence seems to grow longer.

               “It’s better if you don’t know,” He settles on, a finality in his tone that brokers no further conversation.

               You never heeded the tone before and you won’t now. “Are you mixed up in something bad? You piss someone off?”

               “I told you, it’s safer if you don’t know.”

               “No, you said it’s better if I don’t know. Now you’re telling me that it’s safer.”

               You are examining the wound, fingers touching his bare skin, still wishing for bacta gel. You aren’t convinced it isn’t going to get infected by the look of it. Cassian is quiet again. There is something more withdrawn about him now than before although you chalk it up to the breakup.

              When he doesn’t reply, you go, “I should really get you down to the clinic and do some proper work on this injury. You still have a fever and I can’t tell if the wound is getting infected. On top of that, it could heal slowly, possibly leave a scar.”

              “No,” The word comes out harsh and fast, “No, I’ll stay here.”

Narrowing your eyes, you ask, “Why? Why can’t you come to the clinic?”

              “I came here for discretion. Not to be paraded through the town square to the clinic.”

              “No one is parading you around, Cassian,” You frown, “What aren’t you telling me?”

              “You can bring supplies from the clinic, can’t you? Or are there checkpoints? Will they question you about bringing things from the clinic?”

               His tone is leaving you more confused than ever. There is an urgency and roughness to the questions that make you worry Cassian is in over his head although you can’t imagine what a security checkpoint would have to do with anything.

              “Typically, no there aren’t checkpoints.”

              “There might be today,” He says grimly, “I’ll wait for you.”

               “What aren’t you telling me?” You demand yet again.

               To your surprise, Cassian reaches out for your hand. He grips it tightly, sending a jolt through your skin that seems to sizzle. He is looking at you urgently and for a split second, you grow fearful that he has truly gotten in over his head.

               “The less you know the better. Will you trust me on this? It’s for your safety.”

               You want to argue that Cassian doesn’t get to decide what keeps you safe or not. But his eyes, those puppy dog eyes that have driven you around the bend more than once in both sex and arguments, brings you up short. Instead of fighting, you nod once indicating that the conversation is shelved…for now.

               He relaxes, leaning back against the couch, eyes closing. His grip on your hand lessens, allowing you to go back to work on doing what you can to clean up the wound and change the bandages before you deem the work complete, standing up.

               “I’ll head to the clinic now and come back as quickly as I can. I’m worried about infection settling in if I don’t get some bacta on it,” You grab your jacket, hurriedly getting ready, wondering how quickly you can make the trip.

               Cassian says your name softly, drawing your attention. It is strange to see him on the couch; you never once thought that he would be in your new apartment. He has tugged his shirt back down, his skin still looking a little pale. For the first time it hits you that if he hadn’t come to your place last night, where would he have gone? It’s clear that he didn’t want to go to any sort of medical bay or even your clinic. If he wasn’t here, would he be dying in an alleyway somewhere? The thought leaves a bitter taste of fear in your mouth.

               “Be careful,” is all he says before closing his eyes.

               You give one last look at him and leave.

*

               The walk to the clinic makes it immediately evident that there is something going on. There are imperial patrols on every street, the layer of fear across the city is like a thick cloak, and there are more security checkpoints than ever.

               But how did Cassian know? The thought bangs around in your brain the entire walk to the clinic which takes double the amount of time it should. By the time you arrive, your nerves are on edge and you’re in no mood for small talk.

               The clinic is quiet this late morning with just one medic on duty, patching up someone’s broken arm. The patient is complaining loudly when you enter.

               “Asshole shoved me so hard that I toppled down the flight of stairs by the market. And did nothing about it, didn’t even stop to make sure I was okay! We get punished because some captives escaped?”

               As you shrug out of your jacket and your coworker says hi, you say, “Who escaped?”

               “You didn’t hear?” That patient’s tone is seething, “Where have you been all morning?”

               “Asleep,” You reply curtly, not in the mood to bicker with a stranger, “I don’t work today, just forgot something here.”

               Your coworker looks up from the man’s arm and explains, “Someone broke out that small group of rebels being held at the garrison up near the city entrance late last night. They were supposed to be transferred this morning but now they are just scattered to the wind.”

               You are thankful that your back is to your coworker and the patient because your face is unable to mask the surprise as your stomach swoops.

               Trying to keep your voice as neutral as possible, you reply, “We’re expected to believe just one person broke them out of the garrison?”

               “Apparently.”

               The patient makes a noise of disbelief. “No way the person survived. I heard they got him pretty good but he managed to limp out of there and they lost him in the city. He’s probably dying somewhere and they’ll find his body soon enough. He’s the reason these stormtroopers are all riled up, pushing people around and breaking my arm.”

               “Please stay still so I can finish,” Your coworker sounds a little bitter, adding on, “Regardless of who broke them out, the rebels got away and now we have to deal with the repercussions.”

               The blood rushing to your head is very loud. You take a steady breath, packing a few items in a small cloth bag and sneaking some more in the inside pockets of your jacket. If they know Cassian is wounded, these items might raise some red flags. You suddenly understand why Cassian couldn’t leave your apartment and why he told you to be careful.

               “Alright, well, I got what I needed. Told myself I’d organize all my medical supplies at my place today and naturally I forgot some,” Your voice is casual as if the extra security and escaped rebels mean nothing to you.

               “They’ll find the rebels soon enough. Where will they go without running into a blockade? I don’t think the person breaking them out had any sort of proper plan. Just wanted to stick it to the Empire.” The patient is still babbling and every word about Cassian is starting to make your clothing feel itchy against your skin.

               Slipping your jacket back on, you smile blandly at your coworker. “I’ll be around more tomorrow.”

               “Bye,” They reply, too focused on the fact the patient won’t keep still.

               Leaving the room, you take a moment to collect yourself in the hallway. The idea of Cassian helping rebels escape, the same Cassian who seemed more likely to drink and gamble the night away, is a difficult one to wrap your head around. But there is no other explanation for him showing up injured on top of his secrecy.

               You feel a flicker of anger in your chest that he has brought this situation upon you without your permission. You had been living quietly for all this time and now every moment with him around threatens to undo that. But what is the other option? Kicking him out to be caught by the Empire? No, you couldn’t do that, not to him of all people.

               Exiting the building, you know that any strange expression on your face, any tension in your shoulders could spark a stormtrooper’s interest in you. Exhaling slowly, you try to keep your breathing steady as the walk home begins. You are hoping to look as nonchalant as possible, someone who is so used to imperial rule that you don’t really question the extra patrols or random security checks. A group of escaped rebels has nothing to do with you.

               You are about five minutes from the apartment complex when a security checkpoint before the main entrance into the residential area pops into view. Cursing underneath your breath, you know that to turn around now would only catch their attention. The checkpoint hadn’t been there when you left.

               Standing in line, you try to keep your face devoid of worry, coming up with your story about the medical supplies. They know Cassian is wounded. You think of the bacta gel hidden in your pockets. They’re going to question me.

               When it is finally your turn, your heart is pounding and the palms of your hands are sweaty. Even so, you maintain an even tone when asked for your name.

               One stormtrooper is running your credentials as another begins to search your bag.

               “What do you need these for?” He asks, the helmet modulating his voice.

               “I work at the clinic in the square,” You explain patiently, “I just keep some at home for emergencies and I like to replenish my supplies every few weeks.”

               “Why?” He demands.

               “Records are clean,” says the other stormtrooper.

               “You never know when an emergency could hit. What if there is no possibility of getting to the clinic? All of us have our own kits in our places for times like that. We usually keep a small travel pack on us as well that needs replenishing.” You slip your hand into your inner jacket, pulling out the health kit from the pocket, hoping that it will be enough to stop them from poking around your pockets.

               It is difficult to know what the stormtrooper is thinking as he studies the kit in the palm of your hand. You feel a little ill, unsure what to do if he wants to question you further. But the line behind you has grown as people are grumbling about the new checkpoint.

               You want to keep talking but are aware that will only make you look as if there is something to hide. Remaining silent after your explanation, you wait.

               “Records did say she works at the clinic,” The other stormtrooper remarks as if to prod things along.

               Another moment passes. He’s not going to believe me, not with the timing –

               “Fine, go.” He jerks his head towards the residential district.

               You nod, making sure to keep the speed of your walk the same, putting your health kit back in your jacket. You can feel the stormtrooper’s gaze linger on you almost as if he regrets letting you pass. Something is tickling at his brain, some question he wants to ask, but it is obvious the other stormtrooper doesn’t see it as he does and wants to focus on the line forming instead.

               Once you push past the doors, your shoulders slouch a little, your pace quickening. All you want to do is get back to your apartment. The fear that is hanging over the city today is much worse than usual. It is like the escape of the rebels is going to be made everyone’s problem.

               The interior of the complex is flooded with the usual ugly, harsh lighting that your eyes have grown accustomed to. It has many floors, with the small apartments shoved close to one another to hold as many people as possible. The building is run down but overall clean. Every hallway is identical and it is a wonder Cassian stumbled around here and ended up at your place without being caught or reported.

               You arrive at your apartment, stepping inside. You hear a familiar sound, immediately causing you to pull out the blaster hidden in one of your pockets, raising it –

               Only to see it is Cassian with his own raised. He immediately relaxes upon seeing you.

               “Are you trying to kill me?” You snap, your tension leaking out into your words as the door seals behind you.

               “Had to make sure it was you.”

               He is standing but his legs look wobbly. The entire trip couldn’t have taken more than an hour but he still doesn’t look well. Lowering the blaster, you hurry over to Cassian, ushering him back to the couch, plucking his own weapon from his hand.

               Cassian slumps back onto the couch, wincing slightly as he sits, his hand going to his side. As you empty out the medical supplies, you cannot stop from biting out, “Were you going to tell me that you helped rebels escape? Or just bring this hell on me without any warning?”

               Cassian is eyeing you carefully, weighing his words. You are frustrated, not only by the situation but this version of your ex that is brand new, doing things you never dreamt he could do.

               Unable to stop yourself, the words tumble from your mouth. “Did you think I wouldn’t hear of it? Someone breaking out a bunch of rebels, getting wounded and losing stormtroopers in the city? Did you think I wouldn’t figure it out? There was a checkpoint before the residential district and I think it was only my clean record that got me through because the stormtrooper didn’t seem entirely convinced I needed these supplies just to restock.” Your hands are shaking, you realize, as one of the bacta gels tumble out of your hand and lands loudly on the table. “You just show up here – I haven’t heard from you in years and you think it’s okay to just – fuck, Cassian, did you think at all of what this was going to bring down on me?”

               The last sentence makes his eyes blaze, leaning forward, his voice hot. “You think I wanted to show up here in the middle of the night? That I didn’t consider other options? I had nowhere else to go that would offer safety and someone to make sure I didn’t die in the street!”

               “How did you even know I lived here?! What are you wrapped up in that you’re not telling me?!” Your voice is too loud – dimly, you are aware that it should be softer but your agitation is clouding your brain.

               Cassian grits his teeth, his hand going to his wound, momentarily thrown off by a burst of pain. You sit down next to him, pulling the medical kit into your lap while gesturing to him wildly.

               “Take off your shirt, I need to clean this out again. Properly this time,” You take a deep breath, lowering your voice, trying to collect yourself, “And as I do so, you’re going to explain everything going on.”

               Cassian goes to pull his shirt off but when he lifts up his arm with the wounded side, he winces, inhaling sharply through his teeth. You reach out, helping him remove it, refusing to let your brain bring back memories of late nights involving the same motion for very different reasons.

               Even so, the sight of Cassian shirtless leaves you briefly flustered and then surprised at the various markings along his arm, some along his abdomen that you hadn’t noticed in the hustle and bustle of tending to the injury prior. A lot of injuries, a lot of scars, a lot of stories here that started after I left. Who is this man in front of you? It no longer feels like your ex at all.

               He is looking at you steadily, watching your expression change as you take in the sight of him before he finally says, “You already know the answer to everything you’re wondering.”

               “Do you know how dangerous it is?”

               “I do.”

               “You’re lucky that you didn’t die last night. To break into the garrison like that and come out alive…”

               “Because of you,” He shifts slightly, just enough so that he is angled towards you. “I had no plans to see you. I just knew your location as a final emergency plan. I didn’t think I’d use it.”

               You want to ask more – how Cassian got swept up in working for the rebellion, why he did so, how much danger is he in regularly – but all the questions seem pointless. Cassian had always been restless, running from the past, ignoring the future. Maybe he just figured out that it was time to stop running. Perhaps it is selfish against the greater cause but you wish he decided to stop running and become a moisture farmer or something instead of a rebel spy leaping into dangerous situations.

               Cassian’s voice is soft but firm as he continues speaking, “There were a few more guards at the garrison than our intel originally said. By the time I lost them, I knew I was too injured to go to the rendezvous point. You were the closest person I could get medical assistance from. I didn’t intend to put you in danger or pull you into anything.”

               “I know,” You mumble, leaning forward to begin working on his injury, “I just was scared from the checkpoint.”

               “I didn’t think they would tighten security so hard.”

               “They think you’re still in the city and that you’re dying in a ditch somewhere, easy to find and finish off. Let’s just hope they don’t figure out your identity because they’ll come knocking here first thing.”

               Cassian chews on this silently. For a little while there is no noise other than you cleaning out the injury carefully, smearing a goop of bacta gel on top of it and watching it do its work. You feel a tingle of relief knowing that Cassian will recover now without the worry of infection.

               “That was a nasty wound,” You remark to finally break the silence, “What happened? Didn’t look like just a blaster bullet.”

               “Got nicked by a blaster and then lost my footing, slammed into something sharp, don’t know what it was. Things were a little too frantic to tell and my vision went white. Rest of that is a blur,” He hesitates, “I barely remember making the conscious decision to come here.”

               “Old habits die hard, right?” You quote from the morning.

               The corners of Cassian’s mouth twist upwards for a moment in an almost smile. “You always were good at patching me up.”

               Your cheeks grow warm, much to your embarrassment. Still, you brush the comment off by going, “Well, this was a little more complicated than any of your silly bar fights.”

               “Even so, you still took care of it.”

               His tone sounds serious now and unable to help yourself, you look at him. It is strange being this close to Cassian again and the fact he is shirtless now truly hits you. All the memories you attempted to fend off come flooding back – the times you’d be in his lap, your fingers grazing along his shoulders, his lips on your neck, his hands pressing against your lower back as he would talk dirty. No one ever quite spoke as filthy as Cassian did, no one could ever make you finish just from talking to you in the manner he did.

               But that was the old Cassian, the one who wasn’t working for the rebellion, the one who was in love with you.

               “Well, if I ever show up at your doorstep wounded, I expect the same treatment.”

               This time he does actually laugh a little, that familiar twinkle in his eyes making your stomach twist. “I don’t think you’d want that. You and I both know my hands aren’t good for that sort of thing.”

               The comment knocks the wind out of you. Is Cassian flirting? Or is he simply deflecting? It is difficult to know what he means by such a thing. All you know for sure is that it makes your heart skip a beat and you hate that it does.

               “Well, the bacta gel should help a lot, on top of rest and medication. Hope you don’t have any plans because you’re going to be here for a few days.” You stand up, eager to remove yourself from the close proximity of him.

               “By that time, they’ll figure I escaped the city and will ease restrictions enough I can slip out.”

               “What happened to the others? None have been recaptured.”

               “I got confirmation they made it to the rendezvous point. I was the only one who didn’t,” Cassian looks a little awkward before adding, “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable and I’m sorry if I am while staying here.”

               “I won’t lie, it is…different having you back, Cass,” The old nickname slips out and you curse inwardly, “It isn’t as if we’ve been talking since things ended. But I’m not going to kick you out in the street to get snatched up by the Empire either.”

               He looks relieved. “I appreciate it.”

               “Yeah, well…” You trail off, not knowing what to say, “You should get some sleep. It’ll help you heal.”

               Cassian nods, stretching out on the couch. He doesn’t even ask for a blanket which only makes you wonder what sort of sleeping conditions he’s had over the past few years. “Good idea.”

               You turn around to head into your room, digging around for a few seconds before pulling an old blanket out of a drawer. But by the time you come back to Cassian, he is fast asleep. Clearly, the injury is still taking it’s toll on him.

               Standing awkwardly in the living room, the fabric of the blanket soft against your fingers, you stare at your ex on the couch. He hadn’t put his shirt back on and his pants are riding low on his hips. Visually arrested by the sight, you are aware that you’re staring. But your feet are rooted to the spot. How many times have you seen Cassian sleep like this? Hundreds, surely.

               But Cassian is different now; physically he is in better shape with scars across his skin and mentally he is more focused and driven on something you didn’t think he’d ever topple into. There is no crossing the living room and waking him up with kisses, not anymore.

               Quietly, you place the blanket on the table next to Cassian and go to your room, needing some space from him and the memories.

*

               The next three days involve you trying to spend as little time around Cassian as possible. You spend long hours at the clinic, checking on Cassian before your shift and before bed. Conversations are to a minimum, time with him as short as possible because you grow fearful that the memories are going to blur your present. Your time with him is done and finished. There is no going back, especially now that Cassian is swept up in the rebellion.

               One of the driving factors of leaving him was that you needed some sort of emotional stability with the person you’re with. Cassian, with the fire burning in his chest and no focus for it, proved to be too chaotic of a fit for what you wanted. There would be no such emotional stability with Cassian, a hard truth to swallow.

               That’s what you tell yourself every night before going to sleep anyway. In the late nights where you can hear Cassian unable to sleep, occasionally caving and watching one of the holos you have, your mind wanders to memories and a warm desire in between your legs. You wish that your body still didn’t respond to the way he looked at you or that just the casual way he hands you a cup of caf in the morning didn’t remind you of all the previous ones spent together.

               To make matters worse, you are positive that the amount of anguish Cassian is experiencing from being around you is close to zero. Sure, it was evident the first day or so that he felt a little awkward. But now, he acted at ease in every conversation.

               Of course, Cassian had always been an excellent liar, something that would have been honed if he was running around with the rebellion.

               All you knew was that if you had to see him shirtless one more time, you might actually lose it.

*

               “It’s healing well and your mobility has improved a lot,” You say one evening, after a twelve hour shift at the clinic, “In a couple of days, you should be good to go. Well, ‘good to go’ as in mostly recovered, not walk out right into a group of stormtroopers.”

               Cassian moves his arm a little, leaving you thankful that his shirt is on for this checkup. He then tugs down his shirt to cover the injury. “How is it out there?”

               “Loosening up, going back to the regular number of patrols. Give it a day or two and I think they’ll be shifting to scour outside the city for you. There are rumors you escaped,” You hesitate and then ask, “Where are you going to go?”

               “It’s better for you not to know. You already know more than I am comfortable with in regards to your safety.” He stands up, moving towards the tiny kitchen.

               You bite down hard on your bottom lip, swallowing all the other questions you want to ask. His logic makes sense but suddenly the idea of Cassian vanishing into the void makes you feel…well, you aren’t sure.

               Cassian rummaging around in the kitchen draws you out of your thoughts, going to join him. “Can I ask why you’re going through my kitchen?”

               “Was looking for, ah, here it is,” He pulls out a bottle of whiskey that you didn’t even remember buying, “Looking for some sort of alcohol. Although I didn’t think you’d own this.”

               “You’re drinking?”

               “Sure,” He replies, “Where are your glasses?”

               Clicking your tongue against the roof of your mouth, you push past him, getting a couple. He arches one eyebrow slightly at the sight of two.

               “You never liked whiskey.” He shakes the bottle a little, looking perplexed.

               “That was over five years ago. Things change.” Your tone is pointed.

               His gaze lingers on your face for a few seconds before going, “I suppose they do.”

               And Cassian pours the whiskey into both glasses.

*

               Three hours later, you are very drunk.

               One drink led to another, loosening the awkward feeling around Cassian into one of familiarity. The alcohol wiped clean the fact Cassian now worked with the rebellion, wiped out the fear of hiding him in your apartment, wiped out even the breakup five years ago.

               At some point during the drinking, you’ve ended up on the floor with your back against the couch. Cassian is next to you, one hand around his whiskey glass although he is slumped forward a little from laughing too hard. Your body is warm all over, a combination of the booze and being next to him.

               “Why are you laughing?” You demand even though you’re laughing as well.

               “Because the look on your face when I lied to the shopkeeper – I still see it so clearly,” Cassian manages to say in between laughing at the memory of some random drunken incident from a long time ago.

               “You’re supposed to let me in on the lies not allow me to walk right into them,” You scold before taking another sip of the whiskey which burns on the way down.

               Cassian rubs his eyes to wipe the tears that formed from laughing for too long and looks at you. “You’re right, you’re right,” He pauses for a moment and adds, “I guess I broke that rule again, didn’t I?”

               “Yes!” You sit up straighter, ready to lecture him, “You should’ve told me!”

               “I didn’t exactly have a lot of time to,” He points out although the edges of his words are slurred from too much drinking, “The whole…injury and fever.”

               You nudge him with your shoulder, “The next morning then. Before I went to the clinic.”

               “I was afraid about the checkpoints,” The earlier laughter from his voice is gone, and he looks serious now, “It was safer for you not to know much.”

               Logically, you know Cassian is right. But you’re too drunk for logic. “I figured I was shut out of things. Of knowing things about your life. Because of what happened between us.”

               Had you moved closer to Cassian or had he moved closer to you? Things were difficult to keep straight while clouded with this much booze. Either way, the two of you are close now, as close as possible without touching. You can see the stubble grazing his jawline, the tension in his shoulders that he still carries even now, the way his hair curls slightly against the back of his neck. All familiar, all off limits.

               “No,” Cassian’s voice has dropped to a whisper, “You’re not shut out of things. I just didn’t want you in danger.”

               “But you’re in danger,” Your words are mushy in your mouth, difficult to get out, “You’re the one going against the Empire.”

               “I chose that. I didn’t want to bring you into something without you deciding if it was wanted.”

               “We don’t get a choice with the Empire,” You mumble, “Either we go along with the tide to make it easier on ourselves or we try to swim against it. But the Empire in our lives isn’t a choice. It just is.”

               You have no idea if what you said makes any sense. But Cassian’s gaze grows troubled. He moves slightly and his hand that was on the floor suddenly touches yours. His skin is warm to the touch and before you can stop yourself, you curl your fingers around his hand.

               “You should come with me,” He says so quietly that you have to lean even closer to make out the words, “We need medics. We need people like you.”

               “I’m not cut out for that sort of thing, Cass.”

               “Yes, you are,” He says firmly.

               “Besides, what would that mean? Being around you all the time?” The words flow too easily, loosened by the whiskey, “Seeing you all the time?”

               His thumb is grazing the top of your hand now. The small touch is making your head light. You don’t think you’ve ever wanted Cassian more than you have at this moment. But you have no right to him. He is not a part of your life any longer.

               “Would that be so bad?” He teases, his voice dropping an octave.

               The tone is reminiscent, too reminiscent of what Cassian would sound like before he kissed you. Your body is screaming for him. All thoughts of rebellion and the Empire are washed away with the pure desire that is overwhelming your senses.

               Your foreheads are practically touching, lips so close that it would be simple to kiss him. Fucking Cassian had always been the best sex of your life. He knew exactly what you liked, knew exactly how to get you off and fuck, he had a mouth on him that would –

               Cassian suddenly pulls away, giving a small shake of his head as if breaking the surface of the water. Shocked, you remain frozen in place, wondering what just happened.

               “We’ve both been drinking,” He says in a shaky voice, “We both aren’t thinking clearly.”

               You feel wounded at the rejection, your feelings hurt even if a tiny sober part of you is trying to yell that Cassian is correct in neither one of you thinking clearly.  

               But you refuse to let him know the impact almost kissing him had on you nor the sting of rejection. Pulling your hand away from his, you try to breezily say, “True. I don’t think I’m cut out for the rebellion but I appreciate the sales pitch.”

               On wobbly legs, you manage to stand, looking down at Cassian. There is an expression behind his beautiful eyes that you cannot make out but your brain is too hazy to do so anyway.

               “I should get some sleep. Goodnight, Cass.”

               Cassian, for once, doesn’t have any witty retort or casual goodnight. You leave in silence, wanting nothing more than to have him again but knowing he doesn’t want the same.

*

               In the harsh morning light, you want to hide under the blankets forever given your memory of the night before. The drunken camaraderie had been one thing, even Cassian discussing the rebellion with you was understandable but the almost kiss…

               You’re standing under the hot water of the shower, letting it run over your skin in an attempt to batter your headache away. You weren’t scheduled for a shift at the clinic today and Cassian could not yet leave. You don’t know how to spend an entire day around him. You could come up with an excuse to head out for the day but the idea of dodging stormtroopers and dealing with that anxiety doesn’t seem ideal either.

               By the time you’re out of the shower, mostly dry and changed in clean clothes, you’re dying for some caf. Taking a deep breath, you step out of your room. Cassian is in the kitchen, his hair mussy from sleep, looking over in your direction sleepily.

               “Did you just wake up?” You ask.

               He nods, stifling a yawn. “I think I feel well enough to use your shower, if that’s okay.”

               “Yeah, of course.”

               “I was making some caf,” He presses the button to turn the machine on, “I haven’t drank that much in ages.”

               “Me either and now I remember why I stopped,” You rub your forehead, wishing to be rid of the headache.

               Cassian seems to hesitant for a moment before changing his mind on whatever he planned on saying, instead going, “I’ll take that shower now.”

               He walks by you quickly, almost as if he is scurrying. Could it be he’s embarrassed about last night? Surely not. More than likely, he is embarrassed for you and the fact you almost kissed your ex. Grabbing a mug, you get the caf, standing by the counter and losing yourself in thoughts of Cassian, the past and how he could still elicit such a reaction out of you.

               You aren’t sure how long your mind wanders because the next second, Cassian calls out from your bedroom, “Do you have any clothes I could borrow that might fit me?”

               “Maybe in the bottom right drawer? I don’t know,” You reply.

               There is some rummaging around in your room and then a few minutes later he comes out. The sight of him makes you laugh and he looks perturbed.

               “Don’t,” He warns.

               “The pajama bottoms are okay but that shirt is way too small for you.”

               Cassian looks down at himself. The shirt is probably two sizes too small, sticking to him like a second skin, showing off his toned chest in a manner that would be districting if he didn’t look so ridiculous. He scowls, crossing the room to get some caf.

               “I didn’t pack any overnight clothes for the breakout, silly me,” He mumbles.

               “We can clean your little rebellion uniform today so you’re not wearing that all day.”

               Cassian’s hair is still wet from the shower, his back to you as he drinks his caf. He makes a noise of irritation and rolls his shoulders uncomfortably which only shows off his muscles.

               “Forget it,” He finally says to himself and then begins to try to remove the too tight shirt off him.

               He manages to get it successfully almost over his shoulders before it is too tight to fully yank off. Even though Cassian being stuck in the shirt is funny, you grow concerned about him opening his wound and go over to help. Reaching up, you successfully pull the shirt off.

               “I’ll just wait until my clothes are cleaned,” He says with an annoyed shake of his head.

               You are holding the shirt in your hands, trying not to stare at him casually drinking caf in your kitchen while shirtless. You couldn’t handle Cassian drunk, you couldn’t handle him sober – and you had been the one to end the relationship, for fucks sake.

               Maybe you are giving off an awkward energy or something because he glances over at you, back at his mug and then back at you. He then puts the mug down with a heavy thunk, moving in your direction.

               “What?” He asks.

               “Nothing.”

               “You keep looking at me like that.”

               “Like what?”

               Cassian is close to you now but this time you’re both sober. You are clenching the shirt in your hands so tightly that you worry about tearing the fabric. Cassian’s chest, covered in large and small scars, tell a story that you have no knowledge of, indisputable proof of the passage of time you play no part in – but the worst part is that you find yourself wanting to know all the stories.

               Cassian places one hand on either side of you, gripping the counter. The warmth of his body and seeing him shirtless seems to spark an awakening once more in your body. Your thighs clench and the shirt in your hands becomes some sort of shield between the two of you.

               “Like you detest me being here but also can’t stop thinking about me,” He says gruffly, his eyes dropping to look at your lips, his eyelashes wet smears against his skin.

               “That’s not true,” You lie weakly.

               “Is that why you wanted to kiss me last night?” He says ruthlessly.

               You want to melt into the floor and are momentarily struck silent. You don’t know how to respond because your desire for him is blocking out all rational thought. You desperately want to touch Cassian, just to feel his skin underneath your hands, to have his lips on yours once again.

               He keeps going, “But you’re the one that ended things, remember?”

               “I remember,” You try to make your voice like stone but it sounds frail to your ears, “Don’t act like I don’t remember. You make it sound as if the choice were easy for me, as if it didn’t eat me up inside.”

               Cassian leans forward, still not touching you. You think that he is going to discuss the breakup further, talk about how painful it was and how it felt to end things after all the ups and downs.

Instead, as his lips hover just above your ear, he whispers, “Tell me, has anyone fucked you as good as I did since we broke up?”

               Your eyes close tightly, your pussy growing wet. His impact on you is dizzying. You hadn’t realized just what he could do to you until after things ended and you slept with others. None had been like Cassian.

               “Have any of them figured out what makes you tick? Did any of them realize what really gets you off is a dirty mouth?” His lilting accent mixed with his own desire is enough to make you crumble and beg for him.

               “Cass, I…” You swallow hard, trying your best to form a sentence.

               “I could hear you tossing and turning last night,” His voice is still a whisper, “Were you remembering all the times I fucked you? All the times I used my mouth to make you cum?”

               You’re so turned on that it is impossible to think clearly. Cassian has always used his clever mind to come up with the most filthy dirty talk anyone has ever spoken to you, something that no one has even been able to live up against. You just had assumed that you never would hear him talk like this again.

               You manage to wrangle enough brainpower to go, “You wanted to kiss me last night too, didn’t you? That’s why you’re trying to fuck me right now.”

               Cassian moves away from your ear. For a second, you wonder if you’ve pushed things too far – hilarious, given the way he is talking to you – but the expression on his face shows otherwise. He is looking at you with pure lust, those gorgeous brown eyes of his so familiar in the way they study your face. His hair is drying slowly, forming those small curls that you’ve grabbed ahold of when he would go down on you.

               Yes, the universe knows that you broke up with Cassian. But would it be so wrong to throw that out the window for the day and fuck him?

               “You broke up with me, remember?” He repeats carefully, studying your face, “I never stopped wanting you.”

               With that declaration, you throw caution out the window, bringing your arms around his neck to pull him in to kiss you. Your lips crush against his as your fingers go to his wet hair, giving it a sharp tug. Cassian groans in your mouth, a sound so familiar that it threatens to devour your head entirely with passion. Your skin is tingling, each nerve in your body awake from a long sleep without him.

               You love the taste of him in your mouth and the way his hands press on your lower back so that you are pushed against him. You can feel his desperation, echoing past times of kissing like this. But there is something a little different in Cassian’s kisses now – an edge that speaks to the sort of life he lives now. Danger at every corner, unsure of what the next morning would bring, and how to deal with whatever happens – it shows through his kisses that now have an urgency and wild undercurrent to them.

               The two of you are stumbling towards the bedroom, the caf forgotten. Cassian pulls off your shirt and it lands somewhere in the living room. He is stiff against your thigh as he kisses you again, nipping at your bottom lip with his teeth. The back of your legs strike your bed frame and you lose your footing, landing on the bed.

               Cassian doesn’t waste any time, undressing you until you’re just in a flimsy pair of underwear. His lips drag against every inch of your skin, his hands electric against your body. He bites down on one your nipples just to make you gasp.

               “You remember the one night you wore that tiny dress at the cantina and teased me for hours?” He says as he fondles your tits, his thumbs grazing your nipples.

               You did. You thought Cassian was going to bring you home and fuck the hell out of you which is not…exactly what happened.

               He keeps going, “And by the end of the night, you were the one begging for me to fuck you.”

               Cassian is pulling your underwear off now, tossing them over his shoulder and gently spreading your legs apart. You remember quite clearly how the night went and what he did –

               “What did I tell you when we got home that night?” He prompts and when you open your mouth to reply, he talks along with you, “I said I could make you cum with two licks of my tongue against your clit. And I did, didn’t I?”

               The memory makes your cheeks hot. At the time, you thought it was typical Cassian bravado. But your orgasm had been so intense that you didn’t doubt he could do such a thing again now.

               His hands are rubbing your thighs, very slowly as if there is all the time in the world now to talk to you. “I’ve improved since then so…I think I can make you cum with one lick.”

               You scoff, unable to help your bewilderment. “That’s ridiculous even for you.”

               Cassian’s grin is so fast that you may have imagined it if you didn’t know him like you do. He straightens up, keeping his hands on your knees so that you’re spread in front of him. His hair is a little messy from the way you grabbed it during all the kissing, his broad shoulders and well toned chest enough to make you want to beg for him just to skip to fucking you.

               But you know that he would never do such a thing because he derives too much pleasure in watching you squirm underneath him, too much pleasure in running his mouth off.

               “Is that so?” He asks, “Because unless you’ve changed a lot in the past few years, I know that all you need is me talking to get you to cum.”

               You don’t reply because what is there to refute? Cassian had always been able to get you off the hardest when he talked dirty, seemingly knowing every word that pressed your buttons the most and made you cum the strongest. No one else figured that out – fuck, you weren’t even aware of it yourself until dating him.

               And you’d be lying if you didn’t admit how much it was missed.

               “Your pussy is still as pretty as I remember it,” He says almost affectionally, “I wonder if it will still feel as good wrapped around my cock. I used to love when you’d sit in my lap with my cock buried in your hole, remember that?” You breath catches at the memory: the way you would rock your hips against him as his fingers would trail down across your back until neither one could wait any longer and you’d start bouncing in his lap.

               Cassian is thinking of that too judging by the way he runs one finger down along your inner thigh, watching the way you shiver. “You know what makes your pussy look even prettier?” He doesn’t wait for your answer. “When it’s filled with my load, leaking my cum. And it always did, didn’t it? Because I made sure to fill up your pretty pussy every time you begged for it.”

               It’s striking you just how much you missed Cassian talking in this manner. You realize belatedly that you’d been looking for a lover to talk dirty like this in the years since the breakup but it isn’t just the words that mattered – you wanted Cassian.

               You weren’t aware that you’ve been squirming until he goes, “This is difficult for me too, sweetheart,” The pet name he always used for you in bed rolls off his tongue so smoothly that you don’t think he even notices, “Do you think it’s easy for me seeing your pussy this wet for me and I can’t bury my face in it? It punishes me as much as you.”

               He isn’t lying. Cassian is partial to eating pussy, another benefit to having dated him, and yet another thing missing from lovers that came afterwards. In fact, being with him again like this is starting to blur out all the very valid reasons the relationship didn’t work out, leaving you wondering why in the universe you thought breaking up with Cassian had been a good idea.

               “And you know there’s nothing more I love than worshiping your pretty pink hole,” Cassian goes on, his fingers moving in slow, soft circles against your thighs. “Don’t worry, I remember all the buttons to press with you. I know the way you like to be spoken to and the way you like to be fucked best – soft and slow, right? With me on top, pressing against you as I pump my cock in your tight cunt while I whisper in your ear.”

               You can hardly stand the way his tongue isn’t against your clit right now. Every inch of your body is screaming for more alongside all the memories of fucking him. Cassian’s index finger moves tantalizingly close to your clit but he stops just above. His gaze flicks upwards to look at you squirming with one hand clutching the quilt to steady yourself.

               “Did you miss me?” He suddenly asks, his fingers resuming their soft trail against your skin, away from your pussy, “Did you think of me, even for a moment, when you fucked someone else?”

               It’s unfair of him to ask such questions when your mind is in a fog and you can’t come up with something clever to say.

               “I know I probably shouldn’t admit this,” His voice hangs in the air, dangling a confession in front of you, “But I’ve thought of you. I’ve never known anyone’s body like I’ve known yours and I don’t think I will again.”

               Cassian’s grip on your thighs tighten, keeping your legs spread. His eyes look like dark clouds on the horizon, a mingle of lust and memories. Your own brain is swirling, wanting more of him, remembering how it used to feel with his cock fully inside you as he rocked his hips.

               “I don’t think I’ll ever meet someone else who has a pussy made for me,” He is lowering his face towards your cunt now, his voice even as though he is completely confident in making you cum, “Someone who is my perfect little slut.”

               The use of slut sends a shiver through your body immediately. Cassian has always used the word sparingly because it always drives the biggest reaction out of you, your body responding to the usage of the word in dirty talk before your mind can even wrap around it. He wouldn’t devalue the power it has to turn you on by overusing it and since it had been years, the impact of the word makes you gasp –

               And Cassian immediately lowers his head, his tongue flat against your swollen clit, giving one hard flick against it. The dirty talk, the use of slut and his tongue has you climaxing immediately in one loud moan. Your back arches, your pussy against Cassian’s face as you cum. Your thighs shake, your eyes closing tightly as his name tumbles from your lips.

               It would be impossible for anyone but Cassian to work you up with his words so much that he could make you finish like this. The orgasm is the strongest you’ve had in ages, perhaps since the last time you were with him. It blots out everything but Cassian and when your hips fall back onto the bed, he is looking particularly pleased with himself.

               You prop yourself up a little to look at him. Your entire body is tingling as the orgasm fades. Cassian, with his broad shoulders, tanned skin and toned chest, looks better than you can ever recall. Instead of sating your desire, the orgasm only has made you want him more.

               He smiles slowly, crawling forward, bringing his body against yours as he speaks, “Well, look at that. I guess I can make you finish with just one lick.”

               He kisses you before a reply can be uttered. You can taste yourself on his lips. His stiff cock strains against the pajama bottoms he is still wearing. You are fumbling with the top of them, trying to pull them off. He laughs against your mouth but kicks them and his boxers off swiftly.

               Languidly, Cassian brings his body back against yours. Skin to skin like this with him makes your head swim. Your heart is racing, fingertips skirting along his back, feeling the difference in his skin from the years that passed. Your fingers touch bumps and indents in the skin that weren’t there previously, a landscape of time marked on his skin.

               When his lips find yours yet again, his tongue in your mouth, his stubble grazes against your skin. You’ve detested the sensation on everyone but Cassian – he was always the exception to everything. Instinctively, you curl your legs around his waist. His cock is at your entrance now. You know how he is going to fuck you – in the slow, soft quiet way he would fuck you after an argument where his voice would once again lull you to an orgasm.

               Cassian enters you slowly, allowing you to feel each inch of his girth fill up your hole. You squeeze around his length automatically and his breath catches. When he is finally fully inside, the kiss breaks as he brings his arms underneath your back. His hands grip the sheets near your head. There is not a spot between the two of you that isn’t touching.

               Cassian leaves a trail of kisses along your jawline, stopping to tug gently on your earlobe with his teeth. He has not moved yet, remaining still inside you. You luxuriate in the sensation of having Cassian again. Your hands are resting on his broad shoulders, eyes closed with pleasure.

               Cassian moves his hips so slightly that if you hadn’t done this with him a thousand times before you wouldn’t have noticed. But the touch is like fire rolling through you – the most wonderful fire possible. You know that you’re whimpering but Cassian has always loved your small noises of pleading.

               In a soft, deep voice, Cassian begins to speak honeyed words in your ear, “You remember that week we ran off to Canto Bight? We didn’t tell anyone where we were going, just left.”

               You do remember. It was a year or so into the relationship. Hazy with love for one another, there had been no planning involved. Life kept getting in the way and you only wanted Cassian. The week was a blur of gambling, drinking and sex. The memory was something that belonged to a holo, not your own life.

               Cassian is still very slowly moving his hips. He isn’t fully thrusting, just making small movements, enough to begin to work you up. His own breathing is shaky as he tries to control himself from pounding into you.

               “I remember fucking you in front of the window of the hotel room. Twenty floors up and you didn’t care who saw you,” He goes on in a taunt voice, knowing full well that you love nothing more than being fucked like this, listening to him whisper in your ear, “You had just the necklace I bought you on, draped across your tits.”

               “I remember,” You gasp out, eyes fluttering closed at the memory.

               “When I came, it was all over your stomach so if anyone was watching they could see you covered in my cum.” Cassian moves a little faster now, fully pulling out of your cunt before lowering his hips to go all the way back in. The slow and deliberate pace is making you squirm against him but he doesn’t alter it.

               “And every morning before we left the room, I’d bend you over and fuck you in the shower,” He continues relentlessly, “I’d watch your tight hole swallow up my cock until I’d empty my balls in you. That was my favourite trip, you know.”

               You whimper, thighs clenching at the memory. It doesn’t matter how much you wiggle against him, Cassian refuses to change his speed. He knows how to make you cum better than you do.

               “Do you remember when I’d cum inside you and then you’d dip your fingers in your cunt to make sure it didn’t leak out? Your pussy always looked the best like that, covered in my load which you smeared across your fingers,” His voice catches at the very end as he goes hip to hip with you, his cock buried in your pussy.

               Your hands find his hair, tugging on it anxiously. You attempt to lift your hips upwards to try to meet his movements, a silent plea for more but Cassian brings his own hips downward. You groan at the sensation, your breathing ragged.

               “You look the prettiest when you’re fucked out from me,” He continues as if you aren’t begging. But this is how it always goes with Cassian. The fact he refuses to give you what is so desired makes the entire interaction hotter. “When you’re too fucked out to move afterwards, when all you can do is hold onto me and fall asleep,” He moves a little faster now, “Or maybe you look the prettiest when my cock is in your mouth and you’re looking up at me with your beautiful eyes. I love your lips stretched out around my cock, you drooling all over it as you suck me off.”

               “Cass,” The name comes out like a broken plea, your fingernails gliding down his back, sure to leave some light scratches, “Cass,” You whine again.

               He ignores your begging. His cock moves in and out of your cunt easily because you’re dripping wet for him. You can feel how slick your pussy is when Cassian pulls out all the way and slips back inside, his cock covered in your wetness.

               “I’ve missed hearing you plead for me,” He admits, his breathing uneven, “Let me hear you say my name again.”

               “Cass – just fuck me, I need – I gotta cum.”

               He smirks against your skin, replying, “You just came, sweetheart, you can’t wait a little bit longer?”

               You know all too well Cassian can hold off on his own orgasm just to make you wait longer for your own. But the earlier climax has only made you desperately need another, one where he is fucking you and cumming inside your pussy.

               “Cass, I can’t wait,” You know that you’re not furthering your cause but your need for him to fuck you into the mattress is too strong, “Just fuck me hard, please.”

               Maybe it is that so much time has passed since the last time you slept with him. Perhaps Cassian is just lost in the memories of your time together and he is feeling a little soft. Regardless of the reason, he begins to adjust his position, sending relief through you. Propping himself up above you, with a hand gripping the bedsheets next to each side of your head, he studies you beneath him.

               Normally, Cassian never caves. He would keep at his slow pace until you finish. But whether it’s the years or desire, for the first time he submits.

               With a jerk of his hips, he drives his cock in your cunt and then doesn’t stop. The entire time his eyes don’t leave your face, studying your ever changing expressions to figure out what speed makes you feel the best. His own breathing is growing ragged from having held back his own orgasm for so long. As he fucks you hard and fast, the bed frame rattling from the sheer force of it, your head rolls back as a long moan of his name escapes from in between your lips.

               You are cumming again, raising your hips to meet his thrusts as your pussy tightens around his girth. Cassian gasps and shivers but is still holding back, making sure that you ride out your climax. As you finish, he lowers himself down, curling around your body as he pumps his hips steadily.

               “I’m going –” His voice catches, “Fuck, take my load, sweetheart.”

               Cassian grunts, spilling out in your pussy. He always came a lot and this time is no exception. You can feel his hot load filling you up as he buries his face in your neck, breathing shakily. You love how it feels to have him finishing in your cunt again and your hands go to his ass, gripping it hard to make sure he stays inside you until he finishes completely.

               Afterwards, Cassian pulls out and rolls onto his back next to you, panting. He runs his hand through his hair, eyes closed tightly. You know that you’re leaking his cum and from the two intense orgasms you’ve had, all you can do is lay there and try to collect yourself.

               The day just started and it felt as if you could sleep it away.

               But the question of what happens now still lingers at your brain.

*

               “And that one?”

               Cassian glances down at the top of his shoulder, squinting. “Blaster bolt grazed me… I think.”

               “You think?”

               “Some of it just…blurs together,” He gives a casual shrug.

               The answer as to what happens now ended up being spending the entire day in bed, lazily switching between talking about the past few years and fucking. As evening descends, you are in Cassian’s lap in the living room after having successfully left the bedroom to eat dinner.

               Half dressed in his lap, while Cassian is once again shirtless, you are running your fingers across the various scars and marks on his chest. His own hands have wiggled under your long shirt, touching the bare skin of your lower back.

               Playfully, you point to the bandage on his side. “That one?”

               “Oh, that one? Prison breakout. Going to leave a nasty scar, that one. I don’t think the medic knew exactly how to deal with it.”

               “Hey!” You protest although you are giggling.

               Cassian smiles, his gaze softening at your expression. He brings one hand upwards to cup your cheek and your laughter dies in your throat as the questions you’ve been avoiding since first fucking him in the morning come bubbling to the surface.

               “What now?” You cannot help but ask, “You just leave once it’s safe?”

               “Come with me,” He says, “I meant what I said earlier. The rebellion needs medics.”

               “I’m not cut out for the rebellion, Cass.”

               “If I am, then you certainly are,” He pauses for a second and adds on, “It isn’t just the rebellion who needs medics. I want you back.”

               You blink in surprise at his forthcoming nature, unsure how to respond.

               He goes on in a clear tone, “I know why we broke up. I get why you ended things. But I’m not like that now. I have something I’m focused on, something that is important to me, something my energy goes into. It isn’t like before…I’m not like I was before. Give me a chance to show you that. Come with me when I leave here.”

               Your heart is beating quickly at his serious stare. “You’re asking a lot,” You finally manage to say.

               “I know. But I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important to me.”

               You know it is a risk and you have no idea how it will play out. But Cassian is correct in that he isn’t the same person he was when you first ended the relationship and this time around him showed you that deep down in your heart you still longed for him.

               On top of that, you also knew that the Imperial overreach would only grow worse. Maybe you wouldn’t be on the front lines or running around as a spy but surely your skills could still come in handy.

               “Besides, maybe if you had been around all these years, I wouldn’t be so scarred,” He jokes softly.

               “Not so sure about that one seeing as you’re going to have a fresh new scar on your side,” You point out.

               “That’s just a reminder I’d be dead if you hadn’t answered the door.”

               You feel safe and comfortable in his lap like this, your fingers idly touching his chest. He is warm and inviting in a way that he only ever showed to you. But there is a hardness underneath that Cassian always had, now honed like a weapon to be aimed at the Empire.

               Cassian is impossible to resist and impossible to forget. You already know what you’re going to say – why dance around it?

               “Alright.”

               He raises one eyebrow. “Can you be a little more specific? Alright to…the rebellion? To me?”

               “To both.”

               His shoulders sag slightly with relief and happiness flickers behind those gorgeous brown eyes of his that you’ve been enamored with since the first time he looked at you all those years ago. He leans forward, kissing you softly.

               You wrap your arms around Cassian, resting your head on his shoulder and closing your eyes. He is comforting, warm like your favourite blanket and familiar as ever even with all the changes. When his arms circle around your waist, your heart flutters.

               This is where you’re meant to be, you think, softening against him.

               The universe has an interesting way of having you circle back to the one you’ve always loved.

the end.

[colleybri]

One of the greatest hugs in any film

Interview question: “Do you think Cassian and Jyn would have managed to connect even more due to their shared life experiences if they had even more time?”

Diego Luna: “Obviously! What a good question. I think that hug represents everything that could have been but was not and everything that was too, because that hug meant they were part of something together and I believe that union lasts forever”.

One of the single best story decisions that was made in Rogue One was this incredible hug between Jyn Erso and Cassian Andor, as they await death from the blast of the Death Star.

It’s sad enough just in the context of the film. After Season 1 of Andor, it’s even more moving. I think some of us will be emotional wrecks after Season 2. 

One thing I’m starting to realise only now is how Jyn’s story, as revealed in the film (and the novelisation), reflects Cassian’s so much. She was also a child of war, displaced and effectively orphaned, adopted before being forced to embark on a new life. She had it even worse than him, in many ways. But just like him she had an early zeal to fight, which she similarly went on to lose because of the bitter pain that commitment caused. She becomes disillusioned and cynical about the Rebellion. It takes a combination of hard knocks and a resulting realisation of the desperate NEED to fight the Empire - in order to preserve all that they hold dear - to radicalise both of them to the extent that they are willing to sacrifice their lives for the cause.

Cassian is already in that place - he reached it five years before. But in Season 2 I expect we will see further challenges, see the desperately awful things he might have to do and what else he will need to sacrifice ahead of his actual life. Sacrifices that wear down his soul, bit by bit. Luthen’s monologue hangs over everything. “ I burn my life for a sunrise I know I’ll never see.” It’s a bitter irony that Cassian is frequently placed in sun-rising imagery, culminating in the ‘sun’ of the explosion.

Jyn, in Rogue One, seems to be the spiritual shot in the arm that Cassian needs. In the same way that being inspired by his love for Clem, Maarva and Bix helps to spur him on in the Season 1 finale (when the chances of successfully rescuing Bix must seem non-existent)  Jyn seems to me to be the crucial reminder for Cassian of why he is doing all this in the first place. Her love for her father stops him from obeying the order to kill him. He just can’t do it. He can’t put someone he is growing to care about through the same agony he went through himself.

In the end, neither can live with themselves if they don’t fight. But both of them are fighting for the right reason: love.

The hug is platonic and therefore perfect because it’s universal, in a way: we can imagine - in their final seconds - that they can both see and feel the warmth and the arms of every single person in their lives who they ever loved in any form: parents, siblings, lovers, friends. And of course they also die feeling the arms of each other - bound together by their fight and sacrifice but also an embrace with someone they might have gone on to know, and to love, if the universe had been a kinder place. 

It’s one of the most perfect and beautiful death scenes in any film I’ve seen. 

But it’s also heart-crushingly sad. 

‘What could have been’. 

…..

Edit:

I think the earlier elevator scene is where they acknowledge the loss of what they could have had together. Cassian stares at Jyn with unblinking focus but he looks like he’s dying already from his injuries, and Jyn - not yet knowing for sure that she’s about to die too - looks completely devastated. By the time they reach the beach and see the blast approaching both of them look accepting of their fate… and I imagine that they can use their final moments to internally say their spiritual goodbyes to everyone they ever loved in their lives - and to each other. They are content to die together. They are at peace as they “become one with the Force”.

….

The sand is coarse on his fingers as he tightens the embrace and closes his eyes. Her face had been that of the last being he will see, and he is at peace with that. After all, she had already started to mend his broken soul and remind him of why he was doing all this in the first place. 

Love.

She is warm against him, her grip intensifying his physical pain, and intensifying whatever is going on now in his soul. They hug as if in the hope of keeping each other whole, the hope of somehow stopping the inevitable coming-apart. Almost as if to stop time and be forever in this state of in-between.

But there is no time at all. 

So he thinks he will imagine that the light is coming from her, her bright spirit - her hot molten core - soldering and melting them into one being. 

‘I don’t know where you end or where it is that I begin.’

Extract above from  ‘Dawn Chorus’ chapter 5:

Diego Luna interview:

’ I don’t know where you end or where it is that I begin’ - from the song ‘Vision’ by Peter Hammill.

[mostthingskenobi]

CASSIAN'S RECKONING - Chapter 25: The Heart

CHAPTER SUMMARY: As readers, you've earned this chapter. I hope you enjoy 💜 Jyn and Cassian know it's time to see where the cards fall and make a decision.

__________

READ IT ON AO3- Kudos and Comments Welcome :-)

READ CHAPTER 1 “The Razor”

READ CHAPTER 2 “The Scythe”

READ CHAPTER 3 “The Cold”

READ CHAPTER 4 “The Expendable”

READ CHAPTER 5 “The Truth”

READ CHAPTER 6 “The Detritus”

READ CHAPTER 7 “The Salt”

READ CHAPTER 8 “The Power”

READ CHAPTER 9 “The Betrayal”

REACH CHAPTER 10 “The Ruse”

READ CHAPTER 11 “The Reprieve”

READ CHAPTER 12 “The Ghosts”

READ CHAPTER 13 “The Redemption”

READ CHAPTER 14 “The Spoils”

READ CHAPTER 15 “The Interrogation”

READ CHAPTER 16 “The Rogues”

READ CHAPTER 17 “The Absolution”

READ CHAPTER 18 “The Reach”

READ CHAPTER 19 “The Hologram”

READ CHAPTER 20 “The Divide”

READ CHAPTER 21 “The Cost”

READ CHAPTER 22 “The Fallout”

READ CHAPTER 23 “The Wounds”

READ CHAPTER 24 “The Hand”

READ CHAPTER 25 "The Heart"

READ CHAPTER 26 “The Beginning”

[astromechs]

jyn/cassian + peace for the prompt game

one-word character/ship five-sentence fic prompts; still accepting!

By Jyn's best estimate, they'll have about five standard minutes before someone disturbs this hard-won peace — and she's going to make the best fucking use of that five minutes there could ever be, which so far she hasn't wasted a single second of; she hadn't even bothered to walk Cassian all the way back to their shared quarters, instead opting to drag him by the jacket into the first available supply closet.

Which he hadn't complained about, and even now, when they're forced to break and catch their breath, his murmur against her mouth is light, teasing: "Bodhi's been worried about you."

"He can wait five minutes," she volleys back in a mirror image of that tone, "because it's not like I've been waiting weeks to do this with him."

Cassian hums his agreement and dips his head in at an angle that's better for the both of them, kissing her with the intensity that's in everything he does — and after those aforementioned fucking weeks apart, that takes every bit of the air left in her lungs and has her knees shaking, threatening to buckle underneath her.

It's almost too good to be true — and with the banging on the door that's soon to follow, forcing them apart with a mutual groan, she knows that it had been.

[amy-thystt]

something abt reuniting with someone you love after already deciding to give up your life for the rebellion

[lenawin4]

For RebelCaptain Appreciation Week 2024, Day Five: Headcanons

Cassian could not remember a time when he starved. The same could not be said for Jyn Erso.

or: Cassian and his quest to feed Jyn.

-

It started weeks ago, when Bodhi drank too much Correllian gin (predictably, it was supplied by one Captain Solo; Cassian could never fathom how they shared the same rank) and stumbled out of the hangar in their arms. En route to Bodhi’s quarters, the pilot asked Cassian and Jyn if they had Jedhan ale, brewed for two months and aged for five years by a sect of the Guardians of the Whills, the ones who only studied the Force pedantically and never spiritually, according to Chirrut.

“My sisters could drink me under the table,” said Bodhi. “Three kegs and still more to spare, but they always had to drag me back home before I embarrassed them. Took a few holograms to embarrass me, though. Kept them; they sent them to me when I was, I was on Eadu. They wanted me to visit more often. I should have, should have visited more often, yeah?”

“You did what you could,” said Cassian.

“Anyway,” said Bodhi. “Gone now.”

“Not gone,” said Jyn, halfway gone herself. “Just waiting for us all.”

“Do you believe in that?” She wore the kyber crystal around her neck, still, and she meditated with Chirrut whenever she could, but she was also practical and lethally blunt. Did she look forward to seeing Saw, Lyra, and Galen again? If he had expired on that shuttle over Scarif, bloody and delirious and home in her arms, would she think he was waiting for her, too?

“My mother taught me to have faith. Did yours?”

“Yes,” said Cassian. Maybe he was not far from a certain level of talkative intoxication either. “We prayed. We hoped.”

“There you have it, Bodhi. Hope.” She squeezed the pilot’s shoulder and smiled.

Warmth spread across Cassian’s face, tingled down his spine, and grounded into his stomach—the way tree roots stretched across acres, ancient and complete. It was from the gin and the exertion of carrying a drunk man to his room. It was just that, and nothing and no one else.

READ ON AO3