Like A Vow || Cassian Andor x Reader
Summary: You’re reckless. He pretends not to be. It wasn’t supposed to mean anything. But Cassian Andor notices everything—especially you.
Word Count: 2.8k || Warnings: coworkers to lovers, super soft angst, smut at the very end, cassian is so tired but so in love, rough sex, oral(f recieving), p-in-v(unprotected), creampie, etc.,
Author's Note: First ever smut in my 20 something years of living and of course I choose Cassian for this. Are there any Cass stans out there? 🥲 Feel like nobody ever talks about him but he's so important to me. After this fic, I'll probably take a breather as I don't really have much else planned besides a few messy drafts. Anyways, if there's a single Cassian lover out there who reads this and enjoys it, it'd make my heart absolutely soar. Thx 4 reading, everybody!
✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ . ⁺ . ✦ .
You weren’t expecting a warm welcome.
The Rebellion didn’t deal in courtesies. Every outpost, every mission—it was about efficiency, survival, and who was still standing at the end of the day. But still, you were expecting something more than this.
Cassian Andor doesn’t even look at you when you step into the command tent, at first. He finishes reading whatever’s on the datapad in his hand, brows furrowed, jaw set tight. You wonder if this is just how he always looks—on edge and bracing for impact. When he does look up, it hits you like a punch to the stomach. He looks at you like you’re a problem. Like you’ve already made a mistake by being here.
It’s the first thing you notice. Not his sharp jawline, not the rough stubble shadowing his face, not even the way he stands—feet planted, arms crossed, every muscle taut with something unreadable.
No, the first thing you notice is the weight of his gaze. Suspicion. Guarded. Calculating.
They had sent you here with little explanation—assist Captain Andor, integrate into the missions, follow his orders—but no one warned you that he’d look at you like this. Like he’s waiting for you to prove him right. You press your lips together. You were clearly not the ally he was hoping for. Tightening your grip on the strap of your bag, you speak for the first time, "You think I'm a liability."
Cassian’s steady gaze stays on you. “I think I don’t know you.” His eyes sweep over you, assessing. “But you’re not easy to trust.”
You've heard that before, from officers who kept one hand on their blaster and the other one ready to push you out of the way. From commanders who never let you forget what you used to be before the Rebellion.
You take a step closer, letting the fire in you flare just a little. “Guess you’ll just have to keep an eye on me then.”
Cassian’s jaw tightens. But he doesn’t step back. Though he doesn’t say anything after that.
━━━━⊱︎⊰━━━━
Weeks later on a mission, your boots are soaked through and the wind cuts sharper than it has any right to. You’ve been through worse—nights sleeping under damp tarps, mornings where frost settled into your boots before you could even lace them. But something about tonight’s cold sinks straight to your bones.
Now you’re standing in the cold pretending it doesn’t bother you. And Cassian notices. Of course he does.
He shrugs off his coat and tosses it at you with a flick of his wrist. You blink down at it, then back up at him. “I’m fine.”
“You’re shaking.”
“I’m—”
“Put it on.”
His voice is firm, but not unkind. Like he’s made a decision and arguing won’t change it. Annoyingly, that tone of his sends heat straight to your core, even as your breath fogs in the freezing air.
You stare at him a beat longer, breath puffing out white clouds, before exhaling sharply and sliding the coat over your shoulders. It smells like blaster oil and heat and the weight of him—sharp, worn, unmistakably Cassian.
━━━━⊱︎⊰━━━━
It takes a few days to make it to the next fallback point. The terrain is rough, the weather brutal, and morale is low. But it’s Cassian you’re watching. He’s quieter. He won’t look at you for long. He barely speaks unless it’s to give an order. And somehow that grates on you more than all the orders he’s ever given.
The fourth night, after yet another bare-bones meal for dinner, you slip away from the firepit and follow the faint sound of water. You find him standing knee-deep in the river, arms tense, shoulders bare under the moonlight. Cassian turns when he hears you. “You’re supposed to be sleeping,” he says.
“So are you.”
He doesn’t argue. You glance at the bruises across his ribs. The streaks of ash on his jaw and the ripple of tension he always wears on it like armor. “You’re hurt,” you say softly.
His gaze flicks to your arm, still bandaged. “So are you.”
You step into the river without thinking. The water is cold, biting at your skin, but you keep going until you’re close enough to reach for him. Your fingers skim over his shoulder, across a bruise forming high on his chest.
Cassian exhales, eyes fluttering shut for just a second. Then—soft, almost careful—“Don’t move.”
You don’t ask what he means. You don’t have to. His skin is warm under your palms, your gaze observes his face when he drags you a little closer. Your thumb traces a cut along his jaw. But, he catches your wrist. And then his lips brush the inside of your wrist, so lightly you could lie to yourself and say it was nothing.
“Cassian…” you whisper.
He stays quiet. He doesn't kiss you, even though deep down you want him to. Just presses in—closer than before—close enough to catch your breath, and stays there. And in the silence, only the night answers back.
━━━━⊱︎⊰━━━━
The next mission isn’t long, but it’s long enough for you to notice the way Cassian's eyes feel on you when you’re not looking. Enough for you to realize what’s been holding him back isn’t doubt but worry. Not about you. For you.
You’re crouched behind a low ridge one night, surveying a mining compound, and you can feel the air between you charged and tight.
“You’re quiet,” you murmur.
“I’m thinking,” Cassian says.
“About?”
“Extraction routes.”
You glance at him. “Liar.”
He doesn’t deny it. Just says, “You’re not easy to ignore.”
You blink, then look back toward the compound. You don’t answer—just let the corner of your mouth lift, and hope he catches it.
“You’re reckless,” he says after a moment.
You huff a quiet breath. “So are you.”
“Yeah, but you’re new.”
“Yeah, but I’m not stupid.”
“No,” he says after a pause. “You’re not.”
You watch him from the side. “Are you always like this with new people?”
“I usually don’t care about new people.”
You go still. Cassian’s eyes flick toward you. “I notice everything. You should know that by now.”He stands up, lingering just a little bit closer.
That night, you patch up a graze on his shoulder. He doesn’t pull away when your fingers brush skin. He watches you with his jaw tense like always.
When you’re done, he says, “Thank you,” and your chest aches with the effort of pretending it means nothing. But you’re both pretending. And the cracks are starting to show.
━━━━⊱︎⊰━━━━
The mission’s gone sideways in too many directions, and you're running out of clean shots and clean exits. But what gets under your skin isn’t the enemy fire, it’s the way Cassian keeps pushing ahead like you’re not right there beside him.
You cover him. Twice. He doesn’t acknowledge it. Just reloads and barks for you to move faster.
By the time you reach the rendezvous point, your heart’s hammering, your thigh’s bleeding, and your patience is gone. “I had that angle,” you snap as you duck behind a crate.
“No, you didn’t,” he fires back, checking the charge on his blaster. “You hesitated.”
“I was covering you.”
“I didn’t need covering.”
The tension crackles as loud as the blaster fire behind you. You don’t look at each other, you don’t have to. The frustration between you is too sharp, too close to something else.
Later, back at the safehouse, frustration follows you both in. He slams the door harder than necessary. You drop the intel onto the table harder than you should.
You don’t speak. But it’s all sitting there, tight in your chest, waiting to blow and the silence between the two of you gets heavier by the second.
━━━━⊱︎⊰━━━━
The mission went to hell. Again.
Cassian’s bleeding from his lip, your boots are caked in dust, and the intel package you weren’t supposed to have is now sitting in your bag—because you grabbed it first. He didn’t.
“I had it handled,” he snaps as you storm into the safehouse. “You didn’t have to blow our cover.”
You rip off your gloves. “You were pinned with a blaster at your neck. Forgive me for improvising.”
“You didn’t listen,” Cassian growls, flinging his arm out like he’s one second from losing it. “I told you to wait for my signal!”
You toss your gloves to the floor, scoffing. “You would’ve been dead if I had, Captain.” Your voice cuts—sharp and aimed to hit.
His eyes narrow. “You think you’re clever.”
You step in, a bit closer, voice steady. "No. I know I am.”
And then he breaks, finally. One second of silence and he’s on you, mouth crashing into yours like he’s trying to shut you up, like it’s the only way left to speak or reason with you. It's everything that’s been coiled tight between you two breaking loose all at once.
His hand grabs the back of your neck, anchoring you just before you’re slammed against the wall, breath knocked from your lungs, his mouth crashing into yours like he’s done pretending. Fingers in your hair, body pressed tight to yours, his lips trailing fire down your jaw and neck, every inch of space, gone.
“You don’t think. You act," He reprimands while he keeps trailing down, suckling, "Like you’re not mine to worry about,” he mutters against your skin.
“I’m not yours—” A moan from your lips cuts you off before you can finish when his mouth finds the curve of your neck and lingers there, sucking slow and deep until the skin heats beneath his tongue and you know it’s going to mark.
“You’re just pissed,” you breathe, thinking maybe this is fury, maybe it’s impulse, maybe it’s everything all at once.
“I’m in love with you,” he bites out. “It’s the same thing.”
Cassian’s chest rises fast against yours. He doesn’t pull back. You try to say something. Anything. But your voice falters again, and all that comes out is breath.
He reads that like a signal. One second you’re standing, the next he grips your thighs and lifts you, carrying you across the room with staggering purpose. You barely register the room spinning around you before your back hits the cot, frame creaking beneath the weight of your bodies.
He’s hovering over you, the heat radiating off of him. His breath, hands, mouth, are all over you like he’s making up for every second he had to wait.
His hands are rough where they want to be, but loving where they linger. He shoves your shirt up, palms your breasts, thumbs working slow circles until you arch into him. He strips you down fast, dragging your pants off with a growl, and you can barely think while you undress him too.
His mouth trails along your stomach, down your thighs, and when you whimper, when your hips lift instantly for him—he presses you down with both hands.
Steady. In control. Maddening.
His eyes drop—and for a moment, he just stares. Like the sight alone took the breath from him. His mouth parts, jaw slack, eyes glazed with something close to awe. “Perfect,” he whispers, almost like it wasn’t meant to come out. “Look at you…”
He lowers himself again, breath warm against your thigh, lips ghosting over your skin as he settles between your legs. His tongue starts slow and focused. You gasp as his tongue begins to lap up every bit of your slick. And when you moan this time, it's his name. But it sounds like a plead and it only makes him hungrier.
He devours you like he’s starving. Like he hasn’t tasted anything real since the war started. Like you’re the first thing that’s made him feel full in a long time.
His tongue moves slow at first with long, deliberate strokes from bottom to top, savoring every drop like it’s keeping him alive. Then faster, more focused, the flat of his tongue dragging over your clit with maddening precision, again and again, until your hips jerk under his mouth. He groans into you, the vibration sending sparks through your spine.
And when you're gasping, legs trembling, everything unraveling, you fist your hand in his hair and yank. His head lifts fast at that. He's looking at you with heavy lidded eyes, his lips glistening, chin wet. He’s drenched in you, mouth parted like he’s still tasting you. The look in his eyes is wrecked and ravished, like if you gave him one more second down there, he’d never come back up.
But you don’t give him the chance. You tug him higher, guide him with shaking hands. He groans when your fingers wrap around his length as you angle your hips and drag him toward where you need him most.
And then, he sinks in slow and deep.
When he finally bottoms out, his eyes are searching your face like he’s afraid he imagined it. Your cheeks are flushed, lips parted, eyes glazing over with pleasure—you look like everything he never thought he’d be allowed to have.
“Feels like..” he whispers, voice shaking. “Feels like you were made for me"
He pulls out slow—torturously slow—and then thrusts back in hard, with a sharp snap of his hips and you break open beneath him, undone and unfiltered.
Your breath’s caught somewhere between a gasp and a moan, but you still manage to say his name—barely audible, but a tantric prayer. He says yours in return, like a vow, like it's the only thing grounding him.
The cot rocks beneath you with every thrust, steady and relentless. Cassian's hands stay locked onto your waist while he fucks into you like he’s making up for every second he had to pretend this wasn’t real. Every thrust gets rougher, deeper, like he wants to live inside you.
You’re already close, the pressure building fast. Your nails dig into his shoulders, your breath catching on every thrust. “Cassian—”
He groans when you say his name like that, desperate and broken. His hand snakes down between your bodies, fingers circling your clit without hesitation, firm and focused. “I’ve got you,” he rasps. “Come for me.”
And this time, when he gives a command, it’s not like the others. Not barked out in the field, not clipped and tactical. This one’s just for you, just for now.
And you obey. It hits hard—your whole body arching, clenching around him, mouth open in a moan you can’t even bite back. He watches you fall apart like it’s the most important thing he’s ever seen. Like he’d die to make it happen again.
“Fuck—you’re squeezing me so tight" he mutters, voice unraveling. You grab his face and make him look at you. “Finish inside me.”
His jaw clenches, like he’s trying to hold it together. “You want me to?” He asks, looking down at you, so fucking beautiful, afraid that wanting it this much might break him.
You nod, eyes never leaving his. And that's all it takes for Cassian to let out a low, guttural groan while his rhythm falters. His hips snap forward once, twice, then he buries himself deep, gasping your name like it’s the only word he remembers.
He stays there, buried deep, breathing like he doesn’t want to leave this version of himself. One of your legs is still wrapped around his waist, trembling but holding him in place, like neither of you are ready to let go.
You can feel him still inside you—thick, spent, warm. His release already starting to leak out of you and around him, sticky and slow between your thighs.
“You’re reckless,” he mutters. Though it sounds like affection when he says it this time.
You hum against his skin. “So are you."
And still, he doesn’t move.
The room is quiet but the soft sounds of the cold night outside echo. The wind, the faint hum of crickets, and the distant rustle of leaves. It all feels far away. Like nothing exists outside this cot, this breath, this moment.
Afterward, when you’re trembling and tucked into his chest, you let yourself sink into the warmth of him. He feels solid, quiet, and safer than anywhere you’ve been in a long time.
Your voice is barely above a whisper, almost shy. “I didn’t mean that thing I said earlier… about not being yours.”
He kisses your temple. “I know.”
