Authors notes: I love a jealousy cliche, but it is so often on Cassians part. Why don't we switch it around for a change 😏
Wordcount: Warnings/Tags: jealousy, arguments, K2 being K2, mild angst, rushed confessions, poor mechanical knowledge on my part, hurt-to-comfort. GN!Reader w/ no descriptions, making out with very light suggestiveness.
Synopsis: Cassian is your captain, and he is good at his job. So you have no right to be jealous, right?
Masterlists
In spite of the sheer heat of the small crawl space, the mechanical whirring of the ship was oddly comforting. You paused for a second and dropped your wrench to the floor beside you, ignoring the metal clang as you wiped the slight sheen of sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand, too exhausted to care about the smear of grease you left behind.
“What exactly is it that you’re hoping to achieve?”
You couldn’t help but huff a sigh, picking your wrench back up as K2SO’s voice bounced around the ship.
“Not now, K,” you muttered, as the knut above you groaned in protest while you tightened it back into place.
“Well, no,” he continued, voice echoing from the co-pilot's seat above you, “I don’t think you will achieve anything right now. You’ve been tampering with the auxiliary manifold converter for the last twenty-four minutes and thirteen seconds, despite there being no diagnostic reason to."
Your hands froze mid-turn. A muscle in your jaw twitched as you pressed your lips into a grim line, breathing deeply through your nose. You tried to remember what you had learned about counting to three, but the heat of the electrical wires surrounding you made it difficult for your mind to focus.
Exhaling slowly again, you made a conscious effort to relax your muscles, your head dropping back onto the floor below you as you stared up at the tangle of pipes and wires above, letting your gaze blur as you reached for the protective plate and began easing it back into place.
“Cassian will be very upset that you have not listened to his instructions.”
Without a word, you shoved the plate into place, slid yourself back out of the crawlspace, and sat up with a grunt, your head emerging from the maintenance hatch. The wrench clattered as you tossed it down onto the grated deck with your rag.
“Cassian is doing just fine on his own,” you snapped, starting to ease yourself back out of the gap, trying to ignore the memory of him disappearing into the informant's private quarters like some horny puppy.
K2 tilted his head slightly, “Statistically speaking, that is unlikely. He has a 47% higher success rate when you are involved in the mission parameters.”
You shot him a pointed look, pausing in your movements for a moment, “Don’t make me unscrew that head plate of yours.”
The droid turned back around to the ship controls indifferently, “I would like to see you try.”
The wrench in front of you looked mighty tempting as you swore under your breath, pushing yourself the rest of the way out of the hatch until you were sat back on the floor, legs dangling down into the crawlspace, taking a moment to regain the feeling in your feet.
“Try what?”
Your whole body tensed. Cassian.
K’s voice became almost whiny as he turned around again, pointing an accusatory mechanical finger at you, “They were threatening to remove my main circuits again.”
Cassian stepped fully into the bay now, tossing his worn jacket down onto a nearby crate with more force than necessary. The frown etched into his brow deepened as his eyes flicked between the two of you.
“Did you deserve it?” he asked flatly.
“No.” “Yes.”
You both respond simultaneously, your narrowed eyes meeting the droid’s LEDs.
With a huff, you grabbed at the rag again, starting to rub viciously at the grease between your fingers.
“We need to talk about that little stunt you pulled earlier.”
You didn’t bother looking up, even if you could feel Cassian’s eyes boring into the top of your head. “Leaving in the middle of an intel drop? What were you thinking?”
A small amount of guilt settled in the pit of your stomach as you rolled your tongue into your cheek, still refusing to look up to meet his eyes. It had been a stupid move. You knew that. You weren’t proud of it. But knowing didn’t make the burn in your chest any easier to ignore. Not when you couldn’t erase the image of him disappearing into that woman's room, trailing behind her like a puppy. The way he leaned in when she spoke. The way he didn't even see you leave.
Your silence only worked to irritate him further, the frustrated steps he took towards you resonating through the grate floor beneath you. “Where did you go?”
You scoffed quietly, finally holding up your hands in a lazy, sarcastic gesture toward the guts of the ship around you. “Is that not obvious?”
He didn’t laugh.
“You were supposed to be the lookout,” he said, voice like steel. “We were exposed. Do you have any idea what could’ve happened?”
“You seemed to be blending in very well. Besides, there wasn’t very much to look out for on her door.”
“Why are you acting like this?” His frustration was starting to boil over, his hands resting on his hips as he glared down at you.
“Like what?”
“Like–” he gestured towards you vaguely, “a child?”
A small huffed laugh escaped your lips, your brow creasing as you struggled to remove a particularly stubborn smear from your palm. “I’m not.”
“They are upset. I observed them sigh no fewer than seven times in the last two minutes, and their tone was—”
“K2.” Cassian’s voice cut in sharply this time.
The droid paused. “Noted.”
Huffing a sigh, you leaned down, starting to gather your tools up from the maintenance space beneath you, “Did you at least get the intel?”
The metal drive landed unceremoniously on your lap with a thud. “Why wouldn’t I?” Cassian snapped. “I do my job around here. If only I had a partner who would do the same every once in a while.”
Your hands froze for half a second before you shoved the drive to the side with more force than necessary. “Well why don’t you ask her?”
The words weren’t meant to come out that loud. They slipped through gritted teeth, more bitter than you intended.
Cassian turned on his heel mid-step, stopping cold. “What is your problem today? Hm?” His voice had dropped low – dangerously low.
You stood slowly, wincing as your knees protested, and still refused to meet his eyes. “Don’t play dumb, Cassian,” you muttered. “I saw the way you looked at her. All doe-eyed and noble. I just hope you didn’t pick anything else up while you were picking up the intel.”
He stared at you like you’d slapped him. “Please tell me you’re not serious.”
You met his gaze now, jaw set, but unable to answer. Your silence was enough for him, however.
“I did only what was necessary.”
You huffed, the sound halfhearted at best, the fight slowly starting to drain out of you, “I bet you did.”
“I don’t know what you’re implying, but–”
“Indicators point towards the fact that they are jealous.” K interjected. “Now can we all go home?”
You scoffed, wiping your hands on the rag. “I have nothing to be jealous of.” You locked eyes with Cassian’s once more, your skin burning as you glared at him. Perhaps you were jealous, at first, but now you were just angry. “Now, if I’m excused, captain, I need a shower.” With that you turned on your heel, desperate for a shower and to be away from him.
You weren’t sure how long you had been staring out at the lights of hyperspace for, but at some point the mottled blue had started to make your eyes ache. Yet you couldn’t be bothered to move from your position curled up in the co-pilot's seat, thankful that K2 had gone to the back to process the intel drive.
The sound of boots on metal grates didn’t register as you zoned out, your mind practically blank as you fiddled with the edge of your tattered pyjama pants.
“What exactly do you think happened in that room?”
Cassian’s voice made your breath hitch, pulling you back to yourself with a jolt. The sourness that had laced his ton earlier had gone, through exhaustion or weariness, you couldn’t figure out.
You kept your back to him, eyes still fixed on the passing stars. “Don’t play dumb with me, Andor. I’m not blind. She brushed your arm and you practically melted.”
He exhaled sharply, and you can almost feel the frustration from earlier bubbling back up between you. “I didn’t sleep with her. If that’s what you’re working yourself up about.”
You force a scoff, but it comes out thinner than you’d like. “Why would I care if you did or not?”
“You tell me!”
The bitterness in your chest burned like acid as you threw yourself up to standing, “Because I didn’t like it, okay? Because I like you. Because I don’t want to see you with anyone else. Is that what you wanted to hear?” Your fingers dug into the back of the chair, knuckles white, pulse pounding in your ears. You hadn’t meant to say it like that – hadn’t meant to say it at all, honestly
You watched as Cassian’s face fell momentarily, just before the whirr of a voice called from behind him, “Of course you like him, you are partners—“
“Not now K!”
Your combined voices rang through the ship, a mix of exasperation that bounced off the metal walls.
Cassian seemed to pause for a moment, his throat bobbing as he swallowed thickly, eyes still fixed towards the back of the ship as if he couldn’t bring himself to turn back to you.
Panic rose in your throat, and it was suddenly hard to breathe. Why wasn’t he saying anything – “You think I wanted this to happen?” you blurted out, speaking before your thoughts could stop you. Finally he turned back to you, his eyes snapping to yours. “Do you think I, of all people, wanted to fall in love with you?”
His brows furrowed, “What is that supposed to mean?”
It was hard not to laugh, the sheer absurdity of it all making your head hurt. “We’re partners, Cassian,’ you started slowly, lowering your voice, “In a fight that will probably take both our lives. But all I want is for you to look at me the way you look at the girls that trail after you.”
“I could never.”
Cassian's words landed like a weight in your chest. You blinked at him, breath caught halfway between a sob and a laugh.
“I could never do that to you,” he repeated, quieter this time, like the words were meant just for you. “You're not some asset. You're not a job. Because that’s all a lie, a ruse, a play to get their intel. The way I look at you? When you supposedly don’t notice or are too hot headed to pay attention to? That’s real.”
And he had looked at you– so many times. In the shadows before a drop. Across briefing tables. When you were curled up asleep in the ship’s only bunk when he had assured you he wasn’t tired. Not like he looked at the others. Like you mattered.
“But I am your partner,” you said, voice thin. “We’re supposed to have each other’s backs. Not—”
“Not fall in love?” he finished, and when you didn’t respond, he took a step closer. “Too late for that.”
You stiffened, heart stuttering in your chest as he moved before you, so close that you could feel his breath fan over your cheeks. “Don’t say that unless you mean it.”
He didn’t even hesitate, “I’ve never meant anything more.”
You surged forward before you could think yourself out of it, your hands gripping the front of his shirt, dragging him into you, and when his mouth met yours, it wasn’t gentle, it wasn’t slow. It was relief.
He groaned low in his throat as your lips parted for him, the sound more instinct than thought. The kiss was all teeth and tongues, his hands already on you as he gripped your hips, thumbs digging into the curves.
Your lower back hit the edge of the flight desk, Cassian pressed flush against you as his mouth moved over yours hungrily. Every movement was deliberate – his tongue chasing yours, his teeth grazing your bottom lip, his breath ragged against your cheek between kisses.
You gasped as he hoisted you effortlessly onto the desk, his hands splaying along your thighs to steady you as he stepped closer, fitting between your legs like he belonged there, like he’d always belonged there.
“I fear development this might affect your performance rate—”
You're less than pleased when Luthen assigns you and Cassian on another mission together. All of your past work with Cassian has ended with the two of you at each other's throats, but maybe this time will be different.
masterlist
You’re bleeding again.
It’s an old wound on a new wound on an existing scar. It’s an injury that reopens every few days because you don’t have the time to sit around and heal when you’re in a new gunfight on a new planet with every passing moment. Luthen has assignments and you take them. That’s how it works. You knew the rules when you pledged your life to the promise of the Rebellion, to the dream of a life you’ll probably never see. Maybe you’ll die before this wound ever closes, or maybe you’ve got years more. You suppose you’ll never find out until the war ends, for you or the galaxy.
At least the injury isn’t infected. You can’t keep anything long enough to last through a whole course of antibiotics. You can keep slapping temporary bacta patches on the thing, but that doesn't help when it reopens the next time you get shot at, which happens with increasing frequency. This is one thing in your favor, if nothing else: your flesh is not yet rotting away. It might not all be intact, but at least this one part of your life isn’t corrupted.
You wrap a fresh bandage around it, wincing slightly. You don’t have the time to go slowly; you’re due for a new assignment already. This one must be important, because Luthen was even more tight-lipped than usual when assigning you to the task. You know your location: Vina II, one of the smaller planets in the Tau system, so far away from anything important that even nav systems have trouble recognizing it. Vina II is primarily used for manufacturing, stuffed to the core with factories churning out anything from guns to clothes to satellites. In a few decades, the air will become so toxic from constant pollution that the planet surface will be entirely uninhabitable, and then the factories will either become entirely droid-operated or the companies will pack up and move to the next available planet and repeat the process again.
This isn’t unusual. Manufacturing corps are frustrating people all across the galaxy. What is unsettling is the sudden uptick in Imperial presence on what should be a useless rock. Luthen is starting to connect dots between Imperial seizure of raw materials and the production of weaponry, and he thinks Vina II is a key player in the game of making ways to kill the Rebellion. So, you’ll be sent to investigate along with another spy. You’ll find the evidence you need, and then you’ll bomb a specific building containing the blueprints for making a certain kind of weapon. It’ll not only leave their armies lacking but distract them from Luthen’s next plans.
You still don’t know who you’re working with, though. Luthen loves secrecy more than anything, of course, so he won’t tell you the name of the person you’ll be risking your life with until you see them face to face in a matter of minutes. You’ve had the opportunity to fight alongside several of his network, and have mentally established who you’d like to see and who you’d rather avoid on this mission. In the end, the final call, as always, is up to Luthen, and regardless of which strings he chooses to pull, you know he’ll pick whoever he trusts to get the job done.
You finish bandaging your wound and pull your sleeve back down again, throwing the old dressings into the incinerator and returning your focus to the door. You wonder how much of your life will be spent like this, silently bleeding out in a dark room and waiting for something to descend upon you– Imperials, death, life, or an unexpected ally. It doesn’t really matter in the end. It all feels the same when you can feel the next mission drawing you close.
A bell sounds at the door, startling you out of your thoughts. This must be your accomplice for the mission, you’re in a safehouse and no one else could possibly know you were here. You’ve only been in the apartment for less than an hour yourself; Luthen doesn’t like it when you linger.
You walk soundlessly to the door, then attempt to peer through the keyhole. Whoever’s waiting for you is used to hiding; they’ve managed to turn themselves just so that you can’t see their face in the gloom of the hallway outside.
“Who is it?” You ask through the sealed door.
You don’t get a name, only a phrase: “I have friends everywhere.”
The coded words flash through you like a heartbeat, and you open the door on instinct. A figure wrapped in a dark coat strides briskly into the safehouse, doing a cursory sweep of the interior to make sure you haven’t set up a trap and only turning back to face you when you lock the door behind them. A deep hood covers all details of their face, but your mission partner reveals himself soon enough, reaching up to pull the fabric back down to reveal their countenance.
You know this face. You’ve seen it glaring at you in the din of a firefight, or starting arguments over decisions that you don’t have time to challenge.
In spite of yourself, you sigh. “Cassian Andor.”
Cassian looks even more annoyed than usual. “Y/N L/N. I thought I told Luthen never to assign you with me again.”
“I’m pretty sure I told him the same thing after the incident on Federian,” you hiss.
“The incident?” Cassian asks, eyebrows raised. “The only incident I remember is you nearly getting us both killed because you wouldn’t do what I told you.”
“You told me to take a stupid risk that would actually get us both killed. I remember saving both our lives from your awful plan and then you getting mad at me for it.” You snip back.
Cassian looks like he wants to argue further, but he takes a deep breath and turns away from you. “It doesn’t matter. It’s too late for a reassignment, so you’ll have to get used to working with me. I’m not risking this mission for your pride.”
You scoff. “My pride is not the issue here. I’d die for this cause. Luthen knows that, which is why he trusted me to do this. If you don’t believe in me, believe in him. Our ship is parked around the back and we should leave as soon as possible. Of course, if you’re still worried about me, feel free to stay behind, but I intend on completing this mission.”
You move towards the door and Cassian swiftly blocks you. “I need your word that you won’t let our personal differences get in the way of this job. There will be enough sentries and guards on that planet to get us shot to pieces if we keep trying to prove our point.”
You stare at him uncomprehendingly. “I’ve been in this fight for years, Andor. I can handle myself.”
He refuses to budge. “Swear it right now. I’m not getting on a ship with you unless I know you’ll stick to the plan.”
He meets your gaze unyieldingly, and at last you sigh again. “Fine. I won’t cause problems. Will you?”
“No,” Cassian bites out, and at last allows you to leave.
You stride briskly down the hall, and he has to hurry to catch up to you. The mood between the two of you is tense as you exit the building, as you find the ship, as you punch in the coordinates and let the jump to hyperspace shoot you on the way to your mission.
Stars, this is not what you needed. It’s bad enough that you’re shipping out so soon after the last close brush with Imperial capture, but on top of the risks you’ll take on Vina II, you’ll be doing so with the only other Rebel who’s as headstrong as you are.
Cassian Andor had to have been the one person you’d been hoping to see the least when you opened that door. Three times you’ve worked together now, each time fraught not only with Imperial peril but countless arguments between the two of you. You can’t agree on who should take first watch at night, who should gather intelligence on the movement of guard patrols, who should shoot first, who should watch the ship, and who should make the inevitable stupid sacrifice move to save the mission. The last time you’d complained to Luthen, he’d laughed outright and said that if the two of you couldn’t see how obviously similar you were to Cassian, you had no chance of mastering the intricacies of espionage.
Still, you hadn’t thought Luthen would go so far as to assign you with Cassian again, especially not when your last job together was so recent. Obviously, the two of you are both smarting from the latest round of arguments, and you silently grit yourself against the inevitable disagreements yet to come. Cassian may have made you swear to put the mission first, but that has yet to stop either of you from clashing.
As the lights of hyperspace stream past the windscreen, you silently excuse yourself. Your injury is starting to bleed through the bandage again, you can feel the hot press of blood against cloth, and you don’t much enjoy the idea of letting Cassian spot one of your weaknesses when you’ve barely begun the mission. There’s much more time ahead of you for that.
You touch down on Vina II some time later, when enough time has passed that you’re more than happy to step foot on dangerous ground if it means getting out of the tin can trapping you with Cassian. The two of you simmer with barely contained irritation, snipping at each other through a film of polite disdain, but manage to stow the ship somewhere it won’t be found by patrols and continue into the streets of the primary city.
Once night falls, the two of you slip into the shadows, using the cover of a rusting packaging plant to spy on the operations building you’ll be bombing. You stare at the metal monolith, so tall it seems to pierce the clouds of smog far above your head and continue on into the heavens. Most workers have retreated back to their homes for the evening, coughing their lungs out into respirators and shaking the perpetual grime of manufacturing from their boots, but a few lights remain on well into the night. Those would be the security details, plus the late workers who know their jobs and lives depend on not falling behind on Imperial quotas.
Cassian glances up from the schematic he’s been studying, pointing out a particular cluster of brightly lit windows. “There, the tenth floor. That’s where the schematics are stored, plus all the supercomputers in charge of making new ones. That’s our target.”
You peer closely at the rooms through your binoculars. “You’re sure blowing up those rooms will disable all blueprints? It seems too easy. Won’t more of the manufacturing plants have backup copies?”
Cassian chuckles darkly. “Blame Imperial paranoia. They’re so terrified about rivals stealing their precious designs that they’d rather shoot themselves in the foot and keep everything in one place.”
You shake your head. “Their loss. Besides, I bet anyone who complained about that particular idiocy would have been sent to labor in a mining colony for daring to insult the finest of Imperial design.”
Cassian snorts. “They’re about to learn why that’s a bad idea. We’ll keep a low profile tomorrow, then strike late in the night when everyone has gone home.”
He moves to draw back, but you pull him back down again. “You want to set the bombs tomorrow? That’s far too soon. We still don’t know enough about their troop movements, we need more time.”
Cassian stares at you uncomprehendingly. “Would you like to take a week to learn more? A month? Time is the last thing we have. With every day that passes, millions of guns and bombs and ships are sent out into the galaxy to kill us. The sooner we strike, the better.”
Your jaw clenches. “Save the lecture for someone who needs it. I’m aware of what it costs us to wait, but failing this mission because we assumed too much won’t save anyone, either. I’m not asking for an extra week, even one more day will be enough, but we cannot afford to be hasty.”
“Hasty?” Cassian bites out. “We are anything but hasty. Luthen has been sitting on this information for months. If we were hasty, we would have attacked tonight. Hell, we would have attacked in broad daylight. Bombing this place tomorrow night guarantees us safety and takes them out before they have the time to discover our ship or us. With every hour that passes, we risk Imperial discovery. The sooner we’re out, the better. Besides, Luthen gave us all the information on troops and patrols that we need.”
You arch a brow. “How certain are you that Luthen’s information is accurate? Or current? Like you said, he’s been plotting this move for months. All it takes is one troop reassignment and we’re walking into a squadron of stormtroopers. It won’t hurt anyone to make sure what he gave us is true.”
Cassian gives you a dark look. “If you don’t trust Luthen, what are you doing on this mission?”
You meet his gaze coolly. “Making sure no one else dies because they blindly trusted that puppeteer.”
Cassian tears his eyes away. “Fine. You wait as long as you like. I know where I’ll be tomorrow.”
He stands up abruptly, stalking away from your hiding place. You whisper a curse about obstinate spies under your breath and tear after him, hurrying not to lose him in the darkened city. Cassian’s walking fast, anger hastening his footsteps, and he doesn’t notice the two soldiers out on patrol until he’s halfway around the corner.
Immediately, he whips back around, but the damage is done. You can hear one of the officers asking who’s there, then drawing their guns and coming after you. You act on instinct, grabbing Cassian’s arm and pulling him down a narrow alleyway between shops. The space between the walls is littered with high piles of empty canisters and discarded metal signs, just enough to screen you from view. Your back slams against the wall as you force Cassian next to you, trying to take up as little space as possible, trying hardly even to breathe lest the sound of your exhalations alert the guards.
You hear them draw by, peering into the alley before carrying on down the street. Only when you’re certain they’re gone do you release your grip on Cassian’s arm and grimly meet his eyes.
“Like I said,” you mutter, straightening the lapel of your jacket, “Troop movements. They’re nice to know.”
Cassian just grits his teeth and stays silent. He moves more slowly on the walk back to the ship, checking each street twice before daring to turn a corner. By the time you’re up the exit ramp and within the safety of your ship once again, you’re more than ready to get some rest and let down your guard. You wince as you take off your coat, and realize that in your haste to hide from the patrols, you’ve torn open that damn wound again.
You’d meant to be discreet, but Cassian catches the change in your expression. “What happened?” He asks warily.
You shake your head a little too quickly. “Nothing. I’m fine.”
“Like hell,” he says under his breath, then catches sight of your arm and his brow furrows. “You’re bleeding!”
You check the injury and silently bite back curses. Scarlet has seeped through the bandage, staining the sleeve of your shirt enough for Cassian to see. So much for keeping the wound safe long enough to heal.
“It’s fine,” you say, attempting to wave him away, “Old wound.”
You move towards the storage compartments so you can grab a medkit, but for some reason, Cassian follows you. He plucks the medkit out of your hand, jerking his chin towards a nearby chair. “Sit. I want to see how bad this is.”
You regard him exasperatedly. “I can bandage myself.”
Cassian refuses to back down, gesturing again to the chair. “I know you can. Sit.”
When it becomes evident that he won’t leave you alone, you give in, sliding into the chair and regarding him warily. Cassian sets the medkit down, pulling out some medicine to treat the wound and a canister of bandages. You roll up your sleeve, wincing at the drag of cloth over the wound.
For someone who can’t seem to stop fighting with you, Cassian’s touch is quite gentle as he carefully unwraps the old bandage from your arm. He sucks in a concerned breath when he sees the wound. “What happened here?”
You lift your shoulders in a loose shrug. “Blaster wound. Then I got some shrapnel in it, then another blaster shot. Can’t stay out of trouble long enough for it to heal.”
“You’re not the only one,” Cassian mumbles, and you wonder how many injuries he’s hiding under recesses of fabric, how many cuts won’t stitch shut and bones can’t mend for lack of rest. Your whole Rebellion must be like this, you realize, a bunch of shattered pieces sorely wishing for the glue to put yourselves back together. Either you’ll die or you’ll win the war, but only one outcome will guarantee you a relief from the pain, and both seem much too far away to be of any use to you.
Cassian dabs some disinfecting water onto a piece of cloth and gently cleans your wound. You hiss at the touch, but force yourself to relax. You can’t help but watch how he does it, fingers moving smoothly with experience yet delicate enough to keep you from pain as best he can.
“Thank you,” you whisper, words oddly loud in the stillness of the ship.
Cassian nods, putting down the now bloodied cloth in exchange for a fresh bandage. “It was the least I could do. Maybe I want to prove to you that not all of our conversations have to end in a fight.”
You laugh quietly at that. “It’s a good surprise, then. Luthen would be happy.”
Cassian starts wrapping the bandage around your arm. “Luthen. He’s so convinced he knows us better than ourselves. I still don’t know why he keeps insisting on assigning us together.”
Something aches inside your chest, the weight of the truth pressing against your tired ribs. “Yes, you do.”
Cassian glances up at you, confused. “What do you mean?”
“Of course you know why we’re together again,” you say softly. When he still looks perplexed, you elaborate. “Luthen assigns us both on missions because he trusts us not to get along. He doesn’t want there to be– emotional complications, I guess you can say.”
“I don’t follow,” Cassian says. “He doesn’t want his spies to be friends?”
“More than that,” you say. “He wants to know that his mission is secure, that you won’t let your personal feelings for me get in the way of anything. He knows you hate me, so he’s safe. He knows that if anything were to happen, you could kill me without a second glance to protect our secrets, and I would do the same for you. It’s his way of cleaning up loose ends.”
Cassian draws back, startled. “That’s not true.”
You laugh bitterly. “Yes, it is, and you know it, too. Luthen can’t risk one of us getting captured, we know too much. Our mutual animosity won’t stop us from completing the mission, but it will be enough to know you’ll be fine with killing me cleanly before they can torture Rebel secrets out of me. It’s simple, and it’s the right thing to do. None of us can afford to get taken by the Imperials.”
Cassian shakes his head sharply. “No, that’s not right. I wouldn’t kill you, Y/N.”
Your smile is cold, he can’t seem to look at it. “Yes, you would. To protect the Rebellion, you would. That’s the whole point. That’s the whole reason any of us are here.”
Cassian jerks his gaze back towards your arm, where he studiously finished tying off your bandage. “You don’t know enough about me to say that.”
For some reason, you feel like sobbing, although you can’t decide why. “We’re spies, Cassian. That’s all I have to know.”
Lost without something to do, some way to keep taking care of you, Cassian stands up, practically leaning away in a hurry to get away from this conversation. “Take care of that arm,” he says, voice oddly foreign.
You nod and he leaves, medkit forgotten on the table. You pick up the leftover bandages, turning them idly in your hands before mechanically putting everything back in their compartments. Cassian’s reaction has left you stunned; you thought he would be delighted to have this leverage over you, given how little you’ve been getting along recently, or at least be neutral, but instead, he seems deeply haunted, like he’s grieving the death you haven’t yet had.
The topic of your mutual deaths is clearly not something that should be brought up again, so you don’t, and let the odd silence exist between you until the status of the mission is enough to interrupt it. Cassian and you strike a compromise where you both risk coming out from the safety of your ship during the day in order to verify that Luthen’s information on Imperial patrols in the target building are accurate. In exchange, you’ll agree to place the bombs that night, but only if you’re certain that there won’t be any surprises with the schedule of the guards.
Ultimately, you do notice a few slight deviations with the patrols, but not enough to postpone the mission. Thus, you spend the next couple of hours in tense silence, waiting for the hour to strike. Once dark slips over the city once more, you leave the relative safety of your ship to stalk through the inky streets again.
You and Cassian move in sync, hardly having to whisper a word for you to know what comes next. You feel as if you’re part of a matched pair, a set of spies working with one mind, one purpose. After so much time wasted fighting him, this breakthrough feels like a miracle. You only wish it could have come sooner.
The Imperial office is quiet, the workers mostly departed for the night. You and Cassian find the side entrance you’d marked the previous night, and, after correctly entering the door code, slip inside. You’re careful to keep your faces hidden, and avoid rounds of stormtroopers on patrol as best as possible.
When you get to the tenth floor, you split up to cover more ground. “Be safe,” Cassian whispers before you part. You nod, face grim, and try not to feel like you’re losing a limb when you turn the corner and leave him. This isn’t a trap. You’ll see him again. You just have to get the job done first.
You reach into the bag at your side and grab the first bomb, placing it on the side of a computer terminal and twisting a disc at the top to activate it before moving on. You repeat the process of placing and activating the small detonation devices, covering the entrances and key structural components of the floor before heading towards the central communications room where the blueprints are kept.
You’re the first one inside, and you make sure to carefully sweep the room for any late-night employees before you continue your work. Cassian is somewhere on the other side of the building, doing the same thing. You’ll meet here before you leave, then detonate the explosives once you’re both safely out of the building.
Still, as you place more bombs with no sight of Cassian, you can’t help but feel nerves start to swarm inside of you. He should have appeared by now. By the time you start to hear the sounds of shouting voices and running footsteps, you’re almost relieved. If the Imperials are giving chase, that at least means he’s still alive, and hasn’t been shot outright.
The door to the control room bursts open behind you a few moments later, but the face greeting you is not Cassian’s but that of an Imperial officer. He barks orders to a unit of stormtroopers, who flood into the room, all aiming their blasters at you. You raise your arms, breath ragged in your chest. So this is how it ends, then. This is how you die.
The Imperial officer crosses the room in a few brisk strides, jabbing his blaster in your face. “You were with a man. Where is he?”
You silently thank the stars. If they’re asking you where Cassian is, they still haven’t found him. Maybe there’s still a chance for him to get away, or even complete the mission. The bombs are still set. Both of you have a detonator switch, only one of you has to press the trigger. If you get shot before you can finish this, at least Cassian can get the job done.
The only thing you can do for him now is to buy him time. You stare into the eyes of the officer. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I came here alone.”
The officer raises his arm, striking you across the face with the butt of his gun. Pain lances across you, and you stumble back in agony, one hand dropping to cradle your injured face.
“I know he’s here. Lying gets you nothing. Cooperate and maybe you won’t be executed immediately.” The officer hisses.
The threat of execution doesn’t faze you. The worse option is capture and torture. Everyone pretends that they’d be able to withstand torture, but the Imperials are swimming in time and patience that you hungry, desperate Rebels lack. It doesn’t matter if it takes hours, or days, or even months before you crack, the simple fact is that you will give in at some point, and with all that you know, the Rebellion could be crushed for good.
Your only hope now is to die quickly before you give up anything. You look through the glass windows of the control room, searching for any sign that Cassian had gotten out of the building. Instead, you see him rounding a corner, then quickly ducking back to the protective cover of a nearby hallway when he spots all of the stormtroopers clustered around you.
Immediately, you start screaming at the top of your lungs, all hope for your life forgotten. “Do it, do it now! Finish it!”
The officer cuffs you again, but you hardly feel it, shouting again to Cassian. This is the one job of all Rebels, whether they like it or not. He has to know this is the point when he lets you go. He has to know that the mission comes first, always.
He has to know, but not for the first time in his life, Cassian Andor refuses to play by the rules. He surges forward again, opening fire on the stormtroopers, who rear around in surprise, reaching for their guns even as they start to fall to the hail of blaster fire. You take advantage of their distraction to grab your fallen blaster, shooting the Imperial officer before he can turn back to face you and taking out the surrounding stormtroopers.
Under the cover of Cassian’s protective fire, you sprint for the door, joining your mission partner in the haze of smoke and laser bolts outside. The two of you find a way to the turbolift, blaster bolts still skidding inside until the very last moment before the doors shut.
The next several minutes feel like a blur. You’re lost to the space between blaster shots, the moments in between sprints from turbolift to hallway to door to the streets surrounding you. Once you’re clear of the building, you grab the detonator from where it’s clipped onto your belt and press the trigger. For a few moments, there’s unearthly silence, and then the entire world erupts as the bombs explode throughout the tenth floor. The building crashes to the ground below, sending a wave of force rippling across the streets.
You and Cassian are flung to the ground, rolling a short distance before you recover from the impact and manage to start moving again. Cassian is already standing, pulling you up and along after him. Klaxons ring out across the night, and you swear you can hear the rhythmic crashing of Imperial squadrons already out to hunt you down.
You’re not planning on sticking around any longer, though, and you’ve hardly cleared the exit ramp of your ship before Cassian is sprinting to the cockpit. He starts up departure sequences before he’s even sitting down, every fibre of his being focused on the sole task of getting the two of you out of here. You follow him, watching through the transparisteel as the city you’ve ruined disappears to nothing but sparks and dust below you as your ship pierces through the sky.
Only once the deep indigo of night is replaced by the coursing lights of hyperspace do either of you finally start to let go of the fear compelling you forward. You watch Cassian’s shoulders drop, the inescapable tension of panic cutting his strings at last and leaving him slumped and exhausted in his chair. His fingers dig around the arm rest, clutching at it for support as he forces himself up again.
You’re at his side in an instant. “Sit,” you urge him. “You need to rest.”
Like always, Cassian doesn’t listen, and he stands on overburdened legs, pulling you into the glare of an overhead light. His hand rises to your face, gently turning your head to the side and then back so he can spot any injuries.
“Are you badly hurt?” He asks, voice a desperate whisper in the hum of your ship. “I saw them hit you– I thought you were dead–”
“You were supposed to leave me behind,” you chastise him. “We talked about this, remember? The mission comes first. You should have detonated the bombs, not thrown yourself headfirst at a dozen troopers.”
Cassian’s fingers stall on your cheek. “I remember telling you that I wasn’t going to leave you to die, and I meant it, Y/N. I’d rather die myself.”
“We would have died if there had been any more of them,” you respond. “Tell me that you’ll prioritize the mission next time. Tell me that you’ll focus on what matters.”
“You matter,” Cassian corrects. He lets out a quiet laugh. “For all the times you’ve gotten under my skin or gone against my plans, I can’t find a way to make you matter any less to me. I can’t stop saving you. I can’t stop making you my purpose.”
You inhale sharply in surprise. “I thought you hated me.”
“So did I,” Cassian murmurs. “And then I thought about having to be the one to kill you, and I realized I never could. I’ll die with you, Y/N. I’ll die for you. But I’ll never kill you.”
Your whole body feels electrified. You’ve thought about Cassian a hundred different ways, but not like this, never like this. Yet everything he says feels so right, so much like how you feel about him, that you can scarcely believe you’ve never given this side of him a chance.
Your own hands reach up, tangling themselves in the front of his jacket. “You terrified me, running after those troopers. I thought you were going to get yourself killed, and then it would be my fault.”
Cassian stumbles ever closer to you. “I was terrified to see you with them. I didn’t mind getting killed if it meant I got to save you.”
“Selfish,” you tease, but there’s an undercurrent of fear in it still, as you remember that awful moment, a dozen bolts shooting towards him in the corridor.
“Yes,” Cassian says, and kisses you. “Always,” he says, and kisses you again.
For once in your life, you’re more than flesh and bone. You feel limitless, everlasting, more than a soldier and more than a fighter. You are someone who could be loved, not for a gun in your hand but for the heart beating in your ribs. You have a life worth living, and one worth living with Cassian at your side. It’s a terrible world out there for all of you in the shadow of the Empire, but you have one light still burning bright between you. You have no intention to let it blow out.
star wars tag list: @blondsauduun, @caswinchester2000, @faerieroyal
"You mean everything to me" - Cassian Andor x Fem Reader
Angst & Fluff
Word Count: 529
Adrenaline relentlessly coursed through Y/n’s veins as she tried to stop her hands from shaking. Trying to settle one’s nerves after a dangerous mission was never easy, and this instance was no exception.
Gripping onto one of the handles in Cassian’s U-wing, the woman tightly shut her eyes, trying desperately to force away all the panic rising within her. This wasn’t her first mission, but it was the first time that one of her mistakes could’ve potentially gotten Cassian killed. The thought of losing him was completely and utterly terrifying, considering he was just about the only person in the galaxy capable of understanding her.
Y/n had gone silent after the incident, and though she wanted to tell Cassian just how sorry she was, the words seemed to get stuck in her throat. She couldn’t even make eye contact with the man because of the immense guilt.
The woman was so lost in thought that she didn’t even notice the ship touching down on Yavin.
Cassian’s brows furrowed in worry as he walked up to Y/n, noticing just how panicked she looked. His hand quickly found its place on her shoulder, and he gently caressed it, trying to help the woman break away from whatever thoughts were plaguing her mind.
Her eyes quickly shot open, and she spun around on her heel so that she was face to face with the man.
“Are you alright?” Cassian asked, his hand gently tucking strands of hair behind her ear.
His throat tightened as Y/n’s eyes became glossy, tears threatening to spill out any second. She didn’t say anything; rather, she just wrapped her arms as tightly as she could around the man, enjoying the proximity of his body.
Cassian’s hand cradled the back of her head gently, and he placed a kiss on her forehead, knowing with certainty what had sparked the woman’s sadness and fear. Sure, she made a mistake, but he would never blame her if something happened to him. He loved her too much to do something as harsh and cruel as that.
“I’m so sorry, Cassian, I should’ve been more careful, I don’t know what I was doing,” the woman softly cried into his chest, the emotions she had repressed finally spilling out.
“Y/n, please don’t cry, my love, I’m here, and there’s nothing you need to apologize for. Everyone makes mistakes, I don’t expect you or me to be perfect all the time on these missions,” he spoke, pulling away from her slightly to look at her tear-stained face.
“I know, but I would never be able to forgive myself if I were the reason why you got hurt, or worse. Without you, I’m nothing,” Y/n replied, taking one of her hands and cradling the side of his face.
“You would have to forgive yourself because you know that I’d never blame you if anything happened to me,” he responded, leaning down to kiss her lips quickly.
She nodded when he pulled away, and a soft smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
“You mean everything to me, and nothing will ever change that,” Cassian spoke, and Y/n couldn’t help but smile back at him.
𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘴𝘩0𝘵 ⛥ written for andor but not much star wars connection, so you can read it for diego luna (movie in the pic is dirty dancing havana nights)
𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘴 ⛥ 1.61k
cw: dom reader, sub cassian, overstim, spit as lube, feminization, from behind, mentions of spanking (none), groping, lots of swearing, arguments, improper resolution of arguments
"Why are you so concerned with being pictured as "the girl"?" Cassian crossed his arms. He looked amused more than anything, right in front of your face.
"I'm not concerned with being the girl." You say pointedly, making him actually pay attention. "I'm concerned that this community thinks this way at all."
"Nurchi and Timm are not the community." Cassian waves it off, literally and figuratively, except the grand swipe of his hand only manages to annoy you in this situation. "Besides, they were only joking!"
"You can only excuse Nurchi so many times for only joking. How many times has he threatened you over your debts?" You've never liked the guy. He has zero sympathy in a community where everybody knows each other and their circumstances. "And before you get started on how it's technically valid, that guy is an asshole."
"Rightfully so–"
"Being a hater is one thing. Being bigoted is another."
"Fine, I'll be the girl." Cassian says, and he's already jerking around wildly, fixing his hair crudely with some spit, wearing his jacket hung just past his shoulders and pushing his pants down into low-rise. His collar and shoulder bones are exposed skinny and rightfully bony, and when your eyes trail down, his hips are exposed too, alongside a bit of the skin right above his dick, just enough to make it look like he isn't sporting a good length, as if he had nothing going down there except an enticing cunt. You'll be dammed if the subtle shift of everything doesn't make him look feminine and hot.
"What?"
"I'll be the girl." He repeats, shooting you a wide smile. It quickly turns into a fake innocent look, complete with doe eyes and a slightly parted mouth.
Despite the situation, your anger burns. He's making light of a serious situation. "What do you think you're doing, Cassian?"
"Cassie, now." He says, batting his eyelashes. "It's a lot more fitting, isn't it?"
"Fine, you want to be the girl?" At that, Cassian's mouth lifts into a shit-eating grin. It persists as you grab him by the hips and walk him backwards into the wall. "You'll be the fucking girl."
His grin just turns more and more satisfied the more you lean into him. You let him think he's won the argument just to see confidence inflate his ego. Sure hands grab at your hair as you press your nose against his. His eyes are already half-lidded.
"Then again, it doesn't matter what you are behind closed doors. No one will see it anyway." You grasp his wrists in one hand and he gasps. His eyes widen, but he do nothing but watch as you push them against the wall, then up and up until his body stretches just far enough out of comfort. "Is this what you expected?"
Cassian chokes out a pathetic, "N-No."
His doe eyes are real now, except striken with visible shock and... arousal. Ha.
"You have two options." When you press your lips against his ear, he moans purely at the feeling. You've mercy enough not to mention it. "Either you back down and we can go back to arguing without poking fun at each other, or you can be the fucking girl and I fuck you right against this wall."
"Yes." Cassian agrees, but like the infuriating man that he can be sometimes, he doesn't make it clear.
You grab hold of his chin, making him yelp. You ignore that too. "What's your name?"
"Ca-Cassie!" He cries, wrists struggling in your hold, but when you let them go, they fall lax at his sides without strength.
"Good. Turn around. Hands on the wall."
He obeys your words in a flash, no tripping or getting them wrong, only his back greets you when it's all said and done.
You press yourself against him, hand groping his ass in his pants. Cassian pushes himself into your hand, arching his back to do so. Whether instinct or not, it's dirty either way, seeking either way, and yearning for your touch.
"You're a dirty girl, aren't you, Cassie?" Your playing around with his ass makes him whimper. He avoids answering, to which you squeeze his asscheek. "I asked you something."
"Yes." He spares a look back, bites his lip. Oh, that was totally on purpose.
You press yourself fully against him when you take your hand away, and he certainly enjoys it, moaning at the feeling of your bulge against him; and he's got zero shame about it, eyes locked onto yours.
"Cassie, Cassie." You repeat with the disappointed click of your tongue. You take his bottom lip between your thumb and forefinger. Cassian's tongue darts out to lick at your thumb. "Whatever will I do with you, girl?"
It's more of a rhetorical question if anything, as you twist his tongue between your fingers the next moment. As you undo his pants and begin pushing them down, Cassian licks around your thumb and other fingers like a lollipop, leaving you only to wonder what that might look like around your cock. You've had it in real life of course, but not from Cassie.
With his pants down, you fight the urge to press yourself between the flesh of his cheeks and instead to press your thoroughly wet fingers into his hole. In goes one, then two, then another; taken not with protest, but with content sighs or bold, enticing moans. Cassian's pressed his forehead against the wall now, and you take the moment to appreciate his nape, so fragile and vulnerable.
It's almost romantic, the kisses and nips you press to the back of his neck, the slow press and scissor and circle of your fingers inside of him. It's entirely not as you'd meant it to be, but this is girl, and for preparation, you have to treat her nicely.
Whatever comes after that, though—it's a free game.
At the loss of your fingers and the clink of your buckle, Cassian looks back. You click your tongue, "Ah, ah, eyes forward. You'll take it like a good girl, no complaints, you understand?"
His mouth opens for an easy answer, but the feel of the tip of your cock catching against his rim, he gasps, "Fuck yeah."
You press your cock in one swift go, it's easy. He's all loose for you with dirty spit but also he really wants it.
There's no wait, no build up. You won't grant him the gentleness of that. He pissed you off and you're about to show it. Each thrust into him slaps your skin against his, loud, but you won't care, and you won't give him any rest either. It's hard and fast, mind numbing.
Trapped against the wall, one hand beside his head and another holding his hip in a bruising grip, he's completely at your mercy with nowhere to go. No forward or side to side, just backwards, pressing right up against your body and taking your cock, and that's exactly what he does.
He pushes back against you with each thrust, meeting you half-way. He's needy, can't even wait to get it, can't even sit still and be a pillow princess. Even as your hips pounding into him slaps his ass, that pain is nothing compared to the pleasure of your cock.
But it is, still, a lot more than he bargained for.
"Shit! Slower–wait, don't! Don't." His mind's a mess. He doesn't even know what he wants, and like the greedy girl he is, he still wants for something.
"Which one is it?" You huff into his ear, "Slow down, speed up? Don't stop?"
Instead of an answer, you punch out a moan out of it instead. It's girlish and has shame burning in his cheeks, but he won't do anything about it at all because this is what he gets.
He feels crowded against the wall, trapped; sweaty and warm and actually, all too hot against your body, and his hand grips at the wall and slips because of the paint, because if he touches you he's sure he'll get a spanking. It's so feverishly good but also so damn overstimulating. Pleasure, heat, pain, overextersion, goosebumps, stings, and pleasure light up his veins.
He needs to finish right now or else you'll keep abusing his hole, fucking it open and open 'till he's kept gaping around nothing; then he'll surely miss the feeling. It's the only thought in his head.
"Please." Cassian moans, sure of what he wants now, "Please, I wanna cum."
Cassie doesn't know he doesn't have to beg for it, because you'd have gone ahead either way. Pleasure will keep coming and coming and coming without a break no matter what he does, drilling him into the wall. His body, weakened by your endless pleasure, gives way to your will and your harsh thrusts.
His cock presses into the wall, as with the rest of his body, and crudely, the constant movement and rocking of his body caused by your cock makes his dick slide along the wall. It's enough pathetic friction to have him gushing.
"Oh," Cassian moans as he finishes in white, streaky persistent ropes, "oh! Oh fuck."
For a moment, a content, toothy smile adorns his face. He's high off his peak, momentarily gone into the clouds and so lost from reality.
Except, then, as the high slips from his reach, you don't stop, and he was a fool to think you would. You haven't finished yet, and you'll chase your high and use his body for it.
The only way Cassian can respond is with a wagging tongue and another high-pitched moan. He dug himself this grave.
Star wars, husband Andor admiring male y/n's scars 🙏 wether its top scars, or general scars... maybe some body worship... :)
I just Think about my Baby
Pairing :Cassian Andor x male Reader
Fandom : star wars, Andor the series
Tags : Established Relationship, fluff, Non sexual body worship
Word count : 1000
The low hum of the refurbished freighter's engine was a constant lullaby, a far cry from the cacophony of blaster fire and shouted orders Cassian had grown accustomed to. Tonight, though, it was a welcome sound. He lay in the narrow bunk, the threadbare blanket pulled low on his chest, watching Y/N.
Y/N was curled on his side, facing away, the dim light from the control panel casting long shadows across his back. Cassian traced the lines of his spine with his eyes, the familiar dips and curves a comfort in the sterile environment of the ship. Y/N was half asleep, breathing deep and even, a stark contrast to the tension he usually carried in his shoulders. It was a sight Cassian never took for granted.
The scars those were the things that truly held his attention.
They were a map of Y/N’s life, etched onto his skin with blaster bolts, shrapnel, and the careless cruelty of the Empire. There was the thin, pale line that bisected his left shoulder blade, a memento from before Cassian had even met him. Then there was the jagged constellation of marks across his ribs, souvenirs from an Imperial prison. Y/N never spoke of that place, but Cassian had seen the nightmares it left him with.
Cassian reached out, his fingers barely brushing the smooth skin of his lower back before he followed the dip of his waist, the curve of his hip. He hesitated, a question flickering in his mind. Y/N was vulnerable in sleep, and Cassian never wanted to intrude. But the urge to touch was too strong.
He shifted closer, propping himself on one elbow. The hum of the engine vibrated through the bunk, a gentle reassurance. He leaned forward, his breath warm against the nape of Y/N's neck. With infinite tenderness, he pressed a kiss to the base of his skull, right where his hair met his skin.
Y/N stirred slightly, a soft groan escaping his lips. Cassian froze, ready to pull back. But Y/N simply burrowed deeper into the pillow, his breathing evening out again.
Cassian moved his attention to the scar on his shoulder. He leaned in, inhaling the familiar scent of Y/N’s skin – a mixture of sweat, dust, and something just him. He kissed the scar, a soft, lingering press of his lips. It was rough beneath his touch.
He kissed it again, then ran his tongue lightly along the edge, tracing the uneven texture. He kissed it again, harder this time, as if trying to absorb the pain that Y/N had suffered, to erase it with his affection.
“‘Ssian?” Y/N mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.
Cassian stilled, his hand hovering over Y/N’s back, and pulled himself back slightly to whisper in his ear. “Go back to sleep, I’m just here."
Y/N made a soft noise of agreement, but didn’t fully settle back down. Instead, he shifted slightly, his shoulder blades bunching as he arched his back into Cassian’s touch.
"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice still roughened with sleep.
Cassian hesitated again, unsure how to explain the sudden urge that possessed him. "Just… admiring," he said finally, his voice low.
Y/N chuckled softly, a warm, rumbling sound that vibrated against Cassian’s chest. "Admiring what, exactly? My battle wounds?"
Cassian didn't answer, instead pressing another kiss to the scar on his shoulder, this time followed by a gentle lick. He could feel Y/N shiver slightly.
He moved lower, tracing the line of the scar down his shoulder blade, his lips following the path his fingers had taken. He kissed the smooth skin surrounding the scar, then returned to the rougher tissue, his tongue exploring the uneven edges.
"Cassian" Y/N breathed, his voice a little more awake now. "What are you doing?"
"Worshipping," Cassian murmured against his skin. "Worshipping every part of you."
He moved down to the scars on his ribs, the jagged constellation. He kissed each one individually, lingering over the raised tissue, his tongue tracing the outlines. He could feel Y/N's muscles tense beneath his touch, a mixture of discomfort and something else, something akin to pleasure.
Y/N turned over completely, facing Cassian now, his eyes finally open. They were dark and filled with a mixture of confusion and amusement. "You're being ridiculous," he said, but there was a smile playing on his lips.
Cassian looked at him, his heart aching with love and tenderness. He reached out, brushing a stray strand of hair from Y/N's forehead. "Maybe," he said. "But you deserve to be worshipped."
He leaned in and kissed him, a deep, lingering kiss that spoke of everything of his love an affection.
When they finally broke apart, Y/N was breathing heavily, his cheeks flushed. "You're incorrigible," he said, but his eyes were shining.
Cassian grinned, a rare and genuine smile that lit up his entire face. "Only for you," he said.
He reached out and pulled Y/N closer, wrapping his arms around him. He buried his face in his hair, inhaling the familiar scent that always grounded him. He felt Y/N relax against him, his body finally surrendering to the exhaustion he had been fighting for so long.
They lay there for a long time, wrapped in each other's arms, the only sound the gentle hum of the engine. Cassian continued to hold Y/N close, tracing the scars on his back with his fingertips, memorizing every line and curve.
The hidden war with the Empire has been going on for as long as Kleya can remember at this point. Recent events have taken a toll on Luthen, he's slipping and needs a break desperately, but the Empire and the Rebellion never sleeps. Including Kleya.
She works restlessly, piecing together bits and pieces of conversations from the many bugs they have planted across the galaxy, while also responding to calls from rebel soldiers. It all has slowly become one big blur to her, everything is so similar. She's had to correct errors in her notes numerous times.
Kleya is sure Luthen will only point out her mistakes instead of thanking her for working so late into the evening. Speak of the devil, he's just walked through the main entrance to the antique shop.
"You're late." Her tone isn't harsh or cold, like she wants it to be, it's just neutral and tired.
"I know." Luthen's tone matches her own as he joins her in the backroom. "Anything interesting?"
Kleya removes her earpiece and slides the communication compartment back into it's hiding place. "Senator Organa was escorted back to Alderaan with high security, like we had predicted, Lonni reported that Hert has been promoted to Lieutenant Supervisor and Andor has completed his mission and is on his way back to Mina-Rau."
"Good." Luthen says, distantly. "You're dismissed for the evening."
"Are you sure you can handle it here for the night?" Kleya asks, not in a snarky way, but in genuine concern for his well being.
"I just said you're dismissed." Luthen emphasizes his point, his tone more demanding.
"Fine. You're the boss." Kleya grabs her bag and makes her leave. She didn't put up much of a fight with him, because, quite frankly, Kleya has been wanting to leave that backroom hours ago. Her body moves her in the direction of your apartment before her mind can keep up. That's all she needs. You.
《》《》《》《》
You softly hum the rhythm of the song playing quietly on the radio as you dry your hair. As Senator Mon Mothma's aide, you have had a very long day. You listened to all the meetings she had and made note of nearly everything said to scribble down on your datapad later, you started writing a speech about Mon Mothma's new bill that she's trying to get votes for, put up with Perrin's snide remarks, walked with Leida and provided her with emotional support towards her betrothal.
You almost let a relived sigh slip past your lips when Mon dismissed you for the day. You've been Mon Mothma's shadow for as long as you can remember now and not much can phase you. As soon as you reached your apartment, you removed all your fancy clothes and jewelry and took a well needed bath. The sweet floral smell of the bath salts is still wafting through your home.
A faint hiss echoes through the apartment and a small smile appears on your face. "In here, love."
Kleya soon emerges in the doorway, looking just about as exhausted as you feel. "You really shouldn't say that. What if I had been a burglar?"
"The point still stands." You rise from the chair at your vanity and make your way towards your partner. "You'd make a very hot burglar."
Kleya let's out a faint snort in amusement and let's you wrap your arms around her to pull her into an embrace, her arms loosely looping around your waist. You press a kiss to the crown of her head from where she's slightly slouched in your arms
"Long day?" It's a stupid question really, because you already know the answer.
"The worst." Kleya pulls away from you, but only enough so that she can finally kiss you after so long. It's been about a week since you've seen each other. You were off world with Mon for a while and Kleya has been very busy the past few days.
"Come on." You guide her over to your vanity and sit her in the chair. Kleya makes a small sound of disgust, thinking that wiping off her make up, letting her hair down and changing into a different pair of clothes is so much work.
It's quiet for a moment, as you slide the neatly placed pins from her hair and place them into their own compartment on you vanity. Kleya silently observes you through the mirror, admiring your slightly tousled hair, the lack of make up on your face and the way your pyjama shirt is slipping off of your shoulder. This is the real you. Not the girl who hides in a Senator's shadow with a fake smile plastered on her face all the time.
"Tell me about your day." Kleya requests and you give her a small smile through the mirror. You know she's asking for a distraction, a set routine her mind can think about instead of worrying about everything else.
"Well, Senator Mothma decided to have breakfast with Senators Bail Organa and Riyo Chuchi. They only talked about problems we already know about and can't fix." You begin. "By the end of that, Mon entrusted me to write her a new speech for one of her many bills, which I started writing the draft for during Mas Amedda's banquet."
You slide out the last pin and Kleya's hair falls past her shoulders. You gently turn the chair to face you, so you can focus on cleaning the make up off her face.
"On the way back from the banquet, Perrin decided to become very talkative. I was strongly resisting the urge to punch him in the throat." You tell her.
"That's the spirit." Kleya let's out a small laugh.
"I went on a walk with Leida and Mon soon dismissed me after that." You conclude and finish wiping the make up from her face. "And then, I had a visit from my lovely girlfriend."
Kleya teasingly rolls her eyes. "I am lovely, aren't I?" She stands to wrap her arms around your neck.
"Only when you bring meiloorun candy." You smirk, hands moving to her waist.
"God forbidden you ever get caught by ISB. All they would have to do is tempt you with something covered in sugar." Kleya scoffs out a laugh.
This is what makes it all worth it. Fighting the Empire, lying to everyone you ever meet, staying on high alert all the time. It's all worth it when Kleya can come back to you at the end of the day.
Human male operative of the Rebellion. An accomplished spy and assassin, Andor was well-respected within the Rebellion and was trusted with leading Alliance Intelligence missions by Alliance High Command. I made this playlist inspired by the actions and experiences of Cassian Andor, please check it out!
"I would rather die trying to take them down than die giving them what they want."
"Everything I did, I did for the Rebellion. And every time I walked away from something I wanted to forget, I told myself it was for a cause I believed in. A cause that was worth it. Without that, we're lost. Everything we've done would have been for nothing. I couldn't face myself if I gave up now."
"The Empire cannot win. You'll never feel right unless you're doing what you can to stop them. You're coming home to yourself. You've become more than your fear. Let that protect you."
