could you do cassian with a shy mate who doesn't know how to react to causal intimacy??
sure. now, i sort of assumed with casual intimacy you mean like physical touch? sorry if i misinterpreted!
Cassian x shy!reader who is getting used to Cassian's touch [859 words]
CW: fem!reader, mates, Cassian's love language is physical touch, reader hates being perceived, rhys won't stop perceiving her, fluff
You try not to react outwardly when Cassian’s large hand lands on your knee, but you doubt that you do a very good job.
The touch itself isn’t particularly scandalous; his palm doesn’t stray anywhere impolite, yet it feels like a branding iron all the same.
Cassian is simply a touchy guy. His job is physical in itself, requiring him to help warriors get into proper positions, sparring, stretching, the whole shebang. And if that wasn’t bad enough, you’ve seen the way he is with his family.
The male constantly has an arm thrown around whoever finds themselves within grabbing reach. Flipping a lock of Mor’s hair up into her face, clapping Azriel on the shoulder, hip-checking Feyre out of his way, brushing his shoulder up against Rhysand’s like the two of them are conspiring (they probably are).
So of course, it should come as no surprise that Cassian is equally as tactile with his mate.
Yet, it manages to surprise you every time.
It’s likely due to a combination of factors. Your family was never overly affectionate in this way; hugs and kisses fizzled out rather quickly in your youth and now, hugs are merely reserved for hellos and goodbyes.
It’s also probably in part that you’re a horribly shy creature and don’t wish to be perceived in any capacity, and Cassian’s hand landing on your knee only goes to alert you to the fact that you are, indeed, a perceivable being.
If it’s at all possible, you shrink even further into yourself, hoping to eventually blend into the cushion of the loveseat that you’re currently occupying. You’re silently chanting don’t look, don’t look, don’t look as you scan the room to see who might be looking in your direction.
Cassian must hate you, though, because he lets out a sharp bark of laughter that has the majority of the room turning to look at him; sitting so close to him, you’re thus perceived by association.
He launches into some story that apparently requires both hands to accurately recall it, lifting his palm from where it was warming your knee and leaving it cold in his wake.
Great, now you miss his touch. You – ever so slowly – shift in your seat, crossing one leg over the other in a poor attempt to recreate some of Cassian’s warmth.
You fail, and you look up to find that Rhysand has witnessed your hopeless aim at self-soothing, the male sending you a comforting wink that brings you no comfort at all and sees you subconsciously shifting further into Cassian’s side, wondering if he might not extend his wing for you to hide behind.
Cassian must’ve felt you thinking about him, or maybe he really does just hate you, because he chooses that moment to turn in his seat in order to look at you. It requires him to shift his entire body since you’ve all but melted into the cushions behind him.
“You doin’ okay, gorgeous?”
You hum in the affirmative but the sound is all wrong; pitchy, high, and a little bit wobbly.
“What’re you doing back there, hm?”
Busted.
“Hiding,” you admit, knowing better than to lie to him (again).
This time it’s Cassian who hums the affirmative, turning even further in his seat until his knees brush yours and you are granted the entirety of his attention. “Rhys said you look like you’re trying to figure out how to winnow.”
You turn to look at the offending male who has the audacity to wink at you.
Squealer.
Rhysand throws his head back in laughter; you might have thought that particular thought a little too loudly.
“Awe, don’t be mad at him, sweetheart,” Cassian chuckles, calloused fingers tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear before hooking underneath your chin and tilting your face up towards him. “He can’t help but notice the most beautiful fae in the room.”
“Cassian,” you hiss, face heating at his blatant flattery and you’d like for his hand to move away from your cheeks lest he realize what effect he’s having on you. “His mate’s sitting right there.”
“I said what I said.”
“Why are you doing this to me?” You whisper, closing your eyes in resignation though you can’t help the smile that dances at the corners of your lips.
“Doing what?” Cassian replies with a laugh that fans across your face. “What am I doing to you, huh?”
“Torturing me.”
“I’m loving you,” he counters proudly. “You’ve got a problem with that, sweetheart?”
“Maybe I do.”
Cassian lets out a huff of acknowledgement. “Yeah? Well, tough.”
He punctuates the sentiment with a gentle kiss to your lips before he finally lets go of your jaw, but he takes a moment to bump his nose against yours before pulling away as a silent apology for any discomfort. You both know if you truly had an issue, though, that he’d back off.
His hand doesn’t stray far, however, returning to your knee as he jumps back into the conversation happening around him, this time the touch is paired with the occasional squeeze or a stroke of his thumb along your inner knee.
Cassian x reader who had a bad past, and CANNOT sleep anywhere except for her bed moves into house of wind and can't adjust so she's having sleepless nights, somehow falls asleep on Cassian's shoulder after dinner in front of EVERYONE
You haven't gotten a wink of sleep in six days, so it's really no surprise that you pass out, but everyone else cluelessly quiets their chatter the second your head slumps onto Cassian's shoulder.
"Oh-" The general glances down from where he'd been reaching for the dish of potatoes, sure to displace you if he moves another inch, "Uh- Azriel? Can you pass me the potatoes?"
Azriel does so wordlessly, and one of the man's shadows coils up your torso, running laps around you until it can prod carefully at your face.
Azriel calls it back to his hand, and whatever it whispers to him has the shadowsinger's brows furrowing.
"She's exhausted." He says, and Cassian's wings tense briefly behind him, pulled tighter in towards his spine, "Let her rest, Cassian."
"I'm going to." He grunts, near-affronted that his brother seems to think he was going to shove you off and into Feyre on your opposite side, "What's the deal, she stays up all night reading or something?"
"Sometimes." Feyre admits, but her voice isn't teasing or light. It's subdued, something that drains Cassian's usual playful energy and leaves him with a sick feeling inside, "She reads because she can't sleep, though. She doesn't lose sleep over reading."
"She has nightmares, Cassian." Rhysand hums, staccato and terse, and Cassian is really starting to resent that his brothers treat him like an untrained animal- he wasn't going to pry, thank you very much!
Though, he would have spent quite a lot of time worrying over the possibilities if Rhys hadn't told him. And knowing you struggle with night terrors- maybe even like the ones he faces himself, endears him to the way your face is smushed up against his bicep. He's extra careful not to jostle you now, and he begins eating with his non-dominant hand, sacrificing only one stray spinach leaf to his lap in the endeavor.
"It's just really hard for her to sleep anywhere but home." Elain comments, and no one wants to note the way she says home like she's not there now. It's a stark reminder that the House of Wind might be Feyre's home, but her sisters are still adjusting. And Cassian reckons you might have a lot more adjusting to do, if you can't even sleep on the massive mattress laden in silken sheets Rhysand surely paid an arm and a leg for.
But- if his arm works, it works. And he finishes his meal with only a bit of a struggle, a few meager carrots left on his plate that he wasn't able to scoop up with his mismatched coordination. Everyone begins clearing plates, and Azriel seems to be the only one who remembers you've been passed out on Cassian's side throughout the entire meal.
He lingers as everyone moves into the sitting room for wine and gossip, his shadows rushing to blanket you in their cool solitude. You shift, humming in your sleep as they fit themselves to your form, calming you with their wispy presence.
"They'll block out noise." Azriel hums, his eyes oozing with seldom-seen sympathy from the terrifying shadowsinger. Cassian knows it's because all three of you lie awake sleepless each night, and he briefly entertains the idea of a midnight book club for all of the House's miserable inhabitants. For now, though, he'll let you sleep- he'll wake you to discuss some of the finer details when Azriel's shadows let your head up off of his shoulder.
"I don't want to wake her," Cassian murmurs, "But she can't be comfortable."
"She's comfortable enough." Azriel shakes his head once, "Don't break the spell. She might be able to sleep in a bed later, or on the couch, or whatever works. But she's sleeping now, so don't ruin it."
"She's lucky I've been stakeout trained," Cassian gripes, but the ire in his tone is forced, and he feels the chair beneath his ass magically sprout a cushion that settles the dull ache he's beginning to feel down south, "She's going to have the worst neck pain of her life tomorrow."
Your chair promptly grows a cushion too, against the back of your head to cradle your bent neck. It's not perfect, but it's the best the House can do, and Cassian settles in for a long night of staring at the silverware.
"I'll bring you a book," Azriel smirks, eyeing the way the House clearly wants you to sleep after so long watching you lie awake, "Just promise you'll mind your wings. She doesn't need a claw to the eyeball."
"Will do," Cassian ruffles the appendages, keeping their sharpened tips far away from your snoozing form. Another glance down at you reveals your soft breaths fanning the shadows away, and it's comforting to watch them billow back and forth; they'll always protect you, and your chest will always be rising and falling. Cassian feels some of that tightness in his own chest ease, and he glances softly up at Azriel, keeping his voice just above a whisper in order to be heard but to not disturb you, "Az? Bring me a few books - she's long overdue."
