#protective cassian

[leia-writes-fanfics]

The Difference

Pairing: Cassian x Reader

Rating: Mature (Tension, Steam, Confessions)

Summary: You try to push Cassian away, afraid of being just another fling for the General. He proves you wrong.

​The wind biting at the balcony of the House of Wind was nothing compared to the storm brewing in Cassian’s hazel eyes. He was leaning against the stone archway, arms crossed over that expanse of chest that had distracted you for months, watching you try to make a dignified exit.

​"You’re running," he said. It wasn't an accusation; it was a statement of fact.

​"I’m going to bed, Cassian. There’s a difference."

​"Is there?" He pushed off the wall, closing the distance between you in two long strides. He didn't touch you—not yet—but his heat radiated in the cool night air, encompassing you. "Because the way you were looking at me by the fire... that wasn't a look that said 'goodnight, General.' That was a look that said 'come here.'"

​You gripped the handle of your mug of tea tighter, the ceramic biting into your palm. "You’re arrogant."

​"I’m observant." His voice dropped, that rough, gravelly timbre that always made your knees feel unstable. "And I’m tired of pretending this isn't happening. Let me come to your room."

​Your heart slammed against your ribs. You wanted to say yes. Every instinct in your body was screaming at you to grab the lapels of his leathers and drag him down the hall. But the logical part of your brain—the part that had survived this long by building walls—slammed the brakes.

​"No," you said, though the word lacked conviction.

​Cassian stepped closer. He trapped you, not against the wall, but in his orbit. He lowered his head until his nose brushed your temple. "Give me one good reason. And don't lie to me."

​"Because I don't do 'casual,'" you whispered, turning your head to look at him. Being this close was dangerous. "I don't do this just for the release, Cassian. I’m not Mor. I’m not... I’m not like you."

​He pulled back slightly, his brows furrowing. "Like me?"

​"You’re a warrior. You live for the moment. You take what you want and you move on." You took a shaky breath. "If I let you in... if I sleep with you... I attach. My heart gets involved. And I can't afford to have it broken when you get bored or when the next war calls you away."

​Silence stretched between you, heavy and thick. You expected him to laugh, or to offer a smooth line about how good it would be regardless.

​Instead, Cassian’s expression turned fiercely serious. The playful smirk vanished. He reached out, his calloused hand cupping your jaw, his thumb brushing over your cheekbone with a tenderness that contradicted his sheer size.

​"You think I’m looking for casual?" he asked, his voice low and rough. "You think I’ve been circling you for months, driving Azriel insane with my pacing, just because I want a warm body for a night?"

​You blinked, taken aback. "I... I don't know."

​"Then listen to me." He stepped into your space, his other hand finding your waist, pulling you flush against him. The contact was electric, searing through your clothes. "I am an Illyrian General. I have lived for five hundred years. I know the difference between an itch I need to scratch and... this."

​He leaned down, his forehead resting against yours. "I’m not asking for a night. I’m asking for you."

​"Cassian..."

​"You’re scared you’ll attach?" He let out a dark, incredulous huff of laughter against your skin. "Sweetheart, look at me. I’m already there. I’m already attached. You’re the one holding the shield up. I’m just trying to get you to lower it so I can come inside."

​His thumb traced your bottom lip, dragging it down slightly. "Let yourself attach. Let yourself feel it. Because I promise you, on my wings, on my life... I’m not going anywhere. I’m not going to break your heart. I’m going to guard it like it’s the only thing that matters in this court."

​He kissed the corner of your mouth, a soft, lingering pressure that promised ruin and worship in equal measure.

​"So," he murmured against your lips, his hand tightening possessively on your waist. "Stop thinking. Stop protecting yourself from me. And let me take you to bed."

​The walls crumbled. The logic failed. Under the weight of his honesty and the heat of his body, the fear didn't disappear, but it suddenly felt manageable. Shared.

​You exhaled, one hand finally unclenching from the mug to slide up his chest, tangling into the hair at the nape of his neck.

​"Okay," you whispered.

​Cassian grinned, that feral, triumphant grin that made the shadows flee. "Okay."

[piperthorn]

Not just survive it

Cassian x Illyrian reader

quiet training scene with cassian because i physically cannot write this man without some level of emotional damage

this is more restrained than what i usually do but i wanted something that felt… earned

no big confession

no dramatic fix

just him choosing to meet her where she’s at instead of breaking her down

and her maybe..... just maybe..... starting to believe him

(also yes he absolutely went and handled the situation without telling her)

Cassian knew he was holding back when it came to training you.

When Azriel brought you back from the Autumn Court of all places, something in the Inner Circle had shifted.

Not because of who you were

But where you came from.

Eris Vanserra had been training you.

An Illyrian.

For months.

And now that responsibility sat squarely on Cassian’s shoulders.

The two of you had been at it for hours.

Hand-to-hand was where you fell apart.

just… wrong.

Not slow

not weak

Eris had taught you blades. Footwork. How to evade.

Your instincts weren’t built for it.

Too used to distance. Steel. Space.

Cassian?

Cassian taught you how to take a hit.

He had you on your back before you even registered the shift.

His knee pinned your thigh, hand locking your arm above your head.

Wrist caught.

Weight dropped.

Air knocked from your lungs.

Both of you are breathing hard.

Too close.

Too still.

Gritted teeth.

“Come on,” he muttered, voice rough.

“I know he taught you how to get out of this.”

Because he knew you could.

You just… weren’t.

You didn’t buck.

Didn’t twist.

Didn’t even try.

Cassian frowned.

Then pushed you harder into the dirt.

And everything changed.

It wasn’t subtle.

Pain flashed across your face sharp, unguarded, immediate.

Your breath hitched wrong.

Your body went rigid under his.

Cassian stilled.

Not fully.

But enough.

His grip shifted

“What,” he said slowly, dangerously,

“the hell”

And he saw it.

Your wing.

A slice along the membrane.

Not clean.

Not shallow.

Fresh enough that the edges hadn’t settled.

“What. The. Hell. Is. That.”

Each word landed heavier than the last.

Your jaw tightened.

You tried to roll him.

Collapsed.

Actually tried this time but your arm gave out halfway through.

Forced him down harder on instinct.

You sucked in a sharp breath.

That same wrong hitch.

Cassian swore and shifted immediately, lifting just enough to take his full weight off youbut not letting you up.

Not yet.

Not like this.

A lie.

“Nothing,” you bit out.

“Just a scrape.”

A bad one.

“That’s not what a scrape does to wings.”

His own flared slightly on reflex, instinct, emphasis.

Frustration bleeding through the movement.

“It’s nothing.”

“You cannot be serious.”

You finally shoved at him again.

Weaker this time.

Slower.

“Let me up.”

“No.”

Flat. Immediate.

Your eyes snapped to his.

“I said it’s nothing.”

“And I'm saying” his voice dropped, tighter now, “that’s not your call to make when you’re training under me.”

Something in your expression shifted.

Not fear.

Not quite anger.

Defiance.

“I don’t need you to go easy on me.”

“I’m not going easy on you.”

“Then stop acting like I’m going to break.”

That hit.

He actually flinched.

Barely but it was there.

“You’re already injured.”

“And I’m still here.”

“Barely.”

Your laugh was sharp. Wrong.

Silence.

“Good,” you said.

“Then maybe now it counts.”

Cassian went very still.

“Counts,” he repeated.

Quiet.

Dangerous in a different way no

“You think running yourself into the ground is what makes this count?”

“I think stopping is what gets me sent back.”

There it was.

Not said loudly.

Not dramatically.

But it landed harder than anything else had.

Cassian’s grip loosened.

Just slightly.

Not enough for you to get away.

But enough that it wasn’t control anymore.

It was hesitation.

“You’re not going back,” he said.

You didn’t answer.

Didn’t look convinced.

And that

That was what finally broke something in him.

He let you go.

Abrupt.

Like holding on any longer would make it worse.

Cassian pushed to his feet, dragging a hand down his face, wings flaring once sharp, agitated.

“Training’s done,” he snapped.

You sat up slower than you should have needed to.

Still said nothing.

That silence followed him as he turned away.

And didn’t look back.

It was the dining room that Cassian found himself in.

Not by choice.

Just… ended up there.

Azriel was already at the table, shadows curled tight around his shoulders as he went over reports.

Cassian dropped into the chair across from him.

Az didn’t look up.

“Bad morning for training?”

Cassian rolled his eyes.

“She showed up with a cut in her wing.”

That got Azriel’s attention.

Not all at once

but enough.

“Deep?” he asked.

A beat.

“Deep enough that she shouldn’t have been there,” Cassian muttered.

“She tried to train through it anyway.”

“Then basically implied we’d send her back to the Autumn Court if she didn’t.”

Azriel went still.

“I told her to send word to you that she’s resting today.”

Now Azriel looked up.

Fully.

Silence stretched.

“What happened?” Cassian asked, sharper now.

Azriel set the report down.

Shadows shiftingtight, restless.

Cassian frowned.

“She was at Rita's last night,” he said.

“With Morr.”

“She left early.”

A pause.

Measured.

“Someone followed her.”

Cassian’s posture changed.

Subtle.

Immediate.

“What do you mean followed.”

Azriel’s gaze didn’t waver.

“He cornered her.”

Silence.

Heavy.

A beat.

“When I got there,” Azriel continued, voice low, controlled,

“her wing was already cut.”

“And he was on the ground.”

Cassian’s jaw tightened.

“She do it?” he asked.

“Yes.”

No hesitation.

Another silence.

Different this time.

Of course she didn’t.

“She was supposed to see Madja,” Azriel added.

“She didn’t go.”

Cassian huffed, dragging a hand down his face.

“They’re talking,” Azriel said.

Cassian’s eyes snapped to his.

“Who.”

Azriel held his gaze.

“The camps.”

That was enough.

Cassian leaned forward slightly.

Dangerously still.

“What are they saying.”

Azriel didn’t soften it.

Didn’t try to.

Something in Cassian snapped into place.

“That she should have been clipped.”

A beat.

“That someone should remind her what she is.”

Cold.

“She’s not going back there,” he said flatly.

“She isn’t,” Azriel agreed.

But that wasn’t the problem.

And they both knew it.

Cassian pushed to his feet.

“They touched her.”

Not a question.

Azriel’s shadows shifted.

“Yes.”

That was it.

Cassian turned for the door.

“Where are you going?” Azriel asked.

Cassian didn’t slow.

“To make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

You’re in your room when Cassian finds you.

Wing still not repaired.

Chest still heaving from training.

He doesn’t knock.

Just walks in.

Closes the door behind him and leans back against it.

“Why didn’t you do what Azriel told you?”

You look up from the bed.

Unimpressed.

You had a point.

“If I’m injured in battle,” you say, voice flat,

“they’re not going to wait for me to get a bandage before they keep going.”

He knew that.

Didn’t matter.

A step forward.

“No,” Cassian said, pushing off the door,

“they won’t.”

“But I will.”

You don’t flinch.

You roll your eyes.

“The next time you’re told to find Madja and take the day off,” he continues, voice tightening,

“you do exactly that.”

Already done with this.

“What’s it matter anyway?”

Cassian opens his mouth

You take a step toward him.

“What,” you cut in, standing now,

“are you going to send me back to Eris?”

“Like the Autumn Court is any better?”

Another step.

“Like Beron won’t beat me black and blue despite the wing tear?”

Another.

Closer now.

Another step.

“Like they won’t break my bones,” your voice sharpens,

“and heal them just to do it again in the name of training?”

“Is that what you think we’ll do?”

Cassian moves this time.

One step forward.

“Is that what they did?”

Another.

Slower.

Another step.

“You think you deserve that?”

His voice drops.

“Is that it?”

Silence.

Neither of you look away.

“We would never do that to you.”

It’s quiet.

Too quiet.

You almost miss it.

And that

that throws you more than anything else he’s said.

You inhale, ready to snap back

But Cassian’s already turning.

“I’ll send Madja up.”

The door opens.

Closes.

And he’s gone.

When Cassian reaches the camps

he’s already past anger.

He’s cold.

All seven siphons glow faintly against his skin.

Not flaring.

Not wild.

Controlled.

That’s what makes it worse.

Word spreads fast when he lands.

Illyrian warriors slow.

Watch.

Wait.

No one speaks.

Cassian doesn’t ask around.

Doesn’t need to.

“Where is he.”

Not loud.

The male nearest him stiffens.

Points.

That’s all it takes.

The male is laughing when Cassian finds him.

Mid-sentence.

Doesn’t finish it.

Because he sees him.

Sees the siphons.

The wings.

The stillness.

Cassian doesn’t rush him.

Doesn’t strike immediately.

Walks.

Slow.

Measured.

Stops just in front of him.

“You put your hands on her.”

Not a question.

The male shifts.

Glances around.

No one steps in.

He doesn’t finish that sentence either.

“She’s Illyrian,” he says, defensive already.

“She should”

Cassian grabs him.

Fast.

Slams him to his knees.

Not wild.

Precise.

“You don’t get to decide what she should be.”

The male struggles.

Fails.

“She’s not one of us”

Cassian tightens his grip.

Just enough.

“She is,” he says.

Flat.

Final.

Silence ripples outward.

Every warrior watching.

Listening.

Cassian leans in slightly.

Not shouting.

The male freezes.

“Touch her again,” he says quietly,

“and I won’t stop at a warning.”

Because he knows

that wasn’t a threat.

It was a promise.

Cassian releases him.

Lets him drop.

Straightens.

Turns.

And walks away.

No one follows.

No one speaks.

It’s dinner time when Cassian returns to the House of Wind.

Madja had already filled him in.

Your wing was repaired.

You were supposed to stay off of it.

And apparently the bastard from the night before had sprained your wrist and twisted your shoulder.

That explained why you hadn’t rolled him off that morning.

Against his better judgment, Cassian doesn’t seek you out that night.

Not because he doesn’t want to.

Because he does.

But he knows

after earlier

whatever comes out of his mouth won’t be what he means.

So he lets you sleep.

When he walks into the training ring the next morning

you’re already there.

Punching the wooden beam at the center.

Cassian stops.

Just watches for a second.

Your stance is off.

Your shoulder compensating.

Your wrist is stiff.

Still going.

Of course you are.

He doesn’t tell you to stop.

Doesn’t call out.

Just walks up behind you

and nudges your foot with his.

You pause.

Look down.

Then adjust.

Correcting your stance.

He gestures toward your arm.

A silent question.

You nod.

Cassian steps in closer.

Not crowding

just enough.

He takes your arm, careful but firm, and lowers it slightly. Shifts your shoulder with it.

Like he’s commenting on the weather.

“This will let you keep your power,” he says, voice even,

“without pulling the joint.”

Like this is nothing.

Training continues like that.

No structure. No plan. Just you moving.

Cassian adjusting.

A shift of your stance.

A reposition of your grip.

A quiet correction before you even realize you’re compensating wrong.

He never mentions the injury.

Just works around it.

And for the first time

you do too.

By the end of the morning, you’re heading toward the exit.

Almost gone.

When Cassian finally speaks.

“You know we wouldn’t do that, right?”

You stop.

Just barely.

Turn your head enough to look at him over your shoulder.

Cassian doesn’t move.

A breath.

“Despite whatever they’re saying in the camps,” he continues,

“or in other courts…”

Measured.

“We don’t push someone past the point of breaking.”

His voice softens just slightly.

“Not unless we’re on a battlefield.”

A pause.

“Here…”

He gestures vaguely toward the ring.

Toward you.

“We teach you how to work with it.”

You don’t respond right away.

Don’t argue.

Don’t deflect.

Just stand there for a second longer than necessary.

Then a small nod. Barely there. And the slightest hint of a smile.

Before you walk away.

Cassian watches you go.

Doesn’t follow.

But he doesn’t look away either.

[moodymelanist]

if you could write some protective!cassian that would be great. thank you!!

of course!! let’s say Nessian, Gwynriel, and Emorie are all out and someone tries to get pushy with Nesta. Our king is NOT having that!

Nesta motioned to her friends that she was going to get another drink before she fought her way off the dance floor. It was packed inside Rita’s and she needed some water and a breather after being that close to that many people, even if she’d been surrounded by her friends.

Emerie and Mor had convinced everyone to go out a few hours earlier. Cassian and Gwyn had barely needed any convincing, meaning that Azriel and Nesta were of course coming along. Lucien and Elain had snuck off to God knew where to do God knew what about fifteen minutes ago, Amren and Varian hadn’t even made it out their apartment, and Feyre was nursing a cold so Rhys had stayed home to take care of her. Everyone else was either still dancing or, in Cassian’s case, waiting to use the bathroom.

Somehow Nesta managed to fight her way over to the bar and order some ice water. She rested her arms on the counter while she waited and immediately regretted it from how sticky it was from spilled drinks.

“Thank you!” she yelled over the music to the bartender. She had been about to turn and make her way back into the crowd when she felt a hand on her arm and turned, expecting it to be her boyfriend or someone else she knew.

Instead she was met with a total stranger. He was taller than her - not as tall as Cassian, of course - but instead of making her feel safe, the guy was leaning far too close into her personal space.

“Can I help you?” Nesta exclaimed over the music. In the darker lighting it was a little hard to see, but the guy looked white, with dark brown hair and dark eyes.

“I wanted to buy you a drink,” he yelled back. He leaned in closer so he didn’t have to raise his voice so much and she instantly leaned away, not wanting him to touch her even more.

Something about this guy was giving her the creeps. “No thank you!”

“Come on, it’s just a free drink,” he insisted.

“I said no,” she snapped. She yanked her arm out of his grip and tried to walk away, but he reached out to put his arm around her again. “I’m not interested.”

The guy was actively scowling at her now. Good. “You don’t have to be like that, you know. I’m just trying to be nice.”

Nesta was debating the merits of throwing her water in this guy’s face when she felt her boyfriend’s familiar body by her side. He pulled her out of the other guy’s grip like it was nothing.

She turned to look up at Cassian and saw he had a furious expression on his face that she’d never seen before. “Get your fucking hands off her. She said no.”

“Relax, man,” the other guy said, but he had leaned away from them. Cassian was absolutely huge and when he looked this pissed off he was intimidating as hell. “I was just trying to buy her a drink. I didn’t know she was with you.”

“It shouldn’t matter if she’s with anyone or not,” Cassian yelled. “She said no. That should’ve been the end of it.”

Nesta could tell Cassian was considering punching this guy in the face from the way he tried to move her out of the way, but she was having absolutely none of it. She didn’t want to end the night that way even if this asshole deserved to be hit. “Baby, he’s not worth it. Let’s go back to our friends.”

“Okay, sweetheart.” Her boyfriend took a deep breath before shooting an absolutely murderous look at the other man. “You’re lucky my girlfriend is a good person.”

[simpingfornestaarcheron]

Headcanon: Cassian taking care of Nesta

Set at the beginning of acosf before their first (second) kiss.

-Nesta has been training for less then a week, Cassian is happy because she started making progress. Cassian wakes up feeling like there’s something wrong but he can’t figure out what it is.

-He walks into the living room and notices that Nesta isn’t sitting at the breakfast table, he waits for a while and when she doesn’t show up he knocks on her door. She tells him to go away. He insists but she keeps telling him to leave her alone so he opens the door fully prepared to drag her out of bed.

-she’s still in bed and she’s shaking slightly. Cassian immediately goes into protective mode. He smells blood and at first he freaks out but then he puts 2 and 2 together and understands what’s going on. What’s happening is that Nesta is on her period, plus she has some withdrawal symptoms. (I refuse to believe she didn’t suffer from it)

-He asks what he can do to help her but she’s like go away I don’t need anything from you. Which isn’t true because she’s so weak that she can’t even get up to go to the bathroom. But this is at the very beginning of acosf so she’s still trying to push him away, plus she’s sweaty and bloody and doesn’t want him to see her like that. Of course she doesn’t say this out lout but he knows.

-Cassian is like look Nesta I’ve been a soldier all my life you can’t even begin to imagine the things I’ve seen so a little menstrual blood won’t scare me. Just let me help you then I’ll leave you alone and you can sleep and read your smutty books all day *wink

-Nesta recluctantly agrees so he draws her a bath, gently carries her to the bathroom and tells her to call him when she’s finished so he can take her back to bed. While she takes a bath he changes the sheets and starts making her breakfast but the House is like wait I got this and suddenly a breakfast tray appears out of nowhere. Instead of porridge and eggs there’s tea, cookies and a slice of cholocate cake. 

-he hears footsteps approaching. It’s Nesta, who of course decided not to call him and is trying to walk on her own but she’s so weak that she basically passes out in his arms. He carries her back to bed and tells her to eat something and she’s like I’ll eat if you go away.

-Cassian recluctantly listens to her but he doesn’t leave the house and spends the rest of the day sitting on the floor outside her door. 

(I love the idea of them cuddling but since this hc is set at the very beginning of acosf I think that would be too out of character for Nesta)

[wildlyglittering]

Six Sentence Sunday - No Falling, Only Flying

@my-fan-side sent me a Nessian request a long time ago about Nesta learning to develop wings using her magic and then getting Feyre to teach her how to fly. They asked.... so I did it ;)

Here is a SSS for No Falling, Only Flying which should be up next Sunday!

***

Nesta let the hand on his jaw slide into his hair while the other dropped the sheet.

“Nesta,” Cassian murmured, pulling his mouth away from her, trailing his lips to her cheek and up to her ear. He nibbled on the lobe while her breath hitched. “No distractions,” he said and nipped at the shell before pulling away.

She slid a fingertip across the skin of one of his wings. “Tease.”

[julez-the-great]

Missions--Cassian Andor x Sister!Reader

“You’re too young to go on this mission. That is final,” Cassian told you. You rolled your eyes as you took his bag from him. He sighed and crossed his arms, giving you an expectant look.

“But Cassian, I’m nineteen. Besides, I think I’m ready for bigger intelligence missions since I’ve been here for most of my life,” you argued, raising your voice. Cassian pinched the bridge of his nose, thinking through this idea. Sure, he could let you go out on this mission and risk your life, but he didn’t want to lose you. Then again, you would be with him and it’d be a great lesson if something went wrong.

“Alright. You’ve twisted my arm enough, kid. Get in,” he grumbled, taking his bag from you and walking into his ship. You followed him happily, your own bag in tow.

“I’m twenty-four and she’s already giving me gray hair,” he mumbled as he took his seat next to K-2SO. The droid turned his head to Cassian.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t quite hear you,” the droid said loudly, causing your ears to perk. Cassian grumbled more as he buckled himself into the seat.

“Just start flying.”

–

“See, Cassian, there wasn’t anything to be worried about,” you said as you hobbled back to the ship. Your leg was leaking pain with every step you took, causing you to wince.

“Firstly, you’re limping, which you are not doing a good job of hiding. Second, you almost got us killed and lastly, you’re not ready for these types of missions yet,” he lectured, walking ahead of you. K2 came up beside you, lifting you up into his arms, much to your dismay.

“I’m only doing this because he told me to,” the droid stated as he carried you onto the ship. He placed you into one of the seats where Cassian examined your leg. “I’m going to start the ship.”

“Thanks K2,” you grumbled, crossing your arms over your chest. Blood was seeping through the bottom of your pant leg from the weapon that hit it. Cassian rolled up the bottom and began to examine the injury.

“This wouldn’t have happened if you went on the mission with Flora instead,” he sighed. You scowled to your older brother.

“You need to stop treating me like a baby, Cassian–I need you to teach me the things that you do on missions!” You exclaimed, throwing your hands in the air. You winced as the wound was prodded by your brother.

“Sorry. And I’m not treating you like a baby, I’m protecting you for your own good,” he said, wrapping your wound in gauze. You huffed.

“And what is it you’re protecting me from, Cassian? Is it the chance to actually help the Rebellion or are you just being selfish?” You said maliciously. Cassian then stood, shutting the first aid box loudly and shoving it back into his bag.

“Get some rest,” he demanded as he stormed to the pilot seat. You watched as he disappeared behind you, a pang of guilt hitting your heart. Sighing, you sprawled across the row of seats, tired from the day’s events.

–

It had been a week since that mission and Cassian hasn’t even so much and checked up on you. Even when you found him, he only pushed you away, going off into another part of the base. It made you upset that you had caused this situation, so when you saw K-2SO, you rushed to the droid, immediately talking to him.

“K2!” You yelled to him and you caught up with him. He turned to you.

“Oh, back again to upset me now?” He asked sarcastically. You sighed as you looked to the ground, moving a pebble from foot to foot.

“No. Can you just tell Cassian that I want to talk, please?” You asked the droid. K2 placed his hand onto your shoulder, causing your head to snap up and face him head on.

“I’ll see what I can do, but you really should be the one to initiate,” he said before walking away from you and down the halway.

–

The next day, you opened your door to see Cassian leaning against the wall across from your door. You looked at him in surprise as he walked closer to you.

“You wanted to talk?” He said, looking into your soft (e/c) eyes. You nodded before you wrapped your arms around him tightly.

“Cassian, I’m sorry that I upset you,” you grumbled into his chest. He rubbed a hand on your back soothingly.

“I just don’t want you to go through what I’ve been through. I’ve seen a lot of people die because of my actions and I know what it’s like to make sacrifices,” he explained looking off into your room. You separated from him. “But I realize that you’re going to do what you want to. Just let me know if you need help.”

“I will, Cassian,” you said, watching as he began walking away. “Where are you going?”

“We’re going on a mission, so gather some things and meet me by the ship,” he said, leaving you to prepare and to smile happily, glad that your bridges were fixed.

[leia-writes-fanfics]

The General's Woman

Pairing: Cassian x Reader

Rating: Teen (Fluff, Public Display of Affection, Possessive Cassian)

Summary: Cassian decides that a simple walk through Velaris isn't enough. He wants a parade.

​The cobblestones of Velaris were warm beneath your boots, heated by the afternoon sun that bathed the Rainbow in a haze of gold and vibrant color. But the heat radiating from the hand engulfing yours was far more intense.

​Cassian didn't just hold your hand; he encompassed it. His calloused palm was rough against your skin, his grip firm and unyielding, swinging your arms slightly as you walked between the bustling shops of the art district.

​"You’re brooding," you teased, looking up at him.

​Cassian let out a sharp, barking laugh that turned a dozen heads nearby. "I don’t brood. That’s Azriel’s job. I’m merely... observing."

​"Observing?" You raised a brow, glancing around.

​It was hard not to notice the shift in the atmosphere. Velaris was a city of peace, but Cassian was a weapon of war. His wings, massive and leathery, tucked tight against his back, still demanded space. The seven red siphons on his armor glinted ominously in the sunlight. People parted for him like the Sidra flowing around a boulder—a mix of reverence, awe, and a healthy dose of intimidation.

​But today, they weren't just looking at the General Commander of the Night Court’s armies. They were looking at you.

​Every time Cassian caught someone staring, he didn't scowl. He grinned. He puffed his chest out slightly, his thumb tracing idle, possessive circles on the back of your hand.

​"They're staring, Cass," you murmured, stepping closer to him as you passed a stall selling glass blown into the shapes of starlight.

​"Let them," he rumbled, his voice dropping an octave, vibrating right through his chest and into your shoulder. He stopped abruptly, forcing you to turn toward him. "Let them see exactly who walks beside me."

​He reached out, his free hand tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His hazel eyes, usually alight with mischief or battle-lust, were soft now. Molten gold. He looked at you as if you were the only terrified, beautiful thing in the world worth protecting.

​A few passersby lingered, pretending to look at pottery while overtly watching the famous Illyrian warrior look at his mate with such naked adoration.

​You felt a flush rise to your cheeks, but it wasn't embarrassment. It was pride. A distinct, thrilling surge of power. You squeezed his hand back.

​"You know," you whispered, leaning up on your tiptoes so only he could hear. "I never thought I’d be the type to enjoy the attention."

​Cassian’s eyebrow crooked upward. "Oh?"

​You hummed, glancing at a group of Fae whispering behind their hands, then back to his smug, handsome face. "I think I’m really enjoying being the General’s woman."

​The effect was instantaneous.

​The playful spark in Cassian’s eyes flared into a roaring inferno of arrogance and delight. His grin widened, transforming from charming to positively wicked.

​"Is that so?" he purred. "You like the title?"

​"I like the perks," you countered playfully.

​"Then let’s give them a show."

​Instead of continuing to walk, Cassian suddenly pulled you flush against his armored chest. He didn't care that you were in the middle of the street. He shifted his wings, flaring them outward just enough to catch the light—and the eye of every single person in the vicinity. It was a peacocking move, utterly ridiculous and incredibly effective.

​He slid his hand from your cheek down to your waist, claiming you heavily, his fingers splaying wide over the fabric of your tunic.

​"Cassian!" you laughed, breathless, as the whispers around you grew louder.

​"What?" He feigned innocence, though he looked like the cat who had not only eaten the canary but stolen the cream, too. He leaned down, pressing a lingering, searing kiss to your forehead, then your temple, making sure everyone saw the devotion. "If you enjoy being the General’s woman, I intend to make sure every male and female in Velaris knows you belong to me."

​He pulled back just enough to look you in the eye, that smug satisfaction radiating off him in waves.

​"Walk with me, sweetheart," he said, his voice loud enough to carry. "I want to buy you something expensive."

​As he led you forward, head held high and wings practically strutting on their own accord, you realized he wasn't just walking you through the city. He was parading you. And as he squeezed your hand tight, catching the eye of a staring merchant and winking, you decided you didn't mind one bit.