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.
