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you want prompts ~~ DUDE OK I’M THERE. “But I want to hear you sing.” rebelcaptain! ❤️
Thank you for the prompt, good friend! Send me some more!
For all that Jyn (and probably everybody who has known her ever) claims that she’s the toughest neurosurgeon to ever grace Yavin Central, a flu can really bring her down and reduce her to a small, kind of pitiful lump of grumpy on her bed.
It’s not until he’s returned from his own shift to their meager little apartment just a couple blocks from the hospital that he finds her in her room sniffling and making small grumpy noises, as if she’s taking personal offense to her runny nose.
It would be funny if it didn’t concern Cassian a bit. He’s a doctor, he knows a simple flu is not as fatal as it probably feels, and that she’ll most likely bounce back as fiercely determined as before. But he’s not used to seeing her this defeated before.
All her stubborn refusal to be dependent makes him all the more concerned, this want in him morphing into a steady desire to take care of Jyn. Strong, stubborn-willed Jyn.
He knocks a couple times on the door and gives her a smile when her disheveled head appears from the cocoon of blankets.
“Cassian, you’re home.”
Her voice is scratchy and her eyes, from what he can see in the dark, are tired and half-mast. But his heart jumps at her words, at the tone of them. Like she’s been waiting for him. (It’s probably just that she’s sick and needs someone there with her. But his heart can hope.)
“Still not better?” he asks. He left her that morning at 100 F with a couple of paracetamol and a huge glass of water. He’s taken to texting her every hour or so just to make sure she’s okay.
She sniffs and shakes her head, beckons him to bed as if they’ve done this a million times before. He takes it, it’s not like he gets invited to bed by Jyn Erso everyday. Still, he sits gingerly next to her head, his hand, out of its own accord, reaching out to tangle his fingers in her greasy hair.
She frowns. “I’m disgusting.”
He smiles and keeps stroking her hair. “I don’t care.”
With that, she nuzzles further into his hand like a... cat. She closes her eyes and hums quietly. And then, out of the blue, she says, “Sing to me.”
He startles, but not enough to dislodge her comfort. “I... why?”
“You have a soft voice,” she replies, muffled by her comforter. His chest tightens. He is definitely not a singer, his voice is rough like gravel, but tunes come easy to him. He used to sing when he was a child, when he hasn’t yet reached puberty. For his mama, and his little sister, and his abuelita. But ever since leaving Mexico, he hasn’t sang for anybody. He doesn’t even know how Jyn knew.
“How --
“You hum in the shower,” she answers, a blush on her cheeks that is not from the fever, he knows. “And when you come home and want to make dinner, it’s usually my cue. You’ve had a good day. I’m always too late though, you never sing when I’m around.”
“I don’t...” he bites his lip and looks at her pleading eyes. “Jyn, it’s embarrassing.”
She tilts her head into his hand more and gives him a small smile. His heart stops. “But I want to hear you sing.”
He’s helpless to return that smile, helpless to give her what she wanted. Helpless for Jyn Erso, he is so damned.
And so he sits back on the headboard, continues running his fingers through her hair, and sings. He hums at first, and when she shifts closer, the words come out. It’s in Spanish, some love song he’s learned from his youth as it flowed softly through their crackling radio.
She’s asleep the moment the song ends and decides that when she’s better, he’s gonna tell her. And then he’s gonna kiss her.
She’d heard the stories, sung by the maidens to frighten her, "The pirates will come if you don’t sleep right now."
She’d closed her eyes, but she couldn’t sleep without her papa’s kiss on her forehead, so the next day she’d thought they would break the door down, their faces blackened by soot and with sharpened swords, ready to take her away.
What happened years later had been different. Their kidnapping much more elegant, Captain Cassian Andor was bent to treat her like the lady she was.
She ate at his table while he scrutinized plans and maps.
Some stories were true, they were dirty and crass, but they looked at the sea with longing. Something she was jealous of.
So she too looks at the sea, trying to see what they could see.
She licks her lips and tastes the salty air.
"Enjoying the view?" Cassian asks, hand on the railing.
She’s learned to politely answer, to bow her head and smile, but she doesn’t, she refuses to. "The same blue, the same waves," she answers, with more firmness than she thought she had.
"You will get used to it.”
"Do you plan to keep me here for a long time?"
"Until we find your father," he shrugs, his smile still on his face, as if it pleased him to irritate her.
"I told you, I do not know where he is."
"Oh, but I do, and I need you for him to be more ..." he is looking for the words, or perhaps playing the threatening card, "complacent."
AN: Ah, my first rebelcaptain fic. Wait for the next, it’s coming. Also, prompts are welcome!
when the future becomes clear
[AO3]
Cassian Andor is a lot of things, Jyn discovers pretty early on. When they met he was a spy with an exceptional ability to blend into the surroundings. Her heart pounded when he emerged from the shadows, in shock and fear, because she was sure her eyes had passed that space before and she did not even notice him there.
In the ship to Jedha, he was a puzzle. He regarded her with reluctant trust in his eyes, but when she woke and looked out into the window and to the barren wasteland just past the atmosphere, he spoke, “That’s Jedha, or what’s left of it.”
After Eadu, he was a dark cloud. Their bodies were heavy with exhaustion and rain seeping through their clothes, but his shoulders were heavier. Her heart the heaviest.
After Scarif, he was one bacta immersion after another, and her heart sagged heavy in her chest again like when she lost her father. It made her feel all new and torn when she made that connection, all together, her head chanting ‘wake up, wake up, wake up’ repeatedly as she spent restless nights beside him. When he woke, dark eyes trained on the ceiling like he couldn’t believe he’s still alive, she was awake as well.
“Cassian,” she had whispered, because it was quiet and there’s nothing to say. ‘Thank you’? ‘I’m sorry’? Nothing. When he turned his head towards the sound of her voice, his eyes began to fill with tears and he cried. After Scarif, she found out that he’s only had a handful of missions just like that, and after surviving them, he always had no one. Until then.
In Hoth, he is somehow an even bigger puzzle.
The transition from Yavin IV to Hoth was tumultuous with TIE fighters flying overhead, alarms blaring so loud it took Jyn a few seconds to recognize what was going on. She spotted Cassian in the middle of it all, yelling commands at people, eyes alight with fire and adrenaline. It made her breath catch, and she’s aware it’s not the right time for this, but his eyes found her in the middle of the chaos, started walking towards her, and suddenly, she’s in his arms. She squeezed back, still a bit shaken.
“Go with Shara and Kes, they will take care of you, I already arranged transport for you and Bodhi.”
“What about you?” she asked.
His eyes were heated but steady, one might even say calm. But she knows the tremble in his grip around her arms. “I’ll be right behind. Don’t worry about me.”
“I always worry about you,” she had said, because it might just be the last time they spoke.
“Okay,” he said around a chuckle she surprised out of him. “Take care of Shara, she’s pregnant and antsy. I’ll… see you soon.”
And with that, he was gone.
*
Hoth is not a good place for children, Jyn decides pretty early on. It’s not even good for the full grown humanoids, but children. They’re going to get sick and die. But Shara Bey gives birth to a healthy baby boy named Poe with dark curly hair and chubby arms thrusting into the cold air, and Jyn does not cry, but Cassian almost does.
Kes claps him on the shoulder and tells him he wants Cassian to be Poe’s godfather, and war-hardened master spy Cassian Andor looks so dumbfounded Jyn has to pinch the inside of his arm.
“Of course,” he answers, Kes giving him a knowing look before returning to his wife and child.
“You look like you wanna throw up,” she tells him as they stand at a distance, letting the little family have their moment.
She hears him scoff. “I’m not. I don’t.”
*
Jyn just came from the most punishing perimeter check she has ever been on, further solidifying the theory that Draven hates her guts the most, when she stumbles into Cassian in their quarters, without his shirt on, a baby on his chest. They are both snoring peacefully, oblivious to the goings on. The first feeling she gets is envy – of the little bubble around them, as if there’s nothing to worry about. Cassian doesn’t get like this ever, and Jyn feels a bit odd about it, and then… something else.
Shara and Kes are often on call nowadays after the destruction of the Death Star, transporting or recruiting or whatever it is that they do. Little Poe, some five months old now, would be left to the care of his godparents, but more often would fall into Cassian’s care. Cassian on the other hand is still in demand (they both are, truthfully) but he’d just come from a back-to-back off-world mission, and when he stumbled out of the ship a couple of days ago, she thinks he looked ready to sleep for two days. Still, he relaxed when he found her standing some feet clear of the landing pad, walking towards her and embracing her with a might she didn’t know he still had.
That’s one thing that’s a puzzle to her, too. His embrace, his touch. It always feels like something she doesn’t deserve, and yet he’s willing to give it. They share a room in the west wing of Echo base, at first keeping separate cots on opposite sides of the small quarters. And then sometime between then and now, he gave her a small smile and pushed their cots together, a weak “it’s too cold to be away from each other” from his lips. She did not protest.
When she wakes with his warm breath on her neck, an arm slung around her stomach, his legs curled behind hers, and his dick hard against her ass – it feels like an eternity in a minute. He would stir and bring his hips away from hers as if she wouldn’t notice, stretch, and then pull at her shoulder so that she lies on her back. She turns her head to him and he gives her a sleepy smile. Her stomach would swoop with a feeling, and he’d whisper a quiet “good morning”, breathy, just the way she hated it.
“You breath stinks,” she would say, and he would grin and he’s beautiful. He would breathe again and she would smack his chest.
That’s how their mornings together would start, and it’s one of the things she thought she couldn’t afford – before Cassian Andor, there were many things she thought she could never get. And yet, there they are.
But he’s never kissed her, and her him, and right now feels like a bigger pull than the ones before.
An arm is carefully slung over Poe’s back, protective. The room is warm (Captain perks, she would tease him), and the baby’s mouth is open, drooling on his skin.
Jyn feels her heart grow lighter at the sight. Peace looks good on Cassian.
She strips her jacket and her boots and her pants, leaving her in her undergarments – as she always does. This is how they sleep together, unclothed, comfortable. She lies next to him, running her fingers gingerly through Poe’s hair, smiling a little at his tiny whimper. She sleeps.
*
When she wakes, it’s to small fingers dancing along her face, sticking into her nose. She grabs the little hand, opens her eyes, sees the baby sitting between them. Cassian is awake, holding the same arm she’s holding in her hand. She shakes her head in disbelief.
“Funny,” she notes. The baby gurgles at her, wiggling out of Cassian’s grip and climbing over to her, settling on her stomach. Cassian gives them a quiet grin.
“Hey, Poe,” she says, tickling the baby’s stomach. “Uncle Cassian training you to be a sneaky boy, huh?”
Jyn remembers the first time she’s held a child – it was in the middle of a battle in one of Coruscant’s moons, Saw’s rebel army behind her. It was a tiny thing, covered in soot and dust, left in an abandoned house. Mal, one of the rebels she’s with, took it from her, promised to give it to someone who can take it to a safe place.
Children are born into the war, lose families, grow up orphans, and become soldiers themselves. She thinks of a little boy with dark eyes, bones defined, skinny – made to stay on the streets to eavesdrop on Imperial officers, and pick pockets, and crawl into tight spaces. The Alliance secret. She looks at the one in the bed with her, looking at her like there’s nothing better to look at in the whole galaxy.
She thinks about his vow to Poe, a whisper on the infant’s forehead.
‘No more orphans, no more crying.’
Jyn sits up, cradles Poe in her arm and curls a hand behind Cassian’s neck, pulling him forward until their lips meet.
He freezes, caught off guard, and her heart seizes in her chest as she awaits him. An eternity in a minute, she thinks. And then he moves, a quiet sigh passing between their lips, his mouth opening under hers. Their tongues meet and a quiet moan slips, unbidden.
Her head chants Cassian, Cassian, Cassian, flooded with everything of him, his skin, his hands, his eyes, his words welcome home, passing as the breath they share. The hand she has on his neck slides up, threading through his hair, pulling. He groans, and Jyn thinks it’s a sound she will chase to hear over and over again.
An extra hand, a small soft one, touches their cheeks, and Cassian breaks away, laughing. He doesn’t go too far, resting his forehead against hers, tongue darting out to catch her taste on his lips, and she wants to kiss him again, but there’s a child envious of the attention he’s not getting.
Finally, he pulls away and hooks his hands under Poe’s arms, lifting until he’s up high. “Come here, you,” he says, swinging him around. “You’re quite the little charmer, aren’t you?”
He shoots Jyn another smile.
She lies back down, watches him play with the child until he tires and goes back to his nap. And then he lays the child between them, careful.
He reaches out a hand to tangle in her hair, gentle and reverent – a softness peculiar to the heart of the Rebellion. But she nuzzles his wrist and closes her eyes.
“We have to talk about this, Jyn,” he says, quiet. Echo base hums around them, a steady bustling of energy, feet thudding through the snow covered floors, voices muffled through the walls.
“Tomorrow,” she promises. “We can take tonight off, Cassian.”
*
Tomorrow, she promises him her life, not only her death. He breathes through his nose, deep and disbelieving. And then he kisses her in the quiet of their room, deep and wanting and yearning. There are more promises in that kiss, and the kisses that happen after. And the hugs, and the smiles.
AN: Happy holidays! I can pretend I’m not too late in posting this Christmas fic because it’s barely the new year and because I just finished this now lmao anyway. Here you go!
can it be you and me, and this christmas tree
[AO3]
For the record, it wasn’t Cassian who noticed it first. It was Kaytoo. That morning, he failed to wake to his chrono beeping for the last fifteen minutes, bolted upright when he heard loud banging, and heaved a sigh of relief when he heard the mechanical whirring just outside his door. In his defense, he got home from a late mission, his body had not yet adjusted to the time, and the hyperspace lanes were bumpy. His boots, the one pair he favored out of the two that he has, had given up on him entirely during his last mission. (Also, Jyn was nowhere to be found when he landed… not that that mattered much. She landed a good five minutes after he knocked out on his bed, opted to sleep in her own quarters. The Force hates him.)
His first words when Cassian opened the door to his quarters were, “What are you doing?”
Which, of course, his droid has never felt the need for cryptic words and all, so he was confused as to why now. Quite baffled, as well. Disturbed, for sure.
“I’m… opening the door to you,” Cassian had replied, slowly. In his defense, he had just gotten up from bed, still fighting a yawn, and a heart attack. “Obviously.”
“Obviously,” he said, with as much a scoff as a droid can do. “I meant this, Cassian.”
And he pointed up to an ugly branch of green hanging by the threshold of his quarters by a string. It looked sad and dying, a deep green that he’s never seen around Hoth. It’s a shock of color amidst the grey and white of his door.
“What is that?”
“A mistletoe.”
And it isn’t until he’s walking around base (after plucking the offensive thing from his doorway) that he notices that these things are everywhere. Hanging, not just on thresholds, but on strategic places as well – and when he discovered just why, he can’t help the indignant sound that came out of his throat.
“Kissing!” Chirrut exclaims after a gulp of his morning caf. He’s smiling at his general direction, his expression dazed with happiness that’s akin to the film of festive joy that has surrounded the whole base. “It’s the holidays, captain. Have some spirit.”
Baze grunts beside him, and Bodhi is hiding a smile behind his own cup.
It’s still a little too early for the base’s residents to all be fully awake so he’s not certain why his crew is already up and festive. “Hoth has no holidays,” he murmurs at nobody in particular.
The small offending things are all around the base and he doesn’t want to go kissing every person who happens to pass under it with him. He’s sure none of these people also want – okay, Kes Dameron just gave Luke Skywalker a friendly peck under the threshold to the training chambers. People are ridiculous.
“The princess thinks it would be good for morale to bring an Alderaanian holiday to Hoth,” says Bodhi quietly, mostly to himself, eyeing the doorways. “Makes people look forward to happy things.”
“It’s not just kissing, captain,” Chirrut chimes in again. “It’s giving gifts and being thankful for things. Aren’t you thankful for things?”
Right as Chirrut finishes his caf, still giving Cassian that expectant expression, Jyn appears at his side, plopping down on the seat next to him.
She looks like she just came from an early morning training session, the scent of sweat and Jyn invading his senses and suddenly, for a moment, his mind blanks out as it plays an image of him and Jyn under a doorway, leaning in so close – he shakes these thoughts away, and scowls even more. “What’s going on?” she asks, bumping her knee with his under the table. She must have noticed his affronted expression.
Chirrut, thankfully, has his mouth shut, as Cassian explains with a very profound, “Nothing.”
He stabs his protein bar with far more force than necessary. He is not kissing people for this stupid holiday.
*
Of course, when he verbally declared his adamant refusal to kiss anybody, he did not count the possibility that Jyn would take it upon herself to make sure he does.
The facts are these: he was blissfully unaware of the rumors going around the base, makes it a habit to avoid them actually. His business was, is, and has always been uninteresting to the public and he, in turn, is uninterested about the business of the public. Works better that way – up until, of course, the Battle of Scarif.
There were months of recuperation, rehabilitation, and reorienting. For his part, it was the use of his legs, for Jyn, it was the whole Rebellion, and who better to show her around than the friend (he’d like to think he’s her friend) who knows his way around. So it was him.
So what if they spent hours and hours together during those months? He was on medical leave, much to his irritation, for far too long, and Jyn’s company has never been unwanted.
So what if he likes it when she juts out her bottom lip in a non-pout when they’re arguing? So what if he doesn’t mind that she steals sips from his caf whenever she can, or that she slips sweets in his pockets when he’s not looking?
He doesn’t mind, she doesn’t look like she minds.
And if it meant they leaned towards each other more, or that they share a silent look across the table at their friends’ antics, then what is it to the rest of the base?
Apparently: a source of gossip.
And so, when Jyn decided to make it her mission to follow him around base to make sure he’s adhering to the rules, it didn’t help.
He’s in the dark communications room when he hears it. He has always known how the shadows ate his presence and makes him practically invisible in the dark, he didn’t know it would be this useful against his own people.
There’s a clack of headsets settling down on the panels, and then: “They’re at it again.”
“Who?” asks the second private.
“Andor and Erso.”
“Oh, yes. I saw them together too. Thought they broke up.”
Broke up? He catches himself before he makes a disgruntled noise. He and Jyn – they were never in a relationship. Relationships are for people like Kes and Shara, people who get along and are always together and do things together and know each other well. It’s not like he and Jyn are… oh.
“No they didn’t,” says the other young private. There’s a swivel of a chair and a much quieter addition. “Did you bump your head on the way here? They have never been closer. The other day, I saw her waiting outside the briefing room for nearly two hours.”
“Yeah, and today, she’s following him around the base all holiday spirit and all.”
“Speaking of holiday spirit,” the tone has become increasingly teasing. “Did you kiss anyone good today?”
“Unfortunately, no. But I got a friendly hug from a Wookiee. She didn’t really want to kiss me either, so.”
Cassian tunes the privates out and exits as fast as he could, still thinking about the assumption that he and – does everybody think that, too? Why does nobody ever tell him anything? And Jyn has been nothing but persistent that he follows the rules of the holiday, when all he wanted was to catch her – no, that’s not what he wanted. (Not if in every threshold, she steps back and waits for him to catch someone else. Like she’s not included in the game if it concerns him. It’s just… not very encouraging.)
And then, by a stroke of luck, like the Force hates him with all its might, he bumps into Han Solo and the Princess on his way to the mess hall. But more importantly, Han Solo and him, under that kriffing –
He hears Leia giggle and then mask it behind a dignified cough.
When he looks up, it’s to a smug smirk on the smuggler’s face. He scowls.
“Oh come on, captain spook,” he taunts. “Don’t tell me you haven’t chanced upon anyone yet.”
“No,” he mutters under his breath.
“Well, then, call it your lucky day,” Han says. “I get to be your first. And you know what they say about your first –
“I’m with him on this one, Captain,” the princess chimes in, and oh Force. He’s still undecided whether to hate the princess for putting him in this situation or –
Before he can do or say anything about it, Han Solo is leaning down and planting a peck on his lips. He will pretend he didn’t give an undignified squeak of protest and surprise, and he will pretend he did not just feel Han Solo pinch him in the ass before walking away with the Princess.
It has to be the most embarrassing moment of his adult life.
And when he turns around to go the other way and avoid doorways, he sees Jyn at the far side of the hall, eyes alight with teasing and mirth. His heart might have skipped a beat, but his scowl stays.
*
He kisses three more people that day despite doing his absolute best to avoid going through doorways.
He has kissed Bodhi, and he blushed to the tip of his ears before clapping Cassian on the back and giving him a shy smile, and then gets ushered away by Baze. A hard peck with Wedge who seemed to have made it his pact to go through doors with every human male he’s ever expressed attraction to. And then one with a starry-eyed young private just as her friends cheered on the other side.
(Cassian is pretty sure there’s some kind of rule being broken here.)
(He almost ran into Draven after lunchtime and turned the other way so fast he might have broken the sound barrier.)
When he comes back from that last one, it was to Jyn and the princess sitting at their table. Some time ago, it would have puzzled him to find Jyn and Princess Leia chatting in the mess, but it was also not exactly a surprising thing that they would get along so well. Their mutual disdain for one Han Solo is a common ground.
Jyn bumps him with her shoulder with a grin. “You’re feeling generous today, aren’t you?”
And it’s when he really looks that he notices that there’s a sparkle in her eyes that hasn’t always been there. It’s rare, and it makes him smile. “I will not dignify that with an answer.”
Jyn bumps him again. If he notices that it brought her closer to him, he doesn’t say it out loud in fear that she would move away. “How many puppy-eyed new recruits have chanced upon you?”
He snorts, looking down at his food. “That’s classified.”
“No, it’s not!”
“It is, if I say so.” He’s calm as he says it, but he revels in the air of playful argument between them. Always.
The months off after Scarif lent him time to figure out their ground – not that it was addressed verbally, that has never been them – and figure out what makes her tick, what makes her smile, what makes her duck her head in embarrassment, but not without a blush and a tiny smile. He’s accepted shortly after the first day he woke up in medical to look down at his chest to find their hands tightly clasped together, that she has a hold of him, body and soul. Long after he has thought he has neither to give her.
She opens her mouth to retort, but then closes it and settles on a smile. And Jyn is smiling this challenging smile – a bit disbelieving, and a bit amused that he’s snarking back, and he’s helpless against the magnetic pull around her orbit.
Leia clears her throat, sensing her presence forgotten. “Oh well, we were just talking about Jyn’s mistletoe kisses today,” the princess says, not without a pointed look at his direction. Does everybody just assume -- ?
“Your brother is not a bad one –
“Euch, Jyn!”
“Well, we were talking about it, weren’t we?” she says breezily.
Cassian almost chokes.
A sharp pang of jealousy gets him in the chest and – Luke Skywalker is not a competition. Sure, he decimated the Death Star, he’s the hero of the Rebellion, and he’s a damn good pilot but – for sure, he’s not Jyn’s type. Not that Jyn’s type would matter to Cassian. That’s her business. Except that maybe she likes the hero types. The bright types. Not a lingering shadow like him.
He shakes his head to clear it before any of them notices.
When Cassian thought the subject of kissing was over, just as he was going to dig into his slightly more festive protein bar, Leia nudges Jyn with an unsubtle force that puts a pout on her lips. “So I heard a certain captain is trying to catch you under the mistletoe…”
Cassian almost protested. He’s not –
“…one Captain Mertha,” Leia continues, a saucy wink towards Jyn as she pulls her frown even deeper. “He’s been asking around for you all morning.”
Captain Donell Ybs Mertha, native to Alderaan, thirty standard years of age, Quarters 13-214-1119, specializes on ancient combat techniques. Quick on his feet, even quicker with knives and blades.
Maybe that’s Jyn’s type.
“Well,” Jyn says, and he can’t help but note the carefulness in her tone. It’s small, but it’s there. “If he wanted to, he can just ask.”
If Cassian’s stomach dropped, no one would know. He has his impressive spy-face on, anyway.
*
He clutches the tiny thing tightly in his uninjured hand as he walks down the halls of Echo base, steering clear from people and going straight to his quarters.
The mistletoe thing is still going on, much to his dismay, after his return from a just-slightly-less-cold planet for a supply run. It was just him and Kaytoo, a couple of boxes of X-wing parts and this tiny thing that caught his eye in the market as his droid lumbered on ahead of him.
It’s a quaint little blade, maybe as long as his index finger, not even wider than it, but sharp and shiny and probably used laced with poison for discreet assassination attempts. At least, that’s what he would use it with. And all he could think of is how Jyn would light up when she sees it.
He bought it (all overpriced, even with his excellent haggling skills) and brought it back to base in hopes of convincing the quartermaster to spare him some flimsies to wrap it with. He didn’t count on it slashing his palm just as he was fumbling for it in his satchel.
So now, he has the tiny blade, some flimsies, and a roll of gauze to bring back to his quarters, all while Chirrut’s words slide around in his head – kisses and presents. He has failed on the kissing part (and will continue to deliberately fail, for his sanity’s sake), maybe he can make good on the presents.
What he didn’t put into consideration was Jyn (despite being all that he seems to think about in the duration of his short trip). Specifically, Jyn dozing off on his bed, limbs spread all over his sheets, dangling off the edge facedown and snoring softly. He takes a moment to appreciate this, despite having seen this scene a million times over.
Not that it’s a secret to the whole Rebellion that she sometimes sleeps over next to him. He’d like to think the worst of her nightmares have passed, and he’d like a little selfishness to himself and think he’s had a bit to do with it.
He carefully sets the blade in his drawer, all too aware that Jyn might find it if she would go snooping around, and promptly forgets about his bleeding hand. He kneels down next to the bed and lays a gentle (non-bleeding) hand between her shoulder blades.
“Hey, Jyn,” he says, soft.
Her eyes, endless gold and green, flutter open and she gives him a small, breathtaking smile. Somehow, his world jars a little bit, and his heart gives a funny thump in his chest. He gives her a smile in return.
“You’re back,” she rasps, voice scratchy from disuse. She rolls over to her back, starts to stretch and he averts his eyes. “Sorry, I had a long day training a new platoon of recruits. Totally passed out the moment I turned in.”
“You don’t have to apologize,” he says, only just noticing that his hand has taken to her shoulder, thumb rubbing absent circles on her shirt. “You’re welcome here anytime, you know that.”
She grumbles something under her breath, lost under his blankets, and he chuckles.
“What is that?”
“I said the Rebellion doesn’t know that.”
“What do you mean?”
She snorts and turns so that she’s lying on her side, facing him. The blankets pool around her, almost threatening to drown her, but she has a determined glint in her eyes. “They think I’m stealing you away from the cause. The way they talk about us behind our backs.”
“Never thought you minded at all what they say.”
She pouts. “I don’t.”
He somehow doesn’t believe it. “Jyn, what’s bothering you?”
She bites her lip and looks away. He longs to smooth the wrinkle between her brows with his thumb, but he catches himself.
“Some lieutenant from the mess hall today said you’ve gone soft,” she whispers into the cold room. Not at all towards him, but towards something else entirely. “Said you don’t work the same way. She didn’t really say anything about me, but she looked at me and…”
“Jyn,” he says, stopping her from spiraling. “It’s true.”
He ignores the hurt that flashes in her eyes and powers through. She needs to hear this. Again.
“I work differently now,” he admits. “I always tell you I know nothing else but this war. There was no endgame for me. I knew I was going to die this way. You made me rethink that.”
She’s looking at him now. He gives her a small smile and is rewarded with a quirk of her lips.
“This is home now,” he says, finally. You’re my home now.
He lifts a hand to caress her cheek, but she catches his wrist. A cold shiver of fear runs down his spine – he’s miscalculated badly. But then she turns his hand over and says, “You’re bleeding”, and he suddenly remembers.
“Oh, yeah I – it was nothing.”
She sits up suddenly, her hair sticking up from where she was lying on his pillow, her eyes alight with concern as she gingerly takes his hand with both of hers.
“That looks pretty deep,” she says, fingers caressing his palm. “What happened?”
He purses his lips, ignores the zinging of his nerves everywhere she touches. “It was an accident. I was trying to get my knife from my satchel and it slashed me.”
She hums, shakes her head, and snatches the gauze from the floor. She gets up from the bed (he only notices her in her sleeping garments because she walked past him, not that it’s the first thing he notices because he’s seen her in lesser before) and rummages through his closet for the first aid kit she knows he stashes there. It looks so domestic, like a future he never even thought he’d get the luxury to imagine, her knowing her way around his living space, no matter how meager it is.
“Sit on the bed, klutz,” she says, her back to him. “You’ll freeze on the floor.”
Cassian obeys, watches when she sees what she was looking for. Jyn sits on the edge of the mattress next to him and closes her fingers around the wrist of his injured hand. He cannot even focus on what she’s doing or if she’s doing it right, he just likes the concentrated look on her face.
He doesn’t even notice that she’s done until she’s looking up at him and he suddenly feels his chest tighten at just how close they are. Maybe it was him leaning towards her, or it was her head bent to see better, but somehow it brought them closer.
He sees her pupils dilate, her lips part, but before he can speak the door to his quarters slide open and a huge imposing Imperial droid blocks the light from the hallway.
“There you are, Cassian,” and then with a smidge of disdain, Kay adds, “and Jyn.”
“Kay, what are you doing here?”
“Chirrut Imwe commanded me to fetch you from your quarters. He said the festivities have begun. I don’t know what he meant, there was no significant reason as of late for festivities.”
Jyn has leant away from him, but he still catches her eye roll. “He means the celebration of the Winter Solstice.”
Kay whirrs in what can only be called irritation. “Hoth has four winter solstices, and today is not one of them.”
Cassian sighs. “On Alderaan. Today would have been the Winter Solstice.”
Jyn looks up at him with a sheepish smile. “We should go,” she says quietly. “Boost the morale and all, right?”
He nods. “Right.” And then to Kaytoo, “we’ll be there in ten minutes. Thank you, Kay.”
The droid trudges away and his door closes once more, enveloping them in the natural dimness of his room. He watches her chew her lip in contemplation, and then get up to retrieve her day clothes from the bottom of his closet and walk to the ‘fresher.
When she gets out he’s already wrapped the present and put it back in his drawer. He’s not proud of his work, but it will do.
She’s halfway out the door when she turns to him with a questioning look. “Aren’t you coming?”
“Yeah, just – go on ahead, I’ll just change.”
“Alright,” she shoots him a tiny smile. “See you there.”
*
When he gets there five minutes later, he’s already getting flagged by his team, all of them varying levels of inebriated. Bodhi looks the most drunk, and Jyn, having just arrived as well, looked the least. The whole mess looks like it’s on its way to Bodhi’s level. He smiles at them and walks over, (avoiding a couple of pilots making out under a sprig of green dangling from a kriffing pole situated in the middle of the mess) sitting next to Bodhi. It is just then that he notices just how covered he is in warm scarves and new gloves and a brightly colored hat – all knitted.
Cassian takes a second to take this all in before looking at Baze.
It’s Chirrut who answers his questioning gaze. “Baze had a lot of extra time and a box of yarn gifted by Jyn a few days ago. He does look very warm, doesn’t he, my dear?” he asks to Baze, who just grunts.
Bodhi leans towards Cassian and giggles quietly. “I love this holiday,” he murmurs, looking up at him with eyes glazed over by whatever spiked drink he’s currently nursing.
Jyn chuckles from across him.
Cassian pats his knitted head like he would a loth-cat and nods, giving him a smile. He pushes the almost empty cup of his drink towards him.
“Here, captain! Catch up!”
He takes a whiff of the drink and grimaces, watching Jyn hide her grin in her cup.
“You heard him,” she says. “Catch up.”
He takes a hearty swig and pushes the cup back to his drunk friend. “Thank you, Bodhi.”
Just then, Chirrut perks up and gestures at the whole table with his staff. They all turn to him and he smiles, sightless eyes roaming at their faces like he has something sinister to reveal. This would be funny if Cassian wasn’t secretly afraid of his observations.
“It seems that the Force has given us this opportunity to examine all the things we are grateful for,” he says.
“The Force, more like Leia Organa,” Jyn mumbles. He doesn’t quite laugh as it would be rude during Chirrut’s tiny speech, but he almost gets there.
“I will go first,” Chirrut continues. “I am grateful for the Force.”
They all try to suppress their groans. He barrels on. “Grateful for the Force bringing us together. For building a family out of destined souls. And of course, for making Baze as quiet as he is so that I can talk as much as I want.”
Baze grimaces in offense, but they all know it’s not real. When Cassian glances over to Jyn, her eyes are trained on the two monks with a different look in her eyes, but after a moment it’s gone.
Chirrut makes them go around and say what they’re grateful for, and it takes all of Cassian’s strength not to just abruptly stand up and leave. He gives a general, mostly impersonal speech and downs a huge swig from a cup that has magically appeared in front of him. Bodhi makes a hilariously drunken speech and proceeds to go around and give them all a loose hug.
Despite himself, and maybe because of the spiked drink, he feels a little light and carefree. If he starts smiling a little at their married friends recounting the best presents they have ever given each other, it’s neither here nor there.
All the while, he thumbs his present in his pocket, his heart thumping wildly in his chest whenever he remembers that he has to give it to her at one point tonight.
Bodhi stumbles up and away from their table, cup sloshing dangerously in his hand as he hastily gives them all a salute. He disappears into the gaggle of pilots across the mess.
It isn’t long until the monks decide to turn in for the night, with Chirrut practically dragging Baze by the collar in the middle of him raising his cup to his mouth. It isn’t long until it’s just him and Jyn and he should probably take this small window of opportunity to give his present – but Captain Mertha is approaching and taking the seat next to her with a huge, bright, warm grin, completely ignoring Cassian and his gift-dilemma.
“Ybs,” Jyn says, and Cassian’s stomach drops again – they’re on first name basis. It’s a very unpleasant feeling.
“Jyn,” Captain Mertha replies with a nod of his head, and then as if just noticing Cassian, goes, “Captain Andor.”
“And you’re invading my space because?” asks Jyn, giving the other captain a cold stare.
“I have something for you,” he says, grin still there, confident and radiant. And then he fishes out a small box.
A sharp pang of clear jealousy gets him in the chest as he watches Captain Mertha open the box to reveal a shining stone the size of a fingernail – the size of the kyber crystal around Jyn’s neck, he think darkly – strung by a chain, sitting in the padded box. It looks elegant, expensive. He can’t help gripping the tiny little thing in his pocket in self-conscious guilt. He could have gotten her something prettier. Something less deadly, less of a reminder of the grim Galaxy.
He watches as Jyn takes the box from him, and then without preamble, grabs Cassian by the elbow to make a hasty escape. It would be funny if she isn’t jogging like a frenzied tauntaun, or if they weren’t getting deeper into the base to where he thinks they store cleaning materials in dark rooms.
“Jyn?” he asks, half protest.
“Shut up,” she replies, breathless. It halts all his next words until she pushes him into a dark room and flicks open the light.
It is cramped with shelves taller than him, smells vaguely of the medbay, and he thinks he hears vermin in the walls.
“What’s going on, Jyn?” he asks, a little bit alarmed. He trusts Jyn to never put him in harm’s way, but he doesn’t trust her to never give him a little scare every now and then. This is definitely one of those times because when she turns towards him, her brows are knitted, her mouth pulled down in a determined frown.
He doesn’t know what he’s done wrong. It hasn’t been an hour since they last talked. He must have said something wrong. Or it could just be Jyn being Jyn.
She turns back around and strains to reach a huge brown box from a high shelf. When she succeeds, she pushes it to his chest.
It’s heavy.
“What is this?”
She shrugs. “Kaytoo mentioned you had to go through the last half of your mission with tape around your boots.”
He is still disbelieving when he opens it and finds a good pair of boots – maybe not new, but definitely well maintained. It doesn’t look anywhere near special, doesn’t look elegant nor imposing, just plain regular boots and he… loves it.
When he looks up at her, she’s chewing her bottom lip anxiously. He wants to put his thumb on her chin and pull that lip away, to kiss her immediately afterwards, but he restrains himself. Instead, he gives her a smile, an unrestrained one. This one, he can’t contain.
“I couldn’t find one that looked exactly like the ones you had,” she barrels on, seemingly trying to dissipate the air of awkwardness. “I know you like those ones best so I tried to find the right shade of brown, but they only had a pair of your size in really purple ones and those, and –
“These are my new favorite,” he says simply.
She is silent for a few seconds. And then she ducks her head and blushes. He loves seeing her blush.
Cassian couldn’t help it, he takes the few steps necessary to reach her and puts a finger under her chin to bring her eyes back to his. He drops his hand but she doesn’t pull away.
“Thank you, Jyn.”
She shakes her head with a small smile. “It’s the holidays, Cassian. We’re practically obligated to give gifts.”
He sees through that and huffs a laugh. And then he fishes out his own little present from his pocket, chest unbelievably tight. Captain Mertha has already given her the most expensive present, he doesn’t expect her to be as excited about his present; he’d settle with just her acceptance.
When he hands it to her and she takes it, their fingers brush.
“I saw that in the market and thought of you,” he says in the space between them.
The light above them flickers a bit.
She sees the small blade, almost the size of a keychain, but the light gleams in its surface.
“You liar,” she says, almost breathless, and his heart seizes. She looks up at him with a disapproving stare. She hastily takes his injured hand and holds it up to his face. “You didn’t slip, you cut yourself in this, didn’t you?”
“I… I’m sorry.” He shakes his head. “I know it’s not as elegant as Captain Mertha’s. It’s just something I found, and I had to haggle a bit.”
She exhales and pulls him even closer by that hand, places it against her cheek. His breathing quickens, shallows, at the spontaneity of it all. He can’t feel much of her skin, only just by the tips of his fingers where the gauze doesn’t cover his hand, but nevertheless. It’s Jyn with her own hand trapping his own, and she’s letting him in.
“Thank you, Cassian,” she says, his fingers twitch against her cheek and her eyelids flutter. She is so beautiful. “But you have to stop with the jealousy.”
He almost pulls away. “I’m – I don’t –
She shoots him a knowing smirk and places her hands at his waist, pulling him closer. He almost jumps at the feeling of heat against his clothed skin, but he remains unmoving, afraid to break the proximity. He doesn’t know where she’s getting at because the look in her eyes render his mind blank. “You completely froze up when Ybs sat at our table,” she says in a whisper.
“I just didn’t want to intrude.” His voice has matched her volume.
“He was intruding.”
“I’m sorry.”
She shakes her head. “Stop apologizing.”
“Sorry,” he says again, but smiles.
“You’re really stubborn, aren’t you?” she asks, and he loses his mind for a bit when her fingers clench at his sides, bunching his shirt in her fists.
“I might be,” he rasps.
“Yes, and you…”
“Me?”
“You’re standing under a mistletoe.”
It’s true, he discovers when he looks up. And then he’s looking down, down at her eyes, dark and trained on his lips. Hers are parted, and she’s wetting them – and he’s going to lose his mind for all of eternity if she keeps looking at him like that. Like she wants him.
“Who put that there?” he asks because he’s an idiot.
She scoffs and pulls him down in exasperation, lips against his, and all he could do is close his eyes and stand there like an inexperienced teenager. And then he drops his box and gathers her at the waist, pulling her closer, tasting her better, trying to hear again that one noise she made in the back of her throat when their lips met.
Suddenly, her fingers are in his hair and he’s groaning against her mouth. Suddenly, his back is against the door and she has one hand under his tucked out shirt. Suddenly, all of the Galaxy is Jyn Erso and there was nothing else that mattered.
Something in him clicks into place, his world aligns and refocuses and then narrows down to now, when she’s pulling away but not that far, not where she can’t lean their foreheads together. He finds himself panting, heated even in the cold of Hoth, and with his hands at her waist, skimming skin and feeling her shiver against him.
She laughs quietly. “I’ve been wanting to do that since… a long time ago.”
“Me too.”
She frowns and thumps his chest, not enough to hurt but enough to break the spell. “Then why didn’t you? Those kriffing things are everywhere and you avoided me like the Sanethurian plague!”
He catches her fists in his hands and shakes his head. “Because I thought… you don’t see me that way.”
“In what way?”
“Like this,” he answers. He’s still reeling from their kiss, but he sees the apprehension in her eyes and his heart could not be happier.
“Well I do.”
He smiles. “Good.”
She kisses him once more in that supply closet, and once in the almost empty hallways back to his quarters, his brave and mischievous Jyn, as he punches in his code, probably to distract him or get them caught. But they don’t get caught.
Not until the next morning at breakfast when Chirrut casts a knowing glance in their general direction and booms, “The holiday spirit has done its work, thank the Force!”
Bodhi, probably nursing a hangover, perks up from his slumped form and looks around the table. “What does he mean?”
Baze grunts. “He means the people are happy,” he replies for Chirrut, but his eyes are on Jyn and Cassian as well.
Bodhi groans, doesn’t seem to notice the meaning at all, and slumps his head on the table again. “I’m not,” came his muffled reply.
Jyn reaches out a hand to pat the pilot’s head, an indulgent smile on her lips. All the while, holding Cassian’s under the table.
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idk where this anon is going but the finn thread is actually pretty positive most of the time and like 99% of the people on the jcf in general hate reylo to the point where you’re no longer allowed to even talk about it
That’s good to hear, because I know next to nothing about the state of SW forums at this point. Any place that bans reylo is a place I can love.
Fandom racism and hypocrisy are really the same everywhere... like, they pretend to not like a character of colour because his personnality/origin story/storyline are boring, but then they go around and give their asshole white fave all of the characteristics of the aforementioned character of colour... like, what is the truth ?
In the Teen Wolf fandom people go on and on about how boring and uninteresting Scott (a brown latino) is, but in the vast majority of TW fics they give Stiles (your basic white asshole) Scott’s personality and journey. Suddenly Stiles becomes kind, generous, sweet, he’s the Real True Alpha, the glue that sticks the pack together - even though in canon these are Scott’s characteristics. And suddenly when these traits apply to Stiles it isn’t boring at all anymore. You wouldn’t believe the amount of Alpha!Stiles and “pack mom” Stiles (also kudos for forcing heteronormative gender roles on Stiles for the sake of your white ship) fanfics that exist out there.
And now it’s the same thing in the TFA fandom. Racists keep saying that Finn is boring, bland, uninteresting, meanwhile Kylo is tortured!! complex!! dark and gritty!! (even though Finn’s backstory is way darker and more tortured than Kylo’s) And now Kylo stans are starting to take Finn’s characteristics, backstory and journey away from him to give them to Kylo. “What if Kylo were taken from Han and Leia as a baby and raised as a stormtrooper ! And when years later he finds his parents he comes back to the light ! Because even though he was raised in a terrible environment he didn’t become a monster ! Can you imagine that ??”
...........Yes my dude, i can, there’s already a character like this and his name is Finn, but you hate him because you find him “boring”. Suddenly everything that makes Finn “boring” becomes interesting when it’s applied to a white man. Hmmmmm, what’s it called again ? oh yeah, RACISM.
