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anghraine · 7 months

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In honor of getting notes on my old Jyn/lesbian!Cassian post, I thought I'd finally post the revised version of the story's finale! This part was originally a gift for master enabler @ladytharen <3

title: whatever we deny or embrace verse: queer Rogue One/f!Cassian AU (6/6) characters: Cassian Andor, Jyn Erso; Baze Malbus, Bodhi Rook, Chirrut Îmwe; Jyn/Cassian, background Baze/Chirrut stuff that happens: After five years of ups and down through the war, Jyn makes a decision about her future with Cassia. previous sections: prologue, part one, part two, part three, part four

PART FIVE

“You know,” said Jyn, flopping into the co-pilot’s seat, “we’re probably not going to die.”

Cassia’s attention lifted from a quintuple-check of her flight calculations. She always repeatedly confirmed the calculations, even though after five years together, the entire team knew she could make them on the fly, at near-impossible speeds. As far as they could tell, though, she didn’t use it as a distraction. It was just the usual paranoia that had kept her alive this long.

“Probably,” she agreed, with one of the faint, warm smiles she reserved for Jyn. “It’s a simple—”

“I don’t mean this operation,” said Jyn. “I mean at all, until …” She didn’t believe in jinxes, but until we’re old felt like tempting fate. She settled for, “It could be years. Decades. The odds are for it.”

She was twenty-eight years old. Only now had it struck her that she might see thirty.

-----

Two years after Jyn kissed Cassia on a shadowed turbolift, they had settled into something. Lovers, Jyn supposed, though it didn’t sound right. She only ever thought of Cassia as “Cassia,” and sometimes “she,” a she that eclipsed every other one. Cassia was the senior operative partnered with Jyn; she was Jyn’s closest friend; she was the person who trailed her hands and mouth all over Jyn’s body, painstakingly learning it; and she was the person who cared more about Jyn’s welfare than anyone left breathing.

Jyn didn’t care less than Cassia. She knew that, and flew into quiet fury the few times anyone suggested otherwise.

Cassia wasn’t among those anyones, and yet Jyn sometimes thought she believed them. Or believed the same thing. Jyn cared so much that she once fled from it for weeks, choking on the blur of affection and need and snarling protectiveness. Cassia never understood why, even after. Even now, Jyn suspected.

A full year and a half had passed since Jyn stumbled into an incoherent attempt at reconciliation that Cassia easily accepted. These things always appeared that bit easier for her; Cassia accepted her own feelings, whether for the Rebellion or Jyn, as compulsory and immutable. In fact, she seemed to care for Jyn in very much the same way that she did the Rebellion—no sudden jabs nor expectation of reward, just a truth that pervaded every cell and breath.

Jyn couldn’t be like that about anything. Moments passed when she didn’t think of Cassia at all, for no other reason than that she was preoccupied with something unrelated. But the smallest things could bring her to mind, at times so intensely that Jyn would have bled to have her near.

For Jyn, caring could never be something all but willing itself into existence, strengthened by respect and liking but independent of them, a star on its own path. She couldn’t be Cassia. For her, it was thought and heart and action, felt for reasons and chosen for reasons. She’d chosen Cassia, for better or worse.

Cassia did seem happy—occasionally lonely, and shyer than expected, but she lit up at just about anything, and lavished a high-strung affection on Jyn when she thought it welcome. In all honesty, it took Jyn a good while to recognize Cassia’s worrying and periodic lectures as affection, rather than the chiding they would have meant from Saw, or demands from suspect allies, afterwards.

Once she realized what they meant, she … well, she didn’t mind that much, now knowing why Cassia insisted on running through mission objectives so many times, or complained about Jyn’s fringe diminishing her range of vision, or went on about Jyn needing higher caloric intake, as if she had any room to talk.

But Cassia took just as long to distinguish unwelcome from confused. Beyond that, she could seem almost droid-like at times, recording and categorizing moments for later perusal. It felt a little as if she were hoarding for a long winter, unlike Jyn, who returned to her because she decided that she’d rather live in what moments she had than bleakly survive.

Jyn didn’t say love, or often think it. That wasn’t her; she never could reduce her feelings to words. But when she did think it, the awareness seemed to blast through her entire body, Cassia and I love you filling her mouth like electricity.

The worst, the absolute worst, was early on—when Jyn turned away and Cassia promptly withdrew from everyone. She didn’t do it the way that Jyn had withdrawn from her, but in a strange and awful Cassia way where she turned as uniformly pleasant as she was undercover. Cassia even smiled politely at Han Solo when she delivered a message from the princess (to whom he wasn’t speaking at the time).

“I’ll be damned if she orders me around,” he grumbled afterwards.

“She’s a commander,” said Jyn. “It’s in the job description.”

He blinked at her. “She’s a general, but that doesn’t mean—”

“No, she isn’t. She’s a commander.”

They stared blankly at each other for a moment. Then Solo’s disgruntled face cracked into a smile—not smarmy the way he could sometimes be, just amused.

“I was talking about the princess,” he said. His voice lightened further. “Is Andor sick or something?”

Jyn’s opinion of him jolted upwards. Apart from Baze and Chirrut, hardly anybody else seemed to notice the oddity in Cassia’s behavior at all, except as a sudden good mood. All the while, Jyn’s own dismay escalated, the flat misery of I loved you, I miss you climbing to no, I love you, I didn’t want this, I was afraid but it’s not what you think, I love you.

It was a rough nine weeks.

In fairness, it would have been five weeks if not for Cassia running away. Technically, she accepted a brief solo operation from Draven—otherwise known as running away. And then "complications arose," whatever that meant (classified), and something that should have lasted nine days took four and half weeks, while Jyn tried to ignore Baze’s sullen fretting and believe Chirrut’s assurances that Cassia was alive and healthy.

She’d wondered, back then, if Cassia even knew she had people worrying about her.

Sometimes she wondered if Cassia knew it now. She certainly looked surprised every time Baze or Jyn implied she’d be around in the future, if they all lived. She always had seemed surprised at that, even before the hellish separation. But then, Jyn couldn’t have said she didn’t feel the same.

Oh, Jyn rarely dwelt on the idea of losing Cassia, hardly allowed for the possibility. It was a possibility, of course. Cassia might abandon her, as so many others had done—but Jyn feared that less than she would have expected. Before they so much as kissed, Cassia had proven herself beyond anything Jyn could have imagined, or wanted. The weight of Cassia’s half-broken body, the scent and sight of her blood, still wafted into Jyn’s memory and dreams. More probable than another betrayal, much more probable, was—

She steadied a ragged breath.

Cassia didn’t lack self-preservation, as such. As long as her every breath served the Rebellion, or Jyn, she would fight for them. Not for herself, though she didn’t want to die—nothing for herself, frustratingly. It didn’t seem calculated risk so much as some fundamental quality of her being. If her death meant the Rebellion’s survival, so be it; if her death meant Jyn’s survival, so be that.

It was hard to believe Cassia would survive the war.

Jyn’s odds probably weren’t good, either, but it seemed different to her. She was reckless and determined, not sacrificial. Without difficulty, she could admit to herself that she wanted this or that. Only with the Partisans had she ever thought I want and not reached for it, and then only because she wanted Saw’s approval more. She might have dedicated her life to the cause, but that life mattered beyond it, mattered because it was hers and she wanted to live.

She probably wouldn’t. Probably, they would die together, and Jyn felt a certain consolation in that. And if she did live—she’d tried not to think of it, hadn’t ever followed this track of thoughts so far—if she did survive, she might well survive Cassia. Very likely survive Cassia.

The realization came as a hot jolt in her chest that crackled into her throat and gut. But her cheeks and hands chilled, despite the heavy evening air, as if the flash of panic had drawn its warmth from her skin. More bizarrely still, she was neither alone with her thoughts nor in any particular danger, just eating dinner in the mess hall.

Her food abruptly passed from unappetizing to nauseating. No, Jyn decided. No need to look for trouble when they already had so much of it. If that day came, she’d face it then. If it didn’t, she’d … not face it, she supposed. It was hard to imagine surviving.

But if they did, maybe they’d find their way, eventually.

-----

The day that Cassia turned thirty, they all celebrated.

It wasn’t a birthday celebration, really. Cassia’s official date of birth came from the combination of a) her stated age and month of birth upon entering the Rebellion, b) conversions of Fieste’s calendars to Standard, and c) a randomly selected number. She hadn’t known the exact day at six, so she didn’t know it now, and the droid-generated birthday held little significance for any of them.

Still, the recognition did mean something, their ranking leader’s record switching from Age: 29 to Age: 30. It meant more with the unspoken—unspeakable—knowledge that they might well see her, and all of them, live for much longer than that. They might survive.

“To living!” Bodhi cried, lifting his bottle of Corellian ale. He’d acquired good quality alcohol through what he termed my contacts, which Jyn was pretty sure meant I asked Luke and he asked Solo. But it was just them, tonight.

The rest of the team raised their own bottles.

“To living,” they repeated, and with satisfying clinks, gulped down their first mouthfuls of ale.

They’d made it about all of them, thought of it as about all of them, but Cassia looked flushed anyway. Maybe it was the ale. Maybe it was just a change in the light. Or maybe it came from the long gaze Cassia and Jyn exchanged as everyone laughed at something Chirrut had said and Jyn’s eyes lingered on her afterwards.

That wasn’t Jyn’s fault. Cassia almost never smiled fully unless Jyn did it first, or kissed her, but then Cassia would dip her head with a sudden press of dimples, and glance through her eyelashes in a way that Jyn considered a personal affront.

They all allowed themselves the time to celebrate into early the next morning, gossiping about various Alliance spats, toasting variations on the Empire’s dying and we’re alive, ha, and speculating about everything from which planets would join them next to Chirrut’s amorphous concerns about Princess Leia’s pregnancy. Among themselves, Jyn and Cassia considered it careless and surprisingly irresponsible, but tonight, they didn’t care.

Even after this many years, Jyn could hardly believe herself, contentedly drinking in public, pressed up against the arm of a person she’d shared a bed with for five years, eager to hear four friends talking about nothing of significance.

For herself, she couldn’t remember any urge towards speech in her life, or at least her life from the moment that she huddled silently in her parents’ hideout. But she liked to listen to the others’ conversations.

All of them, really. Chirrut with his mantras, Baze with his grumbles. Bodhi muttering nervously or irritably or, more often these days, mildly. Cassia’s low replies to this or that, or Cassia charming their way out of trouble, or—she tried not to think about it just then, but Jyn, Jyn, please, Jyn echoed through her mind, and so did the memories of lying in a haze afterwards, listening to soft, murmured words she couldn’t understand.

Cassia also whispered in Alderaanian when she woke Jyn out of nightmares and tried to get her to wind down. It helped, hearing Cassia’s voice without any need or possibility of comprehension. And Cassia used it during her own … thing. She got lost, sometimes, in her head. Not often, and never anywhere but alone with Jyn in hyperspace, the only time she felt truly safe.

She’d said that much to Jyn, and Jyn silently, expressionlessly basked in it. And Jyn also liked listening to her when—

Well. A lot.

After they finally retired to their quarters, Jyn waited for Cassia to switch on the lights and silently evaluated how tired she was. A little, not too much.

Without warning, Jyn tackled her and pinned her to the wall.

Cassia laughed. “Jyn, what the—”

Although Jyn didn’t much trust herself with words, they did serve their basic function of saying more than her face could.

“We’re alive,” she whispered, and leaned up, releasing Cassia’s left wrist long enough to slip a hand into her hair. Then she trailed her fingertips down Cassia’s cheek to her throat, lightly resting a thumb over her pulse.

Actions said more.

Cassia’s lips parted, tongue darting out to wet the lower lip, her eyes very dark as bewilderment flashed to understanding. Jyn always liked that moment—maybe not best, but near to it. With a familiar clench in her stomach, she pressed closer, sliding her hand back into Cassia’s hair and kissing her throat. Jyn could feel Cassia’s pulse rushing under her mouth, breath quickening against Jyn’s hair.

When Jyn scraped her teeth against her throat, Cassia drew a rough breath and tilted her head back. She couldn’t really be more obvious, but as always, Jyn took care to ask,

“Are we good?”

“Yes,” murmured Cassia, with a soft smile. “We’re good.”

-----

The battle below Endor, fought far away from their then-current mission, did not end the war. It would have done far less than that, if not for the Emperor’s death. As it was, the Rebellion threw the higher ranks of Imperial government into divided, scattered chaos in one stroke. The Empire surely would be overthrown; within a few months, they knew it was only a matter of time.

The certainty did little for Jyn and Cassia. They thought of themselves as members of the Rebellion more than the Alliance, driven on by conviction in the cause rather than its organization or most people in it. In the months after Endor, though, their work for the Rebellion became—different. Still useful, still needed, but less urgent, less military.

“Slimier,” said Baze.

Jyn and Cassia couldn’t disagree.

Intelligence operatives would always be necessary, of course, in peace or war. Cassia poked around enough to suspect that the higher-ups planned to transition the more successful operatives to government work as the New Republic formed, or to use them as groundwork for a New Republic organization of some kind. Jyn and Cassia regarded the idea with professional disinterest and personal repugnance.

“We’re doing this to free the galaxy,” Cassia snapped. “Not to sneak around for bureaucrats.”

“Exactly,” said Jyn.

They confined their discussions of it to the ship, where they now confined virtually any discussion of importance, and which they regularly swept for surveillance. Cassia and Jyn trusted their leaders’ ideals but not their methods, and held their privacy as sacrosanct. They had precious little of it, except sometimes on leave.

They’d rarely claimed their leave over the last five years, when it was available at all. Now they requested it as often as possible, especially after their more trifling assignments. As those took up greater and greater shares of their work, and recruits flooded the Rebellion, Jyn couldn’t help thinking of the future.

Would there even be a point when the Alliance declared an end to this, or would it just transmute into a new version of the Republic, piece by piece and planet by planet? The way the Old Republic had become the Empire? Her father’s research had begun taking shape as the Death Star well before Palpatine declared himself emperor.

The dream of running away, banished for so long, crept back. If they could see no end, could expect no end, then wouldn’t they have to create it for themselves?

If it were Jyn alone, she’d already be gone. But she had her friends to think about, and Cassia, her—

Five years, and she still couldn’t think of a word.

“Girlfriend?” Bodhi suggested, then wrinkled his nose. “No. That’s not Cassia.”

“Right,” said Jyn, flipping through files on her datapad.

“Lover?” he said, and they both cringed. “Okay, I see what you mean.”

Jyn gave this a nod of acknowledgment, not all that interested, but never willing to shrug off Bodhi. As she saw Baze and Chirrut making their way towards the table, she said,

“She’s Cassia. That’s all.”

“There’s got to be a word,” insisted Bodhi. When Chirrut reached them, tapping his way just ahead of Baze, Bodhi turned to him. “What is it called when people spend most of their time together and live together? Indefinitely?”

Baze thumped down into the seat beside him.

“Marriage,” he said dourly.

Jyn’s eyes widened, her thoughts freezing or burning into chaos—she wasn’t sure which. When Bodhi and Chirrut laughed, she forced herself to a slight smile, and heard nothing of what they said.

Marriage. She’d never thought of it. Not once. They lived day by day and month by month, particularly in those first couple of years. Jyn had allowed herself this is good, here and now, and only later drifted so far as what if—? But it was a what if of victory, of companionship, of something other than war, not marriage. Marriage made demands. Demands of the law, the Force, the future—a future she hadn’t dared contemplate until recently. But marriage assumed one, turned indefinitely to forever as far as the galaxy was concerned.

She didn’t care about anyone’s opinion, but she did care about the … shape of things, the boundaries and foundations she could depend upon in every corner. For one hazy moment, Jyn imagined my, er, friend transformed into my wife, across the stars.

Everyone would know.

Now, silently perched on the co-pilot’s seat, Jyn studied her datapad. Cassia lingered in the edges of her vision, a narrow blur of dark and light.

“We might live,” Cassia said, almost wonderingly. “I suppose so. I hadn’t thought of it.”

Jyn felt not the slightest surprise.

“What would we even do?” Cassia asked.

As far as Jyn could recall, this was the first time that Cassia had spoken of the future as a matter of we and not you. That grounded her, along with the clear gleam filling the viewport and scattering a residual glow through the cockpit. Jyn had always liked hyperspace.

“Oh,” Jyn said lightly, “get married and settle in a house on Naboo and grow kutabas.”

Cassia snorted. After a few seconds, Jyn bullied herself into looking over at her. The light obscured her, in an odd way—blotted out the shifts in color and expression that Jyn usually relied upon. She just looked amused and pretty.

“Our pay couldn’t rent a hovel on Naboo,” she said.

They got paid these days.

“True. And I’ve never grown anything in my life,” Jyn admitted. “I think I have a grey thumb. My mother used to hide plants from me.”

Cassia laughed outright.

As a companionable minute passed, Jyn returned attention to her datapad, berating herself all the while. She didn’t even register the background information that rolled down the screen, just forced herself to blink at regular intervals. At last, though, she inhaled a few deep, regular breaths, then turned to Cassia.

Casually, she said, “We could get married, though.”

All possibility of passing it off as a joke died within a few instants. Cassia stared at her, dark eyes wide and disbelieving. Maybe disbelieving? Damn the light; she hated hyperspace.

“We—” Cassia’s voice broke off, her lips still parted. She gazed at Jyn for another horrible stretch of time. It couldn’t have been more than a few seconds, but who cared? Jyn strained for something to say, but words came poorly at the best of times. “You actually mean—”

“Do I usually say things I don’t mean?” snapped Jyn.

Cassia didn’t respond to the tone, but she rarely did. “You’re asking me to marry you.”

“No,” said Jyn, and took some comfort in the tightening of Cassia’s face. She could at least make out that much. “It was a suggestion.”

Cassia looked down, and then slightly up again, teeth pressing into her bottom lip. In that instant, Jyn did recognize the expression: the same one she wore when Jyn smiled at her or kissed her, but far more uncertain.

“You’re suggesting marriage,” Cassia amended. “Between us.” She glanced around, only then seeming to note their surroundings. “In hyperspace.”

“It’s as good a place as any,” said Jyn.

“With your feet on my control panel.”

Jyn shrugged.

Two, three, four more seconds passed—easier seconds, for Jyn. She slouched comfortably in her chair, assured in her conviction that Cassia wouldn’t pass through minor irritations on her way to refusal.

With as little warning as ever, Cassia sprang out of the captain’s seat, stalked over to Jyn, and shoved her feet off the control panel with no ceremony whatsoever. Then she took another step, one that placed her directly in front of Jyn. With her hands held out, she said,

“I don’t want to talk about this from three feet apart.”

Jyn accepted that as reasonable, and let Cassia tug her from slumped to upright, and upright to standing. She didn’t feel the need to release Cassia’s hands afterwards.

For the first time in awhile, it took conscious effort to keep her gaze from drifting to Cassia’s lips. Not for the usual reason, either. A slight curl of her mouth kept disappearing and reappearing as she stared down at Jyn, echoed in the flicker of her lashes: a smile that could not quite believe itself.

Despite Cassia’s talk about this, she said nothing, gazing at Jyn with wide eyes and cold hands.

“Well?” Jyn demanded.

Cassia wet her lip, which didn’t help. “How long?”

With the ease of similarity—and practice—Jyn filled in what she didn’t say. “Have I considered marriage? About a week.”

“A week,” said Cassia, blankly. “Did something happen?”

For no reason that Jyn could identify, she couldn’t resist her own smile at that, one bright enough for her to feel it in her cheeks and about her eyes.

“Baze said we were practically married already,” she replied, readily enough. “He didn’t know he was saying it, but still. And I thought that—it’d be good to have things clear.”

Cassia looked particularly inscrutable. “To me?”

“To everyone,” said Jyn. “No misunderstandings.”

Again, Cassia’s eyes widened. Her grip loosened, and Jyn had no idea what that was supposed to mean.

“You want,” Cassia began, then broke off. “You’re proposing that we swear to … to this, to staying together forever, because now we’ll probably live long enough for it to matter?”

She could be very concise sometimes, without sacrificing meaning. It was one of Jyn’s favorite things about her.

“Yes,” said Jyn.

“And because you want us sworn before the entire galaxy?” she pressed.

“Yes.”

Cassia released Jyn’s hands, which for one terrible moment, threw all of her conclusions into doubt. Then Cassia stepped even nearer than they already stood, almost as near as they could get, and cupped Jyn’s cheek with one hand, the other dropping to her hip.

“Jyn,” she said.

“Is that—”

Cassia pressed her lips to Jyn’s, slanting breathless kisses over every detail of her mouth. Jyn had meant to demand an answer, but even after five years, all thought but yes, this, more fled. She grasped the back of Cassia’s shoulders, pressed their bodies together, caught up to Cassia’s kisses and deepened them. Heat raced from her spine all the way to her feet and the crown of her head, and she caught Cassia’s lip between her own, lightly biting it.

Cassia, Cassia.

Jyn settled a hand over Cassia’s throat, stroking down until she could feel Cassia’s life thrumming under her fingers. When they both parted for breath, they still clung to each other.

Cassia’s unsteady smile returned, settling in her mouth and eyes and cheeks. In that moment, it seemed like it might never go away. Between the light of the smile and the light of hyperspace, she looked radiant, something shining and dangerous.

“You think it’s a good idea, then?” said Jyn, feeling more than usually triumphant.

Cassia leaned down again, this time dragging her mouth to Jyn’s ear, her breath as hot and urgent as when she’d talked her out of murder.

“It’s a very good idea,” she said.

#anghraine babbles #anghraine's fic #anghraine's pics #moodboard #genderbending #otp: welcome home #jyn erso #cassian andor #cassia andor #the queer rogue one fic #also bodhi baze and chirrut but not tagging because they're peripheral characters to the jyn/cassia show in this one #whatever we deny or embrace #long post #star wars

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foolish-ghost7 · 7 days

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They deserved their happy ending

#fanart #rogue one #rogue one fanart #cassian andor #cassian #star wars andor #andor #jyn erso #jyn erso fanart #star wars #star wars fanart #sw andor #star wars rogue one #andor fanart #cassia andor fanart

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andorerso · 7 days

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Behind the man in white, stepping out of the smoke, came a bloody and limping Cassia Andor. She looked like a woman who’d fallen twelve stories and clawed her way back to the top. She looked as beautiful as anyone Jyn had ever known, but she couldn’t spare a moment to even shout her name.

ROGUE ONE AU: Jyn Erso & Cassia Andor

#rebelcaptain #rogue one #dailyrebelcaptain #therebelcaptainnetwork #swedit #rogueoneedit #tuserjyn #*graphics #*rebelcaptain #female cassian #i just think they're neat <3

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certifiedskywalker · 1 year

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For Ferrix's Sake - Cassian Andor

Cassian returns from a ‘job’ to find you married… to a higher purpose.

You flicked the switch and the display powered off, the green text zipping out into the new darkness. On the shining black surface, your reflection seemed to glow as your form was backlit by the light left on in the yard. Yellowed rays bled through the blinds and into your eyes when you peered out the inner office window. You turned quickly away, shaking your head.

When that failed to clear the glaring dots of light that lingered in your vision, blinked like mad and added ‘shut down the yard lamps’ to your mental list of closing chores. Though, as you switched off the remaining displays, you recalled Bix, in a rush of dark hair and eyes, telling you that she would shut down the lamps. Must’ve forgot, you reasoned, she’s had a lot on her mind.

A lot of worries, and worried thoughts about Cassian Andor. Then, just like that, your mind grew crowded too. How long had it been since you last laid eyes on Cassian? Had Maarva heard from him, somehow? Perhaps the man on the radio…

You shook your head again and watched the light behind the last screen fizzle out. There are bigger things to worry about, and things more immediate. Onto the yard.

A chill greeted you when you stepped outside. Stacks of material did little to break up the winds that whipped against your skin, nipped at your cheeks. The weather had turned since Cassian left Ferrix, at least it seemed that was the case. Psychosomatic or not, you felt the cold and muscled through it as if wading through mud. Your stiff limbs shuffled toward one of the control panels that was wired to the yard lamps. Though, before you could reach the cabinet, the lights switched suddenly off and plunged you into darkness. You gasped and felt the cold tenfold in the new shadows. Dimness from the streetlights eeked over the piles of parts, giving you enough light to see your next few steps but nothing more. With a sigh, you shuffled forward on hesitant feet.

You nearly tripped over your shoes as you moved, but, in a rush of warmth, you were stilled by two hands. One held your waist and the other covered your mouth, turning the warmth to a startling shock.

“It’s me, I gotch you,” came a familiar voice. “Now, I know you want to, but don’t yell at me, yeah?”

Slowly, the hand from your mouth dropped, but, without sparing a second, your own hand shot out. Your fingers wrapped around a familiar wrist and pulled until the man standing behind you was at your side. A pair of brown eyes fell on your face, wide with surprise; yet he smiled at you, with that same old smile.

“It is you,” you breathed, and Cassian’s smile stretched into a gentle grin that poked through his dark beard. The skin by the corner of his eyes crinkled with the expression. He looks older.

“Did you not believe me?” Charm dripped from his tone and shone in the dark of his blown pupils. But he’s still him.

“I couldn’t believe my ears,” you said, a bittersweet laugh following suit. “You’ve been gone.”

“I know.”

“No,” you pressed, “you’ve been gone, Cass.”

“So, you’ve missed me,” he said, voice low and smooth like gear oil. “I’ve missed you.”

As if to prove himself, Cassian’s hand, the one that still lingered on your waist, squeezed at your flesh. His touch sent a bolt a wanting reminder through you and it blazed down your spine. Propelled by the heat, you found yourself leaning in, meeting Cassian’s lips in the middle with your own. To keep you there, his hands roamed up your sides to cup your cheeks and hold you close.

While Cassian held, you pulled, your hands hooking into the stiff fabric of his jacket. Like old times. You pulled until your back was pressed against one of the more stable piles of parts. With you stuck between his body and a hard place, Cassian took the opportunity presented by your limited range of movement to push back. His lips pushed down your neck, soaking your skin with attention. Like old habits.

Then, Cassian leaned back to breathe, “come away with me.”

No, not this one. Not now, not with so much at stake.

“Cassian,” you groaned, tone warning and cold despite the warmth of his intentions. You pushed at him to give yourself room to collect a modicum of resolve.

“You missed me,” he pressed, fingers pressing teasingly into your sides, a reminder of the hold he had on you, your heart. So much for resolve.

“I did miss you, but,” you swallowed hard, struggling to spit out the words. When you finally found your voice, it came out vague, haphazard. “But I moved on.”

“What?” Hurt drove Cassian’s jaw to drop, his brows to furrow. “You moved on?”

“It’s not that, like that. It’s for Ferrix’s sake.” For the galaxy’s sake, more like, but you bit your tongue. You couldn’t say too much without putting everything at risk.

“Ferrix?”

Special people are hard to find, the radio man had said, and Cassian was as special as they came. Like you, he burned with a desire to make things right, which made it all the easier to meet his gaze. You raised a hand to brush a stray strand of dark hair from where it fell in front of his eyes. Cassian leaned away though, dodging your gesture.

“Tell me,” he ordered and you frowned. Sometimes he burned to cinders, to a cold truth better left unsaid.

“Something is coming. Something big, bigger than me, you…”

“Us?” A cold truth.

Your mouth opened and closed, trying to form words that would not come. With your hesitation, Cassian scoffed and stepped back. You reached for him, instinctively.

“Cass-”

“No, no, don’t say it,” he murmured, head falling down to gaze at his dirt-caked shoes. “It’s better if you don’t.”

“So we can keep pretending?” You asked with the slightest of smiles on your lips. “That’s not how you are, how we are.”

Cassian must have been able to hear the accompanying tilt in your voice because he drew his head up. His brown eyes fell on you once more, tracing the little curve of your mouth. He did not return your expression as he stepped back toward you, not even when he raised one of his hands to cup your face. With a tenderness that echoed your slight smile, Cassian brushed his thumb along the peak of your cheek. Slowly, he started to nod.

“If pretending means we can stay like this a little longer.” How sweet that sounded, how easy he eased the worries in your mind. How could you deny yourself this little taste of paradise? “I’m willing to bite my tongue a bit.”

It was a rebellion in its own right.

“This?” Your ask held a more apparent lightness as your hand found Cassian’s jacket and pulled gently.

“This,” he answered, leaning in to kiss you again. You swore you felt the zing of a spark.

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callioope · 1 year

Text

I'm this close to finishing the first draft of my rebelcaptain fencing AU... yes, I know I've been saying that since NaNoWriMo 2020. My new year's resolution for 2023 is to finish and post it!

In the meantime, here's a brief summary, a link to the snippet from chapter one, and a snippet from chapter two.

Description: A rising star in youth fencing, Jyn Erso was once on track to become an Olympic-level athlete. But then, age 16, she quit unexpectedly. Her break from fencing unraveled her life. Three years later, she still refuses to discuss the subject, even with her father, a former Olympic medalist, and her best friend, Bodhi, who’s just returned from competing in the Olympics. It’s fine, it’s working – until she meets Cassian Andor, the kindest, most interesting person she’s ever met. Except for one problem: he’s also an Olympic-level fencer.

Excerpt from chapter two:

Jyn crosses her arms and waits. She’s elbow to elbow with strangers in the crowded cafe she and Bodhi chose for their weekly lunch. It’s not normally this popular, but it seems the dreary weather has convinced everyone and their mother that a cup of soup sounds quite nice.

Sighing, she glances over her shoulder, towards the filled seating where Bodhi has aggressively commandeered a table. He waves when she catches his eyes. She smiles back, but then looks past him, at the gray sky and gathering water droplets on the windows.

The days trudge along, minutes dragging like hours. It’s been two weeks since she scampered like a coward from Cassian’s home, from a well-cooked meal, from hope and possibility. Sometimes, she thinks she sees him passing on the street or in the hallway, and she ducks into an alcove or a classroom. Saw would be ashamed. That thought does nothing to help, merely reminds her why she’s in this mess in the first place.

“Order for Erso!”

She jolts back to the present, sees an employee place their order on the counter: a tray for Jyn’s meal, a tray for Bodhi’s, and two drinks. If only Bodhi hadn’t needed to stake out a table; now she’s stuck trying to balance it all.

“You seem like you’re carrying a lot.”

Turning, she sees her English professor. “Hi, Professor Malbus. My friend went to save a seat.”

He nods. “Chirrut’s doing the same.”

“Well, it’s good to see you.” Jyn moves towards the seating area, but her professor keeps talking.

“While you’re here,” he starts. It sounds ominous, and it occurs to Jyn that had her food been called just twenty seconds earlier, perhaps she could have avoided this conversation entirely. “I wanted to talk to you about your last paper.”

“Oh.” Yeah, bad feeling justified.

“I appreciate you handing it in early,” he says. The writing takes her mind off things. “But it seems a little rushed. You still have time before the deadline, if you want to take another stab at it.”

His phrasing pierces her a little more pointedly than he probably realizes. Am I really this sensitive to it after all this time? What doesn’t help is that she’d actually spent quite a bit of time mulling over that assignment.

“Of course, professor.”

He frowns. “I’m sorry — you’re busy. Let’s talk it over in my office hours next week.”

“Thanks.”

Her steps might be a little heavier as she leaves the counter area and winds her way through the seating, but at least she’s pretty sure they wouldn’t qualify as outright stomping.

At least this day couldn’t possibly get any worse.

Midway through the seating, she realizes she has no idea where she’s going, and she looks around again for Bodhi.

And instead, she finds Cassian.

Never think it can’t get worse, she reminds herself.

In fact, Cassian is, for some reason, talking to Bodhi, so at least she’s succeeded in locating her final destination.

She stands there staring for far too long, other customers bumping past her, until Cassian glances away from Bodhi just for a second, just long enough to accidentally meet her gaze.

She wonders if she looks as caught off guard as he does.

Bodhi follows Cassian’s gaze. “Oh, finally!”

His words jumpstart her mind, and she covers the remaining distance between them.

During that time, her mind screams, “How the hell do you two know each other!”

But instead, she says, “Sorry for the wait.”

“It’s fine,” they both answer her, although Cassian’s sounds a little less sincere.

All three of them frown. Bodhi and Cassian glance back and forth between each other and her in confusion.

Slightly faster on the uptake — she did have a split second advantage — Jyn places Bodhi’s food in front of him, all the while avoiding the intensity of Cassian’s gaze. “So,” she says, staring at her seat but not getting into it, “how do you two know each other?”

“I — we — what?” Bodhi says. He shakes his head as if to shake his thoughts loose. “He’s our bronze medalist in epee.”

Jyn’s eyes widen, but it shouldn’t be that shocking. She had remembered he’d taken gold at that Junior Olympics all those years ago. Just because she left fencing behind didn’t mean everyone did. Bodhi, after all, had stuck with it.

Before she can respond, Cassian says, “Wait, how do you two know each other?”

Both Jyn and Bodhi hesitate. And then Bodhi sends Jyn a look that somehow manages to be both apologetic and defiant, and says, “We used to train together under Saw Gerrera.”

Cassian meets her wide-eyed gaze with his own. “You’re… Jyn Erso?”

Sighing, she settles into the seat next to Bodhi. “Yeah.”

“Fuck.”

“Wrong f-word.”

His gaze bores into hers, like he’s trying to figure her out. She thinks — she hopes — that maybe he has enough information to understand why she ran, since she hasn’t been able to find the words to explain it.

“Well…” he finally says. “I should go.”

“No one’s going anywhere,” Bodhi says, and they both jerk guiltily toward him, “until we get to the bottom of this.”

That wasn’t the line, Jyn thinks inanely. But Bodhi thinks as fast as either of them, maybe faster, and apparently has no need to ask the same question a third time.

When he doesn’t continue, Jyn says warily, “There’s no … bottom… Bodhi…”

“Yes, there is, and you both are stuck in it.”

She looks down at her food, pokes her salad with her fork.

“It’s fine,” Cassian says. “You don’t need to—”

“Sit!”

Startled into compliance, Cassian sits. Despite everything, Jyn smirks. Cassian, it would seem, is less familiar with Bodhi’s determined “I will aggressively logic you into happiness” routine. It really only works because disappointing him is literally the worst feeling in the world, worse even than losing a fencing bout had been, once upon a time. And that’s really saying something because she wasn’t the most gracious loser.

“You’re miserable,” he starts, pointing at Jyn with his own fork, “because you haven’t seen that photographer chef since that date two weeks ago. You know, the one where you were all, ‘this is the best date I’ve ever been on’…”

“Whoa.” Jyn’s eyes dart nervously between Bodhi and Cassian. “I didn’t say it like —”

“And you’re miserable,” Bodhi says, turning to Cassian, “because the last date you went on, two weeks ago, the awesome writer undergrad you met left early and hasn’t returned your calls.”

“If she’s not interested,” Cassian says, without looking up from the table, “that’s not her fault.”

Jyn winces like he just thrust his sword into her heart.

Of course, it would seem that she’d struck him first.

#rebelcaptain #jyn x cassian #rogue one #jyn erso #cassian andor #my writing #rebelcaptain fencing au #wip #work in progress

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nerendus · 5 months

Text

Heinrix: Jimi Hendrix

Pasqal: Pedro Pascal

Idira: Idris Elba

Argenta: Argent Energy Doom

Cassia: Cassian Andor

Abelard: ????

I need to give all of my party members names of Actual Things so I can avoid calling them by their actual name but I'm....struggling with finding something for Abelard, I usually just call him Mom because that's what he is to me, but I think that might just be a little too normal...

#texts from the underbrush #warhammer 40k #rogue trader

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flythesail · 1 year

Note

For the winter prompts, 90 and 7, Rogue One/Andor rebelcaptain? Happy holidays!!

Thank you!! Happy holidays <3

#90: "Winter is the best season." "I beg to differ."

#7: "You've never seen snow before?"

Also on ao3

Cassian rarely got days off, and today happened to be one of those rare days.

So he did what any sane person would do, and decided to spend the day not moving.

It was cold here. Too cold.

And if he was up and around the base, someone would see him, have something to ask him, or something to show him, and it would no longer be a day off.

So here he was under as many blankets as they were given and then some.

The door to his quarters opened, and Cassian didn't need to turn to know it was Jyn.

She was the only other person who had access to his room, and he intended it to be that way.

The bed dipped as she flopped down beside him.

"You're still not up?" she asked as a way of greeting.

"I'm not getting up," he said, his voice muffled.

"What?" She leaned closer to better hear him.

"I'm not getting up."

Still leaning over him, she raised her brows. "Are you sick?" she asked, studying his face.

When he said nothing, she pressed the back of her hand to his forehead.

"You're freezing."

"Because it's freezing here."

"No," she said, nudging his leg with her foot. She had so many pairs of socks on, it was impossible to see the shape of her heel or toes. "You need to get up and move around."

"What if I don't want to?" he asked.

"Then you're going to be cold."

Again, he said nothing. Instead, he pulled the blankets tighter around himself.

"Cassian," she said with a laugh.

"Jyn."

She looked at him for a moment longer, then got up.

"Where are you going?" he asked. He watched as she shoved her feet back into her boots—two sizes too big so they'd fit with her socks.

"I'll be back." She knotted the laces, then stood. "Don't worry."

With that, she left.

**********

He didn't sleep when Jyn was gone.

Not only because he was cold, but because it had been a long, long time since he could sleep most of the day.

When he was younger, maybe.

Now it was rare he slept through the night, maybe slept at all, and definitely not when Jyn wasn't here.

So he passed the time by staring at the ceiling, wondering why there weren't icicles there if it was this cold.

It was nice to think about nothing. Or at least to pretend there was nothing to think about, if only for one day.

The door to his room opened again, and Jyn brought more cold air in with her.

Again, she sat on the edge of the bed. She undid the laces of her boots, kicked them off, and then crawled closer to Cassian.

He was sitting up now and tugged the bottom edges of his hat down further as if it wasn't already covering his ears. His hair was longer than it had been in years and stuck out from under his hat.

"I brought you something," she said.

He noticed she had one of her hands behind her back.

She seemed happy today. Lighter somehow, and that made him happier.

Not all days since Scarif were bad, but they'd both seen each other on bad days and seen each other through them. That made moments like these all the more comforting.

"What'd you bring me?" he asked.

"You have to promise you'll try it." She pulled on the pile of blankets so they covered her legs too.

Cassian was skeptical, but if he could trust Jyn with his life he could surely trust Jyn with whatever this was.

"Promise," he said.

Jyn took her hand from behind her back and held out a thermajug.

"What is it?" he asked, his eyes crinkling as he looked at it then her.

"Try it."

Cassian took the cap off, sniffing the drink out of habit before he lifted it to his mouth.

It smelled sweet.

"I think you'll like it," said Jyn.

He took a sip, and it tasted sweet too. The drink was warm, and he felt it in his chest once he swallowed.

"Chocolate," he said.

"Yeah," she said. "Hot chocolate. Not real, but all I could get on base was the powdered stuff and that was hard enough as is." She watched Cassian turn the thermajug in his hands. "Do you like it?" Her voice sounded hopeful.

He nodded, offering her a smile. "Just trying to remember the last time I had it," he said. It would have to be before he joined the Rebellion. Yet even then, Ferrix was never a planet big on sweets. Maybe somewhere he traveled with Maarva and Clem. Maybe sometime between when he was off on his own and had a few extra credits—which was unlikely as is.

"My mother used to make it," Jyn said, and his eyes found hers. It wasn't often she talked about her parents. Not only because it was hard, but because she was young when the Empire came for her father.

Cassian understood the feeling. He wasn't much older than her when he lost his parents. Maybe two years older at most. And now, everything was a blur. That left it difficult to differentiate between what memories were truthful and which ones faded from examining them too many times over.

"On Coruscant," Jyn continued. "It was easier to find the real kind there. And they spoiled me," she added, laughing slightly.

He gave her a small smile to let her know he was listening.

"I know I cried about it on Lah'mu when there wasn't any. I didn't understand why we had to go."

"How could you?" he asked.

She shrugged. He handed her the hot chocolate, and she took a sip.

"I think it tastes better when you're cold," she said.

Cassian faked a shiver. "I hate the cold."

"Wasn't Ferrix cold?"

He nodded. But that didn't mean he liked it.

Kenari, on the other hand, was always warm. He still thought of Kenari when he thought of home.

Warm water. A warm rainy season where everything would be foggy in the morning and raindrops would drop from the trees onto his head.

"What about the snow?" Jyn offered. "Snow is nice."

"So you've never seen snow before?" Cassian teased. "It's not. It's cold and hard to move through."

On Ferrix, the snow had mixed with the dirt roads—turning everything slick and muddy.

He never missed that.

"Anything is better than snow," he said.

"I would rather it be cold than too hot," said Jyn. "Winter is the best season."

"I beg to differ."

She laughed. "Drink your hot chocolate." She took another sip, then handed it back to him.

He did, and by some miracle—it was still hot.

"Thanks," he said.

Jyn smiled. Leaning forward, she tugged down the ends of his hat and kissed him. She tasted like chocolate too.

"Anytime."

#rebelcaptain #rogue one #andor #flythefic #a day in which cassian gets to be just some guy and stay in bed #i read the wiki page for hot chocolate for this and then proceeded to use none of that info fjdakfjak

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anghraine · 1 year

Text

"whatever we deny or embrace" - fic (part 4)

/shows up four years later with zero explanation and an old moodboard

title: whatever we deny or embrace verse: queer Rogue One/f!Cassian AU (5/6) characters: Cassian Andor, Jyn Erso; Jyn/Cassian stuff that happens: Cassia and Jyn navigate their relationship after the destruction of the Death Star (originally posted as a stand-alone fic, cleaned up for this) previous sections: prologue, part one, part two, part three

PART FOUR

Jyn didn’t begrudge the Rebels their victory celebrations, which extended for several weeks, at least at night. She didn’t even think of herself as separate from the Rebellion, exactly—not after Scarif.

It was just … crowded. Very crowded, considering that this particular cantina grew out of a skeletal base on Solis 2, where her team had just arrived with some soldiers and senators. And it was loud. Easily as loud as Massassi’s cantina. She could endure that, had endured it many times, but she didn’t want to. And this was not a time for doing anything she didn’t want to.

Searching for a discreet exit, Jyn must have betrayed some part of what she felt. She didn’t usually, and nobody seemed to be paying particular attention to her—she’d taken care to wedge herself behind Baze—but suddenly, she felt Cassia’s mouth near her ear.

Only the habits of years kept Jyn motionless. Her blood ran cold, or maybe hot; she couldn’t tell the difference.

“Do you want some fresh air?” Cassia murmured.

Jyn tried not to look too grateful.

“Yes.”

Cassia shifted in some unobtrusive way that placed her at Jyn’s side, hand warm against her back. Jyn suspected the last was her imagination, since her leather vest hardly registered slight changes in human temperature. And Cassia ran cold, anyway. Jyn had shared her bed enough times (eleven) to know that it wasn’t some Cassia façade.

Platonically shared her bed. Jyn had even managed to platonically pin Cassia to the bed and straddle her hips, which took some doing.

Cassia made a smooth excuse that Jyn didn’t bother listening to, but which everyone accepted. More or less. Baze actually smiled—it was faint, but unmistakably a smile. That struck Jyn as deeply suspicious. But he didn’t say anything, so neither did she, instead letting Cassia maneuver them outside without incident.

(Jyn couldn’t remember the last time she’d tolerated anyone maneuvering her at all. Well, anyone else, since they’d done the same thing back on Jedha. Cassia might just be an exception. Sometimes.)

As soon as the doors snapped together behind them, Jyn’s tensed muscles relaxed. Cassia drew a breath of the base’s crisp, cool air.

“That’s better.”

Jyn shoved her hands into the pockets of her jacket. “Beer and sweat not your favourite smells?”

Cassia kept her—their—quarters in pristine order, regardless of where those quarters happened to be. Jyn herself couldn’t have cared less, but once she realized that Cassia didn’t expect her to assist in any meaningful way, she shrugged off her initial irritation. If Cassia wanted to soothe herself with color-coordinating her clothes, fine. Jyn soothed herself with cleaning and loading her blasters, after all.

(By now, she didn’t just possess a nonzero number of blasters, but several, only two of which originally belonged to Cassia. That alone would nearly have made everything worth it, and … she had quite a bit more than that alone.)

“No, not really,” said Cassia dryly, heading down a set of stairs that led to a narrow steel platform beneath the main portion of the cantina. This particular base consisted almost entirely of platforms, square buildings, and assorted stairs and ramps, all in featureless grey metal. Jyn gathered that it had been cobbled together out of some abandoned Imperial installation. Or a Republic one, maybe. It had railings and everything.

“I figured.”

“And too many people,” Cassia added, her tone neutral.

Jyn eyed the back of her head. “I thought you were a … people person.”

“Really?”

Thinking back over the … five weeks they’d known each other, Jyn supposed it could go either way. Cassia always had something to say, but she wasn’t exactly outgoing. “You’re good with them.”

“When I have to be.” She stopped and leaned against the platform’s wide rail while Jyn caught up. “I like the quiet.”

That pleased Jyn in an indistinct way she didn’t care to interrogate. She settled for a murmur of agreement.

Suitably enough, they continued side-by-side without talking, making their way to the furthest wall. There they remained visible from the cantina, if anyone chose to look, but at least didn’t stand beneath the noisiest part of it.

It was nice. Jyn, not overburdened by self-consciousness, felt just enough of it to avoid saying so. But she enjoyed everything: the coolness of the air, not heavy like Yavin 4’s, the easy silence, the mingling light of Solis’s moons, the smaller two eclipsing the largest into a slice of gold. She had two blasters in her holsters, no enemies in the vicinity, and Cassia at her side, their limps all but gone. Without even touching her crystal, Jyn felt calm and contented in a way she very rarely experienced, far beyond her usual stoicism.

She didn’t look at Cassia. They shared quarters, a bed, and most hours of day and night, but while Jyn welcomed the eagerly yielding Cassia that now and then shattered her nightmares, she took care to separate dream-Cassia from the actual woman. At this point, she already had seen Cassia a) younger-looking and beautiful in her silly parka, b) drenched from hair to boots, c) striding past in an Imperial uniform that fit her much better than the Alliance one, d) collapsing in Jyn’s arms, and e) swathed in shadows under Jyn’s body. She didn’t feel the need to try herself further by adding gilded in moonlight to the rest.

Not that she’d be able to avoid it, really.

“Have you seen Bodhi?” Jyn asked.

“Yes, in the cantina,” said Cassia, apparently unperturbed by the broken silence. “Not in the best mood. I think he ran into Skywalker.”

“Again?” Jyn didn’t mind Skywalker in himself: rather liked him, in fact. He’d personally asked her if he could name his squadron after her team, and had possibly less patience for cowards and fools than she did. But for whatever reason, he and Bodhi had taken an almost immediate dislike to each other. “I don’t even know what they find to disagree about.”

Cassia paused. “Skywalker is attractive enough, isn’t he? I’m not the best judge.”

Raw determination kept Jyn’s eyes on the blotted moon. She blinked several times at it. “You think that’s why—?”

“A factor, perhaps,” Cassia replied. “I can’t say for sure, of course. It could be nothing more than Skywalker hating Imperials without much … discrimination.”

Jyn could understand that, in general. She rarely saw one without wanting to club them into a bloody corpse. But not Bodhi, who had defected and suffered and sacrificed, whatever he might have been or done before.

“We all hate Imperials,” said Jyn. “Does he think he’s special?”

Cassia’s hand tapped idly along the railing. Jyn would bet real credits she had a frown on her face.

“Maybe.”

Jyn would have blamed her uncommunicativeness on right, she’s a spy, if not for the fact that Cassia would tell her pretty much anything unclassified, if asked. She just rarely volunteered it, so Jyn—or someone, but usually Jyn—had to drag it out in pieces.

“All right, what did they do to him? Do you know?”

“Killed and burned his family’s bodies,” said Cassia. She paused. “I am not sure which happened first.”

A few moments passed without a word from either. Above them, somebody laughed, followed by others, before their voices faded into some other part of the room.

“Fuck,” Jyn muttered.

Cassia shifted again. “Don’t tell anyone.”

“No,” said Jyn automatically. “That’s not—that’s not fair to Bodhi, but damn.” She’d hoped it was a bit more mundane.

“None of us are fair to each other,” replied Cassia, her voice still more even. “Not always.”

That snapped Jyn’s resolve. She glanced over her, but Cassia was staring ahead, her back a straight line from her shoulders to the cybernetics hidden under her skin. Attraction seemed rather besides the point.

“I know,” said Jyn quietly.

She suspected it might be as close to an apology as Cassia got. Since I’m not used to people sticking around was as close to one as Jyn had offered, she decided she’d take it.

Expression softening, Cassia turned her head to face her, amusement flickering into her face. “Anyway, I think the unfairness has gone both ways with them.” She cleared her throat. “As it were.”

Jyn didn’t mean to smile, but she did, anyway. “You’re never going to forget that, are you?”

“I never forget anything,” Cassia said.

Jyn shook her head. “Then I’ll expect you to remember my birthday every year.”

Cassia’s low, startled laugh altogether banished Bodhi and Skywalker’s whatever-it-was. “If I know where you are.”

“Shouldn’t be hard,” said Jyn.

The amusement faded into something else, sweeter and more cautious. “You’re staying? You mean, indefinitely?”

Jyn thought of a good half-dozen responses, alternately snide and earnest. But she only said,

“Yes.”

Cassia’s face broke into a bright, dimpled smile. Jyn, who had not expected that particular attack, felt dazed. Just a little. Physical awareness flooded back, or became relevant again. The golden moonlight caught in Cassia’s eyes, her skin, even her dark hair, gleaming from within. The hazy glow of it gentled her features without weakening them, her face warm and pretty rather than starkly beautiful. For all of that, her eyes fixed on Jyn with the same elated intensity that she remembered from the not-apology in the hangar, and after.

Speaking of unfair—

“How long do you think we’ll stay here?” Jyn asked. “Assuming it’s not classified.”

Cassia seemed puzzled but undisturbed. “Not very long. We want to keep the small bases as unobtrusive as possible, and the rest will be scattering from Yavin 4 soon. We’ll need a new central base.”

“Colder than Massassi, I hope,” said Jyn, vengefully.

Cassia looked betrayed. Her smile turning crooked, she twisted back towards the base below them, though without the rigidity of before. “You’re the one who’ll suffer if we get stationed there.”

“I’ll live,” said Jyn. “Not all of us are delicate flowers.”

“Really, Jyn?”

Jyn grinned openly, leaning against the platform’s side. “So what about you? Are you hoping for anything in particular?”

Cassia’s fingers splayed out on the railing, then grasped it. She wet her lip.

“A few things,” she said.

Jyn gave up.

“Cassia?”

When Cassia turned towards her, inquisitive, Jyn didn’t wait long enough for fear. She stepped forward, curled her fingers into Cassia’s jacket, and kissed her for the second time.

Cassia’s lips parted in what Jyn assumed to be surprise rather than invitation, but within a moment, her mouth was pressing back, as soft and careful as in the turbolift. They’d finally circled back, finally—and then her hands slid about Jyn’s waist, up her back. It was so little, but Jyn felt drunk, heady and flushed all over, more than she’d been capable of before, maybe more than she’d been capable of in her life. She had her arms about Cassia’s neck again, fingers walking against the nape and threading into her hair, smooth and soft instead of stiff with sweat and blood. She pressed closer when Cassia tilted her head to slant her mouth against Jyn’s, both panting.

No, Cassia was saying something, whispering against Jyn’s lips. Cassia and her words; she always had something. Even now. A very tiny bit exasperated, Jyn slowed and forced herself to pay attention.

“Jyn,” Cassia murmured. “Jyn, Jyn—”

Jyn almost shuddered, fingers clutching in Cassia’s hair. She’d never kissed anyone who knew her name. Anyone who knew her at all. And this wasn’t anyone—she—

“Cassia,” she breathed.

They stepped back for air, because they had to. Inevitably, that first moment was awkward. Neither knew quite what to say, and it’d been so much even though it was nothing they hadn’t done already. But Jyn took in Cassia’s rumpled hair and swollen mouth and half-shy smile, and could only think, again.

A small breeze rustled past. Cassia shivered.

Jyn had too much self-respect to say I’ll warm you up, or anything of the sort. To go by Cassia’s flush and thinly-veiled pleasure, her face said it for her.

“That one of the things you were hoping for?” Jyn asked.

Cassia could have said something clever, or beautiful, or wry: Jyn didn’t doubt that she had it in her. But she just laid her hand against Jyn’s cheek, her eyes wide, almost stunned, as she smoothed the fringe aside.

Cassia leaned down and kissed her again.

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