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highqueenofelfhame · 11 months

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a/n: ciwyw is next, i promise lmao. i'm very excited for the feedback on this one. <3

rowaelin // 5.7k words // skoh masterlist // masterlist

Considering how they had always slept twined together, Aelin wasn’t particularly surprised when she woke up with her back against Rowan’s chest. She tried not to move while her eyes adjusted to the sunlight coming through the curtains. Curtains were at the top of her list of things to buy when she went shopping later.

His arm was a warm, steadying weight over her side and she could feel his breath tickling the back of her neck. In sleep, her fingers had tangled with his over her stomach. Now, she had no idea what to do with any extension of her body. It had been a long time since she had been so hyper-aware of anyone touching her. Even longer than that, she hadn’t woken up with another person like this since the last time Rowan left all those years ago.

And then there was the hardness pressing against her ass that had a giggle threatening to bubble out of her lips.

Aelin bit her bottom lip to suppress the smile that would surely spiral into a fit of laughter as her hips began wiggling against him like she was trying to get comfortable. Rowan’s breathing changed slightly, a sharper inhale indicating he was at least a little awake now. She paused her movements just long enough to make the whole thing seem innocent before starting up again. The solid length of him grew harder against her. With the nightgown she slept in bunched up around her waist, their underwear was the only thing between them.

It was the bare skin of her hip that his hand clamped down on to still her, his breath hot against her ear as he growled, “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Trying to get out from under your arm.” It was an effort to keep her voice level with any amount of sass lacing the letters together. Rowan’s morning voice was truly a work of art, slightly deeper than normal and raspy from sleep. If he listened closely, he could probably hear her heart pounding away in her chest.

“That isn’t what it felt like,” he murmured, pushing his hips flush against her ass. One shaky inhale later, she was rolling out of bed. Rowan’s hand fisted the sheets where she had just been, eyes sleepy and squinting against the morning sun.

“We can go back to shouting then.” With a coy flip of her hair over her shoulder, she slipped into the bathroom as he flopped onto his back, hand running down his face.

The shower was so cold she was shivering by the end, her skin pink from the failed attempt to scrub away the feeling of his body pressed too tightly against hers.

~*~

“This is the most depressing thing I have ever had to do,” Aelin mumbled, fingers working black hair color into Fenrys’s roots. The shitty box dye was going to wreck the stunning threads of gold and she hated that she had any part in it. When she went down for breakfast her heart had nearly fallen out of her ass at the sight of Fenrys and Connall with close-cropped cuts. Thankfully there was some length remaining on top where their curls were able to thrive, but it wasn’t enough. It could barely be tucked behind their ears. It felt like a crime.

Aelin had already dyed, washed, and styled her hair into soft waves. She even took to snipping at the ends until her burgundy strands grazed the tops of her breasts. It had taken up the first two hours of the morning— the last thirty of it spent frowning at her reflection. Ever since she was little, her golden waves had been a source of pride. When she put in the green contacts, all of her remarkable features would vanish down the drain.

“It’ll wash out,” Fen reminded her. “And it’s just hair.”

“It’s going to take forever to grow back and probably just as long for the dye to wash out. This shit is hard to come back from.” It would be easier for her, but not for him. Evidently, Fenrys didn’t know that. A frown took over his entire face as he looked at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. While being identical, there were subtle differences between the twin’s faces that those close to them could point out. He was still beautiful, but his naturally golden blonde hair had made him look like the sun to Connall’s moon. Now they were both night-kissed with darkness.

There was no chance in hell that they could swap places without anyone catching it. As soon as Fenrys opened his mouth anyone would be able to tell that they most definitely were not the same person. Where his brother was calm and subdued, Fen was a raging storm of chaos and Aelin loved that about him.

“Now we let it cook,” she sighed, plopping a processing cap over the top to keep the hair from slipping over his forehead and staining his skin.

With a pat on his shoulder, she headed for the kitchen with Fenrys trailing behind her. Aelin grabbed a bag of grapes from the fridge and slid onto one of the barstools while she skimmed the file of her temporary identity. Having read through it several times already, the facts about her fake life were cemented into her mind.

Her name was Lillian Gordaina, and she was the Duchess of a small territory south of Bellhaven in Fenharrow. They received their titles and territory a year ago as a wedding gift when she married her husband, Asher Gordaina, the Duke. Both of them came from royal bloodlines, and their pairing and the work they did together is what had their Lord and Lady titles. While they didn’t have any children, they loved their dogs and were very involved with animal rights charities and the arts. According to the king and queen, they represented what the future could and should be like. Their attendance at the ball alongside Fenharrow nobles was to properly introduce them to royals from other countries.

Terrasen had a quite strong allegiance with Fenharrow, partially because her uncle was good friends with their king and queen. It was likely that he spoke with them to loop them in without giving away too much detail of the mission. Aelin wasn’t sure a real Duke and Duchess even existed for that little cluster of villages, or if they were taking an imaginary workload from the ones that oversaw Bellhaven. Not that it mattered, but she still wondered.

“Aelin?” Rowan’s voice carried down the hall from their bedroom and caused her heart to lurch beneath her ribs. Aelin’s eyes slipped shut as she dropped her forehead against Fen’s shoulder harder than she meant to. A dull throb pulsed between her eyebrows and he patted her sympathetically on the shoulder.

“Say I’ve died,” she whispered with pleading eyes as she lifted her head.

“Considering how little I want to experience his raw panic at that phrase, I’m going to offer a piping hot fuck no to that little request of yours.” And to think she thought she’d won everyone but Lorcan in the divorce.

Aelin tsked as she rose to her feet, back arching in a feline stretch. She savored another grape, eyes unfocused and staring out the window and wondering how long it would take for him to come looking for her. Fenrys swiveled in his seat and guided her with a hand on her waist until she was forced to take the first damning steps toward her ex-boyfriend. Fenrys was a traitorous bastard.

Shoulders rolling to loosen her arms, she steeled herself for a fight. Rowan hadn’t sounded angry when he called for her, but it was odd that he was seeking her out for anything to begin with. The uncertainty had her on high alert as her toes crossed the threshold into their room. Rowan was found sitting on a stool in the bathroom, running his hand over the back of his neck.

No evidence of his silver hair remained on his head, nor in the bits of hair on the floor around him. It was now a dirty blonde that toed the line of being light brown. They both looked equally surprised at the other’s makeovers and neither said anything for a moment. Their eyes remained locked through the mirror as she leaned against the bathroom door.

“Hey,” he said finally, reaching up to scratch his jaw.

“Hi?” It came out as perplexed as she felt. Even her nose was wrinkled a bit as he turned to look at her directly.

“I was uh– I was wondering if you’d help me cut the longer bit.” Rowan motioned to the pair of scissors that lay beside the clippers he’d used for the parts he wanted shorter. “I don’t trust any of the guys with scissors near my head, and you always did a good job.”

There were times when Rowan shaved his head in the early days of their relationship for ease of things while deployed. Once he started letting it grow back in, Aelin had watched a thousand tutorials on how to cut men’s hair. Eventually, she was pretty good at it. Not enough to quit her job and start a new business, but well enough that Rowan asked her for haircuts and trims when he was home.

“Of course.” She pushed off the door and reached for the scissors, Rowan’s hand darting out to stop her from picking them up. Her raised eyebrows asked the question her lips didn’t have to say.

“Without fucking it up.” The corners of her mouth twitched into a smile, her fingers closing around the cool metal. She grabbed the comb with her other hand and began running it through his hair. Because she had the excuse, her fingers slipped through the silky strands as she debated on how to cut it. Rowan took the moment to shake his arms out, loosening the muscles that seemed to stay too tight when she was around.

“Relax,” she mused, slipping into the space between his thighs. Using her fingertips, she tilted his head from one side to the other. “I’m cutting your hair, not getting ready to kick your ass in a sparring match.”

Rowan snorted but seemed to ease up if only a little. His hands were resting flat against his thigh, one leg bouncing to dispel anxious energy. When he bumped into her she shot him a warning glare, snipping the scissors in his face as a reminder of what might happen if he didn’t take a breath and chill out.

Aelin began cutting, taking her time to ensure it was even. Rowan alternated from sitting with his eyes closed to gazing up at her face. The only other place for him to look was at her chest, and he seemed to be doing an okay job of avoiding that. She was pretty sure she caught him a few times, though.

“Your hair was so pretty,” she sighed, moving to stand beside him while she cut the sides and around to the back. “Now it’s ruined.”

“You don’t like me like this, Princess?” Aelin’s tongue ran over her teeth as she glanced at him briefly in the mirror.

“I always liked you however you happened to be.” It felt like too vulnerable a thing to say, especially when he turned his head to look at her. Ignoring his eyes, Aelin turned his head forward. “Be still. I’m almost done.”

A few minutes later she was back between his legs and working a pomade through his freshly dyed locks. Considering how long it had been since she’d readied him for any sort of occasion, it took her longer than it used to. She was probably being a little nit-picky, but they had a photoshoot in two hours where they had to look royal for crying out loud. If there was a time to be precise, it was now.

“There. Perfect.” Aelin smiled a little and turned, reaching for the faucet to wash her hands. Halfway his fingers caught hers and tugged. Ever so slowly, she turned back to look at him. The calluses of his free palm scratched against her skin as they slowly wrapped around the back of her thigh just above her knee.

A suppressed shiver broke free as it dragged up her side and finally reached hesitantly toward her face. The other spread her fingertips until he could weave their fingers together. If he noticed the residue of the pomade on her hands, he didn’t seem to care. She knew she should stop this– that she should pull away from him and haul ass to the kitchen to wash her hands to put distance between them. Instead, she leaned into the first brush of his hand against her cheek.

Their eyes were locked, his pupils blown wide with what could only be desire. The heat of his body so close had her taking another small step toward him without needing to be guided. Her legs were trapped between his and in this secret moment, she didn’t want to be anywhere else.

The pad of his thumb brushed over her jaw while his hand slid around, fingers nestling perfectly into the dip at the base of her skull. All of the air in the room must have been sucked out because she was finding it increasingly hard to breathe. Each breath was measured and it seemed like he was doing the same thing as he gently guided her face closer to his.

Rowan untangled his hand from hers and guided her hand to the side of his neck where her fingers immediately twined into the hair at his nape. Almost involuntarily, she traced over the cupid’s bow of his lips with her free hand. In a moment of aching defeat, she rested her forehead against his and allowed her eyes to close. For a long moment, they just breathed each other in. It was a breathtaking intimacy that only two people that loved each other deeply could share.

The grief that steeped in her mind like a long-forgotten cup of tea washed over her. It became abundantly clear that she had never worked through it. Their relationship had always been more about their romantic feelings. He was her very best friend as much as her lover, sometimes more so. This moment didn’t poke and prod at the wounds that still felt so fresh most days. It soothed them.

Never stilling the movements of his hand that ran up and down her side, he pulled back just enough to look at her. The tips of their noses brushed as he whispered her name like it was the most reverent prayer he could offer to any god. Aelin shivered, lips parting on a shallow breath. Rowan’s mouth grazed the corner of her’s and he looked at her one more time like he was asking permission. There was a desperation in his eyes that she hadn’t seen in ages.

It was a man begging the god he worshiped. For what, she didn’t know. If it was forgiveness he sought it would be a long time coming. Or was it just the taste of her lips that he needed? Was he begging to brand her skin with the touch of his hands, his lips, his tongue? The crumbling self-control she grasped for was slipping like sand through her fingers. At the soft whisper of her name, it blew away with the wind.

Whatever expression lay on her face must have been good enough because the next moment his lips were on hers and she was unraveling at the taste of him. Nothing mattered but the feeling of his hands on her body, of his lips taking little breaks to press sweet kisses to her cheeks before claiming her mouth again. At the first brush of his tongue her knees nearly gave out, the grip she had on his hair tightening until he groaned low in his throat. It wasn’t the sound of pain, but one of pleasure.

The fingerprints she left on his neck and jaw were sticky from the pomade, but neither of them cared enough to stop. The strokes of his tongue were exploratory like he wanted to relearn every part of her. His lips were starving to memorize every inch, every dip, curve, and angle of her body until it was scorched into his memory. Aelin needed it, she realized. She needed to taste him, feel him beneath her fingertips. Every atom in her body was aching to be touched and felt and explored by only him. Only ever Rowan.

The nip of his teeth against her bottom lip didn’t hold the bite of their words. This kiss felt like that first deep breath on a snowy morning. It awoke all of her senses and sent shivers down her spine and heat blazing across her skin. The warmth of his body grounded her as his hand pressed against the small of her back and pressed her chest flush against his. Rowan’s lips seared trails of fire down her jaw and neck, then back up to capture her mouth again and she wanted to burn right here in this spot forever. Desire and need flooded her body and pooled in her core. The moan that slipped through her lips was caught with his teeth and tongue. Shaking hands contracted against her sides, fingertips digging into her skin roughly as he pulled her toward him and—

And then he pushed her back, ripping his mouth from hers. The heat of his body vanished as he leaned back to put space more between them. A thousand emotions flashed through his eyes before he managed to pull any kind of mask together by clearing his throat.

“There.” Spare bravado was pulled from his pockets as he smirked, dropping his hands from her waist. She hated how much she missed the contact. “Now we’re even from this morning.”

It would be a bald-faced lie to say the words didn’t burn worse than flames licking at her skin. But she also knew Rowan Whitethorn better than she knew anyone. As good as he was at hiding his emotions from everyone around him, there was no point in even trying when it came to Aelin. She looked into his eyes and could see that it was about more than just this morning. There was no possible way that those kisses had meant nothing more than settling an imaginary score. Not when his chest was heaving and his cheeks were stained a rosy red. Words said one thing, but the intent way his eyes remained focused on her said something else entirely. He was a predator hunting his prey and she would let him devour her.

Unless that was all it had been: a game. The thought cut deep and she had no one to blame but herself. A stupid game she accidentally started this morning because being a pain in his ass was easier than being civil.

Her lips pressed together in a thin line and she had to ball her hands into fists to hide their tremors. Fresh heat crept over her cheeks and down her neck as she nodded once and stepped out of his reach lest he try and touch her again. It wasn’t a luxury she could afford to indulge in. That one would wreck her and everything she was entirely.

“Next time I’m fucking up your hair,” she quipped, pockets empty of her usual swagger. Aelin didn’t look at him again as she walked out and grabbed what she needed to finish getting ready for the afternoon.

The bathroom she chose to get ready in wasn’t nearly far enough from Rowan. Close was too close but far was too far. Every cell in her body needed to be touched by him, to feel his muscles flex and relax beneath her fingertips. It was a slow descent into madness that she wasn’t sure would ever be able to crawl out of if she kept going down that forgotten, overgrown path.

Even though he was currently winning the game with no rules between them, one thing was for certain: Aelin would be the one to secure victory over the whole damn thing.

~*~

“The gods are playing a cosmic joke on me,” Aelin said to Fenrys, staring at the gown she was expected to wear for the photoshoot in half an hour. Even her friend was gobsmacked over the miles and miles of tulle and lace that seemed to take up half the room.

Simply put, it was the dress for a royal that couldn’t show too much but gave just enough. The monstrosity of a dress would turn her into a walking cupcake and she was already imagining how itchy the lace sleeves would be that ran down to her wrists. It was a far cry from what she would have worn for her wedding, but she supposed that didn’t matter. Not anymore, not ever.

“At least it couldn’t be further from what you would actually wear,” Fen offered, carefully pulling it off the hanger. The comfort was lost as she sighed heavily and undressed to her undergarments. allowed him to zip her into the dress. Fen zipped her into it, careful to avoid getting the excess fabric caught in the teeth. The skirts were so long that she would have to carry them to avoid getting tripped up on the short walk to the living area.

“If Rowan says a single smarmy thing, I will throttle him while wearing this dress.”

“I’ll take videos and send them to everyone I know. It’ll travel quickly through the entire military and he’ll never live it down.” Aelin chuckled darkly, heaving the skirts up as the funeral procession to her twisted fate began.

Over the last hour, the sitting room was carefully staged for the photos. They were only doing a handful of poses and she was thankful for it. With that kiss still haunting every corner and crevice of her mind, she was uncertain how long she could be near him without combusting.

Rowan may have made it about a game, yet she wasn’t entirely sure it was. Games were far more reckless, but maybe he was aiming to destroy her like she thought she was trying to do to him. At the thought of those slow, exploratory kisses she stumbled. The combination of her sock and the tulle made the floor much more slippery than it should have been. Fenrys caught her elbow to keep her from falling outright and she murmured a quiet thank you.

If it wasn’t for the swishing of the gown, she would have been able to sneak up on the rest of the Cadre. Rowan and Lorcan were discussing something with their backs to her, while Vaughan and Connall shared a bowl of popcorn. When Rowan turned around she pointed a finger at him and then every other man in the room.

“I don’t want to hear a single word.” Her voice was hard, eyes slightly narrowed. Rowan’s mouth opened but she swung her finger back around to him. “Not. One. Word.”

In a shocking display of self-control, his jaws clamped shut. For once, his expression was unreadable as he scanned her from head to toe. The feeling of not being able to read his thoughts on his face was foreign. Aelin did not like it.

Rowan didn’t look like a dessert the way she did. Well, he did, but she shoved those thoughts far out of her mind as she looked at him. Aelin had always loved him in a tux and this was no exception. It was a simple black with a bow tie hugging his neck. A few medals and pins signified he was of some military ranking for Fenharrow like most of the royal men were. Aelin didn’t bother looking too closely, it would just wind her even tighter than she already was.

“Are we ready?” The photographer asked. It was a young man she had met a few times over the years named Luca. While she had the strongest desire to say that no, she wasn’t and would likely never be, she nodded. As she came to a stop at Rowan’s side, a woman she hadn’t noticed and was unfamiliar with adjusted her skirts around them. “Where is Aelin’s ring?”

“I have it,” Rowan said, lifting her hand and sliding it into place. His lips were pressed so tightly together that they had disappeared entirely. This was going to be harder than she thought, much like the rest of her current job requirements.

“Relax. It’s a fake ring, not your death sentence,” she hissed, yanking her hand away and adjusting the fake diamond ring on her finger. Like the dress, she supposed it was pretty but wasn’t her style at all. It was a large stone surrounded by a dozen or so smaller ones. Where she preferred true yellow gold, it was silver. Not that her thoughts on the fake wedding ring she wore mattered.

The pair of soldiers were painfully stiff during the shoot. Halfway through Fenrys marched over and grabbed Aelin by the hands, shaking her arms around until she was loose and laughing. Though Rowan didn’t dissolve into a fit of laughter as she did, Fen did the same thing to him. It took some time but they were eventually able to lean into each other without looking like they were trying to escape their own skin.

“Can you look at each other and like, I don’t know, pretend you’re looking at someone you love?” Luca asked halfway through. The poor kid was completely unaware of their volatile history. Their peanut gallery groaned, anticipating violence to be brewing in their eyes.

“That would take an entire bottle of whiskey each,” Connall murmured, popcorn crunching between syllables. It took Aelin longer than she would have liked to get the courage to look up into Rowan’s face.

Neither of them were up to par because Luca sighed so hard with epic frustration. Aelin looked at the ground and closed her eyes for a moment to collect herself. Large hands flexed at her sides like he was doing the same. Years of unresolved feelings and pain settled heavily between them.

Look at each other and pretend you’re looking at someone you love.

The worst part was that for her, it wasn’t a stretch. She hated it, grinding that irritation to dust between her teeth until they squeaked. It was like nails on a chalkboard and she shivered violently in Rowan’s arms.

“Much better, Rowan. Aelin, this isn’t a battle. Can you like? I don’t know? Relax?” Each staccato phrase flipped up at the ends like a question. With a dry look at Luca, she took a moment to open her mouth as wide as she could to stretch out her jaw. She practiced smiling at Fenrys who gave her an encouraging thumbs up. It took a few extra wiggles to loosen her limbs, but she looked back up at Rowan.

Just like this morning, his features had softened around the edges. He brought one hand up to rest along her jaw and gazed down at her with a familiarity that made her stomach flip. With her heart taking off in her chest, she found it harder to breathe when he was looking at her like that. Aelin lightly held onto his wrist, the other on his waist, and let out a long breath.

“If it’ll help,” Rowan murmured, his thumb idly stroking along her jaw, “We can go outside and you can kick my ass after this.”

As much as she didn’t want to, she laughed. At the sound that came barrelling out of her, Rowan grinned widely. Click click click. Luca fired away, a few of the shots while they were in light motion. Aelin shaking her head at Rowan, him leaning his face a little closer to hers.

“We can do the garden shots and be done. I’m sure they can work with what we have.” Their young photographer announced. Relief flooded her body in cooling waves. The gown was unzipped before she made it to their room, heaps of fabric falling into a pile on the floor just inside the room.

It helped that she didn’t feel like herself at all. The hair, the contacts, and the clothing style were so at odds with her own. None of it was her. It was a character she was playing. Not being able to recognize herself had her wondering if it made things easier for Rowan, too.

~*~

Seeing Aelin in a wedding gown, however ridiculous it may have been, was nearly enough to send him to his knees.

Trying to reign in his emotions and school his features into a bored mask had been difficult. While he knew it was nothing like her, Aelin in a white gown implying that she was wholly his for the rest of his life was soul-crushing. It took everything in him to pretend he was as irritated about the whole thing as she was. Sure, he hated the whole thing. It was a constant struggle to keep his emotions in check through all of it. He just didn’t hate it because he hated her the way she did him.

Rowan’s violent dislike of the situation was because it was a window into their past. It was a glimpse at how things were meant to be years ago when he had dropped the ball time and time again. The distaste that overcame his features while putting the ring on her finger had nothing to do with the act itself, and everything to do with it being the wrong ring. The cheap silver with a CZ stone was not the one that he should have been sliding into place. The dress that made her look like a pastry was not the one she was supposed to be wearing.

It was all just fucking wrong, and every single piece of him was vividly aware of it.

Voicing that wasn’t an option. What good would it do anyway? She was better off without him, always had been, and he wasn’t going to start dragging her down that road now. Rowan could deal with her anger. They could fight it out and have once-in-a-blue-moon moments together when they were alone and it would sustain him. It had to be enough because it was all he could give her.

The only future for them would be a working relationship full of barbed comments and wicked words slung like gunfire. Aelin would keep being mad at him and he would let her because it was easier than the alternative. Even asking, begging for forgiveness as he should, was too much to put her through. She bore enough wounds on her heart and soul to him. There was no reason to add any more.

And he damn sure wouldn’t be kissing her like that again. Not when the feeling of her soft lips and the taste of her tongue had undone him so thoroughly his hands still shook. All of the walls he had erected over the last several years where she was concerned were crumbling at an alarming rate. Calling it a game had been a shitty attempt at self-preservation in the moment, one he hoped she didn’t see through like glass.

“You good?” She asked him as they walked through the garden. Aelin had changed into a long-sleeved, brown turtleneck. Her pants were a few shades darker and wide-legged with cream-colored shoes peeking out as they walked. Rowan was wearing a simple navy blue suit with the collar of his shirt undone.

“Yep,” he replied, adjusting his hand until their fingers laced together. These photos were just meant to look candid like they had been caught on a stroll. In a few, Aelin had the smart idea to smile and wave toward the camera like she had spotted paparazzi. Though he knew she would be good at this, it was still a little surprising that she had thought of something to make it that much more tangibly believable.

“We’re almost done. Then you can go back to hating my guts.” She looked up at him and smiled, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. Rowan hated those contacts. It was like a wall between them and he felt like he couldn’t see her anymore.

“I don’t hate you, Aelin.” Rowan sighed at the truth and immediately wanted to shove it back down his throat. Waterboarding was less painful than giving her pieces of him that were real these days. “I do, however, hate the contacts.”

“Do you know how weird it is that your eyes are brown right now?”

“Probably as weird it is for me that yours are green,” he murmured just as Luca announced the ending of their session.

Aelin groaned a thank you to the gods and dropped his hand so abruptly it was like he’d been burning her the entire time. The heels came off and were carried back to the house, both of them quiet. The heartbeats of silence were heavy and he couldn’t decide if it was better or worse than the chaos of their arguments. At least with the arguments, he knew what she was thinking.

“I might take you up on training later,” she finally said as they walked through the back door.

“Oh?”

“I’m going to do some shopping for civilian attire, but maybe when I get back?” Aelin paused and turned to look at him, her eyebrows slightly raised. It felt stupid, but Rowan thought he might be able to read her better if she just took out those stupid lenses.

“You don’t want to train with Fenrys instead?”

Aelin’s eyes rolled and then crossed as she stuck her tongue out at him and replied, “Are you still making me promises you don’t intend to keep?”

It was a cheap shot meant to get under his skin, and Mala fucking flay him, it did. For the first time all day, something almost playful flashed in her eyes while waiting for an answer. This woman was going to be the death of him.

“I’m not— No. Find me when you get back.”

“I won’t be pulling my punches,” she said as she turned to walk away. A warning or a promise, he wasn’t sure. He didn’t know which option he preferred, either.

“I wouldn’t expect you to.” His words were said to nothing and no one because, by the time he finally found something to say, she was already gone.

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wanderinginksplot · 7 months

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Commander Fox + Mercenary!Reader

As a mercenary, you travel in and out of Coruscant a lot. You find it more than a little strange that Commander Fox himself always seems to be on the Coruscant Guard team investigating your transport when you come back planetside...

Commander Fox x gn!reader (platonic-ish, with a hint toward future feelings)

Thanks to @nowait-whathappened for the prompt!

Word Count: 3.4k words

Warnings: mentions of weapons, mentions of bodily injuries, implied lack of trust

Masterlist

---

“Transport 47816, prepare for boarding.”

The groans that echoed through the transport ship were instant and harsh. None of the familiar faces around you held an expression more pleasant than ‘irritation’, but you were well used to this by now.

“Why?” Kann bit out harshly. You tried not to roll your eyes, but it was a close thing. As the Lament’s near-constant pilot, Kann knew exactly why you were being boarded just outside of Coruscant’s airspace, but that didn’t mean he was going to make things easy.

“Transport 47816, you’re returning from a neutral star system. It’s protocol.”

Kann snarled. “Shove the protocol up your-”

“Shut up and let the troopers on the ship,” Skoh ordered. “I don’t have time for you to argue with the whole damn Guard.”

Despite his previous eagerness for a fight, Kann clenched his jaw and nodded. “Dropping shields now.”

Kann was one of the more reckless members of the Lament, but Nakte Skoh was a force to be reckoned with. When the tall Togruta spoke, every one of the mercenaries on the team listened. Disobeying him was a good way to get killed - sometimes by the enemy and sometimes by Skoh himself.

The troopers who boarded the transport were wearing the familiar Coruscant Guard colors. You even recognized a few of the patterns and greeted them with a slight nod. You wouldn’t have minded being a little more exuberant, but not among your coworkers. It would be unwise to show too much emotion surrounded by mercenaries.

“Everyone stand.” Grumbling. “Leave all weapons here. We will be interviewing each of you separately.” More grumbling, even as everyone started to reluctantly comply.

The trooper issuing instructions was none other than the commander of the Coruscant Guard, Commander Fox. You could recognize him by his visored helmet easily enough, but there was something in his voice. What exactly made his tone was hard to pinpoint, but if pressed, you thought you could pick it out of a crowd. Even if that crowd were made up of other clone troopers.

So you stood with the others, smoothly pulling your blasters and blades out from their usual places. The pile they made on your empty seat was respectable, the wear on the weapons a mark of your ability to use every one. With a last quick count to make sure none of the other mercenaries decided to take something that wasn’t theirs, you followed everyone to the link between your ship and the Guard’s.

“Hope they’ll be less stupid about their weapons checks this time,” Yarrex muttered to you. The Kiffar was impatient at the best of times, but she knew her stuff better than most. “Last time, they misaligned the power pack on my rifle. If I hadn’t checked, it would have taken all of us out.”

You nodded fervently, remember how close a call that had been. Yarrex’s rifle had been actively overheating by the time she returned to the transport ship and she had hissed loud curses the whole time she fixed it. You couldn’t blame her - the smell from the flesh of her fingertips burning had lingered in the ship for days.

There was a Coruscant Guard trooper just inside the larger ship, ushering you to your ultimate destination. “This way, down the hall-”

“-And to the right,” you finished. “I know, I know.”

“Been here a few times?” Yarrax asked over her shoulder.

You shrugged, glad there was no one else behind you. What you were about to say could easily turn into tales of bad luck, and eventually spiral into you not being hired onto as many jobs. “Every single time I come back to Coruscant.”

“That’s not fair,” one of the trooper protested.

You aimed a dry look in his direction. “We both know it is, Chase.”

“I didn’t know they had names,” Kann remarked as he was led to one of the interrogation rooms.

Yarrax hissed disapprovingly at his back. The trooper stammered, “I- I’m not Chase.”

“Save it,” Skoh advised with a nod in your direction. “That one can smell lies.”

Chase glanced at you, clearly nervous even through the protective cover of his helmet. You gave him a broad smile and went to sit down.

Chase and the trooper who had directed you to the interrogation area were watching the room. The unfamiliar one had a medic’s cross on one shoulder and you wondered idly whether the Guard was expecting trouble.

They shouldn’t, honestly. The standard Coruscant Guard procedure was to pull everyone into individual rooms to ask questions about the most recent mission. The Lament had some latitude in the way they conducted business, but everyone made a point of being as vague as possible in their answers. It was an entertaining game you all played when you came back to Coruscant.

Though, apparently, no one played it as often as you.

There were two interrogation rooms being used at the moment. The ship had at least a few more, but Lament missions were made up of ten mercenaries by rule - no more, no less. With Kann and another mercenary in the interrogation rooms, there apparently weren’t enough of you to warrant using more rooms.

Mercenaries weren’t the most lively and talkative bunch, especially not after a long mission. A few of them shut their eyes to catch a few moments of sleep. The lone Nautolan in the Lament, a female named Veng, worked on repairing a tear she had gotten in the shoulder of her shirt. The needle flashing in and out of the ripped halves was mesmerizing, but your attention was caught by Skoh.

Your leader was watching the room, gaze intent as he studied the mercenaries and the troopers watching you. There was no real tension in him, not even the kind disguised by the specific relaxation he took on when a negotiation was leading toward violence. But he was awake and alert, so you decided that you should be, too.

Not that there was any reason to, of course. Skoh and Yarrix were the next to disappear into interview rooms as the first two went back to the transport ship. You weren’t among the next two to be called, or the ones after that. When it was only you and Veng left on the Guard ship, the door opened for Khyr to step out. Commander Fox stood in the doorway, sternly announcing that you were next.

Veng didn’t glance up to see the amused look you gave her, but that was fine. It hadn’t really been for her, anyway. The commander stepped aside for you to enter the interrogation room, then closed the door before following you to the table.

“Commander Fox,” you greeted with a nod. “How are you? How’s the wife?”

The commander removed his helmet, all the better for you to see the confusion and exasperation mingling on his handsome face. “The wife.”

“Or husband,” you amended. “Or partner. Non-specific.”

“I don’t have any of those,” he told you. “Did you get hit on the head during this massacre?”

You rolled your eyes at him, the way you always did when he disparaged your line of work. “Not a massacre. Not this time, at least. We do things other than kill people, you know.”

“Yeah? What was the objective on this mission?”

It just so happened that the mission you were returning from had been far more violent than expected, so you stepped neatly around the question. “Anyway, the point is that I see you so often, I feel like I should get to know something about your life. With anyone else, I would know about their partner or children or pets or hobbies. I see you more often than my parents.”

“That so?” Fox asked, tilting his head to deliver his skeptical expression to best effect.

“Not in the slightest,” you admitted easily. “But it has come to my attention that not every Lament mission gets investigated by the Guard when they return to Coruscant.”

Fox stiffened slightly. “We do our best to stop every transport, but our team is spread thin…”

“I’m not doubting your work, Commander,” you assured, “just your selection methods. Why is it that my team is always the one to be stopped?”

“Coincidence.”

Now, it was your turn to be skeptical. “You’ll have to do better than that, Fox.”

His eyes widened briefly and you wondered if you had offended him by dropping his title, but he recovered in the next instant. “Are you suggesting that we should be suspicious of you?”

“No, but you are,” you countered. “Otherwise, why would you always be focused on my missions?”

“I told you: we aren’t.”

Despite the way Fox’s teeth were gritted, you pushed on. You had a trump card, and you intended to play it: “Then why are you here? You, specifically? The Head Commander of the Coruscant Guard, investigating a transport full of mercenaries? You have better things to be doing than this. It’s suspicious.”

“I’ve told you, it’s a coincidence.” Fox sounded overly stubborn, even for him.

You lifted your hands innocently in front of yourself and leaned backward in your chair. “Fine, fine. Total coincidence. Your complete lack of supporting evidence or further arguments has convinced me. Proceed with your interrogation, Commander.”

He scowled intensely at you, but sat in the chair across from yours and started with the typical round of questions. Name, address, interplanetary work-travel permit number, employer, job title.

When you had answered them all successfully, Fox set his datapad down on the table between you. “Now, tell me about the mission you completed just prior to coming back to Coruscant.”

“We were on Raydonia,” you answered easily. “We were hired to protect a village.”

Fox gestured for you to continue when you stopped. “And what were you protecting them from?”

“They were hit by two unknowns a few weeks ago.” The explanation was a little shaky, but it was the only one you had been given. It was still more than you usually got for a job and you were fine with that, but Fox seemed determined to think you were untrustworthy. “They took some of the most powerful warriors in the village. The village elders were worried some of the surrounding people might take the chance to attack them. They were right.”

“Were there any casualties?” Fox asked, carefully not looking at you.

You smiled despite yourself. “No Republic citizens were harmed.”

It was a vague and a polite way of reminding him that he had no jurisdiction over things that happened outside of Republic-controlled planets. Technically speaking, Fox had no jurisdiction over things that happened outside of Coruscant, but you wouldn’t bet on that stopping him.

“And among your team?” he asked. “No injuries or deaths?”

“Nothing major,” you told him with a shrug. “You can count. I’m sure you noticed all ten of us are here and accounted for.”

“What about minor injuries?” he pressed.

You knew better than to shift in your chair, or look away from the easy eye contact you had maintained up to that point. Fox was an expert, and a sharp one at that. The smallest possible tell and he would know everything there was to know. That was what made him dangerous.

“None to speak of.”

Even your flawless delivery left him looking distinctly skeptical. “Then why are you limping?”

Despite the surge of frustrated exasperation that rose in you, your lips curved into a smile. “You’re too observant for your own good, Commander.”

“Which isn’t an answer.”

That made you chuckle aloud. “No, it wasn’t. But since you’re so insistent on an explanation, I sustained a minor injury on the mission. I treated it promptly and it is well on its way to healing.”

“How were you injured?”

Dimly, you wondered if Fox realized that he had leaned forward slightly under the weight of his own intensity. But only dimly, because most of your attention was drawn to the way he was even more handsome from a shorter distance away.

“Why?”

Fox blinked, and it seemed to break the spell he had put himself under. An instant later, he was scowling again - a fairly regular expression for him during these stops. “Because I’m the Head Commander of the Coruscant Guard and I asked you a direct question.”

“I don’t answer to you,” you reminded him, privately savoring the look of profound irritation blossoming on his face. “Not about missions that take place in independent systems. Even if they result in injuries.”

“Maybe I have cause to believe that you sustained that injury in Republic territory,” Fox proposed. “Maybe I need proof you aren’t lying to me.”

For a mercenary, you were even-tempered. Remarkably so, in fact. It helped you get along with your more volatile coworkers. But you did have a temper, and when it sparked, you were far from subtle.

The slam of the chair’s front legs reconnecting with the floor was loud. Fox didn’t jump - he had too much control over himself for that - but his eyes darted to yours in a way that made his surprise evident. Your hands connecting with the top of the table between you was loud, too, the sound specifically and purposefully sharp.

You leaned in toward Fox and the expression on your face was unpleasant enough that he looked concerned. “I like you, Fox. I think you’re a good man doing your best in the galaxy’s worst job. That’s why I’m gonna give you this one warning: I do not appreciate being called a liar.”

“I didn’t-”

Your gaze was hard as you stared him in the eyes. Fox looked startled as well as concerned by that point. He had never seen you truly pissed before.

“Yes, you did,” you said firmly. “I will be the first to admit that I exaggerate. I dramatize. I embellish for comedic effect. But I do not lie. I have never lied to you or any of your men, despite what is verging on harassment. I do not intend to lie in the future, and I don’t want to file a harassment charge, but all of that depends on you.”

It was honestly a shock when Fox didn’t take advantage of your pause to speak. It told you that he understood how deadly serious you were. With his attention sharp on you, you told him, “I’m a reasonable person. I am willing to overlook this misstep… once. And that offer is entirely dependent on what you say next.”

“I’m sorry,” Fox said, honesty ringing in the simple words. You waited for more and he obliged: “You’re right, you have never lied to me - to any of us. Not about anything big. It was unfair of me to accuse you of it.”

“And why did you?” you asked.

The question felt a little like twisting a blade in an injury, but you needed to know. You needed to know that it wasn’t going to happen again, and if it did, you needed to know enough to anticipate it. Because you had grown to respect Commander Fox, damn it, and it had hit surprisingly hard to have him misjudge your morals so dramatically.

“I… don’t like the idea of you being injured,” Fox admitted, sounding mystified. You understood, since that explanation left you feeling a little mystified yourself. “I would like to know about your injury if you’ll agree to tell me.”

You watched the commander for another long moment, doing your best to gauge his sincerity. It wasn’t easy - especially since it required you to look past those lovely eyes and flawless bone structure - but you managed. It was one of your most reliable skills, after all. Fox seemed to be telling you the truth.

When you leaned your chair backward again, the tension in the room shattered. You sent him a cryptic half-smile. “You know us mercenaries,” you drawled. “We don’t give away anything for free. You ask your question and I’ll ask mine. A truthful answer for a truthful answer.”

Fox considered it for only a moment before he nodded. “How did you get injured?”

“One of the attacking villagers had better aim than I expected,” you said, smiling wryly. “After I pulled his vibroblade from my calf, I changed my previous opinion.”

“Do you have a bacta patch on it?” Fox asked. “If not, I can get you a fresh one before you go back to your transport.”

“I already have one, thanks,” you assured him. “And I’m feeling generous, so I’m going to point out the fact that I let you ask two questions. Now it’s my turn.”

Luckily for Fox, you really were in a good mood again. You only let him dangle in his discomfort for a few moments before you asked your question. “Do you always stop my transport on purpose?”

“Yes.”

For all that you had suspected that answer, hearing it directly was shocking.

Instead of responding immediately, you paused for a moment to take a breath. If Fox was targeting you specifically, you had to believe there was a reason. And since you had already come this far, you may as well find out what that reason was. “Why?”

Fox looked reluctant and faintly uncomfortable. It was the look you imagined most of the troopers got when they were asked to do an unpleasant chore. But, to Fox’s credit, he gave the answer he had promised.

“You’re not the typical mercenary.” You frowned, already opening your mouth, but he quickly went on. “Not that you don’t have your skills, but I’ve been keeping a close eye on the missions you’re a part of. That is, the Coruscant Guard has. There is a concern among the men that the Lament would leave you behind on a mission or allow an injury to go untreated.”

Well, it was an explanation, but you felt like it left you with more questions than answers. “Nice to know you guys worry about me, but I still don’t understand why you care.”

Fox shrugged, but the casual gesture was belied by the way his eyes were locked with yours. “You look at us like we’re human.”

You frowned again.

“And I… admire you,” Fox added quietly. “You have a code and you follow it. Unusual, especially for a mercenary.”

“Again with the insults about my work.” Despite your heavy sigh, your tone was playful, and you knew he would take it as the tease that it was. “I look forward to seeing you too, Fox. That’s why I haven’t complained about being stopped every time we come back to Coruscant.”

He gave you a disbelieving look and you laughed. “Okay, fine. That’s why I don’t complain too much.”

Fox didn’t immediately reply. Normally, the two of you traded barbs and witty remarks back and forth so quickly that it would make an onlooker’s head spin. But you didn’t feel the need to say anything further and, apparently, neither did he. The room filled with a surprisingly comfortable silence, warm and cozy in a way that durasteel interrogation rooms rarely managed.

“So you’ve decided against filing harassment charges?” Fox asked at length.

“I have no intention of it,” you told him. “We made a deal. Guess that’s more evidence of my rare and admirable moral code…”

Fox rolled his eyes and you laughed. Before he could say something sarcastic, you added, “Besides, I think I would miss seeing you guys if you stopped checking up when I return from missions.”

“You would miss us?” You would have accused Fox of fishing for a compliment if he hadn’t sounded so charmingly stunned.

“Of course,” you told him, narrowly stopping yourself from winking at him. He really was a very attractive man. “But I need to get back to the transport now. They wouldn’t leave without me, but one of the others might get a little grabby with the weapons I left behind. Especially since I have a sharp new vibroblade.”

Fox stood when you did, leading the way to the door with a suspicious look on his face. “This isn’t the vibroblade that…” He finished the question only with a vague gesture toward your injured leg.

“If someone stabs me with a knife, I get to keep it,” you told him seriously. “I believe that is common courtesy.”

“No new weapons on this next mission, then,” Fox said as he stood aside to let you pass. “No risks, no injuries, no killing.”

You shook your head in exasperation, already starting down the hall back to the Lament’s transport. “I’m starting to think you don’t understand what being a mercenary is, Commander.”

---

Author's Note - Happy Fox day! I knew I wanted to write something for 10/10, and big thanks to @nowait-whathappened for giving me this prompt! Thank you for reading and have a wonderful day!

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