#cassian witness

[astromechs]

i need y'all to stop being weird about every character played by a latino actor, god bless <3

[playchoicesconfessions]

Sent by anonymous

‘Imagine if PB reused Cassian (Witness) faces and hair for an MC, and then at some point in their story they say that they once had a two year relationship with a horrible woman who they tried proposing to and then says ‘man, what was I thinking?’’

POST/CONFESSIONS DO NOT REFLECT THE MOD’S PERSONAL OPINIONS!

[rosanna-writer]

@morweekofficial Day 3: Celebration

Just some bops I think would get Mor on the dance floor, drunkenly scream-singing her heart out <3

[thesistersarcheron]

Obsessed with The Alchemy! Poor Rhysand because he must be having very conflicting emotions right now.

Do you know if there will be a time jump for the next chapter or what age Feyre will be

The next chapter will cover Feyre’s first year in Velaris. I didn’t think this fic would be so detailed, but the more I write, the more I enjoy exploring how she fits into the Inner Circle’s dynamic.

And I think Rhys is probably the least conflicted of them all, to be honest! Some protective instinct went into the snap decision to take her in, but now that she’s in Velaris and he can spoil her all he wants, he doesn’t regret it. He did definitely get his feelings hurt because Feyre is a little reluctant to trust him right off the bat—he did trick her and then upend her entire life (for the better, even if she doesn’t realize it yet). But, if Fionn is any indication, I think he’ll make quick work of winning her over.

[flythesail]

I've seen a lot of "there was no reason for Luthen to be on Ferrix other than to just Be There." Especially since he had two fully competent and trustworthy people already there on Ferrix.

But that's the point! Kleya doesn't think he should go either. The point is he shouldn't go, doesn't have to go, and he does anyway.

It's like he can't take a backseat to this. It's a situation he already technically has control of and he still wants to be the one in control by being there.

He says in an earlier episode, "I'm not slipping, Kleya. I've just been hiding for too long." In the finale, he gets out there to see it all for himself.

[notasapleasure]

A belated birthday present for @r0b0tb0y in gratitude for his encouragement of all things Brasso/Brassian/Joplin Sibtain. I hope you enjoy this! Riffing on the idea of Brasso’s fear of flying, but it’s really just a bundle of loose headcanons wrapped in a trenchcoat pretending to have plot :’)

I’m picturing 2008-era Diego (Sólo Quiero Caminar) and 2003-era Joplin (hair and all. See the Grease Monkeys recap I’ll post immanently that’s been haunting my imagination).

Escape velocity

Cassian is working his way through the crowds at Cavo's. Squeezing those skinny hips between tight-packed tables and dropping a friendly hand on the shoulders of those sitting at them. He smiles, he makes small talk, he buys drinks for a select few marks from the serving droid as it passes. He's coming this way.

Brasso chews his lip and contemplates his own cup of fortified ale. He acts like he's unaware of Cass's approach, like he doesn't expect at least one of the off-worlders Cass has brushed past to exclaim suddenly about their missing credits. Like he's never seen Cass schmooze his way through the bar for advances on his schemes before.

Cassian sidles up to him and leans his elbows next to Brasso's on the bar. He eyes him and his smirk grows, and he shakes his head as Brasso resolutely keeps his eyes on his drink.

"I'm not lending you any money..." Brasso tells him, raising the cup.

Cass looks pleased. Brasso can tell, even from the corner of his eye. He orders two more drinks and slides one over.

"I don't want you to," Cassian says cryptically, and takes a mouthful of his own drink.

Brasso looks at him, maintaining a stony, neutral expression in case anyone in the bar is looking to see who Cass is conspiring with now. "Oh? Come to whisk me away on a holiday for two with all your earnings, then?"

Cass snorts and runs his thumb and forefinger over the wispy moustache he's been growing. He's trying to appear less baby-faced, but Brasso can still see the softness of his cheeks beneath the thin cover. "Sure, actually," Cassian cocks an eyebrow and meets Brasso's skepticism with a look that would turn most knees liquid.  "That's just what it is."

Brasso's eyes narrow. There's no way he's going to rush into a trap like that, no matter how prettily Cass has arranged it. He finishes his drink and studies the one Cass bought him, taking it in his hand but not lifting it to his mouth.

"It's gonna be great," Cass sidles along the bar, touching their elbows together and leaning in as though he's sharing a secret. So much for Brasso's hopes of not looking conspiratorial. "Just you and me. A short break to the seaside. A bit of exercise on the beach. And we'll be back for the first ringing-in of the work week."

Brasso has to take a drink to give himself time to parse this. Cass smiles, like his doing so has sealed the deal.

"What?" Brasso concedes the question, turning to Cass and meeting his keenly assessing expression.

Cass can smile in a way where his lips convey one emotion while his eyes say something totally different. Usually, people receive a smile that looks genuine, but that masks a hardness in his gaze; Brasso, however, is more accustomed to this one, where a sharp, almost cruel smile is accompanied by warmth and respect nestled deep in Cass's eyes.

"I need your help," Cass says candidly. "I had to jettison my last cargo - Corpo fly-by."

Brasso sighs and closes his eyes. He doesn't like hearing about the near-misses, and there seems to be all too many of them these days.

"It's fine, they were never going to catch me with it," Cassian clucks defensively at Brasso's response. "But I need that gear."

A short break to the seaside. The beach. Brasso manages not to rub his palm over his face in exasperation, but only because he has a near-full cup of ale to drink. He takes a large mouthful and hisses through gritted teeth, "Please tell me it's this side of the sea, Cass?"

"Yes!" Cassian is still on the defensive. "Yeah, of course. It's just... it's a little way along the coast..."

"You said we'd be back before the week started -"

"Yeah, Brasso, I'm not talking about taking a speeder to haul this stuff," Cass says urgently. "I can get the ship off Pegla again, we don't need to - Brasso. Brasso look at me, we won't even be leaving atmo -"

Brasso's shaking his head and Cass is gripping his arm, repeating his name, repeating that he wouldn't ask if he didn't need to...

"Cass no. No. Ask someone else," Brasso rubs his forehead. He doesn't fly. Cass knows he doesn't fly.

"I need you, this stuff is heavy, Brasso," Cass insists.

"How did you get it on board in the first place?"

"Droids, how do you think?"

"Ask Vetch, Cass."

"No, I need you," Cass is right up in his space now as Brasso tries to turn away from his appeals. "I need someone I can trust, Brasso."

---

He can't believe that line worked. On the following night, Brasso stands by the gap in the fencing round Zorby’s shiplot and looks up at the hulks inside, feeling an icy chasm open up where his insides are meant to be.

Cass has squeezed through the gap already and he shrugs impatiently, his arms wide. "Well?"

"I can't believe that line worked," Brasso murmurs out loud. "What are we doing?"

"I come in this way all the time," Cass gestures to the jagged cuts in the wire fence.

"You said you'd okayed it with Pegla!" Brasso seethes, his hands deep in his pockets, his shoulders hunched and his cap pulled low - as if most Ferrixians wouldn't recognise him by silhouette alone.

Cass looks confused by Brasso's objection. "I said I could get a ship. Come on!"

He reaches out with a gloved hand and pulls the fencing back, and Brasso goes through, shaking his head at Cass. There are always going to be things Cass doesn't mention. He should know that by now. He should pay attention to the wording.

He follows Cass with a reluctant, loping stride, feeling sick to his stomach as they pass by the enormous bodies of the ships docked there. Brasso could turn to any one of them and tell you what needs to be stabilised and removed before the hull is dissected, where to aim the laser cutter for maximum efficiency, which parts of the structure contain the densest thickets of wiring. He couldn't tell you how they're meant to get off the kriffing ground and stay off it - how they stay sealed against the heat of passing through atmosphere and sealed against the cold of space beyond it. They're so easy to dismantle, such frail, fallible things - he's trained to look at a star ship and see its flaws, so climbing into one and putting his life at its mercy doesn't come naturally.

Cassian is different. There's a spring in his step as he approaches his chosen steed. He smiles up at the ship with none of the complexity he reserves for the lifeforms he interacts with and he runs his fingers almost lovingly along the Beskar to the panel that will drop the landing ramp.

"Oh, no..." Brasso curses and stands back to watch the ramp descend. He can see the scorch marks on the hull from old journeys. He can see how often - and by how many different tools - that control panel has been popped out of its housing and tinkered with.

"Come on," Cass repeats, one foot on the ramp.

Brasso grimaces. "I really don't think I can, Cass. Is this the best Pegla's got?"

"She doesn't look like much, but she's reliable," Cass says. He pats the ship's belly. "And we're only going a few hundred klicks, remember? We're staying in atmo. It'll be an hour or so, that's all."

"I still think you could've asked Vetch," Brasso looks over the body of the ship again and repeats the words of a Ferrixian ballad in his head like a prayer. He knows he's not going to back out on Cass, not now, but making his body accede to that truth takes a moment of focus. His knees feel stiff and his boots feel heavy, but he persuades himself to walk up the ramp after Cass and into the hold of the little ship.

Cassian grins fleetingly at him and slaps his shoulder. "I'm closing the exit now, go on, go and sit..."

Brasso chooses to stay and watch Cass secure the hatch, to follow every movement of his fingers over the console and hear every piece of steel lock into place. Then he follows Cass to the cockpit and sprawls dejectedly in the co-pilot's seat.

The ground is really a long way down already. He's not afraid of heights, but it gives him a sense of the ship's size again, how unwieldy it must be for one person to manage, while simultaneously being so small that a team of grapplers could gut it in half a day.

"Buckle up, but don't be sick on the console, Brasso - we won't have time to clean that up and Pegla will feed you to his hounds." Cass is initiating the ship's start-up and Brasso follows the instruction to buckle up with unthinking obedience - all his concentration is on controlling the nausea that is fighting to fill his body up.

But then he has to speak, when Cass seems ready to go and he notices something: "The landing lights, Cass - you need to put the lights on."

Cass's eyes flicker over him, a momentary distraction from the processual pleasure of a familiar task. "We're trying to be subtle, remember, Brasso? I don't need lights for take-off."

Brasso swears again and closes his eyes. He grips the arms of the seat and breathes in deep, irregular gulps, trying to wrestle back enough composure to breathe through his nose instead. The ship comes to life with a whole orchestra of noise: whirring and clicking and humming and buzzing. At first, Brasso tries to identify the sounds of all the things the ship needs in order to operate, but then, when he realises he can't unravel it all, he gives up and returns to his breathing.

Cass's take-off is so smooth, so steady, that it's only when Brasso cracks his eyes open that he realises they're fifty feet up in the air and he feels his stomach plummet. He lets out a long, shaky breath and squeezes his eyes shut again.

He doesn't move until he hears Cass's voice, gentle and quiet. "We're away from the city. I'm keeping us low, we're flying towards the dawn, and there's no cloud-cover. It's a pretty good view, Brasso."

Brasso swallows and tests the depths of his nausea. He can probably manage this, right? Keeping his eyes so tightly clenched is starting to be uncomfortable.

Stiffly, he squints out of the front port.

Oh no - the ground is moving far too quickly. The sky is full of colours - beautiful colours - but there's such a sensation of wrongness in travelling towards the dawn rather than letting it come to you. "Bugger that," Brasso says hoarsely and turns his head to the side, eyes shut again.

After a moment, Cass speaks. "Sorry, Brasso. I forgot it was this bad for you. You going to be ok?"

The sound of genuine apology in Cass's tone rallies him, strangely, more than anything else could have.

"Don't be ridiculous. I'm fine," Brasso says thinly, not opening his eyes.

Cass shows him the respect of granting him a snort of laughter. "Oh, my mistake. It's just that you're pale as a Bith and I think you've permanently altered the shape of the foam in those arm rests."

One of Cass's hands covers Brasso's and squeezes, and Brasso forces out a tight laugh of his own. It takes him a moment, but then he realises Cass is trying to pry his fingers away from the surface of the arm rest. He's able to relax his hold enough for Cass to do so, and feels Cass's palm find his, offering a tight grip for Brasso to reciprocate.

It's nice, for a little while, actually helpful. Then a thought occurs to him - "Don't you need two hands to fly?"

Brasso turns to Cass, eyes wide, heart hammering so hard he'd be amazed if Cass couldn't hear it.

He sees that Cass really does look sorry, and it gives Brasso another jolt of motivational adrenaline - Cassian has nothing to be sorry about.

"We can cruise this part, the computer will alert me when I need to go manual again," Cass explains.

Brasso's next question relies on looking outside. He tightens his hold on Cass's hand and slowly lets his gaze travel to the front of the ship. They're flying through a lavender twilight, where earth and sky fade together into an indefinable blur. It's only on the console in front of them that Brasso can confirm the topography of the area - now they're above the desert and there are no mountains for miles around. There's nothing for them to unwittingly crash into. Just the ground, his treacherous mind notes.

His throat is dry and closes up on speech, but Cass sees him looking at the console.

"You know what all this stuff is, yeah?" Cass scooches forwards in his seat, gestures at the screens with his free hand.

Brasso blinks at the lights and the switches, the visualisation of planes and angles in glowing lines on the screens. He tries to concentrate, for Cass's sake.

"Uh," he frees his right hand from the other arm rest and wipes the sheen of sweat from his clammy forehead. The switches go in the barrel for plasteel recycling. The screens need to be taken out in one piece - if they're cracked, they go in the barrel for plexiglass. They're all labelled, but the abbreviated terms squeezed on between the controls are abstract, and the aurebesh is faded from use in many places. Still, Brasso scans the panel until he has something to answer with. He points with his free hand: "Altimeter. And that's the throttle. This is....oh, Sithspit...we're doing a thousand klicks an hour..."

Cass squeezes his hand, and it reminds Brasso that his grip must be turning Cass's fingers numb. He takes a deep breath and tries to relax.

"You're right - and we'll only be doing this over the desert. The quicker we get there the quicker we get back, yeah?" Cass stares at him until he nods acknowledgement, and then he starts to point out other parts of the control panel, speaking in a chatty tone that gets under Brasso's skin and pushes all the other noise coming from the ship away into the background. Cass knows his stuff, and it's impossible not to be touched by his enthusiasm as he explains the point of every switch and dial.

As they near the mountains by the coast of the Farside Sea, Cass puts the controls on manual again and slows them down. Brasso's able to follow his hands across the console and understand what he's doing, and as their speed reduces by a few hundred klicks per hour, Brasso can even glance up at the landscape without wincing. They've met the dawn, and the sun is orange over black, choppy waters of the ocean. It paints the mineral rich land in the colours of Ferrix's streets: reds and ochres and mossy greens and yellows.

Cass takes them on a winding course down towards the shoreline and then asks Brasso to fish a transponder out of his coat pocket as he pilots. It should take them to the location of Cassian's lost cargo, but Brasso doesn't like the way Cass keeps trying to look at the transponder screen and pilot at the same time.

"Cass! Cass, you wanted someone you can trust, well trust me - I'll tell you what it says! Just - please, keep your eyes on the front port..."

"I'm not going to crash into anything Brasso, I told you about the proximity warning, yeah? And I need some idea of where we're going so I can find a place to land..."

At least bickering over this keeps Brasso's mind focussed. His directions are better than Cass wants to give him credit for - and Cass's flying is steadier than Brasso wants to admit. They hug the coastline, flying low over rocky strands and outcrops until both of them spot it at once and yell in triumph: a collection of small plasteel crates scattered like the eggs of some giant beast on the sand of a crescent shaped cove.

Cassian slaps his shoulder and his fingers squeeze tight over Brasso's collarbone.

"Hands, Cass!" Brasso yelps. "Both hands - on the controls..."

Cassian laughs and pinches Brasso's cheek for good measure before returning his hand to the console. Brasso shakes his head and notes the way his pulse has spiked - probably just from fear at Cass's antics, of course. He looks down at the cove hungrily and can't wait to be able to set foot on solid land again.

--

The cold sea breeze quickly dries the sweat in Brasso's black hair. He's left his cap and his coat on the co-pilot's seat and he relishes the feeling of the wind beating his thin cotton sleeves against his arms. The noise out here is all organic - waves roaring, not thrusters - and it seems to wash away the last vestiges of grubby panic that clung to him.

The crates aren't huge, but he admits that Cass would have struggled on his own. Brasso hauls them across the fine red sand to the ship's ramp, and then he and Cass lift them together into the hold.

"Don't you want to know what's inside?" Cass asks, a dangerous twinkle in his eye as they stack the first box of a second layer on top of the others.

"Nope," Brasso tells him shortly, giving Cass the most non-plussed look he can.

It annoys Cass, as it's meant to. "Come on, you're not curious?"

"I don't wanna hear it, Cass," Brasso turns to go back down the ramp.

"You think you wouldn't be implicated anyway for helping me retrieve these?" Cass trots down after him.

"Implicated? I'm just helping a friend move his gear..." Of course, every time Cass is getting ready for some new scheme, Brasso does ask him where he's going and why. But Cass never tells him - so it's only fair that Brasso makes him commit to his secrets at a time like this.

In return, Cass insists on helping him get the next crate back to the ship - and it's about the most unhelpful thing he can do. With just one person dragging the crate by one handle, it glides fairly easily through the soft wet sand, but with Cass pushing it as well it keeps stopping, the corners ploughing uneven furrows that their progress catches on.

"Cass!" Brasso says in exasperation. "Go and get another one, or wait up at the ship again. I've got this."

Cass glowers at the crate, his hands on his hips. The wind ruffles his hair into wild shapes and his jacket flaps around his skinny body. "I think we're short some," he says uneasily.

Brasso pauses before hauling again, looking up at Cass. "If they're not on this beach they're lost, Cass."

Cassian nods and swears, but it doesn't seem to be a nod of acceptance. He turns and frowns at the arc of the shoreline and mutters something about the transponder before heading back to the ship.

As Brasso drags the remaining crates to the foot of the ramp, Cass strides up and down the cove with the transponder, cursing and chewing on his fingernails. Brasso has to call him back to help lift the crates inside, and then he's expecting to steel himself for another flight - but Cass looks at him with that expression that's part apology, part plea, and Brasso knows they're not done yet.

"Cass, we're not dredging the sea..." Brasso sighs.

Cassian shakes his head and beckons for Brasso to follow him outside again.

"Look," he leans close and points at the far side of the cove. "There's a cave there. I think that's where the last ones are."

He's brought the macrobinoculars and peers through them. "I swear I can see one, look Brasso..."

Brasso accepts the binoculars with a sigh and takes a look. There is something that might be white plasteel there, but then again it might be sea foam caught on the rocks.

"I need to get them all back. I can't lose this, Brasso, the money from this job is already locked up..."

He doesn't need to beg, Brasso's already walking, and Cass catches up after a couple of paces with a nervous laugh. "Thanks. You still swim, right?"

"Better than I fly," Brasso rolls his eyes. He likes swimming, actually. There aren't many opportunities for it in the town, but his family used to take a sandspeeder out to the coast for the designated holiday weeks. "How about you? You remember how?" he glances down at Cass.

Cassian is cold, his hands tucked in his armpits and his arms wrapped tight around his body. He lets a breath hiss out from between his teeth and chuckles. "I remember."

"Ok," Brasso stops when they're at the far side of the cove, slips his sleeveless vest off and hands it to Cass. "You wait here. I'll go and check it."

Cass clutches the warm fabric to his body. "I'll come too - then we can start bringing them back if they're there."

Brasso shakes his head and pulls his shirt off. It takes more than this for him to feel the cold, but Cass is shivering just watching him. "Don't worry about it, Cass. If they're still sealed they'll float - if they're not, then even the two of us won't be able to get them back."

He takes off his boots and trousers and raises a brow at Cass, who's watching him with an unreadable, intense expression. Stripped to his underwear, he offers a brave laugh and turns towards the restless waters.

"Brasso!"

He's waded in up to his thighs and the temperature of the water is cold in such a different way to the cold of the air. It's not unpleasant - it brings a flush of heat to the surface of Brasso's body, though he knows that won't last. He turns back to Cass, squinting past the hair that's blown into his eyes.

"Don't do anything stupid, ok? The sea looks rough," Cass is still clutching Brasso's clothes to his body, standing on the edge of the water and watching Brasso intently.

"I won't do anything you wouldn't do," Brasso calls back.

Cass swears, and it's carried away by the wind. "That's what I mean, you moof-milker!"

Brasso laughs and wades out further, letting out a gasp as he launches himself into the water. The waves are big, but Brasso's comfortable in them, striking out towards the rocks. It's a battle, but with enough concentration he can navigate the currents and pick his way over to the cave. He manages to get to its rocky mouth without anything more than a graze or two and pulls himself up onto the skerry. Cass is pacing on the shore, so he waves reassurance and makes a gesture to affirm that the crates are there. There's three of them, scattered across the jagged floor of the cave, and Brasso winces as he picks his way over the sharp rocks to the nearest one. He checks it all over for damage and gives it an experimental tug by one handle. There's no sound of seawater sloshing inside it, and it doesn't seem heavier than the others were. Still, moving it over this surface is going to be more of a challenge, and Brasso briefly regrets his confidence in coming out here alone. But he wants to prove his use after the meltdown he had on the flight, wants to be worthy of the trust Cass puts in him. So he digs his toes into a patch of gravel and heaves, and the crate lurches willingly towards him, only narrowly missing his feet as it thuds down from its perch.

He swears triumphantly and takes a step back, finding another place to get purchase before he tugs again. Step by step, foot by foot, he manoeuvres the crate to the edge of the water and sits down on the rock with a sigh. No chance of getting cold with that kind of exertion. And this is meant to be his rest day.

He looks up expecting to see Cass on the shore, and blinks when there's no one there, his heart sharpening with panic, beating against his breastbone. Then he spots him, his long arms forging a path through the waves as he makes his way towards Brasso.

"For Force's sake, Cass," Brasso yells down at the sea as Cassian splashes determinedly towards him. "I've got this."

Cass raises his head and reaches out to secure himself on the rocks. "I couldn't see you. It was taking a while," he hauls himself out, hair and underpants dripping with seawater, and pulls the weighted fabric back up as it threatens to slide off his skinny arse.

Brasso gestures. "It's not the easiest ground. There's two more. I was going to get them over here and then float them back."

Cass nods. "They're intact?"

"Seem to be."

He's shivering, miserable as a drowned mynock, and Brasso shakes his head. "Get out of here, I'll do this."

"You need some cable," Cass says between chattering teeth. "It'll make dragging them easier, and you can lash them together so you only need one trip back."

Brasso says nothing - it would make things easier. Cass's skin is puckering in the wind, to the extent that it's making Brasso cold just watching him. Cass goes to take a step over the rocks towards the crates, like he wants to check for damage himself, but wobbles on the uneven footing, and throws out an arm that Brasso catches hold of.

"How about you go to the ship for the cable," he tells Cass firmly. "I'll do what I can here without it, and you be as quick as possible. Don't stand around in this air catching hypothermia - you think I'm going to be able to fly us back?"

Cass looks at Brasso's brown hand on his arm and his lashes flutter as he shivers. Brasso thinks, for a minute, he's going to have to argue with him, but then Cass nods.

"All right. If you can't get the others just wait for me, yeah?"

"Go," Brasso turns him by the shoulders, feeling Cass's marble-cold skin under his hands. He can't quite resist the impulse to give a protective, warming squeeze before he releases him, and feels a glow in his chest at Cass's furtive, grateful smirk.

While Cass is fetching the cable, Brasso does manage to get the other crates to a more accessible position, through sheer stubbornness and force of will. It leaves his muscles feeling stretched and used like he's spent a day unravelling kilometres of wiring from inside a freighter, but that's just part of the satisfaction of getting things done.

He waits for Cass to return, dangling his scraped feet in the seawater and contemplating the view across the cove. He admits to himself that he's enjoying all this, despite the flight there and the imminent return journey. It's a nice spot. He wonders how long it would take to get here on a speeder - then again, his family wouldn't change their holidays on a whim when they have a perfectly good beach they've been visiting for generations. There's only one person Brasso would come here with, and he's currently arranging a coil of cable across his body, preparing to swim out to the cave again.

"How are you not freezing out here?" Cass sputters when he swims up to Brasso's legs and grabs an ankle for purchase.

Brasso shrugs. "I don't feel it, it's fine. Natural born Ferrixian, you see?"

Cass snorts. "It's all that coolant you drink at Cavo's," he mutters, squirming out of the coil of cable he's wearing like a bandolier and passing it up to Brasso.

"Nog is good for you, I keep telling you, Cass," Brasso takes the cable and offers a hand to help Cass up onto the skerry again.

They secure the three crates together end to end and push them into the sea. There's a moment where the first one bobs beneath the surface and Brasso thinks it's just going to keep sinking, but then it pops back up and they both let out a sigh of relief. One all three are afloat, Cass takes a running jump and splashes back into the water by them.

He gestures to Brasso to do the same and, laughing, Brasso takes his own leap and plunges like a knife, feet first into the sea.

The exertion of getting the crates back to land and then dragging them up the shore to the ship is enough to keep him from cooling down, but as before, Cass is shivering pathetically by the time they've got the last of the cargo on board. Brasso grabs his own coat and approaches Cass from behind, wrapping it around Cass's shoulders as he tackles him a bear hug.

Cass yelps in mock objection. "Let go, what are you doing?" He laughs and wriggles, so Brasso tightens his hold.

"Nope - not until you stop shivering." He's taller and stronger and his arms are long enough to keep a wiry off-worlder in his place. Besides, Cass isn't fighting that hard - now it's more like he's squirming to dry himself off on the lining of Brasso's coat.

Brasso exclaims in disgust when Cass whips his face with the wet hair at the back of his head, but he doesn't let go. Cass tries standing on his toes, so Brasso lifts him off the floor of the ship a little and Cass swears breathlessly, laughingly.

"All right, all right!"

"What, you don't like flying?" Brasso cackles back, dropping Cass and giving him a shove so he takes a couple of steps away.

Cass grips the damp coat around himself and turns to Brasso with more colour in his cheeks than he's had all day and a smirk that could gut a fish it's so sharp. "Oh, you want to go there? Remember I'm flying us back, I could take us up into high atmo, we could make orbit, go out into the system..."

Brasso's hands are planted on his hips, and he represses a shudder at that. "You wouldn't..."

Cass just twitches his brows and gives Brasso a look to leave him questioning, and then goes to raise the ramp and seal the hatch.

Brasso tries to pay as much attention to the sounds of it locking as he did before, but there's a significant part of his mind that's elsewhere now, unable to focus on the details in the same way. He shakes his head at Cass, at himself, and goes to find his clothes.

-

With the heating inside the ship on it doesn't take long for them both to dry out properly. Brasso doesn't take his seat in the cockpit with quite as much trepidation as before, but that's largely because he's exhausted. He watches Cass cycle through the start-up with miserable inevitability and folds his arms across his chest, leaning back into his seat like his distance from the console will give him extra distance from what's about to happen.

Cass starts the engines but doesn't activate the thrusters. He frowns at the screen, though Brasso can see nothing wrong with it. It makes him uneasy.

"What's up?"

Cass pulls a face and shrugs one shoulder before looking away from the console. "I was just thinking..."

Brasso gives him a withering look. "Dangerous."

Cassian's patchy moustache twitches and he narrows his eyes. "You've never left atmo?"

Brasso draws a deep, steadying breath and his arms tighten across his chest. "Cass..."

"Never?"

"No, never. And I don't have a problem with that."

Cassian chews the inside of his lip. He doesn't look convinced, and frowns at the console rather than taking on Brasso's glare. "You'd go your whole life, never seeing that..."

"I don't need to see it!" Brasso insists.

"How do you know, when you've never seen it?" Cass responds quickly, the eagerness in his voice saying he thinks he's made a winning point.

Brasso closes his eyes and sighs. "It doesn't matter how stunning it is Cass, if I feel like emptying my guts all over the ship it's not going to be a memory to cherish, is it?"

Cass tilts his chin, conceding something. But he's not given up entirely - once he's got his mind set on something he's as focussed as Pegla's hounds when they sense a rat. "Do you trust me?" he asks, entirely unfairly in Brasso's opinion.

The answer is yes, of course. Unequivocally. Always, even when he knows he absolutely shouldn't. That's the difference between Brasso and Cass's other friends: even without all the information, even without the context or the background, Brasso trusts Cass. Maybe that can't last, Brasso reflects sadly. If Cass corners him into agreeing to this, maybe it'll be the last time he can trust him so completely.

"Brasso?"

"Yeah."

"You trust me?"

"I said yes, Cass," Brasso repeats, looking back at Cass and letting some ferocity into his voice.

Cassian studies him, perhaps weighing up the same costs Brasso's been contemplating.

"You trust me to fly this thing?"

Brasso frowns. "I trust you - the ship is a different matter."

"But I'm flying the ship," Cass says crisply. "Do you trust me to know what this ship can handle, and to know what it can't?"

Brasso presses his lips together tightly and looks Cass in the eyes. "Right. I guess so, then." He's been outmanoeuvred, as he guessed he would be.

"I want you to see this. You're not going to come up in a ship with anyone else, are you?"

"Seems unlikely."

"So let me show you - next time you're back at the yard and you're taking one of these things apart, maybe you'll think about where it's been? What it's for."

"You want to tell me about the wonders of space travel?" Brasso says drily, though Cass's tone holds a genuine excitement and awe that it's hard to be cynical about.

"Sure," Cass gives him a crooked smile. "I'd never have found out about it if Maarva and Clem hadn't kidnapped me."

"They adopted you..." Brasso is taken aback.

Cassian raises his brows and shrugs, activating the thrusters. "Call it what you want. But I'm kidnapping you," he smiles and turns to the controls, and Brasso feels his stomach sink again as they leave gravity behind in a swirl of red sand.

Cass's take-off is as steady as his gaze on the console. His hands rove across the controls with unhurried fluency, like he's speaking a language with them that Brasso doesn't understand.

He finds himself compelled to watch each movement, following Cass's gestures and finding an unexpected calm coming from it. The juddering and roaring of the ship still sets his teeth on edge, and he has no interest in looking at the landscape he was quite content being in a little while earlier. But he finds he's not engulfed by it like he was on the flight out, not when he focusses on the competence with which Cassian navigates the controls.

The number on the altimeter goes up, and Brasso swallows as he feels the ship spiral in a loop over the mountaintops.

"We'll take it nice and slow," Cass says.

Brasso checks the speed on the screen for good measure and unfolds his arms to grip the seat as he did earlier. "Well I might not have done this before, but I know we can't go too slow if we're leaving atmo," he summons as much sarcasm as he can from the pit of nausea within him.

Cass laughs, the sound sparks with delight, and he cranks the throttle forwards steadily. "Good point, thanks for that, Brasso..."

Brasso gulps down another wave of horror at the way the numbers on the screen are racing now, but the nose of the ship is pointing up, he's being squeezed back in his seat, and there's nothing left outside to blur sickeningly with speed: it's just blue sky, as delicate as an eggshell.

The ship's engines sound confident - there's no screech or whine of exertion as Cass works the throttle, and Brasso lets his eyes drift from the blue outside to Cass's face.

He's wholly absorbed by what he's doing, immersed in the pleasure of flying. His lips are a little parted, moving with silent words of encouragement to himself, to the ship. His eyes are keen and bright and there's a flush of colour high in his cheeks. It deepens when he notices Brasso watching him, and a dimple marks the cheek nearest to Brasso as he smirks self-effacingly. "See? I'm not worried. You don't need to be worried," Cass says.

Brasso just pulls a face, but he feels his own skin darken with heat at being caught out staring.

To show off, Cass tells Brasso what trajectory he expects the navicomp to give them for leaving Ferrix's atmosphere, and he gives a triumphant laugh when the numbers come up right.

"Ok, just sit back and enjoy this, Brasso," he tells him, leaning forwards eagerly over the console, like he's the one straining against gravity, not the ship.

"It's a light show, but the port's shielded and it adjusts automatically. It's not gonna blind you, so keep your eyes open," Cass gives him one last meaningful glance and then flicks a switch to give them the thrust needed to push through the upper atmosphere.

Brasso intends to do as he says, but finds he can't take his eyes off Cass in the end. The 'light show' is reflected in his face, which is drawn in ethereal levels of contrast. His eyes are wide and his mouth is hungry, and again Brasso thinks of the way the ship itself has to challenge the laws of nature in order to escape the planet, but it only does so because Cass demands it - it's only hurtling through fire and vacuum at his behest.

The colours on Cassian's face begin to fade out from the harsh fluorescents of singed minerals, and the soft glow of Morlani's light takes their place. Cass has arranged their passage into orbit just so that they face into the sun, and he beams with pride and pleasure when the noise levels reduce and the thrusters go off and they settle into a silent, weightless place between Ferrix and the stars.

Brasso lets out a breath he'd forgotten he was holding and hazards a glance at the galaxy.

"What did you think?" Cass asks.

Brasso looks out at all the stars and represses the urge to shudder. He closes his eyes and rubs a clammy hand over his face, but he nods for Cass.

"Yeah, it really was something."

Behind his eyelids it's Cass's face, lit up by the burning atmosphere, that he sees.

"Told you..." Cass can't resist saying. He glances mischievously at Brasso. "And you didn't feel like throwing up your guts too much, I hope?"

Brasso gives him a sideways look, and then the tension inside him that's built from all the pent-up nerves bursts all of a sudden and he lets out a laugh. He feels light-headed, maybe hysterical, but he doesn't feel like throwing up. He feels like a fool for even thinking the trust he puts in Cass would be shattered by something like this, but he shakes his head, still laughing, and looks over at his kidnapper.

"Let's not speak too soon - going back in is going to be worse, isn't it?"

"Oh..." Cass affects a worried expression. "I totally forgot about that."

"Sithspit..." Brasso leans his head back against the headrest and rubs his face with both hands. He's smiling, but thinking about re-entry really does remind him of his terror.

"It'll be ok, Brasso, I promise," Cass says assuredly. "You can close your eyes, or look at - I don't know, look at me, you'll know if you need to worry about anything then, because I'll be worrying."

This time, Brasso's laugh is weak, like he's been found out for cheating on a test. But Cass is concentrating on the new trajectory and only glances up to say with a smile: "Say goodbye to space! One last look..."

"I'll see it again when it's night-time," Brasso grumbles, wincing at the view of his homeworld below them, powdered blue by the haze of its atmosphere, curving away beyond the port.

"Might be cloudy," Cass shakes his head. Grins. "Ready?"

Brasso just casts him a pleading look, and Cassian reaches out to give his hand a squeeze.

It's easier, on re-entry, to just close his eyes. Cass's expression is severe with concentration going back in - it's less an act of reverence and rebellion and more the inevitable consequence of the former. Brasso leans back in the seat and feels the ship's body rattle with exertion, and he sinks into the cushions and imagines himself a part of it, shaken to his bones but not coming apart, driven to survive this because Cass has asked it of him.

Cass whoops when the ship settles into the planet's atmosphere again. He tells Brasso when they're on an even keel, but warns him he's going to see the town zoom by as they circle over it, and Brasso chooses to keep his eyes shut.

They land a little way out of town and unload the crates at one of Cass's hideaways.

"I'll take the ship back to Zorby's later," Cass says. Returning it during daylight is only going to raise questions he'd rather not answer.

They walk back to Ferrix together and by the time Brasso's alone in his place, arranging his seawater-wet coat to dry in the sonic, his legs don't feel hollow and numb any longer. His muscles remember the effort of dragging crates of contraband alone the beach, of swimming against strong currents. When he closes his eyes he doesn't remember the stars or the proximity of Morlani, filling the port with its light. It's Cass, lost in the work of piloting them, lost in his own awe at the galaxy, that Brasso won’t forget from today.

[socalwriterbee]

Sweet Escape

Choices Book: Witness: A Bodyguard Romance

Characters: Cassian Keane (m!LI) x Viviana (Ana) Marin (MC /OC)

Rating/Warning: Adult Language, Adult Content ⚠️⚠️18+ ⚠️⚠️

Word Count: 1700+

Base in Play: 2nd

Summary: Ana escapes from Cassian, once more. Going over what he has learned about her, wondering where she could have gone, a place from her past life, a place of comfort. But he needs to find her before the ones that want her gone do.

A/N: I know this book gets a lot of hate and at times deserving so. It had its moments but those were far in between. So I took the concept of the book, some scenarios from what I remember and from a quick search and I'll be making it my own as much as possible. Because HELLO BODYGUARD ROMANCE!! (I'm thinking of you Mr. Rhys 'crawl to me' Larsen)

A/N 2: Viviana (Ana) Marin is a mix of the MC with OC characteristics in her. I am hoping that she speaks to me in more of Original Character sense because lets face it, the witness MC is possibly not the best out there. And Cassian needs better than what was given to us!! Please excuse any errors, I tried to edit as best I could!

A/N 3: This fic is for Day 1 of Spring Fever Pitch, it contains adult language and 2nd base action. Location Location Location! Nothing hotter than things getting hot in a library.

Characters and some scenarios in use belong to our friends at Pixelberry!

📖📖📖📖

How the hell did mange to slip pass me? I was still trying to figure that out. It wasn’t the first time, she did the first night we met and look where it landed her. Didn’t she know the danger that was surrounding her, wondering the city, an easy target for the ones that wanted her gone. I needed to find her before they did and before my boss knew she was missing.

I was in deep shit once I had to report what happened.

With a woman like her, book -fucking- smart, beautiful and god so stubborn, she needed to be shown just how dangerous the streets were for her without my protection. And once I found her, that was exactly what I was going to do.

I was done playing games, done babying her, done trying to make this situation as understanding as possible. It was my job and her life on the line for god’s sake. The file we had on her, ran through my mind. Needing to remember the places that she frequented, the spots that made her feel like she had a normal life, even if that life was no longer hers.

Parks, downtown, clubs, the campus where she worked— I run my hands through the thickness of my dark hair and sighed, she wasn’t dumb enough to go back to her apartment. There was a place somewhere in this city that made it feel like her old self, the real her. Not the woman she was trying to be that night I met her, the night she ran into the people that changed her life forever.

The party-goer was not her, that much I knew. I watched her in silence in my apartment where we were staying before the safe house was secured for us to move to.

“Where did you go Viviana?” I whisper into the night, allowing myself to say her real name, the sun had set some time ago. The craving of a long pull from a cigarette makes my hand tremble, my hand fisted at the urge before releasing it easing the need a touch. I quit that habit a few weeks ago, the need for it was strong right now, knowing it would ease the tension and help clear my mind.

I scan my surroundings, the neighborhood stilling for the night. Nothing seemed out of place, the small neighborhood I called home for years went by as it did every night, not an action out of place.

Viviana, Ana, as she liked to be called was going on hour two of escaping from my home. “Think Cass think!” I mutter out, that day replaying in my head for what felt like the thousandth time.

I was up before she was, Ana had wanted to make our breakfast this morning, I thought nothing of it. Like she always did, she excused herself to the spare room that had become hers. I, on the other hand checked in, gave updates, which weren’t many and received them, along with a new timeline of our move to the safe house.

Ana had come down stairs with a book in her hand, not just any book. I recognized the book, the cover well worn, the spine cracked after many reads as it passed through the Keane family. It was in my possession now, my mothers favorite Irish love story.

I didn’t dare take it from her, the look that settled on her face I only saw once. Our night together that seemed so long ago now. The way she spoke of her love of ancient myths and the classical writings of famous authors. Any other man would have been turned off by such a subject but not me, I was drawn in at the passion she exuded.

That's when it hit me, fuck. I know where she was, hoping she is still there. One of her favorite places and the second most dangerous place she could be.

After getting in my car and driving to the university she had been employed at, I walked through the campus, a quiet night for the most part. A few groups of students passed me by as I made my way to the library. The building lights glowed, the air blowing inside instantly cooling everyone who entered.

It was quiet, too quiet for midweek. My awareness on high alert, there should be more people in here. I had to be careful, unable to draw my gun out, I didn’t need to scare the students that were here. A simple nod from the library staff sitting at the counter was all I got as I made my way deeper inside.

Walking pass the open area that housed tables and chairs for study groups, a handful or so of students here. None bothering to look up as I passed them by, all of them lost in their studies.

Heading further into the library, the ticking of my watch feeling like the only sound heard in the quiet space. My eyes roam looking for any movement, anything or anyone that shouldn't be here and there in the glow of a lamp is her reflection on the window.

Ana’s long chocolate colored hair gone, in its place was short. dirty blonde hair, she was still incredibly breathtaking. Unable to see the green in her eyes with her nose stuck in book.

Silently closing the space that separates us. My anger building at the carelessness she has of her surroundings. “Do you know how dangerously stupid this was?”

“Jesus fucking Christ!” Ana jumps in her seat at the sound of my voice. Looking up at the reflection of us in the window. Our eyes lock on each other, my jaw tensing as the silent minutes pass by.

“You scared me Cassian.” Ana whispers.

“I scared you?” I chuckle at her statement. “I could have been anyone, you lost in a book at a library you came to often before entering Witsec. People you worked with roaming the campus, one word of you being seen here could get to those that want you gone. What if the people who want you dead were roaming around and you wouldn’t have a clue of what is going on until it was too late.”

Her bottom lip trembles at my words, praying that she understands what could have happened with this little escape. “I…I’m sorry. I needed to get out.” Ana pushes her seat back to stand, turning around to face me.

The need to show her what real danger she was in evaporates when her emerald green steal my breath from my lungs the moment they truly land on me.

I needed to protect her, not only because it was my job but I've come to like her far too much for our own good.

There’s a hesitation in my step, the urge to close the space between us and take her in my arms. Every fiber in me wanting to relive the memories, the ones that still haunt my dreams, of our night together. The way her lips moved with mine, her hands running up and down my back with her legs wrapped around my waist.

Running my hand through my hair, damn it. I’m going to regret this but I needed her in my arms. One quick stride and my arms are wrapped around hers, one around her waist pulling her in and the other at the back her neck, exposing that sensitive skin and making her mouth ready for me to take.

My darken gaze searching her eyes for permission, the slightest opening of her mouth and the breath that hitches in her throat let’s me know she wants this too.

My mouth presses into hers, Ana moves her lips against mine trying to grab control as she takes a groan out of me. Pushing her back into the table, pulling away, Ana breaks our kiss when she jumps on and spreads her thighs open for me to fit between.

My chest heaving as the air fills into my lungs, her hands find their way under the hem on my gray t-shirt, her touch against my bare skin making me flinch at the contact. “Cass.” My name filled with promise of what’s to come as it slips from her lips.

Placing a kiss on the corner of her mouth then moving along her jaw and down her neck. My own hands roaming over the swells of her breast, making quick work of the buttons of her shirt. Pushing it open revealing her white bra against her tanned skin. Her back arches pushing her breast out wanting more.

Taking one, the weight of it perfect in my hand before pulling the cup of her bra down, revealing her pebbled nipple, my hooded gaze looking up at the woman before me, my Ana, watching her reaction when I pinch her nipples tighter. Smiling as her head falls back and that sweet moan causing my pants to get tighter.

My mouth and tongue ready to devour the sight in front of me, when the screech of a chair stops me. My years of training kicking in at the sound, my hand wrapping around the handle of my gun, ready to face whoever snuck behind us.

“Sorry.” A timid girl, hands filled with books says, runs away from the scene she stumbled on, the instant I turn around.

My head drops, I let myself get carried away in the moment, damn it! My job was to protect her not claim her whenever she looked at me. This was just a lapse in judgement, never to happen again.

Her life was in danger, for all I know I could have put it more in danger and all I wanted was to take her right here, to finish what we started, but that would never happen.

Rolling my shoulders back and straightening myself out, with the heat of the moment gone, Marshall Keane settling back in. My next words were cold, short and indifferent. “Fix yourself. It’s not safe, we’ve been out for too long.”

“Cassian.” My name being called out as a plea.

“Please.” I want to say her name but she wasn’t Viviana or Ana anymore, and calling her by her name would be the third stupidest thing I would’ve done tonight. “Listen for once.”

Ana’s little escape could have been the end of her. I needed to keep her at arms length, for my sanity and her safety. I had a job to do and Ana clouding my mind would be a disaster for the both of us.

I just didn’t know if I could stay away.

event tag: @springfeverpitch

[therebelcaptain]

me ranting about rebelcaptain to friends:

[separatist-apologist]

I do have a little drabble for today though

[livelaughlovecassie]

Somebody give Cassian a peace prize of some sort they had the patience of a saint

[unproduciblesmackdown]

i'm the first to admit i'm doing a bad job of not liveblogging, but i gotta be nogblogging

[yourqueenb]

Am I the only one who thinks there was meant to be a book 3 for Surrender? It feels like they set so many things up, or tried to at least. MC and Reagan moving to Seattle, where Reagan's dad is fyi, his threat that ended up never meaning anything, and of course that it was gonna be the wedding book. I'm so glad the "evil is defeated" but I'd love to know why they didn't try to beat this dead horse until a little more cash fell out. Also gonna laugh forever at how bad that ending and proposal was. It felt so disinterested and like someone quickly wrote it on their phone's notes app while on the bus or something. My god, I think it feels even more petty than Witness's ending did.

No, I still believe they had originally planned for one too. But I think it’s fair to say that they nixed it because book 2 didn’t do well. Of course I don’t know that for sure, but that’s pretty much always been the reason for other books. Either that or one of the lead writers leaving. However, even if a writer did leave, I don’t think it would make that much of a difference in a book like this because there’s not much substance to begin with and the characters are very basic. It’s different when a book has a lot of lore, story building, character development, etc. But it’s not exactly difficult to copy the original vision for Surrender and the characters’ voices/personalities, which leads me to believe that book 2 was just a flop. But hey, what do I know 🤷🏽‍♀️ The way the ending dropped off was absolutely hilarious though 😂 It really did feel like that shit was just thrown together at the last minute, which is honestly very fitting for the series as a whole

[ruby-red-inky-blue]

#rebelcaptain via @rapidashrider

are we still doing this because i have a late submission

[korgbelmont]

Hi could you upload Asian Female Cassian Keane in all of her outfits smiling emotion. Thank you.

Hi there. She's been added to the Transparents folder

[azrielhours]

Tight Enough

Azriel x Reader

Word count: 1.6k

Synopsis: Reader needs help tightening her corset and no one's around to help but Azriel.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Shit,” you breathed, pulling at the laces awkwardly around your waist, trying and failing to tighten your corset. You shifted them around your shoulders, hoping it’d provide sufficient pulleying. You bowed forward, yanking.

Still not enough.

You huffed. You’d been at this for upwards of twenty minutes, hauling and tugging in all kinds of positions til your hands shook.

For all the gentlemanliness and compassion in Rhys and Cassian, you entirely refused to ask mated men to assist you.

Tying the laces onto the doorknob, you tried letting your body fall in the opposite direction. Your feet slid against the tile as you pivoted, nearly tripping. “Shit.” 

This was so fucked.

A gentle knock on the door startled you. “Y/N?”

Azriel.

Fuck.

You scrambled to untie the laces from the doorknob. “Yes?”

“Cass and Rhys stepped out for a bit. Are you alright?”

Fuck.

You scrubbed at your face. This was the outcome you’d been avoiding above all. Worse than the mated men. Mated my ass. You should’ve bit your tongue and asked Cass for help.

“Y/N?” he asked again at your silence.

“Sorry,” you breathed, heart racing.

You cracked open the bathroom door, peering up at him. He searched your eyes patiently as you searched for your courage. “I can’t get my corset on,” you admitted quietly.

A muscle ticked in his jaw, eyes marginally widening.

You shook your head. “It’s fine,” you said quickly, voice tight. “I’ll just—I’ll try—”

“I can help,” he offered softly.

You looked up at him again, eyes pleading. Turn him down. “I—” you swallowed. Turn him down. A glance at the wall behind him with a clock revealed you were even later than you thought. Turn him down. You bit your lip and steeled your spine. Fuck. You were really doing this. “Okay,” you whispered, like you could hide the admission from even yourself.

He gave a slight nod of encouragement, stepping aside to let you come out.

“I—let me—one second,” you stammered, closing the door.

You were still undressed.

Right.

Another huff of indignation as you yanked on a slip to cover your bare legs. This was fine, right? It was just help he was offering. Necessary help.

You took a steadying breath and walked out of the bathroom.

Azriel had moved to stand near the fireplace, watching it with his back to you, like it would offer you privacy. He could surely see your panicked mortification.

You padded to him, placing a hand softly on his elbow to let him know you were ready.

He turned, face carefully neutral as he took in the sight of you.

Where corsets were typically worn over shifts, this one was fashioned to sit directly upon your skin. So you stood before Azriel, flushed cheeks and fidgeting fingers in just your corset and a skirt.

Azriel focused his gaze strictly on your face, didn’t dare let it fall to where the flesh of your breasts generously spilled over the delicate lace trim adorning the hem. Didn’t allow a glance at the thin shift mercifully—barely—covering your legs.

He’d never seen you so undressed.

You shifted your weight between feet beneath his hefty gaze. “Usually, Nuala or Ceridwen or Mor help me,” your voice was still tight. “I’ve never had to do it by myself.”

Azriel nodded. Your skin had a slight sheen to it in the light of the fire. A few pieces of hair had fallen out of your intricate upswept style, curling at the nape of your neck. Azriel might have bitten back a laugh at the endearing sight, at the physical evidence of your struggle—had you not struck him dumb with how beautiful you looked.

How you allowed him to bear witness to your exposed skin, to this intimacy.

He was no stranger to corsets—hell, he’d taken women wearing lingerie that made your attire look like a priestess’s robe, and yet—

He shook his head. This was just help. No matter how lovely you were.

He cleared his throat. He needed you to turn. “Would you—” He twisted a finger in the air, unsure how to ask.

“Oh,” you breathed, still donning that pretty blush on your cheeks. You took another step toward him, turning at last.

With the absence of your imploring gaze—one he’d scarcely forget—Azriel exhaled, allowed himself an assessing glimpse down your form presented before him. He bit back a curse. The laces across the length of the corset were haphazardly pulled. He wondered how Rhys overlooked something like this that clearly required assistance. The spaces between the undone laces revealed your bare back, curving all the way down to the slip resting on your backside.

He didn’t know how to begin touching you.

“Az?” you asked, voice still thin, your nervousness anything but subtle. But you’d been comfortable enough to ask him for help, and that made his heart soar.

“Sorry,” he cleared his throat again. Raised his hands hesitantly; a silent deep breath, and he began.

He carefully pulled at the laces starting from the top of your corset, loosening them to correctly adjust their security. Azriel keenly tried his best to pick up each lace without touching your skin. Tried not to consider how creamy it felt when he did graze skin, how warm and perfect. When he’d finished working his way down, he began tugging at the string to tighten it properly.

At the first firm tug, you gasped, stumbling backwards into him. “Oh,” you stepped away hastily. You’d landed directly onto his abdomen, trapping his hands between your bodies. Your own hands had landed on his thighs, bracing yourself. “I’m sorry, Azriel.”

“It’s alright.” Azriel tried not to think about how your softness felt. “It’s my fault.” He couldn’t recall the last time he’d helped a female with her corset.

You looked at him over your shoulder, doing funny things to his heart again with your eyes. “We need a bedpost.” There was sheepish mirth lighting your eyes, displacing the anxiety from before. He managed a reassuring smile back and nodded.

You walked to Cassian’s bed in the inn room you were sharing, gripping the post for stability. Azriel dutifully returned to your back, and you tried not to think about how the warmth from his body radiated so easily into yours from your proximity. How careful he was being with his hands, doing everything to make you more comfortable.

He yanked gently in warning. When you remained sturdily in your spot, his pulling grew stronger, working his way down. When he neared the base of your spine, he began tying the lace. Your hands moved to your waist, feeling snug but not quite as tight-laced as you’d wanted.

You turned to peer at him over your shoulder again. He met your eye in question. “Um, I was hoping to wear it a little tighter,” you admitted.

“Tighter than this?” His brows rose.

You nodded.

He undid the knot, pulling the laces tighter as per your request, waiting for approval.

Once again, you caressed your waist, pushing the corset to feel its give.

“Is it tight enough?” he asked, voice gravely.

“Can I have one more inch?” you asked, and he internally composed himself.

“I don’t know if it would work,” he said.

“Here,” you released your waist, reaching behind, wiggling your fingers for his hands. Azriel extended his hands to hover on either side of your waist, allowing you to guide them on your waist. You pushed onto his hands, making him squeeze your waist. “Can you hold it there?” you asked.

Azriel swallowed, holding your waist tightly, pressing the corset tighter to your body as you reached behind, pulling the untied lace. He tracked your every move, every careful twist of your fingers, how your arms brushed against his hands. Your hands worked dangerously close to his body as you worked to secure the ties at last.

When you finished, he regretfully released you, allowing you to turn, standing between him and the bedpost. He braced himself for the onslaught of your stare, the way he knew you’d look up at him.

Where there’d previously been jittery nervousness, there was something in your eyes now that set his nervousness off. A sense of open depth that swallowed him whole as you took him in. “Thank you,” you breathed. A small smile tugged your lips up.

He wanted to admit something stupidly vulnerable, like thank you for trusting me. So instead, he took a step back, ducked his head, and said, “You’re welcome.”

That pretty, trustful look returned to your eyes, a look he’d do anything to keep others from seeing. “Maybe you can help me zip up my dress too?” Your playful glint had him smiling back.

“Of course.”

You hurried to the bathroom and rustled for a bit before returning to him with the top half of a floor-length, black evening gown hanging off your torso. You stood before him, more confidently than before, and Azriel took his time zipping it up, tucking away the corset. Tucking away the knowledge, the memory of it. It was all his to cherish.

As you put your heels on, a knock sounded on the door. Azriel opened it to find Rhys and Cassian conveniently ready to go, all smug smirks.

“Sorry for making us late,” you said, rushing up behind Azriel. “I had a hard time getting dressed.” Azriel stepped aside, allowing you to exit, taking Cassian’s arm.

Rhys mockingly tsked. “Sorry to hear that. How’d you manage?”

“Azriel helped,” you said over your shoulder.

“Well, thank goodness for Azriel,” Rhys winked at him.

Azriel stood stunned, staring in disbelief at Rhys until you looked back at him blushing, a shy smile knocking the breath from his lungs.

“Yes. Thank goodness for Azriel.”

~

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(lmk if your urls changed, sorry some of them don't work!)