Okay, so Everyone Lives canon divergent AU, the turning on happens first. Cassian’s out in the field, under fire, things are tight and he’s not sure what his out is going to be. Then Bodhi (who is healing really well, finally got some therapy, taking up old hobbies – including swoop-bike racing) sweeps out of ABSOLUTELY NOWHERE and like LANDS on the attackers, executing the neatest little turn Cassian has ever seen. Cassian jumps on the back of the bike and then Bodhi guns it, Cassian’s heart is in his throat and his blood is somewhere distinctly lower and more obvious.
They get back to the ship, get to safety, Bodhi can’t quite stop himself from teasing Cassian. Cassian decides that he’s been obvious enough about things that he might as well just go for it, and some DISTINCTLY NSFW things occur before they get back to the Rebellion.
Which then begins their Secret Relationship. Bodhi assumes this is because they are at War and Cassian must be Grimly Sacrificial, and sure, that’s fine, he’ll play it cool in public and have his fun in private, there’s a lot of storage closets. Besides, he gets these amazing soft moments now, cuddling Cassian after he sneaks into Cassian’s room, giving him little anonymous gifts. It’s good! Bodhi’s happy.
What Bodhi doesn’t know, is that their relationship is a secret even TO CASSIAN, because he thinks they’ve managed to fall into an oddly affectionate FWB situation, that he has Too Many Emotions about but he is going to be Chill because he is a responsible adult who can definitely handle casual.
Cassian doens’t figure out they’re actually dating until after Endor, at which point Bodhi proposes and Cassian has a lot of Relational Catching Up to do.
Maroon curtains dance lazily, their intermittent swaying allowing Jedha’s star to set the golden stitches of his mother’s kameez aflame. Her bangles catch the same sparkle as she pulls the tray from the oven.
These new fangled nanowave ovens are more finnicky than the stone ones we used when I was your age, she laments. His sister rolls her eyes; being the elder child she’s heard every complaint to cross their mother’s lips a thousand times at least, or so she claims.
Bodhi, however, ignores their troubles and is preoccupied with the aroma wafting from the tray. The sweet warmth fills the air, his nose, his every thought. Already he can taste the syrupy sunburst dates, the soft flavoured dough melting in his mouth.
So far ahead of yourself, beta, his mother chides, shooing him away from the piping hot tray and imminent burns. What did I tell you? Patience. All good things come to those who wait.
Bodhi nods, soundlessly stepping away. She prods the loaf with a fork. He doesn’t bother to catalogue every minute detail, as he will later in life; because now he thinks there will be many more loaves to slice and cashews to roast and cold almond milk to wash it all down with.
He’s forgotten the scent of the oils in his sister’s braids and the pattern of his mother’s dishcloth. He can’t remember what their kitchen even looked like; nor can he recall his mother’s voice. He only recalls her hacking coughs and delirious rambles; the hoot of watchful birds and the crackle of stormtroopers’ commands.
Bodhi does remember the recipe, and as he pulls the tray out of the oven he thanks the almighty for granting him that sole mercy. God-willing it will taste just right, or close enough.
Close enough is just as valuable as perfection, these days.
The scent wafts up to his nose, and the mere hint of cardamom manages to clear away years and years of stale cockpits and musty quarters.
“That smells fantastic,” Cassian says, leaning over Bodhi’s shoulder.
Bodhi sets the loaf down to cool and turns to regard his companion with a slight smirk. “You’ll have to wait for it to cool,” he says, brushing flour off the bridge of Cassian’s nose. “Good things come to those who wait.”
Cassian cracks a smile at that, one of his not-as-rare-anymore ones that reaches his eyes and makes them twinkle.
Then his expression shifts, the dark brown of his eyes growing mischevious, and Bodhi has half a second before Cassian’s arms are around his waist and face burrowed against his neck. He thinks about playfully swatting him away, but the loaf has to cool and they have time, so much time, so he sighs, shifting his weight to rest against Cassian.
Cassian’s stubble brushes against Bodhi’s pulse.
“I know a thing or two about waiting for good things.”
“Oh?”
Bodhi grins, the heat spreading to his face; and he’s soon reminded Cassian’s lips are capable of a sweetness outshining measly sunbursts.
a nugget of a treat for @sniperpilot-prompts: 3: My cute neighbor goes all out with the Halloween decorations. It’s going to look great if he doesn’t kill himself first.
Bodhi is on his roof.
Cassian is not surprised.
Bodhi is not wearing a harness.
Cassian pinches his nose. Safety hazard! his mind screams. Not that people around here don’t regularly sit on the rooftops, especially while drunk.
Still. Nobody’s holding the ladder resting precariously on the edge of Bodhi’s front steps, either. It’s all a disaster waiting to happen right outside his window.
Naturally, Cassian’s response is to shut his laptop, shrug on a jacket over his worn green hoodie, slip on his boots, and head outside.
The chill nips at him immediately. October’s end is showing it’s ugly fangs, and Cassian shoves his hands into the depths of his pockets. The jacket is sort of overkill for the season, but Cassian has always preferred being too warm over being slightly cold. The socks Jyn attempted to knit him are a proof of that – for all their wretched appearance he wears them regularly every day after the first 0-degree night.
Chapters: 17/? Fandom: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Cassian Andor/Bodhi Rook Characters: Cassian Andor, Bodhi Rook, Jyn Erso, K-2SO (Star Wars), Rose Tico, Paige Tico, Luke Skywalker, Wedge Antilles Additional Tags: Kid Fic, Minor Wedge Antilles/Luke Skywalker, Pining, Eventual Smut, Alternate Universe – Modern Setting, Winter, Ice Skating, Anxiety Attacks, Light Angst, Fluff, Figure Skater Cassian, Ex Hockey Player Bodhi, single parent Bodhi, Kid rose, Kid Paige, Slow Burn, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder – PTSD Series: Part 1 of Skating Your Way Through Summary:
An injury sends figure skater Cassian Andor to a tiny Canadian town for rehabilitation. He’s instructed to heal, rest, and enjoy the clean mountain air. And he hates the very idea of it.
Until he falls – literally – into the lives of single dad Bodhi and two exuberant daughters. Cassian finds himself unbelievably charmed by the little family and, as it turns out, the feeling is mutual.
Bodhi Rook never expected to find love again but with Cassian…he starts to hope.
After last chapter’s cliffhanger, we’re happy to give you the slight angst the resolution! Enjoy!
I did 32 with rebelcaptain already! Also I’m feeling generous (or ambitious lol) so I’m going to do both 4 and 9 😀 (also I’m assuming this is from the most recent prompt list I reblogged which was a while ago now oops)
*throws sniperpilot on a mission together* you’re welcome
“There you are,” Bodhi hisses. “What took you so long?”
“I realize I make this look easy, but this whole espionage thing isn’t a walk in the park,” Cassian replies with a grunt.
Bodhi grumbles something about cramping from hiding in the bushes so long. Cassian pats him on the shoulder. “You can complain when we’re back on the ship.”
Bodhi nods, putting away his network scrambling gear. “Yeah, I think they’re going to notice your disappearance pretty soon.”
“I hope not,” Cassian mutters as they trudge back in the direction of the ship.
Bodhi leads the way, and Cassian can’t help but notice something stuck in Bodhi’s hair, fluttering about in the wind.
“Bodhi,” he calls.
“Yeah?” Bodhi doesn’t turn to look at him, and keeps moving towards the ship waiting for them on the platform.
“There’s a leaf in your hair.”
“Oh.” Bodhi stops and swats at his hair. “Is it gone?”
“Nope.”
Bodhi drops the bag of gadgets with a thunk beside the ship’s loading ramp, and tugs at his hair elastic, letting his hair go loose. He runs a hand through it, attempting to shake off the offending leaf. Cassian watches him, mystified.
“Is it gone now?”
Cassian snaps out of his reverie. “Uh, nope.” He moves to pull the leaf out but Bodhi’s hair but he keeps shaking it to no prevail.
“Will you just hold still?” Cassian says sternly. Bodhi lets his hands drop to his sides. “Now turn around.” Bodhi didn’t really need to turn around, but Cassian was on a mission and he couldn’t let himself get distracted by Bodhi’s face.
He gently disentangles the leaf from Bodhi’s hair, trying not to let his hands linger too long. He does pause longer than he needs to before speaking, trying to get his nerves back in working order. He’s so close!
“There,” he says, showing the leaf to Bodhi before flicking it away.
“Thanks.” Bodhi begins to gather his hair up in a ponytail and Cassian has to force himself to turn away, almost missing the sounds of people headed in their direction.
“We’ve got company!”
Bodhi looks up, swears, and bolts towards the cockpit. “I’ll get ready for takeoff, keep me covered for one minute!”
Cassian sighs, pulling out his blaster. He’d have to leave the daydreams for later. Duty calls.
ah you always love picking ones where I can Up the Angst 😀 Here’s 19! 🙂
I feel like I havent written from Bodhi’s perspective in a while…
“Are you avoiding me?”
Cassian corners Bodhi when he’s about to leave the dining hall, eyes full of an emotion that locks Bodhi in place, but also grabbing his arm to keep him there.
“Ummm… no?” Bodhi shakes his head, convincing himself more than Cassian. “No. Not at all. Why would I be running away from you?”
Cassian’s expression shifts to grim skepticism. “Really? So you weren’t trying to dart away just now.”
Bodhi begins to shake his head, then sighs. “I don’t want to do this here, not now, Cass.” He mentally pleads with Cassian, and feels him let go of his arm. He doesn’t take his arm back, a twinge of guilt fluttering at the base of his stomach.
“Will you just tell me the truth?” Cassian’s face lacks the emotion it had earlier, but there’s something in his voice that threatens to break Bodhi’s resolve. Hurt. Disappointment.
Why was he doing this? Bodhi wasn’t sure. Maybe it was the second looks they’d been getting. Are getting. Anxiety barges into his heart like an unwelcome guest. He has a choice to make. Stay and talk to Cassian, and feel the many eyes boring into the back of his head, or walk away and be weighted with guilt.
Bodhi’s hands are trembling again. He can feel it, but can’t do anything to stop them. Cassian’s eyes drop from his face to his hands, and his gaze softens as he grips them.
This is what Bodhi was running away from. That look. That concern. He didn’t want to be a burden, bursting into Cassian’s room late at night, haunted by traumas; letting his name and reputation become entangled with Bodhi’s; subjecting him to the same taunting eyes that dug into Bodhi like daggers (captain andor? with an imperial?…)
“Bodhi. Bodhi!” He snaps out of his thoughts. Concern is written all over Cassian’s face. “I’m sorry. You need time. You need to be away from me. I’m sorry, I should’ve realized that earlier.” Cassian moves to let go of Bodhi’s hands but Bodhi clenches them tighter, closer.
Bodhi’s shaking his head, for real this time. “N-no. It was my mistake. I didn’t want to bother you. Distract you. But I think-I think it’s doing us more harm than good.”
He can see Cassian visibly swallowing a sarcastic retort (you THINK?) and he almost grins, because snarkiness was a trait he’d picked up from Bodhi. Instead Cassian squeezes Bodhi’s hands and says, “Okay. But take your time.”
“I already have,” he replies. Cassian smiles at him and daggers’ edges begin to dull.
Maroon curtains dance lazily, their intermittent swaying allowing Jedha’s star to set the golden stitches of his mother’s kameez aflame. Her bangles catch the same sparkle as she pulls the tray from the oven.
These new fangled nanowave ovens are more finnicky than the stone ones we used when I was your age, she laments. His sister rolls her eyes; being the elder child she’s heard every complaint to cross their mother’s lips a thousand times at least, or so she claims.
Bodhi, however, ignores their troubles and is preoccupied with the aroma wafting from the tray. The sweet warmth fills the air, his nose, his every thought. Already he can taste the syrupy sunburst dates, the soft flavoured dough melting in his mouth.
So far ahead of yourself, beta, his mother chides, shooing him away from the piping hot tray and imminent burns. What did I tell you? Patience. All good things come to those who wait.
Bodhi nods, soundlessly stepping away. She prods the loaf with a fork. He doesn’t bother to catalogue every minute detail, as he will later in life; because now he thinks there will be many more loaves to slice and cashews to roast and cold almond milk to wash it all down with.
He’s forgotten the scent of the oils in his sister’s braids and the pattern of his mother’s dishcloth. He can’t remember what their kitchen even looked like; nor can he recall his mother’s voice. He only recalls her hacking coughs and delirious rambles; the hoot of watchful birds and the crackle of stormtroopers’ commands.
Bodhi does remember the recipe, and as he pulls the tray out of the oven he thanks the almighty for granting him that sole mercy. God-willing it will taste just right, or close enough.
Close enough is just as valuable as perfection, these days.
The scent wafts up to his nose, and the mere hint of cardamom manages to clear away years and years of stale cockpits and musty quarters.
“That smells fantastic,” Cassian says, leaning over Bodhi’s shoulder.
Bodhi sets the loaf down to cool and turns to regard his companion with a slight smirk. “You’ll have to wait for it to cool,” he says, brushing flour off the bridge of Cassian’s nose. “Good things come to those who wait.”
Cassian cracks a smile at that, one of his not-as-rare-anymore ones that reaches his eyes and makes them twinkle.
Then his expression shifts, the dark brown of his eyes growing mischevious, and Bodhi has half a second before Cassian’s arms are around his waist and face burrowed against his neck. He thinks about playfully swatting him away, but the loaf has to cool and they have time, so much time, so he sighs, shifting his weight to rest against Cassian.
Cassian’s stubble brushes against Bodhi’s pulse.
“I know a thing or two about waiting for good things.”
“Oh?”
Bodhi grins, the heat spreading to his face; and he’s soon reminded Cassian’s lips are capable of a sweetness outshining measly sunbursts.
Blood, death, like a ritual pig sent for slaughter. Fire, flesh, one consuming the other. Bodhi’s hands trembling, but no sister to hold them tight. Only the blaster and his knuckles turning white.
Then:
Cassian, at his side, smelling of scorched fibre and familiarity. A hush in his ears, the warmth over his hand, pulling away the blaster and pulling him away from the causalities. Like Jedha, so like Jedha, with blood and bodies and screams. So like Jedha, the horrifying hours forever memorialized in his dreams. So like Jedha, with Cassian there to push him further away, to the ship, to safety, to home.
Home isn’t Jedha, not anymore. Home is:
Cassian holding and soothing him until the trembles stop, until his ragged breathing grows steady. Until Bodhi can hunt the ghosts in Cassian’s own eyes, and remind him that he chose this life, not (just) for Cassian, not (just) because of him, but because he was ready.
“Steady now,” Cassian says softly, readjusting Bodhi’s grip on the blaster – leaning in too close. He steps away. “Now… watch out for the kickback… and… fire!”
Bodhi pulls the trigger and hears the now-familiar sound of the laserbolt missing the target and hitting ferrocrete.
“I think it was closer that time,” Bodhi says, more to reassure Cassian than anything else.
Cassian rests a hand on his shoulder. “It was! Just keep practicing.”
They had been at this all day. Cassian had been insisting that, as an addition to Bodhi’s training to become an X-Wing pilot, he learn to fire a blaster. But the grip of the blaster was not the same as the controls of a ship, and Bodhi had been missing all day.
“I feel like I’d do better with my eyes closed,” Bodhi grumbles.
Cassian grins. “I don’t think even I could hit the target with my eyes closed.”
A mischievous smile blossoms on Bodhi’s face. “I bet you could.” He hands Cassian the blaster.
Rebellions are built on hope 