Well, if the Sinful Sunday smutbox is open, I’m getting in on that! A few options for your consideration: 1 – a continuation of our photographer!Rey and driver!Poe AU / 2 – RebelCaptain in universe uniform (or holster) kink / 3 – Damerey or RebelCaptain, in universe, using either of these two prompts: “Prove it.” or “Did we just execute or plan flawlessly?” =)

dracosollicitus:

Option Two: Rebelcaptain! Uniform (/holster) kink

There will be smut under the cut. 

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“You. On the ship. Now.” Cassian snarls the words, his jaw tight and body shaking like it had been the last time he’d really, truly yelled at her, after the disaster of Eadu.

They’re on Brentaal IV now, and they’re here to investigate the remnants of an operation, born in the ashes of a similar program from the days of the Republic, that plucked the best and the brightest young lifeforms in the galaxy and bent them to the Empire’s will. They were supposed to collect data and get out.

Jyn doesn’t need a reminder to know why fury twists Captain Andor’s face right now. 

She might have…turned off her comms. And shot six Stormtroopers. And an officer. During an undercover mission.

“That’s what you get for bringing a soldier to do a spy’s job,” she mutters to herself as she storms onboard the waiting ship, tucked out of sight on the once-bustling Core World. 

She wrings out her soaking wet hair, shivering slightly in the temp-controlled air of the waiting transport. It’s just her and Cassian on this particular part of the mission, and Jyn doesn’t need to be the daughter of two of the most brilliant people in the history of the galaxy to know why he’s here, and not another Rebel Intelligence officer.

Cassian’s her handler. He’s the only one she won’t bite.

The thought makes her snort – if only they knew what kind of biting she and Cassian actually got up to – but then Cassian clomps up the stairs, still favoring his right leg over a year after Scarif, and he glowers at her powerfully; Jyn remembers that the only biting that’s about to happen is most likely the kind where he bites her head off. 

Still, she forces herself to stand upright (not a sign of deference, but a refusal to back down), and look him in the eye. “Captain.”

“What the kriffing hells was that?” Cassian demands. The door hisses shut behind him, leaving him dripping wet onto the chromatic floor of the ship, his hair in his eyes, his cheeks flushed. The white shirt of his typical uniform clings to his chest, and his pants, while sodden, are … rather improved by that damned holster he always wears. 

There’s a rack for loading weapons and other various items behind Jyn, its presence bracing her, and thank the gods, honestly, because her gut is doing stupid things to her head right now. Her gut and other things. 

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