a/n: with the premiere of andor season 2, we get the return of everyone’s favorite cape wearing hot af slutty old man. here’s a lil something.
a very short but sweet 335 words below the cut
Director Krennic had finally returned to Coruscant. His work on Stardust had kept him off world for the last several months, and your duties in the Senate had kept you here.
Now, at last, he was back, but only for a standard week. You had bullied Ronan into giving you his exact itinerary so you could be sure you could be in Krennic’s office the moment he arrived—and that he would be alone.
Krennic’s office was supposed to be biometrically locked, but he had given you his code cylinder should you ever need access. You had let yourself in 20 minutes before he was scheduled to arrive. At first, you hadn’t been quite sure what to wear, so you had brought along a few options. You were struck by a stroke of brilliance, however, when you passed the wardrobe in the hallway. Not that it ever mattered to Krennic what you wore—for all his pomp and lavishness, you had that man so wrapped around your finger. As you positioned yourself in front of his desk, directly opposite the entrance to his inner office, you felt the thrill of butterflies in your stomach. You hadn’t seen him in so long…
As if on cue, you heard the hiss of the main office door.
“Hello, Orson,” you called.
“My dear!” Krennic exclaimed in delight as he rounded the corner. “I wasn’t expecting—” but he stopped short. Mouth slightly agape, he fully did a double take as he realized what you were wearing.
He licked his lips as his ice blue eyes raked down your body, taking in every inch of the divine sight of your curves in your white lingerie. He was too enamored with you to even be affronted that you had donned one of his sacrosanct capes.
“Remind me never to stay away from the Capitol for so long,” he said, striding across the room.
You raised an eyebrow and flashed a coy smile as you wrapped your arms around his neck.
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Summary: When Gwyn breaks up with her boyfriend on the eve of Nesta's destination wedding, Nesta Archeron has only one objective: set Gwyn up with her high school crush.
Note: Based on this tweet from @heathermcwrites: "One of my bridesmaids just broke up with her bf who was supposed to come to my wedding & I was sad for her for about 3 seconds until I remembered that her crush will also be at the wedding (single) and I'm now more committed to this 2nd chance romance than to my own marriage."
"I should also note that this is a destination wedding so there are EVEN MORE opportunities for uh…shenanigans"
Read More: Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | AO3
The shrill ringing of Gwyn’s phone dragged her from sleep. She twisted, peeling her cheek from Azriel’s naked chest, to fumble for the phone on her nightstand.
“I swear to God,” Azriel muttered, eyes still closed as she brought the bright screen towards her blinking face, “If it’s Jonathon, I’m going to commit a felony.”
It was Jonathon. Illuminated in the otherwise pitch black room, both her and Azriel stared for a moment.
“I won’t—”
“Might as well,” he grumbled. “Tell him you’ve moved on.”
She scoffed. Moved on with who? Him? Still, Gwyn hit the green answer button, if only to beg him to stop calling her.
“What do you want?” she said by way of greeting as Azriel wrapped muscular arms tight against her. He burrowed his face into her hair, huffing out a breath of irritation.
“What do I want? I want to talk to you–”
“It’s two in the fucking morning,” Azriel snarled, loud enough for Jonathon to stop what he was saying. Gwyn poked him hard in the stomach, forced out of bed to keep Azriel from saying anything else. Azriel watched, propped up on his elbows with an expression hidden in the darkness while she threw on her tank top and shorts from the night before. She didn’t need to see him to feel his disapproval.
“Who was that?”
“Cassian,” Gwyn replied easily, apparently a practiced liar now. There was no way she was telling him she’d immediately jumped into bed with someone new. She knew exactly what Jonathon would say about that. How he’d twist things to make her the bad guy, telling all their friends she’d cheated on him or worse. “It is two in the morning. Can we talk about this later? Like when I’m home?” she added, pushing open the balcony door. The air was cool and breezy and perfect. She swallowed a breath of it, dropping into one of the wicker patio chairs and propping her feet up on the railing.
“I want to talk now. It’s ten my time and all I can think about is how we left things.”
“Of course you want to talk,” she snapped, immediately irritated. “I had a nine hour flight and am exhausted, but since you’re awake, I should be too?”
“You’re putting words in my mouth, Gwyneth,” he snapped. “It’s ten your time, too, technically. I don’t know how you’re even still sleeping.”
“I just told you I was tired,” she retorted. What was she doing? The worlds hottest man was currently half asleep in her bed and she was sitting on a balcony arguing with her ex.
“Have you been working out? Did you go for—”
“Are you seriously asking me if I’ve gone to the gym?” Gwyn demanded as the glass door pushed open behind her. Az padded out in a clean pair of shorts, his handsome face twisting in a scowl.
Hang up on him, Azriel mouthed, leaning against the balcony casually.
“Sorry for worrying about you. I want to take care of you, Gwyn. I was thinking that you should tell Nesta you can’t do her wedding and come home so we can fix this—”
“I’m not coming home and there’s nothing to fix,” Gwyn interrupted snappishly. “I don’t want to do this anymore. I’m asking you to stop calling and texting me.”
“Because there’s someone else?” he demanded, picking a fight at the last possible second to keep her on the phone. It was his little trick and this time Gwyn wasn’t falling for it.
“Even if there was, it’s none of your business anymore. Stop calling me. I mean it. This is my best friends wedding. It has nothing to do with you.”
And then she hung up before he could argue, silencing her phone just for good measure. He wouldn’t stop calling until he was given an answer that satisfied him. It was clear he meant to make this vacation all about him and if Gwyn wasn’t so worried he’d call Nesta and start more problems, she would have blocked him entirely.
Azriel offered her his full attention. “Did he really ask if you went to the gym?” His tone was dark and angry, like he was personally offended on her behalf. Men, she grumbled privately, rising from her chair.
“Like you wouldn’t worry the same,” she said, taking her irritation out on him. Azriel followed her back into the bedroom, closing the door behind them quietly.
“If you want to work out, I know just the thing,” he said, catching her from behind and pulling her into his body. One hand slid up her stomach to cup her breast, tugging at the nipple.
“Aren’t you wrung out?” she asked, thinking once again of Jonathon. Once was always enough, and good enough to wait several days in between. He thought constant fucking was pedestrian which had always bothered Gwyn, given her sex drive was pretty high.
Azriel’s laugh was dark. “Hardly. It’s been four hours and I find I’m ravenous again.”
Jesus Christ he was so hot. Gwyn twisted in his hold, facing him in the dark.
“And if I did want to work out…how would you help?”
“I’d bounce you on my cock until you were breathless and coated in sweat,” he replied easily, nipping her earlobe with his teeth. “And then I’d flip you over and start again. Ass in the air, face in the pillow.”
Her legs were practically shaking while he pulled that tank top back over her head. Hands replaced the fabric, sliding up her skin to cup her breasts.
“Is that all?” she asked breathlessly, arching into his touch. Azriel ground his cock against her ass, already erect. Tweaking at her nipple, he chuckled darkly.
“Not impressed? Tell me if I embarrass you.”
He gave her no time to offer a quippy response. Azriel’s hand wrapped around her throat as he turned her around, kissing her roughly while his fingers pressed against her windpipe. Gwyn didn’t think she’d ever been so wet in her life, and Azriel had barely touched her.
Settling between her legs, he rolled his hips, letting his erection rub between the fabric. It was what she needed, the friction lighting up her brain. She raked her fingers through his dark, thick hair, tugging at the strands until he groaned. Hardly unaffected, she thought smugly. There was something thrilling about whatever was happening between them. It was devoid of the usual awkwardness that came with dating—Azriel didn’t like her beyond her body, which meant Gwyn didn’t have to worry if he thought she was weird or too freaky or whatever other things got in her way.
She could yank at his pants, demanding he reveal his gorgeous cock and he didn’t make her feel bad about it. He merely repaid the favor, all but ripping off her shorts before flipping them over so she could sink against the heavy, thick length of him. Gwyn exhaled a slow breath of relief, letting him fill her to the point of splitting.
“Fuck,” he panted beneath her, hands holding her hips. “You’re so fucking tight.”
She didn’t care—men always said that. What Gwyn cared about was that first wet slide of his cock as he lifted her up only to yank her back down. He treated her carelessly, like she was something durable, something that didn’t break so easily. He fucked her the way she’d so often tried to get Jonathon to with little success.
It made her like Azriel, in a weird way. Like he saw beyond whatever existed externally and just understood instinctively they wanted the same things. Or maybe Gwyn was merely projecting that long held crush and Azriel didn’t give a fuck whether she enjoyed herself or not, so long as she was.
“I’m going to fill you up and fuck you again,” he whispered, pulling her out of her thoughts. “Everyone’s going to think you’re jetlagged, but you’ll know, won’t you?”
She whimpered, her tits bouncing in time with his vicious thrusts. She had her nails pressed so tight against his chest she might have drawn blood.
He didn’t seem to care, if his bruising touch was any indication. Not when his thumb met the apex of her thighs, rubbing over her slick clit like he’d done in the bathroom. It was all so second nature to him, getting her off like it was his only pleasure in life. Gwyn had been half prepared to fake it, had already begun to before he started rubbing. Their eyes met and she realized he knew what she was up to.
“Not with me,” he growled. “If I’m doing something you don’t like, you need to tell me.”
“Okay,” she breathed, heart pounding in her throat. Had anyone ever been hotter before that moment? She didn’t think so. Not when she came around him with a soft cry and certainly not when he pulled her off him just as he’d promised to put her on her hands and knees.
The change in position made her toes curl, her body lock. Azriels cock was massive, thick enough it made her ache and long enough he was all but banging up against the natural barrier of her body. He wielded it not like a weapon despite each punching thrust, but like a tool meant to drag every inch of pleasure from her.
And god it was working. Azriel wrapped her hair around his fist, arching her neck so he could squeeze again. Teeth scraped over her skin as he whispered, “Are you going to be my good girl and come for me again?”
She clenched hard around him, whining her assent. Gwyn, who had never once come from penetration alone, was writhing as the head of his cock slid over and over and over against some soft part of her pussy, touching as if it were his tongue against his clit.
She came with a strange, jerking violence, overwrought and too-sensitive.
“Please—”
“You’ll take what I give you,” he replied, too breathless to be truly believable. Gwyn buried her face in the bed, coming a third time as Azriel did for the first, groaning loudly as he pushed deep inside her.
“Fuck me,” he whispered, sounding as if he’d just run a marathon. She looked at the clock on the nightstand, a holdover from a time where people didn’t carry phones in their pocket.
4:50.
She swallowed. It felt like five minutes.
He pushed her into the bed, pulling out and unwrapping the condom she hadn’t even realized he’d been wearing. Hardly a positive sign, given she hadn’t even really known him for longer than a day.
“Want breakfast?” he whispered into the rapidly lightning dark, pulling her against his body when he collapsed to the bed. “I’m starving.”
“I have something you can eat,” she said without thinking about it. Azriel turned his head, grinning.
“Don’t mind if I do.”
By the time Gwyn and Azriel made their way out of the their shared suit, it was nearly eight in the morning. Azriel had gone down on her, taking his sweet ass time given she’d just come three times on his cock—and then again when she tried to shower, he’d fucked her up against the glass, massive hand wrapped around her slim throat.
It seemed like they weren’t the only ones who’d been up all night having sex. Lucien Vanserra was staring absently at a wall, fork in hand. His broad chest was littered with teeth marks and his hair was suspiciously tangled, as if he’d just managed to get to the buffet–and it had been rough. Elain seemed fine, bright eyed and cheerful, talking to Arina Vanserra animatedly.
Nesta, too, had that same lust fogged look Gwyn prayed she didn’t.
Azriel peeled off to eat with Rhys, casual and unbothered. Like there was nothing strange between them. Like she hadn’t eaten her out until she all but saw God. It left Gwyn to drop beside Nesta and put her head on Nesta’s shoulder.
“Sleep well?”
“Enough,” Gwyn agreed, wishing she could tell Nesta this. It was Nesta’s wedding and Gwyn would be damned if she fucked it up with her personal drama. She very much doubted Azriel, sitting with his back to her four tables away, wanted her to blab all about their very casual arrangement, besides.
“I got none. It’s like Cassian doesn’t need sleep,” Nesta grumbled, watching her fiance join Rhys and Azriel at their table. All three of them were shirtless and tattooed and had captured the attention of half the women in the room without ever meaning to. Both Gwyn and Nesta fell silent for a moment, drinking in the muscular forms of the men eating, totally oblivious that they were the object of a lot of different fantasies.
Gwyn hadn’t thought it was possible to feel any more arousal. Her pussy was all but bruised from Azriel’s attention and yet she still found herself imagining herself laid out before him, his own personal feast.
“I need to go into town,” Nesta told Gwyn, a frown on her face. “They are short some of the liquor we ordered. I don’t want to ask Eris for it, so–”
“I’ll go,” Gwyn said quickly. “Don’t worry about it. Just give me a list, I’ve got this covered.”
Nesta’s face collapsed with relief. “Really?”
“What good is your maid of honor if I let you run yourself ragged. Give me your list and then join Cassian out on the beach.”
Nesta nodded. “I’ll text it to you, Split it with Azriel, while you’re at it. I know Cassian won’t make him do anything but shots while we’re down here.”
Gwyn glanced back to Az, who turned his head, having caught them talking about him. “What’s his deal, anyway?” she asked when he turned back around.
Nesta was smiling, likely at Cassian though Gwyn was still staring at the bunching muscles in Azriel’s tattooed back.
Nesta shrugged. “He’s just…Az. I don’t know how else to describe him. Why?”
God, Gwyn could never admit that her crush on Azriel was back in full force. Nesta would try and play matchmaker, and where would that leave Gwyn? Embarrassed. She bet Az had a line of women down the block, all waiting on him.
“He’s just quiet.”
“God, did he go in and immediately lock himself in his room?”
Hardly.
“Yeah,” she replied, unsure what else she could say. Certainly not that he’d been in bed with her all night. It didn’t matter. Gwyn’s phone rang shrilly, drawing Azriel’s attention back to her and Nesta’s attention away from Az. They both peered down at the screen.
“Jonathon?” Nesta asked. “What’s he want?”
Her heart pounded anxiously in her chest. There was no escaping him, not after this morning. She needed to just face the music.
“Send me your list,” Gwyn said, rising from her chair. She could feel Azriel’s eyes burning against her skin. “I’ll be back.”
Gwyn answered the phone just outside the hall. Warm, morning air slid over her skin as she said, “Hello?”
“Are you awake now, Gwyneth?”
God, she thought she hated him in that moment. “Or should I try again in five hours?”
“You should stop calling,” she hissed, walking towards the massive courtyard where the fountain stood. “Like I’ve asked you repeatedly.”
“I need to talk to you. Is now a good time?”
“No!” she exclaimed angrily. “I’m trying to help Nesta with her wedding and yet somehow, I’m still worrying about you! You have managed to make this vacation all about you! What could you possibly—”
Her phone was pulled from her hand before she could finish. Azriel, shirtless, beautiful Azriel, put her phone to his ear.
“You don’t understand the word no?” he asked in that deep, dark voice of his. He didn’t wait for Jonathon to respond. “Let me explain. It means no. Don’t call her again.”
He hung up before Gwyn could warn him. Instead, she smacked him in his rock hard stomach. “Why would you do that?”
“Because I hate him,” Azriel replied smoothly. “And you’re too nice.”
“I don’t think either of them are good reasons,” she snapped. “He’s going to keep calling–”
“Might as well give him my number, then. He can beg me for a date.”
She looked up at him, drinking in his unwavering confidence with a mixture of awe and irritation. “I didn’t think he was your type.”
Azriel smirked. “You don’t know everything about me.”
“I don’t know anything about you,” she said with exasperation, yanking her phone back out of his hand. Already, she had a text from Jonathon.
I know that wasn’t Cassian. Are you seeing someone?
She ignored it. “Are you asking to get to know me? You only have to ask.”
“Don’t do that again,” she warned. “You just cause problems.”
Azriel’s easy going smile slid off his face. “Fuck—I’m sorry.”
Gwyn stood there, blinded by the early morning sun, staring up at him. She was waiting for him to qualify that apology, to offer some excuse. Instead, Azriel waited to see if she’d forgive him.
Gwyn blinked. “It’s fine. You were trying to help.”
“Don’t be so easy on me,” he murmured, his eyes so uncomfortably soft. Like he liked her. Gwyn was projecting and she knew it would only get hurt if she couldn’t find something wrong with him.
“You want to help? Nesta has a list of things she needs done. You could help me with that.”
Azriel grinned.
“Hand it over.”
AZRIEL:
Azriel had told Gwyn to meet him in front of the resort but he hadn’t told her why. She found out that evening, stepping out of the sliding glass doors with wide, teal eyes. She was so fucking pretty it made his chest ache. It had been a day running around and checking on their venue, harassing Eris Vanserra while he tried to feel up his wife, and a bunch of other little tasks he didn’t care about.
What he cared about was the red haired woman doing it with him. Gwyn was filled with information about Nesta—and occasionally Cassian—and if he was careful, would tell him about her, too. Nothing deep—she taught history at Velaris University, which Azriel had thought was a pretty nice university, though he didn’t dare ask. She’d told him about her syllabus, as if Azriel knew jack shit about antiquity.
He bet she would have told him if he’d asked, though. Gwyn was very clearly passionate about history. He liked that more than he was willing to admit. Every girl he spent significant time with wanted to talk about was her socials and what she did to maintain them. He knew Gwyn had an instagram because he’d started following her that afternoon, but it was hardly curated and he knew she wasn’t making money off it.
She halted, letting him check her out in her short shorts and her white top that revealed fair skin every time she took a breath. Her hair spilled over her shoulders, catching copper in the bright sunlight.
“What is that?” she asked. Azriel looked down at the motorcycle he’d managed to dig out, spending far too much money hoping to impress her. He couldn’t tell if it was working.
“It’s a bike,” he replied, working hard to make himself sound casual and cool when in truth he felt nervous as fuck. “You coming still?”
“On that?”
He looked back and the sleek black and red bike sitting silent just behind before offering her up a helmet. “Do you want to walk?”
“No, but…” she bit her bottom lip. “Is it safe?”
“It is if I’m driving it. I can drive anything,” he added, bragging just a little. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
She hesitated, fingers twitching before she took that helmet. Azriel caught her hand.
“Trust me,” he added softly.
Magic words. Gwyn nodded, jamming that helmet onto her head with a smile. “If we die, I’m going to haunt you.”
“I’ll be dead, too,” he reminded her. “So we’ll just be hanging out in the after-life.”
She wrapped her arms around his torso, poking him in the side. “I’ll make you miserable for all eternity, then.”
“You could try,” he replied, revving the engine to life. It was so loud, the smoke from the back nearly choking them both and yet she was on that seat, pressed tight against him and that was all he’d wanted. An excuse to touch her without being obvious.
They left the resort behind and Azriel showed off just a little, weaving in and out of traffic like it was nothing, if only to feel her hold him tighter. He knew he was down bad, that he needed to get himself together before he did something utterly foolish.
But fuck, when was the last time anyone had made him feel like this? Giddy and happy, like he had literal butterflies living in his gut? It was his endless problem—he always fell too hard, too fast. She was still dealing with her ex and he was trying to figure out how to convince her he was worth her time.
The island was bigger than he’d thought and built on a steep, long-dominant volcanic slope. As they rode into the dusky evening, they passed a winery Azriel very much intended to bring her back to just as soon as he had a good enough reason to do so. They passed farmers herding sheep before they were back in the main city, if it could even be called that. No time seemed to have passed, except for the people on the cobblestone streets that moved about in jeans and cotton blends. Azriel nearly crashed, craning his neck to look up at the spire tower of massive black church set in the middle of the city square, momentarily awed by the construction.
He wasn’t the only one. He could feel Gwyn twisting this way and that, looking at the terracotta houses and the vibrant awnings hanging in front of restaurants that were likely centuries old. He was pleased to have brought her, even if they were trying to use Vanserra’s money to place a very expensive order of champagne.
He cut the engine in front of the vendor, pulling his helmet off with what he hoped was elegant grace Gwyn hopped off, too, flipping her hair out of the helmet carelessly. His cock immediately stirred to life, the image branded in his brain. Her bright, happy smile soothed that wildness and dragged him back to reality.
“That was fun,” she breathed, pressing a hand to his chest. He caught her wrist, pulling her in for a soft kiss.
“You should see me in the states, if you liked that,” he breathed, too stupid for his own good. Gwyn didn’t flinch away, didn’t do anything but look up at him with those ocean blue eyes.
“Yeah? I think I might like that.”
He could have floated away. He kissed her again, slowly–like he had the right to. “I’ll hold you to that,” he murmured, releasing her despite every instinct begging him not to.
She smiled and when he put his hand on her shoulder, guiding her into the old building, Gwyn didn’t pull away. They looked like lovers, like they’d come not because their two best friends had accidentally fallen in love, but because they’d fallen in love.
He wanted that reality so badly it made his teeth ache.
The owner spoke decent English which was lucky given neither he nor Gwyn spoke a word of Italian. Negotiations seemed to move smoother when Azriel pulled out the car Eris had given them and slid it over an mahogany counter. Gwyn had written out the number of cases of champagne Nesta wanted and google translate helped them with the rest. They’d offered up the address, but Azriel suspected he and Rhys might have to come back, maybe with the younger Vanserra, to carry cases of liquor into a rental van.
“Want to get dinner?” he asked her impulsively when they finished, high on both his success and spending an evening in Italy with the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Gwyn looked around, pointing just down the street to a patio illuminated by hanging string lights.
It was romantic as shit. That was Azriel’s real problem. He had no idea how to wine and dine a woman outside of the bedroom. His good looks did most of the work for him, maybe a shallow thing to admit given Gwyn had such an interesting personality. She’d worked for it and Az…well, he had his six pack, didn’t he?
They settled in an outdoor patio, sitting across from one another and surveying the menu. It was helpfully in English and Italian. She ordered pasta.
Azriel ordered a pizza. He couldn’t help himself. When in Rome, right?
“So,” Gwyn began, lips pressed to a glass of wine. “What happened after school?”
He held his own glass in his hand. “What do you mean?”
“Rhys and Cassian went to college,” she began, unaware of his stomach immediately began to sink. Here it was. All the reasons he wasn’t right for her, starting with that diploma. He’d heard it all before. “And you were on the soccer team with Lucien, weren’t you?”
He scoffed. “I was good but Vanserra was…”
He could begrudgingly admit Vanserra was great. Gwyn took a drink, waiting for him to respond. Azriel took a breath, swallowing the urge to snap at her.
“My mom got sick,” he admitted. “And I’m good with cars. I meant to go, but after a year at the shop I figured what was the point? I was already doing what I liked and a degree wasn’t going to change that.”
“How many shops do you have?” she asked, catching him by surprise. Interest shone in those teal eyes and Azriel, so used to women trying to cajole him into feeling bad about skipping out on a mountain of debt for a business degree, didn’t respond immediately.
“Four. Five, if we keep up our metrics through the year.”
“That’s incredible,” she breathed. “You must be so proud.”
He was. Azriel nodded, certain he must look like a cartoon character with its heart beating outside its chest. Could she see it? Azriel was so fucked, saved only by a waiter dropping off their food.
Gwyn took a bite of her food, noodles wrapped around a fork. Her eyes fluttered shut and Azriel had to cross his legs to keep his cock from stirring to life.
“Taste good?” he asked, leaning forward on his elbows breathlessly. He didn’t even realize he’d put himself in his pizza, staining the sleeve of his shirt, until her eyes snagged on the mistake.
He wasn’t embarrassed.
“How do you do that?” she asked him curiously.
“Do what?” he replied, thinking she meant his careless actions.
“Make everything so unspeakably hot?”
Oh.
“You think my elbow in sauce is unspeakably hot?” he teased.
“No, that was dorky as fuck. Thank you for reminding me you’re still a mere mortal. I meant the way you talk.”
He waited expectantly for her to follow that up.
Gwyn sighed. “Taste good?” She mimicked his voice, trying to sound sultry while making him sound like a serial killer. Azriel laughed, head thrown back.
Gwyn crossed her arms over her chest. “Well, it’s not exactly like that.”
Azriel couldn’t smother his smile as he leaned forward again, this time avoiding his food which he very much intended to eat just as soon as she stopped being so unbearably cute.
“For the record,” he said softly, catching the way she shivered despite the warmth. “You taste incredible.”
“Jesus Christ,” she whispered. “We’re in public, Az.”
“Eat your dinner, Gwyn, so I can eat mine.”
She narrowed her eyes but Azriel was satisfied. He’d eat his food.
