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#since the whole point was that the galaxy was empty of hope and fighting a losing battle up until. you know. ''a new hope''

free-imaginations-for-you · 9 months

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DIMMED LIGHT

ONE SHOT

Kim Taehyung x female Reader

In this absence of any noise, i felt a very great comfort. It was so quiet you could hear my heartbeat taking on the melody of the rainbeat with every drop that splattered down the car on this rainy night. I still could not believe it, how could he do such a tumult in the restaurant, because his delusional self thought that the waiter was flirting with me. Honestly I must admit that his protective side was always a trait that drew me to him but that strong emotion mixed with the uneasiness he had felt within himself for several weeks, like him and I were moving away from each other, like he could be replaced within a blink of eye, was a deadly poison.

„Who the fuck do you think you are?“ was the last thing he spit with an evil smirk in his face, his eyes burning with pure anger. Everything happened so fast, the next thing I saw was Taehyung's fist slamming merciless into the waiter's face with full force. The awful noise is still in my ears, making me flinch whenever I imagine the scene in front of me. To be honest it‘s not the first time that such thing happened, but he vowed me to control hisself, he promised me that even when he has his outburst I never had to fear him. His outburst tonight was different from the ones I witnessed before. I can’t get it of my mind, how empty and lifeless his eyes were when they met mine while i tried with all my might to calm him down, to prevent the situation from escalating. Actually he was aware I was scared to death, he knew that I get anxious whenever someone get’s in a physical fight. It’s not like he didn’t know how upsetting this situation was for me, but he simply choose not to care about my feelings neither my wellbeing. In this moment he just wanted to prove a point, to me, to the waiter, to the restaurant, to the whole world.

It’s not a surprise that we‘ve had a tense situation for weeks, neither of us trying to state the obvious, that the spark between us is slowly but surely fading away. Words can not express how happy and exciting I was when he suggested the date in the first place. First of all he wasn’t really the romantic lovely dovley type to organize a candlelight dinner for the two of us. So in my irrational mind I thought that this would be the perfect opportunity for me to remind myself of all his good qualities which is why i fell in love with him, really hoping that the guy i fell in love with four years ago is still there waiting for me to put him out of the the dark. It feels like the Taehyung i fell in love with is gone since the day he put this personal success above all else. I‘ve always admired his ambition, but often it feels like he‘s a bird flying higher and higher, without looking back what he‘s leaving behind and I have no choice but to watch him fly from my golden cage that i had unconsciously built for myself since the day i vowed to be there for him no matter what.

Maybe it was the way he knew exactly what to say to me with those sugar sweet little lies or maybe it was me who was willing to believe every lie he told me, like an idiot closing my eyes to the most obvious thing. The way he had the power to destroy every fibre of self confidence and self love i had in me. Making me doubt myself, making me feel like the lowest version of myself. He made me feel so high above the sky, giving me the feeling of protection, love and respect. Actually slowly but surely he made me forget the beauty of the rise, because the feeling of the freefall was an hundred times worse. One positive thing came out of this situation, the fact that he put me through this made me, made me realize that I won‘t let this happen ever again. Not now, not tomorrow, not in an hundred years. Believe it or not, I made up my mind, no force in the world, no-black magic, not even his sprakling brown eves that promised me whole universes and galaxies, could revent me from putting my wishes and wellbeing first. The raindrops hit the ground loudly and relentlessly on this stormy and rainy night, instead of the tears that i vowed not to let fall. Even the cloudy and dark weather was on my side, it felt like the whole word was sharing the feeling of sadness and loneliness with me with every raindrop that fell on the cold ground.

It felt like forever but we‘ve arrived at the apartment. Not a word left our lips since the moment we left the restaurant. In all honesty I wasn‘t even ready to face him, to look him in the eyes after everything he put me through tonight. The second we entered the apartment, I made my way to the couch, I didn't even have the strength to take off my shoes nether my coat nor turn on the light. This darkness gave me a familiarity and comfort, it’s sad to say that’s the way i spend the last couple of weeks waiting for Taehyung to return home. No to be more precise I waited every night in darkness with the hope that he will enlighten the apartment with the light that his old self carried within him. It’s time to wake up from my dream and face reality, the light within him dimmed down, there is not much left of his old self.

„It not my fault, he should‘ve known what he got into the moment he started undressing you with his filthy eyes.“ he stated monotonous in a low voice while standing at the doorframe crossing his arms. „He was not flirting nor undressing me with his eyes, he was simply being polite. If you would pay attention to something other than your self for once in your life, you would have notice that he was like that with all the costumers there.“ I countered as i leaned back at the couch with a firm but calm voice, feeling tired and drained out from this messy situation. „I couldn‘t fucking care less how he acted with other women. What i don‘t tolerate is the fact he could not take his eyes off what‘s mine.“ he said angrily not understanding why you would try to defend him.

„Are you even listening to yourself? First of all i‘m not your possession and secondly just admit that you just wanted to make a point and show everyone that no one can mess with you and you enjoyed the feeling of megalomania, that you‘ve gotten used to over the last few months at my fucking expense, without wasting a fucking thought on how I felt the whole time.“ i voiced out my voice nearly breaking, feeling like every word i uttered turned to smoke slowly fading away, not even reaching him. „That‘s not true and you fucking know it.“ he said feeling hurt, trying his best not to give weight to the words you just spit. To say that he was unaffected by your statement would be a lie. The only way Taehyung could prevent himself from shutting out completely and distancing himself, was by making you feel the crushing grief he is feeling deep inside his heart. „Don’t you think that if you would know your fucking boundaries from the beginning we wouldn‘t be here in the first place. Do I have to remind you whenever we leave the door that you are in a relationship? Stop being „nice“ to every fucking male you meet, that‘s making you look so fucking pathetic.“ he screamed his voice getting louder and louder with every word coming out of his mouth, the pure sarcasm in his voice while saying the word nice didn’t go unnoticed by me. His eyes were filled with pure rage and pain. I shook my head closing my eyes not wanting to believe that he could say such hurtful things to me.

„We are over.“ i simply said those 3 words that have been lingering in my mind for so long, while standing up from the couch, feeling like a weight was lifted off my soulders. „What do you mean?“ he asked feeling panic and anxiety starting to grow inside his thorax. „I‘m so done with the way you‘ve been treating me the last couple of months I deserve so much better than this.“ i stated while pointing at us. „I gave you everything I had inside of me and you gave me nothing but pain in return. You are not the Taehyung i fell in love with, you are not the person I vowed to love, to look after, to never leave and let go anymore. Actually you don’t respect me nether do you love me after all those words you said to me and I can‘t continue this relationship for another moment.“ i confessed what I had in my mind for so long, finally making up my mind for good. He felt his heart shatter, making it impossible for him to utter a word while watching you leave the door. The best thing that ever happened to him left and he couldn‘t do nothing but watch you leave.

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thegingerwrites · 8 months

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"Really, Anakin?"

Anakin turns to Obi-Wan, unable to keep the grin from his face. "What?"

"That is not how I taught you."

Anakin laughs, still buzzing with the thrill of the fight. He feels more alive than he has since he died. "That's not not how you taught me."

Obi-Wan is referring to the violence of his conversation with Ahsoka, chiding him for resorting to the language of weapons before words. He and Obi-Wan had one chance for this conversation, whereas Ahsoka it seems will have two. Anakin opened his eyes in death to see Obi-Wan's face. The first thing he heard was his voice.

The last lesson of Anakin's life, learning to become one with the Force, was also one of violence. A flood of emotions passed through the two of them like a storm. They didn't come to blows as Anakin did with Ahsoka, but they wielded grief and rage and love like swords. Anakin fell into Obi-Wan's arms wrung out and empty, both of their faces streaked with tears, and at last, he was ready.

"There was a different lesson she needed to learn," Anakin says.

When Anakin died, he needed to understand the balance he had achieved. The dark and the light, Darth Vader and Anakin Skywalker, not separate but two parts of a whole. His legacy would be one of death and war but not those alone. His legacy would also be one of love.

Ahsoka needed something else. True, she needed to recognize her place in their lineage, the one stretching back through him and Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon and Dooku. True, she needed to grieve her place in the war and the terrible lessons it taught her. But what Anakin hoped to teach her most of all was that she needed to move forward, to continue on the path set before her. That for all the pain and anguish entwined in their story there is also good. Teachings that deserve to live on.

And hasn’t that always been the most important thing Anakin tried to teach her? How to keep moving when things are hard. How to live in a galaxy that seems to care very little for peace and still do all the good that one can. How to fight, always, for what one believes in.

“It seems you were effective.” Obi-Wan studies both him and, in his mind's eye, Ahsoka as she moves forward in the living world. "Sometimes I forget that despite your unorthodox methods, you are in fact, a good teacher."

Anakin ducks his head but smiles. “Thank you.”

“It will take time certainly and there’s no telling how things will turn out but I am glad you’ve both gotten to this point.”

In life, Obi-Wan was rarely this open with him. His approval was something Anakin strived for constantly, even at times despite himself, but was rarely certain he achieved. To know now that Obi-Wan is proud of him, that he has done well and learned everything that Obi-Wan had to teach him, makes him feel lighter than he has ever known.

Accepting himself and his legacy as more than the twenty-five years of fear and darkness he knew for the latter half of his life was difficult. Allowing himself to believe that choosing the light at the end of his life might be enough for him to deserve this, to deserve peace, seemed impossible at first.

But that is something he has learned about teaching: sometimes explaining oneself to others means better understanding the lesson oneself.

“She seems happier, doesn’t she?” Anakin asks.

He too can see Ahsoka as she sets out to do what should be impossible. Traveling beyond the known limits of the galaxy to do her duty, to do what is right, and managing it in ways that beggar belief. When they met, he told her she looked old. He meant it mostly as a joke but somehow, despite the intervening years, he can’t help but picture her permanently as his teenage padawan. Seeing her as the strong woman she has become, how much of her journey he missed, makes his heart ache. Since their talk, since he has had the chance to look at her life more closely, he thinks that she looks younger now. That some of the grief she has worn like a cloak for decades has been cast aside.

Obi-Wan offers him a fond look. “She does.”

There is no telling what Ahsoka will do with the knowledge Anakin has imparted. If she will succeed in her mission, protect the galaxy, and defend the fragile balance of the Force. Anakin isn’t worried though. She has the Force to guide her and now she’s ready to listen.

“I used to think she was more than I deserved as a legacy,” Anakin admits.

“And now?”

A test, to make sure Anakin too has learned his lesson. “What we deserve has no bearing on the way our destinies play out. Our actions are what matter. The decisions we make, all of them, determine the impression we leave behind. How others interpret our lives is beyond our control, something we leave to the Force.”

Obi-Wan clasps his shoulder tightly. “Exactly so.”

He’ll see her again someday. The choice he offered her, to live or die, was a sincere one. She could have chosen to give up, to give in, and that would have been alright too. Ahsoka has spent her entire life fighting.

Whenever she decides that the end has come, whenever that decision is made for her, she will have more than earned her rest. This was not the end of the lesson and Anakin looks forward to their next meeting.

#ahsoka spoilers #ahsoka series #ahsoka tv #ahsoka #sw ahsoka #i know everyone and their mother has thoughts about this last episode #but so do i!#and this is probably only scratches the surface of my episode thoughts #i loved it so much #anakin skywalker

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no-droids · 4 years

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Rumors, Freebies, and a Race for Last Place

Part Two of The Bet series

Pairing: Poe Dameron/Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 22.5K DONT say shit alright just don’t

Warnings: Okay. There is degradation in this, some name calling and heated interactions. There is a LOT of smut, dirty talk and rough sex. If these things offend you, please do not continue reading.

***

It’s recommended to read part one first.

***

Getting into the x-wings is always fun.

It actually might be your favorite part. Granted, alarm bells ringing and thousands of jumpsuits scrambling in all directions is never typically a good thing, but there’s also an inherent rush about it, a thrill in launching up the metal paneling as quick as you can and suiting up to provide aid. It’s a side-effect of camaraderie, of being surrounded by like-minded individuals willing to do everything they can to help. You never feel like you’re going to your death, even though that’s often the grim reality for at least one of you on a good day. There’s always a roaring in your ears while you do it, adrenaline sharpening your senses and preparing yourself for conflict, not thinking anything beyond gogogogogo—

But getting out of the x-wing is… not great. At least for you. It’s sluggish. Your body is always completely drained and you never come out of it feeling the same way you went in. Even in times of victory, there’s a somberness inside you after battle. As much as you tell yourself you’re fighting for good, for prosperity against an evil machine hellbent on enslaving the galaxy, there’s only so many explosions lighting up in front of your eyes and screams cutting out through your comms you can take before winning just doesn’t really feel like winning anymore. Most pilots are able to handle it better than you are, but since you joined the Resistance, you’ve never truly felt the desire to celebrate. Not even when you serve a massive, glaring defeat to the other side. There’ll always be at least one missing x-wing, one empty seat at the table, one person not here to celebrate with you.

You came back in one piece this time. Barely.

The whole mission went sideways—literally. You’d purposefully stationed the tandem just outside the coordinates you were meant to be surveilling so that you’d be hidden from sight and dead to the scanners should the fleet arrive, but something must’ve happened. You must’ve powered down a few seconds too early after he turned the thrusters off, because apparently the ship drifted in dead space for close to eight hours without either of you noticing, having no working computers to actively read your location and correct it. You were sitting ducks right in the hyperspace drop zone by the time the First Order showed up, and by that point you had no choice but to engage.

“Gold-Ten,” a voice murmurs from behind you, and you blink, suddenly seeing the base landing platform stretching out long in front of you, hundreds of docking ships and boisterous pilots scrambling out of them to hug their comrades and congratulate them even as medics rush past with white coats and gurneys. They’re never for the pilots, but they dispatch healers anyways whenever a convoy returns in case a straggler gets picked up. There’s an unspoken understanding in space battle—pilots never get injured. They either come back unharmed, or they don’t come back at all.

Dameron.

You turn around and watch him slowly approach you with an unreadable expression, his jumpsuit still bunched halfway down his torso. The once bright white sleeveless undershirt is now greasy and damp with sweat, his dark curls sticking to his forehead. He winces with every bow-legged step—you know the feeling—before he’s standing directly in front of you and something is carefully being pulled out of your hands. You didn’t even realize you were holding onto anything.

Your helmet. You forgot to leave it in the x-wing, and you’ve been carrying it around under your arm aimlessly while mentally checking off the squadrons as they return, counting the numbers you lost today while everybody else hugs and whoops and claps each other on the back.

It’s not as bad as you were expecting it was going to be, not as bad as it seemed just an hour earlier when you were listening to Dameron bellow out evasive flight maneuvers a millisecond before he enacted them and you adjusted your firing at the TIEs accordingly. You used to think you were quick with how rapidly you could suit up and fly out, drop in to assist and engage, but on the other side, it felt like your reinforcements lollygagged for ages before arriving. You were left to defend against an entire fleet in one stupid ship, more lines of TIEs sinking like flies from launch decks every second.

“Gold-Ten,” you hear again, and you blink a few times, needing to focus your vision before you can find his gaze.

Dameron’s palm, previously hovering a few inches above your shoulder, suddenly drops to spread along the curve of it and you take a deep breath, almost wanting to shudder at the feeling of something touching you. You channel all your focus into it, feel his fingers branch out strong along the tight muscles in your neck, giving you an anchor you automatically lean into.

You and him are no strangers to touching. Before today it was mostly reserved to poking and prodding and flicking and light slapping in an effort to piss each other off, but now… you can’t even think about it right now, your body will just fucking glitch out on you. After everything that just happened, you cannot think about where else that hand has been recently, not right now.

“You did… you did really fucking good today,” he tells you quietly, slowly trailing his hand down the length of your entire arm until he catches your wrist and a few of your fingers in his loose grip. “Seriously. That was… we were…”

His touch is so present, so reassuring. Grounding, when all your mind wants is to just float away. You glance down at where his fingers are gently tangled with yours and you feel your hand tighten just slightly, the smallest squeeze while he blinks down at you.

“We almost died, like… every single second,” you barely manage to croak, not really having the words to express it right now. You always need at least an hour or two after missions like this to just sit in one place and regroup. Usually you find yourself wandering back to your room to lay on the bed and stare up at the ceiling while you consider your own mortality, but Dameron interrupted you this time before you could process it by yourself. “We…” Your voice sounds absolutely shredded. “W-We shouldn’t even be alive right now.”

“I know,” he nods in soft agreement, taking a small step closer to you. “But we are alive. Hey.” He dips his head as soon as your gaze starts to drift, catching your eyes once more and drawing your attention back to the present with a squeeze of your hand. “We’re alive, right? Be alive with me.”

You take a big breath in and close your eyes, feeling the oxygen fill your lungs once more, but this time, it’s… restorative. A wonderful, beautiful reminder of your existence. You’re alive. Usually the word just feels like a synonym for persevering. Pushing onwards despite trials and tribulations, not looking back. But the way he says it, especially with his hand in yours and a quiet invitation to tag along, it sounds… breathtaking. Full of light, and hope. It suddenly leaves the dim shadows and slides into a completely different category of feelings, feelings you’d never imagine being able to conjure so quickly after such a close brush with death. Alive—it slots right in next to words like colorful, radiant, sunshine, and butterflies. Enchanting words, ones you’d like to hear again and again.

Your eyes slowly open and there he is, the man you were sure was going to accompany you to the afterlife. You were stuck with Poe Dameron in one of the closest calls you can remember, and strangely, his presence was nothing if not… a comfort. For the first time in your life, you were grateful he was there.

You open your mouth, suddenly feeling the needy, unfounded urge to tell him that. “I’m gla—”

“Dameron!” You hear a series of voices call from somewhere to your left, and he immediately drops your hand to whip his body around and place himself directly between you and the approaching onlookers, using his large frame to hide you from their sight.

“What’s up, Briggs?” Dameron projects to one pilot in particular that seems to be leading the group, his back oddly close to you in this position. Your fingers still feel tingly from where he was holding onto them.

A chorus of congratulatory, “Nice flying, Captain!” and the like can be heard floating through the air from beyond his shoulders, before the leader speaks loudly over them. “Hey—me, Seven, Six, and Twelve were gonna grab some drinks in the mess hall with a few of the Blue girls,” he tells Dameron, slowing to a stop as soon as he sees you standing awkwardly behind him. “Oh hey, Goldie.”

You lift a hand and clear the remainder of the dissociation from your throat, not knowing him well enough beyond the squadron he and his group fly with. “Greenies.”

“Anyways, I guess they wanted to know if you’d come too. These idiots are convinced they’re never gonna give us the time of day unless you—”

“Uh—fine, whatever, just give me a few minutes alright?” Dameron quickly assures him with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I’ll meet up with you guys later.”

A few of them take turns giving him heavy claps on the shoulder and acclamatory words before the group eventually disperses, and he waits a few more seconds for their attention to fully scatter in another direction before turning back to you.

Shit, he’s standing really close. Why is he so close to you? You take a step back and blink up at him, the noises of the landing deck gradually amplifying back up to normal volume as you retreat back into your own space. Since when did he have that effect on you? You suddenly feel wide awake, and the chorus of happy chaos surrounding you is something you’re finally able to take in. You knew it was happening before, but it was like it just existed outside of the creeping numbness. Now, the knot of internal turmoil has untied itself a bit and you feel your surroundings start to fight for your direct attention.

Dameron continues to look at you the same exact way, though. Like you’re still the only one here.

You look down at his half-suited figure and blink at the helmet loosely held in one of his hands. Hey. Hey, that’s yours—

“Give me that,” you hiss, suddenly snatching it from his fingertips. “You have people waiting.”

The cutting words serve to snap him out of whatever spell he’s under. Dameron quickly lifts his head and looks around a few times with sharp eyes, before hooking your elbow and twisting you into a complete 180 until your back faces most of the excitement. You resist, immediately trying to push him off you and worried he’s going to confront you about… things, but he’s determined.

He doesn’t say anything to you at all, though. His fingers quickly grasp the baggy fabric of your jumpsuit even as you sputter and start to ask what the fuck he thinks he’s doing, and you glance down just in time to see him yanking the gaping velcro closed at your crotch.

Your cheeks instantly start burning as he tugs and smooths the fabric down until it’s seamless once more, especially when his eyes flick up to yours without moving his head. Fuck, you’re instantly hot with some wicked emotion, a mixture of embarrassment and outrage and… something else. Maker, you almost wish you were numb and disoriented again, if only so you could avoid feeling whatever the fuck this is.

You quite suddenly shove your helmet back into his stomach with an infuriated sound even as he doubles over with a shocked whoosh of air, changing your mind about returning it to the ship yourself before storming off without another word.

***

Okay, so you’ve done some thinking, and. Well. Fuck him, that’s what you’ve decided.

No—not… fuck him. But like, fuck him. You know. In the negative sense of the word. The bad fuck.

There’s a full tray of food sitting in front of you but you’ve so far been unable to touch it. Mostly you’re just wondering why the fuck you’re even here. Well, you know why you’re here—you should eat, it’s dinnertime and this is the mess hall. You’ve been known to skip out on meals after heavy missions, secluding yourself away and just wallowing for a bit, but you… strangely didn’t feel like doing that today. You don’t want to self-isolate when you feel okay enough to avoid it, not again. So you’re here, because the clock says your tummy should want food, but you can’t bring yourself to even look at it.

No, you’re looking at him. Glaring, actually.

Across the mess hall and beyond the transparisteel divider that separates the cafeteria from the bar area, Dameron is all eyebrows and smiles and side nudges and winks right now. You can’t hear him—the sound won’t travel this far, but you can see him situated in the middle of a rowdy group of pilots. He laughs in that disgustingly charming way of his, where his stupidly cute nose scrunches up all cute and stupid and you want to just ask the Maker why he’s doing this shit to you. What have you done to deserve this torture? Sure, you may have willingly agreed to it, even… conceived and propositioned the idea, and sure, absolutely nothing is stopping you from forfeiting and walking away at this exact second, but does that make it okay? No, you’ve decided. It’s not okay. He’s not allowed to… to make you feel like this, so fuck him. In the bad way.

“Just fuck him already,” a voice suddenly grumbles as someone plops down into the seat to your right, plastic trays of food clattering loudly on the table and snapping you out of your reverie. Gold-Sixteen blocks your view as he silently drops into the seat in front of you and wraps his green lekku around his neck a few times before immediately beginning to shovel food into his mouth, while Gold-Three opens her box of blue milk next to you and continues. “The Blues never fucking shut up about it, it’s getting annoying.”

“Don’t listen to her, Dime,” Gold-Eleven tells you, quickly occupying the seat on your left and biting into a crunchy piece of fruit, talking loudly over the chatter even as he chomps. “Rossi just knows her pool is up tomorrow, she doesn’t want to lose any of her precious credits.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Gold-Three immediately snaps, leaning forward and around you to point the prongs of her fork at Eleven threateningly. “Zhang’s pool starts on Sunday.”

“Oh fuck off, you guys are betting on this now?” You groan, shoving your plate away with a flick of your fingers now that you’re certain you’ve completely lost your appetite. Sixteen immediately snatches up one of your bread rolls while Zhang swipes your juice and Rossi goes for a packet of glockaw sauce.

“You’re the one who announced it in front of everybody, we’re just being active spectators,” Rossi returns, ripping the packet and pouring the sauce on her vegetables with a shrug. “How the fuck do you bet against fucking each other though, that’s my question? It’s a paradox, wouldn’t you both just lose at the same time?”

“Dameron and I aren’t going to fuck,” you tell her very slowly and clearly, starting to get a headache. Why is it impossible to avoid this conversation topic, even with an entire Resistance base to roam around in? “Ever. The bet never had anything to do with fucking each other, it’s about not fucking other people.”

“Literally what is the difference?” You hear Rossi ask with her mouth full, but Zhang speaks over her.

“Somebody should probably tell Nine that, she’s the bookie,” he tosses out carelessly, dropping the core of his piece of fruit to his tray before wiping his hands on his jumpsuit. You bury your face in your hands and let out a loud, exhausted sound into your palms, not knowing which response serves to aggravate your already emotionally overloaded ass even more. Nine is the bookie, of fucking course she is. “But hey, if it makes you feel any better, I don’t think any of it actually goes outside of Gold, so.”

“I’ve heard the Blues talking about it, but that’s it,” Rossi chimes in while chewing some of her veggies. “Maybe some Reds. Point is everybody else thinks it’s already happening, honestly.”

“What the fuck,” you whisper, using your knuckles to rub at the backs of your eyes until bright spots appear. Where are stress headaches localized? Are those the ones right under your brow bone? Because stars, you feel it. “Fucking… why? Why do people think that me and Dameron are…?”

Nobody at the table immediately responds, and you drop your hands after a moment to look at each of their astounded faces in turn.

“You fucking serious, bitch?” Rossi blurts first, her voice completely deadpan, and you growl in vexation.

“Have I not been vocal enough about my severe dislik—”

“And yet you kicked Nine out of your room to let him bunk with you,” Zhang immediately suggests.

“You request mission assignments together,” Rossi adds.

“Spend your off-days together,” Zhang continues.

“You’re both really weird about how long it takes the other person to shower,” Rossi tacks onto the list Zhang is now making on his fingers and you shake your head frantically.

“No—no, that’s so that we know neither one of us is cheating,” you try to explain, and you already know it sounds unconvincing without needing the two quick, lofty and sarcastic nods on either side of you. “Showers and off-days are prime masturb—no, you know what? No. I’m tired of the assumptions, I don’t owe anyone shit. This is super fucking uncool of you guys, you know that? It’s insane that this is what counts as gossip in the Resistance nowada—”

“There’s only so much bad news people can take, Ten,” Gold-Sixteen grunts down at his almost finished plate, and all three of you snap your gazes across the table at him. The forest-tinted twi’lek doesn’t speak much, it’s uncommon to hear his voice without distortion over the comms, but you blink as his sharp teeth continue to form words without looking at you. “Quit being so sensitive. Rather bet on this shit than which system is getting demolished next.”

And with that, Sixteen excuses himself with a silent nod, having gobbled down his full plate while you, Three, and Eleven were bickering. You feel your cheeks flare with anger and shame—you didn’t deserve that, you immediately reassure yourself, but the hidden self-doubt the comment sows just further contributes to your upset. You want to call out to his back that just because the First Order exists doesn’t mean you have to put up with your own fucking squadron turning you and your mortal enemy into glorified race fathiers, but he’s already leaving the mess hall while Rossi and Zhang have moved on to other topics, both of them continuing to grab more food from your tray as they talk.

You have a tough shell. But today was… a lot. You bite your lip down at the table against the sudden wave of emotion, blinking quickly to clear the weakness watering your vision.

See, this—this right here is why you use last names. These people aren’t your friends. Betting on who you fuck for laughs, using you as a source of entertainment without your consent just because they’re in the middle of a war, and then guilting you into feeling like you’re the one acting like a stuck up bitch about it? You’re fighting in the same fucking war—you’re on the front lines just like everybody else and nobody gets to lecture you on the devastation of battle. You almost died today. You fought tooth and fucking nail to stay alive and by all accounts, you shouldn’t even be sitting here right now, much less dealing with this childish shit. This is your squadron. These people are supposed to be the ones closest to you out of everyone, the ones you’ve been flying into chaos in formation with for years, and yet not a single damn person has even mentioned your performance to you today, all anyone can ever seem to talk about is—ugh.

Unfortunately, your unobstructed view also allows you to look at the source of your bad mood once more, immediately noticing the way more people have crowded around him now, and the headache continues to throb painfully behind your eyeballs. You were in the same ship, does nobody realize that? You were gunning, he was flying—you were offense, he was defense—that’s the only fucking difference, and yet, it’s like that side of the mess hall is just completely lit up with hearty laughter and music playing from someone’s holopad and congratulatory drinks being passed around, while yours is… well.

You continue to fume inwardly, struggling somewhere between bitter and hurt, and you can see your reflection through the transparisteel giving him a death glare, wondering how many of the people surrounding him have made bets with Nine. How many of his little entourage have their money wagered on Dameron getting in your pants by a specific dat—

You stop short while staring at his handsome face, an infuriating, horrifying thought suddenly striking you. No… no, he wouldn’t…

“Does he know?” You immediately interrupt the chitchat between Three and Eleven to ask with a deadly edge in your voice, tipping your forehead at pretty boy. Ooh, you can already feel it burning. It would be so fucking typical. Oooooh, Maker, if he’s heard even a fucking whisper about this outside wagering going on amongst the pilots, you will fucking smother his ass in his sleep tonight. How could he not know? With as many friends as he has? If you’re just being made aware of it, then it’s a given that somebody has to have told him by now, which just means that it’s all the more possible—shit, even more likely—that he’s… participating, too. You do your best to keep your voice even, but you can hear the quiet fury shaking in it. “The bet about when me and him are gonna fuck, does he know about it?”

“Who—Dameron?” Zhang turns his head. “No, I don’t think s—”

“Yeah,” Rossi says at the exact same time, and your blood instantly turns ice cold as Zhang leans around you to blink at her stupidly.

“No. Yeah? What?” He says, sounding genuinely confused.

“Yeah, remember?” Rossi confirms with a shrug. “Nine was mad as all shit, came at me in the rec room a few weeks ag—fucking Maker, Eleven, you were there.”

“Oh,” Zhang suddenly exhales, “yeah, that’s right. Oh, yeah, Dime, he knows.”

You’re—fuck, you’re about to rampage. You’re burning a fucking hole through Dameron while he converses animatedly with his numerous buddies, waving an open hand and shaking his head at someone with a smile and then gesturing broadly to this side of the transparisteel. His pool is probably up soon, you figure. That’s why he came onto you so strong earlier today. He was going to get two weeks of your pay, plus whatever he must’ve offered up to Nine that says he’d get it to happen within a certain amount of time. Perfect, your old roomie and the arch nemesis you stupidly agreed to trade her for, two asshole peas in an asshole pod.

“—she thought I was the one who told him—” You know Rossi is still talking but you’re not actually hearing any of it. Nobody has any fucking idea. Nobody has any idea what he did to you today, how unbelievably close you were to… to actually… “—was all just for fun, but then he had a few choice words for her and told his squad that if any of them had made a—” You don’t know why you’re so surprised honestly, you should’ve expected…

Wait.

“Wait,” you suddenly blurt, and while she shuts up immediately, your mind starts whirling even faster. Dameron had some… what? “Wait. Explain. You’re saying he didn’t…” You slowly shake your head, furrowing your eyebrows and trying to piece it together. “He didn’t… place a bet with her, or anything?”

“What? No,” Rossi shakes her head a lot more forcefully than you, getting frustrated. “No, fucking—didn’t you hear anything I just said, Ten? He got all high and mighty for some stupid reason, totally reamed her ass out for it.”

“But…” You blink, stunned. “But… why? Why would he…?”

Rossi shrugs. “Fuck if I know. All she said was that he ordered Black not to throw in, made her lose a fuckton of money from it. Had no idea Dameron would be so touchy about his sex life, honestly.”

He… he isn’t. He isn’t touchy about his sex life—you feel like he never shuts up about it.

Rossi continues talking, but you’re not listening again. You stare stupidly at yourself in the clear transparisteel as Dameron’s voice comes back to you, repeating something you specifically remember him saying earlier today. Something you thought was just a careless jab at the time, aimed blindly at one of your comrades with nothing more than the intent to piss you off.

…I swapped housing assignments with your shitty roommate and slept in the bunk below yours for a month and a half…

You blink beyond your own reflection to focus on him once more, still lost in his own little world, not paying a single lick of attention to you while you’re essentially having a fucking crisis over here. You didn’t think the insult had any real substance to it at all. You just naturally assumed that was the result of him wanting to lash out at anything or anyone remotely close to you, if only to get a reaction, so you never gave him one or paid it any mind.

This is why he said that about Nine? Because he knew she had organized this fucked up betting pool behind your back?

Stars, you need to get out of here, all these rumors are fucking with your head. Your assumptions and the hairpin turnarounds are giving you worse whiplash than Dameron’s… well, admittedly spectacular flying today. You were wrong about wanting to avoid isolating—in fact, that suddenly sounds like a phenomenal idea.

So, you just get up and leave right in the middle of Rossi’s sentence, needing some time alone. Neither of them call out to you as you quickly walk around the table and through the barrier towards the exit, thank the Maker, and you’re just about to retreat with no interruptions until suddenly two Greenies step in front of you and block your path.

You halt immediately, looking up at them with a furrowed brow. “What now?” You grunt, not having the patience to even wait for a response before attempting to squeeze around them.

“Hey, so you really saved our asses out there today, Goldie,” the one on the left quickly sidesteps in front of you and rushes to say, and you settle your weight back on your heels with a huff.

“What are you talking about?” You glance back and forth between them, not recalling a time you’ve ever spoken to either one, before jerking your head to gesture over your shoulder. “Go congratulate trophy boy over there, he was the one flying.”

“We did,” the one on the right tips sideways to look at Dameron behind your shoulder, likely still laughing and joking with someone about something, something super fucking dumb probably. “Well, uh. We tried.”

“What?” You let out a heavy sigh and rub your temples. “The fuck is that supposed to mean? I don’t have the time.”

“He won’t take any credit, just keeps saying that all he did was steer you around,” the other one shrugs as his companion straightens and looks down at you once more. “Wouldn’t accept any drinks we offer him, nothing. So we thought we’d buy you one instead. Unless you’re… leaving?”

It takes you a few seconds to process that, even as he allows the open invitation to hang in the air. You can’t stop the way your torso automatically twists around to study your copilot from across the mess hall in baffled silence, suddenly realizing that they’re… they’re right. Dameron has no congratulatory drinks sitting in front of him even though more and more people have made their way into the bar. He’s just sitting there grinning and nodding along to something someone else is saying, completely and blissfully unaware of the extent to which he’s fucked with you in the past twenty minutes. The past… whole day. Month and a half. Or… fuck, how long have you known him? Two years?

But then Dameron’s gaze gradually drifts this way, before suddenly locking with yours. His eyes flick behind you to look at the two Greenies blocking your exit, and then back to the way you’re staring at him, wide-eyed and startled.

He suddenly stands up and starts to take a few steps towards you, and the sheer abruptness of the movement causes you to react immediately. You stumble your way backwards through the two pilots, feeling a few hands reach out to steady you through the awkward fumbling, but you slap them away and announce loud enough for Dameron to hear beyond them that you’re taking a shower, and you don’t give a fuck how long it’s gonna be this time.

***

The knob squeaks as you turn the water on. Usually you’d step back and wait the grueling five minutes or longer it takes for it to heat up with your arms crossed over your naked chest, but this time you move directly under the freezing spray, hoping to use the ice cold to shock your system.

You're finally alone.

Technically solitude doesn’t really exist within this base. You’ve heard of others that are a little nicer, having a little more room for the ranks, but not here. Housing assignments, showers and restrooms, mess and recreation halls—they’re all communal. Everyone is given rotating shifts, so while that means there’s never any true quiet to be found, it also means that showers are spread out well throughout the day and night.

But, at least for this moment, there’s nobody else around. At least in here, in the tiled chamber with multiple shower heads stationed around you—you’re sure there are a few girls lingering in the locker room and the entry area beyond it, but for right now, you’re blissfully by yourself.

And yet, you can’t seem to enjoy it.

You know you should be basking in the isolation. You should be thrilled at the rarity of only hearing your own flipflops slap against the floor as you turn around and drench your hair with the icy spray, but the lack of an immediate distraction for your focus allows it to wander to things you don’t want it to.

Explosions, mostly. Lighting up like fireworks in front of your eyes even as they flutter closed and let water drip down them. Constant, never-ending. Some of them small—TIEs you shot down, allies drawing fire away from you and then subsequently getting overwhelmed, zipping through dense debris from deadly collisions so quick that you had trouble distinguishing friend from foe. Some of them were massive—star destroyers splitting apart, warp drives overloading, enormous casualty counts. You don’t know how many lives you took today, not directly.

The beginning was the worst—when you were still slightly disoriented, when you were panicked and screaming into the comms for assistance. Then the closest stationed tandem showed up first—Red-Two and Eight, you think it was. Doesn’t matter now. They took some heat off you before the cavalry arrived, but you remember Dameron barking out your name the second their left thruster got nicked and they started spiraling, a ferociously deep, “With me!” cutting through the white noise. It was enough to snap you back, forcing you to instantly flick your eyes away and focus dead ahead without witnessing their demise.

It wouldn’t have normally been necessary. You’ve been flying with the Resistance for years, you’ve seen way too much bloodshed by now. But you’ve never been the catalyst of it—you’ve always been able to confront threats accompanied by your squadron, right between Nine and Eleven, the flight controls rumbling steady under your palms. You’ve never faced down an entire fleet in one single ship. You’ve never had to rely so directly on the skills of another pilot in order to stay alive.

The water slowly heats to a lukewarm while you reach for the shampoo.

Surprisingly, for as much as the two of you clash in normal interactions, it was like everything eventually became… synchronized. Spectacularly so. Dameron started off the enemy confrontation by calling out his flight patterns to give you a chance to adjust your firing in real time, but then at some point, it just stopped being necessary. There was a moment where you both were able to suddenly… get it. Get each other. He didn’t have to say anything after that—you could predict each other without second guessing, react instantaneously, and work your way through the littered battlefield accordingly. You never thought it would be possible to collaborate so well with someone you’ve spent ages despising. Sure, you’d both die if you didn’t—shit, you’d probably still both die regardless—but this kind of teamwork extended beyond the need to survive. It doesn’t matter how much you want to stay alive when reading someone else’s mind is physically impossible, but for some reason… You have no idea why, but it apparently came naturally between you. It fell to pure instinct, pure reaction, and remarkably, his would somehow match yours perfectly, every single time.

You lather the shampoo in your hair, remembering how his voice changed over the course of the mission. How it gradually shifted from panicked roars and barked orders into ecstatic cheers and genuine praise after landing a difficult shot, how he just couldn’t seem to stop whooping.

You smile softly as the tepid water rinses away the dirt and sweat from your body, until the temperature is brought up to a gentle, comfortable warmth raining down you and echoing in the empty shower room.

And, your first name. Dameron kept calling you that, the whole time. The one you’re now absolutely certain you’ve never personally given to him. The one he would’ve had to have listened for specifically. Remembered, or at least asked the right person about. But why? It’s not… it makes no sense, he doesn’t give a shit. He’s notorious for not giving a shit. He can’t even be bothered to remember the names of the girls he’s actually with—so why did he go to the trouble to figure out yours? You’ve been nothing but a thorn in his side the same way he is to you, right?

Right?

Your mind starts recollecting more recent events, trying to work through and process it by yourself. He was… singing your praises today. He was openly giving you credit for the win while you pouted in the corner and assumed the absolute worst of him. As much as you’re frustrated that nobody else seemed to give voice to your contributions, you’re even more surprised that he was the one who did.

And then even earlier. Gold-Nine, holding wagers with members of your squad (and others, apparently) about when you’re going to fuck him. Dameron, tearing her a new one for it, forbidding Black Squadron from throwing in and not attempting to hide his disdain for her from you. He… he defended you. Stood up for you when your own squad was being a bunch of dicks behind your back. And nobody ever fucking mentioned it to you. What did Rossi say—a few weeks ago? He’s known all this time and only today, only after you… openly showed more interest in him than you ever have, after you worked up enough nerve to try in your own little way to flirt back this time instead of responding to his casual comments with contempt and disgust, only today is when he decided to make a real move on you.

…Your mind is completely blank and yet you still feel yourself start to heat up just a bit at even alluding to the events that took place earlier. The way his fingers felt��

Steam begins to fill the open concept chamber while you shake your head against the train of thought and reach for the soap, beginning to circle the bar along your arms and shoulders with a sigh. This is already the longest shower you’ve taken in almost two months, and your body slowly relaxes under the mist and heat as you take forever cleaning yourself, slowly and hypnotically rubbing the soap along your skin.

The second you let your eyelids dip shut at the feeling, you immediately shiver at a flash of Dameron dragging his finger out of his mouth and blinking dark eyes at you through the transparisteel.

Fuck. The soap slips from your hand and you quickly catch it against your body before it falls to the ground completely, suddenly feeling the need to breathe in the misty air a bit harder. Shower, you’re in the shower. Come on.

The dirt and grime is scrubbed from your face and you tilt your head to move the bar of soap across your neck. As it lathers, you can’t help but remember the way his lips felt against the skin right there, the scratch of his beard. You keep working the soap against that same spot for a while, not knowing if you’re trying to wash away the sensation or simulate it, until you gradually slow and make it lighter, softer—yes, that’s closer to how it felt, that’s—

Soon the water is boiling hot and you’re trying not to boil along with it, remembering everything he said against this spot, the filth he whispered to you here. Your pussy starts to throb between your legs as the memories play out in your mind, how close he got you to shattering bliss without even really working for it. If you put it all together collectively, you don’t think he actually touched you for more than a minute or two total today. Mostly he just talked to you, but stars, he hit buttons you didn’t even think you had, had you a split second away from cumming harder than Maker knows while his finger rested just above your clit and provided no stimulation whatsoever.

Fuck, you enjoyed it. You did, you’ll admit it when there’s no one else here but you. You enjoyed the fuck out of it. You wish he’d do it again. Force you to lose, force you to cum so you can at least blame him for it, remove your responsibility from the equation and allow you to put just one more thing on his shoulders, to taste ecstacy instead of expecting you to bear the weight of pretending you don’t need it any longer. He was doing you a favor, you realize that now. Your body is staging a fucking coup and you wish you could’ve called mercy before it got to this agonizing point. He turns you on, you fucking admit it. He inspires violent emotions in you—jealousy, arousal, anger, temptation—thoughts you don’t want to have and consolidating it all into various forms of hatred makes the finer details easier to ignore. Your perception of him has always been skewed by your iron will, but he all but took a fucking sledgehammer to it today, dented it beyond all recognition. You want him, you want to him to take it all away, you want him to fuck you—in the… fuck, in the good way.

You don’t have a thought beyond that. Your hand quickly falls down the length of your body to wash your private parts, biting your lip as your hips slowly start to rock into it. You’re getting clean, you’re getting clean, this is how you clean yourself, this is… yes, as long as you keep the bar of soap pressed between your palm and the top of your curls like this, you’re cleaning yourself and you can just… ease your finger down just a little bit and—

Flipflops suddenly echo from the twisting hallway leading to the tiled freshers, and you immediately snatch your hand back up again, not needing to turn around to know another girl is walking into the room. A knob somewhere to your right eventually makes a dull squeak as you quickly finish washing up and turn your showerhead off, grabbing your towel and wrapping it around yourself.

Maker, you feel like your pussy is plotting your demise. Fuck, you can’t believe you almost cheated in the fucking showers just now where literally anyone could walk in, you thought you would’ve had more self-control than that. You make your way into the changing rooms and grab your pajamas, starting to tug them on without fully drying your body and having only one thought in mind.

Dameron will probably be celebrating late tonight. You can tuck in early, scurry back to your room and cheat there.

Well, no, not cheating, because you clearly remember making a very compelling argument about wet dreams earlier today. Maker, a freebie, the word has never sounded so enticing. What you’d say amounts to a… bye-week orgasm basically, since you know he’s already lost at least one match against his own body and you’re meant to be competing on the same level. It’s only fair to let you persevere through the toughest part of the challenge if he was allowed to throw a game early on and still stay in the competition. Maybe he threw multiple games, you never got a straight answer concerning that, so it’s still under review. He could’ve thrown… three games, even. Or four.

You dress as quickly as possible and then nearly bolt through the entrance area to the restrooms with all the sinks and stalls. The balled up dirty clothes and wet towel in your arms allow you to hide the way your nipples are stiff and tender against your thin pajamas, and you can’t wait to climb into your bunk and take everything off under the covers. You’ll be able to cum, at least once. It’ll relieve so much stress, get rid of this nightmare headache, rip through your body like lightning and paralyze it until you can start over from square one and think like yourself again.

And, you’re just about to power walk your ass back to your quarters when a body nearly slams into yours as soon as you step foot outside the door, your shoulder jerking back just in time to avoid a collision.

A mechanic, you think. You’re not exactly sure, you don’t hang out with too many of them—he’s Chiss and his glowing red eyes don’t even land on you as you gasp and sidestep him at the last second, but it’s not him that catches the majority of your attention. He just exited the men’s room at the same time you left the women’s, and the door takes a moment to swing shut behind him.

You freeze. It can’t be more than a few seconds—but it feels like everything slows down and it lasts a fucking eternity.

Dameron is standing at a sink in the far corner of the room, naked except for a towel identical to the one in your arms wrapped loosely around his waist. He cradles the base of his own throat with one hand and gently drags a razor down the smooth contour of it with the other, his chin tilted up high and regal while his eyelids dip low to concentrate on his movements. He glances down and holds the foamy blade under the running faucet, tapping it twice against porcelain before the door slides him out of frame.

I can shave, a low, silky murmur slowly fills your ears, heat swelling low and hot in your tummy. Tonight, I’ll shave it off. Make it nice and smooth for you.

You feel like your body is just a collection of rigid knots all tied together, and the one between your legs is the tightest it’s ever been. Stars, on another day you’d say it feels like a bad cramp, even though you know your injection makes your period rare and like clockwork. Regardless, the split second image makes you shudder and clamp up painfully, and you just stand there and stare at the closed door for a second, trying not to shake.

Fuck, this is so fucking… presumptuous of him.

Realistically, you know it could have absolutely nothing to do with you. It’s his face—you’re not self-centered enough to have completely lost your concept of autonomy. He can do whatever he wants to his body, and that includes facial hair, full stop. You also know that he’s not being… obvious about it, no matter how much it feels that way to you. He’s using the sink and mirror at the very end of the room, not any of the ones nearest to the door—but even if he was, it’s not like he could’ve planned for you to walk out at the exact moment the metal hinge was angled wide open. He couldn’t possibly have intended for this, for you to see him doing this. He wasn’t making a show, didn’t even notice you standing there. You blame literally everything on him, or at least you always try your absolute best to—but this one…

It sends a hard shudder down your spine and you clutch the fabric in your arms tighter, trying not to drop it. Fuck. This is torture. Fuck him. Good and bad—both ways, all the ways he can be fucked, fuck him. Your head is spinning, you’re sweating fresh out of the shower, you need to cum. Maybe if you hurry, you can get that precious orgasm before he’s finished, because if Dameron is able to intercept you before you can tend to this, you’re… you’re not sure how you’re going to say no to him.

You don’t even think you want to anymore.

You feel like you’re just… holding onto it on principle now. Too stubborn and hardheaded to want change. Too stuck in your own ways to recognize how much everything already has changed.

Somehow, you end up making your way back to your room, but the whole thing is a blur. Your flipflops plap against your heels as you navigate through hallways as quick as you can, emptier than you’ve seen them in months. You know most of the pilots are probably out celebrating in either the mess hall or rec room, but the thought doesn’t really presently register. Almost nothing registers besides your continuous forward motion and the way you feel yourself throb with every step, aching for something you are going to get tonight. Fuck, you are so attached to this orgasm now, it’s not going anywhere and neither are you. You deserve this, you deserve some relief. Come hell or highwater, it’s happening tonight.

As soon as you step into your room and slap your hand blindly against the wall panel to close the door behind you, you’re carelessly dropping the bundle of fabric to the floor and then shrugging out of your pajamas in the cool pitch darkness, having exactly one mission in mind. You don’t bother with lights, with brushing your hair, with literally anything besides clamoring up the ladder to your top bunk and wiggling under the thin bedsheet, making sure to pull it up to your chin before your legs butterfly open. The tip of your finger wets itself on your tongue and then you’re dropping it down and sliding it against your poor clit, the pleasure arcing and flaring so sharp and sensitive even from your touch that you have to give it just a second.

…No, no you don’t. You don’t have to give it fucking anything. You keep moving your finger hard and quick even as your hips naturally want to jerk away from it, shoving yourself through the sensitivity with gritted teeth and a ferocious will.

Fuck, how long do you think you have? Was Dameron shaving pre or post-shower? You can’t remember, all you know is he had a towel around his waist. And that thin gold chain hanging down his neck. Was his hair wet? Fuck, why can’t you remember? His chin and jaw were smooth as silk, you know that much. Post-shower, then. Probably. Probably?

His chin and jaw were smooth as silk. You keep getting stuck on that no matter how chaotically your thoughts whirl; they fling out in different directions at different velocities but all somehow manage to go in a perfect circle and end up at the same place you started. His chin, his jaw, his mouth, his neck, his chin, his mouth, his jaw, his mouth, his mouth, his mouth—

You feel yourself start to clamp down and you speed up, chasing it. The pleasure starts burning deep inside you, the fire slowly licking down your thighs and rising up into your abdomen, and then—

And then a series of quiet beeps from the hallway practically blare like alarm bells to your frantic mind.

You immediately stop moving your finger, snapping your legs tight together and flat to the mattress as soon as the door to your room shifts open and fluorescent light spills inside, and you feel like you could actually fucking cry right now.

All this edging is just a form of self-flagellation at this point. You lay there and try not to make a sound, try not to tremble hard enough to shake the whole bunk with it, but even your breathing feels like it’s going to give you away. Dameron, shirtless with his towel draped over his shoulder, slowly steps into the room and then pauses almost immediately, making your heart stutter for a second at what so blatantly caught his attention.

One quick glance down towards his feet confirms the simultaneous hope and fear—you left everything on the floor. The towel, the dirty clothes, and your pajamas are strewn about haphazardly right where he needs to walk.

You know what it must look like to him. A trail of clothes leading directly to an occupied bed isn’t exactly subtle, even though you didn’t necessarily intend it that way. Still, what can you say? Your hand is shoved in between your legs right now and you’re in your birthday suit under this thin sheet, what the fuck can you say to him? Sorry Dameron, got too caught up with how stupid wet you get me that I left those there on accident on my way to cheat, but totally not because I lowkey want your help doing it. Convincing, that’ll go over great.

Dameron slowly lifts his head to look at you. Or, at least you think he does—the light from the open door behind him casts his body in a dark silhouette, but you know your face is perfectly illuminated for him right now. Blinking down at him from the top bunk with your brows pulled up in the middle, wide-eyed and desperate and caught red-handed. Fuck, you don’t know if he can see the way your knees are clamped tight together and your hand rests perfectly still against your pussy like this from the angle he’s at, but you know it has to be super fucking obvious either way. You’re breaking the rules, you’re touching yourself, and you both know it. You can’t lie, you can’t even sit up without confirming his very valid suspicion. He can call the game at any point, but…

You watch his head fall back down to study the mess you left for him once more. Fuck, are you positive that was an accident? Normally you wouldn’t second guess anything about your own understanding of the interactions that occur between you and him, but—you’ve never done that before. You’ve lived with roommates on this base for years, you don’t just… get naked before getting into bed, that’s bad form. How are you going to get up in the morning without having your pajamas shoved near your feet while you sleep? Wrap this thin bedsheet around yourself and scamper down the ladder until you can snatch them up from the floor, and then what? Climb all the way back up just to wiggle the clothes on underneath the blanket before going back down again? Maker, you fucked up, your pussy is plotting your fucking demise.

But then everything inside you pulls taut as Dameron suddenly decides to move. Slowly, he leans down to catch your orange jumpsuit closest to his feet with a few fingers, before he stands upright and carefully begins folding the fabric without saying a single word to you. Electricity buzzes through you as he very obviously takes his time with it, using nearly his whole armspan to lengthen and fold the sleeves while his chest and chin meet for support. When he’s eventually satisfied with it, he takes a few steps toward the empty desk on your side of the room and then sets the neat rectangle of fabric atop it where you usually keep it.

You bite your lip and you can’t help it—you start to move your finger as he goes back to sort the pajamas you wore for barely two seconds from your dirty clothes, folding and putting away whatever is clean and then tossing the rest into the shared laundry basket that gets collected every week. Somehow it makes you feel even more naked, seeing all your clothes be returned to their proper places, realizing that this is your base state now, this is what you’re going to wear tonight. Nothing. You left everything on the floor and trapped yourself up here, he’s simply shifting a pawn forward two spaces in kind now that you’ve made your first move.

You can feel yourself pulse threateningly against your own fingertip while he collects your wet towel and drapes it over your closet door to dry, and your breath comes louder through your nose while you bite back the noises you want to make, the way your movements so desperately want to speed up. Your hand working the way you want it to under the white sheets would be too much, too revealing, but you don’t know how much longer you’ll be able to care.

But then of course, the asshole has to go and put away his towel and clothes, and you endure through the whole thing while pressing back and forth against your clit so hard and slow that your toes curl and pull the sheet tucked under your chin taut. After that’s done, he makes his way over to the portshade above his desk and slowly slides it open a few inches, the light of three moons outside gradually filling the room. However, when Dameron goes back to press a button on the wall panel and close the door to the hallway, you immediately see how much softer it is in here, how the artificial fluorescents have thankfully disappeared and the room illuminates more than it blinds, glows more than it beams. He presses one more button as the lock inside the paneling slides into place.

You bite your bottom lip and try your best to hide the pleasure you’re building for yourself while he makes his way back to his desk, quietly swiping the radio off it and lowering the volume knob completely before he flips it on. The noise slowly amplifies until you’re able to catch two distinct voices conversing in Huttese—it’s the only lingua franca that still broadcasts on this old technology in this part of the galaxy, but he’s already flipping through the stations in search of something specific.

If you were thinking straight, you may have actually recognized this for what it is, but you’re having trouble even processing the details of your general surroundings right now, your mind is lagging and too slow at reading between the lines. Dameron’s doing exactly what he said he would do. He laid it all out earlier for you in the x-wing, telling you exactly what he wanted plain as day, and now he’s checking the whole list off one by one. The shade is open and the room is lit just enough to make him out, the door is locked, and he’s finding something to listen to. Something quiet, and easy.

If you were thinking straight, you’d realize that there’s a much more obvious reason why he shaved his beard—you never told him the truth about how much you liked it. You never tell him the truth. You allow—even encourage him to think the sharp things you say to him are exactly how you feel. He did it because he believed you.

Oh, but you’re not thinking straight. Your thoughts are scattered and the only thing they can agree upon is how good this feels, even as your breathing starts to grow heavier, grow louder underneath the sound of the radio. The thought stays right beneath your consciousness, tugging at your preoccupied mind. You work your finger with just a little more verve now that he’s flipping through the stations, knowing he’s distracted by spinning the dial through intermittent white noise while different voices and songs fill the room for just a second at a time.

Your bed, his voice suddenly echoes through your thoughts, originating from your subconscious but almost sounding like it’s coming from the radio in your delirious mind. I want you comfortable.

Fuck, the understanding finally clicks the second he flips to a slower song and you start to burn at the thought of what’s next. The silent promise that his actions allude to. You have the realization way too late but at least it still comes at all with the state you’re in. Your hand slows down immediately, not even needing to consciously consider the choice between achieving orgasm through your finger or his mouth. Still, it’s hard to stop touching yourself completely when it feels so fucking good to your deprived body.

Fuck, it’s barely been a few seconds since your realization and yet you immediately bristle in distress at how fucking long he’s taking.

So you open your mouth. You’re desperate and needy and on the verge of something, and it comes out without thought. You don’t think it’s loud enough for him to hear, but his head immediately lifts and looks unseeingly at the wall in front of him for a second, as if he’s questioning if he imagined it. A soft melody plays on a bluesy guitar while you hiccup and wait, but he doesn’t move.

And then you say it again, higher and tighter in your throat, pitched up to an impatient, girlish whine. “Poe…”

The radio is tossed onto the bottom bunk as soon as he spins around and walks towards the ladder, but it’s like your finger has a mind of its own the moment he disappears underneath your line of sight. Your legs spasm against the mattress and you bite your lip, not caring about the frantic way your hand begins moving under the sheet as his muted footsteps climb up the rungs.

Your eyes snap to his as soon as you can see him beyond the railing at your feet, heaving himself up until everything above his waist is above you, too. His pauses there and his lashes quickly dip to the shameless movements between your legs as you work yourself towards that approaching bliss, and then flick back to the way you’re biting your lip and looking at him so torn, wanting so badly to wait for it but not being able to right now.

Slowly, he begins to move forward, crawling his way up the mattress and over your body, noticeably careful with where he places his limbs. You’re not hard to dodge, though—you’re like a rigid stick of desperation under him, knees and ankles still clamped tight together and your arms streamlined as close to your body as possible with tension as you keep rubbing your clit. Not to mention the sheet is thin and shows your figure almost perfectly with how tight you’ve hooked it under your chin, only leaving the finest details to the imagination.

But then there starts to be a little strain against the fabric, an unspoken question he’s still bothering to ask even though you could’ve told him to fuck off ages ago. Poe could yank the sheet down and flip your shit over and destroy you right now if he wanted—fuck, like you want him to do—but his face slowly appears in front of yours instead and his dark eyes search your features for answers. The length of his chain dangles from his muscular neck and glows against his golden skin, his whole upper body stretched long and bare over you.

From the gradually increasing tightness pulling on the fabric, you expect the sheet to rip down your body as soon as you lift your chin and let that resistance go, but instead… stars, it’s slow. Why is he going so fucking slow?? The bedsheet barely flutters down to your collarbone before he’s able to stop tugging on it so hard, and then he just gently inches the hem down from that point on.

Fuck—your eyes drop to his lips as he eventually reveals your shoulders and sternum to the room, and then lower to your cleavage while you let out a hushed whimper, praying he understands the extent of how vulnerable you’re allowing yourself to be. You don’t do this often—and you definitely don’t do it with someone like him. He’s the one who said you needed this, isn't he? So why the fuck is he dragging out the anticipation? Pretending like he doesn’t see the way you’re begging for help in the middle of another warzone that’s breaking out for the second time today?

Poe’s head drops down to give the contour of your neck a long drag of his tongue, slow and hot and wet, the sheet eventually dropping beneath your nipples and exposing them to the cool air. You bite your lip and keep working yourself under the fabric even as it’s led down the length of your tummy, and you just get wetter and wetter feeling him mouth at your skin as the radio continues to play soft from the bottom bunk. He follows the skin as it’s revealed, licking down from your collarbone and working with the increasing rate of your breathing. His lips never feel like they vary in pressure, even as your chest heaves up and down and your lungs work hard for air.

His open mouth slowly drags down the curve of your breast and it makes your blood burn fire through your veins. You nearly choke when your nipple is enveloped in soft heat, his tongue quickly fluttering up under the stiff peak and giving it to you so gently, contrasting so light and vernal with how brilliant and neon bright the need between your legs is. Your hand starts to work quicker, and fuck—you can hear it now, your desperate movements audible over the shallow breaths and the sound of one song gradually fading into another below you. You’re just too fucking wet and your pussy is smushed with how tight your legs are pressed together—the noise is unavoidable, and Poe’s knees are planted too close to either side of your thighs to spread them really at all.

Fuck, you knock against the resistance regardless to let him know what you want, but he doesn’t budge and it makes you just about lose your damn mind. Does he have to make everything so fucking difficult? You couldn’t close your legs earlier and now you can’t open them, and it’s like he’s able to take perfect advantage of each opposing position to prolong your torture.

But then his tongue leaves you even as his jaw opens just slightly, and that’s the only warning you get before his teeth graze your nipple with a sudden arc of sensation and you flare up all at once.

It’s a miracle and a curse that you’re able to stop at the very last second, your hand jerking away from your pussy and flexing into a fucking death claw on your thigh at how close you were, and you don’t know why. Why did the fuck did you stop? There’s nothing standing in your way right now, you’ve consciously given yourself express permission to cum, but still. It must just be learned instinct at this point—hammered into your muscle memory for weeks on end to not allow the pleasure no matter what, especially when you’re this fucking close to it.

Nonetheless you garble out nonsense and cinch inwards on yourself to fight it off now that you’ve apparently decided against it. There’s nothing worse than a half-assed orgasm, and you have to quickly summon the conviction behind your split second reaction before it’s too late and your body takes the pleasure any way it can get it.

Poe’s mouth releases your nipple at the way your whole spine suddenly hunches in and he drops his forehead to your chest, breathing heavy down the slope of your breast as you tremble and grapple for your sanity.

“Did you just cum?” Is the first thing he says to you, his voice is so ragged and stony it’s practically gravel crunching as he speaks.

“N-n-no,” you quickly stammer at the ceiling, trying to remember how to breathe correctly. Inhale, exhale—fuck, which one is inhale again, which one comes first? Maker, does he need to call a fucking medic? “Huhhhhalmost?”

Poe takes a deep breath and slowly releases it with a bassy and warm mmmm rumbling against your skin, so coarse but pleased enough to sound like melted chocolate dripping down your body. The noise sends a violent shudder through you and it’s almost enough to knock you back to that edge again, even without your fingers assisting it.

His head dips and the sheet pulls down even more, just below your belly button now, and you let out a quiet gasp in anticipation, nearly on the verge of begging him to keep moving downwards. But when Poe’s eyes close and his mouth suddenly moves back up to open over your other nipple instead, your patience snaps.

Fuck him, bad way. This is your orgasm, you’re done waiting.

“I’m gonna cum,” you snarl furiously down at him, shoving your hand between your legs even as Poe’s lips quirk against your skin. It’s not a warning, it’s a threat. If he’s gonna be like this, he doesn’t get to share it with you. It’s your orgasm, you’ll give it to yourself if he doesn’t give a shit about it. “Thought you wanted it, guess not.”

You immediately feel his teeth again in response to your admittedly slightly bitchy comment and this time he lets your nipple roll just a bit between them, making you jerk at the sensation and quickly find your clit again. Oh, you’re soaking fucking wet, you’re wet everywhere. Slick and swollen and burning, and it’s not going to take much at all. The sheet sticks to your overheated body and you can’t tell the difference between your sweat, his saliva, or wetness from between your legs—it all just feels damp and slippery as you gradually lose your bearings under his mouth.

“Fuck this, I’m gonna cum,” you breathe once more, possibly nothing more than a mindless reiteration but most likely just one last veiled plea for him to give you what you both want. As if he can tell, Poe quickly lifts his mouth and suddenly the sheet is ripped the rest of the way down your naked body completely, sharp and frustrated, and then his lips brush against your elbow as it twitches, nipping the sensitive skin there.

“Brat,” he growls quietly against your forearm as he keeps dragging his lips down further, following the path it makes along your tummy. “Just likes making shit difficult.”

“You’re the one—” you hiccup, trying to sound angry but just melting into a puddle at the tip of his tongue slowly trailing down your frantically moving wrist, “—you’re the… the o-one who… who…?”

But you’re already sprinting towards that edge, feeling him drop even lower and his hot breath fan against your fingers, and at this point you’re too far gone. Poe gently kisses at your closed thighs, in perfect position and ready for you, but you can’t stop yourself anymore unless he makes you stop, and the longer he waits down there without grabbing your hand to replace it with something better the more you don’t give a shit about whether or not it’s going to happen. You can feel the orgasm rising, you can feel your toes flex and everything start to lock down for the approaching tsunami. You’re going to get it this time, you’re going to cum, you’re going to—

“This is—” you rasp, “—this is a f-free, a fffff-ffreeeeb—”

His tongue softly grazes your knuckle as it works.

And then there’s a moment. A suspended moment that seems to go on forever, where you’re launched directly over that cliff and yet you still seem to be gaining altitude. Where’s the drop? You’re already cumming—you can feel it, there’s absolutely no fucking going back now, but it’s like your sheer desperation has so much momentum that your body tricks itself into believing there’s nothing to land on, no gravity to immediately rip you straight down to your demise.

You choke out his name and your back arches with it and that must be the signal, because Poe finally pulls your hand away and lets his chin dip, and then his jaw falls open and allows you just enough time to catch the glimmer of his pink tongue before it slides wet and slow through your swollen folds.

Heat. It sears through your whole body with a wracked shudder, the slick glide over your clit as his eyes flutter closed, and within the very first second of feeling his mouth on you, you’re instantly cumming inside it.

There. There’s the drop.

The burning erupts into molten chaos, crumpling your whole body on impact like an accordion, but he sinks all his weight down on your legs and forces you to endure it with everything below your waist pinned to the mattress. It’s fucking mayhem. You feel like your voice actually rips itself in half with the ragged cry of blinding relief, so enormous and soul wrenching in power that you couldn’t even hope to muffle it. You can’t move your hips through it, you can’t stutter up to ride it out—you have to experience the whole thing with your lower body completely still while his tongue takes slow, gentle licks at your throbbing clit, only able to sit your shoulders up and slam them back down and grab his head as you endure.

You cum hard. Fucking hard. It’s daunting and explosive and utterly devastating in the havoc it wreaks, and just when you think you’ve seen the worst of it, it’s just so slow. Creeping along and obliterating everything in its path, taking an eternity to pass because of how fucking big it is.

When you’re finally able to float back down into your own body again, the first thing you notice is how tight his hold is. Poe’s arms are wrapped around your thighs to keep them pressed tight together and you can feel the wetness all the way down to your fucking knees as they tremble against each other. Stars, what did he do to you? You feel like you actually wet yourself, there’s way too much dampness on the mattress underneath you to feel anywhere close to normal for you.

His mouth eventually leaves you but his head doesn’t move, nothing else moves. Even his hot breath feels like rough stimulation to your throbbing pussy.

And then Poe shifts and adjusts his body just enough, catching the backs of your knees and slowly spreading your legs up and apart like you wanted to do ages ago. They feel like jelly, wobbly and unsteady even as his thumbs hook right under your knees and easily support most of their weight. Your pussy is soon exposed completely, and his shoulders move down just before his head drops to lick the collection of wetness right from your entrance. Fuck, he couldn’t get it from the previous angle your legs were at, just your clit at the very top—but this is deep and personal and you know he’s probably getting mouthfuls of how hard he just made you cum, using the tip of his tongue to scoop your arousal up and swallowing it quietly before going back for more.

“Poe,” you whisper, and he rumbles low in his throat in response without stopping. This isn’t for you, this isn’t for your benefit right now. Your pleasure receptors aren’t concentrated right here, just the physical evidence of them being overloaded just a few moments ago, but he stays for longer than necessary. He keeps his mouth here far longer than you need to push past the throbbing sensitivity and start to crave the sensation again, forcing you to bite your lip to stop yourself from telling him to move back up just a couple inches.

So you seek it out instead, the lower part of your body clearly not listening to a damn thing your mind tells it right now. Your hips drop and his velvet tongue catches your clit at the apex of its repetitive motion, and you gasp and rock upwards again as Poe groans and immediately rises with you to chase it. He attaches to the swollen flesh and sucks at it gently for you, following your lead, letting your wet fingers comb his hair back from his face and clutch a good fistful of it as you plant your feet and slowly grind up into his mouth.

Fuck. He was right. You needed this. Everything about it is heaven—endorphins pour off you in waves as you roll your hips against his face, and he lets you do it. He’s not just pliant, he’s willing. His tongue works diligently, his eyes close and he moans into your pussy, allowing you to tug his hair and fit to his mouth exactly how you want.

Oh, everything burns. Everything smolders and sparks, because he’s always been so withholding and now he’s just going for it. He’s reading your mind better than he did during the battle today, not necessarily submissive in his approach but… servicing. Accommodating. Finally giving in and putting real effort into helping you chase after another shot of ecstasy without being so stingy about it like before.

As soon as you feel another familiar swell of something deep down, your mouth is suddenly dropping open.

“How many—” your ragged voice comes out without thinking, and it takes so fucking long to actually attach the train of thought to its conduit of translation. You swallow thickly and flex your fingers in his hair, tugging at him to ground yourself, trying to anchor yourself to the very thing that’s about to fling you into oblivion again. “—fuck, how many times did you… how many fr-freebies do I—do I…”

Poe eases his chin back just enough to respond, and the slick sound his tongue makes leaving your clit makes you shudder and miss the wretched words at first. “Mm. Just the one.”

And then his tongue is already sliding back through your pussy by the time your eyes pop open in immediate panic, and your clit is in his mouth again as soon as yours drops to frantically contest.

But the words aren’t coming, it feels too fucking amazing. Your jaw goes slack and your fingers tighten in his hair. Maker almighty, the orgasm swells up so sharp and quick that you have to fucking kick him at the very last second to get away from it. Thankfully Poe’s mouth abruptly leaves you with his oof of shock at your audacity, lifting his head as you snap your legs together and grit your teeth through your miserable retreat from ecstasy. You don’t even notice the way your knee almost knocks into his jaw with it—you just focus on shamefully easing your way back down again from the platform overlooking bliss like you’re too afraid of the high-dive. After a second, you actually have to turn on your side and rock yourself like a child as Poe slowly sits up with a grimace, lifting his arm to rub at his ribcage where your heel slammed into him.

You peek an eye open to watch him do it and oh no, it’s not a good plan. He’s so… fucking hot. Fuck. He’s unbelievably good-looking—his hair curls and frames such handsome features, his body is lovely and warm and seeing his chest bare and up close like this makes you want to reach out and slowly drag your hand down the smooth curve of his side. But then your gaze catches on the dark sweatpants tented shamelessly between his legs and how he’s glistening with perspiration, too, and how he tugs at the fabric covering his crotch and sighs softly, blinking down at you slow and intoxicated with lust.

You have to close your eyes and bury your face into the pillow because your body is latching onto anything to keep you within inches of that edge. The mere sight of him is enough to make you worry for yourself. You take deep breaths and do your best to tune his existence out entirely. Just you, just you in your bed, trying desperately not to cum without even touching yourself. You’re naked and curled up and there's no one here to look down at you with deep brown eyes, no one else breathing and especially not equally as loud as you are. Just you, just you.

And, just when you think you might finally get to the point where you’re not teetering anymore, where you’re at least mostly certain that moving around and looking at things and just existing in general isn’t going to make you completely unravel hands-free at any moment, he has to fucking… go and be himself.

You peek up to see him staring down at you, dark and intimate and devouring, before his hand gently brushes down the curve of your hip. “Maker, you are so fucking hot right now. Was that a close one, pretty baby?”

Your hand snaps out to grab his wrist with a whimper and you don’t know if your intent is to stop him or just hang on for dear life, but your grip is weak and you shake and Poe takes the opportunity to grab a handful of your ass while you do absolutely fuck all to stop him.

“Mmmm. Open your legs,” he murmurs, releasing your flesh just to give it a soft smack. “You’re only making it worse like this.”

“What? W-What do you—” you stammer, but Poe drags his hand down your thigh to catch one of your knees and pull it up without waiting for your babbled reply. Both knees go with him, your pelvis wound too tight and frozen to do anything but rotate your whole entire body on your tailbone.

“You’re just adding more pressure by keeping them closed,” he explains, wiggling his fingers in between your knees to try and get enough of a grip to pry them apart. “C’mon—open your legs, let yourself breathe.”

“Nnnnnnstop talking,” you groan, trying to slap at him, but he’s strong enough to force the movement regardless, levering your knees apart and then pushing them tight to the mattress. And, though he would normally be right about it, you’re fighting your mind to get away from the orgasm just as much as you are your body. The sudden exposure and the positioning and the way he automatically drops his gaze down at your needy pussy with his cock still hidden in his pants like that only serves to displace the cause instead of eliminating the effect. Closing the door and opening a window, shifting the stimulation somewhere else but allowing it to throb steady and aching regardless.

“Much better,” he sighs lowly, digging his fingers into the sore muscles inside your thighs and you just keep your hands loosely attached to his wrists as he works. “Fuck me, baby’s got such a pretty pussy doesn’t she?”

“Poe,” you wheeze up at him, hearing him rumble at the sight of your cunt contracting around nothing, probably shining and glistening with your desperation for him. By this point, you’re worrying again. You have no doubt whatsoever that he could talk you into cumming just like this, with your hands trembling and clutching at his wrists. If he keeps murmuring filth while holding your legs open and staring at your pussy like this, you have no doubt you’ll find a way to get there somehow.

Thankfully, he seems to understand. He goes quiet and just keeps massaging your sore muscles while you try not to writhe underneath him. Stars, it’s like he’s genuinely doing what he can to take it easy on you and you’re still all kinds of fucked up about it, still frantic and desperate while all he’s doing is just squeezing your legs.

“Calm down,” he gruffs, but you can’t. “You’re working yourself up, don’t—”

“Stop talki—” your ragged growl is cut off by your own hiccup as you quickly find the strength to shove at his hands, knowing they’re at least mostly to blame for your prolonged tightrope walk. You can’t fucking think when he’s touching you, you become too hyper-aware of your own body, it feels too good in a way that’s hard to describe and impossible to explain. Poe’s palms immediately listen and raise in front of him in surrender, his back lifting to give you space while you hide your face from him with shaky hands and gasp. It’s pathetic and your legs are still held wide open and your fingers tremble hard enough to resemble a malfunction.

You just. You need a hard reset. You need that thirty seconds of complete idle, of figuring shit out on your own without an electric current running through you before you can start working properly again. It can’t be rushed, it’s necessary when most people just want to power down and then right back up again. The wires connecting your parts are all criss-crossed and tangled and sparks are lighting up at the slightest stimulus, you just need to experience absolutely nothing for thir—

“I’m sorry,” Poe murmurs, still staying in his own space but the gravelly voice shooting a bolt of lightning down your spine. Thirty seconds, of course he couldn’t give you thirty fucking seconds. “Fuck, you’re so hot, I’m sorry—”

“Please stop talking,” you beg him, your fingers curling against your face, “Maker, I—I don’t want to cum—”

“Fuck, I know, it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever fucki—”

You go to kick him again and even though it collides wrong and does nothing more than get your message across, the jostle is enough to knock you back from the approaching oblivion just slightly. It serves to wake you up way more than it remotely hurts him, the equivalent of someone just smacking a piece of machinery and fixing the problem temporarily.

You heave an enormous breath and blink your eyes open behind your fingers, immediately locking with his. Poe’s teeth are digging into his bottom lip but he’s mercifully silent, even when you drop your shaky hands down to your spread thighs and stay equally silent another full minute while you make the effort to right yourself. After awhile though, you realize he must be taking cues from you, waiting for you to speak.

Only, you suddenly don’t know what to say. You’re at a complete loss, looking up at him through your eyelashes in uncertainty now. Something you’ve never been around him, even as your pussy is wide open for him to look at. He hasn’t recently, though, you don’t think. He’s just keeping his eyes on your face, watching you bite your lip and blink up at him while your mind whirls, the only sound that can be heard is the radio continuing to lull from the bottom bunk.

You wish he’d say something. How come he’s choosing right now to listen to what you tell him to do? You don’t… you don’t know what to say to him. Why can’t you figure out something? You fidget but then suddenly feel your expression lose all its struggle and just look… innocent. Needing his help.

“Do you want me to leave?” Poe eventually asks after another moment, tentative of breaking the silence, and you frantically shake your head before he’s even finished speaking. Fuck, something drops in your stomach at how desperate you’re probably coming off right now, but you’re so lost and you know that’s at least one question you know the immediate answer to.

Poe tilts his head thoughtfully, slowly reaching a hand towards your thigh without removing his eyes from yours. “Want me to make you cum again?”

You shake your head again, wide-eyed and worried. He immediately pulls his hand back and blinks slowly at you.

“You want to be edged more?” He asks lowly, and you shake your head vehemently for the third time. Poe sighs and sits back, planting his palms to his thighs and pulling at the fabric of his pants in budding frustration, clearly tired of playing twenty questions. “Well what do you want, baby? You wanna just hang out? That’s fine, I don’t care, but you gotta tell me.”

Fuck, he’s right, what do you want? The only thing that’s standing in your way of feeling better, you soon realize.

“Want you to cum first,” you mumble, cheeks warming at how childish you sound.

“Not a fucking chance,” Poe immediately scoffs, crossing his arms over his bare chest. “And pouting at me isn’t gonna help.”

“Why not?” You breathe, dipping your gaze down his body. “I can use my mouth.”

“I don’t—” he stops short, suddenly registering what you said and switching gears. “You can—?” Poe narrows his eyebrows and looks suspicious. “You’ll let me… cum in it?”

“Okay,” you whisper in breathless agreement, sitting up and reaching for him, but Poe groans and pushes you back down on the mattress with a flattened palm against your shoulder like you just aced a test he was hoping you’d fail.

“Fuck whoever’s idea this was,” he grits darkly to himself while you arch up against his hold, wanting him to grab your tits but knowing it’s not a good idea right now. “Maker, I’m so fucking hard—fuck whoever’s idea this was, making me turn that down—”

“You said,” you pant, licking your dry lips and blinking up at the ceiling, trying to control yourself, “before, you said that you’re… you’re not doing this for a bet, right? So why not?” Your voice goes softer when you flutter your gaze back at him, even though the accusation feels like it should be sharper if anything, since it comes from a very real place of distrust. “Were you just… lying to me about that?”

“Fuck, come on,” Poe groans, his voice starting to waver as he shakes his head and squints one eye at you, exasperated. “You don’t get it. You can’t think of a single fucking reason I don’t wanna blow my load just yet? Really?”

The sentence coupled with his rock solid hold on you skitters a thrill through your body and you automatically reach up to run your hand along his forearm. He looks down at the caress and then back to your face and fuck, even you feel like you’re sending mixed signals right now.

“You could… fuck me,” you whisper, and Poe’s dark eyebrows pull up as his gaze falls down your naked body, nodding and digging his teeth into his bottom lip. An agreement backed by so much unspoken desire that it looks like it almost hurts him just to hear you say it out loud. “And we can just… see who cums first.”

“Yeah?” He croaks, his eyes pinned between your open legs. “Just say fuck it all and race for last place? Okay.”

Your heart pounds, having just enough wherewithal to preemptively establish a safety net for yourself. “And—and we can’t finish at the same time or we both lose.”

“Fuck,” Poe groans, reaching down to catch the hem of his sweatpants with his thumb and lifting his hips until his cock is exposed to the dim room. “We can’t stop once we start, then, we’ll have to see it through.”

Except you don’t catch any of the last part because, uh. Well, to sum up. May the Maker have mercy on you all.

Just like that, the only thought in your mind is… you get it. Okay, you get it. He told you before that girls were only interested in him for his cock, and it actually… stars, it makes so much fucking sense now, you totally get it. You thought maybe he was just boasting as a form of overcompensation at first—or, to put it another way you’ve probably used in conversation with him before, talking big talk but walking small walk. Only now, you’re… humbled. By a fucking dick, you’re humbled.

You haven’t seen more than a few of them in this context, so you know you’re not necessarily qualified to give an informed opinion, but heavens it’s a sight. It’s thick and swollen and just a shade darker than his complexion and everything inside you rockets to attention as soon as he wraps his hand around it. It’s big. It fills his whole palm without much room to spare. Far larger than what you’re used to, and you know that no matter how he fucks you with it, you’re gonna feel it tomorrow. Next weekend, probably.

Your eyes must betray you, because Poe suddenly loosens his grip and breathes your name softly, causing you to flick your eyes back up to his. You didn’t realize you were staring so openly.

“I’ll go slow,” he reassures you quietly, voice gentle and knowing. The complete lack of sarcasm or aggression in his tone is enough to snap you back to yourself, knowing that can’t possibly be right. He’s talking to you like he did when you stumbled your ass out of the x-wing today, when you were barely responsive and lost in dumb shock. He doesn’t have to… be nice to you right now, like you’re still only moments away from losing it. It’s offensive.

“I can handle it,” you harumph, widening your legs while Poe immediately suppresses a grin.

“'Course you can,” he sighs with the slightest note of fondness creeping into his voice, dropping his hips as he lines up at your entrance. “And I’ll go slow anyways.”

You open your mouth to respond but at the first push of his head inside, you inhale sharply and your palm immediately shoots out to press against his chest on complete instinct. The stab of pain is impossible to mask from your features and Poe instantly stops with a shaky breath, watching how your jaw drops at the intrusion and your face contorts.

“Ahh. Shit…” he whispers as his head tips down, dark eyes clamping shut and his hold on you tightening. “What—shit, what the fuck…”

“Keep going,” you growl out, even though you know you’re just making it more difficult on yourself. You can take Poe’s cock, you can take it, he has absolutely nothing to brag about, it’s completely normal-sized—

His hips inch forwards and you gasp at the excruciating arc of sensation, slapping at him harder.

“Keep going,” you babble while locking your elbows and shoving him back, “fuck, keep going, keep going—”

“Baby,” Poe groans, wrenching one of your hands from his chest and bringing your wrist up to his mouth to kiss and breathe hot air on it, “baby, you gotta let me—”

He moves a little more and you cry out, jerking your hand back from his lips and knocking it hard against his chest before you even realize it. Oh shit, you can’t handle it, you haven’t been fucked in so long—

“I’m sorry,” you choke out, trying to be nicer by flattening your palm but then immediately digging your nails in, “fuck, I’m sorry, it’s just—it’s been awhile since I—”

“Shit, I can tell,” he pants brokenly, his fingers dropping back down to flex hard on your hip. “Hoooolyfuck, I can te—ah, fuck, it’s alright, it’s alright, just—nnnnnnshit, okay, just relax, don’t tense up too muuuh… much—”

His cock pushes deeper even as he keeps rambling through it and you feel yourself being rearranged to make room for the slow movement, giving way to a rich pleasure even as the discomfort increases.

Poe stops once more when your hands shove up against him, somehow simultaneously shakier and firmer than all the other times put together and a little more than half of him inside you at this point. You’re so slick and hot between your legs that there’s no resistance besides the stretch, nothing to stop him from slamming home besides your weak hands trembling at his collarbone, but everything about the way he stays completely frozen for ages says he’s controlled and patient.

Everything except his face, you soon realize.

When your body is finally able to come to terms with the sensation and you blink up at him, Poe isn’t looking at you anymore. He’s staring directly over your head at the wall, tangible regret manifesting itself in seething frustration marring his expression. His eyebrows furrow and he scowls but all of it is silent and directed at himself, as if he’s asking why the fuck he actually agreed to do this. You know then that it must be really fucking wet. You know then that you must be just blazing hot and tighter than sin and as if in rhythmic agreement, his cock jumps inside you with each pounding rush of blood through it. You can see the sweat beading at his hairline as he continues to ignore you for the moment, choosing instead to silently lament at the wall like it did something to mortally betray him.

You could… make this a sprint, something devious suddenly whispers to you. He’s struggling through the pleasure and you can outlast. From the severity of that look alone, you can put an end to it before it even starts.

Admittedly, you don’t even let the devil finish his damn sentence before you decide to take your own initiative. You clamp down around him as hard as you can and Poe whips his attention down to you and punches out a curse that sounds like you wrenched the word from his throat before he was anywhere near ready for it. It comes from somewhere high and defenseless in register and then quickly falls down into a growly pit as his hips automatically lurch forwards the rest of the way inside, hard, smacking into yours as you squeeze wickedly around him.

You keep squeezing through the sudden upward shove of bliss, you keep tightening up even though you’re making agonizing noises and your eyes clamp shut and it hurts. But stars, it feels good, why does it feel so good when it hurts so bad? It makes your throat scrape and your face twist up, but you can hear his cursing getting louder and more desperate so you still don’t relax your viselike hold around him.

“Stop it—” he snarls down at you rabidly, “—oh fuck, stop or you’ll make us both cu—”

Shit, he’s right. You know he’s never been more right about anything as soon as his hips stutter and kick up to a full blown gallop in the middle of his furious scolding, and the sudden build of ecstasy is so fast and intense that you sob his name, not being able to loosen your muscles anymore as soon as it overtakes you. But it’s like a closed circuit, you’re both recycling the same pleasure without knowing how to shut it off. The harder you bear down on him, the faster his hips work, the vicious cycle compounding and circling and manifesting in the perfect typhoon within just a few tumultuous seconds.

But then suddenly he rips himself out of you with a gasp and it’s not a moment too soon, because both of you have to scramble and grab onto things to brace yourselves through the worst of it. You choose the mattress and he chooses the railing, and through the searing discomfort and settling of the chaos that’s becoming more and more familiar to you as this exhausting day passes, you know you fucked up. You underestimate his self control, time and time again. But, exactly like earlier today, you feel a thrill skitter up your spine at how he’s going to respond to your brazen treachery in the face of a newly established truce.

“Fuck,” he jerks his head to spit the obscenity at you, sounding more pissed off than you’ve ever heard him, the shredded anger in his voice starting to burn through you. “Fuckfuckfuuuuck—you make me so mad. You make me so mad. I wish I could fuck you right now, on Maker, I’d ruin you. I’d wreck your shit until you learn and you’d deserve every single fucking second of it, you—”

He stops short and growls jagged sharp in frustration, but you can’t help yourself.

“Say it,” you whimper on a dare, feeling your heart pound. The words quiver with an inexplicable sort of excitement as you dig your fingers into the mattress, wanting to hear his voice snarl the mysterious profanity. “Say it. ‘You…’—what? Say it.”

Shock suddenly paints his previously tense expression blank, even though his pupils blow out and his chest heaves. Your voice is too breathless, it’s too needy to sound nearly as antagonistic as you want.

And then Maker, it’s as if the sheer control he’s clinging to serves to spark his vexation even more. Mad that you would ask for something so enticing at a moment like this. Your heart thunders as Poe nearly flashes up close to you and points a threatening finger at you.

“You’re not going to get what you want from me,” he snaps, quiet and furious. “Not tonight. I don’t give a shit, I told you I’d slow fuck you and now I’m gonna do it until you act right.”

“You’re an asshole—” you move to lift up onto your elbows, but his hand suddenly plants against your clavicle and shoves you back down flat on the mattress.

“Not even ten minutes after I make you cum and you’ve already got a fucking attitude problem again,” he shoots back, positioning his cock at your entrance with his other hand once more, and Maker you’re drowning between your legs. His sharp rebuttal and the firm hold on the upper part of your chest makes it that much wetter, knowing you can’t do much more than lift your legs the way you need when he eases his way back inside.

“P-Poe—” you gasp breathlessly, but it's like he doesn’t hear you.

His expression tenses and he shudders out a low growl. “Fuck. Tight little baby. Rude little baby, just wants everything her way but doesn’t know how to behave herself.”

You have to bite your lip hard to hold back a whine when he’s completely sheathed and his hips connect to yours, and… shit. You already feel it. You already feel that simmering starting to take hold deep down once more, that monstrous second orgasm you’ve been fighting now digging its claws into you and licking the base of your spine with fire. And, as if he can tell, his demeanor instantly changes.

“Uh, oh,” Poe murmurs quietly, equal parts lilting and baiting, slowly dragging his cock out and then starting up the laziest pace you’ve ever experienced with his hand still planted high on your sternum right below your collarbone. “Can you feel it coming? Fuck, I can,” he shudders. “Already. Fuck, you’re so wet, you’re so wet—wish you had let me eat you out mor—”

“You can’t c—umm,” you hiccup, grasping his wrist and writhing through the building ecstasy, and you don’t know who you’re talking to at this point. Your other palm slaps at his shoulder with increasing urgency—fuck, he’s been fucking you for barely ten seconds and you’re already struggling to hold everything back. Only, his hand quickly grabs yours and pins it to the mattress, his face dropping closer as he rolls his hips achingly slow. You feel his back working with the steady pace, you see his neck flex as his cock drags so thick inside you, and then your gaze starts to lose focus a bit. It slides up his throat as lazily as he’s augmenting your pleasure, following the contour of his smooth skin until it reaches his face.

And mercy, Poe’s tongue comes out to wet his lips and a dark curl hangs down his forehead, concentrating hard on fucking you steadily without giving into the same creeping euphoria you’re feeling, and you have to turn away and bite back a whimper at the metal railing when the image starts to burn you alive.

“No,” Poe gruffs and his hand slides up a few inches to frame your jaw, twisting until you face him directly once more. “Right here, you stay right here with me.”

Your eyebrows pull up weakly and your eyes flick across his stunning features, the way he’s so present, so focused and determined while you’re starting to drift. His skin is so smooth, so golden when his jawline used to be dark, and—

“I—” you choke, starting to lose it, “—I-I…”

“What is it, baby?” Poe growls, staring down at you with unwavering, intense concentration. “Tell me. You gonna cum?”

“I…” you whimper, blinking at him slowly, “I… liked your… b-beard…”

Poe’s eyes, previously hardened and steadfast, suddenly go a bit dumb, a bit dazed. After a second, his eyebrows lose all strain, his gaze turns warmer and he rolls his hips deeper—

But the swell begins to become the only thing you can comprehend—that and the fact that you should be fighting it. You should be revolting against it, but now he’s looking so softly down at you and you can’t remember what could possibly be so bad about letting him take away all this ache and desperation again. Let him continue to take it away, over and over and over until it’s nowhere to be found at all.

And then Poe leans down and kisses you. And it’s… nothing like you’d expect.

It’s gentle. It’s tender. It goes on forever while he rocks into your soaking wet cunt, easing his throbbing cock in and out of you with such a smooth, repetitive motion that sends sparks of ecstasy down your spine at the apex of each thrust.

You handle it silently. At first. You don’t audibly react to any of it, you force your voice to at least keep quiet if you can’t hide the pleasure from your face or body, but then true to fucking form, he has to go and ruin it all. Poe uses his knees to scoot up just the slightest bit, and then his moan breaks through the absence of the desperate sounds you’ve been holding back as his tongue slowly slides into your mouth.

Your pussy flares, contracting painfully around his cock as it hits a spot that makes your legs shake against his sides. Your eyes roll back as his soft tongue dips into your mouth and everything just gets tighter, and tighter. Poe moans again and his hips push a little bit harder into yours on the next thrust, and it’s almost like a domino effect, except that doesn’t do it justice. It doesn’t topple one by one, it doesn’t take any time at all for the beginning to reach the finish—it’s a house of cards, the whole thing collapses and crashes down in on itself all at once.

You cum.

You lose. Fair and square.

You make a long, anguished whine into his mouth as you just start spasming, clutching hard at his shoulders and drenching his cock with it, your eyes squeezing shut as you cum so slow and fucking helpless around him. Oh Maker, it’s fucking devastating, it feels even more destructive and powerful than the first one. You pull and shove and claw at him equally, mouth slack as Poe tightens his hold and keeps tasting your whimpering cries, fitting his hips snug to yours as he slowly pushes you down through the debilitating ecstasy. You sob in euphoric defeat and a low, bone-shattering groan of satisfaction rumbles through his chest in response, grinding his cock into you and holding it deep as your pussy convulses.

All those weeks of holding out, just to lose. You had a freebie, he gave you an orgasm already and it was like a massive dose of spice to your deprived system—all it did was make your body want it more. Even worse, your orgasm doesn’t immediately inspire one in Poe like a part of you hoped it would, if only so you could reasonably contest the validity of the outcome. He’s able to ride out every twitch and flex as you shudder your way through it, continuing to lazily slide his tongue into your mouth while it’s held open and slack. He tastes like you. He tastes hot and slick and everything about your body feels the same way, damp and unbearably warm from your nape to your elbows to your cunt to the backs of your knees.

You lay there for what feels like a lifetime afterwards, powerless to the way your thighs tremble violently against his hips and letting the tip of his tongue slowly trace the bottom edge of your teeth while he firmly keeps his cock buried inside you. It pulses thickly and you know he wants to cum, you can feel the tension pulling at his shoulders as he keeps perfectly still. But then Poe shuffles his arms up until they’re braced around your head, using himself to box you in completely without moving his lips from yours. His teeth close on your bottom lip as he inches his hard cock out long and aching from your sensitive channel, and then groans and goes back to the same exact dragging pace from before.

Your expression furrows, even as he keeps kissing you and the movement lights up your oversensitive nerves. Fuck, you want him to speed up, it’s all the more shattering and viseral when he takes his time. What is he doing? What is he waiting for?

“Fuck me,” you whine against his lips, demanding a quicker pace. You don’t know why he isn’t just letting loose on you now, giving into his body’s need to cum. He’s aching for it, still rock hard inside of you. “Come on, I already l-lost, just fuck m—”

“Told you before,” Poe whispers back, refusing to speed up. He keeps his pace dragging and steadfast, no matter how much you work to entice him. “Never… fuck. Never gave a fuck about that stupid bet. Suffer though.”

The complete lack of harshness in his tone sears through your nerve endings even though what he said wasn’t exactly nice. You never thought hearing him tell you to suck it up could be delivered in a way that inspires so much arousal in you, but then his tongue is in your mouth again as his hips work slow and easy, and your eyes roll back at how… overwhelming it feels. So intimate. You’re completely surrounded by him, his forearms propped next to your head and his mouth on yours, and… Maker, there it is again. Your body is so deprived that it’s already gearing up to go again. He’s being lazy and you can’t fucking stand how it’s breaking you down. Gradually, with incredible stamina and a patience you never expected from him. When you first feel that pull, part of you still wants to pick up the other end and start a tug-of-war with the sensation. You’ve been fighting for so long that your body almost doesn’t know any different, its automatic reaction is to resist.

A distraction, that’s what you need. That’s what guys do to stop themselves from cumming too soon, right? Fuck, think of something, think of…

—Poe, you can't think of anything but Poe. Fuck. His cock sinking deep, the way he tastes, how his fingers thread into the damp hair at your crown so you can feel him that much more, how you can hook his biceps with both hands and swirl your tongue around his while he fucks you open. Your hips roll up with the pace and almost immediately stutter back down again, not sure if you can handle the wicked shot of oversensitivity—but then Poe groans and shifts up until his thighs are under your ass and he can curl you in more, lift your feet a bit more and make you feel smaller. And—stars, the next thrust in is enough to nearly make you bite him on complete accident, an unexpected sound ripped from your throat as he keeps that specific angle.

Poe keeps going. He keeps kissing you, keeps rocking into you. He lets you claw at him, lets you grapple helplessly while his cock shreds molten hot euphoria deep inside you, and then everything tightens up again.

“Ah, fuck,” Poe breaks away and curses a whole few seconds before you descend into mindless chaos once more, garbling out broken syllables with the absense of his mouth keeping yours occupied. Your voice crescendos and breaks at the same time you do, the pleasure arcing through you over and over and wringing you out repeatedly around his throbbing cock. Poe’s lips quickly move forward and give your whole cheek an open kiss while your expression crumples with it. Teeth drag down your skin as he moans hot air across your skin, his hips slowing to a complete stop with an obscenely slick sound.

You throb and clench around him and his lips are suddenly on yours again, his tongue sinking deep and dominating. Your mouth is slack and all you can do is squeeze him through the bliss, scrape your fingernails down his back and hope it leaves a mark.

Eventually the tremors pass and you’re dead in the aftermath, you don’t have energy. Your body is starting to acclimate to the slow orgasms and just let them steamroll you flat, fully accepting now that you can cum but still putting everything you have into it like every single one might be your last for a while. You come back to yourself enough to feel Poe’s cock solid and achingly hard inside you, and your bottom lip is being tugged between his teeth.

And then he eases out and goes back to fucking you. Same speed, same control.

Your eyes nearly fucking cross. “P-Poe—”

He immediately makes a noise of disapproval with his mouth closed, a nuh-uh but kept tight in his throat. He doesn’t want to hear it, he’s not even letting you finish your thought.

You can’t take it, though, you didn’t think he was capable of this. This is torturous in an entirely different way, overstimulating and shattering you with every thrust.

So, you think back to the one thing that got him to nearly snap earlier, the one time you really got to see that fire you love playing with. Only now, you need that fire, you need him to take everything out on you. Your floor muscles clamp down without warning and squeeze him as tight as possible, squeeze squeeze squeeze until you feel his hips stutter to a halt once more. Your breath catches—fuck, is this gonna work?—but then Poe breaks away from your lips to drop his head and sink his teeth into your neck.

You nearly squeal at how careless he is about it—an animal that bites you lazily even though it sends sharp agony rocketing through you. Again, your attempt at sabotage backfires spectacularly as a subsequent flare of pleasure swells up, and oh, that’s what you want, you want him to be mean—

“Please,” you whimper, hooking your ankles behind his back and locking down hard enough to make your toes curl. Poe groans as you grab a fistful of his hair and tug at the way your skin pinches between his teeth—you know you’re gonna have a bite mark for a few days and it thrills you. “Fuck, please, Poe—please just fuck me, please, I want you to fuck me until it hurts, fuck me the way we both nee—”

“You and me almost died today,” Poe grits into your neck, cutting off your desperate whimpers with a short growl. “Maker, it was so close, I don’t think anybody has any f-fucking…” His hips pull out and then spear deep and you choke, tightening and tightening. “But—shit, we didn’t, we lived and now—oh fuck, now baby’s finally letting me fuck her and I’m not cutting it short, no matter how pretty she sounds asking.”

His words sound slurred against your neck and you can’t tell if it’s his delivery or your perception that’s lagging. But when you feel Poe inch his cock out and start to slowly fuck you through the tightness, you let out a weak little whine and feel yourself drifting… somewhere else.

Things subtly lose their clarity, your eyelashes dip and you stop talking because words won’t come. You can’t tell if you’re staring at the ceiling or your eyelids or the back of your head, but Poe’s voice abruptly breaking through the silence makes you realize you don’t have a concept for time anymore. You couldn’t tell him how long you’ve been floating, but you almost don’t understand what he’s saying at all and it takes you a remarkable delay to fully comprehend. But judging from what he says, it sounds like it hasn’t been long.

“Shit, are you cumming again?” He suddenly gasps into the crook of your neck and grinds his hips achingly hard into yours, “O-Oh—fuck yeah, you are—baby’s cumming again—”

“P-Poe?” You stutter and smack your hand against something, him maybe, not knowing literally anything else. Not knowing what he’s talking about, not knowing where you are, not knowing your own name, “Poe—oh m-my… God—”

“Whhh—W-What—?” You hear him breathe a split second before everything compresses down tight, and then it all shoves forward at once. All of the buildup makes itself known the very moment it becomes too much to control, like a flash flood but the downpour happened miles away. You think you might actually squeak this time, helplessly cry out like it hurts because stars, it does. It hurts so fucking good, it spiders pure plasma through your entire body with rhythmic jolts and wipes your mind completely vacant. Your shoulders shoot you up and knock your chin into something and you think you might be crying? You don’t know anymore. Your spine comes back down to the mattress like the damp fitted sheet covering it is made of pure ice—your body is overheated and you keep tensing and jerking back up until Poe forcefully pins you tight against it, growling filth under his breath as he slow fucks you through it.

You feel his hand dropping down between your bodies and you sob pitifully at the ceiling when the tip of his calloused finger brushes your clit.

***

You lose count.

It’s just… constant, there isn’t a point in keeping track anymore even if there happened to be the ability—which, nope. Not even close.

He ruins you slowly. Meticulously, with nothing more than steady, unwavering determination. Every structure you built, he takes apart by hand instead of bulldozing it the way you beg him to when you find the words. You’re certain you find them—you must find them at some point, but they’re interspaced between babbled gibberish and breathy whispers of his name.

Even though it’s slow—Maker, it’s so slow—you’ve never been so fucking exhausted. He makes you give him everything and then he drains the reserves, the hidden ones you weren’t even aware existed. He never goes fast enough; in fact, you think he’s actually slowed down over the unknown amount of time it’s been since you first called out his name and asked for this. If you were in a frame of mind to notice, you’d probably realize he’s trying harder and harder to not cum, but in your wild headspace, it just feels like a prolonged punishment for you. It still feels like he’s depriving you for his own pleasure, even though he’s actually depriving himself for yours. But you always do manage to find some way to read things wrong with him.

Eventually, he begins to waver. He stops talking so much, stops chastising you when you plead with him. He hasn’t looked at you since he first kissed you—he’s either hidden his face in your neck or closed his eyes as his soft tongue slides across your bottom lip before dipping inside.

But then there comes a point where even you realize he’s struggling not to let go now, and in your faded traces of sanity, you hear your broken voice cut through the sounds of the soft radio.

“Y-Y-You—” you gasp, trembling under him, “—youneedtocum. You need to—”

“No,” Poe grits against your chin, sounding shaky and weak no matter how sharp he makes his consonants. “Fuck, not yet, I—I-I don’t want to yet.”

“Oh no,” you wheeze out, feeling the swell begin again, the familiar flicker of warning you get as his cock slowly rocks into you. Maker, the pleasure is getting raw and painful even as your pussy is drowning his cock with it, allowing him to glide slow and deep into your sensitive channel and letting the sheer tightness of it be the only resistance your body puts up. You can feel the wetness on your cheeks though, the tears of frustration gathering as your body prepares itself for yet another wave of attack. “Oh no, ohhhhhnononononono—”

“I don’t want—” Poe gasps, his hips stuttering just a bit and one of his hands coming down to smack the pillow next to your head as he chokes, “—don’t want this to… e-end yet, I—”

Your next orgasm suddenly slams through you and Poe immediately rips himself out of you before it’s too late. He shushes you frantically while you sob in distress and writhe side to side through the contractions solo this time, having nothing to clamp down on, not even able to grind up into him because he keeps his leaking cock elevated far beyond your reach.

Oh, that’s it. That is it.

“Fuck me!” You wail up at him, water blurring your vision and tears streaming down your cheeks, “Stop fucking around and just fuck me, you asshole! Fuck me and fuck me hard Dameron or I swear to every fucking star in the sk—”

You don’t get too far. He’s immediately scrambling over top of you and a strong hand is clamping down tight over your mouth, muffling your high-pitched cries against his palm. Your legs are shoved apart and one is caught under his arm and wedged back as far as it can go. His head drops to your neck, and then he snarls a ragged, “Brat—“ under your ear before ramming his cock back inside you.

Stars. Stars light up, it’s so much—the angle, the force, the speed, the sound his hips make as they start ruthlessly colliding with yours. Your eyes screw shut and you dig your nails into the meat of his back, but he doesn’t slow down—he speeds up—

“Fuck, you still think that throwing your little fucking fits works on me?” He hisses, drilling into your g-spot with such blinding hard precision that you can’t do anything more than just claw at his chest, gasping for air that just won’t come into your lungs. “Huh? Think you can just be a little bitch to me about it and it’s gonna change anything? You still don’t have any fucking idea, do you? Look at me—” he snarls, grabbing your face and shaking it to get you to respond, “—look at what you fucking do to me—”

But you can’t. You already came countless times and he’s lurching you up the bed with every single rabid thrust into your blindingly sensitive cunt, fucking you into the railing and then the wall behind it. You still feel his fingers grasping at your jaw, forcing you to address him, to look at him, and you can’t seem to focus your vision on his blurry features even when your eyes flutter open. You’re too dumb with grinding pleasure to see anything besides blurs and stars, to say literally anything back to him. But that’s not what he cares about.

“Oh fuck yes, there it is,” his voice whines, pitching up something vulnerable as his hips ram you into the corner hard and unyielding, “fuck, there’s those pretty eyes, that’s what I wanted, baby, that’s all I wanted—th-that’s—fuck, that’s—”

They must cross, or roll back, or something, because suddenly you can’t see him at all anymore. You don’t know what happens—but you know it’s wet. You know it bursts forth something fierce and you shriek his name with a hoarse and shredded voice like he steals the last part of your whole fucking soul with it. Fuck, you’re not even there for most of it, you might actually black out.

In your conscious moments, you can feel his whole body flexing over and over again on top of you. He empties his load deep inside you and takes a fucking eternity doing it, so many breathless praises leaving his mouth so quickly that they slur together and you can’t understand any of it even if you could hear him. All you can do is feel your cunt tighten and convulse in tandem with the throbbing of his cock, rhythmically working the cum out of him until Poe stops stuttering his hips, until he finally trails off into nothing but labored gasps and slumps down on top of you in exhaustion.

You both lay there for a while, dead weight breathing.

You want to hold him, your cum-struck mind quietly provides in the comedown. You want to feel his body now that you can finally think straight and take a moment to enjoy this blissful relief. He fucked you so good and you want to touch him, you want to run your fingers through his hair and massage the tight muscles at the base of his neck.

But then you just start giggling.

It’s stupid. It’s so fucking stupid. You smack your hand over your mouth but the garbled noise easily floats beyond it, completely elated and having absolutely no explanation at all.

Poe quickly pulls his head back to look at you and you try to twist sideways under him to hide it, but you can’t stop—like a complete loon, you snort and start to laugh harder at the ridiculous sound. Oh, you don’t just float, you’re the air itself, so light with endorphins that you close your eyes and get lost in the fit until water wets the outside corners.

After a moment, a hand gently grasps your wrist and slowly pulls it down until he can see the way your mouth opens as you giggle, hear it unobstructed and let the sound bubble up at him and fill the room. And you blink your eyes open just in time to see him slowly break into the most dazzling smile you’ve ever seen him bestow a person.

And… you’ve seen him grin a million times. He’s almost always smiling, as long as you’re not right in front of him. He smiles at his squadmates, he smiles at girls, he smiles at complete strangers, and you always thought it was pretty. Always knew that he could light up a room with it, you always knew he could get anything he wanted with it, but this… this isn’t that kind of smile. That one is practiced and alluring. It wasn’t fake, necessarily, but that smile’s purpose always had more to do with making anyone who happens to witness it feel a certain way than it did about signifying his own emotional state.

This one is… goofy. Amazed, and uncoordinated. Thunderstruck in a way, except the clouds all part at the same time and let you see a rainbow. It makes you feel… alive. Colorful. Radiant. Sunshine. Butterflies.

Poe quickly drops his lips to catch yours and you moan happily, sliding your tongue into his mouth this time. You both adjust, you arch into him as he pushes your damp hair back and makes a deep noise of satisfaction, letting you explore while he wraps his arms around you and finds a way to make this atrocious position comfortable. Every part of you is smushed up against him and there’s absolutely no space to be found, and you’ve never been happier.

“We made a mess,” he groans against your lips, rocking his hips into you with a disgustingly slick sound as if to illustrate, and his cock is soft but it’s still so thick that it stays buried inside your sloppy entrance. “Shit, I—I think I might be bleeding.”

“What?” You ask breathily, and he heaves himself up with his elbows just enough to reveal his chest. You both tuck your chins unattractively to look and you don’t immediately see any blood, but your claw marks are clearly red and visible scraping down his pectorals. “Oh. Pfft. You’re fine.”

He drops back down with a huff and your head is tilted at the perfect angle catch on the tiny droplets of blood decorating the marks criss-crossing his shoulder blades. Oops.

But he’s already kissing up your neck and over the curve of your jaw and making out with you again like he can’t get enough of it, and you forget. You forget everything. You forget every disagreement, every gripe with him you’ve ever had. It’s all wiped away and replaced with giddy, childish adoration. Resetting completely and starting off on the rightest foot imaginable.

“Let’s go to my bed,” he murmurs, and you make a tight noise of disapproval. No. This is good, this is how you want to stay. The railing is digging into your lower back and he’s heavy but you’re perfect like this, this is perfect. “Baby,” Poe pants against your lips in exasperation when you quickly clutch the back of his neck and keep him glued to you, “mmph—you got everything all wet—”

This time you make a low hum of agreement and drag your hand down the bare curve of his spine to his ass to give it a squeeze. A testament to how hard and raw he fucked you. Poe shudders hard enough for you to feel his body tremble but you just kiss him harder, pulling him down onto you more.

“You’re gonna have to give me, just like—I don’t know, at least an hour or two,” he chuckles, grabbing your hands to make it easier to peel himself from your body and groaning when his cock finally slips out. “Come on, let’s hang out in my bed.”

You’re so boneless when he pulls you to sit upright, you roll a little bit and Poe has to catch you, and you laugh again. Maker, you’re a complete mess and absolutely delighted about it. Your attempts at grumbling and complaining don’t hold any sway when you’re still trying not to giggle, and Poe is able to pull you to the top of the ladder and make his way down first.

As soon as he’s out of sight and calling up to you, you weakly slide into position with a groan and feel yourself leaking at the movement. “Gah—look what you did. I’m all… gooey.”

“I know, s’the hottest fucking thing,” he says under his breath from the floor, before beckoning you by tapping on the closest rung a few times. “Come on, be careful.”

You do as he says, easing your naked body down one step at a time with wobbly legs. It’s clumsy and you whine the whole way through, wordlessly grousing and mumbling.

“Oh, I just know it,” he comments on the sound, “nice clean sheets, I’ll get the violin.”

Normally, you probably would’ve snarked something back down at him, but you’re still so loopy and shaky-legged that you just start laughing again. The fact that he’s absolutely right and you’re being ridiculous about something like moving beds suddenly strikes you as incredibly fucking funny for some reason. You don’t realize his hands are hovering inches away from your hips until your legs buckle and Poe quickly supports your weight.

“Maker,” Poe chuckles before giving you a firm yank, and then catching you before you can tumble down the ladder in your naked, teary-eyed mania, “let’s go, giggles.”

He carries you a few steps to the mattress and plops you down on top of the comforter, letting you take up the whole bed while he sits on the end and puts your feet on his lap. Poe grimaces for a second and then shuffles until the radio is pulled out from under him, and you can hear the soft sound of it playing once again. You bury your face into his pillow, inhaling the warm scent lingering there while he tosses it carelessly to the side and rubs your shins for a little bit, watching you stretch out naked on his mattress.

“I’m not giving you two weeks of pay,” you suddenly grunt, and he just grins down at you, not arguing. Not saying anything. Sitting in comfortable silence with you when you’re expecting him to bicker. So you stay like that for a long time, breathing deep and relaxing, until Poe’s hands leave you for a second…

… to pull a bag of chips out.

Maker, at the first squeaky sound of the wrapping assaulting your eardrums, you want to roll your eyes. You want to tease him about how fucking typical it is. Like clockwork, you could probably set your watch to his middle of the night cravings. You don’t know why you thought fucking him would change any of that.

You want to give him shit for it. You even open your mouth, the snark on the very tip of your tongue. But then your stomach growls as soon as he rips the thin plastic apart.

Poe’s eyes shoot to yours and neither one of you move, but apparently your tummy doesn’t get the memo. It takes forever to trail off into silence again, and he blinks. Fuck, you know you should’ve forced yourself to eat at least something earlier. Warmth floods your cheeks and you scramble for something to say, but there’s no way to play it off.

“Would you like some chips?” Poe suddenly asks with a boyish grin, raising his eyebrows and tipping the open bag freely in your direction.

The corners of your mouth pull downwards even as the inside of it waters. You wouldn’t call it stubbornness necessarily as much as it is a… a desire to stick to consistency. After the unbelievably hard time you always give him about midnight snacking, you’re hesitant to partake.

Though, the chips rustle against each other and sound absolutely fucking delicious as Poe shakes the bag and bounces his eyebrows, and you know what? Fuck it.

You snatch it without thinking, cradling the precious food to your chest as you dig your whole hand in and shove a bunch into your mouth at once. You catch him smiling again, but he doesn’t comment.

You both take turns, and by take turns you obviously mean you take turns stealing the bag from each other instead of just setting it equidistant between you and openly agreeing to share it, but it works for you. It seems appropriate. And then it’s quiet again, just munching and crinkling, except for the radio continuing to play from its place in his lap. You have to work to listen over the loud crunching vibrating through your skull, but when you finally manage to stop chewing and catch a few bars, you suddenly find yourself trying not to smile again. Fuck, it’s been years since you’ve heard this song, you love this s—

“Fuck, I love this song,” Poe promptly exclaims with his mouth full, licking the tips of his fingers before scrambling to pick the radio up and twist the volume knob without using his wet fingertips. He starts humming over the melody, loud enough to almost drown it out completely, because of course he does. The one damn time you actually want to listen to his radio and he still finds some way to mildly irritate you.

But this irritation is almost… fun. You want to laugh just as much as you want to yell at him.

“Hey, who sings this song?” You immediately ask over the sound of him clearly not knowing the lyrics, already ready with it. Oh, the round is in the chamber, your finger is on the trigger, you are ready, and Poe’s eyes sparkle as he seems to stop and think about it.

“Mm, not sure,” he eventually shrugs, just before you rush, “Let’s keep it that—”

And then he’s slapping a hand on your leg and belting out the chorus while you scoff, giggling. He ruined the punchline on purpose and is now getting chip dust all over you, but you know any complaint you make will be drowned out by his suspended notes and backing track, so you just roll your eyes and swipe the bag of chips from him while he continues to serenade you.

“My ears are bleeding,” you mutter under your breath.

He has a nice voice, you think.

#poe x reader #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron #reader insert #Smut #no-droids

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mandos-sluts · 3 years

Text

The Visit

This is Part One of a three-part series

The Visit Part Two

The Visit Part Three

The Mandolorian x Fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: Smut, dubious consent, fingering, dirty talk, mentions of sex work

Summary: You are Luke Skywalker’s Padawan, training directly under him at his Jedi Academy. Din Djarin is staying at the compound for a few days to visit Grogu.

A/N: Please message us or comment if you want to be on our tag list!! Also we love feedback <3

“What does he look like?”

“He’s a Mandalorian. Big silver shiny armor. Can’t miss him.”

*************************************

Boy was he right. You spot Din as soon as you step into the cantina. He’s standing at the bar, leaning over it slightly. His visor catches your eye from across the room, and he stares at you for a while, looking you up and down, before turning his head back to the bar. He’s never seen someone so beautiful in this parsec before.

Your Master, Luke Skywalker, told you to meet Din at the cantina and escort him to the Jedi Academy. Luke had similarly informed Din that he was sending his Padawan to rendezvous.

You know all about Din Djarin. You know his whole deal with Grogu and the Darksaber, and his run-ins with the Empire and the Guild. The story of his miraculous rescue of Grogu made its way around the school after Luke brought the child back to the Academy.

The cantina that you’re at is located in the town that lies right outside the Jedi Academy compound. It’s a place that many students go to blow off steam and hang out.

You find yourself surprisingly nervous as you walk up to the tall intimating Mandalorian. “Excuse me.” You say.

“Not interested.” He says shortly without even looking at you.

”What?” You asked, confused.

“I said I’m not interested.”

“Not interested in what?”

”Your services.”

”My services?” You don’t understand. Is he wanting to travel to the grounds by himself? That’s not an option....he wouldn’t be permitted on the estate without an escort. Didn’t Luke tell him of this arrangement?

Din exhales, clearly annoyed, and finally turns to look at you. “Do I need to spell it out for you? I’m not looking for a whore.”

You stand there, completely dumbfounded, your mouth slightly open from shock. A whore? What the fuck?!!

In his defense, you are wearing a rather skimpy-looking outfit. You have on what is essentially a tennis skirt and a bandeau; it’s the hot season on the planet. Even so, this guy is an asshole.

You take a breath and put a fake smile on your face. “My apologies….Din Djarin.” You say in a suggestive manner. Turning around to leave, Din whips around and grabs your upper arm tightly, yanking you closer to him.

“How do you know that name?” Din loudly whispers in a demanding, low voice.

You’re not stupid, you know that his name is known only by a few. “My industry has very skilled people.” You respond, hoping he will get the hint that you are in fact not a sex worker, but actually the person he’s supposed be meeting.

”Are you telling me your brothel somehow got a hold of my name?” Din is pretty pissed. Is this what he gets from doing dealings with Jedi? His name gets leaked to brothels?

You let out a sigh as your eyes roll. You snatch your arm out of his grasp and move swiftly out the door into the street. What a jerk. This guy can find his own way to the compound.

Din tries to follow you, needing to know how a random whore got his name, but the streets are pretty crowded.

”Oh, Mr. Djarin!” Din hears someone say. He looks over his shoulder and sees Luke Skywalker approaching him.

“H-hi, Master Skywalker.” Din says, deciding to give up on his pursuit of you, after all, that’s not the reason he’s here.

“I’m surprised to see you here, did my Padawan not pick you up?” Luke asks.

“No. He never showed.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry about that. Let me take you to the Jedi Temple.”

************************************* You hear your Master’s voice and footsteps nearing the empty lounge you’re sitting in. It’s a pretty big, dark lit room. There’s a conference table on one end, and an arrangement of couches and chairs spread across the place. It’s always empty, and you often use the area to meditate or exercise or just hang out. You pretend to look busy, eager for what’s about to occur.

“It is strange that my Padawan did not show up to greet you.” You hear Luke say behind the wall. He pokes his head around the door. “Ah, here she is.” He says walking into the lounge.

She? Din walks a few feet behind Luke. He turns the corner and walks through the door, freezing in his footsteps as soon as he lays eyes on you. There you are, the woman who approached him at the cantina….Luke’s Padawan.

You stare into his visor with a smug half smile on your face and slowly rise from your seat. You’re reveling in how taken aback he clearly is.

“Y/n, this is Din Djarin. I thought we discussed that you’d meet him at the cantina and escort him to the Academy? He says you didn’t show.” Luke says innocently as he stands between you and Din.

“Oh. I did go to the cantina. I guess I missed you.” You say slowly with your eyes locked on his helmet. “My apologies, Din Djarin.”

Din clears his throat. “Um n-no worries at all.” He chokes out. Shit! Din can’t believe he called you a whore. How did he not see the laser sword on your hip?

“Alright, well I’m gonna get to my meeting. Y/n, show Din around, alright?” Luke says.

“Of course Master.” You say with a slight bow of your head. You plant your gaze back on Din’s helmet as it rotates to watch Luke exit.

He slowly turns his look back to you, staring at him confidently with your hands on your hips.

“I’m sorry.” He says flatly through his modulator.

“For being such an asshole?” You say tilting your head.

“Yes. And assuming you were a prostitute.”

“There’s nothing wrong with sex workers. I’m not offended that you mistook me for one.” You say. But….why does it kind of turn you on that he thought you were a whore? Ugh and why does it turn you on that he is such a jerk??

There’s an awkward pause as you both stand there examining each other.

“So, you’re also a…Pawa-don?” Din asks, trying to fill the quiet. He has never been uncomfortable with silence before, in fact, he more often than not preferred it. But right now for some reason he feels different.

“Padawan.” You correct him. “And yes.”

“So are you doing the same training as the kid?” He further probes.

“Kind of. Grogu is more in the elementary stages of training. His focus is mainly on developing and fine-tuning his sensation with the Force. Most of my training nowadays centers around my lightsaber mastery and combat.” You inform him.

“Hm. Wonder when you’ll be good enough to battle me.” Din says casually as he takes a breath.

“What?” You ask.

“I said I wonder when you’ll be good enough in combat to put up a fight against me.”

Is he serious? Is he trying to provoke you? Even after the predicament he just found himself in with you? “Ha….um….I was good enough to fight you years ago.” You declare

Din looks at you for a moment. “I’m a Mandalorian.” He says simply.

“.....”

“The Mandalorian who wields the Darksaber. So you’re either overestimating your own ability or underestimating mine.”

You take a deep breath and take a step closer to him. “I know most people think that Mandalorians are the greatest warriors in the galaxy, but that’s because they don’t know of the Jedi Order. My connection with the force gives me strength that you will never know, that you will never be able to comprehend.”

Din takes a step closer to you. “That may be, but I have decades of combat experience that is simply unmatched by you, not to mention the most imperishable armour in the galaxy.”

“So what I’m hearing is that you would like to duel.” You say as you remove your saber from its holster and activate its blade. It’s a light lavender color, thin and sleek.

“That’s cute.” Din says. “Just a reminder, little girl. You were given that light saber. I won mine in battle.” He proclaims as he detaches his saber from his belt. *see gif*

“I made it. But fair point. Now enough talk, Mandalorian, are you ready to duel or what?” You say as you get into a battle stance.

Din holds his hand out. “If, by some miracle, you do happen to overpower me, don’t touch the saber. Bo-Katan is already mad enough that I have it, I can’t imagine what she’d do if a non-Mandalorian gets their hands on it again.”

“Yeah yeah, I’m well aware of the bizarre way that the ruler of Mandalore is chosen.”

“Alright then, princess, I won’t hold back.”

You feel heat rush through your core at those words. Princess. He won’t hold back. Uggh... focus! This guy has been demeaning you since the moment you met him, show him how powerful you are!

*************************************

You and Din battle for a good seven minutes, the two of you are pretty evenly matched, neither one of you gains the upper hand for very long. Just as you’re feeling your strength falter, you’re able to knock his saber out of his hands, and you push him onto the ground. Din tries to get up and reach for his saber but you plant yourself on top of him, straddling him. He looks up at you in defeat.

He takes a deep breath as you stare down at him. That’s when you notice the tent in his pants. You’re sitting on his legs so that his bulge is right above your crotch.

Adrenaline is pumping through your veins from your victory and a smile stretches across your face. “I have another quality that puts me at an advantage that I forgot to mention: your attraction to me and your primal desire to fuck me.” You say as you slowly place your hand on top of his clothed erection. You lean down and bring your face close to his helmet. “I bet your face is just bright red underneath this helmet of yours. Not only did you lose the battle, but your urges got the best of you.” You say in a condescending tone.

Din stares up at you, his chest moving up and down as he breathes.

“That’s where you and I differ.” You say. “A real warrior has self-control and self-restraint.”

Din moves his hands to your thighs and runs them up to your hips. “Who said I was trying to restrain myself?” He says in a raspy voice.

You’re a little caught off guard. You were teasing him, and this was not the reaction you were expecting. You thought he’d be embarrassed, you thought he’d want to get out of this situation as soon as possible.

“Face it.” You say after a pause. “You can’t repress your arousal, and your lack of self-control is a disadvantage to you.”

Din’s hands are still on your hips, and he pulls you up his body ever so slightly. “So since you have such great self-control, your panties wouldn’t happen to be wet right now, would they?” He inquires in a low, sultry voice.

You’re taken aback at his shameless words. “O-of course not.” You stutter as your confidence recedes.

“Let me see.” He demands flatly.

“What?” Did you hear him right? Your heart beat is pounding, you can’t tell if he’s joking around with you or not like you were doing with him.

“I said let me see.” Din says moving his gloved hands to the bottom of your skirt. “C’mon, pull this short little skirt up just a tad more and show me that your panties are dry.”

“N-no I–”

“Fine.” Din cuts you off. “I’ll do it myself.” He says as he removes one of his gloves. He then moves his bare hand under your skirt up to your pussy, easily pushing the thin panties you're wearing aside and planting two fingers inside your sopping wet folds.

You jerk at the contact of his soft skin on your sensitive pussy. “Din!” You exclaim. You grab his hand, but don’t move it.

Din chuckles. “Looks like you don’t have as much self-discipline as you claim.” He brings his other hand and cups your cheek. “Awwww, your face is just bright red right now.” Din mocks.

“W-whatever, you still lost.” You say out as you’re overcome with humiliation.

“Mmmmm. Congratulations.” Din says lazily as he removes his hand from your cunt and grabs your hips once again. “So, y/n. You showed me how Jedi fight. Let me show you how Mandalorians fuck.” He says as he pulls your hips and grinds you against his bulge.

Your panties are still pulled aside and the friction of his clothed erection against your clit makes you whimper.

“You– you wanna fuck me?” You ask hesitantly.

“Ha. Of course I wanna fuck you. Look at you.” He says as he lifts you off of him to stand up. Standing tall, he towers over you and brings his non-gloved hand to your chin, pulling it up gently to meet his gaze.

The unexpected and prompt shift in the power dynamic has you all turned around. Just moments ago, your confidence was through the roof. You were giddy claiming your victory against him, making fun of him for getting a boner during a duel. But the tone between the two of you has completely changed. He has you weak and timid, he’s looking down at your wide doe eyes as if you’re his prey.

“Come on, little Padawan. Practicing self-control is great, but let me show you what it’s like to lose all control over yourself.” Mando says as he wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you closer to him. “Cuz I would just love to tie you up and have my way with you.” He mutters. Dins hands slide down to your butt as he gropes your flesh, pulling you flat against him. “Let down your guard for just a moment and let me show you how rewarding it can be.” Din slips his bare hand back under your skirt to find your cunt even wetter than before. You let out a whimper and bat your eyes at him.

He starts slowly circling your clit, and moves his other hand up to caress your cheek softly. “Come on.” He whispers in your ear. “I promise you’ll enjoy it.”

High-pitched breaths are escaping your lips as he gently runs his thumb up and down your cheek bone.

“Can– can you not–” you breathe, sliding your hands up his chest.

“What. What is it?”

You pause for a moment. “Can you not be so gentle with me?” You say with slight embarrassment.

Din scoffs, “Oh baby girl, you’re gonna regret saying that.” He says as he grabs a fist full of your hair and roughly pulls your head back, exposing your delicate neck to him.

This harsh action sends shocks to your pussy. “Didn’t you say something about tying me up?” You purr with a slight smile, looking up into his visor.

“So I was right about you being a filthy fuckin whore.” Din spits as he shoves a finger inside of you, his thumb rubbing against your clit.

“Y-yeah, but only for you.” You whine as your eyes fall closed and high-pitched moans begin escaping your lips.

“Ohh that’s right baby.” Din praises. He’s so turned on by the way you’re speaking and responding to his touch, and he loves the impact he has on you. How you so quickly went from a confident fighter when he lost to you, to a shy little girl when he started teasing you, to a dirty slut once he got his hands in your panties.

He starts pumping his finger faster and you can hear the lewd noises your obscenely wet pussy is making. Your mouth opens even more with your moans becoming more pronounced and your back arches. You’re standing pressed flat up against him, he’s basically holding you up on your toes with one arm as his other hand drives into your cunt.

You can feel your orgasm just beginning to climb when you suddenly hear a beep on your watch’s intercom. It jolts you back to reality.

“Y/n, are you at the lounge? I’m heading back there now.” Your Master says through the intercom.

“Shit.” You say as you push Din’s chest, pulling yourself off of him. “I should have shown you to your accommodation by now.” You say as you frantically start looking around your feet for your saber. By the time you grab it and look up for Din, he has already made his way out the back exit.

You attach your saber to your hip as you try to steady your breathing, disoriented from the abrupt conclusion of whatever it was you were doing with Din. You hear Luke’s footsteps approaching as you quickly try to put your panties back in place, growling at how soaked they are. You’re praying that your Master doesn’t notice the wetness that has been smudged on your inner thighs.

*************************************

You cannot believe what you did with Din. No one has ever done anything like that to you before. You get hit on all the time— you’re gorgeous— but you are almost never interested enough to give them the time of day. But Din? He had his fingers in your pussy after knowing you for ten minutes. How did he do that!?

It’s the early evening. You lie in your bed visualizing the events over and over again, heat pooling in your core as you replay the dirty things he said to you.

While it fuels your arousal, you also feel uneasy about the interaction. He left so quickly, and he left without saying a word to you, almost like nothing had happened. You hope that Din doesn’t think less of you, that he doesn’t think you’re some hussy who is easily persuaded into letting guys she just met finger fuck her.

You are pulled away from your anxious thoughts when you hear your intercom going off. It’s your friends talking about what they’re doing tonight. You don’t really care to pay attention, but you sit straight up in your bed when you hear something about that “Mandalorian who’s visiting the Academy,” and how he’s “at the cantina in town.”

You jump out of bed and without even thinking, you grab a sweater and head toward the parlor.

Your heart is beating on the chilly walk there. You hope he’s surprised to see you, you hope he’s excited to see you. You’re gonna act casual, yeah, like you didn’t even know he was there. No big deal! You’re just going to the cantina to hang with your friends. And then you see eachother, and bing bang boom, you guys are back in your room fucking while he calls you his little slut. Yes. This is gonna go great.

It’s a Friday night and the cantina is bustling. People are dancing, drinking, and gambling. It’s so loud that you can barely hear yourself think. As you make your way through the rowdy crowd, you spot Din’s helmet over the hordes of people. He is sitting in a somewhat secluded booth in the corner of the restaurant.

You proceed a few steps forward, lightly pushing people to get through the crowd, and then, your heart drops. He’s not sitting alone. There’s a girl, a woman, a sex worker, wrapped in his arm.

You stand there for a moment as everything goes quiet, you stare at Din and the beautiful woman in a tight short dress sitting beside him. She’s talking to him, saying things into the side of his helmet as he sits there looking forward with his arm casually draped around her, man spreading and all.

Din’s head turns and that’s when he notices you, standing there among the crowd of people in that same short high waisted skirt and a cropped sweater of the same color.

You feel something fall deep in your chest as you realize that he sees you. You blink a few times as the rest of your senses come back, humiliation and embarrassment overcoming you as you quickly turn around and stumble out of the bar.

You make your way into the dark street and take a few deep breaths before running back to the Academy. You're fighting off tears as you feel the cold air pinching every bit of your exposed skin.

You can’t believe that you let yourself become smitten by someone who was such an asshole. He mistook you for a whore, he insulted your combat skills, he pressed you to let him fuck you! You should have expected this.

A tear rolls down your cheek. Why did you think he liked you? He didn’t. He didn’t like you. And he didn’t want to fuck you, he just wanted to fuck someone, and you were the closest one to him. You let him use you. He must do this kind of shit all the time with women, you were nothing special.

You get back to your room and bury yourself under your covers, wanting to escape so badly from this reality.

TO BE CONTINUED

The Visit Part Two

The Visit Part Three

*************************************

Masterlist

*************************************

Taglist:

@pinkninja200 @raspberrymama @stevie75 @tacticalsparkles @kenoobiwan @shark-s @theamuz @blackrose8425 @beskarboobs @beskarboobs @smutslutz @princess-djarinn @spideysimpossiblegirl @riot-rotten

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abigail-pent · 3 years

Text

TLT Theory Redux: Secret Doors and Heists

gather round the fire, children, for I have finished my third reread and I have theories to spin. they are interconnected. they will also take the form of "a listicle, kind of". This is not as tightly written/cited as I hoped it would be, many thanks to tumblr for eating the first version of this post.

THEORY #1: HARROW WAS RIGHT

About what? Probably lots of things, but specifically about the secret door. You remember Harrow's "secret door theory," right? On GTN p. 303, Harrow and Palamedes are having an argument about what is going on in Canaan House. Harrow makes fun of Palamedes' idea that there is such a thing as a Lyctoral megatheorem. Pal lightly mocks Harrow's "secret door" theory, about which she says:

"But all this is more than unsustainable, Sextus. The things they've shown us would be powerful -- would bespeak impossible depth of necromantic ability -- if they were replicable. These experiments all demand a continuous flow of thanergy. They've hidden that source somewhere in the facility, and that's the true prize."

The action picks up pretty quickly after this, and you just sort of forget about Harrow's theory since Pal's theory is so quickly proven correct. It's set up to make you think these theories are competing, but they're not. Harrow and Pal are both right.

Proposition 1: An entrance to the River -- or perhaps the part of the River on the other side of the stoma -- is hidden under Canaan House.

Evidence for Proposition 1:

1A) On GTN p. 191, Teacher says, about Silas siphoning Colum in the facility: "He cannot empty anybody here, lest they become a nest for something else!" This is highly reminiscent of HTN p. 98, when Mercy says: " A Lyctor's body, empty, with its battery intact but nobody in the driver's seat? Do you know what could take up residence? Anything could get inside you -- any horrible or evil or lonely thing, any miserable revenant, or worse." These two places are described very similarly; they may well be the same.

1B) I'm missing the citation, exactly, but I'm pretty sure it's textual that the first time the Lyctors + John ran from RBs, they ran by dropping into the River. Quite possibly from Canaan House itself.

1C) Teacher. We know he hates the water (GTN p. 325), we know he was created for the "sole purpose of safeguarding the place" (GTN p. 373). Of course, the whole place is surrounded by saltwater.

1D) When Ianthe and Cytherea are fighting and Canaan House is disintegrating, "brackish water from the fountain spattered across the floor and trickled into the cracks" (GTN p. 418). It's been well established already that 'brackish' is the word used to refer to River water. It's also the word used to describe the water that emits from Colum's mini stomae when he dies (GTN p. 393). Why is the fountain water brackish when other water in Canaan House -- for example, the pool -- is saltwater? Seems like a clue!

Proposition 2: Whatever is behind the secret door is the source of John's power.

Evidence for Proposition 2:

2A) During the big confrontation with John in HTN (p. 478-479), Augustine's suspicions echo Harrow's from GTN p. 303, when she's describing the secret door theory. He says:

"You've offered us explanations for everything over the years. But -- some of them didn't hold up on examination . . . It was the power I could never get my head around, you know? I follow power back to its source, John. It's the skill you asked me to perfect. And the longer I looked at yours, the less things added up."

Leaving aside for now the fascinating question of why John would ask Augustine to cultivate this skill, he goes on to ask:

"You're God, John. But -- as the Edenites are fond of pointing out -- you were once a man. So whither that transition? Where does your power come from? Even if the Resurrection had been the greatest thanergy bloom ever triggered, it would drain away over time. And then Mercy said to me -- in a moment of true Mercy vileness -- she said, What is God afraid of?"

Proposition 2.1: The source of John's power is not exactly Alecto, but is Alecto-adjacent. Alecto is from the space behind the secret door.

2.1A) Alecto is called a saltwater creature (HTN p. 328).

2.1B) The oldest parts of Canaan House are where the power emanates from (citation needed, but I’m sure it’s there). They are also the parts closest to the sea. As Teacher says (HTN p. 110): "The base of Canaan House dates back to before the Resurrection. We first built upward, to get away from the sea; then we built outward, to strive toward beauty."

2.1C) The Sleeper is identified with Alecto. Like Alecto, she carries a weapon, she sleeps in a coffin, she can’t be killed, and the River bubble crew is warned that the worst and most cataclysmic thing in the world would occur if she were ever to wake up (HTN p. 112, 185). Since the Sleeper is so clearly identified with Alecto, and is also identified as the presence that’s haunting the River bubble version of Canaan House, it suggests the connection between Alecto herself and the physical version of Canaan House.

Proposition 3: John has dammed the River underneath Canaan House by trapping the Earth Resurrection Beast there.

3A) Per HTN p. 43, we know there's one missing RB, since 9-5=4>3.

3B) Abigail thinks something is messed up in the River and it's dammed, and spirits cannot get across. On HTN p. 396-397, she says:

“A spirit can be trapped, trapped as every spirit in the River is trapped . . . I think there is a whole school of necromancy we cannot begin to touch until we acknowledge its existence – I think these centuries of pooh-poohing the idea that there is space beyond the River has stifled entire avenues of spirit magic, and I believe the Fifth House is waning entirely due to us reaching a stultified, complacent stage in our approach . . . Something has gone terribly wrong in the River, Harrow, and I wish you’d find out what.”

She’s describing a dam in the River that traps ghosts there. This is extremely consistent with what Teacher tells Harrow about what’s down in the facility (see 3E).

3C) On GTN p. 213, Cytherea suggests that "something has been lurking [in the Canaan House facility] forever", and when Harrow insists that "[A spirit] cannot sustain itself", Cytherea replies: "But what if one could?" We know that Resurrection Beasts are revenants, and a revenant is a type of spirit; and if any spirit was going to be self-sustaining, it would be an RB.

3D) HTN p. 172: "The card up the sleeve of the revenant, and the Resurrection Beast, is that it can inhabit anything it's got a connection to. Anything thanergetically connected with their death." So what killed Earth? Climate change, plus a massive nuclear fission chain reaction. Historically, early nuclear fission chain reaction tests took place underneath the ground (see, for example, the facility at the University of Chicago). So an underground or underwater facility could very well be thanergetically connected to the death of Earth.

An RB may very well be a continuous source of thanergy; and if this is the case, John may want to kill or neutralize the other RBs to keep other people from rivaling his power. Or better yet: harness the other RBs the same way Earth's RB was harnessed.

3E) On GTN p. 152, Teacher literally tells Harrow that the ten billion are haunting the facility. Harrow says she is “repeating exactly – to the word—what Teacher said to [her]”:

“Down there resides the sum of all necromantic transgression. The unperceivable howl of ten thousand million unfed ghosts who will hear each echoed footstep as defilement. They would not even be satisfied if they tore you apart. The space beyond that door is profoundly haunted in ways I cannot say, and by means you won’t understand; and you may die by violence, or you may simply lose your soul.”

For those of you following along at home: ten thousand million = 10,000 x 1,000,000 = 10,000,000,000 = 10 billion, or the exact number of people who died in the Resurrection. This is of course completely consistent with the Earth RB being down there, somewhere in or under the facility, because the revenant of a planet includes the spirits of every living thing on it when it was murdered.

Proposition 3.1: Alecto is one of the physical anchors for the Earth RB.

3.1A) HTN p. 454: “The only sure way to banish a revenant is to destroy the physical anchor it inhabits before it can escape the shell.” If John’s cavalier is the physical anchor for the Earth Resurrection Beast, which is the source of his power, then this would justify the characterization of Alecto as the “death of the Lord”: if she’s a physical anchor and she is destroyed, then so is the source of John’s power.

3.1B) She was the first Resurrection, and it’s plausible that she would be thanergetically connected to the death of Earth.

3.1C) HTN p. 495: Pyrrha notes that the stoma “must think [John] is a Resurrection Beast.” Which is a super interesting mistake for the stoma to make! But if John’s cavalier is a physical anchor for a RB, this mistake becomes more understandable.

Proposition 4: The other side of the stoma is not a trash space, and John actually can access it. He uses it as a battery for his necromancy. It’s a storage space for RBs, and now I guess for Lyctors too. (this is the most galaxy brain proposition, and evidence is slim)

4A) On HTN p. 340, John says: “It is a portal to the place I cannot touch -- somewhere I don't fully comprehend, where my power and my authority are utterly meaningless.” But this is the kind of shit John lies about on the reg, so take what he says and apply opposite day rules.

4B) if the other side of the stoma is related to the River Beyond, it would be to John’s advantage to keep the Fifth House scholarship from treating the River Beyond seriously (see 3B). If they don’t take it seriously as a branch of scholarship, they can’t learn anything about it, and they can’t let the RBs out from where John is keeping them.

4C) this could be why John condemns soul siphoning (GTN p. 340). If soul siphoning sends the cavalier’s soul to the other side of the stoma, and the power that floods into the empty body is from the other side of the stoma, then soul siphoning threatens John’s monopoly on use of power.

This brings me to Theory #2, born out of a delightful discussion with @mayasaura: the heist in ATN is not going to open the Tomb at all. Instead, it’s going to open the part of the River underneath Canaan House, and the goal is to free the Earth RB. After all, the Tomb has been open for seven years already.

Extant questions:

1) Mercy seemed so sure that the RBs were coming back and targeting Alecto in particular. But Alecto stayed in the Nine Houses, and didn’t get eaten by any RBs, and the Ninth House is still there. So why does Mercy think Alecto is a target, or makes the rest of them into targets? If she was lied to, what is the purpose of this lie?

2) Why does John want Augustine to hone the skill of following power back to its source?

3) If RBs eat Lyctors and both RBs and Lyctors are in the hammer space on the other side of the stoma, then, like… hey Augustine and Ulysses… are you guys ok??

#tlt meta #tlt spoilers #locked tomb spoilers #locked tomb meta #gideon the ninth #gideon the ninth spoilers #harrow the ninth #harrow the ninth spoilers

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forever-rogue · 3 years

Note

Crimelord Boba Fett proposing to female reader and promises to protect her with his life. :)

Did someone say King of the Underworld Boba Fett? Don’t mind if we do. Goodbye Bib Fortuna, long live the King.

Boba Fett x Fem!Reader; warnings: egregious use of little one

Part 2

Star Wars Masterlist

»»————-　♡　————-««

The air is acrid and thick, feeling like it was suffocating you rather than helping to you live. Raising a hand to your face, you looked around the desolate Dune Sea, wondering why on earth you were being summoned to Maker forsaken Tatooine. And who the kriff was summoning you?

All you knew was that you had been summoned from your home on Corsucant - rather forcefully, and dragged back to this hell hole. Under any other circumstances you would have fought back or questioned what was actually going on, but something about the small but imposing woman that dragged you with her caused you to keep your mouth shut. She hadn’t given you so much as a name - hers or your mysterious summoner, and you hadn’t asked.

She’d watched you closely on the hours long ride to Tatooine, seeming to study and observe you with curiosity. At one point you had wanted to snap back at her but the weapons holstered to her side and stowed around the ship made you bite your tongue and bide your time. The woman didn’t say a single word; neither did you.

If you were being taken to your death, then that was that. You’d made that much up in your mind as soon as you’d stepped foot onto the ship. Harsh and cruel as it was too say, there wasn’t much you would be losing, nor would many people miss you. It was a quiet life you led these days, keeping to yourself and your humble abode in a small, but safe corner of Coruscant.

You’d been there, waiting, hoping, wishing ever since - no.

No, no, no. You weren’t going to let your mind back to that dark, haunted place. It was something that still managed to seep into the front of your mind, no matter how many years you tried to suppress them. It was when a man with dark hair would come into your little shop and you’d only catch a glimpse. When you heard deep, rough laughter that was all consuming. When you’d see a hint of green armor. When you’d hear a voice even remotely similar to his...

Boba Fett might have died many years ago, but he had never left your heart. He was still in everything you did, so many little things reminding you of what was and what could have been.

You hadn’t been back to this living hell since the day he’d died, lost to the sarlacc and left only to become memories that would fade away over generations. You’d wanted to stay there, to wait and see if somehow he would come back to you, but you couldn’t.

You’d left the next day and never looked back. You hated yourself for it, but you also...your heart had been broken into hundreds of millions of tiny shards of transparisteel. Ever since, you’d hoped that maybe one you’d come across your lover.

But the day never came. And while you went along with life, you still held onto the slight hope that maybe one day...maybe, maybe, maybe.

A soft sigh escaped your parched lips as you felt immediately all consumed by the sand, like it was becoming a part of you or you were destined to become a part of it. Either way, it was enough to frustrate you as you shielded your eyes from the harsh heat and blazing light of the twin suns.

“Keep up,” it was the first time she had spoken to you since she’d first called your name and instructed you to come with her. She was commanding for a figure so slight, but you had a feeling she was much deadlier than she looked - and she was already a sight. Biting back a groan you picked up the pace and trailed after her, confusion clouding your features as you began to realize where you were headed.

This was Jabba’s Palace...well no - Bib Fortuna’s. Just like Boba, Jabba, the disgusting, foul, loathsome leader of the galaxy’s biggest syndicate had been dead for some time.

What the kriff would Bib Fortuna want with you?

You’d cut off any ties you’d had with any of them long ago, before Boba was even dead. There was no way you could ever provide anything useful to him...

Autopilot had completely taken over and you were barely aware of the fact that you’d reached the palace and were headed towards its inner sanctum. Your stomach lurched as you walked through the walls you hoped would forever be a memory as you realized just how clearly you remember it all. Sure, the place had seen better days, wearing down from the harsh sandy winds and the hands of time, but it was ever the same.

Except this time - few people were milling about, no workers to be seen and it felt surprisingly...tame. Not something you thought would ever be possible for his place. Something had to have happened... something was off-

“Down,” the woman pointed at the stone staircase, her hand on the small of your back as she gently nudged you towards the top step. You were half surprised that she didn’t just completely shove you down to the bottom, but the energy you were getting from her wasn’t mean or negative...just curious.

“W-what?” you managed to stammer, your throat dry and scratchy the heat and lack of water. She quirked a dark brow and pointed at the stairs again.

“Down,” she repeated, “it’s best not to keep him waiting.”

Kriff. You were going to die at the hands of Fortuna. He was a weak man, bolstered by those he keep around him, ego inflated beyond measure. On his own he was a pathetic little thing, but when surrounded by his goons, he was cruel and merciless at worst.

Accepting your fate, you started your slow descend down the stairs, your heartbeat screaming in your ears with each foot fall. Your chest was thumping so wildly you were sure that it would burst through your chest at any point.

But nothing met your ears, there were no sounds, no talking, no music, nothing. It was almost deafeningly silent.

When your feet hit the soft sand floor, you did a quick survey of the almost empty room. A few torches lined the wall, but that was about all. The throne was in the center of the room as it always was and -

Maker. The Throne.

As you looked at it, you swallowed the lump in your throat as you looked upon the singular figure in the room besides yourself.

The man was in armor from head to toe. Green armor. With red accents. You knew those colors, those colors you once considered your own, those were his colors.

But no - it couldn’t have been. No, no, no, this was an impostor, this was -

“Hello little one,” that voice. You knew it more intimately than anything else, you know that voice inside and out. That voice that had laughed at you a million times, that voice that been in your ear during the heat of passion, the one that teased you, the one that scolded you when you did something dangerous. That voice.

It was his. Boba’s.

“No,” you shook your head as you refused to move closer to the man that was surely a pretender - a great one, but still not your Boba, “y-y-you aren’t...no.”

He remained silent for a long moment, the dark T of his visor trained on your as he refused to look away. You stared right back, as if you were seeing a ghost - in some ways you were.

Slowly, he rose to his full height, stepping down from his throne, imposing as ever as he slowly walked over to you. You stilled in your actions, wondering if you should run away or fight or something. Instead you watched as he came closer and closer and closer - right until he stopped dead in front of you.

“You’re just as pretty as then,” his voice was soft as he reached a gloved hand up touch your cheek. He hesitated before making contact with your skin, stripping the worn leather gloves off and tossing them mindlessly onto the sandy floor. He watched you closely before finally touching your cheek to his see if you would stop him or flinch out of his touch.

But you didn’t; despite believing he was gone all of these years, a small bit of you still had hope.

“Boba?” it was a weak, pathetic little whimper as you keened into his touch. He stalled for just a moment, his heart almost stopping at the sound of his name from your lips. It was even sweeter than he remembered, “is it really you?”

“I told you I’d never leave you, little one,” he rasped as you worked to blink back tears that had started to well up in your eyes. You looked at him with wide doe eyes as he made a small sound in the back of his throat. As a single tear pearled up and ran down your cheek, he tenderly wiped it away, “it just took me a little longer than planned to get back to you.”

And then you laughed; despite the situation and the overwhelming onslaught of emotions, you just laughed. Before you knew it, he was laughing as well, a warm, rich sound that you remembered like it had been yesterday.

“Boba,” you couldn’t believe it. This whole time, all these years, your hope wasn’t wasted after all, “you’re alive. You’re here - I’m here. I-I...I dreamed of this day so many times.”

“As have I,” he promised, “I’m just...I’m afraid that I might be a little different than you last remembered - the sarlacc was not a kind friend to me.”

“I don’t care,” you promised him, “I don’t care, I don’t care, I don’t care. You’re alive and that’s all...I...please, let me look at your face. I need to see you, Boba.”

He gave a curt nod before dropping his hand from your cheek and exhaling deeply. Slowly, he put his hands on either of the helmet - newly painted, you noted - and tugged it up and off. You swallowed nervously, anxious to see the eyes of your lover once again.

Boba let the helmet fall to the ground, the thud dulled by the pillowy sand, nervous for you to say something, anything. You weren’t sure what you had been expecting, but this? This was nothing; scarred and more weathered than when he had been a younger man, he was still the same as always. Boba - your Boba.

“At least one of us is - “

Before he could say anything in the negative, your put your hands on either side of his face before crashing your lips onto his. He was taken aback for a moment at your sudden action, but it didn’t take more than a beat for him to wrap his arms around you and hold you tightly against his chest. It was like no time had passed at all, and you still knew each other just as you always had.

Only when you needed a breath of air did you pull apart, staring back into his soft brown eyes.

“Boba,” it was soft - reverent - and worked to thaw the icy harshness that had settled over his heart, “I love you. I’ve always loved you so much. I never stopped. I always hoped that somehow you would make your way back to me.”

“Always, my little one,” he promised with a gentle kiss to your forehead, “I will always protect you. No harm shall ever come to you so long as I live and breathe.”

“I can’t believe you’re alive,” you wrapped your arms his neck and held him, just held him, as the two of your synced your breathing and become reacquainted with each other’s bodies.

“Will you stay?” he asked quietly as you pulled back and nodded. For Boba, you would have done anything and gone anywhere in the galaxy, “w-with me?”

“Yes,” you promised him softly as you traced over his features delicately with the tip of your finger, “always. There’s nothing that would make me happier.”

“I’ve missed you,” he whispered as you nodded, “I promise we’ll never be apart again.”

“I’ll hold you to that Boba Fett,” you sighed contentedly, “I love you, Boba.”

“I love you too, little one,” he kissed the top of your head, “come on, we have much to talk about.”

“And now have all the time in the galaxy.”

#boba fett #boba fett x reader #boba fett x you #boba is my king 😌#the Mandalorian #star wars #temeura morrison

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blue-mood-blue · 4 years

Text

They tell him that his name is Benzaiten Steel.

They tell him that he’s been shot.

Officially, publicly, his condition is unknown - they haven’t released any details yet, pending the investigation. As he understands it, the investigation amounts to his mother and brother pointing to each other in accusation, both of them held in separate interview rooms of the HCPD while Ben lays in his hospital bed. They were hoping he could give them answers, Ben realizes when the doctor and the officer both hover around his door uncertainly before turning to go.

But Ben doesn’t remember anything. He can’t tell them if his brother in law enforcement went corrupt or if his mentally ill mother finally slipped too far. If it was an argument, or an accident, or which of his incredibly small family is more likely to lie. He wouldn’t have been able to tell them his name if they hadn’t told him first, because Ben hardly remembers anything at all.

It’s the head injury, the nurse tells him at two in the morning while she gives him more pain medication. Not from the blast, which had caught him in the shoulder and was more than enough damage to a body on its own, according to her. He must have hit his head on something on the way down, gave himself a nasty bump and some swelling. Nothing to worry about too much, she added quickly after getting a good glance at Ben’s expression. Just... just the memories might not come back. Hard to tell with these things.

Ben chews over the possibility after she leaves, slipping in and out of sleep. He should want to know, right? He should be searching for those memories, and the way he fit between them. He should be looking for himself... looking for the truth.

There are two people in his family. One of them shot him. He can’t imagine a truth there that wouldn’t tear him in two anyway.

Ben takes a moment to pity whoever it was he used to be - must’ve had a sad life, in the middle of that mess. Couldn’t possibly have been happy, in that little apartment in Oldtown, no one to call or contact besides the people led away in handcuffs. Such a small, tiring existence... didn’t he feel stifled, trapped? He does now. He thinks about going back to that, and he can’t breathe.

Ben looks at the window instead. He can make out some stars, but only a few - it’s hard to see much around the light pollution and the dome. He doesn’t remember, but logic tells him he hasn’t lived the kind of life that’s ever taken him off of Mars; he’s never seen any of those stars, or the planets around them, or their moons - not really. He thinks he might like to, and it’s almost a surprise when the thought comes to him; it’s as if his mind has been cleared of some dome hemming him in, holding him in place, and now there’s room to want. Ben feels untethered, adrift... free. Free in a way he knows, somehow, he’s never been before.

It’s a heady feeling. For the first time since waking, Ben smiles. He could be free. He could reach up to those stars and never come back down.

Benzaiten Steel might not remember anything about himself, but he learns that he’s a good actor. When the officer comes back with more questions, Ben tells them he’s afraid for his life, more afraid because he doesn’t know who or what to fear. “Be honest,” he asks, voice shaking with something (not fear, but the officer doesn’t know that). “Do you think this could happen again? Am I really safe?”

Benzaiten Steel is declared dead, and Ben boards a ship.

~~~

He still calls himself Ben; everything else, he cuts away and leaves behind as deadweight. He’s Ben Nothing, Ben Nobody, and he runs between the stars like there’s something chasing him. He finds work where he can, and he finds that the most lucrative work is the illegal kind. He finds that he’s good at it, charming people with a smile or disarming them with a few tears, and then liberating them from whatever they have in their pocket, or safe, or bank account.

Ben is happy. Ben is competent, secure, well-liked in the circles he moves through. Ben is as free as he ever wanted to be, in this life or any other. And if he feels like something unnamed is breathing down his neck some days, well, he is a thief, isn’t he? There’s always someone after him, law enforcement on several planets at least. If he avoids Mars and anywhere too close to that little, red planet, it’s his own business. There’s not much on Mars, anyway; only the Cerberus Province and the connections he could make there, and it’s a small sacrifice to make for all of the things he gets to see.

Ben isn’t lonely. He just feels a little adrift sometimes.

And it’s years before anything catches him.

He has a jewel that toppled a dynasty with the conflict it caused hidden in his pocket, and he slips into a dark, mostly empty theater to wait out the afternoon and the authorities. He already has a spot waiting for him on a ship traveling several planets away, but it won’t take off for hours. He has plenty of time.

Ben pulls out his comms to waste some hours, ignoring the movie playing on the screen; a kids’ movie, probably with the hope that whole families would make the effort of taking a trip to the theater to spend time together. It was a bad gamble, with the only person there other than Ben asleep in a chair in the corner. Ben snorts; kind of a stupid thought, that anyone would bother when they could stream whatever old movies they wanted directly to their home.

He’s in the middle of a game when he looks up at the screen. There’s a woman fighting a dragon, and he isn’t sure what caught his attention until it happens again.

“Andromeda!” someone on the screen yells.

Ben’s head hurts.

Andromeda! a younger Benzaiten yells. He can feel the warm sun beating down on him, the familiar sounds of shouting down a street somewhere too far away to worry about. His voice, thin and reedy and so young, makes its best attempt at a growl. You will never escape me!

“You will never escape me!”

His head throbs, and he could cry with how much it hurts.

I do not intend to run - I will stay and fight, because good must always succeed! Someone with his face answers back, swinging a sword made of paper towel rolls and too much duct tape, and then breaks from the script: And I’m faster than you anyway, Benten, so I can escape whenever I want to.

For a moment, he rests on the divide between Ben and Benzaiten. If he tries, he could pull back - but he also knows he could no more let go of that voice than tear his own heart out.

Juno. A knowledge from the long-dormant pieces of him whispers an answer he doesn’t ask for, as it drags the whole of his messy, painful history with it. That’s Juno. Your twin. Your family.

Benzaiten is still crying, hurt radiating from his head and his chest, and there’s no one around to care so he doesn’t stop. He watches the stupid movie three times, then boards a ship and tries to hide the evidence with makeup and a bright smile. He’s two planets away by the time he thinks about going back, all the way back, and by the time he’s three planets away he’s decided that it would be a ridiculous idea.

It’s been years. Fuck, it’s been so many years. Does Juno live in the same place? What if he’s married now; out of the two of them, he was always the one looking for someone to hold onto him. Would he even want to see Ben?

The answer should be yes, but Ben’s not an idiot, he knows reality is more complicated. Juno buried him, and mourned for him, and maybe even started to heal - and Ben had run. Run without looking back, leaving a death certificate and open wounds behind him.

Is Sarah still alive?

The question stops him cold, staring through the window and the pieces of galaxy he’s passing. If Sarah is alive, he would have to see her, too. That’s a promise he made himself a long time ago - that he wouldn’t choose between them. He was the one who held the family together. He’d always been that.

The Benzaiten in his head, the person he isn’t sure he is yet - anymore - tells him she loves you.

Ben, here and now, tells him she shot you.

Both of those things are true. And when Ben pulls away from the window, he tells himself that’s what he’s afraid of, that someone he loved hurt him and could do it again, that he might let them in the foolish, stupid need to find out if the love was still there somewhere under all of the hurt. To know trying hard enough could mean getting better.

If there’s another fear, if he can feel the gravity of Mars pulling him back and down and heavy, he doesn’t let himself think it. And he’s gotten pretty good at deception, so he might even believe it.

~~~

Ben dances more, when he remembers dancing. Nothing feels as free as the movement, as his total control over it. Not even the stars.

How much of his running was escape, and how much was just running?

~~~

He still calls himself Ben.

He has his reasons. “Benzaiten” is too memorable, and sharing a face and a last name with a sibling seems like a really good way to get that sibling into trouble. There’s a reputation in place already with the name he used. There are days when he doesn’t feel like he fits in Benzaiten’s life. He finds plenty of reasons.

He doesn’t visit. He thinks about it, comes close - as close as a planet and one ticket fare away, once - but Ben can’t bring himself to step foot in Hyperion City. Hyperion belongs to Juno, somehow. He was the one who stayed (I do not intend to run - I will stay and fight), and going home feels like... trespassing. Ben knows Juno wouldn’t say that. It doesn’t stop him from thinking it.

Hyperion City has a newspaper, though, and a subscription service that seems a little optimistic in its range. Maybe not all that optimistic, since Ben regularly takes advantage of it - between jobs, and only on his personal comms. Most of it has nothing to do with him, but he skips and skims through the digitized pages anyway, looking for whatever hints of a life he can find. Juno is a private investigator now, which doesn’t surprise Ben. There’s an engagement announcement and no following marriage announcement, which does.

(Sarah is guilty, and dead, and he doesn’t know how he feels about that. He doesn’t linger on the thought.)

Sometimes, when he feels brave, he imagines what it could be like. So what’s this about a gala at that new art gallery? You know, the one that lasted a whole night before it got blown up?

Juno’s laughter from the other side of the comms connection, maybe a little too young. Uh huh, I heard. The HCPD put it all over the news, along with how they saved the day. Or didn’t you hear that part?

They can say whatever they want, I know a Juno Steel case when I see one. Now, Ben adjusts on the bed, miles and miles away, glancing at the window to see if he can get a peek back the way he came, tell me everything.

Maybe the next time you come to see me, Juno says, and just like that the thought disintegrates. He can never put too many words in Juno’s mouth; there are just too many things he doesn’t know.

Ben gets lucky one day and sees a whole half a picture of Juno, looking out on a crowd. He’s not the focus - he’s standing next to some politician in the middle of a speech, a Ramses O’Flaherty who makes a lot of promises that sound like the “too good to be true, but wouldn’t it be nice” kind - but Ben will take what he can get. He can’t decide if Juno has more or less scars than he would have expected, given his line of work. He wonders how they all got there. Juno is standing on the stage with the politician; he must buy some of those promises to put himself so clearly in the man’s corner.

There’s a kind of worry in his gut about it, but Ben tries to take it as a good sign. The Juno he knew had a hard time trusting people; it would be nice if he’d found someone to believe in. It would be nice if that trust is well-placed.

Ben has to leave his comms behind for a job, taking a burner along instead, so he gets the results of the election at the same time he gets the announcement of O’Flaherty’s death and the conspiracy over Newtown. It doesn’t have to mean anything - just another politician who wasn’t what he seemed to be, or didn’t manage to hang on long enough to make good on his promises. That’s all it is.

He still looks for Juno in the stories he reads. He can’t seem to find him, anymore.

~~~

For the first time since they were nineteen, Benzaiten sees Juno across the room.

For a moment, he feels like he’s seen a ghost. A ridiculous thought, from the dead twin.

Juno Steel is so far away from Hyperion City, talking to Zolotovna in a resplendent dress as if he’s lived the kind of life that makes him belong, immediately and implicitly, among the disgustingly rich. Ben, who is there for a reason, he knows he’s there for a reason but fuck if he can remember why, tries not to make it obvious that he’s staring. He’s failing at that, he knows.

But Juno is here. Juno is here in the room with him, so different than he remembers, with so many more scars. With one less eye. Ben wants to ask when that happened, wants to demand that story, just as much as he wants to fade into the crowd and run.

He feels untethered; he feels like, if he runs, he’ll never find his way back again. Just this once, Ben lets himself understand that the tug of gravity pulling him back was never a leash around his neck as much as it was a rope around his middle - giving him a way back home. Juno had always been his anchor, keeping him from drifting too far.

There’s no going back, now. There’s no going home, no home to go back to.

Juno’s glance turns in his direction, and Ben is about to duck out of the way - an amateur move, guaranteed to catch his sibling’s eye, but he thinks he can be forgiven for being a little bit off his game - when Ben realizes he’s not who Juno is looking for. A man slips by him, tall and confident and familiar in a way that tells Ben exactly why he should be familiar. Juno can’t seem to help the way his face changes when he spots the man.

So the thief grabbed at Juno’s heart and pulled him away from Hyperion. That’s why Juno is here. It’s... infuriating, because there’s no way a common con deserves Juno Steel. Because it was never a thought in Ben’s head that Juno could be convinced to leave Hyperion, and he never thought to ask. (I do not intend to run. Running was Ben’s job.)

Ben is ready to do something stupid. He’s halfway across the ballroom, walking directly towards his brother well and aware that the impact will cause an explosion of a scene, when he sees Juno tilt his head.

There’s a comms in his ear.

Ben has been a thief long enough to recognize the habits of another thief - especially a new one.

He doesn’t remember what he came to this event for, but there’s nothing, mark or prize or job, that Benzaiten wants more than to understand the stranger in the dress who almost has his face. If he breaks something with an impulsive decision, he thinks as he continues to cross the room, well - wouldn’t be the first time.

He’ll let himself be selfish. That’s what Ben does.

#the penumbra podcast #tpp #benzaiten steel #juno steel #junoverse #ben lives au #don’t ask my why i do not know #i was just curious about a Ben who becomes a thief #and it kinda spiraled from there #so i guess the hot takes are:#Ben’s family is a grounding force for him #and Ben also struggles with dealing with his mistakes #GOOD LUCK WITH YOUR VERY COMPLICATED EVENING JUNO

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mandospace · 3 years

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Fooled Around (Din Djarin x Reader)

Request: Hi! I was wondering if you could do a Din x female reader inspired by the song "I Fooled Around and Fell In Love" by Elvin Bishop?Hope u can do it 💕

Requested By: @pepperlen

Word Count: 4,680

Warnings: Some mature content (mention of sex and brothels), extreme pining by our one and only Mando

A/N: I have never written an entire fic in one character’s POV, so I hope it turned out okay! My requests are open for both Din and Boba. I hope you all enjoy!

MASTERLIST

The galaxy was immense, the stars and planets innumerable. People of all races were still trying to understand just how big it was, to what depths the black and empty space stretched out before them. Sometimes, the distances between each point of light were immeasurable, too far for any humanoid to comprehend, no matter how hard they tried. Within the galaxy, there were trillions upon trillions of souls- each with a name and story to tell. One of those souls was a lone bounty hunter that traveled the immense space between the points of light.

Din lost track of how many planets and towns he has been to. The number ranged in the hundreds, if not thousands. Each planet and town was all the same though, even if their topography differed greatly. Every planet held small backwater towns where the scum of the galaxy seemed to hide, evading their captors. In those backwater towns, there was always a lone cantina that sat on the edge of town. Locals and vagrants alike frequented the establishment, where there was always an old bartender. At that bar, drunks of every race tried to drink their worries away in the same liquor every night. Desperate people wandered amongst the booths, looking for work, money, and sex. Sometimes, all three if you met the right type of person.

No matter the planet or town, it was always the same. The lone hunter had fallen into a pattern, one that he upheld almost as strictly as his Creed. Pick up a job, track down the bounty, capture the scum, and haul them back to the Crest. Depending on the job or planet, sometimes Din would wander back into the cantina looking for something to keep him entertained. Sometimes it was fighting amongst the drunks- eager to release his pent up adrenaline from the hunt. Other times, he looked for other means of releasing the tension that constantly laid beneath the shining beskar. More often than not, this release was found in the company of women who too were looking for company.

He wasn’t proud of the numerous one-night stands that he had during the length of his career. It was nothing personal- both participants looking for an escape from the dreary life the galaxy offered. No questions were asked of either party, both just eager to feel something besides the numbness that surrounded them in their everyday lives. While Din wasn’t proud of his many encounters, he certainly wasn’t ashamed of them. Each was a necessary means to an end- a way to break the tediousness that was bounty hunting. A way to feel something besides anger and violence.

When the kid entered Din’s life, his well-adhered schedule was practically thrown out the window. He was no longer the lone bounty hunter that jumped from planet to planet in search of quarries or release. Now, he was a single father that fended off the remnants of the Empire that was hell-bent on taking his foundling away from him. Din was tasked by the Armorer to reunite the foundling with his own kind- even if he had no clue what kind of creature the small green foundling was. It was declared that they would be a clan of two: branded in the Mudhorn signet on the tempered beskar of his pauldron. Wherever he went, the child followed; even into dangerous situations.

After too many close calls with the little womprat, Din started to realize that he couldn’t do this on his own. When foundlings are taken in, the whole covert would raise and care for them. Show them the ways of the Mandalore: how to fight, how to protect the covert. Din didn’t have his fellow covert that he could rely on to help raise and protect the foundling. He was always out-matched in terms of fighting and raising the kid. When it came to fighting, Din couldn’t be as ruthless as he needed to be when he was constantly concerned for the child’s safety. When it came to raising the kid, the little green booger seemed to out-wit him at every turn. How could he discipline the small child that had Din wrapped around his tiny little clawed finger?

He couldn’t rely on the covert that seemed to have disappeared into thin air. Mandalorians were rare already, and the only ones he knew had vanished without a trace. Kuill was Din’s next option before he remembered the early demise his close friend had met because of his relation to Din. Cara was on Nevarro, wiping up the last remnants of Empire scum. Greef had resumed his position at the Guild; and besides, Din didn’t want the kid anywhere near him. Peli was running her hangar on Tatooine, too busy scamming pilots out of their credits over small repairs. He had quickly exhausted his very short list of allies that he could trust with the kid. It had become apparent that he would have to look for outside help.

Din wasn’t looking for anything specific in a caretaker, just someone that seemed competent enough to handle a child. He wasn’t even actively looking for someone when you literally stumbled into his life.

He was in one of the many familiar backwater towns of Dantooine, leisurely strolling through the open-air market that lined the town’s only street. The kid was nestled in the pouch Din had draped over his shoulder, dark eyes peering over the burlap sack. They were in town looking for some supplies, food and medicine mostly. The child had eaten up Din’s entire stores, though he wasn’t sure how he could eat that much. He was only a 50 year old baby, after all.

When they were landing on the outskirts of the small town, Din had noticed that there was a local brothel that appeared on the holo-map. It had been months since Din last had any form of release- caring for the kid and evading the Empire had taken up his entire time. Even though he desperately wanted to relieve some stress, Din couldn’t. The kid was too important to risk taking his eyes off of him for even a moment.

Distracted from the tension and stress that lingered underneath his beskar, Din didn’t realize that he was on a collision course until he collided with your body. You had been carrying a basket full of fruit that was piled high above your head, hence why you didn’t see the intimidating hunter in silver beskar. When the two of you collided, you fell onto your bottom with a groan, fruit rolling out of your basket and onto the dusty ground. Din just looked down in shock at you, surprised that he didn’t even see that you were right in front of him.

“Do you ever watch where you’re going?” You groaned, rubbing your backside in pain.

He just looked at you, blinking slowly behind his helmet. You were beautiful, even though you were scowling up at him. Your hair was tousled from the fall and dirt was coating your clothes. The sun was bringing out the highlights in your hair, and Din longed to card his fingers through it. He had barely known you for two minutes but Din was already fantasizing about the feel of your skin under his, the soft breaths that would leave your lips. Stars, it had been too long.

“Hello, Dantooine to Tin Man?” You were waving your hand in front of his visor, trying to get some type of reaction out of him. “Mind helping me with this?”

All he could do was nod as he dropped to his knees and started to help you pick up your spilled fruit. Your hair had fallen into your face when you bent over and he wished he could tuck it behind your ear. He silently chastised himself. He hadn’t even said a word to you and there he was, dreaming about touching you while you were picking up the fruit that he spilled.

“So, what’s your name?” Your soft voice pulled him from his thoughts as you looked up at him. Din couldn’t breathe when you locked eyes with him- even though you had no way of knowing where his eyes laid under the black visor. Your eyes, though, were mesmerizing. “So you’re the silent type, then?”

Din cleared his throat and offered his hand. “I’m Din.” What was he thinking?! He had never revealed his name to another living being voluntarily, and yet here he is, freely and openly giving his name to a beautiful girl he had just met.

“(Y/N),” you smiled and took his hand in yours. He was shocked at how small your hand looked in his, but even more shocked at the overwhelming sense of rightness that flowed through his veins at the sight of your hand in his leather-clad one. “Oh Maker, who’s this?”

Din hadn’t realized that the kid crawled out of his satchel and started to waddle over to you. He moved to pick up the kid and put him back in his bag, but you had beat him to it. You easily swooped the kid up into your arms, setting him down on your lap. The kid just stared up at you, offering a toothy smile. “Are you hungry, little guy?” Riffling in your basket, you picked out the juiciest looking fruit before handing it over to the child. “There, enjoy that, little guy. He’s precious. Is he yours?”

“Sort of,” Din admitted as he shuffled to his feet. He offered you a hand to pull you to your feet which you gladly accepted. The kid was still cradled in your arms, munching on the fruit. Since your hands were full and the kid looked too happy in your arms to take him away, Din picked up your fruit basket instead. He was amazed at how easily you interacted with the kid. You hadn’t even known the small child for more than five minutes but the little womprat was utterly enamored with you. It had taken Din weeks to gain that level of trust with him and yet here you are, plucking another fruit out of the basket in Din’s arms and feeding it to his kid. “Do you want a job?”

Confusion flashed across your features before a blush settled on your cheeks. “Look, sir, I’m not that kind of girl...”

Embarrassment flooded Din’s system. “No! You misunderstood me. I would-” he almost said ‘I would never ask for that’ when he realized that he has asked for that in the past. He cleared his throat, trying to dispel the awkward tension. “What I meant was, you seem to be really good with the kid, and I need some help looking after him. I can’t provide for the both of us when I am constantly worried about him.” You just stared up at him, the child wiggling in your arms while he reached for your necklace. “I could pay you, and you wouldn’t have to worry about food. I would just need you to look after the kid while I hunt after bounties.”

“You’re a bounty hunter?” Din regretted telling you that detail, afraid that it would scare you off. Bounty hunting wasn’t the life for everyone.

“Yes, but I-”

“Do you travel the galaxy?” You eagerly asked, eyes shining bright at him.

“Of course, I often have to go to lots of different planets to track down my quarries. Why-”

“I’ll do it.” You had cut him off again, but he didn’t care. You had just said ‘yes’ to him without really knowing him at all. You were either crazy or a very trusting person. Maybe both. “I’ll meet you at the south edge of town at sunset with my things.” Handing the child back to him, you swapped the kid for your basket of fruit. You started to head off in the direction of what Din assumed was your house before you turned around to look at him. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Din was puzzled at the girl that was smiling back at him. The sun caught your hair, illuminating the soft highlights hidden within the locks. He wanted to reach out and touch it again.

“For giving me an adventure.”

___

For the past three months, Din has been in an almost constant state of agony.

He thought that bringing you on board would be a good thing: a much needed help in raising the kid. And it was a good thing, for the most part. You were always helpful, willing to do more than was asked of you. Many times Din would come back to the ship and you would have a warm plate of food waiting for him, the kid already asleep in your arms. The first time you did this, Din had to explain his Creed and why he couldn’t eat in front of you. You had nodded along, taking in his words before walking out of the hull and up the ladder leading to the cockpit. Before you had shut the doors, though, you called out to him and told him to eat his food and not to worry. You would take care of the kid and put him down for his nap. That miniscule kindness that you had shown the lone bounty hunter shook him to his core- a warmth seemed to have spread over him and his heart stammered in his chest. You did that for him every night, for every meal.

Not only that, but you were amazing with the kid. Suddenly the rambunctious little green womprat would mellow out any time you walked into the room. He would be fussing in Din’s arms, crying about something and you would just walk up to the hunter, take the kid into your own arms, and he would immediately calm down. It was like a sixth sense you had- you always knew the right thing to do to get him to calm down. When you started to sing the child to sleep every night, that’s when the warm feelings inside of Din’s chest turned to white-hot agony.

It was his favorite kind of torture, listening to you sing softly to his kid. Din was never in the room when you did this, he always kept far away because of his fear. Your voice was so soft, so melodic that if Din heard it directly, he would surely fall even harder for you than he already had. He would gladly succumb to your siren’s call and let you lure him to the vast depths of the ocean.

He wasn’t used to this, feeling something for another person. Sure, Din had cared for other people before, namely the little green foundling in his care. But he had never felt this deep, aching pull inside of him. Whenever Din was with other women, it was to get over the stress and tension that came with his bounty hunter life. The feelings he felt for those women were purely physical, purely surface level. A temporary lust that would dissipate the next morning after he had released his frustrations. Din had never felt these feelings that were emotional, deeper than any he felt before. When he looked at you caring for his kid or making dinner for the three of you, his heart would stop in his chest. With every smile you gave him, Din felt those at first insignificant, warm feelings grow and burn until they developed into a raging fire. He felt like he was swallowed whole by flames and every glance or touch you gave him was only adding kindling to the fire burning in his heart. If your little smiles and touches piled twigs onto the fire, he couldn’t imagine what feeling your lips on his would do to him. He would probably combust into a flaming inferno.

Din tried to ignore the white-hot agony being around you brought. He tried to reason with himself that he wasn’t that type of man. The type that brought home flowers to their lovers just because. The type that would rush home from work just so they could wrap their arms around their lovers and kiss them. The type that would actually want to settle down and start a family. Every time he looked at you though, he imagined what it would be like to have that type of life instead of the violent one he lived. He imagined that he would come home from work, and you would be cooking dinner for the three of you just like you do now, except things would be more permanent. The three of you would actually have a house- he didn’t care on which planet, you could choose any one and he would gladly build the house for you from the ground up. The child would attend the nearby school and make friends with kids his own age- well, kids that were actually kids and not 50 years old and still a child. He imagined that you would be cooking his favorite meal, that he would be able to come up behind you and kiss your neck and pepper kisses across your face because he no longer wore the helm of a Mandalorian. He imagined that you would laugh at the feeling of his stubble tickling your skin before you would turn around in his arms and truly kiss him. You would hold his face against yours and on your left ring finger there would be a simple band of beskar wrapped around it. He imagined that he would have a similar band on his own finger- a symbol to the galaxy that you were his and he was yours. He imagined that he wouldn’t be able to pull you flush against his chest because of your rounded belly, swollen with his child...

“Din?”

Reality came crashing down around him at the sound of your voice. The image of the two of you in his mind faded and was replaced with the very real image of you staring at him, a worried expression etched on your face.

“Did you hear me?”

“No, sorry, Cyare.” Din cleared his throat. He hadn’t meant to call you that affectionate Mando’a nickname, but it just felt right. He hadn’t meant to do a lot of things, namely fall for you.

“I asked if you could pass me the wrench.” Wheeling yourself out from under the ship, grease had smeared across your cheek. Just like you were an amazing caretaker for his son, you were also an amazing mechanic. The place where the ship needed maintenance was too small for Din to get under, but you were just the right size.

Din grunted in response and handed you the wrench. The tips of your fingers just barely grazed the tips of his leather-clad ones, but it was enough to set the Mandalorian on fire with desire. He couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t deal with the agonizing feeling of being this close to you but not being able to touch or hold you like he wanted. Before he could do something stupid, like ruin the only friendship he’s had in decades, Din bolted up from the crate he was sitting on.

“I’m heading into town, I’ll be back later.” Din didn’t pause to listen to your concerned questions on if he was alright. This wasn’t the first time he had just bolted mid-conversation.

The Razor Crest quickly disappeared behind him as Din trudged into town, looking for a distraction. It was all the same, each town he visited. He didn’t even need a map to find his way through the dust-covered streets. His feet just took him to the nearest cantina that sat on the edge of town. It was loud inside the bar, music blaring and people laughing. Din didn’t pay attention to any of the people- he just trudged to the corner booth and sat down. His head was swimming with thoughts of you. Even miles away, he could still smell your sweet perfume. It had somehow lodged itself in his helmet’s filters. He would have to change them out soon if he were to ever be able to focus on a hunt.

“You here alone?”

Din glanced up at the woman standing before him. She had some drink in her hand and a lazy smile on her face. Her hair was pulled up into a knot on the top of her head and was the same color as your hair. In the dim cantina lights though, Din was almost positive that your hair would look prettier, much prettier. It was always so shiny, smelling so good.

“Yeah.” His voice sounded gruff through his vocoder. He wished he could drink something, but he wouldn’t be able to in this crowd.

“Want some company?” The woman smiled at him, and all he could do was shrug. People could do what they wanted, it was a free galaxy, after all. “What brings you here?”

“Work.” He didn’t mean to be so short with the woman. Din was just preoccupied with his thoughts of you.

“No,” the woman laughed, resting her hand on top of Din’s. His eyebrow quirked under his helmet. “I mean what are you doing here?” Her thumb started rubbing circles into his worn leather. His brow raised even higher.

“Escaping, I guess.” Her thumb continued to rub over his hand. She gave him another smile.

“Really? Me too. What a coincidence.” The woman grabbed his hand then, intertwining her fingers with his. She pulled his hand until he stood next to her. “Why don’t we escape together?” Her hand started moving over his silver cuirass. Din knew he shouldn’t go with this woman, but as the thoughts of you started to swirl through his head, desire pooled low in his stomach. If he couldn’t have you, he might as well go with someone who wanted him.

So he followed her out the cantina’s back door and into the dark alley. The sun was just starting to set on the town and Din realized that he has been gone from you much longer than anticipated. You were probably worried, wondering where he was.

“Relax, baby,” the woman purred, running her hands down his chest. “Let me make you feel good.” The woman pushed him up against the alley wall and started to palm the front of his pants. It had been so long since Din had gotten the release he’d been craving. His eyes slipped closed under the helmet.

The woman continued her ministrations, hands roaming over his beskar-covered body. His eyes stayed closed the entire time as he imagined that you were the woman that was touching him, running your hands over him. Her hand slipped into his trousers and cupped his growing length.

“(Y/N)...” Din moaned, eyes screwing shut even tighter. Your smile flashed through his mind, adding more kindling to his fire.

The woman stopped dead in her tracks and removed her hand from his pants. “My name’s not (Y/N).”

Her voice broke the carefully crafted illusion that Din’s mind had conjured. His eyes opened to reveal the woman from the bar in front of him, not you. In this lighting, Din noticed that her hair actually wasn’t anything like yours. Hers was a much duller shade, lacking the shine yours held. Her smile wasn’t as radiant as yours. Din’s illusion shattered into pieces before him.

“I-I have to go.” Din adjusted himself in his pants before making his way out of the dark alley. The woman let out a disgruntled cry, but Din didn’t turn back to offer his apologies. Instead, he pushed his way through the crowd of locals making their way back home. The people that saw him jumped out of his path, terrified of the Mandalorian stalking through their town. He didn’t care, though. The only thought Din had on his mind was you.

By the time he got back to the Razor Crest the sky was black- only the stars lit his path home. With a press of a button on his vambrace, the ramp started to descend. He didn’t even wait for it to fully touch the ground before he jumped into his ship. His eyes swept the hull until they landed on you standing near the ladder leading to the cockpit- eyes wide with surprise.

“Din, where did you go?”

He didn’t say anything, only slammed his fist against the button next to the ramp to close it. Din strided over to where you stood, pressing another button on his vambrace. The ship fell into darkness.

“Din, what are you-” Before you could even finish your sentence, Din had ripped his helmet off and tossed it to the floor. His gloved hands reached for your face and pulled you to him, crashing his lips against yours. Din could feel you freeze under his lips for just a second until you melted into his touch. A breathless sigh slipped past your lips and Din breathed in your sweet breath. His heart was slamming against his chest as he kissed you. Your kiss acted like fuel to an already raging fire that warmed him to his core. His left arm wrapped around your waist, tugging you tightly to his chest. Din’s right hand cupped the back of your neck, holding your lips against his whilst he drank you in. Your lips were so soft against his chapped ones and with every brush of his against yours, shivers ran down his spine. Your arms had wrapped around his neck, trying to pull him even closer to you. The way your fingers carded through his hair and lightly tugged made Din moan in pleasure. His grip on you never loosened as he continued to move his lips against yours. When you sighed for the second time, Din took the opportunity to lick into your mouth. He loved the way your tongue tangled with his. Din felt like he was a raging inferno- a star burning brightly in the dark limitlessness of space.

You had moaned his name against his lips when he pulled away for some much-need oxygen. He sighed your name into your skin, peppering kisses down your throat. His name continued to fall past your lips while his made their way back up your throat and to your lips.

“Sweet, sweet girl,” Din breathed against your skin before capturing your lips once more. This kiss was shorter than the last but still held the passion shared in the first.

“Not that I’m complaining,” you smiled against his lips as you held his face in your hands. Your thumb was rubbing soothing circles into his cheek, goosebumps left in its wake. “But why did you kiss me? Why now?”

Your question weighed on his mind before the answer became as clear as transparisteel. “I’ve been wanting to kiss you ever since I’ve met you. I finally decided that I couldn’t wait a moment longer.”

Din could feel your smile against his lips. “I’m glad you became impatient, Tin Man.”

He felt a chuckle rumble through his chest at the nickname you had given him the first day you met. Din couldn’t see you through the darkness of the ship, but he was sure your smile was radiant and would surely blind him if he gazed upon it. He never meant to be the type of guy who fell in love. He always thought that he would be by himself, following his Creed until the day he died. The only future that had stretched out before him was one of loneliness and hunting. Now that the kid and you had entered his life, another path had revealed itself. One where he wouldn’t have to be alone. Instead his future was much brighter: fueled by your kisses and surrounded in the warmth you gave him.

“Me too, Cyare,” Din nudged his nose against yours, fingers grasping your chin. He tipped your face towards his and brushed his lips over yours. “Me too.”

#din djarin x reader #din djarin imagine #din djarin x you #din djarin x y/n #din djarin drabble #din djarin oneshot #din djarin one shot #din djarin fanfic #din djarin fic #din djarin masterlist #mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you #mandalorian x y/n #mandalorian imagine #mandalorian one shot #mandalorian oneshot #mandalorian fanfic #mandalorian fic #mandalorian masterlsit

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colormeyondublue · 3 years

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Chapter 12: Cards With The Boys (NSFW)

Chapter 11 Here

After confessing his love for you, you decide it was about time to move in with the Captain. It didn’t take long to get your things together because you don’t have much. After getting settled in the Captain’s quarters, you felt your heart soar at how for you two have come.

Later, you sit at your desk in your office tying up some loose ends, day dreaming of Yondu, and of going back to Earth. There isn’t much work to be done, but the peacefulness of your office brings you a sense of normalcy that you dearly missed. While you made sure your data drives were totally backed up and in working order, your door opens quietly. You glance behind you to see Yondu’s handsome face. You turn back to your computer and tell him you’ll be done in just a second.

“Do ya really gotta be working right now? Ya work all the damn time. There ain’t even much that needs done right now anyway! The crew’s gonna be on leave fer a few weeks while we’re gone.”

“I work because I like to!” You protest. “Besides, I’m almost done. Hold your horses.”

“Ya still never explained ta me what a horse even is ya know.” Yondu huffs as he sits down on the couch in your office.

You sigh and shake your head. You never imagined you’d have to explain to an adult what a horse was, but here you are. You eject the data drive and throw it in the drawer of your desk. “A horse, is a large mammalian quadruped with both binocular and monocular vision. They can weigh anywhere between 800 to 1,800 – sometimes 2,000 pounds! They’ve been used by my people as a source of food, labor, transportation and companionship for thousands of years. They’ve helped Terrans in every aspect of life, and nothing that we’ve accomplished to this point could have been done without their help. They’ve fought in our wars, and carried entire countries on their backs at times. In modern times they are primarily pets, used to work livestock, or ridden in competition.”

The captain rubs his chin for a moment. “What’s a pound?”

You stare at him blankly for a good few moments before it dawns on you. You are going to have to explain a lot to Yondu when you get to Earth. There is so much that he still doesn’t know about.

“A pound is just a unit of measurement. It’s used in some countries to quantify how much something weighs. It’s directly related to Earth’s gravitational pull. You know as well as I do that something on Krylor wouldn’t weigh the same as it would on Xandar, right?

“Yeah, I know that. But pounds is just what ya’ll call it?” He asks.

“Well…in some places. In others they might measure weight a little differently. But that’s a whole other conversation for another time. How about I just show you a horse when we get to Earth?” You chuckle.

“Sounds like a plan ta me. But anyway, what I came down here for was ta ask ya if ya wanted to play cards with me and the boys?”

“Oh, I don’t know. It’s already getting kind of late, and I don’t know how to play.”

Yondu stands up from where he’s sitting and approaches you. He steps behind you and gently gathers your hair to one side of your neck. He bends down to place light, seductive kisses up and down your neck before murmuring in your ear, “Come on baby, I ain’t seen ya all day. It’ll just be a few hands, and I wanna show you off to my men for a while. Show ‘em what’s mine.” He continues to kiss you along the length of your neck, and he begins to pull your sleeve down your shoulder to taste a little bit more of your skin. You can’t stop your breaths from coming in deeper and slower. Yondu never fails to make you melt in his hands.

“Alright, alright. You talked me into it. But that mouth of yours just isn’t fair. You cheated and you know it!”

Yondu laughs and gives you a smug grin as he points to himself, “Uhh, Ravager? Not to mention, I’m a Ravager Captain. I see somethin’ I want, and I take it. Including you.” He tugs you closer by your waist and kisses you hard and heavy.

You pull away after a few moments and ask, “Okay, so do you want to get some or go play cards? I’m not sure that we have time for both.”

He growls in annoyance at your point. “Damn. Ya might be right. Let’s go.”

~~~

You both sit down at the poker table in the ship’s bar with Yondu, Kraglin, Oblo, Tullk, and Geff. These guys have honestly become your closest friends, and you were happy to have a drink with them and learn to play card games. You were learning a Xandarian game that is similar to Black Jack, except there’s more suits and the cards are octogons. It’s a little confusing at first, but you catch on pretty quick. A few hands in, Tullk asks you if you’re excited to see Terra again.

“Yeah! I can’t wait to see the trees and breathe in the air. I miss our sunsets and forests. I miss the songs the birds sing. I miss the smell of the rain. But I think I miss our blue skies even more.” You smile softly and glance over at Yondu. He smiles back and offers you a quick wink as he takes a swig of his beer. He pulls you closer to him with one firm tug on your seat, and throws his arm over the back of your chair.

“Sounds like a neat place to me!” Geff chimes in as he looks over his hand.

“Got any idea of what your plan might be? What are you gonna do first?” Oblo asks.

“Well…I guess I’ll try to find my mom first. I think she would still live in the same place. I can’t imagine she would move. It’s only been a few years. Then once I find her, I’ll get in touch with my sister. But when it comes to introducing them to Yondu – well, I think I’m gonna have to explain a few things first. Ease them into it. Ya know? I know a place where Yondu can lay low until everything is calmed down. Being kidnapped by an alien race and then shipped out all over the galaxy isn’t going to be easy to explain.” You rub your temple lightly. It didn’t occur to you just how much of a shock your return might be.

“So Tullk, have you ever thought about going back?” You ask, hoping it’s an innocent enough question.

“Nah, not me lass. There isn’t anythin’ left fer me on our planet. I’m happy here with the crew. Mah life back on Terra was a little rough. Got in with some men who were less than savory. Joined Yondu’s crew an’ never looked back.”

The rest of the game you listen to Kraglin and Oblo’s banter back and forth, and wonder to yourself what kind of people Tullk got involved with. You figure that some things are better left unsaid, and as long and he’s happy here, that’s enough for you. Once the game is over, Kraglin gets the cards together and everyone heads in for the night. As you’re walking toward the door, Yondu grabs your hand.

“Hey honey, me ‘n Krags are gonna go over a few things around the ship fer when you and I leave tomorrow. I’ll meet you back at ma quarters?”

“Sure thing, but don’t be too long.” You stand on your tip toes to kiss him on the cheek, and head toward the Captain’s quarters.

~~~

You’re playing your list of songs on your personal playlist while you pack for the trip. You find out that there are thousands of songs you hadn’t listened to yet. You had no idea at first, but these data devices Kraglin uses have seemingly endless storage. You were getting a little buzzed, having gotten into Yondu’s whiskey stash at his minibar. A little celebration was in order since you were going back to Earth with Yondu. You were dancing hazily to Fantasy by Mariah Carey. Yondu walks back toward his cabin door, hears some muffled song and smirks to himself. As quietly as possible, he opens the door to find you dancing drunkenly to the music. He enters the room and you don’t even notice his presence as you continue to dance and sing. He creeps into the room and sits down in his recliner, interested in just watching you.

As much of a goofy drunk as you are, he smiles to himself. You might just be the best thing that ever happened to me, girl.

The song changes over to Love On The Brain by Rhianna. Although your playlist has a ton of different songs, music was something that always resonated with you, and you liked almost anything. With the lyrics of the song carrying you away, you feel large, warm hands on your hips as you sway to the music. Immediately knowing who is feeling you up, you lean into his body and he begins to sway with you. He brings his lips to your neck and kisses you slowly. His lips kiss and part from your neck over and over, and it makes your core ache as warmth spreads through your limbs. Letting go, you fall into him even more, surrendering yourself to him. His hands begin to wander over your body, feeling your hips and thighs. You let out a few breathy moans, and your knees grow weak. While still facing away from him, you bring up your arms and wrap them around his neck as he teases your ear with his tongue. He notices that his bottle of Krylorian Whiskey is almost half empty, and you are way past buzzed at this point.

Baby you got me like ah, woo, ah Don't you stop loving me (loving me) Don't quit loving me (loving me) Just start loving me (loving me)

Oh, and baby I'm fist fighting with fire Just to get close to you Can we burn something, babe? And I run for miles just to get a taste Must be love on the brain That's got me feeling this way (feeling this way) It beats me black and blue but it fucks me so good And I can't get enough Must be love on the brain yeah And it keeps cursing my name (cursing my name) No matter what I do, I'm no good without you And I can't get enough Must be love on the brain

The beat carries you both to his bed and he continues his loving assault on your torso and neck. At this point, the room is spinning a little, and the next thing you see is a gorgeous blue chest, and your captains’ pants slowly being undone. You are more than frisky, and the second his pants come undone, you dive into him. He doesn’t have a chance to argue, as his cock is already making its way into your mouth. He groans in response, and finds a fistful of your hair. The alcohol in your veins gives you some kind of super power and your skills with his manhood are already blowing his mind. He peers down at you with his head tilted to the side, groaning at the sensation you’re giving him. All of that whiskey has made your gag reflex vanish, and you can take him deep into your throat. He watches intently as his cock disappears into your mouth and he moans loudly. You continue to blow him out of his mind for a while longer, polishing the head every now and again. You hear him speak up, “Baby girl, I’m gonna cum if ya don’t stop.”

You look up him momentarily, roll your eyes with pleasure and moan on his cock. You’ve got him exactly where you want him. In a few more minutes, he spits out a string of curses at the intensity of his orgasm. “Oh, fuckin’ hell – yes! Shit….mmmhmm.” He pushes his raging hard cock as deep into your mouth as you can stand, and cums down your throat. You slowly slide his cock out of your mouth, and sensually lick the tip clean.

“It’s even better than I expected.” You smirk up at him. His cum tastes wildly different than a human’s. It isn’t bitter at all. It’s still slightly salty, but it’s also a little sweet and nutty. The taste was completely unexpected, and you almost couldn’t believe it. You tease his sensitive cock with your tongue to make it jump. “Oh, fuck. Ya might be more than I can handle when you drink like that.” He huffs out a laugh and collapses on the bed. “Alright, yer turn sugar.”

“No, it’s okay. I just wanted to make you feel good. I want to show you how much you mean to me. I don’t need anything. This was more than enough for me.” You kiss him lovingly, and snuggle into his side.

“I love you y/n. Ya really are an amazin’ woman. A damn whiskey bandit, but amazin’.”

~~~

The next morning, Yondu is still in bed with you. He wakes you up slightly by wrapping his strong arms around you and he pulls you as close as he can. You never thought in a million years that Yondu would be a cuddler, but in the privacy of his cabin he usually turned into a huge teddy bear.

“Good morning, handsome.” You mumble.

“Mornin’, sugar. Guess what?” He asks.

“What?”

“Today’s the day.” He says as he gently rubs your legs.

You push up on your arms quickly and look around the room. Today’s the day?! Oh my gosh, today’s the day!” You jump out of bed and start to get undressed.

“Woah, wait a minute! Where you goin’? We’ve got all day, slow down girl. Come ‘ere.” He beckons you back to him before you can get your t-shirt and sweats all the way off. You smile and crawl back into bed with your captain. “I wanna spend a little more time with ma woman before we head out. It’s gonna be a long flight, and who knows how long we might hafta be apart while you get your family stuff sorted out.” He pulls you close, and you happily snuggle into his warm embrace. Yondu is the warmest, and most incredible big spoon ever. His warmth is amazing, his body is so firm and strong. His hands engulf your torso almost completely. Absentmindedly, you rub your hands along his arms as he holds you.

“I love you.” These are the only words you can come up with, and yet they barely capture your feelings for him.

“I love you too, honey.” He takes in a deep breath and sighs. Yondu is trying his best to keep his worries at bay. He’s going to take up as much time as he can with you, which is why he wants to be so cuddly. It’s almost as if he’s afraid that you could vanish from his embrace. Today was not going to be an easy one for him. The uncertainty is maddening.

#Yondu and The Secretary #yondu x reader #Yondu Udonta #gotg #gotg fanfiction #fanfic #marvel #marvel fan fiction #love #centaurian

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bookishofalder · 3 years

Text

Night Changes [Bonus Scene]

Summary: A different point of view during an exciting night at the Cantina...

Requested by @hoeforthefictional 🤍🤍

Warnings: Language!

“Kid, it’s my job to tell you like it is,” Charlie grinned as you refused to turn and look at him, marching toward the cantina while determinedly ignoring him. He could tell you were confused about how the conversation even came up in the first place, but he wasn’t going to explain his exhaustion over your intense relationship with his best friend again. “Why are you denying it? It’s obvious to everyone...”

He tried to grab your shoulder and squeeze it, but you jerked out of his reach and shot him a look that screamed ‘shut the hell up’. He laughed, loudly, and you only scowled more deeply as you moved through the doors of the cantina.

Charlie had known for a very, very long time that you two were made for one another. It was hard not to see the looks, feel the chemistry, when you spent all of your time together growing up, and then again once you’d come to D’Qar and joined the Rebels with them. It was dizzying at times, the level of love and adoration you shared. And Maker if it wasn't the most annoying thing to watch you both blatantly ignore all of that and continue to claim to be ‘just friends.’ He’d thought the moment you stepped foot on D’Qar Poe would give in, after missing you as much as he had for two years and almost losing his mind in the excitement in the days leading to your arrival.

And he’d seen the look on each of your faces, right before you hugged both of them. It was like seeing two stars collide, burning and bright and overwhelming. But Poe didn’t say anything, and now it had been a couple of years of watching you both make excuse after excuse, too afraid to leap.

You had been on Gold team long enough now that Charlie thought Poe was running out of excuses. He had noticed his best friend had ceased casual dating altogether, for which he was incredibly grateful. He hadn’t ever, before tonight, really said anything to either of you about whatever it was you had. But the nights where Poe disappeared with his arms wrapped around a random stranger, leaving you with a weirdly blank look on your face before you called it a night, those had been the times he was most tempted.

It had been months now since either of you had gone home with a stranger. Charlie sensed a shift in your dynamic. He could tell you were clueless to it; Poe was easier to read, however, and he saw the looks-the ones that said, ‘I’m hopelessly in love with you and I’m going to just say it’, that he bit back almost daily. As much as he wanted to see you both happy, Charlie knew it was down to you two figuring your shit out, and really he had his own things to worry about.

Like his on-again, off-again girlfriend; Vanya.

He was trying to convince Vanya he was serious about committing, ready to settle down. He’d asked her to come by tonight, after her shift in the med bay, eager to introduce her to his family and drive home his intent with the gesture. He hadn’t mentioned it to you yet, not wanting to get up your hopes of finally being introduced only for Vanya not to show.

He followed along behind you as the crowd parted to let you both through to your usual table, where he saw, with a surge of satisfaction, Poe sitting already and giving you the softest look as you approached. When Charlie glanced at you, he could tell your eyes were on Poe and he hoped you were finally seeing what he’d pointed out to you now.

Hell, he’d had plenty of potential suitors interested in you approach him over the years and ask what was the situation between you and ‘Dameron’, not wanting to step into anything. Charlie always warned them off.

When you took your usual seat next to Poe, Charlie watched in amusement as Poe casually tossed his arm on the back of your chair as you flushed, your brow pinched. And while Flyboy gave you a look that could melt the whole planet of Hoth, you shot Charlie a warning look after catching him smirking at the whole thing.

“You look like you’re still up in the clouds, sweetheart,” Poe murmured, smiling widely at you while his eyes searched your face for clues to what you were feeling.

Raising your drink, you smiled tentatively up at Poe, “One of those days, I suppose.”

Little liar.

Charlie could reach across the table and push your heads together. He was sure after about five seconds you’d both stop fighting him and just fall all over each other instead. Kriff, you two were annoying. He was pretty sure growing up in the orbit of your love for each other was prematurely ageing him, and made a mental note to check his hair for greys later.

He had to bite back another grin, because the entire time Charlie spoke to Poe, he could see you casually attempting to watch Flyboy out of the corner of your eye. Your posture was more rigid than usual and you were worrying away at your lower lip. When you finally seemed to have enough of whatever thoughts were swirling away in your head, you leaned forward and tapped your glass, your expression inward, and almost robotically indicated you would go and order refills.

Poe watched you leave, his eyes on your back as a slow frown appeared and he looked back at Charlie curiously. “Do you know what’s going on with her?” He only flicked his eyes to look at Charlie briefly, before they swung back to you across the room.

Charlie leaned into his chair to get more comfortable, and beamed, “Nope.”

Poe glared at Charlie without any real heat behind it, “Then why are you grinning? She say something to you?” Again, his eyes travelled back to where you stood across the room.

Sometimes, the way Poe looked at you made Charlie feel a mixture of gratitude-for what more could he ask, than a man who loved his sister so deeply-and envy. Because a love like yours, even undiscovered as it was, was more powerful than anything he’d ever encountered in the galaxy.

He shook his head, “No, brother, don’t stress. She’s just doing some thinking,” When Poe only frowned further at his words, Charlie gave him a look, “Do you think I tell her what’s going on with you when you’re in a mood? Talk to her yourself.”

“Wait,” Poe sat up a little straighter, “Does she ask about me? When? What did she say, exactly?” His eyes brightened considerably as he now focused on Charlie, excited.

Charlie groaned, “Oh maker, you two are going to drive me insane,” He took the last sip of his drink, glancing around and spotting Vanya making her way toward him. The pretty redhead was smiling happily, noticing Poe and putting together his intents on inviting her out. He waved her over eagerly, standing up. “Hey Poe, want you to meet my-”

“Don’t say, girlfriend,” Vanya leaned in and gave Charlie a light kiss, her eyes shining with affection despite her teasing, “I still haven’t decided if I like you enough, Major Horn.” He held his hands up in mock surrender, glancing over at his friend.

Poe was grinning up at Charlie and Vanya, “Well it’s nice to meet you, not Charlie’s girlfriend.” He replied warmly, extending his hand to her. Vanya grasped it before taking the empty seat next to Charlie, her hand landing on his thigh fondly. Now he had to work at not flushing.

“Vanya, it’s nice to meet you officially, Poe Dameron,” Vanya glanced at the extra drink on the table, “Is your sister here too, Charlie?” He noticed the slightly nervous edge to her tone, the tell that indicated to Charlie that as much as she put him through to earn her trust, the idea of meeting his little sister and making a good impression was important to her.

He smiled, running a hand over her cheek affectionately.“Yeah, she’s just getting drinks-”

“What the fuck is going on?” Poe suddenly interjected, and Charlie looked across the table to find his friend glaring daggers towards the bar. Turning in their seats, Charlie and Vanya spotted you talking to two tall women, your posture tense. You were saying something and one of the women leaned away in surprise before aggressively slamming her drink on the bar and taking threatening steps toward you.

Now, Charlie was a protective older brother. But he also knew what his baby sister was made of, and was confident that you could easily handle a couple of bullies who clearly didn’t work in the field, even with the height difference. Vanya made a noise of concern beside him, and he glanced at her, “Don’t worry kid’s good.” He assured her, now swelling with pride as you seemed to be replying in an even tone, unflinching. One of the women looked vaguely familiar and Charlie had an idea of what might be going on.

He was therefore unsurprised when he heard Poe get out of his seat. He growled, “Fuck this,” before storming past Charlie and toward the bar.

“Wow,” Vanya whispered next to him, leaning against Charlie’s side. When you hit the woman, a clean smack across the face, Charlie barked out a laugh and the same time that Vanya gasped, “Wow!”

You hadn’t noticed Poe yet, as he approached from behind you, but the angry woman sure did, halting as she moved toward you and suddenly straightening and trying to smile. When his arm landed around your shoulders, you visibly relaxed, not appearing to notice how Poe subtly angled himself in front of you protectively.

Charlie shot Vanya a look, “What’d I tell you?”

Vanya hummed in agreement as she continued watching the scene unfold; Poe had spoken and the women were scurrying away, and he was now worriedly looking you over. Though Charlie wanted to roll his eyes he could understand that it was the one way his friend had allowed himself to show you the depths of his affection without giving himself away.

When you reached up and moved your hand in a soft caress over Poe’s jaw, Vanya cursed under her breath, “You weren’t kidding about those two, Maker. You could cut the tension with a fucking butter knife, Char.”

He laughed aloud, “They’d make some damn pretty babies one day, but let’s hope they get my brains. Stubborn idiots.”

Vanya giggled, pulling her gaze away from where you and Poe stood wrapped around one another and meeting Charlie’s eyes. “Maybe I could meet her another night? They look a little busy,” She leaned into him and pressed her lips softly to Charlie’s, then eased back to give him a sultry look, “How about we go back to my room and talk?”

He hopped out of his seat eagerly, wiggling his brows, and Vanya laughed again, taking his hand and letting him pull her to her feet. He pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead before wrapping an arm around her shoulders. He let her lead the way out of the cantina. With one last glance back at you and Poe, he felt a sense of calm come over himself because he could see how close you both were to realizing what everyone else could see all along.

Charlie smiled to himself, excited for everything the future had to hold.

Taglist

@mermaidxatxheart @foxilayde @eleinemk @paintballkid711 @mylifeisactuallyamess @20th-centu-fairy-girl @deitysnips @cannedsoupsucks @ubri812 @poedameronloverx @hoeforthefictional @astrological-bitch @itsnottilly @itsdameron @alex-sulli @generousrunawaydonut @wildmoonflower @onlyferorder66 @deanandbobbymcgee @afootnoteinyourhappiness

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fakeloveaskblog · 3 years

Text

Andromeda

(Words: 972)

It was monday morning and Janus sat nearly slumped over in his seat. The manager was having their biweekly economy rundown. Working at a library was a surprising amount of economics and paperwork.

At least he was sitting by the same table as Logan. He tried to hide how often he glanced over at his crush. The nerd clearly wasn’t focusing on the rundown anyway.

He had a blue marker out and was doodling constellations on his left arm. It looked like a small galaxy at this point. An ursa major was fighting for space next to a big dipper. Small stars filled out the space between them.

Janus couldn’t help but awe at them a bit. He hadn’t thought of Logan to be the drawing type. To be fair he hadn’t thought he would be the type to stand to talk to him for more than 2 seconds either. Truly a man with more surprises than a mongoose.

Logan suddenly looked at him and they met eyes. Janus’ thoughts immediately eroded into an ocean of panic. He was gonna think he was a gross creep for staring at him for so long during the meeting!!!! He might as well get eaten by a whale!!

A calm smile formed on Logan’s lips. He motioned for the drawings before nodding towards him. Janus quickly nodded back and held his thumb up under the table. The nerd pointed at the other man’s hand, he didn’t really know what he was asking but he still nodded.

The smile on his lips grew. He gently took Janus’ hand and moved it so it firmly laid on top of his thigh, his fingers just about touched the inner part. He took his marker and began to draw a constellation on the top of his hand.

To be frank all of Janus’ braincells stopped working all at once. He??? was??? touching??? a guy’s??? thigh??? What the fuck??? What the fuck??? What the fuck???

Logan was at least 6 inches taller than him and a bit on the chubbier side. His thighs were full and warm...and....well....thicc. (Unlike with himself where all of his fat just laid awkwardly everywhere making him look saggy and disgusting) Janus gulped. It felt nice. Stress inducing yes. It was giving him a gay panic yes. But it was still nice.

He forced himself to look up at Logan’s face. His brow was furried since he was concentrating on making the drawing as pretty as possible. His deep blue eyes already looked like small galaxies.

Janus loved him. He loved him so much.

“Done” Logan whispered while letting go of his hand.

He sadly decided to move his hand away to not seem like a creep. The warmth quickly disappeared from his skin leaving a feeling of missing something. He wanted to hold Logan. Hold his hand. Move his body close to his. Brush his lips against his cheek. Anything.

And also he wanted to press his head between his thighs. Not for sexual reasons!!!....Mostly. For cuddle and warmth reasons! He was a very very cold snake.

He’d been too focused on the ehm thighs to even think about looking at the drawing. He looked down at it. It was just like the others, a star constellation. But it was clear he had put more effort into this one. The lines were smoother and there was a whole bunch of stars surronding it.

“Truly charming artwork Log” He said quietly “Which one is it?”

Logan leaned closer. He put his hand on Janus’ knee “It’s Andromeda. It stands for love”

Janus felt like a melting marshmallow “Oh....So I guess you’ve drawn it on Patty many times”

If Logan could facepalm without making it obvious for their manager that he wasn’t listening he would facepalm over and over again for the next hour.

“Indeed. Andromeda and Capricornus are my two favorite constellation”

“Capricornus? The guy who realized the earth revovled the sun?”

“No that’s copernicus” Logan got an incredibly dorky smile on his face “Capricornus is the constellation for a seagoat! A goat in the sea! Fishgoat!” He said it like it was the funniest thing ever.

It got a mild chuckle from Janus. Right in time for the meeting to end. Their coworkers left the room, returning to work.

Janus gathered some papers and was about to leave “Could you be sweet and stand in the reception alone for a little bit? I will just slither into a cozy corner and finish my book”

“As long as you tell me all about it afterwards. I hope you aware of how much I love to hear it” Logan tried to say it in a flirty tone “And then tonight maybe you can slither to...to....” The words died on his tounge.

He wanted to ask Janus if he would like to come over to his apartement to eat dinner but he was unsure if his friend would even want to. He could tell Jan was too socially anxious to say no so he really didn’t want to accidentally force him to go to a dinner he didn’t want to.

He usually didn’t overthink this much when it came to lovers. But to be fair usually his crushes flirted back...and didn’t literally run away every time he tried to compliment them.

“Slither to where?” Janus asked, tilting his head.

“Slither over to the coffee shop! I could figuratively kill for a good cup of beans right now. I’ll pay you back, don’t worry”

Janus sent him a sweet smile before turning to leave “No need. My treat”

Logan was left alone in the empty room. He sighed while slumping back in his chair. He was hopeless. If only there were some bodyless voice that could tell him whether inviting Janus over would be a good idea or not.

#this is based on an experience i had in spanish class one time #if i didnt already know i was a raging lesbian that very very cool bi girl putting my hand on her thigh would have punched me in the face wi #with a gay realisation #loceit #logan sanders #janus sanders #sanders sides #mini fic #reblogs are very appreciated C:

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dameronology · 3 years

Text

the story of us {poe dameron}

for @unstoppableforcce for the v.day fix exchange (organised by the lovely @sergeantkane!) i hope you enjoy❤️

warnings: probably a few swear words, but other than that, it’s all g

- jamie

The galaxy didn’t stop for anything. Not even Valentine’s Day

And it sucked. It really sucked. Not because you and Poe ever went all out (who had the time?) but because it was one day that you should have spent together and you were both busy. It wasn’t his fault, nor was it yours. The Resistance was more demanding than ever and you both had to prioritise fighting the good fight. If you didn’t, neither of you would have had much of a galaxy to live in, let alone be together in. Despite that, Poe always made a point of reminding you how much he loved you on every regular day - it was more so in the things he did for you, like bringing you your favourite coffee every morning and leaving you little notes on the mirror in the refresher.

Unbeknownst to you, however, he had a few things up his sleeve (in typical Dameron fashion). It had started in the morning when you’d woken up to find a picture of the two of you stuck to the mirror. It was one that Finn had taken not long before you’d begun dating; you’d both been tired from a mission, and he’d come to the mess hall to find you and Poe passed out on another. You were slumped against him, his arm strewn across your shoulder and both your mouths hanging open. Even though you hadn’t quite woken up properly, you couldn’t help but grin at the picture - even more so when you saw what was written on the back.

Four years ago: the day I realised I liked you a lot more than I should have.

You tucked the photo into the pocket of your jeans, barely able to hide your smile as you headed to work.

The base itself had been decorated for the day - Leia’s doing, probably - with love heart banners strewn across the walls and colourful glitter poured in random places. You’d learnt about the latter apart when Rey had activated her lightsaber, only to get blasted in the face with a mouthful of pink and red hearts. Your joy, however, had been short lived when you’d realised that it was all over your shared office. How much did you want to bet that you’d still be finding it in the crevices of your desk next year?

‘A wonderful start to the day.’ Rey muttered, dumping the laser sword onto the table.

‘I am not cleaning that up.’ You teased.

When you took a seat at your desk, you noticed another photo stuck to the monitor of your holopad. It was from a trip you and Poe had taken to Yavin-4 as friends. Everyone at the time had called bullshit on that part, and you both knew it too. It was at the end of said trip that he’d confessed his feelings for you, and you’d had your first kiss under the moonlight in the backyard of his childhood home. It sounded very romantic, but not moments later, there had been a clap of thunder and the heavens had opened on you. The picture was of you and him wrapped in a blanket by the fire, both drenched to the bone as you shivered together. Kes had taken the picture when neither of you were looking, and he’d managed to catch Poe peering down at you, brown eyes filled with adoration. It was definitely one of your favourite photos together.

Peeling it off the monitor, you flipped it around to look at the message on the back.

Three years and eight months ago: the day I realised I loved you (even though I didn’t say it for like...another six months. Thanks for being patient).

‘Everything okay?’ Rey asked.

‘Yeah.’ You glanced up at her, forcing a smile. ‘Just kinda bummed that Poe’s been called out all day.’

‘I’m sorry.’ She placed a hand on your shoulder. ‘If it’s any comfort, I saw him sneaking around the base with armfuls of photos of you earlier.’

‘Sneaking?’ You snorted.

‘Okay, trying to sneak.’

‘Poe Dameron is a lot of things, but subtle is not one of them.’ You grinned.

The statement rung completely true: his inability to not get excited about everything and tell everyone about whatever his plans were meant that the entire base knew about his surprises before you did. When he’d proposed to you, he’d sworn to himself that he was only going to tell Finn in advance. Then, Poe had told Rey too in a moment of joy, and then Kare, and then Snap, and then Leia and before he knew it, he’d had to spend the entire day running around the place, making them promise to keep schtum. By some miracle, the message didn’t get back to you, and the whole thing did end up being a surprise.

In fact, the third photo - one you’d found in your desk drawer - was from that day. Poe had tried to take a selfie with you, only for you to kiss him just as the camera went off. Your hand was resting on the side of his cheek, Shara’s ring glinting under the flash of the camera. The picture had been his holopad background ever since, and the message on the back was almost enough to made you cry.

Two years ago: the day you promised to be with me forever, even though I’m a pain in the ass

You found the fourth photo in one of your files, not long after your lunch break. It was paperwork from a mission that you’d been filing the night before, so he must have snuck it in whilst you were still asleep. It lead you to wonder how long he’d been planning the whole thing for - knowing him, it was probably months. He managed to pull something so sweet and so personal off each year, and this was probably your favourite one so far. The fact he’d managed to do something so thoughtful and so kind without even being there was a testament to Poe Dameron himself.

The photo that fell out of your paperwork was from just over a year ago. It was one of you, Rey, Finn and Poe in one of your favourite cantinas. It had been after a successful mission, and the drinks were flowing all night, smiles hardly faltering until you all fell asleep. You were sat on Poe’s lap, his arms looped around your front and his head resting on your shoulder. The night was a little blurry - too much beer, perhaps - and you couldn’t even remember who had taken it. Either way, it was still one of your favourites, because it was your entire world contained to one single photo. The message on the back was just as Poe as the last three.

Thirteen months ago: the day I realised I was with the greatest people in the galaxy (you take top spot, but Finn and Rey are pretty cool too)

The rest of the ones that you found through out the day were all throwbacks to other important moments in your relationship. There was one of you in his hoodie, titled the day I realised you looked better in my clothes than I do and another of the two of you fixing his X-Wing, labelled the day I realised you know nothing about X-Wings. Both of your faces were smeared with grease, and you were in fits of giggles together about something. You hadn’t realised how lucky you were to have friends that enjoyed taking pictures.

By the time dinner rolled around, you’d collected about twenty photos. The fact that you hadn’t seen Poe yet completely sucked, but his little stunt had kept you smiling all day. Even if he wasn’t with you physically, you knew he was thinking about you. Hell, he was always thinking about you, not just exclusively today. His ability to bring you up in every conversation and namedrop you to anyone who would listen was testament to that.

As the day passed and the sky dimmed, you retired to your desk with some caff from the mess-hall and a pile of papers. Rey had long disappeared to do...Jedi stuff? Whatever the hell that deemed, you weren’t sure. It meant that you were left alone in the office, glancing between your files and the pile of photos you’d accumulated throughout the day with a soft smile. Your holopad occasionally beeped with messages, but it wasn’t until you heard Poe’s specified notification sound that you finally pushes aside your work to check them.

Meet me in the hangar - bring the photos.

You grinned at the message - finally.

Grabbing your jacket - actually, it was Poe’s - and tossing it over your shoulders, you flicked the lights in your office off and headed for the hangar. The hallways were pretty much empty by then; everybody else was either having dinner or spending the evening with their respective significant other. It meant that you could easily sprint to where you needed to be, without having to worry about crashing into anyone or being reprimanded by a stingy commander.

You met Poe halfway across the room, bodies colliding together as he wrapped his arms around you and lifted you in the air. He spun you around for a moment, before placing you firmly on the ground and crashing his lips onto yours. They were warm and soft and so familiar, a welcome contrast from the pain you’d been feeling all day from missing him. The little collection of photos had only reminded you of how much he meant to you (everything) and made the yearning even stronger. His grip on you barely faltered as he pulled away, pausing to admire you for a moment.

‘Happy Valentine’s day, baby.’ Poe grinned.

‘Right back at you.’ You pressed a kiss to his jaw. ‘Is there a particular reason that we’re in the hangar?’

‘We’re going somewhere.’ His smile only grew wider.

‘Aaaand where might that be?’ You quirked an eyebrow.

‘It’s a surprise.’ He flung an arm around your shoulders, leading you towards the ships. ‘I know it’s a little late, but I spent most the afternoon begging the General to let me use the Falcon.’

‘How’d that go?’

‘Dreadfully.’ Poe snorted, pulling you closer into his side. ‘But she said yes.’

‘You’re kidding?’

You’d only been on the Millenium Falcon a few times, but it was hands down your favourite ship. There was so much history behind it - not just between you and Poe, but for the Resistance the Rebellion in general. You dreaded to think how much grovelling your husband had done on your behalf to make Leia agree to let the two of you borrow it, but it wasn’t something you were going to complain about. It was far better than being cramped into the one-person cockpit of his X-Wing; that was something you’d done many, many times and you always ended up with a back-ache.

‘Am I allowed even a clue?’ You asked, following him up the ramp and into the ship.

‘You do know what a surprise is, right?’ Poe teased, leading you through the galley.

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head with a smile. ‘You’re normally terrible at them.’

‘I think I pulled off today’s pretty well.’ He grinned at you.

You both took a seat in the cockpit. Your eyes lingered on the dice hanging up by the window for a moment -- even though Leia had originally kept them on her person, she ended up returning them to the ship for safe-keeping and good luck. Your heart always stung a little when you looked at them, just because you knew the history behind them. They held the same sort of sentiment of the ring on your finger and all the photos you’d collected today: memories. Years and years of memories, some filled with love, and some bittersweet ones. You knew, however, that your story was going to have a happier ending.

---

Poe didn’t fly for too long -- maybe forty five, fifty minutes.

You’d spent most of the journey chatting about everything and nothing, as you often did. You gelled so well together that you could easily spend hours talking, and completely forget about the world around you. It was one of the things you loved about Poe, especially when there were times that you needed to forget your surroundings. He was always an escape, and in the best way possible. A reminder that, even though the galaxy could be dark, there was always good. He went out of his way to remind you to be hopeful, and to fight for the best. And, more often that not, he would reference the two of you finding each other in the Resistance as an example of it.

‘Are you gonna tell me where we are now?’ You asked.

‘Nope.’ Poe replied. ‘C’mon. It’s not too far of a walk.’

His arm returned to your shoulders as you exited the jet, boots met with wet ground - sand.

Not just the sand, but the beach.

The smell of sea salt hung in the air, clearing your senses of the stuffy, recycled air that surrounded the base. It was clear and crisp, hitting your skin with a welcomed iciness. You could hear the sound of the ocean in the distance, slowly to-and-froing, crashing against the land with a gentle whoosh, almost as if it were greeting you.

‘C’mon.’

Poe suddenly grabbed you from behind, lifting you up in the air and catching your legs before they could hit the ground. He had one arm tucked under yours and the other under your knees, carrying with ease through the jungle and towards the sound of the sea. He held you close to his chest, brown eyes concentrating on the ground ahead of you so that he didn’t trip. He was always beautiful, but even more so under the moon-light of the evening, casting a silver glow over the two of you as he broke through the trees and out onto the plains of the sand,

‘D’you know where we are now?’ He gently asked, placing you on the ground. His arm returned to your side, snaking around your waist and pulling you back towards him.

‘Yeah.’ You smiled. ‘Four years ago, you crashed your X-Wing just over there.'

‘And you pulled me out the wreckage before the whole thing went up in flames.’ He continued the story.

‘It was my first day and I had no idea what to do.’ You remembered it with a soft laugh.

‘You saved my ass.’ He pressed a kiss to your temple. ‘And frankly, you’ve done it every day since.’

He turned so that he was facing you, one hand resting on your hip and the other on the back of your neck. For all his funny moments and grandeur, Poe Dameron could be soft as fuck. It was something that very few people every got to see, and mostly something that he saved for you, and only you. It was something you often witnessed under the covers of the dark, when it was just the two of you laying in bed together, softly murmuring about your day.

‘I love you, Poe.’ You murmured. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t - ah fuck.

‘I love you more.’ He gave you a watery grin. ‘I did give you those photos for a reason, though.’

‘Yeah?’

He fumbled around the backpack he’d brought, producing a book. It had a picture of you, him and BB-8 on the front, with The Story of Us scribbled across the front in his mildly terrible hand writing. He flipped it open, to show several empty pages.

‘It’s dumb and cheesy as fuck, but I wanted somewhere to keep all those photos.’ He explained. ‘I know that we know our story, but it’s nice to look back at them, right?’

‘It is.’ You smiled. ‘Those photos made my whole day.’

‘I’m glad.’ He beamed back at you. ‘And we can keep adding to it. I’d like to think that this is only just the beginning.’

#valentine's fic exchange #oscar fandom fic exchange #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron imagine #poe dameron x you #poe x reader #poe imagine #star wars x reader #star wars imagine #star wars x you #star wars fluff #poe dameron fluff #poe fluff #oscar isaac character headcanons

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ct7567329 · 3 years

Text

A Night to Remember: Rex x Reader

Happy Valentine’s Day @halzore :)

TagList will NOT be included because this is for @halzore , enjoy :)

After a long fight, and exhausting battle, the Separatists were finally off Kamino. The whole battle sucked. All the men were so emotionally charged and all of their demeanors seemed to changed. Their home was at stake. But now that the battle was over, they were slowly getting to be theirselves again. The 501st stayed on Kamino a little longer to aid with clean up. Being one of their generals, that meant you stayed too.

You were wandering the halls, overseeing the clean up process when you decided you wanted to break for something quick to eat. You found one of the mess halls, grabbed food, and sat down at a table by yourself. The mess hall was fairly empty, so sitting alone wasn't too difficult. As you began to eat Fives walked in and waved to you. You waved back and he grabbed his food then sat next to you.

Fives was one of your closest friends. No matter what, you always had each other's back and you both frequently let out emotions to each other.

"Have you given it any thought?" he asked, taking a sip of water.

You shrugged your shoulders. He was talking about the Jedi Gala. Once a calendar year, the Jedi generals all got together for a formal black tie attire night where they all celebrate the war efforts and hand out a few awards. Though relationships are strongly forbidden, everyone is allowed to bring a plus one. Ever since you started your position in the 501st, you've always felt butterflies around Rex. Something about him made you feel so special inside.

These feelings were starting to get stronger by the day, and you decided to tell Fives. He is nothing but supportive of it and constantly tells you how adorable of a couple you two would be, but you are always too nervous to tell Rex about it. Your biggest concern was potentially losing the good friendship you already have with Rex.

"I think you should," Fives smiled, giving you a small nod.

You took a deep breath, "I want to. But. I mean. I don't know."

You wanted Rex to be your plus one. It was either you were going with him or you were going alone, and Fives knew this.

"(Y/N), you're beautiful inside and out. You have nothing to worry about. He'll say yes in a heartbeat," he assured you.

"What makes you say that?" you asked, mumbling a little.

Fives laughed, "I don't know. Maybe the whole we're CLONES thing."

"Oh please!," you rolled your eyes, "you know damn well that to me you guys are nothing alike."

"We appreciate that (Y/N). But I'm telling you. You really should ask him to accompany you."

As Fives was finishing his sentence, Rex walked in as if he was on cue.

"Oh look, perfect timing," he whispered to you as your eyes were glued to Rex as he walked by. He still had his helmet on when he grabbed his food. Of course he sat next to Fives, who was sitting across from you.

As Rex took off his helmet and put it on the table next to him, Fives kicked you from under the table, prompting you to talk. You gave him a glare.

"How's the clean up going, Rex?" you asked. Fives was not pleased with your question.

"It's going well, General," he replied, giving you a nod.

Fives extended his arms to stretch and exhaled, "Well, I'm going to get back to work."

You gave him a look, "But you didn't eat much."

"I wasn't too hungry," he quickly replied, giving you a wink.

Rex was still focusing on his food while you let out a small exhale, then moved over one seat so you could be in front of Rex.

"What's up General?" he asked, taking a short break from eating.

"Rex, when off duty its (Y/N)," you softly laughed, trying to keep yourself composed. On the inside, you were freaking out. This was usually the case around Rex. All you could think about is whether or not you were saying the right thing or if you looked okay.

He gave you a soft smile, "Well, what's up (Y/N)?"

"Just thinking as always!" His smile was making you melt and honestly incapable of thinking of words.

"Well, I'm sure you have a lot to think about. We are all really excited for you being nominated for the Most Passionate General Award at the Jedi Gala! The men and I can't wait for you to come back from that with that award. We KNOW you are clearly going to be the winner!" he exclaimed, his cheeks turning slightly rosy.

A smile beamed across your face, "Thank you, Rex. But you're giving me too much credit. And. And. Uh. Yeah!"

"And what?" he joked, continuing to eat.

"Ah, I don't know," you began to say, "We are allowed to bring someone with us. Like a plus one! But I think I'm going to go by myself. I'm not sure the person I want to ask would want to go."

Rex put his fork down and his jaw dropped, "You're kidding right? In my opinion, someone would be an idiot to turn you down. And if this person is in the 501st, I know for a fact all of the men would say yes in a heartbeat."

Was this actually happening?

"Actually, the person I wanted to ask is in the 501st!"

"I'm close with a lot of the men! Let's get you your plus one," he smiled back at you. The smile seemed sincere, yet fake at the same time.

You slowly nodded your head, "Oh trust me, you know him VERY well."

Rex tiled his head.

"Captain Rex, would you like to escort me to Jedi Gala?"

You felt like you were gonna throw up. The words flowed out of you so casually, it amazed you. You could not believe you just did that.

Rex slowly began to smile, more and more by the second, "(Y/N), that would make the the happiest man in the galaxy."

Your smile mirrored his, "I'm glad."

"Truthfully, I've been hoping you would ask me," he admitted, burring his face in his mug.

He looked adorable.

"Really?"

"Yes. I-" Rex began to say but was cut off by his com link.

"Rex, General Skywalker is requesting your assistance immediately in hangar four b."

He sighed, "Duty calls."

"I'll put your dishes away. Continue the talk later?" you asked, hoping for a yes.

"Of course, General," he smiled, putting his helmet back on and leaving the mess.

That night the 501st finally got to leave Kamino and made way to Coruscant for leave. The Jedi Gala was only in a few days so a lot of the major Legions were on Coruscant for their generals to celebrate.

The men of the 501st decided they all needed to rest so they were all hanging out in the barracks. You, on the other hand, were on the bridge, making sure everything up there was under control.

"So Rex. How was your day?" Fives asked, hoping you finally got the guts to ask him.

Though he tried not to, he couldn't help but smile, "You didn't tell (Y/N) anything I said to you about her, right?"

Fives held his arms up, "Oh no! I would never. But I will tell you that she's been wanting to do this for a while now. I just gave her the courage to do it."

"She wanted to ask me for a while?" Rex asked, his eyes widening.

"Rex, I know I shouldn't be telling you this, but I think it will make both you and her happier. She's also into you. She has been for a good amount of time now. And I know you feel the same." Fives confessed. He felt guilty for doing this, but he felt is was necessary.

Rex was speechless, but his face was giving away everything he was feeling. Fives has never seen such happiness from him.

"The gala is in two days, Rex. We will have one full day on Coruscant. Let's go shopping and make sure we get everything perfect. I mean, she thinks you're attractive in your backs, but this is a nice affair. This is your chance to finally get her."

"With what money?" Rex asked, becoming somewhat discouraged.

It took him a minute, but Fives finally got an idea, "Ahsoka has access to a Republic Credit Card. We could ask her to borrow it. It's for a special occasion, I'm sure she won't mind!"

"Alright, I'll try," Rex agreed, tapping his foot nervously on the floor.

Fives laughed, "Don't be nervous brother. You've got the master of love on your side!"

"Fives, have you ever even talked to a girl that isn't (Y/N) or Commander Tano for more than ten minutes?" Rex sarcastically replied getting an immediate eye roll from Fives.

Once you landed on Coruscant you wanted to find Rex and finish the conversation you had on Kamino. You went to Jesse, thinking he would have an idea of where he is.

"Hey Jesse, where's Rex?" you asked him while walking towards him.

He shrugged, "I don't know gen. He and Fives booked it off the shuttle together. I'm sure it won't be too long before they show up."

You thanked him and figured you should just go to your quarters at the Jedi Temple. Your master told you that he would make sure to haver a dress for the gala delivered to your quarters before you returned so you were excited to see that for the first time.

The second you go to your quarters, you looked in the small closet and found the dress in there. Your jaw dropped just looking at it. The dress was form fitting, yet not too tight. It looked as if it was going to hug you in the perfect areas. The sunlight shining through the window made the dark blue sparkly dress shimmer. You tried it on and it was a perfect fit, and you hoped it was the perfect look to impress Rex.

While you were admiring the dress, Fives and Rex were shopping, getting him ready for the big day tomorrow.

"Okay, so we got a suit, which was the second most important thing, but we need a tie that's going to match her dress. Commander Tano is on that. But we are still missing some things," Fives quickly spewed out, stressing Rex out.

"Wait. The suit isn't the most important thing?" Rex questioned, trying to wrap his mind around what Fives just said.

Fives face palmed, "We need to find something special for you to give her. Not just flowers, those are expected, but if you are going to ask her out, we need something more!"

"Such as?"

Fives looked around him frantically, "That. Right there," he pointed.

It's been hours and you still haven't heard from Rex or seen him at all. You made you way to the building between the Jedi Temple and the Senate Building that the Republic built for troopers when they were on leave on Coruscant. He wasn't there. Some of the boys invited you to join then at 79's so you took up the offer, thinking that maybe he would find his way to the popular clone hang out.

79's was always fun. You were never afraid to go a little wild there and the 501st loved it. It was nice for them to see their general being less assertive and more with the flow. The only thing you didn't like about going there was the fact that there was always a clone who managed to be a little too touchy with you. But, ever since you joined the war, you've been with the 501st and you've only ever had eyes for Rex.

Unfortunately, as the night went on, there was still no sign of Rex. You didn't drink too much so you decided to leave early on a speeder and get some rest early. Before you left you told a surprisingly sober Kix to let Rex know to meet you in the Jedi Temple foyer at 1600.

The next morning you woke up much later than you wanted, but you felt refreshed. 1200. "Damn," you thought. You only had four hours get ready for the big night. As you were getting ready, time was flying by. Your nervousness started to kick in. All you wanted to do was look your best for Rex, he deserved you at your best.

Before you knew it, it was 1540 so you did you finishing touches on your hair, sprayed some perfume and put your shoes on. It was your time to shine. You made you way to the temple foyer, awaiting your Captain.

Outside the Temple, Rex was nervous, getting a pep talk from Fives.

"Okay Rex. You have the flowers, do you have the thing?" he asked in a rush.

"Yes!" Rex smiled anxiously.

"Get in there brother, you've got this!"

Rex patted Fives' shoulder, "Thank you for helping me with all of this."

He started to make his way to the temple doors. Not only was he nervous about you, but he was worried that some of the generals there would feel bizarre that you brought a clone as you escort. "Aayla is probably bringing Bly," he thought, which made him feel better.

The second he entered the Temple foyer, his eyes met yours. You instantly smiled, covering your smile with your hand in awe. Rex pressed his lips together in his smile and threw his head back as he walked closer and closer to you.

"Wow," was all he could say when he got to you.

"Rex," you gasped, "you look...so...handsome."

He stood nervously in front of you in a perfectly fitted grey suit. Some of the many medals he has acquired over the years were pinned on. You thought he was probably happy he finally had a moment to show them off.

Rex kept staring you up up and down, "I have never seen anything so beautiful in this entire galaxy," he smiled, reaching for you hand, then kissing it. "You're stunning (Y/N)."

Your heart was melting more and more by the minute.

He handed you a bouquet of flowers, "I had to bring flowers for my gorgeous date."

"You're too kind, Rex," you smiled, smelling the flowers.

Rex's hands were clasped behind his back and he was slowly rocking back and forth. The feelings rushing through him were off the walls. He shut his eyes for a moment and shook his head.

"Come on Rex. Yes she's drop dead gorgeous and she's right in front of you but don't let you mind go there. It would be really noticeable in this suit." he thought to him self before opening his eyes again.

"You ready to go to the gala?" you asked him, reaching your hand out.

"Of course," he smiled, reaching his arm out to you.

The gala was amazing, you even won the award for most passionate general. Rex assured you that this was going to be the first thing he told the men when he got back. But, the best part was by far the one dance the council allowed everyone to have with their plus on. Rex's hand fit perfectly on your hip. The dancing was a little awkward at first, but as the song went on, you found yourself getting closer and closer to him until your head was fully pressed against his chest. Everything in that moment was just perfect.

Being the gentleman he is, Rex walked you back to your quarters after the gala. As you approached your room, he spun you around then pulled you into his arms. Everything was so amazing.

You got to the door and entered the code before walking in. Rex stood outside and didn't follow. You motioned him in, and patted on the bed. He took a seat next to you and you used to force to close your door.

"Thank you so much for tonight, Rex," you smiled, grabbing his hand, "you look amazing."

"Not nearly as amazing as you," he laughed, "Also I believe we never finished a conversation from two days ago."

You responded with an even bigger smile.

"You are a wonderful person, (Y/N). And I've felt this way since the second I saw you," he said sincerely, sliding his hand into his suit blazer, "I got you this."

He pulled out a box and handed it to you. You opened the small box slowly and inside was a stunning Aquamarine gemstone necklace.

"Rex," you gasped, "this is gorgeous. You didn't have to oh my gosh."

He took the necklace out of the box to put it on you, "Aquamarine gems represent the blues of the oceans and a reflector. When you look down at water, you see your reflection. Reality. The meaning of reality. Without love, what is everything worth. What is reality? The point of life?" he clasped the necklace around your neck and you turned around to face him, "I see my answers in you."

You were speechless. Your eyes began to well with happy tears the longer you looked at Rex. HE meant everything he said, you could sense it.

"I'm not as savvy with words," you laugh, "but I feel the same, and always have."

Rex started smiling so hard his eyes began to squint. The longer you stared into each other's eyes, the closer your faces got, until your lips were almost touching.

"(Y/N)," he whispered, maintaining the close distance.

"Rex," you whispered back, moving closer to make your lips meet.

The moment was magical. It was something you have both wanted to do for a long time but were too afraid to tell each other. This was all you both have wanted. It felt like a piece of you, you didn't even know was missing, was found. You draped your hands over his shoulders and pressed harder into him.

After a long, very long, kiss, you both pulled back.

"(Y/N), be mine?" he asked, kissing your cheek.

You happy laughed, "You have no idea how long I've wanted to say yes to that question."

He exhaled in relief and playfully pushed you into the bed, you both knowing damn well he was spending the night with the girl of his dreams.

#captain rex x reader #rex x reader #clone x reader #tcw #captain rex #ct7567329writes

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dantesunbreaker · 3 years

Text

Next Time

Paz Vizsla x Reader

*Angst and fluff, with a happy ending*

“Next time,” comes Paz’s modulated voice as he stands up from his side of the bed. Paz begins gathering his clothes, sliding them back on before snapping the rest of his beskar back in place without sparing a glance in your direction.

Staying in the bed, blankets pooled haphazardly around your waist, you watch him and wish that for once the Mandalorian would give in and crawl back into the bed with you. It’s always next time when it comes to Paz. Never is there time for the post orgasm cuddles, no basking in the afterglow, or just taking the time to enjoy each other’s presence. You can’t blame him, knowing that the life of a Mandalorian is busy, but you wish that that life could include you more.

“Yeah, next time,” you’re frowning, but you try to keep your tone positive. Your eyes stay glued to Paz as he puts on the last of his beskar, wanting to memorize every detail so at least you can imagine him beside you after he is gone.

“Hey, don’t be like that,” once again fully covered in his beskar, Paz finally turns back to you to see the look of sadness cross your face. In only two strides he is back at the bed brushing the back of his fingers along your jaw before cupping your cheek. “I have to go,” he leans in to press his forehead against yours and holds you there for a few seconds. “I’ll contact you via comlink when it is safe to see you again.”

“Be safe, Paz.”

There is a modulated chuckle as the hand at your cheek slowly pulls away. And then the giant of a Mandalorian disappears from your bedroom once again, leaving you to lounge in the slowly cooling sheets. You’re left waiting for however long it takes for next time to happen.

But then Nevarro happens. You are off-world when news begins to filter in from multiple sources about some big shoot-out that left part of the town in ruin. Something about a bounty hunter breaking the code by going back on his word, and thus the Guild going after him. But at the mention of dozens of Mandalorians taking to the streets to help aid the bounty hunter’s escape has a cold chill clutching at your heart. You were heading for Tatooine for a job, but suddenly that is unimportant as you're punching in the coordinates for Nevarro. The moment you land you fumble with the comlink Paz had given you with in desperation to get the device turned on.

“I just landed on Nevarro. Where are you?” silence follows your question. Tears well in your eyes as your hands tremble around the comlink. “Paz, your location please? Please?” desperation is clear as day in your wavering voice at this point, tears flowing heavily down your cheeks. “Please... just tell me you’re okay. Tell me anything... just please?”

You know that you won’t be getting a response, that you will never hear that deep rumbling voice crackling over the comlink ever again. Yet, still you cry into the device you clutch to your chest as if it were a lifeline, screaming Paz’s name and pleading for him to come back to you until your voice goes hoarse. When your tears have dried up and you are no longer able to shed another, you manage to drag yourself out of your ship.

For the next few hours you scour Nevarro, examining the damage left behind by the battle. As you turn every corner you hope that you will see him. You imagine that Paz is waiting to surprise you, to tell you it was all just some cruel joke as he pulls you flush against his chest. But you don’t find any sign of your Mandalorian. You would like to at least find a body, something to give you closure. But there is nothing. You have nothing left on Nevarro. Though you long to cry, your eyes remain painfully dry as you realize you truly never will get that next time.

Having nothing left for you on Nevarro, you decide to leave. There are too many painful memories left behind there that you can’t bear to face. So you pack up everything to your name and set out to wander space until you can forget about a certain blue Mandalorian.

For the better part of a year you travel the galaxy, never settling down long enough to call any one place home. You stay somewhere maybe a few months, just long enough to find some odd jobs to pass the time and line your pockets before you set off once again. Staying too long means you will get comfortable, and getting comfortable means you will think about him again. Even with the amount of time that has passed since your last day on Nevarro, the pain of your loss still hits just as hard.

That is how you now find yourself navigating through the busy streets of one of the many towns of Tatooine. For the last month you had been helping a local farmer prepare his harvest for market, and today you were finally paid out for your work and free to move on to the next job. It’s already late into the night when you walk past a bustling cantina on the way back to your ship. Normally, you would just keep walking, too eager to finally set out again. But something is different tonight, and you decide why not stop in for some hot food and a drink for once. You’ve earned a moment to relax after everything.

A waitress slides a bowl of Bantha steak soup and a glass of blue milk across your table as you hand over the necessary credits. It has been a long time since you ate anything other than rations, so the first spoonful you have makes you nearly moan in delight. You focus on your meal, ignoring your surroundings as you savor the soothing warmth brought from the soup. That is until you catch a glimpse of blue out of the corner of your eye. Lifting your gaze from the table you make a quick scan of the room until you spot something that makes you drop the spoon from your hand.

It must be your eyes playing tricks on you. There is no way...

Standing against the bar counter is none other than the blue Mandalorian you had spent the last year trying to forget. Painfully your heart begins to thud so hard that you are certain the other patrons can hear the sound of it hammering against your ribcage. A dryness takes over your mouth as you step away from the table and take a shaky step forward. Step by slow step you approach the counter until you stand only two arm widths away from the Mandalorian. At that moment you can see him visibly stiffen as he finishes conversing with the bartender. Tears are in your eyes before you can even process what you are seeing. You open your mouth to speak, but you are immediately cut off before you can make a sound.

“Not here.” It is the same rumbling voice that you remember, that you have only been able to dream of for the last year. Paz doesn’t turn to face you as he pushes off the bar and makes his way out of the cantina.

In numb silence you follow after him, struggling to keep up with his brisk pace. You don’t walk far before you arrive at what you can only assume is his ship, seeing the way Paz trudges up the ramp once it touches the ground. As soon as you are inside, the ramp promptly rises and shuts behind you. With a deep sigh, Paz drops himself onto a bench along one wall as he rests his elbows on his knees while you continue to stand across from him with tears still burning your eyes.

“You’re alive,” your voice is little more than a whisper, but you know Paz hears it by the way his head sinks lower.

The desire to reach out and touch him, to gather more tactical evidence that this is in fact not a dream, has your hands trembling. But you keep them firmly at your sides. For if Paz has been alive all this time... Then why did he never come back for you?

“You’re alive.. You’ve been alive this whole time.. and you didn’t come back for me,” at this that point your voice finally breaks, the soft tears turning into full gut wrenching sobs as you wrap your arms around yourself. Paz lets out a choked sound that you can’t decipher, but he refuses to look in your direction. “Do I really mean so little to you?”

“Cyar'ika... no,” Paz’s head snaps up as he hears your words, finally looking up at you, his voice sounding almost equally pained. He reaches out for you, hand hanging in the empty air for a moment before he drops it back at his side. “I heard you,” he is the one to whisper softly this time. “That day on Nevarro.. I heard you crying for me on the comlink.”

“Then why didn’t you answer?”

Paz reaches out for you once again, silently begging for you to close the gap between you. But you only take one step forward, not quite close enough for his hands to wrap around you.

“I wanted to.. please believe, I really wanted to,” Paz stands back up to his full height, stepping forward to lessen the distance between you and himself. But he doesn’t touch you. “But it wasn’t safe. For me or for you. When the fight ended the Imperials came after the Mandalorians... They hunted down and executed my brothers and sisters. Please understand, I had no way of knowing who was listening. I couldn’t tell you then where I was.”

This is the most broken you think you have ever heard your usually strong, unbreakable Mandalorian. It makes your heart want to shatter more than it already has. But there still are so many questions left unanswered.

“But.. after? You could have found me after,” your sobs have quieted, but your eyes are still rimmed with red and watery.

One of Paz’s hands moves to hover just a hair’s width away from cupping your cheek, wanting to touch you but waiting for you to give the okay.

“At first, I was going to follow you,” there is a pause, as if he doesn’t want to continue. “But listening to you cry... knowing how you would respond to my death... I knew I did not want to put you through that again. With me, there is always the risk that I won’t come back one day. My lifestyle isn’t exactly safe and comfortable,” as he continues, you finally let yourself lean into his touch. “I thought I could protect you by staying away.”

Your eyes close as you softly nuzzle into his palm. Though his words hurt, you can understand the process of Paz’s thoughts. But that doesn’t mean you agree with him. You should have been given the opportunity to make your own choice.

“I did not take into account how much it would hurt me though,” Paz admits after a long moment of silence, causing your eyes to snap open and gaze into his visor. With a sigh he rests his forehead against your own. “I spent so long trying to stay away, but yet here I am. Even now I know I should leave... but I am a selfish man.”

A small smile tugs at your lips. “You are a foolish man if you think I would let you leave again,” you chide playfully, happy to hear his soft chuckle as you loop your arms around his waist.

Paz wraps his arms tight around you and nearly crushes you against his chest, a hold that tells you he is almost afraid to let you go. Eventually his helmet shifts so that you're resting your head in the crook of his neck.

“Would you like me to finally follow up on that promise of next time?” Paz whispers next to your ear.

#paz vizsla x reader #paz vizsla #paz viszla #paz viszla x reader

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elionwriter · 3 years

Text

STORY / DRAPLE (PART 3)

For possible future Fanfic

Din expected Mandalore to be a wicked place. A cursed planet that had somehow sealed its people's fate. It was a very different sight and feeling however the one that greeted him when he first found himself there. After the battle on Moff Gideon's cruiser, Din had joined Bo-katan and her teammates in their efforts to reclaim their homeworld. Afterall, it wasn't like he had somewhere else to be or something else to do anymore. Also, this tie with his people, no matter how different their views on the creed were, felt to him like a lifeline in an otherwise empty and cold Galaxy. They had a fully operational light cruiser at disposal and increasing weaponry stashes but were very short on men, allies and credits.

Despite Moff Gideon's words and the seeds of discord he had effectively planted among them, the the ownership of the dark saber was a taboo argument that nobody dared to bring up. The matter simmered and lingered in the air, a hudge Banta in the room, a bomb ready to explode at any moment. Bo-katan didn't ask him to duel over it and kept acting like she was still in command, a situation Din was only happy to perpetrate. And yet he knew that there was tension between them: he noticed how at times she balanced her words with him, how she would act somewhat patronising and he quickly learned to do the same with her, neither of them wanting that bomb to go off yet.

"Officially, the planet is empty, but we know that it has become a perfect heaven for everyone who wishes to disappear. What remains of our cities is filled with criminals of all sorts, black market traders and empirial cells. It won't be easy to chase them all out. We need to find whatever remains of the old clans and unite the houses under our banner" Explained Bo-Katan. The problem was they had no idea who was still alive and even less where the survivors were hiding. Din couldn't help but wonder if the Armourer and someone from his old covert were among them.

Din learns that the main houses on Mandalore used to be "House Kast", "House Visla" and "House Kryze" and each of them was formed by several clans. "I believe some members of clan Wren are still alive. You have met Ashoka Tano, haven't you? She used to travel with one of their members, Sabine, before the great purge. Sabine left Ashoka's side during those days to help her family and we haven't heard from her or her people since. But Sabine was an important figure, the Empire would have claimed her death if they had caused it. No, I'm sure she's alive." Bo-katan explains.

And so, their search for other Mandalorians continues in hopes of finding someone, anyone. But she must realize that his heart still isn't really into it and that's why one day she grabs him and tells him "there's something you must see." she takes him to Mandalore, to see it with his own eyes. Din's not prepared for the barren and wounded ground he steps on, for its barely breatheable air and the carcass of the broken dome in which once Keldabe rose. If Din has to compare an image with what he sees standing there, the sight of the empty armours of his dead brothers, all piled up on the dusty floor like they are little more than scrap metal comes to mind, even if in a more cold and distant manner. "How did it become like this?" He asks and with a shuddered breath his companion explains "War after war. One battle against each other at a time. It used to be lush, you know? Green and wild nature everywhere, growing with a strength that matched our soldiers. Great and powerful beasts roamed the lands, not only the Mythosaurs. At least that's what they say, I have never seen it. There's an incredibly old prophecy of a Jedi Master, or maybe it was a Sith, I don't know, that I have heard of. Thousands of years ago, back when the Mandalorians were still great, and had just received their first defeat after almost laying claim on the whole Galaxy, she looked into the future and said that we would die a millennia long death. That at one point all that would be left of us would be the shell of our armours and the legends.....I guess she was right!"

Din looks at her and he starts to understand. They remain in silence for a while and then, suddenly, he speaks "No point fighting over a story that has already ended, but maybe we can do something about a new beginning." She nods at him and remains in silent contemplation. As they are in route back, Din asks her uncertainly, shily "Can you...do you think you could teach me?" "What?" She asks "of our history, of what happened during your years on Mandalore. ...I need to know." "I can, but you won't like some of the things I tell you." "If you tell me, I'll listen. I won't promise however that I'll agree to everything you tell me!" She studies him carefully and he wonders what machinations are going on in her mind. It's a risky move, trusting her like this, asking her to mentor him. But if he wants to learn, to push forward she is the only one with the capacity, knowledge and experience to do so. "Very well, then." She eventually answers.

#din djaren #din djarin #the mandalorian #star wars #din and grogu #grogu #luke skywalker #bo katan kryze #mandalorians #sabine wren #dinluke

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