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SOMETHING HOLY

CHAPTER 7: No Mercy

WARNINGS: angst, explicit content, LOTS of blood

SUMMARY: No mercy, Nova had said.

He takes the helmet off. A grin spreads across Din’s face, sickened and bloody, as he rips limb from limb.

At the end, there’s just silence. He stands, covered in crimson and guts, with the blade of the Darksaber flickering in the same pulse as his heartbeat. It is monstrous and wonderful and he feels nothing but adrenaline, coursing through his veins. The helmet hisses back into place like a rattlesnake striking its prey.

Din turns around, wipes the blood marring his visor, and runs back to Nova.

He sheathes the Darksaber. He tries to sink back into his skin, to put the monster back into its cage.

It goes, angrily, snarling, all the way back to her.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: HAPPY SOMETHING HOLY SATURDAY!!! i had such a wicked and exciting time writing this one ;) ENJOY! leave me a comment at the end if you did <3

If you're new here, Something More & Something Deeper are the first installments in this series, available on here & ao3!

Everything is hollowed. Fucked out. The rest of the world filters away, vanishing.

Nova drops to her knees, then crashes against the ground. Din’s not quick enough. Maker, it’s like he’s been trapped in amber. He’s fast, but he’s not fast enough. He cries out, the sound high and panicked through the modulator. Din sounds wounded, but he’s not the one that’s been stabbed. Nova’s white-faced, all the color leached out. She is held together with whispers and prayers, with nothing but him.

She keeps fucking bleeding. His hands are doing nothing to staunch it all, leaving out of her like an oil spill. Something terrible is flashing in the back of his mind. Something that feels an awful lot like deja vu.

This is how it must have felt, he realizes, horrified, frozen, when he got knifed with Sparmau’s poison dagger, and Nova had to keep him alive and pilot the shattered Mand’alor vessel away from enemy territory. The weight of the world, she holds it up. It slams into him like a Star Destroyer.

Din feels—bowled over. Scraped raw.

“Novalise,” he hisses. Her eyes flutter, rolling back in her skull. “Nova. Wake up.” It’s senseless. She is out entirely, on a different plane of existence, on a different reality. She’s so cold. Her blood pools around his gloved hands. She got hit deep. Somewhere critical. Fear leapfrogs up his throat. It tastes like bile.

This is a fucking disaster. They should have never come here—to Corellia. To the Unknown Regions at all. Everything that’s happened since that damn distress call.They should have stayed in the stars, out there in the darkness, before any of this was real. If he could go back—he would pin her down back on Mandalore, before Nova decided to do this, to run headfirst into a rescue mission where she is within the line of fire.

But that’s not who she is, his Nova. She cannot be caged. So he will be a monster for her. But this time… this time, he wasn’t fast enough.

Din swallows, tries again. “Can you hear me?”

It’s senseless. It doesn’t work. She’s passed out, which is likely a terrible sign, Din’s only passed out—clean, full out—a few times, and each instance, it was when he almost died. He keeps reliving Novalise falling to her knees, on repeat. He shakes his head, trying to clear it, trying to dislodge the memory. He hooks his fingers under the rim of his helmet, exposing his face. He doesn’t care who’s watching. He’s going to burn this entire planet to the ground. “Nova,” he whispers again.

A miracle happens. Her eyes open. Blearily, pained, but they’re open.

There’s something in his eyes. Din wipes the back of his bloodied glove across his face, realizing what it is when it comes back wet and clear. Tears. “Hey. Can you hear me?”

“Ouch,” she whispers, voice croaking. Din almost laughs—laughs—in sheer relief.

“Hold on for me,” he whispers, compounding the wound with his gloves. Maker, they’re dirty. Filthy. But he can’t worry about infection. Not now. Keeping Nova alive is mission number one. Hera will have bacta, needles, compounds—all of it, back on the ship. He’s seen her use up her dwindling supply on Nova already. He just needs to get her okay enough to get her back to the Ghost, then he can go save Bo-Katan and Wedge. He can do that. He can carry that weight. He won’t collapse. “Stay awake, baby.”

Her eyebrows furrow. Nova coughs up blood spatter. Her pink lips are a ghastly shade of white, stained on the insides. “‘M trying,” she slurs. “What—what happened?”

“That lowlife hunter,” Din snarls. His voice is a blade. He increases the pressure of his hands against her wound, and Nova whimpers. He has to steel himself, gritting his teeth down to refuse to rip his hands away. “Stabbed you. Deep. I’m gonna kill him.”

“No,” Nova manages. Her hair is haloed out around her on the ground. Din bites down on his lower lip, fetid wind blowing over the both of them. It’s cold. Corellia’s temperate until it isn’t, but right now, it’s freezing. They’re not far from the makeshift battlefield—they’ve run a couple of klicks into the center of Coronet City, but the remaining forces of their enemy could very easily be on their six. “No need. Already did.”

Love floods him. Din bites out a quick laugh. “Of course.” He shudders in a shaky breath. “Course you did, sweet girl.”

Nova blinks up at him. “It hurts,” she manages, and her voice cracks down the middle. She’s putting on a brave face, his Novalise, but she’s in bad shape. “How much blood have I lost?”

Din leans down, presses a quick kiss to her clammy forehead. He’s deflecting, and he knows it’s apparent. He knows that Nova could see it written across his untrained face, but it doesn’t matter. Not more than evacuating her, now. He’s not answering that question. “I’m getting you out of here,” he promises, putting his helmet back on. “We’re jetting back to the ship. Gonna compress your wound, okay—”

“No.” It cuts clean through. The airlocks hiss as he snaps his helmet back into place. Din stops, blinking at her through the visor. It’s been running her metrics in the absence of when it was last on his head. She’s lost so much blood. That fact keeps cycling through, entirely unhelpful, bringing him back to reality. This is—unfair. Royally so. She was saving him, chasing him, fighting his battles for him. Anger is aerating through his bloodstream, and Din swallows a growl in the back of his throat. Losing it won’t help anything. Won’t keep Nova safe from slaughter.

Maker, he really, really wishes it would. He wants to feel blood pouring out on his own hands. He wants to unleash vengeance. He wants to call revenge by name.

“Nova. I need to bring you back to the ship.”

“Not happening.” Her eyes flutter again, pupils unfocused. “‘M coming with you.”

Din stares. “You can’t—”

“They’re coming.”

It’s so quiet. He doesn’t realize what she’s said at first—and then he hears it. The sound of footsteps. They’re not concealed. Not under the helmet. He could hear the bloodstream of a rodent with the combination of the Mandalorian mask and his fine-tuned senses. And that’s exactly what’s coming towards them right now—fucking vermin. He stands. A blade. His body becomes a blade.

“Here.” Nova’s hand clenches at her side. “Take this—”

“I am not,” Din enunciates, cold and flat through the modulator, “leaving you.”

Nova holds his concealed eyes, just for a second, before she shutters hers in pain. “Take it, Din.” Her hand wraps around the shaft of it, and then she’s unclipping the Darksaber from her belt.

He stares. “It’s not mine anymore—”

“Not the time,” Nova manages, breath uneven, “for saber-wielding semantics.” She wheezes, spitting out more blood, and Din’s panic flares again, a heat-spike, red-hot. “Do it.”

He blinks at her. “I can’t.”

“You can. Cut them down,” Nova whispers. Then she shoves at him—with so much more strength than he would have been able to muster—and it propels him to his feet. “No mercy.” She cracks a wan, exhausted smile. It curves up, half-scarlet, and fuck if it isn’t the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. “Then you come back to me.”

Din Djarin disappears. The Mandalorian takes over. It whistles through his bloodstream, the strength of it. He is a weapon, a blade, the thing that lives in the darkness. He hasn’t been this—the beskar bullet, the metallic monstrosity—for years long past. Before Nova. He can still don the mask and pretend, but this is different. Troopers and hunters alike surge around the corner, and he flexes, breathes, unloads.

No living thing stands a chance.

Pain.

That’s the only word that registers, the only feeling Nova knows. It comes on like a lava surge, white-hot and deafening. She looks down, blurry-eyed, at the gash in her stomach, a knife wedged tight into the muscle of her pre-existing scar. It’s almost laughable, the irony of it all.

“Okay,” she whispers. The world shifts around the edges, elastic. The knife squelches in her abdomen, and Nova winces. “You,” she chastises herself, “can do the hard thing.”

She can. Novalise is very good at doing the hard thing. The problem is—she knows the blade is plunged into something bad. Her liver, maybe. Her spleen. In a divine comedy, this knife sliced through her sinew in the same place Sparmau’s poison dagger did to Din, back on Hinari, back what feels like a lifetime ago and is only a handful of months. Nova felt stronger then, but in all reality, she’s stronger now.

It’s facing death for what seems like the umpteenth time, stuck with a relentless blade. She’s here again. She’s always here, it seems.

Novalise has seen so much hurt. This same scar has been carved into her skin like an awful melody, muscle memory. She’s suddenly transported—back to when she was still a teenager, back when she ran right into the hornet’s nest, a viper’s den, danger that didn’t give way to goodness. She’s nineteen and haunted again, chained down in iron to a ship that was a sucking pit of despair, with a man whose kisses were venom and whose hands were made of terror.

She is not there. She is not Andromeda. Not anymore.

And the last time Novalise got stabbed in the stomach, she pulled light from the sky itself. She doesn’t need to do that this time, but she will.

Because she can.

Distantly, very distantly, Nova can hear Din cutting through the rat’s nest of troopers and hunters. Flaying them alive. She knows he will be a pit of a man for her, an interlude of darkness and terror, and he will come back on his knees. He will pray for forgiveness.

He doesn’t need to, though. He’s already gotten hers.

She’s the holy thing granting it.

“You,” Nova levels with herself, “can do this.” There’s no room left but to face it. Nova has spent enough time anthropomorphizing the past, pulling it in layers over her skin. There is nothing another timeline can do for her now. There is nothing that can save her back in her memory.

Nova has spent months fighting against her intuition to do things alone. But this time, she isn’t running away. She’s ripping the blade out of her skin, and she is facing the light, and she is going to save her friends—her family. No more running. Just fighting back.

She does the hard thing. She pulls the dagger out, inch by sickening inch.

Biting into the heel of her hand to staunch the screaming, Nova props herself half-up against the wall. She utters a string of curse words under her breath—ones in Basic, Mando’a , Huttese, and a few more that she picked up along the way. She’s the daughter of a collector of linguistics, and Nova knows how to cuss her way through at least twenty languages. “Okay,” she says, wiping the sheen of sweat from her face, “okay.” She utters the word over and over again, until she’s convinced herself that she is.

The Darksaber is being wielded by her Mandalorian, so Nova unclips her own lightsaber from her belt. It’s covered in crusted blood, the silver handle tinged crimson. She bites down on her swollen lip as she ignites it, feeling power spark to life in her exhausted bloodstream. The blade flickers and trips, but it doesn’t falter. Nova stares into the golden abyss. Her lightsaber gazes back.

“You can do this,” she whispers, calling on the strength of all her past and future selves. They flick through her shuttered eyes like a hologram, like fortification. She sees her parents’ faces. That’s likely not a good sign—stars, she’s really bleeding—but Nova takes that as a good omen. That’s what she does. Takes a black hole and pulls a supernova out of it. She is her own exploding star.

She cauterizes this wound with her lightsaber. Maybe it’s a metaphor for something, but Nova can’t think of anything else but stardust right now. She is not forged by the darkness. It cannot call her by name.

Only Nova can do that.

It’s not the first time Novalise has forged her own scar into her skin, but this one is different. The last time, she was on the brink of death out in the crush of space. This time, she’s planted on the ground. There’s still something cosmic in that, though. Something holy.

Novalise is the only star on Corellia. She detracts her lightsaber’s blade, and the world still glows yellow.

Din Djarin isn’t here. He is hiding, far underneath the mask that he wears and the Creed that he once swore by. He is not bleeding crimson rivers, but if he did, there would be no wound that could cut him down. At this moment, he has ceased to be a man. He is all Mandalorian—all fighter. No, that’s not correct. Even soldier is too small of a word. The definition is closer to warrior, but even that is far below what he is.

He is an oil spill, vantablack in movement, silver in makeup. He is tungsten and steel, a weapon forged from beskar. The Darksaber—decidedly not his—flickers in his hand, pulsing the people he cuts down into grayscale. It’s heavy. So heavy. It is the weapon of something stronger than he is, but that something is laying on the ground behind him. And Din wants them all to pay for it.

He does not know the Empire. Not intimately like the people that surround them. Not personally like Novalise. He does not care. It doesn’t matter who they are. If the troopers are being called upon by the mysterious First Order. If the bounty hunters are reporting to a shadowy figure. Those are not questions he is equipped to know the answers to. The truth is that it doesn’t matter. None of it matters except wielding the weapon in his hands.

No mercy. That’s what Novalise said back there, blood staining his gloves scarlet, pooling over her perfect mouth. She gave him permission. No mercy.

Din Djarin is not answering to his name. He is not taking prisoners. He does not care about life. Every single person in front of him is responsible for the attack on Novalise, crumpled and bloody on the ground. He will stomp the light out of their eyes. He will massacre the evil from the ground around them.

He cuts through the army surrounding him like paper. Not humans. Not anything, not anymore. Nova would mourn their half-lives—because she is good, because she has not become a sucking wound, even in the face of so much horror.

But Novalise is not the Djarin in front of this swarm of evil. They have Din to answer to. And he’s not listening.

He does not stop. He is relentless. He is a warrior, a weapon, the darkest version of himself, and for the first time in years, Din can switch his humanity off. He doesn’t care. He cannot care. Every single one of these people—stormtroopers and bounty hunters alike—were responsible for his heart laying half-dead in the back of a filthy alleyway, stuck with a knife so big it could have cleaved her in half.

No mercy, Nova had said.

He takes the helmet off. A grin spreads across Din’s face, sickened and bloody, as he rips limb from limb.

He sheathes the Darksaber. He tries to sink back into his skin, to put the monster back into its cage.

It goes, angrily, snarling, all the way back to her.

When Din returns, Nova isn’t where he left her. She did that on purpose. She’s propped against the steel of the building behind her, but she’s standing. Her top hangs in shreds around her midriff. She spits a mouthful of blood onto the filthy ground, disappearing into the dust. Her hands are braced on either side of the wall, slung low like an assassin, face grimed with sweat and blood alike.

“What the hell,” Din asks, low and angry, “did you do?”

Nova musters a smile, wincing as another round of pain rips through her. “You were busy.”

There’s silence. Then a low, quiet hiss as he removes the helmet. Her heart catches in her throat when she realizes that Din ran off into battle with it removed, at least partially. That signifies no survivors. He is bloody, crimson splashed across his beautiful, tortured face. Heat runs through her, even amidst all that pain, and Nova inhales, staggering, staring into the silhouette of the man she loves. He is not the darkness he just swallowed and spat back out. He is in front of her in armor, but the face her Mandalorian is wearing is not the Mandalorian’s at all.

“Nova—” His voice is low, flagellating. Another thrill runs through her. “You—”

“Had a problem,” she says, gesturing at her now-exposed midriff, the curve of her belly sucked in and carved with a new scar. “And I fixed it.”

He steps forward. Those footsteps could shake the ground beneath them. They have. They will again. Nova sighs as he catches her swaying, exhausted body and pins it between him and the wall. Safety. She hums, endorphins overriding all the hurt still coursing through her bloodstream. “Fuck,” Din says. No—he snarls it, right into her open mouth, and Nova maps his brown, deep eyes on her own. “You—cauterized your o-own wound?”

Nova offers him a grin, cocking her head to the side, curls blowing in the acrid wind. His hand curls up around her cheek. She knows it comes off bloody. “Not the first time I’ve had to,” she whispers, and then the reality of the situation sets in. She swallows, blinking back sudden, desperate tears. “I’m fine,” she says, damage control. Maker, Din’s eyes are almost black. “I’m okay, Din. I promise. I—well, I’m holding it together.” Then, the real version of the truth: “I’m safe.” She looks up at him. “Now.”

He’s staring into her soul. It feels like a heart attack. Nova’s stuttered breath catches in her throat. “I am doing a very dangerous thing,” he grits out, “letting you stay out here. Do you understand me?” His hand grips her chin, lifting it to meet his. He’s only inches away, and Nova’s newly cauterized stomach flips over—in hunger. Want. Need.

“Yes,” she breathes.

“Should’ve you slung over my shoulder.” He’s muttering. Nova leans closer. “Should take you b-back to the ship. Shouldn’t let you stay out here.” This rambling, forged together of half-sentences and clipped words, sounds like the Din she knew before she knew he was Din at all—when he was just the Mandalorian and she was barely Novalise yet.

“I slaughtered them,” Din whispers into the hollow of her open mouth. “I slaughtered them.” It sounds like a vow. No—a prayer.

“It’s okay,” Nova manages. “You were—”

“Protecting you,” Din growls. “No—avenging you. You said no mercy.”

Nova doesn’t break eye contact, doesn’t look away. “And I meant it.”

His head is slung so, so low. His forehead—rife with gore—is pressed up against hers. “I killed them all, cyar’ika.”

Past-Nova would have been heavy with grief—thankful, but uncomfortable. Not now. She is not a murderer, but there are some forces in this galaxy that cannot be saved. That need to be cut down, cut away from the festering, invading wound of unfixable evil. She saw it back with the cloning tanks. She saw it in Sparmau’s teeth. She saw it in Gideon’s stare. She felt it in the blue, even face of Thrawn. Even just in nightmares, she’s known the evil coming out of them—leaching, bleeding, like an oil spill. She doesn’t need to be her own avenging angel.

She has her Mandalorian for that.

“They would have killed me,” she whispers. “They tried to. They would have gotten to Bo and Wedge, too.” Nova swallows. Two words—what a weight they hold: “I’m glad.”

His mouth slots against hers—timid at first, then coaxing, then a fucking wildfire. He kisses like he’s starving, like he’s been whetting himself on danger and adrenaline while her lips were away from hers. Nova sighs as Din holds her face flush against hers, tongue licking into her mouth like a viper. She wants to get drunk on his particular brand of venom. She needs him inside her like a demon. She wants to be possessed by Din Djarin. Getting fucked isn’t enough.

A moan unfurls from behind her teeth, spilling over into his, and Din freezes. With the strength of something holy, he wrenches himself free. “I am doing a very dangerous thing,” he murmurs again, “letting you stay out here. With me. Rather than bringing you back to safety.”

“Din,” Nova whispers, and a small whimper leaves his lips at the sound of his name, “if you tried to put me back on the Ghost, now, when we still have our friends to save, I would fight you.”

A wicked smile curls across his mouth. “You would, hm?”

She nods, looking up into his eyes like a siren. She reaches forward, for his belt, and his knees sag when she finds it—and then Nova yanks the Darksaber off of it, igniting the slick, spitting blade. Both of them shutter into black and white, and Nova sees Din’s pupils flare so large his whole iris is almost black. “This,” she breathes, “belongs to me.”

He groans. “That’s not the only thing that does,” he murmurs, and then, with a Herculean effort, he pulls away. Nova sheathes the blade, flaring back to the blue-grey dampness of Corellia’s atmosphere. “You tell me,” he warns, “if you feel worse, if you feel anything—”

“I will.”

Holding her gaze for what feels like an eternity, Din nods. When he turns to put the helmet back on, Nova winces, falters, then forces her way through. She is fortified by her Mandalorian and from her own light. Both forged by stardust.

They soldier on.

“Anything?”

Bo-Katan throws Wedge a glare over her shoulder. “If I had the signal back by now,” she says, sourly, “I would have told you.”

Wedge sighs, dragging a hand over his face. His stubble is longer than she’s ever seen it. Wedge’s age doesn’t often show—the four of them are scattered across their late forties and early thirties, now—but it does now. “Okay.”

Bo-Katan softens. A little. “I’m working on it,” she whispers, a shade lighter than the voice she usually uses. “They must have crossed over into the inner rung of the city by now, though.”

Wedge’s eyes are fixed on a hollow point behind her. They’re in what looks like an old shipping container. Bo-Katan didn’t happen to look before she threw both of their bodies inside and locked the door. The troopers were close—too close. Internally, she muses over this as she fiddles with their damaged radio, held together with little more than hope. These troopers—they were far from incompetent, slung onto the field with blunt force and a desire to shoot blaster rounds. They seemed…organized. With older armor. Of the Empire, not of its scattered remains. She swallows, flipping from station to station, trying to root out the static.

“This is bad,” Wedge admits, his head hung heavy. And then, quieter, “I’m scared.”

Bo-Katan catches his eye. He looks exhausted. Neither of them have slept much over the last few days, especially since the cheap, thieving Mon Cala they hitched a ride with sold them out to the troopers. “I know.” She doesn’t try to push the feeling away.

Hell, she’s scared too. Thrawn, back in this galaxy. Thrawn, in his massive Star Destroyer, heading towards Hoth. Bo-Katan hates Hoth. Thinks an ice planet is a waste of space. But she knows how much it means to Wedge. And Nova. They’ve both been displaced out of a home—since the Alliance moved to Hoth, it’s the home Wedge has lived in when not out in the stars. And Nova… it’s one of the last untouched places where her parents once lived.

“How bad?” Wedge’s voice snaps her back to the present. Bo-Katan fiddles with the radio again for something to do with her hands. If she doesn’t, they’ll be curled into fists.

“How bad, what?” She’s deflecting.

“Thrawn.”

Bo-Katan sighs, pinching the bridge of her swollen nose. One of the troopers broke it with the butt of his blaster. Consequently, she ripped off his chestplate and fired the remaining rounds straight into his heart. “Bad.”

Wedge swallows. “I was afraid,” he muses, crossing his arms over his chest, “of that.”

Bo-Katan inhales, exhales. “Wedge,” she manages, “...I’m sorry.”

He holds her eyes, a small smile captured on his lips. He knows what she means—sorry for being this way, sorry for getting him in this situation, sorry that they’re stuck together again, sorry that she wasn’t strong enough to get them out of this mess, sorry that Din and Nova are rushing here and putting their lives on the line for the two of them again, sorry that his home is about to be pulverized. She’s sorry for it all. Even the stuff she doesn’t have control over.

“I know.” A beat. “I’m sorry, too.”

The radio flares to life. “Bo-Katan?”

It’s a female voice. Not Nova’s, though. Bo-Katan blinks, sitting up a little straighter. “Hera?”

“I told Din and Nova to be back here with you both an hour ago,” she says, voice staccato from the static. “I’m assuming something has gone horribly wrong, right?”

Bo-Katan exhales through her sore nostrils, wincing. “It’s likely.”

Hera’s quiet. “Should I wait?”

Her eyes flick to Wedge. He nods. Imperceptibly, but Bo-Katan can read his expressions by now. “Yes.”

“We’re running—”

“Out of time,” Wedge cuts in, moving closer to the radio. “But—”

Hera’s voice comes through again. “I’ll wait.”

Bo-Katan smiles up at the rusty ceiling of the shipping container. Something nasty is dripping off in the corner, and the smell in here is rank, musty, but she can see a tiny glimpse of the night sky, and there’s a star. Bo-Katan Kryze doesn’t usually do signs, but she does do stars.

“What are the odds,” Hera continues, “that the four of you will end up back on the Ghost alive?”

At this, Bo-Katan cracks a wide, true smile. Nova would be thrilled. “General Syndulla,” she says, proudly, “I sure as hell wouldn’t bet against us.”

Hera sighs. “I have their location,” she says. “Maybe, if they couldn’t get to you—”

“We’ll get to them,” Wedge says firmly.

“We don’t have time,” Hera reminds them. Bo-Katan can sense the fear in her voice. It’s the same fear she’s kept close to her own chest. “Be safe. But—”

“We’ll be quick,” Bo-Katan promises. She looks over at Wedge, mustering up all the energy she can. “Ready?”

He gets to his feet—gingerly, carefully, but when he stands all the way up, he’s locked in. Hardcore. All Rebel. “As I’ll ever be.”

Bo-Katan musters up one more true smile. One for her friend Wedge. After all they’ve been through, he deserves it. “Run.”

And they unleash hell on the center of Coronet City.

Nova winces. She recovers, quick enough to hope against hope that Din didn’t catch it—but he is nothing if not observant, especially in that helmet, and he whips around. “Stop.”

She fixes him with a sour look. “I,” Nova proclaims, “am fine.”

Din sighs. “You were stabbed and cauterized your own wound, Novalise,” he says, “you are certainly not fine.”

She exhales and then relents, sagging back against the wall. They’re in another alleyway, now, and this one is considerably cleaner than the last. Less bloody. She hisses out a breath between her clenched teeth, dragging the shredded remains of her tank top up over her bellybutton. She can hear Din’s breath through the helmet, and it fogs her clarity.

“Let me see.”

She does.

They’ve been here before. They’ve been here before multiple times. Blood dripping, the other person silencing it, stifling it. Din rips one glove off with the other—his hands, topographic and so much softer than anything else on his body—are unbloodied. The only thing on his entire suit of armor that isn’t dripping scarlet. That makes love flare up in her chest, suddenly, completely. Nova watches him, carefully, lovingly, as he lifts her shirt higher, breath catching somewhere between his throat and the modulator. “Looks okay.”

Nova looks at him through half-lidded eyes. “Only okay?”

He tilts his head to the side, affixing her with a tired look. She can tell, even through the visor. It’s the only part of his helmet that isn’t sticky, gored with dead stormtroopers. The blood, for once, does not bother her. Want sings low in her injured stomach, and Nova bites down on her bottom lip.

“Novalise.”

“What?”

He sighs again, and then Din bends lower, sinking down on his haunches until he’s level with her on the ground. Nova grabs onto his clean, ungloved hand, needing to feel his warmth. It coils around her with comfort, and she relaxes. Just a little. “You,” he says, irritably, “are distracting me.”

She laughs—the sound is melodic as bells in such a hellish atmosphere. Din’s bare hand finds her cheek, stroking over her cheekbone, her bottom lip. They both melt, a little, into each other. Entwining like roots of the same gnarled tree. Nova feels uncalled tears stinging at the bridge of her nose, flooding in at the corners of her eyes. The air is heavy, thick. Tensioned. She’s suspended here by her Mandalorian. “What?”

“C’mere.”

Nova feels air leave her lungs, air she didn’t have the capacity to give. “I’m here,” she whispers, the sound barely a sound at all.

“This is going to hurt,” Din says gruffly, and fear drops in Nova’s chest like an anvil.

“Nope.”

“Novalise—”

“No needles.”

He looks at her head-on. In the low light of the quickening dark around them, Nova can almost see the outline of his eyes. Maybe she’s just memorized them—the depth of them, where they sit on his face. “You pulled a blade out of the muscle of your stomach,” Din says, shortly, “and the cauterized it.”

“Yes.”

“But a bacta needle is where you draw the line?”

Nova hisses in a breath between her teeth. She can see her reflection in the silver of his helmet. “Yes,” she repeats.

Din sighs. This time, it is wearily. “It’ll be a pinch.”

“I don’t want it—”

“You take everything else, my good girl,” he murmurs, “why not this?”

Nova points a finger in his face, stabbing the nail against the visor. “Hey. You’re not playing fair—”

“Novalise,” he interrupts, holding her cheek in one gloved hand, “just—do this for me, okay?”

She swallows. Relents. Din lifts her chin with one hand and sinks the needle into the lip of her exposed belly with the other. She yelps, a little one, and then the antibiotic seeps in, and Nova relaxes. The needle hurts—but the rush of the medicine helps soothe the sting. And Din’s touch—well, that soothes it, too. She wipes a single pearl of blood away from where the point went in. Din brushes one gloved finger over it, feather-light, and it disappears into the leather.

“That wasn’t so bad,” Din murmurs, “was it, cyar’ika?”

“You distracted me,” she says, haughtily, expecting Din to laugh again. But his grip tightens, his knees sag, and both of them sink back against the wall. Nova blinks up again, grimey forehead almost pressed flush against his metal one. “Din—?”

“You scared me,” Din says quietly. “Terrified me. If I had gotten back there and you were—” he chokes, and the tears spill to the forefront of her eyes. “Fuck, Novalise. I don’t—I don’t know what I would have done.”

She swallows. She wants to touch his face, to ground him against her. To push the fear away. “I’m alive,” Nova breathes. “I’m here.”

Something changes in his body language, although she can’t quite put a finger on what. Tightens. Shifts. Like silver mercury, becoming rigid. “What if—”

“No what ifs,” Nova says, much more decisive than she feels. “I am right here.” And it’s true, she realizes. For the first time since they left Mandalore on this gods-damned failed mission, she feels like herself. Whatever was inhabiting her—the darkness—has quieted. Put on mute. Not gone. She can feel it, still. But for right now—now, the fight has flooded back into her veins—she is starlight, golden, herself. Nova tightens her grip on Din’s hand, still silhouetting her face. “You pulled me back,” she whispers. “Every time, you pull me back.”

It conjures a memory. Not one that’s passed—one that’s waiting for her. Nova feels herself stutter over timelines, lost between what’s happened and what’s to come, and then it’s all drowned out as her husband moves closer. Din’s helmet rests against her forehead, anchoring her in place. Nova can feel the steel of the wall through the protective curtain of her hair—and it isn’t even half as strong as the man on his knees in front of her. She breathes, the cloud of air fogging up the bloodied visor, and then Din’s hand is leaving her, and Nova makes a disappointed noise, low in her throat like an animal.

He chuckles. His laugh could launch a thousand birds out of the sky. “Need to give you something.”

Nova rears back. “Nope.”

Din laughs again. Her heart clenches against the sweet, sweet sound. “It’s not another bacta shot.”

Nova’s eyes narrow. “Don’t know if I believe you,” she says.

Din sighs. Din’s always sighing. But this time, it’s not out of exasperation. “Will you just—”

“No needles,” Nova says. She’s trying to sound brave. She really is. But bravery left with the golden light of her lightsaber, and she has to really muster up the conviction. “Mean it.”

“Novalise.”

“Mm.” It’s noncommittal, that noise, her hands held up, braced against his pauldrons. “If you’re lying to me—”

“Relax,” Din hisses, and for some reason, some untold signal in his voice, she does.

His hand isn’t in the pocket on his belt that was hiding the bacta. No, he’s reaching into a hidden one, tucked in the inner workings of his beskar, and the protest dies in her throat. Nova’s breath evaporates into the air around them. In his one, ungloved hand, Din is holding a ring. It’s silver, but lighter than the beskar he shines in, lighter than the beskar of his ring she’s worn proudly on her left hand since he first dropped to his knees in Nevarro. But in the middle, mercurial, shifting, is a marbled, swirling grey stone. It looks—alive. Almost like the Kyber that ignites her lightsaber, but not really. Almost like her mother’s pearls that hung around her neck, but not quite. It’s unlike anything Nova has ever seen before, and yet, it calls to her. It sings. Like calls to like.

“Found this,” Din says gruffly, like he’s trying to keep emotion out of his voice, and Nova’s heart swells. “It’s for you.”

She shakes her head imperceptibly, blinking up at him. “Where?”

“I’ve almost lost you so many times.” It’s not an answer to her question. Nova doesn’t care. “I know we’ve been…” he swallows. “Fighting. Arguing. Like we haven’t… been on the same…wavelength.” It’s her word, coming out of Din’s mouth, and Nova’s never loved it more. “I’m sorry.” He clears his throat, and then, huskily: “I’m trying. I love you.”

“I love you,” she echoes, reaching out to touch him, to take the ring. Din moves, stacking it on top of her engagement ring, and it hisses into place. It swirls in front of her eyes, the metal cool to the touch, the stone a pool for her to fall into—swallowing. Consuming. It slots onto Nova’s finger like it was made for her. Like it’s been missing this whole time. It pulses. It glows. It’s obsidian and ivory. It’s silver and not. It is hers. It sings out to her. Nova responds.

“Do you like it?” Din cuts back in, slices through her reverie. His voice is so low, slung deep. Hungry.

Fuck, Nova’s hungry, too. “Yes.” So much weight is thrown behind that one word. She swallows. Need is coursing through her veins, holding her heart hostage. “Come here.”

“Nova—”

“I know, and I don’t care,” she breathes, grabbing the back of his neck, anchoring him lower, closer. “Kiss me.”

He is fighting an unspoken battle, her Mandalorian. Nova can hear his breath deepen, intensify, can feel the heat radiating off him like magma. “You—”

“Kiss me,” she breathes, emboldened, brazen. Desire slams into her, an entire ocean. “Please.” She’ll beg. She’s not above begging. But it doesn’t matter, because Din curls his fingers underneath the rim of his helmet, pulling it clean off, and he blinks at her, brown eyes almost black.

“Fuck it,” he snarls, and then his mouth, hot and wanting, is on hers.

This is selfish. His touch, molded against her skin—that’s selfish. Devouring hers in a dirty back alley, that’s selfish. Spending time, sweet precious time, with their bodies melded together like metal, when their friends are out there fighting—that’s selfish. Nova feels the darkness flood in, take over her body like a superbloom. She sighs out against the lock of Din’s mouth against her.

“Din,” she whispers.

He stiffens like it takes all of his control, all that silver now rigid and unyielding. “What?”

Nova looks up at him, wetting her lips with her tongue. He groans out, the sound choked in the low light of the alley, and want pulses again between her legs. Hungrily. Snarling. “Don’t take it easy on me.”

His eyes are so dark. Maker, she could drown in them. Nova shudders, wanting to, needing to. “That’s not how this works.” He swallows, the sound thick. “Especially now.”

She pushes at him, clawing her fingers into the untouched skin at the back of his neck. Din whimpers—full on, loudly—and a thrill runs through Nova’s entire body. Fire, sparked to life. “It is today.”

He looks at her. “Nova—”

“Fuck it away,” she breathes into the hollow of his open mouth. “Please. Please. You want me to beg? Fine, I’m begging. You want me on my knees? You’ll have to make me.” Din’s mouth falls open wider. Nova wants to shove her tongue into it, make his lips take away all of the pain. “Yeah, it hurts. It hurts.” And it does. But what’s a little charred flesh worth in battle against her Mandalorian? Nothing. “Make me ache. Fuck the pain away.”

Din grips the back of her head, a halo of hair in his ungloved, unbloodied hand. There’s a metaphor in it, in the way he’s clutching at her like his unbecoming. Nova sighs into the space between them—just armor and skin, nothing more.

“You don’t know what you’re asking.”

Nova does not flinch. “Yes. I do.”

She’s calling Din on his bluff. He’s holding himself back. Right now, it’s not Din she’s speaking to. She wants the monster underneath his skin, licking and pulsing like flames. It’s barely contained. It is snarling at her, screaming. He is a tar pit. He is blackened steel. He is all beskar, all blade. Nova knows what she’s asking.

She loves Din. But right now, she needs the Mandalorian.

When he breaks, when he crashes his mouth against hers, it’s not reassuring. It doesn’t taste like empathy, like sweetness. He’s not trying to take away the pain. Din’s doing exactly what she asked for. He’s going to fuck it all away.

Din’s tongue, leaden, is heavy inside Nova’s mouth. It pulses, rolling over her own, desperate. Cloying. Needy. He is all teeth and bone. He growls—really, truly growls—and it’s not a mockery. It’s not anything but desire, coiled so deep it needs to strike. Like a pit viper. Like a rattlesnake. Like venom and honey. She wants to drink it down.

“Novalise—”

“Tear me apart,” she enunciates, the words barely a whisper, already off on Corellia’s fetid wind. “I give you permission.” Then, louder, emboldened, for only him to hear: “No mercy.”

Din’s mouth returns and leaves like a furious tide, biting down on her lips, cascading down her neck, licking tides to her collarbone, over and over. He is rhythmic in his domination. Unyielding. This is not the man she married. This is the Mandalorian she loved first. He takes instruction well, the weapon of a man in front of her. And then he takes control.

Din’s hands—cloying, desperate—rip at the seam of her pants. It burns so bright, his fingers wrenching her clothes away. Nova’s eyes are blackening at the edges, sweet, sweet sensation. “Don’t rip them,” she mewls, and his hand stills. Shame and need war inside of her, and Nova reels back against the metal wall. Her knees—all that’s left standing, at this point, the rest of her body slumped against Din’s metal one—shake on the cold ground.

“So bold,” he croons, and the hair on the back of Nova’s neck stands straight up. His hands dip lower, lower than her belt, low enough to hook around the waistband of her panties, and flame licks at the very core of her. “You’re not in charge,” he whispers, and every word is electric, a live wire, a lightning bolt. Nova isn’t cold, but she shivers. “You gave that up, sweet girl. You don’t get to make demands. But fuck, you sounds so good when you try.”

“Still have—” she pants, “a mission to f-finish—”

“Then shut your pretty mouth,” Din snarls, “and let me finish you first.”

That does it. Nova hums out as he digs low. His fingers are filthy. Not with blood or grime—no, not from the men he felled back on the impromptu Corellian battlefield. No, he kept his gloves on for that. But with her—slick, wet, wanting. Nova’s eyes roll back in her head as Din sinks two fingers inside of her, to the hilt, and curls. He presses, and she feels it building, the crushing crescendo of an orgasm, already, yes, already—but then there’s an absence of where his fingers once were, and her eyes open fully, eyebrows furrowed in frustration—

He’s sinking the same two fingers into his mouth. The moan he emits could fell a nation. An army. Nova’s not sure. She would die on the battlefield if this were her enemy, silver-clad and dangerous. Electric. She blinks at him, eyes half-lidded. “Oh,” she says, distantly, distantly because there’s something buzzing in her ears. “Oh—”

“Taste so fucking good,” he grits out, and Nova shudders, going limp. And then his fingers are back inside of her. “Clench around me. Good girl.” He takes a fistful of her hair in the other bare hand and yanks back. Hard. Nova’s ears are still ringing. “Harder.” It’s rhapsodic, that voice. An echo chamber of filth shudders back at her.

“Tell me,” she whispers. To cum is the rest of that sentence, but stars above, Nova can’t finish it. She’s limp. Undone. And all he’s done is touch her—and then Din’s fingers, that ecstasy, is gone again. “Fuck—” she cries, frustrated, and Din chuckles. The sound is so bright, so perfect, that it dulls the ache of his absence. A little. And then it floods back in and Nova grabs at his wrist. But it doesn’t budge. It trails up from the sucking seam of her pussy, wet with her own slick.

“Stop leaving me,” she whines.

Din chuckles again. Lower this time. It feels like a vibration. Nova hums, and then he’s gripping her face. Hard. Her lips pucker out as he clenches down on her cheeks. It hurts, pain singing out in the best way. “Open.”

Nova tries to comply, she really does, but her mouth is being held captive by the massive plain of Din’s flexed fist. He shoves his fingers inside, wet and dripping. “This is how you taste,” he hisses, licking a line of it off the cleft of her split bottom lip. “Before you’ve even cum for me.” He clicks his tongue. Nova’s thighs clench together. It’s involuntary, truly. “Wanna taste how sweet you are when you have?”

She stutters out a breath, lips puckered in a perfect O, and the way Din grins at her is sinful. Criminal. Dark and lecherous, if it were any other mouth wearing that smile, but he looks at her like he worships her, even now, and Nova’s heart flips.

“Need you,” she manages, through the painful part of her mouth, “please—”

“Who am I to deny my sweet girl,” Din breathes, “when she begs for me?”

Nova can barely keep her eyes open. Din’s grip lessens, just a little. The other hand, previously anchoring her hip in place—which is likely going to be sporting purpled bruises tomorrow, but Nova doesn’t care—leaves the curve of her waist to shove something at her. It’s her shawl. Nova blinks at it. “What—?”

“Cover your stomach,” Din says, brushing the mess of ringlets out of her face. “Don’t get it dirty.”

“It’s—” Nova’s breath catches as he pushes her back against the wall, dragging her body up against the durasteel of the abandoned building they’re up against—fuck, she can’t think straight. “Not a wound anymore—”

“Don’t care,” Din grits out, shoving it against her skin. Nova feels the pain of the contact, just a little. Faintly. Maker. She’s losing it. “No cover, no cock.” Hearing him say it so crudely sparks something bright and devastating in the pit of her stomach. “Don’t argue with me. You won’t win.”

Nova nods. Din’s hand finds her chin again—still slick—and she sighs out into the air around them.

“I’m going to fuck you now,” he rasps out.

Nova looks down—he is still, so regrettably, clothed. She pouts. “Wanna see you.”

Din grins again. Devilish. Dark. Her stomach curls. That softness, there just a minute ago, is gone. He is a blade, the pit of a man called into battle. “Then look down,” he simpers, and then his hand slips down to her throat, pushing just hard enough to make her beloved stars explode.

Nova cries out into the open air, stifled by the warrior’s hand clenching around her airway. Just how she likes it. She tries to look down. To see his cock, thick and wanting, pierce her, cleave her in two. She wants to watch—really watch—to see how the Mandalorian moves inside of her—but Nova can’t. She’s trapped in the staccato rhythm of pleasure and pain, equally enticing.

“Look at me.”

Nova hears it, dully. She’s too far gone, already almost on the edge again. Din’s grunting, animalistic, and it’s the sweetest, sickest sound she’s ever heard. She is undone. This is sacrosanct. This is divine. She was standing on holy ground, and her Mandalorian is desecrating it.

“Novalise.” Her name cuts through, and Nova abandons sweet disconnect to look him in the eye. Din’s not here right now. He is the version of himself that kills, that slaughters. She wants him. She needs him. “Look at me.”

“Maker,” she manages, strangled, and Din hoists her higher against the wall to fuck into her harder, deeper, so much deeper, sheathing himself inside her like he would a blade into safety, except nothing about this feels safe. She’s craved danger before. But Nova has never craved danger more.

“No,” Din snarls. “No Maker is here right now. No, cyar’ika. You pray to me.”

Her orgasm rips through her—bluntly. Unyielding. Unfettered, like the pulse of her Mandalorian. He cries out, grunting, fingers curling in her hair.

“Who do you belong to?” Din asks, and the sound is ringing from somewhere far, far away. Nova is a universe of exploding stars. She is slick and sweaty, dangling from the wall like an animal while the man in front of her rips her to shreds in the sweetest, holiest way.

“Mmm,” Nova manages. She is gone. She is over in another galaxy, her body hanging limp in Din’s hands. “You.”

He fists a hand in her hair, dragging her gaze up to his. “I’m not finished with you yet.” And—fuck—he’s not. He snaps his hips into hers. An unending rhythm. Time stops. There is nothing here—nothing on this plane of existence. There’s Din, and there’s Nova, and there’s the want, the heavy thrum of sex, desire pumping amorphous, silty blood through their veins. This is a darkened star, this is the only thing in the world. The divine feeling of her Mandalorian, fucking with abandon, bisecting her. Din tips Nova over the edge, once, twice, three more times. She is a mewling, destroyed mess.

“Mine,” Din is whispering. Chanting. Then, in Mando’a: “ibac’ner.”

It’s a prayer. Or something close to it. Nova’s eyes open, watching her Mandalorian’s face as he comes undone.

“Yours,” she whispers, into the open hollow of his mouth, and then everything contracts. He slams into her, once, twice, three times—and then he’s undone, spurting into her, hot and wet and warm, and Nova feels something settle and crack inside of her all at once. She can hear his heartbeat. Through the armor. Through everything, They stay there, panting, foreheads locked together, and when Din pulls out of her, Nova mourns. He licks his lips as he tucks his cock back in his pants. He wipes the cum leaking out of her away with his bare hands. Nova watches, half-lidded, as he lifts his fingers to her mouth. Nova takes it like communion. She feels wrecked. A ship hurled against rock. Undone. And fortified. That sweet, sweet darkness licks at her edges.

“What do you taste?” His voice is low. Guttural. Whatever Din let out of its cage is not fully back in.

Nova hums, licking it off her lips. “You.”

He smiles, wicked and low, before pulling his helmet back over his head. “Not quite.” Then, modulated, voice duo-toned, flickering like the Darksaber, double-sided like the vessel of his armor and the stature of the man within it, with one finger hooked under her chin: “Us.”

Nova doesn’t have time to contemplate what that means. Two things happen.

One: She just feels the vantablack obsidian curling low in her stomach—seeping back in.

Two: The hologram in Din’s hands flares to life.

I HOPE YOU LOVED IT!! the filth was FILTHY this time around lmao, but it was such an exciting chapter to write! please let me know what you think <3

CHAPTER 8 WILL BE UP AT 7:30 PM EST ON MARCH 9TH!

xoxo, amelie

#yay!!!!

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hunnythebee · 5 months

Text

Late Nights at 79s

18+ MINORS DNI 18+

Chapter 4: A Late Night

The others finally arrive to your apartment and you learn quickly that Fives isn't the only dominant one.

Explicit - 3.1k words - first person - female reader

Chapter 3 | Chapter 5 | Masterlist | AO3

Tags: Reader x Echo, Reader x Fives, Reader x Jesse, Reader x Kix, Reader x Rex, Jedi!Reader, Fem!Reader, AFAB!Reader, the 501st, Coruscant, 79s, poly?ish, kissing, no use of Y/N, no beta (WE DIE LIKE MEN), I tried my best to edit, THIS ONE IS PURE SMUT

WARNINGS and fic below the cut

NO YOUNGLINGS BEYOND THIS POINT

Warnings and Explicit tags: nudity, exhibtionhism, voyeurism, dominant/submissive, sub!reader, choking, uses of terms like (slut and whore), breast fondling, threesome, g@ngbang, vag!nal, an@l, oral m!receiveing, creamp!e, @nal creamp!e, throatp!e, facial, cum play, everyone gets involved, consent is key, aftercare is sexy

Please let me know if I missed anything

Echo stared at me in a way that sent shivers up and down my spine. Kix was smirking at the sight of me in the pale yellow silk robe. Jesse was the first one to speak.

“No need to be so formal, sweetheart,” he stated plainly as he approached me and put his hands on my hips. “We all know why we’re here.”

I inhaled sharply as his fingertips dug into my flesh. My gaze flicked from his eyes to his lips and back again. I didn’t understand why I was nervous. Possibly because there were four men standing in my home, all ready and willing to fuck me.

Hold on. Four?

I looked around with a look of confusion. Jesse laughed, grabbing my chin lightly and bringing my focus back to him.

“What? Is four not enough?” He smirked.

My eyes widened at his bluntness earning a chuckle from him in response.

“I’m just kidding. Rex wishes he could have been here, but he’s got an early start tomorrow.” Jesse leaned in close to my ear, “but he said that he’ll just have to make up for it some other time and to give you this.”

Jesse pulled me into a deep and passionate kiss. The kind of kiss that made me weak in the knees. He broke away with the biggest grin. I glanced around the room to see how the others reacted to that. Echo was standing just behind Jesse, Fives and Kix were right behind me. All the men were smirking with a fire in their eyes. The same fire sparked inside me and all my nerves burned away into excitement. I licked my lips and spun around in Jesse’s grip so I could face the two men behind me. My ass pressed against Jesse and I could feel him getting harder by the second. I leaned my head back against his chest and locked on to Kix. I gestured for him to come closer, beckoning him with the motion of a single finger. He did as I asked and I draped my arms over his shoulders, pulling him into me and effectively trapping myself between the two clones.

Kix's hands found my neck and trailed up into my hair. He laced his fingers into my crown and brushed his lips teasingly against mine. So light that I wasn't entirely sure he had touched them at all. I let out an involuntary whimper.

Jesse leaned down into my ear, while Kix continued to tease me with the possibility of kisses.

“What is it? Do you want him to kiss you? Want to feel his lips on yours with my cock pressed against your ass?” Jesse’s words made my mind go numb and the overpowering need crept back in. I nodded in agreement to his words.

Kix pulled at my hair lightly and spoke so close to my lips that he brushed them with every syllable, “Use your words.”

My eyes rolled back and I shut them as I moaned again from the tension on my scalp.

“Yes…” I moaned.

Jesse’s hand snaked up my body and to my throat, he grasped it with gentle pressure as he growled into my ear, “Yes…who?”

A chill ran through my body. I’m not sure when he did, but Fives had somehow told them. Regardless, I was glad he did.

“Yes, sir.”

Kix finally pressed his lips to mine. He was slow, deep, methodical. He worked me open, licking at my lips lightly, and without even realizing it I had given into him completely. Moaning into his mouth as he explored and tasted every bit of mine, our tongues dancing around each other. He lulled me into a trance, and I would have completely forgotten about the surrounding men.

I would have, if not for Jesse kissing my neck and grinding against my ass as he whispered, “That’s a good girl. Such a good little Jedi slut.”

My eyes flew open and my mouth froze. I locked eyes with Fives. He took a step forward, clearing his throat. “We hadn’t discussed talk like… that yet. She may not be into it,” he warned.

I appreciated Fives’ concern with my boundaries, but my reaction hadn't been from them being crossed. In fact it had been quite the opposite. Kix had pulled back from the kiss when I had frozen, and Jesse’s grip was loosening around my neck. I mentally cursed myself for what I was about to do, but in all honesty, I didn’t care anymore. I reached out with the force and wrapped Jesse’s hand back around my neck with even more pressure than before. I shot Fives a sultry look that said everything he needed to know as I bit my lower lip and moaned.

“Mmm… I think she likes it, don’t you Fives?” Jesse said with the same air of cockiness that Fives had.

“I want to hear her say it.” He commanded indirectly. The fact that they were talking about me and not to me should have pissed me off, but instead it was making me unbelievably wet.

“Well?” Kix probed. “Tell us what you want.”

My brain felt as if it had completely melted, but I managed to stutter out, “W–want to be your good little J–jedi slut, sir.”

I was too lost in my own arousal to notice the shift in the room. The men circled me like hungry wolves, their eyes alight with desire.

Jesse's voice hummed in my ear, "Look at them. Look how badly they want you. Feel how badly I want you." He finally released me and I stood at the center of the small circle.

I spun slowly, taking in the face of every clone I had invited in. A wave of confidence washed over me. These men were here for me, wanting me, craving me. I smirked at the thought.

I took the hands of Kix and Jesse, guiding them down the hallway towards my bedroom. Fives and Echo followed close behind. The door slid open to reveal my modest room, stark yet warm. I didn't have much in the way of decorations, but the massive bed and floor to ceiling windows made up for it.

I guided them over to the foot of my bed and that was the end of my control. Jesse slipped from my grasp and sat on the bed in front of me, his gaze a fire on my skin. Kix pulled me into another kiss while Fives and Echo positioned them at the head of the mattress, content to watch this unfold for now.

Kix broke the kiss off and spun me to face the bed, the three men watching me intently. I felt Kix hands reach for the loose bow on my robe and the fabric slid effortlessly off my body to pool at my feet. I was bare in front of these men, all of them in varying states of undress. Echo was no longer donning his armor plates and had ditched his shirt. Fives was still lounging in the towel he had wrapped around himself after the shower.

Then there was the man directly in front of me. Jesse had removed everything while Kix had been preoccupying me. His hard cock flexed as his hand reached for my waist. My heart hammered in my chest as I let him pull me in. I stood between his open legs as he nipped and sucked at my bare skin, working his way up to tender breasts.

His hand hooked the back of my knee as he sucked my nipple into his mouth, urging me to straddle his lap.

I followed his lead and settled down into his lap, the head of his cock pressing against my swollen clit in the process. I whimpered at the contact. Jesse’s attention shifted from one breast to the other and his hand drifted between our bodies. He rubbed his cock through my wetness and I gasped. Jesse released my nipple.

“So wet for us already and we’ve barely even touched her yet. She’s being such a good little slut, don't you agree?” His voice was rough and his words vibrated through my entire body. The two men behind him hummed in agreement but then a voice came from behind me.

“Hmm… such a good girl. How much do you think she can take?” Kix gently wrapped his hand around my neck, gently coaxing my head back so that we made eye contact. Jesse teased my entrance with his tip as he responded, “Not sure, guess we just have to find out.”

Jesse pressed me down onto his cock, filling me completely. A loud moan escaped my lips and my eyes fluttered shut.

Kix’s hand tightened around my throat, “Ah ah ah, eyes open and on me.” Still adjusting to the stretch of Jesse’s cock, I forced my eyes open. Kix looked different than he had before, he was composed and domineering with a look in his eyes hungrier than any of the others.

“Good little Jedi,” he said with a slight smirk. I was hypnotized, and then Jesse thrusted. My eyes wanted to shut, but I did as I was told and remained as I was for Kix. Jesse began to drive up into me, hitting the right spot with every stroke.

“Fuck, her pussy feels amazing. So warm and tight. You need to try her Kix.” Jesse sounded intoxicated as he continued to thrust into me, my moans nearly drowning out his voice.

Kix had my head in his hands, watching my face contort with pleasure, but my eyes never left his.

“You enjoy her for now, I want to watch her cum first.”

His blunt confession caused my pussy to flutter around Jesse, making him curse and thrust even deeper. I was a mess of moans and cursing now, and Kix was devouring every moment of it.

I felt Jesse lay back beneath me and his cock shifted to a different angle inside me. I wasn't going to last long in this position. His thrusts were slower and more deliberate now, but that's exactly what I needed.

“Gonna… fuck… ‘m gonna cum…” I managed.

“You cum when I tell you to,” commanded Kix. “Understood?”

My whole body was tense in anticipation of the release but I listened and nodded, “Yes…”

“Yes…?”

“Yes…Sir.”

“Good girl, just a little longer.”

Jesse had me right there, right on the edge. My whole body was shaking and I wanted so badly to give in, but something deep inside me craved to follow Kix’s orders. Jesse’s thrusts were perfect, every stroke was everything my body craved. I could hear Jesse beneath me, moaning and cursing as he sunk into me. I wanted to look. I wanted to see his pleasure, but again. Kix’s orders held me in place. Frozen and in a continuous state of near-release.

“Please… please sir… please I want to cum. I need to. I… can't hold-” I was cut off by my own moans. Kix's eyes flashed wickedly as he watched me unraveling beneath him. Without breaking eye contact, he finally commanded it.

“Cum.”

Just one word and my whole world melted. My orgasm ripped through my body, knocking the air out of my lungs. My eyes rolled back, breaking from his finally.

“Such a beautiful Jedi slut when you cum like that,” Kix praised as he released my neck.

I collapsed forward onto Jesse’s chest, my eyes closed and my body trembling from the aftershocks of my orgasm. Jesse had stopped pumping halfway through to give me a moment to breathe. Jesse's thick arms wrapped around me and held me tight against him. His cock still buried in me, no one moved.

A few still moments passed and Jesse whispered quietly in my ear, “Are you okay?”

I lifted my head from his chest, and finally looked into Jesse’s eyes. A look of relief painted his face when he saw mine.

My eyes were heavy and I felt like I was on the strongest spice in the galaxy but I was beaming at him. The biggest, dopiest grin.

“I've never been better.” I answered. A tension in the room I hadn't noticed before, released.

I felt Kix’s hand gently massage my back, “I knew she could handle it.”

Fives and Echo shot him a look that I couldn't see.

Jesse chuckled, “I know we can… be a little intense. We don't cut loose like this all the time though.”

I sat up and stared down at Jesse, “Maybe we should change that.”

My words were punctuated by a roll of my hips. I watched in satisfaction as Jesse’s eyes rolled back. I shifted again and a guttural groan erupted from deep within his chest, his jaw clenching as he attempted to keep his composure.

I looked to Fives and Echo as a grinded against Jesse a third time. They had long since abandoned any semblance of clothing and were now palming themselves slowly, taking in the show that was being put on at the foot of the bed. I was about to make a suggestion when my thought was interrupted by Kix’s gentle kisses along the back of my neck.

Jesse had reclaimed control and was guiding my hips on him. Kix kissed a trail along my neck to my ear and gently whispered as he gripped my hair in a fist.

“Give him a kiss and thank him for letting you cum on his cock.” Kix commanded as he bent me back over so that I was face to face with Jesse. As soon as our lips met, we melted together. Kissing Jesse was intoxicating to say the least, tasting of breath mints and whiskey. I had almost lost myself completely in the kiss, but I managed to break away to whimper against his lips.

“Th-thank you for letting me cum o-on your cock.”

And then I was lost in him again, the feeling of his mouth against mine and his cock inside me was overwhelming. I was pulled from my haze when I felt a second cock rub up against me from behind. It was Kix.

Jesse moved from my lips to my ear and asked in a low voice, “which hole?”

I whimpered my answer, my voice too weak for Kix to hear.

“Which one did our slut pick?” Kix asked in anticipation, rubbing the head from one entrance to the other.

“She chose ass,” responded Jesse.

Kix hummed excitedly as he pressed a thumb inside of the untouched hole. “Is that so?”

I moaned into the crook of Jesse’s neck as the new stimulation was added to my pleasure. Jesse slowed his thrusts, pacing with Kix. He was working me open carefully, delicately, so slowly I began to beg.

“Please… please I need you so bad. Fuck my ass Sir. Please please ple-” the last plea was interrupted by the head of his cock stretching me out. Jesse stilled his thrusts as Kix sank into my ass. I felt as if I couldn't breathe, the pleasure immeasurable. Never had I felt so full in my life. Kix bottomed out, his pelvis flush against my ass.

“We’ll start slow,” he assured me as he began to pull out for the first thrust. I winced and whimpered, adjusting to the feeling. Already missing the feeling of him inside. He thrusted, filling me once more. A guttural, primal moan escaped my lips.

“My turn,” proclaimed Jesse as he resumed his thrusts. The pair of them fucking into me caused my mind to go completely blank. I was a mess of moans and pleas. Jesse’s arms wrapped around my waist and Kix gripped my hips. Both progressively picked up pace, eventually matching up with their tempo and speed. There was nothing else. Just them and me. And then there was a third pair of hands.

My head was lifted by the gentle hand of the first man. The one I had started my night with. Echo.

“Open that pretty little mouth for me,” he ordered. I did exactly as he asked, nice and wide. He tapped his tip against my tongue and I sucked him in. Echo’s hand fisted my hair as he began to fuck my mouth. I did what I could, but being as cock-drunk as I was it wasn't much. Every hole was filled. Jesse in my pussy. Kix in my ass. Echo in my mouth.

My orgasms had blurred together at this point, my body was weak and trembling as these men pumped into me.

Jesse began to grunt and moan much louder than before beneath me, his thrusts getting needier and more erratic.

“Fuck… gonna cum… feels so good… ahh” Jesse released inside my pussy. He peppered my breasts with soft kisses as he softened. Echo pulled himself from my mouth and shifted so Jesse could climb out from underneath me.

Kix took this opportunity to pull me flush to his chest and thrust up into my ass with reckless abandon. The new angle caused a whole new wave of pleasure to crash over me. He held my throat with one hand and touched my cum soaked pussy with the other.

“Look at them. This is what you’ve done to us.” I opened my eyes to see Fives and Echo excitedly stroking themselves while Jesse was coming down from his release.

“Make them cum for you my good little whore.” Kix bent me back over and I took Echo back into my mouth. I worked him with my mouth till I felt him tense up and then I thrusted him deep down my throat, allowing all his cum run down into my stomach.

Echo fell back onto the bed and was replaced by Fives. He knelt in front of my face, moments from his release he merely commanded

“Stick out your tongue.”

My mouth and face were painted in his cum, hot and sticky. I took what made it into my mouth and swallowed, not breaking eye contact.

Finally it was Kix’s turn. He pressed my face down into the mattress creating an arch. He moaned and pounded into my ass, several long hard strokes and he was gone. He spilled inside me and pulled out, but instead of falling onto the bed beside me he stood behind me for a moment longer. Any cum that dripped out he pushed back in with his thumb.

“You keep that inside you, understood?”

All I could manage was a small nod.

“Good girl,” and with that he was beside me.

I was scooped into his arms and held against his bare chest. I could hardly open my eyes but I could feel everyone caring for me. Hands massaging my legs or caressing my hair. A warm wet towel cleaning my body. Kisses on my cheek and forehead.

I hadn't planned on it but I drifted off to sleep that way. Not a care in the world, and doted on by the men I had brought home with me.

Chapter 3 | Chapter 5 | Masterlist | AO3

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