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yourneighborhoodporg · 3 months

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Hello! Could I request an obi wan x reader x anakin fic where the reader is a force sensitive Jedi? They have to go undercover for a mission and ani and obi are awestruck/distracted by reader in flattering clothes (that aren’t Jedi robes) and it makes them both realize their feelings :) feel free to make it a lemon if you want

Little Red Dress

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader x Anakin Skywalker

Warnings: Jealousy, Reader in Alluring Clothing, Brothel Setting, Some Life-Threatening Danger, Light Violence, Creepy(ish) Fella, Soft Smut (Minors DNI), all characters are over 18, Anakin Threatening Murder TM (why am I even surprised 😂), light banter, fluff, alcohol is around, boys being worried, HEAVY FLIRTING.

Song Inspo: Red Dress — MAGIC!

A/n: This took me way too long to get to lol 💀 Absolutely love this request idea which made it so fun to write. Wasn’t sure which gender you wanted for the reader so I made them female-identifying. This is my first request and short (lol) fic so please let me know your thoughts! Hope you enjoy :)

Words: 8.1k

She was built like a dream — Joseph Heller

Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker were… uncomfortable.

Not because Master Yoda himself had tasked the three of you with this urgent mission to the Outer Rim. Nor was it due to the cloudy, dark, and incessantly rainy atmosphere that was Morlana One’s Leisure Zone— its backstreets dotted by the occasional lifeless streetlight that just barely reflected off the puddles below, paving the two Jedi a glimmering path toward the local brothel.

No. It wasn’t any of that at all.

Instead, they felt a foreign existence within their own bodies, with each nearing step toward the club’s shadowy entrance, on account of the perplexing, and frankly alien, wears that sheened their limbs.

Of course, they never had any styling choice in the matter. Not for an assignment like this, where the elimination of Jedi symbols was expected.

Because this was a mission that required a gentler, more covert hand.

Because this was a mission that had you all undercover.

Nearly 72 hours ago, unknown assailants had broken into one of the Jedi Temple’s artifact rooms. From the emergency cache, they’d stolen seven Kyber crystals, which were always held at the ready in case a Jedi needed a temporary saber after damaging or misplacing their own.

A facility Anakin took advantage of too many times to count.

But, on this occasion, the Order could only count themselves lucky that The Chosen One had again somehow lost his lightsaber during a short mission to the Coruscant Underworld, requiring him to report to that very same artifacts chamber for a replacement before he could continue his search down into the planet’s murky depths. By chance, the chestnut-haired Jedi had arrived just in time to witness that the usually locked, ornate wooden door was notably ajar. And, with further investigation, that the krystals’ storage chest had been ransacked.

With Council Member Master Kenobi assigned to the inquiry, he quickly learned from a few trustworthy sources, including his old friend Dex, that the crystals were flown off-world to be sold at auction. To a seedy establishment in the Morlani System, no less. All with an undetectability and swiftness that duped not only the inter-District and planetary departure security systems, but the Jedi Temple’s once-thought-impregnable apparatus as well.

Evidently, Master Yoda had found that this operation met a sophistication not often seen among the ranks of disparate pirates or common thieves. It was why, after Kenobi came to him with this information, the Grand Master decided that the bearded man and Jedi Knight who discovered the robbery would be assigned to retrieve these precious artifacts. Placing an emphasis on the need to arrive undercover, lest this sordid enterprise catch wind of a group of creeping, saber-wielding Jedi.

They just couldn’t risk it.

Any action like that would certainly force this gang to race underground once again, crystals in tow, before the Jedi had a chance to recover them.

So, the Council supplied Obi-Wan and Anakin with clothes of the region’s elite, aiming to disguise them both as potential buyers.

Kenobi, a black dress uniform with gold, reflective embellishments suffocating his suit jacket while fueling his growing desire to remain hidden within the shadows as it converted his torso into a glinting beacon under the passing lights. And Skywalker, a simpler, but equally sophisticated gray suit atop a pearly white button-down that screamed conformity louder than Anakin could voice his displeasure.

Still, leaving the crystals’ fate up to whether this gang would accept Republic Credits was a game of pure chance. That, and the notion of buying back stolen, sacred property was never the Jedi way.

That’s where you came in.

A Jedi whose Force-sensitivity was so saturated, that you had the ability to viscerally sense Kyber crystals from parsecs away. And a talent that, in Master Yoda’s opinion, made you the perfect addition to the team.

Well, that and the open secret that the three of you had long ago become an unofficial squadron already. Considering the countless missions you’ve traipsed through together for most of your Jedi, and even Padawan, years, it was a wonder that Master Yoda felt the need to specifically mention your name either way. Even on missions in which the rag-tag trio were slingshotted to opposite poles of the galaxy, you’d always found a way back to each other.

That, or the Force itself had a dire motivation to keep those momentary separations brief.

Perhaps that’s why the two men, in addition to their clothing-related distractions, had sparking nerves heightened by another, salient factor.

That you weren’t by their side.

Given your skill set, it was clear from the beginning your cover needed to be quite different from theirs. So, twenty hours before the auction was set to start, while Obi-Wan and Anakin prepared their disguises, you slipped out. Leaving for the brothel on your own since you all agreed that the only way to secure your cover as an establishment employee was by actually applying to become one.

It was the only surefire way to explore the back rooms without tipping the sellers off. The only option the three of you had to find the crystals’ exact location. And to ensure that when chaos did reign, the artifacts wouldn’t be caught in the crossfire.

Still, neither man particularly enjoyed this arrangement.

“You remembered to bring it, correct?” Obi-Wan voiced, glancing at Anakin’s pensively taught brows beside him as the brothel’s neon purple sign gently flickered into view, encouraging him to once again tug at his neckline’s taught clasp around his throat.

“Of course!” The younger Jedi acknowledged. “I was the one telling her that she should’ve had it in the first place.”

In spite of the underlying weariness still thrumming at his chest, Kenobi couldn’t help but raise an amused brow at his former Padawan.

“You? Lecturing Y/n about leaving her lightsaber behind? I seem to recall that it was your inability to keep track of your own that landed us in this predicament in the first place.”

Anakin scoffed, a subtle smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “And I seem to remember Master Nu saying that the raid on the artifacts room wouldn’t have been discovered for weeks if it weren’t for me.”

Still, the chestnut-haired Jedi sighed, yanking down the tails of his gray suit jacket that just barely fit his longer form while he continued.

“Besides, it was no mistake. She didn’t take her lightsaber intentionally.”

Kenobi shook his head knowingly. Partly due to his former Padawan’s somewhat warped perspective of the situation, but mostly because he too was not completely on board with the notion of you being undercover and completely unarmed. Though, no matter how much he desired to do so, Obi-Wan had trouble denying that, like always, your reasoning stood sound.

A reminder that subconsciously made his heart flutter.

“You know, Anakin, that she couldn’t have feasibly hidden it away. It’s safer for her that we hold onto it for now. She will have it when she needs it.”

And that’s why, no matter his outward assurances, Kenobi seemed to have an inability to take his own advice. Perhaps too it was Anakin’s own anxieties that were infecting the Force.

But no leakage from his signature could truly reflect the hate Skywalker felt for this plan. He had shot down its premise the whole journey here, but in the end, it was no use. Anakin understood that once you put your mind to something, especially in the name of protecting the community you held so dear, there was nothing anyone in the Galaxy could do to stand in your way.

And he really did treasure you for that.

“I know,” Skywalker grumbled, pivoting to avoid a stumbling Bith with a curved bottle in hand, brown liquid sloshing out to land just beside his black dress shoe as he walked by. “But I still don’t like it.”

Evidently, no matter their confidence in your ability to take care of yourself, the two men remained deeply troubled by the fact that you were still far enough away as to be immune from their protection.

But that would soon change.

“Alright,” Kenobi slowed just beside the establishment’s greasy, revolving door to address the younger man as they neared their arrival.

“We will need to remain in one place so that Y/n can find us. She needs to know where we are at all times to deliver the signal. The zone’s blueprints suggest that the center bar will have the best vantage point. So that’s where we’ll go. Oh—“

Obi-Wan lifted a warning brow at the younger man.

“And don’t stray.”

Anakin rolled his eyes, lips pursing in an attempt to keep his face neutral.

“I don’t stray, Master.”

—

If you had your portable chronometer on your person, you would’ve checked it by now.

About fifteen minutes, you’d been waiting a handful of meters from the brothel’s storage room, disguised by the far corner tables nestled within the establishment’s shadowy edges. Marking it the perfect locale for distant observers of the night’s entertainment— or idly spying Jedi. Fifteen minutes since Krissa, a now fellow employee, shuffled into that very same room to collect a few crates of Fizzbrew for the opening bar. Nearly twenty hours after you’d secured employment as what the owner lovingly called a “Friendly Dancer.”

Luckily, it was during that same interview that you’d caught the colorful, Force-illuminated trail, leading your attuned senses to this secured back room, like a bloodhound to its prey.

Or a Jedi to her Kyber crystals.

Yet, despite your carefully chosen cover, both assumed identity and dark corner camouflage, you still had a nagging feeling that your specially selected ‘employee uniform’ wasn’t doing you any furtive favors.

Besides the strikingly crimson, skin-gripping short dress that clad your hips, the black, shimmering fishnet stockings and translucent platform heels were sure to draw some unwanted attention during a time in which invisibility was your best friend.

But you had no choice. If you had any hope of maintaining your cover and completing your mission, you had to work with what you were given.

So, for now, one of these rusted-over, ash stools would need to serve their purpose— concealing you from the trickling in throng’s broad perspectives as you kept a peripheral lock on that steel door’s sturdy frame. One by one, hungry bidders with puffy, expensive coats and sparkling wears thickened the atmosphere, all while you hoped Krissa would quicken her exit via the locked door so that you could slip in.

It was moments like these that you’d wished you had your lightsaber. At least then, you could’ve cut through the heavy, metal barrier all on your own.

But, alas, this was a mission of stealth. And you’d be damned to put either Obi-Wan or Anakin in danger because of your impatience.

Causing you to, once more, question their absence.

“Boys, boys. Where are you boys…” you hummed lowly to yourself.

Glancing toward the billowing crowd, you grew remiss at their absence. It was easy to recall how both Jedi were particularly against your decision to immerse yourself into this environment, alone and unarmed. So much so, that you assumed they would’ve arrived by now. An observation that forced you to consider how this mission was sure to sour quick were you required to act without backup.

You shook that thought out of your mind almost as immediately as it arrived.

Obi-Wan and Anakin would always appear when you needed them most.

And you adored them for that.

That, among the litany of elements that drew you into their lives in the first place.

Your first mission together was but a sapling in the times you were to share. Memories, little moments, and fleeting glances recently coalesced into the singular realization that you’d fallen in love with two of the most powerful Jedi the Galaxy has to offer.

But they were just that. Jedi.

And so were you.

So no matter your unquestionable feelings for the men, there was nothing you could do. Putting aside that you doubted any emotional reciprocation, you were sure too that they’d never break the Jedi code for you.

And that left you to again drag yourself back from those innermost thoughts to focus on the situation at hand. Specifically, your conclusion that any dearth left in Obi-Wan and Anakin’s wake would mean nothing of consequence if you couldn’t get into that storage room.

Luckily, there was no need to wait much longer.

Krissa shoved open the door, using her back to thrust it the rest of the way with a crate of clinking, dark green bottles swirling in her arms. Fluttering lilac dress flowing by her legs as her eyes landed on your surveilling form.

Kriff.

“Hey!” She scream whispered, brows stitched in reprimand while she leaned toward you. “You’re gonna get fired before you’ve even had a chance to work if you keep hiding from paying customers.”

You smiled sheepishly, playing into her assumption as you ‘stumbled’ to your feet.

“I’m so sorry,” you mouthed, ambling toward the older woman while lifting a hand to ripple through the force floating by her eyes.

You spoke lowly.

“You want me to help you bring out those crates.”

“I want you to help me bring out these crates,” she parroted in a glazed-over daze, arm catching the steel door just before it shut to allow you entry.

You nodded to her thankfully, even though she had no choice in the matter, before pushing your way past the chilly aperture, entering the stuffy storage room while the door slammed shut behind you.

Speedily, you surveyed the cramped compartment, stacked and spread to the ceiling with a strange concoction of alcohol-filled crates, charcoal cargo containers, and draped artifacts that evinced the basement of a museum far more than a brothel’s back room.

But you didn’t really give it a second thought. If you didn’t want to get caught, then there was no time to ponder aesthetics.

Quickly, as your eyes fluttered closed, you allowed the Force to thicken your blood, treating your body and mind like a living, breathing compass in its guide to connect you with your True North—

The seven missing Kyber crystals.

With vision consumed by blackness, you dodged each precariously placed box and every outstretched figurine that threatened to obstruct your path as your senses drew you a detailed map toward the back wall. Almost like a pulsing beacon, you felt the heat of your connection to the sacred artifacts deepen, warming your more-than-usually exposed skin. Intensifying with each, deliberate step. Until it reached a fiery blaze so extravagant that one stride further would’ve certainly lit you alight.

You opened your eyes.

“Hey!” A deep voice called from behind you, triggering your heels to spin around toward the sudden sound, and away from the loosely sealed cargo container whose subtle, yet familiar, blue shine confirmed your senses.

Swiftly, you absorbed the older man’s ruffly peppered beard and chilled brown eyes as his head poked past the slightly ajar steel door, barely masked snarl contorting his lips.

“I don’t pay you to ogle the merchandise! Get out there and mingle,” he continued, jutting a thumb to the club’s main room to his rear.

You leapt to your feet, making a mental note of the crystals’ location while scurrying toward the owner who seemed to have somehow grown at least one more gray hair since your interview with him.

“Sorry, sir,” you mumbled, twisting to get by his form against the door and entering onto the main floor before turning back toward him. “Won’t happen again.”

“It better not,” he huffed, swiveling to catch the shutting door with his foot before leaning down to retrieve something from behind it.

Still, his muffled voice echoed beyond the subsequent shuffling.

“You’re assisting tonight, and I want high bids. So get out there and make them like you.”

You nodded complacently, already prepared to whip around and follow his orders until the older gentleman reemerged with another case of green bottles cradled under his arm.

“And here,” he shoved the crate, obliging you to catch it somewhat unexpectedly with opened palms.

“Take this to the bar.”

—

“I don’t like this…” Anakin droned during his casual stroll toward Obi-Wan’s side, a glass of orange fizzy liquid held inconspicuously before his lips.

Kenobi was leaning against the bar, his cup of whatever was on tap cradled between his fingers yet clearly untouched. Instead, the subtly troubled Jedi’s attentive eyes continued their periodic scan of the barely lit brothel. Flitting past the pockets of gold-illuminated tabled alcoves and dark blue paneling, his eyes weaved through the voluminous throng. One that featured intimately quiet mumblings among extravagantly suited clientele and gorgeously draped employees.

It wasn’t hard for him to surmise the highest paying customers from the number of brothel workers who’d hang from their arms, clearly on the job.

Smiling at each of their glances. Laughing at every joke…

Kenobi wasn’t daft.

He clearly understood the expectations a club like this had for its staff. At the least, for those who mingled with the bidders before the show. He’d only hoped that with whatever position you’d acquired for your cover at this establishment, it wasn’t pressing you to do much of the same.

And no matter how illogical it sounded in his mind, he still didn’t want to see that.

Moreover, it seemed to be a thought that equally disturbed Anakin, as his gentle thrums of anxious musing stained the Force, gradually amplifying since both Jedi had yet to locate you.

The younger Jedi had always been protective of you, Obi-Wan excused, unbeknownst that Skywalker was making much of the same defense. Though for the chestnut-haired Jedi, it was more the self-justification that he was a protective person in general. And that this was nothing more than only that.

Just Anakin being Anakin.

“I’m confident she’ll turn up soon, Anakin.”

The younger man expressly sighed, permitting a brief beat to pass as a spring of laughter ricocheted by his ears from a nearby dancer. Waiting for it to die down with bated breath before angling to respond.

“What if she didn’t get the job? She might be trying to find a different way in right now.”

Obi-Wan had no need for reaching out to the Force in order to confidently answer that inquiry.

“She succeeded. Trust me, I’d know otherwise.” He hummed, raising his glass to just barely grace his lips, but never daring to take a sip and weaken his awareness. “However, should they not show soon, I am considering they may have been apprehended.”

Similarly, Anakin vehemently shook his head. He even permitted a wry chuckle to escape past those formerly parched lips before confidently responding to the Jedi Master’s statement.

“No way. If Y/n got caught, she’d send us a signal the second she felt us near.”

Skywalker’s confident air faltered.

“Well,” he shrugged nervously. “Assuming she’s not injured.”

Obi-Wan shot his former Padawan a disapproving glare.

Until his attention was suddenly grasped by a warm, comforting hand sliding across his shoulder.

“Is this what you boys do when I’m not around? Theorize about my potential failings?”

The two men spun toward you, catching the playful smirk consuming your features before their eyes were tugged down like an anchor to trail your stunningly sheathed body, almost as if it was the first time they’d ever laid eyes upon you.

It would be an understatement to state that absorbing this captivating sight had coerced their jaws into forgetting their primary function.

The low-cut style of your short, curving red dress. The fishnet stockings that stretched down your thighs and softly clasped your high-heeled feet. The sparkling, green gemmed earrings that perfectly brought out your plump, red lipstick and long lashes. And, most noticeably, your loose, flowing hair that they’d only ever seen tied back for battle, now resting lushly across your bare shoulders like a still-life statue.

It wasn’t a side of you either men had the pleasure of observing before. And, if given the chance, they’d challenge whichever entity had so long sealed this wonderful sight from their burning eyes to a duel.

One that such an unjust creature was sure to regret.

It was a kind of fairy tale notion that both men pondered instantly once they felt a bubbling heat swarm their countenance when faced by your visual power.

So much so, that Anakin couldn’t help but break the brief lull as his suddenly dried mouth reached down his throat for an audible, and undoubtedly embarrassing, cough as he scratched his nose to try to hide himself.

Obi-Wan wasn’t coping much better. The Master Negotiator had lost all concept of Basic, its vocabulary, grammar, and everything in between as his mind was only filled with your enticing image, your pleasantly exposed skin, and the touch of your fingers to his body.

Until it was too soon gone.

Your hand fell thoughtlessly to your side, head cocking with lifted brows before speaking.

“You can close your mouths. It was just a joke.”

But it was Kenobi who first gathered the confidence to respond.

“Um, you look—“

“Lemme guess. Ravishing? The night’s main treat?” You relayed sarcastically while heaving down a large crate of clinking bottles atop the bar, one that both men only just now noticed before you whipped back toward the still stunned Jedi, drawing their gaze center.

“I’ll have it known that the distance between the storage room and the bar is a mere fifteen-second walk and I’ve already heard it all—“

“…like an angel,” Anakin muttered, not even himself realizing that he’d said that aloud.

Your eyes widened ever so slightly as you felt your heart skip a beat, sending an unexpected tingle to the root of your gut before sheepishly smiling at the deepening flush of the chestnut-haired man.

Obi-Wan, on the other hand, tensely eyed his former Padawan.

“Okay, that one’s new,” you admitted, gaze trailing away to conceal your unpreparedness for such an unexpectedly sweet comment.

Ironically, it was at that moment that your wandering stare settling beyond Anakin’s shoulder abruptly caught a familiar, peppered beard. Accompanied by terse, beady eyes that scowled at you from a far wall with the intensity of a lodestar.

You had a decision to make.

But, really, was there a choice at all?

Obi-Wan would catch on, you thought.

Though, no matter how well Kenobi did understand the requirements of your cover, he still certainly wasn’t expecting you to, in a millisecond, swiftly stride toward his bewildered form to wrap your warm arms around his neck.

Immediately, despite the quickening of his thrumming heart latching onto his Adam’s apple, Obi-Wan raised his usually firm hands to gently clasp at your forearms, being sure to send you a questioning glance as he smoothly played along.

But under all that, and although he was still unsure why, deep down Kenobi secretly hoped that such a quizzical gesture hadn’t encouraged you to subsequently pull away. For some reason, he despised the thought of influencing you to forgo remaining this close to him.

So close, that he could feel the tickle of your breath across his chin.

Thankfully, though, his innermost prayer seemed to have been answered.

“Sorry,” you whispered, conveying an outwardly flirting expression of perked lips and a tilted head.

There were very few people in the Galaxy capable of reading the subtle apologetic shine of your eyes that deeply stared into his. An invisible utterance that remained firm while you briefly freed one hand to beckon over a confounded, and secretly peeved, Anakin who stood just behind his former Master, before you grasped his loose hand and tugged him forward with a terribly fake laugh.

Soon, you rested the younger Jedi’s arm on your lower back, securing its nervously flaccid form around your waist while Skywalker’s face transformed into a brand new shade of crimson once he discovered the dress’s open back.

A clearly readable reaction that deepened Kenobi’s hesitation with his former Padawan’s proximity to you. And while his mind struggled to connect the dots on why he continued to experience these strange bouts of discomfort, too distracted to truly pin down these sensations, Kenobi still felt fueled by Anakin’s expression to nudge you a little closer into his own chest.

If that was even possible.

Paying no mind to the sudden action, you addressed both men, giving a particular glance to Anakin who seemed to be the most caught off-guard of the two of them.

“The brothel’s owner made it very clear that if I don’t ’mingle’ with the customers, trouble will come my way.”

And that made the former slave’s blood boil.

“I’ll kill him.”

“No, you won’t,” you punctuated, temporarily removing your other arm from Obi-Wan to privately rest on Anakin’s balmy cheeks, caressing them down to draw his eyes to your level as he too struggled to fight off the festering heart attack that threatened to crack his rib, and deepened the sudden feeling of emptiness in Kenobi’s chest. “Because we have one mission here, and it’s to retrieve those stolen crystals. And I’m not losing my chance to snatch them away due to your needless protectiveness. I’m quite capable on my own.”

“What do you mean?” Kenobi inquired, taking this opportunity to regain some realm of confidence before snaking his arms around your waist and tugging you toward him with a roughness that would easily read as greedy to anyone who happened to be looking that way.

Still, the unexpected suddenness of his movement set the nerves in your face on fire. No matter, you played into the act, falling into his chest with fingers gripping onto the lapels of his oddly sparkly jacket.

“Um,” you swallowed, regathering your thoughts with a blink. “I’m assisting tonight. Meaning that I’ll be showcasing each item while they’re bid upon.”

You hummed to yourself while considering this new stroke of luck. A sudden vibration against Obi-Wan’s chest that you hadn’t realized sent a fresh, nervous chill down his arms as he held your mystifying figure, encouraging subtly wandering eyes to drink in the sight once more while his unsteady heart began to churn his innermost thoughts.

It was in that same moment that Anakin first caught onto his former Master’s charade, having finally glimpsed an equal measure of voraciousness within his distracted, blue orbs. Something that stoked Anakin’s frustration that began anew with each moment Kenobi drew you closer to himself.

“I say we don’t waste the credits,” you commented, refocusing both Jedi’s attention. “The minute I have the crystals in hand, I’ll send you a signal, and we’ll dash out of here.”

Obi-Wan leaned into you, forehead mere centimeters from yours as a spoke lowly. And for some reason, you thought, with noticeably erratic breath.

“That’s extremely risky.”

“Well, you have my lightsaber. Don’t you?” You challenged with a lift of your lips.

Suddenly, a trail of warm fingers raked up into your hair, sending quite an unexpected chill down your back once they clutched around a bunch and somewhat needily rotated your head toward Anakin’s expectant face. Yanking your body more forcefully before soon feeling his strong arm catch your side.

“I have it,” he spoke lowly.

And in spite of how desperately he tried to keep his eyes connected with yours, he couldn’t help that split second in which they sparsely flitted toward your perfectly tinted lips.

An action you apparently missed for your focus on the mission at hand.

But a gesture that contorted Obi-Wan’s lips into a perpetual frown as his mind caught up with his frothing feelings.

“Good,” you expressed. “Then I’ll have it when it’s needed.”

While your eyes remained focused and thoughtful, half a mind on playing up your cover with the other half on those crystals, Anakin had trouble keeping his eyes from once more wandering downwards.

The feel of your red-draped body against his, the closeness of your bared upper chest and noticeable cleavage, the sparkle of your eyes that comparably made your bright earrings look like clumps of coal.

Though not fully, Anakin was beginning to understand what was going on in his chest to draw his signature into such a volatile temper. Mostly because he couldn’t help himself when one hand released from your soft hair to trail down your exposed back, the other palm brushing upwards from your flank to meet the other side as he briefly traced the outline of your shoulder blades.

All of which sent a lightning bolt of cold heat right up to your head and down toward your sensitively tingling toes before he inched you toward him with the press of his fingertips while he whispered.

“Obi-Wan is right. I don’t think we should take the risk. But just in case you need it…”

Slowly, he retrieved a hand, raking it over your shoulder and feeling every inch of your arm while his mind cleared. The chestnut-haired man’s swelling eyes traced the enticing experience until he reached your hand. And with feigned gravitas clouding his features, he carefully guided your hand beneath his suit jacket, dragging it just along his warm back until you felt a cold metal resting beside his tailbone.

“…you know where it is.”

What was happening?

That was the main question you were asking yourself.

Were both Obi-Wan and Anakin just really amazing actors when the moment required it? You’d certainly never seen such a talent from either of them before. Yet the sudden naturalness, the near familiarity with which each Jedi pulled and held you close? The intimate touches and long glances while this secret meeting proceeded?

You weren’t sure what changed between twenty hours ago and now. Yet, in your core, you knew a part of your brain didn’t want it to stop.

No.

You were a Jedi. You were all Jedi. Committed to a code.

You must’ve been reading this wrong. Feelings that you knew you’d long held for the men had once again clouded your judgment.

Meanwhile, the growing tension between the two Jedi had heightened to a noticeable degree. But with your mind focused seemingly on other matters, it was only just to each other.

“You? Not wanting to be reckless?” You stated, attempting to suffocate your rushing nerves with a confident smirk. “Are you sure I’m speaking with Anakin Skywalker or do we have an imposter in our midsts?” You chuckled. “Oh, and agreeing with Obi-Wan?” You added, raising a brow.

This time, it was Master Kenobi who felt a fire erupt through his veins while his thoughts solidified.

It was you.

You who were making him feel such a way.

Ever and always.

On every mission and in each universal moment, it was you who made the Jedi Master take pause as his heart skipped a beat in your presence.

Master Kenobi was even more firm in this belief: that he was quite finished with watching Anakin cradle you in his arms for any longer. That, and the growing desire fueled by this new angle permitting Obi-Wan to graze over your open back’s supple skin with his eyes, drained him of all his decades-long self-control in an instant.

He needed to do something about that

Reaching a warm hand to the closest corner of your waistline, and with a little nudge from the Force on the other side, Obi-Wan tugged you right into his arms.

You felt the imperceptible, tiny scratches of his sequined suit jacket and the heat barely underneath sprawl across your back while his palms meandered up your sides and down each arm, soon folding them across you as he enveloped you against himself.

This time, you truly couldn’t help the light, crimson blush that bloomed across your cheeks. Especially when Kenobi chose this opportune time to gradually lean into your shoulder, chin dipping so that his lips hung mere centimeters from your attentive ear before whispering a warning with a tone warmer than you were used to hearing from the Master Negotiator.

Especially in the middle of a mission.

“You should listen to him.”

Still, despite feeling the ravenous desire to take a calming breath and smooth your hammering heartbeat, you held firm, responding to his inquiry with an overpowering confidence that usually settled any score when the three of you were having a disagreement.

At the same time, having just noticed the brothel owner’s decision to push off his far wall perch to approach, you decided to also strike a grin, raising a flirtatious brow over your shoulder at Obi-Wan’s unreadably dark eyes while you spoke, maintaining your cover.

“No. The plan stands. Trust me, there’s no need to worry.”

But, unexpectedly for you, witnessing your visually claimed figure in Obi-Wan’s arms barking out orders all while clad in that tiny red dress ignited a fierce burning passion in Anakin to challenge you back as he too decided to make his thoughts known.

Through his words and with his hands.

Taking one powerful stride to stand directly before your toes, the younger man just barely graced your bottom lip to seize your chin, lifting it upwards and twisting you to meet his wanting, blue gaze. Compelling your bright, widening eyes to wonder once more whether the lines between fiction and reality were beginning to blur.

Your breath hitched.

“Gentlemen!” The owner exclaimed, sliding next to Obi-Wan and Anakin to place a performative pat on both their shoulders. “I’m glad you’re enjoying one of our new hires, but I’m afraid that I’ll need to borrow her for the rest of the auction. We are about to begin.”

Wordlessly, both Jedi released their respective grips on you, sharing between themselves an unamused glance above your head while you ambled toward the owner. Never breaking your own, painfully forged smile.

But that seemed to be enough to convince the quite older owner that all was set to begin, as he swiftly turned on his heel toward the brothel’s far podium, motioning for you to follow his trail.

You promptly obliged, yet not before sending one quick, yet quiet, last word with a twist of your head toward the Jedi who begrudgingly stayed behind with crossed arms or a clenched beard.

“Wait for my signal.”

—

“I’m not stupid, you know,” Anakin commented idling by Kenobi’s side.

The two men continued their observations of the auction since it began half an hour ago, their eyes rarely drifting away from the rather cramped, rickety stage while you traveled from side to side, displaying each item with deliciously attractive poise. Presently, you were exhibiting an old, handheld marble statue modeled after a female Twi’lek. And although other patrons regarded the item with interest, the two Jedi meant to be watching your back for any danger had their minds on other matters.

Anakin couldn’t keep his eyes off your sensually pacing legs, while Obi-Wan could barely remain still with your elegant, tightly wrapped hips moving to and fro.

“I hear 2,000 credits! 2,000 credits. Do I hear 2,100?”

Master Kenobi readjusted his shoulders somewhat uncomfortably. “I know. I don’t believe I’ve said otherwise.”

“Don’t play dumb. I know you want Y/n.”

The bearded Jedi whipped his head from the stage as he addressed the seemingly jealous, younger man. And for the first time in a very long time, Obi-Wan began to feel those same, envious emotions with equal strength, like he’d caught some psychic disease from the blue-eyed Jedi’s glance alone.

“2,100! Do I hear 2,200? 2,200 folks, for this ancient artifact of an unknown Ryloth civilization!”

“And?” He acknowledged nonchalantly, taking an assertive stance while he found comfort in the memory of you in his arms. “And what if I do?”

Anakin’s lips formed a thin line, the image of your parted, shocked lips when he caught your dressed figure perfuming his thoughts. “Then you wouldn’t be alone.”

“I’ve noticed,” Kenobi stated sarcastically before raising a rather annoyed brow.

“Going once! Going twice!”

“What are you gonna do?” Anakin mumbled.

Skywalker had to ask the question. Even though he’d already confirmed in his mind that no matter what, no matter if Master Kenobi felt the same, that he’d give you the chance of knowing that there was more than one.

Obi-Wan answered simply. “I’m planning on telling her.”

“Sold! To the fellow in the orange top hat on the right!”

Because through the older Jedi’s musings, Kenobi was arriving at a similar conclusion. That if you in any way felt the same, he’d at least give you a choice.

“I assume you’ll be doing the same?” He continued.

“Yes.” Anakin sighed, eyes returning to the stage just as you remerged with an old, raggedy yet sealed box held tightly in your hands. “And what if she can’t decide?”

Obi-Wan followed the young Jedi’s line of sight, subconsciously licking his lips as the fabric of your tight, red dress pulsed his blood and slackened his jaw.

“Then we do what we must…”

The bearded Jedi swallowed.

Hard.

“…we help her.”

A rallying spark flung through the Force, filling both Jedi’s senses as they were wrenched from the momentary, visual distraction that was your ravishingly dressed person.

There was no way to deny it. Your pointed expression? Your readied stance?

The signal had just been fired.

Reaching for their respective lightsabers hung inconspicuously at the belt, both Jedi swiftly whipped their weapons out into the open, igniting a collective blue glow that provided enough of a shockingly, eye-catching distraction for you to leap from the stage, box in hand, without much recourse.

Then came the blasters.

As if emerging like shadows from the establishment’s dark corners, a sporadic group of armed men dressed like well-to-do pirates began their determined assault. Coloring the air with orange beams while the crowd scattered, hurried screams and the groans of abruptly shuffling furniture echoing off the walls.

You bolted for the Jedi, triggering both to somersault toward you while they attempted to block any bolt that you nearly failed to dodge before landing at either flank. Thankfully, that provided the chance to fling a searching arm beneath Anakin’s suit jacket, grasping your saber from its warm habitat before yanking it out into the open to launch its green luminescence.

“Go!” Obi-Wan cried, deflecting another round of bolts from your rear while the two men encircled you like a living, breathing barrier.

“We’ll hold them off!” Anakin agreed, flinging a badly aimed bolt toward a now broken and sparking light fixture above before facing you. “Get back to the ship!”

You glanced at both men, making clear your uncertainty and reluctance through the Force as, even with your aid, the gentle perspires of their efforts became noticeable.

But it was their turn to stay firm.

“Now! We’ll be right behind you!” Obi-Wan strictly assured.

So, with the box of crystals secured tightly beneath one arm and your saber effectively defending against the coming onslaught with the other, you decided to, for once, follow the boys’ instructions as you bolted for the exit, and out the brothel’s door.

And, with their hearts already racing, both Jedi had to do their best not to focus on your distracting wears as they paved a path to race after you.

—

Leaping through the red and white Nu-class shuttle’s rear hatch the instant it opened wide enough to do so was enough to coerce out an instant sigh of relief as your feet landed on the metal floor, drawing you deeper into the bird’s belly. Naturally, after regaining some bearings in the familiarity of the ship, you felt secure enough to set the relatively sturdy box of Kyber crystals atop a nearby ledge before turning to assess the situation behind you.

You already sensed that Anakin and Obi-Wan had stuck close to your heels during the entire escape, sabers twirling with elegant control against any threatening phaser until you strayed far enough beyond the brothel’s preview to lose any potential tails. So you weren’t surprised to find both men maintaining a similarly brisk pace while speeding up the ramp seconds after your arrival. Sabers long ago clipped back at their sides with Obi-Wan leading the way, leaving Skywalker in charge of closing the now slowly rising hatch.

What you weren’t expecting, however, was that the overpowering determination emanating from the bearded Jedi’s face had not in the least bit lessened since he entered the craft. Quickly, yet smoothly, he shed his gaudy suit jacket, tossing it unceremoniously to the side as he subsisted his approach.

In fact, the slight narrowing of those blue eyes, an expression you’d only seen in the occasional sparring session, remained forwardly focused. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he was charging right for you, an action itself that compelled you to perplexedly speak while his brown boots closed that ever-shrinking distance.

“What are you—“

Warm lips smashed against yours, moving hungrily yet delicately while Obi-Wan’s sturdy arms snaked around your waist to gently tug you into himself.

Your heart nearly stopped, and from the tingling, tiny explosions erupting at each and every nerve ending alone, you felt yourself fall into the momentum, arms raising with the certainty of a choreographed dance to cradle Obi-Wan’s head and run your fingers through his soft, auburn locks.

Whether consciously or not, his grip on you tightened, straining your breath before you had the unavoidable need to be even closer to him. You intensified the kiss, drawing his plump, reddened lips into slow and steady locks, only for them to release with the duration of a clap before you both deeply met each other again with needy swiftness.

It felt like hours, but it had been mere seconds since the instant his body met yours. Still, the two of you reluctantly pulled away from each other. Mostly to catch much-needed breaths from the pure, unadulterated shock of it all.

Master Kenobi held you still as your gaze graced over his flushed features, including that slightly tussled hair and darkened eyes that diverted from their usual bright sparkle. Especially when they flitted from your surprised orbs, to your plump lips, and back again.

But no matter this pleasing diversion, still, out of the corner of your eye, you were forced to notice Anakin— standing in the far corner in quiet observation, and chillingly reminding you of where you were and what important rules both you and his former Master had certainly just broken in his presence.

What made it all worse, though, was that for the life of you, you could not read the younger man’s expression. Apparently, he had just stood there, arms crossed once the shuttle door was secured and simply… watched? Impassively?

No, that couldn’t be right.

Then, he pushed off the wall.

Anakin’s arms fell to the side as he gradually approached you both, brows tightening into what looked like a slightly angrier cross that ran your brain into overdrive. You were still having trouble discerning his emotions through the Force, but could only make an educated guess that he was beyond frustrated that the two beings closest to him had just broken the Jedi Code.

And, also because, he didn’t seem to have any particular reaction to what Obi-Wan did, making you sadly doubt that he’d ever feel the same way you’d always felt for the chestnut-haired man and his former Master.

So, no matter how right it felt, how much you wanted it, you knew that it was time for some damage control.

“Obi-Wan…” you took a deep, shaky breath, nerves still firing at every end while your stare stood firmly on Obi-Wan’s wanting expression, Anakin nearing your side.

You loosely exhaled.

“Where did that—“

Hot moisture met your neck, Anakin’s wet lips attacking its side and extracting a startled gasp from your lungs as your eyes fluttered closed. Greedily, he cupped your throat to softy tug you toward him, draining your arms into a state of perpetual pliability from the pleasant heat filling your chest.

They slid, soon falling from Obi-Wan’s body entirely before you angled toward the younger Jedi and shakily twisted them around his shoulders for support. Another weak sigh escaped past your lips once you felt Anakin’s teeth graze across a sensitive spot as the weakening kisses continued, an action which only seemed to encourage the younger Jedi considering he returned to that spot with more fervor, sucking it dry until your jaw slackened.

Still, no matter how dazed your mind had become in this last minute of chaos, you just couldn’t believe this was happening.

It had to be a mistake, right? Was something else wrong?

Something must have happened.

Regathering your senses, you quickly pulled away from Anakin, feeling the resistance of your initial jerk snap Anakin from his equally influenced status as he quickly tried to give you space.

“Are you ok??” He asked rapidly, eyes seeping wide-eyed worry and flickers of guilt while Obi-Wan, who was initially calmly analyzing the show, too shifted to share a similarly concerned expression.

“Yes, of course,” you aired, still slightly out of breath as you stared confoundedly at the two men. “I’m fine Anakin, but what is going on? This is coming out of nowhere.” You shook your head. “Were the two of you drugged or something?”

“In a sense, I suppose we were,” Obi-Wan answered nonchalantly.

You raised a brow.

“Y/n,” Anakin uttered, drawing your eyes toward his. “Obi-Wan and I realized something back there during the mission. Something it looks like we both kinda knew for a while but didn’t really understand until now.”

Master Kenobi’s eyes raked across your figure once more while he spoke. “I saw you there, we saw you, truly, for the first time. And I lost my breath.”

You melted at his words.

“All I saw was pure beauty and you, and I couldn’t tell the difference,” Anakin spoke disjointedly, nearly making you giggle. “And I knew that seeing you like this, in this way, I couldn’t wait any longer. We couldn’t wait. We needed to tell you.”

“Tell me?” You asked breathily, preparing yourself for whatever was to come next.

“That we desire you,” Obi-Wan barely whispered, fluttering your stomach. “That you are more important to us than ancient statutes. And we determined that you must know so that you may decide if you wish it.”

You shuttered, worries of the Code fading into nothingness while the two men before you consumed your senses. “Decide?”

Anakin stared at you, a pleading glint in his eyes as he spoke gently.

“Which one of us you want back.”

Your still heavy breaths punctuated the otherwise quiet air. Characteristic of the thoughts rattling against your buzzed skull before a throaty mutter made its way past your teeth.

“I can’t…”

You watched while their faces deflated at your words.

“We understand, Y/n,” Obi-Wan spoke, a subtle sadness drooping his tone. “It’s quite alright—“

“No,” you corrected quickly. “No, I can’t decide.”

Anakin’s brows quirked at this, head tilting as curiosity subdued his brief listlessness.

“What do you mean?” He asked.

You sighed heavily, eyes drifting to the floor with an unaccustomed quiver. “I mean, I can’t decide because… because…”

You bit your lip.

“I want you both.”

Raising your head, you carefully observed the two men, bodies as still as statues while their swollen eyes held firmly on your figure. Anakin nurturing a steadily expanding, devious grin while he quietly flexed a fist, and Obi-Wan, faintly flicking his tongue across his top lip in an effort to carefully drink in your figure.

A pleasant chill ran down your spine.

“Is that alright?” You whispered.

Anakin chuckled incredulously, cueing Obi-Wan to respond to that inquiry.

“Darling,” he murmured, insatiable eyes sucking you barren as the nickname sent a new round of tingles down your legs. “That stretches far beyond ‘alright.’”

“How do you want us?” Anakin posed, tone nearing a growl.

Unfiltered, you spoke your mind.

“As close as possible.”

And the Jedi obliged.

________________________________________________________________

Should I do a part 2 at some point? Let me know :)

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nicki0kaye · 6 months

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🌘 twitter | patreon | instagram 🌒

Junior Guard Captain Garazeb and Underworld crime prince Sasha fall into each other's orbit and hard. This is the 'verse where they have complimentary force powers; Guard (Zeb, empath) and Watcher (Kallus, heightened senses). you can check out the sketch phases of this here. Zeb characterization and general Lasan HCs courtesy of @sidhebeingbrand

Not ten minutes after meeting, Sasha tries to use Zeb as his ticket off Coruscant, which creates something of a diplomatic incident.

The Kallus' aren't a very powerful underworld gang, but they don't want to lose Sasha and are more than willing to become a pain in the surface's ass to get him back. Zeb's superiors don't want any of that, but there's a hiccup; Zeb and Sasha are already 'bonded'. Their auras compliment one another, and have more or less interlocked in what little time they've known each other. Untangling them now would be a process. That, and Sasha has told them some concerning things about how his family treats him and his gift.

So the plan becomes; parlay with the Kallus Family down in the Underworld.

It goes better than expected, all things considered. Sasha's family wants him to stay and are willing to accept assistance from the Lasat, because they're under no illusions that their family's way of doing things is working. Sasha's magic has always been more than either his brother or grandmother could handle. If the Lasat are willing to spare a teacher, the Kallus' will put them up and treat them like family.

Which means Zeb is going to stay.

Sasha is furious. He wants to stay with Zeb, yeah, but he wanted to go with him to Lasan. Not ruin the guy's whole career by getting him stuck in the frozen ass-end of Coruscant's basement sectors.

There's one place Sasha goes when he's feeling trapped and overstimulated. At the bottom of level 1996--a level comprised entirely of the piping needed to keep the above levels running--is a giant empty space where the next level should be. Over a hundred stories of nothing between the pipes of '96 and the sewage pit of 1994. This is where Sasha goes to worship his god. The Lasat know him as the Bendu--the one who walks in the middle--but in the north-eastern sectors of the Underworld, they simply call it 'The Void'. It isn't the kind of god to lend its favor, but it is there all the same, and it will listen. Sasha comes to it often to vent his frustrations, to scream into the dark, and this time, Zeb follows.

The whole thing freaks Zeb out. He's a good, devout child of the Ashla, and this big yawning pit his bonded feels compelled to dangle over scares him shitless. He respects the Bendu, respects Sasha as a child of the Between, so he doesn't interfere. Zeb does, however, reel Sasha into the safety of his own arms the second his crazy little human is done.

That's when this conversation happens. Across their bond, in the privacy of their auras, Zeb promises the next time he sees the stars, Sasha will be there beside him. "I know why it calls to you now, the emptiness."

A shiver works its way through Sasha. "Why are you like this?" he asks, pressing into Zeb's space, forehead to forehead. "You just promise like it's nothing."

"To be your Guard is everything. I do not want another bondmate. Terrifying small human."

Sasha's laugh is a little wheezy and broken. He forces a grin as he asks "what if?" aloud, pretending it's a game, a new way to tease the overly serious Guard, and that there's no growing fear he may misstep and give Zeb reason to abandon him.

Zeb says he doesn't know, but then counters; "what if I steal you?"

The question is left unanswered--they aren't alone in the 1996 and need to get going--but it isn't forgotten. Nor Zeb's promise that one day, the two of them will hunt the stars.

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valkyrieromanoff · 2 months

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Good Boy: Sub! Anakin X f!reader

synopsis: Anakin finds you on a dark street at the Coruscant underworld and things move at a dangerous pace.

warning: 18+, submissive Anakin, bisexual reader, sexual innuendo, praise kink, pet kink, use of good boy, inappropriate power balance, implied cheating (not anakin x reader), dirty talk.

words: 3k

a/n: well, Anakin could probably be out of character or something, however i had a lot of fun writing. But after my sister spent the whole trip talking about him, I had to write and it ended up being filthier than I expected. Anyway, I hope you like it :)

You were sitting on a bench in a quiet street in the Coruscant underworld, in the back of bars and pleasure houses, reading something in your datapad under bright neon lights. After a while, a shadow hovers over you, making it difficult to concentrate, with the presence at your side.

"May I sit here, sweetheart?" The voice was hoarse, although it had a peculiar charm. You noticed the foreign accent leaking through his words. He wasn't a coruscant citizen, that's for sure.

You looked up at a strangely attractive blonde man, dressed in well-tailored black clothes, it looked like some kind of armor with a cloak, reminding you of what the jedi used to wear. And put your datapad down just a little, shaking your head without really thinking.

"Feel free" Your voice is low and smooth, with an aura of confidence and smugness in a perfect cadence.

"You're quite beautiful, sweetheart"

His voice is soothing, almost hypnotic, the kind of tone that could make every man or woman melt in his arms. He sits down next to you and looks into your eyes, his own deep and captivating. It's impossible to look away from his mesmerizing gaze.

"My name is Anakin Skywalker, what's yours?"

“Y/n” You replied calmly, looking away from him and returning your attention to your datapad.

"A beautiful name, for a beautiful girl. What are you reading?" He leans in close, almost whispering as he looks down at the datapad sitting on your lap.

You don't respond, you just tilt your datapad towards him, Anakin noticed that was a holobook.

His eyes light up as he reads the title. He looks back at you, curious, almost mesmerized by your beauty. There's something about the way you carry yourself, the way you look away whenever he meets your eyes. He can't help but wonder what's behind your stoic expression.

"So, you like classics, huh?"

"Some" Your response is short, filled with a certain disinterest and annoyance at being interrupted so many times. "You know what they say, classics are classics for a reason."

Anakin laughs softly as he looks at you. He can't help but be charmed by your attitude, the way your eyes sparkle with intelligence and your hair looks so adorable.

"But if classics are classics, why do you never look at me?" He leans closer until he's inches away from your face. His breath tickles your skin, teasing you.

You let out a giggle, your blood red lips curled into a mischievous smile.

"You didn't catch my eye" You retorted softly, looking away to stare at the neon light blinking in the dark night.

Anakin chuckles, pleased that he's managed to get under your skin. He grins, enjoying your lack of reaction at his advances. You are a mystery to him, a puzzle he's intrigued by. Your confidence, your intelligence, your poise, he finds you very alluring. He leans even closer, his breath hot on your skin.

"Perhaps you should catch mine." His voice is like a caress on your skin.

"I'll pass." You shrugged, looking at the starry sky. Your posture was stoic, yet there was something about you that made you seem relaxed and comfortable with yourself and the situation.

Anakin's eyes can't help but wander up and down your form as you look up to the night sky. The way you carry yourself with such confidence and grace is a turn on for him. He can't help but be drawn to your beauty.

"You know," he murmurs low, his breath warm against the nape of your neck. "you're very enticing."

"I hear that a lot" You retorted, smirking in his direction as you met his gaze.

Anakin can't help but laugh at your response. He's never met anyone like you, so unapologetically confident and sure of yourself.

"Do you now?" he chuckles, leaning in closer. "You like hearing that, don't you?"

"Maybe, I have a narcissistic side that likes to have its ego graced." You murmured, your blood red lips curling into a confident smile, as if you knew how attractive you were, and didn't need to try, you were already sensual by nature.

Anakin can't help but grin as he glances at your lips, imagining what they would feel like on his own. “I have a question”

Your boldness and confidence have a hypnotic effect on him, compelling him to reach out and trace your jawline with one finger. He wants to touch you, to caress you. He wants to taste you.

"Feel free" A soft, sensual cadence drips through your every word. You raise your eyebrow waiting for him to ask.

Anakin looks at you for a moment, admiring your beauty, the way your eyelashes gently brush against your cheeks. His voice is a gentle caress on your skin.

"Do you enjoy being attractive? Do you use your beauty to lure men in and make them crave you?"

"I like men on their knees" You whispered confidently, your tongue passing between your teeth sensually. "I like it when they beg"

Anakin chuckles softly. You're a bold one, he can see that. His eyes fall to your red lips, your tongue passing between the lushness of them. Your smile is so teasing and full of confidence.

"I bet you do," he murmurs, leaning in closer until he's just inches away. "And do you have a man on his knees today?"

"Uhm, I'm feeling fruity today. So, I was hoping for a woman, if I get lucky" You retorted casually, tucking a curl behind your ear.

Anakin laughs softly. You're so unabashed in your sexuality. It's a side of you that's intriguing to him, your playful confidence and desire to challenge him.

"Do you have a type of woman?" He asks casually, leaning in closer, wanting to make you stutter.

"Uhm, not exactly." You mutter thoughtfully, your lips curling into a teasing smirk."But, housewives are the best, they know how to make you sweat in the garage while their husband is upstairs."

Anakin can't help but chuckle at your answer. You have such a naughty side to you, and you're not embarrassed by it at all. You have a way of flirting that's intriguing and enticing, making him want you more and more with every word.

"Really? So you like the ones that are secretly hungry for something more?" He leans in so close that he can feel your breath brushing against his skin.

"Well, when I can offer what they're looking for." You retorted nonchalantly, with a lustful smile. "And I cannot deny a woman's desire to have a good orgasm, to experience the pleasure that her husband cannot provide her"

In the few moments that he's been with you, he's been surprised by how straightforward you are, how sure you are of yourself and your desires. Your confidence is a turn on, your seductive smile a lure that makes his heart beat faster.

"And how would you provide such good sex?" He asks as his hand traces your cheek. His touch is soft and gentle, yet so sensual, almost hypnotic.

"It depends on what they want. Some have interesting fantasies." You shrug, your eyes exude self-confidence and self-esteem. "But maybe making them squirm in the bed they share with their husbands is my guilty pleasure."

"Hmm, I can tell you're the kind of woman that gets off on dominance." He leans in closer, his voice low and sensuous. His touch is a hint of softness on your cheek, gentle yet sensual.

"Have you ever been with couples? Have you ever been the third that made a wife beg for more?"

"As they say, the more the merrier" You smiled mischievously, looking at him from beneath your long eyelashes.

Anakin laughs softly as you answer. You are so unapologetically sensual and confident, it's almost intoxicating to him. He can't help but feel you in by your charms, your teasing smile and sensuous glances.

"I guess you could say that..." He leans in closer, his breath tickling your neck. "So, how many couples have you been a part of?"

"I don't fuck and tell" You retorted maliciously.

Anakin chuckles softly. He loves those sassy and cheeky answers you give him.

"Very well, keep your secrets, sweetheart." He leans in closer again, his breaths tickling your neck. His hand traces a circle on your thigh. "But I have a question for you."

"Of course you do." You giggled sensually. "You're such a curious little thing, aren't you?"

Anakin smiles slyly, the sound of your laughter hitting his ears like a sweet melody. The touch of your warm breath on his neck is making his heart beat faster.

"Yes I'm curious," he murmurs, his voice low and sensual. His hand moves up to your thigh, his touch becoming more insistent. "But most of all, I'm curious about one thing..."

"What would it be?" You raise your eyebrow curiously. Your hand running up his leg, and shamelessly squeezing his thigh.

Anakin sighs softly at your teasing, your hand grazing his thigh and squeezing softly. The feeling of your touch sends shivers down his body.

"It's something I've been meaning to ask you..." His voice cracks a bit as he speaks, the touch of your hand so intoxicatingly erotic.

"Uhm?" You urge him to continue.

He bites his lips for a moment, debating with himself before he whispers a single, simple word.

"Kiss me."

You laugh, pulling away just enough to meet his eyes.

"Not that easy, luv, you need to earn it" You whisper mischievously in his ear, your warm breath sending shivers down his spine.

Anakin chuckles softly at your teasing. You're so difficult, he can't help but admire your tenacity. Your flirtatiousness is so intoxicating to him, it makes his heart beat faster.

"Oh I'll earn it," he purrs in response, taking your hand and placing it on your thigh. "But how do you suggest I do that? Should I beg, or would you like me on my knees?"

"Perhaps both" You smile sensually. "You can have an extra for that" Your voice is full of mischievousness and shameless flirtation.

Your response makes him laugh softly. You're so bold and flirty, it almost hurts. He can't help but admire how you confidently wield your femininity, the way you tease and tempt him with your words is making him want you more and more.

"Are you always this cheeky?" He asks, his finger tracing your lips.

"Most of my life" You retorted, moving closer to him, your nose touching his neck.

Anakin can't help but shiver at the feeling of your warm breath on his neck, the way it's sending shudders through him is alluring.

"I'm begging for you..." Anakin whispers softly, looking into your eyes with total submission, his body trembling under your grip.

"Please, please kiss me..." He begs softly, his voice is filled with desperation and need.

"That's better, good boy" You smile mischievously, the compliment causes a mix of lust and humiliation for him. The way you play with him is almost cruel, leaving him vulnerable and begging.

You crash your lips against his, your hand still holds the sides of his cloak to keep Anakin in place.

The way you kiss him is so demanding, so aggressive yet sexy and sensual at the same time. The feeling of your body pinned against his puts him at your mercy, he isn't in control at all, he's your victim, your toy, and he loves every second of it.

His mouth meets yours in an intense kiss, your dominance sending shivers through him. Your bodies are so close to each other that your heat is radiating against him, which makes him blush with a mix of shame and excitement.

"Open your mouth" You demand, your tongue tracing the seam of his lips.

Anakin can't help but moan softly at your forceful yet sensual orders. Your tongue tracing the seam of his lips sends shivers down his spine. So intense and erotic, the feeling of your tongue invading his mouth is intoxicating.

He opens his mouth and his tongue meets yours in an explosive kiss. Your bodies are so close and pressed against each other, he can't help but moan again in sheer pleasure. Anakin can do nothing but submit to you, your dominance is insatiable.

For a moment you are locked in a deep, sensual, passionate kiss, your tongue exploring each other's mouths with a delicious hunger. It feels so naughty but so good, the heat of your bodies pressed against each other is almost too much.

Anakin can't help but moan again, and again, and again, letting your dominance take over, letting you lead. He's helplessly intoxicated with desire, the powerlessness he feels is somehow so erotic. Your intense, sensual kisses will haunt him for the rest of the night.

You break the kiss, and Anakin can't help but groan at the loss of your lips. You laughed mockingly at his reaction, pulling his shirt to stop him from trying to do anything without you demanding.

Anakin moans softly as you pull away, your cruel tease causing an almost unbearable feeling of deprivation in him.

You know how to play with his desires, the way you laugh at his groan of frustration drives him mad with desire. Your hand gripping his cloak is too tempting, the feeling of your touch makes him squirm in anticipation. Your dominance is irresistible, taking control of his body and mind, making him putty in your hands.

"Perhaps we should move this to a more private place" You suggest, wiping off the smudges on your red lipstick from the shared kisses with your finger.

Your voice sounds like velvet, wrapping around him and making him purr in agreement. The way you hold him by the sides of his cloak makes Anakin almost feel like your puppy, and he realizes with surprise and shame that he doesn't care. In fact, there is something attractive about being your pet who will fulfill your every desire.

Anakin grins softly when you suggest moving to a more private place, the sound of your soothing voice wrapping around him like a caress. The feeling of being your pet is so intoxicatingly erotic, the way you hold him by his clothes is so dominating and yet so irresistible.

He lets out a soft growl and nods his head, his body quivering in anticipation for what's to come. The feeling of submission from being your toy is so delicious, he can't help but want to let you treat him like an obedient pet.

"Good boy" You praise him.

Anakin can't help but shiver at your playful pat on his head, a jolt of excitement flooding through him as his body reacts to your touch. He lets out a soft moan when you pull his clothes like a leash, your touch is so tantalizing and teasing. You're treating his body as if it's not his, as if it's just your toy to play with.The feeling of submission fills him with a mix of excitement and shame, his pants tighten in anticipation of what you will do to him when you are between four walls...

#anakin skywalker x you #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin smut #hayden christensen x reader #hayden christensen #star wars

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mandos-mind-trick · 8 months

Text

The Video - Part 2

Summary: You and Cody race to do damage control after his mistake.

Pairing: Commander Cody x reader

Warnings: Lots of mentions of a sex tape, excessive use of the word ass, men being gross (not clones though they're gentlemen...well...most of them), may give you secondhand embarrassment, fluff, a tiny bit of angst, feelings, okay it's mostly a crackfic more than anything else

A/N: Whatever aligned in the universe that allowed me to pump out 4k words today after a week of nothing, bless you. The long awaited sequel. I decided not to add in smut since it didn't really feel right. It's kinda serious with lots of jokes thrown in to lighten it up. Also a few hints at some...things, so...if you can figure those out then cookies for you!!

< Previous | MASTERLIST

You hit him with surprising strength. Maybe it was the anger burning through you, or perhaps it was the shock he had to be feeling that left him so vulnerable and allowed for you to force him into the supply closet rather easily.

“What the fuck did you do?” You hiss at him under your breath as soon as the door closes.

He’s standing there, wide eyed and lips parted as he tries to process what he had just seen. You’re angry. Beyond angry. It burns through you red hot, heating your entire body so much you feel like you’re standing next to an open fire. Shame also burns through you, fueling the fire. The entire GAR has seen parts of you that were meant to be kept private. Though it would be impossible for anyone to figure out it was you, the knowledge that likely even GAR command and the Generals have seen you naked by this point is enough to send you spiraling.

“How the fuck did this happen, Cody?” You breathe, trying to calm yourself enough that you don’t punch the Marshal Commander standing in front of you.

“I-I don’t know.” He says, running a hand through his hair, brows furrowing in stress. “I swear I dropped it into my private files.”

“Well, you obviously didn’t!” You snap, not even feeling guilty when he flinches. “Now my bare ass is all over the GAR network.”

“It’s a nice ass.” He shrugs.

He nearly folds under your glare. You could probably scare the General with a look like that.

“Fix this.” You grit out from between your teeth.

He nods slowly, brain trying to get over the shock of what had happened and formulate a plan at the same time. “Right. I can access the GAR servers and delete the video. That will prevent anyone from accessing it and downloading it. Of course, if it’s already been downloaded, then that’s going to pose an issue.”

“Yeah? Figure that out too.” You take a deep breath, holding it for a moment before you let it out. “I’m going to go do my job and when I’m done, that video better be history.” You command.

He has half a mind to salute you, but you might actually hit him.

***

You hate it. Every person you pass, clone or civilian, on the way from the barracks to the hangar is a reminder of what happened. They’ve likely all seen the video. You wouldn’t be surprised if it made it past the confines of the GAR and onto the holoweb for anyone in the galaxy to see.

You can just imagine the title it’s been bestowed with.

“Hot chick bangs clone trooper.”

“Human girl takes huge clone dick.”

“Barrack bunny commands clone trooper in bed.”

“Sexy civilian fucks the brain right out of a Marshal Commander causing him to accidentally upload their sex tape onto the GAR server.”

You want to scream. You had screamed into your pillow before exiting the barracks. You could scream again. You could scream until you have no voice left.

You curse hyperspace as you make your way into the hangar. If the ship had still been docked on Coruscant, you might have just packed your bag and deserted the army. Hidden out in the underworld until it was safe for you to emerge. If you emerged at all. Instead you’re stuck on this floating prison hurtling at light speed through hyperspace to its next battle with all of its inhabitants replaying your sex tape over and over.

You really want to scream as you spot your fellow civilian mechanics all huddled around a datapad. You don’t have to approach to know what they’re watching. Everyone was watching it.

“Hey, have you seen the video?” One of your coworkers asks as you grab a different datapad.

You fight the inner panic rising. You have to play this cool. Any strange behavior or answer might make them suspicious. “Yeah.” You answer, not looking up. “Who hasn’t?”

“Kriff, I wish that were me.” Another one says. “She’s so hot!”

Your hands tighten just a little around the datapad. Being forced into a room of people watching the video was hard enough. The commentary is going to make you snap.

“Who do you think it is?” Your coworker asks as he leans his arm on your shoulder.

“Don’t know.” You duck out from under him, nearly making him fall over. “All I’ve heard is it’s probably some barrack bunny.” Saying it nearly has your cheeks burning again.

“Whoever she is, I’d like to know so I can hit her up, if you know what I mean.” He wiggles his eyebrows, the others all laughing.

“We have work to do.” You snap, holding up the datapad in your hand. “We have inspections to do and not a lot of time to do them.”

They all grumble, but they know you’re right. If you can’t get the inspection report to the Admiral in time, you’ll all have hell to pay.

“You’re awful tense this morning.” Your coworker says as he follows you to the nearest gunship.

“We have a lot to do before the boys can ship out.” You say. “And you’re sitting around watching porn.”

“We’re just having fun.” He shrugs.

“Have fun on shore leave.” You push the datapad into his chest a little too hard. “You’re on duty as soon as you step on this ship.”

“Obviously not everyone agrees with that.” Another coworker says as he passes by, making everyone laugh.

You’re fuming. You had thought you could play it cool, but you should have known better. You’re one of the few women on this ship, the others all being medics. Of course they wouldn’t care about some poor girl being broadcast across the GAR for anyone to see, regardless of who it was.

You should have gone to medical school.

“Aww man. It’s gone.” Someone complains.

You step around a gunship out of sight, leaning against the side. You let out a quiet sigh of relief, the tenseness of your shoulders easing. At least Cody had managed that bit.

“Don’t worry, I downloaded it.”

The relief is gone.

***

“I know the food’s bad, but I don’t think glaring at it is going to change anything.”

You nearly jump as a tray is placed next to yours. You look stressed, you know you do. You had barely managed to get through half of the day between your coworkers comments and the video constantly being replayed around you despite it being removed from the server.

Waxer and Boil seat themselves on either side of you. Two clone troopers you were hoping to avoid. It wasn’t that you didn’t like them. You love Waxer and Boil. They never cease to make you laugh and you consider them your friends. But you know they’re going to want to talk about the video. The last thing you want to do right now is talk about the video. You’re at your limit, and you might do something stupid.

“The General is calling a meeting later.” Waxer says. “I bet it’s about the video.”

“I overheard Cody saying all the Legions are holding meetings to talk about it.” Boil says. “Probably gonna come up with some kind of punishment for watching it on duty.”

Good. You think. At least that way you could avoid it during the work day. Of course, you’ll have to avoid common areas for a while.

“We’ve got a plan, though.” Boil continues.

Your breath catches in your lungs. Your hand tightens around your fork, the lumps of “food” on your tray looking even less appetizing than they had moments ago.

“We’re going to figure out who it is.” Waxer says, leaning in close. “We’ve already got some headway in our quest.”

You take a sip of your drink, wishing it was something much stronger. “Like what?” You ask, cursing the way your voice shakes.

Boil pulls out a datapad, setting it up right in front of you so all three of you can see. You wish you could be anywhere but here right now he pulls up screenshots of the video. Thankfully they’re zoomed in, any shots of your body, or Cody’s are unrecognizable and blurry.

Boil flips through screenshot after screenshot. “It’s definitely a commander, whoever it was.” He says. “These are commander's quarters on a starship. And it’s definitely a clone.” He says, flipping through very zoomed in shots of Cody’s lower body.

“Too bad she’s human. Would have been really easy to figure out who it was if she wasn’t.” Waxer says, wiggling his brows.

You know what they’re implying. They probably deserve a reprimand for even suggesting it, for speaking about a General and a commander in that way, but you don’t have it in you to scold them. Besides, it’s not exactly a secret that rumors float around about the 327th.

You can’t say much, you’re fucking a Marshal Commander of the GAR. Well, you were.

Cody will be lucky if you let him within breathing distance of you ever again.

“We’re looking at any possible identifying marks on either of them.” Waxer says. “We may be clones, but we do have subtle differences.”

“Besides, I’m not likely to forget a body like that.” Boil says, whistling lowly as he flips to a screenshot of you on your stomach, the curves of your body very visible from the angle.

You wore your loosest fitting uniform today for that very reason. One less chance of someone staring at you just a little too hard, in the video and in person.

You just hope Waxer and Boil don’t have that kind of intimate knowledge of Cody’s anatomy.

“So, what do you say?” Boil asks, pulling you from your thoughts. “You in?”

You blink at him for a moment. “Oh, uh, I’m kind of busy right now. Inspections and stuff, you know.” You stand, not having touched your food but you haven’t had much of an appetite all day. “But, uh, let me know if you do figure it out?”

You’d know if they did really figure it out regardless.

***

You want to cry. You feel like you might as you enter your barracks. The medics are on break, their last moment to get some rest before the guys ship out tomorrow and they begin a long stretch of treating injuries.

Naturally, they’re all discussing the video.

Sitting through the meeting with the entirety of the population on The Negotiator had almost been unbearable. You had been squished between Waxer and Boil and their quiet discussion of their investigation hadn’t helped any. They weren’t much closer to figuring out who it was in the video, but they were determined.

You’re not sure you’ve seen them so determined about anything since the last prank they pulled on Cody.

You had been able to see Cody from where you were sitting. He had been cool and collected as always, nothing to give any hint at his involvement in the situation. Nothing to hint he was the reason they were having it in the first place.

You wished you could have that much composure.

Listening to the General and the Admiral discuss the situation and the video had felt almost demeaning. The shame that had coursed through you was enough to send your head spinning. You had feigned exhaustion, glad it was Boil next to you as you leaned against him for support.

At least they had banned it from being played on duty or in any common areas.

The GAR was calling for all datapads to be wiped as well, to remove any downloads or copies of the video that might slip through the cracks. That would have to wait until after the campaign, though.

You silently thank Cody. As mad as you were at him, he was at least trying to rectify this. You’re not sure you’ll be able to forgive him, or trust him with something like this again, but he was trying.

“It’s demeaning, just standing around watching things like that.” One of the medics says as you sink down on your thin mattress. It’s far from comfortable, but right now, you’d take anything.

You’re exhausted from the stress of the day. It feels like it’s been a week, not a few hours since Cody’s mistake. It almost feels surreal now that your homemade sex tape found its way onto the GAR server for anyone to see. For all of the GAR to see. They had seen, even the higher ups. Even the Jedi.

You lay yourself out, covering your face with the pillow. You wish you could disappear, that some portal might open under your bed and swallow you whole.

“I can only imagine how your day went.” Your bunk mate says, squeezing your leg. “Alone with all those men in the hangar.”

“It was nonstop.” You say, lifting the pillow just enough that your words are audible. “All day. Playing it, talking about it.”

“At least they’re banning it from work spaces.” She says, climbing onto the bunk. “If I have to hear it one more time I’m going to smash all the datapads on this ship.”

“Whoever she is, she’s one lucky girl.” Someone else says.

Calls of agreement ring out around the barracks.

“What I wouldn’t give to bag just one of them, and there’s some lucky lady out there with a commander totally in love with her.” She sighs, dropping dramatically on her bed.

“How do you know they’re in love?” You ask, removing the pillow from your face.

“Just by the way they interact.” The girl on the bunk beside yours says. “The way he touches her, the way he moves. He’s down bad for her.”

You try to keep your cheeks from warming once again. Is Cody in love with you? You had never teased the idea. What you two had was purely physical, good fun and stress release. Nothing more. Or...was it? Even in your roughest, most desperate moments there was a tenderness to Cody when it came to you. You should feel at least a little proud that you made the pinnacle of control that was Marshal Commander Cody so pussy drunk he messed up in the worst way possible, but was there more to it?

Is Cody in love with you?

***

You’re half asleep at breakfast. The campaign will begin in a matter of hours. It will be quiet for a while for you at the start before the calls start coming in. Ships coming back for emergency servicing, requests for more ammo, more supplies, more ships, more troops. You’d be in the heat of it in the hangar, and the chances you’d get to rest over the next few weeks were going to be few and far between.

So were your chances to see Cody.

You jump as trays hit the table next to you, blinking away the bleariness as you glance between Waxer and Boil. They’re both grinning, mischievous glints in your eyes. You’ve gone the whole two hours you’ve been up without thinking about the video, too tired to put much thought into it, but now...now you’re worried.

Had they figured it out somehow?

Waxer sets a datapad in a familiar spot in front of you at the table. He pulls up a screenshot from the video, obviously not deterred by the new rules about having the video in common areas.

“Look.” Waxer says, pointing to a very blurry, zoomed in screenshot of the side of Cody’s ass. “There’s a mark right there.”

You squint at the blurry dark spot. You wipe the screen to make sure it’s not something stuck, but it’s not. There is, in fact, a small dark spot on Cody’s ass. You’ve never noticed it before.

“Okay?” You say, staring at the screen still.

“I don’t have one of those.” Waxer says.

“Neither do I. We checked.” Boil continues. “We checked with a few others too. So whoever this is, has a unique spot right on his ass.”

“And...what do you plan to do with this information?” You ask, looking between them. “Ask every clone commander in the GAR to pull down his pants so you can check for a spot on his ass cheek?”

Waxer rests his chin on his hand, brows furrowing. “That is going to be a complication.”

“Besides, how can you be sure it was a commander?” You continue, desperate to get them off the case before either they figured it out, or got in trouble for still having the video and many, many screenshots of it. “How do you know it’s not someone else using the commander’s quarters for more privacy. I wouldn’t want to film in the barracks if it were me.”

They share a look over your head. “You’re right. This is going to be harder than we thought.”

You pat their shoulders as you stand, an idea beginning to form in your mind. “Worry about the battle right now. You can do this when you get back.”

You give them both a smile before you head towards the hangar, your stomach fluttering nervously. You hadn't slept much last night, your thoughts racing, replaying and analyzing every interaction you’ve had with Cody, both private and public. Things you might have overlooked, hidden signs that he harbors more for you than just lust.

You had also come up with a plan, a plan you were determined to enact before he shipped off to the planet where he’d spend what was going to likely be weeks in the heat of battle. He’d be planetside the entire fight, doing his job as commander.

You nervously rock on your toes as you wait for Cody. You hadn’t warned him you were waiting, hadn’t told him you were going to confront him. He probably had so much to think about, so much to worry about the last thing he needs is an ambush by you, but you have to know. You have to know before you’re stuck worrying for weeks whether or not you’ll ever get to know.

You all but ram into him, sending him stumbling into a closet as he walks by. It’s nothing but fate that you were alone in the hallway, that no one was walking by or walking with him to prevent this from happening.

He rights himself as the closet door closes, staring at you with wide eyes. His gaze softens, an almost guilty look crossing his face as he recognizes you. He says your name quietly, the guilt prevalent in his tone.

“I’m so sorry.” He says, avoiding looking at you. “I should have been more careful. I put us both at risk and then everyone was talking about it all day and I can’t imagine how horrible it was for you to have to listen to that nonstop.”

“Yeah, it was pretty awful.” You say, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“I wouldn’t blame you if you never forgive me. I wouldn’t blame you if you said you never wanted to see me again. You didn’t deserve this and it’s not fair to you. I know my apologies don’t mean anything, and it can never totally be undone, but I’ve been trying hard to rectify this and-”

“Shut up.” You cut him off. You kind of liked him groveling a bit and it was reassuring he at least feels bad for it. You knew it wasn’t intentional. You knew he didn’t mean to do it. You know he feels bad, he’ll likely always feel bad about it. He can save the apologies for later. You need to ask him before you lose your nerve. “Shut up and listen.”

He blinks at you in surprise, but he stays quiet. You’d get one hell of a reprimanding if you ever spoke like that to him outside private spaces.

You take a breath, staring into those dark eyes. “Do you love me?”

His eyes widen just a bit, lips parting as he takes in your words. It’s bold, asking so directly, but you don’t have a lot of time. He’s shipping out in less than an hour. You could save the fluffy words for when he comes back.

“Some of the girls in the barracks last night were talking about the video and they said they could tell they love each other just by the way they move. The way you touch me.” You step up closer to him, close enough to touch. “I never noticed it, I never really bothered to. I didn’t think...it was just supposed to be for pleasure, right? But...someone who’s supposed to be just a casual fling isn’t supposed to look at me like that.”

He gulps, his hand slowly lifting to your arm. His gloved fingers are warm, even through the thick material of your uniform. You know what they feel like against your bare skin. You know how dangerous those hands can be, but you also know how soft they can be. How gentle.

How loving.

“It’s a risk.” He finally says, breaking eye contact. “Fraternization of any kind could lead to decommission, even a court-martial. If anyone found out...both of us would get in trouble. It would be an abuse of authority, we could both face consequences...”

Your stomach starts to sink. He’d never voiced his concerns to you. You knew it was a risk getting involved with him, you knew what would happen if anyone found out. He had never shown any concern for the rules. Perhaps, though, with his mistake, his mind had changed.

“I never cared.” He continues, his fingers trailing up to your shoulder. “It was worth the risk, you were worth the risk. It was supposed to be casual. Nothing more than some stress release. Plenty of others do it.” His hand continues to your neck, cupping the back of it. “It wasn’t supposed to become love.”

His words take a moment to process in your mind. He loves you. He loves you. It is true. It wasn’t just your mind playing tricks on you, hoping for something more in those glances, in those touches.

Cody loves you.

“Cody,” You whisper as he leans down, pressing his forehead against yours. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t know how. I wasn’t sure it was what you wanted.” His breath is warm across your face. You’ve been this close before, you’ve been closer before, but none of it had felt like this. “I would happily suffer in silence if it meant I got to keep you forever.”

You laugh, lifting your hands to cup his face. “You idiot.” Your thumbs rub his cheeks. “I love you too.”

He closes the distance between you two, kissing you softly. It’s different from the other kisses you’ve shared. The passionate ones, the heated ones in the throes of lust. This one is soft, emotional, full of the unspoken love you both share.

You hate having to pull away from him as his comm beeps. You hate that you’ve waited this long to notice, this long to say anything. He’s going away to war where the chances of him dying are high, and you’ll be stuck here, helpless to listen to the comms and hope his name doesn’t come up, or his body isn’t delivered on a gunship.

“Say it.” You whisper, holding him close to you just for a moment longer.

“I love you.” He says it with such conviction it almost knocks you off your feet.

A smile tugs at your lips as you release him, letting him adjust himself before you sneak out of the closet. The halls are thankfully empty as everyone is gathering to prepare for shipping out. You wish you could hold his hand as you walk, but it’s too risky. Even if you managed to brush it off as nothing but emotional support for the rapidly approaching campaign, there’s too much going on right now.

The last thing you need is someone else investigating you two and finding out Cody does, in fact, have a mark on his ass cheek that matches the one in the video.

“Commander Cody.”

A voice at the other end of the hall has you both freezing. Your heart drops into your stomach, and your stomach drops through the floors under you and out the bottom of the ship. You both turn, your face probably a painting of guilt and terror as you face General Kenobi.

“Sir.” Cody salutes him.

You manage a stiff salute as well.

“We’re deploying in ten minutes.” General Kenobi says. “It’s time for a final gear check.”

“Yes, sir.” Cody nods, gripping his helmet just a little tighter.

“Also,” Your hope for a quick retreat is squashed as the General eyes you both. “I would suggest a little more care is used when saving your...personal files.”

You think you might die on the spot, a nervous sweat breaking out across your entire body. He knows. He knows and you’re about to get fired, or worse, court-martialed. It’s over. It’s over before it even got a chance to start.

“I will see you in the hangar in eight minutes.” He says before walking past you to the lifts.

You stare after him in shock. The General knew. He knew it was at least Cody in the video. He hadn’t seemed like he was going to report you, in fact he hadn’t seemed bothered at all.

You turn to look at Cody wide eyed. “He knows.”

Cody nods. “Yes. He does.”

Your gaze moves back to the lifts, your heart pounding rapidly in your chest. You’re not sure you’re going to last with all the stress, and there’s still an entire campaign to get through.

“Wait-” You hold your hand out before Cody can walk away. “How exactly did he know it was you?”

Cody’s lips lift in a smirk, his shoulder lifting in a shrug. “No idea. Must be a Jedi thing.”

You squint your eyes at his back as he makes his way to the lifts. “Yeah, a ‘Jedi thing.’”

***

Everyone is exhausted. You can feel it in the air without even having to look at anyone. Even those of you that hadn’t seen any combat were feeling it, your own feet dragging as you move through the mess line. You need a long sleep and a few stiff drinks before you’ll even begin to feel back to normal. Everyone is moving slowly, bodies slumped over trays at tables, some having even fallen asleep sitting up.

You drag yourself to the table Cody is sitting at, taking the seat across from him. You stare down at the “food” on your tray, none of it appetizing but you are hungry.

You also haven’t heard mention of the video in weeks.

It’s been a nice break, everyone too focused on staying alive and keeping others alive to make any mention of it. Things have settled and before long some other controversy will start and most of them will forget it ever happened.

Two trays hit the table on either side of you, making you jump. You glance to both sides as Waxer and Boil take their seats next to you. They both look tired, but they also look disappointed.

“What happened to you two?” You ask, looking between the two pouting clones.

“Someone deleted all our research.” Boil says. “Every last screenshot and file is gone.”

You pout in sympathy, patting his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I know you put a lot of work into that.”

He nods. “We were so close. Now it was all for nothing.”

You glance across at Cody’s raised eyebrow, giving him a sly wink before you go back to comforting the two dejected clones.

Taglist:

@kaminocasey, @rosechi @mxkyrie @bobaprint @star-trekker-0013 @padawancat97 @bamfahsoka @rain-on-kamino @thrawnspetgoose @lune-de-miel-au-paradis @wolffegirlsunite @dukeoftheblackstar @starrylothcat @blueink-bluesoul @freesia-writes @anxiouspineapple99 @wings-and-beskar @dystopicjumpsuit @littlemissmanga @madameminor @eris-k @clio3kantarella @moonlightwarriorqueen @sleepingsun501 @originalcollectionartistry @maddiedrmr @idontgetanysleep @clonemedickix @523rdrebel @deejadabbles @starqueensthings @multi-fan-dom-madness @sinfulsalutations

#star wars #star wars fic #the clone wars #the clone wars fic #commander cody x reader #x reader #the dark side fic

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bilbosmom-belladonna · 3 months

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Chapters: 10/15 Fandom: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: CC-1010 | Fox/Quinlan Vos, CC-2224 | Cody & CC-1010 | Fox, CC-1010 | Fox & Clone Commander Thorn Characters: CC-1010 | Fox, Quinlan Vos, CC-2224 | Cody, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Clone Commander Thorn (Star Wars), Original Clone Trooper Character(s) (Star Wars), Sheev Palpatine | Darth Sidious, Original Characters Additional Tags: Mystery, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Language, Quinlan Vos is a Little Shit, POV CC-1010 | Fox, CC-1010 | Fox-centric, CC-1010 | Fox is So Done, Coruscant Guard (Star Wars), Strangers to Lovers, Slow Burn, Psychometry, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Planet Coruscant (Star Wars), Coruscant Underworld (Star Wars), Explicit Sexual Content, Anal Sex, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Additional Warnings In Author's Note Summary:

Most people living in the upper levels of Coruscant didn't give much thought to what happened to their trash. But when trillions of people are living on top of one another it builds up fast. The privileged probably assumed it was burnt or buried or shipped off to some other planet. The truth was, when trash has nowhere left to go, it doesn't disappear. It simply stops being trash and becomes something else. Part of the landscape, a feature, a landmark. Eventually, even the ground underfoot.

The detritus of a thousand generations, discarded and crushed and compressed until eventually it was indistinguishable from the intentional structures around it. Coruscanti schist, the bedrock of the planet. The present and the future built on the bones and middens of the past.

So when Fox said Coruscant was a city built on its own filth, he meant it literally.

When a handful of clones unexpectedly attack their Jedi, Commander Fox is tasked with clearing their names before "justice" is served. He and his reluctant partner, the peculiar Jedi Quinlan Vos, pursue their investigation deep into Coruscant’s underworld.

🔍🦊🧤

Chapters 1-10 are now up on ao3! We are deep in the mystery now, folks, hold on to your butts!

#my writing #cb2023 #ao3 link #star wars fanfiction #star wars #tcw fanfic #commander fox #quinlan vos #fox/quinlan #foxquin #quinlan x fox #coruscant #coruscant guard #coruscant underworld #mystery fic

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smhalltheurlsaretaken · 1 year

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I've said all of this stuff already but I'm pissed rn and it's therapeutic to type it out:

Maul's presence on Mandalore in TCW s7 is NOT a priority. The political situation on Mandalore, while shitty, has been the same for the civilian population since s5, with or without Maul there. Things can wait a bit.

Sure, capturing Maul is possibly time sensitive (since they don't know how long he'll be on-planet), but taking back Mandalore isn't. If Maul leaves before they show up the planet is just as easy to take. Bo-Katan is using his presence as an incentive because she doesn't have the necessary forces to win, whether or not he's there. The situation is only urgent for her because if Maul leaves then the Republic has no reason to help her cause. The situation is not urgent for Mandalore because, again, it's been the same for basically a year - Maul's presence has little impact on the people, his forces are the problem and they have never left.

The Republic didn't "refuse" to help after s5, they just had no more reason to. Almec is still legitimately Prime Minister (accepted by the people) and Mandalore is an independent sovereign system that has spent actual years refusing outside interference. The second Maul bails "helping" goes back to being called "invading".

Capturing Maul is also not even a priority to the Republic (Republic =/= Jedi Order) because Palpatine ordered the Jedi to stop bothering with him in s5. Officially Maul is 'just' a crime lord, and he's not allied with the Separatists or even attacking the Republic. It's well established in TCW that the Jedi don't have the manpower to deal with the underworld anymore. What's the point of dismantling black markets and crime rings if the planet gets bombed into oblivion the next day? Priorities.

The Jedi can't do what they want with Republic resources. As awful as it is, the Clones belong to the Republic. The Jedi can be ordered to pull out of a situation whenever the Senate pleases. (see above)

Capturing Maul (what would be the Jedi's goal going to Mandalore) would really best be accomplished somewhere he doesn't have all his forces backing him up (again, confronting there is for Bo-Katan's benefit because her own goal isn't just to capture Maul but to beat his forces which she wants the Republic to do for her)

The Battle of Coruscant is ABSOLUTELY a pivotal point in the war and the main priority. The second the Separatists show up above the Republic's central seat of power? The political and military capital? The most densely populated planet in the Galaxy? It's time to drop literally everything else. The Senate is there. The Temple is there. A LOT of their troops are stationed there. There are hundreds of thousands of billions of people living there. Even pulling forces out of allied worlds to go help Coruscant wouldn't be a dick move, just a desperate one - nevermind waiting to send troops to a neutral-on-a-good-day-and-more-or-less-enemy-the-rest-of-the-time world.

The Jedi don't even refuse to help.

They don't.

Why am I typing all of this to defend their refusal to help? They don't refuse to help.

Obi-Wan wants to take a hot minute to THINK ABOUT the implications of going guns blazing into neutral sovereign territory to confront a dude who has an extremely personal vendetta against him and is known to set traps of precisely this kind. (And Obi-Wan is right to consider these things because HEY! IT IS A TRAP! MAUL SLAUGHTERS A BUNCH OF CLONES AS A BREADCRUMBS TRAIL TO LEAD SOMEONE HE HOPES TO BE OBI-WAN INTO A TRAP!)

Obi-Wan also answers to the rest of Council, just like every other Council member. Bo-Katan gets pissy that he's not giving an answer right that instant because SHE needs Maul to still be there, but thinking things through is literally Obi-Wan's job description.

And after all this, after the attack on Coruscant and the political considerations, THE JEDI DON'T EVEN REFUSE TO HELP.

The Mandalorian traditionalists' favorite pastime is attempting to kill Jedi. Not too long ago, Bo was right there when Pre was trying to kill Obi-Wan. And then trying to kill Ahsoka. And then allying with the Sith (who notoriously want to kill all the Jedi) on two separate occasions (Dooku and Maul). The Mandos PRIDE THEMSELVES on hating the Jedi. There has never been in canon an instance of a Prequels-era Mando warrior helping a Jedi out for altruistic motives.

Bo-Katan is appealing to the Order's decency (saying that her people suffer etc etc) but she doesn't even have the honesty to couch it as a real, desperate plea for help. Instead she presents the situation as transactional, as though she was bringing anything concrete onto the table. If the Republic comes in, takes Mandalore for her and captures Maul, she has contributed to the effort how, exactly? What has she given the Republic? How many people fight for her is left pretty vague but we really don't see that many of them. Plus it's her planet. Fighting for it isn't her giving the Republic anything, it's still her helping herself. And yet she gets incredibly pissed when Obi-Wan takes time to examine the 'deal.'

In light of the two previous arguments, the Jedi would in fact have been perfectly justified in telling Bo to eat some freaking humble pie.

THE JEDI. DON'T REFUSE. TO HELP.

Sure it's Obi-Wan specifically who okays the operation, before the rest of the Council can make a decision, but do they order the troops to pull out afterwards? Nope. Do they sanction him? Nope.

They do help.

They really shouldn't have let Bo-Katan in charge but hey, they get all massacred after that and the Republic's backing is literally what gives Bo-Katan legitimacy in the eyes of many clans for decades after (see the Protectors' position in Rebels. Her legitimacy stems from SATINE'S and the Republic apparently backing her up as Satine's heir. It's not from kicking Maul out.)

(I love Bo-Katan as a character but as a person she's. huh. a lot. She changed from outright villain to morally gray character because the villains got a lot worse not bc she got better lmo)

So the Jedi absolutely did help afgfdsdfgfdsdfd why are people getting pissy about Obi-Wan - who has a complicated history with Mandalore that involves a loved one getting murdered in front of his eyes by Maul - hesitating to help

They really didn't refuse to help.

They really had every reason to

It would have been perfectly reasonable in fact

Yeah they have a mandate to protect innocent people but there were a lot more innocent people on Coruscant

Innocent people who did want their help instead of yelling GTFO every time they showed up

Because the Mando civilians sure didn't want them there

Oh and also? They didn't refuse to help

#jedi order #tcw season 7 #siege of mandalore #bo-katan kryze #darth maul #obi-wan kenobi #long post #meta #my meta #more like me ranting #sw talk #the great siege of mandalore diatribe

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pedrito-friskito · 11 months

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cassian andor + smut prompt #10

i am a whore <3

nonnie if you're a whore I'm a whore 🤍

you called - cassian andor x fem!reader

word count: 3.1k (this one got away from me can you tell?)

warnings: unprotected p-in-v, brief oral (f receiving), jealous/possessive!cassian

“Two shots of Corellian whiskey, please,” you ask, stepping up to the bar beside Cassian. The sound of your voice almost makes him jump, but he hides the movement smoothly, adjusting in his seat. From the corner of his eye, he watches you lean back against the bar, propping your elbows on it. You wait for a few other patrons to pass before you drop your voice low. “You’re late.”

“I am not late,” he grumbles, polishing off the rest of his own drink. “I’ve been here waiting for you for hours now.”

You scoff a laugh, shaking your head. “After all this time and you still think you can lie to me, Cassian? You don’t think I had a lock on your ship the moment it entered the atmosphere?”

He balks, tries to hide it and fails. You’re good. Too good. He doesn’t say a word, shakes his head as the bartender returns with two shot glasses, placing them on the bar between you and him.

“That Fondor looks like it’s more mod than original,” you comment, reaching for one of the shots. “Where’d you steal it?”

“I didn’t steal it,” he shoots back, watching your brow raise. “It’s on loan, from a friend.”

“You don’t have friends, Cassian,” you quip, tossing back your shot. You slide the second one over to him. “Just people you owe money to.”

“I don’t owe you any money,” he mutters, unable to stop himself from giving you a cheeky grin. “What does that make us? Friends?”

“You know exactly what we are,” you return, giving him a sideways glance before setting your glass back down. “The mark just walked in. Keep an eye out, will you?”

“I always do,” he replies, and then you’re gone.

This is an old habit for Cassian. He’s known you a long time; you grew up on Ferrix same as him, but you managed to get off-world far before he could bring himself to. By the time he first met up with you on Coruscant, you had already started to make a name for yourself in the Capital’s underworld, and Cassian was in awe. He longed to get the hell off of Ferrix, to go somewhere warm and easy and carefree. He knew Coruscant wasn’t that place, but judging by the amount of credits you were raking in, it was a step in the right direction.

You sent for him often, over the years. He was the only one you trusted to watch your back, to keep a careful eye while you gathered intel, traded information with some of the shadier types in the galaxy. Most jobs went off without a hitch, but there were more than a handful of times where Cassian had started bar brawls to get you the hell out of dodge. He hadn’t had to kill anyone yet, but after everything that’s happened to him, he wouldn’t be surprised.

This is the first time he’s seen you, since everything happened on Ferrix. Maarva, Bix, B2. Luthen and his newborn rebellion. Cassian doesn’t totally know where he stands, what he’s doing, what his next move might be. But when he picked up your signal, Luthen loaned him the ship with little protest, and he was jumping through hyperspace an hour later.

You call, and he comes. It’s how it’s always been.

There had always been something between you, Cassian knew that much. His reputation might not have been the most pristine, but you never seemed to mind, having a bit of a rep yourself.

But tonight…He could hear the unspoken in your voice, the strain of the events of the last time you met up. The job hadn’t been the issue - it had gone perfectly, in fact - but after, you asked him to walk you back to the apartment you had on the other side of the district.

He’d done as you asked, going so far as to bring you right to your front door. You’d asked him if he wanted to come inside, and before he could get the word yes past his teeth, you’d grabbed him by the front of his collar, and kissed him.

Clothes scattered on the floor, you’d stumbled your way to your bedroom. It was…blissful, in a word. It was everything he felt like he was missing, and that unspoken thing rumbled through you both, but there in your bed, he didn’t think it needed to be spoken aloud. It just…was.

Morning had come too quickly, and when he woke, you were gone. No note, nothing, just his clothes folded and stacked on the table beside the bed. He’d dressed quickly, and got on the next ship to Ferrix.

He wants to ask. He wants to know why you didn’t stay, why you didn’t leave him any sign that you wanted him to stay. But after everything that’s happened, it feels inconsequential, almost.

Cassian drinks down the shot, setting the glass down on the bar with a little too much force. You’re easy to spot, weaving your way through the bar to a man lurking in the dark corner. Brow furrowing, his hand brushes over his coat, where his blaster sits, tucked against his hip. He’s gotten quick on the draw, since he last saw you.

The man spots you as you draw closer, and Cassian bristles at the recognition on his face. He’s glad to see you, and it only becomes more and more evident as the two of you move closer and closer together, heads bowed as you speak, the man’s hand moving to rest on your hip. Then it moves up your back, pressing into the dip of your spine, and Cassian grits his teeth.

Something like jealousy flares in his gut. No, not something like it, but the thing itself.

He wants to touch you like that again, like he had that night. Seeing someone else with their hands on you…his fingers twitch over the blaster again.

No, something else warns him, a clearer voice in his head. That won’t go well, and you know it.

So instead, he watches. He leans back as casually as he can, one elbow leaned on the bar, tapping his other hand against his thigh. The conversation doesn’t last much longer, and before he knows it, you’re returning to his side, a contented grin on your face.You toss your hair over your shoulder as you wave down the bartender again. “Another round.”

“Got everything you needed?”

“And then some,” you reply, looking at him over your shoulder. “Thank you for coming, Cassian.”

He just nods. “That’s what friends are for, right?”

“We’re not friends,” you say, shaking your head as the bartender brings you another two shots. You toss them both back quickly. “I thought we made that clear the last time you were here.”

“The last time?” he repeats, lifting a brow. “You mean when you dragged me to bed and disappeared the next morning? That last time?”

He doesn’t mean for it to come out with such venom, but it does. Jealousy has taken hold of him and refuses to let go. His blood boils with it.

You narrow your eyes at him, your tongue poking between your lips to wet them. He watches the movement and ignores the way it makes his trousers tighten. He’s mad at you, he’s so glad to see you, he’s infuriated at you for leaving him alone last time, he’s so in love with you he might burst into flames.

“You’re jealous,” you determine, and though everything in him screams YES!, he rolls his eyes, turning half away from you. But you don’t let him go far, grabbing his shoulder and spinning his stool back in your direction. “Tell me I’m wrong, Cassian.”

Your hand moves from his shoulder to his thigh, and Cassian’s jaw goes tight. “We are not friends.”

“No,” you agree. “We’re more than that.”

“And your way of telling me that was disappearing the next morning, waiting three months, and then calling me to be your sidekick again?”

Your face falls, and you step back, removing your hand from his leg. “Come with me.”

Without another word, you turn on your heel and stalk out of the bar. Cassian only finds it in him to move when you reach the doorway, and then he’s all but chasing you, walking the almost familiar path to your apartment. You take the stairs, seeming to float up them as Cassian almost struggles to keep up. He loses you for a moment, but when he reaches your door, it’s open, only closing when he steps inside.

He calls your name, hears your quiet in here come from the direction of your bedroom. The place looks the same as he remembers and as he rounds the corner of the hallway, stepping into your room, he finds you perched at the edge of your bed.

“I left in the morning to get us breakfast,” you admit, looking up at Cassian, your eyes shining in the dark. “I’m not here a lot, and there wasn’t any food, so I went to get us something. When I came back, you were gone, and I realized I’d made a mistake.”

He says your name again, softer, and you shake your head.

“And then I started hearing the rumours, about Ferrix, about you. I heard about Aldhani, about Narkina-5, all of it. I even called Brasso, and that was when he told me about Maarva. I’ve been trying to call you ever since then, but nothing was going through. Then I met Vel, and she gave me the right frequency to contact you.”

Cassian sighs, leaning against the doorway. He never even questioned how you’d gotten his contact info after he was off Ferrix…he just…

You called, he came.

“You met Vel,” he says, unsure of what else to say.

You nod. “Hell of a woman.”

Cassian nods. “So you know, then. About the Rebellion.”

“I do. Figured I should put my talents to good use. Better than ripping off ex-senators and making credits I don’t need. And, if it keeps me closer to you, then it’s a win on all sides, as far as I can tell.”

His stomach drops into his toes. “You’re joining?”

You nod again. “Aren’t you?”

“Yes. I tried to resist it, I really did. But now…everything else seems…”

“Meaningless?” you supply. You pull your eyes from his. “For what it’s worth, Cassian, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t call you sooner. I’m sorry about Maarva, Ferrix, all of it. ”

“You didn’t cause it,” he replies, propping his hands on his hips. “I did that all by myself.”

“Come here,” you say, your voice going soft and your eyes meeting his once more. “Please?”

Slowly, he closes the distance. He watches you reach for him, your hands moving to the belt that holds his blaster, undoing it quickly and letting it slip to the floor. He tries not to groan when your hands move under his loose shirt, fingers curling around his hips.

Silently, he shakes his coat off, letting it drop to the ground before he hooks two fingers in the back of his shirt, pulling it forward off his torso. It joins the pile on the floor and then he hisses, your teeth sinking into the skin over his hip bone. He lets one hand dive into your hair, holding you against him, feeling your tongue soothe the mark you’ve left behind.

“Promise me something,” he whispers, and you tilt your head back, pulling your mouth from his skin long enough to meet his eyes.

“Anything.”

“Promise you’ll still be here in the morning.”

“I promise.”

You kiss your way across his waist, fingers working the button on his trousers while you distract him with your mouth. He’s got both hands in your hair now, silk between his knuckles, and it almost pulls his focus completely, enough that you have to repeat the next words out of your mouth.

“You never answered me.”

“Huh?”

“Back at the bar, I said you were jealous. You never answered me.”

You pull his zipper down, snap the elastic of his boxers against his skin. Cassian hisses. “I thought it was obvious.”

“It was,” you agree, nipping at his hip again. “I just wanted to hear you say it.”

He tightens his grip on your hair and pulls, just hard enough that your head tilts back and he bends slightly, pulling his body away from yours, but putting his face close enough that he can feel your breath on his cheek.

“You have any idea how much I hated seeing someone else touch you? Someone else put their hands on you?”

You inhale sharply, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, and Cassian prods it with his thumb, pulling it free, rubbing the pad of his thumb across the plush of your lip. “Show me.”

And he does.

He makes quick work of your clothes, shucking his trouses off once you’re naked on the bed. You don’t let him go far, surging up to kiss him when he steps back to undress completely. Your hands are in his hair, same as his are in yours, and Cassian groans when you tug, both of you finding similar pleasure in the movement.

The first night was different. You’d stumbled your way through the dark, finding your peaks quickly. You’d fallen asleep after, and Cassian had watched you for a while before drifting off. That unspoken thing lulled him to sleep.

But now, he turns the bedside light on. The room illuminates with a soft orange glow, and he leans over you, until you fall back against the pillows and blankets, laid out for him, reaching for him. He molds himself into your palms, covers your body with his own.

The first night, he hadn’t had the chance to taste you. Refusing to miss out a second time, he arranges you on the bed, pushing your knees apart to make room for his shoulders, tracing his mouth along the inside of your thigh, eyes darting between your glistening cunt and your face, the way your eyes roll back in your skull when he buries his head between your legs and sucks your clit between his teeth.

He wants to feel you cum on his face, to feel your thighs tremble around his ears, but you have other ideas. You haul him up with a gasp, fitting your mouth to his and licking your taste out of his mouth. “I wanted to-” he starts, but you cut him off, reaching between your bodies and squeezing your fingers around his cock.

“Plenty of time for that later,” you murmur, lips at his jaw, words spoken into his skin. “Right now I need you inside me, Cass.”

He groans as you stroke him, curling your wrist just right, but then he pulls your hand away, pinning your wrists either side of your head. Using his knees, he spreads your legs wide and drops his hips, the tip of his cock dragging through your wetness.

“Please,” you beg, your own hips lifting, chasing him, trying to notch his cock at your entrance. He teases you a moment longer, waits for the angle to be just right, and then he pushes into you. Your fingers flex against the bedsheets, mouth dropping open with a moan as his hips press into yours. Your legs twitch, one calf wrapping around his thigh. “Cassian, fuck, oh my-”

He covers your mouth with his, swallowing down your words and moans. You tighten around him, impossibly so, and he starts to move, finding his rhythm, filling you to the hilt with each thrust only to pull out almost all the way and do it all over again. Over and over and over, and you’re babbling into his mouth, straining against his hold. He leans up just that much more, pulling his lips from yours, both of you staring down at the spot where you’re joined, where he’s disappearing into you with every move.

“I’m the only one who gets to touch you like this, yes?” he grunts, hearing you gasp as he gives you one particularly hard thrust. He feels your head wobble with a nod, but he wants to hear it. “Say it.”

“Only you, Cass,” you breathe out, throwing your head back as you go even tighter around him. “Oh gods, fuck, only you.”

Pleasure coils like a serpent at the base of his spine, and he drops, trying not to smother you with his weight, pressing his face into the arch of your throat. You moan loudly as he releases your hands, curling his own around your shoulders while yours find purchase in his hair again. The bed shakes with your movement, both legs lifting to wrap around his waist now, your ankles hooked together at the small of his back. “Please, please, please, please, please,” you beg and Cassian bites at your pulse, groaning into your skin as his release threatens to overtake him.

“Cum for me,” he says, and you obey.

Your back arches and you make the sweetest sounds. He wants to bottle them, keep them for himself. He rides out your orgasm, keeping his own pleasure at bay until you’ve caught your breath, sighing at the press of him inside you, pulling him close. “Now you,” you whisper, nipping at his ear, lifting your hips so he gets that much deeper inside you, the warmth enough to swallow him whole. “Let me feel you.”

You call, and he comes.

He growls into your throat, fingers digging deep into your shoulders. You press kisses along his cheek, the space below his ear, his temple. Murmurs of how good it feels, how you missed him, how you’ll never let him go again, it’s the backdrop to the pleasure roaring through his body. It makes every muscle in him tense up before he relaxes completely, sinking into your embrace.

His eyes drop shut as he softens inside you, completely spent. Your fingers comb through his hair, soft kisses still scattered across whatever skin you can reach. After a few minutes, he finds the strength to roll off of you, falling onto the bed at your side.

You kiss his mouth before you get up, disappearing into the fresher for a moment, coming back with a glass of water for you both to share. Cassian gulps down the liquid as you slide back into bed with him, pulling the blankets over you both. You go to turn out the light, but he stops you.

“I’m not done with you yet.”

#my fics #sleepover sundae #cassian andor #cassian andor fic #cassian andor smut #cassian andor angst #cassian andor x reader #cassian andor x you #you called

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radiofreederry · 21 days

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Star Wars: Tales From the Rambler is an actual play series in Fantasy Flight's Star Wars tabletop RPG system. With @gabajoofs as GM, the series stars myself as Corellian pilot Janica Halcyon, @lakemojave as Trandoshan bodyguard Bhuri'Hssyngigg, @chansaw as Bothan con artist Val Griv'ir, @brucebocchi as Corellian mechanic Ced Saverem, and @thottacelli as Twi'lek mercenary Caitvuna Conu!

THE STORY SO FAR: It has been years since the end of the Galactic Civil War. The New Republic struggles to rebuild the galaxy after decades of Imperial rule, locked in a cold war with the remnant Pentastar Alignment. All the while, in the dark corners of the galaxy, organized crime groups compete with each other to gain power in the galactic underworld after the collapse of the Hutt Cartel. Now, the crew of the transport ship the Rambler have been thrust into this gritty, cutthroat world...

LAST TIME: The crew of the Rambler successfully delivered humanitarian supplies to the New Confederacy of Independent Systems after exploring an abandoned ship in the Drift. They were then called to Coruscant by none other than Chief of State Leia Organa. Leia explained that shipments of tibanna gas from Bespin had been going missing, and charged the Rambler crew with traveling to Cloud City and figuring out what was going on. After making it to Bespin, the crew went to a nearby cantina to get some information. Janica and Bhuri picked up a lead from a visiting Mandalorian bounty hunter, who promised them information if they took down a target, a former Imperial, for her...

Part Two of Tales From the Rambler will air Saturday, April 20, at 2:30 PM PST!

twitch_live

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starqueensthings · 11 months

Text

Dork Love: Part One (of probably three because I can’t be tamed)

AO3 | Next Chapter

Summary: A scowling stranger brings a damaged riflescope into your store for repair and, always willing to defer responsibility for the sake of charity, you take on the challenge. When you return it to him, he brings along another… obstacle. An adorably goggled, bad-postured obstacle who seems as infatuated with your intelligence, as you are with his twinkly (magnified) eyes.

Pairing: GN!Reader x Tech (can also be read as ND!GN!Reader x ND!Tech if you squint)

POV/Rating/WC: 2nd, all readers welcome, 6355 Words.

A/N: This masquerades as a Crosshair fic at first, but I was insistent on writing something other than Medic!Reader for this one, and Tech is not the kind of man that develops intimacy quickly so it’s structured as a slow burn with a little more backstory. Extra thanks to @staycalmandhugaclone for beta reading this one… twice. She catches all my made up words (slajacked? embarriered? LOL) and makes my disjointed writing readable. LYSM ❤️

A heavy sigh, laden with guilt and culpability, left your lips at the sight of the impending workload behind your cash register. The teetering stack of acrylic trays, each holding the paid invoice of an order in need of processing, sat benignly on the counter, awaiting the moment that you would finally succumb to the gnaw of responsibility and turn your wandering attention to them. The smattering of plastic containers that you’d locked the door on without even a breath of anxiety, your overstimulated mind full of assurances that you’d gift them your undivided attention the following morning, had somehow mutated into a looming tower of things to do and the desperate desire to defer them again now consumed you.

The impeccant ring of the bell that hung above the door had thankfully silenced, and the void of its tinkling alarm saw a peaceful moment of respite and a fresh mug of caf wreathed by hands covered in dried lens polish and seemingly permanently stained with the ink of your trusty red lens pen.

In spite of the lingering exhaustion and the continuous ache in your feet, every complaint that threatened to spill from your tongue was swallowed and substituted with a quiet murmur of appreciation. Since you’d purchased the optical store from your uncle, you’d been blessed with an expanding clientele and an increasing revenue, though despite the economic growth, the inception of your ownership had been fraught with challenges. Your uncle was, and always had been, a kooky and eccentric old chap, and one that had stubbornly deferred his retirement from the industry for decades too long. His later, wizened years had seen him develop a peculiar and surreptitious habit of concealing his deteriorating mind with impugnable, makeshift repairs on his already ancient optical equipment. More troublesome than his DIY endeavours, however, was the recurrent burying of evidence, ensuring that his mounting financial hardship was conveniently camouflaged and ‘misplaced’ with the several hundred overdue invoices. Three consecutive years later, and thousands of credits funnelled regrettably yet optimistically into the pocket of an accountant, the metaphorical dumpster-fire that you purchased from your father’s zany older brother had finally turned profitable.

The storefront was auspiciously located on the uppermost level of Coruscant’s nefarious ‘Underworld’, meaning the demographics of your clientele was as diverse as the galaxy was. Politicians, concealing their bulging wallets beneath expertly-sewn and ornate robes, were some of your favourite customers to interact with, as years of experience in medical sales had seen you master the tactful art of disengaging lowball negotiations. Paradoxically, it was the impoverished customers making their way up from the callous clutches of the lower levels that posed your biggest challenge; their often heartbreaking stories of systemic neglect fueled the philanthropic flame that flickered deep in your gut. The inception of the war had enchained many in the shackles of financial hardship and desperation, and while pleading ignorance and naivety was the route that many Coruscanti citizens opted to take, the desire to temporarily close your shop and traverse the galaxy doing missionary work was becoming difficult to stifle.

Yet you were as logical as you were benevolent, and despite the constant pull towards a life of nomadic altruism, the fact remained that you had invested too many days and even more credits resurrecting this business to simply abandon it in its infancy.

The squeak of the rolling desk chair echoed around the quiescent room as you sat yourself down behind the computer, determined to use the hot caf in your hands as a catalyst to ignite the engines of motivation into life. The chrono on the wall ticked on, unaffected by the looming task list that you continued to abscond from; moments stretched to minutes, your hands poised and motionless over the keyboard, and the resolve to work kept simply evaporating, wafting into the air and vanishing faster than the steam from your mug.

‘Damnit, I forgot to water my plants this morning…’ Your eyes were affixed on a the pair of prescription swimming goggles nestled in the tray that you’d perched in front of you nearly twenty minutes ago, yet the mental image of your limp fig tree, neglected the decency of water for the second straight week, was all your unfocussed eyes could see. ‘But I should probably prune it before I water it… and if I’m going through the hassle of pruning it, I should probably repot it fi—’

The sudden jangling of the bell broke you from your listless stupor, sending a startled jerk through your shoulders and pulling your gaze upward to the figure stepping into your space. The detail of his appearance remained momentarily obscured, shrouded in the shadows cast by the bright sunlight pouring in the door behind him, though it was immediately apparent by the rigid armour that enveloped his tall frame that he was a soldier or mercenary of sorts.

“Hello,” you called to him, alerting him of your presence behind the counter, but his response to the greeting and the small smile you’d hitched onto your face, was nothing more than a nod of acknowledgement, his eyes narrowing slightly as they darted around the walls of your shop.

Curiosity tipped your head to one side, and you watched him with reserved intrigue as he neared the counter, his big, metallic boots thunking heavily on the wood floors with every step. The armament that adorned his figure was dark, and unlike anything you’d seen before. The clone troopers on Coruscant typically wore protective suits of white plastoid, and were conversationally quite warm and friendly, but this man’s presence, complete with a frown and a crosshair tattoo, issued none of those vibes.

“What can I do for you?” you probed, ignoring the protest of your aching feet as you stood and met him across the counter. He hastened to fold his arms over his chest, throwing into sharp relief the sniper pole extending proudly from his left shoulder bell.

“What do you know about scopes?” he asked you, the smoke that bathed his words raising the small hairs on the back of your neck.

“What kind of scopes?” you quizzed back to him, wrenching your eyes from the intimidating tool on his shoulder. “Oculars? Speculars?”

“Rifle.” In stark contrast to the way he carried himself— slithering and softly, as if he funneled every effort into not preventing his movements from making a sound, his reply was direct, curt, and impatient, and despite your best efforts to repress it, the contradiction pulled a small smirk onto your face.

“I should have known,” you answered apologetically, gesturing with a flick of your eyes towards the pole on his pauldron, and for the second time in as many minutes, he forewent a spoken response, instead flicking his eyebrows and letting the ghost of a laugh huff from his nose.

“I studied a decent amount,” you continued, bewilderment budding inside of you as the peculiar stranger reached around to a pouch on his belt and retracted a toothpick. “But we don’t sell them. We’re mainly a spectacle sho—”

“I’m not buying,” he interrupted with another impatient little shake of his head. “There’s something… off… with mine.”

The intentionally vague nature of his complaint prompted the arch of your left eyebrow to raise, and it was with genuine perplexity that you replied. “Off? In what way?”

The rhythmic dance of toothpick across scowling lips filled the silent space of his hesitation, and the shadow of scepticism flitted behind his eyes as he peered down his nose at you.

“It sounds idiotic,” he muttered through teeth clenched around his wooden pacifier, “But the visuals are being distorted… and it seems to be at random.”

Your brows furrowed against the continued ambiguity of his complaints, and though you would never voice it aloud, his grievance did sound somewhat idiotic and nonsensical. Intermittent distortion through a set of lenses was not a concept you had ever come across, as typically someone’s vision was either clear, or it wasn’t. His hesitation to provide the description now seemed warranted, and it was your turn to entertain a scowled moment of hesitancy as you fought to digest his undetailed explanation.

“I’m not following you,” you sighed, both coming up short on an explanation and growing increasingly wary of his man-of-few-words attitude. “Do you have it with you?”

He unfolded his arms from their knot across his chest, exposing a thin, black plastoid case previously invisible by the tight ensconce of his gloved hand. The rigid container looked vaguely familiar to you, though your mind barely had a moment to dawdle in potential recognition before he was deftly unlatching the closure on the lid and pulling the scope from its velvet bedding.

Eyes widening with wonder, you collected the tool from him, your outstretched hand instantly sagging under the unexpected weight of the equipment. Your exposure to military grade weapon accessories, and knowledge of the various optical tools available for combat was limited, but one did not have to be an expert in the field to know this was a highly sophisticated, and highly coveted tool.

“Sometimes I’ll line up a shot with no issue,” he divulged, his sharp eyes dissecting your movements as you rotated the scope delicately in your fingers. “Other times, the image of the target seems warped. But I haven’t been able to establish a pattern, and none of my brothers see anything wrong.”

“Hmm,” you acknowledged, concentration pulling your lips tightly to one side. “That’s definitely… odd… and it seems random? Intermittent?”

He offered nothing but a small grunt of confirmation, supervising your twiddling of the tool with unwarranted intensity as if poised to pounce should you dare to mishandle his prized possession, but curiosity had entirely banished your unease of his demeanour, and it was eagerly that you returned the ocular to your eye.

The Snellen chart, hung at eye level across the room and inscribed letters of varying sizes, became the recipient of your attention; while designed to measure how effectively one could see at a specific distance without their glasses on, it acted appropriately well as a makeshift visual barometer for your diagnostics. Though despite alternating eyes, rotating the scope both clockwise and counterclockwise, and shifting your position behind the counter to create a variance in lighting, you failed to see anything that was overtly distorted or warped. The notion that you may not be able to solve the stranger’s problem simply because you couldn’t see it to diagnose it, pulled a disappointed frown onto your lips, usurping the confident determination you’d felt only minutes previously.

Still, he watched you mercilessly, impatience and expectation etched into the every superficial crease on his forehead. It was only as you moved to the lower the scope, prepared to sadly explain that he’d have to try elsewhere, did your departing gaze finally catch a micro glimpse of the issue. The distortion was there… but barely, and his brothers’ failure to corroborate the issue became instantly validated.

“Interesting,” you mused under your breath, locking your gaze on the minutely warped quadrant of the chart and turning the scope slowly in your fingers. “I think I see what you’re talking about,” you continued quietly, your refusal to lose sight of the issue subconsciously keeping the tone of your voice hushed. “It… it doesn’t seem like an issue of direct clarity, so the integrity of the lens coating must be intact… and the reticle itself is orientated at the correct rotation, so that rules out the first focal plane…”

Your hushed diagnostic rambling trailed away to silence as a theory emerged to the forefront of your mind. Before his frowning lips could wrap themselves around a sardonic response, you lowered the equipment from your eye, gripped it tightly in your hand, and flung your arm aggressively downwards, a motion reminiscent of trying to force a small amount of ketchup through the opening of a large bottle. His posture straightened hastily, and his horrified expression on his lithe face combined with the sharp gasp that slapped his throat, had you momentarily fearful he might pluck the toothpick from its clamp between his teeth and toss it at you like a javelin.

“Kriff, be careful.” It was not a request but a demand, leaving his lips in a hiss that suited his demeanor much more than that curt impatience he’d emanated earlier. “That’s my favourite scope.”

His warning went ignored, a prideful self-satisfaction smothering the duress of his mistrust as you peered through the scope again and found the resolution you had expected. “Ha,” you cheered in a whisper, orienting yourself towards him again. “Look now. Tell me if it’s any different.” You held the weighty scope out to him and gestured to the chart across the room. Still tinged with the horror brought on by your seemingly impulsive disregard for his property, his scowl intensified, exacerbated by a budding sense of scrutiny, but despite his dubious disbelief, he took the tool from your extended palm and brought it to his tattooed eye.

The speed in which he ran the scope through his own set of visual diagnostics was nothing short of remarkable, and it was this behavior, not the hissed warnings of care that reinforced his attachment to the tool. “Hmm,” he eventually grunted, his expression now impassive. “Seems normal actually.”

Eager to share your theory, you shifted your weight to your elbows. “I’m thinking the second focal plane might have dislodged in the chamber somehow,” you advised him. “Is there quite a bit of recoil from your rifle?”

A smirk tugged at the corners of his lips, almost entirely banishing the tension in his brow and softening his expression to a nearly unidentifiable degree, and it was only barely that you contained the smile threatening to engulf your own features. “She’s got a bit of a kick,” he admitted slyly, flicking the toothpick noisily with the tip of his tongue. “But that’s not going to change. So what now?”

You sighed through your nose, gaze affixed on the piece of equipment clutched in his long fingers as a merciless tug-of-war erupted in your mind. It had been years since the opportunity to tinker with something as niche and unique as a long-range rifle scope had fallen into your hands, but the mountain of work already awaiting your attention was formidable, and could not be ethically delayed any longer.

“I’ll see what I can do,” you offered, sheer curiosity sending a right hook in the direction of your better judgement. “But I won’t be able to identify the root of the problem, or the solution, until I take it apart and run diagnostics on the individual pieces.”

His softened expression receded entirely, the soggy strip of wood in his teeth continuing to dance across now scowling lips as he cocked a dark eyebrow and glowered at you, but you matched the reemergence of mistrust with a neutral stare, drumming your nails lightly on the desk between you and watching the cogs of indecision turn behind his eyes. His top lip flattened slightly, tense with threats and warnings of caution that he longed to voice aloud, but he was as aware as he was cranky; his desperation for a solution seemingly outweighing his skepticism, and he restrained every admonishment lingering on his tongue.

“Like I said,” he snarled, refusing to soften the glare he was sending your way. “It’s my favourite scope.”

You swallowed against a mixture of disappointment and offense, embittered that this unnecessarily stern man had actively sought your help with his problem, but was too suspicious and wary to grant you the permission to fix it, despite having seemingly identified the root of the issue before his eyes. You hitched an ingenuine smile to your face and shrugged, perching yourself back on the seat of your squeaky desk chair and pulling the swimming goggles towards you. “It’s your choice,” you reminded him, rousing your slumbering monitor to life with the prod of your finger. “You can leave it and be no worse off… or I can take it apart and have a go at fixing it.”

Silence ensued in the following moment, a quiet broken only by the occasional click of wood against molar and the rhythmic tapping of your fingers on the keyboard, but despite his seemingly steadfast refusal to accept your offer, he didn’t move from his perch against the counter.

“Fine,” he grumbled, taking you by surprise and immediately stealing your attention back. “But I fly out at sunset, so I’ll need it back before then.”

“I can do that.” Thrilled by the valid excuse to delay ordering it (and its neglected comrades) for another few hours, you happily pushed the acrylic tray housing the goggles away from you and stood from your chair. “I close up shop before then anyways. Actually, there’s a shooting range about a block west of here. I can meet you there in a couple hours, and you can fire off a couple shots to see if my handiwork holds up.”

“Deal.” He stood up straight and plucked the strip of wood from his lips, flicking it to the floor at his feet without a second thought. “Name’s Crosshair.”

“Crosshair,” you repeated after offering your name in return, and with a gesture towards the tattoo around his eye you said: “Should have known.”

***

The sun that had so refreshingly bathed the planet that afternoon was readying itself for another night of slumber, sinking ever lower toward the horizon with each passing minute, and its void in the musty industrial building sent a shiver down your back.

A small alcove set into the wall, adorned with a smattering safety notices, acted as a landing zone for those entering and exiting the active firing lanes. An obnoxiously heavy, rolling durasteel door separated the two areas, and it was with an almost comical level of exertion that you managed to roll the door ajar just wide enough to squeeze through the gap. The audible rumble of the long-ago seized wheels was lost amongst the echoing din that bathed your ears in the room beyond; each of the two dozen lanes occupied by a duo of armed beings, jeering at each other over missed shots and poor grips.

If the sniper pole protruding menacingly from his shoulder wasn’t enough to make him easily distinguishable in the shadows opposite, then the stunning contrast of his silver hair and his dark armour certainly was, and it was with haste that you crossed the room toward his pacing position. The separation from his prized possession seemed to have rendered him, shockingly, more impatient than hours previously, the soggy toothpick between his frowning lips dancing ceaselessly while the thumb on each of his hands aggressively cracked the knuckles of its neighbouring fingers. But while his appearance and obvious restlessness had initially captured your attention, it did not hold it. Something else caught your eye… someone else.

A second man stood in close proximity to the sniper, almost identical in height though the stoop in his posture, brought on by the intent downwards gaze toward the device clutched in his hands, ensured a less imposing presence than his broad shouldered, glaring neighbour. He seemed at first glance, to be an extraordinary dichotomy to his companion, the perfect ying to Crosshair’s yang; where one’s hair shone brightly in the light of the buzzing fluorescent bulbs overhead, the other’s reflected the dark of shadowed corners, where one’s cuirass was deliberately painted dark, the other’s remained white, adorned with colour only minimally, and where Crosshair’s impatience was evident, with his sharp eyes darting mercilessly around the room, his companion seemed content to remain still, gaze affixed to the screen only inches from his nose.

‘Must be one of his brothers,’ you concluded as you approached the loitering duo.

Crosshair detected your arrival almost immediately; the intensity of his unrelenting gaze as you crossed the room to his position rendered your friendly “hello,” completely redundant. A double-take interrupted the greeting poised on your tongue for his companion, the unexpected allure of his features, thrown into relief by close proximity and the fleeting shift of his attention from the device in his hands to you, rendered you briefly inarticulate.

He continued to look remarkably different from his brother at second glance, with a squarer jaw, fuller lips, a more substantial frame (disguised by poor posture, a slight bow in his legs, and significantly less armour), and a set of dark goggles framing a pair of stunningly warm, brown eyes.

“Any luck?” Crosshair probed impatiently, opting to forgo niceties for the second time that day.

“Yeah, some,” you assuaged with a nod, tearing your gaze away from his brother. “My first assumptions were largely correct. The second focal plane must have dislodged in the scope’s housing at some point. Unless you knocked it pretty forcefully against something, a theory I can rule-out based on the otherwise pristine condition of the equipment, it was likely the extended period of repeated recoil that caused the dislocation.”

The large, goggled eyes had directed themselves to you again, this time almost urgently and paired with an abrupt jerk of his head in your direction. The jarring motion stole your attention mid-sentence, the recited explanation rolling off your tongue turning laggy and discombobulated under the intensity of his wide-eyed, astonished stare. Your eyebrows lifted slightly as you turned to face the slack jawed stranger, but no sooner did your gaze fall onto his blushing face, did he avert his focus from you again.

“Okay, and?” Crosshair asked, his probe prompting you to frantically try and find the lost train of thought from the previous second.

“Honestly,” you continued, redirecting your attention to the sniper, “With how minutely displaced the lens was, I’m impressed you even noticed.”

“Impressed?” Crosshair repeated, cocking an eyebrow in apparent disbelief. “Why?”

“Well… mathematically, any change in the relative vertex distance between focal planes will cause a deviation in the refracted ray, thus distorting the perceived real image…” The goggled man’s head snapped violently upwards again, his eyes widening to the size of dinner plates as his attention darted back and forth between you and his silver haired brother. “...but the second focal plane was only dislodged by about a millimetre. You must have pretty fantastic eyesight to pick up on such a small visual misalignment.” A fleeting glance to your right confirmed that the goggled man’s twinkly brown eyes were affixed on you, and it was with a foreign sense of budding shyness, that you extended the plastoid box out to Crosshair.

“Did you fix it?” he queried, collecting the offering and promptly unlatching the lid.

“Only temporarily, unfortunately.” A disappointed grimace weighed down your response. “It likely happened during the initial dislodging, but the bevel that holds the lens in place is significantly chipped. I’ve re-embedded it into its grooved housing, but I wouldn’t rely on it being a permanent solution.”

The disappointment that saturated your explanation did not seem to be mutual as the sniper wasted no time dropping to a knee beside you and pulling the pack from his shoulders. He retrieved the scope from its enclosement first, abandoning its container to the stone floor at your feet, before collecting and clicking together the deconstructed rifle parts that he wore on his back. Eager to avoid being accidentally knocked by the intimidatingly long rifle barrel being mounted into place, you turned and took a small step sideways.

The toe of your boot, however, didn’t descend as gracefully as you’d intended, instead snagging itself upon something domed and rigid, simultaneously sending your right ankle tipping sideways, and your arms outwards in a frantic motion to stabilize yourself. It wasn’t until you’d steadied the breath in your lungs that your eyes located the tripping hazard, ready to kick it away lest you step on it again. Embarrassment flooded your veins. It was a boot…

“Oh kriff, I’m sorry!” you cried, immediately relieving your fingers of their iron grip around the goggled man’s forearm. “I should have looked before I moved. Did I hurt you?”

Fuelled by the pounding of your heart in your chest, a heat rose quickly and earnestly to your cheeks as dazzling brown eyes widened behind those goggles again. An awkward silence expanded in the air between you as he failed to answer, and you hastily shifted your attention to Crosshair’s retreating figure, reconstructed rifle pointed upwards to the ceiling as he headed towards the nearby shooting lane.

“You did not. Our footwear is impregnated with a multilayered durasteel core that is able to withstand over 150kg of pressure, and you do not appear to have a mass equivalent to or exceeding that. However, the unanticipated need to anchor yourself with my arm nearly caused me to drop my datapad.”

It may have been the curt, matter-of-fact tone in which he spoke, another complete inverse to the slithery smoke of his brothers voice; it may have been the awkward and inelegant cadence of his reply; it may have been the adorable shift of his goggles on the bridge of his nose as he averted his gaze from you again that triggered a flutter in your gut, but for the second time, you found yourself momentarily tongue-tied.

“That would have been bad,” you somehow managed to force out under the duress of the giddy smile fighting to adorn your lips.

“Indeed,” he breathed.

His attention returned bashfully to the illuminated screen in his hands, the tops of his ears reddening slightly against the brush of his dark hairline, and you took the deviation of his gaze as an opportunity to survey his goggles. It was not the untraditional choice of eyewear that warranted your curiousity, as a strapped goggle was an entirely appropriate choice for a soldier who was likely constantly active, nor was it the recording device, mounted expertly along his right temple and aglow in the dim lighting of the corner either. It was his lenses: tragically thick, horribly smudged, and inducing a degree of magnification that you saw only rarely in the industry.

‘Poor hyperopes,’ you thought to yourself, the inherent squint of his eyes as they fought to focus through a series of ungodly fingerprints pulling an adoring smile onto your lips.

“Sorry if this is a little strange but… can I clean your lenses?” You spoke deliberately lightly and aloofly, intent on ensuring that he took no offense to your offer, and it was with a subdued tentativeness that you watched the adam’s apple bob in his throat.

“Clean my lenses?” he repeated, returning his gaze to you with dark brows knitted slightly in befuddlement.

“Yes,” you confirmed, blindly reaching into your bag for your trusted, green microfiber cloth. “They are filthy, and I don’t know how you can see anything.”

An unexplained affection welled inside of you as his thin fingers nimbly shifted his goggles again, exposing the repeated gesture as a soothing motion; the smallest of irrelevant movements acting as a pacifier against situations where discomfort threatened to provoke him.

“I did not realize the poor nature of their condition,” he admitted, indefinitely suspending the back and forth of his attention by stowing his datapad away into one of many pouches around his waist.

“You wouldn’t,” you answered with a small shrug and a smile, watching his features tense momentarily under the duress of pulling his goggles off. “Hyperopic, or ‘far-sighted’ people, by nature, struggle to see anything in the immediate vicinity of their gaze. That’s why they can never tell if their glasses are dirty or their lenses are scratched. So… you can’t help it.”

“You… are correct.” He answered slowly, his tone still dripping in what sounded like pleasant astonishment as he extended his goggles out to you. “A mutation in my genetic structure caused an innocent yet bothersome bilateral malformation of my corneas, resulting in a significant degree of hyperopia.”

“That’s probably putting it lightly.” A small chuckle left your mouth as you swaddled the left lens with your cloth and began to deftly wipe away the sea of fingerprints. Much like Crosshair had while his precious scope was being tended to in the foreign clutches of a stranger, this man watched your practiced hands intently and possessively as you worked to polish away any signs of a smudge.

The fluorescent bulbs suspended two-dozen feet above you were nowhere near as effective as the optical-grade backlit yellow panel that sat in the corner of your workshop, but were just luminescent enough to affirm you’d removed the last of the oily smears before you pocketed your cloth. A knowing smirk peeled its way across your lips as you shifted the lenses to-and-fro in front of your mildly squinted eyes, observing how the biconcavity on the front surface bent the reflection of the overhead light. “What’s the nature of your prescription?” you questioned as your left eye closed and your fingers rotated his goggles. “I’m assuming just based on the Against-Motion principle, that you’re probably around a +8.00? Maybe a +9.00?”

He blinked rapidly and repeatedly, seemingly trying to rid his vision of the anatomical blur that would forever plague him in the void of his goggles before answering.“I… am not certain of the exact dioptric correction,” he divulged, now grinding his knuckles into his eyes. “But I believe your estimation to be accurate. I am impressed that you could make such a determination based loosely on the principles of magnification alone.”

“It’s my job.” While you were able to modestly shrug away the giddiness of his inferred praise, your composure was no match for the accentuation of his sharp jawline, thrown into relief as the first hint of a smile tugged his cheek toward his ear. “I handle dozens of lenses every day,” you continued, averting your eyes to the goggles you held out to him. “I’m well practiced.”

“That is obvious.”

The affable response waiting just behind your smirking lips was halted in place by the return of the sniper as he reappeared at his brother’s side, his lithe face impassive and his rifle already snuggled into its cradle in his pack.

“Big improvement,” he uttered, the nod of appreciation that followed his words filling you with a mixture of relief and pride. “What do I owe you?”

“Not a thing,” you answered with a dismissing wave of the hand. The sight of notoriously scowling lips now taut behind a satisfied smile was enough to support that delaying your nefarious to-do list, while undeniably irresponsible, was the right decision. “It was actually nice to have a bit of a challenge for once. Like I said, it’ll hold for a while but it’s not a forever fix.”

“Disappointing.” Faster than it had come, the sly smile on his face disappeared, replaced in a breath by a glum grimace as he plucked the toothpick from the tight clamp of his teeth and flicked it to the floor at his feet. “Pretty sure that model is out of production now.”

“Sure is,” you confirmed, sympathetically matching his grimace with one of your own. “I did some research today—” (goggles snapped his head in your direction again) “—from the limited information that I could find, your model was the last that incorporated a biconcave first focal plane. But… I actually found an alternative tucked away in my workshop.” You reached a hand blindly into your bag, the keys to your speeder jingling as you roughly pushed them aside in search of the stiff plastoid box you’d shoved into the depths before leaving work. “The internal components are the same, but the barrel attachment clip differs from yours.”

Crosshair spared the offering only a microglance before the crease between his dark brows deepened, his top lip flattening at the thick layer of dust that blanketed the white plastoid case. You grinned apologetically at the sight of his disgusted expression, and an understanding began to click together like puzzle pieces in your mind. Crosshair’s man-of-few-words ethos was not one of implied supremacy as you had initially presumed, he simply communicated more effectively with his expressions and mannerisms than he did with words.

“The box looks like it hasn’t been touched in centuries,” you admitted, pushing the case into his chest, “but the scope itself is pristine. You’re welcome to keep it if you think it’s suitable.”

His gaze danced across your features skeptically as if dissecting it for any sign of an ulterior motive that hadn’t managed to previously identify, but the reassurance you offered by means of a small smile must have silenced his concerns, as he moved to unlatch the container and flip it open.

It was barely an hour after Crosshair had departed your establishment that you realized why the plastoid case that housed his scope had seemed vaguely familiar to you, and it was with a sense of excited urgency that you’d jogged to the back corner of your workshop and snatched the step stool from beside the broom. Tucked away on the top shelf of a precariously hung cupboard above the lens polisher and caked several decades worth of dust, the white box sat seemingly waiting for you. Countless times in the past had it been regarded as nothing but left over detritus from your uncle, unceremoniously pushed aside and ignored as you fervently looked for something else among the clutter, but today, as recognition had flared inside of you, it’s time in the spotlight had finally come.

The sniper’s abnormally long digits pulled the foreign scope from its foam mattress, hovering it in front of his tattooed eye while turning to orient himself toward the target sheets on the opposite wall.

“Hm… not bad actually,” he relented a moment later, turning back around and holding the scope out to his brother. “Tech, do you think you could modify the barrel attachment?”

So his name is Tech. The wordless introduction ensured another flush of your cheeks, and eager to repress the giddy smile that threatened to expose you, you sucked your bottom lip between your teeth and ignored the brown–eyed man still passively gaping in your direction.

Crosshair shook the scope impatiently in the space between them, seemingly hoping the motion would shatter the muted reverie in which his brother was currently enthralled. “Tech? …Tech.”

“Um… yes,” Tech confirmed to your surprise, having collected the tool from his brother and agreeing to the task without even sparing it a glance. “Yes… I am able to… attach… myself.”

The chuckle that threatened to spill from your lips forced your gaze to the floor. The weathered and worn painted concrete beneath your boots was nothing but the epitome of lusterless and drossy, but in this moment of featherbrained awkwardness, you’d never seen a more interesting floor.

“Maker, since when can you not talk?” Crosshair hissed through clenched teeth.

Hot in the face and growing increasingly embarrassed by both the awkwardness of the conversation and the rapid emergence of this schoolgirl crush, you turned your attention back to your bag, thrusting your hand into its depths once again and pretending to dig around for something. Your peripheral vision saw Tech shift his goggles on his nose again, and immediately retract the datapad from his waist pouch.

You cleared your throat quietly before adjusting your bag on your shoulder and swinging your keyring noisily around your finger. Tech was blushing furiously and had turned his gaze to the screen of his small device, fingers dancing across the multicoloured buttons as if he’d injected rocket fuel directly into his knuckles. Crosshair, on the tail end of an elaborate eye roll, shook his head impatiently and huffed.

“You sure about this?” he asked you, tapping the lid of the plastoid box in his hands.

“Absolutely,” you answered without even the thought of hesitation. “It was just taking up very limited cupboard space so, if you want it, it’s yours.”

He nodded once, surveying your expression fleetingly once more before tucking the parcel under his arm. “Thanks again,” he mumbled, tossing you a casual three-fingered salute of acknowledgement before turning on his heel and heading the opposite way to the heavy, sliding door.

The sudden abandonment at the hands of his brother seemed to have roused Tech from his vigorous tango of typing, and his magnified eyes flickered to yours only briefly before darting towards the door. Mild amusement pulled another smile to your lips as discomfort erupted across his features; his jaw tensed, his posture straightened, and despite having spent the previous dozen minutes intermittently gawking at you, he now avoided your gaze.

“You better go,” you smirked, gesturing towards the disappearing head of silver hair. “It was nice to meet you. Good luck going… wherever it is that you’re going.”

“The ideology of ‘luck’ is illogical,” he intoned, raising a know-it-all finger into the air, the gesture somehow only intensifying your affection for him though he continued to evade eye contact, “but the sentiments are appreciated. And it was a pleasure gaining your acquaintance as well.”

His stooped frame made it barely three long paces before an urgent idea erupted in your mind. “Tech, wait!”

He turned his slumped shoulders back around to face you, mild curiosity etched into the small furrow in his brow as he lowered his datapad and held it limply at his side. “Keep this,” you offered, extending out the green microfiber cloth to him. “You need it more than I do.”

He stared, adorably flummoxed, at the fabric in your hand. “Keep it in one of your six hundred pockets,” you added with a goofy smirk and small gesture down to the series of cargo belts that seemingly adorned every inch of his tall frame. A mildly affronted expression ghosted across his face, but it was succeeded almost instantly by the same small smile that had sent your heart aflutter earlier. He took the cloth from you with a small nod, tucking it into the pouch perched just above a dangling spanner wrench on his hip, before muttering a quiet “goodbye” and continuing toward the door.

#the bad batch #bad batch #bad batch fanfic #tech x reader #tech x gn!reader #tech x you #starqueenswrittenworks #starqueensedits

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tranakin-skywalker · 2 months

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Story Masterlist

Figured I should finally make one of these so y'all know what the fuck I'm talking about when I go on about my silly little au ideas. I'll be updating this list as I publish things/ come up with new ideas. Published fics have a hyperling to their ao3 embedded in their title.

THE BIG BOYS

Singularity:

Half canon re-write, half me going "hey wouldn't it be fucked up if _?" Basically I packed all my favorite little headcanons and tropes into one five-part monster of a series, featuring things like eldritch demigod Anakin, Force deities, fucked up Naboo politics, sentient droids, and a Galactic Civil War that actually feels Galactic and like a war. Somehow ended up with me both trying to make Star Wars more realistic, and leans way more into the mythological side of the story. Also features a ton of my own original concepts. A pantheon of Tatooine gods and slave culture inspired loosely by Fialleril, Sith religion and rituals, clone culture and language built around the idea that they've been dehumanized and un-personed for their entire existence, and a bunch of stuff about the Coruscant underworld. You can find more about it under my fic:singularity tag

Star-Birth:

The first part of Singularity more or less covering the events of TPM with a few... creative liberties taken. Status: Published/ Ongoing Word Count: 92,740

Accretion:

Part II of Singularity covering the years of Anakin's apprenticeship between TPM and AOTC, as well as looks into both the lives of Shmi and Padme. I took inspiration from a bunch of the stories in Legends covering this time period but most of it is my own thing. This is the one that goes the deepest into the functions and every day life of the Jedi, as well as life on Coruscant in general. An exploration of the disconnect between the governing body of the Senate and the wider galaxy, the wealth disparity on Coruscant and just how fucking dystopian it is, and generally how something like the Clone Wars could come about. Status: Unpublished

Asterism:

Part III of Singularity. AOTC if I butchered it's body and reassembled it in the imagine of my own design. Some of the movie's plot points remain but I'm attempting to get from Point A to Point B as originally as I can while still keeping with the heart of Attack of the Clones. Status: Unpublished

Nucleosynthesis:

Part IV of Singularity. The Clone Wars but not the animated version. We are going full Republic comics version baby. Ahsoka is still here tho, because I love her. Basically my idea of what a galactic civil war would actually look like, featuring space battles that last for months on end, widespread disease outbreaks, planets completely wiped out of existence, billions of combatants, and war crimes galore. The size of this war is immense. Like, there's over 1 billion active duty clones at any given time. (Which actually isn't even all that much compared to the population of the Republic at large lol) Probably the most space opera of the series. Status: Unpublished

Event Horizon:

Fifth and final part of Singularity. Essentially it's version of RotS, but with a vastly different ending. And beginning. And middle. Basically it's RotS if you squint. This I think is going to be the one that goes the deepest into the mythological/ fantasy aspects of the story. The Force and all it's weirdness is a huge aspect of this one. This is also the fic that goes the deepest into the Sith and all their awfulness. It features a much beloved headcanon of mine that when a Sith master is killed by their apprentice, part of their consciousness enters into their apprentice as a sort of living holocron. Which means that the current Sith master is essentially possessed by all the Sith that came before them and is constantly having to fight to keep control of their own body. It serves both as a way to pass on all the Sith teachings (since a living master would have a vested interest in keeping knowledge from their apprentice and thus a lot of that knowledge would be lost over time) and as an attempt at immortality. A strong enough spirit can take control of a weak enough vessel. Unfortunately for all those Sith masters, any apprentice who is able to go on and kill their own master isn't going to be in any way weak. A full, proper possession in the Sith lineage has been few and far between. I imagine y'all can guess what this means for Sidious' intentions with Anakin, a living vergence of the Force and for all intents and purposes immortal (even if Anakin won't let himself acknowledge that fact). Status: Unpublished

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Cytokinesis:

What started as me asking myself "what if the start of ANH but Vader/Anakin was trans and the twin's gestating parent and thus, recognized Leia immediately?" which then turned into something much much longer than I intended. Oops. The actual story starts during the Clone Wars when Anakin discovers he's been magically impregnated by the Force just like how his own mother was. Deals a lot with gender, parenthood, generational trauma, and repeating cycles. Also clones. Lots and lots with the clones. Their relationship with Anakin after discovering that he's basically a clone of his mother is a huge part of this fic. This particular version is going to follow along the beats of RotS and what comes after more or less (so, things are going to get a lot worse before they get better. Sorry) with some divergence here and there. This is the fic I find myself going back and rewriting/tweaking the most. Which is partially why it's taking me so long to update. I'm trying to make this next chapter one I'm completely happy with instead of having to go back and redo it in a few weeks lol. (Tho I think that's part of the fun of fanfic, the ability to go back and change things whenever you want). Honestly, this one is getting so long I might end up having to split it into two fics. fic: cytokinesis tag Status: Published/ Ongoing

Unnamed Cytokinesis Spin-off:

While Cyto is going to have a happy ending, it's going to take a lot of hurt to get there. Which is why I came up with an au to my au where the twins come early, Anakin doesn't fall, and things are happy... ish. The Republic is still a trash fire on the brink of collapse and everyone still has so so much trauma. Even when I write a happy au, things still suck lmao. I just can't imagine a RotS fix-it where things aren't still falling apart and Anakin gets off scot-free for murdering the president of the galaxy. Status: Unpublished

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Groundwater:

Ah yes, the fic that is really three differnt aus in a trench coat. 1. In the midst of galactic instability and the seceding of dozens of planets from the Republic, a revolt begins to spread in the Outer Rim. A revolt led by unknown masked force users, and a suspected Sith known only as Vader. The Jedi scramble to uncover the identity of these new enemies, only to discover a plethora of unpleasant truths that make them begin to question themselves and the very Republic instead. 2. After five years with the Jedi Anakin starts to have nightmares about his mother dying and they. just. won't. stop. He asks Obi-Wan for help, begs him for the chance to go to Tatooine and make sure she's alright. He isn't allowed to go. So he takes matters into his own hands. He leaves in the middle of the night, nothing but a note and a cut padawan braid left behind, and he goes to save his mother. Anakin ends up finding more than just his mother. There's a freedom network, one that Shmi is part of. There is a rebellion brewing, stolen weapons and stolen ships. There is a city in the desert, a paradise made by the hands of escaped slaves. And there are things, old things, powerful things, that he never new existed on Tatooine. Like deep ancient caves carved by the planet's mythical groundwater where kyber crystals grow wild and undiscovered. 3. Darth Vader lived, and then he died. In his son's arms he died, but that wasn't the end of it. There is no death, there is only the Force. And the Force was not done with him yet. He returns, four decades in the past, as a ghost haunting his younger self. Forced into the role of a passive observer, no power, no voice, seen only by one little boy and unable to change anything. Cursed to watch history repeat itself. Or at least that's what he thought. fic: groundwater tag Status: Unpublished

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I Wonder Which One Has My Eyes:

There was something achingly familiar about the pair of droids following the young princess around, Pooja thought. Or Pooja Naberrie, junior senator of Naboo, is invited to a senatorial event on Alderaan. There she meets and befriends young Princess Leia Organa. A few things click into place. This one is actually inspired by @keistance fic Uncle Ani, where the Naberries knew about the Anidala marriage. I thought it would be so so fun if Pooja realized that Leia was her baby cousin and secretly tells Leia all about her birth parents. Which means she goes into ANH knowing all about Padme Amidala and Anakin Skywalker, something that completely derails a certain interrogation with a certain Dark Lord when he stumbles over that particular fact. I'm fascinated by the idea of Leia coming from a similar place as Luke in canon, where she knows her father as a good man named Anakin Skywalker before she ever knew him as Vader. I think that change in perspective would give her the same belief and drive to bring her father back to the Light that Luke has. Also I think both twins ganging up on Vader to bully him into redemption is very funny. Status: Unpublished

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Unnamed Togruta AU:

Or Togruta!Skywalkers. Shmi and Anakin are Tatooine togruta, a rare population of togs that were ensalved from Shili dozens of generations ago and slowly grew to adapt to the desert environment. A characteristic of the Tatooine togs is the forward facing montals, which Anakin has. It's a trait coveted for gladiator slaves since they can be used to pin down/gore opponents. Anakin was occasionally entered into matches as a child where he was forced to fight and kill animals. Had he not been taken by the Jedi, he would have eventually been put in death matches against other sentients. (because I'm lazy I'm just copy/pasting this part from an old ask)

A lot of the ideas are coming from the hyena discord, so I can’t claim them as my own. But they are just too good to pass up. Like togruta making infrasound with their montrals and constantly projecting their moods. So when Anakin first gets to the Temple he’s constantly screaming for him mom at a pitch that only other togruta can hear. I’ve decided that that’s actually how he first meets Ahsoka. She hears him making his lost, scared, where’s mom, where’s family sounds and seeks him out to comfort him. Ahsoka would be about four here, and would have left Shili recently enough that she could still remember what those noises mean, even if Tatooine togruta sound different from Shili togruta. (to a Shili tog Anakin’s distressed noises sound like he’s being maimed, but that’s just because of the generational trauma and general awfulness of being a togruta on Tatooine. What they would think of the vocalizations he makes when actually being maimed we will not think about)

So Anakin and Ahsoka end up growing up together right from the start, and the main reason Anakin is so insistent on being knighted early is so that Ahsoka can be his padawan. It’s a private thought he has to himself at first, but as Ahsoka gets older and no masters are showing any interest in taking her on she starts to panic. Anakin tells her that he’ll just have to get knighted before she ages out so that he can be her master. And then the Clone War starts and he realizes that keeping his promise means bringing her onto the battlefield with him where she could die and he’s not sure if he’ll be enough to keep her alive :) Because Shmi is a togruta too she does not get bought by Cleigg Lars. I am just. not dealing with the implications of that. (Listen. I want to read Shmi’s marriage to him as a good thing, but I have a very hard time doing that.) Now, there’s actually a comic (Legands, I think, not Disney canon) where Gardulla goes to Watto and tries to buy Anakin back after he wins the Boonta Eve Classic. So have some fun thoughts about what would have happened to Anakin if he hadn’t gone with Qui-Gon. In the fic, Gardulla goes to buy Anakin but of course he left with the Jedi, so Gardulla decides she’ll take Shmi as payment for Watto’s debts. After all, if Shmi already had one child who turned out to be a talented podracer, well, she might have more. Hence the younger sibling that comes about shortly after Anakin leaves.

When Anakin goes back to Tatooine because of the nightmares about his mom he finds out that Watto sold his mom back to Gardulla and has to go to her to buy his mom’s freedom. Which would be traumatic, on multiple levels. Anakin finds out that a month before he arrived, Shmi tried to escape with the sister Anakin didn’t know he had, and Gardulla had their chips detonated. Gardulla even gives him their triggered remotes as proof. (Of course unbeknownst to Anakin, Shmi and the sister survived and are living with a village of other escaped togruta.) A lot of canon still happens the same, including Anakin’s fall, Order 66, Mustafar, etc. But when Bail Organa sees Ahsoka at Padme’s funeral he tells her that he can take her to a mutual friend of theirs. Ahsoka thinks (hopes) it’s Anakin at first, and is devastated when she realizes it’s Obi-Wan (and then hates herself for feeling disappointment because she should be happy that Obi-Wan is still alive, but he’s not Anakin, and this means that Anakin must be dead). There’s no Lars family and the Organas would have a harder time explaining a non-human daughter, so Ahsoka and Obi-Wan end up taking care of the twins. They eventually find their way to Tatooine because it’s out of the Empire’s notice and, well, because it’s a connection to Anakin (Ahsoka’s trying to hold onto anything she can that connects her to her brother and Obi-Wan is in his self-harming phase.)

And it’s there that they eventually run into a little community of togruta and a woman who looks suspiciously like Anakin who has the last name Skywalker. But hey, Shmi gets to meet her grandkids at least. Even if it happens at the same time that she finds out that son she thought she’d sent away to a better life and hasn’t seen in 13 years is dead. (Obi-Wan sees how much Anakin’s death destroys Shmi and decides to never, ever tell her what he became. Vader will be his burden and it’s a secret he will take to his grave. Anakin Vader is dead, and he’ll save them from ever finding out how it really happened) Of course, 15 years later Ahsoka goes to rescue some rebels from a walking death omen in black when she realizes the infrasound calls he’s shrieking out of his mangled montrals is devastatingly familiar.

togruta au tag or togrutakin tag Status: Unpublished

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Anachromism:

Anakin ends up twenty three years in the future, Vader ends up twenty three years in the past.

So you’ve got Anakin just fresh off the child murder suddenly flung into the Rebellion era and being faced with how much he supremely fucked up. Meanwhile Vader like not even a week after Bespin suddenly back in the Jedi Temple in the middle of the Purge. And because his vision is shit he doesn’t realize at first that it’s a bunch of clone troopers shooting at the big black angry mass that suddenly appeared. Which leads him to accidentally saving a bunch of baby Jedi, who of course imprint on him like orphaned ducklings. Vader figures he must had died at some point and this is a divine punishment for all the atrocities, trapped in a purgatory of reliving all his greatest mistakes. So in a bit of an uncharacteristic move for him, he doesn’t murder to death the gaggle of preschoolers he’s accidentally collected, and instead, in a series of absurd events sort of unintentionally helps to start the Rebel Alliance in a bit of cosmic irony.

Status: Unpublished

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War Machines (title pending):

Jedi are living weapons. Far into the Outer Rim, the Hutts obtain a planet killer. Dystopian au where the sith empire was never wiped out and controls half the galaxy and the Republic is more of an authoritarian dictatorship that uses teh Jedi as living weapons of mass destruction. Force sensitive children are taken from their families and trained as soldiers, raised with a cloned ‘handler’ who was designed specifically to be able to keep their Jedi in line. The Jedi are eldritch, incredibly powerful beings that are forced to wear suppression gear that keeps them confined to their physical form. Only the handler is able to turn it off the gear and allow the jedi the full use of their abilities. Some force sensitives are wired into ships or turned into actual weapons. On Tatooine, Gardulla realizes one of her slaves is a powerful force sensitive and begins having him trained like a jedi to be her own personal one man army. Status: Unpublished

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the thing that lives in dead stars (title pending):

A gambler Watto may have been, but stupid he was not. Anakin Skywalker was too great a prize to risk losing, not when the man betting had the gleam in his eye that told of a winning hand. Not that it mattered in the end. The boy won, and Watto lost, and the hutts got themselves the only human in the entire galaxy that could win a pod race. At least the outlander didn’t leave with the boy as well as his pretty Noobian ship. Or Anakin wins the race but not his freedom. Six years later, the circuit brings him to Coruscant, and the attention of a Sith Lord. My very fucked up Anakin raised as a Sith AU. Status: Unpublished

Shapeshifters AU:

aka space vampire Vader aka sun dragon Skywalkers. So I think we've established by this point that I can't get enough of Eldritch Skywalkers. They are my JAM. So of course I made another eldritch Skywalkers au. There's a few main points to this one. 1. Anakin, and subsequently Luke and Leia, being freaky part-Force abominations, can shapeshift. However, they cannot shapeshift into anything they like. This isn't FMA Envy/ Mystique/ whatever. They can't just look at a person and copy their face. Instead they have to have a deep emotional connection to what they are transforming into, and that transformation is always accessed by strong emotion. While they could theoretically shapeshift into a person they care very close to, the thought of doing so is very unnerving and almost violating, so they don't. Instead, all three Skywalkers have a habit of changing into creatures from Tatooine mythology. 2. Anakin and Beru are half siblings. I love this idea. I cannot express to you how much I love this idea. It just scratches something in my brain so well. Beru is Anakin's younger sister by about a year, and got left on Tatooine with their mother when Anakin was taken by Qui-Gon. She is not a part-Force abomination, but grew up knowing all about Anakin's weirdness. 3. Luke AND Leia are both given to Beru (and Owen) because of said knowledge about Anakin's weirdness. She is probably the best and safest option for raising two baby shapeshifting half-Force abominations. And thus the twins grow up on the same stories Anakin did, with the added knowledge that he could turn into those creatures, and thus, so do they. 4. At some point Anakin found out he could consume the midi-chlorians of other Force sensitives on account of the whole half-Force abomination thing. And since midi-chlorians exist in a persons blood, well. Space vampire. Sidious has a lot of fun feeding Force sensitive people to his pet monster. 5. Speaking of- Vader is more often than not a fuck off huge black hole of a sun dragon. Like, legitimately. In this, sun dragons are essentially living stars in the shape of massive serpents. Vader is what happens when one of those living suns becomes a black hole. 6. Vader is just all around fucked up honestly. He no longer gets to decide what form he takes. His body and everything about it is determined by Sidious' will. His master decides what he turns into, and Vader was always meant to be a monster on a leash. So of course that's what Sidious keeps him as. 7. The twins somehow get roped into the Rebellion. Don't ask me how, I haven't figured out that part just yet. Status: Unpublished

SHORT FICS & ONE-SHOTS

For a Son:

He could not bring her son back to her. Could not even return his body to lay to rest. The least he could do was bring her the grandchild she never even knew she had. He knew it could never forgive what he had taken. Obi-Wan finds out what happened to Shmi Skywalker. Word Count: 4,018 Status: Published

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Lessons the Desert Gave:

No one ever understood how the sand would sink into open wounds. How, no matter how much you scrubbed and washed and clawed, the sand always found its way into your blood. The desert has a way of sticking with you, even long after you left it. (Turns out growing up a slave can really fuck a guy up.) Ficlet/ one-shot collect of character studies looking at all the ways Anakin's childhood would have really messed him up. I'm open to prompts/ requests for this one. Word Count: 1,820 Status: Published / Ongoing

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Dead Letters:

Post RotS. Obi-Wan gets drunk and messages Anakin on his old comm from the war, forgetting that Anakin is dead. For some reason, he keeps on doing it. What could it hurt? Anakin is dead, his comm destroyed on Mustafar just like his body. So he keeps sending messages, because for just a second, it means he can pretend that Anakin is still alive out there somewhere. Then he discovers he doesn't have to pretend. This one could so easily be a crack-fic. Darth Vader gets drunk texts from Obi-Wan telling him all about how awful Tatooine is and that he'll never make fun of Anakin again for hating sand and he keeps getting sunburnt and also Anakin's son is so sweet and cute and just like him until he turned into a surly teenager, why couldn't he just stay an adorable little boy forever? Status: Unpublished

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Jewel Box:

Sidious’ obsession ran deep. What he wanted, he would have- wholly, utterly, and completely. His want for the boy was no different. Sidious POV of Anakin through the years featuring all the horrible messed up things he thinks and does. Big BIG warning for child abuse, grooming, and rape/non-con in addition to Sidious' all around awfulness. This is probably the most awful thing I've ever written. Like holy shit it's fucked up. It's taking me ages to finish because I keep having to take breaks from it. And I'm not even going into any graphic detail. Title comes from that one line in the RotS novel where Sidious calls Vader's suit a jewel box. Status: Unpublished

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