#I'm just a simple man trying to make my way in the galaxy

[pedrito-friskito]

hey kay bb!! hope you're doing well 💖

mando has been on the brain lately so i'm requesting fluffy smut with him pls 🥺😫 (the yearning is *extra* today)

niiiiiiiiik my darling my dear hope you are also well 💗

ok…this got away from me. I blinked and suddenly a plot! exposition! SMUT! (multiple scenes at that) all the things. I’m a slut for Din Djarin and it really jumped out on this one.

(smut below the cut, a full plot, the helmet comes off, a bit of inexperienced!din, reader is kind of a bad ass, descriptions of bodies, unprotected p-in-v sex - wrap ur shit even if ur in space ok)

sleepover saturday

uncharted territory

(word count 9.1k - it REALLY got away from me okay)

gif by @aceofwhump

Then you are a Mandalorian no more.

Din Djarin aches in a way he has never felt before, much more powerful than any injury he could ever sustain. His Creed, demolished. His son, gone. His life, upended. As he staggers out of the Covert, trying to think of where to go next, he cannot shake the feeling of lost that settles around his shoulders like a cloak.

Maybe coming to Glavis was a mistake; maybe he should have stayed back on Nevarro, kept taking jobs from Karga until he finally had enough credits to take the old man’s advice, get himself a camtono full of spice and disappear into the Twi’lek healing baths until he forgot the whole thing.

The truth of it? He knew he could never forget. There wasn’t enough spice in the galaxy to help him forget it all. It wasn’t possible. And the larger part was that Din didn’t want to forget.

His leg aches as he walks. The bacta Paz had sprayed him down with had helped some, but the ache runs deep, and the drills the Armourer had forced him to run with the Darksaber had only made matters worse. He should find a place to lie down, to hide for the night before he decides what he plans to do next, where he plans to go.

Where will he go?

You are a Mandalorian no more.

The echo of the words make his head split, and for a moment, he has half a mind to wrench the helmet off, to launch it off the ring, let space swallow the beskar whole. But he stops himself; it feels as though his armour is all he has left.

His armour, and the Darksaber. The right to the throne of Mandalore.

Maker, he can’t think straight. The ache only worsens, his limp more prominent, and it gets to the point where he can take no more. He falls onto the nearest crate, his injured leg stuck straight out in front of him. His body feels twice as heavy, his head even more so, and he tips it back against the wall to lighten the load. He’ll rest just a moment, he’ll just shut his eyes for one—

“Mando?”

Din pulls his blaster from his holster as his eyes shoot open. There’s the sound of shuffled steps, something metallic hitting the floor, a murmured dank farrik! He hits a button on his vambrace, turns off the thermal setting on his visor.

“Sweets?”

You look exactly the same as he remembers. It’s been ages, but he could never forget your face. He knows what’s underneath your clothes, too, and the memory speeds to the surface of his mind faster than a pod-racer.

+

Before he had an in with Peli on Tatooine, the Razor Crest routinely parked and tuned up in Hangar 3-5, he had you. You were well-known within the Guild, had more than a few contracts with different gangs and hunters in the galaxy. If something on a ship broke, you were the one to fix it, and you had enough heavily-armed thugs on your side to make anyone think twice about trying to mess with you.

Some called you the Mechanic, simple and descriptive. Others, those you let a little closer, knew you as Sweets, a moniker earned by your penchant for candies and treats. You’d let your favoured clients off easy if they were short a few credits, but had something sweet from the far reaches of the galaxy to offer in lieu of the missing cash.

Din knew he was one of your favoured clients, perhaps your favourite. Or, had been. You’d crowed endlessly about the Crest, desperate to get your hands on it any time he hauled it in for service, whether it actually needed it or not. Sometimes he genuinely needed something fixed, some times he’d found some candy or sweet in a far off corner of the galaxy that he’d brought back just for you.

Other times, he just wanted to see you.

You were sweet in other ways, too. He knew first-hand. And he knew he was the only client you let into your bed. He’d been drawn to you the first time you’d been introduced — a common contact between you and Din sent him your way when the Crest was in serious need of a tune-up, and you were the closest mechanic he could get to without doing more damage to the ship.

Your knowledge astounded him, to start. You were barely into a diagnostic and you knew exactly what needed to be fixed, what parts you had and didn’t, how many credits it was going to cost him. And you hadn’t even set foot on the ship yet. Your competency drove him wild, only spurred on when he brought you aboard the Crest to give the interior a once-over, eager to see if he’d kept everything original, or if you had any modifications to offer that he might be interested in. Din followed you around the ship silently, answering whatever questions you had, mostly just watching you work. It was intriguing beyond belief.

“That’s not much of a bed,” you’d commented, cocking your head to the side when you hit the button that opened the bunk. “When’s the last time you had a new mattress?”

He just shrugged.

“One thing you should know,” you said over your shoulder, descending the Crest’s ramp, heading back towards the entrance to your shop. “I don’t use droids.”

Din nearly fell over. “That’s not a problem.”

“Good,” you replied, tapping at your data pad, your brow scrunching. “It’ll take longer than your usual hangar; I do everything myself.”

“I’m happy to wait,” he said, dipping his helmet, thankful it was hiding the way he was raking his eyes over you. I don’t use droids. Had someone made you in a lab somewhere, on some backwater planet, just for him? “I know she’s in good hands.”

The grin you’d offered him was sweeter than anything he’d ever seen, and you shooed him out a moment later, muttering something about getting back to work.

When he returned three days later to retrieve his ship, he almost didn’t recognize it. You’d repainted most of the outside panels, replaced all the ones that were missing, and the engines were so shiny Din could see his helmet reflected in them. Inside the Crest was another story; you’d outfitted him with a carbonite cell system, top of the line and primed for use. That meant no more mouthy bounties, no more wasting durasteel cuffs and gags when he could just hit a button and have a quiet ride back to the Guild.

And in the bunk, a new mattress, complete with a pillow, and bolted on the wall, a mount for his helmet.

“You don’t sleep with that thing on, do you?”

“The carbonite system,” he nearly sputtered, rubbing a gloved hand over the back of his neck. “I don’t have the credits, I didn’t—”

You poked the toe of his boot with your own. “Call it a gift, Mando. Let’s just say I shouldn’t have had the thing hanging around to begin with.”

“Is that gonna cause me any problems?”

“Nope,” you replied, popping the p. “Wiped all the identification numbers from the system. No one will know where it came from. Except you.”

He stared at you a long moment. “Except me.”

He was sure to pay you in full, plus the candied flowers he’d found at one of the vendors in the markets. You’d smiled again at that, and while Din committed the sight to memory, he also promised himself that he wouldn’t let it be long before he saw your smile again.

And he kept that promise. The next time he landed the Crest in your hangar, it wasn’t because he needed a tune-up or new parts. He’d struck gold at a black market on Coruscant; his bounty had lead him into the belly of a sweet shop, and after the Gungan had been dealt with, Din did some hunting of his own. He took as many boxes as he could carry, trying to take one of each flavour, a few extra of the ones he’d seen on the shelf in your shop.

“What in Maker’s name are you doing here?” you’d called as soon as he landed, stepping out of the shop and into the hangar, your hands on your hips, cocked to one side. “You ruin my handiwork that fast?”

“Not exactly,” he’d replied, walking down the ramp, his arms laden with goodies. Your eyes had gone huge. “I come bearing gifts.”

“For me?” you cried, gasping as you took the boxes from him, tongue poking between your teeth. “Mandalorian, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were flirting with me.”

He’d never been so grateful for his helmet at that exact moment. He might have crumbled to dust if you’d seen how red his cheeks were. “I-I owed you,” he stuttered out, “for the carbonite.”

“You didn’t owe me anything,” you quipped, swaying from side to side on your feet, staring down at your treats. “I told you, it was a gift.” You gave him one of those smiles again, and Din felt his stomach twist at the glitter in your eyes. “Why don’t you stay a while? I’ll feed you and everything.”

You disappeared into the shop, and Din paused a moment before following.

He saw you disappear behind a dark curtain that had definitely seen better days, and Din followed your further to discover there was an apartment of sorts attached to the shop. Apartment was perhaps too kind a word; it was one large room, a kitchen to one side, a large futon spread in the middle. Trunks and boxes and crates stacked along the far wall, a few grease-stained jumpsuits littering the floor. You stumbled over your feet trying to pick them up, tossing the offending fabric into a nearby crate, before you turned back to him. “What are you hungry for?”

You served him first. Noodles with dark sauce and some kind of shredded meat you thought was bantha but weren’t quite sure. But, as you stated with a shrug, “it’s good, and it hasn’t killed me yet.” After you slid the bowl across the table to him, you turned back to the stove and stayed that way. After a moment, Din wasn’t sure what to do, but then your head turned slightly, your eyes trained directly to the left, not wandering towards him over your shoulder. “I won’t look. Swear.”

He lifted the helmet just enough to shovel the food into his mouth. You were right, the mystery meat was good, and the sauce you’d made to go with it was even better. He nearly inhaled the food, not wanting to keep you too long, and when the helmet slid back down, the mechanism hissing back into place, your head turned again, still not looking at him.

“You’re safe,” he said, sliding his empty bowl back across the table.

You turned fully, serving yourself, and he expected you to sit across from him, keeping a bit of distance between you, but instead, you rounded the table and plunked yourself down on the stool right beside him. You ate much slower than he had, and Din let his eyes graze over you. The streak of engine grease on your cheek, the scar that split your lower lip, the intricately messy way you wore your hair. A silver chain sat around your throat, strung with a tiny silver ring. It disappeared down the front of your shirt most of the time, but right then it sat awkwardly, the chain caught on your collar, the ring sitting in the hollow of your throat. He resisted the urge to reach out and fix it.

The jumpsuit you wore was nearly identical to the ones you’d hurriedly swiped off the floor. Torn on one knee, zipper unfurling beneath your chest, a symbol he didn’t recognize patched onto your thigh. You’d tied the sleeves around your waist like a belt, a dirty rag tucked in at your hip. The Mechanic, herself. Sweets.

He thought you were beautiful. He had a feeling you’d look beautiful in anything.

Or nothing.

Din was distracted by your thumb at your lips, swiping a drop of sauce from your chin and sucking your finger into your mouth. His flight-suit was tight beneath his beskar to begin with, and you weren’t helping matters. “So,” you said simply, reaching for your food again. “Tell me a story, Mando. A good one. Best bounty you ever caught.”

The conversation filtered between you two easily. You were a good listener, easy to talk to, and Din felt like he couldn’t stop talking to you, telling you about his first kill, his first bounty. His first ship, before the Crest. He couldn’t bring himself to tell you about the before, before the Guild, before he was just the Mandalorian, when he was just Din Djarin. A foundling. Part of him wondered what you think, what your reaction might be to his past, but a larger part forced his mouth shut.

At some point, he turned himself towards you on his stool, one arm braced on the table, the other resting on his thigh. After you finished your food, you leaned heavily on the table, your head pushed into your palm, legs crossed at your ankles, swinging slowly, the toe of your boot tapping his shin every once in a while.

He could see you were tired, the way you started covering your yawns and rubbing at your eyes. “I should go,” he said, starting to get to his feet. “You’re tired, and I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

Your hand flashed out quick — not quick enough to startle him, though — and wrapped around his wrist. You’d managed to wedge your fingers right into the space where his glove met his vambrace, and he felt you against his pulse, against his bare skin. “You don’t have to leave, Mando.”

Din. He wanted to tell you. My name is Din.

Slowly, his own hand reached out, hovering in the air, shaking more than a vibroblade. He saw your eyes trace its path, watching until it lowered, dropped until the flat of his palm met the curve of your thigh. His gloved fingers wrapped around the meat of your leg, his thumb pressing towards the inside. 

He heard you gasp. 

He moved forward an inch, and his hand moved higher, thumb riding the seam of your jumpsuit. You hummed, fingered squeezing around his wrist, and Din moved closer, until he had one leg between yours. He let his hand wander higher, listening carefully to the changes in your breathing, the hitch in your throat. The heat between your legs was almost stifling, and something feral in the back of his brain screamed for more.

Whatever snapped in him, it seemed to break in you at exactly the same time. You both shot to your feet together, and Din’s hands moved to your waist, to where your sleeves were knotted at your waist. Yours roamed his chest plate, fingers tapping along beskar until you hooked them in his cloak. He halted his own hands, ready to help you remove the fabric, but you handled it just fine on your own, finding the hidden snaps with ease.

His blood turned to flame when he felt your fingers along his throat, seeking his pulse in another spot. “You should stay,” you breathed out, your voice barely above a murmur. “Please, Mando, I want you to stay.”

He forced himself to nod, his mind now preoccupied with ripping his gloves from his hands. He needed to feel you, no barriers in between.

He needed to see you, something in him screamed, no barriers in between.

He silenced that voice before it could spur him further. Busied himself with diving his hand beneath the waist of the jumpsuit, the broken zipper catching on his wrist. You were even hotter beneath, and he sucked down a breath when he found you wet, slick coating his fingers.

Your body leaned into him, chasing his touches, and he hooked his other hand around your thigh, lifting you up and backwards onto the table. He could feel you watching, your eyes moving from his helmet down his front, to where his hand was jammed beneath the jumpsuit. He crooked one finger, testing, pressing it into you, and grinned beneath his helmet when you moaned.

Din hooked his arm under your waist, lifting you just enough that he could maneuver the jumpsuit over your hips, down your legs. His cock jolted between his legs at the sight of you bare, leaned back on the table, your chest heaving. Even though the visor, he could see how slick you were, the evidence shining on the insides of your thighs.

He wanted to taste you.

He pushed the thought away again. Another time, when he wasn’t smearing the inside of his flight-suit with precum, when you weren’t keening into his touch as he dragged his fingers against the sensitive skin between your legs, when he could turn the lights off and shed his armour, bare himself to you the same way.

You moaned again when his fingers found your clit, drawing a sloppy circle that had your muscles tensing against his hand, knees closing against his hips. “F-fuck, Mando,” you ground out, tipping your head back on your shoulders. “You’re good with those hands.” Another stuttered breath as he twisted his wrist, curling two fingers just inside your entrance, thumb stretching up to swipe over your clit. “Really good.”

He was grinning beneath the helmet again, eyes glued to your face as he pressed further, fingers threading deeper into you. He could feel everything, the twitch of your thighs, the clench of your cunt. You reached out with one hand, using the other to balance yourself, and closed it around his elbow, your fingers digging into the thick fabric so hard he was shocked your nails didn’t bite right through.

“How do you like it, Sweets?” he asked, leaning forward until he was nearly hovering over you. Your hand moved from his elbow to chest, fingers hooked in his armour. “Tell me what you need.”

Your hand moved again, this time moving straight down his front, past his waist, right between his legs. His cock throbbed as you palmed him, a cat-like grin on your lips as you tilted your head level with the visor. You leaned up slightly, pressed your lips to the beskar edge that mirrored his jaw. Another squeeze, and the slow pace of his fingers faltered, his head nearly smacking into yours. “I need this.”

Din couldn’t hold back anymore. Something in the way you stared up at him, eyes tracing over the helmet, told him you didn’t want him to.

“I like it rough.”

It all happened in one fluid motion. He pulled you closer, right off the edge of the table, and you spun in his grip, leaning forward over the table, planting your hands flat. The jumpsuit slid further towards your ankles and you arched your back, your ass grinding against his hardness, and Din groaned audibly, tilting his head towards the ceiling. Your legs spread as much as the jumpsuit would allow, and Din worked his own zipper down, freeing himself from the flight-suit. You made the most delicious noise as the tip of his cock smacked against your ass, the tip dripping with precum.

Your head turned as he took himself in hand, tapping your ass with his cock again. “Maker,” you breathed out, your eyes widening. “I knew you’d be big.”

Beneath the helmet, Din turned crimson.

He planted his other hand between your shoulders, tipping you forward. You went willingly, eyes rolling back as he pushed his hips against your ass. He could see how wet you were as you bent, slick still dripping down your thighs.

There was nothing stopping him from dropping to his knees right then and there, lifting the helmet just enough to drag his tongue through your cunt. The thought alone made his cock pulse.

But then your hand reached back, twisting in the fabric covering his hip, and he couldn’t wait any longer. He bent his knees slightly, notching himself at your entrance, and pushed inside.

The noise you let out was nearly enough to make him cum right then and there. He knew he wasn’t gonna last, and judging by the sounds you continued to make and the way you were bearing down on him, hands clenched into fists on the tabletop, he didn’t think you were either. He set a fast pace, the space filling with the slick sound of him driving in and out of you, your moans echoing each move. Din’s gaze dropped, trained on the sight of his cock disappearing to you. Your hand flapped at his hip, scrabbling for purchase, and he wrapped his fingers around your forearm, groaning when you did the same.

He was right; you didn’t last long, and neither did he. Your entire body clenched as you came, one hand slamming against the table, nails digging deep into his wrist. It spurred his own orgasm, that coil at the base of his spine snapping, and he pulled out, cumming hard across the curve of your ass.

Silence settled over the both of you as you caught your breath. Din couldn’t help himself, rubbing his bare fingers over the expanse of your back, tracing over your spine. You arched a bit into his touch, making a satisfied noise before you lifted yourself off the table. You turned to him, leaned up to press a hot kiss to his bare throat. It made him shiver.

“Think we could do that again?” you murmured, lifting a finger and dragging it along the edge of his helmet. “Maybe you take all the metal off.”

Din cleared his throat, trying to ignore the way his cock twitched, already wanting a second round. “Helmet stays on.”

You stared at him a long moment, smile on your lips. “Helmet stays on.”

+

He kept close to you after that night. He rarely took bounties that took him to further reaches of the galaxy, loathe to admit that he was always within a few parsecs of your hangar. He brought you a long-distance commlink so he could tell you when he was coming back, so you could contact him if you ever needed him. He didn’t worry about you, per se; you were more than capable of taking care of yourself, and he knew for a fact you knew how to shoot the blaster you kept holstered on your thigh when he wasn’t around.

But then the comm went quiet. He called, you didn’t answer. A lead weight formed in his stomach, and he pushed the Crest’s engines are fast as they’d go. Carefully, though — he wouldn’t dare ruin any of your handiwork.

When he landed in the hangar, the lights were all off. It didn’t help his worry, and it only grew worse as he sprinted off the Crest, heading straight for the shop door.

It was locked, but the lock was no match for his vibroblade and a bit of brute force. Inside, the space was empty. no trace of you left inside. There was no sign of a struggle, no blood smeared on the floor or the wall, but it didn’t ease his mind any. What if someone had come for you, spirited you away in the dead of night to some backwater planet? Dank farrik, what if someone had put out a bounty on you? His mind reeled, raced, chewed him up and spit him out.

He never meant to get so attached to you.

Din switched the settings on his visor, finally determining that all the footprints he could make out on the floor were your own. Then he saw it, sitting on the edge of one of the shelves in the kitchen. The commlink, perched precariously, just enough out of sight that no one else would think twice, but not Din.

He thumbed through the screen, saw the icon flashing with a recorded message. Your face lit up the screen instantly, and he stifled the way his stomach clenched. You looked…scared. Not hurt, not injured, but scared.

“Someone sold me out,” you said, your voice distorted and warped. “I can’t give you details. I can’t really tell you anything. Just know I’m going somewhere safe, and I’ll miss you, Mandalorian. Take care of yourself.”

Your eye were shiny as you reached out to cut the recording, and Din’s heart sank into his toes.

He put the commlink in his pocket, and returned to his ship.

He’d watched the message so many times the words were engraved into his brain. The change in your voice, the way you’d blinked harder the more you spoke. The way you paused in the middle, glanced over your shoulder with a shock of fear in your eyes.

And now here you are, standing in front of him, a pile of metal spilling out of a crate tucked beneath your arm, that same streak of fear in those big eyes. Eyes that have haunted him all these years. You nearly drop the crate as you crouch, your gaze zeroing in on the wound on his leg. “Maker, Mando, what the hell did you do?”

“Long story,” he groans out, wincing as you adjust his leg slightly, leaning to the side so you can get a better look. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here,” you reply, getting back to your feet, retrieving your crate of parts. “C’mon, let me clean you up. You look like hell.”

Din goes willingly, not sure what else to do, his mind racing from the combination of the Covert and you appearing out of nowhere. He lets you pull him slowly to his feet, tuck yourself under his arm. “Sweets,” he starts to protest, but you drag his arm around your shoulders.

“Shush,” you whisper, glancing around as you start to lead him in the opposite direction he’d been going. “Lean your weight on me.” He does as you say, nearly crumbling with relief. “There you go.”

The ache only worsens as you go, Din resisting the urge to lean his head against yours. When you finally turn him towards the door, he thinks he may topple over completely, but you’re quicker, producing a remote from your pocket. The door slides open, revealing the inside of a hangar, and you all but carry him through, discarding the crate of parts the moment you’re through, hitting the button again once you’re inside. The door slides shut, and Din lifts his head enough to look around. It looks nearly identical to your old hangar.

Then he hears a curious little beep, and looks down to see a tiny droid scurrying towards you. A BD-1 unit; he recognizes it from Peli’s, though yours is a little more rusty around the edges, the cleaner bits of metal painted grey and yellow. “Not now, Shrimp,” you grit, waving at the droid. It beeps loudly back at you, like an arguing child, and Din stifles his laugh.

“I thought you didn’t use droids,” he mumbles.

“He came with the hangar,” you reply, moving him across the hangar. Shrimp follows a few more steps before darting off, disappearing into a pile of crates. “Couldn’t bring myself to scrap him. Besides, not like he’s much help; tiny thing can’t even lift a socket wrench.”

He laughs out loud this time, and when you pull him into the shop, he laughs again, despite himself.

There’s a shelf of sweets above the workbench.

There’s no curtain between the shop and the apartment, instead another sliding door, another remote. Din lets out a low hum when he sees the apartment beyond. More than one room, furnished with actual furniture. It’s…nice. It’s really nice.

You deposit him on the couch, propping his leg up on the table in front of it. “Wait here,” you mumble, pointing a finger at him before disappearing into another room. 

He doesn’t move, but hooks his fingers into the edge of his helmet and yanks it off, depositing it on the couch beside him. He sucks down a breath of unfiltered air.

You gasp as you walk back into the room, nearly dropping the silver case in your hand. “Mando, you—”

“Din,” he says instantly, reaching down, tugging his gloves off, tossing them onto the helmet. “My name is Din Djarin.”

“Din,” you repeat, slowly, like you’re tasting his name on your tongue. The corner of your mouth quirks. “Din…Djarin.”

He just nods. You approach him carefully, like you’re walking towards an injured animal instead of a man, the silver case clutched against your chest.

“Your helmet,” you start, gesturing vaguely. A memory sparks. He told you before — not in so many words — about his Creed, his upbringing. You’d asked, and he’d answered. It wasn’t information he gave willingly. The second time he had you, when you were sprawled out completely naked on that old futon, writhing and moaning beneath him, when he’d shed almost all his beskar, felt the warmth of your body pressed up against all of him. Afterward, when you’d both been sated for the time being, you’d peered up at him from your place on his chest. “Do you ever take it off?” you asked, your voice laced with sleep.

And he’d answered.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says now, eyes darting towards the curve of silver. “I’m not a Mandalorian anymore.”

“What?” you ask, your brow furrowing. He wants to reach out, let his thumb ride the space between your eyebrows, feel it smooth over as he kisses the spot. “What does that mean?”

“It means…” He trails off. Loaded question. What does it mean? Truly? “My name is Din Djarin.”

There’s still confusion etched into your features, but you don’t question him further. Your brow doesn’t loosen, and you perch on the table.

“What’s in the case?” he asks, jutting his chin towards the silver case still in your hands.

You look at him for a long moment, eyes sweeping over his face, over his features. Like you’re committing him to memory. He’s doing the same, almost scrutinizing your face, trying to remember what it looks like without the filter of his visor, what you truly look like, with no barriers in between.

He could taste you easily now.

The thought catches him off guard, the throb between his legs a welcome change to the pulsing of the wound on his thigh. The bacta the Covert had given him has worn off almost completely, and the pain is climbing. 

“B-bacta shot,” you stutter out, shaking your head slightly as you flipped open the case. Your eyes moved to the wound on his leg, peering at the plates of beskar, the flight-suit, the discarded helmet on the couch. “That needs to be cleaned.”

Din just nods.

“Think you can walk to the bedroom?” you ask, shoving the silver case into the chest pocket of your jumpsuit. He recognizes it — the tear in the knee, the patch on your thigh. You fixed the zipper. “It’ll be easier.”

It’s slow-going, getting him back to his feet, shuffling carefully to the bedroom. You ask him if he wants to bring the helmet; he just shakes his head.

What does that mean?

Your bed is unmade, but Din barely notices. The scent of you is amplified in here, and he’s sucking down breaths like he’s been deprived of oxygen. You help him lower to the edge of the bed, and he starts on the armour. You sink to your knees in front of him, setting the bacta shot on the mattress beside him. He removes a pauldron with shaking fingers, and you’re right there to take it from him, your movements sure, setting the metal carefully onto the floor, waiting for the next piece.

“You disappeared,” he says, after more pieces of beskar have been removed, when you’ve moved onto his boots, setting them both carefully at your side.

Your brow had just smoothed out, and it pinches again. “I had to. I left you a message.”

Din pulls the zipper on his flight-suit, reaches into the pocket sewn into the lining, and produces the commlink. “I know.”

Your lips part as you look at the piece of metal, dwarfed by his hand. “You found it.”

“I did.”

Bottom lip caught between your teeth, you look back up at him through your lashes. “It wasn’t safe.”

“You’re safe now,” he says, and you reach for the bacta shot. “Tell me.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” you reply, your voice bordering on stern. “Somebody sold me out.”

“I knew that much,” Din mumbles, and you shoot him a glare.

You sigh. “Let’s just say, there were some parts in the hangar that shouldn’t have been there, someone wasn’t happy with some work I did, and then next thing I knew, there were Imps on my tail. So I disappeared.”

“You could have told me where you were going.”

You shake your head. “They were listening. Tracking every message I sent out. I couldn’t let you get roped into it too.”

“You could have gone to the Guild,” he says. He’s too distracted to notice you pull the syringe out of the case. He doesn’t see the needle until you’re pushing it into his muscle above the wound. He grits his teeth audibly, hands curling hard around the edge of the mattress. “Dank farrik.”

“Sorry.”

“I would have come for you,” he says, breath hitching in his throat as you push the plunger down. It feels like his body has been flooded with ice water, his teeth chattering for a moment before the cold turns to a woozy sort of warmth that spreads through his chest like Corellian fire whiskey. He blinks hard, slow, one eye than the other.

“Can you stand?” He nods. Or thinks he does. “The bacta will help, but I need to put a bandage on that wound, at least.” More nodding. He’s vaguely aware of you draping his arms around your neck, your arms sliding around his waist to haul him up. He plants his feet beneath him, forces his weight over his ankles. His movements are slow, languid, like he’s moving through water. You manoeuvre one arm out of his flight-suit, pushing the fabric down his shoulders, until it settles around his hips. The metallic sound of the zipper seems to echo through his brain, and he knows you’re touching his waist, moving the fabric slowly over his injured thigh. But it doesn’t hurt.

All he can feel is you.

You sit him down again, work on pulling the suit off completely. Your hands are warm, soft, gentle against his bare legs, and he nearly buries his nose in the crown of your head when you bend down. Once the flight-suit has been removed, leaving him in his boxers and undershirt, you disappear again, and Din’s not sure if it’s thirty seconds or thirty minutes.

Something cold presses against his thigh, and he flinches. “Does it hurt?” you ask instantly, and your voice is clear, then muffled, then clear again. “It shouldn’t.”

“Nuh-uh,” he slurs out. He hears you laugh, and the sound is like tinkling bells. He wants to hear it again. “Sweets.”

“Yes, Din?” Clear, muffled. His name is a song on your lips.

“You’re beautiful.”

“So are you.”

“Mesh’la,” he mumbles, and then his eyes fall shut, his body slumps back, and he thinks you laugh again. He’s not quite sure; sleep is too busy yanking him under.

+

Din wakes to the sound of running water.

He’s disoriented, confused, not sure where he is until he pushes up on his elbows, looks around, drinks in the sight of your bedroom. The memory floods back; the Covert, then the hangar, taking the helmet off, the bacta shot that knocked him out.

But more importantly: you.

He rubs the sleep from his eyes. How long was he out? He can’t be sure; there’s a window on the far side of the room, but time on Glavis is different, artificial nighttime and starlight instead of sun. His armour has been moved from the floor, neatly piled on a dresser against the wall, his boots on the floor underneath. His flight-suit is spread out on a worktable in the middle of the room, and he can see from his spot that you’ve tried to mend it, patching the spot the Darksaber had cut open with a square of fabric. It’s looks to be the same kind of material, but the colour is darker. Beneath the sheets, his leg is wrapped in cotton bandages, and there’s no sign of blood seeping to the surface.

His head turns in the direction of the noise of the water, and he pauses, waits for some kind of pain to prick through his body, but it never comes. He feels…good. Well-rested. His eyes follow the sound, and then he sees it.

The door to your bathroom is wide open, and from his spot on your bed, he can see directly into the shower. You’re inside, steam pouring over the top of the glass wall, and Din’s whole body jerks. He never forgot what you looked like naked, and it’s been a long time, but somehow it still feels like the first time. He can feel the blood rushing south, and his hands clench in the bedsheets.

He just stares, watching the water move over you, cascading down your spine, rolling in rivulets over your curves, following the lines of your body. He wants to follow them too, wants to read you like a map only he knows the key to.

Dank farrik, he’s missed you. He hadn’t realized how much.

The water shuts off, and he sees you reach for a towel, wiping your face first. He sinks back down on the bed, wondering if he should feign sleep, feeling like a kid caught doing something he’s not supposed to. But before he can— “You’re awake,” he hears you call, and looks back just as you wrap the towel around your middle. “I thought you’d be out for the night.”

Din coughs, shifting the blankets, trying to hide the tent that’s formed in his boxers. “You don’t close the door?” He doesn’t know what else to say.

You laugh. “I live alone,” you say, stepping out of the bathroom, walking towards the dresser his armour sits upon. “Force of habit.”

He clears his throat. Loudly. Pauses. “…it’s a nice view.”

Your tongue peeks between your lips as you walk over to him, still in just the towel. Your hair is still dripping, water droplets dotting your shoulders. You sink slowly onto the edge of the bed. “How do you feel?”

“G-good,” he spits out, adjusting himself, making more room for you. “Really good.”

The corner of your mouth quirks. “I’m glad. You scared me, Man—” You catch yourself. “Din.”

A drop of water splashes down from your hair, starts a path down your upper arm, and Din reaches out, catching it on his finger. You watch his hand, lips softly parted, and he continues the path, drawing his hand up and down your skin, the backs of his knuckles against your bicep.

“I wondered where you were, all these years,” you whisper. There’s longing in your voice, he notices; the same feeling sits like a weight on his chest. “I never stopped wondering.”

“I’ll tell you sometime,” he whispers back. There’s something forming in the air between you, thick like the steam that still foams from the open bathroom. Din can almost taste it, and the thought he’d had in your living room resurfaces, making him twitch beneath the sheets. He could taste you so easily now. “It’s a long story.”

The corner of your mouth quirks. “I got nothing but time.”

So does he, he realizes. He’s without a ship, without his son, without anything anchoring him to one planet or another, to any sort of path. He’d been wandering already, trying to find the Covert, and now he is unmoored once more, yet somehow managed to find his way back to your hangar.

To your bed.

His hand stops chasing water droplets, and he sees your teeth sink into your lower lip. He lowers his palm until it rests on your bare thigh, and he can feel how your skin is still hot from the shower. “I never kissed you,” he rasps. “Before.”

Your head shakes slowly, and you turn towards him more fully. The towel is loose around your chest, your hand holding it in place, and he reaches for it, slowly uncurling your fingers from the fabric, until your grip falls slack, and the towel goes with it. “You should fix that,” you murmur.

“I’m out of practice.”

Your lips twitch again. “How bad?”

“Few decades,” he says softly. “Since before I swore the Creed.”

“You were a child.”

“It was a childish kiss.” He pauses, moves his hand again, brushes dripping locks of hair from your face. “I don’t want to kiss you like that.”

“Just…” Din leans in slightly, tilts his head to the side. “Do what feels natural.” You mirror his movement, and his eyes are glued to your mouth, to the way your lips stay parted even when you’re done speaking, the way your collar lifts with shuddered breaths. He sees your hands move the towel out of the corner of his eye, pulling the fabric away from your body completely until you’re bared to him, head to toe.

You’re just as beautiful as he remembers. If not more.

The tip of his nose drags along the slope of yours, and his hand slides from your thigh to your hip. “I need you closer, Sweets,” he murmurs, and you nod against him, your foreheads tapping together. There’s a bit of shuffling, the blankets moved back, his tented boxers exposed but barely acknowledged as you climb into his lap. He revels in the way you look above him, your knees pressed either side of his hips. You’re hesitant to lower your weight onto his leg, and he guides you slow, giving you a quiet it’s okay as you settle onto him.

He doesn’t feel any pain; he just feels you.

Once you’re comfortable, your hands clutching at his shoulders, he adjusts his grip on you, palms skimming up your spine, mapping out your ribs and the curve of your ass. You make a quiet noise when he squeezes one cheek, the movement propelling you forward, making your hips roll into his, your core pushed against his hard cock. It makes him hiss with pleasure, and he slides one hand up to your hair, knotting his fingers in it and dragging your mouth down to his.

It’s not artful; he’s sure it doesn’t look pretty from the outside. There’s a lot of teeth and tongue, the fumble of hands as he tries to get you even closer. He’s sure you’ve been kissed better than this, and it makes his cheeks heat, makes him pull away, tucking his chin towards his chest. “I’m sorry, I—”

“Hey,” you say softly, your hands moving to cup his cheeks, tilting his face back up towards you. “It’s okay. Just…follow my lead?” You say it like a question, your thumbs swiping over his face, through the smatter of facial hair along his jaw. “I got you.”

Din nods, lets his lips part as you cock your head to the side, leaning in slow. You kiss his top lip and then his bottom one, giving him just enough teeth that he wants more, wants it harder. He grips your hips as you move, but your kiss stays tender, slow, your tongue a wet heat against his own. He’d dreamed of this, of kissing you, and this one — albeit the second attempt — is everything he ever imagined.

Finally, your mouth grows more insistent. He’s hard as steel between his legs, and he can feel how hot you are, your wetness spreading across his boxers with every roll of your hips. Your mouth is sweet, almost sugary, and he finds himself chuckling against your lips, still trying to get you closer. Your stomach presses to his as you wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him harder, your tongue licking into his mouth.

“Sweets,” he grinds out when you start pulling at his undershirt, insistent to get it over his head. He lets you, and when you lower your head again, your mouth moves to his throat instead, and it makes him moan. “Mesh’la, wait, please, I need—”

You pull back instantly, your eyes bright with worry. “What is it? Are you okay?”

“I want…” His eyes drop, tracing a path down your body, his throat growing dry when they land on the apex of your thighs, the glistening wetness he knows he’s caused. He lets one hand follow the path his eyes made, rubs his thumb over your clit. Your whole body shivers. “I want to taste you.”

Your eyes go big, pupils blown with lust, and Din uses your momentary shock to his advantage. He’s stronger than you, perks of the bounty hunting lifestyle, and he flips you easily with one arm around your waist, his other hand hitching your thigh over his hip. You squeak as your head hits the pillows, clinging to him until you’re laid out beneath him.

It’s his turn to kiss his way down your throat, and he does, laving his tongue against your pulse as he makes his way down your body. He pauses at your chest, moves to the side to close his lips around your nipple. It makes your back arch, a high-pitched noise falling from your mouth, and he grins against you, giving you just the edge of his teeth before he’s wandering across your chest to give the other the same attention.

You’re a writhing mess by the time he’s settled between your thighs. He can’t keep his eyes still, raking over every inch of you, trying to remember every part. He can see the muscles in your legs jump as he traces his fingers over them, the more sensitive parts of your skin making you keen.

With your legs spread, he can see everything, and his mouth waters at the sight of your wet cunt, walls fluttering around nothing as he teases you with his fingers, collecting your wetness on the tips before drawing them to his mouth.

He moans at the taste. Of course, you’re sweet. Deliciously so.

“Din,” you groan out, propping yourself up on your elbows. He can feel you watching, and his gaze flicks up to yours as he drops his jaw, lowers his mouth to you. Your eyes roll back for a moment, one hand moving to knot in his hair, and Din moans into you. His tongue explodes with the taste of you, sending shocks down his spine, making his hips rolls into the mattress, seeking relief.

Just do what feels natural, your words echo in his head. So he does. He licks into you, wide stripes with the flat of his tongue, smaller kitten licks to your clit. He can’t get enough of your taste, hooking his hands around your thighs, pulling himself deeper into you. And you guide him some, your hand in his hair an anchor of sorts, tugging slightly to get him right where you need him, a gasped oh fuck, right there! reaching his ears.

It’s not before long that you’re smacking at his shoulder, muffled moans on your lips with your teeth sunk into your lower one. He detaches from you, gets one more good look and lick in before he’s following your grip, kissing every inch of you he can reach as he makes his way back up your body.

“I need you inside me,” you slur, your hands reaching down, pushing at his boxers. His cock springs up against his stomach and he groans, the sound growing louder when you wrap your fingers around him. “Please, Din, I want to cum on your cock.”

It’s a miracle he doesn’t cum right then and there, hearing your words turn filthy. And filthier still as he hauls himself over you, plants one elbow beside your head, looks between you, reaches down to line himself up and—

Freezes.

He can feel your eyes on his face, features pinched with anticipation. Your hands have found homes along his ribs, fingers tapping out rhythmless patterns. Hips lifting, you must see something in his expression, because you move a hand to his chin, lifting his eyes to yours again. “Din,” you say, and a shiver shoots down his spine again at the way his name sounds on your lips. “It’s okay. We can stop, if you need to.”

“No!” he nearly shouts, and feels himself flush, lowering himself slightly, careful not to drop all his weight on you. “No, that’s not what I…I don’t…”

“Don’t what?” you murmur. Your voice is quiet, understanding. You give a soft laugh. “I know you’re not a virgin, but if you don’t want to, it’s okay, I won’t say any—”

“It’s not that,” he cuts you off, petting his hand over your still-damp hair. “I want to. I want you. It’s just that…” He chews at his lip. “No one’s ever seen my face, while we…when I…”

Realization slides through your features. “Oh.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t have to look,” you say quickly, skimming your knuckles along his cheek. “I can turn over, if you like, if that’s easier than—”

“No,” he says, not a shout this time, but firmer. “I want you to see, Sweets.” He drops his chin, emboldened by your softness, your understanding. He kisses you soundly. “I want to kiss you while you cum.” His words pull a silky noise from your throat.

He breaks the kiss as he takes himself in hand, pushes into your dripping cunt. You’re hot, clenching down on him instantly, arms draped around his neck as he lowers himself further, latches his lips to yours. He hitches one of your legs high on his hip, drives into you deep. He had you close on his tongue already, and he rolls his hips hard, catching something deep inside that makes your entire body seize.

“Yes, Din, please, oh gods, please, please, please,” you’re babbling against his lips, one hand pressed flat between his shoulders, the other knotted in the back of his hair. “Yes!”

Just as he said, he kisses you while you cum. He feels it pulse through your body, your limbs taut and then lax, still holding him close. Your hips chase his, cunt clenching tight as a vice, and Din’s not far behind you, pleasure lighting a fuse down his spine.

You pull your lips from his just as he starts to spill in you. Your hand moves to grip his chin, and you force his gaze to yours. He gasps and your mouth mirrors his, lips parted in a soft o, turning to a grin as he grinds into you, painting your insides as deep as he can go. It feels like an implosion, his bones rattled in his body, but then set on the softest bed of silk as he collapses into your chest. You hold him close, petting one hand through his hair, breathing deep and slow until his own evens out, matches yours, until your heartbeat syncs with his.

“Mesh’la?” he calls after a moment, cheek still pressed to your sternum.

“Yes, Din?” you reply, your voice scratchy as your nails start to drag along his scalp. His eyes are heavy.

“I missed you.”

He can hear the smile in your voice. “I missed you too.”

+

Din wakes alone in your bed again.

He thinks it’s the next morning — the rest of what he assume to be evening was spent in your bed, both of you naked and wrapped in each other. Again and again and again, he pulled pleasure from your body, let you pull it from his, found your bliss together. By the time you were both too tired to move, sprawled on the mattress, your head on his shoulder, you’d whispered, “You’re a good kisser, Din Djarin.” And then you were asleep, Din not too far behind.

He dresses quickly, boxers pulled back on, undershirt in his hand as he pads out of the room. He finds you standing in the kitchen, a steaming cup of caf in your hands. The droid — Shrimp, he dimly recalls — is perched on the table, beeping out a message to you. You’re nodding along, blowing the steam off the top of your caf, and your eyes flick to him as he steps into the kitchen.

“You know Peli Motto?”

Din’s brow crinkles with confusion. “You know Peli?”

You scoff. “That woman taught me everything I know.”

“You’re joking.”

“Swear on my hangar.”

Din just laughs, walking around the table. He slides an arm around your waist once he’s close enough, leans into kiss the side of your head. You lean into him. “Why are we talking about Peli?”

“She sent me a message,” you say, offering him your caf. He takes a sip, only feeling more confused. “Asking if I had any spare ships laying around my hangar. A replacement for her Mandalorian friend.”

Din balks. He hasn’t told you about the Crest. “Sweets…”

You step away from him, pressing a hand to his chest as your eyes go wide with realization. “Din Djarin, what did you do to that ship?”

“I didn’t—”

“Din.”

“It was Imps,” he says, trying to reach for your hip. “It wasn’t—”

“Where is the Razor Crest?”

He sighs heavily, and reaches out to take the cup of caf from you again. “Now it’s nothing but a scorch mark on the planet Tython. It was the Imps. They took my son.” The words are out before he can stop them.

Your eyes go so wide he’s worried they might pop out of your skull. “Your son?”

“It’s a long story.”

You pluck the caf out of his hands, walk around the table, pull out a chair and sink into it. “I got nothing but time.”

#sleepover saturday #my fics #din djarin #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fic #din djarin fic #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #din djarin smut #din djarin fluff #din djarin headcanon #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian smut #the mandalorian fluff #the mandalorian headcanon #the mandalorian fanfiction

[echoedcrosshairs]

His Queen ~ Boba Fett x F Force User Reader

Summary: You and Boba use to be a thing before he fell into the Sarlacc pit and since returning he hasn’t reached out so you decided to make the first move to see if the flame still burns.

Warnings: smut, mild talk of violence, unprotected sex, PiV, dirty talk, gloved fingering (f), creampie, age gap if you squint, cockwarming, exhibitionism, jealousy, mild breeding kink if you squint, possession if you squint, regret, helmet kink, dom/sub/switch play

Word count: 6.2k

You leaned back into the large throne noting that it needed some serious pillows and padding. Two Gamorrean guards walked in with their weapons draw advancing towards you. Your lips curled in annoyance but you allowed them to come to the edge of the throne before extending your hand and making one fall before you used him as a foot rest.

"Make yourself useful, get me something to eat and tell the Great Daimyo that The Queen is here," you purred making yourself as comfortable as possible.

The other guard ran off and the one under you stayed still, it's probably been a long time since they seen a force user let alone a women who wields it like a weapon. You're kind trailed off remembering Boba and how long it had been, anger trying to boil over that he survived and didn't try to contact you or even let you know. You tilted your head back against the throne assuming the other one wasn't coming back with food. The quiet foots drew you out of your memories, you looked up to see a woman with a bright orange helmet pointing a rifle at you. You rolled your eyes but then you saw the dull shine of green beskar approaching. Your heart fluttered but you restrained yourself to keep from jumping up.

"How does my milady like the throne?" He said helmeted taking the knee before you, his hand motioning for the woman to lower her blaster, "Does the Queen request a tour?"

"New pet?" you said eyeing the woman with annoyance, she was a little older then you but definitely his type.

"No, my body guard and dear friend."

"You? Need a body guard? Tsk. Fine you may rise," you said with a small smile pulling your feet off the guard, "I am simply known as The Queen," you said offering a small courtesy to the woman, "You are?"

"Fennec Shand."

Boba walked up and took your arm in his, "You didn't answer the question about the throne," he teased.

"Pillows, lots and lots of pillows."

"Why do they call you The Queen?" Fennec asked curiously following several paces behind both of you.

"I am kind yet cruel, authoritative yet yielding, and because of this," you said moving a finger bending her rifle chamber up and then straightening it.

"A force user?" She said looking at her rifle.

"One of her many talents," Boba chipped in, "Quiet the bounty hunter, gave me a run for my credits time to time." 

"And thankfully you decided I was benevolent enough to partner up time to time," you winking holding his helmeted gaze, knowing his perfect brown eyes were staring at you, "but someone's noticeable absence has left me quiet malevolent," the softness in your face faded to an icy glare.

He pulled you closer "It might have escaped My Queens mind that I have been quiet busy."

"Getting wise in your old age," you purred, "thankfully for you it was not a crime that I could not forgive with time," you felt his gloved finger under your chin, his other hand ripping up his helmet just enough to expose his lips.

"Forgive me, My Queen. You should have known I would eventually have set every ship at my disposal to find you and bring you back to me," he said bringing your mouth to his allowing his lips to apologize, "I am sorry," he finally whispered, your name fall silently from his lips like it was the most guarded secret in the world letting his helmet fall back into place.

"So have you given up bounty hunting?" you said looking out the grand windows to the endless sand, "and the code?"

"I'm a simple man making his way through the galaxy," his whisper seemed to echo against the stone, "I'm not ready to give it all up, a man has to remain battle ready until his prime has long since faded and mine has not," he said walking again, "but this is home and where I belong now."

"I've missed you, Boba," you whispered the sentiment betraying your demonstrative cold behavior, "but how dare you say you would not come for me yourself."

"You were never far from my thoughts," he said squeezing your hand, the leather's warm embrace made you smile, "but I did have obligations here to attend to first"

You pouted, annoyed but understanding what little you knew of him now coming to rule clearing it of the spice trade and other criminal notions. "No massive fire pits?" You purred, "I'm almost disappointed however I do feel the rancor your bonded too, it almost makes up for it," you said letting your free hand trail up his arm touching the cool beskar.

"I have yet to renovate since moving in, hopefully I can have more of your input if you stay maybe a fire pit or two for old times sake although I don't think there are many enemies left to char."

"There are always enemies in the shadows, you know that well. But we'll see I am quiet the busy Queen places to see, people to kill, credits to collect."

"A Queen whose only ever been ruled by me," he whispered leaning towards your ear, "or do you need a reminder My Queen?"

"You have Mos Espa yours to rule now instead," you hissed back but he knew you liked it, Boba always knew when something suggestive landed but he would never tell you what the tell was.

You watched him give Fennec a small dismissive nod to Fennc, she offered a small bow to us before leaving. Boba grabbed your arm tighter guiding you in a new direction. The smell of a kitchen tickled your noses. The dining room was grand lined with empty tables and chairs with an ornate engraved table designed for four at the very back overlook everyone.

"A feast tonight in your honor?" He asked.

"Showing your beautiful guest off to your subjects? How bold."

"No one would dare try to steal you from me," his gloved finger traced down your cheek towards the back of your neck, grabbing it, "I'll make sure of it."

A heart beat fluttered in your lower extremities pulling with excitement over such a delicious threat. You couldn't see into the visor but you knew by heart where his eyes were and you stared at the positions where they were wishing you could see the look on his face and the intensity, "What if I wanted them to dare as punishment to you."

Boba sighed knowing he wasn't going to win this. He knew you were hurting because he hadn't sent for you or tried to reach out while both of you were never spouses before due the nature of the job there was always a spark and undeniable tension both of you tended to give into after a bounty but now time had gone by and he had never bothered to speak his heart. Boba could sense the sand in the hourglass trickling, you coming and teasing him back after all this time was a silent offer of chance to atone and amend his mistake. "If that is what The Queen deems a suitable punishment so shall it be," he said cautiously removing his hand from your neck and tilting his head forward in offering, "A suitable punishment for this fool of a man for losing so many glorious opportunities to enjoy time with such a lovely creature such as yourself."

"My thoughts exactly," you said resting your forehead against the cool metal of his beskar. It made your heart flutter at the sentiment and meaning of it, he gave your forehead a little tap with his and a smile broke out across your face, "Going soft on me?"

"Never," he replied taking a few more deep breaths before pulling back, taking your arm and guiding you in another direct, "I assume you have plenty of sinfully tasteful fitting dresses with your luggage or do you want to see how Mos Espa looks on you?" he stopping at a crossroads in the hall.

"I had one especially made before coming in case I needed to get your attention " you teased, "I can't think of a better time to test in."

"How wicked" you heard the smile in his voice finally picking a direction a direction "You've never needed anything to get my attention Mesh'la," he added, "Do I get to see it before the feast?"

"What would be the fun in that?" You laughed.

"It must be some dress then."

"You have no idea my dear Daimyo."

Boba guided you back to his two main guards, listening your muffled giggle at the one you used as a foot rest. The sound of it reminded him of another time another Boba. "Go with them, they'll carry your luggage back for you and provide a room for you. I'll get the word out about today," Boba said with a small bow dismissing himself not waiting for a response. His mind was exceptionally sharp but it was clouded when you were around and he desperately needed some fresh air. When he reached the throne room dias he disappeared behind a small door to a balcony that oversaw the city below still semi shrouded from view.

"Lover?" he heard Fennec ask behind him.

"A life time ago, yes."

"Don't let her distract-"

"I always trust your wisdom, my dear friend but I don't think she's here to distract me. It seems she's here to see if the spark is still there or if it's time to move on."

"Is it?" she asked.

"I hope so. Invite everyone for a feast tonight. Get the best cooks and musicians, please."

"Please? I like her already," Fennec chuckled starting to make a mental list and those to contact some help for such a last moment event, "Why haven't you taken your Helmet off? I haven't seen you wear it so long."

"I've gotten old and forgotten what it means to wear it. Not sure if I'm ready for her to see that."

"So you do have doubts?" Fennec smiled.

"I haven't lived this long without being prepared."

Fennec nodded, Smart Man, she must be one hell of a Bounty Hunter to put him on edge like this. Fennec excuses to herself to start making preparations for the eventing contacting the Mods to help her spread the word.

You watched the guards pick up the two very heavy trunks and fling them over their shoulders with ease. Smiling you closed the ship after wondering around it once more and followed after them. You took in the sights on the way back, the sand, the people, the peace. You remembered what this place was like, the fear and iron fist but now it seemed people were actually happy and living life. While the sand was not something you cared for you, it could be home or at least a place to dwell between bounties. Your mind trailed back to Boba, the roughness of his voice and how different it was from when you last heard it, it made you wonder what had happened to him in the time apart.

The guards took you to a room past the Daimyo's at the end of the hall, the room was luxurious dripping in finery. They put the trunks at the end of the bed and left you to explore in silence. Their was a beautiful vanity lined with fragrances from through out the galaxy. Then you saw it the small fragrance box in the back unopened, no dust clung to and it was obviously new. You sliced the cover with your nail and opened it, revealing a translucent blue bottle labeled The Queen, you smiled at the limited edition perfume knowing you were really on his mind. You opened the balcony to look at the city below, your hands trialed the railing the cold metal reminding you of him.

You tapped the back of your knuckles on the railing frustrated. Should I have even came? There's plenty of other bounties hunters would would be worth the time of day, several of which are Mandalorians or equally rough around the edges. Boba's obviously retired, could I? Your mind trialed to the stacks of your stashed credits, the adrenaline running through your veins and the electricity dancing throughout your nervous system on a bounty, the reeling feeling of being alive and then back to him. You groaned pulling yourself away from the railing, sensing the approaching person coming to your door. You opened it before they had time to knock, finding Fennec standing in the door way.

"Ms. Shand, how can I be of assistance? Someone you need to talk?" you smiled.

"No, I came to escort you to the Daimyo bathing room if you wish to use something a little more luxurious then your own."

"Let me grab something to slip into for the time being," you said turning and rummaging through the trunk to find the floor length black slip at the bottom, "How many hours until the feast?" you asked curiously.

"Three."

Short and simple, "How is he...? Really I mean," letting your voice dropped to a hush tone.

"He's a better man."

"Thank you for watching over him," your voice dropped even lower.

"That's what family does," she said pushing open the large door revealing a steamy chamber with several bathing soaps and assorted towels, "Enjoy, I'll leave you to it. You can go back to your room when ever your done."

You walked inside pulling the door shut behind you, admiring the long tub with steam rolling off of it. You dressed down and submerged yourself in, the heat engulfing you in a warm embrace. You dunked your head back and let the warmth touch your scalp.

"Little one," you heard the smirk in the tone echo in the chamber.

You looked around not seeing anyone but you felt his presence nearby, "Can I help you?" you asked innocently running your fingers through your hair.

"Can I come in?"

"I'm not going to stop you," you said sinking yourself further down into the tub.

Your eyes caught sight of a small door opening, assumingely connected to Boba's room. He was still armored but he strode in and took a seat next to the bath.

He watched you sink even lower into the bath, "I don't remember modesty being one of your strong suits."

"I don't remember being an observing prude being one of yours either," you snickered back lathering your hair, "nor one for wearing so much black," your eyes danced around his body back up to his helmet, "or secrecy."

Boba sat slightly watching you lather and wash your hair, "Stand," he said once you were done.

"What if I don't want too," you teased, standing just enough to were the water still covered your nipples distorting them. His silence maddening not taking the bait, you moved the the side of the tub he was sitting on, pressing your against the wall and standing so nothing was visible. You noticed the small adjustment he made while sitting knowing it was getting to him. You let your arms go up to your head and squeezed some of the water out of your head letting the top of you be exposed to him, "Satisfied?" you asked lowering your arms covering yourself again.

"Come here, My Queen," his voice was husky with lust, motioning you forward with a finger.

You painfully took the stairs out of the tub one by one so he could trace your body with his eyes. You could feel his gaze shifting the impression leaving warm spots up your body. You stood in front of him crossing your arms under your breast to prop them up, "You are interrupting my bath," you said simply.

"I could give you a reason to get back in," he said suggestively placing a gloved hand on your waist noticing the small goosebumps appear.

"I don't think that is the point of the punishment," you said turning letting your back and ass be in view.

"I didn't say I would get pleasure from it," he smiled.

"If it would hold you over until after the feast," you relented smiling down at him, "One wouldn't hurt."

"Of course, My Queen," he said pulling you down on your knees before him.

You could already feel your slick starting to coat you and he wasn't even touching you yet. He leaned down putting his helmet in your face letting two fingers trial up your side to your breast and pulled gently on the physical reaction it caused. You let out a small pleasurable hiss at the feel of the semi rough leather, he quickly stuck one finger in your moan to silence you as he brought his free hand back to your breast. You let your tongue stroke the leather teasingly, you opened your mouth wide letting his finger escape visibly coated with drool. You heard a small groan escape him and his legs shift again. You smiled wiping the little bit of left over drool off from your lip.

You watched him lean forward more dropping his hand between your legs circling your clit. Your slick coating the rough leather. You heard his breathing hitch and a small growl escape him. He cautiously  twirled one gloved finger around your entrance gently pushing it in.

"Fuck," you moaned as the leather breached you.

"You are so tight," he groaned shoving it further into you, "So tight."

"Boba," the filthy moan escaped your lips, he shoved his finger further up without restraint to the spongy button stroking faster.

His finger stretched you as it curled into you, "My Queen," his voice was huskier, lust was taking over and he was doing his best to restrain his need. 

You started grinding into his finger clenching around it with every movement. You gasped as he  inserted another finger stretching you out further, "Bobaa," you said fucking yourself harder with them bringing your hand to your hair  and the other hand to his arm.

"Careful My Queen, I only have so much self restraint," he said being rougher, his other hand holding his cock to keep it from stroking itself in his flight suit. He desperately wanted to take it out and stroke himself.

You stood, his fingers popping out without warning causing you to shutter but you shoved him back in the chair and undid the pants of his flight suit, "Boba, now," you pleaded watching his mass spring up, the tip coated in precum more pulsating out at the command.

"What about my punishment?" He said shakily watching some of your slick fall on your thigh. 

"You don't want me?" You teased exposing your thigh to him but forcibly shoving his cock back in his suit and zipping it up, "I'm going to bathe, your excused," you said turning back to the bath and taking a step off the ledge into the water, wiping your thigh off.

You heard his breathing quicken, "Yes, Milady," he panted standing up.

"Next time just give me your cock, or I might be tempted to get my fill else where," you threatened not looking at him.

"I'll kill him. Slowly," you heard the anger break in Boba's voices, you smiled knowing he was going to think of you ever moment until tonight. 

The moment Boba reached his room he walked into the refresher gripped the counter trying not to relieve himself. He was so turned on and ravenous didn't notice your footsteps sneaking up on him until you did his flight suit again. You pulled him around and put the engorged member between your thighs holding it in place.

"It was almost just as fun watching you punish yourself," you purred, letting your hands move to the green chest plate, "but I really really want you right now. I won't asked again."

Boba picked you up like you were weightless and plunged his cock into you, "Fuck, Boba ," you screamed, as he started plowing it into you. He was forcibly stretching you out around him, his fingers dug into your hips the tightness nearly making him cum right there.

He was relentless and didn't stop as he put you on the bed, "My Queen," he moaned. The heat of being in his armor was bugging him, he quickly undid it tossing it to the ground. Your fingers went to his helmet, "It stays on," he growled being rougher cause your hands to move away.

Your fingers moved to his body, the muscles were quite was defined but you could feel he was definitely stronger. His cock was threatening to split you in two with every thrust. The heat of you engulfing every carnal urge within him turning them up. Boba felt you start shaking under him, "I've missed you" he groaned being rougher grabbing your legs and splitting them further his fingers digging into your ankles feeling you tighten around him, "You're so beautiful," he added staring down your beautiful face.

You felt his cock starting to twitch, you wrapped your legs around his ass pulling him closer and putting your hands around his neck, "Fill me, Boba. Please," you let your thumb trial up under his helmet to his jaw rubbing it matching his strokes. His arms shot down to catch himself, both of them placed on either side of your neck. Your felt him start shaking inside you, you let out cries of his name. Boba's never fucked you this hard, every thrust spearing you like it was the last. Your toes curls and your fingers dug into him harder piercing skin. You make the mistake of looking down watching his cock slide in and out of you, "Maker," the visual sent you over the edge. The pleasure coursing through you making every limb twitch but heavy. Your cunt quickly violently tightening around him when you felt him finally spill his warm release into you, his name falling from his lips like a prayer. You clenched again feeling some of its vast amount spill out.

He groaned the movement causing his sensitive cock to release what little was left in him, "Mesh'la," moving one of his hands gently to your embracing face. He kept himself situated between your legs and his cock slowly softening, massaging your twitching muscles, "Did I hurt you?" he asked tenderly.

"Boba Fett, the most feared bounty hunter in the galaxy worried about hurting someone?" You cooed, your heart still shaking and your high finally coming down.

"Only you milady," he said slowly trying to pull himself in but felt your heels dig into his ass and pull him back in.

"Done already?" you teased.

"I'm not as young as I use to be," Boba said leaning his helmet on your forehead.

"Just leave in me for as long as possible," you said pulling your hands from his face and resting them on his neck, "Why won't you let me take it off?" You whined.

He tipped it up and kissed you, pulling your bottom lip between his teeth and lathering your neck in soft kisses before putting the helmet back on, "Believe it or not but self consciousness. After the feast, you can take it off."

You wiggled your hips a little bit cause him to growl, "Fine, but come down here I'm cold."

Boba tucked his arms at your sides laying his head on your shoulder and his body on your chest covering you with his own heat. He could feel himself hardening again, he stiffened a small groan knowing you felt it too.

"Leave it," you said stroking his back feeling the muscle.

"Trying to have my heir?" he chuckled.

"In your dreams Fett," you laughed back.

"I'm in my dreams" he leered slightly thrusting in.

"I would have to be way fuller to even consider it, old man," you teased.

Boba's cock twitched eagerly, "That an offer? Maybe I'm not as old as I thought"

"Maybe after the feast and you've endured my torment," you teased, "besides it would be my heir," you tsked at him.

"An heir for each of us?" He asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Hmm, I'll have to think about it," you said trailing on finger up his spine feeling him tense again, "Perhaps-"

Fennec knocked on the door knowing better then to open giving the noises coming from it a little bit ago, "One hour." She quickly turned away grinning hoping his mood would be improved.

"Rain check," Boba said finally allowed to pull out staring at his seed oozing out of you, "Me'copaani ba'jurir ti ni?" his mandalorian was rusty but it still rolled off his tongue.

"I said after the feast," you said with a giggle watching him twitch, "Maybe you could make up my mind," you teased spending your legs further for him, tempting him.

Boba shook his head scolding himself, "After the feast," but the roughness in his voice told you it worked. He handed you a towel. He watched you hold yourself above it watching it dripped out. He groaned but grabbed his discarded clothing and walked into the bath room his self control slipping.

You followed after him with your clothing laughing and you still managed to beat him into the water, "You're going to close your control when you see the dress, might as well lose it now," you winked it him beckoning him into the water.

"I am a disciplined warrior, I have perfect control."

"And how many times did you take me while flying because you couldn't wait?"

"Get clean," he said lathering you in wash and than himself.

You rolled your eyes and finished leaving him in the bath by himself, "Send for me when your ready for your torment."

Boba watched you leave before taking off his helmet to washing his face and neck. You wrapped your hair up to finish drying while you opened the trunk to pull out the dress, your hands felt the silky fabric perfectly matching the red shade on this helmet fading to the green of his helmet and chest plate, cut to perfectly put everything on display and two side slits going all the way down to put your body on display. You smile pulling the open backed gown on and releasing your hair. Let's see how long he can keep his hands off me or see me with another man. You went to the vanity and looked at the new one smiling, you gave yourself several sprays of it. You were almost finished getting ready when a soft tap came at the door, "Enter."

Fennec walked in with the corner of her lip pulling into a smile, "A statement?" she offered.

"A question," you smiled, "hopefully one he'll finally answer."

"We're ready," she said.

You slipped your shoes on and quickly followed after her and the music. When you both entered the dining room it fell silent except for the music, all eyes on both of you. Fennec escorted you up where Boba and two empty places were. Both when both of you took your places the chatter started back up again. You side eyed Boba who didn't even turn and look. Maybe I should have done green to red then. Then you noticed Fennec eyeing him. So I did get under his skin.

You watched the Daimyo stand up and have it fall silent again, "I welcome you all to eat, dance and live. This feast is in our a dear friend, The Queen, who came to visit. Let's show her how Mos Espa now flourishes, free of war, spice and tyranny," he said raising a glass, sipping it and back down. He saw the few men eyeing you and was doing his best to quell his anger. Boba saw one eyeing you and you giving him the quick flash of a wave. So my punishment has started... Is that my perfume? He tighten his jaw, the dress was the perfect allusion to him yet perfectly opposite of his scheme. To him it signified you as his and as he equals, along with the perfume being another jab at the thought of seeing you with anyone else.

You saw Boba's free hand ball into a fist and his gloves tight against his knuckles, knowing your legs were covered by the table cloth you run you your foot up his leg with a smile between delicious bites. Everything about the feast was delicate yet stood out by its own, no two dishes tasted alike and every drink offered was vastly different. The desserts was one of kind. Maybe I would stay here just for this. You eyed the man heading to the dancing area, alone. You wiped your lips and excused yourself falling after him.

"Not eating?" Fennec said looking at the dessert, "I would have assumed you worked up at appetite earlier," she added scooping up a piece.

"Just waiting for her to be gone," he admitted tipping his helmet up and eating finally.

"She's really having an effect on you," Fennec said watching.

"We all have that one personal bounty that got away. She is a huntress personified."

"Why did you wait so long?"

"I assumed she moved on and I am a relic of the past."

"Boba for being the smartest people I've ever met... you sure are always the stupidest when it comes to the heart," Fennec said putting down the spoon full of dessert spotting her dancing with some guy, "A woman like that doesn't move on. Why are you dealing with this punishment," she said with a small chuckle.

"Ever defy a Queen before?" He growled, "I'd disintegrate him just for touching her, but I'm assuming this is her way of testing me and her way of asking me what I've been doing with others since."

"Have you?" Fennec asked raising an eyebrow.

"No," that was the question that unscrewed the final bolt. Boba tipped his helmet back down and wondered down the floor towards you.

The man spun you around, it was a silence dance.  It seemed almost like he was on autopilot. Then you noticed the man eyeing him in the corner, it was the look of a lover pinning. OH, you giggled and grabbed his hand dragging him towards the balcony.

"Did I make your boyfriend made?" You asked jumping up swinging your legs over the rails and sitting down.

"You know?" He asked confused.

"I am The Queen, there's little that escapes my eye. How are you enjoying the changes to Mos Espa?"

Boba found both of you outside, he leaned against the shadows in the door way listening. His temper calming after the admitted statement noticing the lover too also watching and listening. Boba smiled.

"The new Daimyo is a kind and stern man, he yields his influence only in the most respectful ways," the man said leaning against against the railing.

"Has the Daimyo ever shown interest in... any woman?" you asked cautiously.

"No, he spends all of his time making the town better or helping friends."

"Would you consider him a good man then?"

"Unlike anything this town has ever seen before. War broke out here, even when it looked like certain defeat he did not back down trying to protect this town. No other would have done that."

"Maybe I don't need to punish him as much as I thought," you said looking at your nails before taking in the city again, "Loyalty is the way, without a clan you are empty," you muttered, "You may go, have fun," you said looking at the city.

Boba stepped out the shadows and put his arms around your waist, “What was suppose to be the punishment?”

“The punishment would have came if you didn’t come after me,” you purred rubbing his arm, “you never disappoint.”

Boba lifted your legs and spun you around on the railing, putting himself between your legs, “Don’t get any ideas little one, we have company,” watching your hands wander to his abs, “as much as I want you and for you to be off limits.”

“So I’m not yours nor off limits? Good to know,” you said disappointed, “I guess I will be on my way then,” you said your heart starting to aching, you tried standing but he pushed you back down on the railing

Boba growled pulled away, walking over to the blinds and pulling them down and shutting the door. He ferociously pulled up your dress and rutted himself against you his cock desperately wanted to be released from his flight suit and cod piece, removed the piece and unzipped his flight suit moving your soaked underwear to the side and piercing your warm harshly making you moan his name.

“Mine,” he growled, thrusting, “My Queen,” he added thrusting again.

“Boba… Do you want me… ahh to stay,” you panted trying to be quiet.

He thrust again stopping for a moment, “You don’t have to give up Bounty Hunting for now,” he said gently running his hand over your stomach, “I’d prefer if you stayed here with me.”

“Boba, do you lo-“

“Yes.”

You smiled taking off one of his gloves, “You should have told me.”

“I know,” he admitted sourly.

“Now, get back to work,” you winked putting the glove in your mouth, both of you knowing damn well the music was to loud.

“Yes, My Queen,” he said holding your face rutting into you.

Your head went back, his cock clinging to your walls splitting you with every stroke. “Maker,” you moaned muffled by the glove and you could feel him twitch.

“Do you want me to cum into you,” he said wiping your cheek with his thumb, slowing down for a moment, “or I could use that pretty mouth,” you heard the smile on his voice.

You wrapped your leg around him shoving him further into you feeling more of your slick coat him, “Little one likes her filling,” he groaned picking the speed back up. The base of his cock was violently rubbing your clit engorging it with desire, “Don’t worry I’ll take care of my mess,” he said looking down at the union. He buried his other hand into the flesh of your ass using it to stabilize himself as he spilled into you. He clenched his jaw holding back the noise his throat was trying to maybe, he continued to pump himself until he felt like everything was out. He pulled himself out tucking himself back in. He let two fingers glide in and felt you arch forward, he pulled the glove off leaving it inside. Bringing his rough calloused hand to your throbbing clit, stroking it gently. Your thighs closed around his hand, he ripped them open using one leg to hold on side open and brought his other hand to your legs shoving it open, “I’m not done yet.” He worked your lips between his fingers putting his thumb on the sensitive tip.

You wildly started moaning as he worked you with his fingers and you could barely breath, your legs kept trying to clench shut and your cunt was clenched tight enough that it was trying to push out the glove. He shoved it back in “push out my load and you’ll be the one getting punished.” You moaned again at the comment. He said stroking faster setting your body on fire, every inch bouncing electricity limp to limp numbing every other sensation, “That’s it, cum for me.” Your face started burning at the command and roughness in his tone. He removed his hand from your leg and brought it to the back of your neck. You could’t stand it anymore you flipped up a finger causing his helmet to come off. You stared into half lidded dilated eyes, you pulled the glove out of your mouth grabbing him and kissing him letting his mouth muffle your orgasm.

“I almost forgot how handsome you were under there,” you breathed putting your arms around his neck, pulling him back to your mouth. You pulled back tracing the small scar across his face, “Am in trouble aren’t I,” you smiled.

He smiled pushing the glove in more pulling away and closing your legs picking you up, kneeling to pick up his helmet and opening the door guiding you back inside, “I’m going to enjoy filling you until it spills,” he smirked, “won’t mind a princess or two if they as strong as you.”

“Or as loyal as you.”

The rest of the towards Boba’s room was silent he gently set you on the bed pulling up your dress and pulling out the glove with a delish little liquid popping noise and tossing it to the ground. He stripped himself of everything but stopped at his vambrace pulling out the grappling line before discarding it to the ground, “I didn’t teach you everything,” he smiled grabbing your hands putting the line around them, “Now I’m going to spend the rest of night reminding you who’s really in charge here.”

#boba fett x reader #boba fett x female reader #boba fett x you #boba fett x f!reader #boba fett #boba fett smut #star wars smut #Star Wars #book of boba fett smut #book of boba fett #the book of boba fett #mandalorian smut #boba fett!sh #starwars smut #starwars mandalorian #star wars mandalorian #bounty Hunter #reader smut #fanfic smut #Bounty Hunter Smut #boba fett fanfiction #boba fett fanfic #book of boba fett fanfic

[nebel-ist-fur-alle-da]

"Can you hear me say your name forever"

Doctor Octavius x Reader

Summary: you've been kidnapped by doc ock to be his new assistant. You had a crush on him, when he was a professor and married, but then life happened, for both of you; today, you are not sure he is the same man you once knew... or is he?

Genre: angst, past trauma

The third chapter is here, my dudes and dudettes!!

It's been a rough month: I started my first job, I am finally graduating after years of studying and suffering and struggling. I might have found a road that I want to pursue. I don't think it will be my only path, I like to keep my options open, but I finally love what I have started (even though it can be hard) for the first time.

But now, lets get down to business! PART 2: Here

Update, a year later:

So, it's been a year! I landed my first job, I graduated AND I managed to finally live in the city! Am I living the dream my 16ish year old had? Maybe.

I definitely am more happy and somehow my life is coming out as something worth experiencing and living, and I really can say, for maybe the first time ever, that I am content.

But enough about me, finally the third chapter is here, written while I was technically working but when the inspiration knoks, you have to answer.

Enjoy ❤

You woken up to the sound of broken glass and forniture smashing. Your sleep was usually bad, but you barely slept in two days and this could no longer go on.

Feeling already your lower back protesting, you slowly approached the door, mentally planning how to address this situation. Knowing that the doctor is sometimes a bit unstable, you really want to risk your face for a tantrum? What if there was spiderman behind that door? She wanted to be free, didn't she?

Your hands trembled on the doorknob, pondering. Then, suddenly, all the noise stopped. After the longest count to ten ever existed, you open the door, fear and curiosity mixing in a strange way, making your body shiver even thought it wasn't could outside. You pulled the door and a galaxy of little glass pieces was waiting for your feet. The room was a mess, chairs everywhere with broken lab instruments and stuff. You put on your boots, preparing yourself to enter this mess, knowing that you could've just closed the door, none of it was your problem. Behind a table you saw the professor laying on the floor, his metal arms lying still at his side, and blood covering his hands.

"Doc" you carefully touch his shoulder, feeling the warm skin underneath. 'So he is warm after all'.

Suddenly, you hear him snoring. That's the most human thing he has done in days. Feeling a bit of tension fading away, you burst into a laugh, unable to stop. Otto slowly opens his eyes, but you find yourself unable to stop, and your soft laugh becomes hysterical, your vision blurred from tears.

"What's going on?" His imposing voice full the room.

"I-" You try to answer, but you can't stop laughing, and you can't tell if it's because you are amused by this insane situation.

Probably not.

A pot of emotions was slowly cooking for days, and somehow they found a way out.

"Why are you crying?" His voice was demanding, but a hint of apprehension was there.

"Really, I don't know" 'liar' you instantly think. You were scared to death by this situation, but you would gladly die instead of saying this in front of him, out loud. You had realized, before opening that door, that you were concerned and scared for him, but also because of him. You were falling, really was that simple but also terrifying. You know he doesn't believe you, but he slowly put his hands on your arms, almost scared you would run away.

"I did all this, didn't I?"

You nod.

"Usually, I wait for this episodes with joy, because my arms stay asleep for hours. I missed this silence in my head".

He briefly looked at his metal arms, permanently fused with his body. Your eyes linger on his chest, his scars, his hands stroking slowly your arms.

"I'm sorry" he whispers, his voice breaking.

You don't know how to respond.

"I'll take you back home" his hands grabbing your arms "now, before they wake up"

Your eyes goes back up, widening.

You want to speak, but he is already putting you on your feet.

"Doc" you try to speak, at least say something.

"What was I thinking? So much of a genius, and I take these decisions"

All you can think was that when a villain doesn't want you. Nobody wants you.

You already knew this, but every time someone reminds you of this, you die a little bit more inside.

Also, you were so sleep deprived that something breaks and you start crying, again.

Could this situation be more pathetic?

"You can't say here. It's not safe and it's not right for you" Otto kept saying while you were crying. The fact is that in your sad pathetic life this was the most terrifying and exciting thing that happened to you in a while. How sad your life must be?

You tried to keep it all inside.

"Doc I have literally nowhere to go. You saw my life and I suspect you choose me specifically for this. No one would come looking for me".

As much as those words hurt, they were true. Despite all his good intentions, he couldn't replicate to that logic. He could've be your best option to turn your life around, even thought he's one of the most dangerous man alive.

He stayed silent for a very long time, thinking about possible answers to yous situation. Eventually, he was defeated.

"As much as it pains me to admit this... you are right, and I am so sorry" you looked him in the eyes, and you could tell he was sincere. Not having a cacophony of voices in your head makes his face much more softer, and you could tell. But that moment soon vanished, and a new, heavy thought entered his synapses.

"I should be more careful with my children, they could be quite persuasive on a feeble mind. I must not hurt you, ever again" he took your hands, and you noticed for the first time that yours vanished inside his palms.

"Please, don't let me hurt you. Run instead if I can't no longer control myself"

You nodded, feeling a strange feeling in your gut. Something hot slowly pooling inside you. Just one simple touch of his hands, the intimate situation just passed... your mind started racing the second he looked you in the eyes, but you never dared to even master a thought like that.

And now, just like that, your body betrays you.

He was still looking in your eyes, hands hot on yours, his digits slowly brushing your skin. You looked down.

"I promise you that if things go our of hands, I will try to run. It might help me to have spider man number, you know?"

Your old weapon works again: in the blink of a eye you manage to shift the doctors attention from you to that spiderman dude, flying around and making a mess.

"Why would you want his number?" His eyes dark and illegible.

"You know, if things got out of hand... that's all, I promise" you chuckle, trying to keep the moment light.

He gave you a tiny smile, scoffing. "I really don't know what your generation is up to these days" he let go of your hands, trying to stood up.

"Well, If you want to stay here, the first thing you could do is tide up this mess"

"Excuse me?!"

"You know, my arms are stuck like this, they will wake up tonight" he raised his palms in apology.

"So your saying that on top of being an old scientist who is always complaining about younger generations, you are also useless?" You teased him.

His eyes darkened, his smile became a smirk.

"Watch your mouth, young lady. I may be temporary useless, but my mind works just fine"

You mutter an apology and start to clean up while he tried to balance his steel weight on a chair.

The morning flew like this, you trying to not cut yourself with all that glass from lab equipment and him gently reminding you that you missed a spot.

By 12,30 you were ready to kill him.

"Listen up doc, I am tired and hungry, so if you want to clean so badly that spot, YOU SHOULD DO IT YOURSELF" the last bit was just a scream, but he laughed.

"I strained you, didn't I? Let's make something to eat"

You rolled your eyes.

"You mean that I should make something to eat, because you are just a big tin of metal arms stuck in place"

"Hey, there is no need to be rude" he replied, and you could tell he was slightly offended and hurt by the situation. You, on the other hand, was not.

"Hope you fancy some curry with chickpeas, because that's the best thing I can make like this"

He smiled politely. "I will not eat that disgusting thing even if you make me"

"I beg your pardon? The master has requests, I presume" you bowed.

You were looking at the floor for two seconds, but for him it was enough. When you come up, his face was inch from yours, sporting a

mischievous grin. His eyes looked more dark and sharp, and you froze right there.

"Did you have fun joking about me this morning?" He asked, his voice deep and low.

You tried to speak, but your throat was suddenly dry. You just shook your head.

"OH darling, I think you did" his smile widened. "You see, my arms are made from a perfect material, resistant but weights like a feather" he gently brushed your cheek, his eyes lingering over your face and neck.

You felt all your blood rushing to your face but you were unable to even think about a clever response.

"Do you still trust me?" He asks.

You gathered all your energies in that answer.

"Yes"

"Then you are a fool" his hand reached your neck, gently squeezing. "I could simply decide you are nothing, and break you. In my endless research of perfection, I could hurt you. Is this the type of man you would like to assist?"

During this few words, his grip tightened. You could only master the breath to say 'yes' one more time.

He lets you go and air returns in your lungs. You take big gulps of air, still looking him in his eyes. You know that if you stop, this moment will never return and will be simply forgotten as part of this mad day.

"For a person this smart, this is a pretty bad decision" he lowered his sight. "Just... stay out of my arms reach, ok?"

You mentally ask yourself how long is in fact his arms reach, but you stay silent. You just nod.

He gives you a sad smile.

"Now, lets fix you something to eat that doesn't have strange spices in it, shall we?"

#doc ock x reader #doc ock #doctor octavius #doctor octopus #otto octavius x reader #dr. otto octavius #otto octavius #spiderman #spider verse #i promise that somehow even spiderman will come in handy #i fear that this will turn out as a domestic everyone lives happly fic but i decided that i want to write what i like #alfred molina

[helix-studios117]

Halo Reloaded: "I Trust You"

The UNSC medical bay, usually buzzing with the clinical efficiency of its staff, was unusually quiet. John stood out like a sore thumb amidst the pristine environment. Clad in sterile blues rather than his intimidating Mjolnir armor, he looked almost... human. A surgical mask covered half his face, but his eyes were a dead giveaway — a storm brewed behind them.

Linda, the reason for this storm, lay on the table before him. She was wounded during a recon mission gone sideways, and now here they were, in a situation neither of them was trained for. John with surgical tools in hand was a sight no Spartan could have predicted.

As he looked over Linda, his hands hovered hesitantly above her. The tools felt alien, too light compared to the comforting heft of a battle rifle. He could take on a legion of Covenant without a second thought, but this? This was uncharted territory.

Linda caught his hesitation, her voice cutting through the silence, rough but reassuring, “Hey, it's not like you're throwing a frag. You got this.”

John couldn't help but chuckle, the sound muffled by the mask. “Yeah, because surgery and grenades are so similar,” he quipped, the tension easing from his shoulders.

“Just... try not to blow anything up, okay?” Linda's attempt at humor was tinged with the strain of pain.

“I’ll do my best. But you know, I'm not exactly a medic,” John admitted, the seriousness returning to his tone.

Linda’s response was a soft, yet firm, “I trust you. More than anyone else in this galaxy.”

Those words, simple and honest, acted as the catalyst John needed. He nodded, a silent promise passing between them, and turned his focus to the task at hand.The surgery started, with John's movements cautious but deliberate. His reputation as a man of few words held true, yet each glance he shared with Linda spoke volumes. They communicated in the silent language of long-time comrades — a raised eyebrow here, a half-smile there.

Every so often, Linda would grimace, and John would mutter a low, “Sorry,” to which Linda would roll her eyes, a silent 'what did you expect?' hanging in the air.

“John,” Linda broke the silence at one point, her voice laced with feigned exasperation, “if you apologize one more time, I swear I'll kick your ass when I'm up.”

“That’s fair,” John replied, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement. “Just trying to make sure I don’t give you a reason to.”As he worked, John found himself falling into a rhythm, the initial fear of causing harm giving way to a steadfast determination. Linda's unwavering trust in him was a beacon, guiding him through the murky waters of doubt and fear.

Finally, as he placed the last suture, a wave of relief washed over him. He stepped back, allowing the medical team to swarm in and take over. Linda, still drowsy from the anesthesia, managed a weak but victorious smile, her eyes locking with John's.

“You didn’t blow me up,” she murmured, the hint of a tease in her voice.“Guess I’m better at this than I thought,” John responded, the relief palpable in his voice. As the medical team bustled around, prepping Linda for recovery, John lingered a moment longer, his gaze softening. This mission had taken them both out of their element, but they had come through, as they always did — together.

@jellotherelol

#halo #halo fanfic #halo fanfiction #halo headcanon #halo au #halo reloaded #john/linda #john 117 x linda 058 #linda 058

[thecoffeelorian]

Kiss Me, Captain (2)

Title: Kiss Me, Captain

Chapter Title: Interrupted

Word Count: 1,431 words

Brief Description: Captain Howzer x Female Reader, Captain Howzer x Chandrilan Reader (Singular Love Interest)

Tags: @angrypaperearthquake-tbbb-main @afuckinnerfpuncher @anxiouspineapple99 @burningfieldof-clover @freesia-writes

Extra Notes: Yeah, I kinda borrowed a trace of '10 Things I Hate About You' in my introductory chapter...however, my next several installments will hopefully be a lot more original as far as fanworks can go. Also, I've been tending to an injured family member since this past spring, so that should explain my summer-long absence.

"Whoa!"

You catch yourself in time before you walk straight into the man, and automatically start thinking of the best apology to give him. Though there are undoubtedly many people out and about in the streets this time of day, nevertheless, it wouldn't be good of you to forget your basic manners. Not when you're so close to making your escape, and more or less doing your best not to attract too much attention.

However...

Once you've looked up into those dark eyes properly, it's only then that you notice him. That same focused, wary look that you must have seen at least half a hundred times within the last few years. The face of one Mandalorian warrior reflected in the faces and lives of thousands, only this time, it's not just one more Trooper passing you in the street.

"Apologies, ma'am. Afraid I didn't see you zere."

No, this time, that Trooper's focused on nobody else but you...and despite your own stubbornness and bad temper, you feel yourself start to get just the slightest bit warm.

"No, no, the fault is all mine. I'm the one who got distracted."

Warm, and under his scrutiny, and curiously not ready to throw the nearest chair at this Trooper's sudden appearance. Not like you would have done in the presence of a less interesting, more infuriating fellow. How strange it seems that things can change so quickly.

"Well...I guess the both of us should be careful, huh?"

"Most likely!"

Nevertheless, now that you've gone and broken the ice between yourselves, it almost seems wrong for you not to get a full sighting of him before you part ways. To try, if you're able, to figure out what sort of soldier he was on the various battlefields around the galaxy.

Whatever color armor he might have worn before, though, you can't exactly tell.

He seems to have abandoned his usual gear in favor of civilian clothing, for he's got on a set of gray pants and shirt, a simple black belt, and a pair of matching black boots. Hardly the sort of getup that promises, 'Look out, I'm a literal human weapon'...but then again, the war with the Separatists has recently been decided, so maybe all the soldiers involved can move on from this.

Or so you hope.

"Whereabouts are you headed, soldier?"

"The same place everyone else is going, ma'am. Out into the galaxy to seek my fortune."

You and me both, you think to yourself, taking a quick mental note of the telltale scarring upon the right side of his otherwise unmarred face. Though this one seems friendly enough, other people, or droids, or perhaps even wild beasts seemed to have disagreed with his existence entirely, for any one of them could have been responsible in taking their aggression out upon him.

In spite of what he's gone through, however, he seems to be keeping his spirits up. Yes, this appears to be the face of a Trooper who could easily be off to his first real job off the battlefield, if not also a variety of other things, that war itself wouldn't have allowed him otherwise.

A shame you don't have the option of sticking around, though, because unfortunately, along comes the first of three notifications over your commlink to remind you that the early boarding process has begun.

Still...at this same time, it's got to be all for the best.

"So, I...should be going now, I'm afraid. I don't want to miss my shuttle."

He hasn't taken his eyes off of you since you first began to speak. He's making it just a little bit harder for you to pull yourself away, because as soon as you do, there's a very strong chance you'll begin to understand that you're well, and truly, alone.

Or could it be that you haven't been able to take your eyes off of him...?

"Of...of course, Ma'am. You be safe out zere."

He finishes his sentence with a quick salute, after which you feel yourself snap back to reality. It's time for you to go. He might be staying on this planet for some time yet, but you're not, and it's time for you to go. Right now.

"And you as well. Soldier."

Hefting your own bag a bit higher on your arm, you're turning yourself away and very nearly marching the rest of the distance to the space port. You need to leave this planet before you begin to think too much about staying behind, about abandoning the few friends who have already gone ahead of you and are waiting for you, and about giving Briana something to mock you with if she ever found out you might be as weak as she is around members of the opposing gender.

Not that you will, of course.

No, secret meetings are more of her thing, so naturally, she can have them. Whatever it takes for her to keep on being "the good girl" of Chandrilan society, keeping all of its traditions from the cradle to the grave, and more or less feeling safe in that curse of a Binding she seems to love so much.

You, on the other hand, are making your own way in the galaxy.

A way that begins just as soon as you're away from this stifling rock, on course to Naboo, and well out of the atmosphere before Father knows you're gone. It's this way that guides you through various patches of other fellow travelers, a seemingly random mix of humans, Rodians, Trandoshans, and Twi'leks, with a handful of Jawas and Mon Calamari hovering around the edges. There's even two or three Clone Troopers talking heatedly amongst themselves somewhere around the center, though you can't exactly make out their words. Probably debating the politics of the day, or current events, or asking themselves just how that Chancellor Palpatine fell down the stairs, for all that you know.

As for you, you're careful to get into the line for your flight out, all the while keeping your head down. Just in case.

Right on time, you think, patting the side of your bag just to reassure yourself that nothing's been lost or stolen. So far, everything's still there, which is a blessing in itself. Nothing's holding you back in that regard, all right.

The sooner I'm away from this stuffy planet, the better...

Then again...it's not until you just happen to glance to your right that you begin to notice the other travelers around you a bit more. This blue Twi'lek, for one, waves wistfully at a group of her friends before slowly turning and walking to her waiting ship.

That green Rodian, for another, chats away over a commlink to family members, their smaller faces reflecting a bit of his own features even through the blue light.

And third, there just happens to be a Human woman hugging her parents goodbye not twenty feet away from where you stand, their tearful farewells evident solely by their expressions alone.

In other words, they’ve all had someone to see them off on their respective journeys…but because of your own escape, that’s the one thing you’ve had to go without. Nobody’s around to give you a goodbye hug, or wave to you one more time before boarding, or even to ask if you packed an extra poncho for Naboo’s wetter rotations.

Is this a sign, then, that no one will miss you if an accident should befall your ship, or someone steals your holo-pass, or Force forbid, you’re stolen away to an Outer Rim planet to do the bidding of some petty warlord…? Just how angry, or bitter, or apathetic would your family be if the worst happened to you, but they learned about your abandonment of them well in advance and thought your fate a deserving punishment?

There’s no way for you to tell, unfortunately. You never really had so much of an inkling of Force sensitivity, so any hopes of predicting your own future are well out of your reach.

Instead, it seems to be just you, your bag, the line of other passengers ahead of you, and—

“—You there. Traveler.”

…And the sound and sight of a second Clone Trooper standing not six inches away from you, one hand motioning you forward.

Clearly, whatever brought you and that first Trooper to the same spot at the exact same time—the Force, mere chance, or sheer dumb luck—well, it just might not be done with you yet.

“Please step out of the line, ma’am. There’s something we need to discuss.”

#the bad batch #the bad batch fanfiction #captain howzer x chandrilan!reader #captain howzer x female reader #captain howzer #howzer thursday #tbb: kiss me captain #brush up your shakespeare #minors DNI

[miamierre]

Fic prompt (sorry its simple) - girldads. Just the two of them, dads to a baby girl, throw in WAG Pierre too because you've got me loving him.

anon. anon. anon. oh my god. this is so. this was so. i'm sorry i didn't write more, i just 1) do not know how to write kid fic, and 2) would be sacrificing my own mental wellbeing if i kept going because girldads!piarles is so. its so. the galaxy brain you have. my god

anyway enjoy ily thank u for sendingggggg

(word count: 1,758)

Pierre is up already when the baby monitor starts going off.

His early bird tendencies haven’t gone away despite moving from racing to modeling, really—if anything, they’ve gotten worse, considering all of the timezones he has to juggle with his international team. And ultimately, he doesn’t mind; early morning is when the world is quietest, when he can settle with himself and his future. The track is never too far from his mind, not even after being away for a couple of years. Charles lives the life full time, so he doesn’t exactly get what Pierre fantasizes about these days. He understands, but he doesn’t get it. So these early-dawn hours are some of the more precious ones that Pierre gets, day-to-day.

Unfortunately, he also has developed a habit of staying up late to work, like he has tonight. It’s been a year and a half since he’d been properly indoctrinated into the fashion world, started collaborating on designs and modeling for one brand or another year round, but he still feels the need to keep grinding the same as he’d done before in the garage: working until his brain scrambles is the only way he knows how to be, which doesn’t exactly leave him in the running for most-well-rested man.

And on top of that, having a baby has been—

Well, an adventure, for sure. He’s at Odette’s crib faster than he thought possible, doing his damnedest to not swing the door open too violently to startle her any further. “Ma cherie,” Pierre coos, trying to swallow his suddenly-flared nerves with a little sing-song tone. “What’s wrong? Papa is here, Odette, he’s right here.” With practiced ease, he lifts the crying baby girl into his arms, using his thumb to rub a soothing little pattern in her cheek. Contact seems to ease her distress a little; Odette’s wails have quieted into sniffling noises. “Are you tired, mon petit? Huh? My sweet girl.” He presses a kiss to the top of her head. “It is very late, you know.”

There’s a thud from somewhere behind Pierre, and then—“Pierre, Pierre, is she—” Charles stumbles through the doorframe, clearly disheveled from sleep, eyes huge. His chest is rising and falling rapidly. “Oh, thank god.” He pads forward, rubbing sleepily at his eyes with one hand. “How is our princess, cher?”

Pierre hums softly, gently bouncing Odette in his arms. “She is just sleepy, I think,” he answers, another soft hum slipping from his mouth as Charles presses a sleepy kiss to his cheek, then another to their daughter’s head. Odette babbles something soft and nonsensical in his direction. “Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

Charles chuckles, looping a loose arm around Pierre’s waist. His fingers press into the soft fabric of Pierre’s designer bathrobe. “But you were asleep already, mon chou,” he murmurs, beaming down at Odette’s sleepy face. “Our silly baby.” Pierre, still bouncing her, shakes his head in amusement. Charles continues, expression entirely melted from sleep and affection. “She is just like her Papa, no?”

“Silly sounds more like her Daddy, I think,” Pierre says softly, pressing another kiss to Odette’s face. “Mm, but we are falling asleep again, non?” Odette makes a soft, agreeable noise, settling further into Pierre’s embrace.

“Pierrot,” Charles breathes, sidling closer. “You are magic.” Pierre tries not to be cocky about certain things, parenting being one of them, but this—his husband is right. Their daughter has calmed entirely only mere minutes after the baby monitor was all but blaring through their home, just from Pierre’s quiet and careful attention. Charles kisses his cheek again, nuzzling gently at him. Pierre doesn’t say anything, just continues to bounce the baby until her breathing begins to even out again. “How did you know she was awake?”

“I was working,” Pierre mumbles, pressing one last kiss to the top of Odette’s head before returning her to her crib. She’s out entirely, fortunately for the two of them. Pierre turns to his husband, taking his hand. “Doing some research for the shareholders, you know.” A shrug. “Sorry, I should’ve stopped in to let you know she was okay.”

“Mmm, don’t apologize.” He presses another kiss to Pierre’s face. “Come back to bed, cheri, leave work for the morning.” He tugs at Pierre’s hand. “Nothing is life or death.”

Charles is right. He’d really only been up to do extra research for talking points on the next Zoom call, nothing more. And besides—bed with Charles is always better than most other alternatives. “Okay,” he finally concedes, squeezing his hand. “Bedtime for Daddy and Papa.” Charles chuckles and squeezes his hand back, leading Pierre back to the room across the hall without another word.

“Cheri,” Charles murmurs, crawling across the mattress and flopping onto his stomach. He yawns, nestling his head into his pillow. “You need to stop working so late. The bed is so empty when you’re not in it with me.”

“Mmmm, how do you think I feel when you are away for race weekends.” Pierre answers, sinking into bed right alongside him.

“You come with me, you know.” He’s half asleep but Pierre can hear from the tone of his voice that he’d be rolling his eyes if this conversation weren’t happening at 1 in the morning.

“But I do not get to share your bed the way I want to,” Pierre insists, scooting closer so he can drape an arm around Charles’ waist.

Charles laughs, muffled, into the pillow. “You know why we can’t fuck on race weekends,” he says, shifting so that he’s facing Pierre fully. The moon is so bright that it’s casting a glow through their window, light catching on Charles’ face and emphasizing the drool that has dried on his chin. It’s endearingly Charles. “You become my WAG and forget all the rules, mon petit?”

“I wish,” Pierre yawns, sinking more into the comfortable bed beneath them. “Mmm, Charlito. What was that noise, before you came into O’s room?”

Charles doesn’t answer for a moment. Pierre thinks he’s fallen back asleep already, and huffs softly, before: “I, uh. Fell out of bed.”

Pierre chokes on a laugh. “Oh my god.”

“The monitor was loud! You know I am a heavy sleeper, Pierre, that shit scares me when it goes off!” The bed is shaking a little with their combined laughter. “Maybe if you weren’t working late you could’ve rescued me.”

Pierre shakes his head, still laughing. “No, absolutely not. You know I would laugh at you until I fell out of bed, probably.”

Charles smiles at him, sleepy and warm and full of love. “I know,” he confirms, although his expression turns cloudy a few moments later. “Pierre, are you sure it was just because O was tired? I think we should call the pediatrician in the morning, just to be sure.”

“Mon chat,” Pierre hums, trailing his hand up Charles’ back until it reaches his neck, where he cups his hand. “She was not warm or feverish when I kissed her.” He thumbs at the clean line of his husband’s hairline. “You kissed her too, you felt it.” Charles hums but doesn’t say anything. “And she did not smell, so it was not a diaper issue. She had her formula before bed, so it could not have been hunger.” Another hummed noise of acknowledgement. “I think she just woke up and could not get back to sleep.”

Charles sighs beside him. “You’re right,” he murmurs. “I just—you know how I am.” Pierre does. “She is our little girl, and as much as I am home, I cannot be with her all the time the way you are.” There’s a twinge of sadness in his voice. “I worry I am going to miss something.”

“Charles.” Pierre is cradling his cheek, now, aimlessly tracing the same pattern he’d been working on their baby only minutes ago. “Just because you are not home all the time, does not mean you are going to miss anything.” He stretches a little across the bed to press a tender kiss to his husband’s forehead, then flutters one to his nose and one beneath his eye. “I am not home all the time either, mon amour, and I do not get the luxury of bringing my family with me all the time.” He exhales, nuzzling more into Charles’ space. “If I have not missed anything, you will not either.”

Charles makes a soft, appreciative noise. “You are awfully confident about that.” But the cloud has passed over him all the way, once again leaving behind only sleepy tenderness that Charles seems to wear better than anyone Pierre has ever known. “She is lucky to have a Papa that is so sure of himself, Pierrot. You are so wonderful with her it takes my breath away.”

“She is just as lucky to have a Daddy that worries over her the way you do,” Pierre murmurs. The ministrations on his cheek continue. “You are just as wonderful, Charles. And really—” he retracts his hand only to grab at Charles’ under the blankets, knitting their fingers together. “We are so lucky to have her.”

Charles nods against the pillow, gentle smile curled across the half of his face that Pierre can see. “We are,” he echoes. “We really are.” Then he quiets again, sleep beginning to take its final hold of Pierre’s husband once again. Three-time world champion, Italian icon, fiery spirit Charles Leclerc is falling back to sleep and the drool seems to turn on again like a faucet. Pierre chuckles to himself, his own eyes heavy with exhaustion and relief at the knowledge that their daughter is okay.

“Mmm, Pierre?” Charles’ voice filters through his ears.

“Mmmm.”

“Would you want another?” Charles sounds like he’s about to fall back asleep any moment now—his brain is on autopilot, must be filtering the last of his thoughts out before he really gets sucked back in.

The idea is sweet, but Odette is still so young. Pierre is going insane with being a father of one, let alone introducing another into the fold. Maybe, but not right now seems to be his answer. “Mm, what, are you planning on fucking one into me?”

Charles moans a little at the halfhearted cheekiness but just rolls over in bed so that he’s no longer facing Pierre. “Might,” he finally answers, and then immediately falls back into steady breathing that proves he’d gotten dragged back under for the night.

Well then. Maybe Pierre will reconsider his position after all.

#piarles #pierrecharles #10 x 16 #fic #prompt #im like. im actually so unwell over this conceptually please have mercy gang

[homemade-clones]

For the interview questions: 7, 8, 9, 12, and 13 for Cheese please!!!

@the-bad-batch-baroness

[Cheese looks up from his holopad, taking off his reading glasses and smiling brightly] "Hm? You've got questions for me? Very well, I did need a break from these reports!"

7) Describe your perfect day

"Oh, that's an easy one! I'm just a simple medic, with simpler wants. A perfect day for me is, firstly, a day off. Getting to sleep in, getting something other than rations or that goo of the mess hall for breakfast. Fresh bread and a cup of bantha milk would be ideal... If I can get to relax under the covers and catch up to the holodramas I'm behind for the rest of the day? That would make me the happiest clone in the world. No, scratch that. If the weather is cloudy or stormy, and I have a cyare to watch the holodramas and keep warm under the covers with me? That would make me the happiest man in the whole galaxy.

8) What makes you laugh?

"The usual, you know: Clever puns, a well-timed joke, Cake's ridiculous bucket hair after a mission. I'm quite easy to please."

9) What’s the best way to cheer you up?

[his eyes visibly light up, a chuckle forming on his chest] "You know those silly tooka videos? Yeah, they're my got-to for a quick mood lift." [Cheese picks his datapad, and plays one of the said videos to you. He laughs - as expected - taking a glance at to see if you're enjoying it too]. "I just can't help it, they are too entertaining!"

12) Describe your ideal partner

"Hmmm, tough question, I never really sat down to think about it, with a raging war an all, but- I can see myself with someone who enjoys spending quiet time together, you know? I'm sure that from my ideal day answer, you can imagine I'm not someone who enjoys high energy activities - having Bedbug in the squad is enough of a rush, haha. Other than that, and being kind?" [he bends to the side, reaching down to pat Aid' belly, who rumbles in happiness] "They must like massiffs."

[Cheese reads over the last question. His breath hitches, and the tips of his ears grow visibly darker. He chuckles, briefly rubbing the back of his neck and running his hand over his mouth.]

13) What’s the easiest way to flirt with you?

"Ah haha, well... I think the best approach is being blunt with me. Not my proudest trait, but I'm a bit oblivious when it comes to- uh... Romantic advances and intents. What can I say, picking up on romance clues was not part of cadet training, hahah."

"Thank you for visiting me! It was a much-needed break from trying to explain to the GAR all the ways my vode find to get hurt during leave."

#ask: answered #oc interview #oc: ct 2437 | medic cheese #mist squad interacts

[cinema-tv-etc]

Nichelle Nichols, Lt. Uhura on 'Star Trek,' dies at 89 July 31, 2022

Nichelle Nichols made history for her role as communications officer Lt. Uhura on Star Trek.

Actress and singer Nichelle Nichols, best known as Star Trek's communications officer Lieutenant Uhura, died Saturday night in Silver City, New Mexico. She was 89 years old.

"I regret to inform you that a great light in the firmament no longer shines for us as it has for so many years," her son Kyle Johnson wrote on the website Uhura.com. "Her light, however, like the ancient galaxies now being seen for the first time, will remain for us and future generations to enjoy, learn from, and draw inspiration."

Nichols was one of the first Black women featured in a major television series, and her role as Lt. Nyota Uhura on the original TV series was groundbreaking: an African American woman whose name came from Uhuru, the Swahili word for "freedom."

"Here I was projecting in the 23rd century what should have been quite simple," Nichols told NPR in 2011. "We're on a starship. I was head communications officer. Fourth in command on a starship. They didn't see this as being, oh, it doesn't happen til the 23rd century. Young people and adults saw it as now."

In 1968, Nichols made headlines when Uhura shared an intimate kiss with Captain James T. Kirk (played by William Shatner) in an episode called "Plato's Stepchildren." Their interracial kiss on the lips was revolutionary, one of the first such moments on TV.

Nichols was born Grace Dell Nichols in a Chicago suburb where her father was the mayor. She grew up singing and dancing, aspiring to star in musical theater. She got her first break in the 1961 musical Kicks and Co., a thinly veiled satire of Playboy magazine. She was the star of the Chicago stock company production of Carmen Jones, and in New York performed in Porgy and Bess.

'To me, the highlight and the epitome of my life as a singer and actor and a dancer/choreographer was to star on Broadway," she told NPR in 2011, adding that as her popularity on Star Trek grew, she was beginning to get other offers. "I decided I was going to leave, go to New York and make my way on the Broadway stage."

Nichols said she went to Gene Roddenberry, the creator of Star Trek, and announced she was quitting. "He was very upset about it. And he said, take the weekend and think about what I am trying to achieve here in this show. You're an integral part and very important to it."

The Two-Way

For MLK Day: 'Lt. Uhura' On How Rev. King Told Her To Stay On 'Star Trek'

So that weekend, she went to an NAACP fundraiser in Beverly Hills and was asked to meet a man who said he was her number one fan: Martin Luther King, Jr.

"He complimented me on the manner in which I'd created the character. I thanked him, and I think I said something like, 'Dr. King, I wish I could be out there marching with you.' He said, 'no, no, no. No, you don't understand. We don't need you ... to march. You are marching. You are reflecting what we are fighting for.' So, I said to him, 'thank you so much. And I'm going to miss my co-stars.'"

"His face got very, very serious," she recalled. "And he said, 'what are you talking about?' And I said, 'well, I told Gene just yesterday that I'm going to leave the show after the first year because I've been offered... And he stopped me and said: 'You cannot do that.' I was stunned. He said, 'don't you understand what this man has achieved? For the first time, we are being seen the world over as we should be seen. He says, do you understand that this is the only show that my wife Coretta and I will allow our little children to stay up and watch.' I was speechless."

Nichols returned to the series, which lasted until 1969. She also reprised her famous role in six subsequent feature films, including Star Trek II: The Wrath of Khan, where Uhura was promoted to commander.

For years, Nichols also helped diversify the real-life space program, helping to recruit astronauts Sally Ride, Judith Resnik, Guion Bluford, and others. And she had her own science foundation, Women in Motion.

"Many actors become stars, but few stars can move a nation," tweeted actress Lynda Carter, who played Wonder Woman on TV in the 1970s. "Nichelle Nichols showed us the extraordinary power of Black women and paved the way for a better future for all women in media. Thank you, Nichelle. We will miss you."

George Takei, who costarred on Star Trek as helmsman Hikaru Sulu tweeted: "I shall have more to say about the trailblazing, incomparable Nichelle Nichols, who shared the bridge with us as Lt. Uhura of the USS Enterprise," her wrote. "For today, my heart is heavy, my eyes shining like the stars you now rest among, my dearest friend."

He also posted a photo of his longtime friend, both of them flashing the Vulcan greeting, and these words: "We lived long and prospered together."

#Nichelle Nichols #Star Trek #Lt. Uhura #TV #Sci-Fi

[sniperct]

Spaceship games I've played

Starfield: 5/10

space, spaceships, exploration, but it's also fallout in space and if you don't like fallout's gameplay all that much you're not going to enjoy starfield. Also space combat is pretty simple

EvE Online: 7/10

I made billions of ISK mining. and I lost billions of ISK getting suicide ganked in high security space. There was some enjoyment before that but the space combat is very tactical so fun if you like that kind of thing. Haven't played since I got suicide ganked 2 days in a row by two different people in two different orgs in two different high security systems and lost two super expensive barges.

EvE Valkryie 9/10:

The reason I got a PSVR originally. It's defunct and dead now sadly, but the combat was amazing and I lost hours in the cockpit with my PSVR headset pulling high G stunts and shooting down other people.

Star Citizen: 8/10,

buggy as hell but has absolutely the best space flight out there, hands down. In perpetual slow development, I recommend against backing unless you're really into bug hunting and can handle frequently losing progress. But when the stars align its one of the best gaming experiences I've ever had. They added planets 18 months after I backed and the experience of seamlessly taking off, flying across a system, landing and exploring a planet and then returning retroactively justified my pledge for me. Was worth getting a nice set of joysticks one year, 80% for this game tbh.

Elite Dangerous, 7/10:

I keep trying to give it a fair shot, but the flying doesn't feel right. A bit reason I originally backed SC was specifically because I was trying to find a space flight/combat game to scratch that itch and SC beat ED for that. This was back in 2016 lol That said it has a large galaxy to explore, even if you don't get to explore your ships or planets to the same level you can in SC, and I can see the appeal of it if I could just adapt to the flight model. Works great with my joysticks though!

No Man's Sky, 7/10:

overhyped and under delivered, it's since come a very long way and I'd argue is one of the biggest turn around stories, second to FF14 maybe. Large, lovely univere to explore, I wish I could figure out how to get off the planet or start in space on my latest playthrough. Space flight is very very basic.

Star Wars: Squadrons: 9/10

Quiet literally waited since X-wing Alliance came out for this game. Decent story, but the sheer joy of flying around in an x-wing or tie fighter makes for exceptional gameplay. I've even played in VR with the PSVR and I can't emphasize enough how awesome that was!

Chorus TBD:

Really enjoyed the demo, was disappointed I couldn't get my joystick working with it. Got it for like 3 bucks at a recent steam sale and I want to give it a fair shake. Maybe I can find a way to map my joystick.

Bonus mech but not space ships!

Mechwarrior Online 6/10

Great game, got my joysticks working in it recently but I haven't played in years so I'm very bad at it.

Mechwarrior 5

TBD Finally got sticks working, need to actually play the story.

If anyone can recommend games where you fly around in a space ship (or even flying around in a plane, been having a lot of fun playing War Thunder's Arcade mode and world of warplanes) let me know. Bonus points if there is joystick support.

[silverwings22]

Caught in the Crosshairs: Chapter Two Monsters: Katie Sky

Series warnings: Smut, mind control, canon typical violence, childhood trauma, language, chronic illness

Chapter warnings: chronic illness, Crosshair's grumpiness deserves its own warning.

Previous chapter:

Next Chapter:

22 BBY

"You know I feel this is unwise,  padawan mine."

Miria smiled fondly at her much-beloved master.  "A padawan no longer, you know. I've been a knight for five years." 

She was right,  he knew. The woman in front of him was no child any longer.  She was 26, with her hair falling down just past her shoulders instead of a padawan braid. He'd cut it himself when she passed her trials right here on Coruscant… a fitting ordeal for the girl who'd been most happy among the crechelings, she'd been called to try to reach a youngling who'd been impossible for even Crechemaster Yaddle to handle.  A three day standoff with the tiny terror who nearly bit off fingers in his tantrums ended in her sitting on the floor rocking him to sleep. She was as capable as she was kind. 

But it was in Plo Koon's nature to fuss gently.  "Still,  there's no need for you to endanger yourself so.  There are plenty of Jedi to lead this war. Stay,  the creche would benefit from your work." 

"The Council will decide my fate.  But the Force guides me to make a request,  so I must." She said firmly.  "I was on Geonosis,  right beside you. I know what these Separatists will do if not stopped.  There would be no creche to tend if they had their way."

Plo Koon sighed.  A war,  a terrible and heartrending war had taken hold of the galaxy.  She was right… "I do hate it when you're wise.  You were such an easy to manage child."

She laughed, a warm and slight husky sound laced with scars from a throat that never truly healed, even twenty years later.  "Just let me ask,  master.  I promise to abide by the decision.  I'm not Anakin Skywalker."

"Are we discussing my padawan?" Chuckled a voice behind her.  

"Master Kenobi.  Good to see you." Miria chuckled.  She quite admired the youngest council member.  "I'm only here to make a request.  And isn't your padawan due to take his own trials when he returns from escorting the Nabooian Senator home? "

"I see you're all caught up on Temple gossip." Obi-wan chuckled,  running a hand through his longish ginger hair.  He was a good man, and a logical one.  

Miria had hope that it'd work out in her favor. 

"If you are determined to do this,  the meeting is about to begin." Plo finally sighed. 

Miria nodded and followed the two masters into the council room.  Ki-Adi Mundi and Kit Fisto were already seated and chatting with Yoda, and she gave a polite bow as the other members filed in. 

"On your mind,  something is. What troubles you, young Halcyon? " Yoda chuckled fondly.  

Miri straightened up, folding her arms behind her back.  She cut a striking figure here,  clad in a simple cream colored dress with wide elbow-length sleeves and a hem that reached her knees,  with brown breeches tucked into polished brown boots and a simple leather belt sporting her sleek silver hilted saber. Her black hair,  cut through with a streak of white, framed a soft featured face with bright lavender eyes.  "I have not received my marching orders,  Masters. Where shall I serve in the war?"

Mundi and Windu exchanged glances.  "With your… condition… We thought it best to exclude you from service as a general,  Knight Halcyon.  It is my understanding that you wish to become crechemaster with time, anyway." Obi-wan Kenobi said diplomatically.  

"I appreciate the council's consideration to my career.  But I am not helpless, nor an invalid." She didn't flinch,  choosing to lock eyes with him.  "I would like to request reconsideration on the matter."

Yoda eyed her thoughtfully.  "Ill you are,  young one. Require treatment you have,  all your life.  Dangerous it would be to send you to battle."

"I have no right to do any less than every other knight.  If I am unfit for prolonged battle, please allow me to serve in a smaller and more mobile unit.  It is my duty as a knight of the Republic to protect democracy.  I can return to Coruscant when my health demands it.  But I wish to serve."

Windu leaned forward, elbows on his knees and chin in his hands. "What prompts this?"

Miria met his eyes without question.  His were dark,  brave eyes that bespoke wisdom through struggle. "I know the course war will run. We are not infinitely numerous.  As the war progresses,  Jedi will die.  But the need for them will not.  Padawans not ready for the Trial will be knighted and sent to command. And they will die.  If I can spare even one young life,  I will have done a great service. Please grant me a chance."

In his chair,  Plo looked defeated.  This was bravery and strength,  the hallmarks of the Order.  The council would never deny a request made this way…

Sick as she is…

Every eye turned to Yoda. He smiled fondly.  "A clever girl, you are. And sincere.  From Kamino I have just returned.  A unit for you, I think I know.  But no easy task is this.  What they lack in numbers,  ferocity they have."

"I can handle the creche bedtime routine.  I will approach with the same mindset." She smiled a little.  "How many will be under my command?"

"Four clones."

Miria nodded with a smile.  "Then we'll be the best five soldiers we can."

"I don't see why we need a Jedi General.  We're a special commando unit.  That's too much direct supervision, it'll slow us down." Crosshair fiddled with his toothpick. 

"Maybe you'll finally listen to someone." His brother,  Hunter, huffed. "You sure don't listen to me,  and I'm the sergeant."

"You think he'll let me keep blowing stuff up?" Wrecker murmured a little anxiously.  

"My study into the Jedi order does not show anything about a proclivity for pyrotechnics." Tech shrugged. 

The four were waiting on the dock outside their ship,  a heavily modified Omicron class.  And Tech was just getting started.  

"Great.  Five guys in a ship built for four." Crosshair griped. "As if the quarters weren't close enough-"

"Good morning.  You must be Clone Force 99." His complaining was interrupted by a voice.  A female voice.  

Crosshair turned around from where he'd been sitting on the ship's gangplank and took stock. 

She was willowy, he noted. Petite and delicate looking,  with black hair marred with a streak of white that framed the left side of her heart shaped face.  She was dressed like most Jedi,  in cream and brown, though he spotted arm braces and a chest plate painted with a fresh Republic insignia peeking under the oversized cloak.  She wore blood red lipstick in the style of Naboo, with the full top lip painted and only the middle of the bottom one.  Still,  they were full and inviting lips, curved into a smile below the softest eyes in an amethyst shade.  "Good morning,  gentlemen."

Crosshair got up to join his brothers in a salute.  "Jedi." Hunter said smartly.  "Are you here to take us to our new general? "

The girl chuckled.  "My name is Jedi Knight Miria Halcyon.  I am your new general."

Crosshair couldn't stop his sarcastic mouth.  "You?"

"I assure you I am more than capable." She didn't seem offended by his surprise.  "Now,  I've given my name.  Would you mind giving yours?"

Hunter started. "I'm CT-"

"No no no.  Your names.  You're people, not numbers.  And there's five of us.  I'm sure I can remember." She chuckled. 

Wrecker grinned.  "I like you already."

Hunter smiled.  "Permission to speak freely?"

"Of course." She adjusted her bag on her hip. 

"You're nothing at all like what we were expecting, ma'am."

"I'll take that as a good thing.  Now,  your names?"

"I'm Hunter.  I'm the sergeant."

Miria extended her hand to shake his.  He noted scarring at the tips of her fingers,  like she'd ripped them open at some point. The scars seemed old,  though.  "Lovely to meet you,  Hunter." Her eyes traced his features,  from the serious expression to his long hair and tattoo across the side of his face.  He didn't really look like a clone,  but certainly could pass for a relation to their progenitor.

"I'm Wrecker.  I like to blow stuff up." The largest member of the team grinned,  dwarfing her hand in his and nearly knocking her off her feet with the strength of his handshake. His features,  Miria thought,  reminded her more of the clones she'd met, though stronger and a little more tragic with a clearly blinded eye and spider web of scarring across his face.  He seemed eager to please as a puppy though,  despite his size. 

"I'm sure we'll find an opportunity to put that to good use." she chuckled.

Tech took a step over and shook her hand,  adjusting his goggles with his free one.  "My name is Tech.  I am the unit’s technology specialist."

"Wonderful. I look forward to hearing your ideas." She smiled,  cocking her head.  He had a narrower face and almost reddish- brown hair instead of the black she'd seen before.  

Her attention turned to Crosshair, who eyed her cautiously. "Crosshair." He finally murmured, tossing his toothpick carelessly to the side and slowly reaching for her hand.  "Sniper."

Her lavender eyes moved over him as she reached back.  He couldn't help but wonder what she thought of his silver hair and lean features,  all angles and sharp edges.  

Miria smiled when his fingers met hers,  and he was startled at how… soft… her hand felt even through his gloves.  "Crosshair.  A fitting name. I can't wait to see you in action." His hand felt warm where she was touching him. 

Tech interrupted his thoughts.  "The ship is only equipped with four standard bunks,  General." 

"That's alright.  I have a hammock." She patted her bag.  "I also brought snacks.  I wasn't sure what you boys liked, but I'm determined to find out."

Wrecker grinned.  "I think I love you."

Miria laughed, and it made the hair on the back of Crosshair's neck stand on end, but he couldn't decide if he liked it or not. "Aren't you sweet?" She patted his broad back gently. 

Tech and Wrecker took the general inside the ship to show her around. It wasn't a particularly large vessel,  but she didn't seem to be complaining.  Wrecker helped her hand up a hammock in the cargo hold.  It wasn't much,  but seeing as the men shared a bunk room,  it was the most privacy they could offer. 

Once she was settled in,  they went over a few pre flight checks and Miria double checked supplies, then got off Coruscant  for their first mission together.  

Miria sat up front with Tech,  eyes bright,  as they hit hyperspace.  

"Not bored yet,  General? " Tech raised an eyebrow. 

"I haven't seen the stars in a long time.  I'm just enjoying the view." She smiled. 

Crosshair cursed his exceptional eyesight under his breath.  It would have been so easy not to notice the way the ship lights reflected back in her eyes.

"No offense,  General,  but you're terrible at sabacc." Hunter chuckled.  The group was gathered in the hold,  sitting or leaning on crates and playing cards. 

"I know.  This is why I don't gamble." Miria chuckled,  wedged between a crate and Wrecker. "I'm much better at dejarik."

Tech's head popped up. "I enjoy dejarik. It's an excellent strategy simulation."

Miria chuckled and showed Wrecker her garbage hand of cards.  He made a face. "Maybe we can play sometimes.  But it's one on one,  and I enjoy time with all of you."

It was the truth.  She'd been flying around with them for a month,  catching up with various Jedi-led battalions. They hadn't really gotten to see her in action yet,  as they usually cleaned up the battlefield while she was trying to get to another Jedi.  But she was always pleased to come back to the security of the Havoc Marauder. 

Crosshair, seated in a perch on top of the nearest crate, made a disgruntled noise. 

Hunter gave him a look before turning back to the game.  "So I've been meaning to ask, General.  How'd you end up getting assigned to a single unit? Don't you Jedi usually have much larger groups under your command?"

"I'm a…. Special circumstance. And I needed to be more mobile than I would otherwise be with a larger command. " She shrugged and discarded a card into the pile.  "I think I like this better anyway. I actually get to know you." She chuckled.  "Except Crosshair.  He doesn't like talking to me." Her voice was light,  teasing enough to make Hunter and Tech chuckle. Wrecker made another face,  but was distracted when Miria held up a bag of Honey Butter crisps she'd brought along during their last stop on Coruscant.  "Might I ask a question of my own?"

Tech nodded.  "If we become uncomfortable,  we will alert you."

She smiled and patted Wreckers leg.  She knew by now he was the emotional one. "I know you're Clone Force 99, but if I didn't know better I'd never know you guys were clones.  I might guess you're brothers, though. So how did this happen?"

Crosshair stiffened,  drawing a knee up to his chest.  Hunter looked at Tech, who nodded and launched into an explanation.  "We are the results of genetic mutations in clone DNA, which gave us abilities the Kaminoans deemed useful in soldiers. Hunter has enhanced senses, Wrecker is exceptionally strong,  I am hyper intelligent,  and Crosshair has incredible spatial awareness and vision."

Crosshair got up,  dropping his cards, and started walking towards the ladder to the bunk room. Miria tuned in immediately to the radiating anger and hurt coming off him. Her hand stretched up towards him.  "Crosshair, wait …"

Hunter sighed as the marksman ignored her and went up the ladder.  "Don't mind him,  General. It's a touchy subject… we're not exactly well received by the regs. It's okay now that we're all together,  but when we were cadets we caught a lot of hell for being different. Crosshair probably got the worst of it, because he never could let the comments go. He always had to fight back."

Miria frowned, looking at her hands on the cards in her lap.  "I understand." She finally murmured.  "Let me talk to him."

"He iis going say something rude."  Tech sighed.

"That's alright.  I'm his friend tonight,  not his general." She set her cards down and went up the ladder after Crosshair. 

Hunter flipped her cards over.  "Maker, her hand sucked."

Crosshair was moodily laying on his back in his bunk when he heard a light tap on the bunkroom door.  "What?"

"It's just me,  Crosshair." Miria's voice was muffled, but soft and just a tiny bit raspy. "I brought you some caf…"

Crosshair was a caf addict and he knew it was a bribe,  but it sounded awesome right about now.  "Fine.  Come in."

He did appreciate that she knocked and waited every time she needed to come into their quarters for something. When the door opened, she padded over with the cup of caf held in both hands.  She was in her sleep clothes,  a loose oversized shirt over leggings, with bare feet. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail,  and she looked… cute. And a little pale in the cheeks, but he assumed it was the lack of makeup she normally wore. 

"May I join you?" She asked softly.  

"Don't see why you'd want to." But he took the offered cup and folded his legs so she could sit on the mattress.  

"I like your company." She smiled.  

Crosshair buried his nose in his cup.  "You'd be the first,  besides my brothers…"

"I can't comment on anyone else's lack of good taste. Speaking of which,  did the caf turn out okay?  I tried to remember how I've seen you make yours,  but I don't drink it…"

He raised an eyebrow,  considering her for a moment. She'd been watching him… observing minute details for ways to smooth their interactions.  He almost felt guilty he hadn't been doing the same.  He'd been mostly avoiding any non essential contact. "Before I answer that… who doesn't like caf?"

Miria smiled.  "I know,  I know.  Freak of nature,  but I've just never liked it.  I can drink my tea so oversteeped it could be reclassified as paint thinner,  but I need more than half the cup to be cream before I can stomach caf."

He chuckled faintly.  "Well, you made it the same way I always do. Tastes fine to me."

She shot him another smile… this time wide and her eyes squeezed closed over the apples of her cheeks.  His chest tightened involuntarily.  Wholesome. 

He shook his head to erase the thoughts and went back to the caf.  "I know you didn't just come here to bring me caf. No one's that nice."

"You're cynical,  Crosshair.  But unfortunately you're right, I did come to check on you. I brought caf so you'd actually let me in."

"You're the general.  You could get in."

She chuckled.  "Not like this.  When it's just us,  I'm your friend.  I prefer it that way… I don't have all that many." She admitted the last a little quietly,  offering a little vulnerability to the man sitting beside her to encourage him to let his guard down.  Crosshair was the proud one.  He'd only admit to weakness from a superior position to the person he was talking to.  

And Miria was used to giving ground for others. 

"Seems like you'd make friends pretty easy.  You're persistent." He muttered mildly.  

"Most people in the temple don't want to be close with someone who's going through something that makes them uncomfortable." She shrugged.  "So they politely avoid me.  I almost used to wish they'd say something cruel… it's easier to be angry than process pity."

"Trust me, you don't want that either." He set his cup aside and reached for the box of toothpicks in his footlocker. Once he popped one in his mouth he eyed her curiously.  "So what's the matter with you, then? You want to tell me, of all people,  and I'm guessing you haven't told the others.'

"I haven't.  But… I thought you might understand.  You don't seem the type to waste time with pity. I'm very tired of pity." 

"I can't stand it. So talk, what's your deal?"

She chuckled faintly.  "Something bad happened to me as a youngling,  that's caused some…. Lingering issues.  That's why I'm on a smaller unit,  instead of leading a battalion. I asked to serve,  but I have to recognize my limitations.  Irritating as they can be."

"That's the first thing I've ever heard you complain about." He snorted. "Normally you're so accommodating it's disgusting."

"I've been hoping to make a good impression." She chuckled. 

Crosshair didn't know what made him do it, but he found himself reaching out to tap under her chin with his knuckles and redirect her eyes back on him.  "Consider it made. You're not so bad for a Jedi."

She smiled. "And you're not so bad yourself."

"For a mutant?"

She laughed.  "For a man." She got up and patted his leg as she did.  "Goodnight,  Crosshair."

"Night, General." He watched her walk out. Had she really come up here just to… make him feel better?

#eventual smut #explict #original character #crosshair #clone force 99 #chronic illness #caught in the crosshairs

[spaceorphan18]

Marvel Movie Nights: Logan

Wow - I did not realize eight months have gone by since I sat down and watched a Marvel movie. That wasn't my intention. But if truth be told - I've been putting off Logan for a long time. It's a good film, but not an easy one, and its darkness just hasn't been something I've wanted to visit any time soon.

Look - I get that superhero films are often cheesy and ridiculous and a lot of times just copy cutouts of each other. I find somewhat a comfort in that, you know? It's the fantasy and the fun that I enjoy with these things.

Logan is not that. Logan wants to be the Dark Knight of Marvel films - though I'm not sure if it truly reaches that. It's excessively violent (in the way adult fanboys of Wolverine clamor for - he's a dude with knives in his hands, and is often restrained from really using them) and slightly profane (while not offensively so - the f-bombs flying feel forced more than natural), but not without an attempt at heart and closure.

The story is somewhat simple, an aging Logan is dealing with a dying Professor Xavier as well as having to help an experimented on child - Laura Kinney (the female Wolverine) get to a safe place. It's a lot about endings and deaths of legends and a lot about passing on the torch and where the film sticks to that I think it quite works. Like the comics it was inspired on (the very gruesome and hard hitting run of Old Man Logan) the film is telling Wolverine's last story. And I feel like taking the pg-13 binds that had been holding him down seems appropriate way for Wolverine to go.

I do have positive things to say about the film -- I think the acting performances are fantastic, Hugh Jackman and Patrick Stewart take their roles sincerely, which helps elevate the story. I also think the girl cast as Laura - Dafne Keene - does a great job in her role. I think Logan's final arc for this particular universe is fitting. And I think the action scenes - while a bit gratuitous - are well handled and engaging. It's possibly the best film on a cinematic level out of Fox's X-Men's films.

But it's not a film that I really have any desire to come back to. Yes - this is probably what a world where a dude has knives in his hands would look like - bloody and bleak. While understand and even respect why they pushed in on the violence, this film is primarily a way to let Logan go out in a blaze of glory, it's just not something that I enjoy watching. Tied in with that is the fact that this is, mostly, a Wolverine story -- not an X-Men story, which makes me long for a more serious take featuring all my favorites.

Beyond just not having a preference for this kind of film, I do have a few nitpicks... The film's villains feel a bit comical one-note, which somewhat holds it back from being truly a standout. And, while I get that it's paying tribute to old Westerns and action films, there's a sequence where an entire black family is just... brutally murdered because they happened to be there. The sequence just doesn't sit well with me.

I'm also a little on the fence about Xavier's ending. I do think Xavier's mind going is an inspired way for him to go. But his actual death feels anticlimatic. It's intentional - as the film is trying to be more grounded than the fantasy of magic that usually comes along with X-Men, but I really do enjoy Patrick Stewart's Xavier - and I suppose I would have preferred a bigger ending to his story.

Final Verdict: I think it's a good film for what it's trying to do, and it's a solid goodbye for Hugh Jackman's portrayal of the character. But not a film that I personally enjoy watching.

Next Up: We're back to the land of fantasy and CGI with Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2

#marvel movie nights #marvel #logan #wolverine

[embersashesco]

Team up with the dynamic duo, Boba Fett and Fennec Shand, and track bounties across the galaxy. Make a name for yourself!

Bounty Hunter: Driftwood, Yuzu, and Deep Waters

The Assassin: Jasmine, Black Currant, and Sandalwood

Available in the shop!

#boba fett #fennec shand #the book of boba fett #star wars #star wars merch #star wars candles #the mandalorian #the mandalorian merch #boba fett merch #fennec shand merch #the bad batch #the mandalorian candles #fandom candles #I'm just a simple man trying to make my way in the galaxy #bounty hunter #mandalorian #clan fett #embersashesco #wax melts

[stetervault]

Hiii! Been delving into Steter now, in the year of our lord 2021, even though I never really did when I was active in the fandom years ago and I was wondering if you'd have some longfic recs for the ship? Like, fics that are Classics(TM)? But happy endings! And I'm not super into those in which Stiles is still underage 😬 do u have any recs? Thanks!

Welcome to the Steter fandom! I definitely have some long fics to rec, some of them are super old lol, and I'll stick to ones around 20k or over, and most of them are finished. And hmm, considering the ship, and a lot of fics like to start off in season 1 where Stiles is still technically a teenager, I'll try to limit these to ones with Stiles being at least 16/17 before anything starts happening, and only 18+ if there's explicit content. I hope that's okay.

drowning in the sea of you by Corpium

Beacon Hills was perfect for Stiles growing up, but now, with werewolves, hunters, and an anxious best friend running around, it's turning into a place too chaotic for an empath like Stiles to handle alone. And pain killers can only go so far.

Wake Me Up by ToAStranger

Stiles has been in a coma for six years. Now he's awake.

Tremors by Corpium

(Stiles has a taste for him now. All Peter needs to do is wait.)

Surviving Peter and the Zombie Apocalypse by Nopennamesleft

Its the end of the world and Stiles has run out of luck. He saves a werewolf from certain death. Will they begin to rely on each other to survive or will the wolf just eat Stiles for a midnight snack?

Bite Down by EclipseWing

In which Stiles is forced to survive the zombie apocalypse with a sociopathic murdering werewolf for company.

as you are by veterization

Stiles runs straight into a tree and suddenly, things are... different. Namely, he's in a world where Peter Hale is his boyfriend.

Call My Name by KouriArashi

After moving to Beacon Hills, Stiles starts having recurring dreams of a man in some kind of prison, who needs his help. Things get so bad that he ends up in Eichen House, where he finds out that the man is real.

Devil of Mercy by KouriArashi

Peter's heard people talk about what it felt like when they saw their mate for the first time, from those who actually believe in the mystical bullshit. Like a magnet, like gravity. Peter just feels... sharply curious.

Whiskey is My Kind of Lullaby by taylorpotato

Peter is a simple saloon owner on one of the outer planets between the Aaru Belt and the Olympus Galaxy. He’s done with trouble. Done with adventure. So fucking done with rustlers. That is, until a cute young outlaw named Stiles wanders into his bar. Peter has this problem where he can’t seem to resist charming narcissists (perhaps because they remind him of himself). And when said narcissists turn his life upside-down, the worst part is he’s not even that upset about it.

Proposing To Strangers by moonstalker24

At the end of a strained relationship, crime novelist Stiles chooses to hide from the world inside a bar with far too many motorcycles outside it for comfort. Here he'll meet the man of his dreams, eat food and propose marriage, all within the first five minutes.

Peter doesn't know who this kid is, but he's cute and looks like he could use a break. So he feeds him. He's not expecting a marriage proposal, but with what comes after, he doesn't really mind.

Stiles Stilinski, Disaster Chef by Guede

The zombie apocalypse forces Stiles to learn how to cook.

The Will by Guede

We are gathered here today for the reading of Gerard Argent’s will.

On the Importance of Lunar Influences in Gardening by Guede

“Oh, it’s you again,” Stiles sighs. He puts down his basket and drops the bunch of onions into it, and then dusts off his hands. “Can’t you get your own strawberries? I mean, I have it on good authority that wild strawberries? They’re a thing. They exist. They’re out there.”

“But Stiles,” says the werewolf dangling by one foot from the tree, sticky red smears around his mouth and all over his fingers. “Your berries are so juicy, so ripe. Those ones in the woods are mere passing indulgences compared to the royal feast you have in your garden.”

Genii loci Stiles and his father run a community garden, and it’s all good, except for the werewolf who keeps sneaking over the fence to raid Stiles’ strawberry patch (and the hunter who’s constantly hanging around his father).

Runes and all kinds of things by FeelingsDusk (WIP)

Enough is enough. Stiles is tired of being always a last choice when he always tries to do his best for his precious people, so they better get their act together or face being left behind.

OR

The things in the Argent's basement get nearly fatal, the Sheriff finds about the supernatural, Allison can have a wicked, wicked mind and Peter Hale appears to be everywhere.

Oh, and Stiles can't seem to stop breaking the laws of physics with his magic.

Sanctuary by DiscontentedWinter

The Hale Wolf Sanctuary isn’t just for wolves.

It turns out it’s for Stilinskis as well.

Out Of The East, Never See The Sun Rise by neglectedtuesday

In the beginning, there are three absolutes.

One. Stiles is a god, forged of starlight and collapsing galaxies and he is eternal.

Two. Peter is human, fragile bone and viscous blood and he is temporary.

Three. Stiles and Peter are in love; love that claws its way inside one’s heart like fish hooks; all encompassing love that is beautiful but dangerous.

Stiles is a god. Peter is human. They love each other.

Three absolutes.

You Had Me at Canapes by LadyArinn

Stiles doesn't mean to sneak into the Hale wedding, and he certainly doesn't mean to have cliche coat-room sex with the bride's uncle, but what had happened, happened, and it wasn't like he could just leave. At least, not until he got to have some of that cake.

Infinite Space by DiscontentedWinter

Stiles needs Peter's expertise to help stop the latest threat to Beacon Hills. And, as the pack falls apart around him, he might even need Peter for more than that.

Hook, Yarn, Sinker by pprfaith

Stiles is happy with his store, his hobbies, his friends. Peter's just trying to figure out how to raise his nieces and nephew without fucking them up too badly.

Paths cross.

Open Wounds by Guede

Talia got out of the fire with Peter, but everyone else died. Years later, they’re still struggling with injuries, but they’ve at least settled in with oddball werewolf Stiles. And then other werewolves start showing up. Familiar ones.

Bittersweet Creek by Guede

When Stiles finally steps off the westward trail to California, he’s the last of his pack. He starts building a den, but then he finds a dying man next to a burnt-down house and it turns out he’s not really much of a settler, after all.

For Great Justice! by Green

Stiles is a vengeance demon, drawn to Peter just as he's waking from his catatonia.

"Whoever did this? We will make those fuckers suffer. I promise you."

Bone Deep by ShippersList

A body in the woods, a mate, and a long-awaited revenge.

Peter had no idea how his life would change when he followed the strange pull in his chest.

Love What is Behind You by KouriArashi

Basically what it says on the label. Hunger Games type fusion. Stiles doing way better than anyone anticipates. Peter finds him intriguing. Ruthless, devious assholes working together to ruin bad guys, as the Steter ship is meant to be.

Soothing the Burn by Therapeutic_Steter (WIP)

Peter is burnt out and breaking down. Stiles notices and offers him solace, along with the one thing he wants most: Pack.

Til Death by Bunnywest

“How long do we have to find him someone?” Stiles asks. “Two weeks,” says Derek, eyebrows pulling down even further. The fierceness of his expression tells Stiles just how concerned he is. “He marries, or he goes to the camps. And you know what your father told us,” Scott reminds her. The camps……aren’t camps. Peter either finds a wife, or he dies.

Ink Blossoms by Triangulum

"So, you're going to ruin your niece's baby shower with flowers in the wrong color?" the florist, Stiles, asks when they reach the counter. He pulls out a binder and starts flipping through it.

"Not ruin. Mildly inconvenience," Peter says.

"Right, messing with a hormonal pregnant woman seems like a great plan."

"To be fair, her fiance and the father of her baby is my ex-boyfriend," Peter says. "And we weren't broken up when they started 'dating'."

Stiles looks up at him in surprise. "And you're still getting her flowers?" he asks.

"It's under duress, I assure you," Peter says. He absolutely wouldn't be here if his alpha hadn't ordered it.

"Well, shit, yeah, let's get you some purple revenge flowers," Stiles says.

After You by FlyAwayMeow (rjaejoo)

It’s true that sometimes what you want the most, you can’t have and that you’ll miss what you once had all along when it’s finally gone.

After breaking his engagement to Chris, Peter heads to New York to start over. He meets Stiles, a young author at his publishing house who helps him piece his confidence back together. When tragedy strikes, he discovers how to finally let go of his past and have the family and future he's always wanted with the pieces already in his life.

love me lights out by veterization

Stiles and Peter get snowed in together. (Or: what happens when you accept phone calls from people you haven't spoken to in over five years.)

Uncle Peter Doesn't Date by Mellow (SweetCandy) (WIP)

“Oh don’t lie, you love it.” Peter purred and winked at his newest arm candy, who spluttered for a few seconds, before blushing like a 16 year old virgin. Considering how young he looked Laura wouldn’t be surprised if he was actually 16. “Shut up Peter!” Bambi squeaked, still flushing and averting Laura’s eyes. “Well, anyways, I’m,” ‘Bambi’. “Stiles. Stiles Stilinski, pleasure to meet you- again.” Stiles smiled sheepishly, obviously nervous. Stiles Stilinski. Definitely a stripper then.

-

Or: Laura was prepared for whatever piece of armcandy her uncle had decided to show up with, what she hadn't been prepared for was Stiles Stilinski...her uncle's boyfriend.

Under the Songbird’s Wing by mia6363

Captivity easily destroys the will of escape. It can break the fiercest of animal. It can strip the most regal man and woman down to nothing but animal needs.

Captivity can, if met with unwavering determination, shape a person into something unimaginable.

Stiles is sixteen when he's captured. Stiles's first thought is, "I won't die here."

Baby Whisperer by twothumbsandnostakeincanon (somanyofthekids)

“What. Is that.”

Scott looked up at him, apprehensive.

“Her name’s Lily.”

Stiles stared at the fuzzy head peeking out of the papoose.

“Her. Her name. That is a real live human baby. Oh my God-”

“Actually I don’t know if she’s human?” Scott said with a confused frown. “Becca didn’t say.”

“Who the fuck is Becca?!”

Sacrificial Lamb by Bunnywest

The Alpha has a scruffy beard, unkempt hair and dazzling blue eyes. The scar on his face is raised, running down his cheek like a twisting, gnarled rope. Stiles knows that it came from the blade of Kate Argent herself, and that the Alpha got it fighting in the battle where Kate killed his lover, cutting his head clean from his neck, if the stories are to be believed.

The Alpha lets Stiles look his fill, before indicating that Stiles should take the other couch, and Stiles does so, his father’s words echoing in his ears. He can do this, can be pleasant and amenable. The lives of his people may depend on it. The Alpha spends long moments surveying him, before saying, “I like you, Stiles.”

You don’t know me, Stiles wants to blurt out, but he bites his tongue.

The Various Triumphs of Mischief Bilinski by Whispering_Sumire (WIP)

"Hello, Chris," sings a honeyed voice from behind.

Chris' attention snaps toward the intruder, his gun already out of its' holster and aimed at whoever it is — a boy, apparently, with braided russet hair, a red jacket, and wise eyes. He's wearing a gas mask, but Chris can tell by the way his eyes crinkle around the edges, the way sun-burnt sand swirls in his irises, that he's smiling.

Chris cocks his gun.

"You killed my father," he says.

"No offence, but he totally deserved it," the stranger agrees with cheerful solemnity.

"What the hell are you doing in my home?" Chris demands. The kid is perched on a windowsill in Chris' office, as nonchalantly as if this were something he did every day, as if they were familiar.

"I was just wondering," the kid speaks softly, fond amusement sewn through with a peculiar resignation, "how you'd feel about putting down some nazis?"

[Or: The one where Stiles goes back in time and subsequently fucks with everything.]

A Curious Magic by Triangulum

Overall, Stiles is very well-known in the supernatural community. It’d be hard not to be, not with how his reputation has grown like wildfire. He knows and is on good terms with nearly all the fae that reside in the preserve, the asrai that live deep in the lake, the Ito pack, the vampire couple that lives over in Beacon Valley (they buy an ethically-sourced food supply from Stiles), as well as almost every other supernatural entity in the area. But Talia Hale doesn’t like him, and a werewolf pack tends to do what their alpha tells them to.

So it’s a definite surprise when the wards at the edge of his property trip, the tingling down his spine telling him it’s a werewolf, the lack of burning sensation letting him know there’s no hostile intent. Stiles, in his office in the second floor turret, sets down the amulet he’s packing up for Marin and moves to the large window overlooking the front of his property. He’s expecting to see an Ito packmember, even though they nearly always call in advance, and is surprised to see a man that he recognizes as Talia’s brother, Peter.

Light in the Dark by cywscross

It still surprises Stiles sometimes, how easily he’s adapted. Seven months in a world filled with train tracks and soul-sucking fae, and it feels like he’s never known anything else.

~~

Or, the one where diverting the Ghost Riders from Beacon Hills to prey on a different town only succeeded in setting them free.

Vengeance Looks Good On You, Sweetheart by cywscross

Just because Scott refuses to see the Argents for what they truly are - prejudiced serial killers sitting proudly on a mountain of innocent corpses - doesn't mean Stiles will. It's about time someone did something about the Argent Empire anyway, and what a coincidence - summer vacation is just around the corner.

--

Or, the one where Gerard Argent kidnapped the wrong fucking person to torture. Stiles has never subscribed to the policy of forgiving and forgetting anyway, not when razing the problem to the ground and salting the earth for good measure has always been a far better solution in the long run.

He doesn't expect to have company.

#rec list #teen wolf #steter #stiles stilinski #peter hale #fanfic rec #akielosrises #ask

[djarins-riddur]

Ad'ika.

Pairing: Boba Fett x F! Reader (pregnant).

Summary: You are pregnant with Boba's child, and you see another side to Boba.

Wordcount: 1.4k

Warnings: Mentions of throwing up. Pregnancy. Overall softness. Giving birth. Slight angst.

A/N: in honour of the book of boba

You hadn't been feeling well all day. The feeling of nausea had washed over you, and you knew something was off.

Boba had noticed that you weren't feeling too good. The fact that you had been laying in your shared bed for longer than usual, was a sign that something wasn't right. Usually you had been up for 5 hours by now, and had done everything you needed to do.

"Cyar’ika are you alright?" Boba asked quietly rubbing your back,

"I feel like I might-" You started, but then rushed to the refresher to throw up. Boba followed quickly, and knelt down beside you holding your hair back.

"Let it out cyare, let it out. I've got you." Boba reassured you,

He gave you some water, and helped you back to the bed. Laying down, you closed your eyes tired from throwing up. Boba got up for a moment, and left the room for a moment and came back with a bucket.

"Do you think you ate something that disagreed with you?" Boba asked quietly,

"No... I think maybe it's just a bug or a..." you responded stopping at the possible thought in your head. The thought of this happening was overwhelming you slightly, the thought of being pregnant with Boba’s child was something neither of you thought about.

“B-boba I think I might be pregnant.” You stuttered out rolling over to look at him,

”What? How do you know that might be a possibility? You might have eaten something, or just be feeling ill from catching something.” Boba responded thinking of what you just said. You looked up at him from your lashes and gasped at the reason.

”I’ve not had my cycle. And the fact that I’ve turned away food that I usually love. That says a lot.” You said quietly now looking away from him, not sure if he loves idea of being a father to an innocent, defenseless little being.

There was a wave of silence that washed through the room. He wasn’t saying anything and this was causing you to over think on things.

“Please say something Boba.” You let out in a small whimper, you were scared that he was going to go leave you. The profession of a bounty hunter was not a simple one, and certainly not a safe one at that.

”I’ll be a buir? We’ll have a little one we can look after?” He responded looking at you,

You nodded and smiled slightly, trying to reassure both you and him that this would be a good thing. Boba laughed wholeheartedly and drew you in for a hug, that slightly lifted you off the floor.

You giggled, and then tucked your head into his neck.

"If you are right cyar’ika, then this will be one of the best things that's happened to me." Boba whispered.

"Same here. We'll have our own little baby to look after." You replied.

Though the man that was currently in your arms had a hard life, was one of the most feared Bounty Hunters in the entire galaxy. He was one of the kindest to a select few. One of those few, was you. And now if it is true, the youngest member to your small family.

×××××××××××××××××××××××××

A few months later:

After a while, it was confirmed by the medical staff in the Palace that you were in fact pregnant. You were 3 months pregnant now. The baby bump was starting to show.

Boba had been working almost all day now. You could tell he was getting tired of people asking for things, the way he snapped at people suggested he had enough.

You walked up to where he sat on the throne, a protective hand over your bump.

"Are you okay cyare?" Boba asked in his gruff protective voice,

"I'm okay honey, just wanted to make sure that you were not almost killing anyone." You replied placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Everyone out! Fennec, Din that means you two aswell." Boba commanded "Except for you pretty girl." He continued placing a hand on yours.

Din and Fennec nodded and waited for everyone else to leave, before leaving themselves. Since leaving the child with the Jedi, Din Djarin had been helping out around the Palace to help repay what Boba done for Din.

You smiled as everyone left, and walked around in front of Boba.

"How were your meeting my dear?" You asked as you pulled his helmet off gently,

"It was long and ardous mesh'la. But I am glad you saved me. How are you feeling today?" Boba answered smiling up at you.

"Still feeling a little nausea, and a little uncomfortable in other ways." You explained motioning to your breast. He nodded understanding. "But there is something I want to show you." You continued.

"Oh? And what would that be sweet one?" Boba asked,

You turned to the side, flattening the tunic you were wearing against your body. Boba's face lit up, your baby bump was now showing. He pulled you closer to him so you were stood between his legs.

"Hello there Ad'ika, I'm your buir." Boba whispered kissing your stomach gently,

You smiled and placed your hand on Boba's head, running over his scars gently.

"You're going to be such a good father Boba." You stated softly.

"I just don't want anything bad to happen." Boba admitted slightly embarrassed. You frowned, confused on what Boba was intending.

"Boba nothing will happen." You replied kissing his forehead,

"Meshla, you don't know that. I don't want something to happen, like it did when I was younger." He confessed quietly. Boba wasn't a quiet man, but when it came to talking about his past? He never talked about it. Until now that is.

"My father was a donor. The kaminoans used his DNA to produce clones with advanced ageing. But he asked for a clone who aged like a normal person, and that was me. D-during the clone wars... my buir was killed by the jedi." He explained looking away.

"I just don't want that type of thing to happen." He continued.

Your heart broke for Boba, he had lost his buir when he was young and had to grow up by himself.

"That's won't happen." You responded hugging him gently.

×××××××××××××××××××××××××××××××

9 months Pregnant:

You had been in the refresher washing your face as you felt a bit rough. As you stood there, you felt something drip down your leg. Looking down you saw a wet patch and realised, your water just broke.

"B-BOBA! BOBA!" You shouted, as you held your stomach,

A few minutes later, Boba and Fennec come running into the room.

"Mesh'la?! What's wrong?" He asked placing one hand on your shoulder and one on your stomach,

"M-my water just broke. I'm gonna go into labour." You explained looking down. Boba and Fennec guided you to the bed, and then Fennec went to get a medical droid.

He stroked your hair back gently and gave your forehead a soft kiss. Screaming as you went through a strong contraction, you gripped onto Boba's hand and felt as though you needed to push.

"B-boba I need to push now. Ad'ika isn't gonna wait." You whimpered, looking up at Boba,

"Okay, okay mesh'la. FENNEC, GET HERE NOW." Boba shouted down the corridor. Just then Fennec came in with a medical droid, and a few minutes later the head of the baby was crowning.

"Come on mesh'la, just a few more pushes and you can rest." Boba spoke softly. Sure enough a few more pushes later and you could hear cries.

You laid back your chest heaving from pushing so much.

"Congratulations y/n you have a little boy." You heard Fennec say, handing you your little boy. The medical droid and Fennec left the room, letting you and Boba welcome the little one.

Boba didn't often cry. Well as far as you remember he has never cried, but you knew that his eyes were watering.

"We should call him Jango." You whispered. You heard Boba's breathe stutter, and you handed over your son to him.

"R-really?" He asked looking down at the small form in his arms. You nodded and let your head lay back on the pillow closing your eyes.

"Get some sleep cyare, we'll both be here when you wake up" Boba stated smiling. As you fell asleep, Boba walked around the room softly bouncing Jango.

"Hey there Ad'ika I'm your buir. I'm gonna keep you and your mama safe, for as long as I can. I'll teach you everything once you're older." He spoke softly.

Waking up a few hours later, you found Boba and little Jango asleep on the bed next to you. You kissed the head of both of them. Boba was and is feared by many people. But getting to see this soft parental side of him, made your heart melt.

#boba x reader #boba fett #writing #star wars

[rainbow-shine]

will I find you when the night is over?

@spnprideweek's day 7: free space

basically I just had to write my own fix-it fanfic

Castiel found Dean in the kitchen.

Dean was making what appeared to be a PB&J sandwich, and Castiel was suddenly struck by a wave of longing at the domestic scene. His now human heart seemed to want to explode inside his chest, unable to contain the love he felt for the man who was humming a tune as he meticulously distributed the jelly on the bread.

Apparently satisfied with the sandwich, Dean nodded to himself, filling a glass with milk and grabbing the glass and plate, he turned for the exit, only to freeze when he saw Castiel in the doorway.

"Hello, Dean" Castiel said, breaking the tense silence they had fallen into and trying to ignore the way something inside his chest ached at the thought that it was his fault that things were so uncomfortable between them now.

They hadn't discussed the confession, though it's not like they had the time to do it. When Dean rescued him from the empty, Castiel barely had the energy to share a couple of hugs before collapsing from exhaustion. He had spent the rest of the day asleep and by the time he woke up, he had searched for Dean and found him in the kitchen.

And now they were here.

"Hey, Cas," Dean eventually exclaimed, clearing his throat. “I thought you might be hungry”.

Oh.

Dean had prepared him something to eat and that simple gesture was enough for Castiel to feel his eyes fill with tears. His emotions were difficult to control now that he didn't have his grace, but Castiel tried to regain his composure as soon as he could. Dean's friendship, being able to be by his side and having Dean to love him like a brother was enough. It was.

"Thank you," Castiel said.

"Are you okay, Cas?" Dean asked, stepping back to put the plate and glass on the table.

"I'm…" Castiel stopped for a second, wondering how to explain what he was feeling. The mixture of emotions that the mere presence of Dean elicited in him. “I'm fine”.

"It's okay if you're not fine, Cas," Dean whispered, moving closer to him and raising one of his hands as if to place it on his shoulder, but ended up dropping it. Castiel tried not to flinch at how much he wanted that contact, however minimal. “None of us can understand what you went through, not entirely at least, but we are here for you”.

"I know," Cas replied. “Thank you, Dean”.

Another awkward silence.

Castiel wondered if there would come a time when things could go back to the way they were before.

"Are you hungry?" Dean asked, pointing to the plate of food. “I was going to bring you breakfast in bed, but you woke up before I could”.

Castiel simply nodded.

During the entire time it took Castiel to finish the sandwich, Dean seemed to want to say something, sometimes even parting his lips to speak, but he always ended up holding back. Castiel tried to not feel too miserable at the inevitable rejection of his feelings, reminding himself over and over again that he always knew that Dean didn't love him that way.

"Cas," Dean began and Castiel braced himself for the blow to his heart. “Cas I—”

Dean stopped talking.

Castiel knew that Dean didn’t want to hurt him, after all, it had been Dean who had spent months looking for a way to rescue him from the empty and Castiel didn’t believe that all that effort had been just to reject him in a cruel way. However, that didn't mean that Castiel didn't want this torture to end. The anticipation was almost worse than the rejection itself.

"Will you dance with me?" Dean said unexpectedly, standing abruptly and extending one of his hands towards Castiel, who had to blink several times to understand what Dean had said.

"Dance with you?" Castiel asked, his voice shaking with uncertainty. That sounded like a terrible and at the same time wonderful idea.

"Yeah," Dean said. "Come on, it'll be fun".

Castiel wasn't sure about that, but he had never been able to deny Dean anything, so, with a sigh, he took the hand that Dean was still offering him.

With a smile on his lips, Dean led them to the middle of the kitchen, taking his cell phone and playing a song on low volume, so low that Castiel had to concentrate to even hear the lyrics.

They both stood face to face for a few seconds and Castiel tried to smile, he didn't know what Dean was planning, but he still tried to be encouraging. Dean smiled back at him and closed the distance between them, wrapping his arms around his waist and pulling his bodies together.

Castiel was sure that he had died trying to escape from the empty and this was his personal heaven.

Shyly, not quite sure what were the limits of this, Castiel wrapped his arms around Dean's neck. They both swayed to the rhythm of the melody, looking into each other's eyes and silently saying everything they had never dared to say before. Castiel felt that his heart would stop at any moment from how fast it was beating and that his legs would stop supporting his weight from how much they were shaking.

Dean didn't seem that affected, holding him in his arms like they'd done this a hundred times before. And although Castiel wanted to pull away from him and demand answers, he knew he wouldn't, because this might be the only chance he would have to taste what it was like to be loved by Dean Winchester.

The song ended, but they didn't stop dancing. Castiel took a deep breath before leaning his head against Dean's shoulder, who, in response, only hugged him a little bit tighter.

"I thought I should let my actions speak for me," Dean whispered and Castiel couldn't help but tense. Here it came. “But you deserve to hear this, Cas”.

"Dean?"

"When we first met, I was scared of you. Like, completely terrified,” Dean began. “You were something that until that moment I didn’t believe that existed and that my mind was unable to understand”.

Dean laughed softly.

"But then I started getting to know you," Dean continued. "And you went from being a creature that terrified me to the best friend I've ever had in my entire life".

Castiel felt his breath catch and his brain began to spin at the thousands of meanings this could have. Oh, but Castiel knew what he wanted it to mean. An impossible that no longer seemed to be so.

"You said I changed you, but you changed me too, Cas," Dean finally said, his hands coming up to gently caress his back. “You made me have faith. You made me a better person, because you made me want to be the kind of man you loved. You made me believe that I’m something more than a killer, than a simple tool or a character in a story”.

Tears started running down his cheeks and Castiel did nothing to stop them, but he clung closer to Dean's body, refusing to let him go. This was too much and at the same time not enough. Castiel wanted... oh, how much he wanted...

"You can have me, Cas," Dean confessed and Castiel felt one of Dean's hands tangle in his hair and pull it gently so they could look into each other's eyes again. Dean then gave him the most beautiful smile Castiel had ever seen and said. “I love you too, Cas”.

Nothing, in all his millennia of existence, could compare to this moment.

"Dean," Castiel gasped, a smile making its way to his lips as his hands reached up to cup Dean's face. “Oh, Dean. I love you, I love—”

The rest of his words were interrupted by a pair of soft lips over his.

Castiel felt that entire galaxies were born and died within him. This was everything he had longed for, everything he had wanted. Dean's lips were warm and Castiel, with just one innocent touch, had already become addicted to them. Castiel had convinced himself that just being was enough, but having Dean's love was simply the best thing that had ever happened to him.

When they parted, Dean leaned his forehead against his and gave him another brief kiss before saying: “I'm a very good dancer, huh?”

Castiel gave a laugh that could well have been a sob, pulling away from Dean so he could cover his face with quick kisses, because now he was allowed to do so.

"Of course Dean," Castiel finally said, leaning his head against Dean's shoulder again, this time with the certainty that he would not be rejected.

They danced until the exhaustion made them separate and go to Dean's room to try and get some sleep, both of them knowing that they would never spend a night alone again.

#spnprideweek #castiel #dean winchester #destiel #deancas #supernatural #destiel fic #deancas fic #supernatural fic #spn fic #spn 15x18 #fix it fic #rambleoncas #userstarry #my writing #gay love can pierce through the veil of death and save the day #they're in love your honor #anyway this is what they deserve #happy pride 🌈 #i honestly can believe i manage to write something for the seven days

[hobiiwan]

mirror • cpt. rex

pairing: captain rex x gn!reader

warnings: post-order 66 angst, hurt-comfort but i thrive in the hurt

w/c: 1.6k

notes: i'm back with lots and lots of feelings bc i've been ghosted and it's 5 am so i should probably sleep but i hope you enjoy :D

lovely gif credit to @pieklalat!

Framed by distant moons and even further stars, the night sky never seemed more vast. If you closed your eyes, it didn’t take much to picture a Republic Star Destroyer slicing through the atmosphere of the moon whose gravity became inescapable, with you in it.

Glancing over your shoulder at where Rex had made camp for the evening, you could tell he was thinking it too. Though his eyes were closed, it was clear as watching a holofilm; reliving the searing heat of plasma bolts, shot from the blasters of his brothers, the ones he had served beside for years—the same ones he had buried just hours prior.

It felt as though there was a vice wrapped in a deadlock around your heart, constricting your chest until it threatened to collapse in on itself. You exhale sharply, willing yourself to push past the hollow ache of the now-dulled Force connection, the flashing faces of the clones and Jedi who had perished under the Order—the fear they had felt in their final moments. It was now your fear that you would never escape it.

The price of surviving the command settles atop your shoulders, making a home. A bitter, weighted reminder that you are here, alive, when you shouldn’t be—when you aren’t supposed to be.

You collapse onto the ground next to Rex, which pulls him back to the present. His eyelids flutter as he blinks slowly, once at you, then back up to the stretching expanse of the inky black overhead. He lets out a sigh, leaning up on his shoulders to cast a weary glance at his surroundings. “How long was I out?” He questions.

You reply with a thoughtful hum, “Not long. You need the rest, anyway.” It’s true. The day’s events have undoubtedly taken its toll on the both of you. But how does one go about resting after being hunted to the death?

“I’ll take first watch. Get some sleep, cyare.” He says, now sitting upright and then you know there’s no point in fighting it. You both need rest, but with the way Rex’s frame is pulled tense as a bow, his hand twitching ever-so-slightly towards his blaster, you know there’s no way he’d rest easy.

So, you offer him a victory, albeit a minute one. You pull his unarmed hand into yours and close your eyes, feeling the way he lets out a shaky breath, releasing some tension along with it. A victory—you’re still here with him.

Neither of you can be certain how long you stay that way. The low croon emitting from the transceiver is the only sign that time actually passes. Neither of you complain about the noise, either. It didn’t need to be said that the silence—this silence, was much too loud.

You do try to sleep, Rex gives you credit for that. Though, after turning for the fifth time (he counts) you give up and sit up beside him. He’s got his knees pressed to his chest, one hand curled tight around his blaster. In his other, his thumb rubs circles against the back of your hand. The answer to whether it soothes you or himself doesn’t matter.

Wordlessly, your head lowers to his shoulder, propped gently against the curve of muscle.

“Did I ever tell you I wanted to be a singer?” You murmur, glancing at the transceiver. You don’t recognise the singer on broadcast, though you do take note of the melody, slow and mellow.

Rex watches as you even try to hum along, as offbeat as you are.

“No,” he huffs something short of a chuckle, “you didn’t.”

He knows what you’re trying to do, sees it clear as day. Yet, as he watches your feet tap to the tempo of the ballad, he can’t stop himself from humouring your attempt to comfort him.

You nod eagerly, eyes widening as if to express your candor. “I was about to be one, too! Then the Jedi came and…”

Rex waits as you trail off, then clocks the far-off look in your eyes. He picks up where you left off. “Would you sing for me now?”

You return in a split second, your lips pulling into a bashful smile as you avoid his eyes. “I’m definitely rusty by now, I don’t want you losing your hearing because of me.”

The Captain nudges you teasingly, grinning when you break into soft laughter. “It would be an honour, though,” he quips.

He wonders how much of you has been hidden behind the mantle of a Jedi’s title. Who would you have been had you not been brought into the Order, raised from young to be one thing, and one thing only? Who would he be?

Once again, Rex is dragged out of his thoughts. This time, you’re tugging him to his feet. It takes an effort and a half, which you currently lack in your fatigued state.

As he looks up at you questioningly, you motion to the transceiver, dropping his hand to raise the volume. It’s enough to provide a comfortable backdrop instead of a desperate attempt to quell silence.

“Dance with me,” you propose softly, “please?”

“I don’t know how to, mesh’la.”

As if pointedly ignoring his feeble protest, your hand remains outstretched, beckoning his participation.

Maker, he’s only ever seen couples dancing on holofilms and is even more certain he has two left feet. But gazing up at your expectant self is like looking at a promise of escaping the sorrow he now knows as reality.

Really, it’s all up to him.

Rex swears he feels three times lighter from the way you beam in delight when he fits his palm into your smaller ones and helps you lift him to full height.

He stands awkwardly, clueless as to where his hands should go, how he should move. Maybe this wasn’t the best idea.

Below him, you soften at the uncertainty tainting his features. Taking mercy on the poor man, you lift a hand to cup his cheek, garnering his attention.

“Put your hands on my waist,” you murmur, eyes twinkling when Rex’s hands fly up to root himself to you. Your own arms loop behind his neck and he takes it as a sign to pull you into his chest, no stranger to the position.

“and now we sway.”

Such a simple command, yet Rex feels like a fish out of water. His limbs are stiff, like the serenity of the movement is a stranger. To an extent, it is.

When you take over, moving him to the beat instead, he gratefully surrenders, allowing himself a moment of tranquility.

The only sounds that reach him become the silky notes of the singer and your soft, steady breaths. If he tries hard enough, he can pretend to be in a distant galaxy, where he is not a clone and you are not a Jedi, where the war is nothing more than a brash concept and his brothers are alive and well.

Rex doesn’t realise he’s crying until your thumb smooths away a tear rolling down his face. His eyes stay closed as he wills himself to keep pretending, but he can’t.

He is still a clone but you are no longer a Jedi. His brothers are gone.

You hold him when he finally breaks, cradling his head close when his shoulders tremble with the force of his sobs. His tears soak into the collar of your singed robes, but you truly can’t find the will to care—not when the man you love is falling apart, barely held together by the threads of your embrace.

“It wasn’t them,” he chokes, shaking his head, a wretched attempt to convince himself, “—it couldn’t be.”

At that, you’re positive your heart shatters. Stars, he doesn’t deserve this. You wish with all your might to take the pain away, to rewind every clock in the galaxy and then the next, but all you can do is watch.

“It wasn’t,” you nod, lowering your forehead to press against his, “not the real them. You know they loved you.” And by the Maker, you know.

Rex’s hands clutch tightly at your robes, as if letting go of that would mean letting go of you. The last tether to what is now his past, his only constant.

What if you hadn’t made it off the ship? What if Ahsoka hadn’t gotten the chip out of him in time? What if he had hurt you?

He briefly registers your voice calling his name, cutting through the despondent scenarios that could have, by any deciding factor, become his present.

“Rex, my love,” you plead, “please look at me.”

When he raises his eyes, he finds that yours are a mirror of his own. The anguish that parallels his agony. He feels you, your presence. He’s never understood much about the Force, but he thinks this is pretty damn close.

“I’m here,” you whisper. The promise of those two words anchor you both. “‘M not going anywhere.”

You mean it. If you believed it before, there was no chance in any star in the galaxy that anyone would be able to tear you away from him now.

For the current moment, you weren’t sure if there was a place to go, even if you wanted. Less than twenty four hours ago, you had been anticipating the end of the Clone Wars. Now, it feels like you’ve been thrown onto the losing side.

“What do we do now?” Rex asks, but you both know there isn’t an answer. There’s no precedent to go off of.

Two of the finest leaders in the GAR and the Jedi Order are lost, with no one left to follow them.

There’s nothing to do but move on.

“We keep living,” you say with a heavy sigh, burying your face into the crook of Rex’s neck, “we live for them. We’ll find a way.”

You always do.

#yoinks sorry i’ve been gone for so long lads #pls take this fic as an offering #rex x reader #captain rex x reader #star wars #the clone wars #the clone wars x reader #the clone wars imagine #captain rex imagine #captain rex oneshot #501st x reader