#/ the galaxy keeps his ass in check it's fine.

[moonspower]

✨ vi’s power and planetary transits. astrological placement breakdown.

vi’s a celestial powerhouse, but his power is balanced out by the galaxy. it all depends on transits and aspects and what’s going on up in the sky every second of the day. here’s a little peek into aspects! these are all astrological.

conjunction, good aspect, when planets form a 0° angle.

opposition, disharmonious, 180°.

square, disharmonious, 90°.

trine, great aspect, 120°.

can read about the rest of these here because tbh i just don’t wanna get into ALL the numbers here. anyway, let’s give an example. let’s say there’s a daily transit moon square chiron going on, he really wouldn’t want to do spells that deal with healing. a bad aspect affecting chiron, the asteroid for wounds, would ruin everything, he’d be unable to do it with confidence. on the flip side, if he wanted to do a love spell ( he doesn’t do those tho lmao he thinks they’re rly weird ) then venus trine mars would increase his success.

the moon’s tricky. not an aspect, but when the moon becomes void. it’s like ‘ hhhlflfsjkfd. ’ as the moon moves into a new zodiac sign every couple of days, there’s a little break between signs where the moon isn’t making ANY aspects to any other planet. and at that point vi’s just standing there, looking like a powerless little fool. voids don’t last long, usually a few minutes? on a rare occasion, a few hours.

now, with how planets move into signs, that’s pretty simple. let’s get to planets/signs domicile, exaltation, detriment, n fall babey.

a planet’s domicile is the zodiac sign over which it has rulership. a planetary ruler is given to each sign, over which the planet has a more powerful influence when positioned therein. a planet is considered to be in domal dignity when it is positioned in the sign it rules. this is the strongest dignity of a planet.

a planet in a sign of a similar nature, but which it does not rule, is said to be in exaltation. the planet gets strength and energy from its exaltation, and thus, its influence is positive.

when a planet is in the sign opposite the sign it rules, it is said to be in detriment. thus, its action is weakened.

a planet in the sign opposite the sign of its exaltation is said to be in fall. therefore, contrarily to the exaltation, the planet loses its strength and influence.

example, let’s use venus!! venus: domicile in taurus and libra, exaltation in pisces, detriment in scorpio and aries, fall in virgo. so if venus moves into virgo, his love related spells would be pretty weak shit. in domicile signs, they’d be strongest. you can guess how it is with the other signs.

side note: his natal venus is in virgo in his birth chart so that’s something lollll.

also his actual cosmic manipulation powers are insanity.

and, in short, he could obliterate earth *if he wanted.

*if everything in space lines up properly… which is rare. will never ever happen lol.

[hobivore]

Mission 111: The Timebreaker | JYH

— Jeong Yunho x reader (f)

Prompt: "Hey, did you fall from heaven when you hurt—fuck." & "If you're trying to manipulate me us, it's not working." from this prompt list. AU/Trope: science fiction-y angel!au, coworkers to lovers (or partners to partners or whatever the angel equivalent would be) Warnings: Django!Yunho but give him wings, apocalyptic levels of violence and a little bit of blood (nothing too explicit) WC: 2.2k A/N: Surpriiiiiise, your local writer cryptid has risen from the 10th circle of hell called Adult Responsibilities! This short story draws inspiration from Ateez’ delightful space-cowboy concept, biblically accurate angels and a spoonful of Welcome to Night Vale (which I used to obsessively listen to back in 2012). Shout-out to my lovely friend @augustbutwinter for kicking my ass into gear and beta-reading this piece. I love your galaxy brain! © hobivore Do not repost, translate, edit or otherwise use my stories without my permission. ateez masterlist | ask box

“Are you trying to get us all killed?” 

The timebreaker sneezes into his elbow. He’s covered in a fine layer of dust. The chains strapping him to the seat didn’t survive the crash, but he won’t get far either way: his timepiece remains safely hidden in your pocket. 

You ignore him and survey the wreckage in front of you. There’s very little left of your spacecraft. Dawdling will only cost you precious time, and you’re not sure how much longer you can keep the flames at bay. 

A few crumpled feathers stick out from under the rubble. You pull with two hands, using your weight to unearth your equally crumpled associate. 

“It’s not like I can actually die, of course. I think. Not really. I’m not afraid of death anyway,” the timebreaker continues. “He looks pretty damn done for, though.”

You turn around and fiddle with what’s left of the control panel. Your partner coughs up thick globs of blood. He wipes his mouth with the back of one wing and straightens his glasses. "Hey, did you fall from heaven when you hurt—fuck." 

“Welcome back,” you mutter. The control panel lights up once and fizzles out again. 

“Have you seen my hat?”

“This, here?” The timebreaker lifts one foot and your partner snatches the weathered cowboy hat from under his boot. “Sorry, I thought it was just a piece of debris. I didn’t mean to step on it.”

You snort. “Yunho’s awfully attached to that ugly old thing.” After a repeated bang on the control panel yields no results, you give up and grab your pocket pulsar. “Didn’t they go out of style over 600 billion years ago?”

“Real fashion is timeless,” Yunho says. “Besides, it's a keepsake from Earth.” 

You roll your eyes. “Ugh. You’re such a romantic.”

He winks at you. Behind you, the timebreaker coughs. “I’m still here.”

A glare shuts him up. Your many eyes tend to have that effect on people.

“Which way do we go?” Yunho asks. 

You check your pulsar. “We should head southwest for about 11 kilometres. We’re not that far off. You did a decent job crashing the ship.”

“Thank you.”

“You think you can walk with that leg?” 

“I’m fine, but it might take us a bit longer. Do you still have time?”

You nod. “I do. But the big boss won’t like it. You know his patience runs thin.”

“We’re bringing him a timebreaker! He ought to be happy with that.” 

Your eyes drift towards the man who’s still staring at the wreckage, appearing to be lost in thought—no doubt mourning what might’ve been his only chance at escaping.

“You’re right. Let’s go before the weather gets any worse.”

Above you the glittery storm clouds gather. With just your pocket pulsar left, navigating will be a lot more difficult if you don't cross the Great Plateau before the first rain falls. 

“So… you two are angels, then?” The timebreaker asks when the silence drags on for a bit too long. 

“Damn right,” Yunho says. “Ever met an angel before?”

The timebreaker shakes his head. “Can't say I've had the pleasure, no. They—I mean you, sorry—don’t exist in my universe.”

You grumble. He's awfully polite for a man who killed half a planet of innocents. “Just because you've never seen one doesn't mean we aren't there.” 

The timebreaker’s face turns sour. You don’t care if he doesn’t like you. There's more pressing matters to worry about: right now it's the unshakeable sizzling in your ears, the sound growing stronger with every step.

You rub your temples but the gesture brings no relief. Yunho watches you closely, rummaging through his coat pockets. After some fiddling he extracts a small bottle and hands it to you. He always seems to know exactly what you need. You down the liquid and make a mental note to thank him for that after you’ve finished this job. 

“Why does he have wings and you don’t? And what’s up with all the eyes?”

Your nostrils flare in annoyance and you’re thankful for the sudden crack of thunder that makes your captive jump. “No more time for existential chit-chat,” you say. The taste of ash lingers in your mouth. 

“If you give me my timepiece back I can get us off this planet,” the timebreaker offers. He almost trips over his feet in an attempt to keep up with you and Yunho. “Another universe maybe, just for the two of you? Something beachy? Sun, Martinis, a nice big bed, a few slaves to preen those pretty wings?”

You laugh and look at Yunho’s tattered feathers, still covered in dried blood. "If you're trying to manipulate us, it's not working." 

“Are we still heading in the right direction?” Yunho asks. He looks mildly flattered but not at all phased by the timebreaker’s implications, so you narrow your eyes at him. All he does in return is smile. If you weren't in the middle of a job you'd use his own wings to wipe that smug grin off his face.

“We’re slowly getting there," you sigh, handing him the pulsar.

“We’re heading away from the capital. The only civilised place on this planet.” The timebreaker glances past Yunho’s shoulder and points his cuffed hands at the device. His voice raises an octave when you start walking even faster. “Hey! What did I do wrong anyway? Since when is breaking time a crime? And who are you, the space police?” 

“You didn’t tell him?” Yunho asks. 

You shrug. “The less he knows, the better.” It’s a lie. It doesn’t matter: you just didn’t feel like talking to the man.  

“I’m sorry for my partner’s lack of proper protocol,” Yunho starts, and you close your many eyes for a moment to collect yourself and tune out the other angel’s lecture. The situation is starting to get on your nerves and you wonder if the flames have ignited by now. They probably haven’t—neither of your companions seem to perceive a sudden increase in heat. 

When you open your eyes again, the timebreaker’s face has gone blank.

“And that’s how we ended up here!” Yunho smiles and claps his hands together, as if he didn’t just give a detailed account of why the man will spend the remainder of his life in chains. “Any questions?”

“I—what the fuck,” the timebreaker says, “have more questions now than before.”

Yunho opens his mouth but you cut him off. Unlike the other angel, God didn’t bless you with the patience of a saint when They created you. “No one cares about obnoxious fools who run around universes breaking time. Killing innocents however? The boss doesn’t like that.”

The timebreaker tilts his head towards you. “Who’s this boss you keep talking about? God?”

You laugh. “So you’re a fool and uncultured.”

He looks ready to murder you. You’d like to see him try; it would spice things up a bit. 

Your partner shakes his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “God died a long time ago. No, we call him the Captain.”

At the mention of his name the storm clouds rupture and shimmering glitter falls from the sky. You blink up at the sudden burst of colour. 

Suspicious.

“Dammit,” you curse, “we’re not even close.” You shake the pulsar, which buzzes sadly in the steady stream of luminescent sparkles. You huff and a small puff of smoke escapes your nose.

Yunho squeezes your shoulder. “Do you think you can do it here, if needed?” 

“It’s not ideal, but I can manage. The harvesting will be a pain, though. The soil is too muddy.”

“We can work something out. I trust you.” Yunho’s hand drops to his side and you miss its warmth already. Then he jumps in front of you, causing you to nearly barrel head-first into his chest. He spreads his wings and grins, “This is the skin of a killer, Bella.”

“Shut up.” You push him out of your way, suppressing a smile and trying not to look at the pretty glitter covering him from head to toe. Some of your eyes steal a glance anyway. “Vampires aren’t real.”

He’s still laughing. “For someone who pretends to hate Earth you sure know a lot about it. Who’s the romantic now?”

You don’t respond and push past him, aiming the pulsar at the glittery sky. Yunho doesn’t seem to mind your feigned disapproval and falls back at your side, his comforting presence grounding you like always. As annoying as he can be, you need him there. You’d trust him with your life. 

“I miss humans sometimes. It’s a shame they went extinct.” Yunho turns towards the timebreaker. “She was there, you know. During Armageddon. It was angels versus demons… pretty cool. I wasn’t old enough to join the fight yet. I’ve only heard the stories.” He elbows you in the side. “Tell him about it.” 

You groan. “There was a lot of fire. The end.”

The timebreaker raises an eyebrow. “What happened to the demons?”

“They were wiped out.” 

“That seems to be a recurring theme.” 

You turn your head and grin at him. “You could call it our… speciality.”

For the first time since you’ve dragged him from his universe, the timebreaker looks afraid. A shiver runs through him and his sharp teeth clatter. “I thought angels were supposed to be harbingers of peace. Chubby babies chanting glorias to God and all that stuff.”

“We were tasked to maintain the cosmic harmony of all universal laws,” you shrug, “but no one ever told us how to mete out divine justice.”

“You could say we’re just winging it.” Yunho grins. “Get it?”

The timebreaker doesn’t laugh. The crease between his brows deepens. “So let me get this straight: when you wipe out an entire planet it’s fine, but when I do it—” he huffs, an indignant sound, “—I get thrown in jail?”

You shrug again. “Collateral damage. It happens.”

“Fuck this,” the timebreaker says. Then he starts running. It only takes a few metres for his form to completely disappear in the downpour of glitter.

“Took him long enough.” Yunho takes the pulsar from your hands to save if from melting and sticks it in his pocket. “Are you ready?”

His glasses reflect an orange glow and you laugh. You know he loves this part of the job as much as you do. He can have this. “Go get him, partner.”

The angel spreads his wings and points at you. “I’m taking you out for dinner after,” he says. Then he disappears into the void. 

You draw patterns in the fallen glitter with one smoky foot and start counting. People tend to underestimate your partner by virtue of his angelic aura. They’re always wrong. 

It doesn’t take him long to return. The timebreaker shrieks when he sees you. “What the fuck happened to her?” He trashes in your partner’s arms. “I’ve got a family! Friends! They’ll come looking for me!”

“26 seconds. Not bad,” you comment dryly. 

“They will come!”

“Over there would be perfect.” You point at a spot a few metres away. “Thank you, Yunho.”

Your partner puts the captive down and pats him on the shoulder. He doesn’t run this time. Where would he go, hands bound, without a timepiece and with two angels on his heels? Maybe he wasn’t as foolish as you thought. Some of them keep running. 

“It’s going to be okay,” your partner says. It won’t be. “I’m sure you’ll be dearly missed. I can already picture the memorial service. Lots of flowers, sad piano music... it's going to be beautiful.”

The timebreaker pales. It appears he’s finally caught up on the plan. “What happened to jail? A proper trial?” He blinks twice, then recovers some of his rage and spits at Yunho, “You’ll regret this. My family will hunt you down and kill you both. They'll rip out your feathers one by one until there's none left.”

Yunho pushes his glasses higher up his nose. “‘I’m not afraid of death anyway’, you said.”

“I wasn’t—”

“Don’t worry, death doesn’t have to be temporary. Some of us believe in reincarnation.” Yunho lowers his voice, knowing you can’t hear him over the roaring fire around you. “Not her, of course. She believes in total annihilation.” He gives the man one last gentle pat on the back before stepping away. 

“No one but you has mentioned jail.” You have to raise your voice because of the ringing in your ears. “And your family will find a shipwreck, remember? Such an unfortunate accident.”

“Extremely unfortunate,” Yunho agrees. 

The timebreaker doesn’t answer. His skin has turned the colour of grey mud. You feel the flames rise even higher, inching closer to him.

Finally. 

The last thing the timebreaker sees before the flames engulf him is the sky breaking open. You wrap around him and burn until there’s nothing left but a heap of sand and glitter.

Yunho retrieves an empty hourglass from his pocket and crouches down to fill it with sand. “The Captain’s gonna be happy,” he says while he pours more grains in the glass. "Look at the size of that pile!"

You suppress a yawn and shiver. You always get a little cold after the fire has gone down to a simmer.

“Chinese sound good to you? For old time’s sake?” Yunho hands you the hourglass and wraps a wing around your shoulder. “I know a place.” 

You elbow him in the side and smile. “Romantic.”

Thank you for reading! If you liked this story please reblog, leave a comment, tell a friend, send me a pigeon, launch a mars rover. Your encouragement fuels my inner writer cryptid 👾

[my-sun-m00n-and-stars]

Cad Bane NSFW Alphabet

In honor of my first kinktober, I'll post something I wrote up a few days ago.

Check out my Bane slowburn on AO3, linked on my pinned post.

F!Reader

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex): Bane has never been an emotional, touchy-feely kind of guy. If you're a one night stand, he won't even sleep in the same room as you. He's got places to be, and sleeping next to a stranger is a prime way to get himself killed (he's not a very trusting guy). That being said, if you're a regular partner and have built up some trust, he'll help clean up the mess he made of you and share your bed. If he's in a committed relationship, he may permit cuddling on occasion (he's stealing your mammalian warmth).

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s): A common answer people give to this one is his hands; his trigger fingers made his career. While I agree with this, I'd like to add up for consideration his fangs. I have noticed he likes to bare his teeth, and always has a toothpick in hand. This, combined with the fact that Duros don't typically have fangs, leads me to believe that he may like them for intimidation purposes, and also because they make him unique.

On a partner---tits. Simple as that. They're exotic, they're soft, and they're inviting. A novelty to a reptile.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person): I have a headcanon that has to do with "scent-marking". Essentially, Duros males have strong pheromones in their cum that lingers on their partners, marking them with their scent to ward off other potential males. If Bane is in a committed relationship with you, he may want to "mark" you as his, whether it's cumming on your stomach, your ass, your face...whatever it takes to make the message clear to other males who get within smelling-distance: You're his.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs): This is another common headcanon in the Bane fandom---he has a fetish for mammalian women. Humans, twi'leks, togruta, anything he can get his elongated hands on. For one, they seem to be the common standard of beauty in the galaxy. For another, as a reptile they have certain assets that intrigue him. They're warm to his cold, soft to his rough, curvy to his lanky. A good heat source for a cold-blooded man.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?): Oh please. The real question is, which body count is higher? The amount of people he's slept with, or the amount of people he's killed? To elaborate more, I imagine that if he can't find a girl at the cantina to rent a room with, he's finding a hooker to pay. Either way, when he wants it, he gets it.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual): Definitely doggy. It's easy, he's in control, and he can go as fast as he wants. Not to mention he gets a good view of your fine ass. It's also less intimate in a sense--he's not face to face. Less "love-making" banthashit, more fucking.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc): In 99% of cases, he's serious. When he's horny, he's a predator on the hunt. It's almost like a bounty for him. That being said, if you two were in a committed relationship and were very comfortable with each other, I could see him loosening up a bit and having some fun, especially if alcohol is involved. He's not going to turn into a comedian, but he'll relax. But that would be very rare indeed.

H = Hair (How well-groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.): Obviously Bane has no hair, so I'll talk about hygiene instead. He strikes me as a bare-minimum kind of guy. He's got a bar of soap, toothbrush, and toothpaste tube in his knapsack, and that's it. That 18-in-1 soap was made for this man. However, he is clean and keeps himself presentable, including in his nether regions.

On his partner he doesn't much care for body hair either way. It's a bit of a novelty if it is there, but he appreciates the smoothness when it isn't. One thing he can't stand? Prickly. It irritates his skin. You either have to shave it all off or leave it fluffy.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…): As I mentioned earlier, this man is not holding your hand and looking deeply into your eyes. He's there to fuck. Now if you're his girl, he'll treat you with a bit more deference. He'll make sure you're taken care of and that he's not too rough with you. But if you want anything slow or gentle, you're out of luck. You'd have to catch him in an extremely rare mood to be willing to try that kind of sex. It's vulnerable, and if there's one thing he hates, it's vulnerability.

J = Jealousy (Do they get jealous easily?): This man is Possessive with a capital 'P'. He's a control freak. Whether you find that toxic, hot, or both is up to you, but I believe it to be most realistic to how he is portrayed in canon. Even if he trusts you not to betray him, he doesn't trust other men. Especially in the circles he operates in. If you're out in public together in a seedy part of town, he's keeping an eye on you at all times. He may not like you wearing certain outfits if you look too good. He may 'teach you a few lessons' back in the bedroom if you piss him off too much by talking to other guys.

I see this as being his biggest red flag as a partner. But hey, if you've got rose-colored glasses...

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks): Bane likes the chase--the hunt, so to speak. If he's in the right mood, and you're playing hard to get, he will eat that shit up. It's in his nature as a bounty hunter. He would never force himself on you--that would defeat the purpose. No, he has to win you over mentally and physically. It's much more satisfying to him. Play coy and watch how determined he can be.

*disclaimer* If it's obvious you're not into him, he won't waste his time.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do): I'm going to disagree on other common headcanons with this one. I don't think he would enjoy doing the do in an alleyway or unsecure location as much as a room. He's a paranoid guy and would always have to watch his back, and he can't fully engross himself in his partner. But if you're indoors in a bedroom, it's easier for him to get into it. I also think he would get a kick out of doing it in the cockpit of his ship.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs): As I said before, this man is a control freak. Any situation where he feels powerless makes him deeply uncomfortable. As such, subbing would not be on the table for him. He'll let you ride, but don't think for a second he's not the dominant one in the situation.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going): If you play into the predator/prey dynamic, he will be on board. If you challenge his authority in any way, boner. Even if he just sees you being a badass, like shooting someone or punching someone, it will turn him on. Basically anything that makes him imagine what it would be like to butt heads with you and see who comes out on top (it's usually him).

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc): In general he prefers to receive. Selfish man, selfish lover. However if he's really into you, he will eat you like a feast. Something about humans just tastes so sweet.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? Etc.): Fast and rough. No other explanation needed. These words pretty accurately sum him up.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.): He loves a good quickie. Get in, get out, on to the next mission. That's how most of his encounters tend to go. But when he has the time, nothing can compare with a nice, long session on a bed.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.): He usually only experiments if it's his idea. He doesn't like unknown variables that are out of his control. But if he is not completely against the suggestion he hears, he may decide to give it a try.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…): This man has a lot of experience. As a result, he has had practice with edging and building up his stamina. He can go for a long, long time. Depending on where in the star wars timeline you're looking at him, how many rounds he can go may be variable. In his younger years in the prequels? Several rounds. TBOBF? Maybe 2. Man is in his seventies. Give him a break.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?): Bane wants to feel you in his hands and use his hands on you. Toys are too detached for him, and frankly threaten his ego. Although, the idea of tying you down and using a vibrator on you until you scream from overstimulation is something he has thought about on more than one occasion. But he'd rather bring you to that point himself through hard work rather than rely on a tool.

He has no qualms about bondage. He can and will use his cuffs on you, and he will tie your legs down too if you squirm too much.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease): This man lives to tease you. He's a smug son-of-a-bitch and will degrade you. He'll mock you, toy with you, and make you beg.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make): He's not loud, but he does make animalistic noises. Grunts and growls mostly, as well as the occasional dirty talk.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice): Maybe once, if he really loves you deep down, he'll let you take charge for a night. Maybe once he'll let you show him how to be slow and gentle, how to make love. Maybe he'll claim he didn't care for it afterwards, but maybe, in the moment, his body was on fire.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words): You know what they say about skinny guys, amirite? Big. His cock was designed for a duros female, not a human. it's very nearly incompatible anatomy, but you make it fit. It's ridged, with the tip being pointier than a human's.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?): High. When he's on a job, he's locked in and won't be distracted with such things. But off the job? He's always DTF. If you live and travel with him, you're fucking at least three times per week, at the bare minimum.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards): I headcanon that duros don't need as much sleep as humans do. He's last to fall asleep and first to wake. Depending on how much he likes you, he may or may not stick around until you wake up.

[x-0ophelia0-x]

Ezra x Jacen’s Nany Reader

Hear me out….. there’s NO WAY in the galaxy that Hera leaves Jacen with only Chopper, I repeat CHOPPER as supervision… that droid has committed war crimes on a daily basis as a form of entertainment, simply because he could.

Sabine has been to busy being a part-time jedi apprentice, and looking for a way to bring her idiot best friend/brother Ezra back home to their Mama Hera..

Kallus is simply too busy as a stay-at-home dad raising his horde of Lesat cubs, while his hubby Zeb is busy working as a part-time recruit trainer for the New Republic..

So.. what’s a VERY pregnant Hera to do when she comes across a young girl, who happens to be the same age as the Son she had just lost, in the streets of a still recovering planet after the fall of the Empire? Watching as the girl gently tends to the sick and injured that others seemed to ignore.. all while this child is clearly malnourished and weak herself.

Surprise bitch, you just got adopted by the coolest Mama in the Galaxy..

Aside from helping Hera around the Ghost with chores, making sure the ship’s baby ready, and studying (because Hera wants to help her new kid after clearly observing her passion for medicine) she eventually becomes Jacen’s teacher and basically the family’s personal Doctor.. (and I mean the WHOLE family.. Zeb tried to avoid his annual check-up once.. wasn’t happy that Kallus ratted him out and basically tricked him into Reader’s office)

The main draw back that Reader seams to have in her personal life though??? Her severe case of “Resting Bitch Face” nobody seems to show any interest in her, and only her adopted family seems to not be bothered by it.. she even tries to do things to make her face less intimidating.. constantly being aware of her facial expressions and doing her best to keep her eyebrows slightly raised and a slight half smile on her lips…

Then Ezra comes back… and you bet your ass as soon as the crying, hugging, lecturing and overall emotional reunion is done.. Hera is dragging Ezra by the ears to get a FULL check-up by the most trustworthy doctor she knows.. and Jacen is happily tagging along, holding his “big brothers” sleeves while waiting for him to meet one of his favorite people.. the outcome is… somewhat unexpected.. Ezra trying to be charming and calling Reader’s “serious face” cute..

And Reader being genuinely flustered by Ezra’s awkward attempt at flirting…

Jacen.. is getting ideas, and Chopper is going to help him because CHAOS WILL RAIN!!!

……. and he’s got years worth of pranks to pull on Ezra.. might as well start now.. 😉

a gremlins Nany.

pairing: Jacen‘s Nany!Readee x Ezra Bridger

warnings: none

word count: 2,1 k

summary: You’re Heras most trusted person. Not only did you take care of her beloved son Jacen, no. You were and still are his Nany and best friend. And not only that, after Ezra’s return, Hera ofc trusts you with his check ups. And Jacen and Chopper have a lot of fun about this.

authors note: It’s not proofread, pls bare with me! 😭 I‘m sick and I gave my best to make it as good as possible :´D I hope this makes sense, I‘m not really familiar with medical stuff, especially when it comes to Star Wars 💀

anywayyyy

enjoyyyy <333

imagine this being Ezra waiting for his routine checkups, thank you xd

As she walked through the streets she didn’t fail to notice a young girl, helping the people in need.

Her way with the injured and sick was more then just gentle.

Despite her own visible weaknesses portrayed by a weak body.

After each treatment she only left them to treat the next one if they reassured her that they’re fine.

„Thank you so much y/n, wouldn’t know what I’d done if it wasn’t for your help“

Said an elderly woman, truly a heartbreaking scene even if this girl was a complete stranger to her.

was.

It didn’t take her long to approach the girl, she waited for her to finish the treatment on another injured citizen before she started to talk, startling the girl on front of her.

„Hey there..“

The girl turned around and met her eyes with the stranger, her gaze was shocked at first but soon turned into one of adoration as she looked at the pregnant woman in front of her.

„H-Hey..!“

„I‘ve been here for a little while and couldn’t help but notice your way of helping your people… could I ask you a question?“

The girl looked up to the green Twi‘lek while nodding a yes.

She didn’t know how to form the question since it was a rather personal one and let’s be honest.. they didn’t talk yet.

However, this planet belonged to the ones with the highest death rates, seeing the poor girl alone here, weakened and injured.. where were her parents?

„Do you have a family here?“

As if she saw it coming the girl nodded a no, a sad expression laying bare on her face.

The Twi‘leks heart ached for her. 

She just lost one child, seeing another one, assuming at the same age as him.. it was too much to just stand by and do nothing to help.

„Would you like to become part of my crew?“

y/n looked up at her, not fully believing her ears yet.

„Are you serious..?“

„Yes“

And just like that a huge smile appeared on her face.

„Of course I’d love to!“

The woman returned y/n‘s smile and offered her her hand.

„Name‘s Hera“

„Name‘s y/n“

-

A few months passed by from the moment where you firstly walked into the Ghost.

The ship wasn’t the biggest but oh force, you’ve never felt more at peace then when you got to enter your cabin.

The ship was cozy and it even had a medbay!

Hera then decided to inform you about the other crew members and their activities. 

That’s also the reason why it was so empty.. however.

Soon you were able to meet everyone, except one boy who Hera told you was missing.

Sabine grew the closest to you (after Hera and chopper ofc).

Even if her timetable was loaded with Jedi training stuff, you two always managed to spend some time together.

Zeb worked at a part time recruit trainer for the New Republic while Kallus stayed at home, making sure that their horde of Lesat cubs wouldn’t destroy everything.

Chopper is Chopper. 

There’s nothing more to that since we all know how he is.

There’s no way that Hera would’ve trust him enough with her still unborn child.

Soooo.. with Kanan gone and Ezra missing, there’s only one person left who she’d trust enough with her baby.

You.

You were studying medicine, something you wouldn’t be able to do without Heras help.

She became something like a mother role for you and ohhh my goodness where our excited for the day the baby would be born.

She didn’t have to ask you, couldn’t even since you started to turn the ship into a baby safe place.. at least the most possible version of this since it’s a spacecraft after all .

Hera was moved to tears, seeing how much effort you put everyday to ensure her baby’s safety while everything that Chopper did was to mess with your stuff.

Yeah you were the right choice, no doubt in that.

„Hey, could I ask you to do me a favor? But before I tell you what it is, just know that whatever you’ll answer is allri-„

„Yes I want!“

„What?“

The woman was too stunned to speak.

„But you don’t know what I’m going to ask you..?“

„If I want to take care of your baby right?? Please tell me that this was your question???“

There was a spark of excitement on your voice that made Hers heart to flutter.

She didn’t know if it were her hormones or her (for now) clouded judgement but she immediately hugged you, fighting back some tears.

„Thank you..!“

-

Some years passed by and thanks to Heras help, you were able to actually get an official status as doctor.

That wasn’t your only ‚job‘ tho. You were also a part time nanny for Jason from the moment on he was born. 

Being the most trusted person available on the ghost pushed your ego, making you think that you can perform both of your ‚jobs‘ at the very same time.

It did make some things harder for you, but it was her baby after all, he was worth it.

People who knew about your story would say that you’re literally shining in comparison to your state from when before Hera found you.

Others at the other hand were kind of scared off by your resting Bitch face, not showing any interest towards you.

Your new family didn’t seem bothered at all by it, not even Jacen, but you still gave it your best to improve your facial expressions.. they never faded tho.. .

So when the day arrived where the boy called Ezra returned, Hera instantly had an assignment for you.

She and basically everyone of the ghost crew used to tell you stories about him, how he made the ultimate sacrifice to safe his crew and Lothal.

Ten years had passed since then, since his disappearance and since you’ve been as good as adopted by Hera.

The days after the big news.. we’ll it’s safe to say that you never saw her this emotional in your entire ten years.

Not even when she was pregnant with Jacen, and this is a statement. 

You weren’t there when he arrived since you had some patients waiting for their treatments, but you soon found out about the happy news when Hera called you through your comm link.

And not long after you heard her knocking on your door, dragging an middle aged man by his ears, while Jacen tagged along, holding him by his sleeves.

She asked you if you could take a look at him, a very good one since he’s been absent for like.. I don’t know… 10 years?

Yeah, sounds reasonable. 

„Please do a FULL check-up. You’re my most trusted doctor on this galaxy.“

„Of corse Hera, well then Ezra.. Please take a seat.“

He freed himself from Heras and Jacens Grasp and went to sit on the special chair. 

Ezra seemed to be excited about the technical stuff that surrounded him.. you’d be too if you’ve been stranded in the middle of nowhere for a decade so.. .

„We’ll wait outside, just tell us when we should come“

Said Hera and with that she and Jacen left the room, leaving you and Ezra alone.

„Okay then.. how are you feeling? Are you injured? Sick?“

Knowing how Important he is to Hera you tried to somehow neutralize your „special“ expression.

And he seemed to notice this, you barely knew him and he already started to change his attitude around you.

„No, I‘m totally fine“

He had a grin on his face while you raised your eyebrow at his answer.

„I still need to take a look at you so-“

He already started to take his shirt off, I mean he didn’t have to, just you her push it slightly upwards but you weren’t complaining. 

Nope.

Not at all.

But you had to keep yourself professional.

„Why did you take your shirt off?“

„For the check-up..? If I’m not wrong that’s what patients to for the lung part?“

„Ah- Yeah sorry. Yes, ehm, thank you“

You checked his heartbeat, his lungs and everything you could do at the moment.

There was one thing that concerned you.

Not his health since it was in a good state.

But the way how he made you feel.

You tried to keep a straight, neutral, friendly face while looking him up, but he made it impossible for you.

„You’re cute“

„What?“

Your movements froze for a short while, this kind of comment was unusual.

„You’re cute. You know.. the way how you try to keep your face straight“

„You’re serious?“

„Yep. Why shouldn’t I be?“

He was charming, handsome, kind, you only knew him for a very short time. Like for real. But there was something positive around him.

And it flustered you.

„Thank you“

„Just telling the truth“

-

Unbeknownst to you two, a very curious Jacen was leaning right against the door, squeezing his ear as close as he could and boy did he smile when he heard Ezra talking to his best friend.

„Jacen, you know that it’s rude to-“

„He told her that she’s cute“

He whispered, loud enough so that Hera understood him.

And her face lit up.

„He what??“

„Shhh.. come here and listen“

This private moment, at least to your knowing, made you happy.

There was finally someone who immediately found interest in you, someone who wasn’t blinded by your facial expressions or your attempt at looking natural.

Weeks passed by and he turned out to continue to be as charming as he was the day you met him.

His genuine, true, loving self made you fall im love with him and the same goes for him with you.

Hera was happy to see how both of your presences affected each other for the better and Jacen was sure that he was destined to play your matchmaker. 

And chopper didn’t let this chance go by.

Jacen wanted to help his best friend and his big brother and Chopper had years worth of pranks to pull on Ezra. 

Chaos will rain

And even if Ezra had warned you that he sensed that something would happen, nothing could ever prepare you for what was to come.

It was a peaceful day at your office.

Your last patients for today waited in the waiting room and Ezra was one of them.

Hera didn’t leave him any other choice then to go and get frequent check ups from you just in case that he really didn’t catch anything on Perridea.

His frequent check ups became known to Jacen and Chopper and they saw the perfect opportunity in this to pull their first prank on you two.

Jacen hid behind the shelf with a music box while Chopper disguised himself as something fitting to his surroundings.

They knew that you’d welcome him into your office with a hug, your relationship witch him had gotten better and better and Jacen didn’t fail to notice this.

Knowing this was the base for this prank.

As Ezra neared himself to open the door to your room, opening the door and greeting you, Choppers mini metallic arm reached out and electro shocked his leg, making him loose his balance and fall straight into your eyes.

The pose you found yourselves right now was more then unexpected as his fall took you by surprise. 

Jacen then didn’t waste any more time and played on the ‚play‘ button of the music box, playing some semantic song which seemed to be popular. 

Chopper then took a photo, beeped some things and left the room with a grinning Jacen as fast as he could.

Your patients where beyond confused at the scene and went to your office to check if everything was alright. 

As you saw them looking you two up and down… your face became the deepest shade of red known to humanity.

Ezra’s too.

This ‚incident‘ may have helped you two to get closer but you were still shy about it.

Jacen and Chopper however had other plans and lets just say that this was just the beginning.

[mmoxie]

Part 9- History Lesson

News was starting to spread about the sudden disappearance of Sean Gracie, the young mayor of Eureka, NV and producer of the popular Mayor Sean YouTube channel, where he cultivated an audience of politically active conservative men between the ages of 18 and 34.

Craig was keeping Dani apprised of these developments on their weekly visits, but the other six days when she retired to her motel room, she was much happier to put on an Ancient Aliens marathon or professional wrestling.

Work was fine, but Fourth-In-Charge Redd Lake was starting to make more advances on Gina Lincoln. He wasn't bad looking or anything, but he was aggressive in a pitiful way, flexing rank and saying things like, "I think you owe me," as he tried to leverage Dani into dinner-dates and venues outside of Fish Camp.

The thought of reducing him to ash had crossed her mind, but she was supposed to be better than that. She had completely let herself come unglued from the world and its consequences when she immolated Mayor Sean- and according to Craig, the only way to duck those consequences was to go to Peru.

After a while, it dawned on her what she actually had to do. She was up late in her room, sitting on the edge of the bed with a pint of moose tracks and watching Star Trek. Profit and Lace, the episode where Quark has himself a couple sex changes.

Man, people hated this one, she thought, twirling her spoon around in the carton, pushing around the few bits of chocolate she saved for last. I dunno, Quark looks kinda good like that. The writing was disastrous, but the costuming was spectacular. Dani wasn't the turn-your-brain-off style of watcher, but she tended to find something to love about the worst of it, like getting excited over seeing a pug, despite it being a complete ruin of a dog.

Drink Slug-o-Cola, the slimiest cola in the galaxy!

Stupid show. Unforgivably boneheaded writing. Total ass.

She loved it.

And that's when it clicked. She found all this affection in her heart for anything that made her laugh, anything that gave her brain- her complete nightmare of a brain, which fired its neurons wherever the hell it wanted, whenever the hell it pleased- another handhold. Actor names, cameos, slogans- wasn't Andy Dick in Voyager? Must've been around the same time he was in Just Shoot Me. No, wait, that was David Spade. God, I should watch Joe Dirt again- her train of thought snaked through mountains of bullshit to get from any Point A to any Point B.

But by god, it had gotten there. She couldn't un-kill Mark LaGrange, and she'd have to reckon with that. Hell, she wanted to reckon that. The thought had occurred to her of attending his funeral, if ever he had one. No telling if they were still searching, but she'd find out.

No, what she had to do was fall in love with this dangerous new ability, and to do that, she had to make herself laugh with it. It couldn't just be "you ignite when you're suicidal" if it was ever going to be anything other than a means of lashing out in deeply sick circumstances.

Still, she was suicidal from time to time. Mayor Sean being in the news didn't help with the urge to disappear. But she had a feeling that if Craig heard this idea, the old cokehead might get a kick out of it.

She slept, eventually, worked, eventually, and returned to the houseboat on Sunday for her weekly check-in with Seebs.

"I'm glad you've been introspecting, Dani. I've got pamphlets for some retreats you're gonna enjoy. But, uh- tell me again, how I'm supposed to help with this?"

Dani leaned back on Craig's sofa and held Seebs in her hands. The old man was slow and saggy as ever, but excited to see her as always, in his own way. She listened to him purr for a a little while before replying.

"You remember the field test, on firetower road? You said something about not being comfortable triggering... the kind of emotion that would lead to me blowing up."

"I'm still not comfortable with it."

"That makes two of us. But it got me to thinking- I've got perfect recall, but only for garbage. Go ahead, ask me anything about a show from the past forty or so years."

Craig shook his head and opened a bottle of Inca Cola. "Alright, I'm game. We all know Peter Falk played Columbo, but -snif- what about... Missus Columbo?"

"His wife or the spin-off show?"

"You tell me."

"Well, she never had an actress in the Falk show. But Kate Mulgrew played Mrs. Columbo. She was gorgeous in that role, and all those years before she'd pick up in Voyager. Imagine getting your face out there with a show that bad, and then turning around and being the best c-"

"Jesus, Dani."

"See, man? When I like something, it's always like this. I can't just be all, 'Hey, I liked the new Hulk movie," it's always, 'I wish Lou Ferrigno and Arnold Schwarzenegger did more together. They were both in Pumping Iron, can you imagine if they were in this? Arnie could be Juggernaut and they'd just be hucking buildings at each other-"

"I get it, you have brain damage. How does this circle back to the fourth-dimensional pit of repressed anger we're working on?"

"Well, this sense of recall I've got. I know it's a stretch, but if I have this good of a grip on bullshit, maybe there's a way to extend that grip to... all the bad stuff."

"What, you want to watch -snif- Dan Akroyd reenact you vaporizing Sean Gracie?"

Ugh, don't remind me.

"No, man. I just think if I could like myself the way I like all this junk, I might be able to reach into that pit and grab what I want."

"All the more reason to go to Peru! Great place to clear your head. Clean mountain air, friendly wildlife, affordable living..."

"Craig, you called yourself a cocaine engineer recently. Now, I don't know your life, but it sounds to me like you didn't always make the most responsible choices."

"Now Dani, I'm not sure we ought to dig into that..."

Dani chuckled and relaxed her grip on Seebs. He curled up on her legs and was back asleep in seconds.

"I mean, it can't have been that bad, right? I don't think I've ever heard of such a thing. Sounds like a bunch of nerds getting high."

Craig adjusted his glasses and huffed, that big white mustache twitching. "I know what you're doing."

"Then skip ahead to the part where I win so we don't hafta fight about it. Begin at the end and work your way back, isn't that how you said your process usually goes?"

Craig sat in his boxy old easy chair, sinking into the orange-and-brown plaid. After some digging in the side pocket, he found the remote and turned on The Weather Channel. They were running the ball lightning story again.

"God, are you ever Jolene's kid. You know she used to play peaknuckle whenever she wanted to prove a point."

"Pinochle, like the card game?"

"No, the one where you lace your fingers together and then thump each others' knuckles until someone wants out."

Dani rolled her eyes, and they sat idle for a moment, watching the weather radar. The chyron across the bottom simply asked- MAYOR SEAN, BALL LIGHTNING VICTIM?

"Look, we would ride the rails back in the '70s, yeah. But we did it so we could talk to computers. That was how we partied, eheh. We got tore up and hooked a Xerox Alto into a ham radio aerial, then coded ourselves up a cosmic bluebox and started cold-calling anyone in the galaxy who was out there listening."

There was a nostalgic glint in the grayish eyes behind those thick, grandfatherly bifocals. He only sniffed at the end, and even then, regarded Dani with a toothy grin.

Oh, those are weirdly perfect. Probably false. My man looks like Teddy Roosevelt with those choppers.

"Alright," she finally replied. Her tone was even and patient. Moreso than she could usually muster, certainly. "And was anyone out there?"

"Ohoho, yes. Yes, yes, yes. I never met him, but Andi did. Sat in his chair, too. I never had that sort of impulse. Takes a real uninhibited flower child type."

"And that's... Andi?"

"Andromeda Rainflower, god bless her. Never did find out her birth name, but I suppose that's none of my business. She and the rest of The SLAPP would get zooted on mushrooms and go out-of-body, seeing what they could see."

"Do you know anyone who isn't doing hard drugs?"

"I mean, none of us are doing them now. At least not regularly. Most of us eased off, some of us died, and- hell, the real loss in our little community came when 'ludes got the axe in '85. All of a sudden none of the Dreamboats could get their fix, and they just... disappeared. They didn't have anything like beaver math or spiritual astronomy to fall back on, so anything they knew, we lost."

"Any more weird little team names?"

"Come on, you're into this. We used to get away with a hell of a lot. --But no, far as I know, it was just the three of us. And we only touched base and started working because of the craziest kind of coincidence."

Dani raised her eyebrows and took a drink. If Craig was going to talk, there was no sense stopping him.

"We- Milton, who you've met- and a man named Reese Castle, and myself- were up late one night playing with some data from the Big Ear. We were experimenting with something that we'd later name the Langolier Mechanism- had to wait for Steven King to help us out- basically it's time shear, if you move across a fourth-dimensional axis against the grain, you invariably incur damage that isn't undone by the reversal of time. This is why it's so hard to build a time machine that doesn't just strand you with the dinosaurs."

Time machines, now? She stopped herself from speaking, and drank again. Pretend it's not bullshit. He's crazy, but he's gotta be getting at something.

"I'm getting off track."

"See? Happens to everybody."

-snif-

"Long story short, we ran into them while they were tripping out. We fired off our signal expecting to bounce it off some space rocks and write down some numbers, but instead, we hit people. And they were out there at the edge of everything, checking out some... structure."

"What was it?"

"Now Dani, I respect you, but take my word for it that you aren't ready to hear that. It'll just make you mad at me. Maybe I'll get Andi on the phone sometime and she can tell you."

"Alright, sure. So you were just, sending signals off into space, and you happened to hit... as you say, people."

"Sure did. And they followed the signal back to us, and next thing you know, we've all got pen pals. So, to circle aaaaaaall the way back," he held out his arms dramatically, then flit a little ash into the ashtray. "Sometimes when you reach out, you find something. In our case, it was something good. In yours..."

What if there's something good in there?

"...In your case, I suspect there's only pain in there."

"Are you willing to help me check, Craig?"

At that, he grinned.

"I'll get the Alto."

<-Prev Next->

[hxdrostorm]

@corruptedforce​ has sent: Have you made any outright changes to the canon material in order to write your muse the way you wanted (entire scenes you chose to omit, chapters you say never existed, things you assume were never said, etc.)?What is an aspect of your muse’s canon material or canon existence that you never had the opportunity to explore but really want to?What is the general opinion of your muse’s fandom about them? Do you agree with it?For movie or TV muses, what is your muse’s favorite scene? Why? Can you show a screenshot?For movie or TV muses, what is a scene with your muse that you hate? Why? Can you show a screenshot?  (For Rex & Fox)

Questions for Muns of Canon Muses [Accepting]

4. Have you made any outright changes to the canon material in order to write your muse the way you wanted (entire scenes you chose to omit, chapters you say never existed, things you assume were never said, etc.)?

// SW is always changing canon, I can’t keep up with Lucasarts’ speed.

Oh I most certainly have done that! Because, I have been enjoying to mix Legends canon (the one I’m still slowly getting to learn more of) with the current one (which is the one I’m the most familiar with). While TCW is obviously essential to Rex (I have to stick to it, no arguing there), Legends has plenty of material that I take into consideration, for their BGs (pre-AOTC) and how they operate. Even if at times, the EU feels like a whole ass acid trip. Unfortunately, there is still a lot I have to get through. So, until I’m well familiarized with the source material. I’ll be trying to fill in the gaps on my own, so I’ll change them on a later date should I find anything of substance to me.

Fox is the one I did the most obvious/blatant changes to, just so I could expand more on his story (I want him to live more than 5 minutes into the Empire).

5. What is an aspect of your muse’s canon material or canon existence that you never had the opportunity to explore but really want to?

// I have been meaning to do Empire era stuff since FOREVER.

Both Rex and Fox have PLENTY of things to do, in that time period. I’m not watching Andor, not sorry for that. I love that these two are in complete opposite sides, and they are perfect to show the utmost state of disarray that the galaxy finds itself during the early life of the Empire.

And there are also AUs that can be used here... Imperial Rex? Deserter Fox?

6. What is the general opinion of your muse’s fandom about them? Do you agree with it?

// You’re in my blog, you know damn well the whole ‘clones are a family’ fanon shit doesn’t stick here.

Rex’s fanon isn’t that bad, I feel like. Simply because, most people are well acquaintanced with this character.

But Fox? Nobody bothered to double-check, and they are in denial mode that they have uwu-fied one of the arguably worst clones within the GAR. And it will give you whiplash, regardless of where you’re coming from (as in-- your first contact with this character was either through the fanons, or through the current canon or even Legends [which is IMO one of the heaviest/most dark things I’ve seen, out of this source material]).

I’m not bashing or shaming, I can understand why these things are popular. People generally prefer easier to digest things. My problem is that... People try to take it as if it is, some kind of canon replacement. I hear way too often how ‘Fox is the fandom’s OC’. And as sb who LOVES, unpopular characters, this shit sucks for me.

7. For movie or TV muses, what is your muse’s favorite scene? Why? Can you show a screenshot?

// I’m fine :’)

// And this is from when Fives was drugged & we are seeing through his perspective.

8. For movie or TV muses, what is a scene with your muse that you hate? Why? Can you show a screenshot?

// Rebels my beloathed. Rex’s design & looks are fine........... To me the problem was how the clones were introduced in the series. I hate what this babies’ first SW show did. Yeah sure, Ezra calling Rex by his serial number, without any issues? Yeah fine & dandy guys. Wolffe’s PTSD? Comedy for the whole family. Gregor is just a uwu wacko anyway.

// Generally speaking I prefer phase 1 armors for the clones. But IDK, I don’t vibe with Fox’s design in specific. This is a case where the phase 2 armor, was indeed a great improvement. It just looks kinda of bland and forgettable.

[stillsolo]

              ❝𝙶𝚄𝙴𝚂𝚂  𝙳𝙸𝙽𝙽𝙴𝚁’𝚂  𝙾𝙽  𝙼𝙴  𝙵𝙾𝚁  𝚃𝙷𝙴  𝙽𝙴𝚇𝚃  𝚆𝙴𝙴𝙺,  𝙷𝚄𝙷?❞  𝚂𝙾𝙻𝙾  𝙾𝙵𝙵𝙴𝚁𝙴𝙳 𝚆𝙸𝚃𝙷  𝙰𝙽  𝙸𝙽𝚂𝙾𝙻𝙴𝙽𝚃  𝙶𝚁𝙸𝙽 ,   though he knew even as he said it that a week’s worth of hot meals wouldn’t come close to covering the cost, not with the current price of bacta on the black markets skyrocketing to the point of absurdity.  ❝an’ who says i need bacta?❞   wishful thinking for sure, but a man could always dream.

the truth was han didn’t want the bacta, albeit not because he wouldn’t make good use of it.  stars knew he could use a dab if only to staunch the blood still trickling down his right side.  but bacta had long since become a luxury item, thanks to the empire’s ever-tightening grip on the galaxy’s supply—a situation he, in a twisted bit of irony, helped to worsen by aiding the rebels at yavin.  with the rebellion’s status now upgraded from a minor nuisance to a serious thorn in the empire’s side, bacta was rarer than ever, flat-out unobtainable in some sectors.

han couldn’t—wouldn’t take more than what jyn had freely given him.  the idea of accepting more, knowing the potential stakes—after directly involving her—made his gut clench in a way that had very little to do with his injuries.

besides, growing up under shrike, this was hardly new. there were plenty of times he should’ve ended up in the medical bay, but since the bastard had never bothered, too tightfisted to even consider first aid, han learned early on to endure affliction like an unwelcome but familiar guest.  this was fine; he could handle it.   what gnawed at him wasn’t really the pain itself anyway, but the way it always dragged him back to a past he’d been trying for years to bury.

          ❝can’t say for sure what set ’em off. didn’t do much except ask the right questions.❞ or the wrong ones, given the mess they were in now.   the men who jumped him could’ve been thugs unrelated to his recon, or maybe they’d originally planned to cash in on his active bounty, but something clicked at the last second and they realized killing or kidnapping him wasn’t worth the inevitable headache—unless, of course, they wanted the rebel princess, the last jedi, and an enraged wookiee crawling up their asses within the week.

❝i’d say they didn’t take kindly to people pokin’ around, especially not some corellian with a military background.❞  his military career wasn’t anything to brag about; short-lived, full of as many commendations as reprimands, dishonorable discharge — but that didn’t negate its legitimacy.   ❝might be a shot in the dark, but there’s a decent chance they think i’m corsec.❞

although his official discharge was more than a few years ago, it wasn’t uncommon for corellians who’d washed out of the empire’s forces to end up in the ranks of corellia’s law enforcement agency, corsec.  they were always on the lookout for fresh blood, for men and women who didn’t quite fit the empire’s mold but had the grit and street sense that corsec thrived on. corellians, after all, weren’t exactly known best for toeing the line.  they had a reputation for living fast and loose, guided more by personal codes than by any official rulebook.  but when it came to corsec, there was an undeniable harmony han had observed firsthand, a strange but compelling mix of corellian pride and shared understanding that seemed to keep his people in check.   maybe it was a deep-seated sense of identity across history, or maybe it was because corsec only recruited the best of the best, the ones trusted to uphold a reputation that was more legend than law.

either way, any crime organization with a modicum of self-preservation would be wary of attracting the attention of an outfit recognized as one of the most effective police forces in the galaxy, especially for those operating anywhere near the corellian system.

❝got one problem with that: no sclavoj would risk taking out a corsec officer,❞ han continued after a measured beat, mostly to distract himself as he blindly reached for the scalpel again, overshooting it once, twice, the throbbing pain in his leg making his head spin as though someone had set fire to the remaining fabric still squeezing his lower half.   he glanced down, hands trembling, then sliced through the fabric drawn taut across his hips, letting out a near-audible sigh of relief as the material snapped apart to reveal a mottled expanse of bruises, ugly mauve splotches fanning from below his waistline down the length of his swollen upper thigh.

            to hell with modesty, han thought, collapsing back onto the ruined couch, now half-naked and fairly delirious from blood loss.   nothing sexy about looking like an old piece of beaten-up fruit.   he turned his head slowly, welcoming the rough grind of thick hair against the couch as it anchored him to the present moment, to reality.   ❝you—uh, ever run into ’em?❞

over the past few months jyn had worked on and off again with solo, she'd seen him in worse conditions than this. to be as reckless and mouthy as someone like him is, he has to be more resilient than the average sentient. that's not to say his current appearance isn't in a sorry state . . . yet she's seen him walk out of fights he shouldn't have survived with a smirk on his face and a swagger in his step. there's a look in his eyes she so rarely sees, the kind of look that comes from staring some fragment of your past in the face. whatever had happened in that fight, it's not the physical injuries that are currently hurting him most ; instead, it's the equivalent of what happens to her when she's reminded of something that she'd shoved deep down in the cave in her mind but it hadn't stayed down.

but if he's going for levity, then she'll follow his head. there are some lines that she won't cross and this is one of them. despite herself, she cares for solo –– not enough to play nurse for him, yet after she tosses her medkit to him, she remains in close proximity, just in case. " yeah ? " she retorts, the easy air to her words at odds with the tension in the room. once he reveals the dark mess of his leg, she winces in sympathy, though doesn't move from where she stands. if he needs help, he'll ask –– they both know he's more than capable of patching himself on his own. " will dinner and drinks cover the cost of all the bacta you're using or will this be more of a dine and dash sort of situation ? "

based on his injuries, it looks like the situation had been more than just a simple mugging. she gives him plenty of shit but solo can take care of himself. besides, he's got the look of someone that makes other people look twice before messing with him. while the two of them may not blend in with the upper echelons of society, they certainly fit in a place like this ; when she leaves the flat, she ensures that she's visibly armed. this, combined with what he tells her next, cements her belief that this hadn't been a random mugging, but rather something personal.

her hands tighten into fists. there aren't many people she cares about in the galaxy but the ones she does . . . when she speaks, she keeps her voice, calm, level, though there's an undercurrent of a promise of violence woven throughout it. " you do anything to piss 'em off ? " she asks, even though it's more rhetorical than anything else. ( knowing han, the answer is probably yes, even if he'd been in the right. ) she perches on the arm of the chair next to him, hawkish eyes observing him as he patches up yet another wound.

the iriso neg gilto –– it does ring a bell, if only barely. other than having heard whispers of the organization and their underground slaving ring, she knows very little. " not much, " she admits. " whispers, same as you. the kind of boogeymen parents tell their kids about to get them to behave. " but if what han's saying is true –– and she believes he believes it, at least, seeing as he wouldn't lie about such a grave matter like this –– then there's a much bigger problem on this planet than the alliance had originally imagined.

though this has nothing to do with the current operation she'd been tasked with, she has no intention of letting solo deal with this on his own. slavers are some of the worst scum in the galaxy, even without the empire's influence ; she wants nothing more than to clear out the entire organization at once, to cut one of the head off of the hydra. " so –– what now ? if it's them, then they've already made it clear what they'll do to you if you get too close again. " as she thinks, she drums her fingers on her leg. " 'sides, you're not going anywhere 'til you heal up a bit. " capabilities aside, pain and injuries will make even the best agent sloppy eventually. in her mind, there's only one path forward, at least for the time being. " i'll give it a few hours, then head out myself. " she's an unknown factor –– for now. " you got the coordinates of where you were jumped ? figure i'll start there, see if i can catch a lead. "

[hqcult]

EYELINER ## suna rintarou

trying to apply his eyeliner would've been easy if only rintarou can keep his hands to himself.

. tw smut, dom suna, established relationship, fingering, oral f receiving, edging, dirty talk, slight exhibitionism, mind break, unprotected sex, pwp . wc 4k

"ugh, he's gonna do it again." you mutter, eyeing suna's hand as it skims around your vanity desk for his favorite brand of eyeliner. for some reason everybody naturally finds themself drawn to suna rintarou, even if he was always so stoic and detached. 

you hate how girls would flock around him in parties as they stare at his kohl-lined eyes or at the painted black nail polish whenever you disappear to get a drink, knowing full well what kind of thoughts are running in their heads because you, for sure, thought of him the same way. alright. we get it. your boyfriend can be a hot mofo if he wants to be and his idgaf attitude just adds to the whole appeal.

we get it.

because you love him more than the stars in the galaxy combined, sometimes you can't help but feel jealous when people get too close to him. you really didn't want to be that type of girlfriend but sometimes you just like the assurance that he's all yours and nothing's wrong about that, right? plus, suna seems to exceptionally love when he gets you jealous and feral. he may always pretend otherwise but he loves staking his claim on you just as much as you liked being claimed by him. 

"are you done yet?" you say, staring at him from your bedroom door frame. 

atsumu was throwing a party tonight and you were all dressed up and ready to go, just patiently waiting for your boyfriend. 

suna replies a beat later, not bothering to meet your eyes. "just a minute."

you just want his attention all on you. you don't even want to go to this stupid party and see all these people shamelessly flirting with him even if you were right there by his side. you just want to have some alone time with suna rintarou. 

and you may or may not have just come up with an idea to make that happen.

"where's the eyeliner? the one i always use?"

"it's not there? i know i left it there. wait, let me look." 

you straighten up, walking towards him in your red leather mini skirt that can make any man's eyes sliver down to your ass. 

suna is sitting on your swivel chair, leaning back in a man spread as he clicks his tongue impatiently. he looks good even in a plain shirt and a pair of ripped jeans, his athletic and tall build enough to make any outfit look good.

"are you sure it's not in the drawers?"

"yes, i already checked."

you pout, making a show of muttering "i swore i threw it in here," under your breath as you maneuver around his spread legs to stand in between them, bending forward as you rummage around where he's already looked twice. 

you know he's staring at your ass. suna was never lowkey with how much he loves you in this leather mini-skirt. it's a miracle he hasn't landed a rough spank yet after getting a face full view of your ass. 

"wait a minute, maybe it rolled under my vanity."

so you get down on your knees, making sure your butt grazes the front of his jeans and just like you predicted, suna was half-hard already. 

it was truly such a stroke to your ego but you focus on the task at hand. 

you arched your ass up as you bend down to look for the little tube of eyeliner, slightly shaking it side to side as you "struggle" to get the eyeliner out from underneath the table. 

when your hands feel the cylindrical plastic, you retreat, sitting up straight again and proudly showing your boyfriend the eyeliner in your hands. 

you made sure your eyes were as huge and innocent as they look, kneeling in between his legs, shins tucked in and hands in your lap like a good girl. 

"i found it!"

you could've sworn you've seen his left eye twitch as he stared you down. you've been with him long enough to notice that look in his eyes. what are you playing at, huh?

you wait for him to speak but you can see all the gears turning in his head as he continues to stare at you. 

you wait anxiously for what he's going to do next. maybe he'll make you suck him off, or he'll throw you on the bed, or spank your ass because you were clearly teasing him—

"why don't you put my eyeliner on for me?"

you stand up, opening the tube in as he shuts his eyes. you try not to let your disappointment show too much. fine. maybe you can just have a quickie later while drunk in one of the rooms in the frat house. 

"why are you standing? come sit on my lap while you're doing it."

you were too busy removing the excess product off the brush to notice his eyes had taken a dark turn, contradicting the gentleness of his warm hands as it snakes around the back of your bare thighs pulling you closer. 

"no, i'll mess this—"

"i said sit."

delicious shivers create goosebumps on your skin. 

you know that tone. he only uses it when he's horny and he wants to bend you over. so maybe your game plan did work after all, yet you're staring at him dumbfounded with the eyeliner brush in midair. 

"come sit. i won't repeat myself." he leans back against the chair, manspreading as he waits for you. 

you scramble to straddle his strong thighs, muscles a manifestation of his hard work and dedication to volleyball. it was great to see him in action on the court but you'd rather he flexed those muscles when you ride his thighs. 

you cup his face, getting all up in his personal space to apply the eyeliner. 

you've long grown out of the honeymoon phase but why is your heart beating so damn fast right now?

your hands were shaking, perspiration was building up in your forehead, and you were holding your breath.

"are you nervous?"

"shut up, rin. 'm not."

when the brush first touches the lid of his eyes, a nimble finger traces the expanse of your whole slit over your panties. 

you pull the brush away, hissing in surprise. 

"rintarou—!"

"what?"

his sharp tone isn't what shut you up, it was the hand cupping your sex. the heel of his wrist slowly grazing against your sensitive clit. you drew a sharp breath. he smirks. 

"go on. continue, doll."

you want to hate the teasing lilt in his voice but you know deep down you love it.

you held your breath, diving in once again to the task at hand whilst trying to ready yourself from his ministrations. 

your hand slightly shakes as you start in the middle of his waterline, slowly tracing the bottom part of his eyes before making a small wing at the end. 

you've seen him apply his own eyeliner so much you have this down to an art form. everything would've been easy if only he kept his hands to himself. you try to ignore the digit still feathering over your slit or the hand wrapping around you to bunch your skirt up around the waist. 

for someone whose eyes are closed he's doing a damn good job navigating. but maybe that's how he shows you're his. he knows your body like the back of his hand, he knows what makes you tick, what makes you pant, what makes you moan in ecstasy. 

"i can never resist when you dress up all pretty for me. you know that, right, doll?"

applying the eyeliner to his waterline had been fairly easy. the lash line, on the other hand, proved difficult. especially when suna's upgraded from tracing your pussy lips to dangerously toying with the elastics of your panties, slipping his finger under before stretching it to slap your skin. 

as you try to connect the upper part of the eyeliner to the small wing you made from his waterline, you hissed. 

"why don’t you pull them down?"

he chuckles at your impatience and you slightly pull the brush away as he finally shoves the fabric down. you gasp when the cold hits your wet cunt. the scent of your essence unmistakable and you know suna's holding back from teasing. 

"as you wish, baby."

as suna grows bolder, the more your hands shook as you worked on his other eye. 

just as the tip of the brush touched his left eye's waterline, he pushed two fingers inside of you, dragging them against your walls in a lazy manner that was so distinctly him. he curls his fingers when he fucks it in before dragging them against your walls when he pulls it out, slightly scissoring you. he uses his other hand to draw figure 8’s against your clit. 

you swallow, trying your best to keep your hand still as a surgeon but you see the jagged little curves where your jolts of pleasure were too strong. 

you never should've provoked him to shove your underthings down, at least then you wouldn't have to suffer through his fingers. they were just so long, so thick, and so experienced when it comes to pleasuring you that you can never touch yourself anymore without craving suna's own fingers instead. 

you bit your lip, the hand that was cupping his jaw tightening as you try to fix the little mistakes here and there, hoping suna won't see them when he inspects your work in the mirror. it doesn't matter that he purposely set you up to fail. there'll be consequences if he isn't satisfied with what you did. may god have mercy on your horny little soul if rintarou thinks you were a bad girl. 

"you just hate losing, don't you?" you hiss, jolting when you feel him slap your cunt. your knees nearly buckled and you almost fell off the chair if not for his sturdy hand on the small of your back. 

"what are you talking about? i'm just fingering my girl like a winner."

just as you started outlining his left lash line, suna shoves a 3rd finger into your sopping cunt. loud squelching noises fill the room as your walls pulsate around his thick digits. the metal rings he wore brushing against your pussy lips as he fucks you knuckle-deep with three fingers. involuntarily, your own hips started moving to match his pace, shamelessly thrusting up everytime he shoves his fingers in.

he knows you so well. he doesn't even need to look at your face, he can feel you out by the noises you make. so good. so good. his fingers feel so good. fuck. fuck. fuck.

until he pulls them out of your sopping pussy. 

"rin," you whine, folding into his shoulder as you struggle to balance your kneeling self on the chair. you blindly reach down for his hand, urging him to put his fingers back in. "rin, please don't stop. please please please—”

"i told you to put my eyeliner, not fuck yourself on my fingers," he leans back on the chair, eyes still shut close while licking his digits clean. 

your lips press into a thin line, eyes dilated as a whine starts to threaten to pass your lips. you're sick of whatever game this is, you just want him to fuck you silly already! but as if sensing your thoughts, suna clicks his tongue and speaks. "hurry it up. we have a party to get to."

without his fingers to plug your cunny, your slick runs down the insides of your thighs. it's slow descent against your skin making goosebumps run up your arms, shivering as the cold hits your bare cunt. 

suna must've known your anguish, he could feel his jeans getting soaked but he didn't care and you wish to punch that smug smirk off his pretty face. 

your fingers stilled when you cupped his cheeks and leaned in to start applying a thin stroke of eyeliner to his water line. with a simple flick of the wrist you ended it with a little wing, just like how your boyfriend likes it. now, you just have to do his lash line and—

you let out an audible gasp when his fingers started feeling around your thighs, having an inkling idea of what he's tryna look for. true to what you expected, he traces the line of your dripping slick up your inner thighs until his fingers graze your nether lips, successfully collecting your essence. 

you stare entranced when suna brings them up to his lips, eyebrows furrowed and almost moaning aloud because of your taste. the fact that his eyes are closed made you want him even more. his fingers pop out of his mouth, but you get the feeling it wasn't enough. he wants more. suna wants you under his mercy. he wants to taste and ruin you until you're fucked out and lying in a pretty mess on the bed sheets. 

"so fucking sweet, my baby. you're this desperate for me? for my fingers?"

you snapped. you threw the makeup elsewhere in the room (though not before screwing it shut) before diving down to kiss him on the lips. all lust-filled and rough as you both channel the desires you have for each other. maybe suna was at his tipping point too, noting that he doesn't even bother to push you away. 

with his strong arms he picks you up and you wrap your legs around his torso, never breaking the kiss before literally throwing you down on the bed, knocking the air out your lungs. 

"rin!"

"whoops."

he's kneeling before the bed, the sheets ruffling when he pulls you to the edge by your calves, hot breath against your sex making you squirm. 

"my pretty thing," the kitten lick against your pussy drove you crazy, desperately bucking your hips up and suna chuckles condescendingly. "but such a bad fuckin' girl, aren't ya?"

you yelp when he slaps the side of your thigh. 

"who said you could kiss me?"

he pinches your clit hard as he enters your line of sight. suna has never seen you this pretty and desperate for him before. sweat making your skin glow, lips raw from your biting, eyes conveying your every lust-filled thought about him. the sight of you so riled up makes his dick ache and he wants so badly to fuck you already but bad girls don't get what they want just yet. you have to earn it. 

"i asked you a question. who the fuck told you that you could fucking kiss me?" the acid in his voice contrasts the gentle way he caresses the spot on your thigh where he had hit you. 

"no one."

you sob in pleasure when his hot tongue licks a stripe up your pussy before suckling on your clit. once. twice. sucking particularly hard on the third. before running his tongue swiftly over the bundle of nerves and kitten licking his way down your pussy lips. your thighs were shaking so hard he had to pin them down. he knows it's a sign that you're close, not that he's surprised, he's been stimulating your body for minutes now it was amazing you haven't cummed yet. 

but then he stops.

a thread of your slick dribbling down his chin as those cat eyes of his stare you down. he watches, enchanted by how your chest rises and falls. another sweet release he snatched away from you.

"i thought so. what does that make you?"

amazing how he manages to sound so normal, conversational even while he's literally edging you like there's no tomorrow. what do you expect? it's his favorite punishment. he gets to see you sob and beg for him like there's nothing in your mind but his cock and he loves it so much. loves seeing you bend and break for him to please. 

you sniffle, arm coming up to hide the frustrated tears in your eyes. "been… been a bad girl."

a hand slaps your thighs, brutal. eyes on rintarou when answering his questions. your eyes shoot up. 

"and who's bad girl have you been?"

"yours."

this time he reaches forward to tweak your pebbled nipples. the sudden cold of the pads of his fingers making you gasp and spasm. your boyfriend straddles you and you shiver at the head of his glistening cock leaving trails on top of your thighs. but he doesn't make another move. when you sneakily try wiggling your hips for your sex to graze his dick, he slapped your thigh without holding back. you doubt it won't start leaving a handprint. you wait with bated breath when he grabs hold of his cock, the head angry and dripping, the only proof of his also growing desire for you. 

when he directs the head for it to graze your nether lips, you almost cried another fresh batch of tears. his hand quickly brushes up to wipe it away, though not before feeling his dick twitch. you know how much he loves seeing you cry from the overwhelming pleasure he can give you. 

"last time i checked, my name isn't yours. didn't i tell you to answer in full sentences when i'm fucki—"

"suna! suna rintarou! i've been sun-suna rintarou's bad girl!"

suna ducks to mark your neck and torso. he feels the goosebumps forming on your body. the heat enveloping the two of you as you both quickly shed any remaining pieces of clothing. he kisses you. sloppy. nothing but teeth clashing and tongues fighting for dominance as he cradles your face with his big hands, feeling the mushroom head of his cock grazing your thighs.

usually he'd appreciate you not cutting him off mid-sentence but he too has reached his own limits and right now all he can think about is drilling you to the mattress. "rin, please!" you sob, arms wrapping around his neck as you nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck.

"shh. yes, doll. i hear ya." 

you were dripping wet enough that all it took is one deep thrust for him to bottom-out. usually you're quite hesitant when rintarou's rawing you but at this point right now, you doubt fucking with a condom would've felt this good. no thin plastic whatsoever that's separating you from him. when he starts to move, you both moan in ecstasy. the bed creaking under the weight of you both as he pistons his dick inside. "you feel so good, doll. so fucking wet and tight. look how wet you are. dripping for my cock, huh? this all for me? answer me!"

you hardly register his voice, the pleasure you've been craving since minutes ago now being crashed down upon you. it's overwhelming and you don't want it any other way. 

"yes," you pant. the tears still leaking from your eyes as you claw at his biceps. "yes. all-all for you, r-rin! just for you!"

he stubbornly keeps hitting the spot that'll make you keen and whine, suna forcing your hips down and sitting up with his palms at the sides of your head. he wants to see you come undone, he'd love to grab his phone and make this memory permanent but he doubts his camera can capture the real deal. your moans and pleas reaching his ears, spurring him on, the beautiful way your back arches of the mattress, the way you physically shook in pleasure and you screamed and worshipped his name.

"rin! oh my god, rin! fuck. 'm close," your voice breaks, hiccuping from the onslaught of tears you can't hold back as blinding pleasure grips you in a tight vice.

suna comes down to snake his arms around you, pulling you infinitely closer as one of his hands supports your lower back, manually moving your hips to match his frantic thrusts. "why you crying? bad girls should be tough, right? aren't—shit—aren't you a bad girl? hmm? bad girls like you shouldn't be crying."

you shake your head, looking pretty and desperate as you meet his eyes. "no, i'm not a bad—"

"yes. you are," you groan, his thrusts particularly hard to shut you up and make a point. "you're a very, very bad girl. you don't listen to me at all. bad girls don't even deserve to cum."

"no! no! rin, please!" you say, a blubbering mess as you bury your forehead into his neck, licking and suckling at his skin to get in his good side. "i'll be good. i promise! please, let me cum. rin! please, i'll be good. i'll be good! only your good—ah."

"you fucking bet you're my good girl," he hissed, biting your shoulder before moaning, pitched and wanton as it threatens to snap the stretched cord inside of you. but not yet. you can't. not unless he says so. "it's me that's making you feel this good. this is my pussy. my plaything. repeat what i said—doll! repeat what i said."

you cried, screaming in frustration as his cock stills inside of you and you know he won't move until you oblige. "this is…" you hiccup. "rin-rintarou's pu-pussy. i'm rintarou's play-plaything."

"what was that?" he asks, hips starting to rut against you again in full force. the headboard violently hitting the walls. when your hands scramble to cling onto something, you accidentally shove something off the bed but you couldn't care less. "louder, doll. i want the whole fucking neighborhood to hear you."

"this is rintarou's pussy. i'm rintarou's plaything." you say in your normal speaking voice, albeit shaky and almost incomprehensible as he holds you firm against him, his cock embedding it's shape and size into your sopping walls.

"louder!"

he hoists you up into a sitting position, his hips fucking up towards you and you only realize he did it when you see the window situated meters behind you two. curtains-drawn, open for the night breeze to billow in. he wasn't kidding. suna rintarou wants the neighbors to hear how good you're getting rawed. he wasn't kidding. he was not kidding.

"go on," he whispers, breathy and teasing. "you'll do it. you're a good girl for me arentcha?"

fuck. "this is rintarou's pussy! i'm rintarou's plaything!"

he licks a stripe up your neck, hands coming around your neck as he whispers into your ear the words you've been dying to hear. "cum, baby."

and your orgasm surges through your whole body in violent jolts, thick ropes of cum squirting out your pussy as you distantly hear him groaning, your walls tightening and sucking him in with every aggressive thrust. rintarou quickly finishes after you, teeth embedding themselves into your shoulder as he groans. you knew bruises will form and you're going to be sore as a bitch but you don't fucking care.

"rin, i love you." you say, grabbing a hold of his face as you stare deep into his eyes. and you don't understand why there's doubt clouding in your head when he takes a beat later to answer, when really, he just can't help the sudden wave of emotions festering in his stomach as he meets the gravity of your gaze. the love and devotion in your eyes as he can only hope that he could translate his emotions through his eyes, too.

he smiles, leaning in to give you a kiss. it's sweet and gentle, completely unlike the one he gave you a few minutes ago when in the throes of pleasure. no. you feel every bit of his love for you in this one kiss and you don't know why you ever doubted yourself, doubted him. you've been together for so long and you're it for him. 

"i love you, too."

but leave it to your darling rintarou to ruin the moment.

"but you'll never apply my eyeliner ever again."

. a/n » this was so self-indulgent im sorry lmao

[starboundanon]

Oh sorry! I didn’t mean to be so vague. I meant the untitled rod sequel not the dark rod au. Thank you!!! 🥰

All good! Hope this is somewhat close to what you were looking for. ♥

TW: mentions of corporal punishment, babying, lack of boundaries, inappropriate/unhealthy relationship.

The tension bled from his body as soon as he stepped into the room, the frustrations of the galaxy left behind him, like he had entered a separate world.

Vader sighed, a wave of inexplicable calmness washing over him, smile already tugging at his lips as soon as the door slid shut. The Palace was his domain, but this — here, in their quarters — was home.

"Luke?"

He heard a rustle of fabric, and in the next moment, his son appeared in the doorway that led to his room, a happy grin brightening his handsome face.

"Hi," he greeted, stepping close enough for Vader to reach out and take him by the arms, pulling him into an embrace. "You felt kind of mad, earlier. Is everything okay?"

"Fine now," Vader said, wrapped around Luke like a wookie, arms ridiculously long compared to his diminutive son. "Certain members of my council seem to have an affinity for trying my patience. But I am here with you now, and that is all that matters."

Luke's smile turned a little wry. "Glad I could help."

"More than you know."

The boy snuggled a little firmer into his chest, then yelped with laughter when Vader bent and hoisted him into his arms, hands secure on the back of his thighs to keep his legs wrapped around his waist, mindful of his bruises. Arms wove around his neck and clung to him, his son's head tucked beneath his chin like a child.

More like a child, that is.

He carried him effortlessly through their quarters, depositing him on the dining table where they shared their meals. Luke allowed his father to inspect him without a fuss, head tipped back as Vader ran his hands over his face and through his hair, leaning away from him as directed so his gaze could roam over every inch of him.

"I didn't do anything," Luke assured, sighing as Vader opened his robe to feel over his chest, checking for fresh bruises. His youngling was such a rambunctious, reckless boy — even during quiet time, he was capable of finding new ways to hurt himself. "I've just been reading all day."

"Better to be safe than sorry," Vader said, placing a kiss to his son's temple, his cheek, and then the button of his nose. "How's that bottom feeling?"

Crimson colored his son's face, from his forehead all the way to his ribs. "It's — fine."

Vader raised an eyebrow at him, a wordless stare, and Luke sighed, relenting.

"It's sore."

"Very well," he said with a nod, kissing his son's cheek again. "Let's take a look."

He stepped away from the table, allowing him to hop down on his own. A furious blush continued to burn across the boy's skin as he turned towards the table, dropping his robe from his shoulders, before draping his chest over its surface, naked but for his smallclothes.

Dragging his durasteel hand down the valley of his son's spine, Vader slipped his fingers beneath the waistband of Luke's shorts and tugged them down, over the swell of his ass, past the splattering of bruises coloring his thighs.

He cupped the boy's right cheek with his flesh hand, gauging its tenderness. "That's a pretty shade of red you're wearing, son."

Luke groaned into the tabletop, clearly more humiliated by the joke than comforted. His ass was still a bright red from his morning spanking, a lovely shade of kyber that matched the blush darkening his frontside. He left the boy bent over the table while he fetched a bottle of bacta gel, pleased when Luke held still without direction. The boy was learning so fast. Beyond his maintenance spankings, he hadn't required his father's correction in weeks, perhaps even months.

"Spread your legs a little wider, little one," he said, thumb stroking the handsome dimple in the boy's lower back. "I want to make sure we don't miss any spots."

Bracing himself against the table's surface, Luke slowly shuffled his feet apart, obedience and humiliation battling to the death through his turbulent Force presence.

But obedience won out, as it did so often these days, earning him a pleased pat on the reddest part of his cheek, making the youngling twitch in apprehension.

"My good boy."

[countlessrealities]

The reply takes a while to pop up, but that doesn't surprise Rick. This guy has been breaking into government systems, stealing extremely sensitive information. No matter how good he can be, a hacker always has to keep him mind that there's chance they might be found out. If the other is as smart as the black market dealer thinks he is, then he'll probably want to run some checks before answering.

His lips curl into a small smirk as he sees the little warning from one of his firewall. Someone is trying to assess his position and he lazily reaches out to hit a few buttons, lowering his defences just enough to let the other see that he isn't affiliated with any of the Empire's systems.

And then, finally, the reply shows up and Rick finds himself a little disappointed by it. He can understand having reservations, but he had hoped that this "Kr0n05" would have been a little more fun.

TroubleMakerR: Damn, and here I thought that someone so skilled in illegal stuff wouldn't have such a big, BORING stick up their ass TroubleMakerR: I'm SO rolling my eyes at u, for the record @@ TroubleMakerR: Y the hell would I want to sell u out? I'm not even from this galaxy. I don't give a fuck about ur politics ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

The black market dealer pauses for a moment, pondering what he can do to dispel the other hacker's suspicions.

TroubleMakerR: But fine, u don't trust me. Fair. It means that u're not an idiot ;D TroubleMakerR: How about this. I'm gonna lower my firewalls a little bit and u can have a look-see. My structural code should be enough to tell u that I'm not lying. TroubleMakerR: Careful tho, bc my shit is so good that it'll BLOW ur mind >:D TroubleMakerR: How about this. I'm gonna lower my firewalls a little bit and u can have a look-see. My structural code should be enough to tell u that I'm not lying

He smirks at the last message, setting his phone aside, so he can make the necessary modifications to his firewalls, making sure to limit the access to Kr0n05 specifically. He still keeps his position hidden. He might be craving some risky fun, but he isn't stupid.

{ @modestmuses }

Ekko has little—scratch that, no interest in the Ora trade himself, not after seeing what it’s done to people, what the senseless greed of others has done to his father and other families like his.  He isn’t even doing what he’s doing now for the money, although he has been helping his parents out now that his father is out of a job.  It’s more the principle of the thing, an effort to hurt the people who have hurt him.  He has taken the risks into account and decided to proceed anyway.  He tries to be meticulous about covering his tracks, but if he is going to go out like this, then at least he will die standing up.

However, because of these risks, he immediately tenses when an unexpected window pops up.  He thinks this is it, they’ve finally got him, and he reaches down for his contingency plan, the Zero Drive.  That would give him a couple more minutes at least to attempt to put things back to rights, but he knows these people, and once the jig is up, it will likely be up, no matter how he tries to wiggle out of it.

It doesn’t seem like any kind of government notice, though.  The little winky face in one of the messages tells him as much, although that could be a trap.  He has combed through so many of the Empire’s records, and it doesn’t seem like anything they would pull, dressing up one of their own agents as a friendly face—aptly named ‘TroubleMakerR,’ no less.  But one can never be too careful, and the fact that he isn’t sure sets him on edge.

He slowly sits back up, leaving the Zero Drive on the floor of his cramped workspace, and digs into the chat window, not much, just enough to tell that it isn’t coming directly from some Empire server.  A long time ago, he had a friend who used to play cheeky little games like this with him, but it’s been forever, and he is hardly in the mood for this frivolous bullshit now.

𝙺𝚛𝟶𝚗𝟶𝟻: 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚖𝚎.

He keeps his tone short and clipped with none of the playful whimsy of TroubleMakerR, making every effort to seem as put-out to be having this discussion as he can.

𝙺𝚛𝟶𝚗𝟶𝟻: 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚋𝚘𝚍𝚢 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜. 𝙺𝚛𝟶𝚗𝟶𝟻: 𝙿𝚛𝚒𝚌𝚎 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚘𝚞𝚝.

That’s the only thing he can think of, that whoever has pulled him into this chat right now is using his activities within the Empire’s servers as blackmail material, as much as they claim they ‘don’t give a shit.’  He is hoping he can do a quick job for them, and they’ll be on their way, although a sinking feeling in his gut tells him it won’t be that simple.

𝙺𝚛𝟶𝚗𝟶𝟻: 𝙾𝚞𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚒𝚝. 𝙾𝚛 𝚙𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝚘𝚏𝚏.

[erimeows]

AM: Im drowning in my love for it again. Don't throw me a life preserver, if I come up for air shove me back down. Imagine Megatron trying to pamper reader throughout the carrying and trying to have everything just right for the sparkling before it's here and reader's going along with it (I do wonder how big the baby would be) but also still trying to do some work because "Ratchet's not getting any younger, dear"

I couldn’t help myself when I saw this. Here's some headcanons, beloved friend!

Megatron is a mech who's very particular about everything in his life, whether that be battle plans, relationships, the way his room is arranged, energon, oil, whatever. He’s very caring and attentive to detail. 

So, after the events as seen in my oneshot ‘The Announcement’ (which is canon to this series) where the Autobots and Decepticons come to a peace and Megatron and Optimus share equal rule over Cybertron together, when the two of you conceive a sparkling by accident, he’s pretty worried about making sure that everything is ‘right’.

Like, you two have been through a lot together; a war, being in opposite factions, a secret relationship, people detesting you being together, arguments, strife, etc. Now that you’re happy and have a chance of having a somewhat normal, good life with an equally as good family unit, he wants to make sure everything is as perfect as it can be.

He doesn’t want you doing literally anything, the moment he finds out. You’re working with Ratchet at the biggest hospital in the city, and you’re usually incredibly busy, so when you refuse to let go of your job he’s just a little bit peeved.

“My love, it’s imperative for you to be resting right now. I understand how passionate you are about your work, but please, take a break for me?”

“I know, but Ratchet’s not getting any younger, dear. I’ll try to settle down and take breaks when I can, but you also have to understand how important my job is.”

Okay, sure, fine. You’ve come to a compromise where you’re working a bit less, but Megatron still feels like you’re overworking yourself for someone who’s carrying- after all, you should be focusing on you and you only. Still, he doesn’t say anything. He knows that you know your limits and that you’re a fully independent (mech/femme) capable of making their own decisions. 

He tries to carry you everywhere, makes sure you’re not drinking any oil and that you have the best energon known to mech, will massage your back and peds and neck every night before bed, is insistent that you have only the best blankets, pillows, and berth, and that you’re taking all of your medical supplements that Ratchet has prescribed you. Will accompany you to every check up and ask for printed photos of every single ultrasound, and he keeps them all in a big ass wallet of sorts that he always carries in a storage compartment.

“Darling, look at how big they’re getting. Do you think they’ll look more like me or more like you?”

“Well, hopefully they’re not quite as big as you, honey, but aside from that, I hope they’re as handsome as you are.”

Oh, right. The size is a major concern. He’s one of the largest (former) Decepticons known to Cybertronian kind, and you’re just a tiny little minibot, but according to Ratchet, the sparkling is projected to be a size where you can birth them naturally through your valve without any serious complications. 

So, he worries about that, but tries not to think about it too much. Meanwhile, he’s doing most of the work preparing the sparkling’s room in your house; childproofing walls and plug ins and floors, going with you to pick a galaxy-patterned play carpet, building a purple wooden crib, building a matching toy box, lifting you up while you paint the walls to look like a fading sunset with stars at the top, going with you to buy cute stuffies and toys, as well as blankets and pillows, sparkling formula, bottles, etc. 

He’s there for every step of the way and honestly more concerned about most everything than you are, but due to his diligence, everything is set up perfectly for when the sparkling comes. 

When you feel your lubricant break and go to the hospital to find Ratchet, Megatron is surprisingly composed. Inside, he’s panicked, but he’s not the one carrying or delivering the sparkling so he feels like he should be calm, and he does a good job of that. He takes you to the hospital and holds your servo the entire time while Ratchet and a few others go through a long, strenuous, painful process of delivering the sparkling. Megatron is pretty impressed by and proud of you for how well you do, but by the time the sparkling is delivered, you’re both exhausted.

They’re tiny. He can’t tell if they’re a mech or a femme yet since they’re still so little, and he doesn’t really care about that, more concerned with their size... They’re super tiny, even smaller than the pictures he’d seen of you from when you were a sparkling. (Unbeknownst to him at the time, they were born tiny but inherited his mammoth size genes and end up growing to be an inch or two taller than Megatron himself)

After naming them and filling out some paperwork, you end up falling asleep with the sparkling in your arms. Megatron wants you to be able to get adequate rest, and thankfully, they’re still in that peaceful sleeping stage, so he takes the newborn out of your arms and holds them close to his chest while looking down at them. 

They have a mix of your optics and his, which creates a brilliant purple, though they quickly close and settle back into their sire’s chest and close said optics. They have some of his gunmetal grey and black on their paint frame mixed with your (f/c), and they complement each other perfectly. They’re literally the size of maybe two of Megatron’s digits, so he finds himself scared that he’s going to break them, but he knows you need to rest, so he rocks them to sleep and paces around the room.

And, as he looks down at the little bundle of joy in his arms, he can’t help but think that all the risks he’d gone through to be by your side over the years were worth it. He’d really have to step up his game as a bondmate and as a sire whenever you woke up, because in that moment, he loves you two more than anything and realizes that he won’t ever stop.

[forever-rogue]

Douse the Lights

A/N: I have no excuse for this, except I love one (1) Din Djarin and he deserves this and so do we. Enjoy! A little Happy New Year gift from me to you! As always, comments and feedback are welcomed! xx

Pairing: Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 7k

Warnings: SMUT (18+ only) - oral (m and f receiving), unprotected PiV, choking, degradation, creampie...filth. This is just filth. 

STUTTER SOMETHING PROFOUND (PART 2)

THE MANDALORIAN MASTERLIST

MAIN MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Then stop kriffing staring at me.”

“I wasn’t even looking in your direction.”

“You,” with a sharp turn of your head you saw that he wasn’t even near you. Nope. Not at all. 

Kriff. Awkward.

“Lothcat got your tongue, Princess?” you’d never seen his face, but Maker, you just knew there was a wicked smirk on it.

“Just mind your own business,” stowing away your clean blasters with a huff, you prayed with all your might that he couldn’t see the flush of warmth on your face or hear the crack in your voice. You hated him. Everything about him.

At least you wanted to; you would have given anything in the galaxy to. It would make constantly being around the Mandalorian that you called your employer a lot easier. 

Maybe if you kept repeating it yourself, you would manifest it to become true. That you could hate that annoying, half-witted, tin can. 

“Thought that’s what I was doing,” there was the most minute inkling of amusement in his voice as he came over, lithe and silent - ever the hunter. He was at your side in an instant, the warmth of his body contrasting sharply with the cool metal of the beskar as he sent shivers up and down your spine. Along with the low pooling of heat and desire settling in your belly, but you were going to ignore that for now.

Almost as if he knew the effect he had on you, he made it a point to brush a gloved hand over yours as he nudged you to the side to inspect some of the weapons he’d tasked you with cleaning. You had to be quick in order to shut your mouth and keep a small whimper from escaping your lips. 

How long had it been since someone last touched you? Maker, it had been….dank farrik. It had been way too long. A simple hand brush - there wasn’t even skin to skin contact - and you felt like a lothcat in heat. You really needed to get...some company and have your frustrations taken out or surely you would explode. There was no way you were to give Mando the satisfaction of knowing the type of hold he seemed to possess over you. 

Perhaps once you were out of this more than awkward conversation you could slip out for a few hours and seek some pleasure. The little one had just gone down for a nap a short bit ago, and he was likely to be out for some time. Surely he wouldn’t have a problem for a few hours. Then you could -

“These are still dirty,” was his voice always that rough and low? He had to be doing it on purpose, surely. Before you could contemplate it too much, he took one of the blasters and shoved it back into your hands. Not rough or gentle, but with enough firmness to remind that he was in charge. You looked it over and raised your eyebrows as you inspected it yourself - it was polished to an almost pristine shine, “clean them again. All of them.”

“What the fuck, Mando,” you scoffed with indignation as you rolled your eyes at him, shoving the blaster right into of the black T of his visor. You waved it almost as if to prove your point, “this is clean. I dare you to find a cleaner blaster in this Maker forsaken galaxy.”

He was quick to your grab your wrist, his grip was firm as he kept your hand from moving. You didn’t normally argue with your stoic and mysterious employer, but this was apparently new and uncharted territory. You couldn’t put your finger on it, but there was a shift between the two of you, something had changed. The tension in the air was palpable, so thick you could cut it with the dullest of knives as you stared back at him. 

“Clean it again,” it was a growl that went straight to your cunt as you subconsciously clenched your thighs at the sound. Either this was a one time deal that you would commit to memory or you were going to make it a point to annoy him more often. As he stared you down, he slowly let go of your wrist and pointed at the discarded cleaning rag, “and make sure its actually clean this time.”

“You are the worst,” you tried to retain the little bit of composure that you had remaining as you swiped the blaster back.

“And you are a brat,” brat. Brat. Brat. Brat. Of all the words available in all of the galaxy, he had to choose that one. This was absolutely on purpose. The Mandalorian never did anything without careful planning and calculating the risks. The same could be said with his words; this was all carefully and deliberately chosen. He cocked his head to the side, almost as if trying to gauge your reaction, “but here we are. Get them clean.”

“Or what?” it was a mere pathetic squeak as found yourself almost unable to meet his face.

“Just get it done.”

Without another word he strode away, as silent and dangerous as he was when he first came in. If you were stronger, if you weren’t a weak little fool, you would have looked away and focused on your work. 

But no. Not today.

Instead you watched him go, staring shamelessly at his imposing figure as he moved to disappear back into the cockpit to do whatever it was that he did. 

Was his ass always that nice? Were those thighs always so strong and sturdy? Was he always so damn broad and wide? 

Shit. 

“Get your mind out of the gutter,” you hissed at yourself as you picked the rag back up and slammed yourself back down on the bench in order to re-clean all the weapons that you had just done. He wanted clean weapons? You’d give him the cleanest blasters he’d ever seen. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

Almost an hour had crept by when you’d finished your second round of cleaning. At this point you honestly didn’t care if the Mandalorian deemed the job satisfactory or not. The longer you had ruminated on his words, the more frustrated you became. 

Each word, each touch seemed burned into your mind as you let your imagination take over. You’d be lying if you said you’d never thought about him before. There had been a number of sleepless nights when you imagined it had been his hand between your thighs, his fingers running through your slick folds before they slipped inside of you. On nights when you really couldn't help yourself, you even imagined it was his cock, how he would feel buried to the hilt inside of you. You wondered what he would be like, but something - this day in particular - told that he was big. And he would get the job done.

But it wasn’t going to happen. 

Nope. No. Nah. You were just his sidekick little employee that most definitely was not going to act on any impulsive or rash decisions. You might have been a lot of things, including a huge fool in that moment, but you weren’t that stupid. You didn’t need to create some unnecessary strain in your relationship with the stoic warrior or even worse, lose your job and home and be left stranded in a forgotten corner of the galaxy. 

Even as you tried to rationalize all the ways in which acting on your impulses was a horrible idea, the frustration and the throbbing between your legs didn't wane. You were getting so desperate and pathetically needy that you sat on the edge of your small bench just at the angle so you could get a little bit of friction on your clit. Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic.

As you rocked back and forth, trying to keep the little mewls and whines from slipping past your lips, you realized you couldn't do this.

You couldn't risk getting caught by the Mandalorian. Oh yes, everything's fine, just getting myself off. Don't worry, I'm super horny because of you. Yeah of course I'd love your cock.

Yeah. Cool, cool, cool. This would never happen. 

Just when you before you reached your breaking point and had your hands halfway to your soaked core, you stopped. 

"Kriff," you sighed to yourself as you pulled your hand back out and stood up. What the actual fuck had gotten into you? A few commanding words you were completely losing your control. Either you were desperate for a release from something other than your own hand or you craved the mysterious Mandalorian. 

Hastily stashing the impeccably clean blasters back into the weapons cache, you discarded the rag as you quickly came up with a plan. 

Tiptoeing quietly back to where the little one was sleeping, you sneaked a peek and saw that he was still fast asleep. He wouldn't even notice you were gone - that's what you tried to convince yourself as you delicately touched his soft ears and button nose. 

You weren't sure if you were speaking of the Mandalorian or the baby. At this point you really didn't care. 

You glanced back at the ladder towards the cockpit, watching almost as if you expected him to come down and catch you sneaking out. Hells, technically he'd know as soon as you left the ship. You scrawled a quick note telling him that you needed a cleaner or something, in your haste you couldn't even remember what you put, and would need to go to the market.

Yeah, yeah, yeah. That was totally plausible, you insisted to calm your own nerves as you slipped on your boots and a cloak before making your final decision to leave. Attempting to be as quiet and subtle as possible, you slowly made your way off the Crest and started scurrying towards the nearby desolate town of Mos Eisley. In reality you looked more like a scrap rat scurrying away from the light than a woman heading into town to find something. 

Whatever.

Mos Eisley wasn’t exactly known for its sparkling reputation, and you were sure you could get exactly what you wanted quickly enough. In and out, you thought to yourself as a flush rose in your check, well precisely that. For at least you were hoping. 

But the Mandalorian, a seasoned hunter with a reputation for a reason, and didn’t miss a single trick. He was aware of what you were doing before you even left the cargo hold. If he was this frustrated and turned on you by you, his cock hard and straining against the confines of his pants, he was sure you must have been in the same position. 

Oh, but he had been close to breaking, just like you. How easy it would have been to seal the hatch to the cockpit and relieve himself of the desire and ache. But no - just like you he had limits and wasn’t about to give in and stroke his hard cock while you were within earshot. No matter times he had imagined it - fucking your mouth or burying himself deep between your luscious heat before pounding you into oblivion, he wasn’t going to give in this easily. 

He wasn’t a virgin by any means, but with your little backtalk and the way you had looked at him with those wide doe eyes and pretty pouted lips sure had him feeling like one. The thought of burying himself inside you, to watch as you bounced on his cock with your tits in his face was enough to make up his mind. 

One time couldn’t hurt, right? People had casual encounters all the time.Why should this one be any different? If you were willing of course, although judging by how your pupils had dilated with each word from his mouth, had little doubt you felt the same way; but consent of course was key. 

And tomorrow? You’d be back to being the same way you had always been.

Hopefully. Maybe. Probably.

Fuck.

This was a bad idea, and the small, sensible part remaining in his brain told him so. But he was too far in, too deep and lost in his own desires to stop himself. 

He was watched as you ran away, deciding to wait until you were halfway to Mos Eisley before going after you. He’d take the kid to Pelli, sure she’d more than happy to watch him for the night. The rest? That was to be all consumed by you. 

»»————-　♡　————-««

The old cantina was dirty, dingy, and smelly. There was no doubt in your mind it must have been at least a decade since it was cleaned, and yet it still remained a hot spot; granted not for those of politer society, but enough to get the job down.  You pushed that to the back of your mind as you clambered through the crowd and to the bar, sitting down next to a handsome Zabrak you had spied when you’d walked in. You’d never been with one his kind before, but you’d heard rumors of them, especially when it came to their prowess behind closed doors, and something within you was piqued. 

He must have sensed something was up - as soon as you sat down, he motioned for the bartender to come back and bring the two of you a new round. 

“You’re new here,” he said gruffly, a dangerous edge to his voice, sharp like a knife as he took one of the luminescent drinks and shoved the other towards you.

Before you could even move to grab your drink or utter so much as a word in response, a hand darted and quickly grabbed your wrist, the grip biting and firm. 

“She’s mine,” the words washed over you before you could even turn to look at the Mandalorian. His chest was rising and falling heavy as his visor was trained on your would be companion for the night. A shudder ran up your spine as he pulled you off the stool, the two men glaring at each wordlessly. 

He pulled you behind him, storming out of the cantina as the crowds parted at the sight of the gleaming silver beskar. They knew better than to stand in the way of the Mandalorian. You felt like a child being scolded as he refused to acknowledge you, keeping his gaze trained straight as you struggled to keep up with his long strides. 

“What the hell, Mando?” your question was an indignant shout as your voice climbed an octave. His grip didn’t waver for a moment as he grunted in his response. Oh, he was mad. Yup. Definitely. You had fucked up. 

Any thought of talking back or prodding him further were estopped as you could see him fuming as he dragged your ass back to the Crest. 

This was it, you realized. This was the end where he would fire you and send you packing. Of all the places in the galaxy to be stranded, Tatooine was not one of your top destinations. No one to blame but yourself, you reckoned. 

Instead you hung your head as he refused to look back, making quick work of opening the cargo hold and shoving you inside. There was something about his touch that was rough, almost sending you falling to your ass, but there was still an odd gentleness.

You stared back at the blank visor in challenge, attempting to figure out what was going on. His chest was rising and falling rapidly as he stared back at you. Neither of you were about to get a good read on each other. 

“Did you really think it was a good idea to just walk away without saying anything?” his voice was dangerously low as he crossed his arms over his chest and glared at you. You opened and closed your mouth a few times as you tried to come up with either a smart response or an excuse but instead of anything coherent, it was a mixture of the two. Great. Now he's going to think you were an idiot on top of everything else. 

“I didn’t...just um...doesn’t matter what you...I needed something from the market?” you swallowed the lump on your throat as you dropped your gaze to the floor. He sighed for a moment - heavily - as you’d come to know was his penchant to do. 

“You needed something from the market?” it wasn’t a question so much as an accusation.

“Mhmm.”

“What was it?”

“C-cleaner,” you lied. Somehow it sounded better than saying yeah, I really just wanted a quick fuck because you have me feeling some type of way. 

“There's a new cleaner right in the cabinet,” he said as you internally groaned. He was right - there was a brand new gleaming bottle on the top shelf. He’d gotten some last week, “or did you conveniently forget that?”

“Umm,” you couldn’t get anything else out as he took a step closer and left minimal distance between your bodies. He reached up and put a hand under your chin, turning your face up to meet his, “uh huh.”

“Uh huh, honey,” his voice warmed you up from inside out as you gave him an innocent look. If he hadn’t known what he was doing earlier, he certainly did now. And he was going to milk every second of it, to push this as far as it would go. Your tongue darted out to wet your lips, a subconscious gesture, but not unnoticed by the Mandalorian. His hand slipped from your chin and jaw and slid until he was gently holding your throat. His grip was light, and he was barely squeezing, but Maker, you wished he was, “is that really what you were going to do?”

“Y-yeah,” how much longer were you going to keep up this little facade? You had no clue. But the feel of his hand around your airway, pushing slightly, ever so slightly, had your mind positively reeling.

“Then why did you go to that filthy old cantina?” he leaned closer, his helmet mere inches from your face as you closed your eyes, the blood rushing to your ears as you the heat pooled in your belly, “why were you talking to Zabrak? Did you really think he was going to fuck you? To make you feel good?”

“Mhmm,” you managed to murmur after a few beats of silence as you realized what was happening. This was new, uncharted territory - for the both of you - and if you went any further, there would be no going back. And you - fuck it. Your eyes snapped open as you turned to look into the visor, right where his eyes would be, “needed someone to do it, since you never would.” 

And there it was - finally out in the open and hanging thickly between the two of you. All you could ever was a small huff from under the helmet and you were positive he was smirking like a victorious predator.

“Is that what you want, honey?” he asked and you nodded. Give and take and then...it all broke, “get on your knees. Now.”

And you wasted no time sinking onto the cool metal floor, now level with his cock, where you could see the hardness straining against his rough fabric. Shaky fingers worked to hastily pop the button and pull the zipper, but just before you could get to what you wanted, Din roughly grabbed jaw, turning your face up to his, “you take what I give. Yeah?”

“Yes,” you promised, feeling yourself grow wetter and wetter with each word. But then, with another gentle tap to your chin, he seemed almost...gentle, “Mando?”

“If you don’t want this, just say stop,” he waited for you to nod as you a sense of warmth fluttered over you at his desire for consent, “I will not be gentle, I will not-”

“Give it to me then,” you beamed at him before turning back to his cock and pulling out of his underwear. You almost moaned at the sight of his cock, hard and leaking already; and just as your little fantasies had led you to believe, he was more than adequate. 

Spitting into your palm, you took him in your hand, pumping him a few times before licking the head, just small light licks, just enough to tease. Licking a stripe up his shaft, you played with his balls for a moment, earning what you were sure was a small groan from under the helmet. Making it a point to draw it out, you shouldn’t have been surprised when his hand went to the back of your head as he pushed you onto his cock. 

A sound of surprise was muffled by his cock as you took all of him into your mouth, doing your best not to gag as he hit the back of your throat and your nose brushed against the soft curls of hair at his base. Your hands slid up his thighs and found purchase on his hips as he began to fuck your mouth. He started slowly at first, almost as if he was afraid to give too much. When you grew accustomed to him, making it a point to hollow your cheeks and suck him as best as you could, he picked up the pace. And it was brutal in all the best ways, spit was starting to run down your chin along with a few tears that had spilled over, but if nothing else, it worked to spur him on. 

“Look at you,” he grunted between thrusts as he took in the sight in front of him, “take me so well. Knew your big mouth had to be good for something. Always wanted to fuck that pretty face.”

You hummed in delight as you raked your nails over the exposed slivers of his skin on his hips, golden and delicious and you wanted it all. His thrusts slowly become more erratic and sloppy as he twitched in your mouth. His hand dropped from the back of your head as you took over and put a hand back on his shaft as you worked to finish him off. 

Soon enough he did, followed by an almost primal growl as he came, his hot, thick, cum coating your mouth and you eagerly swallowed all that he offered, which unsurprisingly, was a lot. As his breathing slowed down and he slowly came down from the rush of his high, you pulled back from him, looking up at him with innocent eyes and a wicked smile. You cleaned him off, but just as you went to wipe at your mouth, his gloved hand was faster and he collected the spit and cum that had spilled out and pushed it back into your mouth with two fingers. You grabbed his wrist and made a show of sucking his fingers clean, tasting him along with the worn leather of his gloves. 

“Good girl,” he praised before hoisting you to your feet, “strip.”

“What about you?” you turned your head to the side, but he shook his head in response. He paused for a moment, almost as if he was having second thoughts, but just quickly, he whipped off his gloves and tossed them onto the floor before putting a hand on your cheek and stroking it tenderly. You swallowed thickly before nodding and working to pull off your clothes. 

First was your shirt, tugging slowly over your chest and tossed down to join the gloves. Your arm went to your back as you tugged off your bra, letting the straps fall down your shoulders as an almost nervous breath escaped your lips. 

“Keep going,” he commanded, eyes trained slowly on you as he drank in the sight of you. You undid your own zipper and pulled your pants and panties down in one fluid motion before kicking them off along with your boots and socks. You’d never felt more vulnerable or exposed in that moment, wanting to cover up but also relishing in the fact that you seemed to have rendered the Mandalorian speechless. He looked you up down, not bothering to hide the fact as he looked at your form, glancing at your soft mound before your breasts and then landing back on your face.

Beckoning for you to come closer with a simple crook of his fingers, you did so, standing directly in front of him. His hand flitted from your cheek and down your body before resting at the apex of your thighs. You gasped lightly in surprise as he dragged his fingers through your soaked folds, coating them in your copious arousal, before chuckling darkly. A hand immediately went to his shoulder as you steadied yourself and tried not to completely lose it at the simple touch, “all of this for me, honey?”

“Mhmm,” you admitted as he gently rubbed over your clit, teasingly in the slowest, most tantalizing way possible. Before you could stop yourself you blurted out, “always think about you. Always get so wet.”

He made a small, noncommittal sound as he pulled his fingers away from your wetness and brought them to your lips. He tapped your bottom lip and you opened your mouth, sucked his fingers clean from your own arousal, “I’ve thought about fucking you too. That mouth, that pussy. You’re such a brat, but you drive me crazy.”

“I like when you get mad,” you said as he pulled his fingers out of your mouth, “‘s sexy.”

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice deeper and lower than ever before, and you felt your knees start to buckle at the sheer sex it exuded, He brought his large, warm hands to your tits, touching over your pebbled nipples as you bit back a moan. While you wished it his mouth on them instead, this touch was just as well, as he massaged them, trying to get a good feel of them and seeing what drew out those sweet mewls from you. But before you could enjoy it too much, one hand gripped your waist like a vice and the other went between your legs. He ran his thick fingers through your folds, before slowly inserting one into your wet heat. You moaned as he slowly inserted another and then a third, stuffing you full and already having you seeing stars in no time, “make yourself cum.”

“What?” your eyes snapped open as he stilled his actions, “you’re joking, right?”

“Nope,” he popped the p loudly as he lightly teased your clit, eyes boring into yours, “you act like a brat and you want to cum? You have to work for it.”

“You can’t be serious,” you groaned as he moved to pull his hand away, as if to show you just how serious he was. This time, you caught his wrist and held him in place. He chuckled lightly in triumph as one of your hands returned to his shoulder for balance and the other went to play with your sensitive bundle of nerves. He held completely still, a practiced and patient man, as he made you work for it. He wasn’t kidding by any means when he said he would not be gentle. 

He remained quiet, watching your pretty face shift through a range of expressions as you worked to reach your own high. He was glad for the helmet, for if you had been watching him, you’d have seen the tinge of pink rising in his cheeks as the sight of you fucking yourself on his fingers. He’d envisioned this many times, no doubt about that, but he’d never thought it would become a reality. Maker, you were gorgeous as you thrust onto his hand using him for your own pleasure a string of gentle filth spilled from your lips as you rubbed slow circles onto your clit.

“Mandooo,” it was soft as you felt that familiar blinding haze start to take over you, and your toes involuntarily curled and your cunt started to clench around his fingers. Your eyes fluttered closed in pleasure as your vision turned blurry and that familiar warmth started to spread all over your limbs. He felt his cock twitch from where he had tucked himself back in after you’d pleasured him. Before you could finish though, something different met your ears.

“Din,” he said as bit your lip in order to keep from crying out completely, “my name is Din.”

And there it was. Completely unexpected and out of the blue. It wasn’t just a name - no it was so much more than it. It was a sign of trust, of closeness, of the fact that whatever this little situation was, it was neither the first or only time something like this would happen. No, your story with Mando may have come to an abrupt end, but your relationship with Din was just beginning.

It was almost as his name, uttered softly and almost unsurely, was exactly what you needed to push you over the edge as you came around his fingers. A soft moan left your lips along with the sweetest sound he was sure he’d ever heard, “Din.”

A merciful man when he chose to be, he took over for you and worked you through your orgasm as you almost collapsed into his arms, “there you are pretty girl. You did so well, fucking yourself on my fingers.”

“Not enough,” you rested your against the soft cowl of his neck as he pulled his hand from you, but not before slapping your ass a few times, almost as if testing to see how far he could push you. You made a few sounds of delight at the sting, only spurring him on as he slapped and then gently needed the ample flesh of your backside, “please, need you to fuck me.”

“Is that what you need, pretty girl?” he purred in your ear as he pulled back and grabbed your face in his hands, taking in the already blissed out expression on your features, “you want me to fuck you? Think you’re ready for my cock?”

“Yes,” you were practically ready to beg at this point, “I’ve been wanting it for so long.”

At your words, he almost dragged you to the small bed that was reserved for you in the corner and motioned for you to sit. You watched with eager eyes as he scrambled for the waistband of his pants and hastily pulled them down and kicked them off, letting them join your discarded clothes. He practically ripped off the rest of the beskar until he was bared in front of you, save for the helmet. His cock was already painfully hard again, standing at attention and leaking fat drops of precum.

“Can I trust you?” he asked as you nodded, understanding exactly what he meant. You’d never questioned the fact that you’d never seen his face or that he apparently just never showed it to anyone. You respected him and his decisions, and you’d never dare to push the envelope or destroy his trust. 

“Always,” you promised as he walked over to the wall and hit the switch for lights, cloaking the room in darkness. You sucked in a breath before you heard him shuffling about and the beskar helmet clanged against the metal floor. He stood in front of you, you could feel his breathing as he touched your cheek before wrapping a hand around your throat.

“Hands and knees,” he instructed with a delicious rasp, made even better by the lack of filtering from the vocoder of his helmet, “now.”

The singular word was enough to send a fresh rush of arousal through your veins, as you laid on your belly on the small cot before positioning yourself so your ass was in the air. He shuffled behind you, his large hands grazing over the soft flesh of your ass. He spread your cheeks apart before dragging a thick finger through your soaked folds. A small sound of pleasure rippled through your throat as you clutched onto the thin, scratchy blanket of the bed, “please.”

“Quiet,” it was harsh and biting as  the palm of his hand slapped your ass, the sting delicious and leaving you wanting more, “you like that, don’t you? You like being spanked, pretty girl.”

“Only by y-y-you,” before you could say anything, he slapped your ass a few more times before kneading the soft flesh to make sure the sting wasn’t too painful. 

Mando - no, Din - shifted his weight and you could feel him line himself up at your entrance. He ran the tip of his cock through your folds. A moan escaped your lips - and his - as he slowly pushed into you, giving you a brief moment to adjust to his considerable size. The stretch was amazing, the slight burn quickly turned into pleasure and you felt full, so completely full. He groaned as he bottomed out, already feeling pussy dumb by the way your velvet walls hugged him, “this - kriff - this pussy is perfect. Just like it was made for me.”

“Din,” you buried your face in your pillow as he pulled out, slowly, before thrusting sharply back into you. He was not lying when he said that he would not be gentle. His large, warm hands went to your hips as he held them in a bruising grip. You were sure you’d bear his marks for days. 

He set a bruising pace, thrusting into you with no mercy as he slammed his hips into yours. There was nothing gentle or intimate about, no - this was months and months of pent up frustration and desire coming out all at once. Din was not a talkative man, but as he fucked you into oblivion, he was whispering strings of filth and praise into your ears. All you could do was lie there as he pounded into you, so lost in your own pleasure as you became a whining mess under him.

Before he came, his arms snaked around your waist as he pulled you flush against his chest. One large hand went to play with your breasts as the other went to your clit as he rubbed and circled at the sensitive bundle of nerves. Your mouth hung open in a blissful haze as he kept going, pressing kisses into the soft skin of your skin and shoulder, alternating between nipping and sucking and making sure to leave plenty of marks so everyone knew you were his. 

“Look at you, pretty girl,” he grunted in your ear, “taking my cock so well. You love this don’t you? Getting used like this.”

“Mhmm,” you bit your lip as he kept going, kept abusing your spent pussy as he started to stutter in his thrusts, “‘m so close, please, wanna come.”

“You’re going to come on my cock,” he commanded as you nodded, “and I’m going to fill you up and make sure you know who you belong to.”

“I’m yours,” you insisted as you felt your walls clench around him and his cock start to twitch, “only yours.”

“Good girl,” he praised as he turned your head to place a rough kiss on your lips. It was the sheer act of the moment and feel of his stubble that sent you over the edge and cumming all over him. You were like jello in his arms as he held you up, giving you a few more thrusts before spilling inside and coating your walls with his cum, “ahh - fuck - so fucking good. Maker, you feel like no other. Perfect pussy - just for me.”

He held you tightly against his body as he caught his breath, the two of you breathing in sync. You thought he might pull away immediately, but instead, he pressed more kisses, chaste compared to your previous actions, down your back as he slowly lowered you onto the bed. You couldn’t even form words as you laid there, cockdumb and already feeling his arousal along with your own dripping onto your thigh. 

“You did good,” he praised gently before reaching between your legs and scooping up some of his cum that had started dripping out. You whimpered at the touch, still sensitive, and listened as he brought his fingers to his lips and sucked them clean, “but I’m not done with you yet.”

Din gently flipped you onto your back so you were lying face up and exposed to him. He sat between your legs and slowly spread them apart, admiring his handy work. He leaned back before climbing off the small and getting on his knees, pulling you towards his face. Just as you had gotten on your knees for him, he kneeled only for you. 

“Din,” you sighed contentedly as he kissed along your inner thighs, working his way back to your dripping heat. He nuzzled his nose against you, taking a moment to take it all in, “already so much."

"Come on, honey," his voice was like liquid gold as he reached up and touched your breasts, cupping them easily in his large hands, "you've got another one in you. I know you do. Aren't you a good girl?"

"Mhmm," you arched into his touch as he rolled your nipples between his fingers. How this infuriating man got you to become a pile of mush in his hands you'd never know, but you definitely weren't going to question it. He leaned up and kissed your hips before burying his face between your legs, "I'm your good girl."

And with those words, he licked a long stripe up your soaked folds, still soaked from your combined juices. His nose, which you presumed was aquiline in nature, nudged your clit as he ate you like a starving man. You were the shining prize, glimmering in the distance, and he was the wrecked man crossing the desert to get to you.

This time you didn't even bother to hold back as you mewled and cried, tears of pleasure and overstimulation welling up at the corners of your eyes and sliding down your cheeks. Din hummed in content as he licked and suckled at you, making sure to focus on your clit as you came completely undone.

Reaching down, you carded a hand through his locks - curls - as you pressed his face against your aching core. You could practically feel him smirking against you as he slipped a few fingers inside to join his ministrations. Expertly curling his thick fingers, he quickly found the sweet spot that made your toes curls and you see stars.

"Almost there," he grinned as he gave you a moment of reprieve before diving right back in, "I can feel that perfect cunt squeezing around me. Taste so good, pretty girl."

"D-Din," his name falling from your tongue was like pure magic as he became transfixed by how it sounded. Your mouth dropped open in a small O as your legs shook around him. He pulled his fingers from you as he held down your hips in order to keep you from squirming away from him, "feelssogood - makerohstars - Dindindin."

"Come all over my face, pretty girl," his tongue darted into you for a few moments before he gave your clit a harsh suckle. That was all it took before you came again, screwing your eyes shut as he worked your through your orgasm, lapping up every bit of your juices, refusing to waste even a drop, "there you are - taste so fucking good. Perfect."

He was relentless until he was sure you were completely done and a practical ragdoll on the bed. Slowly, he pulled back from you, trailing light kisses up your body, stopping when he got your face. Almost as if he was able to see even in the almost complete darkness, he wiped away your remaining tears. He hesitated for a moment for leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. You sighed softly as you rolled onto your side and scooted closer to the wall, making room for him. 

It was a big thing you were doing, boundaries had been crossed and blurred and any rules you'd previously had were thrown out the window. Neither of you were sure what came next.

But you did know that you didn't want him to leave - not yet anyway.

"Din?" you asked softly as he pulled the blanket over your spent body; he was surprisingly gentle for a man that had just sent you to heaven and hell and back. 

"Yes, pretty girl?" 

"Will you stay?" your voice was small as you prepared yourself for defeat and for him to leave.

"Yes," he whispered softly as he slid in under the blanket and next to you, "I'd like that."

"Me too," you admitted as he shifted and pulled you in his arms so you could lay your head on his chest, listening to the steady thump thump of his heart, "Din?"

“Hmm?”

"I'm in charge next time," you smirked lightly as you kissed his soft skin. He inhaled sharply but you could tell he was into it. The man might have just been in charge, but you had a feeling he might like being told what to do as well - and you were going to find out, "I want to ride you."

"Kriff," he groaned under his breath, "You're going to be the death of me, little brat."

"I'll make it worth your while," you promised with a small yawn, "I'll have you crying in no time - begging me for mercy."

“Mhmm.”

“You’re going to be a good boy for me, right?” it was your turn to put your hand on his throat and give it a gentle, but firm squeeze as he stiffened at the feeling, “I know you’re a good boy, Din.”

“Fuck.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

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[bluejayblueskies]

do the stars gaze back?

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Words: 8.7k

Relationship: Jon/Martin

Tags: Fantasy AU, Fictional Religion and Theology, Getting Together, First Kiss, Cooking, They/Them Pronouns for Jon

Warnings: minor injury, alcohol

Written for the Rusty Quill Winter Exchange 2021 for @magnetarmadda! Ao3 link is in the source.

.

Martin is reshelving books in their psychology and self-help section when he hears the bells above the door to the library jingle as it opens. Which is fitting, given the way that the sound makes his heart rate tick up a few notches and fills him with the intense desire to drop what he’s doing and greet whoever came into the library. Maybe Tim is right and he really is classically conditioned at this point. But it’s not his fault that there’s such a convenient signal to announce guests.

And it’s also not his fault that his brain has decided to associate that particular sound with one particular person, despite the fact that more often than not it’s someone else entirely entering the library. That’s just bad luck.

Martin sighs and keeps shelving books, resisting the urge to shove them all in random places so he’s done quicker. He is a professional, and he has a job to do, and it’s probably not even them anyway.

But it might be.

Finally—finally—Martin finishes shelving the books. He tries not to seem like he’s hurrying as he quickly makes his way back to the check-out counter, where Tim is sitting in the ridiculously plush chair he installed behind it. He gives Martin a wide smile as he approaches, and as soon as Martin is within range, he says in a hushed tone, “Your crush is over by the cooking manuals. Just an FYI.”

Martin flushes. “They’re not my crush,” he hisses—an empty protest, given that they both know how much of a lie that statement is.

Tim shrugs. “Fine. The object of your affections, then. Or maybe your beloved. The light of your life? Your future—”

“You’re horrible. Absolutely horrible. I’m ending our friendship.”

Tim leans back in his chair and points his chin toward the stacks of books. “Cooking manuals. That’s all I’m saying.”

Martin takes a deep breath, exhales, and gives Tim one last withering glare before walking in the direction of the cooking manuals. He ignores the smug look he can feel on the back of his neck as he goes.

Ass.

Martin stops just shy of the correct row of shelves, taking a moment to calm the nervous thrum of his heart and school his expression into something vaguely normal. Then, he walks around the corner and gives the person standing there a smile. “Hey, Jon.”

Jon startles, turning to look at him with wide eyes. Martin gets lost in them for a moment, captivated by the silver-blue cosmos there that goes on forever, an infinity of stars and galaxies. Then, Jon smiles and says, “Hello, Martin,” and Martin blinks, returning to himself.

“What are you looking for today?” Martin says, reverting to the easy script of his job so he doesn’t say something foolish like you look beautiful or would you like to kiss me?

(Okay, so maybe he does have a little bit of a crush on Jon. It’s not Martin’s fault that Jon is possibly the most gorgeous person he’s ever seen. Which … might have something to do with the fact that they’re not technically a person at all. And are instead a celestial spirit who spends most of their time as a star in the sky.

Martin’s not … entirely sure how that works. He just tries not to think about it too hard.)

Jon turns back to the array of cookbooks in front of them, studying them intently. “I’ve grown curious about human food recently. I’m aware that it’s a requisite for survival, and I’ve seen and heard of many different types of dishes and cuisines, but I’ve never quite understood the … culture that surrounds it. Nor the importance it seems to have in social gatherings.”

“Well,” Martin says, scanning the selection of books in front of them, “food can mean a lot of different things to a lot of different people. Some people eat certain foods on certain occasions as a way of celebrating or upholding tradition, and others avoid certain kinds of food due to cultural or religious beliefs.” He picks up a thick book that he thinks is their most comprehensive guide of food and culture and extends it toward Jon with a shrug. “And, well … food tastes good. A lot of people just really enjoy the experience of eating—um, myself included.”

“I … see.” Jon takes the book from Martin and flips it open, scanning the pages. Their perusal seems a bit less focused than usual, and after a few moments, they purse their lips and look back up at Martin. “I’ve never had the opportunity to try any. We don’t need it to survive, and as such, I’ve … never known quite where to start. There really are quite a lot of different kinds of food.” Jon looks down at the page again, decorated with a picture of a loaf of sourdough bread. They look a bit wistful, almost sad, when they say, “I suppose reading about it will be adequate enough.”

Maybe it’s the look of such acute, aching longing on Jon’s face, or maybe Martin’s irrational mind is just seizing the opportunity it’s been given before his rational mind has the chance to catch up. But Martin finds himself opening his mouth and saying, without really making the conscious decision to do so, “Do you want to go try some?”

Jon looks up from the book, eyes wide and hopeful. “I could … I could do that?” they say, like they expect Martin to rescind the offer just as soon as he’d given it.

“Yeah, of course! There are loads of restaurants in town, and the market’s open as well if you’re interested in that.”

The excitement on Jon’s face makes something in the pit of Martin’s stomach flutter, and he finds that he wants nothing more than to keep that expression on their face at all costs. “Yes, very interested. That—that sounds wonderful.” A flicker of hesitation crosses their face. “But I don’t—I wouldn’t know where to start.”

Martin worries his bottom lip between his teeth. In for a penny, in for a pound. “I could … I could show you?”

Jon brightens at that—literally brightens, the gray streaks in their hair and silver flecks in their irises and scattering of silver freckles across their skin glowing with faint starlight. “Really? I—I wouldn’t want to keep you from your work.”

“No, no, it’s—it’s almost the end of my shift, and I have to run to the market today anyway to pick up groceries, so … you know, no trouble at all! O-only if you want to, of course.”

“I would love to.” Jon reaches out and places a hand on Martin’s where he’s worrying them together, and Martin freezes under the touch, heat flooding up the back of his neck and into his cheeks. “Thank you, Martin.”

“Yep,” Martin squeaks, trying and failing to piece back together the shattered bits of his brain and regain some higher brain function. “N-no problem. H-happy to help, really.”

Jon smiles in that same kind, gentle way they did the moment Martin first realized he liked them. They retract their hand, to Martin’s disappointment, and hold up the book with the other. “I am still interested in borrowing this, though. There’s a criminal shortage of good reading material in the celestial plane, and I suspect this will keep me occupied for some time.”

Some time for Jon means a few days—maybe a week if they find a few particularly interesting passages to linger on. Though maybe time passes differently in the celestial plane. Martin wouldn’t know. It’s not like there are books on the matter beyond religious texts and the occasional bit of fiction, though it’s not for a lack of trying. It’s just … a rare occurrence to even hear about a celestial spirit visiting the earthly plane, much less to have the chance to ask one about life amongst the stars. Or, perhaps more accurately, life as one of the stars.

Martin’s not super clear on how all of that works. All he knows is that the number of times he’s seen Jon, much less spoken to them, is far beyond anything in recorded history and that as far as he’s aware, Jon is—for all intents and purposes—a star. And Martin has quite an impressive crush on them.

It should maybe be terrifying, or at the very least remind him of just how very far out of his league Jon is. Instead, it’s … really quite wonderful. Jon is wonderful.

And now, Martin is going to go grocery shopping with them.

Martin ignores Tim’s wide grin as he checks out Jon’s book and then tells him that he’s going to be clocking out early because he’s taking Jon to the market. He does acknowledge Tim’s cheeky double-thumbs-up and exaggerated wink as soon as Jon’s back is turned with a roll of his eyes and a rude gesture of his own.

The door swings shut behind Martin, cutting off Tim’s exaggerated gasp of offense, and then they’re outside, standing on the cobblestone path that leads from the road to the doors of the library. It’s a warm day; the buzzing of insects announces the transition from spring to summer and the slight breeze brings with it the smell of brine and seaweed. A few strands of hair that have slipped free from Jon’s braids flutter in the wind before settling again, and Martin has to resist the ridiculous urge to tuck them back into place.

“Come on,” Martin says, starting down the path before his hands get too antsy and start to develop a mind of their own. “The market’s this way.”

The walk is short—not more than five minutes, given the smallness of the village that they market as “quaint” to tourists—but it feels like it stretches on forever. Every time Martin thinks of a new question or conversation starter, he rejects it before it comes out of his mouth. So, how about the weather lately? is boring and trivial. What books have you been reading? is redundant because as far as Martin knows, the only place Jon gets their books from is the library, so Martin knows what they’ve been reading. And everything else just … doesn’t work. How is he supposed to ask Jon about their life when he doesn’t actually know what the life of a celestial spirit looks like? If he talks about his own, will Jon even understand?

Would his quaint, simple, boring life even be interesting to someone like Jon?

Awkward silence it is, then, Martin thinks as they walk past squat houses between which glimpses of the sea appear, bright blue and shining in the sun. Jon seems captivated by it, lingering just a bit by each crack in the stone walls to stare at the water with wide, curious eyes. Eventually, when they’re close enough to the market that Martin can see bright swaths of fabric standing out amongst the pale stone, he finally manages to work up the courage to ask, “Do you … like the sea?”

Jon startles, like they’ve been caught stealing apples from a vendor rather than glimpses at the water. “It’s … very big,” they say, the freckles on the tips of their cheeks glowing in a parody of a blush. “I can see the entirety of it in the celestial plane—all its curves and edges—but down here, it … it looks infinite. O-or like a sheet of glass, where you could drop off the edge of it if you strayed too close.”

“Some people think you can. Sailors, mostly. It’s a—a superstition.”

Jon snorts—an inelegant laugh, rough around the edges—and Martin falls just a bit more for them at the sound of it. “Ridiculous. Your world is a sphere; there’s no edge. If you traveled long enough in a straight line, you would simply end up in the same place you began.”

“Huh.” Martin stares out at the sea as they pass another gap in the buildings. If he squints, he can see the ever-so-slight curve of the horizon—the promise of more, of a whole other side of the world that Martin’s never seen. “And you can see it? W-what lies beyond the sea, that is.”

Jon makes a noise of assent. “From the celestial plane, yes.��

Martin worries his bottom lip between his teeth. “Could you … could you tell me about it?”

“The celestial plane, or what lies beyond the sea?”

“Either? B-both, I guess, i-if you’re willing.” Martin folds his hands together in front of him and resists the urge to pick at his cuticles. “It’s just that I’ve … never really left? I grew up here, a-and we didn’t really take vacations, even before Mum got—er, a-and it’s just me and Tim at the library, so I can’t take enough time off for a trip like that, and … I just wonder what it’s like, sometimes. P-places other than this.”

Jon stops walking, and Martin nearly runs into them before catching himself at the last second. Jon regards Martin with an expression that he can’t place, and then their hand is on his cheek and he forgets how to breathe. “I can show you,” Jon says. Then, their eyes glow silver and Martin is lost in a cascade of images and sensations and feelings.

A woman hands him a piece of fried dough wrapped in brown paper with a smile, saying something to him in a language he doesn’t understand.

A white cat brushes against his ankles as he stands in a small copse of trees, chirping at him quietly before bounding quickly away.

A bustling crowd jostles him back and forth, filled with the loud shouts of traders hawking their wares and the high-pitched tones of a nearby street performer’s reed pipe.

A waterfall soaks his shirt and sticks his hair to his forehead as he stands beneath it and looks in, the cave beyond alight with softly glowing blue worms.

A castle stands before him, tall and imposing, but the gates are open to reveal a celebration within and welcoming hands beckon him quickly inside.

A thunderstorm rocks the small boat he clings to, tossing him to and fro, but he knows that even if he succumbs to the storm, the spirits that guide and protect him will keep him safe from harm.

A silver corridor stretches on in infinite directions, and outside its windows lie a shimmering ocean of cosmos that he is falling further and further into, falling and falling until he’s forgotten what it feels like to stand on solid ground at all, to be anything but untethered and lost to the infinity of the universe around him, to be anything other than one very small part of a cosmic whole, to be Martin Blackwood, to be—

“Martin!”

Martin opens his eyes with a gasp. He reaches out on instinct, hands scrabbling at anything he can reach to tether himself, and his fingers grip soft silken cloth, covered immediately after by warm hands. It takes him a long moment of deep breaths and listening to his heart pounding in his ears to realize that he’s sitting on hard cobblestone, leaning against the wall of a building in the village and gripping the sleeves of Jon’s shirt like his life depends on it. As soon as he realizes what he’s doing, Martin tries to let go, but Jon tightens their grip on Martin’s hands as if to reassure him. “Sorry,” Martin says, his voice a bit hoarse. “I—I don’t know what I—”

“No, no, it’s—it’s my fault. I’ve never really, um. I’ve never really tried that on a human before? I—I didn’t realize how … overwhelming the experience of the celestial plane would be for you.” Jon makes a choked, awkward noise that Martin thinks is supposed to be a laugh. “Though I suppose I should have expected it. Foolish, stupid, impulsive—”

“Hey—”

“—really thought I understood humanity because I read a few books, honestly, how awfully naïve of me—”

“Jon.” Martin tugs on Jon’s hands until Jon shuts their mouth mid-sentence and looks at him with a distressed expression. “It’s fine. I’m fine.” At Jon’s incredulous look: “Really. I just—wasn’t expecting … all of that.” Martin takes a breath and squeezes Jon’s hands. “But I’m glad you showed me. I … didn’t know that was a thing that you, um, could do? But it was…”

Martin swallows, the not-memories of places he’s never been but feels like he has floating through his mind and giving him a strange mix of yearning and nostalgia. “It was really nice,” he says softly, giving Jon what he hopes is a reassuring smile.

“O-oh.” Jon hesitantly returns Martin’s smile, and it’s so awkward, and it’s so, so endearing. “That’s … I’m glad.” They purse their lips and look down at where their hands are clasped with Martin’s. “I know so much about humanity—have observed so much—and yet I—I know so little.”

Martin feels his chest ache at the look on Jon’s face. I never want them to look sad again, his heart decides for him. I want them to smile, and I want them to laugh, and I want them to be happy. So Martin shrugs, pulls at Jon’s hands until they stand with Martin, and says, “Well, you’re about to know a lot more about human cuisine and about just how good food can be. Ready to keep going?”

Jon looks at Martin for a moment, their expression impossible to read. Then, a smile slowly spreads across their lips and they nod. “Lead the way.”

The market is busy at this time of day, but not overly so given that it’s not quite peak tourist season yet and their year-round population is only triple digits. Jon’s eyes stick to each stall as if pulled by a magnetic force, wide with a curiosity that Martin would be inclined to call childlike if he didn’t also see a sharpness there that only comes when one has lived long enough to appreciate novelty. As Martin slowly fills the canvas bag he’d brought with him with fish and root vegetables and nuts, Jon rolls small green berries delicately between their fingers and stares intently at the butcher’s knife as it cleaves through muscle and bone and holds a small parcel of fruit-filled pastries carefully in their hands as if it might break.

The traders’ eyes widen as Jon passes by. It occurs to Martin that this may be the first time that Jon has ventured anywhere in the village that isn’t the library, and he worries for a moment that their obvious otherworldliness will cause them trouble. But the village is no stranger to odd occurrences and inhuman visitors, and the most Martin gets is a hushed, “What’s up with your friend?” from Melanie, who gestures toward Jon with one of her bone-white knives.

“Their name is Jon,” Martin says, studying the knives in front of him even though he only comes to this area of the market to visit Melanie and has no real interest in purchasing any. “They’re … not from here, so I’m showing them around.”

“Uh huh.” Melanie squints at Jon like she’s trying to solve a puzzle. “I got that bit. They’re very…” She waves her knife at them again. “Glow-y.”

Martin gives up the pretense of admiring Melanie’s wares and glances over at Jon. They’re studying a rather large knife, holding it simultaneously like it’s the first time they’ve ever wielded one and like they had a hand in their invention. The silver of the blade matches that that curls along their clothing, that dots their skin in clusters of miniature constellations, that threads through their hair like fine strands of worked metal. “You know those stories about celestial spirits?”

“Yeah, of course. The stars and stuff.” Melanie’s eyes widen. “Wait. Are they—? Martin Blackwood, you’ve got to be joking.”

“Nope.”

Melanie, for maybe the first time since Martin met her, looks genuinely stunned. “Well. Shit. I guess if anybody was going to make friends with a mythical immortal god-like entity, it would be you.”

“I can’t tell if that’s meant to be a compliment or an insult.”

“Dealer’s choice. And you’re … what, taking them shopping?”

Martin flushes. “They wanted to know more about food. I … offered to show them the market,” he says, trying to sound nonchalant.

Melanie sees through him of course, because she’s both a good friend and a very horrible friend. “Oh, just to show them the market, huh? No ulterior motives there, I’m sure.”

Martin scowls without any real heat behind it. “I’m being serious, Melanie.”

“So am I. I’m also being serious when I say that I cannot believe that of all the people who come through this town, you’ve decided to have a crush on an actual star from the actual, real-life sky.”

“Melanie!” Martin glances over at Jon, who still appears to be enraptured by the many, many knives in front of them and either hasn’t picked up on their conversation or is doing a very convincing job of pretending like they’re not listening. “It’s not—I don’t know why you would think that—that’s really not what’s going on here.”

“Mm, nope. Try again?”

“Ah, I would,” Martin says, “but as it happens, we’ve actually got to go. To places. Places to be, things to buy, things to—yeah.” He gets Jon’s attention as he’s speaking, making what he hopes is the universal sign for time to move on.

“Oh yes, very convincing, well done Martin—”

“Gotta go now—bye!”

It’s nearing the end of their shopping trip, after Jon has seen and held and on occasion tasted almost everything the market has to offer, and Martin refuses to admit to himself that he’s dragging his feet. It’s just … he doesn’t want this to end. Despite all of Melanie’s ribbing and his protests, he … he really does enjoy spending time with Jon. Yes,he might have just the slightest, tiniest crush on them, but they’re also just…

They’re wonderful. They smile at Martin’s haphazard attempts at jokes and are a bit clumsy when they’re not focusing on what they’re doing and have a tendency to ramble about things that they’re excited that they know things about, and they’re wonderful. Martin knows that they’ll be back in the library again, but this is … it’s different. And he really doesn’t want it to end.

“I’ve been thinking,” Jon says, pulling Martin out of his thoughts. “So much of the culture surrounding food seems to focus on the preparation of it—how to combine certain foods to make others, how to heat some items and cool others, how to turn something inedible into something edible. And I don’t know—that is to say, I’m not sure if—this has been wonderful, really, a-and I wouldn’t want to ask more of you than I already have, but maybe, if you were amenable … I—I’d like to know how to cook. And, um…”

Jon trails off awkwardly. Martin feels something warm and hopeful spread through his chest as he says, “You want me to … show you how to cook?”

“Only if you’re willing, a-and if it’s not too much trouble. You’ve already been kind—more than kind, really—a-and I wouldn’t want to impose—”

“Jon.” Martin is trying very hard to keep his grin restrained to a small smile, but it’s hard when he can feel an excited maybe the day isn’t over yet fluttering in his stomach. “I’d love to.”

“O-oh.” Jon looks surprised, like they hadn’t expected Martin to agree. “If … if you’re sure.”

Martin nods and grips the handles of his canvas bag tighter so he doesn’t do something foolish like take Jon’s hand. “I’m sure.”

He feels slightly less sure when Jon is standing in his kitchen, cozy with one and slightly cramped with two, laying each ingredient out on the counter like it’s a problem they need to solve. Not because he’s unsure about inviting Jon back for dinner—he’s pretty sure he’s never been so sure about anything in his life. He’s just … nervous. And maybe a little self-conscious at the distinctly un-divine nature of his home, which could generously be called a cottage and less generously be called a shack. (The sea air has not treated the wooden walls kindly.)

“Your home is lovely,” Jon says, staring at the paintings decorating Martin’s walls. “Do you live here alone?”

“Oh, I … yeah.” Martin focuses on putting away the fresh produce in his icebox, staring down at the leafy greens and trying not to seem like he’s avoiding Jon’s eyes. “It, um. It used to be me and my mum? But she, uh. She died a few years ago. So now it’s just me.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Jon says, their words soft and earnest. “It … must be lonely out here by yourself.”

“N-not really!” Martin stands, a bit too quickly, and busies himself with the dried beans and grains as he pours them from their bags into tall metal containers. He can feel Jon’s eyes on him, heavy and concerned, but they don’t say anything. The gentle rattle of the beans against the metal is soothing, easing the edge of Martin’s nerves and bringing with it the question of why, exactly, he’s denying the fact that this house is so very empty when it’s just him in it.

Maybe he’s ashamed. His oh-so-very-human loneliness must be quite trivial when compared to the lives of an ageless, immortal celestial spirit. But then Jon says gently, “All right,” like they know Martin is lying and are willing to accept it wholesale anyway, and Martin just … deflates.

“… Yeah,” he says quietly, rubbing a thumb along the lip of the container. “It is a bit lonely. My mum and I weren’t … we weren’t on the best of terms, but she was still my mum, you know? I took care of her, and when she was gone … I don’t know. I have Tim, a-and the library, but I still come back here at the end of the day. And sometimes I think…”

Martin trails off. He realizes he’s still holding the lid of one of the containers, and he exhales sharply and replaces it. “Sorry, you—you don’t want to hear about all that. Forget I said anything.”

Jon steps closer and places a gentle hand on top of Martin’s where it rests on the container. Their eyes radiate warmth as they stare intently at Martin, awash with shimmering silver. “Sometimes you think what?”

Martin stares down at Jon’s hand—at the silver freckles that decorate it, like flakes of metal embedded into skin, awash with a light that doesn’t come from the lantern hanging in Martin’s kitchen nor from the setting sun outside—and feels something sharp and tender settle in his chest. Barely more than a whisper, he says, “That it’ll always be like this? That the loneliness will never go away.”

Jon squeezes his hand, almost imperceptibly. “Are you lonely now?”

Martin looks up and meets Jon’s eyes. He can see the entire universe reflected in them, and he knows, somehow, that the universe can see all of him in return. “No,” he whispers. “I’m not.”

Jon smiles at that, and it’s the most beautiful thing Martin’s ever seen. “I’m glad. You weren’t made for loneliness, Martin. You were made to be loved.”

“Do you…?” Martin stops, swallows, clears his throat. “Do you … know that?”

“Not in a cosmic sense. But I know that it’s true all the same.”

“Right.” Martin’s voice is so very small. He feels so very small, but in the way that a cat feels small just before someone picks it up and cradles it close and presses their lips to the soft crown of its head.

Martin’s eyes drop to Jon’s lips, then quickly dart away. His cheeks are flaming, a heat that warms him to his core. “We—we should start on dinner before it gets late. I was going to make fish stew tonight i-if that’s all right?”

Jon gives Martin’s hand another squeeze. “I’m sure whatever you choose will be wonderful.”

For someone who’s never cooked before, Jon is a remarkably quick learner. Martin hesitates just a moment before handing them a knife and instructing them to slice potatoes and carrots. He almost has a minor crisis when he hears a thunk and a sharp inhalation, but when he turns to assess the damage, he sees half a potato on the floor, the knife on the counter, and a small slice in the side of Jon’s index finger. As Martin watches, the cut knits itself back together, leaving behind unbroken skin in a matter of seconds.

Apparently, Jon also bleeds silver light. And heals almost instantaneously. Which is … something.

It’s a quick dish to put together, but Martin tries to stretch out the process as much as possible—showing Jon how he debones the fish, describing the spices he uses and why he uses them, explaining the history of the recipe in his family and the connection to the region they live in. It’s not for lack of hunger—Martin is famished, really, and he keeps sneaking bites of raw carrot and zucchini when Jon’s back is turned. It’s because…

Well. When they’re done cooking and eating and cleaning up, when Martin has done everything he can to extend the process and has hit his limit … Jon will leave. And Martin aches at the thought of it. Maybe it’s because it’s nice to have somebody else in his kitchen for the first time in years. Maybe it’s because he really, really enjoys spending time with Jon, and he’s more than slightly afraid that one day, Jon just … won’t come back.

Or maybe it’s because Martin is falling in actual, capital-L love with Jon. And he has no idea what to do with it.

Too soon, Martin is ladling stew into two ceramic bowls and sprinkling fresh parsley on top before handing one to Jon. “Careful—it’s hot,” he says, cradling his own bowl with his sleeves covering the palms of his hands.

“I’ll be all right,” Jon says, holding their bowl in both hands and looking down at its contents like it contains the secrets of the universe. “I don’t feel hot or cold the same way that humans do.”

“… Right.”

Jon looks up from their bowl, lips pinched together and nose wrinkled. “That was an odd thing to say, wasn’t it.”

“A bit? But I don’t mind. It’s—” Adorable.“—endearing.”

Endearing does not sound any less sappy than adorable. Get it together, Martin.

Jon looks surprised for a moment. Then, a small—almost teasing—smile spreads across their face. “Well, that’s a relief to hear. And here, I was worried that the whole ‘celestial spirit’ thing was going to be a dealbreaker.”

“Nope. Can’t get rid of me that easily.” Martin hesitates. “Unless the whole … ‘human’ thing is a dealbreaker.”

Jon’s smile is warm and affectionate and turns Martin’s stomach into a fluttering mess. “Not at all.”

They sit on the porch to eat. The chill of night hasn’t quite set in yet, and Martin has a truly spectacular view of the sea from the back of his house that seems to take Jon’s breath away just as much as it did Martin’s when he saw it for the first time. The sunset paints the world around them in vibrant oranges and yellows. The silver in Jon’s eyes and skin and hair remains unchanged even as the rest of them goes gold-tinted and soft. Martin wants to run his fingers through the silver streaks in Jon’s hair to see if they feel as silky and smooth as they look. Instead, he takes another bite of his stew, chewing distractedly on the fish as he studies Jon like it’s the last time he’s going to see them.

He really, really hopes it isn’t.

Jon looks out at the sea, running their thumb back and forth over a small chip in the side of their bowl. (Martin would have given them a flawless one if he could, but none of his dishes seem to escape his use unscathed.) “Do you know why I started coming here?” they say, eyes still fixed on the waves that lap at the shore. “To the material plane, that is, not—not to this specific town.”

Martin swallows his fish. He’s pretty sure it’s a rhetorical question, but he answers it anyway. “Uh, no, I—I don’t. Should I?”

Jon sighs. “I suppose not. I don’t … I don’t talk about myself much when I’m here. I just try to experience things, to—to watch and listen and understand. I can see so much from the celestial plane, but it’s—it’s not the same as being here.”

They rub their thumb along the chip in the bowl again, then turn to look at Martin. “It’s not the same. Where I’m from, it’s … there are expectations. We are what we are, and no matter how much the universe changes around us, that remains constant.” They hold out a hand, palm-up, and a small, swirling ball of white light forms within it, so bright it almost hurts to look at. “I am one of many, and for as long as there has been a universe, we have been tasked with watching over it. There is no room for error or imperfection, and as such, things like curiosity, experimentation, choice … they don’t come naturally to us.”

The light swirls and expands, beginning to drip through Jon’s fingers like thick honey, and their eyes when they find Martin’s shine brightly with a similar light. “But they do to you. Humans are messy and imperfect, and they often make poor choices, b-but it’s all right because later, they can learn from them and make better ones. Or even worse ones. That’s the thing, you see, it’s—it’s never just one way or the other. There’s no divine calling pulling you toward a defined future, no facets of yourself that keep you from breaking and falling and picking yourself back up again. You can just … be.”

Jon closes their hand around the light, extinguishing it, and they’re left once again with only the warm yellow light of the setting sun. “And that’s why I started coming here. It’s not standard practice for spirits to leave the celestial plane. A bit taboo, actually, which is … refreshing, in a way. I just … wanted to know what it was like to be human.”

Martin is quiet for a long moment, trying to collect his thoughts. All he can think to say in the end is, “Why here? Why Bournemouth? We’re not exactly the pinnacle of humanity.”

Jon exhales slowly, looks over at Martin, and gives him a small smile. “Because I wanted to check out a book. And it really does have quite a lovely view of the sea.”

“Yeah,” Martin says softly. “I suppose it does.”

Neither of them mentions that Jon isn’t looking at the sea at all right now. Though if Martin looks closely, he thinks he can see it swirling in Jon’s eyes amongst the cosmos, deep blue and full of infinite unknowns.

They finish eating just as the sun dips fully beneath the horizon, an hour or so before the first stars will begin to flicker into existence in the sky. Martin brings out wine—his best bottle, the one he’s been saving for ‘something special’ for nearly ten years now—and laughs when Jon wrinkles their nose at it like it’s personally offended them. They continue to sip at it anyway, even though Martin assures them that they don’t have to drink it if they don’t want to, and Martin gets the feeling that Jon is intrigued by their own distaste of it—the bitterness, the sharp bite of fermentation, the heat that spreads through the back of their throat and coils in their stomach.

Martin just likes the feel of it in his hands and atop his tongue. Though he could really do without the headaches it brings the next morning.

The sky begins to tease at twilight, muted blues spreading across the sand. It’s an atmosphere that Jon seems to belong to; the silver upon them glows a little brighter, starlight leaking from it and forming an aura around them that flickers and pulses. They tilt their head skyward and say, a bit regretfully, “I have to leave soon.”

“Oh.” Martin knew that, logically. He knew that from the moment they stepped out of the library—that this was a temporary excursion, lengthened only by Jon’s continued interest and Martin’s continued infatuation. He still feels it ache in his chest, a thrumming don’t go nestled there in time with his heartbeat.

“I … I wish I could stay.” They look back at Martin, cradling their empty wine glass in both hands and tilting it gently from side to side. “Just for a night. It’s wonderful, being up there, seeing everything, feeling everything, but…” Jon trails off, staring down at their glass. There’s a milky silver liquid collecting in it, and Jon sighs before setting the glass on the table, the liquid within remaining eerily still as they do so. “Do you know how many books talk about the night sky, Martin? It’s—it’s too many to count, really. People look up at the stars and see constellations, mapping out patterns and plotting courses and finding their guidance in them. Finding their guidance in … us. I’ve seen drawings, read description after description, but it’s … it’s not quite the same as seeing it.” Jon laughs, a bit dryly. “It’s the only thing I’ve never been able to see. It’s funny, I … I’m a part of it, but I can never truly know what it looks like from your eyes.”

“Maybe…” Martin swallows and sets his glass down as well. “Maybe just for one night? Y-you could stay a-and see it for yourself. One less star in the sky out of—of billions, that … that has to be okay, right?” Jon is looking at him, something sad in their eyes, and Martin finishes lamely, “Just … stay?” He laughs nervously. “It’s a good view, I promise.”

“I believe you. And I want to, truly, but I … can’t. It would upset the balance of the universe, which could have … catastrophic consequences.”

“Ah.” Martin feels a bit foolish. He hopes the fading light hides the burning of his cheeks. “That … makes sense, I suppose.”

There’s a pause. Then, Jon reaches out a hand and lays it gently atop one of Martin’s. It’s cool, like drops of moonlight upon his skin, and Martin knows that they’ve run out of time. “Thank you, though,” Jon says softly. “For showing me how to cook and giving me wine and … for taking the time to indulge me in such things. You’re kind, Martin. It’s a rarer quality than people think.”

Martin’s blush is certainly visible now given its intensity. “O-oh. It’s, um—it’s no problem at all! I, uh.” He looks down at his lap, his heart skipping in his chest. “I enjoy spending time with you.” He steels himself, summons every ounce of courage he has, and says, “Maybe, we could … we could do this again?”

He looks up just in time to see Jon smile, a sight that Martin thinks will never stop taking his breath away. “I’d like that.”

Jon leaves—there one moment and gone the next, almost like they’d never been there at all if it weren’t for the extra bowl and glass still sitting on the table—and Martin takes the dishes inside to clean up. He stands at the sink, elbow-deep in water, and watches through the window as the stars wink into existence one after another. He’s never asked Jon which one they are. He doesn’t think he’d be able to find them, given the sheer number of little white pinpricks in the black canvas above.

Maybe he should. He … he thinks he’d like to know anyway.

After the dishes are washed and dried, Martin sits in his living room and reaches reflexively for the small leather-bound notebook that rests atop the side table. His hand stills just before reaching it, though, his fingers curling inward slightly toward his palm. Then, he stands, walks into his bedroom, and retrieves a small wooden box from beneath his bed, tucked next to a small stack of carefully constructed frames. He selects one—medium sized, big enough for his purposes but small enough that he can finish it in a night, and blissfully already prepared with a coat of black paint. (Martin silently thanks his past self for what at the time had seemed like over-preparedness.) Then, he goes to the porch once more.

The moon is nearly full tonight, giving Martin enough light to see by as he sets up his paints and brushes. It’s been long enough since he’s painted that the covers to the jars are nearly crusted shut, and the bristles of his brushes have certainly seen better days. He sits on the chair with his feet propped up and the canvas balanced atop his knees, staring up at the glittering cosmos above him. There are so many stars, clustered together and sprayed along every inch of sky like paint flicked from a divine brush. It would be impossible to paint them all in detail, even if he sat out here for months with brush in hand.

Martin sighs, taps the handle of the brush lightly against the canvas, and scans the sky above him. Maybe if he picks a section—a small slice of infinity to immortalize upon the canvas. He skims over familiar constellations—Eridanus, Ophiuchus, Cygnus—until his eyes catch on a small star near the northernmost tip of Andromeda. It’s faint, barely visible to the naked eye, but from the way Martin’s eyes keep getting drawn back to it, it feels like the brightest star in the sky. As he watches, it flickers gently, almost like it’s waving.

“Hi Jon,” Martin says softly. Then, he puts brush to canvas and begins to paint.

.

.

.

Martin is standing behind the register this time when the bells above the door to the library ring. As such, he has a clear view of the door and the person who walks through it, and the stutter of his heart can be as much attributed to the sight of them as to the possibly-classically-conditioned nature of his relationship to those bells.

Tim, standing next to the register and sorting through their returns, gives Martin a meaningful look that Martin elects to ignore. After a moment, Tim lets out a dramatic sigh and returns to the books, and Martin finishes checking out the customer he’s currently occupied with.

When she steps away from the counter, Jon is there behind her, holding the cooking manual they’d checked out yesterday like it’s made of glass. They set it on the counter delicately and then just … hover,like they’re waiting for Martin to do something.

“Did you … finish it already?” Martin says, reaching out for the book. Jon lets him take it, but when he turns it around to scan it, he sees a sky-blue bookmark sticking out of the middle of it, carefully placed and intentional.

“I … enjoyed cooking with you last night,” Jon says stiltedly as Martin opens the book to the marked page. “A-and I thought, maybe, if it wasn’t too much trouble … we could do it again? B-but of course, if you have other obligations, that’s—that’s perfectly understandable. I—I wouldn’t want you to make any unnecessary accommodations for me.”

Martin elects not to mention that he’d make almost any accommodation in the world to get the chance to cook dinner with Jon again. Instead, he looks down at the recipe for apple cake with something warm blooming in his stomach. It brings back memories of early childhoods spent by the beach, coming home to the smell of cinnamon and cloves and a warm pan cooling atop the stove. It also brings back memories of his mother, sick and declining, staring at him impassively as she dropped her uneaten slice into the bin and called it “a shameful waste of food.”

Martin’s looking forward to creating more fond memories to overcome the not-so-fond ones, if Jon will let him. And he so dearly hopes that Jon will let him.

“Yeah,” Martin says with a smile that he knows is sappy, but he can’t help it. “I’d love to, Jon.”

Jon looks surprised, then delighted—an emotion that’s never been directed toward Martin before at the promise of his company. “Oh! G-good. That’s, um … I—I’m sure you have to work, so I’ll just … browse for a while. Er.”

They stand there a moment more, the freckles on their cheeks shimmering faintly, before turning on their heel and disappearing into the fiction section. Martin watches them go, the smile sticking to his lips and refusing to let go, his palm flat against the cookbook and fingers brushing against the delicate bookmark.

“Martin. Martin.” Martin doesn’t have to look to see the wide grin that Tim is giving him. “Is that a date? Are you going on a date with Jon? Are you or are you not dating an actual star in the actual sky?”

“It’s not a date,” Martin says. He very much wants it to be a date.

“Oh, it sounded like a date.” In quiet singsong: “They like you.”

“Hush. Go do your job, Tim.”

Tim pouts. “You’re no fun.”

A pause.

“Are you sure it’s not a date?”

“Tim.”

It certainly feels like a date as Martin holds the door to his cottage open for Jon for the second time in as many days. He can’t quite put his finger on what’s different this time. Maybe it’s the fact that Jon asked him rather than the other way around. Maybe it’s the way that Jon finds Martin’s cutlery and bakeware with ease, already knowing their way around the idiosyncrasies of Martin’s kitchen.

Maybe it’s the painting sitting in Martin’s bedroom, newly dried and waiting expectantly.

Jon cuts the apples with more deftness—and more care—than the vegetables the previous day, and it’s no time at all before the cake is in the oven and Martin is left with the awareness that now is a good time to just … show Jon the painting like he’d been planning.

Now is good, he thinks as they sit at his kitchen table and talk over cups of tea. Riiiight about now, he thinks as the timer dings and he pulls the cake out of the oven to let it cool on the counter. Any minute now, I’ll go grab it, he thinks as he slices two large portions of cake and gives the one with more apples to Jon.

The painting is still sitting in his room untouched when Jon puts their plate in the sink, turns to Martin, and says, “I’m … getting the feeling that you want to tell me something.”

For a split second, Martin considers denying it. He squashes the thought just as quickly as it came because if he doesn’t do it now, he’s never going to. “I … I have something for you,” Martin says quietly. Then, he goes to retrieve the painting.

When Martin tentatively hands Jon the canvas, Jon takes it. They hold it reverently in their hands, like it’s a precious work of art—something that should be handled with gloves and stored behind a wall of glass. “That—that one’s you,” Martin says after a long moment of silence, pointing out the small star near the center that, even inked faintly onto the canvas in oil paint, seems to glow so much brighter than all the others. “A-at least I’m pretty sure that’s you. It's just a … a feeling. Um. Yeah.”

Jon’s eyes follow the lines of the constellations, jumping from star to star like it’s all new and wondrous to them, like they and the stars are not one and the same. When they finally look back up at Martin, it’s with an expression that nearly steals Martin’s breath away—like he’s just handed them the world in miniature. “Thank you,” they say. “This … means more to me than I can put into words. I—I don’t…”

They trail off, like the words are simply too complex to be realized in human speech. Every freckle and swirling line and bit of silver on them glows with a bright and vibrant light, and Martin swears he sees the small painted star that he knows by heart glitter as well, a reflection of the being that holds it close to them. They look down at the painting again, then set it carefully on the kitchen table where it won’t be harmed and turn to face Martin. There’s a pause, somehow both brief and stretching on for ages. Then, Jon reaches out a hand and traces a finger along the curve of Martin’s cheek. “You have constellations within you as well,” they say softly, mapping out the spaces between Martin’s freckles and leaving a warm, tingling sensation in their wake. Their finger reaches the bow of Martin’s upper lip, and they hesitate before shifting and cupping Martin’s cheek in their palm. “They’re lovely.”

“They … they are?” is all Martin can think to say, barely more than a whisper.

Jon nods, eyes awash with silver. They run a thumb along the curve of Martin’s cheekbone, press their lips together as if considering, and then say, “May I … may I try something? I’ve read about it, and I … I’d like to know what it feels like. W-with you, um. Specifically.”

Anything. Anything you want, I’ll give you. Mutely, Martin nods.

Jon stares at Martin for a long moment, as if mapping out every inch of his face so as to ink it onto paper later and immortalize it forever. Then, they step closer, lean in, and press their lips softly to his.

It’s wonderful. It’s perfect. It’s warm and soft and safe and home, and … it’s Jon. It’s Jon’s hand gently cradling his cheek and Jon’s nose brushing against his and Jon’s breath mingling with his own, and Martin never wants it to end.

It does eventually, though, as all things do. Well. Almost all things, Martin thinks as he looks at Jon. Their hand still rests gently upon Martin’s cheek and the warmth of their lips still lingers on his. He’ll process that later, lying in bed and staring at the ceiling and marveling at the fact that his first kiss and first—and perhaps only—love was born and will die with the universe. For now, he inhales shakily, and on the exhale, whispers, “Oh.”

“I-is that a good oh or a bad oh?”

Emboldened by some mystical force of the universe, Martin leans in and presses another quick kiss to Jon’s lips. “It’s a very good oh,” he says when he pulls back, not trying to keep the giddy smile off his face. I love you, he almost adds before stopping himself. Baby steps.

What’s a normal relationship timeline when you’re dating a celestial spirit?

Martin decides that that sounds like a question for future Martin. Present Martin thinks that kissing Jon again is far more important.

The sun dips below the horizon, and Jon once again makes their apologetic leave, painting cradled protectively in their arms. As this one is punctuated with a soft kiss, it leaves Martin with a substantially smaller ache in his chest that abates entirely as he sits outside and watches the stars until exhaustion drags him inside once more.

“Oh,” Martin breathes, standing in front of his bathroom mirror and lifting his hand to trace a finger along the curve of his cheek. It could just be a trick of the light, he thinks—but he knows that it isn’t.

The light of the lantern upon him is soft and golden. But the glow of his freckles and the faint shine of his lips, shimmering beneath his fingertips, are as silver as the stars.

[clareguilty]

The Naked Thing

Hello! I was dying without air conditioning a few weeks ago and decided to make it Mando Smut Mandalorian/f!reader Rating: Explicit | No Warnings Word Count: ~2900

The Crest falls out of hyperspace too soon, and you go flying. Curling around Grogu in your arms, you twist in midair so that your back hits the console to avoid crushing him. A lever digs into your spine, and you curse loudly. That’s going to bruise. Oh well. What’s another?

“What the kriff, Mando?” you snarl. Grogu seems unbothered, blinking at you and probably learning way too many swear words for a child of his size.

Mando pulls himself off the control grid with a pained groan, helmet swiveling as he takes in the damage.

“The good news,” he begins after a moment, “is that we lost them.”

That is good news, you agree. You were lucky that the army of bounty hunters and ex-imps hadn’t kept track of you. If you had shaken them off your trail, then that would earn you a head start to a safer system.

“The bad news is that they shot out our hyperdrive.”

“Dank Farrik,” you curse again, then glance at Grogu. Maybe you should watch your mouth more?

“...And our temperature regulator and our heat shields.”

You decide that it is an appropriate time for as much foul language as you please.

“What does that mean?” you ask. You hadn’t grown up around ships -- spent the last dozen years on the same dead-end planet until Mando picked you up. The most you were good for was turning a knob or flipping a switch here and there. Usually you just kept an eye on Grogu while Mando did all the piloting and bounty hunting and whatnot.

“We’ll have to travel sublight, but we can’t land planet side because without the heat shields any atmosphere worth a damn would burn us up. Our only option is a New Republic Outpost. We’ll be able to land there, and we’ll be safe while they repair the Crest. I’ll chart us a course and let you know how long it should be.”

“You know,” you snap, “we wouldn’t be in this mess if you weren’t so scared of droids. If we had an astromech on board, then we could get the hyperdrive repaired without having to crawl our asses through deep space in the hopes that whoever picks us up doesn’t want us dead.”

Mando doesn’t say anything. You don’t know if your words meant anything at all to him because you can’t see shit behind his helmet. Huffing, you take Grogu down to the hold. Not long after, the engines fire up again.

It takes a few minutes to set in, but its quick enough to be noticeable. The ship is getting hotter. Like… unbearably warm.

You fill a canteen with water and make sure that you and Grogu are both hydrated. After a little bit of digging, you manage to find a portable air circulator. You and Grogu sit directly in front of the current, doing your best to keep cool.

Mando comes down after a little while, he cocks his helmet when he sees you.

“It’s hot,” you whine.

“The temperature regulator is shot too. We don’t have a way too cool the ship down or shield the heat of the engines.”

You sigh. “How long until we can get repairs?”

“34 hours. Will the kid be okay for that long?”

Grogu hasn’t outwardly complained about the heat, mostly just sitting in front of the circulator with his eyes closed and ears flapping, but you’ve been worried as well. “He’s kind of… amphibious,” you frown. “I’ll get him a basin of water to sit in and put him in the fresher with the circulator. That should keep him cooled off.”

Mando nods. “Thank you. Will you be okay?”

You shrug. There’s not much you can do. As long as you stay hydrated then you should be able to last 34 hours.

“Thank you,” he says again.

“For what?” All you’ve done is curse at him and berate him for not having an astromech droid.

“For looking out for him back there. You saved all of us with that droid popper. And the move with the cannon was impressive.”

You aren’t expecting genuine praise from Mando. It always felt as though you were dead weight to him. Through all the planets you’ve been on -- and been chased off of -- you’ve always felt useless.You can’t fly, you’re not the best shot, you can barely take care of his kid. It means a lot that he doesn’t actually hate you. 

“I’m starting to get the hang of this,” you grin. You had never considered yourself a hero or adventurer, but you had commandeered a cannon and shot down three imperial fighters.

“I’ll be up in the cockpit if you need anything. Just knock.” And he’s gone.

‘Knock’ means that Mando is probably going to take his helmet and armor off, which means you also get a few hours of total privacy. You set Grogu up in the fresher with a basin of water and the circulator -- though it pains you to give up the weak, artificial breeze.

It’s only gotten hotter, and your already filthy clothes are starting to became unbearable. You had gotten splashed with gore and grime and who knows what in your escape, and it wasn’t pairing well with the heat onboard.

Stripping out of your clothes, you sprawl naked on the metal floor. It’s dusty, but slightly cool, and you plaster as much of your skin to the durasteel as you can manage.

Time passes with you systematically rolling across the floor of the hold to try and keep from baking. It’s bearable only because you know there will be an end. As long as the ship keeps chugging along towards the space outpost, then you will be saved.

The hatch to the cockpit opens, and you leap to your feet. Mando clambers down, jumping when he sees you.

“You’re naked,” he raises his hands -- his bare hands -- and backs against the ladder.

“You’re naked.” you point.

“I have a helmet and pants on,” he says. But that’s all he has on. His chest and arms are bare, and it’s more skin than you’ve ever seen before on the man.

“I’ve never seen you out of your armor. That has got to be more scandalous than me being naked.”

You must have made a point, because Mando doesn’t respond. Instead, you both just kind of… stand there. You can’t tear your eyes away from his chest and from the angle his helmet is pointed it seems he’s having a similar issue.

“Did you, uh, need anything?” you finally manage to ask. Your mouth is dry, and you take another uncoordinated drink from the canteen, shivering as some of the water spills down your chest.

Mando coughs. “I just wanted to make sure the kid is okay.”

“Oh,” you turn to open the fresher door just a crack. You had checked on him just a few minutes ago, and he still seems fine. After a moment of pause, Mando comes up behind you and you can feel the heat of his skin against your back.

Grogu is asleep, curled up just in front of the circulator and the basin of water so that the cool air blows over him. The fresher is several degrees cooler than the rest of the ship, and while it feels amazing, you don’t want to let the heat in.

“I’m going to go back up now,” Mando says quickly, and then he’s gone through the hatch once again.

You resume your circuit of laying on the floor, but it feels like the ship is only getting hotter.

That’s when you take to banging on the hatch to the cockpit. “Mando, I’m going to kick your ass! You had better get us to that outpost or find a way too cool this ship down! I spent years on Tatooine, and this is the hottest I have ever been in my entire life!”

“I can cut the engines to stop generating any heat, but then we’ll just be coasting through empty space and we’ll never make it to the outpost.”

You huff. “At this point you should just freeze me in carbonite.”

Mando does not freeze you in carbonite, but you do eventually make it to the New Republic outpost. They give the three of you a small dorm and Mando arranges for the Razor Crest to be repaired. You don’t have any credits between you, so you wonder what he offers in exchange.

You toss your gear into the room and head out to get food for everyone. You always enjoy being in New Republic space. No one is out to murder you or imprison you. The officers are usually nicer. Everyone likes the Skywalkers.

A friendly droid loads you up with several plates of food, and you stop to check out the holonet broadcasts on your way back. Things in this corner of the galaxy are a little hectic -- something you just witnessed firsthand -- but its less gloomy than it used to be.

Mando is sitting on the lower bunk when you get back. He’s back in his full armor, but you can read his posture pretty well. Grogu is playing in the corner, levitating some rocks you had found for him a few planets back. You set the tray down, fully intending to take your portion and eat out in the hall or in one of the communal sitting rooms. Before you can even turn away, Mando has already grabbed a plate of food and tugged his helmet off.

“WOAH,” you raise your hands in front of your face, ducking your head before you can see too much. Curly hair. Tan skin. Moustache. If there is one thing you’ve learned, it’s that Mando doesn’t let anyone see him without his helmet. It’s a cultural thing, and you respect that. “What is with you being naked today?”

Your eyes are open, but very pointedly looking at a wall nowhere near him. He shifts for a moment, and you wait for some kind of explanation.

“Look,” he finally begins, “we’ve been through a lot together at this point. I’ve traveled with you longer than anyone since I was a foundling with the watch. You’ve saved my life as well as Grogu’s many times, and we just survived one hell of a fight. Not to mention, I saw, um, all of you today. I figure it’s only fair.”

You’re touched. It’s an honor that Mando trusts you enough to remove his helmet. For as long as you have been travelling together, you’ve assumed that you care for him far more than he cares for you. “You don’t have to,” you say. “I don’t want you to feel obligated.”

“I trust you,” he repeats.

You turn to face him. His eyes are so soft. Tired and kind and the warmest brown. He stares at you, taking you in for the first time with his own eyes and not the visor in his helmet. It’s unreasonably intimate considering he was staring at you naked with the helmet on just 16 hours before.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re kind of cute?” you laugh and look away, smoothing your hands over your pants. There’s food in front of you, and you use that as a welcome distraction.

“I’ve never trusted anyone enough before now to see me.”

How can he just say things like that? You try to drown the rapid beating of your heart behind some kind of bitter vegetable.

Mando begins to eat as well, slowly and unsurely. He picks at a few different dishes before finally speaking again. “You’ve, uh- I mean… you’re beautiful as well.”

You laugh loudly at that. It’s so shy. This man had seen you overheated and completely naked lying on the floor of his ship. You roll your eyes and shoot him a wink. “Something you like in particular?”

Mando chokes, coughing for a minute before chugging down half a glass of green jelly juice. He finally regains his composure, but his voice is rough when he speaks again. “I’d say the best view was from behind.”

It’s the last thing you expect from him. He’s so shy and reserved and has always backed down from your defensive teasing. It’s a moment before you can pull yourself together. Still, you aren’t sure what to say. Instead, you cram some shredded raw crustacean in your mouth and hope you aren’t too flushed.

Mando offers to take the trays back. The dorm bathroom has a shower with running water and you intend to take full advantage. Grogu rolls a rock at your feet as you head into the bathroom, and you lightly kick it back to him. “Are you tired of putting up with us yet? You’ve been a baby longer than I’ve been alive. I bet we seem like idiots to you.”

Grogu, predictably, says nothing. He makes a raspberry noise with his lips and plops down into a sit.

The shower is one of the greatest gifts you’ve ever enjoyed in life. Hot water, high pressure, steam and soap. You take your time washing up and letting the jets work out all of the kinks in your muscles.

When you slide the stall door aside, Mando is standing at the sink. Helmetless. Shirtless.

He jumps slightly, staring at the floor as you step out of the shower. 

“We have got to stop doing this naked thing,” you say. It doesn’t actually bother you. You like that Mando trusts you, and you’ve never been shy about being naked around others, but he’s too attractive and it drives you nuts.

“I rather enjoy it,” he manages to pull his gaze from the floor to shoot you a wink. Your pulse speeds up.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, Mando,” you step forward. You’re still steaming from the shower and dripping wet. He’s never been this cheeky before, and you kind of enjoy it.

His gaze darkens, eyebrows rasing. He reaches out to grab your waist, pulling you in and pinning you against the sink. You gasp at the feeling of his skin on yours, leaning back as he crowds you against the basin.

“Grogu is napping,” he whispers.

“I think the shower will fit both of us,” you breathe.

He’s already working at the buckle of his pants, toeing out of his boots. You drag him back into the shower with you. The jets hit his back, and he melts a little. You wrap your hand around his cock, and he looks like he may collapse. His eyes flutter shut, one of his hands slamming against the wall by your head.

You lean in to brush your lips over his skin as you stroke his cock. You’d never even seen this man’s face before today, and now you’re kissing your way over his jaw and down his neck. His other hand grabs your ass, kneading the flesh and pulling you closer so your hips brush his.

Your thumb swipes over the tip of his cock, and he shudders. It happens so fast, you didn’t know he had spun you around until your cheek is against the shower wall. His hands are glue to your hips, digging into your ass and pulling you to him so he can grind his cock against your slick skin.

“Please,” you whine. You haven’t had sex with anyone since you began travelling with Mando, and opportunities to get yourself off come few and far between with three of you on the Crest. You’re desperately horny, and you’ve wanted to fuck this man since you found him in that godforsaken desert.

He lines himself up and drives his hips forward, sinking into you with one solid thrust. You bite your forearm to muffle your moans, panting as you try to get used to the sudden stretch.

“You good?” he asks, leaning forward to kiss your cheek. 

“Move,” you say, demanding but desperate.

It takes a moment to find leverage in the tiny -- smaller than you first assumed -- shower stall, but Mando begins to fuck you at a steady pace. You reach down to rub your clit, clenching around him. You’re going to finish quicker than you’re used to -- probably because you’ve been turned on since you saw Mando shirtless on the crest.

From the way Mando’s hips twitch and his rhythm falters, you guess that he’s close to coming as well.

His hands are everywhere. Your hips, your ass, trailing over your stomach and and reaching up to squeeze your breasts. His fingers brush your throat and you nearly come from the touch alone. He feels the way you tighten around his cock and places a hand on your neck, squeezing your jaw between his thumb and forefinger.

You come so hard your knees give out and your vision goes white. Mando keeps you from collapsing in a bruised heap on the shower floor by simply continuing to fuck you until he comes as well.

It’s not a lot of space, so you’re slumped together under the spray of the water. You manage to wipe yourself clean in a few swipes and stagger back out so Mando can actually wash up. He’s much quicker than you were, and he’s out of the shower by the time you’ve finished rubbing scented moisturizer over your skin. The New Republic sure knew how to treat their guests.

“I think we should definitely keep doing the naked thing,” he grins.

[aboardthehavocmarauder]

More Than Ok

Crosshair [CT-9904] • ANGST/SFW • Weapons Specialist!Reader • They/Them Pronouns • TW: PTSD

Requested by: Anon

“Oh you’ve got to be kidding me”

“Yeah yeah. I get it Crosshair. Im your favorite person in the entire galaxy. Im just as thrilled as you are” Y/N sighs happily through the sarcasm as they handed Hunter the authorization report before Wrecker happily helped the specialist bring their gear on board.

“Can’t we ditch you somewhere so I don’t have to hear your annoying ass stories on this rotation?”

“Will you can it, toothpick” They snap at him finally to shut up before following the sergeant on board while Crosshair took another minute to himself.

During the trip Crosshair watched as Y/N showed off the new weaponry to the other batchers. Gaining some brownie points from Tech who gained a specific interest in the variation of vibroblades they have designed and used different frequencies to enhance their cut ability. Cross grows annoyed by how close Y/N would get with the other members, not like he’ll ever admit it.

“This will gain your interest, toothpick” Y/N opened a smaller box revealing an attachment specifically made for his firepuncher. “I did make this with you in mind even if it’s not in my job description to have favorites. I specifically made this to shorten your cool down when your rifle has used half of its energy.“

“Half of it? Why half?”

“Really? Already nit picky?”

“It’s only using half of its overall energy to avoid overheating” Tech explains as Cross nods impressed only for Y/N to scoff and leave them at the only table in the marauder. “You really do like pushing their buttons”

“And?”

“You should really stop trying to cover your little crush on them with your anger and stubbornness. Or who knows who will get hurt by it” Hunter states only to get his toothpick flicked at his face, his reaction being only a sigh. “Seriously. Why do you hate each other?”

“I don’t fucking hate her”

“You strongly dislike her” Wrecker laughs a bit as he examines some of the grenades the specialist made. “Is it because they broke your firepuncher when they were a rookie?”

“Or the time you two got captured because their decoder didn’t work quick enough?”

“Oh wait. I’ve got a good one.” Hunter sets down one of the blades. “Was it the time you were afraid that the three of us wouldn’t pull through during that one bombing and you sought out for Y/N SPECIFICALLY for comfort and it lead to be a little more?”

“I’m so killing you for sharing that.” Crosshair threatened Tech as he shrugs. “I’m not going to answer any of you. I just want this mission to be fucking over with” and he leaves on that note.

The three looked at each other as Wrecker couldn’t hold in the laughter resulting in a few chuckles from Tech and a full roar out of Hunter.

As the mission begun, Crosshair watched from his position as Y/N ran in beside Wrecker and Tech following Hunter advanced lead. He had the new modification on his rifle but from the looks of the mission so far there wasn’t any need for him. He was just following his order and watching the calculations of the weapons used inside from Y/N’s tablet that they had given him to record and keep track of.

“You there Crosshair?”

“Sadly” Cross turned his side of the comm on. “What is it, sweetcheeks?”

“You and your fucking nicknames. The recoil cut a bit too strong on my second hand. Did it record or—-“

“Gotta do it manually. I’ve got it” He cuts them off or so he thought he did but there wasn’t a respond after. “Hey?” Crosshair frowns waiting for a response only to hear Wrecker laughing through the comms. “What the fuck happened?”

“ONE OF Y/N’S BOMBS WENT OFF ON THEM!!”

“WHY THE FUCK IS THAT FUNNY?!” Crosshair snaps checking the tablet to see one was detonated. “ARE THEY—-“

“I’m going to fucking kill somebody”

“They’re fine. Will need a patch or two. But fine”

“We got the hard drive. But we’re going to need to disable its extender outside. You should be able to see it from where you’re at”

“Are they alright though?”

“Stop worrying and do your job Crosshair. We’re heading out of the building” Hunter turns off his channel after that wrapping Y/N’s arm around his shoulders walking beside them out.

Crosshair groans setting everything down and picking up his rifle scanning the top of the building before taking out the beacon. Resulting in an alarm.

“DID YOU EXPECT THAT?!”

“Yeah. We fucking hear it. We’re running now. Go start up the marauder before any clankers reach our position”

“Can I blow the building?!”

“NO YOU WILL NOT IF YOU’RE STILL IN IT” Cross snaps picking up his gear and sprinting toward the ship.

Once Crosshair got the marauder started up and quickly drawing himself up heading toward the facility, he quickly pulled back when the building blew up.

“You fucking idiot”

Wrecker laughs hearing his brother’s annoyance on the link as he reaches the ramp tossing Tech on there while Hunter handed off Y/N along with their gear before getting on himself and closing the ramp from the door. Crosshair growls from the pilot seat soon getting them off planet shortly after.

“Wicked!” Wrecker cheers only for Crosshair to punch him in the shoulder. “Hey!”

“You don’t think out your fucking placement and timers”

“What the fuck does that mean?! They’re Y/N’s faulty bombs! We didn’t know when they were going to explode”

“Catch the man a break. We got out a second before the bombs set off.” Tech informs from the cockpit putting the ship on auto pilot. “We’ll be back in Kamino’s atmosphere soon, I took the courtesy of finishing the weapon report for Y/N so that they can return to their quarters without stress and can heal”

“Have you even bothered to check on the specialist since they’ve entered the ship?” Hunter questions Crosshair only to get stares from him and Wrecker while Tech could careless in the moment, mainly because he patched up what he could.

“Yeah! Go check your partner out! And not in that way”

“Fuck off Wreck” Cross snaps brushing past him and heading toward the supply unit.

You did everything you could

Unexpected things happen

Most wounds heal

Don’t ignore your trauma forever, or you’ll drown later

“Y/N?”

Y/N snapped out of their thoughts feeling the chill of the undercarriage pick up as they quickly put their shirt back on once Crosshair grew close to them.

“Hey why didn’t you answer me?”

“What?” The confusion written on their face, confused Crosshair since he wasn’t that far from them when he called them out and asked if they’re okay but now he is worried.

So ask again. “Are you alright?”

“Yes. Why?”

“I can’t fucking ask?!” He raised his voice only to see their whole body retract back into the wall suddenly tearing up. “Shit. I’m sorry. What happened out there? Y/N?”

Y/N kept to themselves trying to calm down their breathing as it slowly grew faster and shorter. They retracted again when Crosshair knelt beside them causing the tears welled up to fall.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to…I-I really didn’t mean to” They gripped the front of their shirt trying to catch their breath as Crosshair sat entirely on the floor in front of them slowly resting his hands on their knees. “T-They weren’t supposed to go off…r-really…I’m sorry”

“Hey hey…Breathe. Come on…” Crosshair lowered his voice entirely squeezing their knees gently. “Breathe in and out. Come on…Y/N, I’ll do it with you okay?” He watches them nod as they quickly took his hands into theirs. “Okay…in…and then out” he took a deep breathe watching Y/N struggle slightly. “And out…” he blows slowly as they followed him.

The two did this for a while, Crosshair didn’t press anymore of what happened during the mission as he sat with Y/N propped up against him wiping away their tears whenever they came.

When the batch arrived back to Kamino, Y/N left the group to go with their colleagues to discuss what needs to be fixed about the detonators and Crosshair took note of one of their friends scanning their injuries before asking if they are alright a few times then comforting the specialist. He may not know what triggered their panic attack but he felt better knowing he’s not the only one to care.

“Stop watching them walk away. Let’s get some food” Hunter pats his back hearing his low groan, making him respond with a laugh before heading off with Tech and Wrecker.

“Wait up” Crosshair picked up his pace catching up every now and then glancing back to the other group.

As the night came around, Crosshair snuck out of the quarters full of his sleeping brothers to go check on Y/N only to find them waiting outside the door.

“Hey”

“Hi” They smile shortly before handing him a bento box. “Since you skipped your dinner”

“But I didn’t—“

“And as a thanks, string bean” Y/N scoffs as Crosshair laughs taking the gesture of food. “You didn’t have to help me…I Uhm. Get panic attacks every now and then…”

“I wanted to” He says softly, opening the box smiling to the exotic fruits accompanied by rice and mixed meat. “You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to. Regardless though” he took a few pieces of the fruit eating some of them. “I would’ve helped no matter what triggered it”

“So you’re nice after all” Y/N teases leaning against the wall beside him as he sided eyed them.

“I’ve always been nice, sweetcheeks” He scoffs before giving them a worried look. “Are you okay right now though?”

“More than okay”

[starshipsofstarlord]

All This Hassle, and What For?

Pairing | Loki Laufeyson x reader

Summary | getting taken hostage, along with Loki, is far more amusing than ever intended to be, despite it leaving your captors anything but impressed.

Warnings | kidnapping, mentions of depression, swearing, implied smut, innuendos

Based off this tiktok. All original rights to the plot go back to the creator.

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

Opening your aching eyes, you found yourself to be in a large room, there were plenty of feet stood at your eye level, and such a sight made you frown. You certainly didn’t remember being knocked out, but who would, the exposure to unconsciousness was most likely sudden.

But nevertheless, you raised your head, glaring up at those whom had captured you. As your eyes scoured the room, your eyes landed promptly on the god of mischief, who had his hands bound and shackled in chains, and by Odin, did he look good.

However, your attraction the man who once reigned terror down upon New York wasn’t the focus now, and so you licked your lips, and kicked the nearest guard in the leg. He stumbled, the noise loud enough to draw the attention of all others, and you were pleased to stifle a laugh. Loki frowned at your behaviour, knowing that this was not the way that you were trained to be an avenger, but it was clear that you were no longer on earth, so human pleasantries did not apply here.

“And by the gods, who in the galactic council’s name do you think you are?” The closest asked, wrapping his large hand through your hair, and tugging your face up to stare up at him, wanting you to be treated as the lesser being he thought you as.

“Actually, he’s the god.” Tilting your head, you diverted it towards Loki, who squinted feebly at your answer. “But I think you already knew that, since you have him rattled in metal. Just a word of advice, rumour has it that he likes to be restrained in such ways; really, you’re doing him a favour, and you may just earn yourself a big tip.”

You sent a wink up at the commander, watching with inward joy as he grimaced at your development within your speech. “Quite a nice sight, to see him so vulnerable and at someone’s mercy, so thank you general.”

Sending him a smile, he huffed, whilst Loki tried his darnedest to contain an amused grin. It wouldn’t be the first occasion that you had made suggestions regarding the new troop of the avengers; even when he was around causing mischief, (which he still tended to do), there were always words said that gained the god’s intrigue.

Tony at the time, and to this day, despite him being a part of the heroic team, which Thor was ‘inclined’ to drag him into, thought nothing more than disgust at your meaningful jokes. In his words, ‘you two may as well screw so we don’t have to listen to anymore of this dirty banter, you in regards to reindeer games’.

How you wished right now, preached silently even, that Tony could bare to listen again, so that he could send in the team whom could deal with these aliens that were keeping your imprisoned. But all communications were cut, and that just left you and Loki.

By no means did you doubt if Loki got the chance to escape, he would leave you. It was in his nature to do so, but if you could pose a lack of threat, they may loosen up on their efficiency in guarding you. After all, Loki was the one they wanted, not you. And then, both of you could get away from this galactic nonsense.

“Humans.” The general huffed, causing you to grimace as the stench of his breath wafted through the air, and hit your nose. “You all think that you are so special, but when it comes down to it, those who are not from your planet do not care. Loki here, this god, does not care about you little one. And he never will.”

“That’s okay with me, because I don’t care about him either. It’d called self preservation.” You informed your captor, noticing Loki staring across at you with an icy gaze. Who were you kidding? Of course you cared about the god, but right now, you would do anything to get out of this predicament.

“Aw would you look at that.” The feet moved back towards the main reward of their capture, staring down at the green eyed trickster with mocking eyes. “This woman has attitude just like yours, if either of you cared, I’d call it a match made in Asgard.” A laugh bellowed from the wide chest of the being, finding his own comedy quite humorous.

“Excuse me, I’m way out of his league!” You pretended to be offended, bringing your hands that were free of restraint to your chest. They thought not to tie you down as they did to him, after all, you were nothing but a midguardian. That was their mistake. “What’d you want with old horse shagger over there anyways? Don’t be alarmed, but he actually does some kind of good now, even if it be out of his own self interest.”

A heavy sigh fell on deaf ears, as the protector of space glanced unsurely between the pair of you. “He has the tesseract, and I wish to take it from his slippery hands, he cannot be trusted with such a powerful source of energy.” His words bellowed a laugh of absolute surprise from your mouth, earning a frown from those keeping you hear, and a cock of the head from the god of mischief.

It was clear that not only was he confused by your supple, yet somewhat pleasant burst of amusement, but he was also in the dark about what in the Hela this predominant being was speaking of. Yes, he had had the tesseract at one point , however, no longer was it in his untrustworthy grasp.

Thanos had taken ownership over it, after killing many of the people that he had saved from the events of Ragnarok. It was not just some energy source, it had been an infinity stone all along, tricking the eyes of elders and the young to believe that it was nothing more than a harbouring of power. But it had indeed been the space stone, and it was taken from him, in exchange for saving Thor’s life.

The Guardians of the Galaxy had found the pair of them upon the aftermath of the wreckage, taking them in, amongst plans of taking Thanos down. It had been a failure, up until the avengers went back in time, going to their past that would not affect their future, so that they could reverse the affects the Titan had brought upon earth and everywhere else.

During that time, Loki had nurtured his brother, watching as he fell apart with the responsibility of their people, and collapsed into a spiral of depression. You had also been there for Thor, doing your best to take the drink away from the bulky god, but to no avail did you manage to succeed. And so, during those tormenting five years, you and Loki would sit side by side, both basking silently in your failures.

“I thought you guys’d know everything, but I guess that you and your highness are stuck in one time line; all of them. But for us humans and every lesser being, there are multiple, and that Loki that stole the tesseract, yet I say again, is one much different. And we are on the search for him, to stop his disruption and crossing over of the times!” An exonerated, and audible exhale of air left you after your little speech.

Loki smirked, at the premise of you protecting him with the admission of the truth. But he couldn’t help but feel a feeling of warmth flutter within his immortal insides, it was rather a nice feeling he realised. “He is quite difficult to catch, we have been tracking him since the time heist went sideways.”

“That’s because he’s you!” You pointedly exclaimed, unable to pin some of the blame upon the god himself. Sure, in recent times he had changed, and was much different from back when he wanted all mortals to kneel before him (which you’d willingly do if it ever came to that, though you’d never tell him under which circumstances that would be), but at the end of the day, that had been him once!

The tricks and the lies still remained, but he had found a reason to thrive, and a long and enduring career that he was well at tackling. Often, he made out being an avenger, despite the government’s rouse of concern, to be a bore, and that he had far better things to do. But he stayed, with a light in his eyes, and continued following along with the heroic traditions, breaking a few rules here and there.

“Dear, why do you always have to put the blame upon me? I was not the one who decided to put that green dye within your shampoo, but I’ll have to admit, did you look so enrapturing.” He was running a ploy, dragging out the time that you spent bantering in hopes of something happening.

Unlike Heimdall, he did not have foresight, but it was a requirement whilst the pair of you were on your expediting mission, that you check in with the base, via the comms that had cracked under brutal feet. And so, he spoke, with the promise that you’d return the conversation and leave all others in the room confused with your meaningless discussion.

“I did, didn’t I?” You asked, to which he hummed in reply, lightly nodding his head, as his feline eyes ran up your body, paying ample attention to how your limbs were free, unlike his own. “But I’d say fine sir, that the blame is down to Clint, and if I’m correct, may we kick his ass as soon as we get back home?”

“Of course we can my beloved-“ you froze at his choice of words, and it appears that he did too, suddenly realising his mistake. Gulping for a second he went to speak again, but the commander felt much inclined to but in, and stop the headache that was bubbling in his large head.

“Shut up; the pair of you!” His scolding made you feel as though you were in school over again, it was impossible not to drop your head down and try to contain your laughter. Loki too found such enjoyment in this predicament, sporting a cheshire grin to emit his emotions.

“I’m sorry, can you say that again? Maybe a just a tad louder?” You pinched your thumb and forefinger together to show how much, and it was clear that you were pissing this primal being off. He began towards you, and you were prepared to fight him, you were never one to back down, which was one feature upon the various reasons that Fury had initially recruited you.

Awaiting the first strike, you stood despite the others around you, your eyes wide open as you bravely stared up at your opponent. But before the fight could begin, a distant crash assumed preference in your ears, causing you to turn your head in the direction it had came from. And then, all of a sudden, a ship crashed through the dock, guns blazing from its side.

“What are you waiting for?” The distinct voice of Rocket asked, and obediently you ran through the terror, finding Loki already upon the ship, but then, he appeared behind you also. “Quill, get ready to go!”

Taking glances, you stared between the two practically identical copies, a light frown on your face. Both were restrained, yet the one that was seated beside Groot, whom was playing a game on some nineties device, was glaring up at the pair of you.

“An avenger, really?” The seated one laughed, mocking his once future self, as you felt the ship steer clear away from the scene. Your Loki quirked his brow, smirking at his self that had avoided the wars that he had chosen to fight upon earth.

“Yes, an avenger.” He responded, causing his other to languidly scoff. An ‘I am groot’ came from the tree, and it was uncertain in your spoken languages of what he had said, but either way, you were more intrigued by the conversation that was happening between the Loki’s. “And I’ll have you know, that she is infinitely more brave than you, you cower-some fool.”

“Oh, so we’re going there?” You asked, causing the pair to snap out of their mutual rivalry, and stare haphazardly at you. “No, don’t mind me, feel free to continue.”

“We’re not going to be unable to unbind your until we reach earth.” Gamora cut in, speaking to the Loki that you knew to be the original.

“That’s fine.” He nodded humbly, before casting his attention back at his alternate reflection. “And this woman, is not only an avenger. She was there for your brother when you were not.”

“Aw.” The other Loki smirked, almost cruelly. “So she’s your beloved?” He remarked rudely, and it seemed to break something within Loki, him wishing not to listen to the other version of himself. He decided he did not like him, and understand how you must have felt upon your initial meeting.

“Yes.” You went to speak, but instead, Loki stood before you, powerlessly pulling your face to his own, and colliding his lips upon yours. On impulse, you ravenously replied with much affection, clasping his jaw and allowing him entrance into your mouth. It earned a disgusted groan out of the Loki that had caused all this hassle.

“I hate to interrupt...” Rocket returned, after putting his gun down and having gone to the front of the ship with Quill, so that he could contact Stark. “But these may get those off.” He held a pair of golden pliers, that were far larger than his body. At the sight , you pulled away from Loki’s face for a moment, raising a brow.

“It’s fine, I think I want to keep them on.” You smirked, earning another sound of disapproval from Loki’s identical rival, pulling him back to your face. Wildly, he hummed into the cavern of your mouth, as the pair of you stumbled around on the spaceship.

“Bedrooms are down the hall to the right.” Nebula informed you, her voice monotone, and in turn, you dragged the god towards said direction, finally releasing all the tension that had been pent up through the years.

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