#Canto Bight Casino

[pedroam-bang]

Roberto F. Castro - Canto Bight Casino (2017)

[whxtedreams]

Familiar yet Foreign

A Din Djarin x f!reader oneshot

Summary: In the depths of Canto Bight, you find something you thought you lost; his trust.

Written for @burntheedges roll-a-trope challenge - my trope was fake dating/marriage.

Word Count: 3.7k

Tags: fake marriage, untrustworthy reader, mentions of past injury, one bed hehe, protective!din, unwanted male attention, fear of loss, handcuffs, thief!reader.

Main masterlist - series masterlist

Canto Bight, the infamous, glitzy gambling hub, was a paradox.

On one hand, it was no place for a thief like you. With security cameras, guards and wealthy patrons on high alert.

On the other hand, the place was ripe for a skilled crook like yourself. With the promise of hefty winnings on the casino floors and in private games, temptation was everywhere. The dimly lit alleys and extravagant parties provided perfect cover for those with the expertise and daring to take advantage of the high-stakes environment.

In a way, Canto Bight was both forbidden territory and an opportunity waiting to be seized.

The only problem was you had made a promise to the Mandalorian you were traveling with.

The Mandalorian, or rather, Mando, had stood in front of you where he had sat you on a crate on his ship earlier that day. His arms crossed over his chest. The glare you knew he gave you, hidden behind the helmet.

"Listen," he said, "you're going to sit here and you're going to stay out of my way. You're not going to cause any trouble, not going to bring any attention to yourself. You're going to stay right here. Got it?" His voice was cold and unwavering and his stance made it clear that the matter was non-negotiable.

You had waited ten minutes after he left before you left.

There was too much to see and steal after all.

The city was a sprawling, pulsating beast by night. The dimly lit alleyways and shadowy rooftops were your playground as you navigated discreetly through the city. You moved like a ghost, flitting from one venue to another. From the lavish cantinas to the high-rolling casinos. Your fingers were nimble and sure, plucking riches from the hands of the wealthy as easily as if they were picking ripe fruit.

You had missed this, the thrill and adrenaline of a thief's life.

Mando was like a jailer recently, keeping you caged on his ship. He had refused to let you leave for months. The reason was clear - your error. It wasn't just a simple slip-up; it had led to an injury that had stained both Mando’s and your hands with your own blood. It had caused the bounty hunter's protective instincts to kick in. He was determined to keep you under his watchful eye, his actions both a punishment and a precaution. The atmosphere on the ship had turned heavy with tension, the silence broken only by the hum of the engines and the occasional sigh or muttered curse from the stoic warrior.

He used to talk to you, used to seek out your company.

It had been months since a conversation lasted more than five seconds.

You felt so lonely.

The air of Canto Bight was like a drug, a potent mix of excitement, opulence, and thrill. It was just what you had been craving. The atmosphere was electric, the glitz and glamor everywhere you looked. The streets were filled with people eager to gamble, party, and seek out adventure. The promise of a good time and the chance to escape your mind was intoxicating and you found yourself drawn in like an Alderaan furry moth to a flame.

You were navigating the cramped, labyrinthine ventilation shafts as you tried to avoid detection of the guards. They had thrown you into the trash filled back alley as you tried to enter the high states casino. It was a risky move, but you had done it many times before.

You were skilled at getting into places you shouldn’t be in after all.

 However, this time, your luck ran out the moment you crawled out of the vent and made a turn into a narrow corridor. Unknown to you, the hallway was not empty. You turned the corner and head butted into a solid, metallic surface. As you looked up, blinking in surprise, you realized with a pang of dread that you had head butted Beskar.

Mando.

Shit.

"I can explain," you said. The words tumbled from your mouth in a rush as Mando’s gloved hand grabbed hold of your wrist.

“We can talk about that later. I need you.” He said.

You trailed behind Mando, your footsteps echoed softly in the dimly lit corridors. The music from the cantina below was a distant, booming pulse. Its sound muffled by the thick walls but still strong enough to fill the air. The occasional glimpses of flashing lights spilled out through the doors you passed and it painted the floors in a deep purple hue, providing the only source of illumination in the otherwise dark and ominous hallway. You could feel the tension in the air and the Mandalorian's steps ahead of you seemed purposeful.

Mando came to a sudden halt in front of a guard that stood in front of large golden double doors. His hand that had been grasping your wrist just moments before moved to rest on your spine. You felt a slight pressure, a silent command to stay put. You looked up at Mando, confusion and curiosity in your eyes as you tried to puzzle out his actions.

“Mywife,” Mando said.

His what?

Before you could open your mouth to voice your confusion, Mando’s hand gave a sharp tug at your shirt and pulled you against his chest. The sudden movement caught you off guard and you stumbled into him, your back now pressed firmly against the cool Beskar. The question that had been forming on your lips died on your tongue as you felt the solid presence of the warrior behind you.

The guard looked you over, his expression skeptical as he took in your bewildered face. He raised an eyebrow and directed his attention back to Mando, his tone unimpressed. "You sure about that?" he said.

“It’s new,” Mando replied.

“Very new,” you said.

Your gaze shifted from the guard's face, which was locked in an intense, one-sided staring contest with the Beskar helmet behind you. To your left, a framed sign on the wall caught your eye. It was a gaudy, overblown declaration advertising a casino room beyond was open to married couples only.

Oh.

“My wife and I would like to play Sabacc. Now.” 

The guard sighed.

“Fine, but one wrong move and I will throw you out. Mandalorian or not.” The guard grumbled as he opened the door for you to step through.

Mando steered you through the threshold of the doors and into the crowded, lively room beyond. Round tables were strategically placed throughout the space, each occupied by couples absorbed in either their game or live Fathier Racing holograms. Groups of people roamed the floor as they moved from table to table, eagerly watching the games and races unfold. Along the walls, secluded booths provided intimate spaces for groups of people, their conversations hidden behind the low, padded barriers. The air was thick with tension and excitement. The hum of chatter and the clink of credits filled your ears.

Credits to steal.

“I can feel your fingers twitching.” Mando said.

You stole a glance at Mando. His helmet faced away from you as he scanned the room. His gaze moved from table to table, taking in every detail just as you had but for an entirely different reason. His hand was still pressed firmly against your back, its weight a constant reminder of his presence. It was familiar yet foreign. You could feel the slight tension in his touch, the subtle way his fingers pressed through the fabric of your shirt. A silent signal for you to stay close.

You clenched your fists tightly, the action a meager attempt to control the tension that coursed through your body. Your fingers dug into your palms as Mando turned his helmet to look down at you. You could feel the weight of his gaze bearing down on you, even through the visor of his helmet. You took a deep, steadying breath, maintaining the neutral expression on your face despite the hammering of your heart against your ribcage.

"Are you going to behave?" The low hum of his voice behind the modulator sent a shiver down your spine as he spoke. You swallowed hard, struggling to find your voice as you nodded stiffly in response.

“Always.”

He scoffed; the sound muffled through the modulator in his helmet. His hand tightened in your shirt as he gripped the fabric firmly.

“I don’t need a repeat of last time.”

Despite the gruff and frustrated tone in his voice, there was a hint of gentleness in the way this hand smoothed the fabric of your shirt, his touch surprisingly careful. With his guidance, he led you to an empty booth at the back of the room. The dim lighting provided a secluded area away from the main gambling tables. You could sense the tension in his stance, the controlled strength and power coiled beneath his armor. As he motioned for you to sit, his presence loomed over you like a shadow.

As you settled yourself on the cold metal bench of the booth, Mando’s voice cut through the hum of the casino. "If I tell you to stay, will you?" His visor was trained on you, the purple dim lights above the booth casted shadows across his already intimidating visage.

You nodded.

He shifted his weight and rested his hands on his hips. He then cocked his head to the side, his gaze locked onto you. He exhaled, the sound a deep, mechanical huff, as if he were gathering his thoughts or summoning some inner strength.

With a swift, practiced movement, Mando unclipped a pair of cuffs and secured one around your wrist. You felt the cold metal pinch against your skin, the sound of the click as the cuff locked into place. Without a second thought, he attached the other cuff to the heavy table leg, effectively tethering you to the booth.

“You understand why I don’t trust you?”

You nodded again.

Because you do. You really do.

Once you were secured to the booth, Mando leaned in close. The cold, hard surface of his helmet mere inches from your face. In a low, firm voice, he informed you that he would return once he had acquired the information he needed or captured the bounty he was hunting. The weight of his words and the situation's gravity settled over you like a leaden blanket as he took a step back, his figure disappearing into the crowd of gamblers.

So, there you sat, bound to the booth. The minutes ticked by with agonizing slowness. You could have easily slipped free the cuffs and you knew Mando was aware of this fact as well. This waiting game was a test, a trial to see if you could be trusted again. If you had the discipline and restraint to stay put despite the temptation to flee.

You waited for him.

Around the two hour mark a burly Weequay pushed his way into the booth beside you. The weight of his body caused the metal bench to creak and groan under his weight. He settled into the space with a smirk, his eyes scanned you up and down with a leery gaze.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” you said.

"You here all alone?” The Weequay leaned back, his arm slid over the back of the booth and came to rest behind you with a casual familiarity that immediately set your nerves on edge. He chuckled softly as his eyes lingered on your bound wrist. “And handcuffed?” His other hand reached for your bound wrist.

Just as you were about to snap a retort at the Weequay, a deep shadow fell over the booth. Your eyes instinctively lifted to find the source. In front of you stood the imposing figure of the Mandalorian, every inch of his body radiated tension and anger. His hands were clenched tightly by his sides, his stance wide and aggressive, as if he was barely holding himself back.

The Weequay's face twisted into a frown as he turned around, his gaze locked onto the imposing figure behind him. The cocky expression fell from his face and he visibly tensed, his body jolted in surprise at the sight of the armored warrior. He swallowed hard; his confidence vanished like smoke in the wind.

 "If you want to leave with your hand attached," he stated, each word punctuated clearly, "I suggest you take your hand off my wife." Mando's voice was as cold and hard as the Beskar he wore, the threat in his words clear and unequivocal.

The Weequay's eyes widened in surprise at the term "my wife," and his head whipped over to look at you. He stuttered over his words, his eyes darted between you and the Mandalorian. He hastily slid out of the booth; his apologies spilled out of his mouth in a rush as he took in the sight of the furious Mandalorian towered over him. In a heartbeat, he turned on his heel and scurried away, disappearing into the crowd.

The moment he left; you could see the tension in Mando’s shoulders relax. In his hand was a drink, the condensation on the outside of the glass glinted in the casino lights. With a nod, he placed the drink on the table beside you. The liquid within beckoned to you, the cool, cold condensation a tantalizing promise of relief. You practically lunged for the drink, your parched throat relishing the cool liquid as you downed it all in one gulp.

“Your wife, huh?” You smiled as you put the empty cup on the table.

After watching you practically inhale the drink as if dying of thirst, Mando bent down as he ignored you. With a swift motion, he unlocked the cuff around your wrist and freed you from the booth. He then stood straight again; his gaze fixed on you.

“Got the information I needed. We can head back to the Crest.” He said as you rose from the booth.

Mando’s reaction was instant as you reached out and grabbed his wrist, his body jolted at the unexpected touch. He turned back to face you.

“What?”

You looked up at him, your hand still wrapped around his wrist and suggested, "What if we get a room? With an actual bed, maybe?"

He stared at you.

“I may have stolen enough credits, so I can pay for it myself?”

His visor betrayed no reaction, but his body seemed to tense beneath your hold. Then, he nodded.

Mando seemed to consider your suggestion for a moment before he spoke, his voice gruff beneath the modulator. "Fine," he said, the word coming out as a reluctant agreement. He then adjusted his grip, his fingers wrapping around your wrist instead. "But only because you didn't run off," he added as he pointed his finger at you, a note of subtle approval in his tone.

As he pivoted on his heel and began to lead you through the casino, you couldn't help but smile to yourself. There was a sense of triumph in the way he tugged you along, your hand encircled by his sturdy grip. The sound of the casino faded into the background as you followed him through the corridors and to the lobby.

The moment Mando reached the counter, he reached out and rang the bell. After a moment, the guard from earlier emerged from the back room, his expression a mix of tiredness and irritation. The guard let out a long sigh, leaning heavily on the counter as he recognized the armored figure before him.

"Two rooms," Mando said. With a flick of his hand, he tossed a small stack of credits you stole onto the counter and it clattered against the hard surface.

The guard darted from the credits to Mando’s helmet and raised his eyebrows. “Two rooms?” He asked.

Mando remained still as he stared at the guard.

 "Now, why would a husband and wife need two rooms?" he sneered, a smirk played at the corner of his mouth. The guard crossed his arms across his chest, as if challenging the Mandalorian's response. The tension in the air thickened as he stared at the guard, his grip on your wrist tightened ever so slightly.

“One. Room.” Mando said and you felt the anger radiate off him.

The guard raised an eyebrow at Mando's tone, seemingly surprised by the man's demeanor, but he quickly snatched the credits from the counter and handed Mando one room key.

With a swift, almost violent motion, Mando snatched the key and remaining credits from the counter. The guard's fingers barely moved out of the way in time.

It wasn’t until the door shut behind you with a soft click and a sense of isolation enveloped you that you noticed Mando's shoulders relax again. His rigid stance loosened as if shedding the tension that had been weighing heavily upon him. The dim lighting of the room cast dramatic shadows across his armor, but for a moment, in the quiet of the room, he looked less like an intimidating warrior and more like a man struggling to hold onto his composure.

He walked past you, his movements purposeful and measured and made his way to the chair in the corner of the room. He spoke as he sat down, the sound of the chair creaked slightly under his weight as he folded his arms. "I'll take the chair," he stated, his voice flat and matter of fact. He leaned back in the chair, the metal of his armor clinked against the wood.

You sat down on the edge of the bed closest to him, the springs of the mattress dipping slightly beneath your weight. You looked over at Mando seated in the chair he had claimed as his own. "I'm sorry," you said.

His helmet flicked up to glance at you, but other than that he didn't move.

You sighed.

“I’m sorry you can’t trust me like I want you to.”

“I did trust you.”

You looked up at him and nodded slowly.

“I trusted you to trust me and you-” he stopped himself with a deep sigh and shook his head, “Do you know I still find your blood in the Crest?”

Your eyes closed involuntarily as shameful memories flooded your mind. Flashes of his shaking hands on your bloody body in the dimly lit corner of the Crest. The memories played out in quick, vivid snapshots, like photos being shuffled in a deck of cards. The sound of his angry, raised voice echoed in your head. Its volume and intensity were a stark contrast to his usual collected and calm demeanor.  His hands tearing at your clothes to get to your injuries. His hands holding you down as you cried. Your cold body drenched in your own blood. His cries as he held you. You could almost feel the fear that oozed from him, a fear you had never seen in him before, and it terrified you more than your injury had.

“I can’t see you like that again,” he said.

You took a deep breath and opened your eyes again, the memories still lingered like ghosts in the back of your mind. Without uttering a word, you nodded in acknowledgment.

You turned away from him, your focus shifted to the bed that seemed too large and too empty for just you. The words "Sleep with me?" left your lips before you could second-guess yourself, your voice almost a whisper in the quiet room.

“What?”

“I miss you Mando. I won’t touch you, I just - miss you.”

Without a word, he stood from the chair.

Mando did not take his armor off like he used to. He did not slip under the covers, instead laid on top of the sheets. He did not hold you close to his chest like he had for countless months.

The distance was palpable; not just the space between your bodies, but also the distance between the connection you once shared.

Instead, you found yourself clutching the soft fabric of his cloak in your hands as you laid beside him. The scent of him that had once seemed soothing and comforting was muted by the metallic smell of his armor. Fatigue tugged at your eyelids, your mind teetering on the edge of sleep as you held onto his cloak. The bed seemed too large, too desolate without his embrace.

He was so close yet so far.

Familiar yet foreign.

As you were on the verge of that sweet surrender of sleep, his arm moved around your waist and pulled you gently closer to him. His touch was unexpected, his movements cautious yet deliberate. Your body slotted against his armored form, the cold touch of his armor against your skin a sharp contrast to the unexpected warmth that spread through you at the contact.

“Can I trust you? Will you trust me to keep you safe? Because I can’t see you like that again and I need to know if I can trust you to listen to me when it matters most,” he said. You could hear the strain in his usually calm and collected voice. The underlying hint of fear in his tone.

You nodded into his side, the strength of his grip on your waist a comfort. You had no intention of leaving his side again, the memories of his angry voice and shaky hands was still fresh in your mind. You wanted to stay close to him, for him to trust you in the way he once had.

He nodded as he sat up in the bed, his movements methodical and practiced. You silently watched as he began to remove his armor, each piece came off with a series of clicks and scrapes as he unclasped and untethered the Beskar from his body.

He left his armor stacked neatly on the chair; each piece placed with a level of care. Then, he returned to the bed, the mattress dipped slightly as he slid under the sheets. His body warm against yours.

You could have cried.

You did cry.

The warmth of his bare hand against your stomach as he pulled your back against his chest emanated more than just physical comfort. The solidity of his body against yours was a reminder that he was there with you. His touch was firm yet gentle, his fingers splayed over your stomach in a way that suggested he was afraid of letting go. You sank back into his embrace, the steady beat of his heart against your back a soothing lullaby you had not been able to sleep without.

You weren't alone anymore.

Notes

Did I stay on track of fake marriage? Maybe? – listen I tried. I sat down to try and write this three times and scrapped it three times before I finally stuck with this. But regardless, I had a lot of fun doing this! I haven’t necessarily written in the Star Wars universe before, only AU’s with Din so this was very intimidating. I did, however, like writing it. It was just scary because I didn’t want to describe something incorrectly or not write it correctly?  

[jedipoodoo]

I lowkey want hcs of fhe bad batch reacting to a partner whos a performer at bars, maybe like they saw her perform at the 79s? (She/her pronouns if you can!)

Ohohohohohoho I love a good singer reader.

Secret Star

Notes: No warnings, performing in front of a crowd, fancy dress up casino heist mission, bad batch x reader (mostly Echo).

"We need a diversion," Echo said, "Something to hold the crowd's attention while Hunter and I talk with the client."

You scanned over the crowd bustling about Canto Bight's most elite cantina. You and the the Batch had managed to locate the client by luring him in to a high stakes match between him and Omega (though one of Canto Bight's few rules was that only adults could participate in gambling, so Tech was the one seated at the table while Omega told him which moves to make). The problem was, you had the target's attention, but also that of everyone in the casino.

"I've got something," You whispered, throat running dry, "Just... Don't laugh."

"Laugh?" Echo asked, raising one eyebrow, "Laugh at what?"

You didn't say anything, but stood up from the bar and made your way to the stage. Even the band had stopped to watch the deal between Tech and the Target, leaving their microphones largely abandoned.

Your legs were a little unsteady until you reached the stage. Your heart was pounding in your chest, but the sight of the patrons was one that was largely familiar to you. You weren't nervous so much for the crowd, but for the management. Would you be able to sing long enough to really distract the crowd? Or would you be forced offstage before they could really do anything?

You forced yourself to belt out the first note, loud and clear. Half the casino looked up in surprise. No turning back now.

You broke out into an angry love ballad, wretched and cruel, heartfelt and poignant. Every patron in the casino had their eyes on you, drawn to your voice like a siren. The band, recognizing the song, quickly joined in on their instruments, and the music swelled through the crowd, drawing a few tears.

Echo sat at the bar, dumbfounded.

"Did you know she could do that?" Wrecker asked.

Echo nearly missed the question. He took a moment to shake his head, his fragile heart pounding in his chest.

"No, no I didn't."

Tech coughed subtly, "Not that this isn't an impressive performance, but I believe she did it to give us an opportunity?" He nodded to the target, who was eyeing you as hungrily as he had the pile of tokens on the table.

Echo caught your gaze as it swept over the spellbound crowd.

You implored him with your eyes, trying to gesture towards the target without tipping off anyone else.

Echo swallowed, his throat dry, and approached the target with Wrecker.

A few minutes later, you had performed an encore, receiving a standing ovation from the crowd, and the band begged you to join them as a permanent member. The tips had been flowing in with your house-shaking performance, and the cut they gave you was more than generous, but you had to decline.

You already had your own band.

The crowd thronged you, attempting to get an autograph and even a couple recording deals, but you politely declined each one. Eventually, you found solace in the target's isolated VIP booth, where the rest of the Batch was waiting for you. The target himself was nowhere to be seen, but Tech was intently studying something on his datapad, so you assumed they'd gotten the data you were after.

"You were amazing!" Omega squealed, throwing her arms around you, pinning your arms to your sides.

"Thanks kid," You laughed, studying the faces of everyone else in the booth.

Hunter sat back with his arms crossed, one foot propped up on the seat of his chair.

"Didn't know you had a set of pipes like that," He grinned.

You flushed and looked off to the side, "I... Used to be a singer at 79's. Kinda had to find another line of work after the war ended."

"It's good to have diverse talents," Tech said.

"It's a good thing you're a good fighter and a good singer! You shoulda sung to those Zygerrians back on Ord Mantell!" Wrecker said.

Echo was still tongue tied, staring you up and down. Much to his embarrassment, you looked back at him.

"You were, uh, really good out there," He mumbled behind his hand, trying to hide his shocked expression.

You stared down at your feet to try and hide your smile.

"Thanks, Echo."

You shook out your nerves and peered out of the booth.

"We should get going before someone calls the paparazzi."

Hunter chuckled, herding his brothers out of the booth. Thankfully, the hubbub from your earlier performance had died down, allowing all of you to make a hasty exit.

You held Omega's hand as you made your way back to the landing pad. She was asking all sorts of questions about how well you knew how to sing and if you could teach her. You looked around at your team, your band. You couldn't be more grateful to be with them.

"Hey," Echo was looking a little more confident now as he approached you on your other side.

"Hey yourself," You smiled.

Echo looked over his shoulder and off to the side, accidentally bumping into you a couple times.

"What's wrong?" you asked.

"Nothing," Echo said quickly, "Gotta make sure nothing bothers our star singer now, don't I?"

You were surprised by his comment, and strangely touched. Omega kept pulling you along, still talking a mile a minute, so you linked your arm through Echo's, pulling him with you.

"Nothing can bother me with my star ARC trooper around."

Echo stumbled a step or two, but laughed, and the stars above twinkle in delight.

[astralisbelle]

Dead Man's Hand Masterpost

Summary: Canto Bight’s primary casino is preparing to host a high-stakes sabacc game with a coveted grand prize: five ingots of pure beskar. The Mandalorian employs an orphaned gambler from Tatooine, but both of them learn quickly that there is more at stake than just a few credits and some beskar. Din Djarin x F!Reader (she/her) Rated Explicit Warnings to be added per chapter Tags: tags: engineer!reader, gambler!reader, loose canon timeline, eventual smut, fluff, action, casino aesthetics, touch starved reader, touch starved din, reader and din get on each other’s nerves, also they’re idiots, defrosting ice king din, cinderella vibes, everybody loves grogu

Archive of Our Own Mirror

Parts:

1. Peli's Apprentice

2. What's the Catch?

3. I Need You

4. Closer Than Ever

5. Shiny On The Outside

6. Lap of Luxury

7. Gotta Look the Part

8. First One Down

9. I'm Feeling Good

10. Dead Man's Hand

11. Such Pretty Eyes

12. Skin and Water (R18)

13. It's Never Enough

14. The Queen of Air and Darkness

15. It Only Makes Sense

16. Give In (R18)

Extras:

1. A Number's Game

2. Take Aim

3. Unexpected

[amywritesthings]

about you. (cassian x you)

Pairing: Cassian Andor x F!Reader

Word Count: 5.6K

Summary: You are a rebel spy working as an escort at Canto Bight's cliffside casino. When Luthen cannot meet you for an intel exchange on New Year's Eve, he sends his best asset. Never in your wildest dreams did you think that meant you'd reunite with your former childhood best friend, Cassian Andor.

Warnings: New Year's Eve, Spy Thriller, Escort Service, Romantic Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Childhood Friends, Reunions, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Mentions of Sex Work, Wall Pinning, New Year's Eve Kiss

A/N: Happy New Year, everyone! I had a fun holiday one shot idea and wanted to try my hand at writing Cassian Andor. I am wishing you all a happy & healthy new year, and I can't wait to continue writing in 2023.

( Read on AO3 )

Canto Bight is always bustling at New Year’s Eve.

It’s why Luthen Rael has shown up on your doorstep for the first time in months. In his not-so subtle way, the man requests (see: demands) that you float back to your old haunt, the one within the glittering halls of their monument cliffside casino, and do what you do you best: entertain as a partner experience escort for the rich and powerful. 

The partner experience operation has been your designation from the very beginning of this rebellious calling. Your contribution to the rebellion, as he claims, is valuable — because the whispers in the night by decorated Imperials that feel safe in your company are priceless.

Whispers bring intel, and not even gold is as priceless as Imperial intel.

Luthen claims he knew of your potential the moment he laid eyes on you in a seedy dive bar on an Outer Rim moon. The little lamb far from her home planet Ferrix, looking fearful yet enraged all the same; starved, but most importantly willing to do anything to take down the Empire one domino at a time.

It was the type of spunk the older man needed in a claustrophobic world.

So you struck a deal: under trained supervision, you would run the casino circuits and red districts — never quite getting close enough to sleeping with the enemy (who knew the Empire thrived on humiliation and edging?) but enough to drug them, learn from them, then report back to him for the next move.

Rinse and repeat for six successful years.

And right now, you were supposed to be done. Find a small shack in the middle of nowhere knowing you did your part in the small but mighty agenda. Perhaps, eventually, you would find a way to make peace with your past and your present.

Then Luthen fucking Rael shows up at the stoop of said shack only six months later with a new opportunity.

A new strategy on the chess board.

(The rebellion, as he so candidly puts it, is never final.)

“Did you hear about what’s going on with Life Day this year on Canto Bight?” Luthen grunts, opting to stand by the doorway rather than a seat at your makeshift kitchen table.

You drop down unceremoniously with your arms at your sides. You know — and you know he knows — there is a blaster taped on the belly of the steel table should this be an unpleasant visit.

“You mean the Wookie holiday?”

“Hmm,” Luthen sounds, caught between a yes and a no. “Supposed to be the Wookie holiday, but it seems the Empire has allowed the casino a profitable chance to participate until the new year.”

“I’d expect nothing less,” you muse in return, surveying him. “When you say profitable, you mean—”

“Everyone who is anyone will be visiting.” Luthen never makes any sudden movements; always trapped sounding bored with this life he leads. It’s also a tactic not to play his cards too far from his chest. “They’ll be running the gambit for paid time off.”

Smile bland, you nod once. “Which is code for… you need someone on the inside.”

“For the season,” he agrees, shifting his weight. “A gift to the faces who may have missed you.”

“Missed me?”

“I hear about the Diamond quite a lot.”

Their precious Diamond.

Maker, that nickname always made your skin crawl.

You huff, rubbing your nose with the back of your thumb. “Flattery gets you nowhere with me, Luthen, you know that.”

He takes a pause, small eyes observing everything that you do. Updating a mental database logging your quirks and your discomfort to cipher for a later date — that’s all he’s ever done, study and download people, and he’s done so without error yet.

(It’s why he’s never been caught.)

“It isn’t flattery,” he finally says. “It’s an opportunity.”

To do everything we couldn’t the first time, is what he really implies.

It’s feeding an addiction no amount of dead fascists will be able to quench.

“And how do I tell them why I want the job back after I quit?”

“Your mother was very ill. You needed to help with her expenses,” Luthen fabricates from thin air. “It was easiest to part ways without the low note on your record. But the credits have dried up, and their clientele will be thankful of the casino’s decision to allow you back on the floor.”

It’s your turn to pause — to study. He gives away nothing. You lean forward to rest your elbows on the tops of your thighs.

“You think that’ll work?”

“You’ll sell it,” is all he gives back like you’ve already said yes.

You’re supposed to be out.

(Do you want to be out?)

.

.

.

.

.

No.

No, you don’t.

.

.

.

.

.

Getting the job back at the casino as a specialized escort is easy. The difficulty lies in remembering how to fall into old, subtle habits when all you want to do is cause chaos. Staying engaged while chatting up Imperial scum as they spittle in their expensive liquors and moan about the woes of their occupations and agenda can only go on for so long.

Yet you laugh with the rest of them once they’re kissing your feet and your hands, because everyone in this rebellion has a part to play.

(Our loveliest of diamonds, back to see us once again.)

Luthen, of course, never leaves you to your own devices for long. Gifting a hefty sum of credits and a bag of dissolvable sedatives every time he passes through Canto Bight as his alter ego is about as noble as the illusive man gets.

You fill small briefcases with voice memos and holovideos of nightly conversations, drunken manifestos and slippery plans.

It works.

By some miracle, you have never been caught.

New Year’s Eve is filled to the brim with Imperial guards enjoying time off from their grueling schedules. Some of the higher commanding officers already have their arms draped over people inviting them to a great time. Others chase after the debauchery promised by scantily clad creatures inviting them into the halls and out of their money.

You? Have a booking in advance: a high-ranking officer, but not within the Inner Circle.

According to Luther, he’s a valuable asset double-crossing their superiors.

A plant.

You are to deliver the intel to him under Luthen’s command and trust.

(Ironic. You always believed Luthen trusted no one.)

At the final half hour of the year’s end, you round the corner from the main entertainment room and down the hallway towards the private event spaces. A multitude of sounds are muffled by the doors — some good, some not so. Your focus is set on the twelfth door where your officer awaits, and suddenly you feel nervous all over again.

Meeting one of Luthen’s other operatives feels all too daunting.

After a moment, you place your code into the code box by the door and wait for the durasteel to slide, revealing the plush crimson meeting space. It's staged with a convenient king-sized bed and a vanity for refreshment, inviting comfort and suggesting the obvious.

What greets you as the door opens — a silhouette at the edge of the bed, dressed in Imperial formals — is not what you envisioned.

The man’s hair is what you notice first: disheveled brown locks are combed back neatly, smoothed by gel to keep the unruliness at bay. The jacket’s shoulders are a little too pointed, as if he’s not grown into his uniform quite yet — or like he’d stolen it on his way into the venue. The lines on his faces aren’t new, but aren’t old. He’s tired — so fucking tired, but he sits taller the second the door opens.

The blank expression on his face is purposeful, almost doe-eyed, with a feigned, smug-like innocence only an Imperial officer would wear.

Then his gaze travels from your open-toed shoes, up your bodysuit dress of sequins, and locks onto your face.

Just like that, the façade is broken.

What once was blank now hardens, wholly confused, before the lines on his prominent brow smooth with recognition.

Cassian.

Of all the idiots in all the galaxy, Cassian Andor is dressed as an Imp in your meeting space on the eve of the new year.

And you thought, with this rebellion, that you’d seen everything.

While the officer in disguise is much older than what your memory recalls, you could never forget that face even if the Empire tried. The feeling of dirt under your fingernails, the scent of rubber burning, the spark of an electric charge from a stolen piece of property — it all floods back in a tidal wave, almost knocking you a step back into the hallway.

On Ferrix, Cassian Andor always ran around with different people — sometimes it was Bix when she wasn’t punished for entertaining teen scoundrels; sometimes it was other boys in scrappy brawls and mended machinery; most of the time, however, it was you.

Hand and hand, causing mayhem in the bright suns and the full moons. He'd shown you what it meant to stand up for yourself. To want what you want and not apologize for it. To be bold, even at the expense of disruption.

And then he’d pummel whatever wayward eye looked at you the wrong way.

Trouble. 

Cassian Andor was so much trouble, and you were mad for it.

Your last memory of him is as vivid as the neon lights lining the ceiling: you're both sixteen years old and shoulder-to-shoulder on an inclined metal slab, staring up at the stars. He's wearing that jacket from his father and hasn't combed his hair in days. You're lost in telling him about your dreams of a better tomorrow, of one day leaving Ferrix for good and making a difference in the vastness of the galaxy despite how small you feel. He laughs, a hum more than anything else, and takes your hand in his.

You're too afraid to squeeze back.

Having Cassian poke fun of the idea of doing much of anything in the galaxy never felt like he mocked you for wanting to try. More than anything, his laugh was one of envy: he couldn’t afford dreams, so you dreamt for the both of you. He couldn’t handle intimacy, so you were satisfied with resting your hand in his the entire night.

Nothing was said. Nothing had changed.

He gave what he could, and you understood.

Childhood friendship has a funny way of feeling that simple.

Cassian, however, never truly chose to change with you. He never truly chose anyone, not really, not when he had so much to give — to his mother, to his scrapyard confidantes, to Bix.

You fit somewhere in the chapters of his life, but Cassian Andor could never tell you which ones. He could not, and would not, promise someone tomorrow.

An unfinished book.

You never did tell him where you were going after hitching a ride on that stock transport to get the hell out of Ferrix for good. Not a single holocard or a note.

Just… gone, into the galaxy, to dream.

Now he sits in front of you at the edge of your meeting space bed, threatening to ruin your calculated cover in one-fell swoop.

Before Cassian can implode your operation, you turn on the mask: with a bright smile and squared shoulders, you gesture to the plush furniture of the room. “Is it to your liking, Mr. —?”

You trail off on your question to give him a chance to speak.

Cassian blinks a few times, only to remember himself.

“Raoul,” he blurts without dismissing his accent, eyes widening with an unspoken question: what are you doing here? “Sargeant Murl Raoul.”

Maker, you haven’t heard that voice in so long.

It’s deeper now. Rusty. Scratched.

“Sargeant,” you correct pleasantly, taking a step into the bedroom to toe the perimeter. Cassian pulls the geometric gray hat clear from his head, balling it in his fist, but you raise a palm at the hip when his mouth opens: don’t.

He listens, pressing his lips together with purpose.

“I asked if this room was to your liking," you repeat.

Cassian struggles with an answer, studying you with concern. You hate it. You hated it back on Ferrix when he tried to play protector, and a decade and a half apart doesn’t dilute the emotion.

Your brows rise, and he clears his throat. “I— yes, I am quite comfortable.”

“Good,” you conclude with a small nod. “Now before I join you and get more comfortable, do you have any questions for me?”

“More comfortable?” he asks a little too fast, so you recover with a glide of your hand along your sparkling thigh.

“Can’t do much when I’m in this old thing,” you coo, that stage performer voice now sounding so phony to your ears with a known audience. “Shouldn’t take long.”

Cassian runs the tip of his tongue along the seam off his lips, shifting his seat on the mattress. “I suppose I could ask how… uh, how long have you been doing… this?”

You don’t know if he’s asking about the escort arrangement or the Informant position, which further complicates the game. The odds of Cassian showing up on Canto Bight should be slim. Cassian wearing an Imperial outfit on his own ought to be slim to none. 

But appearing in your private meeting space, fake alias and all?

Your blood runs cold with truth between the lines.

(Luthen never does anything by accident.)

This meeting — reuniting Cassian and yourself — is his test, a judgment call, but you refuse to let Luthen win the game with this surprise hand.

“Years,” you answer honestly, to both.

You continue to face him as you skirt around the left side of the sparkling vanity, not taking any chances with your former friend. Your manicured fingers glide along the mirror’s back, searching for the planted Imperial wire.

(Not only are they cruel, but perverted in their efforts to catch spies.)

“So then you are... experienced?” The question comes out rougher than you believe he intends. Gruff, like he’s embarrassed to even ask.

(The question almost — almost — makes your face burn.)

“If you’re worried that you won’t have a good time, Sergeant, then I promise they sent you to me for a reason. I’m going to take great care of you.”

Cassian’s expression darkens at this as he rises to his feet with purpose.

You rip the microphone from the back of the mirror, holding the device between your index and middle finger for show. 

This stops him from moving ahead, eyes locked on the microphone before flickering back to you. You shake your head.

I said don’t.

He nods once, and you take the microphone between your hands. With two clicks, the wire cover pops open, displaying a multitude of tiny wires. You fidget between two, pulling, until the red eye at the center of the device dissolves into black.

The room is blanketed with silence.

Now it’s just you and a ghost here.

“We’re clear,” you tell him after another beat, dropping the seductive aloofness in your tone.

Cassian’s shoulders drop a fraction of an inch. “That was fast.”

Your brow picks up that fraction, raising high. “You have to dismantle them fast."

“Let me take a look at it,” Cassian replies, tossing the hat twisted in his hands to the mattress. "Are you certain it's off?"

“Positive,” you say, sheltering the item closer to your chest. “You don't need to look at it. Easy to disable and reassemble at a moment’s notice, so I’ll turn it back on when you depart.”

“What about lost footage?”

“Chalk it up as faulty equipment they’re too stubborn to replace in a shithole like this.”

Cassian mulls over your answer, taking a cautious few steps forward to observe the small device in your hand. “Imperial-grade wires are tough to work with. A five-second warning doesn’t give many people time to disable the alarm,” he informs in a whispered afterthought. “Where did you learn to do that?”

In your bones, you know it’s a trick question.

Fifteen-something years of reuniting in a moment like this comes with immense drawbacks. When he asks, it is not out of curiosity — it is out of the desire to see if you are truly you.

(Because he remembers your face, too.)

“On Ferrix,” you reply.

He gives no reaction, continuing to deadpan. “Where on Ferrix?”

“You want me to remember from that long ago?” you laugh, placing the microphone on the vanity’s surface and following up with a thick blue cloth to drape over top of it.

“Humor me,” he reasons, flexing his leather-clad fingers at his sides. Now that he doesn’t have a distraction, Cassian doesn’t stop looking at your face.

(The same intensity as the boy without dreams.)

“The old Slavyard. There was that one incredibly rainy month when those prim and proper freaks—”

“—installed the spyware on the back door in the middle of the night,” he interrupts, finishing the story with a misplaced awe under his breath. “You played lookout while I disabled the devices.”

You don’t answer, not really, as you offer a half-hearted smile. “Say what you want about that place, but you learn a lot of things when you watch restless boys who never know when to stop getting in trouble.”

The return smile is small and fleeting, but the corner of Cassian’s lip upticks. His brows knit together, contemplating before a huff of a laugh exits. “Not a very good lookout, then, if you were so busy watching me.”

“You never got caught, though, did you?” you joke.

You swear he almost laughs.

The silence settles at your ankles and rises with each passing second, encompassing you both in a shroud of possibilities: pleasantries are nice, but the popping of bottles and shouts of celebration passing by your room brings you both back to a reality where you’re playing pretend.

Cassian huffs once more, running a hand down his face and around his neck before dropping it in a gesture towards you. “He cannot be serious.”

He.

You catch that pronoun with intrigue and tilt your chin.

“Serious about what? Who’s ‘he’?”

His voice softens, shrinking in size, as he nears half a step closer and into your bubble. “Don’t tell me it’s you.” You maintain eye contact — maintain dominance of this situation — and stay in place. “When he said to wait…”

“...for the Informer, you didn’t think you’d run into a ghost?” you finish, and he’s polite enough not to nod. “He only told me the person he was sending in his stead was one of his best assets. This reunion isn’t my doing.”

“No,” Cassian agrees, low and certain. “It isn’t.”

Because Luthen knows.

Luthen knows, and that’s dangerous in and of itself: his little lamb on Ferrix knew his most trusted asset long before the mastermind was in the picture, and this sabotage is meant to figure you out.

(To figure you both out for his own gain: to make sure you were both up for the task, history aside.)

Your jaw clenches as you nod with assertion, mindful of the train of your body-tight dress when you shift around Cassian to create some space. He turns his torso, following.

“Did he force you to do this?” When you pause in your steps to quirk a brow, he struggles with verbalizing what this means. “Entertaining these low lives while they piss their credits away.”

“Very strong words for someone dressed as an Imp.”

He completely ignores you, hyper in his budding rage. “Because if anyone has touched you—”

“No one’s forcing me to do anything, Cass,” you reply, hateful that the former nickname leaves your lips so fluidly; as if no time has passed. “We’re all cogs working for the same machine.”

“That doesn’t mean he should be having you do this on your own,” the man argues. “He’s not even on the planet, for fuck’s sake. This is dangerous work.”

“You keep saying this or that, but you’re not really asking the real question.” Your nose scrunches, maliciously playful. “I don’t fuck them. It’s pretend, Cassian. My honor is intact.”

Cassian squints with a scoff. “That isn’t what I meant—”

“It isn’t?” you challenge.

“No,” he responds just as fast and just as intense. A smirk plays on your lips, slow and growing. “Fuck whoever you’d like to fuck. One or a dozen, I don’t care, but not them. They don’t deserve you.”

“And who does?”

“I don’t know, but not Luthen or the pieces of shit out there or anyone on this planet.”

“Not even you, right?”

He stares down at you, hard. You snort in disbelief.

“I never thought I’d see the day where Cassian Andor is jealous of a body count, but I guess stranger things have happened for both of us.”

Cassian’s jaw sets, nostrils flaring with an anger he refuses to bury completely. He searches your face, lost on a response, before sharply inhaling through his nose.

“I need information on your regulars.”

Ah.

No more games. 

You roll your eyes, absently waving him off as you turn to walk towards the crate-like nightstand. “I have the files on a drive.”

No more games, or so you thought — Cassian follows close behind. “Drives are easily corruptible or lost or stolen. You could just tell me.”

Your hand hovers on the drawer when you turn your chin to look at him. “Yeah, sure, let me just… tell you about a mission I’ve spent years finessing so you can get the details wrong when you relay with Luthen.”

“Do you think so little of my memory skills?” he says and it’s a joke, but it teeters on the edge of an argument.

Just like old times.

You don’t need this type of deja vu before the new year.

“Whisper down the lane only goes so far,” you answer, turning back to the drawer in front of you. Your hand lifts the edge of the bottom plate, removing a small box from the center of the hidden compartment.

You only pause when you feel his presence right behind you as soft puffs of air tickle the back of your exposed neck.

He says nothing, not at first, in this proximity. Then a syllable sounds:

“Why?”

The question is a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it whisper. His voice flutters along your skin, causing a shiver down your spine. Deep down you know he’s not asking about the drive or your distaste for his preferred method of relay. Why — the one word you hoped to never face.

If you concentrate hard enough, you can smell the scent of his cologne.

It smells nothing like Cassian.

You stay focused on a miniscule dot on the wall, too afraid to turn around.

“We can’t do this here,” you murmur, barely audible in return.

“I paid for the hour,” he replies. “If I were to leave ten minutes into your company, then there would be questions.”

(He’s right. As much as you hate it, your former friend is right.)

You raise your chin to the ceiling, closing your eyes. Contemplating. Seeking anything, everything, to say to avoid what’s to come.

You open your mouth to speak, but Cassian gets there first.

“I looked for you.” A vulnerable statement from an impenetrable man. His chin leans forward, the warmth of him spreading to your aura. “In dozens of quadrants—”

“Cassian.”

“—and about a hundred planets—”

“Stop.”

“—but you left nothing.” The final word emphasizes with raw emotion, causing your throat to swell. His gloved hand rests on your tricep, but you turn to finally face him. The closeness of him is a surprise — piercing brown eyes meet yours with mere centimeters between noses. “No note, no goodbye, no telling where you might have headed. Nothing.”

Frowning, you don’t realize that you’re shaking your head. The lines on his face are too distracting. He is distracting.

“You were never supposed to see me again.”

“And I never understood why.” He steps forward. You step back. When you think he won’t advance, he continues to step once, twice, until the third lands your back to the corner of the room. “So I am asking — now — while I can still have you: why?”

While I can still have you. You know the implication isn’t there, not truly, but your heart aches for it. The tension makes you feel so small, as if you’re eighteen and flying all over again.

You’re supposed to be over this; over him.

“I had to start new,” you answer after a considerable pause, forcing yourself to look him in the eye in what little space is held between you. “I was always going to leave Ferrix.”

“I knew that,” he argues softly. “I was never going to deter you from—”

“No. No, you were never going to,” you agree, nodding. “But you were always off and on the planet, doing what you had to for everyone else. If I didn’t cut Ferrix out of my life, then I wonder if I would have had the same fate as my parents or my friends: getting stuck there. And not just getting stuck, but waiting.”

“Waiting?” Cassian asks with confusion, brows knit.

You relax against the wall with a humorless laugh. “How did you not see it? The way I always waited for you.” Anxious, you turn your cheek to check the main door as you mull over your next few words. “I would have waited my whole life for you.”

The air in the room shifts.

Although he remains in your peripheral vision, the man stays staring at you without a discernible expression. The gravity of what you’re admitting drags lower, lower, until he says something that forces you to look at him head-on:

“I thought you were indifferent to me.”

Your eyes widen. “Indifferent?”

Cassian nods, short and quick. “You had all these big plans. I listened for hours. Not one of them involved me.”

“Because I didn’t think you’d want to be a part of those plans.”

“Maybe I didn’t think I couldn’t make a difference, not in a… rebellion, though the irony is not lost on me now,” he admits with a huff of a laugh, “but I wanted to be a part of you. I didn’t care what it was, so long as I still had you.”

You stare at him as he stares back at you, totally dumbfounded with this brand new information. Cassian swallows thickly, shifting his weight yet again from one leg to another. The loud party continues outside of your room, drowning these confessions in the excitement for a nearing midnight.

You had all these big plans.

Memories warp at a second’s notice as your brain tries to understand what he’s laid at your altar.

Not one of them involved me.

He shouldn’t be saying this.

He shouldn’t be saying any of this.

Closing your eyes to find a pause in your racing thoughts, you try — try to find where perhaps this is fabricated, designed to see if you’re easily swayed by the past that you so desperately let die in this rebellion.

Slowly, your eyelids flutter open. Cassian is watching with something close to concern.

(Something, maybe, closer to fear.)

You gently shake your head. “This is a test.” 

“I know.” 

“Luthen did this—” 

“Fuck Luthen,” he breathes out, eyes dropping to stare at your lips, and your heartbeat quickens. 

His brows meet in the middle, concentrated yet lost — as if he’s back on Ferrix, scrawny and scrappy and calculating the gravity of the risk should he decide to steal or trespass —

Or do something he wasn’t supposed to. 

“Cassian.” 

Your voice is gentle with a warning. His eyes do not raise, but he does answer.

“What?”

“You have that look on your face.” 

“I have a look?”

“When you’re contemplating doing something stupid? Yes.”

He snorts, amused. “You remember what that looks like after fifteen years?”

“It's very hard to forget it.” 

He mulls the moment over, flickering his attention back up to your eyes and nodding.

“You’re right. I am thinking of doing something stupid.”

“How stupid?”

“Incredibly.”

A beat passes.

Finally he blinks up to your eyes, searching for an answer to a question he hasn’t asked yet. You wait, just as you’ve always waited, to hear his voice.

“It’s almost midnight,” he says, flexing the leather gloved hand at his side. “I should go.”

Everything sinks.

The crowd outside grows louder as people depart from their private rooms to celebrate in the middle of the casino. Everyone begins the unison countdown of the final minute until the new year rings out.

The device in your hand grows heavy — a reminder of why he’s here in the first place, what Luthen will be looking for, yet your arm cannot rise to give it over.

(A few more minutes and he’ll be gone.)

To find a reason to keep him here with you would be selfish.

Instead of protesting, you nod. 

“Yeah. You should go.”

He nods, too, and his throat bobs with a swallow.

Outside your door, their laughter and shouts reach a collective ten, nine, eight, seven…

Yet he doesn’t move. 

Neither do you.

Six, five, four, three…

“Cass?”

Two.

Cassian speaks with broken finality, rushed and wanting. “I can't go without—”

You beat him to it.

Canto Bight’s cliffside casino roars with excitement of the new year while you grab the lapel of his Imperial uniform, dragging him in as he simultaneously launches his lips to yours.

The force of him smacks your head into the wall, but the stars behind your eyes aren’t from impact. It’s from the way he presses his mouth to yours, desperate to pour years of frustration and wonder into a long-awaited kiss. You whimper into it, eager to dissolve any space between you.

Cassian Andor cages your head into the palms of his gloved hands, holding you with a tenderness and strength only he can have. He groans into your mouth when he tastes you, tongue dragging along your lower lip — the neediness of it is enough to make your knees give out.

Except he drops his hands to your shoulders and spins you, pressing your chest into the wall. Using your hands to balance yourself, Cassian wastes not a second more to place his hands over yours, pinning you in place.

“We should have — opened with a fight,” he murmurs breathlessly into your ear, kissing your earlobe before bringing it into his mouth. 

You bite back a moan, dropping your forehead to the wall. “If I'd known you wanted to kiss me after all this time, Cass, then I would have — gone straight past a fight and went for it.”

He chuckles behind you, letting go of your earlobe to travel kisses down the side of your neck.

“There is a lot I wanted to do back then, but I was too chickenshit to try it.”

The imagery of a lot burns into the back of your skull.

“And now?” you ask, but it’s wavered.

Cassian slows down, but his lips remain against the crook of your neck. You mourn the loss of speed, pushing your hips back to connect with his.

A hand shoots down to still your waist as his thumb runs soothing strokes into the skintight dress.

“Not here,” he decides, but it isn’t regretful. It’s determined. “When I see you again—”

“When?” you interrupt.

“When,” he enforces, squeezing your waist, “I see you again, I’ll do what I’ve been too chickenshit to do and it won’t be under a watchful eye.”

When I see you again.

You smile small, delirious in the haze of him.

“Is that a promise?”

“As good as I can make one,” he responds in earnest, turning to leave a small kiss on your cheek. “You’re not losing me so easily this time.”

And you believe him.

Misunderstandings, miscommunications — all of that hardship to end up here, of all places.

You have so much to learn.

(He has so much to hear.)

Even if this was Luthen’s doing, even if this was a test of faith, you cannot find a reason to care. Not when your lips still tingle with the kiss you’d only dreamt about your entire life.

Reaching for his arm, you gently bring his free hand to yours and place the small drive in the middle of his palm. Cassian’s chin drops to observe the tiny metal, jaw setting to its unreadable clench.

Because at the end of the night, you both still have jobs to do.

A new year.

(A new horizon.)

“Until next time,” you say, removing your hand from his.

Cassian curls his fingers over the drive, shoving the small device in his coat pocket. He flexes and raises his hand to bring it up to your cheek, cradling your face once more as he leans in for one final kiss. This time it’s softer. Timid.

The closest Cassian Andor can ever get to a promise.

He pulls away, nose to nose, and mirrors in reply.

“Until next time.”

[drconstellation]

Brazil and The Dream of Escape

I was delighted to find in the Xtras that the machine created to be used by Furfur to use to find out how many demons Shax could requisition for storming the bookshop was inspired by the movie Brazil. This is another nod to Monty Python member Terry Gilliam, who directed this film, and who almost directed the failed GO film in the 1990's.

I love this film. Always have. Yes, I was around when it came out in 1985. I'm that old. It's always been in my top 5 favourite films. And its totally relevant to Good Omens.

Brazil can be described as a dark dystopian story based on the novel 1984. It doesn't have a happy ending, but its funny, horrific, ludicrous, romantic and timelessly beautiful all at the same time. Its so iconic that when ever I see its influence in other productions its been unmistakable.

It stars Jonathan Pryce long before he was a James Bond villain or the head Sparrow in Game of Thrones, a comedic turn from Robert de Niro and a handful of other famous faces that you are bound to recognise, such Bob Hoskins, Ian Holm and Jim Broadbent.

Pryce, as Sam Lowry, lives in a world that is strictly controlled with paperwork that comes in multiple copies, where people are routinely arrested and tortured and a long running unexplained terrorist campaign sees bombs explode in the most random of places. Sam has dreams of a beautiful woman floating in the sky, and he is a sliver-armoured winged hero trying to rescue her. He eventually finds that she is real, and finds out her name through various means via his work and contacts. He tracks her down, but that is where it all starts to unravel as she is mixed up with an unfortunate case of mistaken identity.

Its easy to see the common themes and elements that run through the film with GO: the desire to run away and escape (that doesn't work,) a totalitarian authority controlling the masses, propaganda, piles of paperwork, an undercurrent of rebellion, torture and abuse, forbidden love between classes, a villain hidden in plain sight.

There is an art deco aesthetic to the film that also carries over to other films and shows it has influenced, and the busy work floor scene that stops on a dime to watch the tv show de jour while the boss isn't looking is one of the highlights of the film.

It was a reference of this that caught my eye in the Cohen Brothers modern fairy tale The Hudsucker Proxy, where they copied the busyness of the work floor for their mail room scenes, but also the art deco aesthetic. That's another film that is always in my top five films, and could go a round of comparisons with GO - its got time stoppage, an angel appearance and a near-godlike manipulator.

It also appears, surprisingly, in Star Wars: The Last Jedi. The casino at Canto Bight is Brazil inspired, in the way its introduced to us, its decor and the music. I know some people hate this film because of what they did to Luke, but I love it, the whole thing is just utterly gorgeous to look at.

And if you've watched any of Loki recently, since S2 of that show finished not long ago, you would also seen some influence from Brazil in the retro look.

I love the classic art deco style. my grandparents had an art deco house that I spent many of my childhood hours in. The style itself is a clean, unadorned look, and often is meant to give a look of movement, speed or strength. A classic example of this is the Bentley, of course, which comes from the height of the art deco era in the 1930's.

Hell is the other place we see the Brazil influence in GO, where is looks like it's constantly several decades behind the times, with overhead projectors and manual typewriters and odd looking not-quite steampunk contraptions.

Brazil is available to stream on Disney at the moment, if you'd like to take a look. I highly recommend it, its one of those influential films that once you know it, you see its long reach in the most unexpected places.

[happy-beeeps]

Day 4: Lights

Summary: Din takes a day out of hunting to start a tradition with you and your little family.

WC: 750

Warnings: none except I blindly ignore the timeline but shhhhhhh there’s way more time between tbobf and s3 in my brain.

You’ve never been to Kashyyk before, a place filled with so much natural beauty and desperate to find peace that it’s somewhat mind boggling to imagine a quarry even deciding to come here.

Din had said this much was true, that it was this beauty and peace that led the more nonviolent quarries this way. The people who didn’t want a fight, who half hoped to blend into the trees and just spend the rest of their lives surrounded by nature. You could understand that, sure. You’d been so blissfully happy with Din and Grogu, if you were separated from them with no chance of reunion, you could imagine simply wanting to spend your remaining days in the quiet.

The thought send a pain to your heart, and you tighten your grip on his arm as the two of you trudge through the fauna, Grogu wrapped firmly against your chest.

“There’s a settlement where we can camp up here, I’ve got a contact on Tatooine who’s tribe lives this way, the quarry isn’t far, no use running after him today.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, “you’re not trying to just ‘get this over with?’” Your hands coming up to draw air quotes around the words.

He shrugs half heartedly, “you wanted a vacation.”

“I thought maybe we’d go to the casino, spend a night in Canto Bight but sure,” you send an elbow to his side teasingly, but rest your hand on his arm, “this is perfect.”

It’s nearly nightfall when you approach the village, and the lights start to flicker into view the closer you get. You’ve never seen a Wookie village before but this is remarkable. Strong, sloping wooden bridges and ramps are wrapped in vines twinkling with bright amber lights. Woven baskets and lamps hang from the branches of trees, each one filled with candles and flame and something sparkling. Even the trees themselves dance with twinkling lights.

A tall female Wookie makes her way down the ramp closest to you, breaking away from the others standing on a platform elevated nearly a dozen feet in the air. She, and the others, are dressed in long crimson robes, and you can hear the sounds of drumming, chatter, and singing from all around you.

Din moves to greet her, speaking slowly in basic and moving his hands in a similar form of signed language that you’ve seen him use with the Tusken people. “My family and I are grateful for your hospitality during the holiday. She has never celebrated Life Day before.”

The Wookie responds, and then turns to you, offering her hand. You gratefully accept it and squeeze tightly, while she speaks to Din. He slowly translates her words for you.

“My name is Krowo. I am chief here. Your partner,” Din stumbles over the translation, you can imagine a blush across his cheeks, “Is an associate of Kryssantan, we are happy to host you here during our most joyous day! Please, celebrate and enjoy all that this village has to offer.”

You smile at her, “thank you, Krowo.”

She bows her head briefly before walking back up the ramp, where you and Din follow.

It’s beautiful. You’ve never seen anything like it. All around Wookiees, and a few other rogue sentients, mill about, drinking and eating and singing and laughing. You’ve hoisted Grogu out of his wrap, placing him firmly on your hip so he can look at the sights around him. He’s fascinated by the lights, so the three of you observe the festivities from a corner alcove, a small balcony wrapped in the twinkly vines and topped with a few hanging lamps.

“This is really something Din.”

“It was your idea.”

This surprises you. “What do you mean?”

“You said something about traditions the other day, about being a family. Thought we’d get here in time for the holiday.” He moved to wrap an arm around you, and tuck a gloved finger into Grogu’s hand, outstretched to the lights. “Felt like as good a time as any to start.”

You don’t really know what to say, surrounded by this much love and family and joy. Surrounded by your own family, celebrating a holiday cemented on tradition and bonds. So all you say is “thank you,” and you mean it.

You know he can tell, and you know he knows what you really mean. He says nothing back, and you close your eyes as he presses his forehead against yours, enveloping yourself in the sensation of him, and a feeling of immeasurable love.

[lamaenthel]

Winner Takes All

[read on a03]

"It's a dangerous thing, poking your nose in other people's business." Boba sauntered forward slowly—dick first, like always—until he was only a foot away. He tilted Cal's chin up with the tip of his silver blaster. "You can get hurt asking the wrong person that kind of question, cuntling." And just like that, Cal was as hard as a karking rock. He flicked his eyes down with a smirk; so was Boba, he'd bet his saberstaff on it. He licked his dry lips. "Are you gonna hurt me?" Boba chuckled, dark and wicked. "Would you like me to?"

When Cal offers to help out an old friend of Greez get her ship back in a high stakes sabacc game, the last person he expected to show up joins the game and raises the stakes.

Pairing: Boba Fett/Cal Kestis

Wordcount: 10,093

Rating: Explicit, Minors DNI

Warnings: Public Sex, Harassment, Discussion of sex as payment, humiliation/degradation (consensual) (it's their thing)

The glittering facade of the capital city of Cantonica was like a membrane barely holding back a tidal wave of shit; Cal couldn't even take his gloves off, every surface of the gambler's haven stained with a psychometric echo of someone losing their life savings, the deed to their home, their last chance at buying their child from the bonds of slavery. And to think, all he could ever think about as a kid was how cool it would be to see the racing fathiers of Canto Bight up close.

"You are sure I don't look ridiculous?" The florescent lights of the elevator made the light green tint of Merrin's cheeks look striking as she smoothed the front of her new black dress down with a nervous hand. It was short and silky and clung to every curve, one silver shoulder left bare. Her golden talisman was striking and looked like an expensive statement piece rather than a handcrafted artifact of a Dathomiri Nightsister. She had her silver hair hanging loose around her face; it made her look younger.

"You look beautiful," Cal assured her, and he meant it. Besides the clothing, she was practically glowing. He could tell she was genuinely having fun; the last thing he'd expected was for a Nightsister to get excited about playing dress-up at a high-end hotel casino, but she never failed to surprise him. "If anyone looks ridiculous, it's me in this thing." He tugged at the lapels of his Chandrilan kimono. It was the cheapest thing that met the dress code for the casino floor that the hotel had available for purchase. He'd slicked his hair back—it was in the most annoying stage of growing out and poofed out stupidly from the sides of his head in the seaside air, giving him no other option—and combined with the scar across his nose and his stubble, he looked more like a chauffeur who drove a luxury speeder for an employer that didn't ask too many questions than a high roller. He already missed the weight of BD on his shoulder, but there was an ironclad rule about droids on the casino floor.

Merrin smiled and tugged at her short hem again. "At least your clothing fits you," she said teasingly.

"You were the one who picked it out," Cal reminded her. 

Merrin sniffed. "It did look bigger on the hanger."

Cal gave her an appreciative once-over out of the corner of his eye. The dress did some sort of complicated fold-pleat thing in the middle that made her waist look tiny. "Well, in my opinion, I think it's exactly the right size." 

Her cheeks went almost jade. "I think you look nice, too," she mumbled. 

The elevator door opened and they both were hit by a gravity wave of overstimulation; the casino floor was louder than a skonk concert with its ocean of slot machines bellowing, spinning and sporadically ringing with paltry winnings. T'bac smoke hovered thick over the top of the machines, hanging like an eerie cloud over the neon lights. Beautiful, jewel-toned servers in skimpy, sequined dresses that barely covered their bottoms and dangerously high heels darted around the giant room holding trays of colorful drinks on their shoulders, following paths between the slots like fish being dragged along an ocean current. Cal led Merrin down a short flight of stairs and onto the obnoxiously patterned carpet, holding onto her arm tightly so she didn't fall in her high heels. "Greez said to meet his contact at the bar," he said loudly in her ear.

Merrin shrank into Cal's side, avoiding a procession of Chagrians waddling past and taking up almost all of the walking space. He could tell by the way her mouth pinched at their rudeness that she was debating whether or not to just rematerialize on the other side of the room. He squeezed her bicep and shook his head. "I was only thinking it," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Yeah, well, the only thing that Canto Bight has more of than money and idiots with too much of it are guns for hire, so don't get too fancy in plain sight." Cal spotted their contact—a dark-skinned woman in a turquoise dress, with a set of thick locs twisted into a bun above her head and golden hoop earrings dangling all the way to her shoulders—sitting on a stool at the end of the onyx bar, nursing a pink cocktail. He made a beeline for her through the machines, never letting go of Merrin's hand. He tapped the woman on the shoulder. "Phee Genoa?" he asked loudly over the racket.

The woman nodded with a grin and put her cocktail down. She held out a hand for him to shake. "You must be Greez's friend," she said pleasantly, giving him a friendly once-over. "Nice outfit."

"Thanks." Cal got the sudden feeling as though he was being watched; he turned and scanned the room. It's not him. Stop expecting it to be him.

"What's the matter?" Merrin squinted, trying to see what was bothering him.

"Nothing." Cal turned back to Phee. "So, how did a pirate get ahold of—"

"Let me stop you right there, Red." Phee held up a dark finger adorned with a sapphire atop a shining gold band. "I'm no pirate. I work in salvage."

"Fine. Salvage." Cal rolled his eyes. "Where are you docked?"

"Straight to the point, hmm?" Phee threw back the last of her cocktail, patted the stool beside her. "Sit. Have a drink with me. We have a few things to discuss first."

Cal and Merrin exchanged wary looks, then took a seat on either side of her wordlessly. Phee cackled and motioned for the droid barkeep to wheel over. She flashed her bright white teeth at them. "I'm in a generous mood. I'll buy."

Merrin eyed the empty cocktail. "I will have that," she said, nodding at it.

"A Corellian Sunrise. Excellent choice." Phee turned to Cal. "How about you, Red?"

It probably wasn't a good idea for him to drink when he needed to keep his wits about him, but he rarely was in a place with access to good alcohol; not to mention his sudden craving for something in particular for a reason that made his chest go tight if he thought about it too hard. The feeling of being watched intensified. "Tihaar," he said finally.

"Interesting." Phee slid the credits over to the bartender then swirled her new pink drink. "So. About the… cargo." 

Greez had said that she had a cargo bay full of holocrons that she had pulled off a derelict liner floating near Ossus. "Go on," Cal said, arching a brow.

"I'd like to begin by pointing out that the events that have transpired here are not technically my fault," Phee said.

"You gambled your ship away, didn't you?" Merrin asked bluntly.

"No!" Phee looked offended. "There was a misunderstanding when it came to my docking fee."

"You didn't pay your docking fee?" Cal asked.

"I was sixty seconds late in paying my docking fee. That didn't stop them from impounding the damn thing and demanding ten grand to let it out." Phee scowled at her drink. "And it's building interest. Every day it's in impound, it's another five grand."

"So how much to get it released?"

"We're up to forty thousand." Phee ignored their gasps and took a drink. "That's not actually the worst part."

Cal's heart sank. "Please tell me you didn't try to win the money to get it back," he said a little desperately.

Phee bared her teeth in more of a grimace than a grin. "Well, since you already know everything, I guess I don't have to say it."

"Kriff." Cal threw back his tihaar. Warmth bloomed in his belly and spread out through his body. "How deep in the hole are you?"

"Well, if I don't pay the gentleman back his five hundred thousand by the end of the night—"

Merrin choked on her drink. "Five hundred thousand?" she squeaked.

"Listen, kids, if you want that cargo you've got to give me a hand here. Five hundred thousand gets my ship out of impound, back in my name, and Eyo Kekura's boys off my back."

"Eyo Kekura?"

"Pantoran fellow, a high roller who lives in the penthouse of the Hexavent Hotel. Owns half of a fathier stable. Fancies himself quite the professional sabacc player." Phee rolled her eyes. "He's not in the business of forgiving debts, so if I want to make it to tomorrow, I need you to help win me that five hundred 'kay."

Cal narrowed his eyes. "What exactly did Greez tell you about me?" he asked sharply. "You seem a little too sure that I can win."

Phee's hand shot out unexpectedly and clamped onto his outer thigh with a vice grip, right over where he had his saberstaff strapped. "He didn't tell me much," she said with a smirk. "But I'm a very observant person. It's saved my skin more than once." Phee let go of his thigh, laughing.

Cal felt the air go staticky, like lightning was about to strike, then the feeling disappeared almost as soon as it began. He shook it away.

"Don't worry, kid, your secret's safe with me. I happen to be… sympathetic to your cause." She grinned again, but Cal saw the sadness underneath. "You can trust me. I've got a whole ship full of goodies for you, remember?"

And they would be all his for the cool price of half a million credits. 

Cal signaled the droid for another shot of tihaar. "So what did you have in mind?" He eyed the ocean of slot machines over his shoulder. With a little luck—and the Force guiding him to the machines closest to a big payout—he could swing it. They'd be the least suspicious method of gambling, given that their fully autonomous nature made it difficult for any pit boss to argue he'd cheated. There was a treasure chest like out of an old crèchetale overflowing with golden credit bars on the far side of the room, perched on an alcove above the cashier's cage.

"Top prize for slots is a million, but don't get your hopes up." Phee snorted. "Slots are for idiots on vacation, not big spenders. These machines are programmed to never pay out more than ten grand without managerial approval."

"That seems unfair," Merrin said, wrinkling her nose.

"This is Canto Bight, sweetcheeks. No such thing as fair play." Phee's smile was starting to look forced. "I should have known better."

"You said Kekura fancies himself a professional sabacc player," Cal said, trying to remember the rules. Commander Ferrik had favored Corellian Spike and taught him the game in their off hours on the condition that he not use the Force to sense where the good cards were. "I haven't played sabacc in years. Not since Bracca, at least."

Cal caught Merrin for the fifth time. The carpet on the stairs leading up to the VIP section seemed bound and determined to murder her by catching her high heels. "Thank you," Merrin said again, her cheeks warm and dark green with a blush.

"Well, if you want that cargo, start remembering." Phee's smile thinned to a pinched line. "No pressure, but my life kind of depends on it."

"Walk on your tiptoes," Phee advised her. She led them down a narrow walkway to a small vestibule with a frosted glass door guarded by two Pantoran men that stood a whole head-and-shoulders above him. "I'm here to finish my game with Mr. Kekura," she informed them.

"And who are they?" The guard on the right asked in a deep, accented voice.

"My proxy. This is my friend Cal and his girlfriend Merrin. He's agreed to play for me." Phee flashed her brightest smile. The guards rolled their eyes but let them pass. Inside the VIP room it was dark and loud, lit primarily by a laser show that flashed above the dance floor, dozens of shadowy figures writhing to a bass-heavy beat. In the center of the crowd was a raised dais where a naked blue Twi-lek swung around a pole. The bar lined the length of the opposite wall, vibrant-skinned servers in black sparkly dresses hurrying back and forth behind it. Phee led them around the dance floor and to a small room in the back that was kept private by a beaded curtain. 

She pushed it aside to reveal a large, circular table with a cutout in the center to accommodate the dealer-droid. A Pantoran man with light-blue skin, a long, silky pink braid, and a white suit that exposed his chest sat at the furthest side, flanked by an obese Togruta man and an elderly green Twi'lek woman whose bust was so large that she was using the table to support it. "Phee," the Pantoran man said, his face going sharp with a predator's grin. "You've returned with my money?"

"I've returned with a friend." Phee elbowed Cal. "This is my old buddy, Cal. He's agreed to play in my stead. Cal, this is Eyo Kekura, the owner of this fine establishment."

"Interesting." Kekura leaned forward, steepling long blue fingers. Cal didn't like the eerie way the Force rippled around him.

"He's continuing my pot," Phee said quickly. "So he doesn't need a buy-in."

"You're half a million down, Phee," Kekura said, clearly trying not to laugh.

"Yep." Phee took a seat on the small, plush sofa on the left side of the round room, dragging Merrin with her. 

"Your name is Cal?" Kekura's yellow eyes dragged up and down Cal's body like a pair of banana slugs. 

Cal felt dirty just being in the man's presence; just what had possessed Phee to get involved with a man like this in the first place? "That's me," he said, taking a random seat. A green Mirialan server in sparkling black fishnets and nothing else put a crystal glass in front of him. "Just water, please," Cal said quickly, covering the glass before she could fill it with amber liquor. The Mirialan nodded and darted away like a colorful fish.

"You understand just what kind of mess you're stepping into, don't you?" Kekura looked like he wanted to eat him. Lust pulsed around him in the Force, causing it to slide around him like slick, hot slime.

Cal fought the urge to put a hand on his saberstaff and nodded tightly. "I do."

"Very well. You have" —Kekura checked his gem-encrusted chronometer— "approximately two hours to win Miss Genoa's debt back for her. You believe you can do that?"

The Mirialan server darted back and filled Cal's glass with ice-cold sparkling water. "I can," Cal said with a confidence he didn't feel.

The elderly Twi'lek scoffed. "It isn't fair. Why is she—"

"This is my house. I make the rules." Kekura's eyes hardened. "Do you have a problem with that?"

"No, Mr. Kekura," she whispered, chastened. 

"Good. Then, Cal, welcome to the party. Go ahead and deal us—" The sounds of a panicking crowd—screaming and shouting and stampeding feet—echoed in the room beyond the curtain, followed by two very recognizable blaster bolts. Cal's heart skipped a beat. "Guards," Kekura said sharply, his hand dipping below the table and coming up with a dual-triggered blaster pistol. 

"Were you expecting company?" Cal asked. He shoved back from the table and held a hand out to Merrin, yanking her protectively to his side.

Kekura's blue lip curled up in a snarl. "No." 

The curtain was dragged open, revealing the downed body of one of Kekura's guards just beyond it. Boba Fett stepped over the corpse, casually entering the room with his WESTAR still smoking in his right hand. "Kekura," he said calmly. "Been a while." He didn't look at Cal.

"Boba Fett," Kekura replied, keeping his voice even. Cal ignored Merrin's sharp inhale. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" Neither man holstered their blaster.

"Are you afraid it's your face on this puck?" Boba withdrew a bounty puck from his thigh plate and activated the hologram. Kekura sagged with relief. "Phee Genoa, you're coming with me."

The blood drained out of Phee's dark face, leaving her ashen. "What?" she asked, her voice jumping three octaves.

"What for?" Cal blurted out. 

Boba's head tilted. Cal felt like he was being hunted by a tarentarek. "And what's it to you, stranger?" Boba asked, stepping forward.

Stranger? Cal just knew Boba was smirking under his helmet. He wanted nothing more than to rip it off his stupid head and kiss him, demand to know what he was doing here, ask why the kriff he hadn't heard from him in half a year. "I'm a friend of Phee's, and I'm curious. So what's it for?" 

"It's a dangerous thing, poking your nose in other people's business." Boba sauntered forward slowly—dick first, like always—until he was only a foot away. He tilted Cal's chin up with the tip of his silver blaster. "You can get hurt asking the wrong person that kind of question, cuntling."

And just like that, Cal was as hard as a karking rock. He flicked his eyes down with a smirk; so was Boba, he'd bet his saberstaff on it. He licked his dry lips. "Are you gonna hurt me?"

Boba chuckled, dark and wicked. "Would you like me to?" Oh, but the things that chuckle promised. Cal could almost see the vulgar thoughts flying through Boba's imagination; Cal on his knees with his lips wrapped around Boba's cock, tears streaming from his big green eyes as he forces it deeper down his throat, fumbling to get his hand under his kimono to touch himself—

Kekura cleared his throat irritably behind the two, reminding them that they weren't alone. "Unfortunately…" he put a long-fingered blue hand on Cal's shoulder and moved him aside. "Sorry, Boba, but Miss Genoa owes me quite a few credits. Almost definitely more than whatever her bounty is worth."

"Not my problem." Boba turned his blaster onto the Pantoran, triggering the guards to draw on him. He moved his head a fraction to the side; Cal knew he had everyone in the room counted and clocked, his HUD granting him a full three-sixty view of his surroundings. "Tell you what." To Cal's shock, he holstered his weapon, pulled off his helmet, and flashed Kekura a grin. His hair was getting long again. Cal wanted to run his fingers through it. "I'll play you for her."

Kekura laughed. "I like it. Name your terms." 

"One round of Corellian Spike. Winner takes all." Boba eyed the table, flush with at least a million in chips. "All." 

Kekura raised a manicured brow. "That was the plan. What exactly do I benefit from this arrangement?" 

Boba grinned. "I tell you which one of your rivals has been poisoning all your studs to kill their sperm count. Didn't you wonder why only two of your girls are in foal when you bred nine?"

A muscle in Kekura's perfectly straight jaw twitched. "You have a deal," he said without any further argument, shaking Boba's hand. The guards slowly put their blasters away and stood against the wall in stony silence.

"Now see here," the portly Togruta began, pushing back from the table with a scowl. "I haven't played for the last hour just to—"

Boba had his WESTAR drawn and aimed before Cal could even blink. "No one asked you, puss," he said mildly. "Take your winnings and leave." He waved his blaster at the Twi'lek. "You too, doll." 

Kekura bristled. "They're down."

"Watch your tone, shabuir, or I might forget how to be civilized." Boba bared his teeth in a grin and shit he was hot like this, sweaty and smelling like salt and blaster oil and t'bac and pink-cheeked from being under his helmet— damn it, Cal's dick was starting to hurt. He took a deep breath in and out, easing the blood away from his swollen member in a light meditative trance. He hoped that Master Jaro wouldn't judge him too harshly for reapplying his lesson for soothing injured muscles to this situation. "Put the chips back and don't leave town," Boba amended to the two players. "Better?"

"Much, thank you," Kekura said primly. He fixed the two with a glare. "Don't think your debts are forgiven. The two of you have earned a rare reprieve tonight. Return tomorrow. Leave, and I'll hire this man here to hunt you down. Trust me when I say that once Boba Fett has your scent, there is nowhere you'll be able to hide."

Unless he's got your frequency and just doesn't care about using it. Cal was trying not to be bitter. He was losing that fight to the alcohol.

The two players faces' crumbled as they started putting chips back, then they pushed their way past Cal and disappeared beyond the curtain.

"Now, where were we?" Boba plopped into Cal's vacated chair like it was the end of a long day of work. He snapped his fingers at the Mirialan server. "Tihaar, love. Neat." 

Cal pulled the chair out next to him. "Deal me in."

"I don't recall inviting you," Boba said mildly. He planted a kiss on the cheek of the server as she put his glass of tihaar down. Cal clamped his mouth shut before he said something stupid, like are you kriffing kidding me? or why haven't you tried to call me for the better half of a year? or maybe even shoot this bastard already and kiss me, you stupid ass. Cal wanted to smack him, grab a fistful of his soft curls and wrench his neck back while he bit down on his pulse and watch the bounty hunter come apart in his arms.

The Force moved thick around Boba, slow and pulsing with reciprocated desire. "Kekura, what do you think?" he drawled.

"I think we should hear what his terms are." Kekura folded his long, spidery fingers below his chin and regarded Cal curiously. 

"If I win, Phee gets her bounty cleared, her debt forgiven, and her ship out of impound." Cal didn't jump when Boba's warm hand found his thigh under the table. He was actually a little surprised it had taken him that long to start feeling him up. He spread his legs in a shameless invitation. 

"And if you lose?" Kekura asked, tilting his head. He reminded Cal of a nexu with his wide mouth and narrow, predator's eyes.

"Yes—Cal, was it? What's in it for us?" Boba rubbed a warm circle on his thigh, trailing upward. 

Cal eyed Boba's crystal glass of tihaar—in for a credit—he stole the glass and tossed it back in a single swallow. "Well, Mr. Kekura, I saw the way you looked at me when I walked in. I'm sure we can work something out." He slammed the empty glass down and winked at his suddenly stone-faced lover. Cal would cut his dick off before letting it anywhere near Kekura, of course, but if Boba couldn't be bothered to even message him...

"Interesting." Kekura leaned forward, grinning lecherously. "You're easy on the eyes, Cal, there's no doubt about that, but I'm not sure that a night with you is worth five hundred grand." 

Cal sensed that Boba didn't like where the conversation was going. His theory was confirmed a second later when a wide hand grabbed his balls through his robe and squeezed. "Whore," Boba said with a dark, humorless laugh that didn't reach his eyes. 

"Cal, a word?" Merrin dragged his chair back and wrenched him out of it, dragging him towards the curtain. "Have you lost your mind completely?" she hissed.

"I knew he was going to say no," Cal whispered, rubbing his arm with a wince. 

"You can't just—just offer yourself like that!" Merrin whispered back furiously. "What has gotten into you? You—"

Cal wrenched her close and put his lips directly against her ear, hyper aware of the eyes on them. "Trust me," he murmured, mouthing the words almost more than speaking them. "I've got a plan." And he did, kind of, even though it was still more of a wispy idea that was still coalescing. He reached through the slit in his pocket, popped open the upper emitter chamber on his saberstaff, and withdrew the kyber crystal. 

"I do trust you. I do not trust him." Merrin eyed the table with a sour look.

Cal had a feeling she wasn't just talking about Kekura. "I've got it under control. Just stay ready."

Merrin nodded, unhappy but temporarily placated. She allowed Cal to lead her back to the sofa and Phee, but she didn't take her eyes away from Boba after Cal rejoined the table.

"Your lady doesn't agree with your method of payment, I assume?" Kekura asked, swirling his vibrant blue drink with a smug expression. 

"No. But it's not her call." Cal ignored the daggers he felt Merrin staring into his back. "I do have an alternative you may be interested in." He put his kyber on the table.

Boba went deadly still; Kekura leaned forward, eyes wide. "Now where did you get that?" he asked, staring hungrily at the green crystal.

"Found a derelict full of dead Padawans floating around an iceball a few years back." Cal forced his voice to stay even. Even alluding to the Purge still felt like scratching an infected wound with salted, jagged fingernails sometimes, and he'd had too much liquor to stay completely unemotional. "Pure kyber this size is worth around a million."

Kekura laughed. "Half that at best, my friend."

"Maybe that was true when the Jedi were still around, but now the Empire has a monopoly on kyber." Cal forced a grin. "And I've got more. I've already got a buyer, but I'm willing to take a better offer."

"Really?" Kekura's mind was racing, Cal could sense it. "You have them with you?"

"No. They're in a safe place."

"Hmm." Kekura pursed his wide mouth. "I don't suppose that has anything to do with why you're so eager to help Miss Genoa get her ship back?"

Cal threw his head back and laughed. "You think I'd trust her to hold onto my kyber when she can't even hold onto her own ship?" he asked, wheezing. He sensed Phee scowling at his back. "Hell no. I happen to owe her a favor, that's all."

"Must be a big favor if you're willing to risk a kyber crystal," Boba said flatly. 

"It is."  

"Very well. I agree." Kekura toasted him. "Boba?" 

"I'm more interested in your initial offer," Boba said roughly. Under the table, he shamelessly slipped his hand between Cal's thighs and thumbed the tip of his quickly-hardening length. "I win, and I fuck you through this table. Those are my terms."

Cal was starting to sweat. "The table?" he teased, and if he sounded a little breathless than normal then who could blame him? "Can't even be bothered to rent us a room?" 

"I prefer to collect my payment immediately." Boba stroked him through the fabric then started feeling for the opening of his robes.

Cal wrenched Boba's talented hand away from his crotch. The ass was half a second away from actually jerking him off, and if he didn't stop him now then he wouldn't have the willpower to.

"I'd like to amend my terms to watching him fuck you through the table if either of us win," Kekura said flippantly, swirling his drink.

"I've no objections," Boba said, leering at Cal. "I imagine that a whore like you would enjoy that." Boba's imagination was going wild and he made no attempt to shield his thoughts, Cal face down on the sabacc table with his robes pulled up above his bare ass, Boba's cock pounding him into the table until he's screaming with ecstasy, Kekura sitting and watching and unable to touch, he'll never touch, fucking cunt thought he could take what's mine, he's mine he's shabla mine kaysh'ner, gar ne'ente chaku ner jetii—

Cal didn't recognize the words but the meaning was clear enough. Boba was a hothead. He wasn't showing it in front of Kekura, but Cal's cheeky offer had him pissed. He had only wanted to mess with him a little bit by offering to sleep with Kekura, but he had forgotten just how bad of a temper Boba had. 

Stang, but he'd missed him. Cal cleared his throat and raised his water in a toast. "Deal."

"What the hell kind of kinky shit is going on here?" Phee whispered behind them.

"What are you waiting for?" Kekura waved his hand at the droid. "Deal us in."

Cal refused to look at Boba, and in return he was being ignored; under the table, Boba found his cockhead and pinched it like the mean little shithead that he was. Boba had the unfair disadvantage of a codpiece, so instead of feeling up the bounty hunter Cal projected the mental image of him riding Boba like a rancor in the middle of the table while everyone watched silently. He could have sworn he heard a little ting! come from inside Boba's beskar ball-bubble.

The droid finished his elaborate shuffling routine and flipped them each two cards. Cal wrenched himself away from the fantasy and tipped them up; one green three-of-spheres, one red three-of-pyramids. Green was positive and red was negative, and the goal of Corellian Spike was to end the round with a score as close to zero as possible. It was a great start, one of those hands that Ferrik would have called beginner's luck no matter how many times Cal had played.

"Since this is a winner-takes-all round, I think we can skip the betting phase," Kekura said airily. "Deal the spike." 

Cal didn't jump at the return of Boba's hand between his legs. Instead, he clamped his knees shut and pinned his questing fingers in place. His spike card landed face-down in front of him. He peeked at it; perfect. It was a sylop, a zero-point card, only two of which existed in the deck. In case of a tie, whoever had the lowest, positive-value spike card would win. The dealer-droid rolled the pair of six-sided spikedice; rolling double spikes would mean that the players would have to discard all their cards and start anew. Cal made sure that didn't happen. 

"Draw," he said once the dice had come to a stop on a two and five, squeezing Boba's hand between his knees until his felt the knuckles pop. He accepted the green one-of-cubes and added it to his cards, already plotting out his next two rounds. Switch out his green three-of-spheres in favor of the sylop on the next round—Boba's hand squeezing his throat in just the right spot to cut off circulation to his brain—swap it with the one-of-cubes on the final round to reunite his pair of threes—gagging on the rock-hard length shoved all the way down his throat—combine the pair with the sylop, which gave him a sabacc—Boba chanting his name as he fucks him so hard from behind that the table starts to crack—and boom, victory.

"Draw," Boba said—Spit trails streaming from the corners of his lips—as he picked up his card with his left hand—Boba watching the bulge his cock makes as it thrusts down Cal's whore throat—if he had even registered what his card was then it was far from his mind, too focused on the incredibly detailed fantasy playing in his mind—his stupid girlfriend watching him use Cal's mouth like his own personal fucktoy—

Cal almost choked on his water. Boba was jealous of Merrin? He and Merrin were… Well they were close, obviously, and while Cal couldn't lie and say that their relationship was strictly platonic, they certainly weren't doing anything to warrant that level of burning jealousy. They hadn't even kissed.

"Draw." Kekura accepted his card with a simpering smile and snapped his fingers at the Mirialan girl. "Not like you to walk away from a million for a piece of ass, Fett." He accepted the lit cigarra and blew smoke across the table, right into Boba's face.

Boba smirked through the smoke. If it bothered him, Cal couldn't tell. "I prefer to not deal in jetii osik if I don't have to. Bastards are more trouble than they're worth." Boba squeezed Cal's nuts until he unclamped his knees. 

The dealer-droid rolled again. "Swap," Cal said—Boba moaning his name in his ear—and switched his sylop spike with the three-of-spheres.

"Not even for a million?" Kekura's mood had shifted. Cal sensed suspicion growing in him and cursed inwardly. Was he really about to blow his shot at getting Phee's ship back—Boba blowing his back out as he pulls him up on his knees—because his stupid, horny not-boyfriend showed up unexpectedly and Cal couldn't help but taunt him? 

"I'm a bounty hunter. I prefer to deal in bodies, not antiquities. Draw." Boba accepted the new card and shook his near-empty glass. 

"Mmhm. Swap." Kekura's lip curled.

The dealer-droid rolled his dice. Cal nudged the second die just enough to ensure it didn't land on a spike. "Swap," he said quickly, reclaiming his three-of-spheres. He relaxed his tense shoulders and schooled his face into a calm, bored expression. He had the winning hand, and he didn't even need to cheat and sense Kekura's cards to do it.

"Draw." Boba was horny, not stupid. He'd recognized his misstep and now he was recalculating. Cal felt the desire that pulsed around Boba in the Force go still and turn thin as he shifted back into business mode. 

"Draw." Kekura accepted his last card and smirked. "Why don't we make this a little more interesting?"

"It's plenty interesting already," Cal said quickly. His anxiety was growing by the second. He missed the comforting weight of BD on his shoulder. 

"Just you and I, Fett." Kekura licked his lips. "Fold, and I will let you take Miss Genoa without further argument. My only stipulation is that you perform a job for me first."

Boba raised an eyebrow. "I've a solid hand," he said lightly.

"So you say." Kekura tapped on his unrevealed cards, his grin getting toothier by the minute. "I simply wish to propose a way for both of us to win."

"Is your hand that bad?" Boba asked, his smile not reaching his eyes.

"Aren't you going to ask me what the job is?" Kekura tilted his head.

Boba's eyes flicked to Cal then faced forward again. "Hypothetically."

"Hypothetically, if you were to retrieve the kyber crystal collection of sweet Cal here for me and kill him, I will broker them and split the profits with you fifty-fifty. No worrying about jetii osik, as you said, as I do all of the paperwork."

"How dare you!" Merrin snarled, lunging for Kekura. Cal stood and caught her before she made it across the table and caught a bolt to the face. His guards stepped forward with their blasters drawn and pressed them against their heads.

"Wait just a minute," Cal protested, keeping Merrin contained in a wampa hug. "What kind of game is this? Do you normally take a hit out on players you think you might lose to?"

"Only when I have a monumentally shit hand." Kekura's guards pushed Cal and Merrin apart. One shoved him into his chair, and the other held his blaster to Merrin's head until she sat down beside Phee. She bared her teeth at him and hissed; Cal suddenly remembered that Zabraks were carnivores.

"So why should I accept your offer when I've already won?" Boba asked calmly over the chaos.

Kekura shrugged. "Cards haven't been revealed yet. Maybe he wins. Still up to you."

Boba sipped his tihaar—Cal couldn't help but wonder if he was actually considering it—but then made a face and shook his head. "Seems a bit unsportsmanlike, doesn't it?" Boba finally replied. 

Kekura's eyes sharpened. "Mmhmm."

"I don't like your tone, Kekura." Boba's voice took on a deathly chill. "Say what you want to say."

"I find it curious that you have turned down two separate opportunities to earn millions of credits, bounty hunter."

Boba's presence in the Force tightened like a coil about to snap, and Cal's stomach clenched with a cold knot of fear. He eyed his kyber crystal sitting vulnerable on the table and wondered if he'd be able to put it back in before the blaster bolts began to fly.

Boba broke the tension with a barking laugh. "And I find it curious that you never thought to ask if I had more than one bounty puck with me tonight." Boba squeezed his left fist twice. A small compartment on his wrist slid open, and from it sprang a half-dozen tiny, whistling projectiles that buried themselves into the heads of Kekura and his guards before they could so much as cry out. Six men fell to the obnoxiously-patterned carpet, instantly dead.

"What the fu—" Phee went silent with Boba's WESTAR pressed to her forehead. "H-Hey now, I—"

"Calm down. You're wanted alive, there's no payment if you're dead." Boba holstered his weapon and finished off his tihaar with a chuckle.

Cal shook his head and reached for a napkin to wipe the blood spatter out of his eyes. "What the hell did you just do?" he asked, shocked.

"I shot them. Wasn't that obvious?" Boba looked at him patronizingly. "I swear to the fucking Manda, you're a moron. I tell you to stop whipping out your lightsaber—"

"I have!" Cal interrupted.

" —and to stop telling people your real name—"

"I didn't!" 

"So you whip your fucking kyber out in public and use your first name only, what a brilliant compromise. It's like you're trying to get killed!"

"Hey, why are you making this about me when you could have just done that—whatever that just was—the whole time! Why did I have to sweat through a sabacc match when—"

"For fun? You know that's the point of sabacc, right?"

"Not when people's lives are on the line!"

"Can you argue about this later?" Merrin snapped. She lowered the bloody napkin she had been wiping her face off with and scowled at the two of them. "How long do you think we have before the guards outside this room realizes you just killed their boss?"

"Don't worry, little witch, I shot the guards and the civvies all fucked off already. We've got all the time we need." Boba rifled through the dead Kekura's pockets and pulled out a small datapad. He tapped a few times, swiped, then tossed it to Merrin. "Genoa's ship is officially out of impound. You take it and whatever's on it that's so important that you'd let your boyfriend whore himself out for it." Merrin's face twisted in outrage as Boba turned away. "Cal, you come with me and the quarry." He jerked his head at Phee.

"You don't get to just kill everyone and then order me around!" Cal said stubbornly. He snatched his kyber off the table and retrieved his saberstaff to reassemble it. "Besides, I have to go back to our room to get BD."

"Yes I do." Boba put his helmet back on. "And I already took BD out of your room. He's on my ship."

Cal snapped his saberstaff casing closed harder than he intended to. "You what? You can't just—Boba!" 

"Sure I can. If you want him back…" Boba trailed off, laughing under his breath. "You know the drill."

"Do I get a say in this?" Phee asked, raising her hand.

"No." Boba pulled a pair of binders from his belt and twirled them on one finger. "Are you going to be a good girl, or a bad girl?"

Phee looked at Cal desperately. "Come on, Red, do something!" she begged him.

Cal threw his hands up in disgust. He couldn't decide if he wanted to punch Boba or kiss him. "What do you expect me to do? I can't even stop him from stealing my karking droid!"

Phee eyed the binders with a disgruntled expression. "I'll be a good girl," she said with a deep sigh, pouting.

"Smart choice." Boba motioned at the curtain. "Witches first."

Merrin kicked her heels off and stomped furiously through the curtain, glaring daggers at Boba—and Cal—over her shoulder.

"And just for the record, cuntling—" Boba flipped Cal's cards over, then his own. Cal's eyes widened at the hand that Ferrik used to call a dual power coupling. "I would have won."

"Would you have followed through?" Cal couldn't help but ask.

"I'm not getting in there," Phee said flatly. She crossed her arms and glared. "You're gonna have to stun me."

Boba snickered through his vocabulator. "I'm a man of my word, you know that," he said softly, and chuffed Cal under the chin. "Now move your ass."

"Alright." Boba shrugged and fiddled with the settings on his blaster.

"Okay, just wait a damn second." Cal put himself in between Phee and the carbonite chamber. "Boba, you're not freezing her."

"Yes I am." 

"No, you're not."

"Yes, I am." Boba tossed his helmet across the hangar and grinned fiercely. "Come on, Cal. You know better than to try and order me around." He stalked closer, getting right in Cal's face. "I've got a job to do. Let me do it, then we can relax." He took Cal by the chin and kissed him hard and deep, like they were alone. His hands roamed over Cal's chest, his back, down to his ass where he took a double handful and squeezed. Boba put his leg between Cal's legs and pressed up, extracting a low whine.

He finally found the strength to pull away from the clone, breathless. "Who took out the bounty on her?" Cal redirected Boba, herding him in the opposite direction of the carbonite chamber while he distracted him with soft kisses. "Come on, baby, you can tell me."

Boba snorted. "I'm not one to snitch on my employers, baby." He spun Cal around, shoved him up against the wall face-first and ground his beskar bulge directly against his ass. "So you stay here—" 

Cal heard a soft click. He stared at his binder-encased hands—which Boba had somehow locked to the hangar ladder without him noticing—completely dumbfounded. "Boba…" he said warningly.

Boba laughed as he pulled away. "Problem?" he asked teasingly. His thoughts were as loud as his voice: We both know you could get out of those binders in a heartbeat if you really wanted to. 

"Boba, wait!" Cal turned in place so he could see what was happening.

"She'll be fine, baby." Boba winked at him one last time before pushing the shaking Phee towards the freezing chamber. "I already said that I don't get paid if she dies."

"Now you wait just a minute—" Phee started, her voice shaking.

"I'm done waiting." Boba hit the controls, and with a hiss and an avalanche of fumes, Phee was frozen solid, her mouth hanging open in outrage. "And now…" Boba turned and slowly pulled off his gloves.

Cal suddenly knew what it felt like to be a clawmouse spotted by a hawk-bat. He opened his mouth to protest, a thousand petty complaints rising to the surface of his brain to fight over who would be thrown out first—why didn't you call me, did you even miss me, am I anything more than just a hole to you—and found that they all slipped away the second that Boba's mouth found his again. He moaned helplessly, too damn relieved to be kissing him again to hold onto his anger.

"The fuck are you wearing?" Boba murmured, smiling against Cal's mouth. He untied Cal's belt with a flourish, exposing him to the chilly cargo bay. He chased the goosebumps that sprang up with his wide, warm hands. 

"It was the cheapest thing the hotel had that fit the dress code," Cal mumbled, his cheeks going hot. 

"Chandrilan looks good on you." Boba sucked his tongue into his mouth and bit down. "Looks better on my floor, though."

Cal laughed. "How did I know you were going to say something cheesy like that?" 

"Jetii osik, obviously." Boba bit and licked his way down his spine. "You smell good."

"Yeah?" Cal twitched under the hands that trailed down his spine, his asscheeks, back up his thighs and then finally, finally his throbbing member, where the pressure was the most intense. 

"My poor little whore," Boba cooed in his ear. He thumbed the tip of his aching length and spread Cal's precome up and down. "You've been hurting for this, haven't you? My sweet little slut."

Damn it. Cal let his head rest heavy against the wall. He wanted to give in and just let Boba do whatever he wanted to him—to be his whore, to be whatever he wanted him to be just as long as he kept touching him—but that ember of outrage still burned hot. "Been hurting for months." Cal jerked in his bonds and pinned Boba's hand between his thighs. If he spun with enough force, he'd snap Boba's wrist clean in half. "Why haven't you contacted me?" Cal demanded. "I've sent you hundreds of messages, but you haven't even tried."

Boba went quiet. He stroked Cal's back with his free hand, a soothing touch instead of sensual. "Would you believe me if I told you I've been busy?"

"Too busy to let me know that you were alive?" Cal squeezed his thighs together even tighter until he was hurting them both.

"Didn't have a commlink in Imperial prison, cuntling." Boba wrapped his fingers around Cal's throat and gave him a warning squeeze.

"Prison?" Cal ignored the hand around his throat, released Boba's trapped wrist and turned in place, horrified. "Where? Why? How?"

Boba smiled, and there was something inscrutable behind his eyes. "Don't worry about that." He kissed Cal's jaw. 

"I'm worrying about it." Cal jerked away angrily. "Tell me!"

Boba hummed against his neck. "No."

"Boba…" Cal said warningly.

"Shut up." Boba dropped to his knees, grinning. "Why do you want me to talk about banthashit when my mouth could be put to much better use?"

"Because…" Cal threw his head back and groaned as Boba licked the tip of his cock. "Because I care about more than just what your mouth can do for me, you big jerk."

"Jerk?" Boba gasped in mock offense. "I'm on my knees sucking your cock and I'm a jerk?" He sucked Cal's cockhead into his mouth and flicked his tongue against the tip. 

Cal fought down a moan. "Yes!" he insisted breathlessly.

"Ungrateful." Boba hummed and took him deeper into his throat, stroking whatever his mouth left exposed. It felt amazing, better than what he had dreamed of in his bunk for all those months alone.

Alone. And now Boba wouldn't even tell him what had happened to him. "Cocksucking little bitch," Cal said in a low voice.

Boba's hand came to a dead stop. He let Cal's dick fall out of his mouth and slowly got to his feet. "The fuck did you just call me?" Boba's voice was a silky whisper. His hand clamped around Cal's throat again. "The fuck did you just say to me, whore?"

"I called you a cocksucking little bitch." Cal watched Boba's eyes narrow with a sick sense of satisfaction.

Boba squeezed his hand and held the pressure until Cal's vision started to sparkle and go black around his edges. "I could fucking kill you," Boba murmured, close as a kiss. "I could snap your stupid little whore neck in an instant." He let off the pressure just long enough for Cal to suck in one shaky breath before pressing down again. His knee came up and ground against his dick. "Maybe I'll send you to the Imperials. How much do you think I'd get for your Jedi hide?"

"Twenty five 'kay," Cal gasped once he had the breath for it. Or at least that's what his bounty was the last time he had checked it.

"Think they'd take off a cleaning fee if I turned you in freshly fucked?" Boba turned Cal around roughly, pressed him against the wall like he was trying to squeeze the air out of him. "Send you in bound, hogtied, ass gaping open with my jizz leaking out." Boba fingered Cal's cleft, pushed threateningly against his hole. "Maybe the stormtroopers would take turns fucking you before they sent you on to the Inquisitors."

Cal cried out, thrusting helplessly against the cold wall. He didn't know what the hell was wrong with him to be so turned on. The fantasy was disgusting, humiliating, dehumanizing, and it somehow had him ready to shoot off any second. "Would you?" Cal whimpered. "Would you let them fuck me?"

"I'd hold your fucking legs open," Boba whispered. He spat down Cal's crack and used the slickness to ease one finger inside him. "What's the matter? I thought you liked being a whore."

"Your whore," Cal whispered, caught between self-loathing and desire. "I'm your whore."

"Then why'd you offer yourself up to that prick?" Boba growled, adding a second finger. The spit wasn't enough, it burned, but Cal liked the way it hurt. "You offered to fuck a gangster for credits, ner jet'ika."

"I wanted to piss you off!" Cal cried out. A feeling like boiling water shot up and down his spine, a coil at the base winding tighter and tighter and ready to burst as he was impaled on his lover's fingers.

Boba laughed and sped his thrusting up to a brutal pace. "It worked." He crooked his fingers up just right, and Cal saw stars. The coil snapped, and Cal came with a sharp cry, making a mess of his bare chest and the hangar wall. Boba withdrew his wide fingers and slapped Cal's ass with a sharp crack. "Stay there."

Cal leaned against the ladder, weary and weak-kneed. "I'm still cuffed, jackass, I can't go anywhere," he called after him.

Boba yanked his medkit off the wall, cackling loudly, and tossed everything out except for the lube. "You're in a real fucking mood tonight, aren't you?" Boba took a rough hold of Cal's chin and forced eye contact. "Yeah. You went unfucked for five months, of course you're in a mood." He ripped his armor pieces off, leaving them to scatter loudly across the floor. His dove-gray flight suit followed, then his compression shorts and finally, finally his cock was out and on display. 

Cal licked his lips hungrily and dropped to his knees. "No." Boba yanked him back up and flipped him around. 

"Hey!" Cal protested. "I want to—"

"I don't give a shit. You're a fucking brat, Kestis. You don't get what you want." Boba cracked him hard on the ass again, a hard sting that he just knew was going to leave a bruise. "I should have just shown my cards. I wanted to fuck you in front of that bastard so badly." Boba emptied out the tube and rubbed his stretched-out hole with slippery fingers. "And you wanted me to do it. I could feel it." He positioned his cockhead at Cal's tight ring. "Even with your little witch watching, you would have let me. Wouldn't you?" Boba thrust deep and sent Cal flying into the wall with the strength of it. He threaded his finger's through Cal's red strands and yanked his head back. "Tell me, whore. Tell me you would have let her watch."

"I…" Fuck, he could barely breathe with the sensation of Boba bottoming out in him. "I would've… I would've fucked you while she watched us." He was going to have to meditate before seeing Merrin again or he'd never emotionally recover.

"Because you're my whore, aren't you?"

"I'm your whore." Cal almost screamed as Boba reached around and started jerking his painfully sensitive length with a rough hand. "Ah! Fuck, Boba, Boba please, please please—"

"Please what, baby?" Boba sped up. The obscene sound of wet flesh smacking together echoed in the cargo bay. 

"Don't…" Cal gasped. "Don't do that to me again. Don't go dark."

Boba's hips lost their rhythm. He slipped out and spun Cal, hoisted him up into his arms like he was a sack of tatos and slung his legs over his shoulders. Boba crushed his mouth to Cal's, reentering him the same moment, and swallowed his cry. His hips jacked up in a frantic, unsteady rhythm, hitting that sweet spot with every forward thrust. "You missed me that bad, did you baby?" Boba murmured into his mouth. "You didn't let anyone else fuck you, did you?"

"No!" Cal was going to scream, he was on the brink once again, his pulsing length trapped between their sweat-slickened bodies.

"That's 'cause you're mine." Cal was practically delirious, but it sounded like Boba was talking to himself. "Nobody else gets to fuck you. This ass is mine." He squeezed his cheeks. "Mine. Only mine."

"Only yours." Cal's eyes rolled back in his head as he reached his peak again. His legs tightened and pulled Boba against him, trapping his length deep inside. Cal painted their fronts with jets of spunk, and Boba let out a shout and snapped his hips up as far as they would go. Cal felt heat filling him up and spreading deep within.

Neither of them spoke for nearly a minute, though Boba did let Cal's legs drop and let him stand on his own. "I missed you," Cal finally said, then kissed him.

"Sorry for going dark." Boba buried his face in Cal's neck and took a deep breath. "It wasn't on purpose."

"Do you wanna talk about it?" Cal asked quietly.

"Not right now." Boba kissed him one last time and withdrew from Cal's cuffed embrace. "I'm going to run diagnostics. I hear a humming I don't like coming from my backup hyperdrive." He climbed up the ladder buck naked.

"Hey, uncuff me first!" Cal protested, holding up his hands.

"You're a fucking Jedi, uncuff yourself." Boba opened the hatch with a snicker and disappeared.

Boba set his ship down on a cold, desolate, rocky planet that only had a series of numbers, not even a name. Cal leaned forward, peering out the viewport. "Weird place for an exchange," he said. BD-1 crawled into place on his shoulder and beeped in agreement.

Cal let his head hit the wall with a clunk. Boba was such an asshole. Somehow, it made Cal love him even more.

"Nah. I've definitely done weirder meetups." Boba eased the engine into low-power mode. "I see your witch on my sensors. She's entering the atmosphere now."

Cal watched Phee's ship, piloted by Merrin, come to a rough stop. He winced. She was… well, she was still learning. Hopefully Phee wouldn't be too upset about her landing gear. "Are you finally going to tell me who paid you to take Phee?" he asked, following Boba out of the cockpit. 

"You'll meet them when I do." 

Cal slid down the ladder after him. "What do you mean? You don't even know who hired you?"

"How do you think this whole guild thing works?" Boba smashed a button on the side of the cargo hatch and put his helmet on. "People post jobs to the guild. Guild posts jobs for the hunters. I get a name, a face, a general location and a drop-off point. I don't even know who I'm working for half the time, let alone a detailed background."

"But that means you could be working for anyone!" Cal exclaimed.

"Yeah, and? Credits spend the same no matter who puts them up." Boba fiddled with the frame of Phee's frozen carbonite chamber. 

"That seems risky. What if you end up working for some lunatic?"

"I'm almost always working for some lunatic, Cal." Boba activated a set of small repulsors and guided the frame out of the cargo bay.

Cal gave Boba a look. "We'll talk about this later." He opened his arms in anticipation. 

Merrin disappeared from her docking ramp with a flash of green light and rematerialized in his arms. "You're alright?" she asked tearily, threading her fingers through his hair. "That beast didn't hurt you, did he?" 

"Beast?" Cal felt bad for laughing. "He's not a beast, Mer."

"Did she just call me a fucking beast?" Boba asked. 

"I am simply naming what I see in front of me." Merrin's eyes glowed green for a few seconds.

Boba laughed, dark and wicked. "Easy there, little witch. I'm not one you want to mess with."

"You think I am afraid of you?" Merrin raised her hand and bared her teeth.

"You call those needles fangs?" Boba scoffed.

"Don't start." Cal pinned her arms to her sides before she could do something he would regret. "Merrin, please. Just don't."

"I do not understand what you see in this creature." Merrin shrugged him off with an irritated scowl.  

"Eyes up, chakaare." Boba nodded at ship rapidly descending from the dark, star-studded sky.

"Are we really going to just let him give Phee away?" Merrin whispered.

Normally Cal would have immediately assured her no, of course not, but he had an odd feeling tingling at the back of his neck, ordering him wait and see. "I want to see who paid for her before I make a decision." 

"Anything you cunts are planning, don't expect me to help," Boba called over. "Once I hand her over and get my money I'm walking. I'm a professional."

"Good to know." Cal had his saberstaff and Merrin. He could almost definitely handle whatever came out of that ship.

The T6 swooped down at an unnecessarily fast speed, cranked hard to the right, and swerved into a landing spot. Cal and Merrin both exchanged smirks. "And I thought I was a bad pilot," Merrin said with a snicker.

The docking ramp extended with a hiss and puff of pressurized gasses. The figure that walked out of it was tall and slight, and as it got closer Cal could see it was humanoid, presumably female. She wore a full array of oddly mishmashed armor—black-painted pieces that almost looked like recycled plastoid from the clone wars—and had a small golden device strapped to her back. A red scarf was looped around her neck, as were a pair of goggles. Cal saw an indentation in her helmet that appeared as though it was made for the goggles to fit over. "Boba Fett?" she called. Her accent was strangely familiar.

"That's me." Boba stood casually beside the frozen-solid Phee, one hip cocked and a hand on his blaster. "You've got my credits, I assume."

"Only if she's unharmed."

"Not a scratch on her. You have my word."

"So you say." The woman turned to Cal and Merrin, tilted her helmeted head. "And you two?" 

"My passengers. Don't wory about them, they're getting off here. They're not involved in this." Boba's tone was lighthearted, friendly even; Cal watched the Force thrum around him, tense like a quetarra string. "Now where're my credits?"

The woman typed in a command on her commlink, then tossed a bag forward. A droid covered in sleek white plastoid descended from her ship and tooled up to the carbonite-encased Phee. "Vitals are steady and normal for one in hibernation, Mistress," the droid announced politely.

"Go ahead and put her on the ship, AZ." The woman waited until the droid had disappeared with the carbonite frame to turn back to Boba.

"Looks like it's all here. Our business is concluded." Boba turned and started to stride back to the Slave I.

"Not quite." The woman took off her helmet, revealing a braided crown of pale blonde hair. 

Cal swiveled his head back and forth between her and Boba like a Shilian mithoo, stunned. Those eyes, that nose, that jaw; female or not, there was no mistaking who—what—she was.

"What kind of game is this?" Boba stood frozen in place, too shocked to move.

"Sorry Alpha, no game." The woman grinned a very, very familiar grin. "I'm Omega. I think you and I need to chat."

[daimyosprincess]

SANCTUARY

—PAIRING: Boba Fett x Female Character

—SUMMARY: Sometimes sanctuary isn’t a place, it’s a person.

—WORD COUNT: 1.2k

—RATING: Explicit, 18+ only — MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

—TAGS & WARNINGS: third person narration, explicit sexual content, Empire era!Boba, yearning, themes surrounding sex work, oral sex (fem receiving), open-ended ending (like not sad but not necessarily happy either? ends on a sense of longing)

Please let me know if I missed anything!

—AUTHOR'S NOTES: Thank you so much @wolffegirlsunite for this amazing song prompt ask! I'm trying out third person for the first time (so lemme know if y'all like it) and idk if this counts as a reader insert but I intended for it to kinda be like one, so I kept the female character's description vague. I am also trying to practice writing shorter pieces with these song prompts and let me tell you!! I do not like shutting up!!! I have many thoughts concerning this man!!!! But it wouldn't be a challenge if it was easy 🤨

Enjoy besties 💖

Song: Sanctuary by Joji

Read on AO3 — Masterlist — Taglist

If you’ve been waiting for falling in love

Babe, you don’t have to wait on me

‘Cause I’ve been aiming for heaven above

But an angel ain’t what I need

It’s always after dark when he comes to see her. Like a fallen star, he touches down on the glimmering world of Canto Bight in the dead of night—a whispered name amongst the patrons in the casino as he passes through the velvet ropes to the pleasure house above. Boba can feel their eyes, their titillation, their curiosity, their fear of him on his back as he ascends the stairs. He pays it no mind because when he crosses the threshold into the Black Rose, only one thing matters to him.

Low lights soon give way to neon walls where beautiful men and women dance, their dark silhouettes enthralling their audience as drinks are served and credits are spilled from pockets. Boba doesn’t bother to stop and admire the show, however, he strides directly over to the pink-skinned Twi’lek sitting in the corner booth. She greets him with a familiar smile, knowing who he is and what he’s here for. She nods wordlessly towards the curtain behind her and the guard steps aside to let him pass.

The music dampens to a dull thump in the gilded waiting room, the air fragranced with dusky rose and sultry amber. He takes off his helmet to let the sweet air kiss his face, a gentle brush over the tips of his ears, the bow of his lips, the tip of his nose. Boba breathes it in, the scent of his escape. The scent that clings to his clothes even after he leaves, reminding him that she’s only ever one call away, laying alone and empty of him. Those thoughts, that sinful fragrance… they make his body ache for hers.

It drives him almost as much as his desire to be the best to honor his father’s legacy. That dull throbbing in his bones is his pain’s pleasure: the satisfaction of completing another job is made even greater with the knowledge that his reward is waiting on Canto Bight. It’s only after his pucks are turned in and his bounties paid that he allows himself to see her. She is a wine he must only sip, her sweet intoxication too tempting to allow himself anything greater. 

Her taste already stains his lips, keeping him from coming in the light of day, despite that the dim interior is never any brighter than it is after the sun sets. Because then she would know. She’d know that if she’s holding out, waiting to fall into that unspoken love that she wouldn’t have to wait on him, that his heaven isn’t one floating in the sky. An angel isn’t what he needs... it’s her. 

That’s why he no longer seeks out anyone else to fulfill his desires, why she’s become the only one. Boba has experienced the thrill of pleasure with many in his years, discovered what he liked and what gave him the release he required to keep his mind clear. Most of all, however, it revealed how he needs the warmth of equal to truly soothe the burning in his core, something more than just the colorful amusement of a dancing girl or the rough diversion of another hunter on a long job. He needs more, firmer ground to touch down upon. He needs a sanctuary.

She likes to make him wait for a couple minutes when he arrives, let their mutual anticipation build to a low boil. Swiping on her trademark ruby lipstick, the Madame of the Black Rose smiles at her painted reflection. Boba Fett is in her waiting room, fresh off a hunt, pent up and ready to burn through all that raw energy. He needs her. He’s never said as much, but she knows that’s why he comes to her, to work through the knots in his soul after being wound so tight. 

Donning the sheer black robe laid out on her chair, she saunters into her waiting room practically purring with delight. Boba is reclined on the low slung chaise, legs apart with his helmet propped on his knee. His pretty lips twitch into the smallest of smiles at her appearance, his dark eyes glinting with salacious intention as they slip down her body. All she has to do is hold out her jeweled hand and he’s pushing her back into her rooms, his hot mouth sealing over hers.

The fervid way they tear into each other, pulling clothes and armor off as quickly as their tangled limbs will allow, speaks the words their lips do not: what you want is what I want. Sincerity in motion, acted out but never spoken of. Two souls that lie awake when apart dreaming of the courageous, secret reality where they give into something real. Something that they passed off for child’s play or a fantasy fit only for those on the opposite side of the galaxy’s underbelly—either way, certainly not something for them. Bounty hunters and working girls, no matter how revered or expensive, don’t get happy endings together. Not in this life at least. 

When he kneels between her thighs, Boba revels in the slick warmth and breathy moans that she allows him to wring out of her with his tongue and fingers. One orgasm is not enough for him, nor two, and just barely three before he comes up for air, panting praises and curses into her soft skin while she runs her nails through his hair. It gives her such pleasure, such luscious pride to see his glossed over eyes and slick-shined face so overwrought and pussy drunk. She hasn’t even touched him properly yet and he’s a man consumed.

When he finally gives her his cock, it’s hard and leaking, flushed with violet want. She relishes in the way he fills her cunt every single time he takes her; the lurid stretch of him burns in her veins, her heart pounds against her ribs as he snaps his strong hips against the back of her thighs. When she flips him on his back to ride him how she likes, she yanks his face up by his curls to kiss and bite and bruise her way into him. Maybe if she kisses him long and deep enough, he’ll hear all the things she cannot bring herself to say. That if he loves her like she loves him, he doesn’t have to wait any longer to make her his. That she doesn’t want an angel or a savior, just him. 

Skin to skin and cheek to cheek, she hopes there’s an osmosis of sentiment. Fuck me harder, she begs her with body, fuck me like you’re not going to leave. Fuck me like our lives won’t end up apart. And he does, again and again, every time he darkens her door. He digs his fingers in, sinks his mark into her giving flesh, pulling her so close because they can never know how long their lifetimes will be. When he holds her so tight her lungs protest and her ribs threaten to crack, she locks her legs around his muscular torso and presses her lips to his ear. We can aim for heaven above, baby, you don’t have to wait on me.

[sinisterexaggerator]

[ sick till I see you ] - cad bane

Summary: Cad Bane has had a tough time of it. He comes to you for a little TLC.

Gn! Reader

Warnings: None, just a little nip, lick, cuddling, and a worn out Duros looking for love, A.K.A FLUFF.

Word count: 1.5+

Notes: Wrote this last night half asleep, no real editing. Sorry if it sucks. Based on an idea we talked about in the Duros server because we're all feeling so tired. ;_; (@deepbluespace4, @renek-bane, @judathian)

There was something calming in your touch that remained unspoken. Cad Bane would never spill his secrets, though it was quite apparent he had grown accustomed to a comfort only you could provide. You were a steadying force in this harsh galaxy, someone the Duros could rely on from time-to-time, as his visitations were sporadic, yet he would reappear when you least expected it.

Tonight was such an occasion, the hunter floundering on a bounty the likes of which could have afforded him a lengthy stint of relaxation. He had taken on more jobs as of late to offset the price of fuel. It had risen exponentially since the forming of this new, “Galactic Empire,” and Bane was not amused. It ate into his profits more often than not, so the loss of this particular mark was an unfortunate stroke of rotten luck.

The one good thing to come of this was the target had been right here on Canto Bight.

A casino city, Canto Bight was a playground for the rich and famous, the arms-dealers, the shady business tycoons, the corrupt politicians, and the pirates, the scoundrels, the gamblers. You were none of these things. You were a cocktail server with a small flat to call your own in a shady corner of the city. Without you and others such as yourself, a place like this would go under in no time. Your job was essential.

It was also exhausting.

On your day off, you lounged with a good novella on your datapad, feet kicked up upon your worn caf table. You were just getting to a good part when a shadowy presence out of the corner of your eye startled you back to reality: you were not alone.

It should have been obvious. This was not the first time the wily Duros had found his way inside your home without warning or an invitation, yet it never ceased to surprise you.

You quietly rummaged in the side table situated by your sofa to extract a hidden holdout pistol. You carried this with you as you ventured deeper into your own house.

The hall was clear, so was the refresher. The kitchen was adjacent to the entryway, and you were already sure of it being vacant. That only left one place: your bedroom.

You crept to the door, weapon clutched in your hand. Peering inside, you were shocked and relieved to find the man face down, his thin, lanky limbs stretched out in an almost comical fashion.

Cad Bane had decided to sprawl out, taking full advantage of the situation as his body formed an “X” in the middle of your mattress. His floppy, ostentatiously large hat covered the entirety of his head, creating a leather halo that hid both his intentions and his temperament, while his armorweave duster had feathered out around him to give him the appearance of having wings.

It was an odd display, one that was not customary, but you would not judge your intermittent lover for his behavior.

It warmed your heart that he felt comfortable enough with you that he allowed himself to drop his guard, and it was a testament to your sometimes unorthodox relationship. But you found you wanted to go to him, to see what the matter was, to ease whatever suffering he must be feeling, and to comfort him in a way you knew he enjoyed.

“Bane?” your voice called out apprehensively. There was no response but a slight shifting of his weight, a deep groan rising from the pit of his chest as it rumbled to the surface, though masked by the compression of his entire face against your sateen sheets. You approached deliberately, suddenly feeling silly for holding onto your palm-sized blaster.

He was a danger, but not to you.

You set the pistol onto your dresser, bending at the knees to sink down to the floor at your bedside, one hand instinctually lifting to gently raise the corner of his hat.

Two searing red eyes stared directly at you. You involuntarily gasped, so stark was the contrast of their fiery depths to the dark coloration of your coverlet. They narrowed when you did not move again, the expression across your face not being one that Bane favored as he had been sure you would receive him with open arms. The Duros did something quite uncharacteristic: he pouted, his scant lower lip cresting downward into an obvious frown.

“Ah cahn see when Ah’m naht wanted,” he began, pushing up with both arms to rid you of his presence.

“Wait, no!” you said a little too forcefully, Bane settling back down as he gazed at you with an arch to his brow. “Don’t go,” you finished more softly, gingerly taking up the curve of his mandible in the crook of your hand. “I don’t want you to go.”

The Duros rasped out a hiss, though it was a release of tension, Bane’s eyelids falling to half-mast. That outward breath extended for what seemed like minutes; he loved the warmth of your skin, the smell, the taste…   

He reached out, shifting to a position that would allow him to help you up, though you were capable of standing on your own. But that is not what he wanted. He manipulated you to sit, convincing you with no more than a tug to your clothing that this was the very thing you should do because he deemed it so.

You entertained him, adjusting yourself to accommodate his nonverbal demand.

Once you were comfortable, the deadliest apex predator of the entire known galaxy buried his rostrum in the meat of your thigh as sinewy digits encased in cut-off gloves snuck beneath the single layer of thin fabric that made up your shirt.

Bane’s touch was icy, a small sound being emitted from your lips as goosebumps prickled up and down your body. This only seemed to excite him, lengthy arms wrapping around the whole of your waist as you realized his excessive accessory was in your way.

You took a chance; you removed his hat, placing it thoughtfully on your bedside table as the Duros curled into you, resting his cheek against your lap as the flat part of his face nuzzled its way into your belly.

Of all the things that could occur at this moment, Bane took up a fetal position, making himself cozy as he squeezed you tightly. You could not help yourself, knowing Bane would appreciate your efforts. You took to caressing him with a calculated touch despite his flesh being enwrapped in protective hunting gear, fingers running the course of his neck and shoulders. You massaged him tenderly, applying just enough force to hear a most gratifying sound.

Some might call it a purr, while Bane himself would call you crazy for suggesting such a ridiculous thing. Still, it only encouraged you to continue, and especially once the Duros had dug his way under the hem of your top, sharp teeth biting and tugging so as to maneuver it out of his way.  

You held your breath, not out of worry of being bitten, but because his shallow exhales licked at your skin making you shudder, a part of you deep inside stirring though you chose not to let it control you, at least not yet.

“Ah’m sick till Ah see ye’” he mumbled against your now bare stomach, “chucked all of a heap,” he added, grazing you with the points of his fangs as he enveloped you in the tangle of his limbs.

“What’s wrong, Cad?” you prodded, only concerned with his mental well-being as it was rare he searched out this level of affection, though that was not to say his words and actions did not move you, a faint blush tinging your cheeks.

“Tired,” he muttered, that vibration in his chest growing louder as his olfactory organs were overtaken with your delicious scent, “karked up,” he finally admitted, his damaged pride apparent in his tone. “Gettin’ old.”

“Nonsense,” you whispered, your thumb lovingly tracing the lines etched across his forehead as you attempted to sate his nerves. “What happened?”

He did not answer, your breath catching as you felt his tongue worm its way into the divot of your navel. He growled as if hungry, his fangs finally pressing against you, though he was kind enough not to bite down hard. He sucked the salt off your skin, licking up from your belly button to the base of your sternum, your body convulsing unwillingly beneath his sudden amorous onslaught.

He stopped just as soon as he started, teeth retracting and rostrum once again rough and scaly against your abdomen. He was reluctant to reply. “…don’ wanna talk about it,” he stated gruffly, shutting his eyes against the universe as well as against you.

“Then what do you want?” You coaxed him for an answer, not expecting the thing he wound up saying next.

“Dhis,” he offered casually, encircling you more succinctly in his embrace.  

If you had been a gambling kind of person, you would have lost, not imagining that in a million rotations Bane would confess to desiring your … cuddles.

You would not disturb him after that for fear of backlash, the notorious, murderous bounty hunter taking to your lap like an overgrown tooka as you settled in for the long haul, incapable and hesitant to move from this spot until he had his fill.

---

Masterlist

**reblogs / feedback appreciated!!**

[darth-memes]

At the rate Omega is learning, she will end up owning a casino in Canto Bight.

[justagalwhowrites]

Beskar Doll - Ch. 38: Partners

You, the Mandalorian and the child have been lying low. But that plan only works for so long. A continuation of Beskar Doll Ch. 1-37 found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: The Mandalorian/Din Djarin x Female Reader

Warnings: Canon-typical violence. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI, 18+ only.

Length: 3.5k

Six Months Later

“I’m changing the deal.” 

The man across from you was overly confident. Well dressed, proud, flanked by two men. 

“If it’s to pay us more then fine,” you shrugged. “Otherwise, I’m afraid not.” 

You were almost hoping he’d challenge you. This part of the job had become exceedingly boring recently. 

Din had taken the three of you to Canto Bight. A planet rife with gambling, money and people looking to make sure they didn’t lose any more than they had to was a planet rich in work for bounty hunters. 

You’d just laid low for the first few weeks you were there, not eager to draw attention to yourselves and working out a plan. 

The problem with a Mandalorian bounty hunter is that it was hard to stay hidden. And Din’s fully beskar armor made him particularly memorable. 

“We can’t just have you meeting with people,” you said one afternoon as you sat with your back against the seal of the gate to the Crest. The air was fresh and there was breeze coming in from the water. Grogu was on your lap, twisting a cord from the front of your shirt around his little fingers. “It’s not going to take long for people to find us if you’re out front.” 

“Not going to leave you to meet them alone,” he was standing, leaning against the opposite side of the seal. “Not safe.” 

“Do you really think I can’t handle myself around some fools who loaned gambling money to the wrong person?” You asked, eyebrows raised . 

“No,” he looked out toward the water. “I just know who hires bounty hunters.” 

“It’s not like this is Tatooine,” you rolled your eyes. 

“And if it’s an Imp who knows you?” He asked, looking back at you. “Then what?” 

“Then I kill them and we move on,” you shrugged. The baby cooed. You looked down at him. Concern. “I know, we’re not agreeing right now, it stinks huh?” 

“Patu.” 

“I agree,” you said, kissing his forehead. “You’re so smart…” 

“I know he didn’t just tell you something,” Din grumbled. 

“You’re no fun,” you replied. 

“Not here to be fun,” he replied. “Cyare…” 

“Look,” you cut him off. “Either we hire a third party that who knows if we can trust - it’s not like we can risk calling Karga to see if he knows someone - or we go with me. With some makeup and different clothes, I can look pretty different. No one is going to recognize me unless they’re looking for me and if they’re looking for me here, we’re already in trouble.” 

It took several more discussions but, eventually, you wore him down. 

You began by reaching out to the people who managed large amounts of money at the casinos. You dressed like someone with money and said you were representing a new business interest in town, someone offering services to make sure debts were paid. You provided information on a regular meeting location - a room off a bar you’d secured for the same time each week for a while - and implied a kickback for contacts sent your way. 

The first meeting day, you wore makeup that gave the illusion that your face looked different - sharper cheekbones, slimmer nose, harsher eyes - and a dress that was a sheath that clung to you but allowed you to move freely. 

“Don’t like this,” Din muttered. 

“It’ll be fine,” you assured him, tucking your knife up your sleeve and adjusting the bodice of the dress so your cleavage was a bit more ample. With any luck, the people meeting with you would remember your breasts and not your face. “And you’ll be just around the corner if it’s not.” 

He dropped his forehead to your own and took a deep breath. 

“Promise that you will take care of yourself before any job,” he said. “Won’t lose you, Cyare.” 

“Promise,” you smiled gently. 

The first day of meetings had been slow. You had two clients, both wanting you to run down people who skipped out on gambling debts and looked to still be on planet. The totals were low - just 3,000 credits between the two bounties and you’d need to give the casino and bar a cut - but it was a start. 

Over time, the business grew. Eventually, you got a reputation and people began to seek you out beyond the casinos. 

Local law enforcement started hiring you for particularly sticky cases, madams at brothels had you run down Johns who misbehaved. You’d built up a steady business, making a reasonably easy living. 

It was also one you didn’t enjoy as much. 

There was something… unsatisfying about running down people with gambling debts. With guild work, there was generally something the person had done that was truly wrong. A reason that someone like Din would be on them. This felt a lot like just hunting down people with issues they couldn’t find a way out of on their own. 

So you tried to be judicious in the jobs you did take. And you did what you could to draw in the right clientele while being able to maintain control. You’d learned that you needed to strike the right balance between monied and professional while being somewhat intimidating. Look too much like a bounty hunter yourself and you’d only do deals with people who work with bounty hunters. Too soft and they’d walk all over you. 

The man in front of you now was the first one to challenge you in months. It had been a job you’d been unsure on taking to begin with. The quarry owed money to both a private lender and a mob, however, and you figured he’d be better off with the private lender. Leave him too long and the mob would get his hands on him eventually. 

The man was sitting beside you, cuffed, waiting to be handed over to the bounty holder. 

Who just decided to be aggressive in negotiations. 

“Our understanding is that he was an easy capture,” the man shrugged. “We’ll pay you five.” 

“Seven was what we agreed upon,” you said. “But, because I’m nice, I’ll let you leave with your limbs intact for eight for the extra trouble.” 

“You think you can intimidate me?” The man sneered at you. “It would take a lot more than some bounty hunter’s assistant…” 

“Partner,” you corrected, shifting yourself just so in your chair so your blaster would be easier to grab. 

“Some bounty hunter’s little girl,” he said the last word like an insult. “To make me pay more than something is worth.” 

“Something is worth what the market demands,” you replied. “Right now, I’m the only one selling the man who owes you money. The price is now 9,000. Pay it or leave.” 

“Do you really expect me to believe you’ll just leave money on the table for a bounty you’ve already captured?” He scoffed. “I’m the only one looking to buy…” 

“Rather let him go for nothing than cut a deal with you,” you shrugged. “Hell, I’ll even give him tips on how to hide, you clearly can’t catch him yourself, it wouldn’t take much…” 

“Look little girl,” he stood up, slapping one hand on the table and grabbing your chin. “I’ll take him for four and you’ll be happy that’s all I do.” 

“Poor choice.” 

You slipped your knife from up your sleeve and flipped it around before stabbing it down into the middle of the man’s hand and into the table. He screamed and released your face, collapsing onto the desk. You grabbed your blaster, flipped it to stun and shot the first guard before training the weapon on the other. 

“Now,” you addressed the man sobbing on the table. “I’ll take 10 for the quarry, be happy it’s not 20. You have that much on you, right?” 

He just choked on his own spit. You sighed. 

“This is the problem with men like you,” you cocked your head, looking down at him. “So used to having others do your dirty work that you don’t know what it means to put in some effort, to suffer a little.” 

You looked to the remaining guard, still at the end of your blaster. 

“Better hope your boss has 10,000 credits in this suit of his.” The man froze, watching you. “Well? Start looking.” 

The guard scrambled to obey. Clearly not trained, just there to look large and intimidating. Was there anywhere the man didn’t cut corners? 

The would-be guard slapped the credits he found on the desk. 

“Just 9,000?” You said, glancing at them. 

“It’s all I have on me,” the man panted. “But…” 

“Lucky for you,” you cut him off. “Nine is the going rate for your life. It’s usually 10 but your stock has fallen a bit in the last few minutes.” 

You looked to the guard. 

“I’ve stabbed your boss through the hand,” you said. “Lots to damage in there. A lot of ways to bleed out. I’m going to pull this knife out in oh, about a minute. If you want to get paid, I recommend running - quickly - to the bar and getting the med kit that’s back there. He’ll need some bacta.” 

The guard took off and you looked back at the man. 

“Now, what did you call me?” You asked him. “The bounty hunter’s girl?” 

“I’m sorry…” he whimpered. “I didn’t mean anything by it….” 

“No no, you did,” you said. “But did we learn our lesson today?” You put pressure down on the knife. 

“Yes,” he hissed in pain. 

“Going to put your hands on a woman again?” You asked, twisting the knife ever so slightly, making him wail. 

“No!” 

You glanced up and saw the guard running back, med kit in hand. You took steady hold of the knife and yanked it forward, between his middle and ring fingers. The man screamed. 

“Better hurry,” you said, wiping the knife on the man’s sleeve. “I don’t like blood on my things and I might just charge you for the cleaning fee…” 

The guard yanked the kit open and quickly wrapped the man’s hand in a bacta strip. You glanced over, making sure the bleeding had been stemmed before you made sure the blaster was still on stun, shooting them both. 

“Please,” the quarry next to you whimpered. “Please, don’t hurt me…” 

“Were you planning to try to steal from me?” You asked, brows raised. He shook his head. “Then I won’t hurt you.” 

You collected 7,000 of the credits on the table before you took the binders off the quarry. 

“There are 2,000 credits there,” you said as he massaged his wrists. “I recommend using them to get the hell off this planet. I didn’t kill him, just stunned him, so I’m sure he’ll send someone else after you before too long. Not to mention the money you owe the mob.” 

He blinked at you. 

“You’re just… letting me go?” He asked. 

“I got what I was owed for you,” you shrugged. “I delivered you. Your bounty holder was a fool, the rest is not my problem.” 

He looked at the credits for a moment, like he was waiting for there to be a catch. But then he scrambled, scooping them into his pockets. 

“Thank you,” he said quickly. 

“Don’t let me find you here again,” you said, returning to your seat at the table. “Let the bartender know I’m ready for the next one on your way out, please.”

He scrambled to obey, almost tripping over the bodies of the men on the ground. You didn’t have long left for your meetings window, you’d be long gone before they awoke. You’d just have to pay the bar extra for the trouble but it would be worth it. 

“Ran into some trouble I see,” a woman looked over the mess on the floor. 

“Just someone who didn’t want to pay what they owed and decided to make that my problem,” you replied. You looked the new arrival up and down. It looked like she worked in the government system here, wearing the usual dark blue uniform. “What can I do for you?” 

“I have…” she sighed. “It’s an unusual request.” 

You smiled a little broader. 

“Sounds interesting,” you said. “Tell me more.”

Before you returned to the Crest, you always removed the makeup and changed into something more discreet, something that would be good for climbing and running. You tried to leave as little evidence as possible to your ties to the Mandalorian. 

Gideon, you were sure, had put out information searching for the two of you together. If you were never seen with him, it would make it far harder for anyone searching for you to put their finger on you. 

Once you were changed, you went to Kiana, the bartender, and slipped her an extra 500 credits. 

“Small mess in there today,” you said as she took you to the storage room. “Everyone should be fine and coming to on their own any minute but I don’t think they’ll be all that happy about it.” 

“I’m sure it’s fine,” she smiled. “Nothing I can’t handle.” 

“I’m sure it’s not,” you smiled back. 

“Same time next week?” She asked. 

“Actually no,” you replied. “Make it two. Got an interesting one this afternoon, I think it’ll take some time. Assuming my partner goes for it. But I think he will.” 

“Will I ever meet the mystery man?” She teased. 

“If you do you’re probably in more trouble than you really want to be,” you said, starting up the ladder to the roof hatch. “But if you’re going to get taken in by anybody, he’s who I’d pick.” 

She barked a laugh and went back to the bar as you climbed to the roof of the building. 

You pulled up your hood and jumped to the next building, working your way a few streets over before clambering down to street level. You tried to avoid taking the same route every time and it seemed to be working. No one had followed you yet - either because they weren’t interested or they hadn’t figured out how. 

The end of the trip was always the worst of it, a speeder bike to where the Crest had been parked outside the city. It was, at least, a reasonable trip. No packed streets or dense trees to navigate through, just fields or down a cliff to the beach. 

“You’re getting better at that,” Din said as you parked the speeder bike and went into the Crest. Grogu was tucked against his side, happily cooing at the sight of you. You made eye contact and felt his excitement. 

“I missed you too!” You lowered your hood and came to take the child from the Mandalorian. You kissed his little wrinkled forehead before looking up at Din. “So I have an interesting job…” 

Before you got a chance to tell him about it, he took your chin is his hand - so gently he was barely touching you - and tilted your face in the light. You frowned. 

“Someone touched you,” he said. His thumb brushed against a tender spot on your chin. 

“It was nothing,” you could feel him scowling at you. You weren’t sure what the expression would look like but you could feel it. 

“Doll.” 

“It was!” You said. 

“Only a matter of time,” he muttered, going back in the ship. 

You sighed, following behind him. 

“Are we really going to have this conversation every time something doesn’t go exactly as planned?” You asked.

“It’s my job to protect you,” he said. “So yes.” 

“No, it isn’t,” you said. He turned to face you. “Din. We are partners. That’s the only way this is going to work. I’m not your job, I’m your…” 

You paused. What were you? 

It wasn’t something you had explicitly discussed. You weren’t married but you felt more like Din’s wife than you ever had Kann’s. 

More importantly, you wanted to be. 

“Regardless,” you said, not ready to say what you wanted. “Either I’m your equal or I’m not.”

“Of course you’re my equal,” he replied. 

“Then respect that I can handle getting hurt sometimes.” 

He looked you up and down for a moment before he sighed. 

“I don’t like you being out of reach,” he said. “That you could be in trouble and I couldn’t get to you in time to help. I don’t like this arrangement.” 

“Well I’m getting a little burnt out on it myself,” you replied. “And I got us a job that looks to be a bit more like what we’re used to doing.” 

Din paused. You smiled. 

He sighed.

“What’s the job.” 

*** 

Din had to admit, you had good taste when it came to finding work. Like it had for you, the jobs on Canto Bight had grown stale. He’d never been the crusading type but running down beings with gambling debts could only be interesting for so long. 

He was itching to get back out into open space. He’d been in one place for too long without being able to call it home, having to move the Crest every few days to avoid suspicion but never able to take it off the planet. Not able to freely move through the city, only venturing in to complete a job and always doing it alone. 

That was the oddest part to him, the way he didn’t like doing the work alone anymore. He’d grown accustomed to first having the child with him and then you. And he realized he didn’t really like being on his own. He just didn’t like most people. He did like you and Grogu so much that he didn’t like being without you, even if it was just to go hunting. 

Hunting with you made him nervous, yes, but he liked it. Liked being next to you. Liked seeing how you thought through things. Liked watching you fight - though much more in hindsight when he knew you were OK. Liked seeing the look on your face when you captured a quarry. 

“It’s so nice to be off world again!” You were perched on top of a crate in the hold, your legs dangling over the side. You were practically giddy. 

He smiled in spite of himself. 

“It’s just the Crest, Doll,” he said. “You could have done this at anytime.” 

“It’s different in space and you know it,” you replied. 

“Come down so we can discuss strategy,” he said. 

“What, don’t like talking up to me?” You quirked a brow at him. 

“Would rather speak to my equal as an equal,” he replied. “But if you’d prefer otherwise, I’m sure something can be arranged.” 

You bit your lip and he tried to not think about taking you to his quarters and binding you to his bed. 

Instead, you slipped down to the floor of the hold. The kid, still on top of the crate, sounded frustrated. You turned back to him. 

“You can get down,” you said, holding your arms out for him. “Come on. I know you can and you know you can and your dad knows you can.” 

Grogu looked at him, his ears drooping. 

“Come on,” Din said, crossing his arms over him. “You can do it.” 

The kid scrunched his little face before he jumped - or tried to jump, anyway. You caught him easily. 

“See!” You kissed his cheek. “You did it! You’re getting so good, bud!” 

Din smiled. As much as he liked watching you hunt bounties, he liked watching you with his foundling more. 

“So,” you put the kid on your hip, bringing your braid over your shoulder for him to play with. “I think we both know that going after a syndicate is… risky.” 

“Yes.” 

“But you took the lead on the last one,” you said cautiously. “And I think I should get to try on this one.” 

Din sighed, considering. 

The bounty you’d picked up intrigued him but it was too close to the trouble you’d gotten into on Tatooine. 

There was a new kind of spice that had hit the black market on Canto Bight, one that was more potent - and more fatal. Law enforcement had turned a blind eye for too long and the woman who had approached you was operating on the fringes of what anyone in power would allow. But children who were used to run the drug were getting sick, sometimes dying. It was a bridge too far. 

They had traced the drug to a Kessel based syndicate but Canto Bight security forces didn’t have jurisdiction off-world. Bounty hunters did.

It was something that was worth the risk to try to fix. But risking you… 

“No,” he said. Your eyebrows knitted together, ready to fight him. He cut you off. “But I have a different… approach. If you’re open to it.” 

You narrowed your eyes. 

“OK,” you said. 

“No lead,” he said. “We’re partners. We do this as partners.” 

You smiled. Maybe the biggest he’d seen you smile. 

“Partners,” you said. “I like that.” 

[hunnythebee]

Archive of Our Own | Request Rules

The Mandalorian - Din Djarin

Bare Hands ♦ One Shot ♦ Fluff

{Din and reader are invited to Casino in Canto Bight, but reader is slipped something and truths come to light}

Stow Away ♦ On-Going ♦ Fluff/Smut/Angst

{Jomira sneaks aboard the Razor Crest and finds herself in a situation she never imagined}

— Chapter 1: Stow Away —

— Chapter 2: The First Night —

— Chapter 3: Hiding in Plain Sight —

— Chapter 4: The Bounty —

— Chapter 5: Guilty Conscience —

— Chapter 6: Collision —

— Chapter 7: Sleep Talking —

— Chapter 8: Trust —

— Chapter 9: Blue Flame —

— Chapter 10: The Return —

— Chapter 11: Finally Free —

— Chapter 12: Festival of Lights —

— Chapter 13: Villas of Theed —

— On-going —

The Bad Batch - Clone Force 99

Love Languages ♥️ Head Canon ♥️ Fluff

{Each batcher's love language, includes Omega and Crosshair.}

The Bad Batch - Crosshair

Forgiveness💧Request 💧 Angst

{Crosshair wakes up, distraught and in a cell on Tantiss. An unexpected ally helps him work through his emotions}

Questions & Answers ♥️ One Shot ♥️ Fluff/Angst

{You've met many clones, working as a medic on Kamino. But you've been harboring feelings for one clone in particular, but you never imagined he would return your feelings.}

Breathless ♥️ One Shot ♥️ Fluff/Angst

{After a treacherous mission you resolve to finally confess your feelings to Crosshair, only to find that he had a similar notion.}

The Bad Batch – Hunter

Vulnerable ♥️ Request ♥️ Fluff/Angst

{After being on the run from the Empire for so long now, the concept of relaxation is foreign to you. When you and the Batch reach Pabu, the excess of adrenaline in your body becomes a problem.}

Trapped 💧 Request 💧Fluff/Angst

{A mission goes horribly wrong, trapping you in a tunnel and forcing Hunter to leave you behind.}

The Bad Batch – Tech

Jealousy ♥️ One Shot ♥️ Fluff/Angst

{Recent events between Phee and Tech leave you feeling... Well, to put it bluntly leave you feeling jealous}

The Bad Batch – Wrecker

Touches ♥️ Request ♥️ Fluff

{After an encounter with Wrecker at the bath house in upper Pabu, you're realizing that the feelings you have for him may not be purely platonic, and he feels it too.}

Clone Wars

Late Nights at 79s ♦ Series ♦ Smut

{You are a new Jedi Knight living in the heart of Coruscant and discovering the joys of the night life and the pleasures of the men who work so closely with the Jedi.}

— Chapter 1: Taboo — Echo x Reader

— Chapter 2: The Edge — Fives x Reader

— Chapter 3: Tattoos — Fives x Reader (fluff)

— Chapter 4: A Late Night — Jesse/Kix/Echo/Fives x Reader (yes all of them)

— Stranger Things —

Eddie Munson

What's the Password ♦ One Shot ♦ Fluff

{reader surprises their boyfriend, Eddie, with a pillow fort}

[astralisbelle]

Dead Man's Hand 6 - Lap of Luxury

Dead Man's Hand Masterlist tags: tags: engineer!reader, gambler!reader, loose canon timeline, eventual smut, fluff, action, casino aesthetics, touch starved reader, touch starved din, reader and din get on each other’s nerves, also they’re idiots, defrosting ice king din, cinderella vibes, everybody loves grogu

chapter summary: Canto Bight's opulent suite offers its fair share of comfort, amenities... and bath time shenanigans.

note: Thank you all so much for the likes/reblogs! Please keep them coming. If you like this story, let me know. Also remember that my ask box is open for short story requests/headcanons, etc. For your support, take a very silly and long part

“Your suite, sir. We hope the accommodations are to your liking.” The bellhop opens the door to the hotel room and bows his head, allowing them to venture inside. She takes the initiative, pushing past and striding in. Instantly, her eyes widen and she gasps.

The suite is larger than any apartment she had ever seen, so neat and luxurious. The window on the back wall overlooks all of Canto Bight, showing each light, each cruiser, every casino on the strip. She wanders in further, turning to the left to see the walkway to a door. Pressing the button next to it, it slides open and reveals the marble bathroom inside with a tub that could easily fit two, maybe three people. Next to it is a shower and then across is a double sink. With a giddiness in her step, she scurries across the suite and crosses the doorway, past the couch and lounge chairs, and into the main bedroom. The bed stretches wide with perfectly smooth, clean sheets that practically beg her to jump on it.

Behind her, the Mandalorian peeks into the room, touching the windows, looking underneath the bed, and sliding the closets open. Once he determines it’s secure, Grogu’s pram floats in, finding a place to park itself. “Hm.” He walks away from the room, continuing to sweep the rest of the suite.

“Since you are participating in the tournament,” says the bellhop, “food and drinks are complementary. Simply use the console to contact room service.”

“What does that mean?” she asks. “Food is free?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

For someone that grew up starving, that confirmation made her mouth salivate. She is going to order enough to feed a whole cantina. The Mandalorian emerges from the bathroom, reaching into his back pocket. “Thanks,” he says tossing a few credits to the bellhop. “We’ll take it from here.”

The bellhop catches the tip and smiles, bowing before taking his leave. Once he is gone, all of the excitement she was holding in bursts out at once into a happy yell. She tosses herself onto the couch, her feet kicking. “This is so cool!” She sits up. “Hell, I have no idea what I should do first! Order everything on the menu maybe? Take a nap?”

“You’re not ordering everything on the menu.”

“Tch. Kill joy.” She scratches her cheek. Come to think of it, he hasn’t had an opportunity to eat this entire time, has he? He must be starving. “...I have an idea. I think I want to take a nice, long bath. Why don’t you order food for us and you can eat in peace?”

He thinks on it for a few moments. “Fine with me.”

She bolts up, shuffling over to the tub. Inspecting the buttons, she sees that it comes with multiple features. “Hmm…” Pressing one starts the pipes and hot water gushes forth, filling the bottom of the tub. Another button mixes a shimmering soap with it, forming large bubbles. “Ah, perfect!” Just as she turns to shut the door, she looks down to see that Grogu had followed her, trying to peer into the tub. With a smile, she lifts him to the edge so he can see. “Looks fun, huh?”

He coos in response, looking up at her with those eyes that no one can resist.

Rolling her eyes, she peeks out the door. “Hey, uh… Mando? I can call you ‘Mando,’ right?” He responds from the couch.

“What is it?”

“Do you mind if I take Grogu with me?”

The Mandalorian does not response back quickly, but he eventually sighs and relents. “Just keep the door unlocked.”

“Unlock – seriously?”

“...Not remotely what I meant.”

She pouts, sliding back into the bathroom and closing the door, not putting the lock on it like he asked. “He’s so protective of you, isn’t he?” she says to Grogu, placing him on the sink counter. “It’s kind of sweet, actually…” She kicks off her shoes and pulls off her clothes, shedding off each article of clothing one by one. “Annoying.” She shakes out her hair. “But sweet.”

Grogu lifts his arms and allows her to pull his burlap shirt off, then the chain shirt underneath. Upon finding it, she laughs and holds it in her hands. “Aww! It’s so tiny! Is this beskar?” Grogu makes a happy squeak. “That’s adorable. Your dad is just a big softie, isn’t he?” She takes Grogu from the counter and steps into the hot bath, settling in with a long sigh, balancing him on her knees. “Stars, that’s amazing…”

The silky waters of the hot bath melt away the layers of dirt, leaving her skin smooth and unblemished. Bubbles cover the surface, a few of them floating and bouncing throughout the room. Grogu stares at his own reflection in one that flies near his face, popping once he pokes it. She slides her feet against the bottom of the tub, her knees inching further into the water so Grogu could submerge a little.

She looks around the luxurious bathroom, her shoulders sinking into the water as she breaths in the clean, flowery scent. What a weird moment. Here she is, living like a queen, bathing with a small child while someone waits on the other side of the door. It’s strange having someone physically close to her, especially a child. Even Grogu’s splashes make her smile and laugh.

For the first time in her life, she doesn’t feel so alone.

She thinks to herself that it’s time she washed her hair – that is sure to take a while. “Where is the shampoo…” It’s nowhere near the tub. Finally, she spots the bottle sitting atop of the sink, much further than her arm can reach. “Damn. Sorry, kiddo. Just give me a moment…” She trails off.

Grogu closes his eyes and extends a tiny hand toward the sink. What the hell is he doing? She glances between him and sink and then, she sees the bottle of shampoo. It’s floating towards them. Her reaction is completely involuntary, and she makes a loud noise in surprise, disturbing enough water to push some over the edge.

Rapid footsteps approach the door and it slides open. The Mandalorian barges in, blaster at the ready. “What happened?”

“Hey!” She snatches Grogu, using him to shield her chest. At that, his concentration breaks and the shampoo bottle falls to the floor with a loud pop. “D-Don’t look!”

“Ah…” She cannot see the Mandalorian’s expression, but the tone of his stuttering sounds tells her that he’s caught off guard. He clears his throat loudly, turning his head away and putting the blaster away. “Why did you scream?”

“I didn’t scream, I just…” She looks down at Grogu then back at the shampoo bottle. “Did you see that bottle floating in the air?”

He kneels down, picking it up. “No.”

“I swear it was moving. It was like… it was like the kid was–”

“Moving it with his mind? Yeah, he does that.”

“He–,” she frowns. “‘He does that,’ how long exactly has he been ‘doing that?’”

“I don’t know,” he responds, irritated. “Look, can we talk about this when you’re finished?”

“Oh… yeah, that’s fine…” She bites her lip. “Can… I have the shampoo, please?”

He sighs. The Mandalorian grabs the other bottles and sets them next to the tub, all the while his visor looking away. “Hurry up.” He walks out of the bathroom and presses the button to close the door. With him finally out, she sighs in relief.

She’s lucky the bubbles covered everything.

[sullustangin]

Fluffy February Day 17: Pleasure

SWTOR

Pairing: Theron Shan/Eva Corolastor

Words: ~870 (reasonable)

~~

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

She looked up at the familiar voice, pressed into an unfamiliar form.  Eva had learned that the correct response, whilst wearing evening gloves, was to extend her hand toward the voice and either get a firm hearty handshake or to have lips graze the top of the satin fabric. 

Her ability to think was always severely compromised whenever she saw Theron in another guise, as another man, as if they were in different universes, over and over again meeting each other for the first time. 

Time stopped for Eva, each time, each first time.  Maybe it was leftover brain disarray from the carbonite, when she dissociated regularly and didn’t know “when” she was.  It was different from when she first saw him in disguise at the casino on Katalla, and they had to pretend to be strangers.  The hitch wasn’t there.   

Or maybe these episodes were flashes into another universe when it was their first time meeting.  Eva had idly considered it before, in other spaces, in other times.

What if Eva had been caught after Corellia or there had been more hand-wringing before the Pub employed her for Ilum…would she have been sitting at an interrogation table, alone with the files and accusations against her and her broken heart as Theron walked in to question her….?  And when he had sussed out the truth and did what he did best – a victim debrief – what would they be then?

What if they had crossed paths on Nar Shaddaa, and Eva hadn’t been so tipsy with Risha and eating burgers that she’d noticed Theron pick a fight with a Houk and disappear around a corner…Would they have become fast friends over busting up Morbo the Hutt’s trafficking ring, with Bowdaar approving almost immediately upon completion of the rescue?

What if Theron had been deployed on one of those top secret missions that he was still reticent to talk to her about?  Was part of the hesitation knowing now that she’d been nearby?  That his presence would affect how she thought of him now?  Would it matter that he was disguised as an Imperial on King’s Ransom or even the Voidwolf’s flagship?  That he had lurked around Port Nowhere as Eva and Darmas had carried on, publicly, in the cantina?... or even if he had seen them at the tables on Canto Bight?

How different would things have been if Master Oteg had decided Eva and Risha had needed a supervisor on their trip to Maelstrom Prison…one with insight on the man they were meant to rescue?

Or…

Or what if they had never met before she came to Odessen?  Eva didn’t know if she’d be the Outlander if she hadn’t worked with Theron before (and she never would wonder that out loud to him, ever), but… even as the Voidhound (five years later, five years darker, five years harder…) would she catch his eye?  Or would she batter his professional because he caught her attention, some fire still inside of her after five years with the worst part of herself taking the lead, continuing her cartel work, in defiance of the Eternal Empire?

There was never a question that Eva would never bend the knee to the Eternal Empire, and there was never a question that Theron would join the organization would save the galaxy.   

It was just a question that if their paths crossed later…would they?  Could they?  She would be worse (she was sure of it), but would Theron…have someone else?  Gotten better about his attachment issues?  Or would he just be in that devotional state to a cause, his personal life an empty quarters on Odessen, decked out with the basics, his clothes and shave kit, and nothing more?

If their paths crossed earlier?

Or was it only in that moment, that one second when they decided they were both going to the cantina after Darok’s debrief that was the space that ‘they’ could start to exist? 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

She looked up at the familiar voice, pressed into an unfamiliar form.  Eva had learned that the correct response, whilst wearing evening gloves, was to extend her hand toward the voice and either get a firm hearty handshake or to have lips graze the top of the satin fabric. 

Now it was here, as he bowed low to grasp her red satin hand and kiss the knuckles, just off to the side of a ring (which had to be real, because their audience could spot a fake a parsec off).  His hair curled, as he never let it in daily life.  The suit was expensive, and he’d probably rented it or borrowed it from someone on base with a more active social life who actually did take leave. 

Eva rose to her feet as he straightened up, still grasping her hand. 

“I’m sure it’s always a pleasure to meet you,” Eva replied, the people around them chuckling at the joke or the audacity. 

Theron’s eyes lit up, not an act, and he took her signal to escort her out to the dancefloor.

There was a mission.  There was an objective. 

And then there was them, spinning around, always coming together, somehow. 

~~

@fluffyfebruary

[lookatthestarrynight]

We Always Love the Things We Cannot Have - Part 3/3

Armitage Hux/Reader, on AO3, check my masterlist for more (including the previous parts).

Armitage Hux, General of the First Order, Destroyer of Worlds, regretted few things in life… but this? He regretted this very much. He had not meant to fall for his strange savior, a woman who claimed to be nobody, who disappeared with just as much ease as she appeared. They were bound to meet again… after all, the galaxy works in mysterious ways.

Warnings: it's like two inches to the left of smut. 1530 words.

A/N: I dropped off the face of Tumblr for three years but this has also been in a google docs for three years so I present: the long awaited, maybe much anticipated part three. i'msosorry.

As was their recurring habit, General Hux encountered his scarred savior for a third time when he was attending an admittedly very frustrating fundraising party in a Canto Bight casino. He was aware that the Resistance might show up, but he hadn’t expected to be cornered by her in a casino elevator following a successful business deal. He’d gotten in alone, assuring his troopers that he would be fine alone – which, at this point, he should know is not really true. He’d gone down two floors, and then the elevator had stopped with a beep and in stepped her. Her, in a shimmering red dress, her eyes like bright orbs, framed in perfect eyeshadow, her silvery scar on full display, her hair twisted in an ornate updo. Who knew the Resistance had money for such a look?

“Hello, Armitage.”

He murmured her name in greeting as she stepped into the elevator car. “What brought you here?”

She stood next to him, now. “The General wanted me to make friends with my mother again, so that’s what I did. And my mother wanted me here.” 

He nods, recalling her story from the first time they met. It was not Resistance business at all, then, not really.

“What about you?”

“First Order fundraising business.”

“Ah. Sounds like fun.”

“It’s not.”

She giggled. “Do you want to have fun?”

He looked over at her, at the mischievous glint in her eyes. “I’m not entirely sure.”

She smiled, reaching forward and stopping the elevator car, fiddling with the buttons on the screen and sending the car rocketing back upwards, towards the floor she came from. 

“They’ll notice I’m gone.”

She shrugged. “I’m sure you can come up with a clever fib, Armitage.”

He flushed, and watched as the car slowly approached her floor, coming to a stop with a ding. She grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the car with her and down the hall to the door of her suite. She pressed her hand to the panel on the side of the door and it slid open with a mute, satisfying whoosh. She pulled him in, the door closing behind them. They stood in the foyer of the suite now, and she spun to face him.

“Well? What do you think?”

“About what?”

A conniving glint passed through her eyes. “About fun, Armitage.”

Hux shrugged, noncommittal and stiff. He had a feeling he knew what she meant, but he couldn’t help but want to make her spell it out for him.

She huffed, stepping towards him, her hands going to thread her fingers through the hair on the nape of his neck. Her perfume swirled around him, wrapping him in her aura once again. Slowly, he moved his hands to rest on her hips. He pulled her into him and she fell into his chest with a surprised gasp.

“Armitage!” she breathed, teasing. 

He smiled, looking down at her. “You’re the one that started it, darling.”

“Darling?”

“Would you prefer a different pet name?”

She grinned. “No, not at all.” She pushed herself forward, her lips meeting his. He could faintly taste her red lipstick as their lips parted and their tongues met. After a moment, she pulled away, breathless, and extricated herself from his grip. She stepped away and beckoned that he follow her down the hall that broke away straight from the foyer, and he did. It was only but a moment before she snagged his hand in hers and dragged him into what he presumed was her bedroom – and then she wrapped him up in her arms and their lips were connected yet again. One of her hands separated from him, reaching for her own hair and pulling out the ornate pins that held it in place. She reached to one of his hands and brought it to her hair, tossing the pins haphazardly on the dresser a bit away from where they stood. Hux curled his fingers into her locks, pushing himself closer to her. 

It occurred to him that there were many things about this that were inherently wrong – namely: he was an officer of the First Order, she of the Resistance. But, as she pulled him with her towards the bed, he couldn’t really find it in himself to care about the little things like that. Slowly, his fingers wandered to the clasps of her dress, and he undid them, one at a time, feeling the fine fabric slide through his hands and down her body like water. In likewise form, her fingers wandered to the buttons of his dress uniform, undoing them with oddly practiced grace.

Hardly but a moment later, he found himself on his back, on the bed, with her straddling his lower abdomen, a shining smile on her face as she leaned forward to kiss him again, and again, and again.

They seemed, as cliche as it sounded, to fit together like puzzle pieces. Hux was mesmerized as he watched her rise and fall above him, head thrown back in ecstasy. He held her hips, tighter and tighter, as if to hold this moment in time forever. Her little gasps of pleasure were music to his ears, a sound he would cherish forever; the warmth of her around him a sensation unlike any other. The sheets wrapped around them in a warm embrace, cocooning them in a moment unto their own, far away from the trials of the galaxy. In what felt like no time at all to Hux (but was, in fact, surely longer), they were separating, laying beside each other, breathing heavily. With his heart thundering away in his chest (whether from exertion, or love, or both), he pulled her closer to his body and held her for a moment, dreading the approaching instant that they would separate, again, for who knows how long. 

After a while, she pulled herself free of his grasp, and sat up in the bed. “I’m sure they will be missing you by now, Armitage.” She looked sad even as she said it, so Hux bit back his snarky response and nodded reluctantly – already beginning his evolution back into a stiff military man. 

She watched him with sparkling eyes as he redressed, as he stood in front of the mirror and fixed his hair, as he straightened his cuffs and pulled the wrinkles from his uniform. At some point, she got up from the bed, wandering over to him in nothing but the sheet – held loosely, at that – and quietly slid one of her ornate hair pins into the interior pocket of his uniform jacket, gently kissing his cheek as she did so. 

“I’m sure I’ll see you again soon, Armitage.”

He nodded, turning to her and pressing a kiss to her hairline. “Likewise, darling.”

And with that, he was walking out of the bedroom and down the hall, out of the suite and to the elevator, out to the casino, to the First Order fundraiser, back to the stuffy Senators and businessmen – and away from what he’d decided was the most beautiful thing in the whole galaxy. 

<>

He did not see her again soon. In fact, he did not see her again for a year, and for that entire span of time, he found himself desperately wishing he’d found a way to keep in touch with her – but today, he came to the startling realization that she had somehow found a way to keep in touch with him. 

Today, he received an encrypted message from a far corner of the galaxy, with the sender merely listed as “Darling.” He knew who it was, of course, he remembered everything. It was a message of five lines, five sentences that had managed to turn his entire world upside down. 

The first informed him that she had left the Resistance shortly after their last meeting.

The second informed him of why.

The third informed him of the name of her reason why: Amarante.

The fourth informed him that mother and daughter were in a place no military, no enemy of his would ever find them.

The fifth was three small, meaningful words. I love you.

And so, when Kylo Ren found General Hux later that day, he was precisely where her message had left him – standing in front of a glass viewport on the Finalizer, staring into deep space, wishing he knew which stars they could both see. 

“General.”

“Commander.”

“You look… surprised. I had not thought such a thing was… possible, for a man like you.” 

Hux could feel the fingers of the Force rifling through his mind, finding what was wrong in only an instant.

“Ah.”

Hux merely grunted in return.

“Well, at least they are safe.”

Hux wanted to smack the Commander, make him understand that there was so much more to this than safety, but he didn’t.

“When the First Order succeeds, I’m sure she will find you again, General.”

For the first time ever, Armitage Hux found himself genuinely afraid of losing – the war, her, Amarante – all of it.

Armitage Hux, General of the First Order, Destroyer of Worlds, regretted few things in life… but this? He regretted this very much.

Another A/N: I like to think this is what made him spy for the Resistance in the end. Some sort of misguided prayer for redemption, hope to see her, I dunno. In a perfect world, he lived happily ever after with his Darling and Amarante. But, well. We know how this story ends… if anyone is interested I could definitely write an AU epilogue, though. I have many thoughts (including, but not limited to, Poe x Darling, platonic or romantic). In my head a lot of this happens beginning before TFA, and pushing a bit into it but not far. Come TLJ and TROS, I’m feeling Darling and Amarante have been estranged from the galaxy for at least a few years, and Amarante is no longer a toddling baby.