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silksaddle · 3 years ago

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Forage

Part Three: Raiders

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Series Rating: E

Summary: As Mando’s new crewmate, you make your first venture out onto a new planet, where the creatures and environment provide obstacles to your task as a scavenger. That is, until the Mandalorian needs you to accompany him across Tusken land.

Warnings/content: language, very brief mentions of blood/past injury, Massiffs (animals in context of fear), very mellow startings of sexual thoughts, flirting (?), Peli Motto and Competent Din Djarin my beloveds

Words: 7.1k

Notes: gif by @bestintheparsec! Thank you so much to those who have shown their interest in this story! Things are picking up…

Series Masterlist | Previous

“So… I guess we’re gonna have to uh…”

Hours later, you sink awkwardly into the passenger seat, your body slouching with leaden nerves. Dry tear tracks line your cheeks, but you push the thought of home away and replace it with the present’s issues to tackle. “...Get to know each other better.”

The Mandalorian turns his chair around to face you, blue streaks of light shining against him like a glimmering pond. But he waits. Always makes you say what you’re too shy to finish.

Inhaling deeply, you avert your gaze to the controls and panels beside you, displeased to find none of it interesting enough to distract you from the way he’s staring silently at you to continue.

You clear your throat, “Because… Well, we’re gonna be shipmates. If your offer still stands, of course. I mean, it’s very generous, but you don’t have to—”

“It still stands.”

Your gaze snaps back up to his visor as your laced fingers clench in your lap.

He sits still, his hands resting easily on his thighs. Then his head tilts, and your chest swirls with something exhilarating as you adjust your position, suddenly conscious of your appearance under his close watch. Your shoulder glistens still with the bacta, nearly dry and no longer bothering you. You must look… you must be dirty after the chase, and disheveled, too.

“I’m… not the best at keeping things… in order.”

You snort instantly, an exact repeat of the first time you referenced his ship, your hand flying to your mouth with a firm slap. With a miniscule movement, his head falls back an inch and into the back of his chair, a sigh crackling out of his helmet.

You’ve only seen a blurred image of the hull, and up here in the cockpit, things seem… functional, at best.

“Well, do you want me to scavenge or to be your maid?”

“I want—” he pauses, “you are not my prisoner.” Mando quiets his voice and softens his tone, his stomach rising and falling with a deep breath. “You brought something to me that was very valuable. I will help you in return.”

For how long exactly? Until you end up on a planet you like enough to stay there?

Your offering of the beskar clearly earned you more respect in his book, but you sense you’ll have to work harder in terms of trust. Something’s shifted since— this is his area now, his expertise, and it can’t be the same as it once was, when he’d appear from the shadows and scare you out of your boots, carrying all sorts of gadgets for you to look at— you’re in his territory. There’s going to be rules.

An unspoken word hangs in the air: Useful. You’re useful, is what you imagine he doesn’t say.

Frowning, you sink further into the padding of the seat, looking down at your hands in the dark blue hue of the ship.

“Have you ever really had a shipmate before?” you ask, genuine curiosity in your voice. The Mandalorian seems to have backwater connections all over the galaxy, and Maker, you’re one of them. There’s no way he’s been alone this whole time, right?

He freezes in place, a silver metal statue in the pilot’s chair, glinting at you with each streak of the stars you speed past.

“You might say that,” he replies shortly, and swivels back around to face the viewport, taking the controls into hand.

“What does that—”

“Dropping from hyperspace.”

His focused rumble cuts in, and the statement doesn’t yet mean anything to you before he commands you to strap yourself in and the ship comes to an abrupt halt, the stars shortening back to small dots in space. Your body jolts, and you catch yourself from flinging onto the floor by a deathly grip on the underside of the seat, your fingers cramping.

“Shit, Mando,” you huff, fixing yourself back into a comfortable spot, then noticing the beige, sand covered planet looming ahead.

The ship slows down as it enters the atmosphere, the black veil of space fading into the tan colour of sandy dunes. You peek out of the viewport to the right, transfixed by the weathered white buildings and their round shapes; in the stretch of town approaching, the paths of sand are full of people, their entire bodies covered in light fabric to shield from the sun.

“Where is your bounty?” you ask, still staring to the outside as blood orange rock structures appear in the distance.

“Probably somewhere between towns, Mos Eisley and Mos Pelgo.”

You nod along despite those names holding no meaning to you, a low buzz beginning to vibrate in your chest with excitement. You can already see how many nooks and crannies there are to look through— so many alleys and hidden spots visible from up here.

Mando eases the ship over a hangar bay, gently floating down into the open circular space.

He runs his fingers along the control panel, pressing buttons until the ship powers down. “Well, looks like we have some rules to go over.”

You rise from your seat, timidly meeting his gaze once he turns and advances on you. Something inside you gives way to the fear others feel around him. You’re friends— you think. He lent you his bacta. But more and more obvious is the fact that you know next to nothing about who he actually is. Could he turn on you in an instant? Leave you behind for dead?

“One. You listen to me.”

The Mandalorian needs control— you can work with that. But the way he says it is like you’ve already given in. The rough voice and stern finger pointed in your direction spark a rise in your body temperature, sizzling out through your chest. You cross your arms, tilting your head at him, and a tiny change in his stance tells you that he’s not willing to be challenged on this one rule. But he can’t know everything.

“What if I disagree with you?”

“You won’t.”

With that, he passes, descending the ladder back into the hull with a thud as you throw your head back, a silent groan ghosting out of you.

You follow his lead, down the steps and into the darker area of the ship. He’s standing with his back against the armoury doors when you land, one heel balanced on the toe of his other boot.

“Two, try not to touch anything that’s not yours.”

You halt in your step— anything? Nothing in here is yours to begin with.

“Okay. Try,” you counter back, “at some point I’m gonna have to help you with some of this.”

“Just not now, then.” But he gestures towards the small storage box where he’d taken the bacta, “if you need the medkit, though, you can take it.”

Fair. You’re probably going to get yourself into a lot worse when you get your hands on these fresh new planets.

“Anything else you want me to do?” You crouch down by your bag, gingerly removing the beskar from the fabric, leaving it to rest by the bunk. “Like… I don’t know, is there a limit on fresher use or something? How do you know I won’t try and… ambush you?”

“I think I could handle you,” his answer comes in a stunted breath, and you huff at his cocksure tone. “I just need you to do your job.” The Mandalorian thuds away to the ramp, the machinery hissing and smoking as it lowers to the grainy ground. “Which means, never go too far from the ship.”

“How far is f—”

“Mando!” An excited, curly-haired woman takes jovial steps toward the ship with three droids in her wake, her smile falling seconds later at the sight of two humans and no alien. The shop behind her appears weathered and old, put to good use over the years, a little grime here and there from the greasing oil.

“Don’t tell me it died.” Her voice turns rumbly as her hands plant to her hips, your face instantly twisting into a frown. It?

“No,” Mando replies, his armour blinding in the sun— two suns, you notice, from the double flares in the sky. “He’s fine.”

Her head falls back, and the droids skitter around the base of the ship. “Thank the Force.” Then, she takes a curious peek at you, looming behind Mando’s shoulder. “And this isn’t what the little womp rat turned into, is it?”

Curls flop on her head as she takes you in with enthusiasm, a beaming smile, your gaze fixed on the back of his helmet. Droid beeps and squeaks fill your ears, and before you can answer—

“She’s with me.”

“Go figure, Mando.”

You want to say something, even just a greeting, but you get no chance between your giggling at her and his subsequent slap of credits into her hand.

“Will that cover me?”

She nods, the droids already busy at work. You smile at them, watching their little metal pieces for hands tinkering away at the base of the ship.

“Thank you,” he says, more softly, before motioning you along with him and out the passage into the row. You turn behind in your quick steps to offer her a wave, returned with a tight-lipped, perplexed smile.

She seems about as puzzled by him as you are. And about as puzzled as you are by him letting you come along.

“Where are we going?”

“I’m starting my hunt,” he answers shortly, “and you are going to start scavenging.”

Sounds easy enough, but now that you’re on the ground, you have no clue where you are, or how to get back to the ship once you get going. You know your own methods— you sniff out something interesting, and within minutes you’re down a maze of corners with a bunch of wasted parts in your bag.

Following him through the dark, covered alley and back into the sun among a crowd of people, you walk head on into his back when he stops abruptly.

“Umph—”

You grunt and pull yourself back, glowering at his unexpected nature, but he exhibits no reaction to the bump before he points a finger near your chest.

“And don’t get in trouble with the Jawas.”

Wide eyes following the orange tip of his finger, you nod absently as he eases it away from your body.

“Meet me back here at sun down.”

“Suns… down.” You murmur, averting your gaze the second the joke leaves your mouth, and as you’d expected, a sigh follows.

“Just be careful. And like I said, no Jawas. They’re gonna try and lift everything you find off of you.”

“Those little guys? No way.”

***

What are you supposed to do around here?

Nothing weighs your bag down yet.

You don’t know the planet like Mando clearly does, and you’re not inclined to get yourself lost and make him waste his time looking for you. He has schedules, you’re certain of that, and he was generous enough to bring you along… you’ve got to make it worth his benevolence.

You race back to the hangar where you’d landed, boots scraping over the granules. The stony walls and sizzling heat remind you of home, although the warmth’s source comes from the burning suns, not the molten lava trickling past black rock. Re-entering the docking bay, you scan around for the woman whose name you’d lost the chance to catch, admiring her extensive set of tools and the well-loved station wires.

“Oh, you again!” Whipping your head around, you spot her from under Mando’s ship with a pair of goggles on her head as she rolls out from beneath the durasteel. The droids excitedly whirl around her, tweaking little areas around the edge of the ramp, and she blows some sand from her shoulder. “Why’s that Mandalorian dragging you here to Tatooine?”

“Hello,” you breathe in, out, “we uh, had an agreement.”

The woman gets back on her feet with a grunt, and dusts off the fronts of her coveralls. “Right, right, of course.”

You dig the toe of your boot into the sand, suddenly over-conscious of the tear in your sleeve, the dried blood. “What was your name?”

She makes a loud sound that causes you to giggle softly to yourself, a satisfying sensation after the last twenty-four hours. “Peli. And you? Mandalorian’s inmate?”

“I’m not,” you smile even bigger, and she comes closer to shake your hand as you give her your name in return. The sunlight hits from behind her, lighting up every stray, frizzed curl on her head, the goggles now resting on it like a band. “I just needed some help.”

“Oh! Well, shoot. My droids can handle this ship without me, no problem.”

“It’s not that big of a deal,” you start, “the Mandalorian expects me to be able to scavenge enough stuff for me to pay for food and… I’m not really sure where to go.”

Peli’s eyes roll back into her head, all the way as she groans. “What a grump.”

“It is my job.”

A beep at your side startles you, and a little work droid pokes you in the leg, its one eye looking right at your empty bag. It skitters around you in a circle, before Peli waves it off back to work with a barking voice.

She faces you, her head a wobble, “If you insist, I can recommend the Jundland Wastes. Not too far from here, just go that direction and you’ll probably find some worthwhile stuff. But be vigilant. It can be dangerous up there.”

When she points the opposite way than where you were intending to go, relief eases your shoulders down, the promise of a discovery stripping the nerves in your stomach to nothing.

“Thank you. I appreciate it,” you grin, taking one last peek around her shop.

***

It’s worse than you expected.

Sand. In your shoes, in your hair, blowing in your face. Heat. Sweat clinging to your skin. Two suns. Blinding you every time you try to look out to the distance for somewhere to pilfer around.

“Fuck me.”

You’ve made it an hour, just coming upon the wastes after slinking around through a crowd in what you think is Mos Eisley’s market.

It wasn’t nearly as busy, but there were the same cooks and merchants shouting rules or trying to lure people in, colourful fabrics thrown over rods to create shade spreading over top of you as you neared the end of the row.

You pull your scarf up, tying it tighter, leaving it just above your nose to keep any sand from floating up into your nostrils or your mouth, and you peer across the desert rocklands with a palm shielding your eyes.

Peli was right— there’s an abandoned speeder lying in a hump of parts in the distance, and the area appears to be completely vacant.

Running down the sandy slope, a smile breaks out on your face underneath the fabric of your scarf, and sweat forms at your temples. You thump down to the crash scene and set your bag on the ground, then inspect the broken speeder from an arm’s length distance. It’s sitting in the middle of two rock walls on either side; a tickle of uneasiness shoots up your spine at the quiet shifting sound behind you, but nothing looms there. Nothing else looms anywhere, but you’re left with the feeling of being watched.

Slowly, you bend down and pull out a stack of parts broken off from the bottom. A tiny repulsorlift engine, the seat, a split piece off one of the handles. The engine will have to do— it’s still intact, just separated from the rest of the bike. You note a frazzled drawstring sack at the back of the speeder, your fingers trailing along the deconstructed shape.

It refuses to open for you when you try to pull the gathered fabric open, so you hold it up to a jagged edge of the bike, and scrape it downward until the fabric rips.

“Come on…” you mutter, fishing your hand around through the tear. You feel something sharp, and pulling it out, you find a shiny blue pendant, its gold chain shimmering in the sunlight. The words inscripted on the front of the charm are written in a language you cannot read, and holding it up to the sun, it creates a blinding cast to the ground. Yelping, you shield it from the brightness. The gem in the centre curves with several straight edges cut into it, gleaming so delicately it makes you want to keep it for yourself.

Whose was this? Sympathy awakens inside— surely, this was someone’s good luck. Someone’s keepsake to ward off the bad. But seeing no other footprints left in the sand, and considering the rust, this speeder’s been here for a while. They won’t be coming back.

You toss the amulet and the repulsorlift engine into the bag, lifting it away from the ground with a grunt. More sweat forms around your body, and as you push and pull the fabric around your stomach to create a breeze, the Mandalorian appears in the direction you came, running directly at you.

Your head falls back— what is it this time? And why does his armour have to glint so fucking bright?

Your annoyance fades out the longer you watch him approach, rooted to your spot beside the speeder. Stars, he’s strong, running at that speed with all that extra weight. Wide. Sturdy. Full of endurance. You can’t imagine what this heat is like for him, under those layers, and when he gets close enough to speak with you, he’s barely huffing.

“Hello?” you laugh, watching him stare at the crashed speeder.

“Did you find anything yet?”

You pick out just the faintest hint of impatience in his voice. His hands hang at his sides, fingers relaxed— not clenched into fists— a good sign that he’s at least calm and not in any dire need.

“Uh, yeah, I got a repulsorlift—”

“Good, you’re coming with me now.” The Mandalorian immediately turns without waiting for an answer, already stalking away from you. He’s… different when he’s on the job, focused on the task at hand and little else. You know he’s expecting you to follow after him— why should you prove him right? This is what he asked you to do, he can’t just come and pull you away—

“Ugh,” you whine, running up to land yourself beside him. “Why?”

You follow the Mandalorian back in the direction of the docking bay at a brisk pace compared to his leisurely, long steps. His cape floats gently behind him, peppered with grains of sand, the bottoms of his boots kicking it up behind him.

“My quarry is the other way. But I need passage across the Tusken’s land, and I had nothing to give them. So I need you to come with me.”

“I thought you needed me to find stuff so we could get food—”

“This is important,” Mando cuts in, his gruff tone finally softening, “they’re hospitable. You won’t starve…” He trails off, awkwardly adding his final word, “I promise.”

***

After borrowing two bikes from Peli, and embarking on a windy trek alongside Mando towards the next town over, the speed provides a more than pleasant breeze against your body as you race along the dunes, through the rocky sections. Your scarf protects the bottom half of your face, leaving your eyes squinting at the painful brightness of the vast horizon ahead.

You trail behind Mando, semi-distracted by the whip of his cape in the wind. At the back of his speeder are more pieces of equipment, folded into a dark blanket, tightly bound around the back-end structure.

The terrain transforms after an hour on the go, where more detours suddenly spring into your path, becoming rockier by the minute. Soon, you approach a cove, and behind it, a cliff— sun bleached, tall, jagged. Mando signals to stop, slowing down just by the edge of it, and you follow suit, pulling yourself to a rough stop with a tug on the handles.

The whir of the engines die down and echo off around the cove, giving way to an eerie quiet.

He’s silent.

You wait for him, and within ten seconds of stillness, the heat creeps its way back under your clothes. The slight dampness clinging to you bothers you in a deeper way than most other trivial annoyances, and when Mando suddenly steps off his bike, you almost whine. Showing a palm to you, you heed his warning to stay put, your irritation turned to a curious hum.

Hand on the blaster at his hip, he takes calculated steps toward a large, reddened boulder.

The Mandalorian stays put when a creature— large, scaly, and pointy-spined— slinks out from the shadows. Its large eyes pin him down, bearing its sharp teeth as it unlatches its jaw. It makes a call, the sound guttural and firm and blood-curdling—

“Mando!” you shout, leaping up from your speeder; what does he think he’s doing?

You advance only three paces before he makes the exact sound you just heard, raising a hand to where his mouth is beneath the helmet. A growly yell, forced out with his whole chest, echoes around the sandy rock cove.

You snap your gaze to the back of his helmet, wearing shock on your face like an exaggerated painting.

“What the fuck is that?”

Mando waves you off, and he grunts another loud, animalistic noise, resounding around the entire area. His hands move to aid his communication with the… thing, and you loom in the background, clueless, and vibrating with stress.

Whatever it is, it looks vicious and hungry, and you grow dizzy when another one appears behind it. Their bodies shimmer, black eyes settling upon you from metres away.

“Mandalorian,” you grit, inching backward, “are you gonna tell me what these things are?”

“Predators,” he answers, stepping from their path with the clank of his boot.

With the allotted space, the first one narrows its eyes at you, and drags its massive claws through the sand. Your stomach lurches hard as you gulp, your pointed tone losing its credibility to the fear in your voice.

“And why the fuck is it looking at me like that?”

“They’re hungry. I offered you for dinner.”

What? You point an accusatory finger at him, the creature still closing in on you with a rumbling growl. He cannot be serious.

“I swear, if you did that, I am going to kill you—”

“Put your palm out.”

“Why?”

“Just put it out. You’re fine.”

Huffing a shaky breath, you hold your palm up, once again looking into the eyes of the threatening being before you, its teeth stark and still bared.

The creature relents, pushing its weight into its hind legs.

“Give it a pet.”

Your mind goes blank, and your brows furrow to the point they hurt, but when you look back down at the creature, its expression has changed into something kinder— more approachable— awaiting a scratch and not a meal.

“You are terrible at joking,” you grumble, still apprehensive of touching it. The reptilian scales ripple with the movement of its body, its mouth so big it could swallow your arm whole.

“Maybe,” he says, “just kneel and give it a try.”

Hesitantly, you drop onto your knee and place a hand on the creature. Its rough skin skates underneath your palm as you move it, and it nuzzles its head against the inner part of your forearm when you give it a harder pat. You pull back on instinct, but after another calming breath and no teeth sinking into your arm, you trust it’s not a threat anymore. It stares at you, unblinking, the long curve of its mouth slanting up in joy.

“You’re… not so scary, are you?” you break into a smile at last, placing your other hand on its opposite side. The eyes shine at you and its breathing becomes quicker in its excitement, a gentle pant as you scratch its back. You reach for the part that pokes out of its spine, letting your hand ride the curve of it. “Mando said you were going to eat me.”

Peeking back around at Mando, he’s not as far away anymore— he’s watching you, arms crossed.

“Not so bad, was it?”

You scoff through your grin, turning your attention back to your scaly friend. “It might have been better if you didn’t scare me.”

He circles around to stand where you’re kneeling, and the second creature follows closely behind him. “Not many get this close to the Massiffs.”

“Massiffs? That’s what these are?”

He hums his affirmative, crouching beside you to pet the other one, his gloved hand sliding smoothly along its back.

You slow your motions as you study his; focused, gentle, cooing something in a gentle voice to the animal. It grips your heart tight, aimlessly, without rhythm.

You discovered weeks before that although the Mandalorian did live up to his rumours of being a bone-chilling menace, he also carried a gentle streak hidden beneath that exterior. From talking you down from the scare on his ship, to returning to you and leaving his special items. He’d kept all the good ones for you.

And up to now, after lending you bacta gel, extending his hand in a deal— you see just how much duality there is in him. Could it be conflict too?

He approaches the creatures so kindly. Knows their language. Plays with them until they pat their claws happily into the sand.

The weight. You always forget the weight he must carry, both physically on his body, and mentally, from things you suppose you’ll never know.

“Yeah,” he chuckles at the Massiff when it rolls over on its back, then stands up on its feet again. A rich, warming sound. One that even makes your thighs squeeze… you don’t know why it’s all suddenly so affecting, but then it’s gone. He makes a loud, inhuman noise like before. Whatever it means, the Massiffs listen, and the Mandalorian rises, gesturing what appears to be his thanks and yours.

“We should get going before it’s too dark.”

***

With the daylight beginning to fade away, you finally reach the Tuskens in the middle of a flat after two rough hours on the move, eyes dry and sore from the squinting.

Two enormous beasts flank their group, with curling horns and wooly coats, their large mouths dropping open, expectant of food.

Banthas, Mando murmurs to you, and you swallow thickly.

Stepping off your bike, he motions you over, indicating to bring your bag along. Four Tuskens watch you closely with eagerness, awaiting your discoveries, their robes just meeting the rough ground beneath. Their faces you cannot see; covered with wrappings, breathing apparatus, their eyes hiding behind goggles.

You observe in curiosity as Mando begins to converse with them in signs and sounds you don’t understand, lowering the scarf around your face. The open air hits your skin, your lips dry as you let them fall open to swallow in a deep breath.

Your shoulders slump with an uneasy awareness, and you shrink yourself into the outskirts, like some shadow would come shroud your presence and the strangers littered around you would not take notice.

But Mando goes back and forth; a wave of his hand, a rough sound from his throat. They point their fingers at your bag, only satisfied once you cautiously pull out the amulet, letting it dangle from your hand. It glints in the dying sunset, shining and casting its glittering shimmer onto the sand.

They seem to argue on it, your gaze flicking between the two sides, before Mando takes it from your clutch and tosses it towards them. A Tusken catches it midair as you begin to frown, and they swiftly bow toward you to convey all their thanks.

“I liked that one…” you whisper, inching closer to the Mandalorian with an effort to remain subtle. But you’d never have gotten to keep it. He looks at you with an odd angle to his helmet, as if he couldn’t be bothered by that notion, and you peek back into your bag to find the small repulsorlift engine and miscellaneous parts that you have no use for… it doesn’t matter.

“Uhuh…” Mando hums back, the Tuskens grabbing his attention again with what sounds like another request. He nods in return, and as you wait for him to translate it back to you, your focus wanders along to the setting suns, slowly edging down the horizon and gleaming warm, orange and pink colours across the sky.

It’s already a dark blue in the other direction, your eyes settling upon a unique rock structure far off. The Banthas groan and shift impatiently behind their leaders, the loud noises rumbling out in your ears.

Their conversation continues before Mando calls after you, approaching to stand close to your front. “We’ll camp here with them for the night. It’s too late to keep going. They’ll let us pass tomorrow.”

Minutes later, the campfire crackles and spits up tiny sparks to the air as Mando finds a seat next to you on the blanket provided by the Tuskens. They sit near you, cooking food to share, and looking up to the sky, you find the stars beginning to poke through the forming darkness, twinkling down at you.

You find wonder in it— the day had been so hot, so relentless, that seeing the night on a new planet after such a time makes you feel a little dizzy. You draw your knees tighter to your chest, pondering.

It’s much the same as it was when the pirates came after you— a feeling so strange grabs you by the ankle, and leaves you feeling nothing at all in return. Surreal. You can hardly process it.

From lava to sand, to… what next? There’s no telling how long Mando will feel inclined to help you. While your relations come to good terms, after your good-natured trades and his quiet visits, you struggle to tell just how far his generosity can extend.

“You okay?”

The steady, familiar voice draws you away from your thoughts, turning your gaze from the orange fire to the Mandalorian spread out beside you, reflecting the same colour on his armour.

“Your work was very helpful to me,” he says slowly when you don’t speak, nodding toward the busy Tuskens just a few feet away, “this is really their land. Thank you.”

“I’m glad there was that at least,” you respond, offering him a sleepy nod of your head and a half-smile. A Tusken approaches to place a wooden bowl into your hands, full of a steaming liquid, and once you offer your thanks, Mando reiterates it for you. Leaning to the side, he softly whispers to inform you what it is— merely a simple broth. He’s offered the same, but declines politely.

Does he ever take that helmet off? Who was the last person to see the face underneath?

From the sound of his voice, it’s easy to imagine someone handsome, someone attractive in a deeper way than surface-level. But you conjure up no image in your head; only vague features. Perhaps dark hair. Dark eyes.

“It… gets cold here at night. I have an extra blanket on the speeder if you need it.”

You raise the bowl to your lips, timidly sipping at the broth, pleased to find it flavourful— just salty enough without being overpowering.

“Thanks.”

You smile at him, this time bigger, as the Mandalorian settles himself deeper into the ground, his back supported by a rock. He lines one leg overtop of the other, crossing his arms to keep some warmth.

As he talks with the Tuskens, you sit in silence, listening along anyway, studying their movements. You can only pick out a few of what the hand signals mean, and you gather that he’s telling them his business, crossing their land, his voice aiding his communication.

It’s different, with an added roughness and power— when he talks to you, it’s generally soft, in a way that makes you crumble a little on the inside. But you’d never tell him that. And now that he’s being so kind as to offer you a ticket onto all sorts of planets, you find yourself drawing in, afraid to do anything that might result in slowing him down.

But your track record isn’t half bad. The beskar put you on his good list. Certainly.

After some time, their interactions die down, and the Mandalorian’s subtle explanations of their conversation to you go along with it. The Tuskens retire to the opposite side of the campfire to doze off for the night, and when you’re convinced the Mandalorian has fallen asleep too, you carefully trudge over the cooled sand and retrieve the blanket he’d mentioned earlier. You situate yourself back down on the fabric already laid out, wrapping yourself in the much heavier, much warmer blanket, studying the fire in hopes that it will ease you off to sleep, too.

It doesn’t help.

Sighing, your eyes strain to pick up the landscape in the darkness, but the atmosphere around you is comfortable enough. You can’t hear anything beyond what’s in front of you, filling your vision; the Banthas, the Tuskens, the hunk of a man at your side. How much can you trust him, now that you rely on him? Even as he lies there, you know he’s not so defenseless— if you stood over him now and raised a blaster, you wouldn’t come out the survivor.

“How did you know to keep the beskar for me?”

The Mandalorian’s sudden question stops your heart for a fleeting moment as you whip your head to look at him. He’s still as a stone, in the same position he’s been in for the past hour. He finally turns to look at you, waiting, the fire shining against him.

“I…”

Embarrassed, you draw the blanket tighter around your shoulders. “You know what I am,” you continue, Mando’s helmet still facing you. “I’ve read a lot of things. A lot of stories.”

Each word between you passes in a whisper. The planet at night is a whole new world, cold and biting. You shift on your legs to face him, and adjust the heavy wool to cover your boots.

“I like to know what I’m working with. I’ve researched a lot of artifacts— I want to know if what I find is okay to sell. I won’t sell it if it’s significant to someone else, I’d rather return it to them.”

He makes a soft sound, considering you with a nod. “You’ve read about my people.”

“Well, a little… Different sources say different things. But I know that beskar should be with a Mandalorian and not for sale in a trading post.”

For a moment, Mando doesn’t respond. He turns his head toward the fire, his fingers lacing across his lap.

“You’re… dedicated. Most people would sell without thinking.”

Those words coming from him make your chest flutter with pride, and in the back of your mind, you theorize it’s where the budding trust comes from. “I do what I can.”

Mando turns on his side, and you suppress a giggle at how uncomfortable he looks, laid out the way he is, how all that beskar must be digging into his muscles.

“Hm. Like when you were about to ransack my ship. Doing what you can.”

Your gaze narrows at him before you huff a deep laugh, folding into yourself under the vast, open sky, fleetingly forgetful of the pivotal change that occurred just the day before. “If you’re not going to let that go, then I’m a little scared to be your crewmate.”

“Well,” he grunts, “just try not to be sneaky around me. Or else I’ll start to think you really are a hellhound.”

“Shouldn’t be too hard.”

Mando makes another hum of consideration, tightening the crossed arms over his chest. “You should get some sleep.”

“Maybe,” you hum, settling down after pushing your body into the sand to make a comfortable divot to rest in. You like it here, after all.

***

Mando is gone when you wake in the morning, too late to enjoy the last of the night’s coolness. The suns hang high and heat up the grainy dunes, and you’re left for an hour by your lonesome with the Tuskens in the silence of a language barrier, using the gestures you’d previously picked up until the Mandalorian returns with the quarry.

The trek back to town occurs the same as the voyage out— hot, windy, sandy. Your view consists of one extra thing; the Rodian bound to the back of Mando’s speeder by a cord, struggling against it.

You pull back into Peli’s docking bay by the evening, worn and hungry, but nonetheless tasked with selling your scavenged items.

As Mando wrestles the green bounty back into the repaired ship, he advises you to head out, his arm bulging around the Rodian’s neck. “I’ll find you,” he grunts, before disappearing into the cargo hold, your stomach flipping over.

An invisible thread of worry winds around your own body when you step out from the hangar and into the market strip.

You pull the scarf up to your nose, lugging your bag along in search of a trader— shouldn’t take long, you think, with how many people already seem to be bartering over collectibles.

Slinking through the late day crowd, you find an odd looking stand, wooden and empty, except for the man on the other side, whose face is almost completely covered like yours to keep from the rays. He wears a large robe like the Tuskens did, but his eyes pierce you when you meet them, luring you in without words.

“Hello,” you start timidly, edging closer to his booth. “Are you a vendor?”

“I trade only for credits.” He steps aside, and you notice the pile of items stacked behind him, ranging all colours and sizes, shiny and matte.

You drop your bag to the ground as others pass tightly behind you, fishing out the parts and the repulsorlift engine. You place them all on his counter and look up expectantly, your heart sinking when you notice his eyes exhibiting a certain disinterest.

He picks up the engine to appraise its value as the light overhead dissipates, the lamps flicking on outside the round, stony buildings. The fabric shades remain suspended, creating a canopy over the merchant’s row, and the man sniffles under the fabric on his face.

“Fifty credits for all of this.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Fifty? That engine is worth at least a hundred on its own.”

“I don’t see anything to use it with,” he answers steadily, turning back to take another look at his pile. Everything you can make out within it— jewels, functioning blasters, datapads— all seem more valuable than what you found here on Tatooine. Perhaps if you still had something from home on Nevarro, foreign to those who live here…

He’s still offering beneath the worth.

“I’ll find someone else,” you mumble. You reach forward to gather the objects as he pipes up, a higher number than before, but still unsatisfactory.

“Sixty.”

“No. Ninety. This engine is in perfect condition, and I happen to need the credits, which you seem capable of affording me.”

“Seventy—”

“You heard her.”

The Mandalorian materializes closely behind you, his penetrating, eyeless stare turning the collector into shivers. He nods his head to the side, and his hand hovers just above his blaster— you can’t tell whether it’s an empty threat or not.

His voice rings through the small area of the market, and all who loomed closeby now scatter away from Mando. His presence grips and holds them, chokes them out, without him having to grab at a single weapon. He walks, and they cower. He turns his head, and they shrink.

It makes your knees wobble involuntarily, and warmth swirls in the lower part of your stomach, watching him firmly stand his ground for you.

You scrunch your nose at the power trip you get. He’s with you— that power extends to you.

“F—fine,” the man murmurs, handing the reasonable amount of credits into your palm.

“Thank you.” You whisper curtly, and the Mandalorian gives a heavy nod for his cooperation.

You turn away to the illuminated street, footprints and shadows cast along the path, and Mando follows at your side, your hands nearly brushing at every step.

As you admire the wares and the rich fabrics on display, the beautifully crafted equipment in glinting materials, people part for you.

They never did that on Nevarro. You’d have to move out of the way yourself every time—

Mando.

They keep dispersing at the sight.

Huffing, you glance at him, the profile of his helmet sharp and cutting at the chin, his arms swaying purposely with his movement.

“I could have handled that, you know.”

“It’s quicker.” He doesn’t look at you when he answers, just keeps on track ahead.

“I mean… thank you, but I’m going to have to be able to trade for myself if you need to hunt all the time.”

Mando nods silently. You continue through the crowd with the new credits in your bag, his glove barely a whisper on the back of your hand when they swing past each other.

“You need some new clothes.” He offers, albeit slightly awkwardly, at last stopping by a stall. “Use those credits if you want. It’s only your first round.”

“Oh… okay.” Smiling, you turn back around to look at the options, the shoulder still torn on the shirt you wear. There’s a sweet-looking older woman sitting across the way, with a collection of tops— wraps, buttons, shawls, jackets. All in muted shades of red to mauve.

You make your purchases, not only of clothes, but other non-necessities that he hadn’t explicitly mentioned. Sachets of Cassius tea jostle in your bag, awaiting his judgment.

***

“Do you… need that?” he asks when you’re back on the ship, gearing up to leave Tatooine.

You glance up from your crouched spot on the floor, arranging your things. His broad shoulders block the source of light as he stands tall above you, creating a shadow over your body as you fold yourself further into the corner and slowly begin to wonder what he thinks of all this. Does he like having another person here? Or is he slightly annoyed at his own generosity?

This was only the first job on board his ship— you’re going to need to make some adjustments. He breathes steadily, and the intimidation, whether it’s meant to be there or not, sinks lower and lower inside you.

“You said I could use the credits... don’t you ever do anything nice for yourself?”

He doesn’t answer.

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #pedro pascal #the mandalorian fanfic #din djarin fanfiction #pedrostories #star wars #usermarshal #useran #din djarin x you #the mandalorian x you #mandoscav #the mandalorian fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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eyrieofsynapses · 3 years ago

Text

Redemption Panel Highlights and Reactions

GATORS

i.e., Beth Riesgraf and Christian Kane (mostly Beth) talking about filming the scenes in (what I presume is) The Rollin’ on the River Job, where they’re pulling some stuff out of the water, and finding out the next day that there was an absolutely massive alligator pulled out of the same place just a little while after they filmed it

Beth’s impression of the wildlife folks warning them about the alligators

Beth scaring the hell out of Noah Wyle by yelling “GATOR” at him just after he finished his scene

seriously that was an absolutely WILD part of the panel

Everyone showering Aleyse Shannon with literally all the love!

Aldis Hodge in particular big-brothering her, and also the older actors calling her out for not giving herself enough credit, and Dean Devlin talking about how she blew him away at the auditions with her ability to turn on a dime

Seeing Kane with his glasses off wiping at his eyes, momentarily thinking “you okay dude?” and then realizing that he was laughing so hard he had tears in his eyes

(same)

The The Bucket Job clip! I’ve been a bit meh on a lot of Redemption, just in how it didn’t feel quite right, but that is possibly the absolute closest I’ve seen it get to the original in the best way. Brilliant

Which comes as no surprise since BETH RIESGRAF directed the episode!!! And apparently put an insane amount of effort in!

Beth’s utter delight and joy at both directing the episode and having the crew behind her

THE CHAIR

So apparently she and Christian went to town on the fight scene and he winds up tied up in a chair somewhere along the line and there’s a whole wild scene, which I am really looking forward to

Beth knowing how insanely particular he’d be about things like zip ties vs rope and what kind of rope e.t.c. e.t.c.

Apparently this is also tied into a VERY DEEP scene with Eliot? It sounds like they’re going to go super hard on his backstory, which is terrifyingly exciting

Just. Beth and Christian going very hard on that episode together

Speaking of: the panel’s going amazingly, I’m laughing so hard my stomach hurts, things are relatively light, and then, of fucking course—

Kane hitting us over the head about Eliot being a mass murderer who can’t be redeemed, is trying to stay static so that he can maintain the place he’s in, and is thus LIVING VICARIOUSLY THROUGH HARRY

What the FUCK. This is of course incredibly insightful and perfectly on point (because it’s Kane) but also, EXCUSE ME, OUCH, why would you DO THAT to us?

Everyone talking about having their families on set and their kids!

Beth’s son growing up on the original Leverage set and now going into being a director himself!

Gina’s daughter also growing up on set!

Noah Wyle’s daughter is playing Harry’s daughter I REPEAT NOAH WYLE’S ACTUAL DAUGHTER IS PLAYING AS HARRY’S DAUGHTER

Gina Bellman remaining relatively stoic throughout much of the panel (seriously, this woman, how the heck does she do it) and then losing it when they’re asked about running/inside jokes

A lot of them are, of course, apparently not appropriate to be spoken on-panel

(A lot of the others are the little inside ones that are special enough not to be ones they want to share, which is sweet!)

Everyone collectively losing it over having LeVar Burton on for The Bucket Job

Devlin and everyone laughing about collecting the various Star Trek people on Leverage

Beth talking about Burton coming over while she’s getting ready and asking her if she’s living on coffee and water, her laughing because he was absolutely right, and then him gently reminding her to remember to eat, which is the sweetest thing in the world oh my gods

Kane apparently choreographing an intense scene with Burton and being scared out of his mind, because Burton really wanted to go for it, but to Kane it was like he’s a figurine that’s not to be messed with because he was so worried about hurting him

Kane choreographing a massive amount of the show, which I knew already, but seriously, this guy blows me away

Gina and the crew talking about how he’d be away for a day of shooting a fight and all of them would be missing him and thinking about him

Family Vibes

Everyone talking about how they’re very noisy and loud together on set and it’s a bit like walking into a group of people having Christmas dinner (or something to that effect) because they’re just Like That together

Aleyse being the most surprised by Beth when she met her because she was like a little angel of light during the auditions but turned out to be an absolute ball of wild energy on set

Gina going “wait you were a MODEL” at Beth

Aldis talking about how much he loved how Parker and Hardison’s relationship had developed and grown!

Also, Aldis apologizing when the New York (iirc) background noise got loud and everyone going “no no we get you”

His outfit is ON POINT today

Gina saying that Christian is the goofiest and wildest out of them in terms of humor

(she goes “some of you may not know this,” which, fair, but also, if you’ve seen more than ten minutes of this guy outside of character you know he’s an absolute ball of sunshine)

Gina, Beth, and Christian talking about how they’d challenge each other to stay off sweets back on the original set, because they knew they needed to stay in shape and also just because they’re competitive (apparently all of them are major sweet tooths) and hide brownies and things from each other, while Aldis is just. doing pushups. eating all the healthy stuff. and then wanders into the room with a literal cupful of chocolates

(and Aldis going “well yeah I have to work off the sweets SOMEHOW”)

Beth explaining that sometimes they’d order a “Kane burrito” from Christian and he’d alter it slightly

Like, you know, chopping up hot jalapenos super fine and mixing them in, and Beth practically not being able to talk after the first bite

Apparently Aldis still went back a lot even after that

(Christian just seems very pleased with himself over it)

(THESE PEOPLE)

Gina goes “hey we should have an episode where we all swap roles,” Devlin going “WAIT FOR SEASON ONE TO BE DONE,” and then somebody (maybe the moderator?? I don’t remember exactly) going “uh actually. We did that”

Cue immediate scramble of “WAIT WHICH JOB WAS THAT”

(paraphrasing) “Yeah you remember the bit where you put on Parker’s harness and went off a building?”

Turns out half the cast had actually forgotten that that existed and only remember when reminded

The original cast all think of the episodes as “jobs”!!!!

Everyone talking over each other, Devlin going “it was with Sterling when we blew up the offices,” deciding that it was the season one finale, and then trying to figure out what episode title it was (eventually they figure out it’s the David jobs)

Moderator and Devlin accurately commenting that the fans know the show much better than they do

Noah Wyle very correctly explaining how Electric Entertainment is like a family and Devlin just. Keeps people

Aleyse and Aldis talking about typing when they’re hacking and going “WHAT THE HECK DO WE TYPE”

Aldis goes “yeah I just type all the bad words that we’re not allowed to say”

Aleyse saying that she’s always a little worried they’re hiding a Word document behind the blue screen and they’re going to pull up what she’s typing at the end of the day and print it out and put it in her trailer going “what the HECK is this”

Noah talking about filming The Golf Job and just getting to direct Jason Marsters and Christian together

Apparently their dynamic in that episode accurately mirrors the one with their characters in Angel!

Which promptly goes straight to the comment that it was very hard to make Marsters look like a golfer (pfft)

(Also apparently Christian plays golf for fun with his friends? Not necessarily something I would’ve thought of!)

Aleyse happily talking about how she loved the dynamic on set and it was very different from what she was used to

Also Aleyse talking about doing stunts and everyone else praising her for going whole hog

Beth especially praising her for the bit where she’s hit with the paralysis injection (I don’t remember which ep it’s from) and her acting for it, because it was incredibly hard to drop off screen in the particular way she did

Aleyse promptly answers that she was terrified with some of those, especially one where she had to keep a clock from falling and breaking

Everyone discussing how they see a new aspect of Breanna’s character in The Train Job

Also, to get serious for a moment, Kate Rorick in particular talks about how Breanna’s part of Gen Z and how we didn’t get the “days of yore” where everything was chill. We’ve basically been living in a world of hostility the whole time. It’s something I deeply appreciate, as someone who’s part of that group, and I love how they emphasize that for us.

This panel was pure chaos and I loved every moment of it! My stomach was actually hurting from laughing so hard, I swear. They had me cackling well over half the time. I would happily take panels double or triple the length of this, this was amazing. I also adore how the second you drop these six people in a room together, they immediately take off and literally just run and give you everything you wanted and more. (It is also evidently very hard to get them to STOP talking.)

I’m also just going to stop and take a second to fawn over the effects for the 3D room. It’s gorgeous—I love how they replicated the headquarters, especially with the stained glass ceilings! Super impressive, especially with all the photos, and I just love the whole thing. Kudos to whoever put that together.

Anyway, I’m definitely missing some stuff too; seriously, there wasn’t a second wasted in this thing, they were cracking some kind of joke or dropping some really interesting piece of information practically every thirty seconds. (And I haven’t even gotten into the clips OR the bloopers. I miiiight do a separate reaction purely for those.) It’s still up right now if you missed it and you want to watch it! I’ll probably watch it again, honestly.

#leverage #leverage redemption #leverage redemption panel #synapse reacts

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no-droids · 4 years ago

Text

Rumors, Freebies, and a Race for Last Place

Part Two of The Bet series

Pairing: Poe Dameron/Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 22.5K DONT say shit alright just don’t

Warnings: Okay. There is degradation in this, some name calling and heated interactions. There is a LOT of smut, dirty talk and rough sex. If these things offend you, please do not continue reading.

***

It’s recommended to read part one first.

***

Getting into the x-wings is always fun.

It actually might be your favorite part. Granted, alarm bells ringing and thousands of jumpsuits scrambling in all directions is never typically a good thing, but there’s also an inherent rush about it, a thrill in launching up the metal paneling as quick as you can and suiting up to provide aid. It’s a side-effect of camaraderie, of being surrounded by like-minded individuals willing to do everything they can to help. You never feel like you’re going to your death, even though that’s often the grim reality for at least one of you on a good day. There’s always a roaring in your ears while you do it, adrenaline sharpening your senses and preparing yourself for conflict, not thinking anything beyond gogogogogo—

But getting out of the x-wing is… not great. At least for you. It’s sluggish. Your body is always completely drained and you never come out of it feeling the same way you went in. Even in times of victory, there’s a somberness inside you after battle. As much as you tell yourself you’re fighting for good, for prosperity against an evil machine hellbent on enslaving the galaxy, there’s only so many explosions lighting up in front of your eyes and screams cutting out through your comms you can take before winning just doesn’t really feel like winning anymore. Most pilots are able to handle it better than you are, but since you joined the Resistance, you’ve never truly felt the desire to celebrate. Not even when you serve a massive, glaring defeat to the other side. There’ll always be at least one missing x-wing, one empty seat at the table, one person not here to celebrate with you.

You came back in one piece this time. Barely.

The whole mission went sideways—literally. You’d purposefully stationed the tandem just outside the coordinates you were meant to be surveilling so that you’d be hidden from sight and dead to the scanners should the fleet arrive, but something must’ve happened. You must’ve powered down a few seconds too early after he turned the thrusters off, because apparently the ship drifted in dead space for close to eight hours without either of you noticing, having no working computers to actively read your location and correct it. You were sitting ducks right in the hyperspace drop zone by the time the First Order showed up, and by that point you had no choice but to engage.

“Gold-Ten,” a voice murmurs from behind you, and you blink, suddenly seeing the base landing platform stretching out long in front of you, hundreds of docking ships and boisterous pilots scrambling out of them to hug their comrades and congratulate them even as medics rush past with white coats and gurneys. They’re never for the pilots, but they dispatch healers anyways whenever a convoy returns in case a straggler gets picked up. There’s an unspoken understanding in space battle—pilots never get injured. They either come back unharmed, or they don’t come back at all.

Dameron.

You turn around and watch him slowly approach you with an unreadable expression, his jumpsuit still bunched halfway down his torso. The once bright white sleeveless undershirt is now greasy and damp with sweat, his dark curls sticking to his forehead. He winces with every bow-legged step—you know the feeling—before he’s standing directly in front of you and something is carefully being pulled out of your hands. You didn’t even realize you were holding onto anything.

Your helmet. You forgot to leave it in the x-wing, and you’ve been carrying it around under your arm aimlessly while mentally checking off the squadrons as they return, counting the numbers you lost today while everybody else hugs and whoops and claps each other on the back.

It’s not as bad as you were expecting it was going to be, not as bad as it seemed just an hour earlier when you were listening to Dameron bellow out evasive flight maneuvers a millisecond before he enacted them and you adjusted your firing at the TIEs accordingly. You used to think you were quick with how rapidly you could suit up and fly out, drop in to assist and engage, but on the other side, it felt like your reinforcements lollygagged for ages before arriving. You were left to defend against an entire fleet in one stupid ship, more lines of TIEs sinking like flies from launch decks every second.

“Gold-Ten,” you hear again, and you blink a few times, needing to focus your vision before you can find his gaze.

Dameron’s palm, previously hovering a few inches above your shoulder, suddenly drops to spread along the curve of it and you take a deep breath, almost wanting to shudder at the feeling of something touching you. You channel all your focus into it, feel his fingers branch out strong along the tight muscles in your neck, giving you an anchor you automatically lean into.

You and him are no strangers to touching. Before today it was mostly reserved to poking and prodding and flicking and light slapping in an effort to piss each other off, but now… you can’t even think about it right now, your body will just fucking glitch out on you. After everything that just happened, you cannot think about where else that hand has been recently, not right now.

“You did… you did really fucking good today,” he tells you quietly, slowly trailing his hand down the length of your entire arm until he catches your wrist and a few of your fingers in his loose grip. “Seriously. That was… we were…”

His touch is so present, so reassuring. Grounding, when all your mind wants is to just float away. You glance down at where his fingers are gently tangled with yours and you feel your hand tighten just slightly, the smallest squeeze while he blinks down at you.

“We almost died, like… every single second,” you barely manage to croak, not really having the words to express it right now. You always need at least an hour or two after missions like this to just sit in one place and regroup. Usually you find yourself wandering back to your room to lay on the bed and stare up at the ceiling while you consider your own mortality, but Dameron interrupted you this time before you could process it by yourself. “We…” Your voice sounds absolutely shredded. “W-We shouldn’t even be alive right now.”

“I know,” he nods in soft agreement, taking a small step closer to you. “But we are alive. Hey.” He dips his head as soon as your gaze starts to drift, catching your eyes once more and drawing your attention back to the present with a squeeze of your hand. “We’re alive, right? Be alive with me.”

You take a big breath in and close your eyes, feeling the oxygen fill your lungs once more, but this time, it’s… restorative. A wonderful, beautiful reminder of your existence. You’re alive. Usually the word just feels like a synonym for persevering. Pushing onwards despite trials and tribulations, not looking back. But the way he says it, especially with his hand in yours and a quiet invitation to tag along, it sounds… breathtaking. Full of light, and hope. It suddenly leaves the dim shadows and slides into a completely different category of feelings, feelings you’d never imagine being able to conjure so quickly after such a close brush with death. Alive—it slots right in next to words like colorful, radiant, sunshine, and butterflies. Enchanting words, ones you’d like to hear again and again.

Your eyes slowly open and there he is, the man you were sure was going to accompany you to the afterlife. You were stuck with Poe Dameron in one of the closest calls you can remember, and strangely, his presence was nothing if not… a comfort. For the first time in your life, you were grateful he was there.

You open your mouth, suddenly feeling the needy, unfounded urge to tell him that. “I’m gla—”

“Dameron!” You hear a series of voices call from somewhere to your left, and he immediately drops your hand to whip his body around and place himself directly between you and the approaching onlookers, using his large frame to hide you from their sight.

“What’s up, Briggs?” Dameron projects to one pilot in particular that seems to be leading the group, his back oddly close to you in this position. Your fingers still feel tingly from where he was holding onto them.

A chorus of congratulatory, “Nice flying, Captain!” and the like can be heard floating through the air from beyond his shoulders, before the leader speaks loudly over them. “Hey—me, Seven, Six, and Twelve were gonna grab some drinks in the mess hall with a few of the Blue girls,” he tells Dameron, slowing to a stop as soon as he sees you standing awkwardly behind him. “Oh hey, Goldie.”

You lift a hand and clear the remainder of the dissociation from your throat, not knowing him well enough beyond the squadron he and his group fly with. “Greenies.”

“Anyways, I guess they wanted to know if you’d come too. These idiots are convinced they’re never gonna give us the time of day unless you—”

“Uh—fine, whatever, just give me a few minutes alright?” Dameron quickly assures him with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I’ll meet up with you guys later.”

A few of them take turns giving him heavy claps on the shoulder and acclamatory words before the group eventually disperses, and he waits a few more seconds for their attention to fully scatter in another direction before turning back to you.

Shit, he’s standing really close. Why is he so close to you? You take a step back and blink up at him, the noises of the landing deck gradually amplifying back up to normal volume as you retreat back into your own space. Since when did he have that effect on you? You suddenly feel wide awake, and the chorus of happy chaos surrounding you is something you’re finally able to take in. You knew it was happening before, but it was like it just existed outside of the creeping numbness. Now, the knot of internal turmoil has untied itself a bit and you feel your surroundings start to fight for your direct attention.

Dameron continues to look at you the same exact way, though. Like you’re still the only one here.

You look down at his half-suited figure and blink at the helmet loosely held in one of his hands. Hey. Hey, that’s yours—

“Give me that,” you hiss, suddenly snatching it from his fingertips. “You have people waiting.”

The cutting words serve to snap him out of whatever spell he’s under. Dameron quickly lifts his head and looks around a few times with sharp eyes, before hooking your elbow and twisting you into a complete 180 until your back faces most of the excitement. You resist, immediately trying to push him off you and worried he’s going to confront you about… things, but he’s determined.

He doesn’t say anything to you at all, though. His fingers quickly grasp the baggy fabric of your jumpsuit even as you sputter and start to ask what the fuck he thinks he’s doing, and you glance down just in time to see him yanking the gaping velcro closed at your crotch.

Your cheeks instantly start burning as he tugs and smooths the fabric down until it’s seamless once more, especially when his eyes flick up to yours without moving his head. Fuck, you’re instantly hot with some wicked emotion, a mixture of embarrassment and outrage and… something else. Maker, you almost wish you were numb and disoriented again, if only so you could avoid feeling whatever the fuck this is.

You quite suddenly shove your helmet back into his stomach with an infuriated sound even as he doubles over with a shocked whoosh of air, changing your mind about returning it to the ship yourself before storming off without another word.

***

Okay, so you’ve done some thinking, and. Well. Fuck him, that’s what you’ve decided.

No—not… fuck him. But like, fuck him. You know. In the negative sense of the word. The bad fuck.

There’s a full tray of food sitting in front of you but you’ve so far been unable to touch it. Mostly you’re just wondering why the fuck you’re even here. Well, you know why you’re here—you should eat, it’s dinnertime and this is the mess hall. You’ve been known to skip out on meals after heavy missions, secluding yourself away and just wallowing for a bit, but you… strangely didn’t feel like doing that today. You don’t want to self-isolate when you feel okay enough to avoid it, not again. So you’re here, because the clock says your tummy should want food, but you can’t bring yourself to even look at it.

No, you’re looking at him. Glaring, actually.

Across the mess hall and beyond the transparisteel divider that separates the cafeteria from the bar area, Dameron is all eyebrows and smiles and side nudges and winks right now. You can’t hear him—the sound won’t travel this far, but you can see him situated in the middle of a rowdy group of pilots. He laughs in that disgustingly charming way of his, where his stupidly cute nose scrunches up all cute and stupid and you want to just ask the Maker why he’s doing this shit to you. What have you done to deserve this torture? Sure, you may have willingly agreed to it, even… conceived and propositioned the idea, and sure, absolutely nothing is stopping you from forfeiting and walking away at this exact second, but does that make it okay? No, you’ve decided. It’s not okay. He’s not allowed to… to make you feel like this, so fuck him. In the bad way.

“Just fuck him already,” a voice suddenly grumbles as someone plops down into the seat to your right, plastic trays of food clattering loudly on the table and snapping you out of your reverie. Gold-Sixteen blocks your view as he silently drops into the seat in front of you and wraps his green lekku around his neck a few times before immediately beginning to shovel food into his mouth, while Gold-Three opens her box of blue milk next to you and continues. “The Blues never fucking shut up about it, it’s getting annoying.”

“Don’t listen to her, Dime,” Gold-Eleven tells you, quickly occupying the seat on your left and biting into a crunchy piece of fruit, talking loudly over the chatter even as he chomps. “Rossi just knows her pool is up tomorrow, she doesn’t want to lose any of her precious credits.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Gold-Three immediately snaps, leaning forward and around you to point the prongs of her fork at Eleven threateningly. “Zhang’s pool starts on Sunday.”

“Oh fuck off, you guys are betting on this now?” You groan, shoving your plate away with a flick of your fingers now that you’re certain you’ve completely lost your appetite. Sixteen immediately snatches up one of your bread rolls while Zhang swipes your juice and Rossi goes for a packet of glockaw sauce.

“You’re the one who announced it in front of everybody, we’re just being active spectators,” Rossi returns, ripping the packet and pouring the sauce on her vegetables with a shrug. “How the fuck do you bet against fucking each other though, that’s my question? It’s a paradox, wouldn’t you both just lose at the same time?”

“Dameron and I aren’t going to fuck,” you tell her very slowly and clearly, starting to get a headache. Why is it impossible to avoid this conversation topic, even with an entire Resistance base to roam around in? “Ever. The bet never had anything to do with fucking each other, it’s about not fucking other people.”

“Literally what is the difference?” You hear Rossi ask with her mouth full, but Zhang speaks over her.

“Somebody should probably tell Nine that, she’s the bookie,” he tosses out carelessly, dropping the core of his piece of fruit to his tray before wiping his hands on his jumpsuit. You bury your face in your hands and let out a loud, exhausted sound into your palms, not knowing which response serves to aggravate your already emotionally overloaded ass even more. Nine is the bookie, of fucking course she is. “But hey, if it makes you feel any better, I don’t think any of it actually goes outside of Gold, so.”

“I’ve heard the Blues talking about it, but that’s it,” Rossi chimes in while chewing some of her veggies. “Maybe some Reds. Point is everybody else thinks it’s already happening, honestly.”

“What the fuck,” you whisper, using your knuckles to rub at the backs of your eyes until bright spots appear. Where are stress headaches localized? Are those the ones right under your brow bone? Because stars, you feel it. “Fucking… why? Why do people think that me and Dameron are…?”

Nobody at the table immediately responds, and you drop your hands after a moment to look at each of their astounded faces in turn.

“You fucking serious, bitch?” Rossi blurts first, her voice completely deadpan, and you growl in vexation.

“Have I not been vocal enough about my severe dislik—”

“And yet you kicked Nine out of your room to let him bunk with you,” Zhang immediately suggests.

“You request mission assignments together,” Rossi adds.

“Spend your off-days together,” Zhang continues.

“You’re both really weird about how long it takes the other person to shower,” Rossi tacks onto the list Zhang is now making on his fingers and you shake your head frantically.

“No—no, that’s so that we know neither one of us is cheating,” you try to explain, and you already know it sounds unconvincing without needing the two quick, lofty and sarcastic nods on either side of you. “Showers and off-days are prime masturb—no, you know what? No. I’m tired of the assumptions, I don’t owe anyone shit. This is super fucking uncool of you guys, you know that? It’s insane that this is what counts as gossip in the Resistance nowada—”

“There’s only so much bad news people can take, Ten,” Gold-Sixteen grunts down at his almost finished plate, and all three of you snap your gazes across the table at him. The forest-tinted twi’lek doesn’t speak much, it’s uncommon to hear his voice without distortion over the comms, but you blink as his sharp teeth continue to form words without looking at you. “Quit being so sensitive. Rather bet on this shit than which system is getting demolished next.”

And with that, Sixteen excuses himself with a silent nod, having gobbled down his full plate while you, Three, and Eleven were bickering. You feel your cheeks flare with anger and shame—you didn’t deserve that, you immediately reassure yourself, but the hidden self-doubt the comment sows just further contributes to your upset. You want to call out to his back that just because the First Order exists doesn’t mean you have to put up with your own fucking squadron turning you and your mortal enemy into glorified race fathiers, but he’s already leaving the mess hall while Rossi and Zhang have moved on to other topics, both of them continuing to grab more food from your tray as they talk.

You have a tough shell. But today was… a lot. You bite your lip down at the table against the sudden wave of emotion, blinking quickly to clear the weakness watering your vision.

See, this—this right here is why you use last names. These people aren’t your friends. Betting on who you fuck for laughs, using you as a source of entertainment without your consent just because they’re in the middle of a war, and then guilting you into feeling like you’re the one acting like a stuck up bitch about it? You’re fighting in the same fucking war—you’re on the front lines just like everybody else and nobody gets to lecture you on the devastation of battle. You almost died today. You fought tooth and fucking nail to stay alive and by all accounts, you shouldn’t even be sitting here right now, much less dealing with this childish shit. This is your squadron. These people are supposed to be the ones closest to you out of everyone, the ones you’ve been flying into chaos in formation with for years, and yet not a single damn person has even mentioned your performance to you today, all anyone can ever seem to talk about is—ugh.

Unfortunately, your unobstructed view also allows you to look at the source of your bad mood once more, immediately noticing the way more people have crowded around him now, and the headache continues to throb painfully behind your eyeballs. You were in the same ship, does nobody realize that? You were gunning, he was flying—you were offense, he was defense—that’s the only fucking difference, and yet, it’s like that side of the mess hall is just completely lit up with hearty laughter and music playing from someone’s holopad and congratulatory drinks being passed around, while yours is… well.

You continue to fume inwardly, struggling somewhere between bitter and hurt, and you can see your reflection through the transparisteel giving him a death glare, wondering how many of the people surrounding him have made bets with Nine. How many of his little entourage have their money wagered on Dameron getting in your pants by a specific dat—

You stop short while staring at his handsome face, an infuriating, horrifying thought suddenly striking you. No… no, he wouldn’t…

“Does he know?” You immediately interrupt the chitchat between Three and Eleven to ask with a deadly edge in your voice, tipping your forehead at pretty boy. Ooh, you can already feel it burning. It would be so fucking typical. Oooooh, Maker, if he’s heard even a fucking whisper about this outside wagering going on amongst the pilots, you will fucking smother his ass in his sleep tonight. How could he not know? With as many friends as he has? If you’re just being made aware of it, then it’s a given that somebody has to have told him by now, which just means that it’s all the more possible—shit, even more likely—that he’s… participating, too. You do your best to keep your voice even, but you can hear the quiet fury shaking in it. “The bet about when me and him are gonna fuck, does he know about it?”

“Who—Dameron?” Zhang turns his head. “No, I don’t think s—”

“Yeah,” Rossi says at the exact same time, and your blood instantly turns ice cold as Zhang leans around you to blink at her stupidly.

“No. Yeah? What?” He says, sounding genuinely confused.

“Yeah, remember?” Rossi confirms with a shrug. “Nine was mad as all shit, came at me in the rec room a few weeks ag—fucking Maker, Eleven, you were there.”

“Oh,” Zhang suddenly exhales, “yeah, that’s right. Oh, yeah, Dime, he knows.”

You’re—fuck, you’re about to rampage. You’re burning a fucking hole through Dameron while he converses animatedly with his numerous buddies, waving an open hand and shaking his head at someone with a smile and then gesturing broadly to this side of the transparisteel. His pool is probably up soon, you figure. That’s why he came onto you so strong earlier today. He was going to get two weeks of your pay, plus whatever he must’ve offered up to Nine that says he’d get it to happen within a certain amount of time. Perfect, your old roomie and the arch nemesis you stupidly agreed to trade her for, two asshole peas in an asshole pod.

“—she thought I was the one who told him—” You know Rossi is still talking but you’re not actually hearing any of it. Nobody has any fucking idea. Nobody has any idea what he did to you today, how unbelievably close you were to… to actually… “—was all just for fun, but then he had a few choice words for her and told his squad that if any of them had made a—” You don’t know why you’re so surprised honestly, you should’ve expected…

Wait.

“Wait,” you suddenly blurt, and while she shuts up immediately, your mind starts whirling even faster. Dameron had some… what? “Wait. Explain. You’re saying he didn’t…” You slowly shake your head, furrowing your eyebrows and trying to piece it together. “He didn’t… place a bet with her, or anything?”

“What? No,” Rossi shakes her head a lot more forcefully than you, getting frustrated. “No, fucking—didn’t you hear anything I just said, Ten? He got all high and mighty for some stupid reason, totally reamed her ass out for it.”

“But…” You blink, stunned. “But… why? Why would he…?”

Rossi shrugs. “Fuck if I know. All she said was that he ordered Black not to throw in, made her lose a fuckton of money from it. Had no idea Dameron would be so touchy about his sex life, honestly.”

He… he isn’t. He isn’t touchy about his sex life—you feel like he never shuts up about it.

Rossi continues talking, but you’re not listening again. You stare stupidly at yourself in the clear transparisteel as Dameron’s voice comes back to you, repeating something you specifically remember him saying earlier today. Something you thought was just a careless jab at the time, aimed blindly at one of your comrades with nothing more than the intent to piss you off.

…I swapped housing assignments with your shitty roommate and slept in the bunk below yours for a month and a half…

You blink beyond your own reflection to focus on him once more, still lost in his own little world, not paying a single lick of attention to you while you’re essentially having a fucking crisis over here. You didn’t think the insult had any real substance to it at all. You just naturally assumed that was the result of him wanting to lash out at anything or anyone remotely close to you, if only to get a reaction, so you never gave him one or paid it any mind.

This is why he said that about Nine? Because he knew she had organized this fucked up betting pool behind your back?

Stars, you need to get out of here, all these rumors are fucking with your head. Your assumptions and the hairpin turnarounds are giving you worse whiplash than Dameron’s… well, admittedly spectacular flying today. You were wrong about wanting to avoid isolating—in fact, that suddenly sounds like a phenomenal idea.

So, you just get up and leave right in the middle of Rossi’s sentence, needing some time alone. Neither of them call out to you as you quickly walk around the table and through the barrier towards the exit, thank the Maker, and you’re just about to retreat with no interruptions until suddenly two Greenies step in front of you and block your path.

You halt immediately, looking up at them with a furrowed brow. “What now?” You grunt, not having the patience to even wait for a response before attempting to squeeze around them.

“Hey, so you really saved our asses out there today, Goldie,” the one on the left quickly sidesteps in front of you and rushes to say, and you settle your weight back on your heels with a huff.

“What are you talking about?” You glance back and forth between them, not recalling a time you’ve ever spoken to either one, before jerking your head to gesture over your shoulder. “Go congratulate trophy boy over there, he was the one flying.”

“We did,” the one on the right tips sideways to look at Dameron behind your shoulder, likely still laughing and joking with someone about something, something super fucking dumb probably. “Well, uh. We tried.”

“What?” You let out a heavy sigh and rub your temples. “The fuck is that supposed to mean? I don’t have the time.”

“He won’t take any credit, just keeps saying that all he did was steer you around,” the other one shrugs as his companion straightens and looks down at you once more. “Wouldn’t accept any drinks we offer him, nothing. So we thought we’d buy you one instead. Unless you’re… leaving?”

It takes you a few seconds to process that, even as he allows the open invitation to hang in the air. You can’t stop the way your torso automatically twists around to study your copilot from across the mess hall in baffled silence, suddenly realizing that they’re… they’re right. Dameron has no congratulatory drinks sitting in front of him even though more and more people have made their way into the bar. He’s just sitting there grinning and nodding along to something someone else is saying, completely and blissfully unaware of the extent to which he’s fucked with you in the past twenty minutes. The past… whole day. Month and a half. Or… fuck, how long have you known him? Two years?

But then Dameron’s gaze gradually drifts this way, before suddenly locking with yours. His eyes flick behind you to look at the two Greenies blocking your exit, and then back to the way you’re staring at him, wide-eyed and startled.

He suddenly stands up and starts to take a few steps towards you, and the sheer abruptness of the movement causes you to react immediately. You stumble your way backwards through the two pilots, feeling a few hands reach out to steady you through the awkward fumbling, but you slap them away and announce loud enough for Dameron to hear beyond them that you’re taking a shower, and you don’t give a fuck how long it’s gonna be this time.

***

The knob squeaks as you turn the water on. Usually you’d step back and wait the grueling five minutes or longer it takes for it to heat up with your arms crossed over your naked chest, but this time you move directly under the freezing spray, hoping to use the ice cold to shock your system.

You're finally alone.

Technically solitude doesn’t really exist within this base. You’ve heard of others that are a little nicer, having a little more room for the ranks, but not here. Housing assignments, showers and restrooms, mess and recreation halls—they’re all communal. Everyone is given rotating shifts, so while that means there’s never any true quiet to be found, it also means that showers are spread out well throughout the day and night.

But, at least for this moment, there’s nobody else around. At least in here, in the tiled chamber with multiple shower heads stationed around you—you’re sure there are a few girls lingering in the locker room and the entry area beyond it, but for right now, you’re blissfully by yourself.

And yet, you can’t seem to enjoy it.

You know you should be basking in the isolation. You should be thrilled at the rarity of only hearing your own flipflops slap against the floor as you turn around and drench your hair with the icy spray, but the lack of an immediate distraction for your focus allows it to wander to things you don’t want it to.

Explosions, mostly. Lighting up like fireworks in front of your eyes even as they flutter closed and let water drip down them. Constant, never-ending. Some of them small—TIEs you shot down, allies drawing fire away from you and then subsequently getting overwhelmed, zipping through dense debris from deadly collisions so quick that you had trouble distinguishing friend from foe. Some of them were massive—star destroyers splitting apart, warp drives overloading, enormous casualty counts. You don’t know how many lives you took today, not directly.

The beginning was the worst—when you were still slightly disoriented, when you were panicked and screaming into the comms for assistance. Then the closest stationed tandem showed up first—Red-Two and Eight, you think it was. Doesn’t matter now. They took some heat off you before the cavalry arrived, but you remember Dameron barking out your name the second their left thruster got nicked and they started spiraling, a ferociously deep, “With me!” cutting through the white noise. It was enough to snap you back, forcing you to instantly flick your eyes away and focus dead ahead without witnessing their demise.

It wouldn’t have normally been necessary. You’ve been flying with the Resistance for years, you’ve seen way too much bloodshed by now. But you’ve never been the catalyst of it—you’ve always been able to confront threats accompanied by your squadron, right between Nine and Eleven, the flight controls rumbling steady under your palms. You’ve never faced down an entire fleet in one single ship. You’ve never had to rely so directly on the skills of another pilot in order to stay alive.

The water slowly heats to a lukewarm while you reach for the shampoo.

Surprisingly, for as much as the two of you clash in normal interactions, it was like everything eventually became… synchronized. Spectacularly so. Dameron started off the enemy confrontation by calling out his flight patterns to give you a chance to adjust your firing in real time, but then at some point, it just stopped being necessary. There was a moment where you both were able to suddenly… get it. Get each other. He didn’t have to say anything after that—you could predict each other without second guessing, react instantaneously, and work your way through the littered battlefield accordingly. You never thought it would be possible to collaborate so well with someone you’ve spent ages despising. Sure, you’d both die if you didn’t—shit, you’d probably still both die regardless—but this kind of teamwork extended beyond the need to survive. It doesn’t matter how much you want to stay alive when reading someone else’s mind is physically impossible, but for some reason… You have no idea why, but it apparently came naturally between you. It fell to pure instinct, pure reaction, and remarkably, his would somehow match yours perfectly, every single time.

You lather the shampoo in your hair, remembering how his voice changed over the course of the mission. How it gradually shifted from panicked roars and barked orders into ecstatic cheers and genuine praise after landing a difficult shot, how he just couldn’t seem to stop whooping.

You smile softly as the tepid water rinses away the dirt and sweat from your body, until the temperature is brought up to a gentle, comfortable warmth raining down you and echoing in the empty shower room.

And, your first name. Dameron kept calling you that, the whole time. The one you’re now absolutely certain you’ve never personally given to him. The one he would’ve had to have listened for specifically. Remembered, or at least asked the right person about. But why? It’s not… it makes no sense, he doesn’t give a shit. He’s notorious for not giving a shit. He can’t even be bothered to remember the names of the girls he’s actually with—so why did he go to the trouble to figure out yours? You’ve been nothing but a thorn in his side the same way he is to you, right?

Right?

Your mind starts recollecting more recent events, trying to work through and process it by yourself. He was… singing your praises today. He was openly giving you credit for the win while you pouted in the corner and assumed the absolute worst of him. As much as you’re frustrated that nobody else seemed to give voice to your contributions, you’re even more surprised that he was the one who did.

And then even earlier. Gold-Nine, holding wagers with members of your squad (and others, apparently) about when you’re going to fuck him. Dameron, tearing her a new one for it, forbidding Black Squadron from throwing in and not attempting to hide his disdain for her from you. He… he defended you. Stood up for you when your own squad was being a bunch of dicks behind your back. And nobody ever fucking mentioned it to you. What did Rossi say—a few weeks ago? He’s known all this time and only today, only after you… openly showed more interest in him than you ever have, after you worked up enough nerve to try in your own little way to flirt back this time instead of responding to his casual comments with contempt and disgust, only today is when he decided to make a real move on you.

…Your mind is completely blank and yet you still feel yourself start to heat up just a bit at even alluding to the events that took place earlier. The way his fingers felt—

Steam begins to fill the open concept chamber while you shake your head against the train of thought and reach for the soap, beginning to circle the bar along your arms and shoulders with a sigh. This is already the longest shower you’ve taken in almost two months, and your body slowly relaxes under the mist and heat as you take forever cleaning yourself, slowly and hypnotically rubbing the soap along your skin.

The second you let your eyelids dip shut at the feeling, you immediately shiver at a flash of Dameron dragging his finger out of his mouth and blinking dark eyes at you through the transparisteel.

Fuck. The soap slips from your hand and you quickly catch it against your body before it falls to the ground completely, suddenly feeling the need to breathe in the misty air a bit harder. Shower, you’re in the shower. Come on.

The dirt and grime is scrubbed from your face and you tilt your head to move the bar of soap across your neck. As it lathers, you can’t help but remember the way his lips felt against the skin right there, the scratch of his beard. You keep working the soap against that same spot for a while, not knowing if you’re trying to wash away the sensation or simulate it, until you gradually slow and make it lighter, softer—yes, that’s closer to how it felt, that’s—

Soon the water is boiling hot and you’re trying not to boil along with it, remembering everything he said against this spot, the filth he whispered to you here. Your pussy starts to throb between your legs as the memories play out in your mind, how close he got you to shattering bliss without even really working for it. If you put it all together collectively, you don’t think he actually touched you for more than a minute or two total today. Mostly he just talked to you, but stars, he hit buttons you didn’t even think you had, had you a split second away from cumming harder than Maker knows while his finger rested just above your clit and provided no stimulation whatsoever.

Fuck, you enjoyed it. You did, you’ll admit it when there’s no one else here but you. You enjoyed the fuck out of it. You wish he’d do it again. Force you to lose, force you to cum so you can at least blame him for it, remove your responsibility from the equation and allow you to put just one more thing on his shoulders, to taste ecstacy instead of expecting you to bear the weight of pretending you don’t need it any longer. He was doing you a favor, you realize that now. Your body is staging a fucking coup and you wish you could’ve called mercy before it got to this agonizing point. He turns you on, you fucking admit it. He inspires violent emotions in you—jealousy, arousal, anger, temptation—thoughts you don’t want to have and consolidating it all into various forms of hatred makes the finer details easier to ignore. Your perception of him has always been skewed by your iron will, but he all but took a fucking sledgehammer to it today, dented it beyond all recognition. You want him, you want to him to take it all away, you want him to fuck you—in the… fuck, in the good way.

You don’t have a thought beyond that. Your hand quickly falls down the length of your body to wash your private parts, biting your lip as your hips slowly start to rock into it. You’re getting clean, you’re getting clean, this is how you clean yourself, this is… yes, as long as you keep the bar of soap pressed between your palm and the top of your curls like this, you’re cleaning yourself and you can just… ease your finger down just a little bit and—

Flipflops suddenly echo from the twisting hallway leading to the tiled freshers, and you immediately snatch your hand back up again, not needing to turn around to know another girl is walking into the room. A knob somewhere to your right eventually makes a dull squeak as you quickly finish washing up and turn your showerhead off, grabbing your towel and wrapping it around yourself.

Maker, you feel like your pussy is plotting your demise. Fuck, you can’t believe you almost cheated in the fucking showers just now where literally anyone could walk in, you thought you would’ve had more self-control than that. You make your way into the changing rooms and grab your pajamas, starting to tug them on without fully drying your body and having only one thought in mind.

Dameron will probably be celebrating late tonight. You can tuck in early, scurry back to your room and cheat there.

Well, no, not cheating, because you clearly remember making a very compelling argument about wet dreams earlier today. Maker, a freebie, the word has never sounded so enticing. What you’d say amounts to a… bye-week orgasm basically, since you know he’s already lost at least one match against his own body and you’re meant to be competing on the same level. It’s only fair to let you persevere through the toughest part of the challenge if he was allowed to throw a game early on and still stay in the competition. Maybe he threw multiple games, you never got a straight answer concerning that, so it’s still under review. He could’ve thrown… three games, even. Or four.

You dress as quickly as possible and then nearly bolt through the entrance area to the restrooms with all the sinks and stalls. The balled up dirty clothes and wet towel in your arms allow you to hide the way your nipples are stiff and tender against your thin pajamas, and you can’t wait to climb into your bunk and take everything off under the covers. You’ll be able to cum, at least once. It’ll relieve so much stress, get rid of this nightmare headache, rip through your body like lightning and paralyze it until you can start over from square one and think like yourself again.

And, you’re just about to power walk your ass back to your quarters when a body nearly slams into yours as soon as you step foot outside the door, your shoulder jerking back just in time to avoid a collision.

A mechanic, you think. You’re not exactly sure, you don’t hang out with too many of them—he’s Chiss and his glowing red eyes don’t even land on you as you gasp and sidestep him at the last second, but it’s not him that catches the majority of your attention. He just exited the men’s room at the same time you left the women’s, and the door takes a moment to swing shut behind him.

You freeze. It can’t be more than a few seconds—but it feels like everything slows down and it lasts a fucking eternity.

Dameron is standing at a sink in the far corner of the room, naked except for a towel identical to the one in your arms wrapped loosely around his waist. He cradles the base of his own throat with one hand and gently drags a razor down the smooth contour of it with the other, his chin tilted up high and regal while his eyelids dip low to concentrate on his movements. He glances down and holds the foamy blade under the running faucet, tapping it twice against porcelain before the door slides him out of frame.

I can shave, a low, silky murmur slowly fills your ears, heat swelling low and hot in your tummy. Tonight, I’ll shave it off. Make it nice and smooth for you.

You feel like your body is just a collection of rigid knots all tied together, and the one between your legs is the tightest it’s ever been. Stars, on another day you’d say it feels like a bad cramp, even though you know your injection makes your period rare and like clockwork. Regardless, the split second image makes you shudder and clamp up painfully, and you just stand there and stare at the closed door for a second, trying not to shake.

Fuck, this is so fucking… presumptuous of him.

Realistically, you know it could have absolutely nothing to do with you. It’s his face—you’re not self-centered enough to have completely lost your concept of autonomy. He can do whatever he wants to his body, and that includes facial hair, full stop. You also know that he’s not being… obvious about it, no matter how much it feels that way to you. He’s using the sink and mirror at the very end of the room, not any of the ones nearest to the door—but even if he was, it’s not like he could’ve planned for you to walk out at the exact moment the metal hinge was angled wide open. He couldn’t possibly have intended for this, for you to see him doing this. He wasn’t making a show, didn’t even notice you standing there. You blame literally everything on him, or at least you always try your absolute best to—but this one…

It sends a hard shudder down your spine and you clutch the fabric in your arms tighter, trying not to drop it. Fuck. This is torture. Fuck him. Good and bad—both ways, all the ways he can be fucked, fuck him. Your head is spinning, you’re sweating fresh out of the shower, you need to cum. Maybe if you hurry, you can get that precious orgasm before he’s finished, because if Dameron is able to intercept you before you can tend to this, you’re… you’re not sure how you’re going to say no to him.

You don’t even think you want to anymore.

You feel like you’re just… holding onto it on principle now. Too stubborn and hardheaded to want change. Too stuck in your own ways to recognize how much everything already has changed.

Somehow, you end up making your way back to your room, but the whole thing is a blur. Your flipflops plap against your heels as you navigate through hallways as quick as you can, emptier than you’ve seen them in months. You know most of the pilots are probably out celebrating in either the mess hall or rec room, but the thought doesn’t really presently register. Almost nothing registers besides your continuous forward motion and the way you feel yourself throb with every step, aching for something you are going to get tonight. Fuck, you are so attached to this orgasm now, it’s not going anywhere and neither are you. You deserve this, you deserve some relief. Come hell or highwater, it’s happening tonight.

As soon as you step into your room and slap your hand blindly against the wall panel to close the door behind you, you’re carelessly dropping the bundle of fabric to the floor and then shrugging out of your pajamas in the cool pitch darkness, having exactly one mission in mind. You don’t bother with lights, with brushing your hair, with literally anything besides clamoring up the ladder to your top bunk and wiggling under the thin bedsheet, making sure to pull it up to your chin before your legs butterfly open. The tip of your finger wets itself on your tongue and then you’re dropping it down and sliding it against your poor clit, the pleasure arcing and flaring so sharp and sensitive even from your touch that you have to give it just a second.

…No, no you don’t. You don’t have to give it fucking anything. You keep moving your finger hard and quick even as your hips naturally want to jerk away from it, shoving yourself through the sensitivity with gritted teeth and a ferocious will.

Fuck, how long do you think you have? Was Dameron shaving pre or post-shower? You can’t remember, all you know is he had a towel around his waist. And that thin gold chain hanging down his neck. Was his hair wet? Fuck, why can’t you remember? His chin and jaw were smooth as silk, you know that much. Post-shower, then. Probably. Probably?

His chin and jaw were smooth as silk. You keep getting stuck on that no matter how chaotically your thoughts whirl; they fling out in different directions at different velocities but all somehow manage to go in a perfect circle and end up at the same place you started. His chin, his jaw, his mouth, his neck, his chin, his mouth, his jaw, his mouth, his mouth, his mouth—

You feel yourself start to clamp down and you speed up, chasing it. The pleasure starts burning deep inside you, the fire slowly licking down your thighs and rising up into your abdomen, and then—

And then a series of quiet beeps from the hallway practically blare like alarm bells to your frantic mind.

You immediately stop moving your finger, snapping your legs tight together and flat to the mattress as soon as the door to your room shifts open and fluorescent light spills inside, and you feel like you could actually fucking cry right now.

All this edging is just a form of self-flagellation at this point. You lay there and try not to make a sound, try not to tremble hard enough to shake the whole bunk with it, but even your breathing feels like it’s going to give you away. Dameron, shirtless with his towel draped over his shoulder, slowly steps into the room and then pauses almost immediately, making your heart stutter for a second at what so blatantly caught his attention.

One quick glance down towards his feet confirms the simultaneous hope and fear—you left everything on the floor. The towel, the dirty clothes, and your pajamas are strewn about haphazardly right where he needs to walk.

You know what it must look like to him. A trail of clothes leading directly to an occupied bed isn’t exactly subtle, even though you didn’t necessarily intend it that way. Still, what can you say? Your hand is shoved in between your legs right now and you’re in your birthday suit under this thin sheet, what the fuck can you say to him? Sorry Dameron, got too caught up with how stupid wet you get me that I left those there on accident on my way to cheat, but totally not because I lowkey want your help doing it. Convincing, that’ll go over great.

Dameron slowly lifts his head to look at you. Or, at least you think he does—the light from the open door behind him casts his body in a dark silhouette, but you know your face is perfectly illuminated for him right now. Blinking down at him from the top bunk with your brows pulled up in the middle, wide-eyed and desperate and caught red-handed. Fuck, you don’t know if he can see the way your knees are clamped tight together and your hand rests perfectly still against your pussy like this from the angle he’s at, but you know it has to be super fucking obvious either way. You’re breaking the rules, you’re touching yourself, and you both know it. You can’t lie, you can’t even sit up without confirming his very valid suspicion. He can call the game at any point, but…

You watch his head fall back down to study the mess you left for him once more. Fuck, are you positive that was an accident? Normally you wouldn’t second guess anything about your own understanding of the interactions that occur between you and him, but—you’ve never done that before. You’ve lived with roommates on this base for years, you don’t just… get naked before getting into bed, that’s bad form. How are you going to get up in the morning without having your pajamas shoved near your feet while you sleep? Wrap this thin bedsheet around yourself and scamper down the ladder until you can snatch them up from the floor, and then what? Climb all the way back up just to wiggle the clothes on underneath the blanket before going back down again? Maker, you fucked up, your pussy is plotting your fucking demise.

But then everything inside you pulls taut as Dameron suddenly decides to move. Slowly, he leans down to catch your orange jumpsuit closest to his feet with a few fingers, before he stands upright and carefully begins folding the fabric without saying a single word to you. Electricity buzzes through you as he very obviously takes his time with it, using nearly his whole armspan to lengthen and fold the sleeves while his chest and chin meet for support. When he’s eventually satisfied with it, he takes a few steps toward the empty desk on your side of the room and then sets the neat rectangle of fabric atop it where you usually keep it.

You bite your lip and you can’t help it—you start to move your finger as he goes back to sort the pajamas you wore for barely two seconds from your dirty clothes, folding and putting away whatever is clean and then tossing the rest into the shared laundry basket that gets collected every week. Somehow it makes you feel even more naked, seeing all your clothes be returned to their proper places, realizing that this is your base state now, this is what you’re going to wear tonight. Nothing. You left everything on the floor and trapped yourself up here, he’s simply shifting a pawn forward two spaces in kind now that you’ve made your first move.

You can feel yourself pulse threateningly against your own fingertip while he collects your wet towel and drapes it over your closet door to dry, and your breath comes louder through your nose while you bite back the noises you want to make, the way your movements so desperately want to speed up. Your hand working the way you want it to under the white sheets would be too much, too revealing, but you don’t know how much longer you’ll be able to care.

But then of course, the asshole has to go and put away his towel and clothes, and you endure through the whole thing while pressing back and forth against your clit so hard and slow that your toes curl and pull the sheet tucked under your chin taut. After that’s done, he makes his way over to the portshade above his desk and slowly slides it open a few inches, the light of three moons outside gradually filling the room. However, when Dameron goes back to press a button on the wall panel and close the door to the hallway, you immediately see how much softer it is in here, how the artificial fluorescents have thankfully disappeared and the room illuminates more than it blinds, glows more than it beams. He presses one more button as the lock inside the paneling slides into place.

You bite your bottom lip and try your best to hide the pleasure you’re building for yourself while he makes his way back to his desk, quietly swiping the radio off it and lowering the volume knob completely before he flips it on. The noise slowly amplifies until you’re able to catch two distinct voices conversing in Huttese—it’s the only lingua franca that still broadcasts on this old technology in this part of the galaxy, but he’s already flipping through the stations in search of something specific.

If you were thinking straight, you may have actually recognized this for what it is, but you’re having trouble even processing the details of your general surroundings right now, your mind is lagging and too slow at reading between the lines. Dameron’s doing exactly what he said he would do. He laid it all out earlier for you in the x-wing, telling you exactly what he wanted plain as day, and now he’s checking the whole list off one by one. The shade is open and the room is lit just enough to make him out, the door is locked, and he’s finding something to listen to. Something quiet, and easy.

If you were thinking straight, you’d realize that there’s a much more obvious reason why he shaved his beard—you never told him the truth about how much you liked it. You never tell him the truth. You allow—even encourage him to think the sharp things you say to him are exactly how you feel. He did it because he believed you.

Oh, but you’re not thinking straight. Your thoughts are scattered and the only thing they can agree upon is how good this feels, even as your breathing starts to grow heavier, grow louder underneath the sound of the radio. The thought stays right beneath your consciousness, tugging at your preoccupied mind. You work your finger with just a little more verve now that he’s flipping through the stations, knowing he’s distracted by spinning the dial through intermittent white noise while different voices and songs fill the room for just a second at a time.

Your bed, his voice suddenly echoes through your thoughts, originating from your subconscious but almost sounding like it’s coming from the radio in your delirious mind. I want you comfortable.

Fuck, the understanding finally clicks the second he flips to a slower song and you start to burn at the thought of what’s next. The silent promise that his actions allude to. You have the realization way too late but at least it still comes at all with the state you’re in. Your hand slows down immediately, not even needing to consciously consider the choice between achieving orgasm through your finger or his mouth. Still, it’s hard to stop touching yourself completely when it feels so fucking good to your deprived body.

Fuck, it’s barely been a few seconds since your realization and yet you immediately bristle in distress at how fucking long he’s taking.

So you open your mouth. You’re desperate and needy and on the verge of something, and it comes out without thought. You don’t think it’s loud enough for him to hear, but his head immediately lifts and looks unseeingly at the wall in front of him for a second, as if he’s questioning if he imagined it. A soft melody plays on a bluesy guitar while you hiccup and wait, but he doesn’t move.

And then you say it again, higher and tighter in your throat, pitched up to an impatient, girlish whine. “Poe…”

The radio is tossed onto the bottom bunk as soon as he spins around and walks towards the ladder, but it’s like your finger has a mind of its own the moment he disappears underneath your line of sight. Your legs spasm against the mattress and you bite your lip, not caring about the frantic way your hand begins moving under the sheet as his muted footsteps climb up the rungs.

Your eyes snap to his as soon as you can see him beyond the railing at your feet, heaving himself up until everything above his waist is above you, too. His pauses there and his lashes quickly dip to the shameless movements between your legs as you work yourself towards that approaching bliss, and then flick back to the way you’re biting your lip and looking at him so torn, wanting so badly to wait for it but not being able to right now.

Slowly, he begins to move forward, crawling his way up the mattress and over your body, noticeably careful with where he places his limbs. You’re not hard to dodge, though—you’re like a rigid stick of desperation under him, knees and ankles still clamped tight together and your arms streamlined as close to your body as possible with tension as you keep rubbing your clit. Not to mention the sheet is thin and shows your figure almost perfectly with how tight you’ve hooked it under your chin, only leaving the finest details to the imagination.

But then there starts to be a little strain against the fabric, an unspoken question he’s still bothering to ask even though you could’ve told him to fuck off ages ago. Poe could yank the sheet down and flip your shit over and destroy you right now if he wanted—fuck, like you want him to do—but his face slowly appears in front of yours instead and his dark eyes search your features for answers. The length of his chain dangles from his muscular neck and glows against his golden skin, his whole upper body stretched long and bare over you.

From the gradually increasing tightness pulling on the fabric, you expect the sheet to rip down your body as soon as you lift your chin and let that resistance go, but instead… stars, it’s slow. Why is he going so fucking slow?? The bedsheet barely flutters down to your collarbone before he’s able to stop tugging on it so hard, and then he just gently inches the hem down from that point on.

Fuck—your eyes drop to his lips as he eventually reveals your shoulders and sternum to the room, and then lower to your cleavage while you let out a hushed whimper, praying he understands the extent of how vulnerable you’re allowing yourself to be. You don’t do this often—and you definitely don’t do it with someone like him. He’s the one who said you needed this, isn't he? So why the fuck is he dragging out the anticipation? Pretending like he doesn’t see the way you’re begging for help in the middle of another warzone that’s breaking out for the second time today?

Poe’s head drops down to give the contour of your neck a long drag of his tongue, slow and hot and wet, the sheet eventually dropping beneath your nipples and exposing them to the cool air. You bite your lip and keep working yourself under the fabric even as it’s led down the length of your tummy, and you just get wetter and wetter feeling him mouth at your skin as the radio continues to play soft from the bottom bunk. He follows the skin as it’s revealed, licking down from your collarbone and working with the increasing rate of your breathing. His lips never feel like they vary in pressure, even as your chest heaves up and down and your lungs work hard for air.

His open mouth slowly drags down the curve of your breast and it makes your blood burn fire through your veins. You nearly choke when your nipple is enveloped in soft heat, his tongue quickly fluttering up under the stiff peak and giving it to you so gently, contrasting so light and vernal with how brilliant and neon bright the need between your legs is. Your hand starts to work quicker, and fuck—you can hear it now, your desperate movements audible over the shallow breaths and the sound of one song gradually fading into another below you. You’re just too fucking wet and your pussy is smushed with how tight your legs are pressed together—the noise is unavoidable, and Poe’s knees are planted too close to either side of your thighs to spread them really at all.

Fuck, you knock against the resistance regardless to let him know what you want, but he doesn’t budge and it makes you just about lose your damn mind. Does he have to make everything so fucking difficult? You couldn’t close your legs earlier and now you can’t open them, and it’s like he’s able to take perfect advantage of each opposing position to prolong your torture.

But then his tongue leaves you even as his jaw opens just slightly, and that’s the only warning you get before his teeth graze your nipple with a sudden arc of sensation and you flare up all at once.

It’s a miracle and a curse that you’re able to stop at the very last second, your hand jerking away from your pussy and flexing into a fucking death claw on your thigh at how close you were, and you don’t know why. Why did the fuck did you stop? There’s nothing standing in your way right now, you’ve consciously given yourself express permission to cum, but still. It must just be learned instinct at this point—hammered into your muscle memory for weeks on end to not allow the pleasure no matter what, especially when you’re this fucking close to it.

Nonetheless you garble out nonsense and cinch inwards on yourself to fight it off now that you’ve apparently decided against it. There’s nothing worse than a half-assed orgasm, and you have to quickly summon the conviction behind your split second reaction before it’s too late and your body takes the pleasure any way it can get it.

Poe’s mouth releases your nipple at the way your whole spine suddenly hunches in and he drops his forehead to your chest, breathing heavy down the slope of your breast as you tremble and grapple for your sanity.

“Did you just cum?” Is the first thing he says to you, his voice is so ragged and stony it’s practically gravel crunching as he speaks.

“N-n-no,” you quickly stammer at the ceiling, trying to remember how to breathe correctly. Inhale, exhale—fuck, which one is inhale again, which one comes first? Maker, does he need to call a fucking medic? “Huhhhhalmost?”

Poe takes a deep breath and slowly releases it with a bassy and warm mmmm rumbling against your skin, so coarse but pleased enough to sound like melted chocolate dripping down your body. The noise sends a violent shudder through you and it’s almost enough to knock you back to that edge again, even without your fingers assisting it.

His head dips and the sheet pulls down even more, just below your belly button now, and you let out a quiet gasp in anticipation, nearly on the verge of begging him to keep moving downwards. But when Poe’s eyes close and his mouth suddenly moves back up to open over your other nipple instead, your patience snaps.

Fuck him, bad way. This is your orgasm, you’re done waiting.

“I’m gonna cum,” you snarl furiously down at him, shoving your hand between your legs even as Poe’s lips quirk against your skin. It’s not a warning, it’s a threat. If he’s gonna be like this, he doesn’t get to share it with you. It’s your orgasm, you’ll give it to yourself if he doesn’t give a shit about it. “Thought you wanted it, guess not.”

You immediately feel his teeth again in response to your admittedly slightly bitchy comment and this time he lets your nipple roll just a bit between them, making you jerk at the sensation and quickly find your clit again. Oh, you’re soaking fucking wet, you’re wet everywhere. Slick and swollen and burning, and it’s not going to take much at all. The sheet sticks to your overheated body and you can’t tell the difference between your sweat, his saliva, or wetness from between your legs—it all just feels damp and slippery as you gradually lose your bearings under his mouth.

“Fuck this, I’m gonna cum,” you breathe once more, possibly nothing more than a mindless reiteration but most likely just one last veiled plea for him to give you what you both want. As if he can tell, Poe quickly lifts his mouth and suddenly the sheet is ripped the rest of the way down your naked body completely, sharp and frustrated, and then his lips brush against your elbow as it twitches, nipping the sensitive skin there.

“Brat,” he growls quietly against your forearm as he keeps dragging his lips down further, following the path it makes along your tummy. “Just likes making shit difficult.”

“You’re the one—” you hiccup, trying to sound angry but just melting into a puddle at the tip of his tongue slowly trailing down your frantically moving wrist, “—you’re the… the o-one who… who…?”

But you’re already sprinting towards that edge, feeling him drop even lower and his hot breath fan against your fingers, and at this point you’re too far gone. Poe gently kisses at your closed thighs, in perfect position and ready for you, but you can’t stop yourself anymore unless he makes you stop, and the longer he waits down there without grabbing your hand to replace it with something better the more you don’t give a shit about whether or not it’s going to happen. You can feel the orgasm rising, you can feel your toes flex and everything start to lock down for the approaching tsunami. You’re going to get it this time, you’re going to cum, you’re going to—

“This is—” you rasp, “—this is a f-free, a fffff-ffreeeeb—”

His tongue softly grazes your knuckle as it works.

And then there’s a moment. A suspended moment that seems to go on forever, where you’re launched directly over that cliff and yet you still seem to be gaining altitude. Where’s the drop? You’re already cumming—you can feel it, there’s absolutely no fucking going back now, but it’s like your sheer desperation has so much momentum that your body tricks itself into believing there’s nothing to land on, no gravity to immediately rip you straight down to your demise.

You choke out his name and your back arches with it and that must be the signal, because Poe finally pulls your hand away and lets his chin dip, and then his jaw falls open and allows you just enough time to catch the glimmer of his pink tongue before it slides wet and slow through your swollen folds.

Heat. It sears through your whole body with a wracked shudder, the slick glide over your clit as his eyes flutter closed, and within the very first second of feeling his mouth on you, you’re instantly cumming inside it.

There. There’s the drop.

The burning erupts into molten chaos, crumpling your whole body on impact like an accordion, but he sinks all his weight down on your legs and forces you to endure it with everything below your waist pinned to the mattress. It’s fucking mayhem. You feel like your voice actually rips itself in half with the ragged cry of blinding relief, so enormous and soul wrenching in power that you couldn’t even hope to muffle it. You can’t move your hips through it, you can’t stutter up to ride it out—you have to experience the whole thing with your lower body completely still while his tongue takes slow, gentle licks at your throbbing clit, only able to sit your shoulders up and slam them back down and grab his head as you endure.

You cum hard. Fucking hard. It’s daunting and explosive and utterly devastating in the havoc it wreaks, and just when you think you’ve seen the worst of it, it’s just so slow. Creeping along and obliterating everything in its path, taking an eternity to pass because of how fucking big it is.

When you’re finally able to float back down into your own body again, the first thing you notice is how tight his hold is. Poe’s arms are wrapped around your thighs to keep them pressed tight together and you can feel the wetness all the way down to your fucking knees as they tremble against each other. Stars, what did he do to you? You feel like you actually wet yourself, there’s way too much dampness on the mattress underneath you to feel anywhere close to normal for you.

His mouth eventually leaves you but his head doesn’t move, nothing else moves. Even his hot breath feels like rough stimulation to your throbbing pussy.

And then Poe shifts and adjusts his body just enough, catching the backs of your knees and slowly spreading your legs up and apart like you wanted to do ages ago. They feel like jelly, wobbly and unsteady even as his thumbs hook right under your knees and easily support most of their weight. Your pussy is soon exposed completely, and his shoulders move down just before his head drops to lick the collection of wetness right from your entrance. Fuck, he couldn’t get it from the previous angle your legs were at, just your clit at the very top—but this is deep and personal and you know he’s probably getting mouthfuls of how hard he just made you cum, using the tip of his tongue to scoop your arousal up and swallowing it quietly before going back for more.

“Poe,” you whisper, and he rumbles low in his throat in response without stopping. This isn’t for you, this isn’t for your benefit right now. Your pleasure receptors aren’t concentrated right here, just the physical evidence of them being overloaded just a few moments ago, but he stays for longer than necessary. He keeps his mouth here far longer than you need to push past the throbbing sensitivity and start to crave the sensation again, forcing you to bite your lip to stop yourself from telling him to move back up just a couple inches.

So you seek it out instead, the lower part of your body clearly not listening to a damn thing your mind tells it right now. Your hips drop and his velvet tongue catches your clit at the apex of its repetitive motion, and you gasp and rock upwards again as Poe groans and immediately rises with you to chase it. He attaches to the swollen flesh and sucks at it gently for you, following your lead, letting your wet fingers comb his hair back from his face and clutch a good fistful of it as you plant your feet and slowly grind up into his mouth.

Fuck. He was right. You needed this. Everything about it is heaven—endorphins pour off you in waves as you roll your hips against his face, and he lets you do it. He’s not just pliant, he’s willing. His tongue works diligently, his eyes close and he moans into your pussy, allowing you to tug his hair and fit to his mouth exactly how you want.

Oh, everything burns. Everything smolders and sparks, because he’s always been so withholding and now he’s just going for it. He’s reading your mind better than he did during the battle today, not necessarily submissive in his approach but… servicing. Accommodating. Finally giving in and putting real effort into helping you chase after another shot of ecstasy without being so stingy about it like before.

As soon as you feel another familiar swell of something deep down, your mouth is suddenly dropping open.

“How many—” your ragged voice comes out without thinking, and it takes so fucking long to actually attach the train of thought to its conduit of translation. You swallow thickly and flex your fingers in his hair, tugging at him to ground yourself, trying to anchor yourself to the very thing that’s about to fling you into oblivion again. “—fuck, how many times did you… how many fr-freebies do I—do I…”

Poe eases his chin back just enough to respond, and the slick sound his tongue makes leaving your clit makes you shudder and miss the wretched words at first. “Mm. Just the one.”

And then his tongue is already sliding back through your pussy by the time your eyes pop open in immediate panic, and your clit is in his mouth again as soon as yours drops to frantically contest.

But the words aren’t coming, it feels too fucking amazing. Your jaw goes slack and your fingers tighten in his hair. Maker almighty, the orgasm swells up so sharp and quick that you have to fucking kick him at the very last second to get away from it. Thankfully Poe’s mouth abruptly leaves you with his oof of shock at your audacity, lifting his head as you snap your legs together and grit your teeth through your miserable retreat from ecstasy. You don’t even notice the way your knee almost knocks into his jaw with it—you just focus on shamefully easing your way back down again from the platform overlooking bliss like you’re too afraid of the high-dive. After a second, you actually have to turn on your side and rock yourself like a child as Poe slowly sits up with a grimace, lifting his arm to rub at his ribcage where your heel slammed into him.

You peek an eye open to watch him do it and oh no, it’s not a good plan. He’s so… fucking hot. Fuck. He’s unbelievably good-looking—his hair curls and frames such handsome features, his body is lovely and warm and seeing his chest bare and up close like this makes you want to reach out and slowly drag your hand down the smooth curve of his side. But then your gaze catches on the dark sweatpants tented shamelessly between his legs and how he’s glistening with perspiration, too, and how he tugs at the fabric covering his crotch and sighs softly, blinking down at you slow and intoxicated with lust.

You have to close your eyes and bury your face into the pillow because your body is latching onto anything to keep you within inches of that edge. The mere sight of him is enough to make you worry for yourself. You take deep breaths and do your best to tune his existence out entirely. Just you, just you in your bed, trying desperately not to cum without even touching yourself. You’re naked and curled up and there's no one here to look down at you with deep brown eyes, no one else breathing and especially not equally as loud as you are. Just you, just you.

And, just when you think you might finally get to the point where you’re not teetering anymore, where you’re at least mostly certain that moving around and looking at things and just existing in general isn’t going to make you completely unravel hands-free at any moment, he has to fucking… go and be himself.

You peek up to see him staring down at you, dark and intimate and devouring, before his hand gently brushes down the curve of your hip. “Maker, you are so fucking hot right now. Was that a close one, pretty baby?”

Your hand snaps out to grab his wrist with a whimper and you don’t know if your intent is to stop him or just hang on for dear life, but your grip is weak and you shake and Poe takes the opportunity to grab a handful of your ass while you do absolutely fuck all to stop him.

“Mmmm. Open your legs,” he murmurs, releasing your flesh just to give it a soft smack. “You’re only making it worse like this.”

“What? W-What do you—” you stammer, but Poe drags his hand down your thigh to catch one of your knees and pull it up without waiting for your babbled reply. Both knees go with him, your pelvis wound too tight and frozen to do anything but rotate your whole entire body on your tailbone.

“You’re just adding more pressure by keeping them closed,” he explains, wiggling his fingers in between your knees to try and get enough of a grip to pry them apart. “C’mon—open your legs, let yourself breathe.”

“Nnnnnnstop talking,” you groan, trying to slap at him, but he’s strong enough to force the movement regardless, levering your knees apart and then pushing them tight to the mattress. And, though he would normally be right about it, you’re fighting your mind to get away from the orgasm just as much as you are your body. The sudden exposure and the positioning and the way he automatically drops his gaze down at your needy pussy with his cock still hidden in his pants like that only serves to displace the cause instead of eliminating the effect. Closing the door and opening a window, shifting the stimulation somewhere else but allowing it to throb steady and aching regardless.

“Much better,” he sighs lowly, digging his fingers into the sore muscles inside your thighs and you just keep your hands loosely attached to his wrists as he works. “Fuck me, baby’s got such a pretty pussy doesn’t she?”

“Poe,” you wheeze up at him, hearing him rumble at the sight of your cunt contracting around nothing, probably shining and glistening with your desperation for him. By this point, you’re worrying again. You have no doubt whatsoever that he could talk you into cumming just like this, with your hands trembling and clutching at his wrists. If he keeps murmuring filth while holding your legs open and staring at your pussy like this, you have no doubt you’ll find a way to get there somehow.

Thankfully, he seems to understand. He goes quiet and just keeps massaging your sore muscles while you try not to writhe underneath him. Stars, it’s like he’s genuinely doing what he can to take it easy on you and you’re still all kinds of fucked up about it, still frantic and desperate while all he’s doing is just squeezing your legs.

“Calm down,” he gruffs, but you can’t. “You’re working yourself up, don’t—”

“Stop talki—” your ragged growl is cut off by your own hiccup as you quickly find the strength to shove at his hands, knowing they’re at least mostly to blame for your prolonged tightrope walk. You can’t fucking think when he’s touching you, you become too hyper-aware of your own body, it feels too good in a way that’s hard to describe and impossible to explain. Poe’s palms immediately listen and raise in front of him in surrender, his back lifting to give you space while you hide your face from him with shaky hands and gasp. It’s pathetic and your legs are still held wide open and your fingers tremble hard enough to resemble a malfunction.

You just. You need a hard reset. You need that thirty seconds of complete idle, of figuring shit out on your own without an electric current running through you before you can start working properly again. It can’t be rushed, it’s necessary when most people just want to power down and then right back up again. The wires connecting your parts are all criss-crossed and tangled and sparks are lighting up at the slightest stimulus, you just need to experience absolutely nothing for thir—

“I’m sorry,” Poe murmurs, still staying in his own space but the gravelly voice shooting a bolt of lightning down your spine. Thirty seconds, of course he couldn’t give you thirty fucking seconds. “Fuck, you’re so hot, I’m sorry—”

“Please stop talking,” you beg him, your fingers curling against your face, “Maker, I—I don’t want to cum—”

“Fuck, I know, it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever fucki—”

You go to kick him again and even though it collides wrong and does nothing more than get your message across, the jostle is enough to knock you back from the approaching oblivion just slightly. It serves to wake you up way more than it remotely hurts him, the equivalent of someone just smacking a piece of machinery and fixing the problem temporarily.

You heave an enormous breath and blink your eyes open behind your fingers, immediately locking with his. Poe’s teeth are digging into his bottom lip but he’s mercifully silent, even when you drop your shaky hands down to your spread thighs and stay equally silent another full minute while you make the effort to right yourself. After awhile though, you realize he must be taking cues from you, waiting for you to speak.

Only, you suddenly don’t know what to say. You’re at a complete loss, looking up at him through your eyelashes in uncertainty now. Something you’ve never been around him, even as your pussy is wide open for him to look at. He hasn’t recently, though, you don’t think. He’s just keeping his eyes on your face, watching you bite your lip and blink up at him while your mind whirls, the only sound that can be heard is the radio continuing to lull from the bottom bunk.

You wish he’d say something. How come he’s choosing right now to listen to what you tell him to do? You don’t… you don’t know what to say to him. Why can’t you figure out something? You fidget but then suddenly feel your expression lose all its struggle and just look… innocent. Needing his help.

“Do you want me to leave?” Poe eventually asks after another moment, tentative of breaking the silence, and you frantically shake your head before he’s even finished speaking. Fuck, something drops in your stomach at how desperate you’re probably coming off right now, but you’re so lost and you know that’s at least one question you know the immediate answer to.

Poe tilts his head thoughtfully, slowly reaching a hand towards your thigh without removing his eyes from yours. “Want me to make you cum again?”

You shake your head again, wide-eyed and worried. He immediately pulls his hand back and blinks slowly at you.

“You want to be edged more?” He asks lowly, and you shake your head vehemently for the third time. Poe sighs and sits back, planting his palms to his thighs and pulling at the fabric of his pants in budding frustration, clearly tired of playing twenty questions. “Well what do you want, baby? You wanna just hang out? That’s fine, I don’t care, but you gotta tell me.”

Fuck, he’s right, what do you want? The only thing that’s standing in your way of feeling better, you soon realize.

“Want you to cum first,” you mumble, cheeks warming at how childish you sound.

“Not a fucking chance,” Poe immediately scoffs, crossing his arms over his bare chest. “And pouting at me isn’t gonna help.”

“Why not?” You breathe, dipping your gaze down his body. “I can use my mouth.”

“I don’t—” he stops short, suddenly registering what you said and switching gears. “You can—?” Poe narrows his eyebrows and looks suspicious. “You’ll let me… cum in it?”

“Okay,” you whisper in breathless agreement, sitting up and reaching for him, but Poe groans and pushes you back down on the mattress with a flattened palm against your shoulder like you just aced a test he was hoping you’d fail.

“Fuck whoever’s idea this was,” he grits darkly to himself while you arch up against his hold, wanting him to grab your tits but knowing it’s not a good idea right now. “Maker, I’m so fucking hard—fuck whoever’s idea this was, making me turn that down—”

“You said,” you pant, licking your dry lips and blinking up at the ceiling, trying to control yourself, “before, you said that you’re… you’re not doing this for a bet, right? So why not?” Your voice goes softer when you flutter your gaze back at him, even though the accusation feels like it should be sharper if anything, since it comes from a very real place of distrust. “Were you just… lying to me about that?”

“Fuck, come on,” Poe groans, his voice starting to waver as he shakes his head and squints one eye at you, exasperated. “You don’t get it. You can’t think of a single fucking reason I don’t wanna blow my load just yet? Really?”

The sentence coupled with his rock solid hold on you skitters a thrill through your body and you automatically reach up to run your hand along his forearm. He looks down at the caress and then back to your face and fuck, even you feel like you’re sending mixed signals right now.

“You could… fuck me,” you whisper, and Poe’s dark eyebrows pull up as his gaze falls down your naked body, nodding and digging his teeth into his bottom lip. An agreement backed by so much unspoken desire that it looks like it almost hurts him just to hear you say it out loud. “And we can just… see who cums first.”

“Yeah?” He croaks, his eyes pinned between your open legs. “Just say fuck it all and race for last place? Okay.”

Your heart pounds, having just enough wherewithal to preemptively establish a safety net for yourself. “And—and we can’t finish at the same time or we both lose.”

“Fuck,” Poe groans, reaching down to catch the hem of his sweatpants with his thumb and lifting his hips until his cock is exposed to the dim room. “We can’t stop once we start, then, we’ll have to see it through.”

Except you don’t catch any of the last part because, uh. Well, to sum up. May the Maker have mercy on you all.

Just like that, the only thought in your mind is… you get it. Okay, you get it. He told you before that girls were only interested in him for his cock, and it actually… stars, it makes so much fucking sense now, you totally get it. You thought maybe he was just boasting as a form of overcompensation at first—or, to put it another way you’ve probably used in conversation with him before, talking big talk but walking small walk. Only now, you’re… humbled. By a fucking dick, you’re humbled.

You haven’t seen more than a few of them in this context, so you know you’re not necessarily qualified to give an informed opinion, but heavens it’s a sight. It’s thick and swollen and just a shade darker than his complexion and everything inside you rockets to attention as soon as he wraps his hand around it. It’s big. It fills his whole palm without much room to spare. Far larger than what you’re used to, and you know that no matter how he fucks you with it, you’re gonna feel it tomorrow. Next weekend, probably.

Your eyes must betray you, because Poe suddenly loosens his grip and breathes your name softly, causing you to flick your eyes back up to his. You didn’t realize you were staring so openly.

“I’ll go slow,” he reassures you quietly, voice gentle and knowing. The complete lack of sarcasm or aggression in his tone is enough to snap you back to yourself, knowing that can’t possibly be right. He’s talking to you like he did when you stumbled your ass out of the x-wing today, when you were barely responsive and lost in dumb shock. He doesn’t have to… be nice to you right now, like you’re still only moments away from losing it. It’s offensive.

“I can handle it,” you harumph, widening your legs while Poe immediately suppresses a grin.

“'Course you can,” he sighs with the slightest note of fondness creeping into his voice, dropping his hips as he lines up at your entrance. “And I’ll go slow anyways.”

You open your mouth to respond but at the first push of his head inside, you inhale sharply and your palm immediately shoots out to press against his chest on complete instinct. The stab of pain is impossible to mask from your features and Poe instantly stops with a shaky breath, watching how your jaw drops at the intrusion and your face contorts.

“Ahh. Shit…” he whispers as his head tips down, dark eyes clamping shut and his hold on you tightening. “What—shit, what the fuck…”

“Keep going,” you growl out, even though you know you’re just making it more difficult on yourself. You can take Poe’s cock, you can take it, he has absolutely nothing to brag about, it’s completely normal-sized—

His hips inch forwards and you gasp at the excruciating arc of sensation, slapping at him harder.

“Keep going,” you babble while locking your elbows and shoving him back, “fuck, keep going, keep going—”

“Baby,” Poe groans, wrenching one of your hands from his chest and bringing your wrist up to his mouth to kiss and breathe hot air on it, “baby, you gotta let me—”

He moves a little more and you cry out, jerking your hand back from his lips and knocking it hard against his chest before you even realize it. Oh shit, you can’t handle it, you haven’t been fucked in so long—

“I’m sorry,” you choke out, trying to be nicer by flattening your palm but then immediately digging your nails in, “fuck, I’m sorry, it’s just—it’s been awhile since I—”

“Shit, I can tell,” he pants brokenly, his fingers dropping back down to flex hard on your hip. “Hoooolyfuck, I can te—ah, fuck, it’s alright, it’s alright, just—nnnnnnshit, okay, just relax, don’t tense up too muuuh… much—”

His cock pushes deeper even as he keeps rambling through it and you feel yourself being rearranged to make room for the slow movement, giving way to a rich pleasure even as the discomfort increases.

Poe stops once more when your hands shove up against him, somehow simultaneously shakier and firmer than all the other times put together and a little more than half of him inside you at this point. You’re so slick and hot between your legs that there’s no resistance besides the stretch, nothing to stop him from slamming home besides your weak hands trembling at his collarbone, but everything about the way he stays completely frozen for ages says he’s controlled and patient.

Everything except his face, you soon realize.

When your body is finally able to come to terms with the sensation and you blink up at him, Poe isn’t looking at you anymore. He’s staring directly over your head at the wall, tangible regret manifesting itself in seething frustration marring his expression. His eyebrows furrow and he scowls but all of it is silent and directed at himself, as if he’s asking why the fuck he actually agreed to do this. You know then that it must be really fucking wet. You know then that you must be just blazing hot and tighter than sin and as if in rhythmic agreement, his cock jumps inside you with each pounding rush of blood through it. You can see the sweat beading at his hairline as he continues to ignore you for the moment, choosing instead to silently lament at the wall like it did something to mortally betray him.

You could… make this a sprint, something devious suddenly whispers to you. He’s struggling through the pleasure and you can outlast. From the severity of that look alone, you can put an end to it before it even starts.

Admittedly, you don’t even let the devil finish his damn sentence before you decide to take your own initiative. You clamp down around him as hard as you can and Poe whips his attention down to you and punches out a curse that sounds like you wrenched the word from his throat before he was anywhere near ready for it. It comes from somewhere high and defenseless in register and then quickly falls down into a growly pit as his hips automatically lurch forwards the rest of the way inside, hard, smacking into yours as you squeeze wickedly around him.

You keep squeezing through the sudden upward shove of bliss, you keep tightening up even though you’re making agonizing noises and your eyes clamp shut and it hurts. But stars, it feels good, why does it feel so good when it hurts so bad? It makes your throat scrape and your face twist up, but you can hear his cursing getting louder and more desperate so you still don’t relax your viselike hold around him.

“Stop it—” he snarls down at you rabidly, “—oh fuck, stop or you’ll make us both cu—”

Shit, he’s right. You know he’s never been more right about anything as soon as his hips stutter and kick up to a full blown gallop in the middle of his furious scolding, and the sudden build of ecstasy is so fast and intense that you sob his name, not being able to loosen your muscles anymore as soon as it overtakes you. But it’s like a closed circuit, you’re both recycling the same pleasure without knowing how to shut it off. The harder you bear down on him, the faster his hips work, the vicious cycle compounding and circling and manifesting in the perfect typhoon within just a few tumultuous seconds.

But then suddenly he rips himself out of you with a gasp and it’s not a moment too soon, because both of you have to scramble and grab onto things to brace yourselves through the worst of it. You choose the mattress and he chooses the railing, and through the searing discomfort and settling of the chaos that’s becoming more and more familiar to you as this exhausting day passes, you know you fucked up. You underestimate his self control, time and time again. But, exactly like earlier today, you feel a thrill skitter up your spine at how he’s going to respond to your brazen treachery in the face of a newly established truce.

“Fuck,” he jerks his head to spit the obscenity at you, sounding more pissed off than you’ve ever heard him, the shredded anger in his voice starting to burn through you. “Fuckfuckfuuuuck—you make me so mad. You make me so mad. I wish I could fuck you right now, on Maker, I’d ruin you. I’d wreck your shit until you learn and you’d deserve every single fucking second of it, you—”

He stops short and growls jagged sharp in frustration, but you can’t help yourself.

“Say it,” you whimper on a dare, feeling your heart pound. The words quiver with an inexplicable sort of excitement as you dig your fingers into the mattress, wanting to hear his voice snarl the mysterious profanity. “Say it. ‘You…’—what? Say it.”

Shock suddenly paints his previously tense expression blank, even though his pupils blow out and his chest heaves. Your voice is too breathless, it’s too needy to sound nearly as antagonistic as you want.

And then Maker, it’s as if the sheer control he’s clinging to serves to spark his vexation even more. Mad that you would ask for something so enticing at a moment like this. Your heart thunders as Poe nearly flashes up close to you and points a threatening finger at you.

“You’re not going to get what you want from me,” he snaps, quiet and furious. “Not tonight. I don’t give a shit, I told you I’d slow fuck you and now I’m gonna do it until you act right.”

“You’re an asshole—” you move to lift up onto your elbows, but his hand suddenly plants against your clavicle and shoves you back down flat on the mattress.

“Not even ten minutes after I make you cum and you’ve already got a fucking attitude problem again,” he shoots back, positioning his cock at your entrance with his other hand once more, and Maker you’re drowning between your legs. His sharp rebuttal and the firm hold on the upper part of your chest makes it that much wetter, knowing you can’t do much more than lift your legs the way you need when he eases his way back inside.

“P-Poe—” you gasp breathlessly, but it's like he doesn’t hear you.

His expression tenses and he shudders out a low growl. “Fuck. Tight little baby. Rude little baby, just wants everything her way but doesn’t know how to behave herself.”

You have to bite your lip hard to hold back a whine when he’s completely sheathed and his hips connect to yours, and… shit. You already feel it. You already feel that simmering starting to take hold deep down once more, that monstrous second orgasm you’ve been fighting now digging its claws into you and licking the base of your spine with fire. And, as if he can tell, his demeanor instantly changes.

“Uh, oh,” Poe murmurs quietly, equal parts lilting and baiting, slowly dragging his cock out and then starting up the laziest pace you’ve ever experienced with his hand still planted high on your sternum right below your collarbone. “Can you feel it coming? Fuck, I can,” he shudders. “Already. Fuck, you’re so wet, you’re so wet—wish you had let me eat you out mor—”

“You can’t c—umm,” you hiccup, grasping his wrist and writhing through the building ecstasy, and you don’t know who you’re talking to at this point. Your other palm slaps at his shoulder with increasing urgency—fuck, he’s been fucking you for barely ten seconds and you’re already struggling to hold everything back. Only, his hand quickly grabs yours and pins it to the mattress, his face dropping closer as he rolls his hips achingly slow. You feel his back working with the steady pace, you see his neck flex as his cock drags so thick inside you, and then your gaze starts to lose focus a bit. It slides up his throat as lazily as he’s augmenting your pleasure, following the contour of his smooth skin until it reaches his face.

And mercy, Poe’s tongue comes out to wet his lips and a dark curl hangs down his forehead, concentrating hard on fucking you steadily without giving into the same creeping euphoria you’re feeling, and you have to turn away and bite back a whimper at the metal railing when the image starts to burn you alive.

“No,” Poe gruffs and his hand slides up a few inches to frame your jaw, twisting until you face him directly once more. “Right here, you stay right here with me.”

Your eyebrows pull up weakly and your eyes flick across his stunning features, the way he’s so present, so focused and determined while you’re starting to drift. His skin is so smooth, so golden when his jawline used to be dark, and—

“I—” you choke, starting to lose it, “—I-I…”

“What is it, baby?” Poe growls, staring down at you with unwavering, intense concentration. “Tell me. You gonna cum?”

“I…” you whimper, blinking at him slowly, “I… liked your… b-beard…”

Poe’s eyes, previously hardened and steadfast, suddenly go a bit dumb, a bit dazed. After a second, his eyebrows lose all strain, his gaze turns warmer and he rolls his hips deeper—

But the swell begins to become the only thing you can comprehend—that and the fact that you should be fighting it. You should be revolting against it, but now he’s looking so softly down at you and you can’t remember what could possibly be so bad about letting him take away all this ache and desperation again. Let him continue to take it away, over and over and over until it’s nowhere to be found at all.

And then Poe leans down and kisses you. And it’s… nothing like you’d expect.

It’s gentle. It’s tender. It goes on forever while he rocks into your soaking wet cunt, easing his throbbing cock in and out of you with such a smooth, repetitive motion that sends sparks of ecstasy down your spine at the apex of each thrust.

You handle it silently. At first. You don’t audibly react to any of it, you force your voice to at least keep quiet if you can’t hide the pleasure from your face or body, but then true to fucking form, he has to go and ruin it all. Poe uses his knees to scoot up just the slightest bit, and then his moan breaks through the absence of the desperate sounds you’ve been holding back as his tongue slowly slides into your mouth.

Your pussy flares, contracting painfully around his cock as it hits a spot that makes your legs shake against his sides. Your eyes roll back as his soft tongue dips into your mouth and everything just gets tighter, and tighter. Poe moans again and his hips push a little bit harder into yours on the next thrust, and it’s almost like a domino effect, except that doesn’t do it justice. It doesn’t topple one by one, it doesn’t take any time at all for the beginning to reach the finish—it’s a house of cards, the whole thing collapses and crashes down in on itself all at once.

You cum.

You lose. Fair and square.

You make a long, anguished whine into his mouth as you just start spasming, clutching hard at his shoulders and drenching his cock with it, your eyes squeezing shut as you cum so slow and fucking helpless around him. Oh Maker, it’s fucking devastating, it feels even more destructive and powerful than the first one. You pull and shove and claw at him equally, mouth slack as Poe tightens his hold and keeps tasting your whimpering cries, fitting his hips snug to yours as he slowly pushes you down through the debilitating ecstasy. You sob in euphoric defeat and a low, bone-shattering groan of satisfaction rumbles through his chest in response, grinding his cock into you and holding it deep as your pussy convulses.

All those weeks of holding out, just to lose. You had a freebie, he gave you an orgasm already and it was like a massive dose of spice to your deprived system—all it did was make your body want it more. Even worse, your orgasm doesn’t immediately inspire one in Poe like a part of you hoped it would, if only so you could reasonably contest the validity of the outcome. He’s able to ride out every twitch and flex as you shudder your way through it, continuing to lazily slide his tongue into your mouth while it’s held open and slack. He tastes like you. He tastes hot and slick and everything about your body feels the same way, damp and unbearably warm from your nape to your elbows to your cunt to the backs of your knees.

You lay there for what feels like a lifetime afterwards, powerless to the way your thighs tremble violently against his hips and letting the tip of his tongue slowly trace the bottom edge of your teeth while he firmly keeps his cock buried inside you. It pulses thickly and you know he wants to cum, you can feel the tension pulling at his shoulders as he keeps perfectly still. But then Poe shuffles his arms up until they’re braced around your head, using himself to box you in completely without moving his lips from yours. His teeth close on your bottom lip as he inches his hard cock out long and aching from your sensitive channel, and then groans and goes back to the same exact dragging pace from before.

Your expression furrows, even as he keeps kissing you and the movement lights up your oversensitive nerves. Fuck, you want him to speed up, it’s all the more shattering and viseral when he takes his time. What is he doing? What is he waiting for?

“Fuck me,” you whine against his lips, demanding a quicker pace. You don’t know why he isn’t just letting loose on you now, giving into his body’s need to cum. He’s aching for it, still rock hard inside of you. “Come on, I already l-lost, just fuck m—”

“Told you before,” Poe whispers back, refusing to speed up. He keeps his pace dragging and steadfast, no matter how much you work to entice him. “Never… fuck. Never gave a fuck about that stupid bet. Suffer though.”

The complete lack of harshness in his tone sears through your nerve endings even though what he said wasn’t exactly nice. You never thought hearing him tell you to suck it up could be delivered in a way that inspires so much arousal in you, but then his tongue is in your mouth again as his hips work slow and easy, and your eyes roll back at how… overwhelming it feels. So intimate. You’re completely surrounded by him, his forearms propped next to your head and his mouth on yours, and… Maker, there it is again. Your body is so deprived that it’s already gearing up to go again. He’s being lazy and you can’t fucking stand how it’s breaking you down. Gradually, with incredible stamina and a patience you never expected from him. When you first feel that pull, part of you still wants to pick up the other end and start a tug-of-war with the sensation. You’ve been fighting for so long that your body almost doesn’t know any different, its automatic reaction is to resist.

A distraction, that’s what you need. That’s what guys do to stop themselves from cumming too soon, right? Fuck, think of something, think of…

—Poe, you can't think of anything but Poe. Fuck. His cock sinking deep, the way he tastes, how his fingers thread into the damp hair at your crown so you can feel him that much more, how you can hook his biceps with both hands and swirl your tongue around his while he fucks you open. Your hips roll up with the pace and almost immediately stutter back down again, not sure if you can handle the wicked shot of oversensitivity—but then Poe groans and shifts up until his thighs are under your ass and he can curl you in more, lift your feet a bit more and make you feel smaller. And—stars, the next thrust in is enough to nearly make you bite him on complete accident, an unexpected sound ripped from your throat as he keeps that specific angle.

Poe keeps going. He keeps kissing you, keeps rocking into you. He lets you claw at him, lets you grapple helplessly while his cock shreds molten hot euphoria deep inside you, and then everything tightens up again.

“Ah, fuck,” Poe breaks away and curses a whole few seconds before you descend into mindless chaos once more, garbling out broken syllables with the absense of his mouth keeping yours occupied. Your voice crescendos and breaks at the same time you do, the pleasure arcing through you over and over and wringing you out repeatedly around his throbbing cock. Poe’s lips quickly move forward and give your whole cheek an open kiss while your expression crumples with it. Teeth drag down your skin as he moans hot air across your skin, his hips slowing to a complete stop with an obscenely slick sound.

You throb and clench around him and his lips are suddenly on yours again, his tongue sinking deep and dominating. Your mouth is slack and all you can do is squeeze him through the bliss, scrape your fingernails down his back and hope it leaves a mark.

Eventually the tremors pass and you’re dead in the aftermath, you don’t have energy. Your body is starting to acclimate to the slow orgasms and just let them steamroll you flat, fully accepting now that you can cum but still putting everything you have into it like every single one might be your last for a while. You come back to yourself enough to feel Poe’s cock solid and achingly hard inside you, and your bottom lip is being tugged between his teeth.

And then he eases out and goes back to fucking you. Same speed, same control.

Your eyes nearly fucking cross. “P-Poe—”

He immediately makes a noise of disapproval with his mouth closed, a nuh-uh but kept tight in his throat. He doesn’t want to hear it, he’s not even letting you finish your thought.

You can’t take it, though, you didn’t think he was capable of this. This is torturous in an entirely different way, overstimulating and shattering you with every thrust.

So, you think back to the one thing that got him to nearly snap earlier, the one time you really got to see that fire you love playing with. Only now, you need that fire, you need him to take everything out on you. Your floor muscles clamp down without warning and squeeze him as tight as possible, squeeze squeeze squeeze until you feel his hips stutter to a halt once more. Your breath catches—fuck, is this gonna work?—but then Poe breaks away from your lips to drop his head and sink his teeth into your neck.

You nearly squeal at how careless he is about it—an animal that bites you lazily even though it sends sharp agony rocketing through you. Again, your attempt at sabotage backfires spectacularly as a subsequent flare of pleasure swells up, and oh, that’s what you want, you want him to be mean—

“Please,” you whimper, hooking your ankles behind his back and locking down hard enough to make your toes curl. Poe groans as you grab a fistful of his hair and tug at the way your skin pinches between his teeth—you know you’re gonna have a bite mark for a few days and it thrills you. “Fuck, please, Poe—please just fuck me, please, I want you to fuck me until it hurts, fuck me the way we both nee—”

“You and me almost died today,” Poe grits into your neck, cutting off your desperate whimpers with a short growl. “Maker, it was so close, I don’t think anybody has any f-fucking…” His hips pull out and then spear deep and you choke, tightening and tightening. “But—shit, we didn’t, we lived and now—oh fuck, now baby’s finally letting me fuck her and I’m not cutting it short, no matter how pretty she sounds asking.”

His words sound slurred against your neck and you can’t tell if it’s his delivery or your perception that’s lagging. But when you feel Poe inch his cock out and start to slowly fuck you through the tightness, you let out a weak little whine and feel yourself drifting… somewhere else.

Things subtly lose their clarity, your eyelashes dip and you stop talking because words won’t come. You can’t tell if you’re staring at the ceiling or your eyelids or the back of your head, but Poe’s voice abruptly breaking through the silence makes you realize you don’t have a concept for time anymore. You couldn’t tell him how long you’ve been floating, but you almost don’t understand what he’s saying at all and it takes you a remarkable delay to fully comprehend. But judging from what he says, it sounds like it hasn’t been long.

“Shit, are you cumming again?” He suddenly gasps into the crook of your neck and grinds his hips achingly hard into yours, “O-Oh—fuck yeah, you are—baby’s cumming again—”

“P-Poe?” You stutter and smack your hand against something, him maybe, not knowing literally anything else. Not knowing what he’s talking about, not knowing where you are, not knowing your own name, “Poe—oh m-my… God—”

“Whhh—W-What—?” You hear him breathe a split second before everything compresses down tight, and then it all shoves forward at once. All of the buildup makes itself known the very moment it becomes too much to control, like a flash flood but the downpour happened miles away. You think you might actually squeak this time, helplessly cry out like it hurts because stars, it does. It hurts so fucking good, it spiders pure plasma through your entire body with rhythmic jolts and wipes your mind completely vacant. Your shoulders shoot you up and knock your chin into something and you think you might be crying? You don’t know anymore. Your spine comes back down to the mattress like the damp fitted sheet covering it is made of pure ice—your body is overheated and you keep tensing and jerking back up until Poe forcefully pins you tight against it, growling filth under his breath as he slow fucks you through it.

You feel his hand dropping down between your bodies and you sob pitifully at the ceiling when the tip of his calloused finger brushes your clit.

***

You lose count.

It’s just… constant, there isn’t a point in keeping track anymore even if there happened to be the ability—which, nope. Not even close.

He ruins you slowly. Meticulously, with nothing more than steady, unwavering determination. Every structure you built, he takes apart by hand instead of bulldozing it the way you beg him to when you find the words. You’re certain you find them—you must find them at some point, but they’re interspaced between babbled gibberish and breathy whispers of his name.

Even though it’s slow—Maker, it’s so slow—you’ve never been so fucking exhausted. He makes you give him everything and then he drains the reserves, the hidden ones you weren’t even aware existed. He never goes fast enough; in fact, you think he’s actually slowed down over the unknown amount of time it’s been since you first called out his name and asked for this. If you were in a frame of mind to notice, you’d probably realize he’s trying harder and harder to not cum, but in your wild headspace, it just feels like a prolonged punishment for you. It still feels like he’s depriving you for his own pleasure, even though he’s actually depriving himself for yours. But you always do manage to find some way to read things wrong with him.

Eventually, he begins to waver. He stops talking so much, stops chastising you when you plead with him. He hasn’t looked at you since he first kissed you—he’s either hidden his face in your neck or closed his eyes as his soft tongue slides across your bottom lip before dipping inside.

But then there comes a point where even you realize he’s struggling not to let go now, and in your faded traces of sanity, you hear your broken voice cut through the sounds of the soft radio.

“Y-Y-You—” you gasp, trembling under him, “—youneedtocum. You need to—”

“No,” Poe grits against your chin, sounding shaky and weak no matter how sharp he makes his consonants. “Fuck, not yet, I—I-I don’t want to yet.”

“Oh no,” you wheeze out, feeling the swell begin again, the familiar flicker of warning you get as his cock slowly rocks into you. Maker, the pleasure is getting raw and painful even as your pussy is drowning his cock with it, allowing him to glide slow and deep into your sensitive channel and letting the sheer tightness of it be the only resistance your body puts up. You can feel the wetness on your cheeks though, the tears of frustration gathering as your body prepares itself for yet another wave of attack. “Oh no, ohhhhhnononononono—”

“I don’t want—” Poe gasps, his hips stuttering just a bit and one of his hands coming down to smack the pillow next to your head as he chokes, “—don’t want this to… e-end yet, I—”

Your next orgasm suddenly slams through you and Poe immediately rips himself out of you before it’s too late. He shushes you frantically while you sob in distress and writhe side to side through the contractions solo this time, having nothing to clamp down on, not even able to grind up into him because he keeps his leaking cock elevated far beyond your reach.

Oh, that’s it. That is it.

“Fuck me!” You wail up at him, water blurring your vision and tears streaming down your cheeks, “Stop fucking around and just fuck me, you asshole! Fuck me and fuck me hard Dameron or I swear to every fucking star in the sk—”

You don’t get too far. He’s immediately scrambling over top of you and a strong hand is clamping down tight over your mouth, muffling your high-pitched cries against his palm. Your legs are shoved apart and one is caught under his arm and wedged back as far as it can go. His head drops to your neck, and then he snarls a ragged, “Brat—“ under your ear before ramming his cock back inside you.

Stars. Stars light up, it’s so much—the angle, the force, the speed, the sound his hips make as they start ruthlessly colliding with yours. Your eyes screw shut and you dig your nails into the meat of his back, but he doesn’t slow down—he speeds up—

“Fuck, you still think that throwing your little fucking fits works on me?” He hisses, drilling into your g-spot with such blinding hard precision that you can’t do anything more than just claw at his chest, gasping for air that just won’t come into your lungs. “Huh? Think you can just be a little bitch to me about it and it’s gonna change anything? You still don’t have any fucking idea, do you? Look at me—” he snarls, grabbing your face and shaking it to get you to respond, “—look at what you fucking do to me—”

But you can’t. You already came countless times and he’s lurching you up the bed with every single rabid thrust into your blindingly sensitive cunt, fucking you into the railing and then the wall behind it. You still feel his fingers grasping at your jaw, forcing you to address him, to look at him, and you can’t seem to focus your vision on his blurry features even when your eyes flutter open. You’re too dumb with grinding pleasure to see anything besides blurs and stars, to say literally anything back to him. But that’s not what he cares about.

“Oh fuck yes, there it is,” his voice whines, pitching up something vulnerable as his hips ram you into the corner hard and unyielding, “fuck, there’s those pretty eyes, that’s what I wanted, baby, that’s all I wanted—th-that’s—fuck, that’s—”

They must cross, or roll back, or something, because suddenly you can’t see him at all anymore. You don’t know what happens—but you know it’s wet. You know it bursts forth something fierce and you shriek his name with a hoarse and shredded voice like he steals the last part of your whole fucking soul with it. Fuck, you’re not even there for most of it, you might actually black out.

In your conscious moments, you can feel his whole body flexing over and over again on top of you. He empties his load deep inside you and takes a fucking eternity doing it, so many breathless praises leaving his mouth so quickly that they slur together and you can’t understand any of it even if you could hear him. All you can do is feel your cunt tighten and convulse in tandem with the throbbing of his cock, rhythmically working the cum out of him until Poe stops stuttering his hips, until he finally trails off into nothing but labored gasps and slumps down on top of you in exhaustion.

You both lay there for a while, dead weight breathing.

You want to hold him, your cum-struck mind quietly provides in the comedown. You want to feel his body now that you can finally think straight and take a moment to enjoy this blissful relief. He fucked you so good and you want to touch him, you want to run your fingers through his hair and massage the tight muscles at the base of his neck.

But then you just start giggling.

It’s stupid. It’s so fucking stupid. You smack your hand over your mouth but the garbled noise easily floats beyond it, completely elated and having absolutely no explanation at all.

Poe quickly pulls his head back to look at you and you try to twist sideways under him to hide it, but you can’t stop—like a complete loon, you snort and start to laugh harder at the ridiculous sound. Oh, you don’t just float, you’re the air itself, so light with endorphins that you close your eyes and get lost in the fit until water wets the outside corners.

After a moment, a hand gently grasps your wrist and slowly pulls it down until he can see the way your mouth opens as you giggle, hear it unobstructed and let the sound bubble up at him and fill the room. And you blink your eyes open just in time to see him slowly break into the most dazzling smile you’ve ever seen him bestow a person.

And… you’ve seen him grin a million times. He’s almost always smiling, as long as you’re not right in front of him. He smiles at his squadmates, he smiles at girls, he smiles at complete strangers, and you always thought it was pretty. Always knew that he could light up a room with it, you always knew he could get anything he wanted with it, but this… this isn’t that kind of smile. That one is practiced and alluring. It wasn’t fake, necessarily, but that smile’s purpose always had more to do with making anyone who happens to witness it feel a certain way than it did about signifying his own emotional state.

This one is… goofy. Amazed, and uncoordinated. Thunderstruck in a way, except the clouds all part at the same time and let you see a rainbow. It makes you feel… alive. Colorful. Radiant. Sunshine. Butterflies.

Poe quickly drops his lips to catch yours and you moan happily, sliding your tongue into his mouth this time. You both adjust, you arch into him as he pushes your damp hair back and makes a deep noise of satisfaction, letting you explore while he wraps his arms around you and finds a way to make this atrocious position comfortable. Every part of you is smushed up against him and there’s absolutely no space to be found, and you’ve never been happier.

“We made a mess,” he groans against your lips, rocking his hips into you with a disgustingly slick sound as if to illustrate, and his cock is soft but it’s still so thick that it stays buried inside your sloppy entrance. “Shit, I—I think I might be bleeding.”

“What?” You ask breathily, and he heaves himself up with his elbows just enough to reveal his chest. You both tuck your chins unattractively to look and you don’t immediately see any blood, but your claw marks are clearly red and visible scraping down his pectorals. “Oh. Pfft. You’re fine.”

He drops back down with a huff and your head is tilted at the perfect angle catch on the tiny droplets of blood decorating the marks criss-crossing his shoulder blades. Oops.

But he’s already kissing up your neck and over the curve of your jaw and making out with you again like he can’t get enough of it, and you forget. You forget everything. You forget every disagreement, every gripe with him you’ve ever had. It’s all wiped away and replaced with giddy, childish adoration. Resetting completely and starting off on the rightest foot imaginable.

“Let’s go to my bed,” he murmurs, and you make a tight noise of disapproval. No. This is good, this is how you want to stay. The railing is digging into your lower back and he’s heavy but you’re perfect like this, this is perfect. “Baby,” Poe pants against your lips in exasperation when you quickly clutch the back of his neck and keep him glued to you, “mmph—you got everything all wet—”

This time you make a low hum of agreement and drag your hand down the bare curve of his spine to his ass to give it a squeeze. A testament to how hard and raw he fucked you. Poe shudders hard enough for you to feel his body tremble but you just kiss him harder, pulling him down onto you more.

“You’re gonna have to give me, just like—I don’t know, at least an hour or two,” he chuckles, grabbing your hands to make it easier to peel himself from your body and groaning when his cock finally slips out. “Come on, let’s hang out in my bed.”

You’re so boneless when he pulls you to sit upright, you roll a little bit and Poe has to catch you, and you laugh again. Maker, you’re a complete mess and absolutely delighted about it. Your attempts at grumbling and complaining don’t hold any sway when you’re still trying not to giggle, and Poe is able to pull you to the top of the ladder and make his way down first.

As soon as he’s out of sight and calling up to you, you weakly slide into position with a groan and feel yourself leaking at the movement. “Gah—look what you did. I’m all… gooey.”

“I know, s’the hottest fucking thing,” he says under his breath from the floor, before beckoning you by tapping on the closest rung a few times. “Come on, be careful.”

You do as he says, easing your naked body down one step at a time with wobbly legs. It’s clumsy and you whine the whole way through, wordlessly grousing and mumbling.

“Oh, I just know it,” he comments on the sound, “nice clean sheets, I’ll get the violin.”

Normally, you probably would’ve snarked something back down at him, but you’re still so loopy and shaky-legged that you just start laughing again. The fact that he’s absolutely right and you’re being ridiculous about something like moving beds suddenly strikes you as incredibly fucking funny for some reason. You don’t realize his hands are hovering inches away from your hips until your legs buckle and Poe quickly supports your weight.

“Maker,” Poe chuckles before giving you a firm yank, and then catching you before you can tumble down the ladder in your naked, teary-eyed mania, “let’s go, giggles.”

He carries you a few steps to the mattress and plops you down on top of the comforter, letting you take up the whole bed while he sits on the end and puts your feet on his lap. Poe grimaces for a second and then shuffles until the radio is pulled out from under him, and you can hear the soft sound of it playing once again. You bury your face into his pillow, inhaling the warm scent lingering there while he tosses it carelessly to the side and rubs your shins for a little bit, watching you stretch out naked on his mattress.

“I’m not giving you two weeks of pay,” you suddenly grunt, and he just grins down at you, not arguing. Not saying anything. Sitting in comfortable silence with you when you’re expecting him to bicker. So you stay like that for a long time, breathing deep and relaxing, until Poe’s hands leave you for a second…

… to pull a bag of chips out.

Maker, at the first squeaky sound of the wrapping assaulting your eardrums, you want to roll your eyes. You want to tease him about how fucking typical it is. Like clockwork, you could probably set your watch to his middle of the night cravings. You don’t know why you thought fucking him would change any of that.

You want to give him shit for it. You even open your mouth, the snark on the very tip of your tongue. But then your stomach growls as soon as he rips the thin plastic apart.

Poe’s eyes shoot to yours and neither one of you move, but apparently your tummy doesn’t get the memo. It takes forever to trail off into silence again, and he blinks. Fuck, you know you should’ve forced yourself to eat at least something earlier. Warmth floods your cheeks and you scramble for something to say, but there’s no way to play it off.

“Would you like some chips?” Poe suddenly asks with a boyish grin, raising his eyebrows and tipping the open bag freely in your direction.

The corners of your mouth pull downwards even as the inside of it waters. You wouldn’t call it stubbornness necessarily as much as it is a… a desire to stick to consistency. After the unbelievably hard time you always give him about midnight snacking, you’re hesitant to partake.

Though, the chips rustle against each other and sound absolutely fucking delicious as Poe shakes the bag and bounces his eyebrows, and you know what? Fuck it.

You snatch it without thinking, cradling the precious food to your chest as you dig your whole hand in and shove a bunch into your mouth at once. You catch him smiling again, but he doesn’t comment.

You both take turns, and by take turns you obviously mean you take turns stealing the bag from each other instead of just setting it equidistant between you and openly agreeing to share it, but it works for you. It seems appropriate. And then it’s quiet again, just munching and crinkling, except for the radio continuing to play from its place in his lap. You have to work to listen over the loud crunching vibrating through your skull, but when you finally manage to stop chewing and catch a few bars, you suddenly find yourself trying not to smile again. Fuck, it’s been years since you’ve heard this song, you love this s—

“Fuck, I love this song,” Poe promptly exclaims with his mouth full, licking the tips of his fingers before scrambling to pick the radio up and twist the volume knob without using his wet fingertips. He starts humming over the melody, loud enough to almost drown it out completely, because of course he does. The one damn time you actually want to listen to his radio and he still finds some way to mildly irritate you.

But this irritation is almost… fun. You want to laugh just as much as you want to yell at him.

“Hey, who sings this song?” You immediately ask over the sound of him clearly not knowing the lyrics, already ready with it. Oh, the round is in the chamber, your finger is on the trigger, you are ready, and Poe’s eyes sparkle as he seems to stop and think about it.

“Mm, not sure,” he eventually shrugs, just before you rush, “Let’s keep it that—”

And then he’s slapping a hand on your leg and belting out the chorus while you scoff, giggling. He ruined the punchline on purpose and is now getting chip dust all over you, but you know any complaint you make will be drowned out by his suspended notes and backing track, so you just roll your eyes and swipe the bag of chips from him while he continues to serenade you.

“My ears are bleeding,” you mutter under your breath.

He has a nice voice, you think.

#poe x reader #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron #reader insert #Smut #no-droids

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ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa · 4 years ago

Text

Of Constellations & Creeds

Chapter 21: Fire of Devotion

Summary/Author’s Note: Din presents you with a gift that he has had for while. You start exploring what it means to work as a team and meet a fiery mechanic that takes a shine to you.

There is a note at the end for what something looks like if you guys are having a hard time picturing it. I tried to do my best. Thank you for reading!

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!reader (Alpha/Omega/soulmates AU) Word Count: 5k Warnings/Promises: Mature/18+ - language, sexual themes, weapons/shooting

[Previous Chapter] [Series Masterlist] [My Complete Masterlist]

This is what dreaming felt like.

You were the perfect temperature of warm bodies and crisp blankets. Sprawled among the sheets, you lucidly stretched your body as your mind slowly woke up the rest of your limbs. You started by wiggling your toes while you listened to the birds chitter in the trees outside the barn, your ankles, your back, and lastly your arms. You quietly popped your fingers as you brought them up to rub gently at the back of your sore neck with a groan.

"Shit."

You winced as you stretched your arms and suddenly remembered why your shoulder was so tender. Rotating the cuff much slower, you worked the stiffness out of the muscle until you could move it more freely. That was at least a little better.

Before falling into bed last night, Din had ravished you against the wall, then again on the ground, neither one of you able to stop long enough to tear yourselves apart. The idea of moving into the comfort of your bed never came up, due to not wanting to wake the kid and once again...that required you to stop touching each other. Whatever discomfort you felt had absolutely been worth it.

The morning sun was warm on your face and you opened your eyes to find the Mandalorian facing you...still helmetless. You had worried the moment you fell asleep everything would have ceased to have happened. You really wouldn't have seen his face. You really wouldn't have received his mark. But he had sleepily assured you that closing your eyes erased nothing and he promised to be here when you woke up. Everything you had done last night was no dream. It had been very, very real.

“Din?” you whispered almost inaudible, as if to test him.

His eyes were closed and his mouth open ever so slightly as he continued to sleep with his arm bent behind his head against his pillow. He looked younger in the sunlight. The gentle rays tinting his already light brown skin to a warm sienna, it did the same to his hair, finding the small strands of molten gold throughout the tousled dark curls. He was so handsome and you had yet to tell him, but something told you he wouldn't believe you even if you did.

Did Mandalorians have a concept of beauty? When you spent your entire adolescence with a helmet on, you couldn’t imagine it mattered much what the person underneath looked like. It leveled the playing field so to speak. While society squabbled over such trivial attributes, you imagined Mandalore was more concerned with your ability to win a fight, to negotiate, to contribute to your clan.

It used to be easy to look at him with disdain. Then that disdain turned to something little more than convenient indifference. It was easy to blame him for the destruction of your home world, for the loss of your old life. Anger was always easier. And yet as you looked at him now, and fought the desperate urge to trace the bridge of his nose with the tip of your finger, you knew you felt something else towards him. Something that you hadn't felt in a very long time. Something that felt a lot like affection...a lot like love.

Yes, to you Din was beautiful. But then again when you loved someone, weren’t they always? There was that word again. It made you smile quietly to yourself as you mulled it over in your mind.

Leaning forward, you pressed your lips to his, a chaste kiss that caused a soft groan to come from somewhere deep in his chest as his arm slid around your middle.

"Good morning," you whispered against his mouth and he grunted, not bothering to open his eyes.

"Ten more minutes."

You smiled, kissing him again as he pulled you closer. You reached down and grabbed the blanket before pulling it up over the both of you more securely. For a man that never took a break, he loved sleep more than anyone you had ever met.

"Alright, ten more minutes," you said quietly as you moved to kiss his cheek before tucking your head under his chin against his chest and closing your eyes.

Saying goodbye to Omera and Sorgan was more painful than you imagined it would be. She was the first person who understood your struggle. If it weren't for her who knew how long it would take you and the Mandalorian to find one another. But no matter how you felt, you couldn't stay here and she couldn't come with you. It seemed everywhere you went there was something new to lose, a new heartache to experience, and as you hugged her tightly and held back your tears she was added to the long list of loss in your life.

"You'll always have a place here," she said quietly as you squeezed her tighter. It's as if she knew you were trying not to fall apart. She felt the soft cloth that you had used to bandage your shoulder and she leaned back to see your face and give you a knowing grin. “But you are now right where you’re supposed to be.”

"Thank you," you said, wiping your eyes as she fixed the shawl around your shoulders and gave your arms a pat.

“Keep up with your meditations. They’ll help.”

“I know.”

"Take care of them," she nodded to the man behind you who was holding the child and waiting patiently for you by the cart. "But don't forget to take care of yourself."

"I will."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

The trip back through the woods to the Razor Crest was a somber one and you watched as the child stood at the back of the cart and waved its tiny three-fingered hand at the group of children who were waving in return. You leaned forward and rubbed the space between its massive ears gently. However you were feeling was probably nothing compared to the little guy. He didn't know what was going on, or that there were people hunting him, or why you couldn't stay in such a beautiful place where he had made so many friends. It was tough being a kid in such a big world. Maker, it was tough being an adult in such a big world.

You looked back as you felt Din put his hand on the small of your back and lean his helmet against your temple for the briefest of moments. You lowered your walls ever so slightly and accepted the comfort that he sent your way. Maybe Omera had been right, maybe he had wanted to stay too.

Being back on the Razor Crest came pretty naturally to the three of you and to say you were surprised was an understatement. Fresh supplies from Sorgan filled the storage bunker and with more variety to eat than prepackaged rations, your spirits were much higher than they had been previously.

“Come on, kid,” you said, gently as you picked up the child and straightened his burlap cloak. “Nap time.”

“Ba-to!” he squeaked, raising his arms up and giving you a two-toothed smile that warmed your heart.

“Just for a little bit,” you assured him. “Then you can come up front and help pilot. Sound good?”

“Ah-yo!”

“No, no, I promise,” you answered him like you were having a full conversation. “I’ll make him let you. You’re plenty old enough,” you scoffed with a laugh. “You just need a few phone books to sit on.”

He gave another happy squeak as you sat him in the hammock hanging above Din’s bed and tucked him in. You dug out the small stuffed frog that Winta had made for him back on Sorgan, with it’s bright blue felt skin and lopsided eyes, and helped him nestle it under his chin. You gave him a soft pat on the head and waited for him to close his eyes before pressing the button on the panel that closed the door with a quiet hiss.

You heard your name being said from above you and you went to the ladder that led to the cockpit, looking up to see the Mandalorian looking down. He had brought the ship out of hyperdrive for the time being as you researched a plan of action. Without coordinates, it was pointless to travel in circles and waste precious fuel.

“Can you come up here for a second?” he asked and you nodded.

Taking one rung at a time, you hauled yourself up into the main hull and gratefully accepted his help in order to plop your butt on the floor with a smile. You didn’t have to see his face to know he was smiling back.

There had been precious little time for him to take off his helmet once you were back on the ship. Somehow the ship was less private than the bed you had shared in the barn. Although you were disappointed not to be able to look over and see his face whenever you wanted, you understood. This was a new experience for him in a way you would never understand, a type of vulnerability that you would never know, but how you longed to kiss him properly again. You wanted to feel his lips on the back of your neck as he curled himself behind you for sleep. All selfish reasons, of course, but that didn’t diminish them in any capacity.

“What’s up?” you asked as you leaned back on your hands and looked at him where he stooped beside the captain’s chair.

“I got you something.”

“Me?” You leaned up with widening eyes as you put a hand to your chest in question.

“Is there someone else I’m traveling with?” he asked and you glared at him before realizing it was his poor attempt at dry humor. “Yes, you.”

He moved under the chair and dragged a medium sized trunk out from the alcove created by the dashboard and the control panel. You recognized it as the trunk he had received from the armorer back on Nevarro. It was a dark slate colored material and he popped the latches before

beckoning you closer.

“I hope you like them.”

“Whatever it is,” you encouraged him. “I’m sure I will.”

“You don’t have to use any of it if you don’t want to--”

“Din, just show me.”

“Alright, okay,” he let out a heavy breath and lifted the lid before spinning the entire thing slowly around to show you.

“You didn’t have to get me anyth--oh, goddess,” you said softly in amazement.

Inside, carefully protected by a velvet type of lining, were crafted pieces of a silver metal. You hesitated, reaching out to touch one of them and thinking better of it before looking at him as if you needed permission. With a careful nod of his helmet, you picked up one of the cylindrical pieces and brought it closer for inspection.

“Is it--?”

“Beskar,” he nodded. “It’s yours.”

“Din, I--”

He held up a gloved hand to stop any argument you may have had and helped you take the pieces out one by one. Two bracers that fit perfectly over your wrists and protected your forearms about two inches from your elbows. He took them gently and slipped them over your tender skin before locking them into place and letting you get used to the feeling. You made a fist with both of your hands a few times, opening and squeezing, testing how they felt.

“They lock like this,” he said after completing the motion. “They’ll deflect anything. Blaster-proof. Just hold your arm like you would defensively,” he instructed, pulling your arm up to protect your face and tapping it once with his finger. “Ping. Right off the beskar. We can practice.”

“Handy,” you nodded and he dove back into the box for the next piece.

“This,” he offered the single pauldron to you, moving around your body slightly to fit it to your non-dominant shoulder. “Protects your dominant side by sitting opposite it.”

“Because I turn my body away from the blow?”

“Exactly.” He put it over your shoulder and clamped it down around your bicep. Hooking it securely across your torso. “Plus, the added weight on your dominant arm would slow you down if you’re using your staff.”

“Makes sense.”

“Move your arm,” he said and when you did, he adjusted it slightly. “How’s that?”

“It’s extremely generous and useful but--”

“No buts.”

“I--”

“You’re my Omega,” he interrupted you gently. “You have the right to wear it. And it’ll help keep you safe--and if you’re safe, I’m focused.” His hand came down to rest gently over your shoulder blade, covering the still tender skin of where he had marked you.

He had a point but it still made your ears burn with embarrassment. You knew he didn’t mean it as an insult to your abilities. You had more than proven you could handle your own when you first met, but the knowledge that your safety proved a distraction to him still made you feel guilty. You felt the sudden need to apologize but you knew Din wouldn’t want to hear it, let alone entertain such an idea.

“There’s one more piece,” he said gently. He held it out gently and when you looked at him in confusion he offered his hands forward. “Can I?”

You nodded and sat still with your hands in your lap as he made sure any stray pieces of your hair were out of the way. Even with the gloves and his armor, he was always so gentle, so careful. When he was satisfied he held out the silver circlet and slipped it around the front of your forehead and over your temples. The blocky beskar came to a strong point between your brows and the edges came down in front of your ears to frame the sides of your face. Each subtle point that mirrored the larger one turned what would have been an ordinary face guard into something much more symbolic.

“I feel ridiculous,” you said softly, not wanting to hurt his feelings but also having a hard time wrapping your head around the idea that such a piece of finery was really necessary.

“You look breathtaking,” he argued and it made you smile. “You’re an Omega, an Ursa at that--people deserve to know.” He swallowed hard and nodded to the box. “If we find more beskar I can have a proper helmet made instead of--”

“A tiara?” you asked with a bite of wit and he chuckled.

“It has more purpose than that, I promise.” He touched the sides that came down almost level with your jaw line. “These protect your peripherals--keeps light from obscuring your view for long range weapons.”

“Smart.”

“And this,” he touched higher, closer to your ear and a soft static hum came before you heard his next words twice, almost overlapping one another. “Has a direct com line to me.”

“That,” you put your hand over his and spoke into the mic as if to test it the other way. “Is incredibly useful.”

He gave a nod to signal that it had worked and he dropped his hand from your face to rest comfortably on your thigh. You put your hand over his and held in gently. It was beautifully crafted and you were having a hard time coming to terms with the idea that he had spent any of the rarest metal in the world on something for you. But that wasn’t the only issue, no, there was something else. An issue of the timeline.

“When did you have this made?” you asked, tracing the metal etching that lined the outside of the bracer.

“When we got the bounty on the kid--I had it made along with mine.”

“But that was before I agreed to be your Omega,” you said carefully, watching his body for any sign of tension. There wasn’t any.

“I know.”

You bit your lip and looked down. With a shake of your head, you swallowed the lump in your throat before speaking. “What if I would have left? What if I never agreed to this? You--”

“But you didn’t.”

“But I could have,” you argued. “And then all of this would have been for nothing. You--”

“I had a feeling.”

You looked at him in awe and realized how much he had staked on you making the right decision. He would have sooner sold his beskar than taken away your freedom, the freedom to choose what you wanted. He had hoped against all hope that you would eventually want him, but there was no guarantee. To Din it was all left up to faith. Faith in his creed, faith in his people, faith in you. It was hard not to feel undeserving of such things, but it only confirmed that perhaps it was time that you had a little faith in him.

Going up on your knees, you moved the metal storage box out of the way and grabbed him by the front of his chestplate. He said your name softly as you slid into his lap and his hands came around to rest on the swell of your hips. You tilted his helmet back just enough to kiss his lips, drawing a soft sound from them as he tasted you.

“Thank you,” you said quietly and you were glad you could see his mouth move up in a genuine smile.

“You’re very welcome.”

The more moments like this that you had, the easier it became to realize just how ‘all in’ you were when it came to the bounty hunter. When he had stepped off of his ship and chased you through the woods now flight like a lifetime ago and in a way it was. That was a different life completely. And you were okay with that. The world seemed a lot less scary now that you were on the same team.

You leaned in to kiss him again but there was a loud bang and whoosh of energy as something dropped out of hyperspace and the Razor Crest rocked slowly. Din lowered his helmet and the two of you looked around before you slowly climbed out of his lap and to your feet.

“What was that?”

“I’m not sure.”

He moved to the pilot’s chair and leaned over the control board, inspecting the map and waiting for the radar to ping something back. Nearly the exact moment a blip showed up on the neon green screen, a blast screamed passed your vessel and struck the ship, rocking it back and forth.

“Buckle in,” he barked and the two of you moved to your respective places.

You fell into the co-pilot bucket seat to the right of the Mandalorian and placed your feet up on the footrest to brace yourself. As soon as you clicked your seat belt, your fingers instinctively wrapped around the control stick in front of you and reached up to flip the buttons on your side of the dash. Your side of the ship whirred to life as you shared control of the panel with Din, making it easier for him to focus on flying. Like you had told him before, if he handled the fancy maneuvering, you could squeeze a trigger.

Another wave of fire lit up the dark atmosphere around you and Din turned the ship to try and find the culprit behind the attack.

“If the kid sleeps through this, I’ll be impressed,” Din said as he swiveled his own chair around and jammed the buttons for the back up thrusters.

“I’m pretty sure he could sleep through anything,” you agreed.

“Pa-too!”

The two of you both whipped around to see the small, green thing standing in the doorway with its arms in the air and a wide smile.

“You were saying?” the bounty hunter chuckled and the child stumbled its way to you as the ship took a nosedive. You barely had time to grab him by the tiny cloak and haul him into your lap.

“Got ya!” you said and he squealed with laughter. At least someone found your current predicament funny. You tucked him on your lap securely as a series of blaster fire whizzed passed the sides of the ship.

“Hand over the Child, Mando.” A deep voice said through the com-system and when the child in question squealed again you clapped your hand over his mouth. Another round of shots pinged around you and the crest gave a jolt as one of the engines took a hit. “I might let you live.”

“Guild?” you asked and Mando nodded before grabbing a large lever to his right and yanking it down quickly.

“You got both hands on the blaster cannons?” he asked. When you nodded, he continued. “When I say fire, let ‘em have it.”

Another hit rocked the ship as the engine on the left started to sputter and burst into flames before it powered down. Din cursed quietly under his helmet and pulled another lever to quickly power down both engines. “Hold on!” he yelled over the roar of the enemy ship as he rolled the crest out of the way of another round of fire. Stars streaked passed the windows as you both stared upwards and the other ship came directly into view.

“I can bring you in warm,” the enemy bounty hunter said flatly, “...or I can bring you in cold.”

“That's my line,” Din said in a deadly tone before he hit the thrusters and pointed at you and the kid. “Fire!”

You squeezed the trigger on the gun leavers and shots fired from the front of the razor crest, exploding the smaller ship into a wave of orange fire and metal debris. You flinched away from the bright light and the child clapped its tiny hands as Din gave you an approving nod.

“Oh-ah!”

“Not bad, little one,” you laughed softly, kissing the top of his green head between his ears. “Not bad.” Din clicked on a few of the switches above his head and the dashboard lit up in a series of red and orange lights. You watched him carefully and waited until he stopped before you spoke. “How bad is it?”

“We’re losing fuel,” he said, pulling up the map and thumbing through a few different screens. He thumbed through a few of the nearby planets before double tapping the screen and bringing up one of the larger orbs. “Mos Eisley is the closest place where we could dock and get some repairs.”

“Will we make it?”

“Of course.” He pulled another leaver and the ship gave a lurch forward before it evened out. “We have enough in the power reserves to get us there--don’t worry.”

“I’m not worried,” you said, biting your lip to keep a soft smile from gracing your features. The truth was, with Din, you were never worried.

Mos Eisley was the largest spaceport on the planet of Tatooine. Din explained that what it lacked in a centralized docking bay, they made up for in the fact that they had hundreds of hangars that were each maintained by individual workers and mechanics. It sounded impressive but to you it looked like little more than a patch of dust and poorly refined sandcastles.

The control tower told you to head for bay three-five and the Mandalorian copied as he steered the ship in that direction. The Crest had definitely seen better days as it sputtered and landed with jerky movements before finally touching down in a puff of sand and a clang of metal.

As you drifted through the vast emptiness of space before entering the atmosphere, the child had somehow lulled himself back to sleep. It was actually pretty impressive the amount of naps he managed to squeeze in in a day.

You carefully tucked him back into the sleeping compartment and put on the rest of the clothing you had from Arvala-7. It was still breathable but it wasn’t nearly as light as the cloth you had sported back on Sorgan. The leather riding pants and bantha hide boots would keep the sand out of your more intimate places, while the tan corded top and matching cloak kept your skin protected from the harsh sun without absorbing much of the light.

The beskar looked out of place with the rest of your attire, but something told you it was just the fact that you weren’t used to it. What was your favorite mantra as of late? One thing at a time.

You stopped in the doorway to the refresher and couldn’t help but stare at your reflection in the mirror. The metal of the headpiece that Din had tucked gingerly into your hairline. You had spent most of your life running from what you were: an Omega, an Ursa, a royal lineage of some kind that you had no desire to uphold. And yet, the tangible evidence was glittering on your forehead. Had Din designed such a thing or had it been at the behest of the Armorer? Somehow you felt you knew the answer to that.

You saw Din appear behind you in the mirror before you ever heard him and you prided yourself on not nearly jumping out of your skin.

"Good to go?"

When you nodded, he hit the button that started to lower the ramp on the main hull and you squinted against the bright sun. As you walked down the ramp a group of rust colored droids popped up from their current task and scurried towards the Mandalorian. Their saucer-shaped heads bobbed in place making them look like mushrooms on stilts as they surveyed the ship and chipped back and forth to one another.

Din pushed back his cloak and drew his blaster, firing one shot from the hip into the dirt. The droid squealed and jumped into the air before clamming up into a tiny ball.

“Mando!” you jumped and looked at him in surprise before looking back to the shivering droid.

“Hey!” a woman’s voice screeched from inside the building connected to the hangar. She pointed at the two of you through the window of what looked to be a very dusty office. “HEY!” she yelled again, scrambling out the door and stomping over to you.

Next to the Mandalorian she was incredibly short, but her demeanor was so incredibly scrappy that you weren’t entirely sure who you would bet on if the two of them were in a fight. Her grey mechanic’s jumpsuit was dusty and oil stained from no doubt thousands of ship repairs. Her hair was incredibly curly, poofing out in tight ringlets all around her head to her shoulders and seemed to be growing by the second as she jabbed her finger at Din’s chest.

“You damage one of my droids, you pay for it!”

“Just keep them away from my ship,” Din said flatly, pointed his own gloved finger to the fear-filled robot.

“Yeah? You think that's a good idea, do ya?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest before looking at you. “Blink twice if this brute is holding you hostage, honey. Though by the looks of ya, I’d say you can handle your own.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologized on Din’s behalf before you introduced yourself and stepped in front of him. “We just need some repairs.”

“The name’s Peli,” she returned the politeness and shook your hand with strong, jerky movements. “He always this grumpy?” she nodded at the bounty hunter.

“Actually you caught him on a good day,” you smiled and she chuckled. Din sighed.

“Alright, well, let's look at your ship.” She picked up a clipboard and walked over to the crest. Looking it up and down slowly, she made a fist and knocked twice on the main hull and listened to the klonk that came from the inside.

“Is it bad?” you asked.

“Oof…” she winced as she wrote some things down. “Look at that.” She looked over her shoulder at you before gesturing to the sides of the ship. “Bad? You got a lot of carbon scoring building up top. Ya know--If I didn't know better, I'd think you were in a shootout.”

“Well…” you started and Din cleared his throat.

“Can you fix it?”

“Special tool for that one. Oh ya, I'm gonna have to rotate that…” She mumbled. Peli ignored you both as she continued to poke and prod the undercarriage of the ship before pulling down a side panel and coughing at the smoke that it produced. “You got a fuel leak! Look at that, this is a mess! How did you even land? That's gonna set you back.”

Din looked down at her as she walked back up to him and he tossed over a coin purse that jingled when she caught it. “I've got 500 Imperial Credits.”

“That all you got? Well…” she weighed the money in her hand and worried her bottom lip between her teeth. She turned to the droids who were slowly approaching again now that she was there to protect them. “What do you guys think? I mean-- that should at least cover the hangar.”

“I'll get you your money,” Din reassured her.

“Ha! I've heard that before,” she rolled her eyes.

“I promise, we’ll pay you somehow,” you interjected and Peli looked you over again before waggling her finger at you.

“Now, you I believe.”

That made you smile and she returned it.

“Just remember--” Din started.

“Yeah. Yeah. No droids. I heard ya.” She stuffed the credits in her pocket. “You don't have to say it twice. Jeez. Womp rat.” She mumbled the last under her breath as the two of you took her dismissal as a sign you were free to leave.

You waited until you and Din were out of earshot before you glared at him in disappointment. “We have got to work on your people skills.”

Note: When imagining the headpiece Din had made for you, I was drawing heavy inspiration off of Queen Hippolyta’s crown. Something that keeps your hair out of the way, looks futuristic and strong.

Hey guys, as always there is always room on the tag lists! That being said there are about 300+ of you that want to be tagged in this fic and that is totally cool, but I am human and I miss names and forget tags, SO–if your tag didn’t work, I forgot it, or you want to be moved to another group, please message me or send me an ask. Even if you have already sent me one reminding me, I PROMISE it was not on purpose. A lot of times I wont answer until I have PHYSICALLY put you on the tag list that way I don’t forget! Thank you so much. - K

TAG LISTS:

PERM:

@rae-gar-targaryen @zeldasayer @winters-buck @gooddaykate @steeeeeeeviebb @jigglemiwa @seawhisperer @halefirewarrior @ripleyafterdark @phoenixhalliwell @thebakerstboyskeeper @honestlystop @lackofhonor @readsalot73 @cryptkeepersoul @skdubbs @cahooter @synystersilenceinblacknwhite @googiebeankat @dinohaze @saltywintersoldat @huliabitch @tainted-gay-ghost @roxypeanut @hayley-the-comet @domino-oh-damn @corvueros @pettyprocrastination @qveenbvtch @hopplessdreamer @apples-of-february @pocket-of-anxiety @marie-is-in-the-dark @pikemoreno @Pascalplease @cosmicbug379 @your-pixels-are-showing @gamingaquarius @blushingwueen @crimsonandwhiteprincess @bluemoon-glen @river-soul @robbinholland @nerdypinupcrystal @fleetwoodmactshirt @jaime1110 @fioccodineveautunnale @fantasticcopeaglepasta @kid-from-new-zealand -- @roguereds @paintballkid711 @javier-djarin @ellaprime7 @kaetastic @veracruz-djarin @moonlightburned @nowyouwilldielikehimtoo @glitterfaecakes @karmezii @cyaredindjarin @nonink @irishleesh93 @heatherbel @himalayanwhite @stylelovechild @chews-erotically @sylvanas-lover @max--phillips @holographic-carmen @moonlikepascal @frankiemorales @thewaythisis @miss-leto @moonagedaydream505 @lannister-slings-and-arrows @atlas-adams-apple @lokiaddicted @ksgeekgirl @seasonschange-butpeopledont @nonetheleiss @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @this-cat-is-dea @thelastemzy @mymindisawhirlpool @mrschiltoncat @corrupt-fvcker @f0rever15elf @ohpedromypedro @walkerchick007 @66wookies @thirstworldproblemss @zannemes @lucifer- @mstgsmy @lunarthoughts @rosiefridayrogersunday @browneyes-djarin @jedi-mando @lv7867 -- @emotionalswift2 @pedrothirst @the-importance-of-being-sasuke @queenbbarnes @lou-la-lou @dandywinchesterbras @mtjoi @misslexilouwho @thisshipwillsail316 @sarahjkl82-blog @ladyperceval @persie33 @greeneyedblondie44 @unelohe @jettia @invisibility-thy-name-is @doin-stuff @wondergal2001 @missroro @bunniwarrior @hb8301

OCAC:

@mrsparknuts @equalstrashflavoredtrash @djarin-junk @altarsw @countryday @thottybarnes @limedane21 @warm-tea-and-otp @theocatkov @sinnamon-bunn @smiithys @jjlizz @marie-is-in-the-dark @violetsimery @assassinsasha23 @californiakoenig @i-hide-inside-my-head @paryl @mandowhoreian @peachdameron @imnotmentallyst4ble @lustriix @lokiaddicted @auty-ren @theocatkov @perropascal @manda-but-not-lorian @phenomenaaa @the-cosmic-ghost-18 @mad-red @coffeeandtodd @lostinwonderland314 @youmeanmybrain @rosalinayagi @mrpascals @humongouspandafest @highlycommendable @lucifersfavouritesinner @theduchessofkirkcaldy @spacenerdsebby @maytheglitter @keeper0fthestars @maydayfigment @chibi-liz05 @fleurdemiel145 @myhoneybeeheart @rise-my-angel @popculturepriestess @kochamcie @gallowsjoker @beefthief247 @ginger-swag-rapunzel @toilet-keeper @that-one-weird-one @thesoftdumbass @mandalorianbrat @ghostwiththemostbitch @mstgsmy @rosalinayagi @sesamepancakes @the-wandering-pan-ace @straycatoncrack @anteatingbitchlizard @dandywinchesterbras @marvelous-capsicle @altarsw @thesoftdumbass @misslolasworld @sunshine-and-peppermint-tea @generalbluebirdphantomc @haleypearce @lakeli @jeor @shadowfoxey @screamingexternally @wonder-jedi @1800-fight-me @mar-y-tixrra @fanficshitandother @03stepedwa @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives @nerd-without-a-cause @lonelystarship @valhallavalkyrie9 @stra1ghtn0chaser @celestialscrewup @simply-sams-things @rosemirrors @pansexualdriver @wanderlust69 @taydjarin @harrypotter3941 @what-is-life-in-general @hidden-whatever @womenofwharton @amanda-loriannn @justawilddreamerchild @mahowg-blog @mlb4evah @ayamenimthiriel @bekahbug94 @ayamenimthiriel @obiwanwhore @womenofwharton @subtlestarrs @chook007 @alovelypeach @heykathchuu @mellomadness @t3a-bag @izthefangirl @misslexilouwho @devcaisnea @misguidedandbeguiled @tedpicklez @vampgguk @risingphoenix641 @the-scandalorian @mcueveryday @setsuna-meiou31 @tanyaherondale @lordofthenerds97 @youre-a-wallflower-charlie @grogusmum @beefcakebarnes @pedritopascall @4ng3lf43 @petersunderoos96 @cannedsoupsucks @greatcircle79 @spideysimpossiblegirl @angelcvsmic @bel-ppa @julesorwhatever @giselatropicana @buckysbackpack @dankest-farrik @ajeff855 @aerolanya @bluegirlusa1 @momc95 @sickinthesoul @grippleback-galaxy @certainwerewolfnight @bookloverfilmoholic @a-coffee-addict-613 @an-author-of-stars @darlingotaku @darlingotaku @arduadastra @pansexualdriver @rosemirrors @simply-sams-things @xxtwizztedxx @call-me-soap @nerdthickly

#the mandalorian #the mandolorian x reader #mando x reader #din djarin #din djarin x reader #star wars fic #pedro character fic #pedro pascal x Reader #OCAC

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ootahime · 3 years ago

Text

analyzing every gojohime moment in the manga >:) pt. 3

more and more paragraphs ahead. BE PREPARED!

i’m also writing this at 3 am so please bear with the horrendous grammar and punctuation.

chapter 63

i know he’s probably like this with everyone but i love how excited he is bragging about his students to her. he’s like a child telling his mother about an amazing adventure he had with his friends, making sure he mentions every detail. in the anime, their conversation lasted for 3:41 :3 backwards 341 is 143 which means i love you.

1 letter = i

4 letters = love

3 letters = you

chapter 63

i love her fit! i also like how both of them like to wear baggy clothing that accentuates their collarbones `w` it’s like they’re matching in a way. even if she did tell him to cut the crap, she still let him run his mouth to his content LOL i feel like if he didn’t compliment himself at the end, she would have said something different. UGH HE LOOKS SO HAPPY CALLING HER

ah, let me translate the conversation just in case anyone needs it.

utahime: you wanted to talk about the investigation, right?

gojo: well, got any idea who?

utahime: i have no idea. no one seems suspicious. what do we do now? should we ask the students for help?

gojo: yeah, that’s fine. i’m busy so asking the kids would be okay. keep looking. i’m counting on you.

I THINK THAT’S WHAT THEY’RE TRYING TO SAY.

OR it could mean that she’s asking if they should start investigating the students. it would make sense either way because gojo says in the next panel that he doesn’t want to assume that the mole is a student, and in chapter 79, gojo sends the trio to utahime to help her.

chapter 63

these two love their students to death. neither of them wanted to assume that the mole was a student. in chapter 79, when utahime is talking to the trio about the mole, nobara points out to the group that the traitor must be from kyoto because utahime is the one who’s reaching out to the tokyo side. utahime has a dismal look on her face, almost like she’s saying, “i didn’t want it to turn out this way -- for this to be true.” after mechamaru says his farewells to miwa on the train, mai tries to talk about what he did to which utahime says, “it doesn’t matter, he’s dead, after all,” with a similar sunken expression. i just love how her care for the students is one of the biggest aspects of her personality that’s been showcased so far. it’s also cool how it ties together with gojo’s belief that no child’s youth should be taken away. i truly think these two have the capacity to understand each other to a deep level, down to the core. seeing as utahime is also a teacher, it’s safe to assume that she also wants to raise the next generation of sorcerers to be strong. utahime and gojo’s similarities and contrasting elements are so interwined, i really wonder if it’s intentional. like am i looking too much into this? are utahime and gojo really meant to be this connected? think about it. similar motivations, care of the kids, contrasting palettes, the bickering, long history. IT’S JUST TOO MUCH.

also can we mention how their phone calls and meetings must be heavily planned out? this means they’ve talked and interacted with each other A LOT behind the scenes. she doesn’t answer his call with “what do you want? don’t bother me on my day off.” she knows exactly why he’s calling her and they even speak in code. she probably meets up with him and tells him to call her on a specific day and at a specific time. they must know each other’s schedules very well in order to execute this investigation in complete secrecy. when he says, “we can never be too sure who is listening in around utahime” it implies that they find calling a risk, so in order to guarantee that there is no one around, they have to meet up in person. see where i’m getting at? they talk A LOTTT and most likely are aware of each other’s daily lives.

the fact that gojo is her main source of stress when he’s literally a 3 hour train ride away from her is hilarious LMAOOOO. you know what that means, right? he must call and text her constantly about random things to annoy her.

chapter 65

ah yes, my favorite moment by far. look at that smile on his face.

chapter 65

he loves saying her name. he probably rushed over with the sole purpose of doing something like this to her LMAOOOO like i mean, mei was in there with her so technically they both needed to be helped but judging from his words and expression, he only wanted to help utahime. notice how mei’s not there in the debris. could she possibly have suspected gojo’s presence or an outside force? or was she fast enough to avoid being in the debris? either way, her lack of presence in this scene helps highlight the fact that this is a special interaction between utahime and gojo. he refers to her in a very familiar sense. the most formal way to address someone is by their last name followed by the honorific, -san. in gojo’s case, he should be calling her iori-san if they weren’t acquainted. he doesn’t even bother to call her utahime-senpai. granted, gojo is not the most respectful and socially competent person out there because geto points this out to him. he isn’t even aware that she finds him annoying because he views her bad attitude toward him as her just playing along with him. he probably thinks she’s flirting back LOLOL

since he asks her “you cryin?” that definitely means that gojo witnessed her crying on one occasion or maybe multiple. who knows, the old utahime could have been a very emotional person. while this is happening, mei is close to gojo, she then asks him if he would console her if she were to cry in a flirtatious manner. gojo dismisses her attempt at flirting with him and says she won’t cry because she’s strong. now normally, you’re supposed to face the person you’re talking to, GOJO. he KEEPS his eyes on her even when more people come to join the conversation.

now, we can all agree that geto, mei, and shoko are better at picking up social cues than gojo. they probably knew the vibe of the conversation and decided to play along with gojo’s antics.

chapter 65

WE were worried about you.

pay attention to the order of the characters that show up. gojo makes his appearance first, then geto, followed by shoko. based on utahime’s reaction to seeing shoko, it’s evident that these two share a close bond. shouldn’t shoko be the one to arrive on the scene first? she’s the closest to utahime and would therefore be more concerned about her condition, right? i know shoko’s technique doesn’t really allow her to do anything other than treat the wounds of others, but if you heard your friend was missing, you would definitely rush to the scene.

look at geto’s reaction when mei says, “you’re the one who’s picking on her, geto. you don’t even know it.” i think it’s mei who’s saying this because gojo calls geto “suguru”. but anyway, mei is aware that they’re picking on her. i don’t think she’s the type to legitimately bully someone for their strength. her reaction to all of this is very playful and her “heh heh heh” is proof of that. when geto shows up and swallows the curse before it gets to utahime, he says, “satoru. it’s not nice to pick on the weak.” by saying this, he pisses utahime off because he too, is joining in on gojo’s joke. i believe he’s unaware that he’s making fun of utahime because his reaction is “gah!” with a sweatdrop. he probably thought gojo was making fun of weak people in general.

geto’s usually a gentleman seeing as it is canon that he is more popular with girls than gojo. BUT WHO KNOWS...you gotta be a specific type of person to be best friends with gojo. maybe he ain’t shit too... okay, my point is that everyone is just playing along. when shoko shows up, utahime is relieved to see her because shoko doesn’t tease her like this. since utahime tells shoko to not become like those two, this implies that geto teases her as well (probably not as much as gojo). we all know geto is really big on looking out for the weak so he probably wouldn’t have insulted her for real.

verdict: utahime being weak is just a joke. i’ve mentioned this so many times, sorry if it’s getting annoying and repetitive hehehehehe...

chapter 65

these three aren’t irresponsible. geto and gojo are a troublesome duo for sure, but they’re dependable. seems unlike them to forget something so simple and essential to pretty much every mission.

chapter 65

here’s my headcanon. they were hanging outside or in the car when their assistant manager got a call. the assistant was informed that two days have elapsed since mei and utahime went on their mission (or last contacted someone).

gojo: that’s weird. mei’s with her so they should have finished exorcising the spirit sooner.

geto: you think something happened to them? maybe it’s a strong special grade.

gojo: utahime probably dragged mei down with her. poor mei-san~

gojo gets up

geto: where are you going?

gojo: going to save utahime! it’s fine i’ll put up a curtain!

manager: gojo wait!!!!!!!!!!!

geto sighs

shoko: that idiot’s always running off without us.

they pin the blame on gojo for saying that he’ll put up a curtain and leaving the assistant manager behind. you know what this means? he ran and the manager couldn’t catch up HEHE... why the rush, gojo? were you actually concerned about her?

tbh i don’t see gojo ever running to something unless it’s urgent. the fact that he ran to save her says a lot.

----

let me know if you have any thoughts or questions! i forgot to add this but gojo had a more serious expression when he was explaining how they must’ve been trapped in a barrier that messes with time. he then states, “we thought it was weird even though you’re here, mei.” i know he was probably worried sick because if mei couldn’t be contacted then that means something must’ve happened to utahime too. okay that’s it for now. i’ll be bringing up this little detail i’ve noticed about utahime in the manga next :3

#gojohime #gouta #gojo x utahime

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nebulablakemurphy · 3 years ago

Text

Miss American Pie

Chapter Five: This Will Be The Day (Finale)

Warning: this series features a romantic Yelena Belova x Fem!Reader pairing.

Summary: Everyone has returned but the battle for humanity against Thanos wages on.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

You wake in a coughing fit, the rubble surrounding you sears your lungs. “Natasha.” You call into the rocks and flickering lights. Clearing your throat, you try again. “Natasha!”

“Here, I’m here.” Her voice is rough, pained.

You push yourself toward the sound, through the dust you can make out her hair. “You ok?”

“Mostly.” She’s laying face up, a few scratches visible.

“What the hell does that mean?”

“I can’t move.” She nods at the piece of collapsed cement. “My leg is broken, you should go.” Nat says, staring up at the sky.

“I should’ve never let you go to Vormir. I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.” You try uselessly to budge the blockage over her leg.

“What is Vormir?” She asks.

“Doesn’t matter.” You swallow the lump in your throat. “How much do you remember?”

“The red room.”

“Do you remember getting out?”

“No one gets out.” She shakes her head.

“We did.” You inform her. “Yelena did.”

“Yelena?” Her gaze finds yours. “You know Yelena? Is she here?”

“Yes, I know her.” You press your lips together. “She’s not here though.”

“The rest of this building is coming down. If you were really trained in the red room you have to know that.” Natasha frowns. “You need to leave.”

“Not gonna happen.”

“Don’t be a hero.” She whispers. “Let me go, it’s ok.”

“No, it’s not.” You argue. “I won’t do it again.”

“What about Yelena?” Natasha gives you a pointed look.

“She’ll understand.” This is what she would do.

“Hey,” Natasha pushes herself up on her elbows. “Would it be a good thing or a bad thing if a giant man in a metal suit carrying a smaller man and a raccoon appeared behind your head?”

You turn toward the man in question. Scott Lang. “It would be a good thing.”

———————————————————————

Natasha is taken somewhere safe. She can’t fight.

As the strange doctor and his disciples start opening portals you see that you’re not alone. Through one comes Alexei, Melina and Yelena.

Her white suit is pristine, dirty blonde hair held away from her face in ponytails.

On shaky legs you move toward her, taking your rightful place at her side. Facing what lies ahead together.

Yelena catches your hand, “this isn’t much of a welcome home.”

You can’t help but laugh, “pretty cool way to die though.”

“Very,” she agrees. “Natasha?”

“She is a little worse for wear.” You warn her, “but alive…and safe.”

Yelena gives you a watery smile, squeezing your fingers. “And you?”

“A tower fell on me.”

“Of course it did.”

Thanos’ army is nothing to scoff at. Giant airborne creatures hover over his troops. Larger monsters stand in their ranks, space ship overhead ready to destroy.

Steve is almost unrecognizable, covered in dirt, his shield battered and broken. But you know it is time when he gives the order. “Avengers, assemble.”

Fighting is easy, it’s what you know. What you were trained to do. Fight to stay alive, fight for what you believe in, fight with Yelena; for Yelena.

The two of you move together like a well oiled machine. Like riding a bike, even after all this time you could never forget.

“We’ve got company to the left.” Yelena says through gritted teeth, kicking at the alien creature beside her. Dropping an empty cartridge to the ground and reloading her gun seamlessly, firing several shots.

Despite everyone’s best efforts they just keep coming. “Do we have a plan here?”

“Getting there,” Steve replies. “Anybody have eyes on the gauntlet?”

“Yeah!” Clint rushes past you with the glove in hand. “What am I supposed to do with it?”

“Get it out of here!” Tony insists.

“What’s happening?” Alexei shouts over the chaos. “I still don’t have ear piece.”

“Just keep their army away from that guy in the tank top.” You grunt, falling backwards from the force of one of Thanos’ soldiers colliding with you.

“We have to get the stones back where they came from.” Rhodey reminds everyone.

“The time space tunnel is completely collapsed.” Tony points out.

“That isn’t our only time machine.” Lang cuts in.

“Does anyone see an ugly brown van out there?” Captain America’s voice hums through the ear bud.

“I do,” a female voice chimes in. “But you’re not going to like where it’s parked.”

After grappling for far too long, you manage to knock the creature from you. Using your knife to dismember it.

“Next time, we get the cool laser guns.” Yelena yells loud enough to be heard by everyone on the network, as she hauls you to your feet.

“Friday, please add laser guns for the ballerinas to my grocery list.” Stark gives his smart ass remark.

“What’s the word on the van?” Rhodey wonders.

“Working on it now.”

The ship at Thanos’ disposal begins raining fire, no regard for their own troops.

“We’ve got people going down!” Rocket hollers.

“Clint,” you call into the microphone. “How’s that gauntlet?”

“Moving down the field.” The archer replies, “I’m alright too, thanks for asking.”

“Good.” You bite back a smile.

Hell continues breaking loose around you. Glowing circular orbs unfold in the air above, providing coverage from the missiles. You’re not sure if this is winning or losing. It feels like a bit of both.

———————————————————————- Thanos and his army are dusted away. Leaving you surprised and still swinging as the shock wears off.

You won. You. Won.

And you lost.

You lost Tony Stark. The man you’d barely known, but offered you clarity that will stay with you forever.

You lost the Natasha you’d come to know over the five years that Yelena was gone. Some parts of the redhead stripped away for the price of the stone.

But she’s still here. Waiting in the wings to be greeted by Yelena and their little makeshift family. You share a look of understanding when your eyes meet over the blonde’s shoulder.

Others come, Banner refuses to leave her side. Despite the fact that Natasha doesn’t remember him.

Clint falls to the ground at her feet. Breaking down at the sight of his friend, his family alive and well. She doesn’t remember him either, but welcomes him into her arms somewhat awkwardly.

Her expressions flicker from happy to overwhelmed. Hesitant to open herself up to the possibility that she is wanted, needed and loved.

Too confusing for the girl who only remembers the red room. Adjusting to this life will take time.

Everyone begins clearing out, their jobs finished. Rushing home to reunite with their loved ones. Tomorrow will bring about new challenges. The world is in shambles, and so are you.

Steve decides that he should be the one to return the stones. His goodbye tells you that he has a bit more in mind. But this is his life. His choices, not yours.

“Well, I guess we should head out too.” You say after a while. Your car is gone, lost in the wreckage from the explosion.

The setting sun is eclipsed, causing all of you to turn your gaze upwards just in time to see the ship’s door open.

“Is that a raccoon?” Melina asks, pointing toward Rocket.

“Do you want a ride or not?” Rocket shoots back.

“Not the avenger’s super jet, but it will do huh?” Alexei smiles, this is his dream.

“This is better!” A man’s voice carries down from the interior.

“Well,” Yelena shrugs, “if you say so.” She leads the pack up the ramp and onto the ship.

“Fanny and the pigs will be expecting dinner soon.”

“How are they?” Melina asks, “have you been taking care of them.”

“That was me!” Alexei says proudly, bending at the waist to gather Natasha into his arms. “Aye honey,” he grunts, hoisting her up. “You are only little girl in my heart.”

Nat pushes against his chest in retaliation.

“Do you mind if I hitch a ride too?” Clint asks.

“The extra stop will cost you,” Nebula stares blankly at him from her seat.

“They always do.” He remarks, trotting up the ramp.

Bruce paces at the foot of the metal grate, watching the rest of you load up. “I gotta hang back, make sure Steve gets there in one piece.”

“After what happened with Scott the first time I’d say that’s probably the best bet.” You agree, standing near the entrance.

“Yeah,” he smiles, kindly. “Keep me posted on Nat, will ya?”

“I will,” you return the smile.

“I’ll see you around.”

You nod, “I’ll see you.”

The captain of the ship introduces himself as Star-lord, and after a moment without response, Quill.

“Any requests?” He asks, finger hovering over the control panel.

Alexei creeps over to the younger man, quietly relaying a message.

“Alright,” Quill nods. Stroking the keys until a familiar set of notes ring out.

“A long, long time ago-“ The singer croons.

You let out a chuckle.

“I can still remember how that music used to make me smile. And I knew if I had my chance, that I could make those people dance. And maybe they'd be happy for a while.”

“We’re really doing this?” Yelena puts a hand to her head, the corners of her mouth turning upward.

“But February made me shiver, with every paper I'd deliver. Bad news on the doorstep, I couldn't take one more step.” The melody carries on.

“It’s your song.” Natasha turns to her sister.

“I can't remember if I cried. When I read about his widowed bride.” Melina’s eyes are far away, carried back to their years in Ohio. Before the world had been so cruel.

“Something touched me deep inside, the day the music-“

“Died.” Yelena joins in, lulling her head to the side to gage your reaction.

You sigh, all of this beyond surreal. But you allow yourself to live in this moment, because you might not get another. “So bye, bye Miss American Pie…”

“Drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry.” The roaring chorus of voices fills the silence you’ve grown used to. Fills the parts of you that were empty for so long. “And them good ol' boys were drinkin' whiskey and rye. Singin', “this’ll be the day that I die.”

“This’ll be the day that I die.” Yelena sings, her face alight with a childlike glee.

——————————————————————-

Melina, Natasha and Alexei stay with you for a while. A few weeks as Natasha heals and becomes acclimated to her life.

She claims to hate the attention, but deep down you know she’s full of it.

The Ohio house is bursting at the seams with five adults, nine pigs and one dog.

That isn’t enough to keep visitors at bay. Namely Clint, his wife Laura and their three children.

Things feel a bit off when everyone begins moving out. Alexei, Melina, and their pigs return to the farm outside of Saint Petersburg.

Natasha finds herself drawn to New York, with Bruce and the makeshift building he’s using as a lab.

You adjust to the steady thrum that is daily life, with Fanny and Yelena.

After dinner you load the dishwasher, drying your hands on the nearby tea towel before selecting a cycle.

“So how does it feel?” Yelena asks, leaning against the doorframe.

“Hmm?” You turn to face her.

“Being a hero.” She clarifies, a smile playing at her lips.

“I’m not-“

“Oh cut the crap, Y/N. You saved the world.” Yelena narrows her eyes at you.

“I did it for you.” You say simply, because it’s true.

Yelena closes the space between you, “why?”

“You know why.” You whisper as she cups your face in her hands, gently stroking her thumb over your cheek. “It’s ok if you wouldn’t have done the same.”

“I’d do more for you, and worse.” She assures you. “But do you really want to spend the rest of your life fumbling around feelings in the dark when you could have someone who-“

“I want you. I only ever want you.” You beckon her closer. “Anyway I can have you, that will be enough for me.”

Sometimes wires get crossed and you want things you never have before. And she provides them before you have a chance to ask. You give back to her tenfold, so that neither glass is ever empty. That is love. True love, the only way you’ve ever known it.

“I am yours…in every way a person can belong to another.” Yelena breathes, “and then some.”

Series taglist: @jeyramarie @freeshavocadoooo @ilovewinter101 @3and30aresoultwins @yelenabelovv @miphas-trident @1800-fight-me

If you loved this series as much as I did, you can check out the prequel here!

#yelena belova x reader #yelena belova #marvel fanfiction #black widow fanfiction #black widow #yelena belova fanfiction #yelena belova imagine #yelena belova x y/n #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff imagine #yelena belova x you #yelena belova x female reader

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treesnutsandleaveswrites · 3 years ago

Text

What Cannot Change

Pairing: The Bad Batch x Reader (Polyam)

Summary: You return to a part of your old life with Hunter and things take a turn

Warning: angst, violence, bye-bye Kamino :(, TBB spoilers i guess, Crosshair being an ass but what’s new?

Word Count: 5581

A/N: SEASON FINALE, sorry this is mostly episode dialogue based and I combined the last two episodes

pt xxi pt xxiii

XXXXXXX

Crosshair stalked through the forest, scanning every inch for you. Deep within him, Crosshair can feel anguish and worry for your well-being. He just got you back… he didn’t want to lose you again. He looked over the trodden soil and cursed to himself. Hunter was always the better tracker, enhancements or not.

“Sir, we’ve scanned the area, there are signs of a lifeform just north of here.” One of his troopers informed.

“Let’s move.” He ordered, walking towards the direction the trooper pointed. The others with him followed, scouting the terrain around them just in case the Batch came back for a surprise attack. After a bit of trekking, Crosshair flicked down his spy glass and scanned for you. Behind some trees, his system spotted your heat signature and he rushed over. You were helmetless, a small cut formed above your brow, but from what he saw you were fine. He looked around you and noticed the broken branches, which signified that the trees must have broken your fall enough for you to not break your whole body from the height you fell. He felt a sense of relief at the bottom of his heart, but he couldn’t show any sign of vulnerability. He eyed your helmet and walked over to it as the troopers placed you on a stretcher.

“What should we do with her?” His squad member asked.

“Bring her to our ship and have a medical droid tend to her. She’s coming to Kamino with us.” He instructed while looking at his reflection in the visor of your helmet. He didn’t recognize the person looking back at him...

“Yes, Commander.”

After a moment, he headed back to the shuttle to go visit the prisoner already waiting for him.

*******

He followed the trooper leading him to the detention level and once the doors slid open, he spoke, “Leave me. I’ll go alone from here.”

“Yes, commander. He’s just at the end.”

He gave the trooper a curt nod before stepping into the vast corridor and making sure the doors slid fully closed behind him. He strutted all the way to the end and eyed his older brother through his helmet before taking it off.

“I was hoping for the whole squad… but you’ll do just fine.”

“Lodestar,” Hunter finally spoke, “Did you find her?”

“She’s fine, already loaded onto the ship. Sedated. But she’ll wake up by the time we land.”

“What do you mean ‘by the time we land’?”

“You didn’t think I would keep you here in a cell, did you?”

Hunter said nothing while glaring at his vod. Crosshair pressed a button to lower the shield of the cell and tossed cuffs at Hunter.

“Put them on, then follow me.”

Hunter knew not to resist, so he did as ordered.

“Finally following orders.” Crosshair placed his helmet back on, “How… humorous.”

Hunter stood as the cuffs were secured, which caused Crosshair to walk in, grab his brother’s helmet, then pull out his blaster.

“Move.”

*******

Hunter was escorted into the storage part of the shuttle by two of Crosshair’s troopers and you were already there: unconscious and laid in a stretcher with your hands cuffed together. What concerned him most was the oxygen mask covering the bottom half of your face.

“Lodestar…” He rushed to you and pushed your hair back with his own cuffed hands. He looked to the troopers, “Is she gonna be alright?”

The troopers said nothing, looking to the durasteel wall across from them, which did something to Hunter’s nerves.

“Answer me!” He ordered as he pushed one of the troopers against the wall. The other held up their blaster.

“I suggest you settle down… our Commander doesn’t want you dead but maybe he’ll make an exception for the girl if you don’t obey us.” The trooper threatened. Hunter surrendered and backed into the wall, trying to be as close to you as possible. He knew Crosshair wouldn’t hesitate to kill him first before any harm came to you, but he couldn’t risk it. After minutes of waiting, the shuttle finally began to take off and leave Daro’s atmosphere, and to his sheer luck, Crosshair had decided to come visit him again. The durasteel doors slid open and his vod strutted in, helmetless.

“Where are we going?” Hunter asked simply.

Crosshair crouched down and grabbed the communicator in one of the utility pockets on his brother’s belt, “You’ll find out soon enough,” He hissed while activating the device, “And so will your squad.”

“Using my comm won’t work. They’ll know it’s a trap.”

“They’ll still come for you.” Crosshair stated as the doors opened again, but hesitated as he glanced your way. However, he shook off the desire to check on you and headed back to the ship’s cockpit.

He entered and turned to the pilot, “Did the medical droid make a report on the girl’s condition?”

“Yes, commander. He inputted it into the computer.”

Crosshair nodded shortly before turning to a small panel and accessing the ship’s files. He found the most recent medical file and looked over it meticulously. Oddly enough, it had your birth name on it, which confused him. He looked for any files on medical history and found one with Nala Se’s signature on it. He knew he had to open it. While reading through the files, he came to a shocking discovery. The sniper took a moment to make sure no one was watching him before inputting a small device into the panel and downloading the file then deleting it from the computer’s database.

“Did you find it, sir?”

“Yes.” He answered plainly before leaving the cockpit and holding onto the small handle above him due to the main hull not having any seats. How is he going to approach you about this?

It wasn’t long until the shuttle landed in Kamino. The sudden jolts from the ship woke you up leading you to groan softly. You tried to reach for your head with one hand, but raised your wrists to look and see the cuffs around them. You huffed and pushed the mask off your face before sitting up and seeing one of Crosshair’s troopers standing over you with their blaster at hand.

“Up. Now.” She ordered, which you complied to. As you stood, Hunter was standing with another trooper.

“Hunter.” You gasped.

He looked at you with a hint of relief in his eyes. You moved past the soldier and went to him, cupping his face gently.

“Are you alright?” You looked over him worriedly.

“I’m alright…” He whispered, “Are you?”

You nodded before looking over his soldier and seeing Crosshair himself standing there. You moved with one of the troopers’ rough assistance and took your place next to Hunter. Crosshair said nothing as he led you all off the shuttle to Kamino’s main hangar. You looked around, seeing multiple troopers and soldiers loading the shuttles residing on the platform.

“Move it.” A trooper nudged you with their blaster so you could follow.

The group continued to walk before stopping while a man with a few troopers stood in front of you.

“Where are the rest of them?” He wondered while examining you and Hunter.

“They’ll be here.” Crosshair stated, “We’ll intercept upon arrival.”

The man turned to look at Hunter and smirked, “So you’re the one they call “Hunter.” The destruction your squad caused on Ryloth caught my attention.” Then he looked at you, “and you’re the liberator… What's your name again? Ah, yes, Lodestar. You’ve been causing a lot of trouble even before the Empire began. Some of our Outer Rim allies have talked of you before. You cost them a lot of credits for the slaves you freed.”

You said nothing, giving him a hard stare.

“I leave this to you, Commander. Stay on schedule.” He insisted before you were led away.

You walked down the bright corridors. It almost hurt your eyes, but that didn’t bother you as much as the memories starting to flood back to you. It’s been a year since you’ve stepped foot on Kamino, and it didn’t feel welcoming at all.

“Where are all the regs?” Hunter asked.

“When did you start caring about them?”

“No Kaminoans either.” Hunter continued, “This facility is being decommissioned. You don’t seem too concerned.”

“Why would I be?” Crosshair wondered.

“Because the Empire will be phasing out clones next.” Hunter turned to his brother with urgency.

“Not the ones that matter.” Crosshair jabbed him with the blaster he was holding.

“If they could assign people numbers like they’re nothing, then why do you think you matter?” You instigated, “Clones used to choose names for themselves because they didn’t just want to be a number… a lifeless digit. Now people are signing up for them like droids in a factory. The Empire is gonna learn that they can’t chip people they didn’t make.”

Crosshair turned to you, “Who are you to say anything? They gave up their lives to fight for a cause. You gave yours up out of fear!”

You stayed silent while looking at his emerald visor, wishing you could see his eyes. All of you kept walking down the corridor until you arrived at a room with large holomaps displayed on the walls. You’ve only been in a room like this one time, and it was when you were first starting on Kamino as an educational aid. You remember standing before Nala Se, Prime Minister Lama Suu, and Jedi Master Shaak Ti as they asked you multiple questions. Your heart raced the same as when you first stepped into that room, but you don’t know if it was the nerves or the rising pain in your body.

“A ship was detected entering the system, but we lost them below scanner range.” The trooper already waiting there announced.

“It’s them.” Crosshair said, taking a seat in one of the chairs.

“I’ll notify the scouts.” The other trooper stated, but Crosshair interrupted.

“Don’t bother. They’ll come to us. They don’t leave their own behind, most of the time.” The sniper sneered.

“You tried to kill us. We didn’t have a choice.” Hunter insisted.

“And I did?”

You looked at Hunter, “Hunter…”

“There was nothing we could do, cyare.”

You examined your metamour and knew he was being genuine. At the time, there must’ve truly been nothing he could do to save his brother.

“Crosshair, I’ve seen what the Empire’s doing,” Hunter started, “Occupying planets and silencing anyone who stands against them. You know it’s not right.”

Crosshair stood to loom over his vod, “You still don’t see the bigger picture, but you will…”

“Can’t you see they’re using you? Because of that damn chip in your head?” You shook your head, “I’ve seen it. Been on the inside. People-people are dying! Dying for a cause they don’t even know about! If the Empire is so great, then why don’t they share with their people? That’s what caused the downfall of the Republic, is that what the Empire wants?” You winced, stumbling back slightly.

“Cyare.” Hunter grabbed a hold of your arms, “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“N-nothing. I’m okay.” You murmured, “It’s okay.”

“The fall. You’re not fully healed-”

An alarm started to go off.

“We have an unauthorized entry on platform 5.” One of the troopers announced.

“Right on schedule.” He sighed, “Time to go.”

You were pulled away from Hunter before being led to the training room. You could feel the burn in your legs as you arrived onto the fighting ground and Crosshair held your cuffs while holding a blaster to Hunter’s back. A small noise came from in front of you and the boys were raised into the room, surrounded by Crosshair’s troopers.

“And here we all are, together again.” He tossed Hunter’s comm, “You won’t be needing your weapons.”

They hesitated before Hunter gave them a curt nod before tossing their weapons in front of them.

“See? Following orders isn’t so difficult.” He looked around, “Where’s your little sidekick?”

“You think we’d bring her here?” Wrecker pawned, “We’re smarter than that!”

“Lying was never your strength, Wrecker.” Crosshair retorted, “Find the kid.”

“No-” You tried to pull away from him, “Don’t touch her!”

The trooper left and you looked at him, “Cross-”

“That’s enough.” He tugged you back to him, “Hold your positions.” He ordered the troopers.

“So this was your grand plan? Bring us here, and kill us?”

“If I wanted you dead, you would be. Not that it wouldn’t be justified. You betrayed everything we stood for. And for what? The Republic?”

“We’re loyal to each other. Not some Empire.” Hunter argued.

“You weren’t loyal to me.” Crosshair hissed, “I was one of you. You may have forgotten, but I haven’t. And it’s why I’m going to give you what you never gave me: a chance.”

You looked up at him with furrowed eyebrows. He then raised his hand as his communicator beeped.

“Sir, I’ve found the girl.”

“Send her on a shuttle off-world.”

“Crosshair, don’t.” Hunter ordered.

“It’s for her own good. And yours.”

“Omega belongs with us.”

“Living amongst fugitives where she’s in constant danger?” He scoffed, “You want to protect the kid, then let her go. Stop pretending to be something you’re not, Hunter. We’re not like the regs. We never have been. We’re superior. The Empire can’t protect the galaxy without strength. This is what we were made for. Think of all we could do… together.” He used Hunter’s knife to take off his cuffs, “We were brothers once… we can be again.” He pushed Hunter towards the others.

“Why would we trust you?” Hunter asked.

Crosshair held up his blaster and looked to his troopers, “Stand down.”

“Negative, commander.” One of the troopers said, but then Crosshair shot and it deflected, killing all the troopers. Crosshair undid your cuffs and let you go before taking off his helmet and walking towards Hunter.

“Does that answer your question? You all are meant for more than drifting through the galaxy. It’s time to stop running. Join the Empire, and you will have purpose again.”

You had fallen to your knees due to most of the energy having left your body from the pain, but you still watched him and the others.

“You really don’t get who we are, do you?” Hunter shook his head.

“Don’t make the same mistake twice. Don’t become my enemy.”

“Crosshair… We never were.”

An alarm went off, and the training droids started to rise into the training room. Hunter lunged at Crosshair, trying to get his blaster. You rushed towards the others, trying to ignore the pain. Tech pulled you with him so you both would have some cover.

“Why’d you activate the droids?” Wrecker called out to Tech.

“This was not my doing.” Tech stated. You grabbed one of the dead troopers blasters and started to shoot at the droids approaching. As you all fought, you eyed one of Crosshair’s troopers at the doors. She shot one of the droids before backing away and you tried to stop her with a non lethal shot, but it was no use. You continued to fight until everything died down and the Batch gathered, Omega rushing towards. They all glared at Crosshair and you watched their movements. Hunter raised his blaster and you immediately took action.

“Hunter, no!” You moved in front of Crosshair, “Stop!”

“Cyare…”

“Hunter, please.” You whispered, tears gathering in your eyes as you raised your blaster, “It’s his chip…”

“Sarad… put it down…” Crosshair muttered. You looked back at him, shaking your head, but he placed his hand on your arm to push it down.

“My chip was taken out a long time ago.”

Hunter spoke, “When?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes.”

“Cross, please.” You begged as Echo pulled you to him.

“This is who I am…” Crosshair stated.

Hunter took a moment, but before Crosshair could use his rifle to shoot any of you a stun blast came from another gun. The other turned to see you holding out a blaster while tears streamed down your face. You let out a small sob while Echo held you close, trying to comfort you.

Omega hugged Hunter, who looked down shameful, “Sorry, Omega. I know I promised you’d never have to come back here.”

“It’s okay.” She smiled.

“Hunter, three Venators are approaching the city, we need to leave now!” Tech informed. He nodded then took off Crosshair’s pack and rifle.

“Wrecker, grab Crosshair. He’s coming with us.” He went to you and grabbed your face, “Does it still hurt?”

“I can manage.” You whispered.

You all followed him quickly through the halls. The building started to shake and you all hesitated.

“Cmon!” Hunter ordered.

You arrived just outside, but everything was being destroyed.

“Back inside!” Hunter ordered. You urged Omega in and followed them.

“This way!”

You all rushed through Kamino, but then the building started to collapse.

“We need to find cover!” Hunter cried, but then there was a blast that threw you all back and made your ears ring. Suddenly, everything tilted and everyone was sliding while debris started to fall around you. You were stopped by some debris along with Omega, AZI, and Crosshair. Your vision was hazy and your ears were still ringing, before you knew it, the doors slid closed whcu separated you four from the others. You must have blacked out because a light was shining into your face, which made you open your eyes.

“Lodestar!” Omega cried.

“Omega.” You sat up, pushing the debris off of you with her help. Water was surrounding you all, which caused your instincts to kick in.

“You okay?” You cupped her face.

She nodded, “Yeah, but Crosshair is stuck!” She pointed her torch in his direction, “I’ve already told Hunter. I think he’s gonna get the door unstuck!”

You nodded, rushing over the Crosshair and trying to lift the debris off of him. He started to wake up and looked around.

“Greetings CT-9904, you survived the aerial bombardment but are now moments away from drowning.”

Crosshair groaned, “Get this off me!”

“AZI! Help!” Omega pleaded while trying to get the debris off.

The water started to rise while you were still trying to get unstuck.

“Omega, come here get to higher ground! I’m gonna try to get it off him from under the water!”

She nodded, trudging to take your place while you dove under the water. She must have ordered AZI to help you because he arrived by your side.

“Omega will try to break it with her weapon!” AZI said, the water muffling his voice slightly. You nodded, using your strength to move it. A few blasts entered the water which helped get the debris off Crosshair. You resurfaced, gasping for breath while Omega helped Crosshair out of the water.

“C’mon! We have to get the door open!” Omega announced, which caused you all to follow her towards the doors. You pulled against it, seeing it slightly open with Wreckers knife. Suddenly, it started to open and sucked you all out of the room. You were caught by one of them and coughed up some water while leaning against them. Crosshair stood and looked at his brothers.

“What have you done?”

“The Empire opened fire on the city. We weren’t gonna leave you behind.” Hunter explained.

“We don’t have time for this. We have to get topside before the whole structure submerges.” Tech interfered.

“If you want to stay here and die, that’s your call.” Hunter retorted before leading you all down the dark corridor. You rushed through one of the bridges that overlooked the production tubes. Omega had stopped to look over it, which caused you all to stop.

“Omega, come on. We have to go!” Wrecker insisted, which caused her to nod.

You all kept going until there was another explosion and the corridor started to tilt.

“Hold on to something!” Hunter called out as everyone started to slide. He just so happened to be next to you, so he grabbed your waist tightly and held you while you started to hang. After a moment or two, the building came to a thud and you were all back on the durasteel floor.

“I believe we have landed on the ocean floor. There is no way to accurately calculate the damage. Most of the facility must be-” Tech reeled off, but then the building started to jolt and water came from the top, “compromised.”

“We need to get to a space that’s more secure.” Hunter said.

“Follow me.” Tech insisted.

You all rushed before you all arrived to the most familiar thing to you in Kamino.

“Ironically, our old barracks is one of the few compartments habitable, albeit temporarily.”

“This is our room?” Wrecker groaned, “What happened to it?”

“At least the smell’s gone.” Echo commented.

“Check it out. Our board’s still here!”

Crosshair glanced at it, “All those missions together, and you threw it away.”

“We made a choice, and so did you.” Hunter remarked.

“Soldiers follow orders.”

“Blind allegiance makes you a pawn. A real leader protects his squad.”

As they squabbled, you collapsed against one of the bunks, which just so happened to be Crosshair’s.

“Lodestar!” Echo rushed to you, “What is it? Are you injured?”

You couldn’t find the words as you leaned into him.

“AZI! Do a scan!” Omega ordered as she went to you.

AZI took a moment before speaking, “There are multiple contusions and two broken ribs. It seems like they were already tended to, but daily medicinal doses are needed to help the healing process.”

“It’s from her fall.” Omega realized.

“We have to get out of here.” Echo looked to Hunter, who nodded.

“We landed on the underwater tunnel!” Omega pointed it out, “If we use it to reach the base post, we could get back to the Marauder!”

“Accessing the tube will be… challenging.” Tech stated.

“Better than staying here.” Echo helped you up.

“We better try!” Omega insisted.

Crosshair sneered, “She’s calling the shots now?”

“You have a better idea?” Hunter nudged him while leading you all out of the barracks.

“My scans indicate the tunnel is right below this maintenance deck. AZI says, with a precise weld to maintain an airtight seal, this might work.”

“What do you mean, might?”

You leaned against the wall, holding your side. Hunter went to you, lifting your helmet off your head.

“Hey…” He whispered, cupping your face gently, “We’re almost there.”

“I know…” You smiled weakly, “If anything, you could leave me.”

He shook his head, “Don’t joke like that.”

You hummed before hearing a thud and looking to see AZI hovering over the whole he’s made. After a bit of observing, he called out.

“The tunnel is clear!”

You all looked at each other before entering. Hunter helped you down while Wrecker caught you gently.

“Got you, ad’ika.”

He set you down gently as everyone else made their way into the tunnel. You all walked carefully along the tunnel, but Crosshair said something which caused Wrecker to snap.

“Y’know, if it wasn’t for you, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“Something on your tiny mind, Wrecker?”

“All that time, you didn’t even try to come back.” He sighed, “We still would’ve taken you…”

“Let it go, Wrecker. Crosshair has always been severe and unyielding. It is his nature. You cannot change that. He cannot change that.” Tech explained.

“Why are you defending me?”

“I am not. Understanding you does not mean that I agree with you.” Tech stated simply.

Wrecker had made his way to you as you leaned against the transparisteel, “Let’s get you off your feet.” He said gently before lifting you into his arms.

“Let’s keep moving.” Hunter muttered.

You all tried to move on, but then there was some distant roaring.

“AZI, these tunnels are protected, right?” Omega wondered.

“Only when the power is operational, which it is not.”

Suddenly, a large creature approached the tunnel.

“Run!”

Wrecker rushed with you still in his arms.

“Restoring the power should deter the creature! Try to stay alive!” AZI called as he went ahead. As you all rushed up the tube, the creature started to bite at the transparisteel, making it shake slightly. Suddenly, some lights came on and the creature retreated. Water started to fill the tunnel, but then it was blocked off by some durasteel doors. You all jumped down, panting as AZI looked you all over. After a bit of rest, you made your way up the end of the tunnel and arrived to a large room. Hunter took his helmet off and shined his torch.

“What is this place?”

“Nala Se’s private lab,” Tech started, “Omega said this is where our mutations were manipulated and enhanced.”

Crosshair asked, “How does she know?”

“Because she was there. Omega was created before us. Technically, she is older than we are.”

Hunter and Crosshair looked slightly shocked, but you simply caressed her hair back with a smile. You all moved further into the lab, then Wrecker spoke.

“That’s gonna be a problem.”

You all looked to see the tunnel had collapsed completely.

“That was our only way to the Marauder.” Omega whimpered.

You all decided to sit back and take some time to relax. You tried to rest and ignore the pain in your body.

“Aha!” AZI exclaimed before hovering over to you, “A small dosage of pain medication. This will dampen the pain for an hour or so, Ms. Lodestar.”

“Thanks, AZI.” You whispered before he injected you, causing you to gasp slightly.

“Careful, droid.” Crosshair sneered as he made his way to you.

“Apologies. I will heed a warning next time.” AZI said before going to Omega.

You looked up at him as he crouched down and held out a small device.

“There’s something you should see.”

You nodded, gesturing for him to sit beside you. He hesitated before sitting next to you and bringing you closer to him. You laid your head on his shoulder as he opened a file on a datapad he must’ve found lying around. You saw it had your birth name on it and furrowed your brows.

“What is this?”

“A personal file from Nala Se.”

You shook your head, “This should’ve been transferred to the Republic’s database, where I had deleted all files on me.”

“This is different… just read it.” He insisted.

You nodded and looked at it, then you started to read outloud.

“Our newest educational aid, now assigned as Subject #9910, has requested a birth control implant. After running multiple tests, we will grant her request, but have concluded that she is the perfect subject for our new project.”

“Project?” Echo wondered as everyone listened in.

You went on, “Our trials for the natural reproduction of enhanced clones will start when Subject #9910 is assigned to a clone squadron…”

“Natural reproduction?” Omega asked.

“Subject #9910 has been assigned as a communications officer to Clone Force 99, our enhanced clone unit. When the time is right, we will remove her birth control and let the trials commence…” You looked at Crosshair, who gestured for you to go on, “Subject #9910 has been injured, which has delayed the chip removal…” YOu read on to find some shocking records, “Subject #9910 has initiated intimacy with CT-9904… CT-9901… CT-9903…”

“That’s all when we were on Kamino.” Tech remarked, “They were watching you…”

“I-” You tried to say something, but shook your head.

“After Nala Se believed you were terminated, she ended the Natural Reproduction project.” AZI announced, “She stopped looking for any further candidates.”

You got up, backing away from them.

“Cyare…” Hunter whispered.

“I-I thought I would be safe from the Kaminoans… from their tubes and their tests…”

“Darling-”

“What were they gonna do if I did get pregnant? Were they… were they gonna take the baby and then run tests on it?”

“Sh…” Crosshair stopped you as he noticed your breathing quicken. You leaned into him, trying to fight back tears.

“We really need to get out of here.” Echo groaned.

The Batch started to devise a plan while you sat alone with your thoughts. You eyed Hunter and Crosshair bickering again before Crosshair walked away while Omega followed. After a few minutes, a hand was placed on your shoulder, which made you look to see Omega. She smiled gently before briefing you on the plan. Then leading you to the others. She went off with AZI to set some charges as you all prepared the capsules.

“Ugh, I can barely fit in this thing?” Wrecker groaned.

“Quit complaining. At least you’re not doubled up.” Echo retorted. You rubbed his shoulder gently.

“We’ll be in and out.” You reassured him. He gave you a small nod before bumping his helmet against yours endearingly. You made your way into a capsule, waiting for Omega.

“The explosives are set.” Omega said, getting into the capsule.

“Alright, seal them up.” Hunter ordered.

You all closed the capsules and prepared for the charges to set off. You nodded to Omega for her to push the button, which she did. Water came flooding into the room and caused your capsules to move with the current it created. You looked around, seeing that you were out of the lab and floating to the surface. AZI moved meticulously to assist your capsules.

“You’re doing great, AZI.” Omega said, shining her torch around. Then a piece of debris fell onto your capsule, pushing you down. AZI rushed to your aid and you could see his lights flickering.

“AZI?” You called. He hesitated before using his laser torch to cut the debris. You watched as the debris floated away and then AZI pushed the capsule.

“Omega! Lodestar! What’s happening?” Hunter asked on comms.

“Got caught on some debris. It’s okay, AZI’s got us.” Omega answered, looking back at the droid, “Don’t give up, we’re nearly there!”

“Your path is clear.I have completed my objective.” AZI said before shutting down.

“No!”

You watched before looking at her, about to tell her you have to keep going, but then you thought of D-5. You cupped her face and nodded your head in approval.

“We’re going after AZI!” Omega insisted before opening the capsule. You both swam down, but then some debris got in your way and took you up to the surface. You took off your helmet and gasped once you surfaced.

“OMEGA!” You called frantically, but Wrecker grabbed ahold of your arm, “No! I have to go back for her!” You argued as he lifted you into his capsule. Crosshair stood with his rifle and loomed over Hunter before shooting into the water. Omega was lifted out of the water with AZI and Hunter helped her into their capsule. The others had pulled out their blasters and pointed it towards Crosshair, who tossed Wrecker his rifle. You watched as he sat down before helping Wrecker paddle the capsule. You all arrived at the platform and watched as Tipoca City burned down.

“It's… all gone.” Omega murmured sadly.

“We should leave before the Empire’s scouts show up.” Tech insisted.

“You coming with us?” Wrecker turned to Crosshair.

“None of this changes anything.” Crosshair said simply, which hurt your heart slightly.

“You offered us a chance, Crosshair. This is yours.” Hunter explained.

“I made my decision.”

“We want different things, Crosshair. That doesn’t mean that we have to be enemies.”

Crosshair turned away, which caused the others to head towards the ship. You stayed back, waiting for Omega as she looked over the city.

You reached for her shoulder, “C’mon…”

She looked at you before nodding and heading towards the ship, then she stopped, “Thank you for saving AZI.”

“Consider us even.” Crosshair responded.

“You know… you’re still they’re brother. You’re my brother too…”

Crosshair stayed silent as Omega went to the ship. He turned to look at you as you stood there.

“I never said it back…” You started, which caused him to furrow his brows. You looked down, “In the hotel room, before I left with Rex… you told me you loved me. I never got to say it back.” Tears started to pool in your eyes, “And… and I hope you know that I didn’t leave because I didn’t love you, Cross. I didn’t leave because I didn’t love any of you. I… I was selfish. That’s why I left. The kaminoans wanted me dead and after what I had said to the Chancellor… I knew I would be an enemy to the Republic… and the Empire.” You hesitated, looking back up at him, “I know it's too late, but I don’t want you to forget that I love you. I love you… and I know you won’t change your mind because of it and I’m not going to force you onto that damn ship.” Tears spilled wildly, “I-” You stepped towards him and cupped his face cautiously, but he melted into your touch, shutting his eyes. You couldn’t say anymore and he knew that. You moved and placed your lips against the corner of his, not wanting to feel the heartbreak of your lips touching for the first time in a long time but also for the last time once again. You pulled away and rushed into the ship, being caught into an embrace by Hunter, who looked back at his brother as the hatch closed and the Marauder took off.

XXXXXXX

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