#give me my anarchist corellian

[sephirajo]

[naerwenia]

No Kisses on the Mouth (Part 1 of 2)

Pairing: Grand Moff Tarkin/Reader

Summary: Tarkin gives you a second chance after it is found out you have been seen with known rebels. Few years later, you a working under Director Krennic at Imperial Advance Weapon Development, and one night Grand Moff Tarkin wants a personal debrief on your progress.

Tags/warnings: NSFW 18+, smut, bdsm, dom!Tarkin, sub!reader, afab!reader, spanking with a belt and hand, part 1, self-insert

A/N: Oh god, what have I done... This was inspired by a session in our SW RPG campaign, where my character had to think if she would take the opportunity to go back to be just a medic, to be forgiven for her anarchistic deeds. Also inspired by my own adventures as a pet, and the music of Spiritual Front and Ordo Rosarius Equilibrio. I was supposed to write smut, but it took over 2000 words to get to even a hint of eroticism. I split this into two, so I can post this now and get back to figuring out how to write smut. Also on Ao3

“Look around you, there is no one here, just you and me. Don’t you want to just move on, and fulfil your promise?” he said, looking down on you, making sure you knew you were beneath him, yet comfortable in the chair he had shown to you. Talent was hard to come by, and keeping passion alive in the military environment was hard, yet Tarkin and you shared something, a drive maybe, in your respective fields. And now you were there, in front of him, afraid to ask forgiveness or leniency, as he had summoned you there before any of the information the Imperial Security Bureau had gathered found their way to other ears in the Empire, or even the Imperial Star Destroyer you were stationed at. In ordinary situations, Tarkin would not have hesitated to act, but there was something, maybe an aspect of your character that suggested he might be able to wrap you in strings with ease and play politics through you at some point in the future. So he offered his hand, an open offer that may include as much or as little as he said, because the other option was being at the mercy of ISB.

“Yes, Grand Admiral,” you replied and, with some fear in your movement, you took his hand. It was a firm and surprisingly warm handshake, which reminded you to move your gaze to meet his, blushing for forgetting that again. It was embarrassing, but he seemed to not be offended by your mistake, or maybe it was refreshing to not have to reprimand a young officer with a cocky gaze and ego larger than Coruscant. You, on the other hand, just wanted to do your job, create something with your hands, something to make the world better, or even just make someone’s life better. Design jewelry, facilities, architecture, maybe get to make more accessible designs for the Empire. The only way to that was through a handshake with Tarkin and submitting to be his pawn. 

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There weren’t many secluded spaces in Coruscant, but you had one in mind. It was not really one where you could be alone for sure, but it was a bit out of the way and up a stairway that was rarely the best way to offices on the ship, so you pushed past a few office workers to get there. It was not as quiet as your apartment, but at least no one could find you there, at least not as quickly as if you were just crying in your room. Yet, you wanted to be found, to be comforted, not right now but exactly at this moment. You were strong enough to take care of yourself, and crying over some words from the Director was just embarrassing. He was someone you looked up to, someone whose works inspired you, and his critique of your work was harsh, not like it wasn’t unearned, but it hurt, it made you feel useless, and running away was the only thing you knew at that moment. 

Stopping around a corner, just a few steps away from a walkway used by the patrolling officers, you slumped to the street, but to the ground, not caring if the skirt was ruined. This was just another day at the Director’s design department for his vanity project, and this was not the first piece of clothing it had claimed, but definitely the first that was messed by you. 

The air of Coruscant was brisk for once, the evening was young and getting colder, and the lights danced in your vision, bleeding into each other in the skyline. Different shades of yellow, red, and orange, and other colours of the rainbow accenting them, the skyline was different once again. Maybe it wasn’t, maybe you just felt like it, but the feeling wasn’t anything new. No matter how long you spent at a place, you failed to find your place. Like there was a barrier that prevented you from crossing over to other people’s lives, failing to live like others. So here you were, looking at a city that held as many secrets as you, viewing it like a theatre stage, something you wanted to believe to be real, yet not, so you have to remind yourself to believe the façade, that it is not just a painting, a stage, and that you are a person sitting in the shadows of Coruscant’s administrative district. Some days it felt like you were more part of the shadows than flesh, and today was one of those days.

The com beeped, someone was trying to reach you. As much as you’d like to just leave it, it might be work-related, and you didn’t want any more tears from there. 

“Imperial Military Department of Advanced Weapons Research’s director’s assistant’s...'' you answered the call, but were cut off, thankfully, not having to recite your full title and workplace. There was only a minor hesitation, yet enough for Tarkin to notice, but he kept his words under too much control for someone like you to notice, but you knew. It was obvious and very much like him to notice and note small things like that so he could use them to his advantage in the future.

“We should meet,” Tarkin’s voice was matter of fact, cool but not cold, and almost demanding but not unreasonable. He knew what he wanted, you had it, and you had to meet him to answer those demands. This sudden call made you smile, a sweet, pleased smile that someone like Grand Moff would want to meet you, and you had no reason to refuse.

“Certainly, sir. Should we…” you started, yet were cut off by him. Not rudely, not even suddenly, just noting he would rather have things his way than waste his precious time with meaningless chit-chat, and that made you happy, having someone to tell you what they needed from you, so you didn’t have to disappoint them by trying to guess what they actually meant with their words.

“Your apartment, tonight. I will meet you there in an hour,” Tarkin stated clearly, and with another “Yes sir” from you, the conversation was over.

The mix of emotions was both delightfully ironic as tears dropped down your cheeks, but there was a warm feeling in the chest under a heavy weight and the warmth, with Grand Moff’s words ringing in your head, made you smile through the hurt. With a sweep of your hand, you dried your tears with your sleeve, smudging the mascara on your face and the sleeve of your jacket.

Since he had said it would take him an hour to meet you at your place, you decided to walk the way there, spending around 30 minutes navigating the streets of Coruscant. The streets offered a variety of sounds, loud and intimidating, but this was one of those days you needed sounds to remind you of where you were, and the slight exercise helped to ground you to the moment, to your body. All that was thrown away as you opened the door to find Tarkin sitting in your living room. A small squeak left your lips, but her own hand on her lips silenced any other noise she might have made, and with a long breath and sigh she tried to calm her pulse. 

“I’m sorry, sir, your presence surprised me,” you said, turning away for a moment to close the door, “Would you like some Corellian whiskey, maybe tea from Felucia?”.

“Whiskey is fine. You might want one for yourself too,” he said, “There are things I want to discuss first hand with you rather than trust these… rumors”.

A surprised look over your shoulder met the Moff’s blue eyes. Certainly there wasn’t anything you had done that would merit rumours, but what others found interesting to talk about wasn’t something that ever made sense. It already felt like the Director had pitted others against you, yet found time to give you kind gestures when no one was looking. He was more than harsh with his words when others were looking, but in the end it seemed like some of your more out there ideas were incorporated to the designs. The whiskey’s smell and drip on your finger made you quickly realize you had poured more than enough in one glass and had to pour from that glass to the other. You could drink the whole glass, might even that night, but Grand Moff would frown upon it, and his disapproval would not be something you could handle at the moment. So you took the glasses, one in each hand, and gave one to Tarkin with a kind smile, only to be met with his unreadable expression. No matter how you smiled to him, he never returned even a twitch of a lip, but it didn’t matter, the fact he had found his way here to share a drink with you was more than enough to send your heart fluttering.

As you sat down, Grand Moff began his questioning that felt like an interrogation if you didn’t know him better. “What have you told Krennic? Or your coworkers?” Grand Moff asked, narrowing his eyes as he studied your expressions. A sigh left your lips.

“Nothing. Just what you told me: I’m a design engineer, was recruited by the COMPNOR and transferred to ISB so I could be more useful to Empire with my technical knowledge, but I’m more interested in the designing process. So now I’m designing Krennic’s pet project, a death laser in the sky,” you answered. You wanted to ask about the rumours, but you knew better than to ask, he would tell you when or if you needed to know. 

“Nothing else? To anyone, not even a friend?” he inquired.

“No, I… Don’t really spend time with any of them, I’ve only exchanged a few words with Director Krennic after hours. Nothing other than work related, except with Krennic the other day,” you said, and the small space where you drew a breath was more than enough to make Tarkin think you had something to hide, but you knew better than to try hiding anything from him.

“A conversation with Krennic? And you are certain you didn’t say anything that might catch his interest?” Tarkin asked, with a raise of his eyebrow.

“No, he just wanted to ask how I was managing my new position, and why I was staying for so long after hours. All I said I was fine, I had nothing better to do so I finished the design, he seemed to like it. He said he appreciated my enthusiasm and how clean my designs were,” you said, and a warm, happy smile grew on your face, heating your cheeks. Tarkin put his glass on a table and stood up, taking very deliberate steps toward you, so you put your glass away and stood up, just in case he needed something from you. Your heart stopped, skipped a few beats, as Tarkin pushed you to the wall, gripping your shoulders and keeping you an arms length away. The suddenness of the motion and pain of hitting the wall while strong fingers dug into your flesh finally made you look into his eyes, looking for an answer for the change in him. His eyes now a few shades darker in the shadows, his lips dry and breath hot, and with an expression of furious disappointment, he puts two fingers, long and warm, of his right hand under your chin to keep your eyes on him. 

“You do as I tell you, always?” he asked.

“Always, sir,” you answered.

“Then take off your shirt,” he whispered before taking a step back so he could see you fully. A shiver of cold went through your body, but you complied. As your hands began opening the buttons, quietly trembling in fear, Tarkin licked his dry lips and let his eyes wander over your body, letting his mind memorise the patterns of your curves. Though his hand was no longer under your chin, you tried to keep your eyes up, trying to meet his gaze and follow his silent command. Shirt open, you throw it on the floor, and Tarkin immediately commands you to take off your skirt. With a small flick from your wrist, you open the zipper and let your skirt fall to the floor. The mock garter wasn’t something Grand Moff had expected, but the red suited you well and it left your bottom nicely exposed, only panties left to guard your cunt.

“To the bed, now, on your hands and knees,” Grand Moff ordered, and you obeyed. As you walked to the bedroom, he followed in your footsteps. You could hear him open his belt buckle. It let out an audible cling as he pulled it through the loops and folded it, a sharp snap as he felt it in his hands. As you assume your position, he slapped your bottom with his bare hand once, then twice, and grabbed the bottom. He wanted to go on, wanted to feel your body, taste and devour you, but he had to control the situation, he wanted to control every aspect of this encounter. With a word he could make you cum, make you please him in a way he had not felt before, he would make you scream in pain and pleasure, he would torture you in all the ways that made you wet, and he would make you like every second of it. The rules were simple and lax: No kisses on the mouth, and no lasting scars. There was no love in his desires, but the jealousy that he felt when he had found out Krennic had asked about you from ISB, seeming like you had caught his eye and he wanted to get close to you. The smile you gave when talking about Krennic made Tarkin feel something different, something he needed to let out, and now he could, with the leather belt on your bottom. Slap, flick, smack, slap, few seconds of silence, slap, smack. He let out a heavy sigh, letting you rest for a moment there, in front of him holding back tears and trying to adjust to the sudden pain. It wasn’t unexpected, just harder than before, and your hands gripped the bed sheets, knuckles almost as white as the sheet itself. 

“You may moan for me,” Tarkin instructed before letting his hand grab the cheeks of your bottoms, gently giving it a spank with the palm of his hand. A moan, needy and pained, left your lips, and was answered with a twitch in his lips, like a smile, but there was no one to see it, at least at that moment.