#ophelia's fics

[phefics]

veritaserum

ship: fred weasley x reader x george weasley summary: fred and george dose the reader with a truth serum, which leads to her admitting a sexual fantasy including both brothers. warnings: dubious consent (truth potion is used to make the reader admit her sexual fantasies which then play out), pseudo-inc3st (the twins don't do anything sexual to each other but are both involved in the same sexual scenario), gender-neutral!reader (reader has a vagina but no pronouns are used) word count: 1.9k

Being friends with the Weasley twins was a constant rollercoaster.

There was never a dull moment, always an adventure to go on, a prank to pull, or witty banter bouncing between you and the brothers. Sometimes, you were helping Fred and George pull off their next big joke, but other times, you were their target. Sure, it could be frustrating, but it was also fun for you, and you always found ways to get them back.

You had been friends with the twins since your first year at Hogwarts, and that friendship had continued past Hogwarts and followed you into early-adulthood. You visited them at the flat over their shop in Diagon Alley often, where they showed you prototypes for new products and made you laugh until you cried with their antics.

It was a cold evening when you appeared in their fireplace, a bit dusty from the ashes, and were greeted with excited shouts from Fred and George before being pulled into a group hug.

As you looked up at their grinning faces, you couldn’t believe that there were people who still got the twins confused.

Fred had more freckles on his face, while George’s shoulders and arms had an abundance of them. When Fred laughed, he threw his head back, cackling loudly, while George usually gave more reserved chuckles, laughing down at his lap. And, well, George was fully missing an ear now, and Fred had a large scar on his temple from the Battle, where a piece of castle wall had crashed down on top of him.

“Finally,” Fred said, man-handling you onto the couch. “We’ve been waiting ages!”

“I’m only a few minutes late,” you replied, glancing at their clock, which wasn’t even working—it read 3:15, but it was well past 7:00 judging by the darkness outside.

“And are our few minutes not important to you?” George asked, sitting by your side. “We could have been using that time to come up with more brilliant inventions.”

“Or planned a clever scheme to spill a bucket of water on your head when you arrived,” Fred added.

You rolled your eyes. “I’m terribly sorry to have wasted your precious time,” you said, tone thick with sarcasm.

It was nice catching up with them. They updated you on each member of the Weasley family, such as Fleur’s pregnancy with her and Bill’s first child, or Percy’s upcoming wedding. You updated them on your own life as well, and it wasn’t long until they had pushed a glass of Firewhiskey into your hands.

“So, Y/N,” Fred said, leaning against the back of the couch. You immediately recognized the glint of mischief in his brown eyes, and braced yourself for whatever ridiculous question he was about to pose.

“Which of us do you think is the better looking twin?”

You opened your mouth, intending to say something like ‘neither of you’ or ‘you’re identical—what kind of stupid question is that?’ but the sentence that spilled from your lips instead was, “Well, you look pretty much the same, so I’d say you guys are equally attractive. I think the scar makes you look pretty hot, Fred, but George can really pull off the whole missing ear thing.”

You clapped a hand over your mouth, face burning.

The twins both erupted into giggles.

“Oh, you’re too kind!” George said. “I’m glad you find my lack of an ear sexy.”

“And my scar is flattered,” Fred added.

“What did you two do?” you asked, scowling.

“We might have stumbled upon a vial of Veritaserum…” George said, trying and failing to look guilty. “And put it in your drink. Just a drop, though! It’ll wear off soon.”

You wanted to insult them, yell at them, call them every insult and curse under the sun, but no words would leave your tongue. It was like the truth serum wouldn’t even let you pretend to be pissed off. Sure, this was an invasion of your privacy and totally sketchy, but you had known Fred and George for so long, you were sort of used to their antics by now. You should have been way angrier than you were, but it was just so typical of them, you couldn’t muster much more than annoyance.

What you did manage to say was, “Why?”

Both twins shrugged.

“For fun,” Fred said.

“And because we were curious about something,” George replied.

“About what?”

“About which of us you like better.”

You blinked at them. “Are you serious? We aren’t eleven anymore. Is it really a contest between you two to be the better twin?”

“Not really, no,” Fred said. “Even though we all know that it's me.”

George reached over you to playfully shove his brother’s shoulder. “It’s not about proving anything. We’re just curious. So, Y/N, who do you like better: me or Freddie?”

“I like you equally,” you said. “You are both hilarious, intelligent, and my best friends. I find it easier to connect with George on serious things, but Fred always knows the right thing to say when I need cheering up.”

Your face was flushing deeper, embarrassed at the cheesy, sentimental words that left your mouth. Fred and George had grown up in an incredibly loving, affectionate family and had never shied away from making their love known, but it was awkward to voice your own feelings out loud like that.

Both twins seemed rather touched, though

“Wow, I was expecting you to have to pick,” Fred said. “But that’s oddly sweet.”

You groaned. “Okay, okay, yes, I love you both, can we knock this off now?”

“No, we have more questions!”

“Such as…?”

“Would you fuck either of us?” George asked.

Fred was normally the more vulgar of the two, and the question coming from George’s lips instead took you even more off guard.

“Yes,” you said, unable to stop yourself. “Either of you. Or both of you.”

“At the same time?”

“Yes.”

Fred and George also showed their emotions differently. Fred was better at keeping his feelings to himself, but when he was flustered, his ears would turn pink. His ears had flushed slightly, and his eyes were wide as he licked his lips, clearly intrigued by your answer. George was also flushed, but the color went to his face, and he brushed his thumbs repeatedly over his thighs, a nervous tick he’d always had.

“Have you thought about this a lot?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Tell us how you’d want it.”

You couldn’t help but answer. “I would let you strip off my clothes, groping me. One of you is behind me, kissing my neck as you take off my shirt. The other is at my feet, pulling my pants down. Neither of you shut up the whole time, talking about me like I’m not even there. Commenting to each other about how pretty I am, how wet my pussy is for you. Whoever is between my legs starts to go down on me, while the other holds my body still so I can’t move away from how good it feels. I cum on your tongue, and the other wants a turn, too…”

The twins were both clearly aroused as you spoke.

“Do you want that? Now?” Fred asked, his voice low.

“Yes,” you breathed. 

They waste no time switching their positions on the couch, George pulling your back against his chest while Fred positions himself between your legs, his hands eagerly moving to the waistband of your pants, tugging at it.

George took his time, hands sliding up your shirt, touching softly as he felt you up, his face nuzzling into the crook of your neck, lips teasing the skin there.

You couldn’t help but whine under their touches, loving every moment of it. You had truly dreamt of this for years, always too afraid to ruin the friendship. Sure, you had kissed both twins for dares back at school, but this was real and intimate and beautiful.

Fred made quick work of getting your bottom half undressed, and he kissed his ways along your thighs, cupping your ass with one hand, squeezing hard.

“So fuckin’ hot,” George breathed.

“I know, right?” Fred replied. “So good for us, too. Are we making your fantasy come true, love?”

You nodded, whimpering softly.

“So needy, too. You want to cum for us?”

You nodded again. “Yes, yes please.”

George chuckled, nipping at your ear as Fred’s mouth finally reached your pussy, his tongue licking tentatively at you before he found your clit, which he immediately focused his attention on.

Your noises only grew louder, more desperate.

“Already? You’re not very good at this whole build-up thing, Freddie,” George said.

“I think we’ve waited long enough for this,” Fred replied before returning to his task.

“You don’t want to be patient, do you, darling?” George asked, hugging you tightly from behind. “You’ve wanted this for so long, you just want to be good for us, take everything we’ve got?”

“Fuck yes,” you moan.

Fred was clearly just as eager as you are, apparently trying to make you cum as quickly as possible, like he was placing bets in his head.

“You like that, hm? Is he good at it? Making you feel good?” George said.

“Feels so fucking good.”

“Good. You gonna cum for him?”

“Yes, yes, I’m—”

It didn’t take long at all. Fred’s tongue was good for more than just witty comments, and your legs trembled as he sat up, lips shining with your slick and a smug smile on his face.

“I think this is the part where we switch jobs, Georgie.”

Your pussy was already so wet, so sensitive, you knew that George would be able to make you cum fast, too. It was almost embarrassing how easy you were, how turned on they made you.

The twins switched positions, and Fred wrapped his arms around your middle sweetly, dragging his fingers over your waist and making goosebumps spread over your abdomen, squirming in his grasp.

“Don’t try and get away, sweet thing,” Fred said. “Otherwise George won’t be able to have his turn. Just be good for us, okay? Be a good little slut.”

You whined, face hot as George’s lips found your inner thighs and kissed the skin there, slowly, teasingly. He was the more patient, more methodical of the two. He wasn’t going to go straight for your clit, he was going to keep you wanting. Maybe until you begged.

Fred began sucking a hickey into your throat, leaving you a moaning mess as the twins both worshiped your body like it was something sacred.

Finally, George’s tongue found your pussy, teasing your hole and folds before even bothering to touch your clit.

“Should he put his fingers inside you?” Fred asked.

You nodded fervently, thrusting your hips.

George complied immediately, sliding one finger inside which was quickly followed by a second, pumping slowly before curling into that special spot, which he had found surprisingly easily.

Your second orgasm came just as quickly as the first, your hands balling into fists and your toes curling. Once your body was able to relax, you looked up through teary eyes to see George licking your taste off of his fingers.

“Was that everything you dreamed?” Fred asked.

You opened your mouth, expecting the answer to roll off your tongue, but it didn’t. You realized that the potion had worn off, and smirked.

“It could have been better,” you said, thrilled with your ability to lie again.

Obviously, Fred and George had to remedy that immediately.

[omens-for-ophelia]

Crowley is convinced that a fairy is living in his beautifully tended garden, and in spite of his very best efforts he has yet to actually see one. He has been leaving a bowl of cream out in the garden each night as a little extra temptation - but so far, only the neighbourhood fox seems to be enjoying it. On the advice of a friend, Crowley decides to switch up his tactics. As it turns out, the fairy living in his magnolia tree just has much more exacting standards than your average brownie or gnome. This is made abundantly clear the next morning when Crowley comes downstairs to find his carefully wrapped bakery box now open on the windowsill, the ribbon it was secured with now fluttering in the early breeze. And inside, nestled amongst the finest profiteroles in the South Downs, he finds a round, pink-cheeked fairy, delicately licking cream off his tiny fingertips.

I was so charmed by the idea of a plump, spoiled little 'Azirafae' enjoying fancy human desserts that I couldn't help myself! 🩷 Entirely self indulgent! Will this be a fic one day? Who knows!

[chazuramen]

hi sims 2 community, i bring you spooky cousins and gay people

[prefer-to-be-vilified]

Wednesday, bursting through the door holding an urn: I found human remains at Goodwill.

Enid: I’m sorry, what?

Wednesday: Someone donated an urn to Goodwill and the ashes are still in it.

Enid: And so you decided to buy human ashes?

Wednesday: Yes.

Enid: From Goodwill?

Wednesday: Yes.

Enid:

Enid: I’m not even surprised.

Wednesday: Her name is Judith, I’m hoping she’ll haunt us.

Enid, in disgruntled acceptance: Yeah I know babe.

[thefoxesraven]

In honor of @jtl-fics putting my sons and her son and their babies in their fic TBD I commissioned @emry-stars-art to draw the said kiddos for Ash!

[in1-nutshell]

@dat-lil-shark

BABY OPHELIA!!!!!!!! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Please give this creator love!!! ❤️💕💖💖

The art work is amazing!!!!

[mispatchedgreens]

he's not panting for plot reasons this time. you'll find healing springs debauchery and other xianxia staples in @thestoriesthatweweave's fic 'flowering in the eastern wind' here! <333333

alternately tinted versions under the cut!

[thedeathdeelers]

feel

she couldn’t technically feel him.

he was a ghost, a spiritual representation of what he used to be — a soul without a physical presence.

she knew this. it was fact.

but there was just something about him..

luke shifts on the sofa beside her, the slight flicker of light the only indication that he had moved at all.

julie leans her head against the back of the couch, legs tucked underneath her as eyes make their way up from his ink-stained fingers (how did that work?) to his forearms and exposed biceps.

warmth floods her cheeks when her eyes linger too long, quickly shifting her gaze to the frayed edges of his sleeveless tee. her fingers itch to tug at the loose threads, to see how soft the decades old tshirt could be. but she knows she’ll only be disappointed — knows her fingers will phase right through him as if he never even existed.

swallowing down the lump that was quickly forming in her throat, julie’s eyes finally come to rest on her writing partner’s face, a bittersweet sense of calm wrapping itself around her heart like a warm blanket.

she’s gotten too used to this sight, she thinks, the corner of her lips ticking up at the sight of his tongue sticking out of the side of his mouth as he scratches his head in deep thought.

julie lets out a sigh, eyes lingering on luke for just a few more minutes before letting them slide shut.

she doesn’t know how long they sit there, how long she lets herself dream of an impossible future where they both celebrate their 18th birthdays. she thinks she might have even fallen asleep, a memory or a dream of a lingering touch near her cheek.

she only knows that when she finally opens her eyes, goosebumps running all the way down her spine, from the top of her head to the tip of her toes, she finds luke sitting much closer to her, face merely a few inches away from her.

“morning sleepyhead,” he whispers, a gentle smile lighting up his eyes.

“m-morning,” julie manages to stutter out, suddenly all too aware of how much she can feel him.

feel his presence, both spiritually and…physically.

was it all in her head? was she dreaming?

and it’s only then that she notices luke’s hand by her face as he reaches out and tenderly mimics the action of swiping his thumb across her cheek-

except she….

she can feel ihim.

her eyes widen at the feeling, his face only mirroring her wonder when he sees the goosebumps erupting up and down her arm.

[good-beansdraws]

His eyes were closed, and all his trembling ceased. It was as if the water calmed his nerves, making him oddly at peace among the tropical fish.

I know it came out a bit like general AKAA art, but this was from @kyanako5972 's Final Judgement fic! When you're up for some angst, definitely check it out 👀

[arrowheadedbitch]

Tim: Oph??

Constantine: Don't call her that, I can't have you pissing off a faery, red.

Tim: That's her name, dumbass.

[thedemonofcat]

Sometimes, to be dramatic, Jaskier will recreate this painting

Geralt really needs him to stop because afterwards, they keep needing to stop for Jaskier to put on dry clothes

[phefics]

𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐩𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐞

𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩: kaz brekker x reader 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: kaz struggles with touching peope, specifically skin-to-skin contact. he finds a way around his aversion to make you feel good. 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐬: afab!reader, fem!reader, fingering, kaz's gloves, intimacy struggles, mentions of kaz's canon trauma, virgin!kaz, cumming untouched 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: ~1k

Kaz can’t stand skin-to-skin contact. It was inconvenient, yes, a frustrating side effect of his complicated past, but he’s managed to find loopholes.

Like the gloves, for instance. They acted as both a safety net and a talking point, starting those delightful rumors of his hands being permanently stained with the blood of his enemies, when in reality, he would be incapacitated without the scraps of leather to protect him.

But it had never mattered much, before you.

Human touch, connection, was never something he craved. He appreciates Jesper’s friendship, but has never longed to embrace him. He is fully capable of recognizing an attractive person, acknowledging beauty where it was obvious, but he’s never felt an desire to act on the attraction.

Lust was never something he felt, before you.

He had tried to act on his urges, to be like any other man and touch you, but it had ended poorly. You had given him space as he let the water retreat, and he had been filled with self-loathing for his failure.

And so, he found another loophole. He was a thief, a conman, so of course he could come up with a plan for anything.

The cool leather of his gloves took some getting used to, at first. The same fingers that so easily picked locks and pockets turned clumsy and unsure when they ventured between your legs.

You sat on his desk, naked from the waist down and legs spread wide, while Kaz sat at his desk chair in front of you, still fully clothed. Well, he had undone the top few buttons of his shirt, but that was as close to nude as he could handle at that moment.

Being naked in front of you didn’t embarrass him. Before there was any romance, any attraction evident between you, Kaz had stripped in your presence without concern. It was the proximity though, the vulnerability, that made his clothes a necessary barrier.

One gloved hand rested on your thigh, a silent reminder to keep your legs open for him, while the other was searching for your clit, still unfamiliar and inexperienced with your anatomy.

“Can I guide your hand?” you asked, tone gentle.

He nodded, so you took his wrist softly, being sure to touch only over his sleeve, and helped him find that special spot, the rough texture of the leather a new and thrilling sensation as his thumb flicker softly over your clit, curious.

You whined, your head lolling back as he followed your lead, his touch taking on a new confidence.

Kaz chuckled quietly. “Is this really all it takes?” he asked, a smug look on his face. “I’ve barely done a thing.”

“It feels good,” you replied. “Your gloves...It's different."

"A good sort of different, I assume?" he asked.

You nodded, another moan leaving your lips as he continued to touch your clit with his thumb, deciding to try slipping a finger inside of your hole. You were wet enough to ensure that the leather didn't feel painful going inside.

Although he wasn’t the one being pleasured, Kaz couldn’t help the breathless noises that left him — seeing you so worked up because of him, because of his actions, it was a completely new feeling.

“Saints, Kaz, you’re doing so good,” you panted. “Making me feel so fucking good.”

Your words made him whimper, although he’d take that detail to the grave, his face flushed. It felt good for him, too, to please you. Although he hadn’t touched himself, or let you touch him, just the friction of his pants was almost too much for him to handle, having never experienced masturbation — sometimes, he would wake up with sticky sheets, irritated and embarrassed.

He had spent so long refusing to give in to those dreams, the little thoughts of sex and pleasure and bodies against each other, and you had set loose something within him, the primal desires he'd been forced to ignore due to all he'd been through.

His hips thrust into nothing, the head of his cock leaking as it rubbed against the seam of his pants. You were the only person receiving any stimulation, and yet, he seemed more spent than you. It was endearing, hot and adorable at the same time.

“Fuck, I’m close,” you breathed. “Can you go a little faster?”

Kaz nodded, using two fingers to pump in and out of your pussy, picking up the pace as you’d requested.

It didn’t take long for that sensation to build in your belly, your sounds of pleasure growing louder, more frequent. You came with a shout of his name, and although his cock had remained untouched, he followed you soon after.

His expression was completely shocked, having experienced his first ever orgasm, at least, while awake, and making a conscious effort to make it occur.

You giggled as you came down from your high, looking fondly at his flushed, surprised face. It was an unbelievable honor to see Kaz Brekker at his most vulnerable.

“Did you…?”

“Don’t,” he interrupted, his tone attempting to be stern, and completely failing as his voice shook and his mouth fought to curl into a smile.

And you just laughed again, catching a glimpse of his glove, slick with your cum. “I think you’ll be needing a new pair.”

Kaz looked down at his hands and laughed, too. "I suppose I will."

He didn't seem to mind.

It wasn’t a perfect, passionate night of sloppy kisses and skin slapping skin, but Kaz had made an effort to shed his armor for you, to face his fear of intimacy, and touch.

And that little loophole was just the beginning.

(maybe a part 2...?)

[omens-for-ophelia]

“You really are happy, angel?” “When I’m with you, always.”

Some lovely, awning-induced 'vavooming' from Chapter 5 of 'Just Up The Stairs', a Valentine's collab I was lucky enough to be part of with my two Actual Angels @ineffabildaddy and @foolishlovers !

This & the 5 other illustrations can be found embedded in the fic itself :)

Read 'Just Up The Stairs' (39k, E) on AO3 HERE!

Content Note: Heads up that Chapter 6 is the only chapter that contains NSFW art, so please proceed with caution if that is not your vibe!

[amalia-uwu]

Fanart for SKÓLIX because I could not resist drawing the bunny doctor!

And sweet, soft Farmy (before all those... events...)

And huge Axe who has to lean down to see what the doctor is writing.

Thank you for the inspiration!

Those are quick, traditional sketches, but I had a lot of fun and thought you might enjoy these as well 🤍

I just woke up to see this?! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!

Fanart?! Of my fic?! MY GOODNESS!!!

Kkjklklklklkmnnbncnncnxnxbxbxbxbbxblalslslskdkddlsllaalala

Alright, listen up! *cups your cheeks*

THIS! IS! BEAUTIFUL! I LOVE IT! 🫂

Alright, I absolutely love the way you drew Axe. He looks so handsome (and hot in your style). Stars, look how huge he is is! Poor guy gotta lean down! I love how tall and wide he is!

I love his expression, the permanent smile that never leaves his face. Yet in his eyes you can see the concern and the concentration to read what is going on. ❤️❤️❤️

As of Farmy, he looks so cute! Smol and cute. I love his expression and how chubby he is! He seems, shy, soft sweet and slightly embarrassed?. I love how you drew him! 💚💚💚💚

And we finally reach my girl! 💙 Ophelia! I love it! You made her so cute!! 💙 Look how beautiful and adorable she is! I love her expression and posture!! Her face looks absolutely cute!! 💙

__________

MY MORNING IS BETTER!

* crushes you in hug*

WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO ME WOMAN?!

THANK YOU SO MUCH!! 💙 I CAN'T STRESS THIS ENOUGH! I AM SO GRATEFUL FOR THIS!! 💙

The sketches are beautiful, brilliant! Spectacular pieces of art!

I feel honored and I enjoyed them! I'll cherish them!! 💙

[isaut]

𝒍𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒚 𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔, 𝒔𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒅 𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓— f!reader x captain rex. 6.7k. ao3

coincidence number two: you're running errands. he's a civilian for the afternoon. previous. masterlist.

You make your reward purchases before your necessity purchases. They are of the same vein— the new lip gloss tube and new mascara will serve their purpose when your currents run out. The record you’d found at the vintage store was warm and vibrant, welcoming to the ear. They’ll stun and impress at the next cocktail hour you host. 

It would have been a crime to part without it. 

Just as it would have been a crime to not part with the extra gelato that hadn’t been on your grocery list, to have exited the grocery store without your arms over flowing with bags. Flowers spill from the top of one of them— pink and white and orange for your kitchen table. When you get home you’ll combine them all in one of those artisanal vases you’ve acquired from more flea markets than you can count. 

Marauding as a civilian, Rex spends his afternoon off wandering the streets of Theed. He knows upon any close inspection he’s anything but, but the day is young. The sun is nearly high in the afternoon air, casting the streets in a harsh glow. The fountains trickle consistently, the water gleaming under said beams. Mothers sit on the edge of the stone, careful to not get their skirts wet, while their children run around. 

The oncoming lunchtime is signaled by elderly folk dressed in expensive linens eating their lunch on the iron wrought chairs outside of their favorite bistros and cafes. Rex’s gaze lingers over their habits, over the way they seem so at ease with each other. 

He’s not looking where he’s going. 

With your gaze turned towards the sliver of sea visible through the buildings, you collide straight into an unfamiliar body. 

“Oh! Pardon me,” you say quickly, taking a step back. 

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going,” Rex says, voice melted by the late spring sun. 

The sunlight illuminates Rex directly, making his hair seem blonder and his skin darker. His eyes are all amber encrusted, sparkling in the light. In turn, the sun has haloed you, showcasing your aura around your body, from the natural frizz of your hair to the bronzed shine on your shoulders. 

“Oh.” “Oh.” 

Rex’s brows pinch together in recognition, just as yours furrow. His lips form a perfect little ‘o’ as yours pull down on the corners. Surprise morphs to disappointment.

“You never called me,” is the first thing out of your mouth, once you recognize who you’re talking to. 

“I–” Rex can’t seem to find the words. Have you always had a mole on your cheekbone? A trifecta of them on your shoulder? Rex clears his throat, snapping himself out of his reverie. It had been dark when he was with you last, after all. “I would, but comms are monitored at work.” 

“That’s the first time I’ve heard that excuse,” you sigh. 

“No, no, I’m being honest,” Rex says, all too quickly. He ignores the little voice in his head that reminds him that if he had wanted to, he could have easily arranged for a secret call. That he knows all the right people for that to happen. “Really. And work’s been real busy.” 

You don’t look impressed. Your eyes rake over his body, both out of irritation and to remind yourself why you had been so keen on getting a call in the first place. “Has it been?” 

Yes. There had been rebel groups on the Outer Rim that needed the Republic’s help with fending off the Separatists. Not only had Rex been off station, he’d been off communications with everyone. “I’m no liar.” 

Your gut– which has an eighty twenty chance of being right– seems to confirm this information with you. 

“No?” 

Rex shakes his head. “If I’m bein’ honest, I’m not smart enough to be a liar.” 

That has you twisting your lips to squash down a smile. Your gut, the same eighty twenty one, tugs and tells you that he’s lying about that one, though. 

He’s cuter in the daylight, your brain supplies you with. Then: He didn’t call you. 

“Well, I should get going,” you say, shaking your hair out of your face. “Um, it was nice seeing you.” 

“Yeah, you too.” The words roll off Rex’s tongue before he can stop them. He calls your name after you, with a simple request: “Wait.” 

Oh, he remembers your name. You turn your attention back to him. He’s caught it again. Your grocery bag digs uncomfortably into your arm. 

“Let me get you lunch. As an apology for not calling.” His eyes seem softer in the harsh light, a please behind bronze irises. 

“I have to take my groceries home, I have sorbet.” 

Rex glances at your bags before coming back to your face. “Let me carry it for you, then.” 

There’s a part of you that wants to put up a fight. Say you’re a big girl, that you can do it by yourself. That he blew it when he didn’t call you back. Instead, you feel something tug at the back of your mind. Something that you can’t quite place. So you sigh, so you shrug the canvas bag off your shoulder and pass it over to him. What harm can come? He’s already been there. 

Rex accepts the bags as if they’re made of feathers. He adjusts them all to make sure he has a good grasp on everything. It’s all rather seamless. You linger to admire for a moment.

“After you,” Rex says. 

The comment snaps you back to the present moment. 

Your eyes linger on him one last time, before you adjust your purse and lead him down the cobblestone roads. 

“So, what work have you been doing?” You ask, making quiet conversation as you walk. 

“Classified information,” Rex replies. 

You hum. “Communication is monitored, classified information… You must be pretty high up on the chain.” You lift your hand to eye level to demonstrate. 

“I am,” Rex confirms. “‘S not much to talk about though.” 

“Well, it sounds like you can’t talk about a lot of it.” Your voice is light at the comment. “So what can you talk about?”

Shit. What can he talk about? Rex thinks for a moment, then shrugs. “I guess not much.” 

“Shame. What are we going to talk about over lunch?” You unlock the gate to the courtyard, then climb the stairs to your apartment. 

“I’m reading a book on military strategy,” Rex supplies, watching as you unlock the door. “But I don’t think that’s something you’re interested in.” 

“Does your whole life revolve around work?” You ask, posing the question once you’re in the kitchen. 

Yes. As a matter of fact, it does. His whole reason for existing revolves around work. 

The sorbet slides into an empty spot in the freezer. The flowers replace old ones in a vase. Your kitchen table has an open magazine on it and a data pad. It feels like only yesterday he was in here, and maybe that’s because yesterday he woke from a dream that took place here. 

You’d made him coffee. Placed it in front of him with a kiss to his forehead. He woke to a battle alarm going off. 

Lunch is taken at a little cafe with a white awning. You know the worker behind the counter well, enough to be on a first name basis with her, as you order. You know the restaurant well enough that you immediately head to the outdoor area, taking a seat so you’re still able to people watch and enjoy your company. 

“You must go to lots of places all over the galaxy,” you note, watching as Rex pours water for you both. 

“Nowhere too fun,” Rex says, taking his seat. 

Unimpressed with the answer, you take a sip of water. “Where was the last place you went, then?” 

Rex debates if it’s classified information. It’s already happened, it’s not as if he’ll be returning anytime soon. And either way, you’re a pacifist. Not like you’ll go running to the Separatists with old news. 

“Ryloth,” Rex says. “What I was doing there, though—”

“Is classified,” you finish for him. “That’s fine. What’s it like?” 

“It’s hot. Wet, too. Even in the desert. The atmosphere holds water in it like a sponge, so as the jungles produce water, it seeps into the atmosphere. And that’s how it rains in the desert areas and why it feels wet all the time even if it’s dry.” 

“I didn’t take you for an environmentalist.” 

“‘S just interesting.” Rex tries his hardest to downplay his knowledge. 

“I think it’s interesting too. Two years ago we had a twi’lek from Ryloth showcase his work at the gallery. All of his art was drawn with the different clays found there.”

“There are a lot,” Rex says. Some of it is even flammable. He watches with rapt attention as you fumble around in your purse for your sunglasses. 

“I hope you don’t think I’m being rude, the sun is just really bright,” You say, holding them open and with the leg near your lips. 

“We can swap spots if you’d like,” Rex offers in a heartbeat. 

“No, no. I like the sun. It’s like I’m photosynthesizing.” 

Rex thinks it’s an apt description. If you were a flower, you’d be the prettiest one. He doesn’t know much about botany, but he thinks you’re comparable to an orchid. Maybe the cattleyas, with their delicate, ruffled petals that match the flow of your hair. Or the oncidiums, which look exactly like women dancing where the blooms join together. Or even the laelias, with star dripped petals that resemble legs spread— 

“I don’t get a whole lot of sun,” Rex says, stopping his train of thought. 

“That’s a shame. Why not?” 

“Normally on a fleet ship.” 

You lean forwards. “What’s space like?” 

Rex blinks. “Have you never been?” 

You shake your head. “No.” 

The idea baffles Rex. Only staying on one planet for an extended period of time? For a lifetime? It was unfathomable to him. Your food arrives, as he ponders over how different your life is from his. Then again, perhaps in a different life, he’d like to stay in one place. Especially if it was a planet as nice as Naboo. 

“So, what’s it like?” You press. 

“It’s… Well. It’s big. Really quiet.” 

“What about the stars?” 

“There’s lots of ‘em. Really tiny. Looks kind of like static.”

“Wow,” you breathe. “I’ve always wanted to get off the planet. I’d love to travel… My friends and I had a trip planned to Coruscant but we could never agree on dates to go.” 

“Between you and me, it’s not all that exciting. I mean, it is exciting, but it’s… Loud. Visually and audibly.” 

“We just wanted to go clubbing,” you confide.

Rex chuckles. “I stand corrected, you would probably enjoy it.”

“But honestly, the travel scares me. Hyperdrive? Terrifying. I don’t even like to go on the boats here.” The admittance feels silly. Who doesn’t dream of intergalactic space travel? 

“Really?” 

You nod seriously. “Nowhere I really want to go that I can’t get to on foot.” 

Oh, that’s endearing. “And where do you usually take yourself?” 

“Not many places I haven’t seen you at.” 

Rex chuckles nervously. “Really?” 

“Yeah. I’m a creature of habit.” 

Your eyes descend down to his plate— He’s barely touched his chicken and rice. It’s good, you’ve had it before. Not your favorite thing on the menu, it’s no pesto before you, but it’s good. 

“Do you not like it?” You ask, gesturing towards it with your fork. 

Rex glances down. “No, I do. It’s just… it’s too good.” 

Normally too good implies that it’s deserving of scarfing down the first serving and savoring the second. You wait, expectantly, for elaboration. 

“Compared to rations it’s… I don’t like to tempt myself. Remind myself what’s out there.”

You blink at him. “Really?” 

“Makes it easier.” 

Rex doesn’t do temptation. He doesn’t indulge in local meals filled with seasonings— the cumin and the masala that Jesse lunges after when he’s on a planet. Fried foods, fresh and sizzling and on a skewer are something that he watches, mouth watering against his will, while Fives and Tup eat as much as they can afford. He doesn’t do top shelf liquor, he doesn’t do liquor at all. He only drinks the beer that’s brought to him. 

You think back to the conversation from last time. No pretty women. No art. Now, no food. No good food at least. You doubt military food is very good. 

“I would have thought that you would want to indulge. Do you want to try mine?” 

Rex also doesn’t do hook ups. Not typically. Not unless a mission’s gone really bad, not unless he wants to bury himself out of the pain only to lie in it uncomfortably. He doesn’t do coffees after, he doesn’t do run-in lunches. 

“Sure,” Rex says. You push your plate toward him, and he reaches over and takes a forkful. Normally the motion is done over a steel table under fluorescent lights, when the rations are especially bad and it’s important to have everyone join in on the misery. 

Once more: It’s too good— fresh basil and lemon. Rex shouldn’t have taken a bite. He wants another. He wants another. 

“You should let yourself indulge,” you say, pushing your plate further towards him. 

He takes another bite. “What are you doing after this?” 

“Laundry,” you answer truthfully. “And then I was going to paint.” 

“You paint?” 

Before you can stop yourself, the words are leaving your mouth: “Do you want to come by and look?” 

Rex needs to be back at base in two hours. He’s been entrusted by his General to escort Senator Amidala back to Coruscant. Then, he’s been entrusted by his General to get back on the battlefield, witness more death and destruction and lovelessness. 

“I can spare a few minutes.”

Rex tries your wine before he leaves. The crisp notes dance along his tongue, citrus and gooseberry fermented to perfection. He takes one last bite of his chicken, moist and juicy, and rice, soft and flavorful. 

The last time Rex had been in your apartment, it had been by the guidance of the moon. Then, scattered from the dutifulness of his mission with your groceries. Now, under the relaxed sunlight, he has a better view of the intricacies of your railing, the floral swirls soldered together. The fountain in the center of the apartment courtyard bubbles and flows. The mosaics of the tiles are clear in the light: blues, greens, oranges, stark against the light grout.

Your keys join the others in the little tray by the door. Your shoes come off, as do his, and the two of you head through your apartment. There are paintings Rex passes that he hadn’t recognized the last time he was here. Not that he was looking, by any means. His attention had instead been focused on you. 

But the paintings. They’re watercolor and oil, still life and landscapes encased behind class in treated dark oak frames. 

The doors to your balcony are open. Sea breeze filters up from the ocean through the doors, rubbing against the sheer curtains like a playful, large kitten. You get good sunlight in your apartment. It warms the room with both light and atmosphere, streaming in through the windows. 

“Are you not worried about bugs?” Rex asks. 

You turn around to face him. “Bugs?” 

“Yeah. With the…” He gestures at the open doors. 

“We don’t live near a swamp. And anyways, it costs too much to run the air conditioning.” You turn back towards the doors and head out through them, letting Rex trail behind you. 

Suddenly a spark of nervousness crawls through you. You play with your fingers, glancing out over the quartier of Theed you live in. Then, you gesture towards your painting where it’s leaned against an easel with a now dry watercolor palette beside it, suddenly feeling silly. Why would some random man– because Rex is still some random man– care about your art?

“Well. This is what I’m working on right now,” you say. 

Rex first notes the craftsmanship of the worn easel. The natural grains in it. The only metal being the small hinges. The painting, however, is another story entirely. 

“It’s pretty,” Rex says. The watercolors are delicate dabs of life. You’ve captured what must be the sunrise over your little neighborhood view. The blue-hued warmth spreads over the delicate buildings, creeping over inked lines. 

He doesn’t have much else to say. It’s pretty. The flowers are larger. 

“It’s really pretty,” Rex repeats. 

Your cheeks warm. “Thank you.” 

You glance over at the painting, then over at Rex, hesitantly. His gaze slowly leaves the painting to meet yours. 

“I wish I had better words to convey how pretty it is.”

You swallow under his gaze. 

“Pretty is just fine,” you say, “I remember: no art. No pretty woman, no dancing either.” 

Rex feels his face warm. The tips of his ears go pink. “There’s more to me than that.” 

“I’m saying it as a reason why you can only describe it as pretty.” It, because you don’t want to presume he was talking about the painting. Part of you hopes that he wasn’t only talking about the ink. Part of you hopes he was also talking about you before him. “Do you want something to drink? I can make you espresso.” 

Rex watches with rapt attention as you twirl a piece of your hair around your finger. He forgets, in his gazing, to reply. 

“I also have limeade. That is, if you can spare the time.” 

He can absolutely spare the time. “It’s whatever you want to make.” 

You check the analog watch on your wrist. Delicate, your chosen color of jewelry. 

“Let’s have espresso. I’ll make us double shots, it's just a little too late to take a nap.” 

The prospect, the idea, of napping is a new one to Rex. He’s never had one offered to him, never seen one ever partaken in. Meditation over naps. One could sleep when they were no longer part of this world. 

Sitting back at your kitchen table, Rex watches with great interest as you make the shots. You have specific mugs you let the brew pour into, and specific saucers you rest them on. From the pantry you receive two sweet looking cookies, setting them on the saucers. 

Saucers in hand, you look over at Rex. His fingers are lightly feeling a flower petal between them, thumb rubbing over the soft, colorful leaves. Cut at their base to decorate the water vase, the monochrome flowers are a quiet accent to the brightness of your kitchen and the appliances within. You almost don’t want to disturb him. 

“Let’s have them on the couch,” you suggest, voice as gentle as seafoam. Rex’s gaze immediately flits to you, his hand dropping just as quickly. You watch with fondness. “They’re pretty, aren’t they?” 

“Yeah,” Rex says. “We don’t have plant life on the station.” 

“I have more in the living room,” you say, tilting your head in the direction of the other room. Turning, you head there, letting Rex follow behind you. 

The saucers are set atop mosaic tiled coasters on the coffee table. You busy yourself in front of the stereo, picking through albums until you find one for the mood, sliding the record from its case and resting it upon the disc. Acoustic bossa nova fills the room. Crossing the space, you cross your legs on the couch, letting Rex take the cushion right beside you. 

Your knees barely touch. It causes your breath to hitch, just ever so faintly, in the back of your throat. 

“It’s called a monstera deliciosa,” you say, in reference to the subject of Rex’s gaze: the large, green beast of a plant in the corner of your living room. It’s almost too big for the space, despite the fact that– “It won’t stop growing. I keep having to cut off leaves and propagate them for my friends. Or I leave them in cheap little pots on the side of the road for people to take.” 

Rex looks at you from over the espresso cup. 

“It just won’t stop growing,” you say. 

Rex doesn’t know exactly what to say. You must love it a whole lot seems a little too personal. Seems a little too on the nose. It’s pretty seems overused, but it’s what comes out of his lips. 

The giggle that escapes you is one you can’t help. You cover your mouth with your hand, holding the sweet little cookie between your fingers. Your hand had originally been on a path to dip the treat into your coffee, but the detour was needed. 

“She is.” 

You take a bite of the cookie.

“You must love it a whole lot,” Rex says, letting the comment bubble up through him. 

Glancing over at the plant, you take her in for a moment. All green stems, fanning leaves with teardrop holes in them, as if gravity was pulling them open. 

“I’ve had her since I was in school,” you comment. 

Rex reminds himself that it’s a normal thing to go to school. That not everyone is plucked up from a young age to undergo various trainings and trials to make them soldiers– peacekeepers. 

“What did you go to school for?” Rex asks. 

“Art history,” you say, still looking at the plant. Then, you look back to him. “Then back again for Gunganese art history. And then again, one last time, for a focus on art during the Suffering Period.” 

Rex nods. 

“Someday there will be an art historian who will study all the art made now,” you note. 

“And what do you think she’ll notice?” 

Humming, you ponder over the answer. You take a final sip of your espresso. Lean back against your couch. Gaze up at the ceiling. “I don’t know.” 

Rex studies your profile like this hypothetical historian will study the present. 

“I think she’ll think it’s interesting how war is portrayed,” you finally decide on, turning your head to face Rex. “But we don’t have to talk about that.” 

“We can, if you want,” Rex says. 

Your eyes flit down to glance at his hands, then back to his face. “Have you looked at art recently?” 

Rex has to take a moment to think. He finishes his espresso. “There are some pieces in the Senate building on Coruscant. I’ve never really…” Suddenly he feels embarrassed. “I’ve never really paid a lot of attention to them.” 

“Are they boring?” You ask. Then, coming to your own conclusion: “I bet they are. All the good art on Coruscant comes from the lower levels.” 

“I thought you’d never been?” 

“I haven’t, but I’ve acquired art from there. It’s all so… If it comes from the upper levels, it’s too perfect. The stuff from lower tells a story. There’s real emotion there.” 

“How come?” 

You shrug. “No idea.” 

Rex nods. “I have a brother who likes art. He draws on napkins and stuff.” 

“With a pen?” You ask, a little surprised. 

Rex nods again. “Yeah.” 

“I didn’t know they had those on ships,” you say, the words leaving your lips before you realize how ignorant you must sound. No reason not to dig the shovel in a little deeper. “I thought everything was done with holograms and screens.” 

“Yeah,” Rex chuckles a bit at that. “Most of it is. At least ninety-eight percent of it. The other two percent is Tup drawing.” 

“He must draw an awful lot to make up for two percent of all the activities up there.” 

We all have our hobbies would be a lie. “He doesn’t get a lot of sleep. Or, he doesn’t get as much as he should.” 

You rest your arm over the back of the couch, head against your knuckles and shift your entire body to face Rex. “That’s kind of the essence of art, though. Finding time for it no matter what. I bet she’ll be studying whatever she can find of his work.” 

Rex doesn’t mention that it would all look like he’s drawn the same person over and over again. Instead, he mirrors your position. 

“Really?” 

You nod. You glance at his chest, then back to his face. “Yeah. I’m almost certain of it.” 

Rex moves his hand to rest on his knee. 

“Do you like my living room or my patio better?” You ask. 

“Hm?” Rex’s eyes seem to go into focus again, as if you’ve called him back to the present. 

“Do you like my living room or my patio better?” You ask again, no hard feelings. 

“I think they both have their own pros,” Rex says. 

“Do they have cons?” 

“No,” Rex says, quick to shoot that question down. 

A smirk pulls up at the corner of your lips. Just barely noticeable. “No?” 

Rex shakes his head. They’re not on a cruiser light years in the sky. They happen to be yours. Safe from the spoils, or lack thereof, of war. And he’s been enjoying his time with you. All two times he’s met you. 

“C’mere,” you murmur, reaching your hand out for him. Your fingers are just out of reach of his collar. “Did you know that coffee is a slight aphrodisiac?” 

Rex takes in your lidded eyes, your widening pupils. “Only slight?” 

Your gaze dips to his lips, his collarbones, his eyes. 

“Only slight?” Rex prods, leaning forwards. Your fingers catch on his collar, pulling him closer. 

You nod. Rex doesn’t stop leaning in. 

Rex enjoys himself. 

He’s laid over you on your couch, leg slotted between yours. One of your hands is on the side of his face, able to feel his jaw work as his lips pass over yours. The wind brushes through your open balcony door, sprawling over his back. There’s slow, lazy music playing on your stereo, and your bodies move in time with it. 

The urgency that Rex should be moving with is nowhere to be seen. His hips roll against yours lethargically, and one of your legs is thrown over his hips. There’s coffee and sweet cookie on both your lips, slipping and sharing between taste buds. 

Each pass of his clothed and poorly concealed hardness causes gravity to pull your legs wider, the universe eager for your pleasure. It’s been years since you’ve indulged in the pleasures of the body while the sun was still out, and it’s better than you remember it being. 

Perhaps it's because Rex takes up space. He consumes you, soap and faint shaving cream infiltrating your senses. You wonder if it’s too heady to be taken in the middle of the day. If you’re too grown, if that’s something that only teenagers do when their parents aren’t home. 

“When do you have to leave?” You ask, pulling back just a millimeter from his lips. 

Rex glances over at the analog clock sitting on your mantle. “Forty minutes.” 

You place a hand on Rex’s chest, gently pushing him back. Rex slides back, sitting on his knees. Worry flashes in his eyes, brows furrowing. 

“Gonna go grab you a condom,” you say. 

Rex’s ears go pink. “Really?” 

“Unless you have objections.” 

Rex doesn’t have any objections. The only thing he can object to is the lack of time— only forty minutes. Less, truly, because he has to be walking out the door in forty minutes. Now, thirty-nine. 

You return, little foil between your fingers. 

Before you can sink to your knees between his legs, Rex’s hands are on your waist and maneuvering you to sit on the couch beside him. 

Before you can question his actions, Rex’s lips are back on yours. His hand slides over yours, taking the packet from you. With his hand on your back, he gently lowers you backwards against the couch. 

Bunching your skirt up, you expose yourself to him. Your panties are embarrassingly dark, damp at your core from just a little bit of kissing. 

Rex has that look on his face, the one where his brows are pinched and his mouth is slightly open as if he’s both shocked and deeply appreciative to be in this situation. His thumb drags over the growing wet patch, and his brow furrows. 

You’re shaven. Velvet soft. 

“What happened?” He asks. 

In turn your brow furrows.  “What do you mean?” 

“You’re… You shaved.” 

“I’m waxed.” 

Rex blinks at you. You sit up on your elbows. “I went on a girls trip to the beach. So I got a wax beforehand. I got back in yesterday.” 

It’s more information than Rex needs. He simply nods. 

“What?” Insecurity begins churning in your stomach, taking over the heat that had been building. Rex’s eyes flit up from your cunt. 

“Nothing,” he says, fingers dipping under the waistband on your panties. He slides them down, sighing upon seeing your exposed pussy. He’s missed this. He’s been thinking about it, been thinking about you. 

You giggle. “Have you been?” 

Rex’s eyes widen. “Did I say that out loud?” 

Grinning, you nod. “Yeah, you did.” 

A ruddiness fills Rex’s face as he flushes. “Didn’t mean to.” 

“I’ve been thinking about you, too,” you admit, though you feel your body warm in embarrassment at the statement. There was a reason you were so insistent to feel him inside you again. 

Humming, Rex runs his hands on the insides of your thighs, pushing them further apart. “Really?” 

You nod. You wrote about it in your diary. 

Rex doesn’t share that he’s thought about you so loud it’s earned him more than one reminder about Jedi sensitivity from his General. The last being on an airship after a battle. General Skywalker had bumped him on the shoulder, mumbled that he could hear him. 

He doesn’t want to think about that right now.

Rex’s lips glide over yours, his tongue dancing in the tang of your pussy. Your fingers rack over his hair, scratching at his head. His tongue swirls around your clit, lips closing in after it. 

Essence escapes from your cunt, trickling down your smooth skin. Soft moans escape from your lips, floating into the warm air. 

Your body hungrily accepts the finger that slides inside you. Sitting up on your elbows, you want to watch, watch this mysterious man who’d rather be on his knees at work. His brows are furrowed in concentration. You squeeze around his finger and he moans into you. You wonder if he’s also gotten ahead of himself, if his mind also races forwards, thinking about the next instead of the present. 

It’s loud, all the slick and saliva swimming together. Rex’s tongue is dutiful and steady, his fingers working in tandem. 

Rex’s eyes crack open to gaze up your body. He ends up meeting your heady stare, the rise and fall of your chest. He pulls away, his fingers still working in those easy motions. 

“Come here,” you beckon, pulling the hemline of your shirt up to expose your breasts. You haven’t forgotten the array of hickies you were left with, the days of forgoing low cut tops. 

Rex seemingly misunderstands, instead shooting straight for your mouth. He swallows a moan, one that bubbles out of you as his fingers continuously beckon your closer towards a climax. 

A third finger slips inside you when his lips finally wrap around an under stimulated nipple. You groan through a bitten lip, arching your back into him, hips rolling into his hand. It feels good. So much better than your own. Thicker. Longer. Better reach. 

Better than your friend’s slender fingers after a drunken dinner on the beach. Rex seems to remember you. Remember all the crevices inside your body, remember the basics of what you like. Like he’s been replaying that night in his head, like a poet and their haiku.

“Rex, please… Want you inside…” you insist through a sigh, squeezing around his fingers. 

Rex lifts his head. “But you haven’t cum yet.” 

Your jaw goes slack. Rex’s cock throbs at the plumpness of your lips, puffy from biting. 

“It’s polite,” Rex elaborates. 

“We don’t have very long,” you reply. “Next time you’ll call me and—” Your breath hitches as Rex’s fingers grind into you, curling upwards. “—and we’ll have more time.” 

“Next time?” Rex likes the sound of that. He slowly removes his fingers, and brings them to his lips. It’s utilitarian, the way he’s after the taste. But he has to commit it to memory— He isn’t sure there will be a next time, that there will be a phone call. But now, the sun is soft and you’re sweet on his tongue and on his eyes. 

You nod to answer his question. One of your legs slides off the couch as you sit up, grabbing the condom off the table. 

“I wanna do it,” you say, eager to feel the weight in your hand. 

Rex chuckles, enamored and a little self conscious, at your enthusiasm. His pants and briefs find their way onto the floor and he takes his shirt off for good measure too. 

Your eyes linger on his dog tags, glinting in the afternoon light. Instead of calling attention to it, you take his cock in your hand, all warm and heavy, and swipe your finger over the head, through the pearly bits of precum crying there. 

Rex gasps. His chest heaves, rising up and down as an arm stretches across the back of the couch. 

You want to kiss it. Kiss the fat tip, let your tongue lace through the seam. But you had tried to earlier, wanted him salty in your mouth so he’d be relaxed, and had been, quite kindly, redirected. 

So you pump him once. Twice. Three times for luck. The condom glides on, sucking against him. Almost too small. 

Rex takes you on your back, with one leg lifted above his shoulder and the other hanging off the couch. His movements are shallow and even, pressing you further and further towards the armrest. His dog tags swing in your face and you’re caught with the unexpected urge to bite them. 

Rex glances from you, out the open patio doors. A few birds flock along the horizon. The sun is setting. He sits back, hand resting on your thighs and watching intently as your breasts bounce with every thrust. 

He glances over at the clock on your mantle. Fifteen minutes. He swears to himself. This is why he doesn’t like quickies— He wants to be buried in your warmth for as long as possible. 

Taking his tags in his teeth, Rex leans back over you as his thrusts speed up and harden. You cry out in shock, though it quickly warbles into pleasure, as your core tightens in pressure and then suddenly, without warning, snaps. Your legs shake around him, pussy pulsing around his throbbing hardness. 

Rex’s mouth opens in surprise, tags dropping. His hips slow as his attention focuses on guiding you down from your high, but you’re quick to shake your head. 

“N-no, keep going,” you urge. “Want to feel you cum.” 

“But—”

“No buts,” you breathe, hiking your hips up slightly. “Please, it’ll feel so good.” 

Rex nods and pics up the thrusts again, returning them to his original speed, the one that had made you cream around him. Your hand travels between your bodies, fingers rubbing desperately at your clit as you feel a second, stronger orgasm approaching. 

“I’m going t’cum again,” you warn. 

“Fuck,” Rex swears, then quickly apologies. His hand finds purchase on the back of your thigh and presses you open, creating more of a stretch. 

You swear this time, brows knitted in pleasure. With each thrust you can feel Rex’s balls, wound tight, slapping against you. 

Without thinking, you clap a hand over your mouth as your second orgasm shakes through you. Rex ducks his head, chasing his own high in erratic throats before he moans directly into your breast. 

You feel light, like you’re floating. Too light. 

You’ve painted Rex’s groin and the v of his abs. 

“Sorry,” you breathe. 

Rex shakes his head, falling against you. His face rests in the crook of your neck. “Don’t worry about it.” 

His cock twitches inside of you. 

You let out a breathless laugh. With gravity, your head turns to the side and you look at the clock on your mantle. Your cunt throbs around him, and he exhales sharply. There’s a little twitch in response. 

Part of you, the dirty naughty part, wishes there was more mess to clean up. For Rex to dip his head down and lap through, for him to—

Your train of thought is cut off by a sudden yet slow loss. Rex eases himself out, hands on your knees. Immediately, your hole pulses at the sudden loss. 

“Sorry,” Rex says, pressing a kiss to the inside of your knee. Your heart, once more, flutters. 

“‘S fine,” you murmur, tossing an arm above your head. The sun soothes over your body, urging you to close your eyes. 

Instead, you watch as Rex disappears into your bedroom, then your bathroom, and returns with a warm washcloth. 

It all feels so natural. Just like last time. 

His hands are steady as he cleans you up and then himself. He tucks himself back into his pants, then his shirt, then moves to grab your underwear off the ground. 

“Leave it,” you say softly. “I’m going to take a shower.” 

“Oh.” 

You move your legs so Rex can sit back down on the couch, then you place them in his lap. 

Mournfully, Rex replies with a hand on your shin, “I have to get going.” 

“You sat back down,” you point out. 

You’re right. He did. 

Rex’s hand rests on the inside of your calf, rubbing softly. He bows his head, leaning over to press a kiss to the top of your knee. 

“Poor baby,” you murmur, reaching to scratch your nails against his hair. Rex raises his gaze to yours. “Have to go back to work on such a beautiful day.” 

The day is beautiful, Rex can agree. It’s gorgeous. Stunning. He presses another kiss into the daylight that streams across your skin. 

“Tell me about the rest of your day,” you coo. 

If you were a Separatist spy, you’re the best one they have. Rex melts into your words, crawls up your body to place more kisses against the soft skin. 

“Just some escorting work,” Rex says. “Easy stuff.” 

“No danger?” 

“Shouldn’t be any.” 

Rex hovers above you. Your lashes glide closed and then open as you gaze down Rex’s body before back up to him. You cup his face in one hand, thumb smoothing over his cheekbone. 

“That’s good. Are you going to call me this time?” 

“Yes ma’am.” 

“Do you promise?” Your voice is almost a purr, your thumb sliding down Rex’s bottom lip. 

Rex nods. There’s a hypnotic rhythm to his breath. “I’ll call you. The next time I’m in Naboo.” 

“You can send me a text, too.” 

“I want to call you.” 

You swallow. 

“I’ll call you,” Rex promises. He lowers himself slightly, unsure if he’s allowed to get a kiss or not. This is a hook up, right? 

Your lips meet his half ways for a long peck. 

“Good boy,” you say against his lips. 

Rex nods again. “I have to go.” 

“I know.” Your breath mingles with his. “You don’t want to go.” 

Rex shakes his head, agreeing with you. He doesn’t want to go. You press a brief kiss to his lips. 

“I’ll hear from you soon.” 

Rex nods. Slowly, he eases off your body, eyes leaving even slower. 

“You don’t do this often,” you note. 

“No, I don’t.” 

You readjust your clothes so you’re decent again. Pantyless, but decent. You sit up on your knees, dancing your fingertips along his ears. 

“I’ll walk you out,” you murmur. There’s a feeling in your stomach that he won’t leave on his own. 

Rex stands, and your hand dribbles off him, landing in his own. He helps you stand, letting go as soon as you’re upright. It’s a careful walk to the front door, where Rex puts on his shoes and you don’t. 

“Bye, Rex,” you say. 

Rex returns the departing words, your name rolling off his lips. He turns, steps through the threshold, and heads down the stairs. He’s in the courtyard before you close the door. 

[batfambrainrot]

PETER + PETER PARKER AND OPHELIA OSBORN

said you were gonna grow up, then you were gonna come find me