#princess the tooka

[corvidscreams]

Mer!Boba and his Tookafish, Princess. Because maybe Tooka deserve to be fish too.

[blackseafoam]

✨tooka eyes✨ @weekly-star-wars-prompts

[sleepingsun501]

Good Morning, Princess

Pairing: Boba Fett x F!reader

Summary: Boba helps satisfy your needs after you wake up hot and bothered in the middle of the night.

Rating: Explicit 18+ (Minors DNI)

Warnings: Soft!dom Boba, established relationship, female masturbation, fingering, dirty talk, praise, PiV sex (wrap it up), aftercare.

Word Count: 2k

Ao3 link

A/N: MINORS GET OUT OF HERE!! Hello all!! It’s been a while since I’ve churned out a fic, but I got inspired and couldn’t keep it in. It’s my first time writing for Boba, so I hope you all enjoy!! If this isn’t your cup of tea, however, just scroll on.

Good Morning, Princess

In the early hours of the morning, well before the suns rose above the sands, you found yourself squirming beneath the heavy blankets on your luxurious bed and trying to ignore the persistent ache between your legs.

It had hit you unexpectedly, waking you in the dead silence of the night and only grew worse as the hours passed, making you restless and uncomfortable. You had done your best to ignore it, but your body was beginning to overheat with need—the cool desert air wafting in from the Dune Sea doing very little to soothe you.

Boba lay oblivious beside you—one arm tucked behind his head, softly snoring, and looking more peaceful than you had seen him in weeks. The steady rise and fall of his muscular chest in the low light did not help to quell the need stirring in your core, but you would not wake him for this. The stress on the mighty Daimyo’s shoulders had been heavy lately, and although he was still incredibly capable, the sleepless nights of his bounty hunting days were over. You could not imagine how badly he needed to make up for all that lost sleep.

Not wanting to disturb him but unable to bear the urges any longer, you shimmied your way further to the edge of the sprawling bed, pausing briefly when Boba shifted from the absence of your warmth.

Silently, you slipped a hand beneath the seam of your soaked panties and covered your mouth with your other hand to stifle your pleasured gasp, trying to imagine your fingers as Boba’s drawing tight, fast circles on your swollen clit to relieve the pressure building within you.

For several minutes, it seemed to help, but it did not last. You closed your eyes to keep your concentration and tried to pretend the powerful man beside you was the one bringing you to the edge of bliss, but it was no use. Your fingers were too small, too soft to be his.

Feeling frustration take the place of your brief contentment, you whimpered needily into your hand. In your desperation, you drew your legs up and plunged your fingers as deeply as you could into your drenched walls, but you could not reach that sweet spot you craved.

“Mesh’la,” Boba’s deep voice rumbled languidly from across the large bed.

Startled, you squeaked in surprise and yanked your hand from your dripping folds, scrambling to hide yourself beneath the blankets before Boba quickly snatched them from your grasp, leaving you exposed in your skimpy nightgown. The embarrassment of having been caught flooded through you in waves, only fueling your arousal as Boba’s knowing gaze locked onto your own.

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you… I just… I-I was…” your words sputtered out of your mouth like the mewlings of a tooka kitten that had found its voice for the first time as you reached for the stolen blankets.

You yelped again as Boba reached over, pulled you to his side of the bed in one quick, fluid motion, and settled over you. He braced his hands on either side of you and was still peering down at you with that infuriatingly unreadable expression, and you felt the flush rising in your cheeks.

“Y-you were sleeping… I’m sorry,” you apologized automatically.

“You know you could have woken me, princess,” he whispered, his eyes softening and tracing the curve of your cheek with the roughened pad of his thumb. “I’m a little disappointed you didn’t.”

“But—” you started, but your excuse died on your tongue when you saw the desire burning in his deep brown eyes. A pang of guilt settled deep in your gut from the look, making your tightening core impossibly uncomfortable. “I just didn’t want to wake you. You looked so tired earlier and I could’ve taken care of myself,” you explained, breaking your eyes away from him in shame.

The thumb brushing your cheek grasped your chin and forced you to look back at him. “You don’t get to cum unless I say so,” he said quietly. His voice may have been soft, but the firm tone was irrefutable. “Unless I’ve suddenly started to talk in my sleep, I don’t recall saying so tonight.”

You shook your head in admission, biting your lip and shifting beneath him. His whole body was like a cage above you, and you wanted nothing more than to be ravaged by him—you wanted to feel his muscles flexing beneath the softness of his tummy crushing you to your shared bed, and the hardness of his cock stretching you open and driving deep within you until you forgot your name.

“Does my princess need to be taken care of?” Boba asked, taking the hand you had been pleasuring yourself with and suckling your fingers into his mouth. He cleaned your fingers thoroughly with his tongue, humming his approval when he tasted you, before hiking your nightgown up above your breasts and taking one into his mouth.

You gasped as your nipple pebbled beneath his tongue, and he spread your knees apart to grind his hips into yours. He was hard as a rock, feeling your intense heat through your soaking panties, and repeated his question impatiently against the shell of your ear. “I’m waiting for an answer, little one.”

“Yes. Fuck, yes, Boba. Just need you,” you sighed, pressing your hips up to meet his.

Returning to your breast, he gave your nipple a love bite, making you moan but doing nothing to assuage the ache now threatening to overwhelm your senses. “I think you should apologize first. Only good girls get to cum.”

You pouted at his teasing, but you also knew Boba would drag this out until the twin suns rose high in the sky if he wanted to as he began leaving delicate marks on your chest.

“I… I’m sorry,” you whimpered as he sucked a darker mark onto the tender skin of your opposite breast.

He chuckled darkly at your pathetic attempt. “Come now, my sweet girl, you can do better than that.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t wake you,” you breathed, your hands coming up to grasp his broad shoulders. “I want you, Boba. I want you to make me cum. I need you inside me… need to cum on your cock. Please, I’ll be good and tell you when I need you from now on, I promise.”

Seemingly satisfied with your plea, Boba pushed your dampened panties aside and slid a thick finger into your warmth. You cried out in relief as your body responded to the intrusion, your cunt tightening around the digit and rocking your hips to grind your clit against his palm.

“That wasn’t so difficult, now was it, princess?” he teased, the smirk on his face leaching into his voice. He curled his finger inside you, finding that sensitive spot with ease before adding a second.

“Ohh, Maker… Boba, please more. I need… just need more!” you begged as the hot, electric sparks of your arousal fired through your limbs. You grasped his shoulders so tightly that your nails left little half moons dimpled into his bronzed, scarred skin.

“Don’t worry, little one. I’ll give you what you want, but fingers first. Always have to make sure you’re ready to take me,” he practically growled.

You pouted again, but any brattiness behind it melted away with a needy whimper as he eased his underwear down and slipped one of your hands around his length before settling beside you and throwing your leg over his hip. “That’s right, baby girl, you can take it. I know you can.”

You grasped his thick, leaking cock greedily and stroked him as best you could in time with his movements. Just the way he twitched and throbbed in your grasp with a deep groan was already enough to push you to the edge.

Combined with his fingers making the most lewd sounds as they pumped in and out of your soaked cunt, the feeling of his sturdy body shielding you, and the encouragement dripping from his beautiful lips, it was all too much to hold back. You crashed over the edge with a desperate cry into his chest, burying yourself against him for both affection and security as you rode out your first high.

“There it is,” he murmured soothingly into your hair, continuing to stroke you as you clenched around him. “That’s my good girl. That feels better, doesn’t it?”

You could barely hear him as your heart thundered in your ears. The tension and heat in your tightly wired core finally releasing around his long fingers but only bringing you a fraction of the relief you craved.

Before you had stopped spasming, Boba rested you onto your back again as you twitched through the aftershocks and buried himself in your walls with slow, steady strokes. He graciously waited until he felt the stretch of your walls accommodate him comfortably, but all you could do was cling to his dense shoulders again as he began pounding into you, losing himself in your wet heat.

“You feel so good, baby. So fucking tight… always so perfect for me,” he praised, his tone borderline reverential. He ran a hand up your body over the silk of your nightgown that had fallen back into place, marveling at the softness of it over your searing hot skin and silently worshiping you with his touch.

You let your eyes flutter shut as you gasped out his name, feeling your entire body quake beneath him as he drove you into the mattress. Somewhere in the depths of your lust-addled brain, you were glad he had taken you apart with his fingers first. He had gotten you out of your head, and now you could fully surrender to his control, never having felt safer in any other man’s arms.

The length of his thick cock slipping through your slick cunt was addictive and each stroke pushed you both higher into ecstasy, a sensation which you wished would never end. Even through the fervor of his thrusts, Boba cupped the back of your head ever so gently and brought your lips to his in the tenderest of kisses.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he whispered, his breath hot and sweet against your skin. “I love you, my perfect girl. Love you so much… gonna take care of you… never letting you go.”

“Boba…” you sighed, the devotion in his words melting your heart. You were about to echo the sentiment, but he stole your words from you with another breathless kiss as he reached between you and found your clit again.

You could feel yourself hurtling toward that blissful cliff again, bracing yourself for the plunge you knew he would take with you as he chased his release.

“Boba, I need—need to… please!” you cried, begging for permission.

“Together, baby. Cum with me.”

With a hiss and a shuddering, throaty groan, Boba tensed above you, pressing his forehead to yours. You could feel the heat deep within your walls as he painted your insides, and it triggered your second orgasm. Your cunt sucked him in deep as your legs trembled and locked in a vice grip around his waist, and Boba could not help but sigh your name sweetly at the sensation.

Though you both savored the peak as long as you could, you shivered at the loss of him as he eventually eased his softening cock from you. He quickly maneuvered you out of your sweaty nightgown and into the cradle of his arms as he reclined back and pulled the soft blankets up over your exposed form.

The faintest tinge of gold and pink was appearing beyond the horizon through the arches of the balcony, but Boba only had eyes for you. He toyed with the ends of your hair as he took you in, smiling down at you gently.

“I think we’re due for a bit of a lie-in today, don’t you think?” he asked.

You giggled and nodded in agreement, already settling into his chest and wanting to drift back to sleep in his strong arms. “Good morning, my love.”

He rested his head against the top of yours, breathing in your scent, and you felt him relax as well. “Good morning, princess.”

________

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Taglist: @wild-karrde @rexxdjarin @baba-fett @samspenandsword @ariadnes-red-thread @get-wr3ckered @liadamerondjarin @starstofillmydream @kaminocasey @twistedstitcher27 @meshlaxbunny @erellenora @corrieguards @the-cantina @briefartnaturewolf @zerohski @redheadgirl @wolffegirlsunite @commander-sunshine @cw80831

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[pagesfromthevoid]

Cowboy Like Me | d.d. | 3

Din Djarin x princess!reader

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: Reader is a bit unhinged and wants din to kill her. Din is a simp and he’s known reader for less than a day

Author’s Note: Thriving on our space cowboy

Series Masterlist | Talk to Me!

The Chase

“Before we leave, can I pick up a few things?”

She was walking in front of Mando —only a few steps but enough to not have her feet stepped on. He was giving her more leeway than she anticipated, though she assumed it was because he didn’t see her as a threat. And she certainly wasn’t.

Not to him, at least. She was more of a threat to herself.

But she wanted to spend what money she had left on things to enjoy, even if it was to be enjoyed on a bounty hunter’s ship. The trip from Nevarro to Senex wasn’t necessarily long. It was five days max; apparently just enough time to put a bounty on her head, but given that the bounty hunter behind her didn’t seem to be a talker —well, she’d like to get something to entertain herself with.

“What do you need?” His voice was distinct through the modulator in his helmet, though she wondered what he really sounded like.

“Food, mostly,” she continued, pulling her backpack around to the front. He stopped her, however, taking the bag from her. For a moment, she gave him an annoyed look. “Give me my bag, Mandalorian.”

He ignored her, opening the bag to riffle through the contents. While she didn’t have anything bad in there, she certainly didn’t want someone just searching her things. But she supposed this is what she gets for running away.

When satisfied with his search, he handed it back to her unceremoniously. She huffed in annoyance, but went back into what she was originally doing —tallying up what she had and determining what she needed.

“I’d like to get something to read,” she went on, closing the bag up and putting it back on. “You don’t seem like someone who is going to entertain a guest —no offense, of course. I just figure I should entertain myself and stay out of your way.”

He made no indication that he had heard her, aside from a slight nod towards the market place. She hesitated a moment, looking up at him. Truthfully, she didn’t think he’d let her. While he wasn’t necessarily being nice, he wasn’t being overly aggressive towards her either. But his nod to the market was all she needed for her to know he trusted her just enough.

That would change soon, she was sure.

He wouldn’t take her money now and put her out of her misery. But she would find a way to make whatever money her mother offered her less appealing than simply being rid of her.

She had a week to get the Mandalorian to kill her.

*****

Mando didn’t let her out of his sight as they walked through the marketplace. She wasn’t making a run for it, and she had no weapons in her bag. But he didn’t like how easy this was –how willingly she just gave up. Karga was a lot of things, but his warnings were usually valid.

She’s a fighter.

But she didn’t even try to put up a fight.

Mando didn’t trust that. Something else was happening, and she was up to something. There was no other way around it. Unfortunately for her, however, he had figured that part of her plan out. Which just left figuring out the rest of her plan.

Grogu had been trailing beside her in his sphere, following her as she went through each stall. Mando listened as she spoke quietly to the child, asking him what he would be interested in or what he liked. Grogu only responded in little giggles and coos, reaching for the small things she held out to him. The kid finally settled on a stuffed tooka, though Mando was certain it was only because Grogu remembered eating one weeks ago.

Probably best not to mention that to her.

He stepped closer to Grogu, who held the toy up to show him. Mando reached over to brush a gloved finger against the toy, acknowledging it, before he returned his attention back to her. She was looking over a stack of books, fingers trailing over the spines. Something about the motion caught his attention, and he couldn’t help but watch her as she went through each book. Mando chalked it up to having to watch her, but he knew deep down that wasn’t why he was.

Her nails were painted —well, were previously, at least. The paint was chipping in places, but matched the fabric he had seen in her backpack earlier. A deep green, flecked with gold, that signified her actual position in the galaxy. But the nails were broken and jagged, shortened more so than they were supposed to be. If Mando had to guess, she had bitten them down at some point recently. He wondered why —what could cause her to be so wary that she turned to nail biting? What was in Senex —

“Do you like to read?” She asked, breaking his thought process as if feeling his gaze on her. A book was held up in his face, though he snatched it unintentionally harshly, and set it down.

“Don’t have time.”

“That doesn’t tell me if you like reading or not,” she retorted, glancing over at him as she picked up two more of the books.

Mando didn’t know how to answer the question. He couldn’t remember the last time he even sat down to read a book that wasn’t a manual or a quarry’s background files. Religious texts he read, though not recently.

“No,” was the safest answer, he supposed.

“What a shame.” And she sounded sincere.

Mando didn’t respond to the comment, instead choosing to step aside after she finalized her payment to guide her back outside. She didn’t look at him as she passed, though he couldn’t help himself as looked her over up close.

The hologram gave a good idea of what she looked like as a princess –beautiful, wide-eyed and regal –but Mando preferred her civilian appearance. It felt less forced, and she moved through the crowds with an ease that suggested that this wasn’t necessarily her first time wading through people. And she knew what she needed to wear; it wasn’t simply for show. It wasn’t to hide in plain sight. It was practical.

Meticulously picked out to ensure she not only played the part of a civilian traveler but would be able to withstand whatever environments she may have found herself in. Proper boots, laced and buckled up her calves with the legs of her pants tucked into them. An empty holster was wrapped around her thigh –and while it may be empty now, he was certain she probably didn’t plan to keep it empty if she had gotten any further in her runaway plans. Even up to the shirt and vest she wore, which were both simple enough in practicality. It all fit her well, shaped with the natural curves she had, but protected her against the elements as needed.

Someone taught her to do this. No princess would run away and have the knowledge to blend in and be practical without being taught.

As Mando moved to follow her out, she stopped short in front of him. He bumped into her and instinctively, he reached out to grab her shoulders to stop her from falling. However, she reached down and grabbed his hand, pulling him.

“What are you –,”

“We need to leave, Mandalorian,” she ordered, pulling him back into the stall and towards the back exit.

Mando tried to argue with her, but she wasn’t running from him –she was running with him as she hurried out the back. If she hadn’t grabbed his hand and forced him with her, he would have chased her regardless –but as if she feared for his safety, she brought him with her. Mando grabbed the edge of Grogu’s bassinet, pulling it behind him so it would keep up.

She glanced over her shoulder occasionally, then finally pulled him into an empty alleyway. The buildings casted shadows that obscured them for the most part, but if one looked close enough, they would be able to make out his armor.

Back against the wall of the building, she pulled him against her as if trying to use him to shield her from view. Under the helmet, Mando’s brow furrowed as she ducked into his side –as if trying to make herself smaller than she already was. They were too close, too pressed together for him to move without brushing against her. And…he wanted to. But that meant he shouldn’t.

After several minutes, two droids with Senex markings passed by the alley, though they did not stop if they noticed the three hiding there.

When they were out of sight, Mando tapped her shoulder gently, as if to say the coast was clear. She pushed off the wall, away from his side, and peered around the corner. Relief flooded her features.

“It seems you’re not the only one who was looking for me,” she murmured, returning to her spot against the wall as she looked up at him. “If you want your credits –or your life, for that matter –then you want to avoid those two.”

“I avoid droids as it is,” he offered as a response, though he didn’t question her warning.

“Maker, they work fast,” she mumbled, stepping back into the fading daylight of Nevarro. “I think, if you’re going to deliver me alive, Mandalorian, we should be leaving.”

He wanted to correct her; tell her to simply call him Mando. It felt less formal, less like someone commanding him. But more so —he wanted her to call him Din. By his name. He knew better; it was a wanton desire. One that was just exasperated by how close they had been mere moments earlier.

Instead, he simply gave a nod and motioned for her to follow him.

*****

“No sign of the princess or the Mandalorian,” the B32-C droid reported back through the communicator.

In the sitting room of the house of the Senex senator, Calista hissed in annoyance, slamming her hand down on her table. “I do not want to pay that fool hunter thirty-five thousand credits —you were supposed to get to her before the guild picked up the bounty.”

“We were close, Lady Calista,” B33-C chimed in. “We will locate both and terminate the Mandalorian before the end of the week.”

“You better. If I have to do it myself, I will.”

The comms went silent, and Calista stood from her seat. Her hands clasped behind her back as she looked over the monitors with a deep frown.

“Wherever you are, child —I will find you. You cannot run from me forever.”

———

Taglist: OPEN

[vodika-vibes]

The Prince's Wizard

Summary: You're a wizard apprentice who's been best friends with Prince Wolffe since childhood. While on doing chores outside the Palace walls, your day goes bad.

Pairing: Prince!Wolffe x Wizard!Reader

Word Count: 4371

Warnings: Violence, angst, but has a happy ending

A/N: So I had an idea and it got away from me.

Mando'a Used: riye - Favor, Benefit, good turn (used in this scenario as a Nickname implying the reader is responsible for any good luck).

An'ee - shortened form of An'edee - a Nickname for someone rough and fight-y. Like calling someone a nerd as a joke.

Divider by saradika

There are two types of people who end up in towers: Wizards and Princesses. Wizards get shoved up into towers to protect everyone else from their magic, and Princesses get shoved into towers to protect them from the world around them.

You are a wizard apprentice. It’s a great job, good pay, great benefits, plus you get all of the fancy robes that you want. The downside is that, as an apprentice, you don’t really get to do anything fun.

In fact, the majority of your duties involve dragging yourself down the million and a half staircases to the throne room, so the Queen can sniff at you and tell you that her magic mirror stopped working.

And you’re getting tired of it.

“Master,” you’re pouting and you know you’re pouting but you can’t bring yourself to care, “Master, when can I start doing important things?” You ask, as you sit on your Master’s footstool and look up at him pleadingly.

Your Master flips a page in the massive tome that he’s hiding behind. “When you get more experience, my very young apprentice.”

“Okay, but like, how am I supposed to get experience if you don’t let me have the option to get more experience?” You ask as you place your hands on top of the book and push it down so you’re looking in his eyes.

He smiles at you, “Patience, apprentice. Do not be in such a rush to grow up.”

Your jaw drops, “I’m 20!”

“Still a baby.” His smile broadens, “Now, go practice your protective sigils, perhaps out in the garden, it is a beautiful day.”

You pout at him even more, but your Master is long immune to your sad Tooka eyes. Instead he just flicks his fingers at you, and lifts you away from his book, and over to the door. Another flick of his fingers, and your cloak is draped over your shoulders, and your massive hat is placed on your head.

“You said it was a nice day!” You cry, indignant, as he dresses you as though it’s snowing outside. “And I hate this hat! No one wears pointed hats anymore!”

“Now you’re just complaining to complain, apprentice.” Your Master says with a sigh as he flicks his hand one more time, and your leather satchel drapes itself over your shoulder, and the bag itself gets filled with empty pouches and bottles, “Please gather some more herbs while you’re out, apprentice. We can always use more.”

A look of offense crosses your face, “Maste-” He waves his hand one more time, and the door opens, and you find yourself gently, and lovingly, set on the landing with the door to the study shut firmly behind you.

You spin on your heel, and reach for the handle of the door, only for the handle to vanish. A note appears on the door, ‘Do Not Return Until The Moon Is In The Sky. Hugs And Kisses. Master.’

You glare at the note, “Capitalizing every letter is just excessive, Master! And saying ‘hugs and kisses’ doesn’t make you exiling me for the day any better!” 

The only response you get is the sound of loud classical music from behind the door.

You scowl even harder at the door, and then reach up and tug your hat off of your head. A touch of magic, and a twist of will, and your hat changes into something a little more your style. And then you tug your cloak off, and lazily drape it over your satchel.

And then you start the long trek down the tower that you call home.

By the time you reach the bottom of the tower, you’re in a slightly better mood. Going and gathering herbs is not your favorite chore, but it’s better than playing magic tech support for her Majesty. 

You turn to the gardens as soon as you’re on solid ground, mentally mapping out the path you need to take to gather the most herbs in as quickly as possible. Which means going through the royal garden to get to the forest, and then leaving the well traveled path, to veer to the west, and then heading north to get to the lake-

You’re so distracted with mentally mapping out your route, that you don’t notice that you’ve been joined by someone until he lightly taps your shoulder, “Lost in thought, riye?”

You jump, protective magic forming on your fingers, until you recognize the nickname. There’s only one person who calls you riye. You allow the spell to fade, and you round on the taller man, your hands immediately going to your hips.

“You can’t do that! I could have blasted you!” You say sharply, glaring up into the mismatched eyes of Prince Wolffe, your best friend of over ten years now.

He smirks at you, “You would never, riye. You have better trigger discipline than that.”

He’s not wrong, and you kind of hate him for it, “Aren’t you supposed to be in training?” You ask instead, as you take in the armor and the blade hanging at his hip.

“I’m done for the day,” Wolffe’s smile becomes slightly smug, “General Koon got tired of me beating all of my brothers.”

“Hm…all of them?” You ask with an arched brow.

He scowls at you, “Cody got in one lucky hit, an’ee,” He grumbles, “I beat everyone else.”

“Which implies that Prince Cody beat you,” You tease lightly, as you step around him, not at all surprised when he falls into step with you.

Wolffe mutters something under his breath that you don’t know enough Mando’a to catch, and then he switches back to basic and shoots you a glare, “You do realize that my brother doesn’t know you exist right? So your crush on him is useless.” He snips.

“Okay, so first of all, I don’t have a crush on your brother.” You reply as you push open the gate to the garden, “And second of all, even if I did have a crush on him, that’s none of your business. And third of all, what are you, jealous?”

Wolffe follows you into the garden, “You’re my best friend,” He says, his voice filled with offense, “I have a right to know who you have your eye on!” He very pointedly doesn’t answer the question you shot at him.

“You really don’t.” You counter, “And it’s not like you ever talk about who you have a thing for.”

You glance at him long enough to see his ears start to turn slightly red, “Yeah, well…where are you going?” He asks, changing the subject abruptly. And you smile, your friend is about as subtle as a brick to the head.

“My master wants me to gather some herbs in the forest. So that’s where I’m going.”

He pauses, “Alone?”

“Well, yeah. I generally go into the forest alone.” You counter snarkily.

“No. You can’t.” Wolffe says with a frown, “Not now.”

You stop and turn to focus your gaze on him, he looks serious, “I have to. We need the herbs.”

“It’s not safe.”

“You know, I actually am able to protect myself, Wolffe. And I don’t apprec-”

“Seven bodies have been found in the forest in the last month,” Wolffe interrupts, “All young, all female. You cannot go into the forest alone. I won’t allow it.”

You didn’t know that. You, and your Master, do not often focus your attention towards mortal threats to the realm, trusting the Guards, and the royal family, to deal with them. “Well. That’s unfortunate, but I still need to go into the forest.” You answer calmly.

Wolffe releases a string of curses, “I’m trying to keep you safe, riye!”

“I’m aware of that.” You answer, calm in the face of Wolffe’s ire, aware that he’s not actually mad at you, “But I can’t not take care of my responsibilities.” You tilt your head slightly, “The way I see it, I can either go on my own, or you can come with me to keep me safe.”

He pauses and meets your gaze steadily, “You’re willing to accept a bodyguard?”

“Of course. I don’t have a death wish, Wolffe.” You say dryly.

Tension drains out of his shoulders, “That works. You get what you need, and I don’t have to worry about you getting murdered.”

You smile at him agreeably, and lead him through the garden, until you reach the very back corner. There’s a massive iron door, with no lock or handles. This door can only be opened with the touch of the Court Wizard, or his apprentice.

So, with a touch of magic, you activate the runes that confirm your identity, and then the runes that unlock the door, and it slides open with the ease of a much lighter door.

“I never get tired of seeing that,” Wolffe says quietly as he follows you out the door, and watches you seal it shut again.

“What? The door opening?” You ask teasingly.

“Watching you use magic,” Wolffe clarifies, “It’s just…” He trails off for a moment, his gaze locked on your face, “beautiful.”

You can feel your face grow warm, and you laugh nervously, “Well…thank you.” 

He flashes a small smile at you, and then he breaks his gaze and looks around. The forest is dim, even though it’s the middle of the day, but it’s still bright enough to see. “You normally collect herbs near the lake, right?”

“Yeah, that’s the end goal, but I’m not heading directly there,” You explain, “It’s the right time of year for snakes to shed skin, so I need to gather some of that too.”

Wolffe glances at you, “You don’t use snake skin in any potions, do you?”

You just shoot him an amused look, “That’s for me to know, my Prince.”

He makes a disgusted face, “That’s a yes, then.” He shakes his head, trying to shake off the disgust, “Lead the way, riye.”

It takes almost two hours to slowly make your way to the lake, and Wolffe is an excellent partner. Willing to hold the bags, and bottles, and you gather the ingredients you need.

He’s alert, but the longer you’re in the forest, the longer you spend without seeing anyone, or anything that might harm you, the more relaxed he becomes. 

On the contrary, the closer to the lake you get, the more anxious you become. It feels wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

And as the pair of you come to stand on the edge of the lake, it takes everything in you to not grab Wolffe, teleport the both of you back to your Master’s Tower, and then cling to him sobbing.

“Wolffe,” Your voice sounds tight, even to your own ears, and his gaze snaps to you, and he’s immediately on high alert.

“What’s wrong, riye?” He moves closer to you, and alarm crosses his face when you reach out and wrap both of your shaking hands around his arm. He turns and presses his free hand against your shoulder blades, drawing you closer and trying to make you feel some comfort, “Come on, what’s wrong?”

“The bodies were found here, weren’t they?” You ask, your voice small.

“Yes, how-”

“They died here, and they died in pain, and it took them days to die.” You whisper, your grip on his arm tightening.

“Riye, how do you know that?”

“I can feel it. It feels…” You shudder and press yourself closer to him, as though you’re trying to press yourself into his armor, so it can protect both of you, “It’s wrong, Wolffe. It’s-”

“Okay. Okay, then we need to go.”

And then you stop. Stop shaking, stop moving, and even stop breathing. “Wolffe,” Your voice is quiet, barely a whisper, “We’re not alone.”

He swears and shoves you behind him, hard, his hands moving to his blade, “Where?”

You’re quiet for a moment. It’s too much, there’s too much malice. You can’t-

You curl your hands against your chest, and the last thing you remember is flinging out two spells. One, a protective barrier to wrap around yourself and Wolffe, and the second, a distress beacon to your Master.

You hear the sound of metal against metal, and Wolffe calling your name, and then the world goes dark.

**********

It’s much later when you wake.

Your satchel, cloak and hat are missing, as are your boots and stockings. You’re clad in the thin robes that mark you as an apprentice, and nothing else. Your legs are chained to the wall, and you have heavy, tight, manacles around your wrists.

A simple examination tells you that the manacles around your wrists are designed less to keep you prisoner, and more to prevent you from reaching out to your magic.

You look around the bare cell that you’ve been thrown in. There’s a stack of straw in the corner, and you can hear rats squeaking high above you. There are no windows, save for the small window in the wooden door. 

You’re completely alone, and you can’t help but hope that your spell gave Wolffe enough time to escape.

You hear heavy footfalls from the hallway, and the cell door opens silently. You look up at the man standing in the doorway, he’s tall and thin, and has the terrifying golden eyes of a person who’s fallen into the Dark.

“You’re awake.” He speaks in a low growl, as though your very presence enrages him to the point of being inarticulate. He crosses the small cell in two long strides, and he grabs your arm, roughly dragging you to your feet, pulling a pained noise from your lips.

He then kneels at your feet, unhooking the chain from the wall, and chaining your two bare feet together. And then he stands to his full height, towering over you, and he grabs your arm again, roughly dragging you out of the cell and down identical stone halls.

He brings you towards a magic lift, and you’re finally able to see more of his face than just his eyes. And you realize that you recognize him. 

Several years ago, the Prince Consort of Naboo vanished. A massive search party, spanning several nations, searched for him for months, but with no evidence of foul play, and no evidence as to where he was, the only assumption people could make was that he ran away from his wife and his people.

 Anakin Skywalker-Amidala is one of the most powerful wizards of his lineage. The knowledge that he left his life just to fall-

Well, it’s heartbreaking.

The lift finally comes to a stop and you’re dragged down a much more opulent hallway, and then into a massive room. At the side of the room, stripped of all his clothing save the thin trousers he wears under his armor, and covered in his own blood, is Wolffe. 

He lifts his head and his gaze meets yours, and for a moment a look of helpless fury crosses his face. 

The man who had once been Anakin Skywalker releases you, and you immediately stumble over to Wolffe, falling to your knees next to him. You gently cup his face, uncaring of the blood covering him, “Oh. Oh, Wolffe,” You whisper. 

He moves and presses his face against your neck. His breath is warm and slightly shaky, “Are you okay, riye?”

“Me? You’re so badly hurt-” There are tears in your eyes as you card your fingers gently through his hair, “If I wasn’t wearing these manacles I could heal you…”

“I’ve had worse injuries, believe it or not,” He tries to joke as he pulls back and looks you in the eye, but it falls flat as the tears in your eyes start to fall. “Please don’t cry, cyar’ika. I’ll be okay.” He whispers as he reaches up and brushes the tear off your cheek.

“I’m sorry, I should have listened to you-”

“It’s not your fault.” His gaze drifts to your bare feet and your chained legs, “Cyare, you need to run. As soon as you can.”

You stare at him in horror, “No. No, Wolffe, I can’t leave you-”

“He’s going to kill you. I can’t…don’t make me watch him kill you. Please, cyare.”

A broken sob escapes your lips, and you press your forehead against his, “But he’ll kill you.”

“That’s okay. That’s okay so long as you survive. Promise me, riye. Promise me you’ll run as soon as you’re able.” Wolffe hisses, his eyes sharp.

“I…I promise,” You sob out, and then you let out a cry as you’re ripped from Wolffe’s tight grip.

“The Master wants to see you,” Anakin says, his golden eyes flickering from the irate Wolffe and then over to you, and then back again. He jerks you further away from Wolffe, and drags you through a small door that you didn’t notice.

The door slams behind you, and you’re thrown to the ground before a man that you recognize, the former Court Wizard of Naboo, Sheev Palpatine. He smiles at you, and you get chills. “Never, in my wildest dreams, did I think that I would be able to get my hands on a young apprentice for my plans.” He says in a smooth voice that reminds you of oil or grease.

“My Master-”

“Doesn’t know where you are.” Palpatine interrupts with a cruel smile, “And by the time he realizes that you’re missing, it’ll be too late. You’ll be dead, and the Prince will be my personal bodyguard. Or perhaps I’ll give him to Vader as his personal punching bag.”

Anakin’s, or Vader’s, face twitches. And unless you’re mistaken, it’s a look of disgust on his face, but it quickly clears, “As you say, Master.” He says with a perfect bow.

“Hm. Leave the girl with me, Lord Vader. You’re dismissed.” Palpatine says as he turns to look out the massive window.

Vader bows deeply, and you start when you see vicious looking magic swirl around his fingers, and the manacles around your legs shatter, and then the manacles around your wrists fall to the floor.

You flicker wide, terrified, eyes up to the older man who you once called friend. He places a hand on your shoulder, his voice pitched low enough so that only you can hear him, “Fight well, little sister.”

And then he’s gone.

And you…you remain still for as long as it takes for you to take a breath, and then you move, offensive magic curling around your hands, and protective magic sliding across your skin like it’s always been there.

Your mind whirls with spells and incantations. With runes and sigils, and while you don’t have a ghost of a chance against Palpatine, you are able to push him into shattering the sealed door behind you.

As soon as you see a way out, you take it. You fling one last spell at the potions table, and while Palpatine is distracted with keeping his potions from exploding, you turn on your heel and run. You hop over the shattered door, deftly skipping over the everburning black flames that Palpatine used to destroy the door, and run down the hall to the large lounge that Wolffe was in.

You slide across the floor on your knees, and you immediately press your hands against his cheeks and press your forehead against his. 

Your magic slides across your body, and across to him as you offer him the same protection that you wrapped yourself in. And then you squeeze your eyes shut and you coil your magic tightly around the both of you, and you push.

You push, and push, and push, until the dark magic holding you and Wolffe here cracks, and then shatters, and you take the chance. The teleportation spell requires ten words, Palpatine is coming closer and closer, you have time enough for four.

You do the fastest math you’ve ever done in your life, and then speak the four words that, hopefully, will bring you and Wolffe to safety. The magic twists and burns around you, and you instinctively curl your magic tighter around Wolffe. He will suffer no ill effects from your spell, you won’t allow it.

Magic rips around you, and through you, and it hurts. It hurts more than anything you’ve ever felt before, but you keep going. You keep pushing. And you keep shielding.

And then you drop out of the teleportation spell. You land hard on the ground, and you hear Wolffe groan painfully from your side. You roll, painfully to your side, and wrap both your hands around one of Wolffe’s and you shove as much healing magic into him as you can.

And then you collapse.

*******

This time, when you wake up, it’s in a soft bed, and you’re covered in a shroud of golden healing magic. 

“Ah, awake at last,” You turn your head and it takes you a moment to recognize the man sitting next to your bed; Obi-Wan Kenobi, the official court wizard of Naboo. “You worried us, dear one. You overused your magic to a worrying degree.”

“Didn’t have a choice,” You reply, your voice hoarse, “Prince Wolffe-?”

“Alive, well, and unharmed.” Obi-Wan reassured, “You used the very last of your magic to heal all of his wounds. Which was very, very dangerous based on your wounds.”

You shake your head slowly, “What was my price, Master?” You ask, “I cut six words out of the teleportation spell, which price did I pay?”

Obi-Wan is quiet for a moment, and then he leans in and takes your hand, “You lost your left arm, dear one. I’m so sorry.”

You close your eyes, and release a shaky breath, “It’s…it’s okay. I knew that I was going to have to pay a price.”

“Queen Amidala has already ordered you fit for a prosthetic. You’re not going to be able to use magic for at least a month while you recover. That means taking a carriage back to Mandalore.”

You nod your understanding, and slowly sit up, “Does the Queen need to hear what happened?”

“Prince Wolffe gave her his report,” Obi-Wan pauses and ducks his head, “Though he couldn’t tell us what happened when you were alone with Palpatine. How did your manacles come off?”

“Palpatine’s apprentice removed them. He…” You hesitate, “Master Kenobi, the apprentice was Anakin, though he goes by Vader now.”

Obi-Wan bows his head, and is quiet for a long time, and when he looks up he has tears in his eyes, “Thank you, little one. That…that brings me great relief, that perhaps some part of Anakin remains inside Vader.”

“...he called me Little Sister.” You murmur.

Obi-Wan smiles and lightly places his hand on your shoulder, “He was always fond of you.” He takes a deep breath, “Now, you are well enough to leave the infirmary. My apprentice, Ahsoka, is out in the hall, she’ll help you get dressed.”

“Thank you Master.” He smiles at you and leaves the room. Just as you swing your legs over the side of the bed, Ahsoka walks over to help you.

She’s a cheerful girl, bright and bubbly, and she’s more than happy to chatter aimlessly about her studies and how much she loves Naboo. And she’s even more happy to escort you to the training grounds, where Wolffe has been spending his time, before she leaves you to your own devices.

You sit on one of the benches and just watch Wolffe for a moment. His armor and sword have been replaced with Nubian variants, both of which seem more sleek than the bulky armor that Mandalore prefers. 

He finishes his set, and turns to restart, only to falter when he sees you. He hesitates for a moment, his gaze lingering on your missing arm, and then he sheaths his sword and hopes over the fence that marks the edge of the training ground.

“You’re awake,” Wolffe says as you stand when he approaches.

“Yeah, a little bit ago. Master Kenobi said I was free to leave the infirmary, as I’m no longer in any danger.” Now that he’s standing closer to you, you can tell that his gaze is locked on the place where your arm used to lay.

“Are you okay, riye?” He asks his fists clenching and unclenching at his side.

“I will be. I expended a lot of energy to get us safe.” You take a step closer and reach up to lightly touch his cheek, “Are you?”

He sighs low in his throat and leans his head into your touch, “You even managed to heal the bruises I had from training.” Wolffe replies lightly, and then his hands come up and cup your face and he bumps his forehead against your own. “Don’t you ever do anything like that again.”

You shake your head, “I had to get you out, Wolffe. I had to. Even if it meant losing an arm.”

“I’m not worth that.”

“You are to me,” You reply, “I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

He lets out a short laugh, “Please don’t. You don’t have that many more limbs to lose.”

You smile at him, and gently stroke his cheek with your thumb, “When we were…there,” You say quietly, “You called me cyare, Wolffe.”

For a moment, you worry that he’s going to deny it, but instead he just closes his eyes, and nods, “I did.”

“I wouldn’t mind if you stuck to calling me that,” You whisper to him.

His eyes snap open, and he scans your face, as though he’s looking for any sign that you might be joking. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Alright, cyare.” He lightly strokes your cheeks, “Does this mean that I can finally kiss you rather than just fantasizing about it?”

You blush, but you’re grinning at him, “I won’t complain if you want to kiss me.”

He hums thoughtfully, and then slowly tilts your head back to ghost his lips against yours. It was a soft, tender, and sweet kiss. The kiss of someone who thought he would never get the chance. And, well, if you moaned into the kiss, causing him to deepen it, it’s not like either of you had an audience anyway.

[sonofthedunes]

may the fourth be with you, fellow travelers! this time last year i was still a few weeks off from properly getting back into Star Wars, so i’m thrilled i can properly celebrate with you this time! :3 this story is quite a bit different from the others i’ve written for this blog, but i hope you’ll enjoy it nonetheless. no content warnings. check it out below the cut:

remembrance and reflection

Coruscant, 2000 ABY

For nearly a millennium, the trio of statues have overlooked this plaza. Most citizens hardly spare them a glance as they hurry by, their grandeur muted by time and distance. After all, the Galactic Empire and the Rebellion which had toppled it are ancient history, its players long dead and its monuments crumbling. The major anniversaries are mostly celebrated as welcome days free from work and school. Years of thrilling battles and legendary heroes have been reduced to dry, droning paragraphs in educational holos.

The civil war had permanently reshaped the galaxy, and the average citizen takes it for granted.

But there are those who remember.

A young child stands alone in front of the statues. Mother brought them here at their favorite time of day: the beginnings of sunset, when all is bathed in pale orange light and the crowds have thinned. She is sitting on a bench some feet away, the day’s shopping in bags at her feet. Oh, how the child had begged to come here instead of heading straight home! “Not today, darling, I’m tired,” Mother had objected…but one deployment of tooka eyes and sniffling later, she’d relented.

Every time the child sees these statues, they’re reminded of the story told over their cradle and at many a family gathering: that two thousand years ago, a distant ancestor had joined the Rebel Alliance. Their name won’t be found in any list of decorated war heroes. Depending on who was asked, they were a mechanic, or perhaps a communications officer—after so much time, details have muddled. But they were there regardless, witness to the struggle against the Empire’s might…

And maybe, just maybe, this ancestor encountered one of the rebellion’s legends.

It seems only proper to visit the princess first. When the child was very young, they sometimes bowed to her stone form, sensing the regality that had been present in the flesh. Her round face is kind, sincere, but the artist has realized a deeply contained fire too. She was a tiny woman, the Princess of Alderaan, though she had courage and intelligence enough for a dozen men. Captured by the Empire, forced to watch the destruction of her planet, she narrowly escaped death herself to lead the Rebellion…and later, the New Republic. The child would have liked to meet her very much. Her hands are sculpted outstretched in a gesture of peace; they are small and slender, but belie a certain strength too. She was a great chief councilor, the texts agree. And, the anecdotes proclaim, a great woman too.

By her side in stone, as he was for so long in life, stands her husband. The Corellian smuggler—the eventual general, if the child recalls their lessons correctly—rests a hand on his blaster, a subtle hint of what might happen should he be crossed. Yes, he was a quick shot and an elite pilot, with a brain for tactics and a knack for wriggling out of trouble. But if one studies that classically handsome face, they’ll detect the heart of gold under the cocky facade. for it was his sense of loyalty that brought him back to help win the Battle of Yavin, and his love for the princess that saved her from Hoth. Even a year spent in carbon freeze couldn’t vanquish his spirit! The child would have liked to meet him too.

And that leaves just one figure to contemplate—who might just be the most legendary of all. The child has never seen a Jedi in person…at least they don’t think they have. The old temple still stands deserted, a memorial to the tragedy of Order 66, and the reborn order has relocated somewhere far beyond Coruscant. But surely some of its number must walk the streets of the city-planet! They must simply be adept at concealing themselves, the child decides.

This man, though, the son of Skywalker…no disguise could hide his true identity, and not just because he so greatly resembles his father. Even in stone he exudes a power beyond most sentients’ understanding. The statue’s eyes are stern, but they are also gentle; he brandishes his ignited lightsaber, not to attack but to point the way forward. As prolific as the tapes of his combat prowess may be, just as numerous are the whispered stories of his kindness. A few of the child’s schoolmates claim their ancestors were given shelter at the temple on Ossus, or liberated from Imperial bondage by a bold young X-wing pilot and his squadron. That’s the version of him the child likes best—not the fearless warrior, but the compassionate embodiment of a Jedi Knight. The histories record that he was raised on a Tatooine moisture farm, plucked from obscurity to lead the Rebellion to victory. If that’s so, the child considers, perhaps they might one day achieve greatness too. Leave this galaxy a tiny bit better than it was.

They would have liked to meet him most of all.

“We can’t stay much longer, darling,” Mother’s voice suddenly reminds them; she and her shopping are standing just behind. “Auntie is coming for dinner and I’ve got to get home and start cooking.”

“All right, Mother,” the child murmurs, eyes trained on the statues. “…Mother?”

“Hm?”

“Do you think they were really as great as people say?”

She smiles and pats their shoulder. “I think that the galaxy would be very different if they weren’t.”

“Could I be a hero too someday?”

“Only the Force knows that, my love,” she replies. “Now come along.”

As Mother guides them out of the plaza, the child glances back once more at the three figures. Princess, general, Jedi, all gazing out on a small piece of the universe they helped defend. They almost seem to glow in the deepening sunset. Once they were like me, the child ponders. Now they are legends. Even if these sculptures someday topple and their names are never spoken again, their bravery echoes through the ages. Wherever beings of all species live in peace and prosperity, their actions bear fruit.

The dead rest, but their legacies remain.

[not-so-allegiant-general]

Millicent the cat.

She hates Kylo. Once Hux found them hissing at themselves in his quarters. Since then Kylo is not allowed to touch Hux's precious tooka.

And of course Kylo insists on calling her a cat bc everyone in the core worlds would do that. But Hux knows his sweetheart is a tooka.

Kylo: it's a cat!

Hux: Tooka.

Kylo: Where? Outer Rim? Arkanis? Literally in the middle of nowhere?

Hux: Shut up, princess!

[clonemando]

Last Line Challenge:

rules: in a new post, show the last line you wrote (or drew) and tag as many people as there are words (or as many as you feel like). 

Thanks for the tag @cacodaemonia

“Didn’t know you were into royalty Master Vos. Unfortunately I believe the princess is betrothed already. Too late for you to win her hand.” Fox hummed as he put on a few bracelets and rings to finish his disguise as said princess.

For my Corrie Guard Bingo Card square for Fashion. I'm also writing 100 word drabbles every day in May that I need to start posting but the last line on those is almost the entire thing XD

Tagging @bucket-tooka and anyone who follows me and wants to post.

[thought-42]

Flipped the switch and set the ship across the sea

Star Wars, 2900 words, Luke Skywalker, Ezra Bridger

In which Luke talks to a stranger on the internet and Ezra has an existential crisis.

Notes: Takes place before this, and after the as-yet-unpublished au wherein Thrawn and Ezra head back to the Ascendancy instead of languishing in side-character purgatory for 13 years, and Ezra and Che’ri start training pseudo-Jedi in a program supervised by Thrawn and Wutroow and intensely side eyed by everyone else (including Eli and Ar’alani).

*

The message arrives on Luke’s extremely secure, ‘first member of the new Jedi order, twin brother to a sitting senator and princess, hero of the Rebellion’ datapad at that exact hour of the morning between too late to fall back asleep and too early to get up. The sender is just blanked out, which he’s never seen before. It’s probably an advertisement, at best. More likely a slicer trying to get access to his personal information. He may have grown up on a farm but he also grew up on one of the biggest hubs for criminal activity and slavery and smuggling, he knows better than to let anything onto his datapad that he doesn’t trust implicitly.

He should delete it. This shouldn’t even be a question.

He opens it, obviously.

The message is short, and unsigned.

‘so i hear youre rebuilding the jedi.’

He shouldn’t respond. It’s not even technically a question, and the lack of any context is concerning. It could very easily be interpreted as a threat. It certainly wouldn’t be the first one he’s received.

He answers it, obviously.

‘I sure am. May I ask why you’re interested?’

*

It takes a good three months of cautious messages before Laezra –human in the Chiss Ascendancy, which is apparently an entire place and society that exists; Force sensitive; charming; obsessed with sending pictures of his tooka– agrees to an audio call. Luke has never heard anyone speak Cheunh, but he’s still expecting an accent. He’s expecting someone who sounds way older than him. He’s wrong on both accounts.

“I feel like I should say it’s nice to meet you, but that’s kind of dumb,” Laezra says, static crackling behind his words.

Luke laughs, hopes it doesn’t sound as nervous as he feels. “Hi! Yeah. I’m Luke Skywalker.”

“I know,” Laezra says, probably not intending to come across ominous. “Actually, I wanted to ask: any relation–”

“Yes,” says Luke, trying to project ‘I don’t wanna talk about it’– but not in a mean way. Apparently even the Chiss know about his dad. Cool. Good. Great.

“Huh. Neat.”

“...that’s a word,” Luke says.

*

“So maybe a weird question,” Luke says, as soon as Laezra answers the call.

“Good start, good start. Do I need more caffeine for this? I might be actively bleeding, incidentally, but it’s fine.”

Luke feels confident enough in his understanding of Laezra as a person that this isn’t actually concerning. “You’ve mentioned that you’re human. And General Sindulla– she’s my brother-in-law’s arch-nemesis– used to talk about someone she knew a long time ago.”

“Oh boy,” says Laezra.

“Is that a yes?”

“It is if you promise not to mention my existence to anybody.”

“She misses you a lot,” he says, because it seems kinder than ‘she’s mourned you and your assumed death is, as far as I can tell, one of her biggest regrets’.

“Yeeeaaaaahhhh,” Laezra’s tone is remarkably similar to Ben’s when he doesn’t want to admit to stealing Luke’s fancy chocolates. “I’m going to reach out to her and everybody. I just… there’s some uncomfortable political stuff. And a lot of emotional avoidance. Acknowledging it is the first step, right?”

“Even if I could let her know you’re alive,” Luke says tentatively.

“Please don’t.”

Luke presses his lips together. “That’s crewel,” he says, finally, and doesn’t let himself feel guilty about it.

“It’s complicated,” Laezra retorts.

“Fear leads to the Dark Side,” Luke says. “She’s not going to be angry at you for surviving.”

“But she might be angry with me for… everything else.”

“And? You’re so far away. It isn’t like she could say anything to you about it. The only difference is she’d know you’re ok. Alive.”

Laezra changes the subject, clumsy and pointed, but later that afternoon Luke gets a message that reads ‘shell expect that im coming home but i dont know where home is and thats terrifying’.

Probably Luke should’ve realised that was the issue. Logically, if Laezra is the missing Jedi he’s heard about, it would stand to reason that his friends would want him to come back. If he was part of the Rebellion, he should be part of the new Republic– at least that seems to be the default assumption. But Laezra is already quite definitively part of something else.

It makes sense if you lay it out like that. Luke just would never have thought to do so. Laezra is the voice on the other end of his communicator, the void where he can send all of his middle-of-the-night existential crisis messages that are far too embarrassing to tell the people in his real life. His Chiss mirror– same birthday, same age, same lack of a living master, same jedi aspirations. His written Basic sucks because Luke is the only person he uses it with. He can never tell Luke where he is, or details about most of the people in his stories. He references drinks and plants and models of ships and traditions Luke’s never heard of.

Luke would love to meet him in person, would love to be able to show him the Jedi texts he’s found, or have him demonstrate a lightsaber form for his students, or take him flying in his X-Wing. But he thinks of doing all of these things like you would with a guest, like when he first met Biggs at school and invited him back to the farm. Like Leia should have been able to show him around the palace on Alderaan. A place where you are always welcome but that is not your home.

So yeah, he can see why Laezra might feel a little conflicted about talking to General Sindulla. It still doesn’t mean he shouldn’t do it, though. Luke tries to imagine letting Aunt Beru think he was dead for years on end and simply can’t.

He’s pretty sure General Sindulla has a kid. Ok, that’s a lie, he knows all about Jacen Sindulla through not at all creepy channels, and he totally respects his mom’s choice not to send him off to Luke’s scrabbled together attempt at a Jedi school. Not like Force sensitive younglings are pretty kriffing thin on the ground or anything. Not like Jacen’s dad wasn’t a jedi until the very end. It’s totally fine.

Anyway, Jacen would basically be Laezra’s brother, or cousin, and Luke can say from experience that not knowing about family members is really unpleasant for anybody involved.

***

Laezra lands at the public spaceport on Naporar so late it’s almost early. He’s coming back from his bi-monthly trip to poke things with his brain and the Force on Sposia. He takes public transit the six blocks to his apartment because the snow is coming down in giant wet flakes and when he steps outside the wind hits him so hard it knocks his breath out of his lungs.

His apartment is dark and cold – he left the kitten with his neighbour, and Za’lea is with Sacher and Thrawn on the Stringhawk hopefully not learning to commit war crimes. Personally he thinks she’s old enough to stay on her own, but he’s been reliably informed that his standards for childhood independence are deeply flawed. Even the timer on the UV light he set up over his sad little herb boxes has failed (again), so the only light in the entire apartment when he steps in the door is the notification light on his questis informing him of all his missed messages.

He dumps his boots and jacket and backpack all on the front mat to dry off, and takes his questis with him into the fresher so he can start running a hot bath while he checks his messages. There’s three from Tro’owmis, who still hates that he’s not allowed to take his questis with him when he goes to sposia and sends him urgent questions or orders every time he’s out of communication just to make a point.

The rest of the messages are from Luke. They’ve got attachments, and he makes the mistake of assuming they’re going to be pictures of whatever jedi artefact he’s dug up this week. So he’s utterly unprepared to see a kid with Hera’s bone structure and Kanan’s eyes staring up at him from the screen.

He does not drop the questis into the bathtub, because he’s a Jedi Navigator in the CEDF and a full-ass adult who doesn’t over-react to objectively mundane pictures. He does sit down right there on the floor very fast, and then gets up to go check the cupboards for alcohol he doesn’t have.

That’s a real kid. A whole person. Hera and Kanan’s person. He looks at least twice the age of luke’s nephew. Maybe a couple years younger than Za’lea. In one of the pictures he’s standing beside Chopper, smirking that little self-satisfied grin Kanan always got when he was pleased with himself. In another he’s all dressed up in a little suit, standing with a group of other kids in a formal looking office, face very serious. In another he’s sitting at the controls of a ship, holding a popsicle between his teeth as he pilots. It takes Laezra’s breath away more effectively than any blizzard.

‘His name is Jacen,’ Luke’s accompanying message reads.

Laezra’s got a pretty good idea what Luke’s intentions are, sending him these pictures. Getting in contact with any of the Spectors –or anyone from the Rebellion, really– had been basically impossible for the first four years post-Purrgil, two years just him and Thrawn alone on the world where they’d crashed with barely any functioning technology, then another two years working their way back to the Ascendancy. By the time he’d been somewhere secure enough to send a message, none of his codes worked anymore, and anything but the most basic of text communication was pretty much impossible to send over such distances. He’d have had better luck hiring somebody to take a hand written letter. And the longer he went without being able to reach out, the more terrifying the prospect felt. Word of the Empire’s fall had made it to the Ascendancy a couple of years after he and Thrawn had, and he’d actively tried to reach out again, but his messages bounced back, undelivered, or simply vanished into the void of the Chaos or some shaky holo-relay in the middle of nowhere. It hadn’t been until his Patriarch had contacted him personally to tell him about the rumours of a fledgling Jedi order –and provided the technology to contact the guy supposedly in charge of it– that the very real option to contact his family had been back on the table.

Ten years is a long time.

He has this idea, this nightmare scenario, where he calls Hera or Sabin and they don’t recognize him. He was a kid the last time he saw them. Some days he feels like a completely different person. Worse is the idea that he’ll contact them and they won’t care. He knows that’s wrong. He does. He knows they will care, the same way he would in their place, the same way he does. But knowing doesn’t stop his brain from catastrophizing.

And then there’s what he told Luke. What if they want him to come back to lesser Space? What if he goes? What if he goes and it’s perfect and he realises the life he’s built over the past decade has been so much less than he could have had? What if he goes and he hates it and it’s an obligation and he winds up missing his life and resenting all the people who got him through his midaged years in one piece? What if he goes and they treat him like that same midager, frozen in amber in their minds? What if nobody takes him seriously because he knows the wrong languages and the wrong tax system and the wrong history and pop culture and military structure? Or maybe worse, what if they treat him like a stranger? What if he looks at them and sees strangers where he should see family?

His questis buzzes, and he’s so primed for it to be Luke that he answers without even looking.

“Your student says you’re panicking,” Sacher announces from the screen. “Do I need to steal a shuttle and come rescue you from your own mind again? Or prison, I’ll also rescue you from prison.”

Laezra gasps out a startled laugh, leaning back against the edge of the full bathtub and exhaling roughly, even as he reaches out down the training bond, sending reassurance and apology at Za’lea.

“Literal existential crisis, nothing to worry about,” he says, all over-bright mania. “Also, one of us is likely to wind up in prison here and it’s not me.”

“Did the UAG find something upsetting?” she asks.

He presses his face into his hands. “You know I couldn’t tell you that even if they did. But no, it’s not anything like that.”

She’s quiet, waiting him out. He presses his knuckles into his eyes, breathes deep and steady until he feels less like he’s starting to float away.

“I’m imagining all the things that could go badly if I contacted Hera and sabin,” he says evenly.

She makes a soft noise of understanding. This isn’t the first time she’s talked him through anxiety about this particular subject, it’s just the first time where the possibility is so immediate and real.

“You know what I’m going to say,” she says. “Family and home are not the same things.”

She doesn’t remember her birth family, of course, and she’s never made any attempt to find them. But she’s already told him that even if she did find them it wouldn’t change who she is now. The analogy is about as subtle as a brick, but he feels like he always needs to hear it. He remembers telling Hera “nothing is more important than family”, the first time they’d all met her father. He and Kanan would have made terrible traditional Jedi. Lesser Space jedi. Frost, are he and Luke going to have to come up with a new name for Luke’s new Jedi to differentiate them from the Jedi Navigators?

Which means talking to Luke. Which means thinking about Jacen.

“I really do just need to call them, huh,” he says, slumping.

“If you were able to do so, hypothetically,” she says, pointedly, “yeah. You do.”

He nods. “Ok. Ok. I’m just gonna do it. I’m gonna call hypothetical Luke and get Hera’s hypothetical comm code and make a hypothetical call and hope it isn’t midnight wherever she is.”

She inclines her head. “Ok.” And then, “you know if you wanted to go back to visit, I’d go with you. I mean, we all would, but I don’t think they’d let us take the kids into Lesser Space, and Thrawn would definitely get murdered, and Tro’owmis would probably offend someone, but. I’d go with you, if you wanted.”

He opens his mouth and nothing comes out. He has genuinely never imagined any situation where he does not return alone, be it triumphant hero or lost child or lonely stranger. He was born an only child, but he lets himself remember sitting in the main cabin on the Ghost, squished beside Sabin at the table, and then for the first time he adds Sacher to his mental picture, sitting across from them, and then Jacen, constructs an image of him from the holopics and fits him right in there with the rest of them. It makes him lightheaded, the intensity of the wanting that strikes him.

“That,” he says finally, “would be amazing, actually.”

“Call her,” she says, and cuts the connection.

He keeps breathing nice and deep. He swipes the current call closed, and there’s already a new message from Luke, because even across galaxies now that they’re aware of each other it’s almost impossible not to constantly See each other to some extent. Kanan always said he was bright in The Force, and he imagines Luke must be even brighter.

He considers having his bath first, considers changing out of the clothes he’s been wearing for the past 30 hours and an inter-planetary hop, considers doing one more search for that whisky that Thelivan had bought him for his last starday.

He does none of these things.

Luke has made the comm code clickable, so he doesn’t even have the slow drama of typing it in. The call takes even longer to connect than it does when he calls Luke. He actually turns on the holo image, which he’s never done with Luke, and he can almost feel the signal from his questis struggling its way across the lightyears.

Part of him is hoping she doesn’t answer. He could leave a message. That’d probably be easier.

Naturally, he’s not that lucky.

“Who is this?” she says, as soon as the connection is established. The first thing that strikes him is that she sounds older. Or maybe he’s been remembering her voice wrong all these years.

“Hi, Hera,” he croaks out.

The noise she makes is somewhere between a gasp and a sob and a tiny scream, and it reaches right into his ribcage and punches him in the heart. “Ezra.”

She still recognizes him. She knows who he is.

It’s a good start.

[corvidscreams]

Soft BobaCal?

Soft? Soft like Tooka? I agree.

[musewrangler]

“I’m sorry,” Sola said as they moved along the long covered path toward the massive estate the Regent and the Princess were visiting. “I know these are the worst sort of functions.”

He had been at seven of them in attendance to her already, and she knew he abhorred them deeply. Because it was at these gatherings that she was expected to show him off like a favorite tooka or rasix puppy.

He was heartily sick of the fawning and giggling from the other women who found him a novelty. She was heartily sick of it too. Many of them had slaves and servants as well—men and women who were equal in ability to Firmus with their neutral expressions as they followed their owners about. One woman—a Duchess of some sort—-even dressed her slaves to match her wardrobe as she proudly pointed out to Sola.

How could living sentient beings do this to each other?

“I’ve more or less got the hang of them now,” Firmus murmured beside and slightly behind her where he carried the train of her ridiculous dress to keep it from getting dirty.

She glanced at him quickly—-slaves were mostly ignored after all, except to hand things to or send off on errands. He was impeccable himself, though not dressed to be noticed. She had no desire to make him more of a spectacle than was required. Unlike the poor soul in front of them, clad in eye shattering yellow to offset his mistress’s candy pink gown.

They had to keep their voices low. Her Uncle was several yards behind her as they were going to be the last to enter so as to have the most attention. How she despised it.

“I wish,” she whispered fiercely, “that we could attend one of these incognito. And we would have the best time making fun of all the ridiculous things before escaping to sail one of those boats.”

She had reason to know that the Captain could be very funny if he wished, and after the last three functions of this nature, his observations regarding all the idiocy had her in tears back in her quarters. It had become something of a tradition and it helped both of them to relax after an evening of being on show in different ways.

He ducked his head to hide a swift smile.

“Someday perhaps,” he said softly. “Preferably a Republic function with your sister free and restored as Queen.”

[sleepingsun501]

Good Morning, Princess

Pairing: Boba Fett x F!reader

Summary: Boba helps satisfy your needs after you wake up hot and bothered in the middle of the night.

Rating: Explicit 18+

Warnings: Soft!dom Boba, established relationship, female masturbation, fingering, dirty talk, praise, PiV sex (wrap it up), aftercare.

Word Count: 2k

Ao3 link

A/N: MINORS GET OUT OF HERE!! Hello all!! It’s been a while since I’ve churned out a fic, but I got inspired and couldn’t keep it in. It’s my first time writing for Boba, so I hope you all enjoy!!

Good Morning, Princess

In the early hours of the morning, well before the suns rose above the sands, you found yourself squirming beneath the heavy blankets on your luxurious bed and trying to ignore the persistent ache between your legs.

It had hit you unexpectedly, waking you in the dead silence of the night and only grew worse as the hours passed, making you restless and uncomfortable. You had done your best to ignore it, but your body was beginning to overheat with need—the cool desert air wafting in from the Dune Sea doing very little to soothe you.

Boba lay oblivious beside you—one arm tucked behind his head, softly snoring, and looking more peaceful than you had seen him in weeks. The steady rise and fall of his muscular chest in the low light did not help to quell the need stirring in your core, but you would not wake him for this. The stress on the mighty Daimyo’s shoulders had been heavy lately, and although he was still incredibly capable, the sleepless nights of his bounty hunting days were over. You could not imagine how badly he needed to make up for all that lost sleep.

Not wanting to disturb him but unable to bear the urges any longer, you shimmied your way further to the edge of the sprawling bed, pausing briefly when Boba shifted from the absence of your warmth.

Silently, you slipped a hand beneath the seam of your soaked panties and covered your mouth with your other hand to stifle your pleasured gasp, trying to imagine your fingers as Boba’s drawing tight, fast circles on your swollen clit to relieve the pressure building within you.

For several minutes, it seemed to help, but it did not last. You closed your eyes to keep your concentration and tried to pretend the powerful man beside you was the one bringing you to the edge of bliss, but it was no use. Your fingers were too small, too soft to be his.

Feeling frustration take the place of your brief contentment, you whimpered needily into your hand. In your desperation, you drew your legs up and plunged your fingers as deeply as you could into your drenched walls, but you could not reach that sweet spot you craved.

“Mesh’la,” Boba’s deep voice rumbled languidly from across the large bed.

Startled, you squeaked in surprise and yanked your hand from your dripping folds, scrambling to hide yourself beneath the blankets before Boba quickly snatched them from your grasp, leaving you exposed in your skimpy nightgown. The embarrassment of having been caught flooded through you in waves, only fueling your arousal as Boba’s knowing gaze locked onto your own.

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you… I just… I-I was…” your words sputtered out of your mouth like the mewlings of a tooka kitten that had found its voice for the first time as you reached for the stolen blankets.

You yelped again as Boba reached over, pulled you to his side of the bed in one quick, fluid motion, and settled over you. He braced his hands on either side of you and was still peering down at you with that infuriatingly unreadable expression, and you felt the flush rising in your cheeks.

“Y-you were sleeping… I’m sorry,” you apologized automatically.

“You know you could have woken me, princess,” he whispered, his eyes softening and tracing the curve of your cheek with the roughened pad of his thumb. “I’m a little disappointed you didn’t.”

“But—” you started, but your excuse died on your tongue when you saw the desire burning in his deep brown eyes. A pang of guilt settled deep in your gut from the look, making your tightening core impossibly uncomfortable. “I just didn’t want to wake you. You looked so tired earlier and I could’ve taken care of myself,” you explained, breaking your eyes away from him in shame.

The thumb brushing your cheek grasped your chin and forced you to look back at him. “You don’t get to cum unless I say so,” he said quietly. His voice may have been soft, but the firm tone was irrefutable. “Unless I’ve suddenly started to talk in my sleep, I don’t recall saying so tonight.”

You shook your head in admission, biting your lip and shifting beneath him. His whole body was like a cage above you, and you wanted nothing more than to be ravaged by him—you wanted to feel his muscles flexing beneath the softness of his tummy crushing you to your shared bed, and the hardness of his cock stretching you open and driving deep within you until you forgot your name.

“Does my princess need to be taken care of?” Boba asked, taking the hand you had been pleasuring yourself with and suckling your fingers into his mouth. He cleaned your fingers thoroughly with his tongue, humming his approval when he tasted you, before hiking your nightgown up above your breasts and taking one into his mouth.

You gasped as your nipple pebbled beneath his tongue, and he spread your knees apart to grind his hips into yours. He was hard as a rock, feeling your intense heat through your soaking panties, and repeated his question impatiently against the shell of your ear. “I’m waiting for an answer, little one.”

“Yes. Fuck, yes, Boba. Just need you,” you sighed, pressing your hips up to meet his.

Returning to your breast, he gave your nipple a love bite, making you moan but doing nothing to assuage the ache now threatening to overwhelm your senses. “I think you should apologize first. Only good girls get to cum.”

You pouted at his teasing, but you also knew Boba would drag this out until the twin suns rose high in the sky if he wanted to as he began leaving delicate marks on your chest.

“I… I’m sorry,” you whimpered as he sucked a darker mark onto the tender skin of your opposite breast.

He chuckled darkly at your pathetic attempt. “Come now, my sweet girl, you can do better than that.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t wake you,” you breathed, your hands coming up to grasp his broad shoulders. “I want you, Boba. I want you to make me cum. I need you inside me… need to cum on your cock. Please, I’ll be good and tell you when I need you from now on, I promise.”

Seemingly satisfied with your plea, Boba pushed your dampened panties aside and slid a thick finger into your warmth. You cried out in relief as your body responded to the intrusion, your cunt tightening around the digit and rocking your hips to grind your clit against his palm.

“That wasn’t so difficult, now was it, princess?” he teased, the smirk on his face leaching into his voice. He curled his finger inside you, finding that sensitive spot with ease before adding a second.

“Ohh, Maker… Boba, please more. I need… just need more!” you begged as the hot, electric sparks of your arousal fired through your limbs. You grasped his shoulders so tightly that your nails left little half moons dimpled into his bronzed, scarred skin.

“Don’t worry, little one. I’ll give you what you want, but fingers first. Always have to make sure you’re ready to take me,” he practically growled.

You pouted again, but any brattiness behind it melted away with a needy whimper as he eased his underwear down and slipped one of your hands around his length before settling beside you and throwing your leg over his hip. “That’s right, baby girl, you can take it. I know you can.”

You grasped his thick, leaking cock greedily and stroked him as best you could in time with his movements. Just the way he twitched and throbbed in your grasp with a deep groan was already enough to push you to the edge.

Combined with his fingers making the most lewd sounds as they pumped in and out of your soaked cunt, the feeling of his sturdy body shielding you, and the encouragement dripping from his beautiful lips, it was all too much to hold back. You crashed over the edge with a desperate cry into his chest, burying yourself against him for both affection and security as you rode out your first high.

“There it is,” he murmured soothingly into your hair, continuing to stroke you as you clenched around him. “That’s my good girl. That feels better, doesn’t it?”

You could barely hear him as your heart thundered in your ears. The tension and heat in your tightly wired core finally releasing around his long fingers but only bringing you a fraction of the relief you craved.

Before you had stopped spasming, Boba rested you onto your back again as you twitched through the aftershocks and buried himself in your walls with slow, steady strokes. He graciously waited until he felt the stretch of your walls accommodate him comfortably, but all you could do was cling to his dense shoulders again as he began pounding into you, losing himself in your wet heat.

“You feel so good, baby. So fucking tight… always so perfect for me,” he praised, his tone borderline reverential. He ran a hand up your body over the silk of your nightgown that had fallen back into place, marveling at the softness of it over your searing hot skin and silently worshiping you with his touch.

You let your eyes flutter shut as you gasped out his name, feeling your entire body quake beneath him as he drove you into the mattress. Somewhere in the depths of your lust-addled brain, you were glad he had taken you apart with his fingers first. He had gotten you out of your head, and now you could fully surrender to his control, never having felt safer in any other man’s arms.

The length of his thick cock slipping through your slick cunt was addictive and each stroke pushed you both higher into ecstasy, a sensation which you wished would never end. Even through the fervor of his thrusts, Boba cupped the back of your head ever so gently and brought your lips to his in the tenderest of kisses.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he whispered, his breath hot and sweet against your skin. “I love you, my perfect girl. Love you so much… gonna take care of you… never letting you go.”

“Boba…” you sighed, the devotion in his words melting your heart. You were about to echo the sentiment, but he stole your words from you with another breathless kiss as he reached between you and found your clit again.

You could feel yourself hurtling toward that blissful cliff again, bracing yourself for the plunge you knew he would take with you as he chased his release.

“Boba, I need—need to… please!” you cried, begging for permission.

“Together, baby. Cum with me.”

With a hiss and a shuddering, throaty groan, Boba tensed above you, pressing his forehead to yours. You could feel the heat deep within your walls as he painted your insides, and it triggered your second orgasm. Your cunt sucked him in deep as your legs trembled and locked in a vice grip around his waist, and Boba could not help but sigh your name sweetly at the sensation.

Though you both savored the peak as long as you could, you shivered at the loss of him as he eventually eased his softening cock from you. He quickly maneuvered you out of your sweaty nightgown and into the cradle of his arms as he reclined back and pulled the soft blankets up over your exposed form.

The faintest tinge of gold and pink was appearing beyond the horizon through the arches of the balcony, but Boba only had eyes for you. He toyed with the ends of your hair as he took you in, smiling down at you gently.

“I think we’re due for a bit of a lie-in today, don’t you think?” he asked.

You giggled and nodded in agreement, already settling into his chest and wanting to drift back to sleep in his strong arms. “Good morning, my love.”

He rested his head against the top of yours, breathing in your scent, and you felt him relax as well. “Good morning, princess.”

________

Taglist: @wild-karrde @rexxdjarin @baba-fett @samspenandsword @ariadnes-red-thread @get-wr3ckered @liadamerondjarin @starstofillmydream @kaminocasey @twistedstitcher27 @meshlaxbunny @erellenora @corrieguards @the-cantina @briefartnaturewolf @zerohski @redheadgirl @wolffegirlsunite @commander-sunshine @cw80831

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[littlemissmanga]

LittleMissManga Fic Masterlist

My entire blog is 18+ so minors begone! The asterisk (*) denotes explicit 18+ material. Please read responsibly. If it isn't for you, I got plenty of SFW content.

So far, I've only written for Star Wars, the clones in particular, including Rex and various 501st members, The Bad Batch members, Hound, Wolffe, Cody and Boba Fett.

Requests are closed!

I'm taking a small step back so I can recharge. I'll still be lurking and hopefully working a bit on WIPs, just without the self-imposed pressure to get them done quickly. If you've sent anything in, know that I am working on it! This includes all the First Kiss Prompts.

NSFW requests are OK and welcome, but please no gore, major character death, romantic/mature relationships between padawans and adults, or clonecest.

If you'd like to be tagged in future fics, you can join my taglist :)

Random Clone Shenanigans

Clone of the Month Calendar

Tooka Interviews

Dad jokes/puns

Threesome Choice* (Rex, Jesse, Wrecker, Crosshair)

TBB Meets Sailor Moon Crack

How the 501st & BB Boys Handle a Reader with Chronic Pain

Hound

Hound Thots (SFW above, NSFW under the cut)

Broadside

Maybe Among the Stars

Rex

One Last Order Part 1, Part 2* (only part 2 is spicy).

Did He Hurt You?

Date Night Pt 1

A Little Something Sweet for Breakfast

Jesse

Kiss Prompt

"Just Lay Back and Let Me Take Care of You"*

Why Is There Rope Next to the Bed?*

Hardcase

"I'm Trying to Be Sexy and You're Laughing!" (SFW but alludes to intimacy)

Fives

"Seems Like Someone Likes Being Praised"*

Dogma

Date Night Pt 3

Date Night Pt 4

Echo

The Promise In Your Eyes

Why Echo is the best smelling clone trooper (HC)

"Seems Like Someone Likes Being Praised"*

A Teasing Echo*

Bittersweet (HC)

Spicy Echo Thot*

Wedding Speech

Tell Me*

Crosshair

Don't Forget That, Okay?

"He Was Staring At Your Ass ... And That Ass Is Mine." (SFW, but implied impact play).

Song of the Caged Bird (1/3)

Song of the Caged Bird (2/3) TK

Song of the Caged Bird (3/3) TK

What Are You Wearing?

Tech

Spicy Tech Thot - Cerebral Stimulation*

Why Now? - TK

A Mechanic in the Sun

Tech & Non-Verbal Reader

"That's the Most Attractive Thing I've Seen in My Life"*

"Looks Like Someone Likes Being Praised"*

A Little Awkward Never Killed Nobody

Home for the Holidays With You

Wrecker

A Man What Takes His Time*

"Are You Wearing My Shirt?"*

Wrecker Headcanon Asks* (SFW above the cut, NSFW under)

Wrecker Spa Day HCs

Spicy Games Thots*

Rainy Day Comforts

When Wrecker Gets Comfortable Thot (Not spicy, but there's definitely heat)

The Slow Stretch*

Hunter

"That Is the Most Attractive Thing I've Seen in My Life"

Cody

Date Night Pt 2*

Boil

The Once and Future Brother

Wolffe

Wolffe Thots* (SFW above the read more, NSFW under the read more)

"Just Lay Back and Let Me Take Care of You"*

Boba Fett

The Daimyo's Princess

My OCs (Star Wars)

Yen Ori'ken (You can read more about her in Date Night)

SFW Alphabet

NSFW Alphabet

Yen x Wolffe/Yen x Kix hcs

Yen x Cody hcs

Yen x Echo hcs

Yen x Wrecker hcs

CT-2460, Clone Pilot Corkscrew, AKA Cor

Intro & SFW Alphabet

(I don't know why this last link isn't working so I'm putting it here, too)

[walkawaytall]

Wedge Antilles had flown across the galaxy and back on many occasions and in many different ships, but transporting Bail Organa was the only situation in which he’d had to regularly check for stowaways.

Or, rather, stowaway. One specific stowaway. Seventeen-year-old Princess Leia Organa had apparently ended up on more than one mission she wasn’t even supposed to know about, and before his first flight with Wedge, Bail had given strict instructions to run through what came to be known as a Princess Check.

“Look anywhere big enough for a tooka to fit,” Bail had said. When Wedge laughed in response, the viceroy had regarded him soberly. “I am entirely serious, Antilles. My daughter is more resourceful than most. And if she is aboard the ship and you happen upon her, be forewarned: She looks innocent, she is charming, she will convince you she is doing me a favor by coming along on the mission, and she won’t even lie to do it.”

[thirsty-boba-fett-posts]

This will be a multi part fic.

tw: injuries, trauma, family abandonment, eventual smut, power imbalance, Daddy kink (if you squint)

…

It was too early in the day for tributes and grievances. In hindsight, he should have known this was neither. When 8D8 announced her entrance, he tilted his head to the side ever so slightly in an uncharacteristic gesture of puzzlement. Fennec, ever observant at his side, glanced at him and raised her eyebrows.

He hardly recognized her. Not because he hadn’t seen her in years - she had her father’s best features and distinct big, bright eyes - but because the left side of her face was mottled with livid bruises and her lip was split. There was blood down the front of her dress and caked in her nostrils. She stood straight and walked with her head high and her shoulders back. A white, odd-eyed tooka, specially bred to be the companion of royalty, trailed behind her. It had been just a kitten the last time Boba saw it - a gift from her father. The Boy King, they’d called him. Boba had at first wondered how he’d ever managed to raise a child, then he watched her loping effortlessly around the palace courtyard on a fathier that stood taller than a man and he realized that she’d raised herself.

The Boy King of Brao frequently employed the bounty hunter Boba Fett when he was in the business of taking no-questions-asked contracts. The Boy King was, in fact, only a few years older than Fett himself. Contracts for The Boy King always ended in as many rounds of strong drink as Fett could tolerate and the offer of companionship from one of the many dancing girls who benefited from The Boy King’s propensity for debauchery. The Princess, a child then, would be in the stable or the woods.

Fett did meet her once, briefly, before her father sent her off to a finishing school on Hosnian Prime. And here she was now, a finished princess, maintaining her composure admirably despite what appeared to be throbbing injuries to her face.

“Come forward,” he said, more softly than he intended.

She signaled with her hand at her side for the fancy-bred tooka to sit and remain still, and Fett saw in that moment that her hand was bruised as well and at least two of her fingers appeared visibly broken.

The Princess stepped towards the throne with her eyes cast down and her posture rod straight. She executed an admirable curtsy, but winced and made a small noise as she raised herself back up. There were dark circles under her eyes and her lashes were wet.

“What brings you to Mos Espa, Princess?”

“There was a coup,” she replied quietly.

There had indeed been a coup. The Boy King’s decades of indulgences had finally caught up with him. He’d fled, leaving The Princess to face the consequences alone.

“Where is your father?”

“If I knew, I would have told the Opposition General the first time he asked and avoided all of… this.”

She gestured weakly towards her face.

The Princess, being The Boy King’s next of kin, was issued the death penalty on his behalf. She’d managed to bribe her way on to the smuggling compartment of a ship - along with her tooka - and had the presence of mind to make her way to the palace of Boba Fett, the only person with any power that her father hadn’t managed to betray or swindle.

…

Fett instructed Drash to help her into the bacta tank. In the privacy of Fett’s healing room, she helped The Princess peel off her bloody dress and wrap clean muslin cloth over her breasts and across her hips to preserve her modesty. Her injuries were extensive, and once she was unconscious and fully submerged in the tank, Fett briefly and without a spare glance read through the health report on the bacta tank’s data pad.

The tooka - a male of the species named Fru - whined anxiously at Fett and sat up on his haunches to peer into the bacta tank at his sleeping mistress.

“She’ll be fine.”

“Chrrp.”

…

Part II is coming soon. Requests are open. I’m taking suggestions for a name for The Princess.

[phoenixyfriend]

For the ship ask meme: Obi-wan and Satine?

Send Me A Ship And I’ll Tell You Who…

Drinks all of the coffee Despite Obi-Wan being a Tea Guy, I do think that he's going to be the one that drinks more caff, but he usually remembers to set more to brew if he drains a pot. Satine... does not remember to do so.

Brings up adopting a pet Literal Disney Princess Obi-Wan. He insists that The Children will benefit. Satine considers it a win that she talked him down to a tooka and not, say, Boga.

Kills the bugs Both of them. When Obi-Wan does it, it's with a mocking comment about Satine being too much of a pacifist to bother with killing things because he's an asshole like that. She then pokes back with a comment about how Jedi are supposed to value all life. If Satine kills the bugs, then it's the reverse, and whichever one happens, they will spiral into being incredibly annoying at each other, as per usual.

Cooks the meals Obi-Wan. I don't think Satine really knows how to cook anything other than 'on the run, over a campfire' meals, and it's been long enough since then that she's forgotten a lot of it.

Starts getting into holidays way before they should Satine, I think? It's not really 'getting into' so much as 'obligatory preparation for large-scale government events.' She doesn't hang up decorations three months in advance, but in order to secure adequate catering...

Initiates the couple selfies Satine. Obi-Wan needles her about staying in the moment and she squishes his face to hers for the images.

Forgets the birthdays and anniversaries Obi-Wan. Satine keeps them in a virtual calendar that alerts her when something is coming up, but Obi-Wan is getting sent to random planets and also is regularly shot at so constantly that he forgets what month it is, let alone if there's an event coming up.

Always ends up with too much junk food after grocery shopping Neither of them are prone to junk food, but Obi-Wan actually does his own shopping sometimes, and he's got Anakin with him, so. based on the Presence Of Hungry Teenager, it's him.

Nicknames the other They both do, with the nicknames ranging from cutesy sweet stuff to Am I Annoying You Yet?