#star wars x plus size reader

[megamindsecretlair]

Qimir x reader 🥺

Ask and receive, anon! Have you been peeking at my drafts??

We Are the Night - Chapter 1

Masterlist Chapter 2

Pairing: Qimir x Jedi!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Tame, nothing explicit. There's teasing though, if you squint. Possible dark elements, but always consensual. Corruption kink. I spit on Star Wars canon. I will borrow some of Osha's backstory, but some things will be changed.

Summary: You end up crash landing onto the planet that Qimir calls home. He rescues you, but you have no way of going home, no way of letting anyone know where you are. Qimir talks a good game, but can you trust him?

AO3 Link

Word Count: 3,406

A/N: Ahhhhhh, this show has rotted my brain and I'm not even an enemies to lovers girlie! But I need that man like a bad habit! Toss a coin to your bloggers by leaving a comment, reblog, or unhinged howling in my asks.

Taglist: @amethyst09 @ciaqui @we-outsiiiide @browngirldominion @iv0rysoap @thecookiebratz @harmshake @00aijia00 @judymfmoody @multiversefanfics @tvchi

Loud, obnoxious beeping roused you into consciousness. Your eyes were gritty, dry, seemingly glued shut. But you forced them open anyway. Light from overhead seared your retinas and you shut it with a groan. You licked your dry lips and tried to turn your head.

Stars, your head was killing you. Achy. Unsettling. The beeps and alarms weren’t going anywhere, however, and you were the only one in this tin can. You didn’t remember passing out. 

You wracked your brain trying to think of what happened. But the last thing you remembered was…talking to…setting coordinates for…fuck, it was on the tip of your tongue to say it but you couldn’t find the words. 

The alarms were starting to pulse in time with your headache. You took a few deep breaths, staring up at your ceiling, which was just a glass dome overlooking the galaxy. You were speeding somewhere and it couldn’t be anywhere good if the alarms had anything to say about it. 

Tears pricked your eyes but you didn’t have time for any of that. You grunted and groaned as you climbed off of your floor. Just sitting up knocked the breath out of you. Struggling to your feet took tremendous strength that you just didn’t have. 

Your hand clutched onto the vinyl pilot’s seat as you pulled yourself to standing. A sharp pain pierced your side. The ship lurched to the right and you stumbled, knocking your shoulder against the side of the cockpit. You cried out. Everything hurt!

You gritted your teeth and found the energy to look down, inspecting yourself. You still wore the same outfit, cargo pants, a black t-shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and your utility vest. A dark red stain spread across the expanse of your cargo pants. Your shirt soaked up much of the blood, too dark to distinguish between the two. 

You lifted the edges of your shirt to reveal a gushing wound in your side. The sight of your own blood nearly made you swoon. There was so much. You looked towards the floor where you had been laying. There was a generous pool there. Your heart sank. How long were you out?

The ship lurched again, metal ripping, gears shifting, and you stumbled forward. Your navigation panels were all over the place. Red buttons flashed, the alarm screeched, and the other screens blinked on and off. If nothing else, you were in deep fucking trouble. 

You cried out as you flopped into the pilot’s seat. The ship you were in was careening decidedly down, though you weren’t sure why. Out of the corner of your eye, there was movement. You looked to the right to see a bit of smoke. 

You leaned your face against the window, trying to look as far as you could at the gaping hole in the escape pod’s wing. Escape pod? The hell? 

The ship gave a decidedly crude groan and shutter that did not sound good at all. You flipped through your switches trying to turn the damn alarm off. You were woozy, feeling lightheaded and sick, but you needed to think. Now that you were awake, the pains and aches in your body started vying for your attention.

Your foot hurt like hell, your side was killing you, and there was a damn crick in your neck. Focus. Focus. 

You pressed the button to open a wide range channel. “H-Hello? Anyone out there? I’m in trouble,” you said. Your voice was strained, dry, and you coughed from disuse. You knew that you didn’t want to draw the attention of bad characters like pirates or opportunists. But anything was better than imminent death. 

“Please, I don’t know where I am,” you said into the comms. Nothing. No static. Tears gathered in your eyes once more. If you weren’t a failed Jedi, maybe you could figure out a way out of this. Maybe you could have used the Force, meditated and connected with someone, anyone, who could come rescue you. 

You hung your head. There’s no use crying when your life was in the balance. So you swiped at your tears, careful not to smear blood on your face, and refocused on the job at hand. One of these damn switches had to turn off the alarms. 

You grabbed hold of the steering wheel, pulling back on it. No such luck. The ship gave a shudder, a groan, a keening whine and then boom! The ship spun out of control. As the ship twisted and turned, more black smoke emanated from the right wing. Said wing was flung from the ship, spinning away from you faster and faster.

“Oh shit,” you whispered. It wasn’t necessarily needed to fly, but it kept your ship balanced and steady upon take off and arrival. How the hell were you going to land now? 

Shit, shit, shit! You strapped on the seatbelts on your seat and held on as the ship spun and spun. Spun so fast it was a dizzying array of stars overhead, making you sick, Making your stomach flip and flop and threatened to upchuck whatever your last meal was. Whenever that was. 

The ship stopped spinning as if it had been yanked by an invisible chain. Now, it just careened forward, plummeting as you felt the drop in your stomach. A blue planet loomed before you. The sun was on the far side of the planet, illuminating wondrous and endless blue. 

Shit. The last thing you needed was to land on an ocean planet. No land for miles in any direction, no navigational charts to pull you to safety, and no way to communicate that you were there. You didn’t want to die alone on a planet like that. Starved. Pathetic. 

You closed your eyes as the ship rushed towards that planet as if it were calling you there. A beacon. You had nothing but precious few seconds to think about your life’s choices and how you arrived here. At the forefront of it all, if you had just stayed with your mothers, would you have still ended up here? 

The front end of the ship began to burn up as your shields started to break down. The force and speed of your descent made the cabin burn up from entering the atmosphere. 

It was all in sickening high resolution. You watched your final moments like a holo-program, can’t watch but unable to look away. Metal plates began to break away from your ship. One flew into the windshield with a hard thud. The ship dropped down, so that you were nearly vertical staring at the expanse of water.

As you got closer, you realized that there was something worse than heading for a planet made of water. That same planet having jagged and rocky islands. You were too far away to scan for any signs of life. Equipment too badly damaged to run a digital scan. 

You prayed and prayed and hoped that the Force had mercy on you as you went crashing down. You missed a large island by yards, plunging into the murky, deep ocean. Your body snagged against the seatbelt, digging into your chest and sending fresh waves of pain down your body from the wound in your side. The inertia after the initial crash smacked you head first against the window to your left. 

Darkness filled your eyes as you blinked, watching as the ocean swallowed you whole. Alone. With no one to even know you were there.

When you awoke, you sucked in a deep breath of air as if you had been drowning. You settled back against the bed with a soft sigh, trying to recall such a horrid dream. As if you had been lost on a random planet, alone and afraid.

You flipped over in bed, side protesting in pain. You looked down at yourself. Your vest was gone and your shirt had been cut across the hem, giving you a midriff. You went to sit up, but a sudden rush of nausea made you lay back down and take deep breaths.

Your head swam with a headache that hurt enough to make you chew bricks. You rubbed your head, feeling your feverish wet skin. Your vision swam. It could be shock or it could be because you tried sitting up, but you closed your eyes and immediately fell back asleep.

When you woke up again, it was slower this time. A soft, rushing sound was off in the distance. You blinked your eyes a few times and let your vision settle naturally on the room around you.

You were in some kind of cave? Underground surely. Natural by the look of the jagged rocks surrounding you. You were lying on a bed. Not the most comfortable mattress in the world, but it beat even the Jedi temple in terms of stiffness. 

How did you get here? You had no memory of climbing into this place. Or finding a bed. Or stitching yourself up. Your hands floated over your side, feeling a faint scar as if you hadn’t had anything there at all. 

You remembered being in pain. You remembered being on the ship. It was all still so fuzzy, but you remembered that you were desperately trying to escape a different planet. You were on a ship with Sol.

Fear punched you in the throat and then dragged icy nails across your chest. Sol. Yord. Jecki. A sob caught in your throat as you thought about the horrible, awful cruelty of it all. The merchant who was not a merchant. 

You winced as you recalled your last few hours. Or was it days? You, Sol, and Jecki had barely gotten away. Your sister attacked you on the way back to the ship, fighting to get away from her master. 

Mae went on about her misconceptions about you. Spit had flown from her mouth with the absolute venom pouring off of her in waves. How she blamed you for everything. You for leaving. You for abandoning them. You for groveling like some dog before the Jedi. 

“Shut up!” You had yelled and you fought and fought. Mae was always better at using the Force. She had knocked you flat on your back. You had came to moments later, Mae nowhere in sight.

You ran for the shore as best as you were able, wound in your side preventing you from jogging faster. You had to get to Sol and Jecki before Mae did. 

You found Jecki’s body lying face down on the ground, three neat wounds in her chest still smoking. You covered your mouth with your hand, biting back tears and a scream. You were going to kill Mae, if it was the last thing you did. 

Escaping the planet was a blur. Sol hadn’t left yet. But Mae found you on the ship first. She beat you again, catching you unawares like a newborn baby. She pushed you into an escape pod, hit the eject button too quick for you to stop her. Next thing you knew, you were thrust off into space, banging on the window as if it would make a difference. Once more, you were looking up to Mae as she looked down on you. The pod went into hyperspace, off to who knew where. 

You curled in on yourself as you relived those moments. The fear, the anger, the betrayal. Mae was going to complete her goal. She was going to kill Sol and leave you with no one again.

“You’re awake,” a soft voice said.

You flinched, sitting up in bed nausea be damned. A man stood in the entrance to the cave-like room, wearing a white shirt and dark pants. His hair hung in tendrils in front of his face and he had short facial hair. 

He carried a bowl with steam rising from it. “Thought you might be up and brought you some soup,” he said.

“You,” you whispered.

How could it be? You had escaped. You were far from him. How was this murderer here? Walking freely when your friends were dead? 

“It’s not poison if that’s what you think. That’s no fun,” he said. His voice was deceptively calm and relaxed. One would almost call it lazy. 

He placed the bowl beside you and then backed away slowly, hands out, palm side up. He moved across the room until he sat down on a stump, picking up tools.

“Where am I?” 

“I could tell you…” he said, letting his words hang in the air.

“So?” You asked.

He looked back at you and smirked. “Wrong question,” he said.

“What?” You lowered the blanket from your chest, having covered yourself when Qimir entered the room. His back was towards you, there was nothing he was going to do for the moment. 

“Ask me what you really want to know,” he said. 

You ran your tongue over your canine as you looked at him in an all new light. How the hell did he know what you wanted to ask before you did? 

“How did you find me?” You asked.

“I felt you,” he said, looking up at you through his eyelashes. 

You slowly lifted the blanket back up to your chest, feeling his words rush over your skin. He was repulsive. A murderer. Evil. His words shouldn’t sound like…that or affect you like…that. 

“Not many can find this planet. It’s long forgotten on most star maps. Early this morning, I felt an approaching presence. I went outside and saw your ship, lit up like a star. Wasn’t hard to find the wreckage from there,” he said.

You wanted to call him a liar. That was what evil murderers did. But you felt nothing but the truth from him. “Thank you,” you said and looked away from him, hugging your middle.

He saluted you with two fingers from his temple and returned to whatever it was he was doing. You felt silly looking at his back. His wide back. You’ve gotten a few glances at a rough, razed scar on his back. You wondered about it but kept your mouth shut in case he was sensitive about it. 

You sighed and rolled your eyes. You were worried about his feelings? He was the one who had kidnapped you, brought you to this cave, and offered you poisonous soup. You didn’t trust him as far as you could throw him. 

“What is that?” You asked. Your curiosity would always get the better of you. That helmet scared the absolute taste of your mouth, but you were also deeply intrigued by it. The shape, the color. The teeth.

“Eat your soup and I’ll tell you,” he said. How the hell could he know you weren’t eating? His back was still turned towards you.

“You project your emotions,” he said. Your name slipped from his lips softly. You shook your head. 

“I do not,” you said.

Qimir chuckled and went back to fiddling with his helmet. You waited a few more moments, looking between his helmet and the bowl of soup. You didn’t want to risk sudden death, but you also really wanted to know about his helmet.

You kissed your teeth and grabbed the bowl of soup. It looked sort of appetizing, filled with soft fish and veggies. You grabbed the spoon, swirling the soup around and around the bowl. 

“You can do it,” he said. Your eyes flicked to him, and he was half turned in your direction. You scowled at him as he smirked at you. 

You narrowed your eyes at him, rising to his bait. You drank straight from the bowl, letting the herbs, spices, and flavor explode on your tongue. It wasn’t half bad for a planet with no land animals. 

Qimir smirked when you came up for air. He tapped the top of his helmet. “Cartosis. Handy against lightsabers,” he said.

“How do you have a lightsaber?” You asked. When you left the Order, you had to give yours up. You felt terrible. You had worked so hard on finding the right crystal, building your saber from the ground up. Designing it to fit perfectly in your hand. 

“You’re full of questions,” he said. 

“You’re full of non-answers,” you countered.

He tilted his head and conceded the point. “I used to be like you. Young, stars in my eyes, believing in the Order.”

“Is that how you got the scar?” You asked. Fine. You couldn’t help it. 

“I believed in someone I shouldn’t have,” he said. 

He grabbed his tools, gathered them in a box, and then stood up from his seat. “It’s like a sensory deprivation headpiece, like we used as Younglings. You should try it on,” he said. He smirked at you like he knew what your answer was going to be. 

“I’m not trying that thing on,” you said.

He smirked and you hated that look on his face. “What are you so afraid of? That you might look into the Force and have it stare right back?” 

“Is that what it’s for?” You asked. You didn’t need to get into the gritty details of your connection to the Force or lack thereof. It was about mental discipline. It all but faded from your fingertips the moment you stepped out of the temple for good.

“If you’re that curious, take a look,” he said. He smirked one final time, heading off to wherever he came from. 

“How long are you going to keep me here?” You asked.

He stopped at the entrance to the room and looked sideways at you. “That depends on you,” he said.

He left the room, leaving you to stew in your thoughts. You finished off the rest of the soup. If it was poison, at least it tasted good on the way down. Left to your own devices, there was nothing to do but either go back to sleep or stare at the helmet.

You looked at its crude design. Designed to incite fear and command respect. You recalled how fluidly he moved. How precise he was in his maddening dance of ruthlessness. How sure of himself he was.

You’d never been sure of anything in your life. You always felt like an outcast. An outsider. You floated between groups of people, never belonging to any of them. Strangely, way deep down inside, you felt a certain…pull here. A deep settling in your bones.

You shook your head, fighting off that wayward thought. You had to focus on getting out of here. Of finding his ship and escaping before he grew tired of you and killed you. 

Your eyes flitted to the helmet once more. As if it were silently calling you. Taunting you. If you strained to listen, you could just make out a voice. 

Screw it. What was the worst that could happen?

You placed the bowl on the chair in front of you and crossed the rocky floor towards Qimir’s workbench. You grabbed the helmet and sat down, staring at it. Slowly, you brought it over your head. It was larger than you thought it would be, but somehow so small you started to hyperventilate. 

All you could hear was the sound of your rapidly increasing breaths. You couldn’t see anything out of the helmet. Only feel. Hear. Your hands clutched the side of the helmet, feeling like it was crushing your skull with every breath that you took.

You felt a lazy eye open somewhere. Like you were staring at some great beast, who’s body spanned the universe. And it turned that eye on you. In a panic, you screeched and tore off the helmet, tossing it onto the desk and backed away from it. You nearly fell off of the ledge trying to get away.

You stared at the visage. The harsh smile gleaming silver. It was turned on its side, face plate towards you. Mocking you. 

You turned your back from it and leaned against a stony wall. Jagged pieces of rock bit into your palm but you welcomed the pain. Welcomed the reminder that you were alive, by the grace of Qimir, but alive. And you still had your wits about you. You were not going to let him corrupt you.

You believed in right from wrong. You believed in the side of the Jedi. If nothing else, you knew that you would never, ever side with the likes of Qimir.

Masterlist | Chapter 2

[nerdieforpedro]

He told me his name

The Mandalorian/ Din Djarin x plus size female reader

My entire blog is 18+ MDNI

Word Count: approx. 1.3k

Summary: It's not clear if you enter The Mandalorian's orbit or you enter his, but slowly the two of you are growing closer.

Warnings: vague mentions of mechanic work, HANDS (It's my thing about Din okay?!), fluff, some violence, blood, injuries and first aid

Notes: I've wanted to write another Din fic for a while and didn't have any sparks. Then I read @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin 's Din fic (Sorgan girls Are Easy) she put out yesterday which is excellent. I had my spark. ⚡️ Though the fic I wrote isn't similar to hers at all. Not even in the same category. 🤣 My fic is very moody. I might write a follow-up one shot to this.

Dividers are by the wonderful @saradika-graphics

Main Masterlist / Din Djarin Masterlist /Our Journey Across the Star Ocean

Lingering near your workstation had you curious, but you chalked it up to just being curious about how you worked. You’re aware that your organization, separation and tinkering can be slower than other mechanics but it also means you don’t need to double check your work as often.

The Mandalorian was intimidating and never rude or even commanding. In fact he was polite and let Peli speak to him pretty casually. You only said hello and goodbye.

That’s why it struck you with surprise when Peli asked during one evening card game with the droids if you’d consider riding with the “walking tin can” as she put it. You blinked and asked why you, shouldn’t he be asking her to come with him. She told you that she had a business to run and she’s not gallivanting around with a trigger happy bounty hunter who has to keep track of an adorable but absurdly strong baby. 

“You need some excitement anyway. You’ll just waste away here without any good memories or fun stories to tell. It will just be a life of regrets of paths not taken.”

Her words rang in your head as the small green child sat in your lap. The Mandalorian was at the controls, silently charting their course. Was this a good decision?

He allowed you to come with him when he got his tracking fobs and when he turned in his bounties. The first touch was between your shoulder blade to your back, guiding you and the child through the market back to the Razor Crest.

The second was when his gloved hands touched yours while trying to improve your aim using a blaster. His voice was more gentle than his normal flat one. Closer to what he used with Grogu but still not as much warmth. It was enough to have you believe him to be kind.

The third happened after he brought a bounty back to the ship and he saw Grogu patting your cheeks as you spoke to him. Explaining about what different bolts did, it looked like you were organizing your tools again. His gloved hand was placed on your shoulder which had you peer up at his t-visor. He gave you a nod and went to inventory his weapons. Maybe it wasn’t just kindness. Maybe he believes you to be useful, a smile creeps along your face.

Such small gestures continued until you took Grogu out for a walk. 

It was a fairly green planet and Din said it was safe, you didn’t wander far from the ship as it was still in view. The first crawling plant you saw and shot it through and through with your blaster. The second, nipped your leg but you were able to knock it off and shot it twice. On the way back to the ship you were clear, but one jumped the gangway and a tentacle sliced across your back before you were able to turn and shoot it. You limped back into the Razor Crest and were able to clean and dress your leg but not your back. Grogu wouldn’t stop screaming and you kept moving him away from you to not get blood on the poor child.

The bounty hunter saw you, quickly put his bounty on carbonate and grabbed the bacta spray. He spoke to his son and was able to calm him slightly as he ripped your shirt and bra to try and access the wound on your back but the blood and secretions in your wound from the tentacle made it increasingly difficult as you bled. 

“I apologize for this. I’ll need to cut off the rest of the back of your shirt to clean and apply the spray and…” He paused. The Mandalorian you know never paused, he was always measured in his speech, even with Grogu. “It may be easier for me to do if I remove my gloves. They’ve become too slick with your blood. Is that alright?” You found it puzzling that he was asking permission considering it’s one of the main tenets of his religion. You didn’t care either way as long as the bleeding and pain stopped. 

“It’s fine Mando. Do what you need to do. Grogu’s okay right? I didn’t get any blood on him, I think.”

You closed your eyes and heard the Mandalorian give a few curses as he removed his gloves, warm calloused fingers were dabbing your back and applying pressure. After holding it a few minutes, you felt the cool spray of the bacta and some patches being applied with more pressure. There seemed to be less pain and your back didn’t feel like a dripping pool so you counted your lucky stars and thanked the Maker that the bounty hunter had come back earlier than later. You felt something soft spread over your body and you were lifted off the floor of the ship and brought to your cot. How did he lift you so easily? Did beskar help with that? You didn’t think so, but you know next to nothing about the stuff. It was there that you drifted off to sleep.

When you awoke later, Grogu had tucked himself on your pillow with a small green hand on your cheek. It made you feel happy to see the little green one next to you, but you felt something in your hand. It was what had been on your back. Mando had one of his gloves off and was holding your hand with his bare one. His other hand was touching Grogu’s back but his glove was on. You turned away for a moment to let a tear fall. He cares about you, you’re more than useful, maybe.

Grogu remained asleep but Mando awoke, squeezing your hand in his. “You’re awake? Has the pain subsided? I should check-” You turned back to shush him and carefully sat up, the blanket falling off your partially and he released your hand to pull it around you. The back of your shirt was open and had fallen forward some when you got up, but not expose anything thankfully.  “You should keep warm. We’re on our way back to turn in the bounty. I-I am sorry.”

“There’s no reason to be sorry. They came out of nowhere. I was able to not get killed because of the blaster shots you had me practice and Grogu’s safe so-” Since you’re not holding Mando’s hand any longer, you grasp the blanket, to have something in your hand.

“You were not safe. You were hurt badly. Do…I would not blame you if you wanted to leave.” His register is low, not threatening, but there’s sadness in it. He was sitting at your bedside mere moments ago. You wished to hop back in time and keep still so you wouldn't wake him. Just to have stayed in that moment a bit longer…

“I refuse to go. I will not. You’ll have to toss me off. I’ve seen so many things and places and I want to see that much more. You’re stuck with me Mando.” The blanket drops as you release it and you grab his bare hand with both of yours. “I’m not going to but. I just don’t want to go.” Speaking as you lock your eyes on his t-visor, a deep hum is heard from the hunter, but you remain firm.

“I am called Din. Please do so while it’s just the three of us.” His thumb ran across your palm and tickled your skin making you chuckle. “You will remain and hopefully I will hear more of your laugh.” Your smile only grows with his answer. “Please rest for now. Our journey isn’t over.”

Part Two

Space Buddies: @linzels-blog @maggiemayhemnj @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @missladym1981 @morallyinept @sherala007 @yorksgirl @daddy-dins-girl @magpiepills @megamindsecretlair @anoverwhelmingdin @theincredibleinkspitter @alltheglitterandtheroar @mrsmando @drawingdroid @harriedandharassed @i-own-loki @lady-bess @undercoverpena @pedroshotwifey

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

Kylo Ren x plus size reader

The Supreme Leader had granted his padawan one vice, one thing he could take pleasure from, one thing that was only his. He could have picked spice or hooch, but the troubled Sith chose her.

Series Warnings: reader was kidnapped and manipulated into being a pleasure slave, tagged dub con to be safe, little bit of non con, smut, d/s dynamics, angst, fluff, blood, each chapter has their own warnings as well

WC: 13k

Minors DNI

‧₊˚His Pick‧₊˚

‧₊˚His First Hit‧₊˚

‧₊˚His High‧₊˚

‧₊˚His Addiction‧₊˚

‧₊˚His Weakness‧₊˚

‧₊˚His Greatest Strength‧₊˚

[cyarikasmoon]

Sweet Thing

Bad Batch Hunter x plus size f!reader

Summary: Hunter gets an evening with you, and he doesn't have to be in charge and gets cared for like he deserves.

Pairing: Bad Batcher Hunter x plus size f!reader

Word Count: 5,087

Warnings: smut, light dom/sub, sensory deprivation, light bondage, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, slight fluff, PiV sex

Divider by @freesie-writes & @snotbuggle

A/N: So this is my first time writing smut and I had a lot of fun with this. Hunter is so baby girl and he deserves all the loving. This is also cross posted on my ao3 cyarikas_moon. I hope you enjoy!! Feedback is appreciated!

“Hunter. Pay attention.”

He grunts softly, squirming where he kneels. 

“Trust me, I’m doing my best.” He mutters, slightly breathless. 

You raise an eyebrow. You shift gently to look down at him and he falters slightly, going still. He may not be able to see but with those senses of his but he was picking up on everything you were doing. The slightest movement, the smallest sound, the faint smell of… 

“Sorry.” He states quickly. 

“Sorry…?” You repeat his word with a slight tune to it. Teasing, mocking. 

“Sorry, Cyare.” 

“Good boy.” 

You don't miss how he stills once again, holding his breath for a split moment. 

You chuckle gently. He never let himself go easily. Why would he? Hunter was a leader, a protector, a Sergeant. He had his squad to take care of. To keep safe. They were never safe from the Empire. Always on the run, also looking over his shoulder. Hackles raised, ready for a fight. For danger. 

He was wound up so tight. Stiff and uncomfortable. He just needed to relax. To unwind and breathe and slip away. To let everything disappear and to feel safe. And that is just what you were doing for him. 

You walk around him gently. He was stripped from his waist upwards. His padded vest shirt was gone. The brown overshirt was discarded. You had peeled the top half of his blacks off of him slowly, allowing his body to get used to the exposure to the air. It wasn’t cold on Ord Mantell but Hunter couldn't stop the chill that ran through his body. His scarf served another purpose now. His hands behind his back, the red material wrapped around his wrists. Tight enough to rub against his skin if he squirmed anymore. He was a highly-trained soldier. A dangerous man. He could get out of the scarf in a fraction of a second if needed. 

But he wouldn't. Because he was a good boy. He would wait. 

His bandana had been moved down and now covers his eyes. One of his senses was taken away from him. In this moment, it was a blessing. A sweet surrender. Already, it was easier for him to begin to relax and focus. His remaining senses focused solely on you. Only you. 

You are gentle and light on your feet as you walk around him from where he knelt on the middle of the floor. He shifts in his position every now and then, the pads on his trousers saving his knees for the moment. You walk across the small space of your apartment and stop in front of your bed. Before you sit on the edge, you slip out of your trousers. Dark, thick material that makes a small thump as they drop down your legs and he cocks his head to the side, listening to the sound. 

You perch on your bed, sitting there now in just your underwear and chest bindings as you slip off your overshirt and throw it across the room. His head tilts again, following the sound. Always watching, always waiting. Wound up. Ready to spring at any moment. A soft chuckles leaves your lips and you part your legs gently, your hand moving down and your fingers gently stroking over the material of your underwear; the material thin and lacy giving you a better chance to touch yourself. 

You sigh gently, and his head turns to listen to you. He is quiet as he waits. Good and patient. You smile as you watch him at that moment. You had both been meeting up for a good few months at this point. During this time, you had many long nights together. Exploring each other and learning new things. Always new things to learn. Learning Hunter wasn't a challenge. It was a delight. A delicacy. It was… delicious

“You’re such a sweet thing really…” You murmu as you sit there, touching yourself as you watch him. 

Even though he can’t see you, he ducks his head slightly, cheeks heating up. You smirked. 

“You are Hunter. No use hiding from it.” You state. “Love seeing you like this. It’s thrilling truly, this power I get to hold over you.” 

You sighs gently as your fingers rub over your clothed pussy, pads of your fingers running over your clit, your breath hitching gently. His head snaps up fast. He takes a deep long breath through his nose, his exhale a groan. Stars, he could smell you. 

“It’s an honour as well.” You grin as you see how this affects him. “So proud that I get to see this side of you. To bring it out of you.” 

“Only you, Cyare.” He breathes out, voice earnest and desperate. 

“That's right, Pretty Boy. Only me.” 

Fingers glide over the thin material now in circular motions with ease as wetness makes them damp. His breathing picks up, slightly ragged. He squirms, shifting his weight on his knees. Wound up, ready to strike. But he wouldn't. He hadn't been given permission. Yet. 

“Proud of you for learning to let go as well.” You whisper now, moving your fingers faster. “Good boys like you deserve to have breaks and rest. To have good things. To be treated right.” 

A soft groan leaves him, restraint wearing thin. His head tilts up slightly. He breathes in. 

“Do you deserve good things, Hunter?” 

You look at him now. As he's looking up, he's leaning back onto his heels, and you can see him. Sees the outline of his cock straining in his trousers. Your fingers move faster. 

“I asked you a question, Sweet Thing.” Your voice now serious, your own needs spilling through now.

 Fingers weren't enough. And stars did he have a way with using his mouth. That tongue. Now, if only he would behave so you could both get what you want. 

“Yes…” His voice is rough and deep as he stays where he is; struggling to keep himself together. 

You slip your fingers under the waistband now and slide one in and lletout a soft sigh,. Hisgroan could be heard immediately afterwards. 

“That’s right. You deserve good things. Can you tell me what you want? Use your words, I know you can.” 

You breathe out as you curl your finger inside of yourself. You 6 yourself growing even more slick with arousal.

“Want you, Cyare. Need you.” He’s straining to move towards you but holds fast. If he 7 will all be over, and he’ll be left hard and suffering. 

“Need me, hm? I feel the same way, Pretty Boy. Fuck, I’ve missed your mouth on me… Been dreaming of it.” A second finger. “Use those memories to get myself off late at night when you’re gone on long missions when you should be here with me.” 

You speak quickly, impatient with your own game now as your heart rate picks up. You knows he can hear it. He knows, and he can smell you. 

“Cyare…” His voice sounds wrecked already and hasn’t even been able to taste you yet. 

“You can have me, Hunter. You’ve been so good waiting for me.” You whispers as you watch him, how he holds still but the slight tremor to him showing how desperate he is. “You just have to say those magic words.” 

An amused smile is on your lips at the small huff that leaves him. Just one final thing. One final thing, and he can let go and relax. You watch as he shifts slightly, his lips turned down into that trademark grumpy scowl of his when he’s thinking too hard. 

“Wasting time here, Sweet Thing.” You coo teasingly, a small sadistic smile playing on your lips. “I can just take care of myself, if not. I've been doing it all this time so-” 

“Please.” 

Hunter growls out, voice desperate and wrecked and on the verge of losing it. Giving in, giving up the power. His breathing ragged, the only thing ripping through the silence in the room. With him desperate and you victorious. 

You pull your fingers back out of your underwear and keep your legs spread as you watch him for a moment. Then you smile. 

“Come here.” 

You say it so calmly, so simply and it's like everything that was keeping him knelt in the middle of the room snapped. Anyone else would have struggled to reach you. Blind-folded, hands bound, on their knees. Not Hunter. Not your good boy. You watch with a rush of excitement that swoops through your abdomen, more arousal, making you slick at how he moves.

Hunter is pushing himself up quickly with his feet, using his knees to help so he can take the quick two strides across the room so he can fall to his knees again between your legs. You watch as his nostrils flare slightly, the sweet smell of you right in front of him now, captivating him. It was like a drug. He wanted more. He needed more. 

You smile and gently move your two wet fingers to his lips. 

“Open.” 

Hunter does with a groan, your index and middle finger in his mouth and he immediately uses his tongue to clean them, tasting your arousal like it was nectar from one of the many gods from all the different religions and planets he had heard of before. But he didn’t care about any of them. Nothing could beat this. Nothing in the whole galaxy. You smile at how he moves and cleans you up, whispering sweet words to him before you pull your fingers away. 

A noise that was a mixture of a groan and a whine leaves him as his head moves forward slightly, following your retreating fingers, fixated on the taste of you before he stops. He knows his place. He kneels there between your legs and waits for your next instruction. 

“Get these panties off of me.” You whispers and watches how he moves his head until his lips come in contact with your thighs. 

His lips press open-mouthed kisses to your skin, his nose nudging against you as he moves his way up and it bumps against the thin lacy material, how it sinks tight into your flesh and rolls overlap slightly. His mouth opens, and his teeth gently sink into her ample thigh, the plush size of them something he loves to hold if his hands are free. If he could, his large hands would be digging his fingers into your dimpled thighs and pushing them up so he could feast easily. 

But you were in charge tonight. So, for now, he will focus on what you are allowing him to have and enjoy for the moment. The pad of his tongue licks across that part of your thigh over the gentle ridges of the lightning marks on your skin. Tongue tracing the silver lines of your stretch marks. He bites down again, harder now, and your breath hitches. A sharp sudden tug on his hair has him letting go of yout skin and groaning, his cock twitching in his pants painfully now.

“Careful with those teeth.” You warn, but you love it. He knows it. “Now, listen to what I tell you to do and get these panties off of me!” 

“Yes, ma’am.” He whispers, voice deeper and huskier than usual.

You huff and roll your eyes, but you are amused and love how that word sounds from his mouth when it's for you. Always for you. 

He lowers his lips against and drags his lips across her thigh to your hip, finding the band of the panties and delicately biting down on the material and dragging it down over your love handles, and working the panties down your thighs, groaning as you push your thighs together to tease him, the thick expanse of your legs pressed together tight. He continues to work and get them off of you, and you laugh and part your legs again so he can drag them over your knees. There, you kick them off your legs gently.

He’s there waiting, almost trembling in anticipation. He can’t see, but you're right there. Your cunt is right there and he knows it's so wet, glistening with your arousal from playing with yourself and his kisses to your skin just now. He’s desperate for a taste for you. He was a drunken fool waiting for the smallest chance to experience her. 

“Been so good, baby.” You whisper, your hands now stroking his hair, and he simply melts at your touch. He would do anything for you just to touch him like this always. He’d burn down the Empire for you . “Such a good boy. Go on, Sweet Thing.” 

Finally, stars, finally. 

Hunter surges forward, burying his face deep into your cunt, his tongue immediately flat against your slick folds and dragging up wards to taste and lick at you. The long, breathless moan you let out is fucking music to his ears, spurring him on. He eagerly laps at you, groaning at how you taste and gods. You're so wet. His lips move to your clit and he sucks and you scream, back arching and pushing your cunt against his face. He moves back to your folds and focuses on kissing and licking them. He knows you like the slow build-up, not too much at once. You don't get long evenings like this often. He wanted to savour everything he could. He would happily stay buried here, face in your pussy until he forgot the horrific world outside until all he knew was you, you, you. 

Your fingers slide back through his long locks, and your nails scratch at his scalp, and he groans, burying his tongue inside of you, and you pull. His cock ached in his pants, straining against the material. Everything felt so good, so fucking good but it wasnt enough. He needed, he needed- 

Your hands moved to the back of the bandana and how it was pulled down over his eyes. Your fingers toy with it, not pulling it off yet. But the option is there. He’s nodding against you, humming and making you sigh softly.

“Do you want to see, Sweet Thing?” You whispers, playing with the material. “I need you to answer me.” 

He pulls away for a moment, mouth wet and glistening. “Please, Cyare.” 

You smile and guide him back to your cunt and he continued to eat you out. The bandana is pulled slowly off of his head and strands of his hair fall across his face. He blinks and his eyes adjust to the soft light in the room. You look down at him, his eyes just visible over the velvet swell of your stomach. As he sucks on your clit his eyes look glazed over, so happy to be tasting you, consumed by your smell and taste. 

His dark brown eyes were virtually black, blown out with lust, and already seeming so far gone just from this. His eyes finally focus and find your eyes as your grip on his hair tightens. 

“There’s my Pretty Boy…” You whisper as you grind against his mouth. “Fuck you feel so good…” 

He groans against your cunt, pushing his tongue inside you and you moan softly, eyes rolling back and closing. You throws your head back, feeling your orgasm building, panting hard as it all builds. 

“C’mon Hunter, I’m close. Make me cum, Pretty boy. Make me cum.” You say quickly, moans becoming louder and more high pitched. “I know you can do it with just your mouth, you’re so good at it.”

He groans against your cunt, your words spurring him on. He nips and licks and sucks. The noises you make because of his actions and how he can make you feel this fucking good is like music to his ears. He sucks on your clit hard and you cry out, choking off with a moan. Your back arches, pushing your cunt further against his face. You pull hard on his hair and his eyes flutter shut. Your body trembles as your orgasm hits you, and he quickly laps up your release. He continues happily, lost in your cunt and your pleasure. His slow kisses and licks dwindling down as you ride through your orgasm, your fingers letting go of the harsh grip on his hair, gently tapping his cheek, and he instantly pulls away. 

“Fuck…” You whisper and smile. 

He watches softly, resting his tattooed cheek on the plump flesh of your stomach, panting himself, mouth wet, eyes focusing again. His hands are still bound behind his back. You look down and grin, stroking his hair. He leans into your touch, his nose nudging, almost nuzzling into the squishy skin of your stomach. He places a gentle kiss there that makes something deep within your core swoop, and he presses a kiss to your palm as your hand moves down from his hair to then stroke his cheek.

“Fuck, you’re so good Sweet Thing…” You whisper, chest rising and falling heavily. 

“Anything for you…” He whispers, voice rough. “Love your cunt, Cyare…” 

You laugh softly and grin at him, the thumb stroking his cheek, moving to his lips, running along the bottom one. 

“Want more of it, Sweet Thing? You’ve been so good and patient for me… Making me feel so good with that mouth of yours. Do you deserve a reward?” You ask him.

He groans softly, mouth gently biting the soft flesh of your stomach in a gentle nip. You tap his cheek as a gentle chide but you smile.

“Answer me, Hunter.” 

“I’ll take anything you give me.” The way he stares up at you, brown eyes baring deep into you, voice so sincere, you feels another sharp tug of want. 

“Fuck, c’mere.” 

You're sitting up now, leaning over him and down, lips connecting, and you kiss messy and quick. Your hands are reaching round his back to undo the scarf tied around his wrists. His tongue grazes across your bottom lip and soon you can taste yourself in his mouth. Hot breath and the slight clash of teeth, and finally, his hands are free. The moment the scarf falls, his hands move round to your thighs, holding onto the thick expanse of flesh. His hands are large by any means and he uses that to his advantage to possibly touch and grab and hold as much of your thighs as he can, nails digging in and he’s applying the perfect amount of pressure that he knows drives you crazy. Hearing you gasp into his mouth as his tongue swipes in fuels him on, and he’s kneading the doughy flesh of your thighs as he continues to kiss you like a starved man. 

“Hunter, Sweet Thing.” You gasp against his lips your hands have found their way up to his hair again, tangled in the long dark tresses. “Can you still be good for me?” 

“Yeah.” He grunts against you, forehead resting against your cheek for a moment as he seems to almost be catching his breath, collecting his thoughts in his fuzzy mind. Everything was just so good. The feel, the scent, the sight. Everything. 

“Up.” You 6 he stands in front of you, your eyesight now in line with his crotch and your hands move to his belt, pulling it away and pulling his pants down. 

Now in just his underwear, you sees the thick outline of his cock straining against the material, a dark patch forming. You run a gentle finger over the outline of it, and the sergeant trembles. The groan you pull from him is beautiful. You move your fingers away and quickly discards his underwear. His cock now free, hard and aching, dark and leaking pre cum. 

You bites your lip as you stare, smirking to yourself how he stands in front of you, knowing he can't make a move. Not even as you reach up and wrap nimble fingers around his length. You move your hand up and down slowly, pumping him once. 

“So pretty….” You whisper, staring up at him. 

He’s so tall compared to you. Towering over you, his chest rises and falls, with a toned body thick with muscle. He was a literal killing machine, a specialised clone, a sergeant. He’d seen battle after battle, and now, here he was. Stood trembling before the woman sat on the bed in front of him. All he wanted to do was touch you. You were sitting there, thighs spread slightly, leaning forward, your breasts hanging there, and he just wanted to cup them and grab them. Have you whining for him as he gropes and squeezes, his tongue running across them. He wanted to make you feel good. To pleasure you, be at your beck and call to do whatever you need. Ever. But no, he stands there frozen, stuck on the spot. Trembling with how your hand holds his cock now, not moving and he was desperate. 

He juts his hips forward slightly, trying to find some movement, some friction. Your hand squeezes around his cock in warning and he groans softly. He clenches his teeth, grinding them slightly, and his dark eyes fall on yours as you stare up at him, eyes narrowed, but the lust was full blown in them. 

“Be good, baby.” You whisper, but you are just so turned on, your thighs clenched together. 

“I’m tryin’.” He grunts out again, trying to stand still. 

His eyes fall shut as you pump him once more. 

“You made me feel so good just now, Sweet Thing… You deserve your reward now.” You coo softly. 

As he opens your eyes to see what you mean, he sees you just in time, your tongue darting out and licking up the head of his cock, collecting the pre-cum on the tip of your tongue and he can't help but moan. His cock twitches in your hand. 

“Cyare… Please…” He grits out. 

You grin up at him and squeezes his cock once more before you lets go. 

“Sound so pretty begging for me…" Seems that you're finally listening.” You smirk softly, and he huffs to himself. 

He then focuses as you shuffle back to lay on the bed, parting your legs and rubbing your clit gently and he bites his lip as he looks at the view of your glistening cunt. 

“Come and fuck me, Pretty Boy.” 

Permission. The green light. The thread snapped. 

Hunter surges forward, on top of you in a second. Eyes wild and pupils blown, like a crazed man as he stares down at your body. His eyes travel over your breasts, your stomach and rolls, looking at his cock between your legs, rubbing against your entrance. You breath hitches and you move your hips to rub your cunt against his dick. Your wet folds coating his cock in your arousal. 

She grinds your hips, staring up at him with a grin. Your hand reaches up and brushes down his chest, over the few curls of dark hair there, moving down his sternum. Dragging lightly over his stomach and down his happy trail, you wrap your hand around the base of his cock. You give it a squeeze. The pressure makes him groan above above, his dick twitching in your hand. The pearl of pre cum rubbing onto your clit as he waits. 

You look up into his eyes, both heavy and full of lust. You remain staring up at him, keeping this contact as you hold his cock and guides him into you, allowing him to push into your cunt. He instantly fills you up, sinking in all the way. A deep sound crawls its way out of his throat, a heavy grunt that's almost primal. Animalistic. Below him, your lips have parted into a silent sound, almost as if couldn't say anything. A light, airy breath left your lips, almost in a shaky manner as you look up at him. 

He’s there staying still, worshipping the feel of your tight, wet heat around him, your clenching your muscles around him, relishing in this feeling. They stay like that for a moment, living a lifetime in a second before you're moving your hand to hold his chin with your finger and your thumb, pulling him close and pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. 

“Fuck me like you mean it, Sweet Thing.” You whisper, lips grazing against his. 

He pulls out almost all of the way before he’s slamming back into you, causing you to cry out, and he grins. Here was his reward. To turn you into a mess like you had done to him. His hips snap forward, picking up speed into a steady and fast rhythm. Neither of them were going to last long tonight, it seemed. 

His hands are on you. One holding the overlapping plush skin of your hip, nails digging in and leaving crescent moon shape marks there. You want them to last for days. His other hand cups your breast, squeezing, fondling, groping. You lean down and drag his tongue up her sternum, between your breasts, and begin to pepper kisses across the skin. He keeps doing this until he reaches your hardening nipple. He takes it into his mouth, and it pebbles at the wet contact. 

You're moaning and throwing your head back, eyes closed in bliss at the feeling of everything. The pet names have long gone at this moment. Just the constant chant of Hunter, Hunter, Hunter. With each moan of his name, he finds himself plunging harder and deeper into your cunt. The sergeant is drunk off the taste of your pussy, the feel of it wrapped around him. He releases your nipple and is panting ragged above you, his hot breath tickling your skin. 

He glances at your for a moment, dark eyes begging, telling you what he needs as he now slows and makes deep, slow agonising thrusts, grinding deep into you. You open your eyes at the change of pace and catch his eyes. Those pretty eyes. God, he had been so good. Your hands move up into his thick dark hair, threading through and nails scratching his scalp as you hold onto his hair. 

“Cum for me, baby.” You breathes out, clenching around him. “Cum in me, Sweet Thing.” 

Hunter’s grinding deep now, deep low grunts leaving him as he spears his cock deep into you. His hips stutter as his rhythm breaks, becoming unsteady as his orgasm builds. His name is a prayer on your lips. Your name is a whisper breathed onto your skin like a confession, a secret. In that moment, as he is bowed over you, his lips pressing kisses to your collar bone now up to the juncture of your neck that meets your shoulder. All act and pretence is gone as your walls flutter around him and his cock pulses deep within you. 

You're close as well. He can tell. How your heart rate has picked up, the small shake to your body that he can feel on his fingertips. The tremor in your voice, getting more high-pitched. You were so close and you could cum on just his cock alone but-

He is quick to move one hand between them to press his fingers to your clit and your cries flood his senses, burning into his mind forever. He growls low and deep as he cums, long thick ropes deep inside of you. He grunts into your skin as his teeth sink down into the flesh of your shoulder. You clench tight around him as your body ripples with the white heat of your orgasm at the feeling of how he fills you up and how those skilled fingers of his pull you apart with ease. 

He collapses on top of you, teeth letting go of your skin to kiss and nuzzle his nose into your neck, breathing heavy. His cock still twitches inside of you and you whine softly at the feeling. Your nerves feel like they are all alight and on fire in the best possible way. Your hands have moved to wrap around him as best as they can, struggling to fully hold his toned torso. Your hands find their home with one in his hair, the other clinging to his back, almost in a possessive claim; desperate to keep him close. 

The world is quiet. He relaxes. He focuses on the simple rhythmic sounds of both of your breathing. Quick, deep, shaky. He can feel the thrum of your heartbeat and how it calms him. With all of the chaos in this messed up broken galaxy, he finds himself stuck in and trying to save his family and keep them safe… You are a constant. Your heartbeat, your laugh, your touch, how you care for him. His hands move around and squeeze your plush body. 

“You okay, Sweet Thing?” You whisper the name once more, checking his space, checking him.

He nods against you. 

“Yeah Cyare.” He lifts his head up to look at you and matches your small smile with his own lazy grin. “Everything’s perfect.” 

“Yeah? You were so good…” You whisper as you stroke the tattooed side of his face. 

“Well, it’s almost perfect.” He comments. 

Your face is cute as it turns into a confused frown. Your lips, bow-shaped, jut out into a pout that he can't help but kiss again. 

“What-?” You begin to say, trying to talk in between the kisses he peppers you with and you feels his cock twitch inside you again before he pulls out. 

You gasp softly at the sudden, empty feeling, feeling how he leaks out of you. He looks down at the mess between them and the sight of your pretty cunt and grins up at you. 

“Have to clean this up. Now that’s my reward.” He commented, that smirk on his lips, and it grew at the sound of your laughter. 

A light cackle of pure joy and disbelief. The laugh he only gets to hear when he's just so relaxed and just his in that moment. 

“You’re unbelievable!” You scoff, but the amusement is evident from the happy gleam in your eyes. 

“You love it.” He grunts out, the smell of your captivating him again.

“Yeah, I do.” You whispers, words light and airy as your eyes close in bliss as the sergeant buries his face between your thick thighs. And the silence of the night is replaced with gentle moans once more.  

[pygmi-cygni]

Something g cute and fluffy with Din Djarin and thick female reader

hello!! yes I can do that for you!!

no smut obv, very fluffy and I did not specify anything other than gender and size.

established relationship - no helmet :)

Sleep had never been an issue. Well, its frequency in Din's life left much to be desired, but he was incredibly skilled at power naps. He could be out like a light and then awake in an instant. it was a skill he held proudly.

But today, he just didn't want to get up.

Your addition to his life was, to summarize, soft. The blankets on his bed had been replaced with thick downy comforters. There was music playing gently in the air. Food on the table, good food, not reheated ration packs. A soft, golden light filled his heart when he came home.

Currently, that light was streaming in from the window and warming his cheeks pleasantly. Din groaned and rolled over, shoving his face into your sleeping body. He grinned, realizing he was buried in your sweet-smelling shoulder.

You were his favorite scent. He feathered kisses up your neck, nibbling under your ear.

It was already way later than he should have been sleeping but he could not care less. Din sighed contentedly, running his hands up and down your back. You stirred gently but didn't wake.

There was a lotion you'd started to use, with some off-planet flower that he adored. It made your skin smooth and supple, and glowed in the sun. He caressed your soft tummy appreciatively, kissing the side of your head.

He had so much to do today. The ship had a bad hit on the left side and Grogu needed a new set of clothes, but none of that mattered right now. Not when your face was tucked against his shoulder and he had all the time to run his hands over you and gaze at the little home you'd made.

The blankets were heavy and warm over your bodies. Sleepiness still hadn't worn off from his face - sheet lines pink on his cheeks. Your lips were slack and pouty, and he pressed a gentle kiss to them. Heavy-lidded with adoration, Din slowly rolled you onto his chest, slinging one of your plush thighs over his hips.

He hugged you tight like a pillow, breathing in your delicate scent and massaging your legs. He loved to hold you; soft, warm, the perfect weight on his chest. Skin flushed from the warm bunk room. He pulled the blankets up over you and kissed your face, starting gently at your hairline and moving down.

You fussed awake, blinking groggily in the bright light.

"Morning, handsome," you murmured roughly, smiling at his affection. His mustache tickled your cheeks, making you giggle. Din rubbed his nose against yours and settled back against the pillows.

"It's getting late," you noted, yawning. "Grogu will want breakfast." He huffed a sigh and continued petting your thighs, fondling the soft tissue in his large hands.

"He can wait," he grumbled, "wanna sleep a bit more." You angled your grin up at him and patted his chest.

"Five more minutes."

thank you for the request hon! xox

[plussizedreader]

Darth Maul x Plus Sized AFAB! Reader Headcanons

This is one of two sfw and nsfw headcanon request from @localnightmare13! This one will focus on Darth Maul, and the next post will focus on Amanda Young. The reader is afab, but can be read as whatever, as I'm not using any pronouns! I do hope ya'll enjoy, it's a bit rushed!

Warnings- Smut under the cut, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it!), rough sex, oral, piv sex.

SFW HEADCANONS-

To this day, Maul is baffled why someone as beautiful and soft and just, perfect as you loved him as much as you did.

But he loves it nonetheless.

He loves how you always want to be near him, always by his side.

He especially loves how quickly you took to the Dark Side and how eagerly you took to the training. You are fierce and violent, and the perfect companion by his side on the throne of Mandalore.

Maul can't get enough of how much he loves how touchy feely you are. Normally, he would hate others touching him in anyway then what was necessary, but not with you. He loved every touch of yours he could get, no matter how brief it is. But that's never a problem, seeing as how you are almost always by his side, holding his hand, or his hand around your waist, or more commonly, you sitting in his lap while he sits on the throne.

Even though you took to the Dark Side quickly, you had a kindness and patience that he lacked at times, making yourself a balance to his cold anger.

NSFW Headcanons-

Where do I even start? Maul simply cannot get enough of you. He will eat you out like a starving man. He simply loves being between your thighs, watching you squirm as his horns poke into your thighs as he devours you.

Speaking of that throne, there's two things you and him love doing on that chair.

And one is you in his lap, riding him. sitting there, watching you take him and your body bounce as you chase your pleasure. He just can't help it, and will often times reach out and grab a handle full of your amble breast, playing with them, teasing your nipples, pulling out every sweat noise out of you.

other times, he'll have you completely naked and on your knees in front of him, sucking him off. This is probably his favorite way to have you, watching you grind your clit against his metal foot, chasing your own pleasure.

For such a well spoken man that Maul is, he fails to articulate just how much he loves every piece of you. He loves every stretch mark and curve and roll on you, but the minute me tries to vocalize it he turns into a babbling fool

[ceapa-mica]

My take on Thrawn with a plus size! s/o:

- Ok this man LOVES your body! To him it's the most precious piece of art he's ever laid eyes on. Your cellulite and every single stretchmark of yours are a part of it. He appreciates it all - and he makes sure to show his appreciation whenever he can, both verbally and physically.

- If you're insecure about your looks, he shows you art of cultures where plus size is considered a beauty standard.

- He never misses an opportunity to tell you how beautiful you are.

- Should anyone ridicule you for your weight, or for basically any reason, rest assured that Thrawn will take care of it. Any bully will be dealt with and you will never see them again. He's a Grand Admiral after all.

Feel free to add more to this headcanon! ❤️

[drawingdroid]

Drawing Droid’s chaotic Masterlist

Hi, I’m Terry, a Spanish Illustrator & Art teacher who is too obsessed with a space dad and his green child. I love writing fics of them as well as doodling anything Star Wars-related. I take drawing requests at the moment, so drop a message in my inbox if you want a treat. Thank you for sticking with me on this adventure, see you around. 🩵

General info of interest idk

🩵 You can find all my art under #droiddraws and my writings as #droidwrites

🩵 I update on AO3 here

🩵 This is my first year on Tumblr and I still don’t get things 100% here please be patient with me also I’m autistic and a lot of new social cues I don’t get!

One Shots

To be taken care of 🍾 Bounty Hunter Reader | Smut

Sweet Potato 🍠 Modern AU | Neighbours | Fluff

Series

The Unknown Regions 🪐 Plus Size Reader | Adventure, Fluff and Smut 🗓️ Complete

Melting Point 🌋 Modern AU | Sculptor Din Djarin | Art PhD Reader | Slow Burn 🗓️ Ongoing

Sketches

Vader under the suit red and blue

Anakin and Padme

Revenge of the Sith Happy Ending AU

Agent Whiskey and Grogu

Grogu Doodles here, here and here 💚

Silly Thanksgiving Din

Bento Box Grogu

Cowboy Grogu

Menstrual cup Din

Confused Din Djarin

Here I put all my fav fics and art from other creators I love! Don’t wanna have that gems lost in the vastness of the internet!

Fav Art

That amazing comics of Din and Grogu that make me cry @abigaillarson

Best SW comics in the galaxy @stealingpotatoes

Supreme Din Djarin Art @immarocketman

Din an Grogu being cute & chaotic af by @wwapich

Maul x Obi-Wan Comics I didn’t knew I needed! @milkcioccolato

The cutest SW chibis @nikkigam

Fav Fics

Sweetest Modern Din Djarin AU @604to647

All my fav Pedro Boys by @fuckyeahdindjarin

The cutest Din!!! By @thefrogdalorian

Everything by @beskarandblasters honestly

Other

The dividers we can’t live without from @saradika @saradika-graphics

[kylowritten]

Close Quarters

Pairings: Matt the Radar Technician x PlusSize!Reader

Summary: You love working with your childhood best friend, it’s one of the perks of your job. But dynamics shift between you as a tricky assignment forces you into close quarters.

Warnings: slight size insecurities, partial nudity, kissing

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: This request is for @judypahtootee ! I hope you enjoy😊 It’s the first time I’ve written for Matt so let me know what you think, hopefully my interpretation of him is what you’re looking for.

Your POV

"Oh. Um — wow."

"Yeah, I know," you say, self consciously running your hands over your uniform. "This was the last one they had left. Apparently one size fits all does not mean what you think."

Matt stands in the corridor, looking dumbfounded. His glasses adorably slide down his nose, and he pushes them back up, the slightest hint of a blush covering his face. Your stomach ties into a knot. He's probably embarrassed that he has to be seen with me like this, you think. Admittedly, you've been in worse scenarios together, but none of them have involved you in a fluorescent orange uniform clinging to every part of your body.

You quickly inform him, "It's just for the day, though. The new sizes come in tomorrow."

“Oh. Good,” Matt replies, averting his eyes.

A tiny part of you winces. Your socially inept friend since childhood has never been good with words, and you know that he doesn’t mean any harm, but you can’t help but feel wounded. Quickly, you push the thought from your mind — you have a job to do, and you won’t let your insecurities get in the way of that.

“So what are we looking at?” You ask, as the two of you start down the corridor. It takes you twice as many steps to fill Matt’s lengthy ones.

“The radar array is down in the second quadrant,” Matt tells you, all business. “We need to repair the damage and then recalibrate it to ensure that it’s functioning at optimal levels.”

You nod. Nothing out of the ordinary, then.

Especially when the Surpreme Leader, Kylo Ren, had a conniption fit every time something didn’t go his way, and you were called to fix it. The damage looks the same as always — electric wires sprouted from the walls, spitting out sparks, and long, charred marks sliced through equipment like the strokes of a clawed beast. A shiver jolts through you; you never want to be on the wrong end of a lightsaber.

“Hm. Weird.”

You shake your head little. Matt has already walked into the room where the radar array is stationed, and he bends down slightly to inspect a panel on the far wall. You join him, saying, “What’s weird?”

“It’s almost as if the internal mechanisms have malfunctioned,” he mutters.

You start to protest as he slips a gloved hand behind the panel, but it falls on deaf ears as he then completely (and effortlessly) rips the panel from the wall. A shower of sparks washes over you, and you cry out in surprise. When you’re feeling brave enough to open your eyes again — ready to face whatever marring you got — you realize that Matt had used his body to shield you from most of the affects, and now your faces were precariously close.

“Oh,” you breathe, unable to help yourself.

You’ve always liked Matt. You’ve never said it aloud, of course, out of fear of ruining your friendship. He probably wouldn’t return the feelings anyway. The proximity of him initiates a fleet of TIE fighters inside of you, all taking off at once and blasting from your stomach to your chest, where they lodge in your throat and prevent you from saying anything even halfway comprehensible. You stammer.

“Are you okay?” Matt asks. His impossibly dark eyes comb over your form, lingering in the places where your illfitting uniform clings.

You intake a ragged breathe. “Fine,” you tell him. Embarrassed, you turn away from him, unable to meet his intense gaze. You clear your throat. “So what’s wrong with this thing?”

His gaze lingers on you, but you refuse to acknowledge it. After a moment, he turns, and addresses the now-missing panel; there’s a portion of the wall revealed, and behind it, a whole mess of blinking technology.

“We’ll have to fix the internal mechanisms before we can move on, or else it will all be for nothing,” he says. Matt shakes his head in disbelief.

He takes a step towards the floor to ceiling section that’s missing, but almost immediately his broad shoulders get stuck. Matt laughs, albeit nervously, and tries again, this time from the side. He makes it a little bit further this time but inevitably gets wedged between the two walls.

He holds out an arm that you yank until he’s finally free. You smile as he dusts himself off. It’s no wonder he couldn’t fit — Matt had been practically enormous since he was fifteen. The smile, and your amusement, disappears when you realize that you’ll have to squeeze.

“Oh no,” you say. “No way.”

Matt frowns. “You have to, or else we can’t repair the arrays. You know if we don’t complete this that we could potentially lose our jobs.”

You want to shoot back, “then we can get new ones,” but you’re both aware that the First Order pays ridiculously well compared to any other jobs. Neither of you can afford to lose them. Plus, you genuinely love being a radar technician and getting to work on some of the most advanced ships in the entire galaxy.

“Fine. But how do I know what to do?”

Matt replies, “I’ll tell you while you’re in there, just describe it to me. It should be simple.”

Summoning your courage, you turn sideways and slide into the missing section. You barely fit, but manage to squeeze through, relief crashing into you. The narrow section opens into a room. No smaller than a storage closet, there’s just enough space for you to turn around comfortably in.

Buttons and levers and blinking panels all stare at you.

You hear Matt’s voice, muffled slightly, “Are you okay? Do you need me —”

“I’m fine,” you tell him. You give him a quick description of what you see. “Where do I start?”

“On your left there should be a series of green buttons. Press the first one, then release the lever directly above it, that should open up a small valve behind you.”

You follow his instructions. The lever responds willingly to your touch, and then somewhere from behind you hear the familiar clink of metal hitting metal and the valve opening. Your heart soars triumphantly. “Matt, I did it! I —”

Spinning to locate the valve, there’s a ripping noise and a burst of pain as a previously unseen bolt catches your uniform and pierces your skin. You curse. Not only does it hurt like a bitch, but your uniform is stuck, keeping you from making the full turn to the valve.

Matt calls your name. “Did you adjust the valve?”

“Um, no,” you confess. “Not yet. Hold on.”

You’re desperately clawing at your back. You don’t want Matt to know what’s happened, but you can’t seem to find the bolt that’s snagged you. Your fingers scramble to loosen the piece of uniform that’s stuck, but the material refuses to part from your skin.

“What’s wrong in there?” Matt asks.

“Nothing, nothing!”

It strikes you that the only way to free yourself is to remove your top and disentangle yourself from it and the pesky bolt. You grab the bottom of your tip and lift afterward. It easily rises.

Until you pull it up and over your face.

Dread opens inside you.

The uniform is too tight to remove, and it doesn’t budge no matter how much effort it takes to pull it the remaining way off your head. You slump in defeat. Now not only are you stuck, but your whole stomach and breasts are exposed, arms stuck above your head. Luckily you’re wearing your cutest bra, but it doesn’t necessarily help the situation you’re in.

You can’t see with the material over your eyes. Huffing, you say, “Okay, I lied. There’s a problem.”

“A problem?” Matt echoes. “Are you hurt? Is everything okay?”

“I’m not hurt,” you say. Well, maybe my pride. “But, um, I’m stuck.”

“Stuck? Like on what to do next?”

Your face screws up into an expression of frustrated disbelief. “No. Um, my…my uniform got stuck on a bolt or something in here. I-I thought that just taking off my top might help but it’s so fucking tight that now I’m…stuck.”

A few moments of silence. “Are you…naked?”

“Partially?” You remark. You describe how you’re still wearing pants, thank you very much, and a bra, but your shirt is over your head. You take a deep breath. Now for the part that you wish you didn’t have to say. “I…I need you to come in here and help me.”

“What?”

“I know you can’t fit, but —”

“No, no, if you need my help then I’m coming.”

You hear him try to squeeze through the opening, grunting and cursing as he goes. He draws closer, based on the volume of his grunting and cursing, and you quickly demand, “Close your eyes! I don’t want you to see.”

“Okay. Okay.” Matt’s presence warms the space, and he can barely fit inside it with you.

A heat pools between your legs. He smells incredible, the scent flooding your senses, and his hands falter as he tries to gauge the scene with his eyes closed.

Matt’s POV

Your skin rushes beneath his fingers, soft and sweet smelling. He doesn’t mean to touch your bare stomach but he doesn’t exactly know what’s going on, or where he even is. He keeps bumping his elbows and knees against the walls.

Slowly, Matt cracks open one eye. Then another.

The top of your uniform is indeed wrenched over your head, blocking your vision. Matt’s throat bobs. His eyes hurry to take you all in, greedy, as if at any moment the sight would be taken away from him. The pants of the uniform cling to your hips and thighs, sinfully tight. He hungrily studies the soft curve of your belly, your sides, and — Oh, Stars — the tops of your breast.

The closeness of the space has them so close, basically begging him to put his mouth on them.

Before he forgets what he was sent here to do, Matt unhooks the material from the bolt, then gets to work on your top. There’s no way for him to help without touching you, and each touch drives him wild. He angles his hips so you can’t feel the hardening in his pants.

He brushes over your breasts, the delicious dip of your collar, beneath your arms — and he’s gripped with the urge to touch you everywhere and all at once. Matt clears his throat. No. You’re his friend! And you’re obviously in a vulnerable situation, it’s inappropriate to be thinking this way. Not that he hasn’t before.

Matt finally promots the shirt over your chin, and with just one more tug, you’ll be mostly free.

He stares at your lips, parted in anticipation.

Matt doesn’t kiss you, however, no matter how much he wants to. His gaze lingers there, imagining what they would feel like, and then he closes his eyes and lifts the shirt over your eyes.

Your POV

“Oh, thank Stars,” you breathe. Your eyes pop open. Matt’s remain closed as he tugs the shirt up, and you help him disentangle it from your arms.

Matt’s hulking presence consumes most of the space. You’re pressed together, basically, and at this height you’re given a perfect view of his mouth and his plush lips.

You lean forward, then stop. What were you doing? Matt would never reciprocate your feelings and you can’t kiss him, now matter how delectable his lips looked and how desperately you wanted to feel them on yours. You pull back.

“Thank you,” you tell him.

He nods. “Anytime.”

Matt’s throat bobs, and you’re transfixed by the sight. Stars, why did he have to be so damn beautiful? And why was he so close?

He nervously asks, “Now what?”

“I-I suppose you can open your eyes. I’m not sure how else we’re going to leave.”

“Are you sure?”

“Um, yeah,” you say. In a feeble attempt to cover yourself, your cross your arms over your chest. It only pushes your breasts up further, though — you’ve always been cursed with a big chest — but it’s better than nothing. “Go ahead.”

Matt opens his eyes. There’s no way you miss out on the way he looks you over, like a starving man wanting to consume what’s in front of him.

His mouth parts.

“I know,” you quickly say, filling in the awkward silence. “I’m sorry you have to see me —”

“Sorry?” One of Matt’s brows disappears nearly into his hairline. “You don’t have anything to be sorry about.” His gaze dances away momentarily but darts back as if it can’t stay away. “If anyone needs to apologize, it’s me.”

“What? Why?” He backs out of the space first and you follow, shoving him from behind.

Matt bursts from the paneling and then offers you a hand. You take it, but as he pulls you out, you end up only inches from each other.

Matt takes a deep breath. “Because I…because I looked.”

“Oh. Oh,” you say.

Your cheeks burn from a blush.

“I’m sorry, I just —”

“Well it’s not any different from right now,” you remind him. You’re still overwhelmingly undressed compared to him. Your words prompt him to examine you again, but then he quickly looks away.

“I know but…you were trusting me. And I didn’t listen. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not like you haven’t seen me before,” you tease him. “I just went from the ugly, chubby kid to the ugly, chubby adult and —”

“What?” Matt frowns. “Who said that you were ugly?”

“Well, no one has to spell it out for me,” you reply. Your voice wavers, although you wished that it wouldn’t.

Matt shakes his head. “I don’t know where you got that idea. You’re…you’re beautiful. So beautiful. I’ve always thought that, even as kids,” he adds, and this time it’s his turn to blush.

“Don’t lie,” you say.

“I’m not lying,” he replies.

A serious expression settles on his handsome features. He steps toward you, propelling you back. Your spine collides with the wall, but he keeps getting closer, trapping you. Nearly all sense of control flies out the window as he traces a finger over your cheek, down your throat, and between your breasts. The finger trails over your belly, then hooks into the front of your pants. He jerks his hand back, effectively pulling you into him so that your hips slam into each other.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he mumbles. One hand rests on your back, the other slipping behind your head. “In there, I-I couldn’t help myself. I had to look at you, to devour you. I didn’t know if I would ever get the chance to again.“

Your breath tears from your throat. His mouth is there, just hovering over yours, and his hands hold you dangerously close.

“Well,” you say, with a bravery you didn’t know you had, “what are you going to do about it?”

That’s all the prompting he needs.

Matt shoves you up against the wall again, his hand on your back cushioning the blow. Finally his lips capture yours, but the kiss is anything but delicate — his lips punish yours, rough and demanding, tongue darting out to lick your bottom lip before seeking invitation. Your mouth parts eagerly, and he continues to kiss you with the same determined passion, years and years of suppressed feelings unraveling in moments.

You can’t believe this is happening. Your hands explore him, the familiar terrain of his body now roped with muscle.

Eventually you both withdraw for a breath. “I love you,” he mutters, head still bent near yours.

“I love you,” you reply, grabbing the front of his vest. “I always have. And I always will.”

You’re not sure how long you kiss before it dawns on you that you probably need to finish repairing the damage before a supervisor comes along. Matt removes his shirt to give it to you, and you wear it gratefully. Appreciatively, you watch the muscles in his back as he works, connecting the series of freckles and moles there with your gaze.

When he’s finished replacing the panel, you both set to repairing the damage and then recalibrating the arrays. Matt smirks, and glances at you. “Does this mean that when we work together now that we’ll always be shirtless?”

[megamindsecretlair]

We Are the Night - Masterlist

Qimir x Black!Fem!Reader

As if I needed any prompting! This man has altered my brain chemistry. Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving comments, reblogs, or unhinged screaming in my asks! General warning, I spit on Star Wars canon.

MINORS DNI 18+, DO NOT BE IN A RUSH TO GROW UP. THIS SERIES IS EXPLICIT.

AO3 Link to Chapter 1

Summary: You managed to get away from Qimir on Khofar, trying to stop your sister from enacting her revenge on Master Sol. She gets the better of you, trapping you in an escape pod, shooting you off to who knows where. You end up in Qimir's clutches anyway, waking up in the cavern he calls home. Qimir is evil, you know this, and yet you find yourself slowly breaking down under his guidance. The Power of Two is what he's after. But will you join him?

Chapter 1

[gemini-sensei]

It's Star Wars Day!

And I guarantee Demetri celebrates in the nerdiest way possible, every year. He spends the day dressed up as a character wherever he can get away with it. He makes inspired snacks the night before to take with him to training and eats his own Star Wars themed meals. He gives all of his friends little gifts, be it lightsaber key chains that actually light up or character stickers.

(If Hawk ever convinces him to get a tattoo, you better believe it's a Star Wars one.)

Don't get me started on how he pulls his kids into later in life. He raises his kids on Star Wars, Star Trek, Doctor Who, basically all the stuff he loved growing up. Star Wars day comes around and their lunch boxes a have Death Star mini pizzas and cucumber Yodas. His baby is dressed up for the occasion, too. No doubt.

If it's a weekend, movie marathon! Younger Demetri definitely stayed up late to watch as many movies as he could, eventually falling asleep in the middle of whichever one he made it to (and as little kid his mom would stay up and watch with him, then carry him to bed when he passed out 🥺). Sleepovers with Eli where all they did was watch the movies and later on the shows (these two definitely obsessed over the Clone Wars, watched it religiously). Older, parent Demetri who gets all the snacks together and him and his kids and wife/partner (Reader or Eli or both 👀) pile into the big blanket fort they made on the floor to be extra cozy to watch the movies. Family tradition right there.

I have a migraine but this idea was swirling around in my head. So I had to post it before it was too late.

@sensei-venus @may-moskowitz

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

.⋆｡His High｡⋆.

Kylo Ren x plus size reader

His Choice Masterlist

Riding the high of his new fix, Kylo shows her the beauty of her subservience

Chapter Warnings: dubcon, smut, size kink, d/s dynamics, cockwarming, oral (m receiving), public sex, fingering, ocean sex (don't do this- the chaffing isn't worth it)

WC: 2.2k

Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

The First Order was just that, an order. Routine was drilled into them from the moment they were conscripted. Everyone had their place and every job had its responsibilities. The patrol ships left at the same time every day, returning several hours later only for another batch to be sent out when the hall lights began to dim. As a lone TIE fighter streaked by the large window, Y/N stretched her limbs, it was time for her lunch.

Meals were delivered three times a day to the sith lord’s chambers. Sometimes there would be enough for two but most of the meals were only for one.

Y/N sat up against the headboard of the huge bed she was chained to as she heard footsteps make their way down the hall. She had gotten good at listening to the sounds outside those dark walls that surrounded her, she had almost worked out which stormtroopers would bring her food each day just by how loudly they marched. 

Yet when the doors opened, her master was the one that entered. Immediately, she rocked to her knees, hands clasped in her lap, just as he liked her. “Up.” He said, his voice clipped. Her head tilted in confusion.

“Sir?” His helmet turned to her, the blank expression giving her no answers as to what he wished. A sigh bled out from his respirator before he pulled something out from under his cloak and threw it to her. Two small light brown candles landed on the bed a few inches from her knees.

“Put those on and come with me.” With a flick of his wrist, the silver chain attached to her collar fell away, leaving her free. “Now.” He ordered and Y/N sprang up. Her hands shook with nerves as she slipped them onto her feet. She stood from the bed on uncertain legs and almost crashed into the much taller man. He caught her with a gloved hand, steadying her easily. His touch lingered for only a moment before he dropped her arm like it had burned him and turned back to the open door.

“Keep up.” And then he walked off. She scrambled forward, following behind as closely as she could despite how quickly he was walking. They passed throngs of stormtroopers, each one saluting him as they walked by. She could feel their gazes on her but she kept her eyes locked forward on her master’s wide back.

Excitement stirred in her gut, having only seen the med bay and Kylo’s rooms, this was an overload for the young woman. There was a tinge of fear in the back of her mind, a warning to keep her guard up for what the sith may have planned. Her brain reminded her that even if he had been kind to her so far, he was still a dangerous man.

Soon they approached another set of blast doors and before Y/N could even wonder what was behind them, they slid open with a series of mechanical thuds.

The breath was knocked from Y/N’s lungs as they stepped into the hanger bay. Kylo continued to walk but she was rooted to the spot. She had never seen anything like this in her life. It was so much more advanced than the sand gliders of her youth and even bigger than all the villages on her planet combined. 

There was only one ship docked in the hangar but it could easily hold 10 within its hexagonal walls. Huge lights were built into each vertical metal panel that lined the bay. Y/N could only just make out the blue shimmer of the forcefield at the mouth of the hanger. It was filled with robots bustling around, doing repairs and menial jobs, smoothly moving away from the pair’s path. 

“Girl.” The modulated voice broke her from her amazement. Her eyes snapped back to attention, finally catching sight of the huge black TIE fighter standing right behind her master’s hulking form. “Come along, the journey will be long so we need to leave quickly.” She stumbled over her feet as he strode towards the ship.

The cockpit opened smoothly as they approached, revealing the dark interior which included only one jump seat. Her brows scrunched. “There’s only one seat, master.”

“Yes.” He replied before he swung himself over the control panel, settling into the seat. She was confused only for a moment as Kylo reached a long arm out to her. “Take it.” His black leather gloves were surprisingly warm as she fit her smaller hand into his much larger one, the material creaking softly with the curling of his fingers. 

Then, he pulled. Suddenly, Y/N found herself in the air and moving quickly towards the hull of the ship. Just as she let out a yelp, her ass was planted on two very firm thighs, her back pressed against Kylo’s front. He grunted under his helmet and readjusted the girl so she wasn’t sitting right on his cock. Warmth crawled up her neck at the sheer power he had just exhibited, and she was ashamed to admit but it set her veins alight.

He pulled his hand from her grasp (she hadn’t realised that she was still holding him) and pressed several buttons on the display before them. The red glass shield came down, shutting them in as the huge engine came to life. Y/N jumped back into her master in surprise, causing him to let out an almost inaudible chuckle. “I guess you haven’t been in one of these before.” She shook her head and looked back at him.

“I hadn’t even been in a star cruiser until the day you selected me.” He hummed with a measure of self-satisfaction, winding an arm around her soft tummy as he took the controls with his other hand.

“Hold on tight then.” She watched as the world around them seemed to spin, the view of the dark walls quickly replaced by the vast expanse of the ‘verse. Her fingers tightened on his forearm, her eyes almost doubling in size. The fighter silently glided out of the Star Destroyer, giving her a good look at the truly massive ship she had called home for the past couple weeks. 

Using her distraction, Kylo lifted her wide hips from his lap, giving the soft flesh there a tap- a silent signal for her to remain in that position which she obeyed blindly. Her pale pink dress lifted over her plump thighs, the hem coming to rest right below her hips. A hand slipped between them and cupped the roundness of her cunt. “Keep your eyes forward.” He murmured as a thick finger prodded at her entrance.

“Press that button by your knee.” His middle finger, still covered by his glove, sunk into her warmth, uninhibited by any undergarments as she had been barred from wearing them. She bit back a moan as she reached for the button, letting the pad of his finger hit the place inside her that set her body ablaze. She did as he asked and suddenly the stars warped, growing longer and longer until they were only streaks of white above their heads. 

Another finger breached her before quickly being followed by a third. Y/N’s back arched against her master, pushing them even deeper inside of her. Just as her stomach began to tighten with pleasure, he pulled away. She whined, earning a firm squeeze of her plump lower stomach. “Don’t complain.” He snipped.

She felt his trousers shift under her naked thighs before the blunt tip of his cock was suddenly resting between her folds. “Sit.” Her eyes rolled back into her head as she did what he commanded, each inch of his thick cock, brutally stretching her cunt to its very limit, as it did every time he took her.

She was gasping for breath as she finally took him to the hilt, her hands desperately clawing at his forearm. She could feel his cock twitch inside of her, the fat head resting against her cervix, sending shots of pleasure through her. 

Taking in as deep of a breath as she could, Y/N attempted to rock forward but was quickly yanked back and forced to be still. “Keep me warm on our journey. You may rest if you wish but do not finish.” With a great effort, she forced herself to relax into him, tucking her head just below his chin and shutting her eyes. She let the hum of the engine and the sound of his heartbeat lull her to sleep.

——————

“We’re here.” Warm salty air washed over her, stirring her from her light slumber. Calloused fingers traced up the curve of her arm, encouraging her to open her eyes. And when she did, she swore she was still dreaming.

There was blue as far as the eye could see, even blending into the clear sky and blurring the horizon. “It’s beautiful.” She breathed, sitting up as if it would allow her to absorb even more of the landscape. A deep chuckle from behind her shook her body softly.

“Why don’t you get a closer look then.” Kylo delicately lifted her from his lap, letting his half-hard cock slip from her cunt. They both hissed at the sensation but Y/N’s attention didn’t remain on that for long. She yanked her dress back down over her thighs and leaned over the cockpit edge, vaguely wondering if she could jump. Before she could decide, Kylo took her by the waist and lowered her down until her toes were just barely touching the white sand beneath the ship.

She smiled broadly as the tips of her sandals disappeared into the warm sand. He released her gently, half-expecting her to immediately run off but instead she looked back to him, waiting for something. “Go on. But not too far.” He warned and in return, he received a blinding smile, one he had never seen before.

Kicking off her sandals, Y/N ran to the water. She only stopped when the clear blue was up to her hips, soaking her dress through. He watched as her eyes fluttered shut, letting the calm waves wash over her. 

With a sigh, Kylo tucked himself away then shed his helmet and cape, leaving them in a pile with his gloves, before he himself swung out of the cockpit and onto the sand. She paid him no mind as he approached.

This was a truly beautiful planet, one of the many moons of Naboo but so under-utilised considering its vast supply of spice hidden just under its crust. He had discovered it years ago when attempting to track Luke Skywalker and decided to keep it a secret. A selfish piece of him wanted to keep its beauty to himself, to have a sanctuary from his own darkness. He had no doubt that the Supreme Leader knew of this place as well but for now, he would savour his little secret. 

He laid his large hands upon her hips as he curled around her back. “You have been very good. You have not disobeyed me, you have not tried to run. I thought it high time you were rewarded.” As he spoke, one hand dipped lower, disappearing under the water to grasp her thigh and then travel upwards beneath her dress.

He smirked when her breath hitched. “Th-thank you master.” She stammered out, rolling her hips downwards, chasing his touch. He rewarded her with a wet kiss to the crook of her neck. 

“Good girl.” He purred as he finally touched her neglected pearl. “Now let me reward you.” He rolled the sensitive bud between his two fingers as his other hand cupped one of her heavy breasts, his thumb finding her nipple immediately. 

Pleasure rippled through her as she succumbed to his touch. She was already on edge from having him inside her for so long with no relief. And with the feel of the warm water around her lower half and the solid mass of her master behind her, she was ready to fall. His hand shifted from her clit, slipping two of his fingers inside of her as the heel of his palm reconnected with the small bundle of nerves.

“This is what you can receive when you obey me. I will lavish you with gifts and treasures.” He took her earlobe between his teeth, causing her to shutter and clamp down on his fingers. “And ecstasy you could only dream of.” Her moans were carried out with the waves, going higher and higher with each shuddering breath. She clutched at his arms as the knot in her stomach tightened dangerously.

“Let go, give me your pleasure my pet.” She shattered in his arms with a howl, her end consuming her like the ocean that surrounded them. Kylo caught her swiftly as she sagged, her knees buckling. Carrying her bridal style, he walked from the waters to a shady grove a few metres away.

She was still struggling to breathe as he laid her upon the grass, quickly laying down next to her right after. There was no need for words as they each soaked up the perfectly warm rays of the sun, basking in the calmness of the moon. Yet all too soon, Y/N sat up with a smile.

“Let me take care of you too, master.” She rolled between his legs with a smirk and pulled his trousers down his muscular thighs. A groan slipped through his lips as she took him into her mouth, determined to serve her master thoroughly.

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His Choice

@the-queen-of-sorrows

[handspunyarns]

Day Fourteen point Five (Marathel).

pairing: din djarin x fem!O/C 

word count: 6K 

chapter summary: Marathel throws another mug, takes her first shower, and gets a little tipsy 

warnings:  violence to pottery, mention of stomach illness, allusion to sexual/physical abuse and rape, alcohol use, English cursing 

***Please feel free to comment, kvetch, or otherwise speak your mind about my work. ***      

You Were Marked: Masterlist   

<- You Were Marked: Previous Chapter 

Marathel started to wake up, but she was quite confused.  She felt very warm and very comfortable, curled upon her side as she was on a soft tick, under a soft blanket, but something was not right … or was something missing?  Her ear was covered, her feet were covered with the blanket securely tucked underneath (so they can’t see me, if they can’t see me then they can’t hurt me) but something was different.  She was wearing soft pants and a shirt, not her usual nightwear, but that wasn’t quite it.  Marathel shifted a bit but still couldn’t put her finger on what she was confused about, or why, so she flipped back the blanket so she could get up. 

“Oh, finally waking up then …?” 

Marathel shrieked and grabbed the closest thing to her, which happened to be a heavy mug that was easy for her splinted hands to hold as it was square-shaped — and identical to the one she had thrown at the droid yesterday — but she was unaware that her hands were now in new minimalist metal splints, had forgotten that her hands were in splints to begin with — and she launched the mug in the direction where the strange voice had come from.  Cobb ducked with a yelp, quickly sliding off the padded chair to the floor to escape the missile hurled at his head, and the mug exploded against the wall behind him.   

“Okay, no more mugs for you, lady!” bellowed Cobb as he jumped up, pointing a finger in Marathel’s direction.  “Dank ferrik!” he shouted at no one in particular as he stomped out of her room. 

Marathel was frozen, her arm still extended, and then she drew a quick breath in surprise, her hand going to her mouth.  She couldn’t decide if she wanted to cry or laugh, and the only noise she could make was a squeaky snort through her nose.  After getting some control of herself, Marathel noticed for the first time that her hand was not in the wooden splint, but in a cunning and strange metal arrangement that allowed her to flex her fingers while still getting support for her full hand.  Marathel was also surprised to find that her hands did not hurt quite as much.  There was pain, yes, but the sort of pain that came with long healing, bones knitting together, tendons reattaching.  She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, noticing that her knee seemed to be better as well.  She gingerly stood up, testing her weight, and decided that while it seemed better, she really needed to stay off it, so she sat back down. 

Fennec came in then, asking, “What the kriff is going on?” 

“I threw a mug at Cobb’s head.” 

“Yes, I heard.  Have you considered not throwing mugs at things that startle you?  It’s a good thing you don’t use a blaster.  I couldn’t begin to guess what you’ve thrown at Mando.” Fennec bent down and picked up some of the larger shards. 

“Just some rocks.  And a couple of eggs.”  Oh, and yourself, you stupid woman. 

“Eggs?” 

Marathel shrugged.  “He deserved it.” 

Fennec smiled.  “That, I do not doubt.” 

Marathel looked down at her hands in her lap.  “I’m sorry I keep breaking mugs.  And I’ll apologize to Cobb when I see him.” 

“Please, what’s a couple of mugs?  You should have seen some of the things that have happened in this damn palace.  Two mugs are small change in comparison.”  Fennec looked at Marathel, sitting primly with her hands in her lap.  She appeared to be making herself as small as possible.  “You know, not everything new is terrifying.” 

Easy for you to say, thought Marathel.  I can’t even manage to sleep on a raised bed.  She lifted her hands to eye level.  “I’m not scared of my new splints.  I like them.  They are very clever.” 

“They are.  They should allow you to do more things now.  Are you in pain?” 

Marathel shook her head.  “Not so much.  Not like before.” 

“Your bleeding has slowed significantly, too,” said Fennec.  Marathel turned back to look at the rumpled bed: the absorbent pad she slept on had a few light lines of blood, whereas before she would soak through the pad completely.   

“Does that mean it’s working?” 

“It looks that way.  How does that make you feel?” 

Marathel wasn’t sure, exactly, but she knew what Fennec wanted to hear.  “Hopeful.”  Perhaps I’ll eventually believe it. 

“I’m glad to hear it.  I brought you some new clothes.  I was thinking you might want to take a shower and wash your hair.” 

Marathel looked at Fennec, puzzled.  “Take a shower?  Like a rain shower?  There’s no rain.” 

Fennec blinked.  “No … I meant in the fresher,” she said, waving her hand towards the room where the vac tube was. Marathel still looked confused.  “I’ll show you.”  Fennec led Marathel to the fresher, opened the door, and then turned on the water.  “See?  A shower.  And in here …” Fennec popped open the storage bin within.  “Shampoo, soap, body moisturizer, facial moisturizer …” 

“Shampoo?” 

“Soap for your hair.” 

Marathel frowned.  “Why do I need a different soap for my hair?” 

Fennec laughed.  “Because your hair is different than your skin.  Just go with it, Marathel, enjoy it.”  Fennec set out fluffy towels and pointed out a small contraption called a hair dryer and opened a drawer that held combs and other toiletries.“By the way, you should probably close and lock the door while you’re in here.”  She left, and Marathel followed her advice and locked the door to her room so that she could have privacy.   

Undressing — amazed she could do so herself, with her new finger splints — she stepped under the spray and was immediately delighted.  It was like being under a warm waterfall, but without the occasional fish and branch landing on her head.  Marathel opened the tube that Fennec told her was soap for her hair, and the scent of sweet fruit filled her nose.  She rubbed a small amount through her hair, and she watched as dirt and dried blood left her hair and swirled away down the grate in the floor.  She used the shampoo again — a more generous amount this time — and then applied the soap with a cloth as gently as possible around her wounds.  The soap had a scent that she couldn’t place but reminded her of fresh grass.  Marathel laughed, wondering why people wanted to smell like fruit and plants, when eating fruit and walking on grass was more enjoyable. 

Marathel could have stayed under the water spray for hours, but she remembered that this was a dry place where the water was scarce, so she reluctantly turned off the water and stepped out.  She began to scrub her hair with one of the towels when her eye caught the large mirror that took up a big section of the wall.  Marathel had never seen a mirror so large before, and she’d been largely avoiding it since coming here.  She lowered the towel and assessed her reflection. 

The first thing she saw was the huge gash down the center of her face.  Marathel’s breath caught with the memory of the Bishop carving her face, the horrible words he said to her as he did so, and she closed her eyes tight to quiet her mind.   

Opening her eyes, Marathel looked at the line of little bottles and tubes Fennec had left her.  Moisturizers, that’s what she said.  The face one was allegedly different than the one for the body, for some reason, but��  the bottles had pictures of fruit or plants on them, or a flower, or just colored squiggles, and not a picture of a face or body, so Marathel just picked out the one she liked best, which reminded her of the clean water from the rocky stream and the yellow cup-shaped flowers she liked so much.  She slathered this on her skin — which felt wonderful — everywhere she could reach, and then worried about how she was going to get the stuff out from under all the metal bits now wrapped around her fingers.  Carefully using the corner of the towel seemed to work. 

Marathel then turned her attention to her hair, which seemed to behave differently here than back on Unmanarall.  There, her hair hung straight and heavy, and only had to be tucked behind her ears or into a loose knot and it would stay there; here, her hair took on a mind of its own and was fluffy, wavy, crackling around her head even before using the hair dryer.  The hair dryer thing was loud and blew air hot as fire directly at her in an uncomfortable way.  The top was mostly dry anyway, so she combed the top part into sections and twisted it into a loose braid.  She found a little stretchy round band that secured the end.  Looking in the mirror again — ignoring the red wound down her forehead and nose — she liked what she saw: a pale face surrounded by tendrils of wavy silver hair that floated away from her face. 

Her eyes then skimmed down her bare body and she saw little to recommend it: doughy flesh of a color like fish skin, sagging breasts, a roll on her belly, and hips and thighs that jiggled when she walked.  Then there were the slashes, bite-marks, and bruises.  A small flare of rage ignited inside her.  Her flesh, plump and unfirm though it was, should be hers and hers alone.  Wasn’t that what Din said?  She hadn’t consented when the Dahls overpowered her with their mating impulses, he had told her.  He had made such a point of that when he begged her permission to touch her once the Dahls had finished their mating cycle. No man had ever asked permission from her, ever, not once in her life.  Take, that’s all they’ve ever done to me. 

Marathel shivered; she could not think about that right now.  Too much had happened today, and her mind was tired.  Marathel left the fresher room and went to the little pile of clothing Fennec had brought her.  There was a pair of dark pants, a light woven shirt in a deep purple, and a long vest as green as the summer grass.  She also found a soft brace for her knee and what appeared to be undergarments; they were like her shifts but in two parts.  They also seemed to be like compression garments, supportive.  The bottoms were easy enough, but the top garment was awkward to put on with its hooks and strange shoulder straps.  She assumed it was on correctly; she couldn’t think of a different way to wear it and was surprised to find that her breasts were lifted somehow by the garment, a new sensation for her.   She pulled on the compressive brace for her knee, and then the pants, which were very soft and very form-fitting.  The shirt fit well but felt low-cut to Marathel.  She looked down at herself at the unaccustomed amount of exposed skin above the neckline, considering the undergarment that lifted her bosom, and pulled on the vest, which gave her some modesty.  All she had for footwear were her soft slippers, so she put those on as well. The stone floors here were not kind to bare feet. 

There was a knock on her door.  Pulling on a veil over her hair and forehead, Marathel opened it slightly to see Cobb Vanth on the other side, holding another mug identical to the one she’d hurled at him.  Smiling hopefully, Cobb offered the mug and asked, “Truce?” 

Marathel chuckled and fully opened the door, taking the mug.  “I’m sorry I threw a mug at you.” 

“And I’m sorry I blew up at you, but, damn, woman, you’re dangerous.”  His eyes flicked downward and back up, making Marathel flush again.   “I do wish you wouldn’t cover your face and hair like that …  a face like yours shouldn’t be spoiled by a veil.”  He took a moment longer to gaze at her, and then belatedly said, “I’m also here to find out if you’re hungry.”  Marathel blinked, because it turned out she was hungry.  She nodded.  “Well, then, I get to accompany you.”  He turned and held out his elbow. 

Marathel frowned.  “What are you doing?” 

Cobb pulled a face at her, then sighed and took her hand, placing it in the crook of his arm.  Marathel closed her door and let Cobb slowly escort her down the corridor.  Marathel shyly looked up at him and said, “You don’t have to do this.” 

“Too bad, Mar’, my ma raised a gentleman who treats a lady like a lady … whether she is one or not.” 

Marathel smiled blandly.  “I wouldn’t know how a lady should be treated.”   

She had meant it as a joke, some light-hearted statement to be thrown away and forgotten, but Cobb frowned down at her with a thoughtful look on his face, putting his other hand over hers on his arm. “Well, Marathel, I think that’s a damn shame.” Marathel couldn’t tell anymore if her face was flushing again or now just permanently flushed: this Cobb Vanth had a way of unnerving her. 

After a few moments of silence, she asked, “Would you please tell me … what is a marshall and a freetown?” 

“Well, as Marshall I’m the person in charge of law and order in Freetown, a little mining town out in the desert.  One of those places where you blink, and you miss it.” 

“Law and order?” 

He shrugged.  “I’m in charge of telling people doing wrong to cut it out.” 

“What happens when you’re not there?  Do people just … run roughshod everywhere?” 

Cobb grimaced.  “I kriffing hope not.”  He laughed.  “No, I have a deputy keeping tabs on things.  The town is fine; it’s mostly other people coming in from the outside that cause most of the problems.” 

“Why are you here, then?” 

“You’re holding on to it.”  She looked down at his metal arm.  “It’s a big modification that needs fine tuning.  It’s not quite right yet.” 

Marathel ran the fingertips of her other hand down Cobb’s cybermodded limb, making him wish he could feel it.  “I was so afraid that I would end up with something like this.” She frowned. “But then, I never knew such a thing could be done.  I now wonder why … some will do things like build a new arm, when others do things … like where I came from.”  

Cobb’s heart ached for her, a victim of a hellish place.  “I don’t know.  I wish people didn’t have to come from a planet like yours.” 

“I never knew there was a planet to come from. Not until Din told me where to see Nevarro.  I’m sure he thought …” Marathel looked around her.  “Where are we going?” 

“Din thought what now?” 

“No, I mean — we passed the kitchen long ago.” 

“Oh, no, we are heading to the far courtyard.  This way.” They passed through an archway and into a open outdoor area with many plants and succulents.  At the far end, under a pergola covered in flowered vines, were Boba and Fennec, seated at a table.  They were laughing while Boba poured something from a large flagon for Fennec.  “Finally here,” Cobb called to them. 

“Oh, good,” said Fennec.  “The kitchen went mad again; they keep forgetting that Jabba is still dead, and they don’t have to make as much food.” 

“Frith in heaven,” muttered Marathel upon seeing the table.  There was enough food on it to feed all the Hold’s children.  Cobb pulled out a chair for her, but Marathel looked at him blankly until he whispered to her to sit.  Boba filled a delicate glass from the flagon and called it spotchka, warning Marathel to sip it very slowly and in only tiny amounts.  “Oh!” said Marathel.  “Does this make you feel warm and fuzzy if you drink it too fast?” 

Fennec giggled; she was already a glass or two in.  “I take it you have something similar on your planet?” 

“Yes, dreamberries.  The fruit can be made into a drink, but I like it better as a cooked sauce.  We had some … that is, Din and I, on roasted gorujellys.”  Marathel looked down at her hands.  She remembered that was also the night Din had touched her most intimately, and she had slept in his arms; for the briefest of moments, they were each other’s and that was all that mattered. 

Cobb watched the high color creep back in on Marathel’s cheekbones.  Her face is so luminous; you can almost tell what she’s thinking.  Din had told him how he had come so close to kissing her that day, almost willing to expose his face to her, even before eating dreamberry sauce; if she’d asked him then if he’d take off his helmet, he would have gladly done so and never put it back on.  He’d been so overwhelmed when she allowed him to touch her that he declared his love for her — but in Mando’a (how chickenshit of you, Din) — and she’d said something in return in her own language, but neither of them had provided a translation for what they’d said.  Din was half-afraid that she’d rejected him (unlikely), or she had said something completely opposite to him (even more unlikely).  These two, Cobb thought.  They are going to dance around each other like dewbacks in rutting season.  He would have found it amusing if he wasn’t half-smitten with her himself.   

Marathel, meanwhile, had been struggling with utensils as she tried to eat.  Her fingers were still clumsy, and the metal fork was too heavy for her to hold.  After dropping it half-a-dozen times, she finally gave up and used the flat bread to scoop up the tender meat and grains off her plate.  She had been successful so far at getting food into her mouth and not on her lap, when Cobb said, “Marathel, tell me … how did you and Din meet again?”   

Boba and Fennec snickered, but Cobb knew that Marathel had a complete lack of guile and would simply answer truthfully.  Marathel looked at him, her hand still holding the meat and flat bread halfway to her mouth.  “I …” She put the food back on her plate and dropped her hands and eyes to her lap.  “I saw him coming towards my hut, and I didn’t know who he was.  I had never seen anyone like him before.”  All gleaming metal, as if he’d been created from the wall on the first floor of the Hold.  No face, just a head covered in metal.  The brown clothing underneath the metal, the heavy boots, the ragged grey cape.  There was no clothing of those colors in the Hold: only Captain red, Duke green, Bishop blue, and Hunter green.  Brown was for bedding.  Grey was for cleaning.  No such heavy boots, with straps and belts everywhere, covered with bits of metal. 

“What did you throw at him?” asked Fennec.  “Was it a rock or an egg? Or a frying pan?” 

Cobb scowled at Fennec, but a smile curled Marathel’s lip.  “A rock.  Actually, two rocks.  I missed on the first throw.” Marathel carefully clasped her glass of spotchka with both hands and took a sip.  “Oh my, that’s lovely.  Got him right on the helmet with the second one, though.” 

“So, when did you throw the eggs?” 

“Oh, that was a couple days later.” 

Cobb sighed.  “You’re jumping ahead, Fennec …” 

Marathel took another sip. “When he said that he was a bounty hunter, I had no idea what he meant.  He said he would put down his blaster if I put down my rocks.  I didn’t know what a blaster was, so I got a sharp stick instead.”  Fennec chortled.  Marathel went on with her story, describing her fear of the Bishop’s voice in the tracking fob, her fear that Mando would hurt the Dahls, and her initial fear of Grogu.   

“You cannot tell me you were frightened of that little child,” said Boba. 

“That little child is green and has giant ears!” retorted Fennec.  

Fennec and Boba began a colorful argument about what could or could not be terrifying to someone like Marathel, and Cobb finally just turned his chair to face her.  He crossed his ankle over his knee and draped his arm on her chair back.  Leaning in close to Marathel, he said, “You just don’t fit the, uh, usual profile of the type of bounty Mando tends to go after.” 

Marathel shrugged.  “I wouldn’t know.” 

“I think he was just as surprised by you as you were by him.  What bounty invites the hunter into her home?” 

Marathel sipped at her glass again; Cobb noticed that she had nearly drained the glass.  “I suppose one that doesn’t know the rules of a bounty hunter. One … that is sad.  And lonely.  And curious about a little green child with large ears that is fiercely protected by a large man of metal when he encounters creatures like the Dahls, or a woman throwing rocks.” 

“So, it was the child that you fell in love with first.” 

“Oh yes, Grogu was so charming immediately.  Children are easy to love.  I’ve cared for many, hoped I would have many of my own to raise and love.”  Cobb smiled behind his hand; a thimbleful of spotchka could set her tongue wagging.  He poured her another half-glass.  “But then, watching the Bounty Hunter feed Grogu, even just the act of moving a mug away from him because it wasn’t good for him to drink … that spoke to me in a way that’s … so hard to explain.” 

Marathel was leaning back in her chair, looking at the night sky above her, her face thoughtful, and for once, not afraid.  Boba and Fennec had stopped their mild bickering and were now listening, Fennec with her head against Boba’s shoulder.  Cobb slowly leaned forward, putting his hand on her knee.  “Give it a try,” he said quietly. 

“Men don’t … I’ve never known a man who cared about a child.  Men as I know them, a child is just … just a thing.  A product of fucking a Whyn.”  Cobb, Boba, and Fennec exchanged glances; they had not heard her say the word fucking before now.  Marathel seemed to not notice.  “Men care nothing for a child or woman except for what use they can get from them.”  Marathel sighed.  She looked down at her glass and looked confused as to why it was full again.  She took a long sip and went back to looking at the sky.  “The Bounty Hunter …  the gentleness he showed in his care of Grogu … I thought his name was Bounty Hunter and I thought his helmet was his face.  But, for the first time in my life, I saw a father.  And I wanted so much to know a man like that, because I didn’t know a father, not a sire, but a father, could exist.” 

They were all quiet for a while.  Marathel took another sip from her glass.  Cobb was gently stroking her knee, gazing at her with a knitted brow, but she didn’t seem to notice.  Frowning at the sky, Marathel asked, “Which one is Nevarro?” 

Boba looked up.  “You can’t see it from here.  Nevarro is too close to the horizon to be seen.” 

“Oh,” said Marathel quietly.  “I hope … I wonder if they … if Grogu is all right.” 

Boba said, “You could message them.  I think it’s late night there, but Mando doesn’t live by clocks.”  He held out a holopad in her direction.  “Here.” 

Marathel put her glass on the table and carefully took the proffered holopad, asking, “Message?” 

“Just tap it in, Cobb can show you how to send,” said Fennec. 

Marathel turned the holopad over and over in her hands.  “I don’t understand.” 

Cobb scooted his chair closer.  “Here …” he said, turning the pad over the correct way, and bringing up the keyboard.  “There you go.”  He continued to hold it up for her. 

Marathel stared at the screen.  It was half-filled in tiny, illuminated squares, each one with an unintelligible squiggle inside.  “I don’t know how …” 

Boba frowned. “Did I leave it on Huttese instead of Aurebesh?” 

Marathel continued to stare at the screen.  “No, I …” 

A few moments passed, and then it finally clicked for Fennec.  “You can’t read or write, can you, Marathel?”   

Marathel’s head dropped, and her hands went immediately up her sleeves. “I don’t know what you mean.  I don’t know read or write. I don’t know those words,” Marathel stammered, and her throat felt thick and tight with tears and shame at yet another thing she had no knowledge of.  

“Those are letters on the screen,” said Fennec.  “They form the words we say, so we can communicate without talking.  Does that make sense?”  Marathel nodded, frowning.  “I know of other places where girls aren’t allowed to learn to read.”  Marathel looked up at Fennec.  While she was glad to learn that she was not alone in this fault of hers, it saddened her more that there were others on these planets she had just now learned about where people suffered as she did. Perhaps more. Fennec asked, “Did any of the girls at the Hold learn to read?” 

“I don’t think so.”  She dashed the few tears that had fallen with the side of her hand.   “Maybe the boys did in the Round Building.  We weren’t supposed to know what else they did in there.  There were some walls that had squiggles like those,” she said, pointing at the screen, “painted on them.  Girls didn’t learn in the Round Building.  We only went in there to clean, and to … be of service.”  Marathel fell silent. 

Cobb cleared his throat.  “Well, we can still send a message, anyway … here,” he said. 

BF: Marathel wants to know if Grogu is okay  

“What did you say?” asked Marathel. 

“That you wanted to know if Grogu is okay.  Here, look …” Cobb put his finger on the screen under the sentence he had entered.  “These letters here, that spells Grogu, and those here, that spells Marathel.” 

“That’s my name?” 

Cobb reached into a pocket, pulling out a tiny notepad and a stub of pencil he always carried with him.  “I’ll do you one better.”  As large as he could fit it, he wrote her name in Aurebesh, drawing a line under it so she knew which way was up.  He gave it to her, watching as she traced the letters with her finger, a small smile of wonder on her face. 

That’s my name.  That’s me.  Just this simple act of knowing her name existed in a somehow permanent fashion cheered her heart.  It made her feel … as if she were real, recognizable by others. Marathel looked at Cobb.  “Now what happens?” 

“We wait for Din to answer.  It may take a while.  He might not be near his holopad.”  Within a few moments, however, the holopad pinged with an incoming message.  “Or he will answer right away.” 

Marathel gasped with surprise.  From so far away, he can answer this quickly?  “What … what did he say?” 

Cobb smiled.  “He says that Grogu has an upset stomach.” 

“Grogu?  An upset stomach?” Marathel giggled into her hand.  “What happened to his stomach of beskar?” 

Cobb grinned.  “Let’s find out.”  He tapped in Marathel’s question.  Almost immediately the holopad pinged again.  Cobb chuckled.  “He says ‘compromised by fruit’.”  

Marathel leaned back in her chair, laughing now in earnest, pushing her veil off her face and head. Cobb suddenly felt jealous of Din, who obviously had her heart in the palm of his leather-clad hand.  “Oh, too much fruit goes right through a child!  He should know better.”  She chuckled again.  “Cachu o lwyc, ni asth’mabh.” 

Cobb smirked.  “I have no clue how to spell that, so I need a translation.” 

Marathel took her glass back off the table and drank the remaining spotchka, earning her a raised eyebrow from Fennec.  Marathel whispered loudly, “I said, ‘you’re shit out of luck, you son of a bitch’.”  She giggled. 

“Yeah, I’m not sending that.”  Cobb tapped out a message, and after a moment, there was a return message.   “I told him you wished him luck, and he says, ‘thank you’.”  Cobb handed the holopad back to Boba.  “And no more spotchka for you.”  Marathel burped daintily in response.  “You better eat some more, or you’ll be cursing my name tomorrow, and I don’t know the Mandalorian punishment for letting his lady get toasted.” 

Marathel’s smile faded.  No, I’m not his lady.  Not like that.    “I can’t hold the fork.  My hands don’t work right.” 

Cobb laughed and grabbed a plate of meat-wrapped castan nuts.  “Here,” he said, popping one into her mouth.   

Marathel hummed with delight.  “Mmm, tasty.” 

Cobb put his arm around her shoulders, and she leaned her head back on his arm as he continued to feed her the nuts.  After some time, Fennec poked Boba in his thigh.  He looked down as she used the sign language of the Sand People to ask him: 

Should we be worried about this? 

Boba watched Cobb and Marathel for a while across the table.  Finally, he signed back: 

Let’s just write this off on the spotchka.  For now. 

Fennec nodded.  “Marathel …” Marathel looked over at her.  “If you’d like to learn to read, we can get you a holopad with some teaching primers.  A lot of people can’t read, but that doesn’t mean you can’t learn.”  

Marathel thought about that for a moment, and then said, “I’d like that.”  Fennec smiled back at her.   

The Modifier approached, asking if Marathel was ready to repeat the series of injections.  Marathel looked at her glass, her brow furrowed with worry.  “No, a bit of spotchka isn’t going to affect the treatment.  It might even help, since you’re now … tranquilized a bit,” said the Modifier. 

Cobb gently took her hand, and whispered, “I’ll stay with you, if you want.”  Marathel nodded.  He stood up, assisted her to stand, and escorted her back to the palace, his hand gently placed on the small of her back. 

Boba noticed that the message prompt was still open on his holopad.  He tapped out: 

BF: The Modifier’s contact came through; treatment seems to be working  

Boba watched the return message dots blink for a while, as if Din was tapping out a long message. A short time later, a message pinged through: 

DD: good to hear 

Boba smirked.  That took a long time to come up with, Djarin.   Warmed by the spotchka, and now by themselves, Boba put his arm around Fennec’s shoulders.  She smiled and snuggled against him, and they watched the stars. 

The Modifier suggested that they do the injections in Marathel’s room, so that she could go to sleep comfortably after.  She left the men in the corridor while she changed back into the soft clothing she’d woken up in earlier and got into her bed.  As she let the men in, she carefully moved the mug Cobb had brought her as far out of reach as possible, which he found amusing.  The Modifier suggested she lay on her other side for the injections; he was concerned about damage to her skin.  Marathel complied, but now she had her back to Cobb. 

Cobb cleared his throat and said, “If you don’t object … I could sit on the bed next to you.” 

Marathel thought she might object; the idea made her stomach flutter, and it wasn’t just the spotchka making it do so.  She thought about it and decided that Cobb certainly meant no harm to her; he might be a bit too handsy with her, but he wasn’t about to harm her.  She agreed, and Cobb kicked off his boots and settled on the bed next to her — on top of the blankets — sitting up against the headboard as she lay on her side.  The Modifier administered the first injection, and Marathel felt the instant cold sensation, and then the nervous-twitchy feeling through her limbs as the injection coursed through her system.  She whimpered; Cobb sought out her hand and held it gently, his large thumb stroking the back of her hand.   

“Doing okay?” he asked. 

“It stings more this time.”  She drew in her breath with a hiss; it did sting much more, as if the spiky pebbles from before had transformed into long-spined sea urchins.  Marathel thought if she stared at her arm long enough, she would be able to see the spines distend and pierce through her flesh.   

Cobb was watching her face and grew concerned, as her breathing grew shallow and fast.  “Marathel?  Honey?  You still there?”  Marathel did not answer, and he could see she had broken out in a cold sweat.  The Modifier did not seem too concerned, but Cobb moved down on the bed, so he was lying on his side next to her, much like Din on her bed tick in her open-sided hut.   

He held both of her hands in his, and her eyes looked unfocused and confused.  “Bounty Hunter?” 

Cobb reached out and pushed a lock of hair off her face.  “No, honey, sorry, it’s just me.” 

Marathel took a deep breath.  “Sorry, I lost myself for a moment.”  She looked into his eyes.  “It’s better now.” 

Cobb smiled at her.  “Good.  Just keep breathing, hang in there.” 

Marathel smiled wanly.  The next two injections were given with little to no reaction at all from Marathel.  The Modifier, pleased by her lack of reaction, said, “You’ll probably feel like sleeping for the next couple of days, Marathel.  If you could leave your door unlocked, I’d like to check on you a few times while you rest.” 

Marathel nodded.  “It’s not like I have anywhere else to go,” she said, and Cobb laughed. 

The Modifier left, but Cobb remained where he was, gently stroking her knuckles with his thumbs.  “I’ll just stay until you’re fully asleep, Marathel, then I’ll leave you alone.”  Marathel, her eyes closed, nodded again.  “But you can always shout if you need something, right?  Just no mug-throwing, that’s all I ask.”  Marathel smiled slightly; she was already almost fully asleep.  He leaned over and lightly kissed her cheek.  “That’s from Grogu,” he said.  Marathel did not respond, but carried on her soft breathing.  Before he could lose his nerve, Cobb leaned in and kissed her gently on the mouth; he thought he detected the slightest of response from her lips kissing him back.  “That’s from the Bounty Hunter,” he whispered, telling himself it wasn’t a lie.  Cobb watched her sleep until his own eyelids grew heavy, and then he carefully climbed out of her bed.  He grabbed his boots, and gently pulled the blanket over her ear, as he’d seen her in her sleep earlier, and left her room. 

Next chapter ->

[abbonation]

GUYYYYYYS I GOT A NEW DRAWING TABLET!!! Consider operation NSFW Mando & Fat Reader art inbound🫡!!

[firstofficerwiggles]

Right, so ever since that last time with the Wolffe story you wrote for Butterfly and your comment on Boil loving hugs? I could not get that out of my mind and he has been stuck there ever since. So, now I am going to sent in this official request! Boil x F! Reader. As I do with almost all my requests I always mention the full bodied ( or big gal ) reader because... relate to it and stuff and ofcourse: Hugs !. Everything else I leave up to you the whole SFW/NSFW/Established Relationship/Not Established etc etc. ( still blaming you for adding Boil to my mind now btw )

Ok so I have been batting around this idea for forever and I finally have a fic for you! I really hope you love it and fall in love with Boil all over again. For your humble consideration...

The One that Matters

Pairing: Clone Trooper Boil x Plus Size Female Reader

Rating: T

Warnings: body issues, insecurity, fat shaming, swearing (fairly mild though), kissing

Word Count: ~3000

Author’s note: This is technically a two-parter but part 2 is rated M and contains the smutty part of the story. I split the story so those of you who want SFW can enjoy part 1 without it. Special thanks to @imabeautifulbutterfly @kavecika and @mysticalgalaxysalad for beta reading!

Part 2 link

You stare in the mirror, tugging slightly at the top you had just put on with a new pair of stylish pants. The outfit had seemed so cute in your mind, but on your curvy body, the top seems less flattering than you had imagined it. You sigh, wondering again if this was a bad idea, going out on a date with a clone trooper. This is the fourth outfit you’ve tried on and nothing seems quite right for a dream date with such a hunk. You give yourself another look in the mirror; you know you’re an attractive woman, you’ve always felt pretty enough, and you’ve had your share of dates, but Clone Trooper Boil is on another level. With his gorgeous face, soulful eyes, broad shoulders, and ample muscles, he is, without a doubt, the handsomest man you’ve ever met. 

Despite your protests that you just wanted to stay home, your friend Jaxie had dragged you out for some fun, vowing to take you to a place where there were sure to be loads of men excited to meet a woman exactly like you. Sure enough, the famed clone bar, 79s, had delivered on the promise of a ton of worked up soldiers, partying hard. There had seemed to be an endless supply of them, each one as tall, dark, and handsome as the next. Still though, next to the petite and beautiful Jaxie, you started to doubt that any of those troopers would look your way. Yet to your surprise, it only took one trip to the bar before you found one who couldn’t seem to stop looking your way.

As you cut a path through the crowd, sidling up to the bar in the middle of the packed club, you could feel someone watching you. You turned slightly to see a clone trooper with orange and white armor, a mustache, and a half smile looking at you. You looked over your shoulder to see if Jaxie was next to you, but she had stopped to speak to someone a few paces back.

“I’m looking at you, beautiful,” a deep voice came from his direction. He sounded amused but friendly.

“You are?” you couldn’t keep the note of surprise from your voice as you looked back at him and into those golden brown eyes.

“Absolutely I am,” he gave you a broader smile, and held out his hand, “Clone Trooper Boil, ma’am, and I’d be honored if you’d let me buy you a drink, beautiful.”

The way he’d looked at you so sincerely as he told you he thought you were beautiful that you’d let him get you that drink. Before you knew it he was telling you how his buddy, Waxer, had dragged him out the club against his wishes. He’d been of a mind to head back to his barracks for the night when he saw you heading his way, and he decided maybe Waxer had been right about this place. The next thing you knew, you had spent all evening talking to him, exchanging comms and making plans for tonight. He even gave you an extended hug goodbye, being sure to tell you how great a hugger you were.

*ping*

Message from Boil> Hi beautiful! 15 minutes away, can’t wait to see you!

Message from you> Ok! See you soon!

Determined, you look yourself in the eye through the mirror,

“A gorgeous man has asked us out to dinner and a show and we are going to go. He thinks we’re beautiful and we are going to trust that his taste is the only one that matters. Now, let’s get to that closet and find something to wear.”

Energized by your pep talk, and motivated to get moving before Boil arrives, you march back to your selection of clothes to see what you can find. Pushing through items that seemed too much like workwear or too casual, you finally land on a forgotten dress you’d worn to a friend’s wedding. You’d only worn it once, but it is pretty and in a color you love. It had seemed too fancy to wear to work and you hadn’t been out anywhere special in so long that you had forgotten it was here. Quickly you slip it on, careful not to muss your hair or makeup, and then turn to glance at yourself once more. As the skirt twirls elegantly around your legs, you finally smile at your reflection, this will be perfect.

As you’re grabbing your bag for the evening, you hear your door chime.

“Wow, you look fantastic, even more beautiful than the night we met, and I didn’t think that was possible,” Boil greets you with a soft lopsided smile. He’s wearing his formal uniform tonight instead of his armor and he looks dashing in the grey-green suit. 

“And you look even more handsome,” you reply with your own beaming smile. 

Your stomach flips as your eyes roam over his impressive form. He’s so broad and muscular, and has such a stunning face that again you can’t believe your luck in getting to date him. A slight feeling of insecurity hits you though as you wonder what people will think when they see you together. Pushing that evil thought away, you remind yourself that their opinions don’t matter, and you straighten your shoulders as you mentally remind yourself that you are going out to enjoy yourself. 

Boil leans in to kiss your cheek and pull you into a quick hug. He wonders if you can hear his heart threatening to beat out of his chest. He’s been looking forward to tonight since you agreed to the date. He sneaks another peek at your delectable curves as you step out your door. Stars, she’s so damn pretty! His hands itch to run over the lovely slopes and dips of your body, wondering if your skin is as soft as he has imagined it to be. He’d love to pull you into a passionate embrace right now and kiss you until your toes curl, but that might be a bit too much for the start of the night. Shaking his head to help himself focus, he quickly takes your hand and wraps it into the crook of his elbow as he leads you out to his borrowed speeder for the night.

“I hope you like Corellian food?” he asks, “I made a reservation at a restaurant my general recommended. He said it’s a very nice place with a lovely atmosphere and perfect for a romantic evening.”

“That sounds great,” you reply, delighted that he’s thought so much about the date. Other men you know would just leave all the planning up to you or take you to whatever was closest and open.

Boil helps you into the speeder and he can’t resist dropping another kiss on your cheek as he does so. The traffic is fairly light right now so he feels comfortable sliding a hand from the steering to cover yours and hold it as he guides the speeder to the restaurant. He really hopes you like this place. He had been determined to plan the perfect date for tonight, something romantic and entertaining, that would hopefully entice you to want to see him again. He’d been trying to find ideas on his holopad while fending off his brothers’ dumb jokes about being as lovesick as a shiny with his first weapon when General Kenobi had thoughtfully provided him with advice. He’d already secured tickets to what was supposed to be the hottest new performer in town, but getting the suave Jedi’s tips for where to take you to dinner had been much appreciated. As you arrive at the location, its elegant velvet awning and uniformed doorman, tell him that he was right to trust the general’s opinion.

“What a beautiful restaurant! And everything smells so good,” you tell Boil as you’re seated at an utterly charming candlelit table. A waiter pours you a glass of wine, in a crystal goblet no less, and then leaves you to decide what to have from a mouthwatering selection of cuisine. From the fresh flowers on the table, to the soft lighting and romantic music playing, Boil couldn’t possibly have selected a more perfect first date location. He takes your hand once again, and gazes into your eyes,

“I’m so glad you like it, and from the looks of things, we’re going to have a fantastic meal,” he says, sounding eager. 

“I don’t suppose you get to have many fancy dinners as a trooper,” you reply, feeling a touch sad for him.

“We get great food when we’re on the Negotiator,” he explains, “But rations when you’re out in the field can leave a lot to be desired. Still though, I’m grateful to have them.”

“I’m sure you are, but I’m glad you’re getting to have a really special dinner for a change,” you comment.

“It’s special because I’m with you,” he murmurs as he squeezes your hand. 

The dinner is everything he hoped it would be, the food is exquisite and the company even more so. He listens fascinated as you tell him about your life on Coruscant, your work, and your desire to travel more once you can do so safely. He regales you with stories of his missions, focusing on the entertaining or interesting aspects of his brothers and their exploits. Boil tries to only tell you about happy or good things that have happened to him, but when you gently explain that he doesn’t need to sanitize his life for you, he feels grateful in a way he wasn’t expecting.

“You’re sure you want to hear about the bad stuff too?” he asks, still a bit unsure.

“Boil, I want you to feel free to share things with me, even the bad stuff,” you reassure him, “I know you’re a soldier and that means you’ve seen and experienced terrible events. I’m not saying I need every gory detail, but if there’s ever anything you need to talk about, I just want you to know that I’m here to listen.”

“Thank you, sweetheart, that’s comforting and honestly, I wasn’t expecting you to say that,” he admits, looking into your eyes, “The other women I’ve met have just wanted to hear about the excitement.”

“I really want to get to know you, Boil, and that means hearing about all aspects of your life,” you tell him, then adding with a soft laugh, “Like the way I told you all about my witch of a co-worker, and that certainly wasn’t pleasant. But I wanted you to know what my job is really like.”

He nods in agreement with you,

“Well, when we were talking before about being grateful for food, even military rations, it made me think of a recent mission I completed on Ryloth.”

Different from his earlier stories that were meant to charm you, Boil tells you about seeing the starving Twi’leks on Ryloth and how badly they had been treated by the Separatist occupying forces. He expresses his shock and concern for people that he had previously dismissed as being weak, and he was embarrassed that he had been so quick to judge them at first. The more he talks, the more you lean in, fascinated by him. His openness and forthright attitude are refreshing and your admiration for him only increases. As he finishes his story, telling you about helping the little Twi’lek girl find her family, and discovering that she saw them as brothers, you have to wipe back a tear.

“Boil, you are a real hero, the way you helped that child and her people,” your voice gets a bit choked up, “I wish more people could understand how much you and your brothers have given to this galaxy.”

“I didn’t tell you that story so you’d think I was a hero,” he mumbles, looking down at the table and feeling a bit bashful.

“I know you didn’t,” you reply, reaching out to caress his cheek and encouraging him to look back at you, “But that just makes me like you even more.”

“I like you too, beautiful, more than I can say,” he responds, bringing your palm to his lips so he can place a warm kiss there.

Boil feels as if he could spend the rest of the evening just staring into your sparkling eyes, but he remembers the tickets he purchased and the second part of the date.

“We should probably leave if we want to get to the show on time,” he says, standing up and offering you his hand. 

As you slip your hand into his, you ask, “What type of show is it?”

“A comedian,” he explains, “He’s supposed to be really funny. One of the Naval officers, Lieutenant Commander Rampart, was telling me how great he is when I was looking for ideas for our date.”

“Sounds fun, lead on,” you reply.

When you arrive at the theater, you see it’s designed like a cabaret with little tables all around instead of seats in a row. You’re a bit surprised when the usher leads you all the way down to the front near the stage, they’re the best seats in the house. 

“This is very nice,” you say to Boil.

“I didn’t realize the seats were this good, honestly,” he tells you.

“We like to recognize our military patrons,” the usher explains, “Please enjoy your evening.”

Before you have a chance to order drinks, a server brings a bottle of sparkling wine to your table,

“Compliments of the gentlemen over there as a thank you to the brave soldier,” they say, placing the bottle down with a small flourish. 

“That’s very kind,” Boil replies and you both wave over at the other table in thanks.

“I’m glad to see I’m not the only one who recognizes your important contributions to the war,” you say, giving his hand a little squeeze.

Boil’s cheeks flush slightly and he looks a little embarrassed, “I don’t deserve any special treatment.”

“It’s nice that people recognize all that you sacrifice for us, I wish more people would,” you tell him. You’ve seen too many people be dismissive of the clone troopers, so it’s really nice to see people treating Boil with respect.

You enjoy the wine with him and soon the show begins. The man who comes out on stage is extremely sarcastic and while you find yourself giggling at some of his first jokes, as he continues on with his set, you find yourself laughing less and less. His jokes seem rather mean spirited and they’re starting to be offensive. You notice that Boil is also not laughing and he sits stiffly in his chair. The audience has quieted down a lot and it’s clear to the performer that they’re not in agreement with him.

“Well, geeze, rough crowd tonight, I guess you all left your senses of humor at home,” the man jeers at the audience, “Let’s see who’s here and forgot how to laugh.” He looks right at your table, sizing up Boil, 

“Oh, we got one of the copy and paste boys here tonight, a clone trooper. What’s the matter, pal, missing the old tube tonight?” The man laughs at his own joke but the rest of the audience is silent. The jerk continues, speaking to Boil like he’s a child, “I know you’re probably just a few days old, but laughter is this thing we do when things are funny.” 

You see Boil’s fists tighten and his jaw is stiff, you can practically feel the anger coming off him. 

“Obviously the Kaminoans forgot to add a sense of taste when they churned you boys out huh? I mean look at what you’re with tonight, yuck,” the jerk turns to look at you now.

You feel a sense of dread go over you and you try to shrink down in your seat. You wish he would just stop. 

“I know you boys are hard up for female company, but I’m sure you can do better than this tub of lard. Don’t let her be on top tonight or you’ll have to report another casualty to the GAR.”

You feel awful, so embarrassed and humiliated.

“That’s enough!” Boil pushes his chair back and jumps to his feet so fast that it crashes to the ground with a loud bang, “It’s one thing for you to insult me, but to insult a lady is despicable. You’re a sad excuse for a man if you think it’s acceptable to make fun of someone’s appearance for your own amusement. We live in a galaxy of incredible beings of all different bodies, shapes, and sizes, and yet assholes like you still think women are only acceptable if they match your particular preferences. My girl is beautiful the way she is, and I’m honored to be with her. I’d get up there and kick your ass, but we’ve already wasted enough of our valuable time together listening to your sorry excuse for comedy.” 

Boil turns to you and takes your hand, helping you to your feet. He places your hand on his arm and moves to walk out. You hear the comedian call out,

“If I wanted your opinion, buddy, I’d ask a droid, at least you can tell them apart.”

Boil stops for a moment, he turns back to look at the jerk. But before he can say anything, someone throws a bottle on the stage where it crashes at the man’s feet. 

Someone in the crowd yells, “The trooper’s right, you’re an asshole.”

More bottles and glasses are thrown amongst shouted insults at the comedian. Boil hustles you out of the theater, but you turn back just in time to see a particularly large glass hit the guy in the head. It makes you laugh in spite of it all.

When you’re back out on the street, Boil takes you a little ways away from the theater to a small plaza where there are some pretty potted flowers and trees with little twinkle lights. He leads you to a bench and motions for you to sit. When he looks at you, his eyes are soft but worried. He turns to face you, taking both of your hands in his, “I’m very sorry I brought you to that awful show tonight, and I’m sorry you were treated with such disrespect.”

“Oh, Boil, it’s not your fault, you couldn’t have known he would say such rude things to us both. I’m sorry he was disrespectful to you too,” you reply. Then thinking of the way he jumped to your defense, you smile up at him, “But the way you stood up for me, that was truly honorable, and I appreciate it more than I can tell you. I think I finally understand why women say ‘My hero!’ to the guy in those cheesy romance holofilms.”

“How could I not defend you? It was the right thing to do. Any real man would do the same, doesn’t make me a hero,” he tells you, looking a bit embarrassed at your praise. Before you can say anything else, he continues, his voice slightly husky with emotion, “I think you’re so beautiful, every part of you, I love all your luscious curves, and I have since the moment I first saw you.”

“Do you know what I told myself as I was getting ready tonight?” you say, “I told myself that when it comes to my appearance, your opinion is the only one that matters tonight. That man was a real jerk, but he doesn’t matter. You think I’m beautiful, and that’s all that counts tonight.”

“I like that,” he smiles at you, and his hand comes up to caress your cheek and jaw, “I’d like you to think that every night.” His eyes look down at your lips and then back up to find your eyes. “Can I kiss you? It’s all I’ve been thinking about all night, really since we first met.”

“Yes, please,” you just barely breathe out the words and his lips are on yours. Boil’s kiss starts off so soft and sweet, his lips moving lightly over yours as he pulls you into his embrace. A soft little moan sneaks out of your mouth, and Boil answers it by deepening the kiss, his tongue licking at the seam of your lips seeking entrance. When you grant it, you hear him groan in satisfaction as he holds you tightly to him, brushing his tongue over yours in a passionate kiss.

Boil holds you close to him as he kisses you, one hand at your waist while the other is on your upper back. His hands are itching to explore more, but you are in public and he doesn’t want to push his luck. Gently he breaks the kiss before he can get too carried away. When he looks at your pretty face, he thinks you look luminous with stars in your eyes as you gaze back at him so happy and content that it makes him smile even more.

“That was the best first kiss I’ve ever had,” you tell him, “In fact this is the best first date I’ve ever had.”

“Even with that awful guy?” Boil asks, surprised but relieved that you think so.

“That guy was an ass, but without him, I might not know how great of a man you really are, Boil,” you explain.

“Well, for our second date let’s skip the comedian,” he replies with that lopsided smile of his.

“You’re already planning our second date?” you ask with mock surprise.

“Sweetheart, I’m planning our second, third, fourth, fifth, hell, all the dates you’ll let me have.” His face is all lit up with the idea of a future with you.

“You can have all the dates you want, my handsome hero,” you answer him, “As long as I’m with you, the one that matters.”

Thank you for reading! Click here if you want the smutty part 2!

Tag list: @onabouteverything @kazthedestroyer @noodlesfics @ladykatakuri @boomtowngirl

[plussizedreader]

Haven’t forgot about this account! I’ve been working on requests in between work and the holidays! I’ll be getting one or two out hopefully tomorrow and Friday! But send in more if y’all would!