#you tell 'em x-wing pilot

[warnersister]

Show Me The Way Home, Honey

Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x Simpson!Reader

Summary: The men at top gun love a bit of sweetness, turn out a bit of helicopter honey was just the right amount.

Warnings: mentions of injury, head injury, parental death, angst, allusions to smut, fluff, parental fighting, plane crashes, it's a happy story i promise.

Flashbacks In Italics -> not my gif

All the aviators were gathering by the pool table, each wondering why their peers from years before surrounded them at the Hard Deck. Hangman had just taken a shot against Coyote before standing up, having recognised a familiar head of hair.

“Well if it ain’t Honey!” You stood at the bar, chatting with Penny while sipping on your second beer. You were famous at top gun, being Beau Simpson’s daughter after all. You were training at top gun around the same time as the rest of the pilots in the room, however flying the Air Ambulance and mountain rescue helicopters.

You turned around to the unforgettable voice, the face you were expecting stood before you, smirk adorning his tanned lips. “Hangman, you got old.” A few laughed at your remark but he just chuckled, pulling you into a hug as you embraced him tightly. “Didn’t expect to see you here, darlin’.” He hummed. “Could same the same for you, Jake.”

Your fame here in California wasn’t necessarily due to your father’s rankings, but the name you had made for yourself. It was your own decision to join the Navy, despite your fathers wishes to keep your feet safely planted on terrafirma - away from the dangers of the sky. But after almost a decade of your adamance and training, you were off, deployed on battleships or costal air bases - send to retrieve wounded or stranded fighter pilots when their missions had been unsuccessful.

God it must’ve been a decade since you’ve seen everyone, but these naval aviators couldn’t forget a face that easily - at least not yours.

You were 24, fresh from your required nursing training and now ready to earn your wings. You were accompanied by your father on your first day, getting a prologued lecture that you had yet to start paying attention too. “And watch out for those fast jet pilots. Don’t take no shit off of ‘em.” You raised a brow. “Why what’s wrong with fighter pilots?” You queries, your walk nearing to a close. “Long story short, the think with their dicks.” You scrunched your nose. “Jesus, dad couldn’t you have phrased that better?” He just shrugged and turned your shoulders to face him properly. “But I’m serious, if they try anything come tell me.” You nodded, a small smile on your lips. “Have a great day sweetie, I love you.” He kissed your forehead and gave you a big hug. “I’m starting pilot training, not kindergarten - I’ve been through two years of naval training and six of nursing.” You laughed, just still reciprocated. “I know, but your still my little girl, the only person I got.” Your mum died a while back, it still stung but you both knew you could always rely on the other. “I know, Cyclone.”

You started walking towards the hangar, but heard behind you “it’s admiral to you, lieutenant.” You shook your head, and headed for your first day - the first step into the rest of your life.

The hangar was decorated accordingly, at least ten sparkling and fresh F-18s sat, just waiting for their aviator to fly it. You continued walking, silently passing an ongoing lesson as you spotted your own adjacent to the helipad.

The clicking of boots was loud against the floor, echoing off of the metal of the hangar - the curious minds of the navy’s best fighters looking behind them to find the cause of the sound and god, they weren’t disappointed. There you walked, a stern look on your face, hair trailing gently as a slight breeze blew through the build, aviator glasses sitting atop of your head, and eyes glittering with adoration as you examined the aircraft.

Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin was one of those watching you, a low whistle exerted his lips. “What have we here?” As he said that, Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw lowered his glasses to get a better look than he was already getting. “Now she is mighty fine.” Hangman continued, but Rooster couldn’t say anything, the only thing leaving his mouth was a trail of drool - he wasn’t alone, quite a few of the trainees now distracted, rather than listening to their instructor.

There were three of you training to fly the copter. A girl called Darla and a boy named Simon were both in your shoes. Your first day you were taken for a ride by your own teacher, Hurricane.

You had heard a few of the students mention a nearby bar that was overly friendly to the top gun pilots, so you assumed it wouldn’t hurt giving it a once over that evening. “Penny?” You asked, and the bar hostess turned around at the sound of her name, eyes lighting up when she spotted you. “Oh my god I haven’t seen you since-” She trailed off when she ran over to hug you. “My mum passed, yeah… been off training I’m officially an aviator now.” She raised her brows. “Beau Simpson allowed his daughter to join the navy?” “Not really, but not got much’ve of a say in it now!” You laughed. “Make sure those fast jet pilots keep it in her pants.” She raised her brows. “Damn are they really that bad? Thought my dad was just being dramatic.”

Penny swung back around the busting bar and asked what she could get you. “Just a beer, please.” “Coming up, sweetie!”

You took your drink and headed to the juke box, opting for ‘you've lost that loving feeling’ by The Righteous Brothers. You always loved that song, your dad playing it you when he spoke about when he himself was a top gun graduate. “You lost that lovin’ feeling, sugar?” You heard from beside you. There stood a tanned man, broad shoulders and toned arms that he was definitely flexing, a Hawaiian shirt and a pair of aviators to accompany the moon beyond the windows. “Ain’t lost it just yet.” You replied, taking a drink from your glass. “Names Bradshaw, call sign Rooster.” He offered his hand. “Simpson, call sign Honey.” You took it but instead of shaking it, he brought it to his lips and kissed it gently. “Mhm, sweet light honey, I get the name.” You laughed at the man. “Good to meet you, Bradshaw.” “Whatcha flying?” He asked. “How’d you know I’m flying?” “Saw ya in the hangar.” “Stalking me now?” “Always been drawn to the gorgeous ones.”

You eyed him, before replying. “Helicopters. I’m a nurse, you?” “F-18s, honey.” These were the ones you were warned about, the fighter pilots. But still, you were your fathers daughter - never one for really listening to instructions. “Using my call sign now? Could've at least bought me a drink first.” “Ain’t a call sign more like an observation. PENNY! ANOTHER FOR THIS MIGHTY FINE GAL, PLEASE!”

“How ya been?” He leant his arm against the bar, trapping you slightly. “I’m good hangman, I’m very good, you?” He chuckled and hummed in agreement.

you had been a member of top gun for a few weeks now, and you were enduring a PT session, courtesy of Hurricane. "Up, down." Push ups were gruelling after a full day of strength training, you'd been training so long even some of the fighters were calling it a day. through your peripheral you noticed someone perch beside you and you could only guess who it was when they started doing push ups at double the rate that you were going. "Give it up, Hangman." you huffed, pushing yourself down again. "Come on honey, double time!" and he nudged his hip against your own, sending you off balance. "JAKE! FOR GODS SAKE!" you groaned, keeling over and hitting him.

"Stay away from my pilots, jet boy." Hurricane grunted. "You're dismissed Honey, great work today." "Thank you, captain." Hangman offered his hand once you had gotten your breath back and you took it, heaving you up. he pulled you so close that your chest smashed against his. "Woah if you wanted to kiss you, just had to say darlin' after all, you're looking mighty fine." You rolled your eyes and pushed him off - "In your dreams, Seresin." "You're certainly in my dreams." He slung an arm around your shoulder and winked at you, escorting you to the showers before he had to leave you.

"You finally shake off the leach?" A woman also in the showers asked, a sarcastic smile on her lips. "Only thing stopping him was the female sign on the door." You replied and both shared a laugh, "Phoenix, you must be the famous Honey." "That's my name," You grinned. "You gonna be down at the Hard Deck tonight?" You thought for a moment. "Sure, see you there."

"Well how-howdy little, lil lady!" A voice exclaimed from behind you and you spun around at the voice. A little boy wearing a small pair of western boots, belt wrapped around his waist about three times to hold up the flared jeans he was wearing, vest and a pink Hawaiian shirt hanging open. He tipped his cattleman hat, and lowered his aviator glasses that were about a hundred sizes too big for him, almost falling off of his nose when he moved to rest his hands sassily on his hips. You knelt in front of the boy and gasped, raising your hand and fluttering your eyelashes as you feigned flattery. "Well hello handsome, don't you look nice?" He dropped his facade and giggled, stomping his little feet. you grabbed the boy as you stood up and sat him on the bar, keeping your hands on his waist so he didn't fall.

Hangman cleared his throat. "Who's this?"

you were stood at the pool table playing against Coyote while he was actively trying to flirt with you, just humming when he was bragging about some trip himself and hangman had managed to pull off on their flight today, before you were saved by Phoenix brining you a drink over. 'Life saver' you had mouthed to her, and she just nodded with a wink, pulling you away when you had won the game, Coyote much too busy trying to swoon you to realise the eight ball had already been played. "Hey, darlin'!" You turned to see Rooster, smirk adorning his face as he approached you. "Hey Brad," he began to engage in conversation before everyone's attention was drawn to where Penny's voice directed. "Beau, didn't think I'd see you anytime soon!" He laughed and hugged her, "Still human Pen, just getting better pay." All top gun members throats went dry, their relaxed evening seemingly turning into a drill session within seconds. he looked at the group and waved you over with a smile, everyone's jaws hanging open when he pecked your forehead and started up talk. "Hey dad!"

"Holy shit." Payback groaned. "Simpson, of course." Bradley said. "Well, you know what they say - get the father to like ya, get the daughter." Hangman said as he began approaching the two of you. "No one fucking says that, Bagman." Phoenix remarked, but he was away before he could be stopped.

"Admiral!" Hangman laid a hand on your shoulder and grinned at his superior, your fathers eyebrows shooting up as he looked between the two of you. you did a small eyeroll before shrugging the hand off of your shoulder and looked on, amused as he tried to sweettalk your dad.

you were soon distracted, though by a sweet tune emitting from the bar's ancient piano. you looked to see Bradley playing the starting chords to an infamous Jerry Lee Lewis song and you ran along to join him, pushing across the bench with your hip to simultaneously sing.

"GOODNESS, GRACIOUS, GREAT BALLS OF FIRE!"

"What'd I tell you about fighter pilots? They're bad news." Your father grumbled under his breath as he drove you back to your temporary home. "They mean well." you hummed, but turned your head against the head rest to look at him. "I'm also not stupid- humouring Hangman is just funny." There was silence for a moment. "What about Rooster?" "What about him?" "I've seen those eyes he looks at you with." "What eyes, dad?" You scoffed with a laugh. "You know, those ones." You turned back to face the darkened road. "They're the only eyes he's got."

Before you could respond to Hangman, the boy groaned loudly. "Mama, I'm thirsty!" He thumped his boot against the bar slightly with a pout at those quivering lips. "Hey, what'd I tell you about stomping?" You hummed, tone gettng sterner. "Don't stomp the foot unless i want a boot in the but." He giggled at the final word. You smiled at him, glad he listened to you at his little tantrums. "You're just like your daddy." You rolled your eyes. "Now what can i get my little cowboy to drink?" "Orange juice please, mama!"

"Mama?!"

After thirty weeks of aggressive training, you had finally been out on several 'dummy' rescue missions. "So today, pilots we'll be focusing on-" The siren which had laid dormant since you arrived at top gun started bleating loudly with an iterative red beacon, accompanied by a female voice overing the neighbouring intercom. "Requested: lieutenant Simpson, Honey, lieutenant Pierce, bear, lieutenant Shirley, Temple, two F-18 fighter jets down at Toro Canyon Park, immediate medical backup required." The Captain looked at you guys. "Show time pilots, show me what you've got." And before you knew it, you were in the air and navigating your way towards the billowing smoke. You landed just off of the treeline, and managed to find the wreckages rather quickly - but it wasn't the planes you were concerned about, it was the pilots.

Two parachutes 100 feet away from one another, seemig like a collision below the allowed guidelines, you were guessing a mock dog-fight, "I've got this one." You ran towards one of the victims and your peers headed to the other, each carrying your medical bag.

you peeled to parachute away from them, and gasped when you saw a knocked out Rooster laying motionless on the grass. "Bradley!" You shook his shoulders, seeing no signs of response so moving him into the recovery position. After checking there was no obvious nor outstanding damage to his head, you removed his helmet to see a nasty gash bleeding right above where his helmet had cracked. "Brad," You kept talking, attempting to make him conscious. "Stay with me, Bradley." you began to apply pressure to where the bleed was, making a make-shift bandage covering the top of his skull until you could get him back to base.

"Hey Honey" you heard his voice rasp as he attempted to raise to his elbows but you pushed him back down. "Hi Roo, just gotta stay there for me, got a nasty gash on your head here." You explained, resting his head against the ground. "You're fuckin' gorgeous." He giggle, looking at your eyes with a dreamily-dazed expression. "Okay, Brad seems like a concussion." "No, no, you're the prettiest woman I've ever seen, wanna marry ya." He continued to blurt out. you tried to ignore the fluttering of butterflies in your gut, just shaking your head. "You don't know what you're sayin' Brad, just gotta stay still for me." You secured a neck brace. "No i know what i'm saying, i wanna take you out and propose and fuck ya so hard that you scream, then ill make love to ya so we have our own little Bradshaw-" He continued to mumble. you breath faltered and your heart skipped a beat at the thought. "There you go, Bradley. Ready to get you home." You secured him as Temple came over to help you, heaving up the other end of the stretched, and moving back to the helicopter, Bradley shutting his eyes in the meantime.

"Who was the other?" You asked. "Hangman" she replied with a scoff mixed with a laugh as you joined her. "Shocker. He injered too?" You asked and she shook her head no. "Was sat up awake when we got to him, damaged ego but nothing else - still taking him to medical to get a once over though." You nodded in response, giving the thumbs up Bear when Rooster was secured. Hangman took a sip of his complementary water, "Hey, Honey" You nodded. "Hangman" "What's up with Bradshaw?" "Concussion, head trauma, need to get back to medical to confirm anything else." he leant forward and placed a hand on the centre of your back and surveyed Rooster. "Back off, Hangman." He raised his hands with a chuckle, before moving backwards and allowing you to work.

You'd worked some overtime that day to wait with Bradley and make sure he could get discharged that evening so that's why you were sat beside him, having just replaced his glucose drip feeding into his arm. The clocked ticked over to eight but you didn't mind, you were move than happy to watch the sunset outside of the window in silence, especially beside Bradley - even if he's knocked out cold.

A sudden cough withdrew you from your thoughts as Rooster's eyes fluttered open. "Hey, sweetheart." "Don't you dare sit up." You warned with a glare, noticing the way his arms shifted below him and he relaxed again with a small smile. "Now this is a view I could wake up to everyday." He said. "Yeah, the sunset's beautiful-" "No, I mean you, I could wake up to you everyday." He spoke softly and cut you off, looking at you with a gentle stare.

"How are you feeling?" You ignored his statement. "I'm okay, seriously, just a bit tired." You smiled. "I stitched up your head, so no flying because you also suffered a concussion-" "I meant what I said." You stopped talking and gave him a questioning expression. "I'm in love with you." "Bradley-" He reached up and kissed you softly and you relaxed into it. "You been growing a moustache, Bradshaw?" "Do y' like it?" You hummed as you nodded. "Good 'cause it's stayin'."

"Yes, I'm his mom, aren't I baby?" You pinched his cheek and asked Penny for an OJ "Oh my! I didn't realise there was a big scary cowboy in my bar, here's your juice box, sir." Penny curtseyed at your son. "Much obly-obul- oby-lysed obliged, ma'am" He smiled, blowing bubbled into the carton through the small straw.

"Who's his dad-" "Nick! Buddy, what'd I tell ya about running from the truck!?" voice bellowed from the doorway, you turned to your husband, who's eyes softened at the sight of you when he removed the aviator glasses from his face. He walked over and grabbed you waist, pulling you flush against his body and leaning down you kiss you lovingly. "Oh I get it, you saw a mighty fine lady and decided she was more important than sticking with your poor old dad, I get it." He said to your son, nipping at your neck with his teeth.

Hangman gritted his teeth and forced a smile and acknowledged you husband, "Rooster."

You spent the next three months sneaking around with Bradley, hidden winks, ghost-like touches, stolen kisses, and honestly a few on-base fucks. All secret until one day your dad had decided to visit your medical station, where you were laid on the bed against Bradley's shoulder while he left kisses in your hair and drew shapes on your hips. "Hey hon-" You father walked in and the two of you immediately jumped off of one another. He froze in the doorway, "What the fuck!" He about-turned on his heels, slamming the door shut behind him before storming off. "Oh god-" You stood up, but was pulled back by Bradley. "He was gonna find out eventually," "He's gonna disown me, Brad-" You had never seen you father that mad before.

"Bradshaw." The group heard from behind their lesson. "Admiral," Rooster turned to see him, and the group hollered like a group of school-kids teasing the man as he was lead away from the hangar and towards Admiral Simpson's office. They sat in silence momentarily, Cyclone staring out of the window and taking deep breaths, assumingly trying to calm himself.

"What're you playin' at, Bradshaw?" He asked after a while. "Excuse me, sir?" He turned towards Bradley - crossing his arms over his chest. "My daughter, seriously?! My only fucking daughter?" His tone of voice rose with every syllable. "With all due respect, sir-" "No, you do not get to talk. My daughter if the only thing I have in life and the only thing I can really protect her from now she joined the navy is scum like you." "Scum?" "You fast-jet pilots are all the same. Can't keep your dicks in your pants, well I'm telling you now - you stay the fuck away from her-" Bradley cut him off. "If I'm not mistaken, you were once, too a fast-jet pilot and that means you lived up to your own assumptions, and I know she's the only one you got because your wifes's gone," "Shut your mouth Rooster, and listen-" "No-" Rooster stood up, his chair being shoved abck against the wall behind him. "You listen. We may not've been together that long, but I fucking love her and I wanna marry her whether you like it or not, maybe you should look at yourself as a fahter, she's been stayin' with me, balling her eyes out for the past week 'cause the only person she's got left ignores her calls and pretty much disowns her! That's your fuckin' problem, now if you dont mind, Admiral, I'm goin' home to the love of my fuckin' life and you have absolutely no authority to stop me." Bradley spat with venom, slamming the door shut behind him and heading home to you.

Cyclone gained a lot of respect for Rooster, that day.

"Hello," Your dad walked into the hangar where you were with Bradley and the two of yours conversation end quickly as you look towards your father with a blank and unreadable expression. "Sweetheart I'm so sorry," "I don't want your apologies, dad." You grunted. "Want me to leave, hon?" Bradley asked, but your father answered him instead "no, i need you here too." "Look since your mom died your the only thing I have I'd live in rags on the street if it meant you were happy, i couldn't stop you joining the navy and i was so scared, what if something happened to you? And i knew from working here for nearly a decade what the aviator reputation was. When i saw you with Rooster i felt I'd failed the last part of you i could protect. but i know, you're not a little girl anymore and I shouldn't have reacted that way, I'm sorry."

You said nothing, but stood up and hugged him tightly, tears apparent in your eyes. "It's alright, sorry for going against your wishes." You reciprocated, "You are a Simpson after all." You both laughed, and your father held out an arm. "Come on Bradshaw, I can deal with you as a son-in-law, I guess."

"Bagman." You husband nodded, mouth pursing into a thin line. "He yours?" Bradley grinned, cockily. "He sure as hell is, aint ya, Nick?" "Yeah, dad!" The boy giggled.

"Er, I think Coyotes callin' me." And he walked away, to absolutely no one as Bradley chuckled victoriously and snaked his arms around you. "You scared him off, Brad." "Good, shouldn't even be lookin' at ya, you're all mine." He pecked your cheek, pulling yourself and your son along with you, and towards the piano, still sat in its spot in the Hard Deck.

It was graduation day, all the top gun graduated gathered to celebrate, Bradley raising his trophy above his head smugly, showing it off to his fellow pilots and the accompanying civillians.

"Bradshaw, congrats on getting top gun." Cyclone approached him. "Thank you, Admiral." He thought for a moment. "Can I have your blessing?" Cyclone looked at him, confused. "Can I marry her?" He was nervously sweating, gulping on his saliva and pulling at the collar on his neck. Your father immediately smiles and shook Bradley's hand. "Of course you can."

Your wedding day was like no other, a runway close to the ocean, a flyover from Phoenix and a few others from Top Gun, your dress was gorgeous, Bradley cried as you walked down the isle, when your father gave you away, when you said your vows, he never stopped crying. God, he was over the moon happy. "I love you, Honey." "I love you, Rooster."

even your honey moon was pure bliss, although the resort was gorgeous you hardly left the hotel room, Bradley too busy fucking you into the sheets and trying to put a baby to you just like he had promised when you had recovered him from that botched training exercise.

Now here you were, perched on the leg of your husband, your four year old son singing along to the tune as Bradley sang to him, playing the piano simultanous to circling your waist.

"GOODNESS, GRACIOUS, GREAT BALLS OF FIRE!"

and Nick had called it a night, you and Bradley said goodbyes to your friends at the bar who had also been called back to top gun, you saying goodbye to Maverick when your husband wasn't looking, you headed to the truck. "How about we get home and I fuck another baby into ya'?" Bradley asked against your lips, between desperate kisses. "Take me to bed or loose me forever, Rooster." "Show me the way home, Honey."

And the men all stood there in silence, sickened to their stomachs, their sweet Honey stolen away by no other than Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw. Damn.

[lostloveletters]

Little Wing (John Brady x OC)

Summary: Kate "Woody" Woodward and John Brady have it bad for each other, except Woody's convinced he doesn't care for her and Brady's convinced he messed up his shot with her. They prove each other wrong.

Note: Woody and Brady’s first kiss fic yay🤭 Title comes from the Jimi Hendrix song (which is on Woody’s playlist).  I know I keep saying this, but I’m so overwhelmed with the response to Woody/Brady, I didn’t expect it at all, and it means so much to me🖤 Do not interact if you’re under 18, terf or radfem, or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: Inevitable historical and technical inaccuracies. Suggestive to a point, but not explicit. Light miscommunication plotline.

Darla had been the one who pointed it out. The Texan wasn’t one for biting her tongue, and expressed earlier that day while they were eating lunch with Meg that John Brady wasn’t making himself scarce around the hardstand, or the hangar. Wherever that downed plane of his was while they were working on it, he’d inevitably show up at some point. 

“‘S like he don’t think we can fix a damn plane,” Darla said through a mouthful of toast, stale from that morning’s breakfast. The guys in the kitchen knew the three of them weren’t ones to pass up food just because it was a few hours old.

“I got the same thing at my pop’s shop back home. These fellas would bring in their cars and tell ‘im they didn’t want me workin’ on them. Half of ‘em didn’t even know how to change a tire,” Meg agreed, her thick Boston accent making Woody have to strain to understand what she was saying sometimes.

Darla shook her head. “Some ‘a these flyboys, I swear to god they got more swagger than sense.”

Woody didn’t want to tell them that Brady’s frequenting their work area might have coincided with the one day he showed up to check on how things were going, and she apparently struck a nerve by trying to be nice—something she was rusty at despite her best efforts. So he’d hang around and watch, sometimes not saying very much at all while puffing away at his pipe. Made her feel tantalizingly scrutinized beneath his stormy gaze.

His crew were all nice enough guys. A little rowdy sometimes, but nothing she couldn’t handle. Still, their pilot’s recent behavior made it tough for her to shake the feeling that he wasn’t all that fond of her. A damn shame, because she had it bad for him. Figured it was the first time she was into a guy who was decent.

Earlier that week, Hambone waited out the English rain in the hangar with her, telling her what he and the rest of them did before the war. Mostly recent high school graduates or everyday working guys. She didn’t find it surprising that the pilot had a degree, but almost couldn’t believe her ears when Hambone told her that Brady was a musician before the war. If anyone deserved to walk around with the swagger most of the pilots did, it was Brady, in her opinion, yet to her, he seemed level-headed and reserved. 

She had left lunch with Darla and Meg that afternoon with a newfound resolve to win Brady over somehow. If not for her own sake, then to at least not make her own faux pas the other girls’ problem.

Her quip to Holly about John Brady and his cockpit was mostly for her best friend’s amusement. Anything in her past she’d remotely consider a relationship boiled down to little more than sex. Never exclusive, and never all that satisfying, either. 

Woody nearly scoffed at herself. As if he’d want anything to do with a woman like her.

“Evening, Lieutenant,” she said as he walked up.

He sighed, taking his pipe out of his mouth. “You don’t have to be so formal, Woody. It’s just us out here.”

“Bucky and Holly are listening to the Yankees at the Nationals.” She nodded in the direction of the jeep in the distance. “They made some bet on it.”

“I hardly think that counts considering how far they are.”

She hesitated. “If you say so.” Stopped herself from adding ‘sir’ at the end. 

The following ten or so minutes were all hers. Pointed out every inch of the plane that’d been worked on since he last came by. Had an answer for all of his questions or concerns. She didn’t miss a single detail, wanting him to know yes, she was serious, and yes, she could fix a damn plane. Got the same thrill she did when she’d tell people how she souped up their cars to race, watching the appreciation and at times disbelief for her work on their face.

“Still got some kinks to work out, but it should be coming along a lot quicker now,” she said.

“You did all of that since yesterday?”

“I can’t take all the credit. Darla and Meg helped out, too.”

He cracked a grin, his pipe between his teeth. “You’re pretty damn good, Woody.”

She smiled. Her heart might’ve skipped a beat or two. “Thank you.”

“You must’ve been a mechanic before this, huh?”

“Here and there,” she said. Eager to steer the conversation away from herself, she quickly added, “You’re a musician, aren’t you?”

“I am. I got my degree in music, too.”

“Let me guess what you play…” She folded her arms across her chest. “You don’t strike me as a tuba man.”

The slightest smile worked its way onto his face. “No, I’m not.”

“Way too smart to be playing the triangle.”

“Hey, don’t count out the triangle.”

“You’re pulling my leg!” She laughed, silently proud of herself for not saying 'You're fucking with me' which otherwise would've been her reflexive response. “Alright, I’m gonna make my real guess now.” She pursed her lips as she considered her options. “Clarinet?”

He nodded. “And saxophone.”

“Both? Oh, I’d love to hear you play sometime,” she said. “Either. Whichever one you like best.”

“I play with the band in the officer’s club once in a while. You should come by. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you there.”

“I’m not an officer.”

“I’ll make sure no one kicks you out.”

“Are you offering to be my personal muscle?” she half-joked. 

He shook his head, smiling. “I don’t think you need it, but sure.”

“Thanks, John,” she said. “Unless you prefer Jack? Or just John?”

“What do you think suits me?” he asked.

“Well, I like Johnny, if you’re really asking.” She smiled like she was letting him in on a secret, like she knew all along he’d be Johnny to her. 

It was her eyes that got him, though. The same green he saw when someone else made her laugh or how just about everyone seemed to have some anecdote about Woody—how she helped them out or told a joke that was just the thing to lift their spirits.  But for all of the stories about Woody, the undertones of admiration or outright expressions of desire within them, nobody had one like his. Kissed his cheek without hesitation. Looked at him with those forest green eyes he could lose a hundred years in. Just when he was sure he had his chance and missed it, he was Johnny, and instead of getting lost in that forest, he knew exactly where he was going, how to push his way through and find her.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” she muttered, staring above them and shaking her head. 

Woody grabbed a screwdriver and kicked over a wooden milk crate that had seen better days. She tentatively placed her boot on it, pressing down a moment before stepping up.

“What are you doing?”

“I can’t reach otherwise.”

“That thing’s about as flimsy as cardboard,” he said, setting his pipe aside. “You’ll break your neck.” His strong hands were on her hips before he finished speaking. Held her steady as she stood on top of the crate.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he said. 

She worked in silence until she stood on her toes, and the crate wobbled ominously beneath her. “I can’t see. Can you get me a flashlight and—”

He squeezed her hips in frustration. “Woody, just do it tomorrow. It’s not worth getting hurt over.”

“Help me down, Johnny?” she asked, turning slightly in his hold, her eyes flashed an unmistakable desire that nearly sent him to his knees.

He kept one hand on her waist, the other holding her free hand as she stepped down from the crate. A flash of red spread across her cheeks, and he was drawn in closer like a moth to flame, following her to the nearby toolbox where she put the screwdriver back in place, double-checking the contents before locking it up for the night.

“You got something…” His thumb brushed just below her lip. They stared at each other in silence, voice caught in his throat before he closed the gap between them, cradling her chin in his hand as he kissed her. 

A shock to her system, there was something uniquely vulgar in his tenderness. Past lips on her own had been rough and selfish, part of a song and dance she grew tired of by the time she was nineteen. To be kissed with such care at twenty-three made her skin burn for more. 

She grabbed his collar, pulling him closer. Threatened to lose herself in the embrace, almost unsure of where Woody ended and John began. 

He caught her bottom lip between his teeth for a moment. She shuddered when he released it and pressed a hungry kiss to his lips, her want betraying her with a soft whimper. 

She felt him pulling away and thought her heart was going to beat out of her chest. “Johnny, don’t go. Not yet,” she whispered pleadingly, raking her fingers through his hair.

It didn’t take much else for him to give in, losing himself in that forest in her eyes. “Is there anything you’re not good at?”

“Being good,” she answered, “and I was getting better at that until you got here not even an hour ago.”

He smiled, eyes glistening almost mischievously. “Well, I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

“Am I your sweetheart?”

“If you want to be.”

She smiled. “I’d like that a lot.”

“Good, I wouldn’t want you to be anyone else’s,” he said, kissing her forehead.

“Me either.”

[timothee-chalamets-girlfriend]

Paul Atreides X Reader (Dune)

Part 3: Day One

     Paul Atreides awakens just as the sun begins its ascend into the Arrakis sky. He stays beneath the blankets for a few more minutes, finding it odd that he'd be freezing at night but then would dress for the day in cool clothes. Once he felt more awake, he slips out of bed and walks to the closet where an outfit had been hung for him. It was similar to his black cloak, though it was tan and a lot more thin. A lot more suitable for the desert. Paul slides it over his body; it felt very soft, and the coolness was refreshing to his skin. He then kicks off his boots, in which he had on all night since he had fallen asleep before getting a chance to take them off; he had been too tired last night to care. Paul replaces his pair of black pants with a more baggy, as well as tan pair to match the cloak. His body was covered enough to where he wouldn't get a sunburn, while it also was keeping his body cooler than what it'd be in his black cloak. He slips his black boots back on, and now he was ready for the first full day on Arrakis.

     Gurney stays in the Palace tracking the Harkonnens while Paul and his parents load up into an ornithopter. They were set to go view a few of the spice harvesters and examine how they work. Leto was the pilot, Paul sat on the passenger side, and Jessica in the back. They all strapped up and the Duke started the engine, it roaring while the wings deploy, stretching out until they're straight. The wings then start to vibrate, picking up momentum at each passing second. A loud buzzzzz fills the air as the wings reach their maximum speed for takeoff. Leto pulls up the yoke and the ornithopter ascends into the desert air, hovering over the sand and causing it to make a whirlwind around the ship until they get high enough off the ground. 

    Paul can't help but take in the beauty of the desert as they fly across the sky. It was so vast. So tremendous. It was hard for him to believe any human being survived solely off of the desert. He wanted to know exactly how; the film books only gave him brief descriptions. As they flew, he thought of the Fremen. He wondered how they looked and how they acted in person. He hoped he'd be lucky enough to meet one of them. Of course, he was mainly here for the Harkonnens and the spice, but something about the Fremen caught his attention. There was something special about them, he wasn't quite sure what, but he knew he wanted to learn more. 

     In the near distance, the first harvester can be seen. Leto brought down the ornithopter to a better viewing altitude, still staying high enough as to not disrupt the harvesting. "You can unstrap now, if you want a better look." Paul's father tells him, and he does so. Paul leans towards the glass of the cockpit, looking down and observing the large machine work. It digs deep into the sand dunes, pulling the spice out and separating it from the sand before collecting it. Paul notices a few small objects hovering in the air around them, they were almost drone like. "What are those?" He asks his parents. "Worm spotters," his mother replies, "They can detect worm sign from about 500 meters away." She explains. "What happens if they spot a worm?" Paul asks, genuinely curious. "Then they pray for their lives." His father jokes, before Jessica gives him a hard stare and he stops laughing. "A Carryall will deploy and lift it to safety. However, they do harvest up until the very last second. It's a dangerous job." The Duke says. Paul nods, continuing to watch the harvester. 

     "Father, have you ever seen a worm? In person, I mean?" Paul questioned. Leto chuckles in return, "only from the air, son. And that's all you'll ever want to see 'em." His father says, shooting him a quick smile and patting his shoulder. "We're safe up here." His father assured him. Not that Paul was worried about being devoured by a sand worm, he was more so curious about them. He'd seen images of them, but part of him wanted to see a real one. Up close, maybe. "Ready to head to the next one?" The Duke asks his family, and they nod in return. The ornithopter buzzed through the air as they soared. Paul had his eyes peeled for worm sign, but he wasn't too hopeful. When they approach the next harvester, the family immediately notices several other ornithopters hovering around it. "Who are they?" Paul asks, concerned. "Calm down, it's just for worm spotting." Leto says, but he wasn't completely sure. They had replaced the ships for the drones for worm spotting awhile ago, so why would there be any other ornithopters here?

     Duke Leto proceeds forward, trying to get a look at who was inside those other ships. Just a second later, a warning call goes off. It was from Gurney. The Duke looks down for a split second to find out what it was about, and in that time, one of the other ornithopters turned to directly face them. Paul squints his eyes, getting a better look into the cockpit. It was a dark figure in a black suit, who also seemed to be without hair. "Harkonnens.." Paul mutters, looking to his father. "Shit." His father says upon finding out himself. "Strap in," he tells both Jessica and Paul, and once they did so, he wastes no more time and suddenly makes a swift, vigorous bank to the left. Paul holds on tightly to his straps while his head was being thrown around with a lot of force from the quick bank. Now, all the other ornithopters were facing them and were on their tail. 

     Leto pushes the throttle to its max capacity, the Harkonnens were right behind them. They soar through the desert air at a fast pace, the wings were working at full power and the buzzing sound rumbled throughout the entire ship. Jessica looks behind her after they had been flying for awhile, and she couldn't see any of the other ships anymore. "I think we lost them," she sighs, putting a hand to her stomach. Just as the family takes a breath of relief, multiple bright lights flash behind them. The Harkonnens had fired three missiles. The ornithopter's alarm system beeped constantly, warning them of the upcoming missiles that were locked on their ship. Leto works tirelessly to dodge each missiles attempt to make contact with their ship. He flips the ornithopter, turns it sharply, and continues flying as fast as possible. Jessica and Paul's heads are still being whipped around violently, giving them headaches. Leto was used to it. Although, he never had time to strap himself in, so he was being thrown around a lot more than the others. He didn't have time to care about any potential injures, though. He had to keep flying. 

     Two of the missiles collide when the Duke confuses them by letting them get close, before closing the wings and nose diving downward. As they fell, the last missile followed closely behind. It was gliding fast, and their ships' engine was about ready to give out at this point. Leto re-opens the wings, making them come out from the dive and ascend quickly, but the missile did the same. Their speed was decreasing as the engine was dying. "I need you two to brace and stay in that position until we're on the ground." He tells his family through gritted teeth. "Why? What are you.." Paul starts to ask, but his father flicks his head toward him, sweat dripping down his forehead. "BRACE!" Leto yells, just as all power shuts off. The Duke knew he could try one last thing to protect his family, so he stops the ornithopter mid-air and turns it so the pilot's side faces the missile. He quickly glances at Paul, who wasn't leaning down yet so he pushes his head down with his sweaty hand and keeps it there, forcing Paul to brace. A split second before the missile makes impact, Leto lifts the ship up a bit to make it where the missile hits the bottom of the pilot's side, causing the majority of the impact to fall upon him. 

     A loud crash falls upon Paul's ears as the missile hits their ship. His father's hand was still holding his head down, so he couldn't see what was happening. A few seconds after that crash, he feels his father's hand loosen its grip on his cranium. And soon, he no longer felt it at all. He looks up, his eyes going wide as he spots a sight of pure horror and panic. The entire pilot's side of the ship was missing, along with his father. The large hole in the ornithopter caused gusts of wind to throw the ship around like a rag doll. They were going down, fast. Paul looks around frantically for his father, but he is nowhere to be seen. "FATHER!" He yells hopelessly. "PAUL, BRACE!" His mother screams at him, sounding just as distraught. Paul buries his head in his arms, closing his eyes and letting fate decide what will happen to him. 

     The ornithopter spirals downward until finally colliding with the sand below them. The impact causes an eruption of sand to fall over them. The glass of the cockpit shatters and flies through the air, striking Paul and cutting him in a few places. Being strapped in most likely saved both Paul's and Jessica's lives, however the collision into the desert's sand was so powerful both mother and son had blacked out upon hitting the ground; their brains had been rattled around so much, it was likely they had a concussion. Nevertheless, they were alive. The Duke, however, his fate was yet to be determined.

[tropes-and-tales]

Mismatched

December 4:  Cider/Moon - Matchmaking gone wrong (Frankie Morales x F!reader)

(From the winter prompts found here)

CW:  Angsty nonsense.  The keywords of “cider” and “moon” are like Carmen Sandeigo—see if you can find ‘em.

Word Count:  1261

AN:  There is a sequel here!

AN2:  Requested by anon!

Molly’s the one who sets it up.  She and Tom throw a party each autumn, timed to hit the local college’s homecoming.  They do all the autumn stuff:  set up a bonfire in their backyard, stock the party with hearty tail-gating type fare like hard ciders and brats and hot wings.

But in addition to playing at gracious hostess, Molly appoints herself as matchmaker for the evening.  She knows someone, a friend of a friend, and she thinks Frankie would be perfect for her.

“I don’t know, Molly,” Frankie says.  He takes off his hat, runs his fingers through his hair nervously.  He just finalized his divorce a six months earlier, and it left him wrung out and empty.  He only gets to see his infant daughter on the weekends.  He lives in a shitty one bedroom apartment, and he’s putting in hours at the local car shop since his pilot’s license was suspended.  He goes to group once a week to try and beat his addiction.  

In short, he doesn’t feel like he has much to offer anyone.

Molly nudges him as she walks past to get more ice for the cooler of beers out on the back porch.  “C’mon, Frank,” she says with a winsome smile.  “I talked you up to her.”

Frankie glances at Molly, then slides his gaze over to Tom.  The man remains mute, but he does offer a slight shrug as if to say, “what can it hurt?”

It can hurt quite a bit, as it turns out.

-----

Halfway through the evening, you arrive.  Frankie and the guys are circled up near the bonfire, chatting about old Delta stories, when Molly waves over at them from across the yard.  When they stand and stare at her, she makes a frustrated face, points at Frankie, and waves him over specifically.

“Looks like your date’s arrived, Fish,” Pope says with a shit-eating grin.

“Good luck with that, bud,” Benny adds, and Will gives him a mock-salute.

Frankie sighs and tugs at his shirt, winces at the wrinkles there.  He swears it looked fine when he put it on that afternoon, but now it’s wrinkled.  Makes him look even less pulled-together.

“Walking the plank,” Tom says as he walks away, and he sighs again, grumbles that he should have stayed home.

-----

The problem is, Frankie likes you immediately.  

You have some spark, some…something that makes him perk up and take notice of you a little more closely as Molly introduces the two of you.  Your hand is soft in his as you shake it, and you give him a bright smile that feels genuine.

And for a while, the two of you chat.  It’s all the usual small talk bullshit:  talk of the weather, of how each of you know Molly and Tom, of your lives.  Frankie is out of practice with women, with dating, but he tries.  He asks more questions, and he listens more than he talks.  He makes eye contact; he smiles.  He offers you a fresh drink.

You tell him about yourself and he hedges his replies about his own life.  Of course he doesn’t tell you he’s a recovering addict, that he works a minimum wage job changing the oil in cars because he lost his license to fly.  He does admit that he’s divorced and has an infant daughter, and he has no reason to think you feel any sort of way about those facts—you tilt your head sympathetically, you smile at him.

For the first time since his marriage fell apart so spectacularly, Frankie feels the faintest bit of hope, like the thin margin of dawn appearing over the horizon.  He feels like he might not always be alone, like the darkness is about to break.

It makes it hurt that much more, when he accidentally overhears you talking to Molly later.

-----

He doesn’t mean to eavesdrop.  He doesn’t even mean to split up with you, but it happens naturally:  you go to use the restroom, he goes to get you each a fresh drink.

Frankie wanders outside and is intercepted by Pope, and the two chat underneath a bedroom window that is open a crack.  Of course neither of them notice it until they hear voices—yours and Molly’s.  

“No, you were right,” they hear you say.  “He’s good-looking.”

Pope snorts at that, but he slaps Frankie’s chest, and the man can’t help but stand a little straighter, push his shoulders back—

“But c’mon, Mol…divorced with a kid?  I’m not signing up for that.  No thanks.”

Just like that, his misplaced hope, the bit of pride at your first words about him…it all flees him.  He’s deflated, just like that.

“Aw, shit, Fish,” Pope starts to mutter, but Frankie waves him off with a pained smile.  

“It’s fine,” he lies.  “No worries.”

-----

Frankie Morales may be divorced, a single father, an addict.  He may live in a shitty apartment with modular furniture.  He may fall asleep each night with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, the deep-seeded fear that his life is on a long, slow skid into despair.  

But he’s not an asshole.

He plasters a smile on his face.  He gets you a drink and finds you, presses it into your hand, accepts your thanks and its accompanying smile.

He doesn’t make a scene of it, but he doesn’t want to wait for the polite brush-off, the kindly lie where you pretend to want to go on a date and then ghost him or blow him off later.

“I’m not feeling very well,” he tells you, and it’s not a lie.  He just wants to get home.  Wants to take as hot of a shower as his apartment’s bathroom can muster, and then collapse into bed.

You respond sympathetically and that hurts too.  Frankie guesses that you’re probably a good person—you just don’t want him and his situation—and he tries not to take it personally.

“Do you need anything?” you ask.  “Need me to call you a cab or something?”

“Nah.”  He glances around the room, sees Pope whispering to Tom, and he guesses that the moment might slip out of his control.  Tom likes to drink at these things, and Frankie can picture the man approaching you, getting too close to you and demanding to know what’s wrong with Fish, giving you off-color stories about Fish’s time in the service—

“I’m gonna head out,” Frankie says, turning back to you.  He offers you another smile and holds out his hand.  “It was really nice to meet you.  I enjoyed talking to you.”

You take his hand in yours, and Frankie swallows down the disappointment.  He hadn’t asked Molly for her matchmaking skills but it had seemed so promising all the same…up until it wasn’t.

He doesn’t wait for you to give him the brush-off or some flimsy promise to make future plans.  He gives you a final nod and smile and then he turns to leave.  

Outside in the front of the house, it’s dark.  All of the warmth is inside or in the backyard, where the bonfire roars and where the sounds of music and laughter ring in the night.  Frankie trudges to his old truck, a beat-down wreck just like him.

So much for the darkness about to break.  He sits in his truck for a moment and sighs.  There’s no thin margin of light on the horizon after all—just endless darkness save for the fingernail of a crescent moon hanging in the sky.

[luke-shywalker]

home again.

“Rey! Come down! You’re going to be late for school!”

“I’m coming, Mum! Geez!”

“Han, would you wash out the caf pot—no, wait, you broke it last time. Just leave it alone.”

“You could have a little faith in me, Your Highness.”

“Don’t ‘Your Highness’ me. Get that scrappy kid to school. And tell her not to beat up any more boys.”

“Rey, don’t beat up any more boys. Just tell ‘em who your dad is.”

“Right, Dad—and they’ll be all like, ‘Han Solo’ who?”

“For kriff’s sake, why am I getting the rough end from both my ladies today?”

“Han, language. But—sorry. Kiss! Mwah. Go upstairs and check on Ben when you come back, all right? Have a good day at school, Rey! Bye, flyboy.”

“Bye Mum!”

“See ya, sweetheart.”

The sound of the door closing.

“Oi. Mum’s always so stressed.”

“Rey. I know your mother doesn’t want you picking fights. But, as your father, I just wanna tell ya I’m proud of you for sticking up for yourself, and I want you to know that if you ever feel like you gotta—”

The door closed again, leaving the rest of the conversation a mystery.

Ben sighed and rolled over in bed. The house he’d grown up in had always been like that—you could hear everything that went on from any room.

He hadn’t lived here for a long time—seven years, about? And yet, it felt like he’d never left. Or, like he’d gone back in time.

There was evidence that Rey had started using his bedroom as kind of a garage—not that she didn’t have enough space in her own room (which required one to wade through knee-high levels of…just…stuff, and rather resembled the wasteland she had been rescued from). His desk, where he used to draw pictures of his own made-up ships and write himself into fictional stories about the Rebellion, was covered in mechanical pieces and bits of wiring from Rey’s projects. But other than that, his room was largely unchanged. The X-wing posters were still there. And so was the Sy Snootles pinup that Poe had given him as a joke. He was both surprised and amused that his mother had never taken it down.

But, then, it also felt like time had moved on without him. He’d been here for a few days now—consigned here by a freak medical crisis—and watching his mom and dad and sister play out the daily orchestration of their lives kind of made him feel like he had died after high school and his family had just kept on doing their thing.

Being around Rey was the weirdest part. The last time he had lived in the same house as his sister, she’d been seven, eight years old. Obviously, he’d seen her since then, every Life Day, and a few other times each year—but whenever Rey showed up in his dreams or in his mind, she was still seven.

But now she was fifteen, and she was…him. All those memories Ben had of being a teenager, of doing homework at the dinner table, fighting with his parents over nothing, using words that meant things to his peers but that his family didn’t understand, laughing on late night holocalls with friends and getting yelled at to go to bed—that was her, now. And now here he was, twenty-five and boring.

His boringness was evidenced by the fact that he missed buying groceries and making his own food. His parents couldn’t cook. They never could. Rey could eat literally anything, so that didn’t bother her. But Ben missed making his own dinner—maybe it was about the food, but maybe it was also just about the sense of control.

He couldn’t pilot a speeder in his current condition, so he was stuck here. He could go on walks, but he didn’t want to most of the time, because it made him dizzy.

He found himself alternating mostly between sleeping, and wandering the empty house during the day. Trying to spot things that had changed. Looking at the holopicture frames. There were still holos of him, but there were more and more holos of Rey. It was like getting caught up on her life since he’d left home.

Being off work felt like summer vacation. Only…bad. Because doing nothing all day was fun for a kid—but for a grownup, it was kind of like hell. The hours blurred together into sluggish, amorphous days, and he just kind of found himself places, doing things—oh, hey, I’m here now. Now he found himself downstairs in the kitchen, washing out the caf pot that his mom hadn’t trusted his dad not to break.

That was another thing—he didn’t like the caf his mom made. She used really cheap caf grounds that she bought in bulk, which was exactly what she would do, being practical—but ever since leaving home, Ben had discovered good caf, and it was hard to go back.

It was hard to go back to a lot of things.

He set the caf pot on the rack to dry, and for a second he just stood there, looking out the kitchen window. Is this who I thought I’d be as an adult…?

Am I an adult?

And then he noticed that Rey had left the blue milk uncapped and on the counter, and the carton was sweating and becoming lukewarm, and that really pissed him off, so he capped it and put it in the fridge like it was supposed to be—and that told him, yes, he was now just a boring adult.

…Well. Maybe being a boring adult was better than being a teenage psychological mess, which was what he had been before.

He filled a glass of tap water and drank cheers to that.

Ben heard the door open, and turned to see his father coming back in.

He gave a nod. “Hey, Dad.”

“Oh, you’re up,” Han said. “How ya feelin’, kid?”

Ben imagined his dad would probably still be calling him “kid” when he was forty-five.

“I’ve been better,” Ben said, then changed the subject, because he was kind of sick of talking about his health. “So. How’s being house husband?”

“Hey.” Han pointed a defensive finger. “I am not a house husband.”

“Hey, I never said there was anything wrong with it,” Ben chuckled into his glass of water. “You’re doin’ great, Dad. Maybe she’ll even let you wash the caf pot someday.”

“Listen, kid, that was one time.”

“Oh, I’m just givin’ ya a hard time, old man.”

“Uh-huh. And when are you getting married?”

“Never. Women find me intolerable.”

“Funny. I said the exact same thing, at your age.”

“You know, I can’t believe Mom settled for you,” Ben joked, curious to see how the jab would land.

But Han just grinned and inclined his head and spread his arms in humility. “That’s what I’m sayin’, kid. If there’s hope for me, there’s hope for anybody.” He paused mischievously, and then took a shot back. “Even if you never inherited my dashingly good looks.”

“Ha! You mean I was spared from them,” Ben snorted. “Well, thanks, Dad; I’ll keep it in mind.”

Han laughed too. Insults were kind of a love language in their family, as weird as that sounded. He came over to lean against the counter next to Ben, then clapped him on the back and looked him in the eyes, like he was studying the man Ben had grown up into.

“Hey. I know the circumstances aren’t great, but…it’s kinda nice, having you home, Ben. I miss ya.”

“You do?” Ben asked with a self-conscious laugh, feeling more sentimental about his father’s words than he was comfortable admitting. “Kind of seems like your lives all went on without me.”

“Well…yours went on without us, too,” Han said, then shook him by the shoulders a little. “You need to call home more often, little buddy.”

Little buddy—Ben was a couple inches taller.

“I know,” Ben said, patting the top of his father’s graying head. “I’m just bad at it.”

“That’s no excuse.” Han tilted his head conspiratorially. “A house husband gets lonely, ya know.”

“Heh. Well. Can’t have that, I guess.”

They stood there, together. Father and son. The Solo men, Leia called them, when she was feeling playful.

“…Wanna take the Falcon out for a spin?” Han asked suddenly.

Ben turned to look at him, so abruptly it made his head hurt. “What—like, right now? I can’t pilot, Dad. The medcenter told me—”

“You can co-pilot.”

“No, Dad, I so can’t.”

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Uh, I get us both killed? No, wait—what’s worse is if Mom finds out.”

“C’mon.”

“Dad.”

“C’mon!”

“No!”

“Come on—”

“Okay!”

“Okay?”

“Okay. Geez.”

“All right!” Han tousled his son’s hair as if he was twenty years younger and tossed him his boots, which Ben started putting on amidst a sea of complaints—

“For kriff’s sake, Dad, fine, but I’m tellin’ ya, I can’t see that good right now, and I haven’t even piloted the Falcon in ages even if I was healthy, and this was all your stupid idea in the first place, so don’t you go giving me hell if I happen to put a scratch on your beloved—”

Han only laughed, while Ben was still talking, and the door closed, leaving the Organa-Solo house quiet again.

[galacticwildfire]

Fire Meet Gasoline (excerpt)

Poe dameron x solo!oc

Summary: Hope Solo is rogue and searching for the Millenium Falcon having run away from the Resistance when she has a chance encounter with Poe Dameron.

Warnings/Tags: cursing, flirting, ego's. R2 being a menace.

Word Count: 2k

A/N: first few chapters will be uploaded very soon, here's an excerpt. This takes place just before Before the Awakening, so roughly 31/32 ABY, Hope's twenty, Poe's twenty nine.

~

~

The N-1's controls are engrained into my memory from my training on Naboo, although I had become quite fond of my x-wing that no doubt still resides on D'qar. That better still be there and waiting for me. The thought of going back fills me with dread but I know inevitably I will have to face Mom, but today is not that day. I like to think Dad would be proud of me if I could tell him that by the age of twenty I'd become a quadruple ace, even if those kills were achieved with contracts like these instead of with the Resistance.

"Here we go R2, you see them?" I say, eyeing a group of tie's coming out from behind one of the moons. "This is where the fun begins."

Even if he pretends to be worried for the sake of my self preservation, coding specifically installed by Luke when he was given to me to override his loyalty programming to keep me from getting myself killed, I know he loves this almost as much as I do. 

"It's just target practice R2," I tell him as I prepare to ambush, liking to take a moment to see if the First Order's botherered to make any modifications to their tie's with the amount I've been taking out, but it seems they're happy to keep sending them out as canon fodder. "Let's see, take them out in the open or herd them into that asteroid belt?"

He agrees with the asteroid belt, and so do I. Tie's aren't as nimble as a Naboo starfighter.

"I count eight, should be easy pickings," I say and prepare for attack. "Let's get em."

I debate strategy as I come up behind them to ambush, my instincts tell me now might not be the time to play around and I have the nagging feeling there's more where these eight have come from and so instead of taking my time I fire the proton torpedo I've been itching to use right into the centre of their formation. The shot takes out the tie's in the centre with the exception of the flanking ships that scatter at the blast and sure enough another formation comes up behind me from one of the moons as the asteroid belt comes into sight.

This just got slightly more dangerous now that they're the one's trying to push me into the asteroid belt but only slightly.

After taking out the flanking ships I cut the engines and pull up hard a fraction of a second later in the same manouvre that once got me suspended from the Naboo starfighter corps for even attempting in atmosphere, space being a little trickier but manageable, the nose of my ship slamming upwards to slow the acceleration of my fighter so the tie's behind me overshoot, counting ten in total that head straight past me for the asteroid belt, finding myself surprised by the amount they have to spare, at least the amount I'll get paid will more than cover the cost to replace the torpedo.

Now to scatter them and pick them off.

"Alright R2, fire up those engines for me," I say and a second later they come back roaring as I roll the N-1 before slamming the nose down again and shoot forward to herd the second formation into the asteroid belt, grinning as I follow after the scattering ties, maneuvering the belt with ease and by the time I exit the tie's are either destroyed by my laser canons or their own shitty piloting. The First Order clearly don't have the instructors the Empire did. But in the heat of the moment I failed to see the x-wing that had followed me into and now out of the belt and my heart stops temporarily at the realisation I didn't see it, a mistake that could have me dead if it was a First Order ship.

"The hell?" I whisper at the sight once I recover from the momentary shock. "The Republic shouldn't be out here..." It's then I take in the model of the X-wing and realise it's a T-70. It's a Resistance X-Wing. "Fuck." R2 beeps at me and I remind him "Who taught me to curse R2? I'd settle somewhere between you and Mom and if she's sent a fighter after me... no- no, she has no idea where I am."

At least I hope not.

A transmission comes through the radio as R2 beeps a snarky reply at me, a man's voice interrupting him. "Naboo starfighter identify yourself."

R2 feels the need to point out it's the Resistance, not so kindly suggesting we should follow them home. I never knew a droids patience could wear thin but R2 may just be getting too old to deal with Skywalker bullshit. 

"Yes R2 I'm aware it's a Resistance X-Wing," I say before answering the transmission and replying to the pilot. "No, I don't think I will."

He doesn't seem to like that answer, but plays along. "Before you get cocky are you aware you were just ambushed by a squadron of Tie Fighters belonging to the First Order and that I came to assist?"

He hasn't identified himself as Resistance which mean's he's impersonating a New Republic officer by ordering me to identify myself, most pilots wouldn't pick up on the difference between x-wing models, but I know better. 

"I was the one ambushing them," I grin, a little smug I'd taken them out before he could even get a shot, finding his voice unfamiliar which means he's a new pilot who wouldn't know mine. "I'd thank you for your assistance but you were a little late."

His fighter pulls up beside mine and I make out a grin beneath his helmet as he says "It's a shame, I thought this patrol was about to get interesting."

"I didn't think New Republic pilots were allowed to engage," I say since he's failed to identify himself and I want to see how long he keeps this ruse up, but I can't help but like what I see and tease. "Am I under arrest officer?"

I hear him laugh and look back over to study his face as best I can, finding it attractive and unfamiliar but my stomach drops at the markings on his ship and helmet that tell me I'm certainly not mistaken in my identification that he's with the Resistance, spying an orange and white astromech with him. "It's your lucky day, I'm not New Republic."

"Thought not," I say, continuing to play naive. "They aren't allowed to patrol this sector anymore so that leaves the question of who you are."

He continues to play along and I realise he's enjoying this. "Take a wild guess?"

"A moonjockey in a beaten up x-wing?" 

"Beaten up?" I hear him repeat in offence and can't help but smile. "Not everyone's got the credits to be flying state of the art N-1's so why don't you tell me what organisation you're with?" he asks, knowing I'm sure as hell not part of any New Republic starfighter corps if I'm attacking the First Order without provocation. "Bounty hunters guild or something, hired security?"

"Something like that," I answer before remarking "Maybe I'm just a pilot like you who's sick of those bastards and decided to take matters into my own hands."

He seems to like that answer, keeping his ship level with mine and only then does it occur to me my face could be recognisable from his angle, but he doesn't seem to have a damn clue who I am and that fills me with relief.

"You know," he begins. "The Resistance is looking for pilots."

I have to hold back laughter at the irony. "Is that so?"

"I was tracking the tie's that got behind you before you went into the asteroid field, counted fourteen you took out with those cannons, make's you a double ace."

"I'm a quadruple," I correct a little to proudly. "And that was easy work."

Somehow nothing clicks in his head which makes me wonder where the hell the Resistance believes I actually am for one of their pilots to not register who I must be. Even if he's a newer recruit I'm the daughter of Leia Organa, hell I was the best pilot they had before they permanently grounded me, people know who I am. 

Which is why I'm confused as much as amused when he offers. "You're a hell of a pilot, I've only ever known two pilots to pull off that manouvre you did and I'm one of them and if you're as good as you can say I can put you in touch with General Organa herself."

I can't help but look back at R2 to make sure he's hearing this but instead of laughing along with me he beeps at me to consider it, to go home.

"I know I'm a hell of a pilot," I state. "Best one there is."

"I don't know about that," he says and wonder just how good he thinks he is. "But I'd be willing to see what you've got."

The challenge is clear in my voice. "Is that so?"

Instead of backing down like a responsible Resistance pilot should he takes it on. "That's right."

He tilts his helmet towards me and I make out a stubbled face beneath the helmet, even obstructed I can't miss the stupidly handsome grin he flashes me and he knows it. Typical flyboy.

Except I might actually like this one.

"Alright hotshot," I say and prepare for some real fun as I fire up my thrusters, finding myself genuinely curious. "You know, I never got your name."

"Commander Poe Dameron," he says and it rings a bell even if I know it won't come to me until later. "Of the Resistance if you haven't put that part together yet."

I roll my eyes and even R2 has to laugh at that. 

"Commander huh?" I say, realising he must be something then for a man who wasn't there a year ago to get promoted so quickly to a rank I never even held, it almost makes me bitter. Nope, it definitely makes me bitter. "You must be a real hotshot then."

"The best," he says and R2 begins preparing, knowing I'm about to show him up. "And you still haven't identified yourself."

"And I'm not going to," I say as I prepare to take off. "But I'm sure you'll figure it out commander, give General Organa my regards."

He's taken back enough by that remark that I get a head start on him, my ship being far faster than his is with the illegal modifications to the thrusters and while he pursues I quickly lose him, getting out of range just far enough to jump to hyperspace so he can't follow and once I'm clear I realise my hands are trembling slightly.

Even if he has no idea who I am, Mom will piece it together if she hasn't already. If the First Order's profiled a rogue Naboo starfighter in the Outer Rims targeting tie fighters I know she has to have the same intelligence from Threepio's network. 

If she doesn't know what I've been doing, she's about to.

And if she thought me engaging the enemy was bad, she's going to lose it when she realises what I've been doing in the year since I left base. 

[kilojulietsierra]

See You Try - Part Two (Jake “Hangman” Seresin x pilot!OFC)

Okay since y’all seemed to enjoy this one, and I couldn’t really help myself, please enjoy Part Two!! 

warning: unresolved sexual tension, 18+ content in the form of bad language and allusions to things like masturbation

Part One

PART TWO

"So, you enjoy that?" The door to the ready room opened and Hangman strode in smirking, eyes landing on Tori instantly.

"The briefing?" She looked up from what she was doing as she zipped up the legs of her flight suit, "I mean it was a briefing."

He walked behind her even though his flight gear was on the other side of the room, "You know what I mean, and it's not that."

With a glance over her shoulder Tori raised her eyebrows, "Ohhhhh, you mean the look on your face when I sat down? Yes, yes I did enjoy that."  She rolled up the sleeves of her suit before shrugging into her harness, "I mean, how often does somebody actually catch you off guard Hangman?"

To his credit Hangman shook his head, "Not often enough." He threw her a wink and turned the corner continuing to the locker that held his gear, turning away from her just in time for the others to enter the room. Two Step didn't quit smiling until she picked up her kit, grabbed her helmet and made to leave the room. Then she was all business.

~~~

Hangman had caught up to her on the tarmac, his longer stride eating up the asphalt. "You and me up there today." He turned to look down at her matching stride beside him, "You good being number two?"

"Do I have a choice?" She looked right back at him.

He chuckled, eyes hidden behind the same Ray Ban glasses he always wore, "Not yet." They continued on a few more steps until he saw her jet waiting for her down the line. "Hey," He bumped her shoulder with his, catching her eye again, "This is gonna be fun."  

If his smile turned up a notch to match hers, nobody was close enough to them to notice, and if he stole a glance at her ass as she walked away to shake her bird captains hand and as she climbed up the ladder, his sunglasses were too dark to tell.

And damn it if flying with her wasn't the most fun he'd had in a long time! Mav had initiated a king of the hill type tournament as an icebreaker for the instructors. Teams two on two until only one team remained. The reward, free drinks all night for the winners. The catch; if your wingman went down, so did you and the winning team took your spot.  A solid team building exercise, and Two Step and Hangman were unbeatable. They were dangerous on their own but teamed up they were lethal. Team after team came and went until there was only one left.

The downside to this little game was by the last match they were exhausted. Hangman could feel the sweat pouring down his back and he was constantly fighting off a cramp in some part of his body. "One more to go T, you good?"

"I'm good." She sounded tired but sure of herself.

Hangman smiled into his mask as he watched her slip in beside him and nothing could ever beat that feeling as far as he was concerned. The feeling of two F-35s wing to wing, gliding through the calm air ready to absolutely ruin someones day.  

On his other wing two more jets appeared, their positions mirroring their own. The opposing team lead made eye contact with Hangman and nodded. Over the radio they heard, "Fight on." and the two teams peeled off in opposite directions like synchronized swimmers in a pool.

~~~

"On me T, let's finish this." Jake yawed right and barrel rolled his jet into dive, not even stopping to question if Two Step was with him. She was.

Two Step scanned the air around them, "Tally, Tally, Tally, seven high." She dropped her visor, tired of squinting into the later afternoon sun. "Coming in fast. Call it."

"Hold tight. Let 'em in closer."

Tori looked over her instruments, the hard deck was skimming under the belly of her jet, one wrong move this low and this fast they'd be disqualified for breaking the parameters of the game.

"Much closer they're gonna get a lock and all your fancy moves won't be worth shit."

His chuckle was loud but rough under the exertion of the long day and prolonged G's, "So you do like my moves? I've been wondering."

"They're moving into firing range." Two Step breathed deep, knowing they'd have to pull a maneuver any minute, "And I refuse to answer that based on the fact the last thing you need is me stroking your ego."

The smile was evident in his voice, "Oh I seriously disagree. OK, lets go, hard left, stick with me." Again he moved without waiting for her confirmation but she was there, following his lead as he serpentine left to right heading straight towards the oncomers. Two Step stayed with him, sliding left when he went right and right when he went left.  "Move up Two Step, overtake me."

With a shake of her head she throttled up, "Taking lead."

Jake watched as mid maneuver he throttled his jet back and slid lower, Two Steps jet coming over top of his within less than fifty feet. "Keep up the serpentine, when I say pull back roll left."

"Say when."

He waited until the alarm sounded for a missile lock hunting his bird. "When."

All four jets split in different directions, all of them fighting to get a firing position on the other. "Okay Two Step, keep it up, I'm comin'."

Whether she questioned his tactics or not she remained silent and out maneuvered the other jet every step of her way.  That was the other half of her nickname, the less stereotypical and embarrassing half, her first tactical instructor had made the comment that if someone didn't know exactly what they were doing Victoria would have them tripping over their own feet and landing flat on their ass. She was fast and snappy, hard to follow, harder to keep ahold of.

Hangman had learned first hand in the literal since and in the air, Tori had moves and knew how to use them. He was counting on that now as he chased them down, evading contact from his own challenger as he fought for a firing position. "Okay, when you're ready pop and circle back on my six, I'll get him when he moves into weapons envelope. Once he's down I'll dive, you take out the other. You call it."

He didn't have to wait long, her voice came trough his headset, crisp and clear, "Move."

"Moving." Hangman smiled and went after it.

She pulled up, Jake throttled wide open and when the dust cleared they climbed to 8,000 feet and fell into formation again, both breathing heavy from the strain and the weight of the G's. He could tell she was smiling when she came over the line, "Undefeated."

Hangman looked over his shoulder, holding his mask up to his face, "Damn straight."

~~~

On the ground Jake met her as hopped onto the sunbaked tarmac, "Well, I don't know about you but I had a blast." He shook her hand as she came to stand in front of him.

She couldn't help but smile, let her eyes wander over him, his hair a sweaty mess, forearms bared and still tight from the overworking, cocky smirk still firmly in place. "Pretty good first day on the new job." She held her hand out for a fist bump which he easily returned. Then she nodded over her his shoulder, "Incoming."

"Good game aviators." Maverick pulled off his sunglasses and reached to shake Hangmans hand and then Two Steps. "When you're done for the day head over to see Penny."

Watching Maverick continue towards the Hanger Two Step, slapped Hangman on the back and followed after their lead instructor, "C'mon Hangman I'll buy you a drink."

Jake scoffed behind her, "You keep sayin' that but it ain't happened yet."

~~~

"I'm stil mad at you." Phoenix downed the rest of her not free beer.

"Yeah, but in that friendly rivalry sort of way right?" Tori snorted into her third free beer of the night.

Phoenix rolled her eyes but smiled, "Sure something like that." She looked over her shoulder to where Bob and Hangman were playing darts. Hangman pretending not to care that Bob was winning. "I'm only impressed because it was with Bagman. He is not a team player."

That made Two Step laugh, 'I've heard, and noticed, but I feel like he must be better now than he used to be."

She watched as Jake landed his third bullseye in a row, gaining back the lead. "Yeah, I mean, still room for improvement but, better."  Phoenix picked up her beer bottle and frowned.

Tori stood up, "I got you." Finishing her own bottle she took the empties with her to the bar, "Hey Penny, two more please."

"Here you go hon, glad you stayed in North Island?" Penny leaned across the bar to chat over the din of the crowd.

"Yeah! So far so good anyway." Tori laughed a little at herself.

"Good!" Penny's gaze flicked away from hers for a moment and then she returned with a smirk, "I certainly know a few people that are glad you stayed." Penny winked and spun away down the bar to help another customer.

With a shake of her head Victoria turned around and headed back to the table where Phoenix was looking intently at her phone. As Tori approached, "Wanna see a funny tiktok Rooster sent me?" She held the phone up and after the third replay the two women were belly laughing. To the point they hadn't noticed the group of young men that had approached. The downside to going to a Navy bar in civilian clothes was moments like this.

"Help you?" Tori glanced over at them one eyebrow cocked.

"Just wondering what has a couple pretty girls like you laughing so much?" The apparent leader of the little group spoke up.

While Natasha took a sip of her beer Tori crossed her arms and fired back with no hesitation, "Your face."

The young mans face changed in a moment, "That's not nice sugar, what's so funny about my face?"

Natasha bobbed her head and pointed, "Turn around." They watched the three of them turn and come face to face with Jake and Bob, both of them smiling calmly, Jake with his arms crossed across his broad chest. When the men turned back to the girls Natasha was smiling, "Yeah, there it is."  Pointing to the slightly widened eyes and failed attempt at a scowl.

Tori chuckled lightly, "Yeah, pretty funny."

Bob excused himself between two of the interlopers and took his seat next to Phoenix, while Jake dropped a heavy hand and a firm grip on the one's shoulder guiding him aside, "Okay boys," and stepped by them to take the last empty seat at the table, "Off you go then."

Immediately deflated the three young men turned their sights elsewhere, Jake chuckling a little as he rocked back in the chair, "Ole Bob here had 'em shakin' in their boots."

Phoenix rolled her eyes, "Lord knows they weren't scared of walking talking Ken doll over here."

Bob chimed in, reaching for the chips and salsa in the middle of the table, "It's the glasses." When he offered no further response Hangman just laughed and listened to his teammates chat for a few more rounds..

When Tori finished what she decided would be her last drink she pulled out her phone and checked the time. "Okay, I'm calling it a night."

Hangman watched her stand, his hand still draped over the back of her chair, "I'll give you a ride." He stood up, draining the last of his own beer, "How 'bout you two?"

Phoenix pointed at Bob, "Built in DD. Thanks though Bagman."

He rolled his eyes, but didn't respond to the nickname, "Okay well, Bob, good luck with that. You two stay out of trouble."

Tori told her new teammates good night, waved bye to Penny who arched her eyebrows as Hangman came up behind Tori to guide her towards the door. Outside she took a breath of the salty night air and fell instep beside Hangman, "You know I can get myself home, right?"

"Didn't say you couldn't." He lead her to the side lot where his truck was backed into his unofficial spot.

For a moment she thought about arguing but Tori studied Hangman intently as he opened the passenger door for her, instead she just smiled and climbed inside, "Thank you Jake."

He closed her door with a wink and walked around to climb inside himself. They weren't even out of the parking lot before he broke the silence, "I really did enjoy flying with you today."

"Yeah," Tori turned from looking out the window to looking at him, "Me too. "  She watched more streetlights blur past as they got closer to the base, "Even though you technically used me as bait."

Hangman laughed as he turned towards the gate, pulling out his ID while still driving. "I did not use you as bait." He reached for her ID and showed them both to the gate guards, "Distraction maybe, but not bait." He took their IDs back and rested an arm on the console as he waited for the gate to raise and the guards to wave him through, "Bait implies I would have been okay if you got shot down as long as I won." He locked his eyes on hers as he let his foot off the brakes, "That was certainly not the case."

"Look at you go with your character development."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"C'mon, Hangman, you know exactly what that means."

Jake rolled his eyes as he drove, but did not respond, just smiled.

Tori chewed on her lip, "How long does it take before you feel like you have a right to be an instructor here?"

He must have understood the feeling, or at least recognized it because he nodded thoughtfully, "I don't know yet but I'll let you know." There was a brief silence before he spoke up again, "What street they put you on?"

Deciding to lighten the mood Tori hummed, "Maybe you can just let me out on the corner, what if you show up at my house one of these nights with less than professional intentions?"

Jake didn't laugh, didn't even chuckle, just kept the easy grin on his face and caught her eyes again, "Only if you invite me, promise." He punctuated his sentence with a wink.

Swallowing thickly Tori forced herself to snort out an attempt at a laugh, "Take a right up here."  

The rest of the short ride was silent, charged, but not uncomfortable. When Hangman pulled up in front of her door Two Step smiled, "Thank you for the ride home, and for a great first day."

Hangman smiled wide, warm draped over the steering wheel, "Anytime darlin'." He studied her intently watching for a flush or a flinch at the pet name but seeing none smiled brighter, "See you in the morning."

"Good night." Tori slid out of the cab and turned back once she got to her front door, waving to Jake who was still idling in the street.  Once she locked the door behind her she paused for a moment inside the front door. She hadn't felt the alcohol until that moment, in her tiny little one bed one bath bungalow, in the dark, heart racing and head spinning.

~~~

They were three weeks into this Top Gun rotation and Two Step still hadn't quite settled into the idea. She stood at the front of the room, coached and trained in the air, but didn't quite feel like she belonged. Not yet. There were moments, always when flying, that she felt more deserving of her title but then one of the students had shot her down in an exercise and she had not been prepared for how humbling that was.

That was why she was at the gym early the next morning, she knew she'd need the extra endorphins to get through the day, working away on the stair stepper going over the hop beginning to end in her mind. Her hands moving in front of her recreating and mimicking every single maneuver of the flight as her mind flagged all the mistakes she had made and what she should have done differently.

"You look like you are a million miles away."

Tori suddenly snapped back to reality, stumbling a little, her body no longer working on autopilot. "What the hell Hangman, scared the shit out of me." She placed her hands securely on the rails, eyes glancing from him to the readout on the machine, three more minutes.

"I was talking to you the whole way over here. Didn't realize you were in your head."  He was leaning against the machine, his arm braced against the handrail a few inches away from her hand. "What you thinking about T?"

She shook her head, focused on the burning in her legs and the seconds ticking away on the screen. "Just thinkin'."

"C'mon, must be more than just thinking to zone out that bad, tell me." He reached up and hit the stop button on the machine.

Tori glared at him but he didn't flinch, so she hopped down off the machine on wobbly legs, "Just thinking about yesterday."

"Oh, Fergie." Was all he said. Calling out the pilot that had got the best of her.

"Yeah."  Two Step walked over to grab her water jug and chug as much as possible to avoid saying anything else.

To her surprise and delight he dropped the subject, "Leg day?"

Sucking in air after chugging water she nodded, "Yeah."

"Good, that means your arms aren't tired." He walked past her towards the back of the gym. "Goin' for a PR bench today and Robert bailed." When he noticed she hadn't followed him he dropped his water and towel by the weight racks and started grabbing plates, "Come spot me."

She was a little grateful for the distraction of helping Hangman swap out plates and get warmed up. Her mind wandered down a dangerous path though when she had to stand there and watch Jake at the bench press doing throws with nearly her bodyweight on the bar. And after that when he stood up and pulled the bottom of his shirt up to wipe the sweat off his brow.

"Grab another couple forties would ya, feel like I'm ready to go for it."

Tori snapped herself out of it and focused on the task at hand as Jake positioned himself back on the bench she took her position above him, hands hovering over the bar, "Ready?"

Jake nodded and she helped him take the weight off the rack, "You good?" She asked. When he puffed out a deep breath and nodded she nodded in return, "Alright flyboy, your weight." Tori released her grip but kept her hands close by as he fought his way through each rep.

One rep away he started to struggle and Tori moved to prepare to take the weight, "C'mon, don't quit now Bagman, one more, you got this." When his eyes snapped open and locked on hers, Two Step nodded, "One more, Jake, it's nothin' finish it. C'mon." With one more final explosion of power Jake finished the rep and Tori helped him rack the weight.

With another deep breath Jake surged up to a sitting position and caught his breath, shaking his hounds out. Entirely disregarding his personal record bench press he sat sideways on the bench and caught her eye, "You know it happens to all of us." When Two Step just leaned over the barbell, he added, "Nobody warns you about the blow to your ego when one of your students gets the best of you the first time." He stood up, still shaking out his hands, and reached for his water bottle. "You know for me it was you right?"

Her eyes jumped up to meet his, green to green, her breath caught at his choice of words, "What?"

"I've been here a year, through seven rotations, you were the first student to get a tone on me."

"Seriously?"

Jake smirked, wiped the sweat from his face with his shirt again,disregarding the perfectly good towel he'd brought with him,  flashing his abs in the process, "Mhmm." He chugged some water of his own as he stepped back towards her. "I didn't sleep well that night either." Just when Tori started to relax he added, "Of course that was for a little bit of a different reason," He only winked at her wide eyed, shocked expression and chuckled. "But still a blow to my ego."

The moment was interrupted by the beep of a badge being swiped at the door and said door opening to allow several enlisted through the door.

Barely affected Hangman walked close behind her and moved to start pulling plates off the bar, "Don't let it slow you down, it's gonna happen. It only means you're teaching 'em something, which is the whole point."

~~~

It was Friday night when Victoria had finally worked up the nerve to approach Hangman about that comment in the gym. She had been sitting in the back when she spotted him in the Hard Deck, leaning against the bar in his uniform watching the game. She hadn't noticed him arrive, he apparently had come straight from the base unlike her and Phoenix who had time to head home and change before going out.

Getting up and heading towards the bar Tori wasn't sure what her plan was, but she just went with it.

He clocked her approaching and smiled, "Lieutenant Harper." Jake stepped aside and made room for her at the bar. "What do I owe the pleasure?"

"Get hung up at work?" She stepped into the space he had made for her, not noticing until it was too late that the space was smaller than it looked.

Hangman smirked, "Had a meeting with Mav and Cyclone, getting some new training parameters approved." He looked her over and added, "What's the matter? You miss me?"

"Didn't say that." She looked away, pretending to be interested in the TV a shiver rolling down her spine as Hangman leaned into her space, free hand ghosting over her hip.

"Don't have to." He stood up straight and waved over a bartender ordering beers, "You here by yourself?"

Tori nodded towards the back of the bar, "Phoenix, Bob, Hondo and some of the others are over there. Wanna come join?"

Jake grabbed the beers and followed her towards the table.

She was painfully aware of how close he was walking behind her and even more so when they got to the table and he had to steal a chair to sit down. Which he placed far too close to hers. Tori relaxed as her friends settled into easy conversation filled with story telling and laughter.

Once again Hangman had eventually slung his arm around the back of her chair, slouching back in his own so he could do so. Tori couldn't help but notice every single time his arm brushed the back of her shoulders or his leg bumped hers under the table. It never seemed intentional but it also continued to happen. Everyone was drinking a little more tonight, staying a little later on a Friday and the more everyone listened to the stories the more they drink and eventually Victoria relaxed enough to go through with her plan.

Finishing her beer she leaned the short distance between her and Hangman, "Hey, would you mind giving me a ride home?"

Hangman tilted his head towards her, "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, just ready to go." Tori shivered as she felt his fingers brush over the back of her neck.

"Of course," Jake leaned away for a moment to say something to Hondo before standing up and moving his chair out of her way. "Alright y'all, have a good night, try not to shut the bar down." He carefully guided Tori through the crowd, hand perfectly respectful as he moved behind her, only moving once to tug on her belt loop and slow her down so he could get her attention, "Gotta pay my tab," He dug in his pocket and held out his keys, "Wanna go wait at the truck and get some air?"

Nodding Two Step took the keys and headed for the front door, trying not to feel awkward as she sat in the pickup alone while she waited.

When Hangman finally approached he climbed inside and smiled, "Well you haven't thrown up so guess that's good."

"Not drunk jackass, just ready to go home." Tori rolled her eyes.

He chuckled, "Okay, let's get you home then."

It was a quiet ride home this time, neither of them saying anything until Jake had parked in front of her housing assignment.

"Were you telling the truth the other day?"

Hangman looked at her funny, "More than likely, but when exactly?"

"At the gym. What you said about after I shot you down in training."

It took him a moment before he smiled cautiously, "About not sleeping that night?"

"Yeah. That." Tori wasn't used to feeling nervous, she didn't like it.

"T, if I overstepped I apologize."

"Not what I asked." She kept her eyes clear and focused as she watched him process what she said.

Nodding, Hangman, shifted in his seat, sitting up straighter, "What are you asking Victoria?"

Licking her lips she turned to face him fully, "Why couldn't you sleep that night?"

Jake sighed as he leaned an elbow on the console, "Well, the first couple hours 'cause I was pissed." He smiled, laughed a little at himself, "The next four or five hours? Because I could not stop thinking about you, and how fucking sexy you were. How I was definitely not supposed to be thinking that way about you and trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with me, that you shooting me down in a fake dog fight had turned me on the way it did." When she simply continued to stare back at him he added, "You're a smart woman, you want me to tell you what I did with the thirty minutes left before my alarm went off? Or do you want to use your imagination?"

"Why didn't you say anything?" She clarified, "Before, I mean."

Jake smirked, "If you would've kept dancing with me that night at the Hard Deck, I would have said a lot of things." When she glanced away from him he brought her back, "But you thought you were gonna be cute and surprise me."

"It worked." Now she felt comfortable enough to smile a little herself.

"Certainly did." Jake reached across the console and placed a careful hand on her knee, getting her to look back at him, "It was a very pleasant surprise, don't get me wrong, but I would have rather you let me take you home that night." He licked his lips, "You could have told me in bed the next morning."

Tori tried to keep her voice steady, "Making a lot of bold assumptions there Hangman."

That got a chuckle out of him, his hand still resting on her knee gave a squeeze, "Am I?"  

She couldn't escape his gaze, or the feeling that he was reading her like a book. Suddenly she wasn't nearly as cocky as she thought she was.

Thankfully Hangman saved her the embarrassment. "Next time I have you in my arms, I ain't lettin' you walk away. Understood?"

Biting the inside of her cheek Two Step nodded, "Yes Sir." Her eyes danced as she said it, proud of her recovery.

Jake dropped his head back against the headrest of his seat, "Jesus, don't do that shit right now."  When Tori just chuckled he removed his hand from her knee and grasped her hand instead. Lifting it to his lips he placed a kiss against her palm, hesitating a moment, enjoying the brush of her fingertips against his jaw, "You better get inside."

Tori nodded, drawing her hand back slowly, reluctant to really let go. "Goodnight Jake."

Using his real name got him to smile. "Night beautiful."

With that Tori slid out of the truck and headed to her front door. This time Jake didn't pull away as soon as she waved, in fact his truck sat outside for a few minutes after she made it through the door before she heard the engine rev up and pull away.

~~~

Phoenix had showed up to Two Steps quarters promptly at seven am. They had agreed to meet the day before to run the beach together. The fact that they both had, maybe, overdone it a little the night before made it sound less appealing in the grey morning light.

As they started an easy walk down the street to warm up Natasha commented, "Not gonna lie, I fully expected to find Bagmans truck parked in front of your place when I got here."

"Wow, nice to know what you really think of me Nat." Tori scoffed as she picked up a slow jog.

"Not judging, just sayin', you get along with him better than anyone else I've ever seen. " She moved to keep up, "Besides he's given you a ride home from the bar more than once now, and I haven't seen him flirt with a woman that wasn't you in like, months now."

"If you're putting this much thought process into my non-existent sex life, we really need to get you laid. Give you something productive to do."

"Ha, ha, you're very funny."

By the time they made it to the beach the conversation had died down and their pace had picked up to an easy eight minute mile. Their hangovers were still present and accounted for. After the first two miles Natasha slowed down, "Hey, hold up." She slowed to a walk pulling her phone out of her bra and answering it, "Hey Mav."

Tori circled back, standing in front of her friend and coworker while she talked on the phone.

"Yeah. Yeah. Yeah she's with me, we went for a run." Nat looked her way, "Okay, sure I guess, this another one of your team building exercises?" She laughed, "Uhuh sure. Yeah give us about five to ten and we'll be there."

"Where will we be?" Tori asked, eyebrows arched.

"Volleyball court, ten minutes."

Tori laughed, "Oh thank God, If I had to run any further I think I might throw up."

Natasha laughed louder,  as the two of them picked up a quick jog once again, "T, you might regret saying that."

~~~

The girls arrived to the volleyball court in the middle of a game that had drawn a pretty decent crowd for an early weekend morning, Two teams of Top Gun aviators were playing each other, all four of the strapping young men shirtless and sweaty as they beat the ball back and forth.

"Two Step, Phoenix!" A sharp whistle caught their attention as they saw Maverick standing on the sidelines on the opposite side of the court. They made their way around to join him, "You guys made good time." He checked his watch, "There's a cooler over there." He pointed towards where Hondo was camped out in a beach chair next to Penny's daughter.

"Reliving the glory days captain?" Phoenix asked when she returned from the cooler with water bottles for each of them.

Mav laughed, "Something like that." He motioned to some extra beach chairs, "Go ahead,  I have a feeling we'll be here awhile."

Bob showed up next, they both spotted his jeep as he parked it out on the sand and headed their way. "Morning ladies."

"Morning," They both echoed as Phoenix reached behind her and grabbed another folded up lawn chair.

"Where's Hangman?"

"Not here yet."

"Hmm." He looked from Tori to Natasha and back, but didn't comment further.

The second match was halfway through when Jakes truck nearly slid to a stop in the parking lot. He made his way down the beach in a pair of shorts and a Texas longhorns tshirt, carrying his own camp chair.

"Seresin, you're late, not like you." Maverick gave him a once over, "Everything good."

"Yes sir,"  He pulled out his chair and dropped it in the sand next to Two Step. "Running behind this morning is all." With an easy smile on his face he dropped into his chair and heaved out a sigh. He waited for Maverick to turn his attention back to the game before adding so only Tori could hear, "Couldn't sleep last night." He paused making sure she was listening, "Then shower this morning took a little longer than planned." When her head snapped to his all Jake Seresin did was smile and slide his sunglasses on. "So who's winning?"

~~~

The sun was in full force by the end of the last game, all the Top Gun pilots swarming the court to congratulate the winning team. Then, almost in unison the mob turned on them.

At first there was confusion but then the head instructor caught on and started waving them away, "Nope sorry kids, my beach volleyball days are long gone."  There were boos and groans from the flyers as well as the spectators in the stands, then Maverick turned to the four of them with a dangerous look in his eyes. "C'mon guys, you get out there."

Bob spoke up first, chuckling nervously, "You're joking right?"

Natasha was laughing and shaking her head but before long the crowd of aviators changed their chants; "Bob! Bob! Bob!"

The WSO's face turned red until Hangman stood up, "What the hell, why not?" Him stripping his shirt off over his head  drawing everyone's attention away. Earning several hollers and wolf whistles from the bleachers as he pulled his dogtags off and dropped them on his shirt. "Who wants to be on my team?" He was looking straight at Tori when he said it but she was already looking to Phoenix.

"Alright, if we're gonna do this it's boys versus girls," The two of them stood up in unison and moved to the opposite side of the court from Jake.

The younger pilots were yelling and cheering as they cleared the court, excited to watch their instructors duke it out.  

Once Bob joined Hangman on the other side of the net Nat picked up the volleyball and tossed it at Jakes head, "Age before beauty!"

The crowd laughed but Hangman caught it easily and tossed it back, "Ladies first, I insist."

This time Tori caught the ball one handed, "Then it's definitely your serve." And chucked it straight back at him.

"Hangman just give it here already." Bob clapped his hands for the ball and moved back to the service line.

Phoenix moved back while Hangman and Two Step squared off at the net.

From the sideline Maverick yelled, "Fight on!" and the game was underway.

~~~

Tori kept sneaking glances at Jake as he drove, all four windows down and the sunroof open, still shirtless with a sheen of sweat from the game. VIctoria had thought more than once since she first saw Jake there was no possible way he could look better than he did climbing out of his jet with his flight suit on, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, gloves sitll on and his hair a mess. She realized that this would be a very, close second.

He was driving barefoot having thrown his t-shirt and flipflops into the backseat, only really wearing shorts, his dog tags and his Ray Bans, slouched back in his seat with his left arm resting on the window and his right hand on the wheel.  Tori couldn't keep her eyes from where his shorts had slid down slightly, revealing the band of underarmour boxer briefs and even more distracting, a strip of paler, white skin around the waistband where his tan tapered off.

"You're staring sweetheart." Jake commented smugly, not even taking his eyes off the road.

Tori rolled her eyes and glanced back at the streets in front of them, "Don't pretend you don't like it."

"Wasn't complaining." He glanced over at her, smirking when he saw her carefully avoiding looking his way. Jake reached for her hand on the console.

Her heart drummed in her chest as Jake threaded his fingers through hers as if he'd done it hundreds of times.

Jake had to bite the inside of his cheek to fight back the smile when she didn't pull away but instead squeezed his hand a little tighter.

When he pulled up in front of her place he reached over with his left land to put the truck in park. Jake rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand as he leaned in a little closer, "What're you plannin' on doing with the rest of your day off?"

Tori still couldn't quite look at him, instead focusing all her attention on his hand holding hers, the rough pad of his thumb passing over her knuckles, the gold of his academy ring smooth between her fingers. "Probably sleep off the rest of this hangover." She forced out an attempt at a laugh as she did her best to look him in the eye.

Hangman chuckled, pulling her hand up to his mouth, pressing his lips against her knuckles, eyes drilling into hers, "Want some company?"

It was like her brain short circuited, all she could do was swallow and stare at him. Slouched back in his seat, shirtless, eyes hidden behind dark glasses but the smirk on his face unmistakable. The rise and fall of his bare chest matching the rhythm of his breath ghosting over her knuckles as he waited patiently, brushing his lips over the back of her hand one more time.

"Jake..."

The look on his face said it all, with that one single word, he had gotten his answer and it wasn't the one he wanted.

He nodded his head subtly, squeazing her hand tightly before letting it go, his fingers brushing down her foream as they went.

"Jake, it's not that I..."

He cut her off, "You don't have to explain yourself Victoria."

That hurt more than the frown on his face. No call sign, no nickname, no sweetheart or darlin', just her name. "Hey." That stab of fear and instant regret emboldened her, she grabbed for him, her hand wrapping around his bicep to get his attention back on her, "I'm not saying no Jake." He brought his face back to hers, and she wished more than anything she could see his eyes, "I'm just saying not yet."

Jake heaved out a sigh so deep it sounded more like a groan as he flopped back against his seat, head tipped back and his gaze directed out the open sunroof. "Damn it T, I'm not a patient man but I'm trying my damndest here."

"I know Jake, I know just..." Tori took a shaky breath and didn't continue what she was saying until he rolled his head to look at her once more, "Be patient with me. Just a little longer," swallowing her nerves she added, "Just until after graduation. When the students are gone and, and it's just us." and then leaned over the console to kiss him on the cheek.  She pulled back enough to be face to face with him again, "I'm sorry, I know I'm being a pain in the ass."

She moved to drop one more kiss on his cheek, memorizing the hint of stubble and noting he must have skipped shaving that morning, not noticing until she tried to pull back that he had moved his hand.

Hey eyes flew open at the feel of a firm but gentle pressure on the back of her neck.

Jake kept a straight face as he kept her there, taking another deep breath before he spoke, shaking his head slightly, he tugged her back towards him. HIs lips brushed against her ear as he spoke, "You're worth it sweetheart." Then he pressed a kiss to her temple and released his hold on her, watching her like a hawk as she smiled sheepishly and crawled out of his truck.

~~~

It was the last day of class, the San Diego sun setting over the airfield after the last plane had landed, and Tori was in the locker room stripping off her gear. She looked up on reflex when the doors opened and smiled a little when she saw Jake come through the door.

Like a man on a mission he strode towards her, wearing a little smirk of his own.

When he got closer Tori opened her mouth to say something snarky, but the words died in her throat.

Without warning Jake spread his hand flat and wide over her abdomen and pushed until her back bumped into the lockers behind her. He held her there with the steady pressure of his hand and the sheer force of his gaze. HIs eyes danced over her face quickly before leaning down and stealing a kiss. Quick and fleeting, one simple pass of his lips over hers and then he was pulling away, "Don't forget, we have a date tomorrow night."

Then, with a simple caress of his thumb over her rib cage and a hint of wink he was gone, turning the corner to the other side of the room as more pilots came through the door. None of them paying any attention to Tori, leaning back against the lockers trying to gather her bearings.

~~~

Should we resolve some of this tension with a Part Three??

Taglist: @katesmadness @rosiahills22​

[therapardalis]

newromanticsmuses​:

-

Poe waited to see how well she took the jab, right to the gut or brushing it off her shoulders. The smirk answered before the words, and he matched her expression before letting out a gruff chuckle. “Yea–well, I know how to pick ‘em. I only want pilots around who can give me a run for my money.” Not that he wanted his fleet to ignore commands as a rule; no, he simply admired those who knew the appropriate time to break away.

“You have an intuition and it serves you well–don’t lose it to orders.”

Mmmm ... borderline. If she’d gotten more shot up than she needed to, or if Poe was trying (please, don’t ever let him try) to tell her how to fly the Nocturne instead - yeah, that could have been bad. But given it was an X-Wing, he was entitled to an opinion. Thera hadn’t realised how much she’d missed being in a fighter until she was out there, even if she’d insist that hadn’t been connected to her taking the risk. “Sometimes you see a target and you gotta go for it.” She scratched at her hair, turned to him with a shrug.

“Their shields were flickering. If I’d waited to say ‘boss, can I -?’ I could’ve missed it.”

[boimgfrog]

hey @pantoranprincess​ i uh. i wrote it <3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29139768

full fic under the cut

The two men were seated at a table, enjoying lunch despite the… cozy size of Luke’s office. Conversation flowed easily, albeit mostly one-sided.

               “anyways, that’s when I saw Obi-Wan, my first master-” Luke paused, noticing Din’s helmet tilt slightly at the name, “you do know who Obi-Wan was, right?”

               Din froze, not expecting the Jedi to pick up on his confusion, “the name sounds familiar… Bo-Katan mentioned him once,” he took a sip from his straw, “said he was a sister-seducing- man-whore? Was he some kind of escort?”

               He waited as his words washed over Luke. The jedi blinked twice, a smile flickering past his lips.

               “yes,” Luke nodded, “he was, excellent job,” he spooned more soup into his own bowl, hiding his smile behind its large spoon.

               “and he was your master?” Din asked, tilting his head forward.

               “mhmm,” Luke set the spoon back into the bowl, matching din’s gaze through his lashes, “taught me everything he knew,”

               Din coughed, turning his attention back towards his lunch. he sipped at it, ignoring the blush that crept under his helmet.

The jedi huffed, eyes twinkling. Something told Din that maybe, just maybe, he’d lied about the Obi-wan thing.

                                                          -><-

The back of Luke’s head hit the ground, pulling a wheeze from his body. Above him, Din stood poised, cradling a very fussy green toddler. He extended a hand toward the fallen jedi, but Luke waved him off, leaning up on his elbows.

“’s nothing, no offense but,” he gestured to Grogu, who had calmed down some, “he’s no Vader, I’ll be fine,” this time, he accepted Din’s hand, hardly dwelling on how easily he pulled him up.

“Vader?” Din asked, shifting the baby to his hip, and pocketing the darksaber he’d previously been using.

Luke looked up at the Mandalorian, tilting his head with a smile, “Darth Vader? The emperor’s right-hand man?”

Din’s helmet betrayed to hint of recognition. Unbelievable. No way, there’s no way he was this clueless.

“big cape, scary helmet? Red lightsaber?” Luke tried, wracking his brain.

“oh, you mean like the guy on those old recruitment posters?”

“those- the recruitment posters?”

Din nodded, “I’d see ‘em plastered up in bars and stuff, back before the empire fell,”

Recruitment posters. Din, one of the best bounty hunters Luke had ever met, king of Mandalore himself, had only heard of Darth Vader via recruitment posters. Luke felt his chest flutter. He nodded along with whatever Din said next, mind elsewhere. If he hadn’t heard of Darth Vader… what else had he managed to miss?

                                                         -><-

“Din!” Luke called from down the hallway, footsteps tripping as he ran inside Din’s ship, “Din! My sister’s here,” he said, knocking on the solid metal hull, “She wants to meet you!” his voice made it sound like an important event, though Din could hardly see why exchanging niceties with the sister of a backwater jedi warranted such flare.

“mm,” Din pulled back the door, peering down at Luke who was bouncing on his toes, “why?”

Luke ignored him, grabbing Din by his gloved hand, and dragging him towards his office, “this could be a big opportunity for you,” he rattled on, eyes shining beneath his mess of dust-streaked hair, “it’s good for you to make connections like this, given your newly-found title-”

“connections?” Din interrupted, “what do you mean?”

Luke spared a confused glance back at the Mandalorian, still steadily walking him towards his sister, “my sister? Leia Organa?”

Din offered up no response, but Luke was enamored by it nonetheless. He could understand not knowing much about galactic history, after all, he was under the impression that Din lead a particularly... sheltered childhood. But things that were happening now? The new republic?

“she was the princess of Alderaan? She helps lead the New Republic?”

“Alderaan...” Din paused, “that’s the one that blew up, right?”

“yes,” Luke dropped Din’s hand, unhooking the tarp that shielded his office from view, “yes, it’s the one that blew up,”

“mm,” Din hummed thoughtfully, “is she a jedi too?”

“sort of, I’ve been helping her train,” Luke said, checking his hair in the gleam of Din’s helmet.

“must’ve been why they blew up Alderaan then,” Din held still, “they were trying to kill her before she got too powerful,”

Luke’s hands stilled. He stared up into the Mandalorian’s visor, “huh,” he said, unable to stop his lips from twitching, “maybe so,” Luke turned around, brushing the tarp aside for Din to enter, hiding his smile behind the fabric.

                                                          -><-

It was almost cute, how little Din seemed to know about the galaxy he lived in. it didn’t really matter, of course. Most of it was just history lessons, nothing that would seriously impede him on a mission or in battle. And he wasn’t stupid by any means. He could speak more languages than Luke could count on his hands, flesh and robotic, and had flight skills that could rival even the most trained X-wing pilot. Still, it was hard not to feel fond when the Mandalorian only just now realized that Luke and Leia were twins.

“how was I supposed to know!”

“Din, starlight, our father would’ve been found out the second one of us was born, how exactly did you think he managed to swerve the jedi code to have another baby?”

“listen-” Din huffed, biting back his argument when he saw how ecstatic Luke was over this whole ordeal. Luke only nodded along expectantly, crossing one leg over the other. He was nothing if not encouraging.

“to be fair,” Din started, scowling at Luke’s twinkling smile, “she’s a princess, and you grew up on Tatooine,” he huffed, “and you never mentioned your dad was a jedi,” he added quickly, hoping Luke would miss it in his euphoria. No such luck.

“Din,” Luke stood up, reaching to cradle the Mandalorian’s helmet in his hands, “Anakin Skywalker? Did you think that was a coincidence?”

“it’s a big galaxy, there’s like half a billion ‘Djarin’s out there,” Din answered, but the bite had left his voice. It was hard to be frustrated when Luke was so close, all soft smiles and saying “Din” like it was a prayer.

Din leaned into the jedi’s touch. He’d blame it on the weight of his helmet later, and Luke would play along, teasingly offering to hold the helmet if it ever got too heavy. It was only ever teasing though. Luke never asked for more than Din was willing to give.

                                                         -><-

 They were pressed together, Din’s arm wrapped lazily around Luke’s waist, the jedi’s head leaning against his cold, armored shoulder. The beaches on Luke’s planet were nothing special, but the sunsets, oh the sunsets were spectacular. Grogu had been poking at Luke’s brain all day, playing memories of beach days on coruscant and building sandcastles with the crechemasters, until Luke finally caved and suited the baby up for a day in the water, inviting Din along.

Grogu had the time of his life, taking turns force-throwing sand at his dad and splashing his master until they joined in the fun. After a full day of entertaining the little gremlin, though, the two men had decided to impose Nap Time on the kiddo, sprawling out together on one of the many beach towels Luke had brought. (“you didn’t grow up on Tatooine, Din. Trust me, sand gets everywhere”)

The baby was fast asleep against Din’s armor, wrapped up so his head didn’t get bruised by the beskar.

“this was nice, huh?” Luke asked, shifting to look up at the Mandalorian. His eyes brushed over the thin stripe of exposed facial hair before he pulled his gaze away, embarrassed. Even the smallest of glimpses got his heart racing. Ridiculous, honestly.

“mhmm,” Din absentmindedly rubbed circles on Grogu’s back with his thumb, “could’ve done without all the sand in my armor, though,”

Luke laughed, “ugh I know,” he shifted again, pulling his arms from the poncho he was wearing, “I always get so much sand and dust in my hand, it’s the worst,”

Din tilted his helmet, “in your hand?”

“yeah,” Luke fiddled with his glove, pulling it off before tugging on one of his fingers, revealing the intricate system of wires, “you didn’t know?”

Din knew he was staring, and he knew that wasn’t polite but he just- “you’re… part droid?”

Luke laughed at that, a full, hearty laugh, one that had him gasping for air and rolling on his back. Din reached for his hand, holding it up so that it didn’t hit the sand as Luke fell back.

“yes,” Luke said, catching his breath, “I suppose that’s one way to put it,” he flicked his finger again, closing the wiring hatch. Din hadn’t removed his hand, so Luke twisted their fingers together, “you really didn’t know?”

“how was I supposed to?”

“the lifting things six times my weight didn’t tip you off?”

Din sputtered, “you’re a jedi??? You lift things six times your weight all the time???”

That got Luke laughing again, eyes twinkling in the setting sun. He was teasing Din, yes, but he was also so, so deeply fond of him. This, Luke asking questions, Din answering truthfully even though it made him look silly, this was everything to Luke. Luke trusted the Mandalorian, of course he did, and this made Luke feel like Din trusted him as well. just the thought alone was enough to make the Jedi smile wider, letting his head fall against the Mandalorian’s shoulder once more.

                                                           -><-

Luke paced around Din’s ship. It was bigger than his last one, and somehow even harder to navigate.

“Din, where’s your holoprojector?” Luke had promised to tell Leia when they were getting close, and they’d be closing in on Coruscant within the hour.

“don’t have one,” came the response from the dashboard, stopping Luke in his tracks.

“don’t- do you at least have a data pad?” no holoprojector? Maybe Din was poorer than Luke thought.

“yeah,” Din shuffled around for a moment, before handing Luke a beat-up data pad that was at least a century old.

“Din this thing is ancient,” he said, frowning at the actual layer of crust on the screen, “does it even have holonet?”

“nope,”

“wh-“ Luke was dumbfounded, “how do you get your news? What if something big happens??”

“if I need to know it, someone will tell me,” Din said as if it was the most obvious thing in the galaxy, but the thought left Luke reeling.

“Din, starlight, you didn’t know who Darth Vader was,”

“I did so-”

“yeah, from recruitment posters-”

“it still counts-”

“no it doesn’t-”

They fought like that for a moment, back and forth, until it dawned on Luke.

“holy stars,” he said, cutting Din’s rant short, “Din, is this why you didn’t know about Obi-Wan? And Anakin being my father? And Leia and the new republic?” Luke sat down in the co-pilot’s seat, scooping up Grogu and setting him in his lap.

Din grumbled, turning his attention back to hyperspace, “it wasn’t important,”

“starlight it was Darth Vader-”

The two started arguing again, bickering in that old married couple kind of way. Luke couldn’t help but smile at the situation. All this time, all these silly little accidents and conversations, all because the Mandalorian hadn’t bothered to install a holoprojector in his ship. It was amazing, really.

“I don’t see what the big deal is, you don’t know anything about Mandalorian culture,”

“Din no one knows anything about Mandalorian culture,”

Din slumped in his seat, hands gripping loosely at the steering controls. Luke leaned forward, bumping the Mandalorian’s with his head until Din faced him, pressing their foreheads together softly.

“hey,” Luke said in hushed tones, “for the record, I thought it was kinda hot,”

Din let out a breathy laugh, pulling back slightly to look in the jedi’s eyes.

“that says more about you than it does me, Skywalker,”

Luke matched his laugh, Din joining in before resting his forehead against Luke’s again. They were gonna get an earful from Leia when they landed without a party to welcome them, but for now they would simply rest, all shiny armor and gentle curls, bathed in the glow of hyperspace.

[vixenpen]

Okay but like..... hawks as a body piercer or tattoo artist

Babyyyy!😩 Hawks with tats and piercings?!!?

That’s TOO much flavor. Like things are getting too spicy for the pepper ma’am.

Tattoo Shop AU (Hawks x GN Reader)

Your friend had recommended this place to you. Fierce Wings Piercing and Tattoo. And since all of f/n’s body work was dope, you trusted their judgement.

What kind of name is Fierce Wings?

You wondered as you checked out the artwork of intricate red wings etched on the glass door.

Ah well. Inside, the shop gave off a cool industrial vibe; with it’s brick walls, exposed pipes in the ceilings, and cool light fixtures.

You marveled at the beautiful pictures of artwork that must have been done on previous clients hanging in various picture frames from the walls.

A rock song you didn’t recognize pumped through the large shop and the front desk sat unoccupied.

The shop seemed to be empty from what you could gather.

“Umm, hello?” You called out, peering around the corner which was sectioned off with a crimson red divider

“Yo, yo!” A deep, lazy voice called back.

The voice, it turned out, was attached to the most beautiful man you had ever seen in your entire life. A man with tousled ash blonde hair emerged from the back. He was a bit shorter than average, body lean and rippling with muscle that looked like it came from actual manual labor rather than a workout routine.

His skin was a tapestry of patterns and designs. A colorful sleeve of Japanese art climbed his left arm, a geisha and an oiran on his right. The beautiful colors popped even more against the black tanktop he wore. He had a small gold hoop in every hole in his ear from the lobe to the cartilage and a barbell in his left brow.

But the real draw were his eyes. They were like nothing you had ever seen on a human being. A sort of liquid amber like a cats or more precisely like a hawk’s...

A slow smile spread across the man’s face. Those beautiful golden eyes ran over you—as if appraising your appearance.

“Hey there, welcome to Fierce Wings. What can I do for ya?”

“I wanted to get some new ink.” You explained.

“Well you came to the right place. Got anything particular in mind?”

“Oh, yeah! Here.” You handed the man your phone.

Hé whistled. “That’s beautiful, kid. That’s gonna be fun, but first things first. If I’m gonna be mutilating your skin for the next several hours, we should probably get acquainted first, huh? My name is Keigo, but everybody knows me as Hawks. How ‘bout yourself?”

“Y/n.” You answered.

“Well, y/n, if you’re ready we can get started. Follow me to the back and let’s get you prepped.”

As you followed Hawks to the back of the shop, you noted that all the stalls were indeed empty.

“I hope I didn’t catch you at closing or something. I saw on your site that you guys take walk-ins.”

You said as Hawks ushered you into a booth in the back.

“Ah, you’re good, kid. Funny story, all of my other artists quit on me except one. My boy, Dabi.”

“Holy shit, really?”

“Yupperdoodles.” Hawks laughed.

“Why?”

“During co-vid, everybody found it more fruitful to go off and do their own things. I can’t even be mad at ‘em. After that shut down and with us not knowing whether or not we’ll have another one or not, everybody’s just searching for job security. So we’ve had to adapt.”

“How has that been?”

“It’s been chill,” Hawks said as he cleansed your skin. “Less people, less drama. Unfortunately that means we’ve had to pull ourselves up by the bootstraps around here, but hey,” he shrugged, “I’m used to it. I go hard in everything I do, ya feel me?”

He winked and you felt your cheeks burn. Was that...an innuendo?

“Well, your work is amazing. My friend, f/n, recommended I come to you all.”

“Ah yeah, I remember f/n.” His face brightened at the name. “They’re good people! Tell ‘em I said: hi and thanks for the referral, when you see them again.”

“Will do.”

You settled back on the chair as Hawks went to work stenciling the design you’d chosen on your skin. His long tongue occasionally ran over his lips as his amber eyes narrowed in concentration.

Holy shit. His tongue is pierced too. Fuck that’s hot.

“You trying to commit my face to memory or sum’n, y/n?” Hawks asked, startling you.

His hooded gaze never left the work he was doing on your skin, but an amused half smile danced on his face.

“N-no, I was just thinking how amazing it is that you only saw that picture once, but you’ve got it down to the detail.”

Hawks chuckled. “That’s my gift at work. I have photographic memory. As soon as I get the information, it’s locked in. Came in handy in flight school.”

“Flight school?”

“Yeah, studied to be a pilot back in the day.” He tapped his index finger against his temple and glanced up at you. “This quick brain of mine made me a beast in the cockpit.”

“Is that how you got the name Hawks?” You asked.

“Cute and smart. A dangerous combination kid.”

You bit your lip, heart fluttering a bit at the compliment.

“Alright, y/n, I’m gonna get started now. How’s that look?”

You admired Hawks’ handy work. It was stunning. Every detail was accounted for.

“Perfect. Ohh it’s gonna be so dope!”

He grinned at you. “Sure is, kiddo.”

In a matter of minutes, the humming of the tattoo gun filled the air as Hawks worked. His handsome face was scrunched in concentration. He was moving quickly, but carefully. Obviously a master at his craft.

“There you go sizing me up again, kid.” Hawks piped up out of nowhere.

You bit your lip once again—caught and embarrassed.

“Like what you see?” He asked. His gaze flicked up at you, lusty and half-hooded, a smirk settled on his face.

Your throat went dry.

“Ye-yeah. Um, the tattoo looks amazing...”

“The tattoo or the tattooer?” He teased.

Fuck it. If he’s gonna tease me to death, I might as well throw it back at him.

“Por que no los dos?” You shot back.

Hawks laughed, surprised. “Both is good, kiddo.”

You smiled in response, glad the flirtatious cutie hadn’t thrown you too far off your game.

“So, Hawks, did you choose the name Fierce Wings because of your time as a pilot?”

“You bet. Fitting for the fiercest former fighter pilot in Japan. It was also my codename.”

“Damn, how many names do you have?”

“Hmm, let’s see, there’s: Keigo, Kei, Takami, Hawks, Fierce Wings, Wings, Big daddy, master, lover boy-“

You laughed, covering your face a bit at Hawks’ antics.

He let out a deep chuckle in response.

“But my favoriiite,” he said, dragging out the word as he tilted his head to look over your tat; “is; Oh God, yesss.”

His tone dripped with silent suggestiveness. Fingers gently brushing your skin as he examined his work thus far.

Your neck and face burned at the implications of his statement.

Hawks looked up at you once more, pierced tongue dragging across his full bottom lip.

And suddenly, neither of you were laughing anymore.

(((Pt.2)))

[tennessoui]

40 or 43 if you’re still taking prompts! i love ur AUs they’re so beautiful and contain so much brilliance within a short snippet!

it's been so long, anon, you probably forgot you sent this but here is prompt 40, exes meeting after not seeing each other for a long time. in true tennessoui fashion, they don't. actually. meet and/or see each other in this snippet. also in true tennessoui fashion, all tennessoui needs to decide to continue this is one (1) validation.

the backstory here is something i have been thinking about for days after a discord convo, where during the fight on mustafar, obi-wan hits anakin hard enough in the head that he loses all of his memories. obi-wan takes him with him for a few months but the wounds of Order 66 and vaderkin's role in what happened is too fresh for obi-wan to (understandably) get over, even if this anakin doesn't remember doing it, so they separate. this is set 8 years after Mustafar.

(1.7k)

“Kenobi won’t come,” the fighter pilot says immediately upon disembarking from his craft.

One commander lets out a groan. Someone else hits the durasteel side of the closest x-wing with a closed fist.

“Do we really need him?” Anakin demands, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s been eight years since the rise of the Empire. Surely a washed-up Jedi General from the Clone Wars won’t have people jumping to join the Rebellion!”

No one meets his eye. In fact, the air room suddenly feels very, very uncomfortable.

Organa exhales heavily and turns to look at Anakin, which is rare because the man never voluntarily looks at Anakin. “There are few names from that time that still carry an untainted weight in the eyes of the galaxy. Obi-Wan Kenobi is one of them.”

“I grew up hearing about The Team!” A teenager says eagerly. “I’d join any resistance movement if I knew both of ‘em were fighting with me!”

“You’re already a part of a resistance movement,” a girl next to him pointed out waspishly.

The boy waves her off. “Skywalker and Kenobi, saving the galaxy! It’d be wizard to be a part of that, and you know it, Aasha!”

Anakin’s throat tightens at that name. Skywalker. His name. Or, his old name. He has no more connection to it now than he does to the name Kenobi or Organa. They’re just letters.

He catches Organa’s eye. The man is looking at him with a mix of curiosity and wariness. Anakin knows instinctively that this is another one of the man’s tests. Will this time be the time that whatever injury has kept his memories suppressed for eight years is undone, and his previous life comes thundering through his mind?

He’s sick of these tests. He’s never failed one, but Organa never comes closer to trusting him afterward. He can only assume that whatever Anakin Skywalker had done in his last few days alive had been so terrible that only a few people knew the truth, and those who did would never forgive any version of him for it.

Organa certainly knew, though he had never shared that information with Anakin. And.

And Kenobi did as well. That was clear. They’d only been together for five standard months, sharing a small spacecraft made smaller by the fear, agony, grief, fury, and hurt radiating off of his companion into the space around them.

It had been hard to tell at the time if one of the things Obi-Wan Kenobi had been grieving was the loss of Anakin Skywalker. Anakin isn’t sure Kenobi would have been able to answer that either.

Some part of him that usually rests dormant in the back of his mind stirs and hisses that it had to have been. That Skywalker’s loss had torn Kenobi’s soul to shreds.

This doesn’t necessarily feel like his own thought, but it’s quite hard to ignore. He wants to rub a hand against his aching head, but that surely would tip off Organa that something’s--what? That he’s having thoughts?

Perish the very idea.

One would think Anakin hadn’t joined the Rebellion of his own free will. That Anakin hadn’t spent three standard months on the planet Kenobi had left him on before catching wind of the existence of the Rebel Alliance, that he hadn’t risked life and limb (more limb, apparently, given his missing flesh hand) to find them afterwards. He hadn’t known much anything about himself, but he had known that he hadn’t liked what the Imperial troops were doing, how much destruction they were causing, how the people they were supposed to be protecting hid in fear of their white armor.

Something in Anakin had rebelled at that, had thought it wrong and twisted. Someone needs to stop them, he’d thought. So he had found the people that were trying to.

And yes, a small part of him had thought--perhaps hoped--that Obi-Wan Kenobi would be a part of the Rebel Alliance by the time Anakin made his way to their biggest base. He had thought--perhaps hoped--that he would be able to prove himself to the other man. Look, he had wanted to scream at Kenobi, I’m not like that other Anakin, I would never do what he did. You can trust me. You can look me in the eye, I won’t stab you in the back.

Because something in him had yearned, still yearns, for Kenobi’s approval. For the weight of his gaze settling warmly around his shoulders. For his small smiles, his calloused hand clasping the back of Anakin’s head to bring their foreheads together in a gentle tap hello.

These are things Anakin knows he’s never experienced. But he must have in his past life, because his whole body will ache for them like a phantom limb. It’s been seven years and a few months since he last saw Kenobi.

“I’ll go,” Anakin says, which is what he said the last time they were standing like this, huddled around a fighter pilot delivering the same message of failure.

Organa’s mouth tightens in displeasure, and Mothma places a hand on his arm in warning.

Everyone else falls silent around them, as if recognizing the fact that they’re in the middle of a brewing storm, and they’re lucky to be in its eye right now.

“I do not think--” Organa starts, but Anakin cuts him off, crossing his arms even tighter over his chest, as if to hold himself back. The force suppression collar around his neck grows warmer, but it holds. It always holds.

“You’re already sending men who look like me to him!” Anakin points out irately. “The last four men could have been related to me!” It’s something Anakin’s thought about in the past but never said out loud. He’s glad to say it now though, especially because Organa flushes a bit which means Anakin’s right. “Just send me! If it doesn’t work, nothing in the galaxy will!”

Now, Anakin isn’t sure that’s true at all. He’s taking a huge leap with this, but it’s been seven years and a few months since he saw Obi-Wan Kenobi in person, and every part of him is aching with the desire to lay eyes on the man again. Will he hate him still? Will he see all the differences Anakin’s made to his appearance? Will he like them? He fights the urge to run a hand over his shorn hair.

Will Obi-Wan even let him through the door?

The people around them are murmuring now. They don’t know what Organa knows, what Anakin has guessed at: that Skywalker died a traitor to the Republic, that he had tried to strike down Obi-Wan like the Emperor struck down the rest of the Jedi. To them, these fortunate outsiders, they’re wondering why Anakin Skywalker hasn’t already been sent to locate and bring back their errant General.

Before, Anakin’s offer had been quiet, easily ignored over someone else’s. Now he’s loud and confident. Impossible to turn away without making a public scene, without explaining why. And Organa has tried very hard not to do that. For whatever reason, Anakin doesn’t know. All he knows is that after he’d been examined by a battalion of med droids and interrogated by all three leaders of the Rebellion, Organa had given him a list of rules he had to follow in order to join the Rebel Alliance. Firstly, never remove his cuffs and collar.

It’s not a slave collar and it won’t electrocute you if you touch it or try to take it off, Organa had told him when he’d blanched away at the sight. But I have been informed by a trusted ally that the Chance--the Emperor knows your Force Signature intimately. We cannot risk being found. It would kill all hope for us.

Secondly, never confirm his identity. Never talk about who he used to be.

People will know, Organa had grudgingly admitted. Skywalker was one of the faces of the Clone Wars. But you cannot confirm it. In fact.

Thirdly, give up the name Skywalker. Pick another last name, if not first as well.

But Anakin had been attached to his first name for some reason he didn’t know how to begin to question, so even after he toyed with the idea of changing it completely, he couldn’t go through with it. Weeks later he had shown up in Organa’s makeshift office.

I had a mother, didn’t I? He had asked, causing Organa to stiffen immediately.

Do you remember? Organa had interrogated immediately, his standard greeting for Anakin. Anakin had gotten the feeling, especially in those early days, that Organa was waiting with baited breath for Anakin to remember so he could try him for war crimes or treason or whatever it was that Skywalker had done.

No, he had responded honestly. Just a feeling. If I am to take a new last name, I want her name.

A few days later, Anakin had stumbled into his bunk, tired from a day of hard training, to see a packet of documents on his pillow.

Anakin Shmison was written at the top of the first page.

The list of rules goes on and on.

But nowhere does it say that Anakin Shmison isn’t allowed to mention Obi-Wan Kenobi in public. He just never has, because even the sound of the man’s name makes him feel very nauseous, a combination of butterflies and adder snakes wrestling around inside his stomach.

Bail Organa is looking like he’s regretting that oversight right now, but Anakin has backed him quite solidly into a proverbial corner. Either finally tell everyone what happened between Anakin Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi in the last few hours of the Republic, or give Anakin Shmison leave to retrieve Kenobi.

“Fine,” Organa gets out, jaw locked and vein throbbing in his temple. Anakin has the distinct feeling he’se spent a lot of his life on the receiving end of that expression. “Have this X-Wing refueled, and leave tonight.”

“No sir,” Anakin says, enjoying the way one of the man’s eyebrows shoot up in angry incredulity.

“No?” Organa asks. “Would you like more beauty rest, perhaps, Shmison?”

“No sir, I don’t need it,” this time he doesn’t resist running a hand through his hair, messing with its part so his longer bangs fall to one side and balance out the mysterious scar that bisects his eyebrow. He grins. “But I will need a craft that sits two. For the return trip.”

[sexylazymercymama]

Ok. I love the costume, and the story, and all that, but the original quote wasn’t “women didn’t grow up on Star Wars”. It was “Women didn’t grow up on Star Wars THE WAY MEN DID.” Big difference, people.

Growing up- Where were my Princess Leia sheets? Endless variation posts? Princess Leia shirts? Star Wars heroines that weren’t Princess Leia?? When the Special Editions hit theaters, there was a huge flood of Star Wars merchandise of all varieties and hey, it’s the 90s, we’re going to get some token representation, right?  WRONG. 

My awesome feminist mother searched high and low and found two- yes, only TWO- Princess Leia figures in stores that were genuine action figures that could pose and do stuff and look like they could fight. One of them advertised having all these pieces but it was really, “oh hey, you can detach both her cloak and her skirt so it looks like she’s fightiing in a white bodysuit”. The Endor exploding speeder bike was awesome and I loved the poncho and there was a button to shoot lasers. Lasers!! I had never gotten toys with push-button lasers before.

But what did the boys have??? Star Wars bedspreads, and maybe Leia appeared off to one side. Star Wars posters with the ESB one having her receiving a kiss and not, you know, coordinating an evacution. Endless figures in multiple sizes. SO MANY SHIRTS WITH JUST THE BOYS UNLESS IT WAS A BIG ALL-CAST PRINT. Or she was there but only with her sexy one-hip-cocked and clearly not planning to fire the gun pose. Just.... so much merchandise.

We grew up with Star Wars. But it sure as HECK wasn’t the way that the boys did.

Now: Things have gotten.... some better.. Forces of Destiny was a nice effort, although I really only enjoy it for the fun poseable figures that I spent my childhood desperately longing for. But it barely accomplished a fraction of what DC Superhero Girls did. The surplus of girls’ SW shirts (although excessively feminized) have been good, although I prefer the standard non-FoD SW shirts that heavily or exclusively feature Rey. KO has 6 SW shirts with women characters on them. But still. Side rant ahead:

WHERE ARE MY WOC STAR WARS HEROINES???  What’s been the progress on that lately? Oh yeah, a bunch of bigoted trolls who no nothing of race theory arguing that we need to shut up about WOC in SW because “if you’re not a white woman, you’re a WOC” and Kelly Marie Tran is going to be our one token WOC to appear prominently on-screen and we all need to STFU. Endless ranting about Asia and colorism issues there aside, one is not enough. Not for me, not for my daughter, not for girls of color. 

What’s the closest SW has come to a woman appearing prominently on-screen that doesn’t have white skin? Tiny bit parts of a Black woman and an Indian woman appearing as Jedi masters in ep. 1 aside, there’s Sabine. A secondary character (and some sort of love interest for the main character, yet another straight white cis-male orphan who’s plucky and somehow has super-strong Force potential???) on an animated cartoon that isn’t doing nearly as well as the one that preceded it. And how’s her merch going, universe???

Oh, look at that!!! They made her white-skinned on the t-shirts!!! (all of them, not just the Henley) Why? Because they could have gold letters and all the different colors but, what, adding in a non-white skin tone upped the cost of printing by $0.05 per shirt??? Well, isn’t that special. And I swear, on the show, it feels like they’ve been animating her as lighter-skinned ever since they introduced her bald, Black Mandalorian friend (agh, can never remember her name). Lemme tell you a story:

Once upon a time, it was 2017 and I was at a nerdy Star Wars event. I passed a beautiful Black family- dad was Lando, one boy was Mace Windu, one boy was Finn, and the girl was a generic Jedi in robes and cloak complaining loudly and gloriously about how she didn’t even have a NAME and it just WASN’T FAIR. And I just wanted to sob and shout and shake down the foundations of Lucasfilm until they healed her pain.

She was making the face I made in the nineties when my parents couldn’t find me a single Princess Leia shirt. Or a predominantly Princess Leia poster. Or Princess Leia sheets. But WORSE, because at least I got a glimpse of the potential on screen. And what did she have? Her loved ones cosplaying as SW’s beautiful Black man trifecta and not even a name for herself.

So let’s add to this quote.

“Women didn’t grow up on Star Wars the way men did.” “Black people didn’t grow up on Star Wars the way white people did.” “Black girls didn’t grow up on Star Wars the way white boys did.” “Queer kids didn’t grow up on Star Wars the white straight kids did.” “Trans and enby people didn’t grow up on Star Wars the way cis people did.” “Disabled people didn’t grow up on Star Wars the way able-bodied people did.” I’m hungry and I’m cranky and I’m going to bed. But some things had to be said.

[no-droids]

The Sun on Both Sides

Summary: Cassian Andor is your very close companion.  He says best friend, you say pain in your ass—neither one of you are entirely wrong.  But then one night you smoke some unfamiliar spice with him, and everything you once thought you knew goes sideways.

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Cassian Andor/fem!Reader

Word Count: 11.2K

Warnings: SMUT, sex pollen (therefore DUB-CON by default), recreational drug use, best friends to lovers, mutual pining, dirty talk, oral sex (both male and female receiving), penetrative sex, me just making so much shit up honestly

A/N: All phrases in Festan are taken from other Star Wars conlangs.  I don’t even know if that’s the name of the language people from Fest speak tbh.  Probably not.  None of this is real.  Anyways this is Cassian as a young rebel pilot long before the events of Rogue One.  This oneshot will likely be deemed obsolete by Cassian’s new Disney+ show but whoooooooops~

—knock knock knock knock knock—

You know that knock.  It’s too quick, too rapid and annoying to be anyone else.

“I’m sleeping,” you huff with your mouth full, sitting on top of your mattress in a hoodie and sweatpants, legs crossed.

“I have gifts,” Cassian’s muffled voice asserts from the other side of the door.

“I don’t care,” you return, swallowing and shoveling more slop together with your tiny little biodegradable spork.  “S’the middle of the night.”

—knock knock knock knock knock—

“Stop it.”

“Knock knock,” he beckons vocally, as if you didn’t hear it the first ten times.  “Come, open the door.  Please—I will get into trouble.”

It’s exhausting being Cassian’s friend.  Truly exhausting.  It doesn’t matter what Maker-forsaken time it is, as soon as he comes back to base from patrols, he’s at your door.  You don’t know why he chose you as his sole victim to personally inflict this torture upon, but regardless of reason, he’s called you his close friend ever since you first offered to help the lanky, dark-haired six year old with his Basic and his best friend ever since your junior year of flight training.  Apparently with the promotion came the lingering, severe misfortune of his present company, almost always.

“Can I put in for a transfer?”  He also technically outranks you.

“Open the door and we will talk,” Cassian bargains.  Bantha shit, you and him both know it.  He’ll rip the papers in half before you can even finish filling them out.

You let out a dramatic groan just loud enough for him to hear, dragging yourself off the bed and padding over to the door.  “If I accept your gift, will you leave?”

“Maybe.”  No.

“If I accept your gift and trade it for the rest of this, uh,” you look at the MRE packet in your hands, “rice and shredded tauntaun meat in glockaw sauce, will you leave?”

“Maybe.”  No.

“Good call, not as great as it sounds.  What if I—”

He says your name impatiently, accented and sharp.  You roll your eyes as his knuckles rap on the door once more.  “Quickly, quickly—before someone sees.”

“It’s the residential quarters and it’s two in the fucking morning, Cass, nobody’s going t—”

He cuts you off once more.  “Open the door and I will submit for your transfer work, yes?”

You throw your spork prong-down into the beige pouch in your hands and pop your hip, narrowing your eyebrows at the thick slab of metal separating the two of you skeptically.  “No, you won’t.”

“No, I will not,” the voice behind it concedes immediately.  “But for you, I will pretend.”

As soon as you the door slides open and disappears up into the ceiling with a quiet shhhft sound, his dark silhouette quickly slips past you and sneaks into your room, immediately bouncing his bony little butt down on top of your sizable but thin box-spring mattress without a word.  You press the button to close the door behind him with a long, drawn out sigh, turning around and resting your back against the wall panel.

Cassian meets your tired, expectant gaze head-on and wide awake, perched on your bed and huddled around something hidden in his thick jacket.  “First.  You cannot tell anyone.  Understand?”

You raise an eyebrow at him, unimpressed.  “Are we children, Cass?”

“Secondly.”  He blinks up at you.  Maker, his eyes are so… wide.  Dark and warm and bright, framed with thick, long lashes.  “If you do not want it, just say.  Okay?”

Your expression suddenly narrows.  This is new.  It’s… still bantha shit, but it’s… new.  New bantha shit.

“Because the word ‘no’ holds so much meaning for you,” you tilt your head to gesture at the door to your right, “clearly.”

“Come.  Sit here,” he ignores you, patting the space next to him as if that isn’t your own fucking bed he’s inviting you to join him on.  “We will look together.”

“I will literally murder you,” you tell him genuinely, though you push off the wall to move toward him all the same.  “If that’s not a cute little mini-lothcat in your arms you got me for my birthday, Andor, I will literally murder you.”

“Today is your birthday?”  He glances up at you in surprise just as you’re lowering yourself down onto the mattress next to him.

“Two weeks ago, but you were off-base.”  You dig around inside the pouch for your handy little spork, not looking at him.  “Quit avoiding the subject, my death threat still stands.  Where’s my cat, asshole?  Who do I have to tolerate in my bed this late at night to push that kind of paperwor—oof—”

The second you catch the hard little end piece of it between your fingers is the second he reaches around you and pulls you into a tight, one-armed hug.  You fumble with the packet of food as you’re abruptly jerked forward, trying not to let it get squished it between you.

Stars, he smells good.  His parka smells just like him, the fur lining its hood so warm and fluffy and soft as it tickles your nose.  It’s still slightly damp from the wet sleet outside, but it smells so good.  The smallest undercurrent of clove and spice hidden beneath the sharp, clean scent of fresh snow.

“Happy Year-Over, caraya,” Cassian says next to your ear, quiet and fond.  “I know it is late, but I have your gift now.”

“‘Caraya’ better be Festan for ‘here’s your cute little lothcat, birthday girl’,” you warn him, moving to rest your chin on top of his padded shoulder and trying not to sound as breathless or affected by his sweet talking as you feel.  He’s never called you that before.  Caraya.  What does it mean?

It’s… it’s bantha shit, you remind yourself, trying not to close your eyes or lean into his half-embrace.  It’s all bantha shit.

“No,” Cassian acknowledges with a small head tilt, pulling his shoulder back but still keeping his long arm wrapped tight around you.  “No.  Not a… a cat, but…”  He slowly opens his other hand between the two of you, finally showing you.

You blink down at the thing in his palm, cradled carefully in thick gloves from the sub-zero temperatures outside.  It’s.  No, he’s right, it’s not a cat.  It’s a… a stick.  Reddish-pink, ground up plant matter wrapped in a semi-transparent binding.  Rolled up in a nice, even cylinder, a filter secured around one of its ends.

Spice.  Hand-rolled.  Expensive.  Probably swiped off a supply raid, whether by Cassian himself or another rebel fighter he bought it off of.  Ludicrous he got his hands on it, much less brought it on base.  Here, to your fucking quarters.

“I was wrong,” you eventually say, taking the joint from his open palm and holding it up to examine its strange color in the dim light.  “You don’t think we’re children.  You think we’re teenagers.”

“I think we are adults,” he corrects, swiping the MRE from your other hand, “with a reason to celebrate.”  He releases you and takes his arm back, sitting on your bed and digging two fingers around in your half-finished packet for your spork.

“You’re a bold pilot, Cass,” you tell him, studying the spice.  You’ve never seen any strain even similar to this before.  “It was one thing to do this during flight training, but now?  What happens if we have a piss test tomorrow?  Or, well—today, actually?”

“Different kind from before.”  He doesn’t sound bothered by the thought, though his mouth is currently full of tauntaun and rice in glockaw sauce.  “Only five hours high, not detectable after.  Piss tests are expensive, the rebellion has no money.”

“X-wings are expensive, too,” you counter, turning to look at him.  “You crash one of ‘em ‘cause you smoked this shit and your ass will be dead before you can even survive.”

“You hurt me.”  He uses the utensil to dig around the bottom corners of the packet for more slop, not looking hurt in the least.  “Also—you were right.  This one is… horrible.”

“Not to mention I have a oh-nine-hundred call.”  You both watch each other with matching looks of distaste as he continues to eat your food, clearly neither one of you enjoying it.  “You’re giving me barely two hours to come down before I got orange jumpsuits crawling all over me.”

“You did not hear?”  Cassian swallows.  “Reassigned Dreis during debriefing.  I will be leading red squadron tomorrow.  Or, today.”

You blink at him.  “You’re kidding.”

“No,” he shakes his head exactly once, throwing the spork into the empty packet and flattening it.  “No, I would not do that to you.”

“Course not,” you agree diplomatically.  “You’d just barge into my room at two in the morning, eat my food, offer me drugs, and then tell me I’ll be taking orders from you tomorrow.”

”Today,” he corrects.  “But I could not get our call changed, and for that I am sorry.”  He lifts an eyebrow at you, quirking the side of his mouth up and pushing the empty MRE pouch into your hands to throw away.  “But only for that.  Happy birthday?”

“We’re going to lose this war,” you tell him honestly, sliding off your mattress with a sigh to trash it.  “We’re all going to die horribly, and painfully.  The Rebellion is fucking doomed.  You and I will be but a mere footnote in the Empire’s endless reign of terror, you realize.  A footnote.  Our names at the very, very bottom of the page, in tiny little six point font, and it’ll link to a one sentence obituary for the both of us.  Died horribly and in pain.  Did you bring a lighter?”

“Here,” Cassian shifts to one buttcheek and pulls an arc lighter from his back pocket, offering it to you when you come back.  “Okay?  You will start it then?  Birthday girl.”

“You said five hours for one person, right?  So that’s two and a half each if we split it,” you reason with a shrug, putting the filter to your lips and talking through the side of your mouth.  “Two o’clock right now, nine-hundred call.  At least four hours to come down, and thirty minutes to shower if we’re both lucky.”

“We will be fine.”  He waves your careful calculations away with his hand as you flick the lighter.  “Because we are lucky feetnotes, yes?”

***

You’re not fine.

It’s fucking boiling in here.  Maker, you’re on fucking Hoth; why the fuck are you boiling?  It’s never even been warm in your quarters before, much less this hot.  You feel like you’re sweating buckets through your hoodie, your hair sticking to your neck in thin little curls.

And… and Cassian.

He’s sitting so unbelievably straight on the bed across from you, parka and gloves long abandoned on the floor.  His dark eyes flick over to you occasionally, though it looks like he’s trying really hard not to move a single muscle other than that.  His hands are clamped tightly between his thighs and he just… holds there.  A compact, rigid statue perched upright on the mattress, looking far too still and tense to fit the comfort of his surroundings.

“Are you okay?”  You ask him, blinking at how hoarse your voice comes out sounding.  Holy fuck, your mouth feels like a desert.  

Cassian stares at you, and for some reason, his large, expressive eyes seem even wider now.  They’re glassy and a bit red, but also so big and lovely and framed with long, dark lashes.

“This is not.”  His accent sounds thicker, words coming out deeper in his throat.  It settles down inside you just right and you feel a spark of heat at the base of your spine.  He blinks twice.  “This is not how it usually feels.”

“Should we stop?”  You look down at the half-finished joint in your hand, tilting your head thoughtfully as you consider the drug pulsing through your veins.  “It’s… it’s different, but I think it feels good.”

“Yes—I…”  He closes his eyes.  “Th-that is the problem, I think.”

He shifts a bit on the mattress and bites down on his bottom lip, and you must look so fucking dumb as you stare at him with your jaw slack, watching his lithe body stretch and handle the spice.  He’s fucking gorgeous.  Stars, you always thought he was gorgeous, but this is something else.  He flutters his eyes open to look at you through his lashes, and—

—oh.  Oh.  You see now.  You see what he meant.  Warmth pools deep down in your tummy as he looks at you with impossibly dark eyes, slowly drags his glassy gaze down your body.  Fuck, you’re getting turned on.  You go red and blink softly at him while he stares at you, trying to control your breathing.

“You need to—” your voice jumps, trying to remember the right cadence.  How do you speak to him normally?  “You can… take—take my pillow, if you want.  Lay down.  You’re too tall, your eyes are too big.  Look like a… like a Kaminoan.  Heal any—heal any clones recently?”

Bad joke.  Maker, he’s so beautiful.  Rich, dark features taking you in, blinking slowly at you and clearly not hearing a single word you said.

You shift your weight and throw him the cushion you’re partially sitting on without waiting for an answer.  You both need to calm the fuck down.  Hopefully the pillow will help.  Even if it’s squished and warm from your butt.  “It’s warm ‘cause I was sitting on it, m’sorry.  Fuck, it’s warm in here.  Do you think it’s warm in here?”

It’s like he still doesn’t hear you.  Cassian just takes your flattened pillow in his lap and looks at it for way too long, slowly rubs the fabric on the corner between his fingers and examines it, like if he tries hard enough he’ll be able to see through it.

“Cass,” you eventually call his name in reminder.  “Lay down, put that under your head—”

“Do you feel turned on?”  He asks quite suddenly, whipping his head to the side to look at you.  You almost drop the spice.

“No,” you say immediately, acting on impulse alone and trying to rearrange your face into something… something negative.  Something just generally negative, because you can’t even think of a negative emotion specific enough with the way your heart is pounding at the thought of something like this actually happening right now.  Holy fuck, you’re sweating.  What the fuck is in this shit?  “No, of course not.”

“Of course not,” he nods, turning back to look at your pillow.  “Me too.  Not.”  He shakes his head.  “Neither.  Either?”

“Lay down,” you tell him once more, desperately needing something else to do now, something to distract yourself from the way your lower muscles are starting to cramp up with heat and arousal.  “I’ll get us some water.  We need water.”

You’re off the bed and setting the smoldering spice on the small metal counter without another word, grabbing two empty cups and beginning to fill them up in the tiny little sink with your back to him. 

Stars, he was right.  It’s not supposed to feel like this.  It feels… it feels like everything is burning inside you, but such a good burn.  Like your mind is being seduced by your own body right now instead of the other way around, and the paradoxical sensation is manifesting itself in an unprecedentedly strong urge to jump your best friend’s bones.  The urge has always been there, granted, but it’s never been this shameless before.  Never arced and pulsed so brilliantly in your veins before, never been steadily fed by such a tempting outside source.  Not the drugs—but him.  The tangible fuck-me vibes Cassian is radiating towards you right now, staring at your back with those big, gorgeous brown eyes of his, silent and unmoving behind you as he watches you from your bed.  He’s never done anything to encourage your desire for him like this before.  He’s never wanted anything more than just platonic companionship and playful banter in the midst of war zones from you, and yet you can feel the heat burning from him too, feel it start to intensify your own high.

It’s bantha shit, you have to realize.  This whole Maker-forsaken situation—it’s forced; none of it’s real.  Cassian is your best friend, and he’s only looking at you like this because spice is chemically altering his hormones right now.  You can feel it doing the same to you, just steadily stirring deep in your floor muscles and amplifying your baser desires, but you need to snap yourself the fuck out of it and be the levelheaded one here.  Despite the arousal burning hot in your tummy, at least you know your thoughts are still fundamentally sound—in contrast, you have no fucking clue what’s going on in that hard head of his right now.  At least one of you needs to buck up, handle your drugs, and be the adult before things get out of hand.  If it falls to you, then so be it.

You focus on your breathing and do as much as you can to mentally will the tingling sensation down deep.  Taking a second to put a comfortable expression on, you finally turn around and start walking back to him.

When you raise your head and make eye contact with Cassian again though, the look in his eyes almost immediately threatens to undo everything you just decided.  Fuck, he looks like he just had an internal pep talk of his own, but in the entirely wrong direction you went.  He’s a bit more relaxed now, same as you, but his gaze is now searing hot on your body, tangible enough to stop you dead in your tracks in front of him.  It burns through you, and you literally feel the sweat drip down your back as a shiver rolls down your spine.

No.  Hold strong.  Maker, irresponsibility has always been appealing but never so fucking seductive as this is, has it?  Taking such a gorgeous fucking form.  You take a few more steps forward, quickly trying to gather composure.

“Should we stop?”  You ask him once more and stars, you were aiming for calmer and gentler and with more lung support—not this breathless scrape of a sound that feels like sandpaper in your throat.  He hasn’t said a fucking word and your resolve is already wavering.  You try not to make eye contact as you carefully hand him one of the cups.  “We’re only twenty minutes in, barely halfway through it.  We can stop and coast, it’s not a big deal.”

Cassian takes the water from your outstretched hand, letting the tips of his fingers brush lightly across yours in the process.  Your heart skips in your chest.  “Do you want to stop?”

You absolutely should fucking stop.  Just standing here and handing him water without ripping your clothes off is a challenge; you’ve still got half a joint left and you’re not even sure you’ve reached the come-up yet.  What if this is just the beginning?  What if this is just laying the foundation?  What happens when you actually peak on this shit?

“It’s not a big deal,” you repeat instead, keeping your answer as ambiguous as possible and taking a sip of the blessedly cold liquid.  At least the water is responding correctly to the frigid environment on this horrible fucking planet.  You feel ready to burn up.  “Just wanna make sure you’re cool.”

Cassian flicks his eyes over to the joint still cherried and smoking on the metal counter behind you.  “We can keep going.”

Your breathing picks up slightly.  Does he know what he’s really asking right now?  He has to have figured out what that spice does by now, right?  But no, he’s so steadfast in the way he looks at you, blinking up at you confidently.  Fuck, you should stop.  You should stop.

You should… compromise?

“If we keep going, no more of this,” you tell him, gesturing to the way he still hasn’t moved or drank any of the water in his cup.  “You need to.  Chill out, alright.  Act normal.”

Fuck, you’re normally so blunt and outspoken with him, so why is it that everything happening here is so fucking unsaid?  Everything is transpiring right below the surface, a conversation taking place within another conversation.  You’re telling him to cut the heart eyes, lay back on the bed and spend some rare quality time with his best friend.  Regardless of the weird side effects, this spice is still giving you an incredibly strong body high.  If he could just stop looking at you like that so you can stop rhythmically clenching and pulsing between your legs, you’d probably be incredibly relaxed right now.

“I will lay down,” he finally agrees, breaking eye contact with you and grabbing the pillow from his lap so he can throw it down next to him.  “Go, get the rest of it.”

“Drink.”  You stay rooted to your spot.

He gulps down the entire cup of water right in front of you, and something about how sassy and exaggerated it is makes you unwind just a bit and head back for the spice.

This is better, you think.  Butting heads with your strong personalities is better than whatever mind games you two were playing before, more familiar and grounding.  Cassian sets down his empty cup on the floor as you pick up the joint, and then you sit on the edge of the mattress across from him when you come back.

“So how were patrols?”  You ask him, taking another hit of it and studying the strange color it burns as you hold the smoke in your lungs, almost a light pink.

“Not bad,” he says, scooting back to lay lengthwise across the back of the bed.  His long legs stick off the end but he looks way more comfortable now, settling back into the pillow and watching you with a calmer, more easy-going look in his eyes.

“Where’d you get sent this time?”  You have to lean forward quite a bit to hand him the spice.

“The Lothal Sector,” Cassian responds casually, taking it from you.

“Oh, fuck off,” you snap, already unamused before he’s even started to mess with you.  “I will shoot down red leader tomorrow, Cass, don’t you dare fucking test m—”

“A local was trying to sell kittens to the pilots,” he goes on, completely ignoring you and relaxing back down into the mattress with the joint between his fingers.  “They were very cute.  But then I tell him no, because I did not know of anyone who could care for one.”

“That’s not fucking funny.” Cassian smiles slowly at you as you glare back at him very, very sternly.  “This is a no lothcat joking zone, I’m sensitive about this.”

He keeps smiling even as he takes his hit, gentle and fond and lovely on his face, but his eyes eventually go softer and a bit melancholy on the exhale.  

“I am sorry I missed your birthday, caraya,” he says to you truthfully, something sincere and tender in the way he looks at you.  “But I will get you something better than a cat.”

“What does that mean?”  You lean forward and grab the spice from him when he holds it out for you.

“No idea,” he admits during the careful exchange.  “Maybe something with less claws and teeth, I think.”

“No,” you shake your head, settling back on your butt once more.  “Caraya.  What does that mean?”

Cassian quickly opens his mouth to reply, but then pauses and takes a second.  As if he’s debating on what exactly he wants to tell you.  You inhale from the spice held between your fingers and wait patiently for him.  Probably something to do with birthdays, right?  Since he only started calling you that after you told him he missed yours.

You end up waiting for his answer so long, you actually feel like you should take another hit.  But when Cassian does eventually speak, it’s incredibly calculated and slow, like he’s actively trying to find the correct words to translate its exact meaning into Basic.

“Fest is part of a binary star system,” he finally tells you, breaking the silence.  “It is… it is what my people call the times when… when one of the stars sets while the other is rising on the opposite horizon.”

You pause with the joint halfway to your mouth, staring dumbly at him.

“It is rare.  I have seen it only twice.  Each time, for less than a minute.  It is very rare for them to match up perfectly, but when they do.”  His eyes go a bit softer, losing himself in his memories instead of concentrating so much on the words.  “The sky shines with every color.  Reds, yellows, and pinks to the west; blues, indigos, and violets to the east.  It is… it is also… something we call the ones close to us,” he continues, blinking his gaze slowly back to you.  “Caraya na cotâ vi zas iz’búsdari.  To care and be cared for is to feel the sun on both sides.”

You… you just keep staring at him.  Blank, unmoving, not really even breathing.  Your chest suddenly feels incredibly tight.  He looks back at you and stars, he looks so fucking gorgeous; long lashes dusting over his cheekbones at this angle, one hand resting lazily over his abdomen as he relaxes on your bed.

“It sounds…”  You sound winded.  “Lovely.”

“Yes,” Cassian returns softly, tilting his head on your pillow and blinking at you.  “It is.”

You don’t know why the fuck you thought this would be okay, honestly.  This whole thing was such a horrendous fucking idea right from the start.  You’re surprised you haven’t set the both of you on fire by dropping the lit spice between your fingers.  You were a fucking idiot to think you could resist him.  You were overconfident, underestimating him the way you did.  It’s like… like he’s approaching this in surges, almost.  Lulling you into a false sense of security for a bit, and then carefully pushes forward, toeing the line between best friend and person he wants to fuck and seeing how much you’ll let him get away with.

You’re… you’re a weak, spineless little thing.

“Is it—is it your turn?” You eventually ask him, looking down at the joint in your hands.  It’s barely above a whisper and it’s vaguely squeaky and it’s probably one of the dumbest fucking things you’ve ever asked in your life.  Of course it’s his turn, who the fuck else’s turn would it be?  

Cassian would normally rip into you for being such an idiot, but he doesn’t.  He just blinks softly at you, pupils dilated and glassy as they take you in.

“Would you like to…”  He sounds equally breathless now, swallowing thickly before he speaks again.  “You can… come closer, if you want.  Here.  With me.”  He pats his belly.  “No more reaching.”

What is… what is happening right now?  Is Cassian Andor actually, like—for real making a move on you?  His best friend?  The one he’s never looked twice at?

“You want me to…?”  Your cunt clenches.  Stars, you’re so wet already.  You can feel it, dampening your underwear as his eyes flutter slightly at the rasp in your voice.

“Come,” he pats his stomach once more.  “Lay down with me.”

You slowly begin to shuffle over to him on shaky knees, trying to move normally as he watches you.  He stretches out across the back of the bed, giving you a perfect spot along his open torso to relax into.  Your heart pounds as you carefully hand the spice to him before settling yourself on your back with your head on his tummy, making a little perpendicular t-shape with him on the mattress, vision slightly blurry but pulsing at the same time.

Maker, he smells so fucking good.  He smells like fresh snow and something warm at the same time, so lean and long above you.  You’re almost panting now, burning up in your thick layers as you try to get comfortable.

“Maker, it’s so fucking hot in here,” you whisper, using your sleeve to wipe the sweat gathering at your temples.  “Fuck.”

“Take off your shirt,” Cassian suggests quietly, and your mouth instantly goes bone dry, your chest forgetting to rise again after it collapses with a quick whoosh of breath.  “You have something on underneath, yes?”  He adds quickly before you can completely ignite in flames.  “Take off the top one.”

You… you have a thin undershirt on, but nothing underneath that.  It’s nearing three in the morning, of course you don’t have a bra on right now.  And the undershirt is white, and you’re sweating buckets, which means—

“It… it might show some…”  You have no clue how to phrase this, but Cassian quickly responds.

“It is just me,” he reassures, carefully reaching his arm around your head to hold the joint up to your lips for you.  You inhale the drug deeply, watching the pink light illuminate the tips of his fingers.  “We are best friends, and this is your room.  You should relax.”

Maker, this is… this is dangerous.  He’s dangerous.  He’s smart, choosing to go at it from this angle.  He’s not toeing the line anymore, he’s just… blurring it until it doesn’t exist anymore.  Or better yet, just walking over it and pretending it doesn’t exist at all.  Pretending nothing at all is happening between you right now.  Trying to see whether you’ll be more willing to give in if he comes at you from the side like this, not necessarily catching you off guard but refusing to outright confront you about it either.

Apparently precedent rules.  You’re a weak, spineless little thing, especially when presented with such a compelling out.  He’s… he’s totally right.  You are best friends, this is your room, and you should relax.  Nothing sexual about it at all, right?  Furthermore, relaxing trumps overheating any fucking day of the week, so… so that’s why you tell yourself it’s okay to sit up and immediately reach behind your head, grabbing the hoodie and beginning to pull the thick fabric off.  

Only, it’s damp and clings to your thin undershirt, dragging both of them up the length of your back as it goes.  You stop when the lower hem pulls up just below your breasts, trying to reach back behind your head even further and separate the two materials but struggling with the angle.

“Cass,” you eventually prompt, trying not to flush.  Not like he’d be able to tell, though; you’ve been unbearably warm and fidgety this entire time, your embarrassment conceals itself without your assistance.  “You wanna help me?  Or you just wanna keep watching?”

“Do not ask me such stupid questions,” he tells you plainly, unmoving.  “What did I say?  We are best friends.  Of course I am not going to help you.  You are…” he trails off when you lift your shoulders upright just a bit to see if the angle will work better that way.  It does, but the fabric drags further up your ribcage from the shift, “…You are nice to watch.”

Your heart pounds, and you’re even clumsier knowing he’s staring at your exposed tummy right now.  Maker, this should not be as difficult as it is.  You swing your arms back around behind you, arching outwards and trying to separate them from the bottom this time, but gravity doesn’t appear to work in your favor.  

Maybe you can do like, some sort of weird, half-and-half thing to get them apart?  Maybe?  Where you hold the undershirt from the bottom with one hand and pull the hoodie from the top with the other?

Yes, okay—that could possibly work.  Cassian inhales more spice as he lazes behind you, getting a front row seat to watch this subsequent genius unfold.

You get into your monkey-like position, beginning to pry the two materials apart from behind like you planned.  But then—oh, your undershirt still sticks to your hoodie at the front, pulling up a few inches with it and flashing the lower curve of your breasts to the room before you immediately halt and switch tactics, reaching back down and trying to pull them apart from the front withou—

A large, warm palm comes up to settle on your bare spine, right in the middle of your shoulder blades.

You freeze.  But Cassian doesn’t say anything, doesn’t do anything more than that.  He just holds his hand there, steady and solid against your upper back.

Neither one of you move.  It’s like… it’s like you’re both trying so hard to get a read on each other that your reactions are equally stunted.  Is he doing this to bring you to a still so he can help you?  Is he simply as blazed as you are right now and not thinking about things before he does them?  Is he—

But then Cassian starts slowly dragging his hand down your spine, carefully riding the gentle curve of it downwards as your breathing subtly picks up.  Your arms are halfway caught in the fabric, not able to stop him unless you untangle them and reach behind you.  So you just hold there statuesquely as his palm inches down the sweat-slick muscles of your lower back, thumb just barely brushing the hemline of your sweatpants.  

Fuck, you feel like you’re about to vibrate out of your skin.  Heat pools deep in your tummy, spidering outwards and sending pulsing shocks down your legs when he keeps his hand there for just a second.

Until… until he traces all the way back up and carefully hooks a finger around your undershirt.  

Your heart pounds as Cassian gradually pulls it over the top of your head with your hoodie, guiding you to bring both of them around your arms.  He pushes against your shoulder wordlessly, urging you to lie back down with your head on his stomach once more, the fabric stretched tight over your upper-body and the entire length of your spine now fully exposed as it touches the mattress.

“C-Cassian,” you breathe, fluttering your eyes up at the ceiling.

“Yes, caraya?”  He murmurs, and you completely forget what you’re going to say when he continues to pull the hoodie and undershirt down over your arms, exposing your naked breasts to the open air.

Your cunt pulses between your legs and you hear him throw the thick bulk of fabric carelessly on the floor.  “I—I-I don’t—”

“You will stay like this?”  Cassian tells you softly, brushing your damp hair back from your shoulder so that your bare chest is completely unobstructed as it faces the ceiling.  Your nipples are hard, a thin sheen of sweat covering your entire body, and you can feel his gaze drag down your naked skin, even if he doesn’t actually touch you.  No, he just takes another slow drag from the spice in his hand and tilts his head back to rest on your pillow, relaxing into the mattress with a gentle shuffle of his shoulder blades.  “If you are too warm, you will stay like this, okay?  Be comfortable.”

Is it possible to die from arousal?  Your clit is fucking pounding; everything from the waist down is unbearably tight and cramped.  Stars, you feel like you’ll cum if you even move wrong right now.  He told you to be comfortable, but you’re not—you’re boiling from the sensation, topless on your bed, trying not to close your eyes or squeeze your legs together.  It’s too fucking casual and unacknowledged, how he’s going about this.  You feel like you’re going to explode.

Cassian gently taps your bare shoulder to get your attention and shifts his head slightly to look down at you.  You bite your bottom lip and flutter your gaze sideways to meet his after a second, hoping you don’t look as flushed and tight with burning arousal as you feel.  Deep brown eyes look back at you, hazy and dilated.  He takes a second to slowly drag his gaze down the length of your half-naked body once more, now that he knows you’re watching him.  Your breath comes audibly now, quicker and shallower than it should be after laying flat on a bed for this long.

“Here,” Cassian prompts, holding the smoldering joint out for you to take.  His voice sounds raspier now, but still so… casual.  Like he’s out here talking about the weather with a mildly sore throat, not because your tits are out while you stare at each other and neither one of you is saying a damn thing about it.  It’s like he’s determined to hold onto the splitting tension, drag it out between you as long as he can.  “Want more?”

You know what he’s really asking, and it cramps your lower muscles up even harder.  He’s asking if you want more of this spice that’s currently getting you naked in front of him.  More of this madness, twisting up your insides with need and jumbling your thoughts.  More of him treating you like this, like there’s not a damn thing out of place in the universe right now, like you’re still just best friends so that’s why it’s okay you’re both doing this together.

Stars, do you want more?  Do you want him to keep winding you up like this?  More of this torture, this agonizing foreplay, wondering when he’ll finally give in and touch you?  Pretending like this is still completely platonic, like what’s happening here isn’t wildly unprecedented, insanely inappropriate, and so fucking hot?

You can feel your eyebrows pull up in the middle as you look at him, almost pleading with him to… something.  To stop, maybe?  Stop altogether, or just stop… fuck, stop ignoring the way your cunt feels clamped around itself tighter than a vice between your legs?  Stop neglecting your burning desire for him, even when it’s right in front of his face.  Stop refusing to acknowledge the way you’re just letting him look at you right now, how you haven’t once stopped playing along with this fever dream just in case you aren’t imagining it?  Fuck, but Cassian just looks back at you, his expression completely blank except for the smallest little glimmer in his eyes.  A silent, heated glint as he just barely quirks an eyebrow at you.

So you make the decision all at once.  You carefully reach over for the spice with your far hand, feeling your breasts shift towards him slightly with the slow movement.  Cassian doesn’t even feel like he’s breathing as you gently take it from him.  He just stares down at your naked chest and swallows thickly, eyelids dipping slightly as he moves to meet you halfway.

You let your nipple brush up against his knuckles just slightly with the exchange.

When you face back towards the ceiling again and readjust your shoulders flat on the bed, he lets out a slow, shaky breath under your head as it rests on his tummy.  The tension rockets up to eleven, weighing heavy and unspoken and ready to snap.  

But then like that, the moment passes—it’s just another invisible spark igniting between the two of you, just another thing buried beneath the silence and yet ringing so unbelievably loud because of it.  You’re both emitting and absorbing the same buzzing energy, amplifying it back to one another in a slow, endless feedback loop of rising pressure.

The spice comes up to your lips, and Cassian’s fingertips carefully trail along your other arm as it rests by your side.

“This is better, no?”  He asks you quietly, the rough tips of his fingers just barely gliding across your skin in small, mindless patterns.  They dance down your skin like feathers, tracing a small arch over the ridge of your elbow so lightly you almost feel like you might be imagining it.  Your eyes flutter when he gradually skims down the length of your forearm and brushes his thumb in a smooth circle around the bone in your wrist.  “Or you are still too warm?”

You bite your bottom lip when one of his fingers carefully stretches all the way up to your hip, running along the hem of your sweatpants.  

“Yeah, m’still a little—” you gasp, trying not to stutter when Cassian starts to draw up the length of your waistline, pausing right when his fingers reach your drawstrings.  “Little w-warm,” you finish hoarsely, painfully aware of how fucking wet you are, how your nipples are peaked and glistening with sweat as they move with your soft, shallow breathing.

He slowly dips one finger below the elastic wrapping across your hips, dragging it back and forth under the damp waistband.

“This fabric is heavy,” Cassian remarks, just the slightest husk in his voice.  “You… you will take this off, too?”

“I-I don’t—”  You’re about to say have anything on underneath except you immediately go quiet, because he’s suddenly slithering his entire hand down into your sweatpants and brushing his knuckles along the gentle slope of you.

He pauses once more when his longest finger reaches the very top of your slit.

But then he just holds it there for a second, tracing small arches back and forth along gentle give of it, the slight dip that separates your soft curls from your soaking heat.  You tighten up and wait in breathless anticipation for it, before the tip of Cassian’s finger finally comes to a rest over the soft split of flesh.

And then he’s suddenly pushing in, and down—

—fuckfuckfuckfuck—don’tcumdon’tcum—don’t—

You make a soft, vulnerable sound in bliss as he slowly slides his finger through the hot, slick cleft of your pussy.

“You are warm down here, too,” Cassian murmurs quietly.  Your eyes roll back when he drags the entire length of it up against your clit, letting you feel each individual ridge and joint and crevice across the swollen bit of flesh.  “Is it the spice?”  He asks, sinking his finger back down into you once more.  “Or are you always this wet between your legs?”

Neither.  Both, maybe?  Mostly it’s just him.  Cassian, whispering softly to you through the hazy darkness, lazily dipping his fingers into your cunt and letting it drench and engulf his skin in its heat.

“Tell me,” he prompts when you don’t say a word.  His finger pulls up and begins tracing slow, gentle circles around your clit.

“No,” you breathe haggardly, arching your hips up just slightly as he touches you.  “N-No, this is…”

“This is different,” Cassian confirms when you don’t finish your sentence.  He keeps circling your clit, and it’s like he’s just casually, carelessly stirring a pot that’s about to boil over and set everything on fucking fire.  You pulse threateningly under the tip of his finger, swollen and tight and just trying your best to control your breathing.  “So it is the spice.  Why you are this hot, this… this soaking.”

“It’s…”  Don’t you say it.  Don’t you fucking say it.  Don’t you turn this into something it isn’t.  “Yeah.  It’s—it’s the sp-spice.”

His finger follows the hard curve of you down to where you give, where you’re leaking wetness and heat from the source, before he’s suddenly shifting his wrist and pushing the entire thing into you down to his knuckle.

Now you do arch your hips, spreading your legs and helping him go deeper even as Cassian hums, stretching his finger and feeling you clench hot and tight around him.  He says something softly, something in a language you don’t understand.

And then he’s pulling out and rubbing circles around your clit again, the tip of his finger steady and firm as he steadily drags the pleasure out of you.

“We need to finish it soon,” he eventually reminds you, and it takes a remarkable delay for you to realize he’s talking about the lingering quarter of the joint still clenched tightly between your fingers.  “Take your hit.  We have a nine-hundred call, remember.”

Fuck, you bring the spice up to your lips with a shaky hand, trying to remember whether you should inhale or exhale first.  Cassian’s finger just keeps circling your clit, winding you up tighter and tighter.  His motions are so repetitive and predictable, but they’re somehow still lighting you on fire from the inside, slowing you down spectacularly as you try to take a steady breath in through the filter.

“Stars, you are so wet,” he remarks after a moment.  “Are you going to cum soon?  You feel like you are so close already.”

You are close.  Everything is swollen and slippery and tight, and hearing him say it out loud like that makes the pleasure rocket up even tighter inside you.  You don’t even feel him reach around with his other hand and take the spice from you.  You just lose yourself in the mindless sensation of Cassian’s finger on your clit, rolling your eyes back and reaching your hands down to fisting the sheets at your sides as he touches you.

“Does this feel good, caraya?”  He whispers quietly to you, inhaling deeply from the spice.  “You are usually so… mouthy with me.  Is this helping?  Do I need to rub your clit like this more often?”

“Fuck—Cassian, I’m gonna cum,” you tell the ceiling raggedly, chest beginning to arch up and hips bearing down.

“Do it,” he murmurs, reaching his thumb through your slick lips to pinch and roll the pulsing bud between his fingers.  “Right here.  All you can.”

And then wild, painful bliss stabs through you, launching you headfirst into a blinding orgasm.  A desperate sound tears from your throat as you cum hard all over your best friend’s hand, agonizing pleasure shredding mindless rapture through your veins.  It rings white noise through your ears and rips you apart from the inside out, arcing lightning down your spine more bright and explosive than ever before.  Fuck, it’s unprecedentedly powerful.  You’re drenched but your clit is hard and pulsing and swollen, and he’s able to keep it between his fingers the entire time your hips writhe desperately on the mattress.

Cassian inhales from the spice once more and massages your clit through the torturous, blazing hot aftershocks.  He drags the pleasure out of you until you’re a trembling mess, exhausted from the spasms wreaking havoc on your body.

But then… but then you’re still so hot.  It’s like your limbs have no energy left but your cunt is still pulsing and wanting more from him.  You feel your wetness coating his hand, your inner thighs, probably soaking through your sweatpants, but fuck, you want him to keep touching you like this—you want him to keep doing this.

It’s the spice, something tells you in the very back of your mind.  It almost made you black out with a wild orgasm and now it’s quickly preparing your overheated body for another one.  Your feet come up to brace against the mattress and your eyes close, jaw going slack as you grind feverishly against Cassian’s hand.

“Again?”  He whispers to you, fingers continuing to pinch and roll your clit and then—and then another debilitating wave of euphoria is suddenly slamming through you, pulling your chest up and flooding his hand with another series of wet, powerful contractions.  Cassian rasps something in his native tongue and rides you through the second one just as steady as the first, your pussy spasming uncontrollably as he slowly wrings the pleasure from you.

Fuck, it feels so good.  You’re worked up and trembling and trying not to whimper for him, desperately wanting him to keep his hand right here forever, buried right between your legs like this.  But you also—you also want Cassian to feel it too, feel the way the unrestrained hedonism practically burns you alive when you cum.

So you carefully turn over on your side and shuffle forwards a bit, resting your head on his lower stomach, right in front of the mouthwatering bulge in his trousers.  His fingers can’t fully reach your cunt from this angle, but Cassian is resilient.  He just drags his hand over your hip and slithers his fingers into your pussy from behind while you start unbuckling his pants with shaky fingers.

He’s unbelievably hard and throbbing and leaking when you pull his cock out of his underwear, the pulsing urgency of his erection not lining up with the way he’s still relaxing on your mattress, still hasn’t moved under you.  So you just hold his length up to your lips and open them, slowly sliding your tongue around the tip of him three times before taking his curved head into the hot cavern of your mouth.

Cassian takes a deep, shaky breath as you suck softly on the head of his cock, fluttering your tongue along a bead of precum he leaks from the slit.  He drags his fingers through your drenched pussy lips from behind as you carefully move your head down his tummy, opening your jaw wider and letting him fill your mouth deeper.

“Fuck,” he breathes, and you hum softly and lift your back palate slightly, sliding your tongue drift down his shaft and taking him a bit deeper still.  He shudders under you and pushes the tip of his finger up against your clit.

And then you shudder because Cassian completely bypasses your hood at this angle, bumping into the swollen bit of flesh without any resistance or protection and just… holding it there.  Barely moving an inch while you begin to slowly bob up and down just slightly around his cock, just keeping his fingertip right up against your clit and sparking heat down through your legs.

You move your hand down to cup his balls and start to roll your hips against his fingers.  Cassian’s breathing stutters as you lazily suck his cock, rubbing a tight little circle on your clit in silent encouragement.

“We should—” his voice is hoarse now, now that you’ve got his dick in your mouth and you’re gently swirling your tongue around it, almost as unhurried and casual about the act as he was bringing you to your first orgasm.  “We should do this.  More.”

You slowly pull off him, kissing the tip of his cock and mouthing at the way he’s steadily releasing thick drops of precum for you.  Cassian’s finger rolls firmly against your clit in response.

“You just want your dick sucked every time you come back to base,” you counter breathlessly, brushing your lips against him while talking with his cockhead resting on the edge of your tongue.

His hand shifts, and then he’s suddenly pushing two thick fingers deep inside you.  You moan around his tip and prop one leg up on the mattress so he can fill you easier, going back to sucking and swiping your tongue over his frenulum.

“I would not mind it,” he admits with a shaky exhale.  “You are.  Very g-good.  Fuck.  And wa—” he gasps, feeling you clench tight around his fingers, “—warm.  Fuck, every… everywhere.”

Fuck, it feels so good like this.  Laying here, topless and being penetrated two different ways by Cassian, feeling him throb in your mouth while you rest your head on his tummy, feeling him stretch your cunt walls with his fingers while you hold your legs open for him.

You pull off him to drag your slick tongue over your palm, coating your fingers in saliva.  Cassian groans when you wrap your hand around the thick base of him, and then he lifts his hips slightly as you start to slowly jerk him off into you mouth.

“Fuck—caraya, if you keep doing that, I will—” he whispers after a moment, curling his fingers inside you in warning.  You just tighten your grip and add just the slightest twist to your wrist and “Wait—wait—” Cassian grunts, starting to pull his fingers out of you—

You pull off him just enough to murmur the words against his throbbing head.  “You’ll want more than one, okay.  Trust me.  Cum like this, okay?  Cum just like this, right in my mouth.”

You wrap your lips around his cock once more and keep jerking him off slow and tight into the heat of your mouth, and Cassian’s abdominal muscles go incredibly tense under your head.  And then you squeeeeze your lower muscles around his fingers, and all the tension suddenly snaps.

His cock goes rock hard on your tongue and starts pulsing steadily as he groans out your name like it hurts, fingers stuffed deep in your cunt.  You swallow around him and moan, clenching rhymically around his fingers and letting him slowly empty himself into your mouth.  Fuck, he takes forever with it, shuddering and gasping and pumping cum down your throat, his orgasm clearly as powerful as yours was.  The spice drags it out, makes you both lose yourself in the raw heaven of release for far longer than normal.

The spice also prevents him from softening when Cassian finally stops spurting hot cum in your mouth.  You suspected as much—which is why you keep sucking his cock even as he stops throbbing, you keep him in your hot mouth even when he’s laying trembling and exhausted under you.  And he still stays rock solid on your tongue, swollen and needing more.

Cassian’s voice sounds shredded when he finally speaks.  “I—I am going to crash my x-wing tomorrow,” he tells you hoarsely, fingers finally slipping out of your channel with a vulgar, slick sound.  “You were right.”

You pull off him and kiss the tip of his cock one final time, making sure you’ve cleaned up the mess completely.  “Today.”

“Fuck.  Today,” he acknowledges tightly, adjusting his hips when you lift your head off his stomach.  “Fuck.  In a few hours.  You will make me crash, just thinking about this.”

“Why is it,” you turn around and blink at him, “that after literal decades of my friendship, you only acknowledge my perpetual rightness after I make you cum for the first time?”

Cassian just smiles softly at you, and his fingers are drenched as they rest lazily against your thigh.  “Caraya.  Two suns.  Twice the illumination, no?”

You bite your lip and try not to smile back at him, wanting to blush and roll your eyes in equal parts.  Stars, why is he so… so lovely?  Speaking to you so sweetly, looking back up at you from your pillow like you’re every single color in his sky.  Your heart seizes in your chest, staring at him with the same kind of fondness and admiration his beautiful eyes are shining with.  Fuck, you want… you want to…

“Can we… can we have sex now?”  You whisper.  Not really shy, but… but it almost sounds shy in its quiet, breathless hope.  

“You do not want me to taste you?”  Cassian immediately asks, reaching out with one hand to offer you what’s left of the spice while the other stays firmly wedged between your legs.  “I want to.  I have…”

You bite down on your bottom lip and take the nearly finished joint from him, feeling his fingers curl against your pussy lips at the same time and knowing you’re going to regret letting him finish his sentence.  He swallows thickly.

“I have thought about it,” Cassian eventually tells you, carefully admitting the words like he never expected he’d ever say them aloud and is completely unprepared.  “Sometimes.  Sometimes when… when I am about to sleep.  I think of… of you.  What you taste like.  Right here.”  He barely slips the tip of his finger back between your folds, fluttering his eyelashes at the way you’re still dripping in his hand.  “I bet you are so sweet.  Will you let me find out?”

Except.  Except you’re suddenly blanking.

He’s… he’s thought about you before?  Like this?  Fuck, he isn’t just… just saying that, right?  Just telling you what you want to hear?  Because fuck, it’s almost too good to be true; like everything out of his mouth since you first put his cock in yours has somehow sounded even better than the last.  You feel like you’re dreaming, and it.  It makes you almost frantic with need, overcome with the desire to solidify your connection with him before it can be ripped away like it always is.

You don’t respond to him.  You just quickly wiggle out of your sweatpants and get on top of him, swinging one of your legs around Cassian’s hips.  The spice is held in one hand while the other reaches down and aligns his cock right up against your opening.

Cassian grabs your thighs tightly and takes a long, shuddery breath under you.  Fuck, he really is a dream, isn’t he?  Long and lithe and beautiful, still throbbing and pulsing and ready for you after you already swallowed his first load.  You straighten your back and slowly sit down on his cock, letting the thick, hard length of it break you open slowly.

His hands trace up to your hips and then slide along the gentle curves of your sides, measuring the size of your ribcage before eventually grasping both of your tits in his palms.  You breathe through the pleasure and the stretch, letting Cassian pinch and roll your nipples between his fingers as you gradually slide down him and come to a rest flush against his pelvis.

Fuck he feels spectacular.  You can feel him pulsing inside of you, fitting and stretching the contours of your slick cunt perfectly.  You shiver and clench around him, finishing off the last hit of spice as you roll your hips slightly to adjust to the tight fit of his cock.

You twist your shoulders to carefully toss the smoldering roach into the sink when it’s done, really taking your time with aiming it to make sure you don’t miss.  The second it lands in the metal basin is the second Cassian grinds his hips up into yours while giving both of your nipples a gentle tug, and a jolt of pleasure rocks its way down your spine.

“Im-impatient,” you whisper, trying to scold him but it comes out sounding all wrong, far more needy and breathy than you wanted.

“I wanted my tongue in your pussy,” he whispers back in reminder, squeezing your tits as you start to circle and grind against him, letting you both enjoy the sensation of each other without any solid aim at the moment.  “You could not wait.”

“Later,” you gasp, tipping your head back and just—fuck, just enjoying his cock.  Enjoying how it feels, pressing up deliciously tight against something inside you that just absolutely loves the pressure.  You scoot yourself back just a bit, just so he is really shoved up hard against that spot as you grind and roll your body.  It ignites sparks deep in your floor muscles, makes you clamp tighter around him as you slowly ride your best friend’s cock.

And stars, Cassian just watches you.  He drags his hands over your naked body as it swells and rocks back over his hips like waves in the ocean.  He’s still completely clothed, and while something inside you wants you to get him as naked as your are, rub your exposed skin against his and make sure he never forgets how you feel against him, most of you is just fucking burning at the eroticism of being so bare and tall above him while he looks at you.

“Later,” he eventually repeats after you, definitively confirming what you said.  Cassian’s voice is somehow soft and rough at the same time, quiet but tight and hoarse in his throat.  “I will taste you later.”

You jerk a nod in agreement, starting to gain just a little bit of a rhythm on top of him.  Your eyes flutter closed as you lean your weight back slightly and begin to pull up when your hips twist in towards him, and then sinking back down on his cock when your hips circle back around again.

“Fuck,” you hear Cassian grit as you keep doing that, relaxing your lower muscles as he’s thrusted into you and then clamping down on his length as it’s slowly dragged out.  “Fuck, you are—a-amazing, caraya.  You are.  You are—fuck—”

A sinful heat starts simmering deep inside you as Cassian cuts himself off with a gasp and squeezes his eyes shut, starts rocking his pelvis up in time with your slow, sensual rotations.  Both of his hands clamp down hard over your hips as they continue to undulate in slow circles around his cock.

“Maker,” you whisper, trying to focus on your rhythm instead of the terrifying, building sensation inside of you.  Fuck, you can literally feel the threat of your orgasm start to carefully wind itself around the base of your spine, simmering and sparking with dark pleasure as it gradually spreads its electric claws outwards.  It’s huge.  You can already feel it gathering together inside you, culminating into something monstrous and fierce.

Cassian says your name, and you suddenly blink your eyes open at the unexpected urgency and tightness in his voice.  Your vision takes a second to focus on his gorgeous face, and when you immediately see the same exact storm of swirling desperation in his eyes, your jaw goes slack as you speed up, trying to chase him as Cassian all but hurtles towards the blinding explosion nearing its detonation.

“Fuck, I—” he gasps, and then he’s suddenly going rigid under you and cumming deep in your slick heat with a desperate sound, shuddering and gasping for you as his thumbs dig into your thighs.  Fuck, you grind harder, trying to find and focus on your favorite angle now as Cassian whimpers through the bliss and writhes under you, throbbing and pumping in steady, helpless jolts.

You whimper, too—fuck, you’re almost there, you’re gasping and trying to surrender to the swelling sensation, but it’s so intense and overwhelming and you’re close to tears because you’re fighting it just as much as you’re seeking it out, and—

And then the breath is suddenly knocked out of you when Cassian reaches up to grab you and flip the both of you over, your back coming down hard against the mattress.  He kneels between your legs, hooks both of your calves over his shoulders, props his arms next to your head, and then he starts thrusting.

You sob brokenly, slapping an open palm against his chest.  Fuck, his cock is still so hard and it shreds up achingly deep against that blinding spot so perfectly, you can’t focus on anything anymore.  The dark, evasive build immediately twists up sharp and impending as Cassian fucks you steady and deep, and you start to muffle your cries and gasps into the back of your hand.

But then, oh—words are coming, too.  Oh Maker, you can feel the urge to say them rise up along with the ferocious stirrings of your orgasm, clawing its way out of your throat before you can do anything to stop it.

“Fuck—” you tear your hand away to sob brokenly, not being able to stop yourself as the tsunami begins to peak, “oh, fuck—I love you.  Oh, fuck, I—I love you, Cassian—I love you, I—IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou—”

His cock splinters up against sheer euphoria inside you as you cum with a desperate wail of his name, pussy clamping down hard as it erupts into searing hot ecstasy around him.

—and then suddenly Cassian is lurching against you and bringing his lips down to yours, licking into your mouth and cumming deep inside you once more.  Maker, you nearly scream at the sensation, your tight cunt milking the throbbing length of him with endlessly wet, hot contractions as he grinds you both through the aching bliss.  He kisses you like he’s wanted to do it for years, bites your bottom lip as you whimper and spasm wildly around him.

Fuck, you can hear the mess you’re both making.  It’s obscene, filling the room with the slick sound of your desperate coupling.  Cassian eventually pulls his mouth away to look down at where he’s rocking into your drenched cunt, the evidence of his own pleasure slicking up hard lines of his erection.

Your eyes roll back when he doesn’t stop thrusting.

***

You lose track of everything.

Time, direction, responsibility—nothing matters, because Cassian goes on like that.  For hours, taking you apart every single way you can imagine.  You fuck the effects of the spice out of your body until nothing exists but him—Cassian’s cock stretching you, his tongue gliding along your skin, his whispered words of broken praise murmured against your neck.

Strangely, your body feels absolutely amazing when you finally manage to gain the slightest bit of awareness of your obligations again.  You feel like you’re floating above everything, almost dreamlike in how unbelievably satisfied you feel.  

You slowly blink up at the ceiling, and then suddenly remember the nine-hundred call you have to make.  You’re both naked, sprawled out on top of your mattress, and Cassian—

“Cass—” you rasp, pulling on the thick waves of hair tangled between your fingers and feeling his hot tongue slip out of your pussy.  It’s still slightly dark in your room, but that could just be the horrendous weather blocking the sun.  “What—what time is it?  Did we miss—?”

“Almost eight,” Cassian rumbles low against your thigh.  “We still have some time before we need to get up.”

You lurch into startled awareness, getting go of him to prop yourself you on your elbows.  “But that’s—no, we have to shower, and—”

“A ten minute walk to the hangar from here, yes?”  Cassian reasons, pressing a lazy kiss to your thigh and not sounding bothered in the slightest.  “Twenty minutes to shower together, ten minutes to get dressed.  We have at least ten more minutes before we need to think about getting up.”

You shudder and blink down at him, naked and relaxed as he mouths over your skin.  Maker, how can everything change and yet still be so familiar at the same time?

“I think I might crash my x-wing today,” you finally breathe out, dropping your shoulders back down to the mattress once again.

“No,” he returns, turning his head to kiss your other thigh.  “You will not.  Because I checked my holopad earlier, and they sent the coordinates for red squadron’s patrols.”

You narrow your eyebrows at the ceiling.  What does that have to do with anyth—?

And then you suddenly go shock-still under him, trying not to let the blind, overwhelming hope surge up inside you.

“Bring extra credits, caraya,” Cassian murmurs, lowering his head back down between your legs.  “We are going to Lothal.”

[vagrantblvrd]

The one where the Empire is more of a presence post-Endor than in canon.

Events take place (more or less) the same as in the show, only Din ends up hiding out from the Empire?

Boba still kills Bib Fortuna and takes over Jabba’s old throne and the whatnot and Din is like, ah, yes, this seems like a good place to hide out for a while?

(Because Boba and Fennec have his back and anyway, why would the Empire have any interest in a place like Tatooine???)

And then this ~smuggler strolls on in and while the whole place goes dead silent.

And Luke - who is, of course, posing a smuggler because association with this Solo jackass and all and the Empire’s looking for some hotshot X-wing pilot,and anyway, simplest and most effective cover identity really - is just like, “Been a while, Fett,” like a gunslinger walking into town for a showdown.

Din’s convinces someone’s going to die (and not of fun), but Boba just starts laughing and Luke cracks a smile and then things get back to normal?

Except for the bit where Boba gestures for Din and his kid to follow to his office or whatever, and then shenanigans?

Things in which Boba realizes Din and his tiny green gremlin kid won’t be safe with the Empire hunting them, but Skywalker is supposed to be a Jedi and he’s just...he’s good in a way most people aren’t, right?

Even if he and Bob have their issues thanks to Solo and the whatnot he’s sure Skywalker will help Din and his kid out - kid’s Force-sensitive so that’s got to get him interested, and anyway.

Shenanigans involving exciting space shoot-em-ups and pew-pew blaster/laser sword fights and Din being like “How is this better for me and the kid???” what with the Empire also after Luke and friends for the whole killing the Emperor and Vader and whatnot.

But also they go to this hideaway place somewhere after a close call, Luke’s prosthetic hand ruined and in need of repair and while Din helps where he can, but the thing is trashed and it’s more liability than anything else.

(But also that moment with Luke trying to get it to a manageable state in the middle of the night or whatever and Din wanders in and quietly offers to help, what with Luke getting hurt saving Grogu and such. Quiet conversation and oh no, he’s hot moments and the whatnot.)

Cut off from Luke’s usual friends and contacts and he still hesitated before telling Din he knows a place they can go, someone who can help fix his hand and anyway, nowhere else to run at the moment, so.

Off they go to some near-forgotten little place and this hideaway and Din, this is Luke’s dad, you may have heard of him by another name but we’ll not be talking about that just yet, and anyway, anyway.

Din who gets the feeling he’s missing something, what with the significant looks Luke and Anakin share, and then Ahsoka turns up and is old pals with Rex and Cody and this Kenobi guy she brings with her and just, idk, random AU where the Empire is still present and it’s just.

~Spy shenanigans and Obi-Wan and Anakin not dying and just. Jumbled mess of things because it’s late and I’m tired and yes. /o\

Also, also, Din Pining over Luke and Anakin side-eyeing him because his dumb kid (takes after Anakin like that too) is likewise Pining and Obi-Wan and Ahsoka off to the side sipping tea and enjoying the show because it’s so entertaining???

(Skywalkers, okay, amazing idiots.)

Some Plot somewhere/somewhen when this pair of Mandalorian bounty hunters stroll into an Imperial base with, idk, the intent to turn either Han or Leia in because the Imperials got their hands on Grogu andt his is their best plan, and anyway.

Luke wearing Mandalorian armor to rescue Grogu and Din being super distracted once they’re out of there and headed somewhere safe. Whoever is with them is like >:DDDDDDDDD because Din keeps staring at Luke and it’s both hilarious and adorable, and anyway.

Yes???

[whirlybirbs]

                                                  (   gif by @barissoffee​     )

      ---   STARJOCKEY & CO.   ;   1 of ?

summary: the bad batch gets a pilot.  pairing: twi’lek!reader x hunter word count: 2.1 a/n: i love the bitter enemies to friends trope, i love twi’leks, i love racer characters, and i love smashing them all together. hunter is a babe and i love the boys. will contain spoilers for s7 of tcw. set loosely before s7.

Cody wonders, as himself and the four soldiers behind him amble towards the GAR’s main hangar bay on Coruscant, if this is a fool’s errand.

But -- Clone Force 99 isn’t like all the other squadron’s in the Grand Army of the Republic. They were special ops. Independent, reporting to no one but themselves. Arguably the best of the best, and...

They needed a pilot.

Cody had raked through the file and rank trying to find someone suitable to run details with the Bad Batch, but... he kept coming back to you. 

That’s saying something, really, because good civvie pilots rarely stuck around -- more often than not, they came in the form of racers caught on the upper levels of Coruscant who were offered two choices: serve out your sentence, or fly a few transport missions under the GAR for compensation and waived time in general population. 

A win-win for some.

The truth was pilots were few and far between with the height of the Outer Rim Sieges in swing -- the GAR’s AirCorp was busy running dogfights rather than transport details. The piloting courses were the longest inscription time of all, aside from Commando-bas training. So, somewhere along the line this business model was cooked up.

Serve the cause and drop the charge.

You were no different from all the others... at first. 

You’d been bagged by Fox sometime last year while being crowned the winning racer in a tourney on the 34th level. Fox’s boys clocked you coming over the line well over the legal speed limit -- and then, you proceeded to lead them on a chase through the entire Financial District that ended with a wreck that left your ride in a ball of fire and Lt. Dive in the medbay for two days. 

When you were bagged you took the latter of the deals offered. One week later, you’d flown Cody himself and five other 212th boys through the thick of Felucia’s frontline on a medical supply run. When the Sep’s spotted the LAAT/i and began laying down cover fire, you’d somehow managed to get the ship outta the drop zone without a single scathe. 

And then it happened again. And again, and again. You were good. You’d managed to land an LAAT/i with only one working engine on Ithor, flown steady through a sandstorm on Jakku, and deployed an entire battalion’s worth of reinforcements to Umbara in the short time you’d flown for the GAR. Under your wings, not a single casualty.

You flew Cody on six runs total, to various Outer Rim siege points, before your charges were waived. 

But, you stuck around. 

Lucky for Cody. 

In all honesty, it was better work than what you were used to -- racing was just a hobby. In reality, it was smuggling paid that bills. And it did enough, sure, but it was dangerous work. Especially if the supplier doesn’t disclose you’re hauling a Class-45B controlled toxin and a canister ruptures mid-flight. Or, if the Nexu kittens decide to orchestrate a coordinated prison break from their crates half-way to the trade markets on Zygerria. 

You still had scars from that one. 

The GAR paid civilians well enough. You could afford a decent apartment on the 56th level of the Senate District; a quick zip to the Garrison. You’d even gotten a wiped record on the third month of running supplies. 

You hadn’t seen Commander Fox’s face when he’d handed over the datapad explaining the details, but you could tell the head of Capital Security was not pleased. Not surprising. But, you’d waltzed outta that office with your head held high. 

This gig was a new start.

You liked Clone Marshall Commander Cody. 

He was -- by far -- your favorite of the upper-ranks to work with. He was kind, but beneath the exterior of leader there was a bit of an attitude. It all made sense when you’d met the General Jedi he served under. Two sides of the same coin. Cody laughed when you’d explained that you got it now. 

It was reassuring to know Cody liked you, too. Trusted you, even.

You suppose if that wasn’t the case, then you wouldn’t be here now. 

... Getting a squadron assignment.

"Cody, this ship is a nightmare.”

The first time the Bad Batch ever lays eyes on you, you’re swaggering off of the jet-black ship’s landing ramp with gloved hands on your hips. The look on your face is one of playful anger, directed directly at the Grand Marshall Commander who barks a laugh at the jest. 

“Is it now?”

“I hate this!”

From around the back of the ship, it’s the voice of a FA-4 pilot droid that cries out the indignant exclamation -- you grin, watching as the droid in question wheels out from the underbelly and waves it’s skinny little arms. It’s got a bundle of chewed through wiring in it’s hands.

“I could kill you, Commander,” the droid whines, female-coded voice emerging from it’s vocalizer. The matte black body of the droid is littered in neon graffiti -- on it’s faceplate, a lopsided smiley face is painted in hot pink. It’s wheels kick up with a wwwwiiiirrrrrr as it skirts around the trooper in question, “We’ll be lucky is this ship flies.”

“Calm down, Deemi,” you wave off the droid, D-M1, as she rounds the nose of the ship to discard the useless wiring from the landing gear, “It’ll fly.”

“Says you!”

You roll your eyes, scoffing at the flustered droid as you approach Cody. 

“Is it really that bad?” he asks lowly, suddenly concerned.

“It’s certainly not great,” you mumble, looking back over your shoulder. You swipe at your forehead. Your red-tinted goggles sit around your throat, “... How’d you get this ship again?”

“Repo,” Cody says curtly, “Smugglers. Maybe you knew ‘em.”

"Ha, ha.”

Hunter is skeptical. 

He’s heard enough about you from Cody, but -- the Twi’lek before him looks less like a street racing criminal hotshot and more like a holo-star. Your skin, peachy and dappled, paints you softer than he imagined. He’d expected someone... taller. Scarred. Rough.

A man, maybe.

Not a pretty little Twi’lek.

“This the pilot you’ve been talkin’ about, then, Commander? Or is it the droid?”

Both you and Cody turn around, then, and you notice that four visored eyes are glued on you. The one in the front, tall and broad with half a skull painted on his helmet, is the one that spoke. Low and rough. Different from all the voices you’d come to know in the hangar. 

Bitter. Condescending. Cold.

And just like that, you settle on the fact you don’t like him.

You watch his visor move down your figure, then; your lekku curl, swatting despite the fact they’re pinned back by the black headpiece strapped tightly across your crest. 

Tech, from behind Crosshair, can read the gesture of obscenity with ease. He has to hide a laugh into his fist.

Your cross your arms across your chest and lean, cocking a hip. You mimic the gesture, dragging your eyes up his long legs and battered, jet-black armor. He’s built different from Cody. More compact. A bit taller.

“Eyes are up here, boc’ara,” the Ryl sounds foreign, more like a hiss than anything, and when Cody sees the flash of your incisors, he knows to step up. 

“Er, boys, meet your new pilot,” Cody says your name, eyes bounding between you and the Leader of the Bad Batch, “Zip, this is --”

“Zip?” the soldier scoff, arms crossed over his chest plate.

Cody pinches his brow. Is he gonna have to explain the nickname?

“It’s --”

“It’s nice to meet you, Miss Zip,” suddenly offers a small trooper, squeezing around the leader of the squad. His eyes are big and brown behind goggles -- but kind, nonetheless, “My name is Tech.”

Suddenly, a hand is in your personal space. You can’t help but quirk a smile. You shake his hand easily, watching as the smaller trooper lights up at the friendly exchange.

“I’d enjoy speaking Ryl with you, sometime.”

“Yeah?” you ask, realizing that he must have caught the insult earlier.

“Ka,” the trooper chirps in Ryl, eyes squinting happily, “I am not very good -- and I enjoy the language. Sounds pretty.”

“Arni,” you grin, thanking him as you nod, “I’d like that, Tech.”

With a amicable smile, the trooper weaves around you and moves towards the ship.

“Th’ big one is Wrecker,” Cody says, then, gesturing to the biggest one in the back who offers a wave -- he moves forward, clapping the leader on the back as he does. You hear a light oof emerge from his vocalizer. 

“Ignore Mister Moody,” the man bellows, “Welcome to the Bad Batch, girly!”

You watch as the towering man moves to follow Tech, most likely to inspect the ship. You turn to Cody, raise a brow, and cock your head. “... Bad Batch?” 

“We ain’t like the others,” comes a fourth voice, raspy and coarse. This trooper is similar in size to the leader, with a charcoal colored helmet. The sniper rifle on his shoulder gives away his position in the squad, “An’ you ain’t a reg.”

You’re not entirely sure what that means, and you can’t tell if this one is trying to size you up or not. 

So, you offer a hand, unwavering from your spot. He shakes it after a moment of consideration. 

“Crosshair.”

“Nice to meet you.”

“Is it?”

“Maybe,” you measure, “Haven’t decided yet.”

That earns a laugh from the sniper -- and Crosshair swats at Cody’s arm. 

“I like her.”

“Yeah, well, what did I say?”

“You said she was good,” comes the last voice -- the leader, who has yet to move from his spot. He’s rooted there, with his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed beneath his helmet, “Real good.”

“Zip, this is Hunter,” Cody says slowly, “Sergeant of Clone Force 99.”

“Sergeant? With an attitude like that?”

Cody chokes on his words. 

Hunter rolls his eyes, pushing off his pose and moving towards the ship. He changes the subject quickly. “The droid says it won’t fly.”

“The droid,” comes an aggravated voice, “has a name!”

D-M1 proceeds to bonk straight into Hunter’s leg, then, spurring a laugh out yourself and the other members of the Bad Batch. You cover your mouth, shaking your head slightly. 

“My designation is D-M1,” she barks, “Don’t be ungrateful.”

Cody smirks. 

You push past the Sergeant, shrugging. “You heard the droid.”

Hunter’s eye twitches. 

Cody offers an apologetic look to the Sergeant as he enters the Havoc Marauder, following your lead. With a sigh, Hunter follows. The inside of the ship is in decent enough shape, and Tech pokes around the navicomputer as you throw yourself into the pilot’s seat. That droid whirs by Hunter again, bonking his leg on the way by, and moves to your side. 

“The biggest issue is the transmission,” you say, “And the fact the navi-coordinates are, like, half a klik off. That will be a problem come the jump to hyperspace.”

“How long ‘til it’s fixed?”

“Give me a day.”

Hunter leans in the cockpit doorway. “We don’t have a day.”

“Then find another ship and find another pilot,” you spit past Cody, swiveling to toss the insult his way, “Not my problem.”

“We can push the op back a day,” Cody cuts in, settling his between you both, “Do what you can, Zip. Tomorrow -- 0600 -- I want you up on deck. We’re gonna cover op in the debrief.”

“Oh, yeah, forget the droid --”

You snicker. 

Cody rolls his eyes. “Deemi, you can come, too.”

“Thank you.”

“You boys are dismissed,” Cody calls out, “You heard the time?”

“0600,” Crosshair nods, waving off the Commander, “Got it.”

“Try not to screw our ride in the mean time, yea?” Hunter shoots your way, “Baca’ra.”

The insult he tries to land in Ryl misses by a long shot. You snort at the mispronunciation. 

Behind him, Tech corrects the leader. 

“It’s boc’ara.”

“Whatever.”

When the entirety of the Bad Batch exits the ship, you give Cody a look. You swivel in the pilot’s chair, arms across your chest. You cross your leg, ignoring the grease smears along the neon green flight suit. You drum your fingers on your arm. 

Finally, when you hear their voices receed, you make a face. “Th’ hell was that?” 

“I should have warned you,” Cody groans, “They’re... different.”

“What’s with the...?” you gesture to your face, referencing Tech’s glasses.

Cody pinches his nose again. “The Bad Batch are... genetically different. Clones, but... with desirable mutations. They’re a shadow ops team and -- and you’re the only civilian pilot I know that can handle them and their assignments.”

“There’s nothing desirable about Hunter --”

“He’s a little rough around the edges. He’ll warm up,” Cody promises, “He will. He always does.”

You plan on holding Cody to it. 

Cody wonders, as he wanders back to the barracks through GAR’s main hangar bay alone, if this really is a fool’s errand.

[freelancearsonist]

Symbiotic

Poe Dameron x fem!Reader

Rated MA for graphic sexual content and use of language

3,550 words

A/N: This was inspired by this gif of Oscar Isaac from Ex Machina is it hot in here or is it just me?. Feedback and requests are always welcomed and appreciated! :)

He had caught your eye the moment he landed in the hangar, jumping out of his busted up x-wing with a grace that was rare from such pilots.

You were about as close to the top of the totem pole as you could be without having the responsibilities of someone at the top. Your title was “Agent”--you were above Phasma but below Hux and you liked having a different life from the rest of the people in the First Order.

Your job was to gather information from around the galaxy and hand it over to Hux, and you did a fantastic job of it.

So, naturally, when the Resistance’s top pilot showed up on the doorstep and there were whispers of him having defected, you were called up immediately. If anyone could get the truth out of him, you could.

You weren’t necessarily expecting him to be the most handsome man you’d ever laid eyes on, but your work came first. You interrogated him for hours that first day, grilling him ruthlessly and exchanging flirty comments until you were sure that his loyalties were to the First Order.

You learned two things, right off the bat, about Poe Dameron.

One, he was a terrible liar. He couldn’t tell you that he hated General Organa without his lip trembling. She’d been something like a surrogate mother to him, but he’d made a choice that would benefit everyone. A choice to preserve justice.

Two, he was different from the rest of the First Order, just like you. He wasn’t here because he had a taste for blood or because he wanted to get revenge on someone. He wanted order. He wanted to stop watching his loved ones get hurt because there was no one to protect them.

You despised violence, too. That was why you worked in intel.

Naturally, Poe had been taken with you from the very beginning. You weren’t cold and unfeeling like some of the other people around the base, and you were beautiful. He hadn’t expected someone of your caliber to be here, and he was thankful as hell that you’d been assigned to him as his welcome party.

You also found out that he led with his tongue and that he oozed confidence, but those weren’t professional observations.

Affection wasn’t outrightly condemned by the First Order, but there was definitely a nonverbal agreement among its members that romance didn’t really have a place in such an organization. So it was great, really, that you weren’t technically an officer, because it meant you could do almost anything you wanted to with minimal consequences.

Poe barely waited two days to make his move on you.

His second night on base, Poe started banging on the door to your quarters like the whole planet was on fire.

“You’re gonna get yourself in trouble,” you hissed before grabbing ahold of his shirt collar and pulling him inside. You checked up and down the hallway before shutting the door behind him. “Why are you here?”

“Wanted to see you,” he shrugged like it was nothing.

“Why would you want to see me?”

He shrugged again. “You’re the closest thing I have to a friend around here. And I was bored, and I had an idea.”

You smirked teasingly as you brushed your hair behind your ears. “Great. Those are never good for you.”

“Wow, okay,” he gasped, feigning offense. “Harsh. No, I think you’ll like this idea.”

“Well, are you gonna tell me what it is? Or are you gonna leave me in suspense forever?”

“Think of it as a symbiotic relationship,” he explained, unconsciously ruffling his beautiful, dense curls. “I know you’re the best spy around here. I know all of the Resistance’s secrets. You’ll get so many awards for that kind of intel, you won’t know what to do with ‘em all.”

You couldn’t deny that the prospect was appealing. As much as the First Order appreciated the information you drudged up, your well had been running dry recently. Whatever Poe had to give you would definitely be priceless.

You raised an eyebrow. “Why would you give me that kind of information? What’s in it for you?”

His mouth turned up in a smirk, and you almost audibly gulped.

“I get to rail the hottest woman in the galaxy.”

Ten minutes later, you had a hand clapped over his mouth to silence his gorgeous moans as he blew his load on your heaving chest.

You were definitely getting more out of the bargain than he was. Not only did he give you one of the Resistance’s main supply routes in exchange for sucking him off, but you got to suck him off. You’d had your eyes set on him since he first set foot in the hangar. You had been lonely for a while, and you could tell that he had been, too. It was nice to take comfort in someone else, even if it was only for a little while.

The next time he knocked on your door, he offered you the name of a high-level Resistance intel operative. Basically the Resistance’s version of you. He ate you out that time, returning the favor for your previous encounter and also so he could find out what you liked. He’d need that information for the next time you got together.

He put it to good use when he came to give you the intel operative’s last known location.

He finally fucked you that time, on your knees from behind with your back up against his chest. He panted and whimpered against your shoulder as his fingers expertly worked your clit and your tits. You came four times that night in just one hour with Poe, and you felt it every time you moved for the rest of the week.

You tried desperately not to fall for him. You knew it was just sex. It was just a fun way to relieve stress, and it was aiding your career. Still, you couldn’t help developing some sort of fondness for Poe. You found yourself hoping for his familiar knock every night when you were alone in your quarters, and the nights he didn’t come by you would usually end up touching yourself to the thought of him.

But it was just sex. You couldn’t afford for it to be anything more, and he hadn’t given you any indication that he shared your affections.

You didn’t know what came over you, but all you could remember of the previous five minutes, when Poe opened the door to his quarters, was feeling a crippling loneliness in your room by yourself.

He was surprised to see you since you’d never knocked on his door before, but his face lit up instantly.

“Agent (Y/L/N). You’re up late.”

He wasn’t wrong. It was two in the morning.

“So are you.”

He chuckled at that. “Touché. Did you need something?”

God, he sounded like sex. How was that even possible?

“Yeah. You.”

That was the first time he’d ever kissed you. Before then he would trail open-mouthed kisses over your body, but in five times of being together in the most intimate way possible he’d never bridged that gap. Kissing was too intimate. Too dangerous.

He’d always loved danger, and you were as dangerous as it got.

He wanted you to stay that night after he’d fucked you--rough and fast from behind, because he couldn’t let himself get too close yet--but he understood that you couldn’t. You would someday, though. He would make sure of it.

Poe Dameron’s biggest weakness was his heart. It was too big for his own good. Sure, he’d wanted your relationship to be purely physical. It would’ve been easier for both of you, considering who you worked for. But he’d been attached from the very first moment you’d touched him, and not just because you were oddly good at giving head. He wasn’t flattering you when he said he thought you were the hottest woman in the galaxy. He truly believed it, and he was falling for you.

If he was smart, he would’ve called off your little arrangement before it became too much for the pair of you to handle. But he wanted to be selfish for once in his life.

You weren’t fucking him for the intel anymore. More often than not, he didn’t give you anything new, anyway, but you didn’t care. You wanted him, not Resistance secrets. As much as you hated to admit it, you were falling for him. Hard and fast.

He didn’t know why he thought it was a good idea. You were just so fucking good with your mouth, and he was feeling a bit lonlier than usual.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he mumbled with a tenderness in his voice that scared you as you licked his come off of your lips. You smiled to yourself anyway, gently biting the sensitive skin of his thigh before pushing yourself to your feet. 

“I think I love you.”

Fucking shit. Of course he had to make this difficult.

“A horrible decision on your part, really,” you mumbled, pressing a chaste kiss to his jaw before you adjusted your shirt and tried your hardest not to sprint out of his quarters.

The bastard actually smiled as he watched you flee, though, because he knew what it meant. Maybe you didn’t say it back, but you loved him, too. And the way you ran all but confirmed it.

You tried to avoid him after that, but he was impossible to shake off.

“Why are you scared?” He asked with a wide smile one night after he trapped you in an abandoned hallway.

You knew exactly what the real question he was asking was. Why are you scared of loving me?

“Because I don’t want to stand out in a crowd of unfeeling killers!” You hissed before you could stop yourself.

He let it sink in for a moment, and it hit him a lot harder than it should’ve.

He didn’t know why he was surprised at your wavering loyalty. You’d described how hard you’d fought to remain, technically, out of the First Order’s ranks. Still, he was shocked that you weren’t truly as dedicated as you pretended to be.

“If you don’t trust them, why are you here?”

“Because I don’t have a reason not to be,” you whispered, trying your damnedest to escape him.

He pressed closer still, completely trapping you between his arms as he supported himself against the wall. “We could leave.”

“No, we can’t,” you snapped. Your eyes frantically glanced up and down the hallway. You never knew when someone could be watching or listening--or both.

“Yes, we can,” he insisted quietly. “I still have contacts in the Resistance.”

“I know you do.”

“You do?”

You smiled sourly. “You’re a terrible liar, Poe Dameron. I know you’re not here because of loyalty to the First Order. I knew from the very first time we spoke.”

He gaped at your confession. “You knew I was here on a mission?”

“Of course I knew. How could I not? You stuck out like a sore thumb, Poe, and I dig up secrets for a living. That, and, every time you gave me a base location or a trading route, the rebels were surprisingly prepared for attack. That only happens when there’s a mole on the inside.”

He pushed himself away from the wall as he let your words soak in. He hadn’t meant to give you a window to escape him, but you took the opportunity without a second thought.

He knocked on your door that night. You turned off the lights, locked your door, and pretended you were out.

You wanted his comfort that night, especially since you didn’t know when you would get the chance again. You would be leaving for a mission in the morning--a simple intel exchange at some hotshot senator’s wedding. You weren’t sure how long you would be away, though, and you wanted Poe to wish you luck. He was really, really good at it.

You needed the night to think things over, though.

One thing was for certain: this had become far more than a casual sex-for-information exchange. You were in love with Poe Dameron and--stranger yet--he was in love with you. He was offering you a way out of this.

But you didn’t really want a way out. Law and order were important to you, and they were also important to the First Order.

How bad could the Resistance be, though, when they had someone like Poe Dameron?

It didn’t matter. You had chosen your course in life, and if that meant you had to stop casually fucking Poe, then you would do it. It would break your heart, but you would do it.

He barged into your room the next morning while you were packing.

“Don’t go.”

You sighed deeply, straightening the fabric of your short a-line dress as you set some folded clothes into the bag on your mattress.

“I have to. Important intel drop. If I don’t, they’ll kill me.”

You turned to face him, and you regretted it immediately. He’d skipped the typical gray officer uniform, instead opting for a navy blue sweatshirt that he’d left half-unzipped (with nothing underneath) and a pair of tight athletic pants. You had no doubt that he’d specifically formulated this outfit to turn you on, and it was working. The little amount of his chest you could see was enough to have your thighs squeezed together, and the view of his bulge...

But you had to go. You would be in some deep shit if you didn’t.

“I’m leaving today,” he told you quietly once he’d closed the door behind him. “Come with me. Please.”

“I can’t.”

“You can.”

“Why are you so fucking impossible?” You sighed, exasperated.

He took a step closer, his eyes already dark. Your dress was low-cut, and he didn’t even try to hide the fact that he was staring at your wonderful cleavage.

“Because I’m in love with you. And you’re in love with me.”

“No I’m not.”

He smirked, and it was the closest you’d ever seen him to actually looking like a First Order officer. “Yes, you are. Say it.”

“Fuck off, Dameron. I don’t have time for this.”

He’d gotten dangerously close, and every instinct in your body told you to push him away. Instead, you found yourself wrapping your arms around his neck.

“I like fucking you, but I’m not in love with you,” you whispered against his neck, and even you didn’t believe yourself.

“Sure, sweetheart. Whatever you say.”

He led with his tongue, just like he always had. It was a little different this time, though. He kissed you with everything he had, like he was trying to convince you to leave with him. He was. You could feel his hands on your thighs, squeezing and kneading until they slid up to your ass, pushing the skirt of your dress up with them.

He let out a groan when his fingers came into contact with the skimpy thong you were wearing.

“Fucking... what's with this, baby?”

You shrugged simply, reluctant to pull away from his kiss. “It’s comfortable.”

You didn’t realize that he was walking you backwards until your back met the wall, separated only by Poe’s hands tightly gripping your ass.

You kissed him desperately, trying as hard as you could to show him what you couldn’t say.

And then his hand slid down between your thighs and his middle finger pushed into your dripping cunt.

“Fuck!” You bit down on his clothed shoulder to silence yourself, knowing that there was a good chance someone walking by had heard your exclamation.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he whispered soothingly, pressing a kiss to your temple. “So fucking wet already. You get off on lying to me, huh? You get off on playing with me?”

You whimpered, unsure of how to respond. Your last intention had been to hurt his feelings. But there was something inherently hot about the idea of him forcing those three words out of your mouth.

His free hand slid around your hip and between your thighs, rubbing frantically at your clit while the other hand kept you close and pushed into you with two fingers, slow and deep.

“Come for me, baby. I want you to come on my fingers and tell me you don’t love me.”

He bit and sucked at your neck, pressing you further into the wall, and the overload of sensation shoved you over the edge with force. You bit his shoulder again--hard, but in a different place so you didn’t hurt him too much--as your legs shook and your juices flowed over his palm.

“I can’t,” you gasped as his fingers continued working you. You couldn’t tell if it was a protest to his continued ministrations on your overly sensitive cunt or a protest of what he’d begged you to say. It was a little bit of both, you supposed.

He kissed you as you came down, and you gasped when he pulled away to lick your orgasm off of his fingers.

“You always taste so good,” he muttered, his free hand wrapping around your waist to guide you over to the bed. You pulled your dress over your head before you gracefully fell onto your back and pushed your bag away. Automatically, you spread your legs to accommodate him.

His dark eyes raked over you appreciatively, a boyish smile spreading over his face. “No bra?”

You smiled coyly. “Dress was too low-cut.”

He growled as he scrambled his clothes off, practically pouncing when you reached to remove your underwear.

“Leave it on. You’re gonna wear that for the rest of the day so you think about me every time you cross your legs.”

You pouted a little bit as he started pressing hot kisses all over your torso. “That’s not fair. I soaked through it.”

He smiled wickedly. “I know, sweetheart. You think it’ll get soaked with my come, too?”

You gasped at the idea of wearing his seed for the rest of the day as you watched him pull his boxers off. You didn’t see where he threw them to--you were too busy taking him in. This was the first time he’d fucked you on your back in all of your months together, so the only time you ever got to appreciate him was when you sucked him off.

And stars did he deserve appreciation. He was so thick that it felt like the first time whenever he pushed into you, with texture and veins that you could feel every time he was deep inside of you. The head was your favorite part, though. It was swollen with arousal and it was turning a deep shade of purple. It was hard not to involuntarily open your mouth when you saw him.

Your wanting hand reached for his cock, but he gently took it away as he crawled on top of you. You expected him to pin your wrists above your head--something he had shown his appreciation for a couple of times before--but instead he intertwined his fingers with yours and pressed a sweet kiss to the back of your hand.

That was it.

“I love you.” You would’ve been surprised by your admission, but you knew it was coming. It had been for a long time.

He smiled triumphantly as he tucked your underwear aside and lined himself up with your entrance. “I know.”

He pushed in fast and the stretch was insane but he paused to let you adjust, kissing you deeply and overwhelming you with the lingering taste of your arousal on his tongue.

“Always so fuckin’ tight,” he murmured as he trailed kisses all over your face. “Made for me, though. Fuckin’ love that pussy of yours.”

You gasped and bit down on his shoulder as he started rocking his hips into yours slowly, squeezing the hand he was still holding.

Usually he was rough and fast, trying to make you come as hard as physically possible. Now, though, he took his time. His thrusts were deep and slow--focused. He loved you, and he proved it to you with every inch of his body.

Somehow--you couldn’t explain it--that made you come easier than his frantic rutting and fast circles on your clit ever had.

He moaned long and loud at the feeling of you clenching around him, picking up his pace just a little bit.

“So close, baby. Can I come inside you, sweetheart?”

You nodded, eyes shut tightly from the pleasurable overload of sensation. “Please.”

He came hard, with a beautiful series of groans that almost tipped you over the edge again, and made sure your thong was put back in place so it could soak up all of his come before he collapsed beside you on the mattress.

You had cuddled maybe once before, but Poe was quick to pull you into his arms so your head rested on his chest. You trailed languid kisses over his skin as he stroked your hair.

“What if you waited until I got back to leave?” You mumbled against his chest.

“What if I picked you up after your intel drop?”

You paused thoughtfully. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he hummed.

THE END

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