#i LOVE saying 'that one time in the desert' when the whole planet is a desert it's so unhelpful its funny. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

antxlss · 8 months

Text

the set up

pairing: anakin skywalker x jedi!reader

summary: after the mission you were sent on with your enemy, anakin skywalker, goes wrong, you both start to question if it was even a real mission at all.

warnings: being held prisoner, language

words: 3.7k

a/n: this is a long one! this is a really fun story, especially if you are interested the whole mission oriented thing. my requests are open, feel free to send some! as always, i hope you enjoy, much love! <3

-—————————⋆｡‧˚ʚɞ˚‧｡⋆—————————-

Today, you and Anakin were sent out on another mission. Your goal was to scout out a separatist base on a planet in the outer rim.

Your shared fighter ship landed on the rocky surface of the planet. You decided to land about 2 miles out from the base and you were going to walk the rest on foot to keep from drawing attention.

As you and Anakin got out of the ship, the wind was strong enough that it almost knocked you back inside.

You both secured your weapons to your back as Anakin took a deep breath and started walking into the desert.

"This planet always seems so desolate, but there's always something lurking in the shadows." He spoke in a voice that almost sounded like he was just thinking out loud.

He then turned to you, and he still had a bit of a serious look on his face.

"You ready for this mission?" He asked.

"Of course I am. You always underestimate me." You roll your eyes. "Now let's get going."

You and Anakin started hiking your way over the rocky terrain towards the base.

"Did Kenobi tell you about this planet?" You ask, breaking the silence.

"What about it?" Anakin replied with a flat tone.

"There are frequent earthquakes here, so stay close and keep your eyes open." I warned.

He just nodded in response.

"Alright then." Anakin replied quietly as he turned away from you. He was always so mysterious when you spoke to him, as if he had something to hide.

As you both made your way across the terrain you noticed something.

"Anakin." You said with a worried tone, as you pointed to the ground.

"What?" Anakin asked, sounding slightly irritated at you.

"Shh." You said, shushing Anakin.

You then noticed it too, the ground beneath your feet started to ripple.

You looked at Anakin with wide eyes. "What do we do?"

A rumbling sound began and it got louder and louder by the second. The ground violently shifted sending you flying on top of Anakin. He fell to the ground with you on top of him. The ground continued to shake as stray rocks flew all around you.

Before you had a chance to say anything, you could feel Anakin put you into an embrace. His arms were wrapped tightly around you, shielding you from the flying rocks and debris.

His face was pressed up against yours, his eyes staring back at you in surprise.

You could see through the emotion in Anakin's eyes that he felt the same surprise and worry that you did. A feeling of mutual protection and safety from the events happening around you.

All that safety was gone in an instant as you saw the ground around you slowly give away. Turns out this "mountain" you were on, was actually hollow. It took no communication between yourself and Anakin to jump up and desperately try to run before the ground beneath you fell.

Anakin had a tight grasp on your wrist as he yanked you behind him trying to keep the two of you on stable ground, but to no avail. The ground gave beneath you and you and your partner fell about 13 feet into what looked to be a natural made cave.

You both hit the floor hard but Anakin was able to cushion you a bit as you fell. You were covered in dirt and debris from the ground that fell beneath you.

You had a moment to think about what was happening. But you didn't have time to wonder.

You heard other footsteps, running towards you, coming from the base that you were approaching.

"Get down!" Anakin whispered to you as he pushed you to the ground, both of you trying to remain out of sight.

You immediately obeyed Anakin and fell back down into his arms as the footsteps continued to approach.

Anakin put his hand over your mouth, in an attempt to keep you quiet.

You could feel the beating of Anakin's heart against your body and you could see his eyes, full of alert and anxiety.

The footsteps kept approaching. Closer now to you.

The footsteps were loud, as they drew within a few feet of you both. And then there was silence. Anakin was breathing heavily, the two of you waiting to see what would happen next.

"Who's there?!" A loud, booming voice echoed.

You had to stay quiet, so you pressed you hands over your mouth. Anakin was doing the same.

The footsteps were approaching again, as if someone was circling the both of you.

"I swear I heard something. Like two people hiding." The voice continued.

Your own hear was beating in your head as you tried to focus. The footsteps were getting louder now, it seemed as if the footsteps were circling around Anakin and your location.

There was fear in Anakin's eyes and you could feel his heart beating like it was going to jump out of his chest.

"Locate them immediately." The voice finished.

Anakin went to reach for his lightsaber, but he was devastated to find his lightsaber was not hooked to his belt. It must've gotten lost during the fall.

With no warning Anakin shot his hand over to your hip to search your your lightsaber, to find that the same had happened to you. Your eye's widened with worry and realization.

Your only option now was to hide and fight with your hands if it came down to it.

Anakin turned to you with a look of fear and determination.

He put his finger over his lips in an attempt to hush you once again.

Then a pair of footsteps approached you in a heavy, mechanical step. You and Anakin both remained quiet, hoping to remain hidden.

You could feel Anakin's heart racing against you, and you could feel both of you becoming more and more tense with every passing moment of silence.

All of a sudden a rough hand grabbed you and yanked you up. You looked over to see the same was happening to Anakin. You immediately knew what was happening once you saw the face of Anakin's attacker.

Pirates.

We must've fallen into their secret base.

You struggled against the force of the pirate. He eventually pinned your hands behind you back and slapped a pair of force restraining cuffs on you. You continued to struggle as he put a blindfold over your face.

"Anakin! Help!" you screamed.

You'd never thought you would ask Anakin Skywalker for help, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

You screamed out for Anakin, hoping that he would save you from this fate.

But your screams were useless. Anakin wasn't able to help you this time.

Anakin was already blindfolded on the ground. You felt the pirate shove you up against him, holding a blaster to the back of your head.

"Quiet." The pirate whispered in your ear.

You had been caught, and the pirates were going to make sure you stayed that way. They pushed the two of you in front of them as they left the base, taking the two of you as hostages.

You walked in darkness for what felt like ages, until you felt the pirates shove you into a chair and tie your legs and arms to it. You were still in the force restraint cuffs, so there was no hope there.

All of a sudden your vision was filled with light as your blindfold was ripped of if you. You quickly turned you head to search for Anakin. Your nerves were settled when you saw he was right next to you, tied in the same manner.

The pirates walked up and ripped Anakin's blindfold off as they had did yours just a few seconds ago. His eyes met yours and you saw him visibly relax. Your attention was redirected when the pirates began to speak.

"Jedi. What an interesting catch." One said.

"Yes, and they came right to us." The other laughed in response.

Anakin looked at you as the pirates spoke. You could see the worry in his eyes, as well as the fear. It was almost as if Anakin had expected this outcome to occur.

"We're going to make a wonderful profit off of you two." The pirate continued, grinning from ear to ear.

Then Anakin spoke.

"Let us go."

The main pirate laughed a deep, sinister laugh.

"Let you go? No, there is no fun in that." He spoke in a mocking tone.

"Say Horo, how much do you think the Empire would pay to have these Jedi Knights in their hands?" The pirate asked with a sinister smile.

"Well Venka, I'm wonder how much the Jedi Council are willing to pay to make sure that doesn't happen." Horo replied laughing.

"Let's go make some calls." Venka ordered as him and Horo exited the room containing the cell where you and Anakin where tied up.

Anakin and you both look at each other as the two pirates exited the room.

The fear in Anakin's eyes had turned to frustration and anger.

"This was a set up." Anakin whispered to you.

You didn't reply at first. There was simply no words.

Anakin continued.

"Obi Wan sent us here. He knew what was going to happen to us."

He was right after all, there was a reason that the council decided to task Anakin and you with this mission.

"No Anakin, that's crazy. Kenobi wouldn't do that to us, to me." You denied.

You truly didn't want to believe it, but it made a lot of sense.

"Think about it." Anakin continued.

"He didn't come with us on this mission, despite usually being by my side on every other mission. Then he tells us that we're supposed to scout out a separatist base, as if he knew we'd be walking right into a trap."

His voice grew stronger in volume with each word.

"And even now, he hasn't even tried to save us, as if he's just forgotten about us. I can't believe it." Anakin said, his voice turning to anger.

"Holy shit." You exclaim as you start to piece it together in your head.

"He really did set us up! He's trying to get us to stop fighting and get along. He knew we would be captured and he knows we will have to spend time together now." You were beyond angry.

"You're right." Anakin replied with a solemn tone.

"He's playing us like pawns." He continued.

"But why would he set this all up for us to get along? We were already on good terms in the past." You said with a confused tone.

"You know the answer to that, I'm sure." Anakin said in a matter-of fact way that sounded almost as if he was scolding you.

"What is it then?" You spoke bitterly.

Anakin sat in silence and ignored you.

"What is it Anakin?" You almost yelled, getting impatient.

Anakin turned back to you as you raised your voice.

He let out a slight chuckle, almost amused at your anger towards his silence.

"Well," Anakin replied in a calm and collected voice.

He looked back away from you briefly, as if his mind was racing far to fast for you to even have a chance of knowing.

"It seems as if you already have the answer to what I'm thinking." He spoke sternly and in a low voice.

"So let me ask you." He said, pointing his attention back at you.

"I genuinely don't know what the fuck you are talking about. Just answer the question." You were so confused.

Anakin continued to stare at you in the eyes.

Before he spoke, Anakin leaned in slightly so that his voice was at a whisper.

"Do you trust me?" He whisper asked, his expression completely serious.

He was waiting for you to answer, and he wanted to hear it from your mouth before he would answer anything in return.

"Not really." You side eyed him. "But I guess after you protected me back there I kind of have to trust you."

Anakin smiled slightly.

"Smart choice." He said quickly.

He looked around the small room that they both were imprisoned in. There was a silence between you two, a heavy silence that only got more tense with each passing moment of uncomfortable silence.

Anakin started to speak again.

"Look, I need you to promise me something." He said in a stern fashion.

"Promise you what?" You asked as you pushed your annoyance down.

Anakin turned back to you with a smug expression.

"Promise me that you'll stay angry at Obi Wan for sending us on this mission." He spoke in a slightly teasing tone.

His eyes shifted for a slight moment, as if he was contemplating whether he should say something.

"Promise me... that you'll be mad at him... for setting us up like this."

Anakin spoke in a voice as if he wanted you to say those exact words.

"Hell yeah I will. He's never living this down. He better get his ass down here to save us." You ranted.

Anakin let out a small chuckle as he listened to you rant.

He seemed to enjoy seeing you angry.

"You know..." Anakin started, speaking quietly and in a low tone.

"I'm pretty sure he wants us to spend time together." Anakin finished his thought. "And I don't think he's too worried about saving us."

"Well then how are we getting out of here? We can't fall into the hands of the Empire, but I doubt Kenobi will let it get to that." You replied.

"I don't know." Anakin spoke simply.

"However, I think there is more to this mission that Obi Wan told us." Anakin continued.

"But we need to focus on getting out of this situation before we start worrying about Obi Wan's true motives." Anakin finished.

He continued to look at you with a bit of sternness in his eyes. "I have plans."

"What is your plan?" You asked, beginning to gain a bit of hope.

Anakin turned back towards you with a confident expression.

"We have to escape together." He said simply.

Anakin then began to speak once more, sounding a little bit more excited at the idea of the two of you working together.

"And once we do, we have to ensure that Obi Wan knows about this. We'll have to let him know that we figured out his plan."

"Okay. Fine. Step one, get the hell out of here." You state.

Anakin looked back at you with a serious expression.

He let out a sigh as his mind raced.

"Okay." Anakin spoke. "So we definitely can't force our way out of here. They're going to have all the doors covered with more guards."

Anakin looked down at his restraints for a moment, contemplating how to get past them.

"Do you think you could use the force on these restraints?" Anakin asked, shifting his attention back towards you.

"No you fucking idiot, they are force restraining cuffs." You snap back at his stupidity as you feel your stress intensify.

Anakin rolled his eyes again.

"Hey! I was just asking." Anakin spoke back.

Then an idea seemed to enter his head.

Anakin started to whisper to you.

"I have an idea. But I'm going to need you to trust me." Anakin said in a serious voice. "Can you do that?"

"Yeah, why not. It can't get much worse than this." You reply as you wait for Anakin to speak again.

Anakin began to look around the room, as if he was searching for something.

Then, as if the gods themselves just decided to bless him with the luck he needed, he saw it. It was just laying there, waiting to be used.

Anakin turned to you once more with a wide grin.

"I think we have a way out of here." He spoke excitedly.

Anakin let out a nervous laugh as if he was nervous about the plan he had just formulated.

"What is it?" You ask quietly.

Anakin turned to you with a determined expression. His eyes were full of concentration, as if he was trying to will the plan to work.

"Well, I think we might have to cut off our hands." He said simply. His tone had no emotion. He stated it as if it was a fact.

He looked down at his restraints for a moment, as if his mind was racing far behind whatever plans he was trying to form.

"I'm going to need a knife. Do you have one on you?" Anakin asked, turning the attention to you.

"Yes, but please tell me you are joking." You started to get nauseous at the idea.

Anakin turned to you, looking you straight in the eyes.

"Do you have a better idea?" He asked. His voice was completely void of emotion.

His expression was set in one of pure concentration and thinking. Then he spoke in a slightly more serious tone.

"I can't see a way out of this. And I can't let my anger towards Obi Wan fade." Anakin said, sounding completely logical even while dealing with the situation he was in.

"Yeah okay." You sighed. Your whole body was shaking as you shifted your arms to reach for your knife in your pant leg.

Before you could grab the knife the door bust open, and in come the pirates, Horo and Venka.

"We are moving you to containment fields. Don't try anything." One of them boomed.

You were immediately relieved that you now didn't have to cut off your own hands. In that moment you realized they would have to take off the force restraining cuffs to put you in the containment fields. You looked over to Anakin and saw in his eyes that he knew it too.

You watched as the pirates took you and Anakin both out of the room, towards the containment fields.

You couldn't help but look at Anakin in excitement over the fact that the force restraining cuffs would be removed soon.

The pirates moved you both quickly, trying to secure you in the containment fields as fast as possible.

The pirates were too focused on securing the two of you in the fields than actually paying attention to you and Anakin.

Anakin shifted in his seat and whispered to you once more.

"We need to act fast." He said swiftly.

You felt Venka release you from your cuffs and replace them with his own hands. You immediately kicked behind you making him hobble over in pain. You threw him against the wall using the force, knocking him out cold.

Anakin moved over to stand by your side.

"That's one down." Anakin let out a small chuckle.

"Let's see how Horo reacts to this."

Anakin turned his attention towards Horo and took on a determined expression again.

Horo's eyes widened when he saw Anakin standing next to you. He quickly backed away and put his hands up in surrender.

"Don't hurt me!" Horo begged, sounding terrified.

"You should've let us go." You give him a sarcastic pout before you force choke him, just enough to knock him out.

"Okay let's get out of here." You tell Anakin.

Anakin smiled as he witnessed you force choking Horo.

"It's definitely good to be working together." He said to you.

"And yes, let's go."

You and Anakin walked out into the hallway which was full of pirates attempting to shoot at the two of you.

Anakin quickly moved between various cover, as if moving from cover to cover was something he had done hundreds of times before, even looking back over his shoulder at you for a moment with a small smirk.

You laughed and rolled your eyes. Normally that cocky behavior would get in your nerves, but after your near death experience, you find it charming.

You and Anakin eventually made your way across the hallway without taking too many hits.

As the two of you reached the end of the hallway and turned around the corner, you noticed that two more pirates were blocking the exit.

They had yet to notice the two of you and were too focused on a game of Sabacc, but as you stepped out from behind the wall they looked up towards you.

You simply flung you hand and they went flying back out of their seats. They scrambled to their feet and ran the other way.

You turned and gave Anakin the same smirk he had given you moments ago and started running towards where you had landed the ship.

Anakin followed close behind you as you ran towards the ship, his eyes darting around and taking in all the details he could.

As you ran there was a slight sense of excitement coming from Anakin.

You two had made it.

After all this time you two had finally gotten out of a seemingly impossible situation.

Anakin was now smiling again as the two of you quickly went up the ramp and into the ship, preparing to take off.

After a few minutes the ship was in the air and the of you were sitting in the cockpit, still catching your breath.

As your adrenaline went down you started to feel the pain of your previous encounters.

"You know, you aren't that bad Skywalker." You smiled as you looked towards Anakin.

Anakin let out a small chuckle as he shifted his attention to you.

"That's what they all say at first."

Anakin looked over to see your smile and couldn't help but give you one back.

"You aren't bad yourself." Anakin replied.

"In fact... I think we could make quite a team." He added, sounding surprisingly genuine.

"First mission as a team, beat the shit out of Kenobi." You laugh.

Anakin laughed at your remark.

It was the first time you had genuinely seen him laugh before.

"I was about to say, let's not make it too easy for him this time." Anakin smiled.

Anakin reached over and started to fiddle with the controls of the ship.

"I'll take it from here. Relax." Anakin said, his voice having a stern and firm edge to it.

He continued to manipulate various controls and screens as the ship slowly began to head back towards Coruscant.

#anakin needs a hug #anakin star wars #star wars anakin #anakin skywalker #sw anakin #anakin skywalker smut #anakin one shot #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin skywalker x you #anakin x you #anakin x reader #anakin smut #anakin imagine #anakin skywalker x female reader #anakin skywalker is hot

188 notes · View notes

isaut · 1 month

Text

𝒍𝒖𝒄𝒌𝒚 𝒐𝒏𝒆𝒔, 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕 𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓— f!reader x captain rex. 11.1k. ao3

you meet rex on a friday night in a bar. it's the start of a whole lot of coincidences. next. masterlist.

It’s a warm, spring night. The first warm night of the season. The sun still sets early, still leaves the evening blanketed, tucked in. In celebration of the weather’s grace, grace had been extended to the 501st. A night off. A night in their blacks, suits tucked away on their ship.

Naboo’s streets are lined with lamps encased in glass and iron. Intricate designs, ones that were hammered out by grizzled, loving hands generations ago. The streets are cobblestone, not dirt nor concrete. They’re slightly uneven, mined from below the planet’s surface. The favorite of a queen generations ago.

Taking the lead of the group are Fives and Hardcase. Their hands are all over each other: around each other’s necks, shoving each other, playing tag along the winding roads. They’re more like children on these streets, adulthood and responsibilities loosened by the shots taken back at the ship. Flavorless, bright green. From some hole-in-the-wall corner store in Coruscant.

Hardcase darts up the road, ducking behind an intricate column. He’s not well hidden at all, shoulder peeking out from behind. Nonetheless, when Fives walks past and Hardcase jumps on him, the former stumbles, hands stuck between bracing himself from falling and grabbing his brother’s legs to keep him on the piggyback. Instead, they both tumble to the ground, laughing loudly in the night.

The laughter sounds good. It sounds better than the screaming, than the shouting, than the panting, dying breaths that can be heard over the comms.

Tup helps them both up, his hair down and flopping around his jaw. It’s a shaky business, alcohol and giddiness marring all of their veins.

While Rex doesn’t like drinking, isn’t favorable to the warmth from a fresh shot, isn’t favorable to the inhibitions that comes with it, he is favorable to the comfort it brings his brothers. Twelve hours ago he’d been running through dry desert, frantically pulling helmets away from their suits, checking for pulses, holding his own face as the force left their eyes–

“You going to have fun tonight?” Comes a voice from beside Rex. He looks over— Kix. There’s a hair of worry in his eyes, a flash of concern.

Rex clears his throat. Pushes back the thoughts. If he trusted himself more he’d drink.

“I’ll stay out for a while,” Rex replies.

Kix pats his shoulder. No more words are exchanged. No more words need to be exchanged between the two of them.

The trio of stooges stop in their tracks, drawn to a bar. The door opens, and a few women tumble out of it, hair perfectly done and breathless. With them, music wafts out behind them, the acoustic tones shutting with the door. They giggle and wave at the group, one of them pulling a paper pack of cigarettes out of her purse.

Fives waves back. He’s got a not-real grin on his face, one that he thinks is cooler than it is.

“I think we should go here!” Hardcase says, louder than he needs to. Louder than is acceptable in the quiet streets. It earns them a look from some passerby, and a giggle from the tallest of the women.

The name of the bar swings in the warm breeze on a wooden sign, seared into it. Comienzos.

“When we get in, we can do another round of shots!” Hardcase continues. Rex doesn’t think they need another round of shots. But Hardcase’s hands are clapping down, hard, on Rex’s shoulders and shaking him around a bit. “And this time make sure our beloved captain joins in!

“I’m really— I’m fine without one,” Rex insists, waving his brothers off.

“It’s team building!” Hardcase presses. He loops around Rex to be in his face, tilting his head in a way that is probably supposed to be pleading but comes across as childish. “C’mon, you can’t say no to team building.”

Unease churns in Rex’s stomach. Not from the shots, but from imagining Hardcase a little too risky. A little too forward pushing. A little too maniacal. Panting last breaths over the comms.

“Fine. I’ll do one,” Rex bends. He’d regret it. He’d regret not seeing the joy immediately sprawl across his brothers’ faces.

Hardcase lets out a loud whoop! It draws more attention. From the women, from an older couple walking a fluffy, four legged animal. Rex gives a little wave and a nod to the couple, as if he could silently apologize for the disturbance they’ve caused.

Once inside, Rex is bathed in warmth. Bodies are moving on a tightly packed dance floor. Humans, not droids, stand on a stage with an array of instruments. They play each one like it’s an extension of their body, like the instrument has been part of their skeleton since they were born. They’re wooden and brass, and the band shows no sign of stopping soon.

Finding an open spot at the bar, Fives pushes to the front to flag down the bartender. She’s a pretty woman, with tan skin and black hair and a low cut shirt. Something that Fives is very appreciative of.

“Brother’s night out?” She calls over the music.

“Dad’s genes are strong,” Fives says. “We’re gonna do a round of shots.”

The bartender doesn’t seem phased at the joke, which dims the expectation in Fives’ eyes. It’s worked on every girl in the past, after all.

Rex pats Tup on the shoulder. “Gonna go sit down. Do not get crazy.”

Tup clicks his tongue. “We’d never.”

Rex isn’t a fan of liars, but he doesn’t push it. Instead, he turns away from the bar and heads towards an empty table in the corner. It’s miraculously empty and seems to have enough stools for all of them.

When they’d been given their night off, General Skywalker had been flippant but also wished the force to be with them. Perhaps it was happening right now. Rex is slightly thankful as he slides into one of the stools, and watches his brothers from afar. The Stooges do what Rex only assumes is a secret shot. Clear liquid is tipped back from a small shot glass, and then quickly set back down on the table.

Kix, already on his way over the table, points his thumb back at them as if to say get a load of this. Rex huffs a laugh through his nose and shakes his head in disbelief. He slides into the seat beside Rex, rolling his eyes.

“As if we aren’t going to notice,” Kix says.

“Whether or not we saw…” Rex tacks on. He watches them hoot and holler as Echo does a shot of something an amber color. Hardcase rubs the back of Echo’s head with that maniacal grin on his face.

On surprisingly sturdy legs, little yellow shots with candied rims are brought over to the table. An expression of disgust forms across Rex’s face before he’s even tried them. The sweet treat must be Tup’s choosing.

“What is this?” Kix asks, pulling two towards him and Rex.

“Limoncello,” Tup says. “Maria recommended it.”

Rex wants to be on the ship watching a nature documentary on his datapad maybe with a cold beer.

“Maria?” He asks, bringing the shot to his nose to take a whiff. It’s citrus sweet.

“Tup was a big boy and asked for her name,” Fives laughs.

“Don’t marry her in your dreams,” Rex warns, a teasing smirk on his face.

“Don’t marry her in your dreams,” Tup mocks under his breath, shaking his head from side to side. “I just asked her for her name. Don’t be weird.”

The shots are for living another day, apparently. Rex doesn’t see that there’s anything better to cheer for. Not dead yet. The glasses hit the table, then are dumped back down their throats.

It is sweet. A little sour, but mostly sweet. Rex isn’t a fan.

Kix shares his distaste. He gathers the glasses into both his hands and stands. “I’m getting beers. You want?”

“Yeah,” Rex replies.

“Hey!” Fives calls after Kix. Kix turns, raising his eyebrow. “Nothing for us?”

“You’re going to be drunk enough,” Kix replies. He turns, and heads off towards the bar.

Hardcase hasn’t sat down yet. Instead, his hands are clapped on Echo’s shoulders. He’s speaking to Fives about his brother, making diabolical plans to get him laid that night above his head. He’s speaking too loud to be discreet, and loud enough that it makes Rex want to be swallowed by the floor. Fives gestures over to a group of women, a different group than the ones seen before, and adds to their conspiring.

All four of them, the Stooges and Echo, head off towards the women. Rex takes a deep breath of the warm air. Glances over at Kix– The bartender, Maria, seems to actually be engaging him in conversation. She’s leaned over, giving him a look down her shirt, and is laughing at something he’s saying.

Rex looks back at the dumpster fire that’s going on across the room. Fives seems to be making some sort of case for Echo, hand on his shoulder and speaking animatedly. Maybe it’s the same lie, the one about Echo being a virgin, they’re spinning.

Kix returns with two beers and a triumphant look on his face. He slides one over to Rex, and is sure to clink the necks together in cheers before taking a sip.

“What’re you so happy about?” Rex asks.

“Maria said I was pretty,” Kix hums.

“How nice of her to give us all a compliment,” Rex mumbles.

“Hey, don’t be like that,” Kix says, furrowing his brow.

“Sorry.” Rex speaks into the beer’s mouth, taking a long pull.

A beat of quiet passes between the two of them. Rex watches the dancefloor. It’s more attractive than his brothers failing miserably at wingmanning each other.

The dance floor has swelled as the night has progressed. A few of the girls walk away from the Stooges, joining the breathing floor. Rex’s attention isn’t on anyone or anything in particular. Instead, he’s watching the general shapes, the general flows of rhythm that extend through the physical body.

“Maybe you should try getting laid tonight,” Kix suggests.

“I’m not in the mood,” Rex replies, almost too quickly. He’s not.

Kix lets it go. Rex returns to his watching. Maybe the beer will make him feel better. Maybe a walk will clear his head. Maybe he really should have stayed in with a nature documentary. Everyone on the dance floor moves with such ease, as if they are all of the same mind and body. One living organism.

“Hardcase straight up asked if they wanted to, and I quote, fuck,” Fives huffs, sounding more like a petulant child than a rejected adult.

Rex’s attention snaps away from the floor. Fives sits down on a stool beside him, resting his head in his hands.

“He let down Echo. What if he never gets his dick wet?” Fives bemoans.

Hardcase rolls his eyes. He crosses his arms, and doesn’t sit down. “I think we should go to the next bar.”

Rex looks beyond the bemoaners. It seems like Tup and Echo are doing just fine, now that Hardcase and Fives have walked away.

“Don’t think a new bar is going to fix your problems,” Kix says, his gaze following Rex’s.

Rex stands. He claps both Hardcase and Fives on their shoulders. “I think the problem is you.”

They look over. A pained expression paints their faces.

“We have to go to another bar,” Fives insists.

“I’m content right here,” Kix says, bringing his beer to his lips. “Maria gave me her freq– Hey, where are you going?”

Rex turns, a few paces from the table. “Taking a leak. Want to hold my hand?”

“Fuck off,” Kix sighs and turns back to the group. There, he has questions to answer about the bartender from his eager brothers. They sit around him, hanging on to each word that Kix reluctantly shares.

“What I thought,” Rex mumbles to himself, and heads off in search of the restroom.

It’s tucked back behind a wall, sitting behind a large oak door, common in Naboo. After trying the handle, Rex sighs. It’s occupied.

Rex leans back against the wall while he waits, closing his eyes. The music reverberates through the wall, sending pleasant waves through his body.

“Ugh, is it occupied?”

Rex turns his head to face the voice. Immediately, he straightens off the wall. Words escape him for a moment, stuck somewhere in the blank spaces of his brain. You’re beautiful. Red lips, long lashes, curve-hugging dress. His lips part once, then he finds his words, though it’s not many.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, sorry.” What is he apologizing for?

You sigh, crossing your arms. “Honestly, kind of insane this place only has one bathroom.”

Rex nods. Words filter back to his brain in a slow, gracious trickle. “You come here often?”

A laugh stretches out past your red lips. “I’ve been known to spend an evening here, yes.”

There’s a beat of silence. You glance towards the wall before back to the man in front of you.

“What about you?”

“Me?” Rex turns his head back to you. “Oh, I’m just visiting.”

“Where from?”

“Small planet, far away. Nowhere as nice as here.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s plenty nice. You’re just from there, so you don’t see the beauty in it.”

Rex shrugs. He’s about to reply when the bathroom door opens and a patron exits. He gestures towards it.

“Ladies first.”

“Oh, thank you so much.” You deflate with graciousness. With a hand on the door, pushing it open, you look over your shoulder at Rex. Your lashes bat down as you take a long look up and down his body. He’s filled out quite nicely, but there’s something about him that draws you in. “When I’m done in here, I’m going to smoke a cigarette on the rooftop. If you want to join me.”

“Oh, I don’t smoke,” Rex says. He makes a split-second decision. “But I’ll join you.”

You smile wide at him again, then disappear into the bathroom. Rex resumes his slouch against the wall. A faint smile crosses his face as he thinks about your own smile.

Rex doesn’t bother telling his brothers where he’s off too. Instead, he goes straight from the toilet to the rooftop. It takes a small staircase where the middle of the stairs are worn down, and a good push on the door that seems to be stuck on its hinges.

The rooftop is nice. Decorated with little lights and a few tables. It’s clear that it’s meant for patrons, but wasn’t being used tonight due to the live music below. The night sky stretches on above you, stars drowned out by the city lights of Theed.

The bar is across the street from the sea, so the lights are swallowed whole by the waters of Naboo. You stand by the wall, which is a white plaster that reaches your waist, curved at the top. The fairy lights illuminate you, working with the moonlight to encase you in an ethereal glow. There’s a shawl around your shoulders, and a pearlescent cigarette case glints in your hand.

Your head turns at the sound of the door being opened. A lazy grin makes its way across your face as you recognize the handsome stranger from earlier.

“I think you come here more than you’re letting on,” Rex says.

“Sue me,” you hum.

Rex crosses the distance to reach you. He’s handsome, face lit up by the fairy lights and backlit by the door he emerges from. There’s a nice chisel to his face that hints at the rations that fill his diet. In the darkness, his eyes are a glinting brown.

Flicking open your cigarette case, you withdraw a cigarette and place the white butt between your lips. Immediately, red lipstick rings around it. Your lighter lands in your hand, with the same pearl sheen as your case. You illuminate the tip of the cigarette, casting your face in the glow of the handheld fire.

The light shuts off abruptly.

You exhale away from his face.

“Oh, I never introduced myself, did I?” You pull your cigarette away from your face to examine the tip and make sure it’s burning smoothly. Then, you follow through on your words and let your name tumble from your lips.

Rex does so in turn. It’s nice to meet you, as he tells you in turn, repeating your name on his tongue to try it out. The syllables flow nicely, more than he’s used to. There’s an antique ring that he’s a fan of.

You take another drag of your cigarette. “It’s fitting. Your name.”

Rex can’t help but chuckle at the truth behind your words. It does fit, doesn’t it? Almost as if it had been picked out for him. Still, it warms him that you like it. That you enjoy the one thing he’s picked out for himself.

“I saw you staring earlier,” You say. “Do you dance?”

“It’s not for me. I just like watching.”

Your lashes skim down your cheeks again as you look him up and down. The sheer sparkle over your lids is becoming a treasure. When they return their gaze to his own eyes, your brow is raised in question. Lots of men like watching.

“What kinds of things do you like watching?”

Shit. What kinds of things does he like watching? His mind goes blank, and his lips supply the one thing he can think of right now, because an example is standing right before him: “Pretty women.”

“Oh?” You feel your face warm slightly. Flattery. You have to hold off from asking if you’re one of the pretty women he likes looking at.

“Don’t get to very often. Always a nice, good thing when I do.”

“What keeps you from it?”

“The war.” There’s a lot of admittance coming from his lips. It feels strange on his chest. Like there’s a slurping on his soul he can’t tell if he should lean into or avoid.

You hum. Another drag of the cigarette. “Scary times we live in, isn’t it?”

Rex wishes he was better at asking questions. His tongue feels too big for his mouth. “Hopefully you don’t get too close to it.”

“I suppose I don’t.” You pull the cigarette away from your face and place it before you, checking the burn on the tip before raising it back up again. Your arm crosses your chest to support your cigarette elbow, and it presses your chest together. Rex’s eyes dip for just a moment. “Closest I get is asking Gungans for art to hang in the museums.”

“What puts you in that situation?”

“I’m a curator for the National Art Museum. We’re actually celebrating tonight. You into art?”

“I don’t get the chance for it very often.” Only art he had was the jaig eyes on his helmet. He had painted those on, long ago. Taped down the area around them and used an airbrush. Sometimes he’d find Tup drawing in the common area during downtime. Tup liked portraits– sketched anyone and everyone he saw in ballpoint pen. Rex wouldn’t deem his exposure ‘museum worthy.’

“That’s a shame. Don’t dance, don’t look at art, don’t even get to look at pretty women.” You shake your head. “I feel bad for you, Rex.”

“Don’t,” Rex says. “‘S just part of the job.”

“Still. Maybe this is why–”

You’re cut off by the door to the rooftop jostling open. A large figure fills the space, calling out.

“Rex? We’re going to another bar. You ready to go?”

From the cadence, Rex can recognize the voice as Kix. “I’ll catch up later.”

“Right.” Kix pauses, and then makes an exaggerated movement across his lips, as if he was zipping them shut and locking them. He even throws away the key. Rex’s eyes crinkle with a small smile and he waves him off.

The door shuts firmly behind Kix.

“You sure you don’t have to leave?” You ask, slipping your bag from your shoulder.

“Nah. See them everyday.”

Flashing him a smile, you reach inside your purse and produce a tin. You pop it open and place a mint on your tongue. Rex’s eyes follow your fingers intently. “Want one?” You offer.

Rex almost denies. Why must he take more? Instead, he goes along with it, nodding.

“Open your mouth.”

Rex does so. You place the little white mint on his tongue, a small smile on your lips. The muscle flutters slightly.

“Come dancing with me,” You whisper. “I don’t care that you can’t.” Your eyes flit down to his hands, which rest clasped together before you. They’re large, the nails wide. You glance up at him, and lean in slightly. You smell like cigarettes and mint, not something that Rex would ever think he’d like. “I want you to put your hands on my body.”

The sharp breath Rex takes is invigorated by the mint. He almost swallows the small, white candy.

“Yeah?” You ask, smiling widely at him. “Or do you want to stay up here and talk for a little longer?”

Rex swallows. He bets his brothers are gone– Hardcase had probably been begging to leave since he was rejected. Rex glances down your dress again, then to your hips.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” you hum, catching his lingering gaze. You slip your hand between his, separating them from their clasp. His fingers are calloused against yours, signs of hard work over every smooth surface. You slip your fingers between his. “Just follow me.”

Rex does check to see if his brothers are still present. Luckily, the corner is empty. Free of them. He feels his shoulders loosen as he follows you over to where your friends are sitting. A giggle rises in your throat as you toss your bag beside one of your friends, flippantly telling her you were going dancing. Happily, the ones around the table titter upon seeing you with a man in tow. You reach over and take a sip of her drink, laughing when you’re whacked on the hip for your thievery.

Dancing you do go. You lead Rex to the outskirts of the dance floor, somewhere where he can still breathe. Taking Rex’s hands within your own, you place them on your body. The one that wraps around your hip practically engulfs the bone. His other does the same to your hand.

“I promise, no one is watching,” you say, “And I won’t take it personally if you step on my toes.”

“I’ll take it personally if I do,” Rex says. His eyes leave yours for a moment, and land on one of your friends, who is, in fact, busy watching. Quickly, he returns his gaze to you. You’re gazing up at him, a faint smile on your lips and a faint sway in your body.

Rex looks at his feet once you start moving, genuinely worried he’d step on your toes. He fills the space as your feet leave them, and you gently turn him to make a small circle with your box steps.

“Keep your eyes up here, on me,” you murmur over the music. Your hand slides to rest on his chest, and his on your shoulder. Rex’s eyes immediately flash back up from your feet. “Let’s go a little faster.” Your gazes are locked too close to each other. It’s all mint and smoke and a spice that Rex can’t place. Maybe it’s your perfume.

Rex keeps up much better than you had thought. He keeps himself nearly pressed against you, with just enough room for the rise and fall of your chests to fill.

“You’re doing really good,” you whisper, the complement washing over Rex. “Want to spin me?”

“I don’t know if I can,” Rex murmurs in reply.

“It’s easy. Just pause and let me spin and we’ll pick right back up,” you instruct. “It’ll be easy.”

It is. Your fingers glide against each other as you turn, Rex’s hand sliding across your waist as you spin. It electrifies when it crosses over your naked lower back. You settle back into the rhythm of the music, grinning up at Rex.

And oh, suddenly he doesn’t care about your friends staring at the two of you.

“You’re a natural.”

The sweet words swell Rex’s chest with pride. After all, his body is good at doing what it’s told to do. And you’re much more attractive than any general who’s ever given him orders.

Under your gentle and enticing guidance, Rex gets it, to some degree. Understands the rhythm to some degree, as long as your hands and encouraging words were nudging him along. Gotten to understand your body to some degree, smell your perfume and feel your chest press against his.

“I want a drink,” you state.

“Let me get you one,” Rex replies.

“You misunderstand.” Your hand rests over Rex’s chest, right over his heart. It’s not beating as quickly as you would have expected it to after the cardio of dance he had just participated in. “I want a drink at home.”

“It’s late out, let me walk you there.” The response is natural, easygoing. Second nature.

“I hope you do. I hope you join me, too.”

Oh.

“Yes ma’am.”

You grace him with one of those near kisses he’d witnessed earlier when he was just watching. It feels completely different to be on the receiving end– To have your breath almost mingle with his.

The walk to your apartment isn’t too far. It’s close enough that Rex can see why you’d frequent the bar so often– It was barely a walk and you seemed to enjoyed dancing. He wondered, just for a moment, if he was just another part of your normal Friday nights. Work, dance, bring someone home.

Secretly, he hopes he’s an exception.

The gate to the apartment’s courtyard squeaks as it opens. Rex reaches over you and pushes it the rest of the way. The movement has you engulfed in the scent of soap and the hint of sweat. You find yourself taking another breath.

“What a gentleman.” You throw a smile over to him as you step in.

Within the safety of your apartment, you discard your purse on the small table in the entryway. Flip on the lamp that reads there as well. It fills the small area with a warm, orange glow.

“Take your shoes off,” you say, placing a hand on the table for balance as you lift a foot behind you to fiddle with the straps.

“Here,” Rex says, voice soft and rolling in the small space. “Let me help you.”

He drops down. His fingers are large against the soft leather straps and the small metal buckle. There’s half a thought to press a kiss to your knee, half covered by the asymmetrical hem of your dress, but he refrains. He stands and dutifully takes off his own shoes.

With a heavy gaze, you look Rex up and down again. He’s a head tilt taller than you now, not in your heels anymore. He seems to take up more space now, too. Now that he’s somewhere so personal.

You slide into your slippers and pad through the apartment, leading him towards the main living area. Each lamp is flicked on manually, which surprises Rex. Most buildings were designed to be easily controlled by one central data pad.

The warm light is a stark contrast to the fluorescents he’s used to. So is the atmosphere of your living room.

Tall, cream ceilings with windows to match. There’s a balcony, which is locked shut by a heavy brass contraption. The sofa and chair are thick with cushioning, and the coffee and end tables appear antique.

Rex follows you into the kitchen. Another small space, where he finds himself closer than ever to you. The tile is cool through his socks, an intricate design in shades of cream.

“Do you want wine or beer?” You ask, opening up the refrigerator.

“Beer, please,” he replies.

You produce two from the fridge. They clink together as you hold them by their necks in one hand. As you turn, you’re met with the view of Rex leaning against your counter. It’s a far cry from most of your… visitors, who make themselves at home on your couch the moment they enter.

You like this change of pace.

“Want to sit inside or outside?”

“Where do you want to sit?”

“Outside,” You admit.

“Then outside.”

You smile. Rex simultaneously wants to never stop watching the pull of your lips and break the smile with a kiss.

On the balcony, you flick on some more lights, illuminating the area until the darkness of the night consumes the rays. There’s a small table for eating, and a couch. Beside the couch is an elaborate glass hookah set up that you’re quick to move aside.

Taking a seat on the couch, you pat the spot beside you for Rex. You hand him his beer as soon as he’s sat.

Facing him fully, you rest your arm on the back of the couch.

“You said you never danced before, but I have a hard time believing that,” You say.

Rex takes a pull of beer for confidence. “What makes you say that?”

“You were a lot better than I was expecting.”

“Glad I could defy expectations.” There’s a glint in Rex’s eyes that the light accentuates.

Humming, you pose your next question. “Is this your first time on Naboo?”

Rex can’t help but chuckle. He’s by far no stranger to Naboo, but typically spends his days stationed within the capitol building. “No, but it’s the first time I’ve been truly off duty here.”

“And? What are your thoughts?”

“I have no complaints.” Rex flits his eyes down your body. “Have certainly had a change in expectations for the night.”

“Oh?” You tilt your head to the side. “What were your original expectations?”

“I…” Rex’s voice gets lost as his eyes wander, watching your lips form to take a sip from the bottle. The way your fingers wrap around the glass. “Definitely not this.”

You hum, and it makes a reverberating sound through the glass. “This?”

“Something not so rowdy. I was expecting rowdiness.”

“Tell me more,” you urge, leaning into him.

Rex’s heart flutters uncharacteristically in his chest. He swallows. Your perfume has a spice to it that he’s never smelt before.

“My brothers and I have the night off, so we went out. They’re… A lot. Don’t always think things through.” They deserve not to, Rex thinks, at least when they’re off duty.

You laugh. “I think I can tell. Two of them tried picking up my friends.”

“I must apologize for them.”

“Don’t. It was funny.” You reach over, into his space, and run your fingers over his buzz cut. “Are you a natural blonde?”

Rex glances over at your bracelet, which dangles precariously on your wrist.

“Yeah.” The touch of your fingers feels good. Soft and gentle.

“I was blonde when I was a baby,” you comment.

“I think the brown suits you.”

“You’re sweet.”

Rex hums. You withdraw your hand. “You don’t get out much, do you?”

“Is it that obvious?”

You smile. “Perhaps. What keeps you in?”

“Work.”

Taking another pull of your beer, you tilt your head to the side. “You know I’m going to ask you what you do.”

“Nothing fancy. I’m just a soldier.” Rex picks at lint that’s not there on his pants. “For the Republic,” he tacks on.

“Oh.” You take another drink of beer. “Can I be honest with you?”

“You’re going to be, anyways.” He gladly anticipates whatever truth you’re about to share with him.

“I’m a pacifist.”

Rex muddles the words around for a moment. “I think I’d be one too.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Would have to think on it a little bit more but… Between you and me, I’m ready for it to be over.”

“I bet. I think you’re too handsome to be a soldier, anyways.”

Rex feels his face warm. It feels like a compliment just for him. Not one to be shared.

“You don’t think there should be soldiers.” There’s no heat to his words. Perhaps, in another life, he’d agree.

“Please, I’m trying to call you handsome. Will you please accept my compliment?”

“I’ll accept it.” Rex takes your hand in his and presses a kiss to your knuckles.

This time, a warmth spreads across your cheeks. You take a final drink of your beer. The metal end table you’re aiming for is on Rex’s side. Instead of passing the bottle to him, you completely lean over him. He gets a good, long look down your back. His hand has half a mind to run down the expanse, to dip into the valley of your spine and run over the swell of your ass.

You pause in front of him as you settle back.

“Tell me, Rex,” his name slides off your tongue, “What would you do if I kissed you right now?”

Rex’s eyes drop from yours to your lips. “I��d be very thankful.”

You inch your face closer. “Would you kiss me back?”

What a ridiculous question. Rex responds by setting his beer down and sliding his chilled hand through your hair, resting it at the nape of your neck.

A shiver trickles down your spine.

Rex’s lips are on yours. Warm, confident, slightly chapped.

You rest your palm on his chest. His heart thrums away beneath. One of his hands comes to rest on your hip, thumb smoothing back and forth over the fabric.

Your tongue slides across his bottom lip. His mouth opens, tongue sliding alongside yours in wet heat. Easing yourself against him, you twist your body to take a seat on his lap. It’s sideways, your dress won’t let you straddle him. Instead, your legs are tucked up next to him.

His hand slides down the smoothness of your legs, down to your ankle before up again. He continues his journey upwards, to your waist and your open back, playing with the low dip of your dress.

You allow your head to lull into the hand that supports you there. Rex presses into the kiss, nose pushed against your cheek. As your tongues pass each other again, you don’t know where yours ends and his starts.

Rex kisses like he’s drinking water. Like the quench to his thirst rests in your lips, in the slick of your saliva. There’s a thrumming building in your core, right where your soul lies.

Your heart aches for him as you pull away and he chases your lips. His eyes flutter open, blinking amber into the dim light.

“Hey,” he says, voice rolling over roughness. There’s a faint hint of red from your lipstick over your lips.

“Hi,” you reply, a little lilt and giggle to your voice. You wonder if your alleged kiss-proof lipstick had shifted.

There’s a lazy, pleased smile working its way across Rex’s mouth.

“Want to follow me inside?”

“Gods, yes I do.”

You slip off of his lap and onto your own two feet. Leaning down, you take Rex’s hands in your own and pull him up to his full height.

“Lead on, gorgeous,” Rex says, dipping back down to get another taste of your lips.

The door to your bedroom is wide open. You fumble for some more lights, slipping around the room to turn most of them on. There isn’t much in your bedroom: only a bed with a large, wooden headboard, an armoire that’s as old as the building, and a vanity you found at a flea market. A few paintings of deities Rex doesn’t recognize hang on the walls in dark wood frames. With the lights dim and warm, you come back to stand before Rex, wrapping your arms around his neck. His hands settle on your hips, then slip to your lower back.

“You don’t need to be so polite,” you murmur, sliding your hands down his chest and further, fingers dancing along the hemline of his shirt.

“Feel like I gotta. Not everyday…” he trails off, distracted by the feeling of your fingers, slightly cold, dancing up under his shirt. You don’t go far, just enough to feel over the v of his abdomen.

“Not everyday…” you encourage.

“‘S not important,” Rex decides on. It’s not. You don’t need to know he rarely does this. That his experience here isn’t to his normal standard. He ducks his head, pressing his lips back against yours, walking you towards the bed.

Your teasing question dies in Rex’s mouth, swallowed by every slick pass of your lips opening and closing on each other. The backs of your knees hit the edge of your made bed, and you fall back on it.

Unfortunately, Rex doesn’t come with you. Instead, he stands before you and between your legs, hesitation momentarily seeping across his face. You sit up and lean back on your hands, the way your shoulders move causing one of the dress straps to slip.

“What’s wrong?” You ask, tilting your head so it rests on your shoulder.

“Nothing,” Rex says, pulling his shirt off over his head.

He’s quick to lean back over you, doesn’t give you much time to admire the planes of his pectorals, or the almost-defined abdomen he has. Wants to drive your attention away from the scars that litter his skin. His knees dip in the duvet, and you spread your own to accommodate him. As your dress rides up, his gaze follows the fabric, which still leaves you modest.

Rex is consuming above you, taking up every aspect of your vision. Your hands run over his shoulders, defined and firm, down his arms, defined and firm. His muscles are carved like the statues you select for showcases. It causes a giddy, girlish giggle to bubble up from your lungs.

“What’s so funny?” Rex murmurs.

You shake your head, hand moving back to cup his face. “Nothing. You’re just… You’re so muscle-y.”

Rex blinks at you, once. Then he ducks his head, a smile forming. “Really?”

“Yeah.” You think you might have dreamed him up once before. With your eyes shut, and a hand in between your thighs, the moon high in the sky. “Yeah.”

Rex’s lips find the pulse point you apply your perfume to, licking over what remains of vanilla beans and spice. Your hand rests upon the back of his head, a sigh leaving your lips. He sucks and laves lavishly, never leaning his full body weight against you. A trail is formed, from jaw to shoulder, as he nips and kisses.

Shrugging your shoulder again, the other strap of your dress is encouraged to slide off as well. The fabric of your dress continues to keep you modest, despite Rex’s kisses continuing over the plane of your exposed breast.

He lifts his head, meeting your gaze.

“May I?” He asks.

And to think he’ll ship back off after tonight. You nod, sliding the straps down so your arms are freed from them. Your nipples, erect and wanting, stubbornly keep the garment up, coming between them and their desire.

Delicately, Rex slides your dress down to your hips. A punched out whine mews from the back of his throat at the exposed skin. It’s equally unbecoming, for him, and attractive, for you. With his hands firmly on your waist, he lowers his head further and swipes a long line across your nipple.

Your nails scratch along his shorn hair, a breathy sigh leaving your lips. You’ve missed the feeling of a mouth on you, and Rex’s is wet and eager. His tongue swirls around the fat of your nipple, slurping around it with obscenity.

Rex wonders how your nails will feel digging into his back.

You push against his forehead, and his lips detach with a pop! His cheeks are ruddy, his eyes wide, filled with worry he’d done something wrong.

“Take off my dress,” You breathe, sitting up on your elbows. Glancing down, you take in your chest, and the array of splotches that decorate your chest and breasts.

Rex swallows and nods. He slips back off the bed, and undresses you with careful, steady hands. An open mouthed sigh leaves his lips as he has you bare before him, only in your underwear. Mindlessly, he uses his hands to messily fold the dress before throwing it on top of a chair in the corner of your room.

Rex’s back swells with the size of his breath. His eyes dart all over you, unable to find just one place to land.

You tap the side of his thigh with your pointed toes. “You doing okay up there, handsome?”

“Yes ma’am,” Rex breathes. He bends down to press a kiss to your stomach, nipping at the soft skin there. When he falls to his knees between your legs, you know it’s over. There’s never been someone through your door like this.

Rex sucks deep kisses into the fat of your thighs, over all the sensitive bits. Your hands slide over his hair, nails scratching against the short hair without purchase.

Mouth centimeters away from your clothed pussy, Rex glances up the mountains and valleys of your body. He speaks your name, calling your attention down towards him.

He doesn’t even need to ask, before you’re breathing a “Yes, yes, yes.”

Instead of sliding your panties to the side, or removing them completely, Rex swipes his tongue along the already wet fabric. You can feel the edges of his tongue over the areas of your labia that try their hardest to eat your underwear whenever you’re out. Rex seems insistent on tasting you through the silken fabric, his nose pressed up against your covered mound.

Your hands leave the back of his head and hook under your panties, trying to push them down. As your hips rise off the bed, his hands wrap around your thighs and pull you closer.

“Rex, let me, let you…”

He pulls off with a sigh. His eyes are slightly glazed over, and you want nothing more than to pull him up for a kiss.

“Is it okay?” He asks.

“Give me your hands,” You urge. He offers them to you without second thought.

Contorting your hand, you gain control of his right hand and dip his fingers past your panties, so they slip behind the flimsy fabric. Rex sucks in a breath, fingers sliding through nothing but warmth.

“Right?” You release his hands and tuck your fingers under the waistband of your panties and slide them down until the top of your mound is visible.

Rex slides them down and off you, and you reward him with a fair piece of praise: “Good boy.”

Rex stills above you. His eyes trail up the line of your body and land on your face. Your brows furrow. “What is it?”

“Never heard that one before,” Rex replies.

“Really?” You find that hard to believe. With a man like this?

Rex nods. He slides his fingers through the silk of your cunt, collecting your wetness on his fingers and sliding it up over your clit. You gasp, hand coming up over your mouth.

“Don’t do that,” Rex murmurs, reaching a hand up to wrap around your forearm, easing your hand away from your face. He replaces your hand with his thumb, swiping over the smearing red lipstick.

There’s a brief moment where he doesn’t move from his gaze, where he just lingers over you.

Then, without warning, his fingers are moving again. They’re slipping through your folds, and he’s lowering himself back down to the side of your bed again. His lips join his fingers, as if it was second nature. Breathing.

His fingers part your folds for his tongue, which traces opening to clit, in a long pull. Rex’s eyes flutter shut, savoring the tang on his tongue. His lips close around your clit, laving attention over the sensitive bud.

Little gasps pop from your lips, and Rex’s ears twitch to pick up each one. There’s a firmness in his pants that’s veering on uncomfortable, and his body shifts to apply underwhelming friction.

There’s nothing but warmth and attention in your core. Waves of pleasure lap at your shore, tides pushed and pulled by Rex’s attention.

Rex lifts his head. He wants to watch your facial expressions as his middle finger slides through your wetness. As it presses against your entrance, which all but sucks him in. A contented sigh slips through your lips, and Rex rises up your body to press his lips back against yours. His tongue slides against yours with the same pace as his finger, easing you deeper into the bedspread.

Your legs bend so your knees brush against his sides. Leaning back, Rex’s hand rests on your knee, gently moving it to the side to give him a better view of how his finger moves in and out, of the whiteness that clings to his finger.

He slides out completely, then wets his ring finger to join. At the welcome intrusion, you stretch your arms back above your head, pulling your stomach taunt. Rex’s fingers coax within you, searching for the perfect spot to press upon.

You shift your hips slightly, and a sigh leaves your lips when he grazes upon the spongiest part within you. Rex curls his fingers, and a breathy moan leaves your lips.

Satisfied, Rex ducks his head back down. His fingers find purchase on your mound, exposing the flushed wetness of your clit. His tongue works in unison with his fingers, flicking over the bud.

The tides within you swell. Subconsciously, your legs close in around Rex’s head, swallowing him closed like an oyster. Your hips shift, rising and rolling in synchronization with his fingers. Up and down, up into the warmth, down into the pleasure.

“Rex…” you breathe, fingers grazing against his head.

He hums into you, eyes opening and watching as your hand slides along your stomach, nails creating little deltas along the flesh.

Your thigh quivers beside him. Moans rise from your mouth, floating into the heady air.

Temptation to speed up, to intensify swirl around in Rex’s mind. To elicit louder cries, to encourage the small of your back to lift off the bed. Instead, he keeps his course steady, eyes fluttering shut once more.

There’s another weak call of his name, laced in between a moan. Rex groans, content to do nothing more than hear it again. He’s listening, he promises he’s listening. He can feel the tightness building, can hear nothing but the slick sounds emitting from where he’s dipped inside you.

The final crest over is prolonged. Arched back, complete stillness, whimpering moan. Hands fisted in the bedsheets. Rex slows his movements, detaching his mouth first.

He hovers above you, lazily moving his fingers. Your legs continue to quiver, your chest continues to suck in deep breaths. Your eyes crack open, a hand lazily rising to tug on his dog tags, pulling him down and closer to you.

You slot your lips against his. There’s wetness and tang and a rapidly familiar warmth. You hold him close by the side of his face, feeling his jaw move with each swipe.

“Thank you,” you whisper against his lips.

“Don’t thank me,” Rex replies, pressing another kiss to your lips. His fingers withdraw with a slickness, and he’s careful to not set them on your bedsheets.

You give a non committal hum. Reaching for his hand, you bring it to your lips, licking a stripe along the underside before taking them into your mouth. Your tongue laves over the digits, sucking every drop of your essence off of them.

When Rex withdraws his hand, his eyes are wide. There’s a beat of your breaths, before his lips are on yours again. He plunders your mouth, chasing after the taste he was planning on enjoying himself.

You slide up your bed, until your head is comfortably pillowed. A groan slips from you, when you see that Rex is still wearing pants.

“That can’t be comfortable, can it be?”

You watch with rapt attention as he slides his pants off and down along with his boxers. Your next breath hitches in your throat when you get a good look at his cock.

Heavy. Seated among a thatch of thick, dark hair that trails up to his bellybutton.

You swallow. Then, you reach over and fumble within your nightstand, pushing aside lube and vibrators for the box of condoms that was in there.

“Come here,” you beckon, patting the space beside you. Rex crawls on the bed beside you, shoulders rippling in the lamplight. His thighs are decorated in thatches of hair that thicken as they near his groin.

He settles between your thighs, hands moving over the smooth skin.

“You’re beautiful,” Rex murmurs. His hands engulf your thighs, sliding upwards to where they crease into your core.

Spellbound by the reverent tone of voice, you slide your legs apart for him, revealing the very place he had just been. His eyes dip down, then up to your chest. His brows furrow, seeing the little marks he had left in his wake.

One of his hands rises, fingers gliding over a hickey on the side of your breast. “My apologies about this.”

“Oh, Rex,” you coo, covering your hand over his, “There is absolutely no need to apologize. In fact, you can even leave more.”

Rex’s eyes search yours, discovering nothing but lust. Pupils blown wide.

Cupping his face in your hands, you pull him closer for another kiss. His hardness slides between your folds as he presses close, and he groans into your mouth. Long, drawn out. Pent up.

“Feel good?” You widen your legs for him. His cock slides along your clit, rubbing against it deliciously. You hum in pleasure.

Another moan slides from his lips. You reach between the two of you, fingers carding through his happy trail as you follow it to his hardness. He’s heavy in your hand. Your fingers dance along the underside, cutting between his heat and your own. You thumb slides over the flushed tip of his cock, and another groan comes from Rex, this time directly in your ear.

Your core squeezes. You feel a dribble of wetness slide from your hole.

Removing your hand, you gently push him back and away from you. Rex goes easily, all too quickly. You tear a condom off and pass it to him.

Rex dutifully takes it. There’s little fanfare as he wraps himself up, sliding the latex on.

You push him back again, giving him a little nudge on the chest. Situated on his back, you climb over his hips, dragging his cock back through your folds. Rex’s eyes flutter shut before they snap back open.

“Don’t want to keep you from watching,” You reply with a breathy laugh.

“Wouldn’t want to miss it for the world.” Rex gives you a handsome half smile that makes your mind stutter.

You return the smile, through slightly smeared lipstick, and rise up on your knees. Rex finds his cock for you, and your fingers pass over each other as you take it in your hand. The head presses against your entrance, which flutters at the pressure.

Biting your bottom lip, you let gravity ease you down. One of Rex’s thighs rests propped up behind you, the other turned open. He offers you his hands for you to hold onto resting against so you don’t slip down his cock too quickly.

Once fully sheathed, you give yourself a moment to adjust to the fullness within you. Your hips begin rolling slowly, warming yourself up even more. A punched out whine comes from behind your bitten lip.

Rex’s brows are pinched together as he watches, mouth open and lips in a wide ‘o.’ He lets you grind against him, lets you start to shallowly bounce yourself up and down on him, lets you take your pleasure into your hands for a few minutes. It’s pleasurable, combined with the little moans that you’re letting out, but it’s not enough.

His hands find your hips, and he braces his feet against the bed, knees up. With little effort, he lifts you up to the head of his cock before pulling you back down. For the next pass, he’s sure to thrust his hips up to meet you halfway.

The look on your face is a mixture between pleasure and shock. It doesn’t take you long to get on board with the change of pace. Your hand presses over your stomach, so you can feel Rex as he slides in and out of you, and you make sure to hug his cock with every pass. From your vantage point you watch as all of his muscles move in harmony with each other. Your core squeezes. A ring of white begins to form on the base of Rex’s cock.

With your hips as purchase, Rex pulls himself up into a seated position. Immediately, you lock your ankles behind his back. He chuckles as he leans in to kiss you, pressing you back against the pillows again. One of his hands supports your lower back, the other on your thigh.

You look at him through your lashes. His own pupils are blown wide.

“I’m not very good at sitting back,” Rex murmurs.

“Thank goodness,” you hum, hands running over the planes of his shoulders.

“Thank goodness?” Rex repeats, slowly sliding out before pushing in even slower. At this angle, you can feel every centimeter as it's fed into you. “Why’s that?”

“Um…” You can’t exactly think through your comment.

“Tell me,” Rex urges, continuing the slow thrusts.

“I just… I don’t… I like…” How deep is he?

“What do you like?”

“I like… I like working with… With gravity…”

Rex slowly picks up the pace. He hikes your body up, giving your knees no place to notch but over his shoulders.

“With gravity?”

You whimper your affirmation.

“Is this better?” Rex’s hands move from your hips to your thighs, holding them flush against his chest. When you nod, he moves to press your legs back, so they’re butterflied away from your cunt. “Or do you prefer this?”

Your reply is a moan. One of your hands cover’s Rex’s splayed fingers, the other reaches above your head for your pillow. A breathless chuckle leaves Rex’s lips, and he continues to keep a steady pace. Each thrust you can feel in your throat with how deep he’s pressing– you didn’t know you could feel anything that deep within you.

It’s full. Almost too full. Your cunt flutters around his cock, anticipating and rewarding every stroke.

Your hand is on the way to cover your mouth, but Rex is faster. He slips his fingers through yours, pressing your hand into the plush of your pillows. Your other hand reaches up to cup behind his head, sprawling out over the nape of his neck. As your lips reattach to his, his thrusts fluster before speeding up, giving you no choice but to pull away to let out a moan.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe. One of Rex’s hands comes to knead the soft tissue of your breast.

It leaves its work quickly, however, to spare attention towards your clit. As his thumb swipes over the bundle of nerves, an even louder moan climbs out through your throat. Your thighs shake, and your hands rise to press against your headboard.

Rex almost feels bad. He’s going too fast, he’s going too hard, your headboard is millimeters away from knocking against the wall with each rhythmic push of his hips. But your face is contorted in pleasure, eyes screwed shut and head tilted back.

Your eyes flash open as you feel your orgasm rapidly approaching.

“Rex,” You gasp.

“What is it, sweetheart?” Rex asks, leaning over you. “You gonna cum?”

You whine. There’s another thrall of pleasure at the pet name.

“Tell me,” Rex urges. His lips hover over yours.

“Yeah,” You breathe, the vowels hitching with every thrust. “Don’t– Don’t stop.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.” Rex gives you a grin before a grunt, trying his hardest to keep a steady pace. He’s throbbing, you can feel the twitch of his cock inside you.

Your orgasm spills over and out, rippling from your moans down to your cum. As you peak, Rex’s thrusts speed up for a brief moment, then still, as he empties with a groan into the condom. Your legs feel gummy, weak and heavy as Rex eases out of you and rests your shaking legs on the bed. The sweat on his shoulders glazes in the light as he cleans up.

You gesture to the bathroom, which is attached to your bedroom. Closing your eyes, you listen as Rex throws the condom away, then as cabinets open and close.

“In the closet,” You call, voice lighter and higher than you’d ever heard it.

Rex returns with a damp, warm washcloth as he removes the last traces of sex from between your legs. He presses a kiss to your knee, a little too soft for a hook up but makes your stomach flip regardless, before getting back off the bed.

When you crack open your eyes, you see that he’s pulling on his pants. You sit up on your elbow.

“What are you doing?” You ask.

“I figured you’d want me out of your hair,” Rex replies.

You pout. “Come lay with me for a moment, at least.”

Rex hesitates. You rub the bedding beside you. “Just for a moment. And then I’m going to go take off my makeup.”

Rex obliges. He slides into the spot and you rest your head on his chest. His arms wrap around you, thick and secure. You exhale, relaxing into him. Maybe you should have taken off your makeup first, then you could rope him into spending the night. Absentmindedly, you card your fingers through his chest hair. His hand begins to rub up and down your back.

“Normally I insist people spend the night,” you murmur against his skin, eyes slipping shut. He hums to show he’s listening. “I like it.”

“I gotta be gone real early in the morning,” Rex replies. His voice rumbles through his chest.

“That’s a shame.”

“Why?”

“Was going to make you breakfast. I have avocados that need using… eggs that need frying… coffee that needs drinking… I just got new coffee cups…” Your words begin to slur together from sleepiness.

“Hey, gorgeous,” Rex says, jostling his shoulder slightly.

You hum, raising your eyebrows.

“Go take that makeup off.” He sits up, bringing you with him. His eyes glance down at your nipples, which are soft in the heady air.

“Right,” you say, climbing over him and off the bed. “Don’t slip out.”

“I’ll stay right here,” Rex promises.

Rex doesn’t leave in the middle of the night. Instead, he’s under the softest sheets and the heaviest blanket he’s ever experienced, with the fan on high and a naked woman next to him, tucked up under his arm and sleeping soundly. He finds sleep doesn’t evade him as easily as it normally does.

Morning comes too soon. Rex wakes to the birds chirping outside, to the early streaks of dawn as she streams through your window. He’s still on his back, arm thrown over his head. The pillows are too soft. Beside him, you’re still mercifully asleep. Back exposed, arms wrapped around your pillow. Nose tucked into your bicep.

Shit. Rex has to leave. He glances over at your sleeping figure again, then slowly sits up. Despite trying his hardest not to disturb you, he’s unsuccessful. You stir beside him, shifting around and sitting up on your elbow, rubbing your eye.

“Hey.” Rex’s voice is rough in the morning air. “I gotta get going.”

You huff a sigh and flop onto your side. “Give me a second. I’ll make you coffee.”

“I really can’t stay,” Rex says. He keeps his hands to himself– The lustful era of the evening had been left before the sunrise. It wouldn’t be to his morals if he laid a hand, no matter how soft, against your skin.

You’re lifting yourself back up, duvet slipping down to your middle. “No, I– Let me.”

Rex’s eyes dip down to your breasts before back to your face. He’s already out of the bed. “I have to get back.”

“A cup of coffee isn’t going to kill you,” you insist, sliding out of the bed. You head over to your armoire, pulling an oversized sleep shirt out.

“Really, I appreciate the hospitality,” Rex repeats, pulling on his pants. “But—”

Rex’s protests land him sitting at the kitchen table, gaze torn between watching you make coffee and the view out the window he’s beside. You have a really nice view, overlooking Theed. However, you are also a really nice view.

With the fridge open, you pluck a carton out of it and set it on the table.

“I only have plant milk,” you say, “Hope it’s okay.”

“Oh, I drink my coffee black,” Rex says.

You blink at him. “You know, you look like you do.”

Rex hums. He watches appreciatively as you pour two mugs of coffee.

“Where do you have to be this morning?” You ask while handing him a mug and taking a seat beside him. You do not take your coffee black, and look like you don’t anyways.

Rex murmurs his thanks as he accepts the mug. He takes a sip before responding. The real answer is that he needs to be back at the ship before General Kenobi notices General Skywalker’s absence, and Rex is included in the “You know, Anakin, it’s important to remain focused on our missions at hand” spiel. Instead, he gives you: “Work. Before that I have to make sure everyone’s made it back from their nights.”

You desperately want to ask him if he’s one of those fabled clones that the Republic breeds. But it feels too personal. Too out of pocket. Instead, you settle on changing the topic entirely.

“You know, you have very distinguished features.”

Rex raises an eyebrow at you. “Pardon me?”

“Like… your nose and your eyebrows and your jaw.” You trace the features on your own face. “You look kind of like…” You remember that Rex had mentioned he didn’t have time for art the night prior, “Well, there’s this painting of a philosopher named Diogenes. You resemble him, but without the beard and the hair.”

It’s the strangest, and most detailed, compliment Rex has ever received. “Thank you?”

You hum, taking a sip of your coffee. “It is a compliment, by the way. He’s handsome in the painting.”

Rex takes another drink of coffee. It’s stronger than he’s used to, for sure. The stuff on the ship must be watered down to accommodate so many drinkers, and after tasting this cup, he’s not sure the coffee he’s used to is actually coffee. “What about you? Are you doing anything today?”

“No, I have the day off.”

Must be nice. “What are you going to do with it?”

You drum your fingers on the side of your mug. “Paint, probably. Maybe go for a walk. Practice my Gunganese.”

What a life of leisure. First, there’s an ache of jealousy that stokes itself deep within Rex. By tonight, he’ll be in a debriefing meeting about a planet that’s fallen under Separatist control. Then, it’s washed away with the reminder that he’s designed to allow for people like you to have lives of leisure. That life isn’t for him.

“I don’t know any humans who speak Gunganese,” Rex comments.

You sigh. “That’s the whole issue. The Gungans have been here long before humans and yet no one really speaks their language. I’ve been learning to try and at least smooth things over in a cultural sense. They have such a rich history with fascinating art pieces that I really want displayed in the museum, so people can learn more about them.”

Rex raises his eyebrows. The only Gungan he knows is Senator Binks who is… If Rex will allow himself a moment of selfishness, not his favorite person to be assigned duty to. “That’s quite noble of you.”

“It’s the least I can do.” You shrug.

“You speak any other languages?”

“My Rodian is really rusty. I took it in school, so I can write essays but my conversational isn’t very good. What about you?”

“Kaminoan.”

Your brows raise. “Really? What does it sound like?”

Rex chuckles, a little sheepish. “It’s nothing special. It’s not attractive or anything like that.”

“Rex, I literally speak Gunganese. I promise it’s probably more attractive than that.”

True. Rex clears his throat. Takes another sip of coffee. Thinks about what to say. When he sets his mug back down, he gives you a sentence. It rolls off his tongue, second nature.

It is attractive. All vowels and consonants that slide together. You cross your legs under the table.

“So, what did you say?

“That you make your coffee really strong.”

A blush rises on your cheeks. “There’s milk and sugar if you want it.”

“No, no, it’s not a bad thing,” Rex says quickly, “I like it. Really. It’s leagues better than what I normally get.”

“You’ll have to let me know the next time you’re in town,” You hum, finger tracing the mouth of your mug, “I’ll make you another cup.”

Rex’s heart tugs uncomfortably. That would be nice, wouldn’t it be?

“I don’t know when I’ll be back on Naboo,” Rex says, “But you've definitely made my visit worth more than I could have imagined.”

You hum at that, then stand from the table. You open a drawer and pull out a pad of paper, shaped in a heart, and find a pen. You scribble onto it, then tear it away.

“Here,” you say, passing the paper to him. “This is my frequency.”

There’s an x next to your name like a little kiss. Rex accepts the paper, and doesn’t bring up that there’s no way he’ll be able to contact you, not when all of his communication is heavily monitored. Instead, he tucks it into his pocket, where it feels warm against his thigh.

Rex leaves your apartment with a day-old croissant in his hand and the taste of berries and coffee lingering on his tongue. The sun seems brighter. The sky seems bluer. The birds seem to chirp in a melodic harmony. The walk back to the ship is pleasant. One that he doesn’t mind taking the long way for. After all, there are things for him to appreciate.

#captain rex x reader #by ophelia #i had to get this out of the docs it was sending me insane #pt 1 of ???

70 notes · View notes

yamcha-thelonewolf · 5 months

Text

🫀The Heart's Savior.

Today I want to discuss a fairly complex topic that I will have to divide into three parts. I do not know when I will publish the remaining two, but I will certainly try to be as quick as possible to complete it as soon as possible. Well, the title of this topic is clearly a pun. King Kai would probably love it, because as you can imagine the word "heart" is musically related to the word "earth." This creates a close connection between two terms that are absolutely linked in Dragon Ball. The point is that in our story we often talk about earth's saviors, which is normal since the goal is to save the planet at all costs. However, it seems to me that nowhere is it written that only muscles and ultra-powered energy balls are always needed to protect the earth. Sometimes the heroic gesture happens even beyond the battlefield, and it does not even have to be addressed to the whole world. It would be enough to help even one person, and that could make all the difference. From this point of view Yamcha has done a lot, but unfortunately his good deeds have always gone unnoticed or foolishly ignored. So today I will try to bring back to the forefront his personal heroism, which as far as I am concerned had its little best between the Androids Saga and the Cell Saga.

I will divide the three parts in a temporal sense. The first part will be about the past, the second part about the present, and the third part about the future, so that it will be very clear to everyone how Yamcha's contribution has seriously saved the whole arc of Dragon Ball.

So... Let's not waste any more time!

Are you ready, wolfpack? Let's get started!

PART 1: The Past.

In order to better understand all that will follow, it is good to specify once again what Yamcha's role in the story consists of: he is basically a support. This does not mean that his character automatically takes a back seat, but simply that his personality causes him to behave in a certain way, surely different from all the other warriors who immediately take the field. Many people laugh that Yamcha is a coward who prefers to shy away from battles, but that is not true. Yamcha is there. He has always been there, and no matter what, he has always tried in his own way to help.

Few people notice it, but I cannot help but realize how in these two arcs he has fought the most dangerous battle of all. No, guys, I am not joking or overestimating the character. Keep following me and you will understand better.

The chapter "The Past" is perhaps the one that most shows what I think, as well as the most important. Here we will talk about the one and only Goku, who has been part of Yamcha's life since the days when they were a child and a young boy respectively. You know, the one between Yamcha and Goku is a long-term friendship. Think of it, it is even longer lasting than the friendship between Kuririn and Goku, since he met the bald kid some time after meeting the desert bandit. I know that time is relative when it comes to relationships, but I only want to emphasize this precisely to point out how much more intertwined Yamcha and Goku's lives are than you might think. For this reason, Goku won the first chapter. It is a symbolic way of saying that Yamcha cannot help but give thanks to his past.

Let's go in order.

The Androids and Cell Saga is certainly one of the most fascinating and memorable. The plot is considerably more intricate, a historical enemy, the Red Ribbon Army, returns, and most importantly we have the full Z-Fighters for the entire duration of the story arc. What is most beautiful is that everyone, in one way or another, makes a contribution, even those thought to be "weaker". For example, Tenshinhan's intervention trying to stop Cell's second transformation from absorbing Android 18 is unforgettable.

But... what about Yamcha? It really seems that he did not do much in the battle, but that is not the case. Well, he certainly fought less than Piccolo and Vegeta, but that doesn't mean he helped less than the others. First of all, we must take into account an absolutely essential event that strongly influenced Yamcha's future actions: upon the arrival of androids 19 and 20 he was the first to risk death. No, I should correct myself: he almost died. Had it not been for the Senzu bean, he would surely have died within a very few minutes, and even if he eventually survived, that does not mean that Yamcha has forgotten the pain he felt from that horrid hand completely perforating his chest.

This is a a full-fledged trauma. Not only that, it is also an epiphany for him, because at that moment he realizes that he is unable to cope with two such terribly strong monsters. Think how discouraging it must have been for him to have to accept the fact that he was knocked out practically at the beginning. If we then want to add that all this coincides with the separation from Bulma, which he certainly did not take well, let us say that this period was not the best for his already fragile personality hidden behind his great charisma.

However, a little later something extraordinary happens. It is a scene that I personally find as moving as it is realistic, simply because Yamcha proves once again that he is the most human of all. Unfortunately, this scene is seen by everyone as Yamcha's usual ridiculous moment, but the truth is that this is where he demonstrates all his greatness. I'm talking about the time when Goku suddenly gets sick from the disease and someone necessarily has to accompany him home to start treatment. Gohan is the first to offer, of course he is his father and cannot do otherwise, but he is immediately stopped by Yamcha who offers to do it for him.

This is the first time ever that Yamcha puts aside the pride that has often made him tenderly cocky and admits in front of everyone that he is the weaker one. I would have many things to say about this consideration of him, because I strongly believe that his problem is precisely that he has come to hasty opinions of himself precisely because of his fragile personality, but I will not discuss that now. Here, an interesting point is that he calls it pathetic to stand aside, but he is very wrong. There is nothing pathetic about accepting one's limitations and giving way to someone more capable. It is also a very good strategy. If Gohan had left, the chances of others being defeated would have been much higher. Taking away a strong member of the team would have only made things worse, so it makes sense that it should have been the least strong person to leave. This to me is the most exemplary test of courage of all. In Dragon Ball we have always seen proud, swaggering characters constantly bragging about their strength, but few times have we seen someone take a step back because staying might have only gotten in the way. The hole in his uniform is the greatest demonstration of this. You can see that he is ashamed of it, that a silent anger simmers inside him and that all the frustration accumulated over those years has reached its peak, but boy, let's just say that in saying that he is more badass than those who do not accept being second best. That's why I say Yamcha is incredible. He is the only one who took a step backward, not knowing that by doing so he was able to go beyond. This is the way of life. At some point you stop running aimlessly, you look inside yourself, and you realize that in order to move forward you must also know how to go back. That's what Mr. Popo had told him to do, but he was too young and blustery to listen to him. And that's okay. He's a human, let's never forget that.

I could end here. Yamcha leaving the group and entrusting the mission to heroes stronger than himself, but this is where the fun begins.

Just before getting up in the air, Piccolo warns him that there may be a risk that Goku's illness may be viral. This means that Yamcha, being in close contact with the infected, risks contracting the virus as much as the saiyan did. Actually, it is not confirmed anywhere that the virus is contagious. Piccolo assumed this from Trunks' words when he explained to Goku what would happen in a few years.

We only know with certainty that senzu can do nothing against this disease and especially that not even a super saiyan can recover from this illness. Did you get it right? This means that an earthling is totally unable to survive this disease. I mean, if a saiyan has no chance, a human being is triply doomed. We are back to square one. Yamcha is risking his life again, and this time against an absolutely unbeatable enemy that has defeated even Goku. Do you understand? Goku. If there was a margin of possibility to beat the androids, in this case it is completely impossible. So by agreeing to help Goku, consequently Yamcha also agrees that he can surely die. But this time he is not backing down. This time he is sure of what he is doing, just because his greatest goal is not to survive and avoid death but to support in his own way. Coward, huh? From here it is clear how dying is not his problem at all. Or rather, it is, but it does not matter if it means helping the one he loves and, in this case, the one who could save the entire planet.

This is how Yamcha's true nature comes out. Actually it is possible to notice it long before, but this time it is practically evident. I imagine him constantly searching for his place in the world, but the truth is that he has already found it, he just hasn't realized it yet. He hasn't realized that his job on the team is precisely to take care of everyone, even more than a magic bean can. It is a shame that even the authors did not realize this aspect of him. What the hell... Seriously, did no one notice how heroic Yamcha was at this point in the story? He remains there with him, keeping vigil for his friend, and with great bravery faces a battle in which emotions are also at stake.

The scenes in which Chichi and Yamcha care for Goku are among the sweetest in all of Dragon Ball. Yamcha is not required to stay because Chichi is already in the house, but he once again makes himself available to help as much as he can. Notcing how Goku struggles in pain, Yamcha's strength may be needed to block the saiyan and prevent him from unintentionally hurting himself or Chichi. What's more, assuming a worsening of the disease, thanks to the ability of flight Yamcha could transport him anywhere else in no time.

In some ways, he is also taking care of Chichi. A wife who sees her husband in so much pain can never cope alone, she needs support, comfort, someone to tell her that everything will be all right, and Yamcha is absolutely perfect for this role.

No one else among the Z-Fighter would be able to instill serenity in Chichi as Yamcha does. His patient, friendly temperament, always ready to reassure anyone, has surely prevented her from any crisis or attack of fear. One can well see how Yamcha's sensitivity goes beyond fine words. His mental elasticity leads him to reason quickly about all possible eventualities, so without a second thought he even suggests that Chichi take the medicine with him. Yet more proof of how he really loves everyone.

For example, this is a scene that explains very well what I mean. We're talking about filler, but I don't care. Whoever decided to do them must have understood that Yamcha deserved more. It is only a small detail, but at least it is highlighted how Yamcha's presence was crucial for Chichi and Goku himself. Here we can see Goku once again being sick, so Yamcha warns Chichi to retrieve the medicine again, but when she rushes to look for it she cannot find it, perhaps because she is so panicked that she does not understand anything more for a few moments. Sensing her confusion, Yamcha turns toward her and in no time comes to her rescue, pointing her to the exact spot where the medicine is. She grabs it and so Goku can once again stop suffering. I like to think that Yamcha's sixth sense, or ultimately his well-developed spirit of observation, helped him easily memorize where the medicine was at that time. His cool-headedness, coupled with his gentleness, were definitely a staple in Goku and Chichi's most intimate and fragile moment.

He also does so during the Cell Game, and this time together with another great character who deserves equally: Tenshinhan. This is one of my favorite scenes. Two great friends of Goku, initially villains and then both reformed to become his allies, stand before Goku when he is in trouble, to protect him from the Cell Juniors. It doesn't really matter that they are not strong enough to defend him forever, but just being there for him, acting as his human barrier, is one of the best moments. When I say that they could create a lot of good content for Earthlings, I am also referring to these kinds of scenes. It would be nice if they could recapture the atmosphere of this arc, where everyone lends a hand and everyone fights in their own way, even if they don't necessarily win.

Well… I know I've said as much as I know I could still say as much. I would just like to point out something. Doesn't it also seem to you that Yamcha is a bit like a guardian angel for Goku? Pay attention to that. Yamcha took care of Goku at the very time when he was most vulnerable. This shows how he has always been that big brother to him who has always watched over him. He took care of his heart at a time when not even a senzu could help him feel better, and going back to the past… He took care of Goku even in his most unconscious state, which is when he transforms into the Great Ape. The first time, being the only one who realized that his weak point was his tail, he had managed to stop him by cutting it off with Puar's help. But it is when Goku transforms for the second time that Yamcha shows off all his love for his friend, running up to Jackie Chun to stop him from hurling the kamehameha at the monster.

In the end, the moon was the target, but Yamcha and the others certainly could not have imagined that. I find it extremely emotional to see him desperate and ready to even hurt himself in order to prevent the death of his little friend.

As you can see, protecting Goku has always been part of Yamcha's instinct, and it is a pity that many have forgotten or ignored it. He is the character who most of all is moved by love, in every possible sense.

Therefore, while someone else gets the title of Earth's Savior, Yamcha absolutely wins that of Heart's Savior.

He's not pathetic. He's a true hero.

Well thank you, guys, for getting this far, whoever did it. Stay tuned for the other two parts of this topic and remember to never stop loving this beautiful wolf!

70 notes · View notes

vibrantbirdy · 11 months

Note

Hiii. Firstly, I just want to say how much I LOVE your work. I think you’re fantastic!

I was hoping to request an Obi-Wan Kenobi x Senator or Princess female reader (always a sucker for this). Maybe Clone wars or pre- ending of Revenge of the Sith. Peppered with Obi-Wan denying his feelings for the sake of the Jedi code, and then confessing true emotions in the Kenobi series era. (gotta love angst with some feels after a whole lot of yearning).

Thank you so much 💙

Thank you so much for your kind words and this wonderful request. I was so excited to write for Obi-Wan as it's been years since I have, and it's really cool to write for him in the wake of the Kenobi series. So thank you for this lovely prompt and I hope this is the sort of thing you were looking for.

(Requests for Character x Reader fics are currently open in my Asks. Please read the guidelines first.)

(Masterlist of my fics can be found here.)

Title: Relics Fandom: Star Wars: The Skywalker Saga Setting: Pre the Phantom Menace to post the Kenobi Series. Genres: Sci-fi; Romance; Minor Angst Warnings: mild/moderate sexuality; mild references to Reader family losses due to old age; mild references to the Empire being baddies and doing baddie things Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi x Princess Female Reader Chapters: 1/1 (Complete) Word Count: c.5k Author's Note: It's late and I need to proofread this properly, sorry for any mistakes in the mean time!

Summary: You and Obi-Wan Kenobi have a connection that spans decades as your lives intersect throughout the years. Will you find each other again in the most unlikely of places?

Now

Inevitably, the Empire discovered that you have been siphoning off funds to various Rebel factions across the Galaxy for years. As Queen of Vitis, you planned to stay on your home world and face the consequences of defying the Imperial tyrants with your people.

But your Bodyguard, loyal to a fault, had other ideas. The night before an Imperial delegation was set to arrive, your Captain of the Guard, Old Paltrum, hired a bounty hunter to abduct you from your chambers in the middle of the night and drop you off somewhere "safe." This apparently meant any random, obscure world in the Outer Rim of the mercenary's choosing.

Seemingly, the desert planet of Tatooine was the farthest flung rock in the Galaxy that the brute could think of.

At night, you dream of home. Of Vitis. A beautiful planet, full of lush forests and green meadows where wildflowers gleam through the grass like little jewels.

Too often, these dreams turn to nightmares and you watch, helpless, as the rivers run red with the blood of your people and the Imperial flag flies like Death's victory banner above the royal citadel.

You fear you'll forever be known as the Vitisian Queen who abandoned her subjects in their most desperate hour of need.

Tatooine is not like home. The heat during the day is a constant, inescapable blanket of oppression. No matter what you do, the sand works its way into your eyes, between your teeth, into your clothes and tracks its way all the way through the small one room home you managed to purchase with the few credits Paltrum obviously appropriated for you from the palace treasury. And you are always so thirsty, no matter how much water you consume.

Still, you have been on the desert planet for almost three months now, and despite your belligerent determination not to, you are beginning to settle and acclimatise. Slowly.

You like Tatooine best in the evening, just as dusk falls. It's cooler and there is a rare, strange beauty to be found as the twin suns set in the sky which turns from blood red to pink to purple and finally to a deep, midnight blue.

You make your living selling the clothing you make at the stall you have acquired in the market in Mos Eisley. It is mid-afternoon when you catch sight of a man you know walking across the far side of the square. You jump up from your stool, knocking it over in your haste and sending your weaving unravelling to the floor.

Ducking and weaving and apologising to the people you bump into, you track the man making his way across the market through the obstructions of clothing and clutter and trinkets hanging from the stalls of your neighbours' and your own.

Your heart leaps. It is him. Obi-Wan Kenobi.

What is he doing here? Of all places.

You want to run to him, to call out his name but something stops you.

He looks older. Of course he does, it's been over a decade since you last saw him. But that's not it.

The Obi-Wan you remember carried himself with a charismatic air of confidence which, on other men, could easily have been perceived as arrogance. But Kenobi was always able to temper this with his good humour and dignified manner.

Now, he looks downtrodden, smaller, as if he's been on Tatooine so long that the years have started to grind him into the sand. His once well kempt hair and beard are scruffy and his dirty, torn clothes are little more than rags.

You are suddenly struck by the idea that he might not want you to see him like this. Then, you think about what happened to the Jedi Order and the rumoured purge said to have been commanded by the Emperor himself.

Obi-Wan must be in exile or in hiding. Just like you.

With this revelation, you are paralysed by indecision. By the time you come to the realisation that you can't let this chance to reunite with him slip away, he is already gone.

***************************************************

30 years ago

The Republic have sent a diplomatic envoy to Vitis to discuss with leading politicians from the surrounding worlds the increasing Separatist pressure on the system's trade routes. The delegation of two Jedi, Master Qui-Gon Jinn and his young apprentice, Obi-Wan Kenobi, arrive at the Vitisian royal citadel early in the morning.

Although you really think you should be sitting at the table with the other delegates, you've reluctantly agreed with the wishes of your parents, the King and Queen, to show Obi-Wan the palace grounds and some of the countryside beyond.

He's a young man about your age, probably eighteen or nineteen. Upon first introduction, you get the distinct impression that he feels like he should be present at the discussions too. But, following a brief period of stilted conversation as you lead him through the palace and out into the lush gardens, it quickly becomes apparent that you and Obi-Wan just click. Any interest in trade or commerce is soon forgotten by both of you.

When he speaks, his pronunciation is clipped and proper, but his voice is full of a charming vitality. He has a graceful, purposeful physicality and moves his body with a self-assuredness many young men his age don't seem to possess quite yet. And he's handsome. He has an open, honest face with well-proportioned features, adored with two impossibly bright blue eyes. He has sandy coloured hair which, apart from a small pony tail at the back of his head and a long, thin braid that runs down behind his ear and to his chest, is cropped short.

As you walk through Vitis's lush, green surroundings together, the conversations flows easily. You notice that he has a perpetual, good-natured smirk on his face, as if he constantly has an amusing quip on the tip of his tongue. Sometimes he speaks these out loud and his blue eyes twinkle with mischief.

His little barbs are never unkind. In fact, you find it refreshing, the way he makes you think on your feet in an effort to fire out your own witty retorts.

One time, you're too slow to think of anything clever to say, so all you can think to do is to pull, gently, at the strange braid affixed to the side of his head.

"What's this?"

What's what?" He asks with mock ignorance, and you shove him playfully.

"It's my Padawan braid," he explains, "It signifies that I'm not yet a Jedi. Once I've completed the trials, I'll cut it off as part of the ceremony when I become a Knight."

"Oh," you say, faltering.

It all sounds rather meaningful and symbolic.

"I'm sorry, maybe I shouldn't have..."

He smiles reassuringly.

"It's ok, I have a bad habit of tugging at it myself when I'm nervous."

Hours have passed and you've wandered all the way through the grounds as far as the great lake before either of you notice the time. You take the short cut back through the woods and past the gargantuan Whispering Tree, which stands sentinel like a great, leafy guardian on the border of the royal forest.

Obi-Wan stops to admire the tree, his eyes following its massive trunk and he cranes his neck in a futile attempt to try and get a glimpse of the top as it disappears into the canopy. The tree is putting on a magnificent show today. Its peculiar white leaves are dazzling in the sunlight and the pale silver bark shines like precious metal.

"What is it?" he asks, his voice filled with awe, "I've never seen a tree like it."

"It's called the Whispering Tree because of the noise it makes in the wind. It sounds like someone speaking. It's the only one left of its kind - a white Vitisian Birch. Traditionally, first born royal daughters are charged with its care," you run a hand against the smooth bark fondly," and that happens to be me."

Obi-Wan smiles almost absent-mindedly as he presses his palm against the tree and closes his eyes.

"Are you talking to it? Using the Force?" You ask, excitedly, "What's it saying?"

"That's not how it works," he chuckles, but he stops immediately as he sees your cheeks redden and realises that you're embarrassed.

"Uh, but if it could talk," he continues, earnestly, "It would say that it feels very lucky to have someone like you to care for it."

You beam widely at him and, unable to stop yourself, you lean in and plant an impulsive kiss on his lips. At first, he stiffens, his eyes wide in surprise, but then he seems to melt into you and you feel a thrill of excitement course through you as his lips start to move against yours.

"Obi-Wan!" A stern voice makes you both jump and you leap away from each other as if you've been electrocuted.

The tall figure of Obi-Wan's mentor is striding towards where you are standing at the tree line, his Jedi robes and long silver hair billowing in the breeze together making him seem even bigger and more imposing.

"Master Qui-Gon..."

"You were supposed to escort the Princess to dinner an hour ago!"

"I know, Master, I'm sorry..."

Obi-Wan starts to explain, but Qui-Gon Jinn cuts him off abruptly.

"I don't want to hear it."

Side by side, you and Obi-Wan traipse silently back to the palace behind Master Jinn. You find yourself having to scurry to keep up with his long strides, but Obi-Wan appears to be used to it.

He looks rather crestfallen following Qui-Gon's admonishment, and you reach out to touch the back of his hand lightly with your own. At first, he doesn't look at you, instead just allowing the corners of his mouth to lift slightly as he runs his knuckles back and forth against your own.

Then, you exchange a sheepish, secret smile, behind Master Jinn's back, before breaking the touch and you both return your gaze to the ground with suitably chastised expressions.

--------------------------------------------------------

It becomes apparent over dinner that Master Jinn, mercifully, has not informed your parents of your little indiscretion with Obi-Wan. You don't know what story he has concocted to explain your tardiness, but you are grateful for it.

Over the course of the evening, as you observe him, you realise that Qui-Gon Jinn is a kind man. Although he appears slightly terse with Obi-Wan to begin with, his manner softens as time goes on and to you, the relationship between the two Jedi seems almost akin to that of father and son.

Although you still feel a guilty, watching the two Jedi helps soothe your worries that Obi-Wan might face some severe reprimand on account of your actions.

Soon, it is time to see the guests off and the Jedi delegation is last to leave. You take advantage of the long conversation Master Jinn and your father apparently couldn't possibly have finished over dinner to say goodbye to Obi-Wan.

"I'm sorry, did you get in trouble?" You say quickly and quietly into his ear as you give him a formal, chaste kiss farewell on the cheek. "Yes, but it was worth it," he whispers back and a wide, boyish grin spreads across his face as he pulls away.

You can't do anything other than return it, and you look at each other for just a moment longer before he gives you a courteous nod of his head.

"Goodbye, Princess."

"Goodbye, Obi-Wan."

********************************************************

Now

You next see Obi-Wan a few weeks after your first glimpse of him at the market.

You almost approach him this time, but again, something holds you back.

He is heading towards Mos Eisley's space port and he has a more purposeful stride to his walk than when you last saw him.

Yet it's still not the walk of the composed, dignified man you once knew. In fact, his sense of urgency seems alarmingly close to panic.

Presumably, he is going off-world for some reason. He's not carrying much with him.

You hope he'll be back.

******************************************************** 12 years ago You are arriving on Coruscant, the sprawling city covered planet at the heart of the Galaxy, the seat of the Republic's power. Your father has sent you to make a representation to the Senate to officially declare an end to Vitis's neutrality.

It's not what you or your people want. But the Separatists have been pushing in on Vitisian interests on all sides in the past several months, disrupting trade routes, placing droid garrisons on nearby worlds, even muscling in on mineral mining operations on several moons within the Vitisian system. There is now really is very little choice. Vitis needs the protection of the Republic.

As you step off your ship, Obi-Wan Kenobi, now a Jedi Master, strides across the landing platform to greet you. You are so high up it gives the impression that the Coruscant sun which hangs large and low and golden in the sky behind you is about to swallow you whole. There is a strong breeze, which catches your hair and sends the flowing train of your green travelling dress snaking into the air like an emerald river.

Obi-Wan has grown into a fine looking man, tall and broad shouldered. He is clothed in traditional Jedi attire, a long brown robe draped elegantly over a cream tunic, fawn pants, and knee length, brown leather boots. His sandy hair is neatly cropped at the back and sides, with more length on the top and he had grown a distinguished golden beard since you last saw him.

"Princess," he says with a warm smile, those piercing blue eyes of his just as full of life as you remember.

"Master Kenobi," you respond, beaming, as he stoops to kiss you on both cheeks.

You'd been concerned that, in the almost two decades since you last saw him, his long years at war in service to the Jedi might have dulled that bright spark you so admired in the young man you once knew.

But you needn't have worried. As he escorts you to your chambers within the accommodation wing of the grand Senate building, you find yourself falling back into easy, cheerful conversation with him, as if no time has passed at all.

Obi-Wan's youthful spirit is still present but it has evolved into a sort of refined, contained exuberance that sits elegantly on him. He is as quick to laughter as ever and the eloquent wit he possessed even as a boy is just as sharp.

----------------------------------------------------------

You are sitting in the lavish parlour of the rooms you've been assigned. It is a fine suite, decorated in bright colours with a beautiful view out across Coruscant's endless cityscape. The arching floor to ceiling windows let in as much natural light at the metropolis' towering spires will allow.

Suddenly, you wonder what it would feel like to kiss Obi-Wan again, now that he has that dashing beard.

"Princess?"

Obi-Wan is standing at the sideboard, holding a steaming teapot and a glass mug out towards you. From the amused, questioning look on his face, you get the distinct impression that he has proffered the beverage more than once.

"I apologise, Master Jedi, I was parsecs away, yes please."

"Oh really?" he asks, conversationally as he drops into the lounge chair opposite you, and hands you the glass vessel across the low, marble table, "Where were you?"

"Well, I was actually thinking about when we first met, do you remember?"

It's not quite a lie.

"How could I forget?" He laughs, "Master Qui-Gon was furious with me."

A shadow of uncharacteristic sadness suddenly passes over his face.

Remembering the rumours you have heard of the violence of Qui-Gon Jinn's death at the hands of a mysterious, fearsome warrior, you put down your tea and reach across the table to take Obi-Wan's hands in yours.

"I was so very sorry to hear about Master Jinn, Obi-Wan," you say kindly.

"Thank you, it was a long time ago now."

He smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. He squeezes your hands gently before he stands up.

"I'll let you get settled."

Obi-Wan makes for the door and as he reaches for the handle, he turns and grins at you disarmingly.

"It really is very good to see you again, Princess."

----------------------------------------------------

You had only planned to stay on Coruscant for a week. However, politics being as they are, you have ended up staying for much longer.

One day, during a gap in the Senate proceedings, Obi-Wan takes you to visit the magnificent Jedi Temple. He wants to show you the terraced garden, knowing that you are missing the greenery of Vitis.

It is a paradise. You can't believe that at the centre of this endless cityscape is this bubble of serenity. The variety of plants that are grown here, the vibrancy of the colours, the wonderful aroma of a hundred different blossoms all intermingled - it makes you giddy.

You and Obi-Wan stay in the gardens for hours strolling and conversing and sitting together, then strolling some more.

"Strange how so many years have gone by yet I feel as if no time at all has passed between us," you say plainly as soon as the thought pops into your head.

You don't mean it to sound quite so romantic, but then you realise you really don't mind if that's how Obi-Wan choses to interpret it.

"I feel the same," he agrees and you are surprised to see a hint of bashfulness in the smile he offers.

You allow the back of your hand to graze against his. He turns his head and raises his eyebrows at you, an amused smirk of recognition on his face. He runs his knuckles along yours as he once did so many years ago.

Unlike then, Obi-Wan allows his hand to stay resting against yours this time and you walk like that, not quite hand in hand, through the vast gardens of the Temple long after the sun starts to set and the descent of the cool, evening air releases the sweet, heady scent of Coruscanti night blossoms all around you.

-----------------------------------------------------

The month you have spent on Coruscant has been stressful, busy, and filled with difficult negotiations and decisions which weigh heavily upon on you. Your father is in ailing health, ever since the death of your mother, and you know that soon you will be Queen. It is not a thought you relish, but now, at least, you know that when you take the oath to serve your people for the rest of your life as sovereign, you will be able to do so knowing you can hold your own on their behalf in the Rancor's den of the Republic Senate.

Yet, aside from all the worry, this has also been one of the happiest times of your life. When you are not working, and when he is not galivanting off-world on some Jedi business or another, you have spent every moment you can spare with Obi-Wan.

When the time finally comes to leave Coruscant, Obi-Wan volunteers to escort you back to Vitis. You'd sent Paltrum home weeks ago, poor old sod. City air has never agreed with him and you just knew his wife, Ina, would be worried sick about him.

As you finally land back on your home world, it is amid thunder and lightning. It is perhaps the most violent storm you've seen on Vitis in a decade.

You almost can't believe it when you and Obi-Wan step off the ship and see Old Paltrum soaked through, standing sentry at the palace doors.

"Paltrum, get inside, for the love of the Maker!" You scold the ancient Captain as you approach.

Obi-Wan is holding his cloak over your head in a valiant effort to keep you dry, but it is making not one bit of difference and you can feel the water seeping through your travelling clothes and into your bones.

"It's always been my job to watch for you, your Highness, I'm not about to stop now," Paltrum responds indignantly and you feel a pang of guilt for your rather patronising tone.

"I know, thank you, Captain," and you have to shout over the roar of the wind and the lashing rain, "It's late. I'll see my father in the morning, don't disturb him."

"As you wish, my lady," Paltrum says with a gracious nod, and you stifle a laugh as a deluge of water floods off the peak of his cap with the motion.

The Captain turns to Obi-Wan as he opens the huge, ornate doors to let you through.

"Master Kenobi, there are guest quarters ready for you in the east wing."

------------------------------------------------------------

Obi-Wan does not go to the east wing. Instead, you lead him towards your own chambers. Someone, thankfully, has lit a fire in your sitting room and you both sit cross-legged on the rug on the floor as close as is possible next to the roaring flames.

You've each taken off your sodden outerwear. If possible, Obi-Wan looks even more dashing wet through, his light undershirt clinging to his muscled torso underneath.

Neither of you have spoken since you sat down and as you both watch the flames from the fire reflect in the other's eyes, a tension-filled silence fills the room and sets your heart racing until you think it might burst.

When you can bear it no longer and you see no point in prolonging further pretence, you grab Obi-Wan by the front of his shirt and pull him into a kiss. It is not like your first, so many years ago. This is a deep and passionate embrace, full of desire. He responds immediately to your touch this time, his lips crashing almost roughly against yours.

The Jedi's hands are round your waist, at the nape of your neck, the small of your back, tangled up in your hair, seemingly all at once. You start to unbutton the fastenings on his shirt, tearing at them with one hand, while the other travels urgently down his chest towards his abdomen.

Suddenly, Obi-Wan leaps to his feet and turns his back to you, his broad shoulders rising and falling rapidly. As you've seen him do so often in recent weeks, he brings a hand to his face and rubs his beard. You think this new habit has probably replaced the old one of tugging on his Padawan braid.

"Have I upset you?" you ask quietly, the sting of confusion and rejection, worrying its way under your skin.

"No, Princess," his voice is an earnest whisper as he sits back down in front of you, grasping your hands in his, "Never."

"I still dream of that kiss we shared all those years ago," he admits suddenly, his voice low and full of longing.

Obi-Wan cups your face gently in his hands and looks at you, brows furrowed with emotion, his gaze penetrating right through your soul and setting it aflame.

"Now, seeing you again after all these years, I dream of what it would be like to hold you, to share your life, to....share your bed. These past weeks, I have yearned for you, you must know that."

Your foreheads are touching now, your nose presses into his face, and your fingers are suddenly entwined in his wet, golden hair. You can feel his heart raging against his chest as if it is fighting to escape, just as your own is.

"Obi-Wan..." you say, open-mouthed against his cheek, breathless with need for him.

He closes his eyes and brushes his lips against yours, but he doesn't quite allow himself to kiss you. Instead, after a moment of breathing each other in and out, he pulls away gently.

"But that's all they are," his voice has returned to it's usual refined timbre, "I'm sorry, but they are just dreams. It's all I can allow them to be."

His words are like a thousand tiny knives to your heart and you can't help feeling how cruel it was of him to give you hope and then tear it away like that. You stand up sharply and walk to the window, gazing out onto the storm raging across Vitis, a mere spring shower compared to the tumult now roiling within you.

"You must understand, I have pledged my life to the Jedi Order..."

"You were a child when you made that pledge..." you scoff and you despise the bitterness in your own voice.

He walks across the room to join you and puts his hand on your shoulder.

"All the same. It is made. And now we are at war. I have obligations, I have responsibilities to the Order and to the Republic"

You turn to him and place your hands on his broad chest. His heartbeat has slowed and you know you are losing him. It's like he's flicked some internal switch and raised a barrier between you.

"Then let us have each other, just this once," you whisper urgently, emboldened by desire and the fear that this chance to love him as you've always wanted is slipping away forever.

Obi-Wan touches your face and smiles sadly.

"If we did, I would never be able to leave you again, not for a single moment. I would be your prisoner forever."

"Then stay," you plead through tears, even though you already know his answer, "Stay with me."

"I can't."

***********************************************

Now

Obi-Wan Kenobi is sitting on a wall in Mos Eisley's market place. You are pleased to see that he looks much more like his old self. His head is held high and there is a look of calm on his handsome face. The clothes he is wearing are much neater than before, almost reminiscent of his old Jedi robes, and he has tidied up his hair and beard.

You walk towards him, but he doesn't notice you. You don't say his name. Instead, you quietly sit down next to him and let the back of your hand rest against his. You feel the strong tendons there tense.

He doesn't look at you. His head drops, and his eyes close as if he couldn't stand for it not to be you. Lightly, he moves his hand so that his knuckles rub gently against yours.

"Hello old friend," you say.

"Princess."

The use of your old title sounds natural and right on his tongue and you hope he never stops using it.

Obi-Wan finally looks up at you and his eyes, still dazzling shards of icy blue, gleam with tears. You reach out and touch his face, his stubble pleasantly rough under your hand. You take in the lines around his eyes, deeper now, and the distinguished flecks of silver in his beard and hair. The sight of him is more beautiful, more familiar to you than you can bear.

"You still look the same," you say, your voice shaking slightly.

He smiles and turns his face to gently kiss the heel of your palm that is resting against his cheek.

"And you are more radiant than ever."

He helps you take down your market stall early for the day and you take him into your home where you speak for hours in hushed tones and tell each other everything of your lives in the years since you were last together.

Then, as the twin suns of Tatooine set behind your little domed house in the sand, you lead him to your bed.

----------------------------------------------------

You are curled up on your side against Obi-Wan's solid, warm chest. For the first time in years you feel safe, entwined in his strong arms, listening to the steady, sonorous rhythm of his heartbeat.

"I have always loved you," he whispers tenderly in your ear, tucking away a stray lock of hair back from your cheek.

"And I you," you say and you mean it.

Still, you can't help but smile sadly as you think of the last time you saw him that fateful night of the storm of Vitis before everything fell apart.

"But of course, you already knew that," you add.

"I am sorry, truly."

"Obi-Wan..." you start to interrupt, worried that your words sounded resentful.

"For all the wasted years," he continues.

He needs to say this, you realise. So you let him.

"If I'd known how the Republic would fall, how the Jedi Order would fail, how the Empire... Well, I never would have denied us this."

He brings his lips to your shoulder and traces a trail of kisses down your arm. His beard tickles.

"No one could have known, Obi-Wan. You did what you thought was right at the time. We all did. And now here we are together again. We made it back to each other. Two old relics of a past age."

"Oh come now, we're not that old," he quips, and you are happy to hear that his tone has lightened again.

You grin mischievously and wriggle out of his arms to push him down onto his back and roll on top of him.

"Prove it," you whisper, as you come to rest on his abdomen and lean down to kiss him on the nose.

His eyes widen in surprise and then in boyish delight as he grasps you firmly by your hips. "Again?!" he laughs and he throws his head back in mirth at his own joke, his eyes squeezing shut so that they crinkle beautifully at the corners.

It is a joyful, youthful, transcendental sound and suddenly, you are back under the Whispering Tree in the green meadows of Vitis with a young Jedi, an unwritten future together stretching out endlessly in front of you.

#obi wan x reader #obi wan x female reader #star wars fanfiction #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan kenobi x female reader #star wars fanfic #obi wan kenobi fanfiction

170 notes · View notes

rorimoon9597 · 6 months

Text

Pt 1 Pt 2

----------

Lance turns out to be a huge help as Keith's right hand. When he's overworking himself, Lance is there to force him to bed. If Keith's having a bad day, then Lance is there as silent support.

It makes Keith fall in love with him even more.

And the fact that Lance was determined to keep up his game with his eye colour. Keith admired the dedication to keeping everyone confused. So much so that sometimes, when they meet with the leaders of a planet, his eye colour changes more frequently. The looks on the aliens faces when Pidge explains that Humans can't change their eye, skin or hair colour at will is priceless.

Keith begins to feel as if he will burst if he doesn't do anything about these feelings soon. It takes having to fight Lotor to do that.

They're all in the castle, resting. They were so, incredibly lucky that Lotor wasn't able to go into the Quintessence field, that they were able to stop him. Sure, he was dead now, but better for a tyrant to be dead than alive still.

Krolia had fussed over him when he got back. Romelle nearly cried and clung to him. Coran had hugged all of them.

Then, perhaps the weirdest part of the day, Allura was able to bring back Shiro. Who had one less arm again. Keith had cried with relief at having his actual brother back.

They were floating through space, resting after the fight, and Keith was never one for resting. Even during his self-imposed exile to the shack in the desert he'd had things to do.

So he decided to go check up on Shiro.

"Hey," he said. Shiro looked up from where he was glaring at the bowl of food goo he'd been given.

"Hey, Keith. Do you need something?" He asked.

"You... Could say that." Keith walked into the room and sat on the bed with Shiro. Kosmo, his wolf that would now only respond to that name that Pidge had given him, joined them, lying on the floor.

"Is something wrong?" Shiro asked. Keith sighed.

"I'm so gay, Shiro," he said. Shiro laughed. Keith glared at him.

"I knew that already."

"Uh, yeah, because I came to you and Shiro when I had a gay crisis and needed help."

"Why are you telling me something that I already know?"

"Because! My crush on Lance has gotten worse. I love him now, Shiro. It's not just a crush anymore." Shiro gave Keith a sympathetic look.

"That's the hardest part. Even for me, and I knew that Adam's gay, too." Shiro placed his had on Keith's shoulder. "Don't wait for too long, Keith, or you'll lose your chance. Trust me on that. I waited too long with my first crush, and he ended up moving away and I never saw him again. Tell him when you think that the time is right."

"How do you know all this? Didn't you tell Adam that you liked him when you were sleep deprived?" Keith asked.

"Not the point, Keith. I'm trying to be a good brother to you, and part of being a good brother is to give my younger brother relationship advice," Shiro replied. Keith rolled his eyes.

"Whatever," he said. Shiro moved his hand to ruffle his hair.

"Trust me on this, Keith. I have actually been in a relationship before." Keith can't help but smile at those words.

"I will," he agrees.

_______

They being their journey to Earth soon after that. On the way there, they pick up Matt, Rollo, Nyma and Beezer and tell them about the whole ordeal with Shiro.

"I knew that something was off! His hair floof and eyeliner were wrong!" Matt shouted triumphantly. Pidge just shook her head at her brother. Then she dragged him off to Green's hangar to start designing a new arm for Shiro.

They still had some pit stops before Earth. One of those was to pick up some of the Olkari, who were going to help with the defense system on Earth.

After they picked up Matt, Romelle asked the question that Keith had been expecting.

"What is up with Lance's eyes?" She asked.

"I have been wondering about that as well," Krolia agreed.

"We don't know, but we have a betting pool," Pidge replied. Keith rolled his eyes.

"You get far too much enjoyment out of this," he said. Then he turned and left.

He'd let them suffer if they really wanted to.

#vld #voltron #coran #lance mcclain #princess allura #keith kogane #klance #pt 3 of lance being a little shit #we find out his eye colour here #pidge holt #hunk garrett

49 notes · View notes

sil-te-plait-tue-moi · 1 year

Text

Let's settle down for the night.

Quick summary: You’ve been each other’s for a long time. You trust him with your life, your body, you time, and he trusts you with his. Sometimes, though, you find yourself craving a quieter kind of intimacy. Without the helmet.

Word count: 6.3K

Warnings: A lot of fluff 😩😩; may be inaccurate ‘cause, I gotta say, I’m a Star Wars fan but I did not proper hyperfixate on it like with some of the other stuff I’ve written about (buffs, please help me out here); kind of angsty??? like, reader’s an orphan etc; allusions to smut (under the shirt stuff amiright amiright); explicit mentions of smut.

A/N: What a fittie, guys. Bound to happen. This one goes out to @manicdream for giving me a lil’ prompt where you and Din are in looove aaaand—I guess you’ll have to keep reading for the fluuuff and feels! I really had fun with this one! Love this stoic, brooding, dramatic lad, and I enjoyed exploring love languages, their communication, etc, etc. i have no idea when this would take place, so just try to follow along, I guess??? I hope you enjoy this short, little story! I think this is gonna be just one part by the way. For all you Pedro Pascal sluts out there 😌😌😌, I do think I’m gonna write a smut thing for Joel Miller TLOU. NO PROMISES, THOUGH. Just finished the latest episode and what the fuck 😀😀😀 it just gets more and more traumatising huh. Anyway, please enjoy this happy fic!

ੈ✩‧₊˚

We’ve been walking for a while, now. Muscles aching, legs straining. The low, sloping sands of the Tatooine desert are pink in the setting suns, stretching on for years and years.

The light flames up brilliant red and orange and bright white in his beskar, and I have to squint my eyes when I look over at him. From this angle, he looks like he’s all armour. When the suns finally go down, he’ll be a silhouette. That time of day always suits him best. You know how people you meet just seem like things sometimes. Din’s like rich soil, the kind that you can sink your fingers deep into with one single push. Or like a rock – with how little he talks, I used to think he was a rock. He’s also dusk. Dusk happens to be my favourite time of day.

My feet are dragging again. If I were with anyone else, I’d never let my guard down—but it’s just us, and we’re in the middle of nowhere, and we’ve got a whole bunch of credits in my pack that’s almost enough to finally buy us our own ship. Won’t have to put up with sceptical glances on commercial flights anymore, or getting bashed about by produce on cargo ships we’ve had to sneak onto. Maker, I miss the comfort of the Razor Crest. But, y’know, it’s—it’s what it is. Lucky for us, transportation is the worst of our problems – it’s been a relatively quiet trip over the planet; no trouble—yet. Quietly trading with sketchy contractors in isolated taverns. We never ask questions about the high-paying ones, whether we’re implicitly tipping the scales of some political bantha shit, but I’m always curious.

A dry gust of wind cools my stifling skin, a break from the still weather.

“You alright back there?”

Din has his head angled slightly back towards me. His grainy, modulated voice curves my mouth up into a smile, and I stare fondly over at him as he slows his pace a little to fall into step with me. I urge him not to slack with the jerk of my head.

“Yeah, ‘f’course,” I assure him, tongue buzzing with foul saliva. Can’t drink just yet, though, ‘cause I already chugged about half of my waterskin way back at sun-up. He’s offered me the rest of his, but I refused to take it. Though, right now, grimacing at the bile in my mouth, I am thinking hard about changing my mind. “We’re safe,” I say confidently. We’ve been careful.

“I know.” Yeah, I know he knows. “I was just wonderin’ cause, y’know, you’ve been a little quiet.”

Playfully, I nudge into him (damn that beskar) and laugh as he shoves me back. “What, so you’re saying you want my ‘mindless chit-chatting’ back now, huh?”

I’m talking out of my ass, of course. We’ve had a thing going for a while, now – it’s been just us for a while. I know he doesn’t mean any harm when he teases me like that. It takes a lot for him to hurt my feelings, and he never does. Maybe at first, when neither of us would admit that we were happier being together than apart. I don’t know why I didn’t just tag along with him sooner. If I had known that those gruff, little grunts he’d make during conversation when we’d cross paths during jobs meant that he was enjoying himself?—well, I wouldn’t have wasted so much time in asking him to be my partner. In all senses.

But still, he feels the need to explain: “Ah, you know I was just—”

“Yeah, yeah.”

I suppose that, after so long needing to be strong and tough and brave and coarse to get on with life and work, he likes being soft. This is soft for him: letting me walk ahead just slightly, his shoulder behind mine, so that he’s always got my six; teasing me about things he’s told me are his favourite qualities of mine; secretly watching me from behind the security of his visor. I don’t tell him I love it, and I don’t tell him I notice, but he knows, I think.

He turns away to complete a quick scan of the horizon on his blind side, and I do the same for mine, before we turn back to each other. He’s tired – I can tell by the way he’s leaning in towards me, like he wants to be held. The privacy of this big, wide desert must be a comfort to him. I know it is to me.

“How’s your day been?” he asks me lowly.

I laugh. “You mean the day we’re currently spending together?”

He nods. “Tell me about it.”

Stars, I’m glad it’s getting dark, because my cheeks start to glow with warmth. Not necessarily just his voice or even the words. Consistently, he always asks about my day. Yesterday, it was in a dingy tavern, after avoiding a bar fight (some prick tried to trick me out of a drink the contractor bought me fair ‘n’ square). The day before, it was in the dead of night, looking up at the stars, with the bounty, unconscious, lying between us.

“I liked it.” He scoffs. “I did. There’s been no trouble, and, y’know, I grew up on a desert planet like this.”

“Bantha farmers, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

He grunts.

I laugh again. “You bastard! You’re so judgemental. Honestly worse than those Coruscanti pricks we worked for ages back. Remember how they looked at us when we traded? Tried to underpay us? Bet they’ve never risked even chipping a nail.” Bounty hunting is a little more difficult these days without the assurance of carbonite freezing, without the security of the Guild – we’ve had to complete ten times as many jobs for five times lesser rates just to get where we are now. Reminds me of when I first started out: bounties fighting back, trying to make a run for it. But what else are we supposed to do?—take up a job where?

The suns slip below the horizon, and everything is washed a low, gentle violet—and Din is that silhouette, now, and everything seems peaceful, like it all fits together just right. Even though, of course, it might not fit together just right when I try to haggle the price of that gunship down a few credits or so and the vendor absolutely obliterates me with the most personal, cutting insults in the entire galaxy. Din’s no help in the communication sector there – the stoic type – but, if anything, he’ll be able to stand behind me with that armour and steel glare and weapons of his to try and intimidate that damn stubborn seller all the way to fuckin’ Bargain Town. Because, damn, we’re relying on it. Peli, bless her soul, doesn’t have anything large or powerful enough to support the three of us on our run from the Empire.

Speaking of the three of us, the kid’s absence, I hate to say it, is kind of nice. Of course, I worry about him, but I trust that he’s being well-looked-after at the garage. Safer than he would be with us. But I haven’t had Din to myself in what seems like years. Last time he touched me was—was—a long time ago. Too much stress. Not enough time to savour it. And he’s all about savouring those kind of things, those moments, dragging them out as long as possible.

I can feel his stare on the side of my face. My sweaty, greasy, clogged face – stars, I can’t wait until we reach a water supply.

“Are you looking at me right now?” I ask, amused.

He does another strategically-timed scan of the area, turning away from me even though I can’t see his face. I wonder if he blushes under that helmet, if it’s really obvious. “You’re looking at me.”

I roll my eyes and smile softly, lowering the scarf around my nose and mouth and tucking the fabric beneath my chin. “How was your day?”

“Good.”

“Good why?”

“‘Cause I’ve got your mindless chit-chattin’ to keep me company.”

Forcing a laugh, I glare at him again. “Ha-ha, you’re so funny, Din. Real knee-slapper right there.”

It goes quiet again – he becomes like that, sometimes, after I use his name. The first time I spoke it was in the dark hull of the Razor Crest, in hyperspace. He sat and stared straight ahead at the streaking silver, motionless, wordless. Here, the desert air is still and calm. His shoulder is still brushing up against mine.

“Are you tired?”

Yes. My legs feel like they’re about to fuckin’ fall off. Here, walking along the plain, is good, but earlier, climbing over dunes and rocks and boulders, was hell. But we need to be getting back to the kid as soon as possible. As much as I trust Peli, I need to see him and make sure he’s okay. So, I shake my head and say, “It’s only a little ways up till the next settlement.”

“It’s a lot further.”

My heart drops. “Oh.” Wishful thinking’s just got me forging fake memories at this point. My knees threaten to buckle beneath me.

“D’you think we should stop?”

“No, we can—”

“I’m tired—” he abruptly comes to a halt, apparently deciding that this little patch of sand will be a nice bed, “—let’s stop for the night.” He beckons me to him, coming in close and retrieving the lamp from inside the sling-bag, setting it down.

Well, if he insists.

You know, it’s moments like these where I just let myself be fond of him. I let myself stare freely at him, admire the shape of his body, the sleek, smart make of his helmet, let myself wonder if his face is any bit as handsome as he sounds. Everything about him is rough. The way he fights, the way he bargains, the way he pilots. His hands. I think about the texture of his hands as I sit down. I remove my gloves and stuff them away, gliding my skin across my skin to just try and simulate that touch.

“You’re not cold?”

I untwine the bag from my shoulders, setting it down and retrieving our remaining food for this day. “I’m not cold. I have, like, five layers on.”

He eyes me doubtfully. “Okay.” And he sits down on the opposite side of the lamp, facing me, one leg propped up as a rest for his arm. The pulse rifle lays by his side, ready.

I offer him a hardening clump of bread and a few stout, odd-looking, white-and-purple vegetables (generously given to us by a farmer we passed a while back)—but Din shakes his head and urges me to eat as much as I can. I bite back a remark about that helmet of his – he must be starving.

“We’ll get something better to eat when we get to the city.”

I snort. “It’s hardly a city.”

“You know what I mean.”

Stupid Din always making stupid decisions and rationalising them because he thinks it’s for me. He knows I can take care of myself, that I’m good at it, but that doesn’t stop him from dropping everything to try. It’s nice for someone to have my back, for that someone to be as wonderful as him, but, holy kriff, he’s so stupid sometimes.

I tell him flat-out, “We don’t have enough credits,” because we don’t. We have barely enough to cover a scrappy, little ship. We definitely don’t have enough to purchase any food. We’ve relied on favours and luck for long enough, and we can go for longer until we’re off-planet. Peli’s got—edible food—probably. I don’t trust it won’t make me shit my brains out as soon as we’re in hyperspace, though.

He shrugs like it’s no big deal, though. “We’ll get a worse ship.”

“Din.” Stupid. I toss him a chunk of bread, swivelling around to give him privacy.

He protests, “I’m not hungry,” and reaches over and taps it against my shoulder – I shrug him away.

“I’m already stuffed, so what’re you gonna do about it?”

He sighs in exasperation. “Thought you might say that.”

“‘Cause I’m just so predictable?”

“You’re stubborn.”

Snapping my head over my shoulder, I scoff and give him an incredulous look. “I’m stubborn?”

He tilts his head to the side as if to goad me further. “Yes.” The warm light of the lamp glows along the strong planes and clean lines of his armour. His hand leisurely dangling from his knee, he rubs his gloved fingers together, and I’m suddenly jealous of a clothing item. I know he must notice the slight catch in my breath.

I turn back around to face him, the sand moulding easily beneath my smooth movements. “And there’s not a brooding Mandalorian sitting across from me now, refusing to eat.”

The first few years of working with Din, I never once saw him eat or drink a thing. It was like he was a droid (don’t tell him I said that): always working, working hard, but fuelled by seemingly—nothing? Obviously, I figured he had to eat some time. When I became his partner, sharing the Razor Crest, he’d retreat to his bunk to eat. And when I asked him his favourite food, he said he didn’t really hate or love anything – as long as he could consume it and it wouldn’t kill him, he’d tolerate it. Over the years, though, I’ve learned he tries to steer clear from any kind of berries. Doesn’t trust ‘em. And he’s not a fan of fish, but the kid is, and I am, so we have it more often, now.

Din jerks his head and allows me to toss him one of those weird vegetables. Having already finished my chunk of bread (on the brink of mould—so yummy!), I take a large, eager bite right out of the vegetable. My mouth is flooded with its bitter juice, and I squint my face up a little at the greenish tang.

“How’s that taste?” he asks.

“Like dirt.” I chew the mouthful slowly, careful not to judge too quickly, and eventually hum in contentment. “But—” I retract, “—sorta sweet underneath. You ever tasted a beet?”

“No.”

“Well, it’s sorta like that.”

He watches me for a few heartbeats, calm in the steady, amber light. I smile at him.

“Turn around,” he tells me brusquely.

I wink at him and do as I’m told, shuffling around again and turning to back the blue and purple horizon, the lamp and his gaze warm on my back.

I’m silent as he unseals his helmet with a quiet click and hiss. I try to imagine him again. Every single time, I feel guilty over it, because I know how dedicated he is to his religion—but, oh, I can’t help myself. I run my tongue over my teeth, enjoying the remains of that bite, before taking another, crunching down into the flesh. As I do, I hear Din do the same. My heart stops a little in my chest, and I let out a slow breath.

“It’s nice.”

Stars. Stars, that voice. His voice, unfiltered by the modulator. Slightly hoarse from lack of water, scraping a little in his throat, but smooth in its low, rich tone. Like dirt you can sink your fingers right down into.

I set my hand flat on the sand my by side before pushing them vertically down, down, down, past the cooling surface and to where the glowing spirit of the day lingers.

Calm yourself down. It’s just a voice.

“You should have the rest of it,” he continues, and there’s the tap of the vegetable against my shoulder again.

Oh, stars. He hasn’t got his helmet on. He hasn’t got his helmet on. If I turned, he could be right there. Just him. I think about clamping my eyes shut to avoid the temptation of looking at him, but I can’t really co-ordinate myself at the moment. He taps again, encouraging me to take it back. My fingers hook up inside the sand, and it slips around me to my satisfaction.

“If you like it,” I say dryly, “you should eat it.”

The vegetable disappears from my peripheral. Another crunch, and another, and another. We sit in silence as he finishes it. The horizon is finally flat and unwavering in the cool of the night.

He gives my shoulder a squeeze when he’s done, hiking up the scarf around my head so it doesn’t slip too far over my hair. When I turn around, the helmet’s back on.

I wonder if he saw the colours of the sunset earlier. I had my head turned up for hours, watching every single shift in pink and orange and blue with wonderstruck eyes—but Din was striding on ahead, uninterested. I’m no engineer, alright? I don’t exactly know what he’s seeing in that helmet of his, or why. Infrared sensors for tracking, like in a rifle I once had that – that was one of the best damn weapons I ever owned, guaranteed to locate and hit your target, and I loved it to bits—until it got fuckin’ stolen by a bunch of fuckin’ Jawas. Point is, isn’t it just black and white in there? Sort of a purple-y black and white, and you can see changes in tone and depth and all, but black and white nonetheless. Red for footprints, though. Is that what he saw when I told him to look at the sky at sundown? Black and white? What is he seeing as he’s looking at me now? Me, I’m admiring the regal gleam of his beskar again. But he won’t be able to interpret the warmth of the lamp’s light on my face the same way as I did for him. I’m not the prettiest in the galaxy by a long shot, I know, but isn’t he missing out? On the beauty of the natural world? I think I’m prettiest at sundown – something in my undertone, I dunno – but he’s only seen me in that greyscale. Imagine if he just thinks I’m—okay-looking.

Overthinking it again. Din doesn’t waste time with things he doesn’t think add to his life. He doesn’t think I’m just okay-looking.

“You’ve got a good voice,” I tell him, grinning widely.

“You’ve heard my voice before.” The raw clarity of his words are lost once again behind the modulator. I shift my position, wriggling away from my disappointment.

“I know.”

A chill passes brightly through the air, and I tug my cloak tighter around myself, bringing my knees in close. Din doesn’t move a muscle, though, and he sits there and observes me a little longer.

We’ve been each other’s for a long, long time. We’ve been through a lot of shit together. And I’m not exactly thinking critically, and I’m not sure where I’m going with it, but I find myself asking, “When Mandalorians get married, they can take their helmets off around their partner, right?”

The mortification immediately sets in.

Holy kriff.

Din looks at me carefully. Then, he nods the slightest of nods.

Holy kriff.

“I’m not—” I stutter out, eyes darting away, over there, over here, anywhere but his constant, steady, shameless attention, “—‘m not asking you to marry me, Din. I was—I was just wondering ‘cause, y’know, I think you mentioned it to me once, ages back, and—and I was just thinkin’ that maybe—” you pause, glancing up at him; he doesn’t move a muscle, and there’s nothing that gives away any kind of anything he might be feeling, “—maybe I’d like to see—what—you—look—like.”

Wow. Wow, I’m almost amazed at how slick I am with these things. God, Imperial spies could learn a thing or two from the master.

I clear my throat, deciding to embrace the grave I’ve dug for myself. “But I’m not asking you to marry me, so you can stop looking at me like that, now, alright?.”

He says nothing, does nothing.

I situate myself with untying my waterskin from beneath my cloak, hiding my face in my shoulder and cursing, “Damn voice. Gets me too damn stupid-excited,” under my breath, like it’s a secret, like he can’t hear every fuckin’ word I’m saying on a planet seemingly stripped from all other noise.

Seething at myself, I crunch back into my vegetable, then tearing off a piece of bread to stuff in alongside it, taking a careless swig from my waterskin to wash it all down. Honestly, at this point, I’d rather die from dehydration than address the awful, awful statement I just made. Stars. Probably scared him right off. We’re as close to married as the real thing anyway. Din’s more of an actions-over-words kind of guy – I don’t need to call him my husband. It’s not like—well, marriage is companionship, and we have that already. Marriage is trust, and we have that already. I don’t need to call him my husband. He’s just—my guy. My person. Would be nice to have it on paper, I guess. Proof that he’s my person, that he wants to be my person. Bless him, but for every single thing he does for me, every action, I still crave him saying those words. Not shit to do with marriage, exactly. Just: “You’re my person. I’m yours.” Words aren’t his forte.

“I’d marry you.”

I swallow the hard lump of bread with difficulty, scrunching my face up into a grimace. “Hmm?” I ask, drifting back to the present.

“I’d marry you,” he repeats, and my eyes go wide. Oh. “Right here. If you want me.”

Huh. Huh. I dunno what the appropriate reaction is here, so I just continue staring unblinkingly at him. My stomach is erupting in flutters, and I just stare at Din.

Then, I look around us, at the barren desert. And look, yeah, I grew up on a planet very similar to Tatooine, and, yeah, sure, I have fond memories of my childhood. And then they get not-so fond. I scrunch my nose up in disapproval. “Not here.”

“Where?”

I shrug, brows knitted together in deep consideration. “I dunno.” And I really don’t, because—because I didn’t think we were the marrying type. Just the together type. Growing old and pissy together, living together, fighting together, figuring it out together—type. Mandalorians value community and strength and The Way over everything else – not necessarily love. Didn’t take him for the marrying type.

I screw my mouth together and exhale deeply. “Just somewhere prettier, I guess,” I decide on. “Not this quiet, but still pretty quiet. Y’know, somewhere with trees. Proper, green trees. But not the kind where there’s stuff in there waiting to kill you.” I want there to be as many colours as possible, in the sky, in the flowers, so he can see me and see all that beauty all together at once.

He tilts his head. “Like, with mountains?” he asks.

I smile. “Yeah, I wouldn’t mind mountains.”

He glances down at the sand, tracing some kind of pattern into it with his forefinger. “We could go to Takodana?”

Stars. My smile widens. Stars, is this a proposal? Did I just propose to him? Did he just propose right back? That’s actually quite funny, that is. In the middle of nowhere, running out of water, running low on food. Romantic.

“Have you ever kissed anyone, Din?” I ask, more confident.

He grunts and shakes his head. “Not really.”

“‘Not really’,” you mock him, deepening your voice and attempting to widen your shoulders. I laugh at my own impression, leaning back on my hands and huffing a strand of hair out of my face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shifts, clearing his throat and adjusting to a more comfortable position. “I mean, I’ve kissed you—between your legs,” he tells me, nervous, like I’ve managed to forget how well he treats me, how eager he is to kneel down in the pitch-black and take care of me like that.

Heat blooms in my stomach. “Great work down there, by the way,” I tell him through a sly grin.

“Thank you, mesh’la.” Is he blushing? Does he blush? I find myself wondering over that again.

I smile and stare at him.

“Could I kiss you?” The suggestion just slips out without a second thought. I just think that, after some food and water and rest, I don’t really have to filter anything out anymore. I don’t have any complaints – just some recommendations for fun we could be having.

Din doesn’t reply.

Ah, shit. Shit, what the fuck is wrong with me? Mandalorian, remember? Stupid, stupid. If there’s anything anyone knows about Din, it’s that he’s a Mandalorian first. He’s a Mandalorian before he’s mine – he’d never say it out loud, but we both know it’s true. I’d never ask him to choose because that’s cruel. Am I being cruel?

Either way, I can’t seem to stop, and I don’t seem to care: “I’d keep my eyes shut,” I blurt out, trying to keep my breathing from becoming heavy with lust, and failing a little more than a little bit. Stars, I’m turning myself on at this point; he just has to sit there and look pretty. “You know I’d keep ‘em shut. I wouldn’t look. I just—wanna—” you sigh, “—I just wanna kiss you. It’s nice, I swear. Nice feeling. I’d keep my eyes closed. Or—or you could tie something around ‘em?”

He doesn’t reply.

“Stars,” I curse. “I’m sorry.” I wipe my eyes from dust and dirt and blink hard. “I think I’m just tired.”

“You’re tired?”

“Yeah.”

“Is ‘tired’ why you’re pressing onto yourself down there?”

He flicks his fingers over to where I’ve got my hand stuffed between my legs, rocking softly against the heel of my palm. I swallow hard. Fuck, I didn’t even notice I was doing that. I convinced myself I was—ha!—I was just warming up my hands.

I shift my eyes sheepishly back up to meet Din’s, guilty as charged.

He sighs deep from within the chest. “You keep ‘em closed and we tie something around ‘em.”

Silent, I nod in agreement. My thighs squeeze together.

He jerks his head to beckon me over, and I go shuffling on over to him on my knees, probably looking like a right idiot, but, then again, I don’t really give a fuck because I’m about to kiss Din Djarin. I’m about to kiss my Mandalorian. I’m about to kiss my companion of almost a decade, more if you count all those shady bounties we used to end up competing for. My Mandalorian, my Din Djarin, mine, mine, mine. I’m not possessive, I don’t think, but, gods, I—I—I can’t believe it sometimes. That I get to know him like this. That I get to know such an incredible person. That he won’t say more than two words at a time to anyone, not even those we’re close with, like Peli—but, with me, he’ll talk for hours. He jokes that he’s just humouring me, but I know he loves it. He tells me so.

Din makes a motion with his hand to turn around, so I do, and I let him tie an old, folded food cloth around my head – unsanitary, sure, but, again, I don’t care, and my head’s reeling, and my heart’s racing so hard, thrumming in my ears, and he’s so close, and his fingers are tangling through my hair as he lowers my scarf, and they’re brushing against the nape of my neck now, and—

“Can you take your gloves off, Din?” I ask, and, unfortunately, the neediness seeps right through my voice. “Please?” Stars, I’m pathetic.

Behind me, there’s the shuffle and quiet groan of leather as he tugs them off, and then a quiet pat! as he tosses them to the side.

And then his hands are back. Rough, calloused fingertips ghosting over my ears, my hair, as he knots the cloth, then knots it again for good measure. Darkness is closed over my eyes, tinged the rich green of the fabric. My breath seems nearer this way, short, shallow, hot. I gnaw on the inside of my cheek, still, as he cups the back of my neck, his touch cool.

I reach over my shoulder, taking a deep inhale as I run my fingers over the dips and hills of his knuckles. I fold my hands over his and squeeze, bringing them forward and kissing his fingertips gently. I feel the texture and thickness of his fingers, trace the lines of his palm. Din comes in close behind me, the solidity of his chestplate (cuirass? I dunno, once, he got all pissy ‘cause I didn’t call by it’s actual name) pressing up against my shoulder blades.

I smooth my thumbs along the deepest crease in his palm. “Y’know, once, before I met you, I met someone who told me he could foretell my whole life, and my child’s life, and their child’s life, just from the lines on my hands.”

“Oh, yeah?” His voice is right in my ear, low and intimate. Maker. “What do mine say?”

“All good things,” you reply shakily.

“Anything about Takodana?”

He twists his hand over, enveloping my right and rubbing circles into the back of it.

Then, he’s letting me go, leaning away—and there’s that hiss and click of him removing his helmet. I blink against the green cloth, my eyelashes dragging up slowly. If I hold my breath, I can hear him breathing.

“Turn around,” he tells me, and I do.

It’s too dark for silhouettes anymore. If we were in daylight again, maybe I could’ve seen the vaguest outline of him. But we’re not in daylight. I blink again against the cloth, hard.

His hands reach out and grasp my hips, and they’re warm and large and I never get used to it. The breath is still knocked out of my chest. He angles and adjusts me to face him, and I place my hands on his shoulders, fumbling around his armour before settling them instead on his neck.

His neck. Bare skin. I smooth my hand up the column of his pretty, perfect neck, feeling every inch of him. I already know the texture of his hair. When he’s between my legs and kissing me there, I like to thread my fingers through it. It’s thick and wavy and slightly too long. But otherwise, I keep my hands to myself. Even though I’m not technically seeing him in the dark when he takes his helmet off to taste me, I don’t reach out and touch his face—because it’s his. It’s his, and he’s taken an oath to keep it that way. He’s never initiated a kiss, so I’ve never asked. I’ve been content. I’ve been patient.

But I guess my patience has reached a limit. Slowly, tentatively, I drift my touch up, up, and feel along his jawline, coarse with longer scruff. His breath hitches, and I smile and continue. I smooth my fingers right along his cheekbone – Din gently circles his hand around my wrist, pressing his nose into my palm, then kissing it, soft, careful, dragging the tip of his nose along the line of the vein that trails over my arm.

Stars.

I blink hard again behind the green cloth, clenching my jaw down till my teeth grit together.

I feel along the jagged bridge of his nose, take note of how it’s slightly crooked to the right, like he’s broken it before (wouldn’t surprise me). I learn the shape of his brow, the broadness of his forehead. I feel the feather-light brush of his eyelashes against my wrist. I’m silent—and I’m grinning like an idiot, because what else can I do? It’s like I’m seeing his face. I’m not, but it’s sure as hell the closest thing. The weight of his head in my hands, the cautious squeeze of his hands on my arms. I whisper some kind of babbling, incoherent request, and he relaxes his eyes – I can feel the muscles in his face release tension – for me to trace my middle finger over the shape of his eye. I’m not crying, but, fuck, it’s getting a little moist up in this blindfold.

His eyes droop down slightly at the ends. I like eyes like that – kind eyes. My mother used to say these types of eyes only belonged to the kindest of people. Stars. Don’t cry.

“You look insane, mesh’la,” he whispers, close to me, lifting his hands to tenderly hold my face, like I might break.

“Ah, bantha shit, baby,” I retort. “You’re loving this.”

And I can feel him smile. I can feel it crinkle up the sides of his eyes, and I can feel the squint of them, and the way his cheeks lift. He smiles a little lop-sidedly, actually, the left corner of his mouth just a touch higher than the right. I try to memorise every single bit of information I discover, as urgent and as desperate as if my life depended upon it.

Quivering with want, I press my lips to the inner corner of his eye, firm and sure and needy, my hands grasping around his face. Din grabs fistfuls of my cloak, bringing me nearer to him.

He smells like dust and tastes like sweat and salt, but, Maker, this is good. Satisfies some deep, hellacious ache that would have otherwise consumed me.

I kiss the ridge of his cheekbone with the same fervour, and then I kiss the corner of his mouth, the left side, the side that quirks up when he smiles.

Only, he’s not really smiling right now. He’s breathing heavily, almost panting, and stroking my hair away from my face and neck before mumbling out, “So pretty.” I press my nose against his, breathless with anticipation, heady at the warmth of his body. “S’good. You look so good—like this. Y’look good all the time—”

But I’m kissing him already, frantic, fingers pressing into the back of his neck, into his shoulders, bringing him as near to me as humanly possible. I sob dryly as he reciprocates, nudging his nose flat against my cheek. He opens his mouth to suck in a breath, and I lick into him, taste him deeply, practically having climbed into his lap during my whirlwind pursuit. His cold hands slip under my cloak, arms wrapping around me in a second.

The kiss is dry and rough, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. It seems befitting of him somehow.

And when he makes a pathetic sound, a whimper or something, at the back of his throat, I almost melt right into the ground.

Closer, closer, closer – that’s all I can really comprehend at the moment. Even with our bodies slotted together, even though I can feel each shaky breath he takes as his stomach flexes over my own, I feel hungry for more. It’s Din. My Din, kissing me, his hands on me, his eyes on me. My Din, grunting into me as I shift in his lap and squeeze my legs around him. Mine, mine, mine, mine, mine, mine—

He grabs my face gently by the chin, urging me away from him for a few moments. I sit there, blind, his open mouth still hovering over mine. Oh, stars, I think of the softness of his tongue, and I kiss the corner of his mouth, wanting, asking.

Din angles my face to the side, coming in slow, warm, and languidly slides his tongue into my hot mouth, breath fanning out across my glowing face. Maker. I can’t control myself – a helpless noise passes through me as I take it good and kiss him back, eager, wide open.

I guide his hand down the the base of my throat, just to feel his touch somewhere else. He squeezes there lightly.

His other hand manages to snake under my shirt, pressing flat across the small of my back, sliding up my spine and sending shivers all the way right through me.

It’s—good. Really good. Can’t-open-my-eyes-for-a-good-few-heartbeats type of good.

“Maker,” he curses hoarsely under his breath as I pull away, still leaning forward for me, chasing my touch.

“Good?” I ask him.

He presses a kiss to my cheek, smiling. “We can do this—more often—‘f you want.”

“If I want, huh?”

He kisses me deeply again, his thumb slotted beneath the cloth over my eyes. He pulls it taut to the side over so slightly, and I can make out that beautiful, warm glow over the sand and his armour again. I shut my eyes as he tilts my head up, though, as kisses down to the hollow of my throat and back up again.

I slide my fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, holding him close. “You’re beautiful, aren’t you?” I just know it. Everything about him is just beautiful. It’s just lovely, and I love it.

“Marry me and you can find out for sure,” he mumbles into my neck.

I can hardly hear him, of course – blood is pounding so hard in my ears that all I can understand from his words are that they rumble deep right through his chest, warm under the cool beskar.

I lift his head and press my nose into his cheek. “I can tell,” I continue, words brushing his lips. Again, I smooth my fingers over his face. “You’re so pretty, Din.”

“Marry me,” he urges, whispering against the fabric over my eye, warm.

I grin. “Later.”

He curses, something in Mando’a. “We’re going to Takodana as soon as we get that damn ship, you hear me?”

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #mando x reader #rip razor crest #din you little fittie #din djarin fluff #the mandalorian #din djarin #mesh’la is the cutest nickname 💀#grogu #is a little shit #but he’s perfect #i’m feral for this man #star wars

154 notes · View notes

triplesilverstar · 6 months

Text

Cold Night, Warm Hearts

Rating: Teen and up

Pairing: Vash X F!Reader

CW: Cold, doubts, internal doubt

Word count: 1300A/N: It's only been two days since the events in the downed ship where you told Vash you loved him and learned a few of his secrets. Like the whole being a plant thing. But now after facing the light of day and running from a town, sitting on the stars you find yourself wondering if maybe you've made a mistake. Shivering in the cold desert air lost in thought.

You weren’t sure what had been going on lately, maybe it was where you were on the planet, maybe it was the time of year. All you did know, was that nights were getting to be way too damn cold for you. It might be time to finally break down and buy a sleeping bag or something similar to try and keep yourself warm at night.

Shivering as you sit around your small camp, having told Vash you’d take the first watch that night after being chased out of town when they found out who he was. A little worried some of the townsfolk might try to follow after the two of you, so much for some thanks after dealing with the sentry robots that had been attacking the townsfolk when they got too close to the downed ship.

Running a hand through your hair as you think back to two nights ago, the unplanned admission to Vash about your feelings. Now after a day or so you feel the fear seeping back into your mind and heart. Should you have told him you loved him? Or should you have tried to say it was the emotions running high and you were just very, very attracted to him and wanted to explore the feelings more?

Yea he might have admitted he returned your feelings, but it feels like it’s too good to be true. When you’d woken up the next morning, the memory of the day before had flooded you, keeping you pressed against him wondering if it had been a dream. At least until he woke up and called you Mayfly. Nuzzling his nose into your shoulder before he realized how tense you had gotten.

Now in the chilly night air, you were reflecting on it more, looking at your hands and shivering under the light of the stars. Maybe you did just need to reach out and grasp this feeling in your hands, take that risk because the reward might be worth so much more than the pain you were afraid of inflicting on yourself.

Another shiver racked across your frame, causing you to pull your legs up against your chest and wrap your arms around them. As you shift your gaze wanders to Vash, leaning against his own bag and a small blanket thrown over his legs, the slow rise and fall of his chest telling you he’s still alive. He looks cute like that, asleep, your stomach feeling funny. You never would have thought at your age you’d feel butterflies when looking at someone you found attractive, and told you they found you just as attractive.

One thing was certain as you sat there shivering in the cold night air of the desert planet, you were nowhere near comfortable enough in your new relationship to reach out and cuddle him to try and keep warm. Plus. He was asleep.

Instead you shiver again, trying to make your body smaller to keep yourself warm as best as you can, keeping your body heat in your core. Tilting your head upwards to look at the stars and letting out a long sigh, maybe someday you’d get used to the idea of seeing the same stars every night.

Unaware that while you’ve been shivering, Vash has been watching you, one of his eyes barely cracked open and watching as you shake and shiver just beyond his reach. His own words coming back and ringing around in his ear. “I feel like we have so far to go” and right now he can’t deny the truth of them. You’re just a few feet away, trying to keep warm in the cold night air and he’s too afraid to reach out and touch you.

Swallowing he watches you shiver again before looking up towards the sky, watching you sigh while you take in the light from billions of iles away. For how frightened he is, he might as well be billion of iles away from you, he knows how he feels. Hell he’d known for a while now and he had been content to stay just close enough that he could pretend you felt more for him.

The incident with his sister had been a turning point he didn’t know he needed, and hearing you admit you loved him had warmed his heart so much he thought it might burn through his chest. He knew what love was, knew what it felt like, and being with you was like that feeling, just a bit different compared to the love he held for Rem and his twin. The love he felt for humanity as a whole. Then to hear you admit you thought you loved him, all the secrets he loosened his grip on. Not that one. Never that one. It would be enough to make you leave him, he thought. But all the others? As he spoke and told you about himself, answered those questions, for the first time in a long time he felt lighter and the look of utter acceptance on your face.

The lack of judgment and your laughter at some of the teasing questions you had asked him to lighten his darkening mode. He had never expected to find it, wished and hoped for yes. But never expected.

This time it’s your words that come to mind when he sees you shiver again “the best things take time.” Biting his lip, his decision made, he won’t get over this feeling like you’re sand slipping through his fingers after the other night if he doesn’t make a move to keep that distance growing smaller instead of widening. Sitting up and grabbing the blanket from around him. “Vash? Why are you awake?” Voice confused as he stands, closing the distance between the two of you before kneeling down to wrap you in his blanket. “Because Mayfly. You looked like you were cold” a little white lie. He’s not going to tell you he’s awake because he’s stressed about the feelings he has for you now that they’re out in open. Unaware you’re being eaten by the same fear and left at a standstill unsure how to move. Still trying to understand the feelings you both have for one another. Hands steady as he folds the fabric around you and makes your own hands hold the edges. “What about you?” Your own voice has gone soft, and his gloved hand reaches down to push some of your hair away from your face to tuck it behind your ear.

Standing to his full height Vash reaches up to remove his coat, sending you a soft grin before settling down beside you, his knees pressing against your feet so his head is at your side using his folded arm as a pillow. Draping his coat over his form and looking at you in a way that it reminds of you of old love sick couples. “I figure we can help to keep each other warm. After all, if you’re cold from now on then I am too.”

That statement from him warms your heart and when you wake him in the middle of the night to switch places he surprises you again. Moving both your bags so he can lean back against them and pulls you into his arms after replacing his coat, making sure the blanket is covering your form and whispering a soft goodnight to you. Maybe you can get used to the feeling of his warm hand and body soothing you to sleep on cold nights like this from now on.

Settling in and using his heartbeat as a lullaby, sounding so different from other nights when you heard it. Maybe because now you know, it’s no longer as friends but something growing to be a little bit more.

Back to Masterlist

#vash the stampede x reader #vash the stampede #trigun stampede #trigun #twink writes #enimes to lovers #Bullets Bandits Ghosts & Typhoons #tristamp

23 notes · View notes

newbie-whovian · 2 years

Text

I Don't Know Where, Confused About How As Well - The Twelfth Doctor x Reader

(Telepathic Sex, Non Explicit, something that's been sitting in my drafts for a hot minute)

The stars above you shone in yellow and blue, speckled with faraway galaxies and ships, but the only thing you could focus on was the Doctor's mouth on yours and his clever hands on your back.

He'd taken you to a deserted planet not too far away from Earth, 'just because,' he'd said, when you asked for a reason. He never did anything 'just because' and for that reason, you'd been slightly on edge the whole night. At first, as the TARDIS soared through the vortex, you thought this was his way of saying goodbye, that he'd decided traveling with him was too dangerous for you and he was going to take you home for your own good. That thought terrified you, so you chose another possibility, one far more impossible.

You'd been in love with him for what felt like forever, and never in a million years would you guess he would feel the same. He was a monolith compared to you; he made you feel so finite sometimes. It seemed like long after you were gone, he would keep on traveling, and eventually forget about you. That thought hurt more than the others, and you buried it as deep as you could.

The TARDIS landed with a whir, and the Doctor offered you his hand which you accepted with a watery smile. It seemed like he noticed the tears welling in your eyes but chose not to bring it to your attention, and part of you accepted it as a small mercy.

You followed him outside and into a seemingly endless field of flowers and tall grass. The sun was beginning to set in the distance as the two of you made your way to a large tree, the only one you could see for miles. You assumed he must have come here while you were asleep, because he already had a blanket laid out with a small picnic, complete with a pair of unlit candles. Your smile widened and you sat down gingerly, looking down at your lap as he joined you. He muttered under his breath, "Could have sworn I had the timing perfect, but alas, my candles have blown out. Can't have everything, I suppose," looking up at you with the tiniest of smiles as he drew his sonic and relit the candles.

Your control over your tears was slowly beginning to fail, and you could feel your voice choking up as you said, "Please don't sugarcoat this, Doctor, are you sending me away?"

Concern broke across his face and he stammered, "No! Lord no, that would be a dirty trick, wouldn't it? Set all of this up just to send you away?" You chuckled wetly, swiping at your eyes with the back of your hand. He bit the tip of his thumb, saying carefully, "But I have to ask… do you want to leave? At all?"

You shook your head and looked him in the eye, saying a little softer than you would have preferred, "Of course not." You looked back down in your lap before watching the sunset. If he wasn't sending you away… The previous thought, the other reason he might have taken you here occurred to you, but you shoved it down deep.

The Doctor opened the small basket he'd left here earlier, retrieving a bottle of wine, two glasses, and a small platter of biscuits. You caught yourself watching his hands as he uncorked the bottle, wondering how they would feel against your skin as he poured himself a glass. You were brought back down to earth (or whatever planet this was) as he gestured the bottle to you, his (lovely) eyebrows arched in a silent question. You nodded quickly, hoping the sunset would cover your blush so he couldn't see. He handed you a freshly poured glass, and your blush deepened as his fingers brushed against yours. You gulped down half of your glass without a second thought, not even stopping to think that you didn't even really like wine.

He took a tiny sip and promptly spat it out in the grass, causing you to laugh. "I don't even like wine," he said with a grimace, tossing the corked bottle back inside the basket. You offered him a smile and said, "Me neither," before downing the rest of your glass, setting it down on the blanket. He rolled his eyes with a smile, looking out at the sunset.

The sun was almost hidden entirely behind the horizon, painting the sky in pink and orange. You found yourself reaching for his hand to hold and you were surprised to find him reaching out as well. You slid your fingers between his bashfully, and as he reciprocated ever-so-slightly, brushing his thumb over your knuckles, you let out a shuddering breath.

You spoke up and the sound of your voice breaking the silence almost startled you as you said, "Doctor… if you're not sending me away, why did you bring me here…?" You met his gaze before looking back down at your lap, saying, "And don't you dare say 'just because,' because we both know that's a lie."

He looked down at the blanket you two sat on and worried his bottom lip between his teeth, muttering almost inaudibly, "I thought it would be romantic."

You froze slightly, not even sure if you'd heard correctly or if some small bit of your subconscious leaked into reality. He held your hand a little tighter and let out a slow breath, saying, "I could tell you about the constellations," although it sounded like he'd wanted to say something different. You nodded, lying back on the blanket and smiling as he joined you.

The sky was quickly growing dark as the sun sank behind the horizon, revealing a stunning scatter of stars above you. "Do you see that bright blue star, right-" he said, bringing up your joined hands between you two to point at a star glinting above, "-There? That's the Quorrant system. All ice planets, moderately insufferable locals." Back in his element, he pointed to another, absentmindedly caressing your hand. "And that's Torbil, and it's sister stars. If you follow this line here-" he said, tracing a jagged path through the sky, "-It forms the treeline that the Torian system sits in."

Your smile widened as you took in the sight of so many stars, and your head rolled to the side to look him in the eye. "It's beautiful."

He met your gaze with a smile of his own, a thousand questions dancing behind his eyes. The two of you just laid there for a moment, holding hands and silently daring each other to speak first. The moment passed, and then another, and before you knew it, you both were lost in each other's gaze. You thought to yourself that you could die right now and be content.

Before long, you opened your mouth to say something, accidentally interrupting the Doctor as he also began to speak. You exchanged a laugh and he said, "You first."

You looked back up at the sky as the words stuck in your throat; you'd rehearsed this god knows how many times on the off chance you would ever get to say it, but now that the time had come, the words escaped you. You swallowed and found the stars that he'd shown you, taking in a slow breath. He watched you with nervous energy in his eyes.

"Doctor… I don't know how to say this, but… I care about you, and our time traveling together has honestly been the best of my life."

You paused, sitting up and hugging your knees. "I love you, I have for a long time now," you muttered, looking out at the flowers in the field.

Silence fell between you again, and you steeled yourself. This could only end one way, you thought, so when you heard movement behind you, you thought he was standing up to leave. But you felt a slender hand on your back and heard his voice, barely above a whisper, "You have no idea how many times I've wanted to say that…"

You looked back at him, a silent question on your face as he cupped your cheek. He nodded and offered you a gentle smile. You rested your forehead against his and let out a breath you didn't realize you'd been holding, letting your eyes flutter shut as his thumb stroked your cheekbone.

His first kiss was feather soft against your mouth; all of the anxiety melted out of your body in a sigh, and as he broke the kiss slowly, you looked in his eyes and saw adoration. His hands slid to your back and you hooked an arm around his neck, stroking his cheek with your other hand before burying it in his curls. You claimed the next kiss firmly, humming softly as he held you closer. Your lips parted and it was his turn to hum; desperation bled into his actions as he hugged you to his chest, his mouth moving against yours and his tongue tracing your bottom lip. You had to break the kiss for air, and when you met his gaze, his pupils were blown wide.

"I love you," he breathed, his voice trembling and his lips ghosting over yours as his hands moved to frame your face. "I love you so much."

You placed a small kiss on his mouth and stroked his hair, feeling something almost like static pooling underneath the skin of your cheeks, where his clever hands rested. You'd been keeping a careful eye on those hands through your travels, watching how skillfully he operated the TARDIS or how deftly he performed the most mundane tasks, and now you wanted those hands everywhere.

You'd never seen his room before. You followed him through the TARDIS and you could swear that she didn't show you these hallways and corners, although you might have been distracted by his hand on your lower back, leading you through the maze of doors. You two reached an unassuming blue door with a varnished handle, hardly stepping inside before you surged forward to kiss him.

His hands moved to your waist as he returned your kiss, letting the door swing shut of its own accord. The same desperation from before returned, and he parted his lips with a small noise as he crushed you closer to him. It felt as if he couldn't be close enough to you. You leaned into him and hooked your arms around his neck, returned your fingers to his hair as you coaxed another sound from him.

You broke the kiss to catch your breath and he moved to place a heated kiss on your jaw. A thought had been at the tip of his tongue for a while now and he pulled away slightly, speaking slowly, "I should explain that… I, my species, don't do this-" gesturing between you two with a wave of his fingers, "-the way humans do. It's more… in the mind. I know it's not what you're used to, or even what you might want, at all, do you… still…?" You nodded quickly, breathing, "I do, completely," before his mouth slid to your neck. He placed a heavy kiss over your thundering pulse.

"If you want me to stop, or if I'm doing something you don't like, or if you need to ask me something, you have to let me know, alright?" he said with a plea in his voice. Now that he had you, he would be damned if he let himself ruin this. You nodded again and he muttered softly, "Good-" moving to the nape of your neck.

You followed him into the dimly lit room, surprisingly tidier than what you'd been expecting. There were still bits of clutter, mainly stacks of books like in the console room, but also small bottles and tables along the wall, which were covered in more books and various experiments. Against one wall was a large four-poster bed covered in a number of quilts and fleece blankets.

You moved to take off your shirt, but he placed a hand on your arm to stop you. Confusion flashed across your face before you met his gaze and saw the yearning there. He requested in a whisper, "Let me," so you nodded.

He grabbed the hem of your shirt and dragged it upwards, his knuckles brushing against the newly exposed skin. You lifted your arms, and he slipped it over your head to discard it on the floor. He could hardly breathe as he looked over you, touching your collarbone with the tips of his fingers before following with his mouth. You could feel his staggering breaths on your skin as he covered you in kisses, resting his hands on your hips. His senses were overwhelmed with you, but his task wasn't finished.

He dropped to his knees, watching your face with something almost like reverence as he unbuttoned your jeans and tugged down the zipper. He kissed above your waistband before he slid your pants down your legs. He let his hands trail up and down your thighs, shutting his eyes as he placed an open-mouthed kiss on your inner thigh. "You're so lovely-" he breathed.

You took a few short steps backwards until the backs of your legs hit the bed. He followed you, and as you sat down, he stepped between your knees and cupped your face. You reached up and toyed with the top button of his shirt, giving him a smile and saying, "My turn." He hesitated before giving you a small nod.

His eyes stayed down at your hands as you unbuttoned his shirt. With the last button, you placed a hand on his undershirt, over one of his hearts, and felt his doubled pulse racing. He preferred layers ordinarily; you'd never seen him without at least a long sleeved shirt, always buttoned to his chin, but now you could admire him.

He was lean and wiry, and he seemed to want to shrink away from your gaze, staying there with a nervous glint in his eye. His shirt was tucked into his trousers, and you tugged it free with a small smile. You felt him exhale as you brought it over his head.

The dim light shone on the plains of his skin, over the vaguely defined muscles and lines that he hated so vehemently. You couldn't understand how he hated this regeneration, when so much of him was already bared and yet you wanted more. You placed a kiss on his sternum and muttered against his skin, "Is this alright?" He swallowed a lump in his throat, and you watched his Adam's apple bob before he answered, "Yes."

He unbuckled his belt and pulled it through the belt loops in one slow movement, dropping it on the floor. Your mouth went dry and you couldn't help but drag your tongue across your bottom lip. One of his eyebrows twitched and you so hoped that he'd cataloged that bit of information for later. He cupped the back of your skull and brought you in for a searing kiss. His teeth grazed over your bottom lip and he coaxed you onto your back, trailing kisses down your jaw to your neck.

He was always in awe of humans for their strength; only one lifetime, only ever spent in one body, and they spent it so fearlessly. He looked over you, in the only form that you would ever take, and couldn't help but be amazed at the form that would carry you for your entire existence. Anything that could handle such responsibility had to be remarkable.

His hands roamed your body, deliciously cool as they skated across your ribs. Goosebumps raised on your skin and he flattened his palm on your chest, committing every detail to memory. Touch didn't satiate him for long so he began pressing open-mouthed kisses across your chest, humming contently. You buried your fingers in his hair and stroked his curls, drawing small noises from deep in his chest.

His hands became restless and began to stroke your thighs, making you inhale slowly; his touch was electric, stoking the tension in your stomach until you were trembling on the quilt. He stroked closer and closer to your aching core, listening to your low groans and shuddering breaths. He pressed a kiss to your knee, then another further up, slowly moving higher, closer to where you needed him. His fingertips were startlingly cool against the crease where your thigh met your hip, pooling electricity and tension and pure unadulterated want underneath your skin until you were sure he could hear it hammering in your mind. You were sure he was holding out on you, waiting to connect your minds; you wondered for a moment, as he placed a heavy kiss over your hip bone. You thought as clearly as you could, you thought one word, one simple word, reaching out so that he couldn't miss it: 'Doctor.'

He looked up at you, bewildered. You heard his voice in your head, breathless and heady with the accent you'd grown to love, 'How did you do that?' You answered, thinking as he ghosted his clever, slender fingers over you, 'It was a guess.' You continued out loud, "I love you, Doctor."

A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth before he finally dragged his hand to where you needed him. He looked down to focus on his ministrations, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. He thought softly, 'I'm going to start slow, to make sure it isn't too much for you, alright?' You breathed steadily through your mouth, legs trembling as he touched you. 'Yes,' you thought, your voice ragged even in your mind.

The process came much easier for him, and his thoughts stayed low and even as his breath shuddered against your skin. 'I'm going to open a sort of conduit between our minds, like what we're doing now, but with much less conscious effort. It won't be full merging of our minds, but a small fraction of that.' You paused for a second, holding back a whimper as he stroked you. "Will it hurt?" you asked aloud, feeling silly as soon as you did. "It won't, I promise. It might be intense, but it won't hurt," he answered, placing a kiss below your naval. You nodded slowly, burying a hand in his curls. "I want it. I want you."

He made a small low sound in his chest, moving up your body until he sat straddling your thighs, still clad in his black trousers. One of his eyebrows rose in concentration as he brought his hands to either side of your face, asking permission with his hesitation. You answered him with the smallest of nods, taking a deep breath to try and calm your racing pulse. You could really get used to this view.

You felt the first feather-light touch of his fingertips against your temples, positioning themselves as he stared at you, nearly into your soul. And then he was there, in your mind, gently probing until your mouth fell open at the newness of it all. You could feel his adoration like a deep ache in your (his, your) chest, a spark of (his) worry dancing across your frontal lobe as he asked you, "Are you alright? It's not too much?" You gave him a smile, basking in the new warmth of your connection. Your hand moved up to the back of his neck, toying with his curls before seeing him feel your pure want wash over him. His lips parted and his head tilted back ever-so-slightly, his pale eyes rolling back as he nearly drowned in you.

Your eyes met again and for the first time you could feel the universe in them; stars danced through the remnants of a shattered soul, stars that he'd seen, stars that he'd traveled through, and it was all so beautiful. In the center of his universe, surrounded by galaxies and constellations and all the most beautiful things in existence, was you, the most precious thing out of all of it, and a tear slid down your cheek. He wiped it away with his thumb and rested his forearms on either side of your head, a watery smile on his lips as he pressed them to yours.

The kiss was soft and sweet, igniting stars and static in the little space between you two. You could hardly tell where your feelings ended and his began; they bled together like watercolors, creating something completely new. He scraped his teeth against your bottom lip and swallowed your moan, dragging a hand back down your torso to lazily stroke your side.

His other hand returned to your temple and you felt his mind glide deeper, the rough whisper of his thoughts beginning to surface amid yours as the world began to pulse in technicolor. You could feel him experiencing what you felt, falling into a feedback loop of shared emotions and yearnings until your limbs were weightless.

You were caught in his eyes as a question, barely formed, passed between you two and was quickly answered within seconds with your breathless approval. Your bodies seemed miles away as his hands danced over you, conjuring stars in the corners of your vision as all of the stimuli combined in glowing, euphoric waves that rolled you ever higher.

The adoration and wonder and bliss that poured off of him made your heart ache. His thoughts were an endless stream of lyrical Gallifreyan you couldn't understand, and in your ear he breathed what must have been the translations: he told you that he loved you in every possible way he could, only pausing to kiss you.

You could see time and space, the past and the future and the far corners of the universe, and yet in his thoughts it all paled in comparison to you. You might have teased him for it if you couldn't feel the familiar tension beginning to build in your abdomen; only it wasn't just in your body, it was everywhere, all around you, enveloping him along with it. Stars danced in your vision as his hand flattened against your skin, shuddering at the sensation that he felt through you before he kissed you. Your fingers buried in his curls and before long you didn't need translations for his thoughts: in fact, you didn't even need words. He gasped your name against your lips and in one swift moment, you could see the center of the universe and it was beautiful.

Euphoria washed over you in powerful waves, drowning you both in starlight. You felt as if every atom in your body must have been glowing in the effort of trying to keep you from falling apart. Your gaze was locked in his and your mouth formed silent words, mainly his name, his real name as whispered to you by his mind, but as you tried to remember it, tried to clutch it closer, it slipped away like sand through your fingers. Steadily, the waves seceded and the feeling returned to your extremities, along with tiredness that made your eyelids impossibly heavy.

A lazy smile spread across your face and he returned it, covering your cheeks with gentle kisses. His thoughts were mostly gone from your mind, leaving behind only the faintest of afterglows. You could just barely feel his adoration in your (his) chest, unwittingly tainted by the self-loathing that seemed to follow everything he did.

You stroked his cheek with the pad of your thumb, thinking so he could hear you, 'I love you, Doctor.' He let out a small breath and kissed you, one hand on your back and the other cupping the back of your skull.

"I know you're exhausted, but you'll need to drink some water, alright? Trust me, you'll feel a lot better," he said, sitting up and moving to grab a glass of water from the nightstand you could have sworn hadn't been there before. You sat up slowly and took it with both hands, finding that you'd swallowed half the glass in a matter of seconds. He chuckled sweetly and let you finish it, taking the empty glass and setting it somewhere on the floor to be forgotten. His arms wrapped around you and you melted into him, sighing as he stroked your back.

The two of you parted only to work your way under the many layers of blankets and quilts, your head resting on a large pillow and your back against his chest. He stroked your arms with restless fingertips. You felt boneless and tired as he hugged you gently, and after a moment your eyes lulled shut.

He soothed you to sleep with indecipherable Gallifreyan whispers, interspersed with small "I love you"s, whispered like confessions. "What are you saying?" you asked sleepily, very nearly slurring your words together. He stilled behind you for a second before answering, "Later. I'll tell you later. You should get some sleep."

You hummed softly in response, muttering, "I love you." He smiled and pressed a kiss to the nape of your neck. "I love you too."

He continued his whispers and you fell asleep in minutes. You dreamed of stars and the person who would show you them all; more so than ever before, the future seemed bright.

#doctor who #doctor who fic #twelfth doctor #twelfth doctor x reader #12th doctor #12th doctor x reader #i get entirely too little sleep #i get dw brainrot constantly

250 notes · View notes