I Write Stuff

The reason I usually write character x fem! Reader is because (1) most of my readers are cisgender females, (2) I'm AFAB, so it's easier for me to get the anatomy right, and (3) most of the time, I don't imagine the reader as myself, instead I see them as another character in the story.

I don't have a preferred pronoun, so I don't mind being referred to as either they/them, she/her, or he/him. This is probably because my first language doesn't have gendered pronouns, so I don't really give it too much thought.*

I am also pansexual, and I'd love to write something other than male! character x reader, but I don't get a lot of those requests.

Please please please request mote LGBTQ+ pairings!

because I am dying to write them but my mind is barren without requests for plot ideas. (I will still write heterosexual pairings as well:)

And from now on, I will specify the reader's gender indentity / pronouns on titles. In the next few days, I will be editing the my past stories to include the reader's gender identity / pronouns.

I regret that I didn't do this sooner, but I am doing it now, because as I start planning to move far from home, I realize how much my identity matters to me, and how much might mean to other queer folk out there.

Happy pride!

-A

*just because my pronouns doesn't matter to me, doesn't mean it's the same with everybody. ALWAYS respect everyone's pronouns.

Summary : Guilt is hard to get over, but at least Poe is trying his best to cheer you up.

Word count: 871

Warning/s : slight mention of death, is cursing a warning? 

Note: this one is a Poe x resistance spy! Reader and starts out kinda angsty (but ends super fluffy)

This is just the second one shot to get my gears going before I start writing centurion next week! Enjoy! 

Constructive criticism is very much appreciated :)

How could you let this happen? 

You've been a resistance spy for a few years now. A failure of this scale should not have happened. It should not have been acceptable.

You had been assigned a mission to Canto Bight, where you had arranged a meeting with an information broker. It wasn't supposed to be a busy day in a casino, but a high-ranking First Order officer had to decide on stopping by. He had to attract that much more attention, which only made your mission harder than it already was.

Long story short, a trooper recognized you from another mission, and all hell broke loose. 

The information broker was supposed to tell you six new systems that the first order planned to occupy. He only got to four before he got caught in the crossfire— before his life was taken in front of your eyes because you were careless with your identity. 

What kind of spy were you, if you can't even keep your sources safe? 

Sitting down on the floor in your private quarters, you had your knees pressed to your chest and your arms holding them tight. You felt like a child again— hugging your stuffed bantha after your mother scolded you for breaking a plate. Except this time, it was not a plate. It was two entire fucking systems that would've given the resistance a massive head start.

A swirl of frustration swirled inside your chest like a tycoon, making your face go red. You dropped your forehead and sighed through gritted teeth, clenching your fist until you felt nails digging into the skin of your palms

Knock knock.

"(Y/n)?" An enthusiastically raucous voice said from outside, "General Organa told me you were back."

It was Poe Dameron's unmistakable voice. You knew because on days off he would ramble to you about anything. He'd talk to you about stars, or his X-wing, or his droid, or anything else he had in his mind.

Poe was very loud and talkative, in a good way. Because of that, his voice was ingrained inside your head. And you could tell his voice apart because, to you, his sweet tone stuck out like a sore thumb.

"No," you croaked without thinking, then winced at your words. How stupid was that?

You heard him laugh, "You're bad at lying. Now can I please come in?"

"Why?" You managed to say, but the question was shaky.

"I want to see my best friend, that's why," he said. This time, his jolly voice was slightly laced with concern.

You laid your head against the wall. "It's unlocked."

When he stepped inside and saw you caving in against the wall with an exhausted gaze, he sat across from you. 

"Hey," he said softly, gently tracing his fingers on your forearm, "why the sad face?"

"Mission gone wrong," you said shortly, with no intent of further explanation.

"What?" His eyebrows pulled together in disbelief, "I read your debrief file. It did not go as well as expected but I wouldn't say it went wrong."

You slowed your breathing down, finding comfort in his presence. He was wearing his orange overalls— he probably came here right after a practice drill.

"What do you mean it didn't go wrong?" You said stubbornly, your vision becoming blurry as tears swelled in your eyes. "I got the guy killed and didn't get the name of two other systems. That shit could save people, Poe!"

Gently, he cupped your face in his hands. His thumb wiping your tears.

Maker, you did not need to hear another lecture about how war will inevitably have collateral damage and how it was not necessarily your fault and so on and so forth— Leia had given that speech when you came back and you weren't in the mood for another one.

At least, that was what you expected him to say. Instead, his pointer finger slightly tapped your nose. "Beep boop," Poe said cheerfully.

"What—" your voice broke with a small chuckle, "What are you doing?"

Seeing the small smile creeping up your face, he grinned. "Happy beeps," he explained, "Like BB-8 cheering me up when I'm down."

Your frown was quickly replaced with a genuine smile and a relaxed brow free of frown lines.

"There's my happy girl," Poe looked into your eyes, content that he was able to alleviate the sadness.

You leaned into his hand that pressed against your cheek, enjoying the way his calloused fingers felt against your skin. "Hey, Poe," you playfully called, after a moment of serene silence, "Guess what?"

He raised an eyebrow, "what?"

Without warning, you pressed your pointer lightly on his nose, catching him by surprise, "Beep boop."

Both of you laughed uncontrollably, like children with no care or concerns whatsoever. You even almost forgot that the galaxy was in a state of war.

Being able to find gaps of joy in the chaos was a bliss you were thankful for. And for the first time, amidst his vivid laughter and dimpled smile, you began to wonder if, maybe, just maybe, you liked him more than a friend.

You weren't going to tell him that right now though. 

Right now, happy beeps were enough.

Summary : Din thinks you deserve better. You ask him why.

Warning : mentions of blood, is fluff a warning?

Word count : 1.4k

Note : I found out that the Mando'a equivalent to 'I love you' is 'I Know You Forever' when directly translated. And I think it's beautiful. I literally spent a lot of time looking at Mando'a phrases for prompts 

Also, it's good to be posting here again! I decided to write a bunch of one shots before committing to a series again:)

I've reuploaded this bcs it didn't show in the tags

"You don't deserve this," Din whispered under his breath. The words were so weak from exhaustion, it was almost impossible to make out. Not to mention the distorted layer the modulator added to them.

"What do you mean?" You hummed, and it made Din somewhat furious. He did not need a mirror to tell that his face was fuming red. He wasn't angry, though. He was frustrated. How could you not see yourself the way he did? How dare you think you deserve a life of violence, when you could settle down and spend your days safe and sound? 

You were sat on the floor of the Razor Crest after a rather violent encounter with a band of pirates, stitching a cut on your bicep. There were no bacta left, so good ol' needle and thread would have to do. The wound had been gushing with blood just moments earlier, but a piece of bundled cloth and pressure did wonders to stop the bleeding. 

"You deserve better," he said, leaning on the stairs that lead to the cockpit, arms crossed across his chest. You could tell by the way his voice was briefly cut short by his own shallow breath that he was struggling to keep his own voice monotonous— that there was far deeper meaning behind the seemingly emotionless sentence.

"Do I?"

Fuck. You. 

Din hated this. He hated the way you toyed with your words. He hated that you were able to force him out of his shell, to coax his intentions and strip layers down, piece by piece, until it was bare to the very core. He hated that you always knew how to get around his secrecy.

He hated that he had a strong desire churning in his gut to open himself up to you.

Whether it was your fault or his, he did not know.

"You do," he managed to say through gritted teeth. The child was asleep in his bunk, so he did not have an excuse to get out of this conversation, like he sometimes did when things got too... intense.

"What—" you winced, cutting the final thread,— "What makes you think I deserve better, but you don't?" 

Gently, you cleaned up the excess blood and tidied the medpac. Your bruised fingers danced on the box so graciously. On their own, no one would've thought the destruction they could bring. But if they saw who those hands belonged to— if they saw you— suddenly the cuts and the discolored patches of skin from the wounds along your revealed skin made sense. Suddenly they were able to link the precision of your hands to the ferocity behind your eyes.

Unlike him, you don't hide under beskar. Your battle scars were on display as if you were proudly showing the universe how much you can take— how much you've been through.

They were like spoils of war. They told your story. Unlike Din, who would rather keep every single story he had buried deep within his heart a secret.

Din stayed quiet. He didn't really know how to answer your question. You've been in the game for as long as he has. You chose this life, like him. 

"I don't... know," he managed to say. 

But he knew. He always knew why.

He loved you. That was something that took a long time for him to come to terms with, but he finally did.

The truth is, you didn't necessarily deserve a better life than him. He just wants you to have a better life.

One of these days, you'll get hurt. It happens to everyone he has ever worked with; it was a pattern he simply could not ignore anymore. And if you go where he can't follow... he can't possibly live with himself.

"Then quit saying that, tin man," You chuckled wholeheartedly, "I'm a big girl. I can make my own decisions."

You grabbed a metal railing and pulled yourself up, only to get light headed and stumble across the floor.

You cursed under your breath. You should have expected that. You had lost a lot of blood, after all.

"Whoa," Din managed to catch you before you fell, holding your waist steady, "Easy." 

"Stupid blood loss," you managed to crack a smile. Looking into his dark T-visor, you could only imagine he was smiling with you.

Even if he was, you doubt he'd ever tell.

"You need to rest," he said softly, his thumb circling ever so slightly against your waist. You held on to his shoulder and pushed yourself away, balancing yourself to stand up on your own.

"I will."

"Now," he said sternly.

You looked straight into where his eyes would be behind the helmet. He looked so... cold. All the damn time. If it weren't for the little things— like how his body would relax when you'd place your hand on his shoulder, or how he had held you up just now, you wouldn't assume he was organic underneath.

"What?" Din asked, confused. He caught you staring.

"Nothing," you slumped back down to the floor, taking his advice on resting. "You're just— you seem cold," you blurted your thoughts out.

"I'm not," Din said, a little too defensively. His voice cracked at the thought that the only person he ever loved perceived him as heartless. 

You gave him a lopsided grin. "You're not," you agreed, "You just seem like it. If you were, you wouldn't have taken the child under your care—" you paused, trying to find the words to say next, "—If you were, you wouldn't have thought I deserved better."

But you do, Din wanted to say, you deserve the stars and moons, you deserve the universe, but you settled for this... life.

Why would any one in the right mind do that?

But he decided to keep his words to himself this time.

You watch as the quiet man slowly sat down across from you. He might not admit that he was exhausted, but you saw that he didn't hold himself as rigidly as he normally would.

He was just as tired as you were, minus the blood loss.

"I care about you," you admitted shyly, "I really do. And if I deserve anything, I deserve a lifetime of fighting by your side. I want a lifetime of fighting by your side."

Din froze. This wasn't the first you had left him speechless. 

"Din?" You called, trying to get a response out of him. His name rolled off your tongue like syrup, and it was only more meaningful because you only ever addressed him by his birth name in private.

"It would be my honor," Din finally said, "To fight by your side for the rest of my life."

Din had no fear of death. Part of being a Mandalorian is having a resolute acceptance of death. He knew that death was a matter of how and not if, so it made sense to him to be more concerned about dying a warrior's death than death itself. He was fully aware that all things age, all things die. Everything that was formed by the universe becomes one with it again, someway, somehow.

But you make him want to cling to life a little longer. 

"Din?" You called out again.

"Yes?"

"I know you forever," you hummed sincerely, leaning forward and mindlessly tracing your fingers on the cheek of his helmet.

And Din swore his heart skipped a beat.

He knew you had bought a Mando'a to Galactic Basic dictionary that included common phrases at a junkyard as a joke, and he knew you started reading it in your spare time. He assumed you were just bored. He didn't expect...

Unable to read Din's silence, you smiled sadly. "You don't have to say it back. I just wanted you to know—"

"I— I know you forever, too." He cut you off. Despite the crack in his voice, there was no hesitation.

Gently, he cupped your face, bringing you closer to him as he pressed his helmet, where his forehead would be, against yours, your warm skin nearly sizzling against the cool beskar. Din closed his eyes at first, but when he opened them a few moments later, he saw that your eyes were shut, your facial features more relaxed than he had ever seen. You melted into his arms, and suddenly he understood why people feared death.

Because now, he had you and the child. He had something to live for.