Saiwai Spirit

fem reader warnings: sexual content

“i want a baby,” you moan, “i want a baby with you…”

hunter whispers, “fuck,” under his breath, falling apart at his greatest fantasy that you just put into words. he pushes his cock deep inside of you, staring down at you with a soft, sort of pleading gaze. “you really mean that?” he rasps, his voice low and hoarse, almost gone from all the groaning he did in your ear. you nod, gripping him tight as he kisses you, stroking his tongue against yours with a lethargic starvation. “hmm, you know what you just got yourself into, love?” he murmurs.

tech sucks his teeth, panting hard from the way his cock drags in and out of your pussy with a squeezing slowness. “you…want to discuss this now?” he gasps, burying his face in the crook of your neck as you cup the back of his head, stroking him reassuringly. “don’t you want it, too?” you breathe softly in his ear, leisurely kissing the side of his face. he releases a heavy breath and glances up at you, meeting your eyes, his stare hazy with sex. “of course i do,” he says in a quiet, ragged tone.

wrecker widens his eyes a bit at your words before his gaze quickly turns dark and smug, the corners of his eyes crinkling from his growing grin. he folds your leg over his shoulder and thrusts into you, slanting his mouth over your parted lips when you cry out from the deeper angle. “better get to work, then, huh?” he chuckles against your mouth. you gasp and throw your head back, giving him access to kiss your neck hungrily, suddenly a bit more feral from knowing you what you want.

crosshair raises his eyebrows, quiet when he says, “do you, now?” like he doesn’t quite believe it just yet. he wonders if it’s simple pillow talk, but you nod and cup his face, pulling him down for a desperate, messy kiss as he pushes his hips against yours. “please, crosshair…” you whimper, gently nibbling on his bottom lip. he groans under his breath and squeezes his eyes shut, dropping his face into the crook of your neck with a long, drawn-out sigh. “you better not be playing any tricks on me…”

echo freezes, still inside of you, his lips slightly parted in disbelief. “why’d you stop?” you whimper, clutching his back. he shakes his head and kisses your forehead, murmuring, “sorry, i just—” he sighs and presses his nose against yours. “are you sure?” he whispers, two of his fingers sliding up your inner thigh to rub your clit, making up for the pause. you moan but manage to get out a “yes, yes…” and he kisses you hard and slow. “you’d make me an even luckier man…” he admits.

wolffe has to physically hold himself back from snapping his hips a little rougher upon hearing your words. there’s a mix of hunger and adoration in his gaze, searching your expression for any hint of doubt. but he finds none. he slides his cock into you and says, “you know what i want,” his voice slightly strained and breathless from the way you clench around him through his slow thrusts. you cup his face, pulling him down until you’re almost kissing. “wolffe, i can’t wait any longer,” you whisper, and he nods, kissing you deeply. “you don’t have to.”

fox is possessive over the idea of his children being grown inside of you—to create this new life with you. his gaze hardens as he grabs your face, his heavy pants against your lips. “don’t tease,” he warns in a low, cautious tone. you shake your head, leaning up to kiss him softly. “not teasin’, fox…” you whisper into his mouth, winding your arms around his neck to pull him closer, gasping when he thrusts into you a little more rough. “yeah? you’re gonna have all my babies, then?” he mutters.

cody grunts deeply, slow to drag his cock back out of you as he speaks low in your ear. “what’d i tell you about makin’ jokes like that?” he says. you whimper and shake your head, running your fingertips down his back to pull him closer. “i mean it, cody…” you whisper. he meets your eyes, his gaze softening through the slow rocking of your bodies together. “you mean it?” he whispers back. you nod, pouting a bit as his cock presses into you. “alright, pretty girl, we’ll make it happen…”

mayday hums low under his breath in content, fucking you lazily as his hips move back and forth. “whatever you want, sweet girl,” he murmurs. his voice is silky and smooth, tickling your neck through his teasing kisses. you thread your fingers through his thick and disheveled hair. “mayday, c’mon, i’m serious…” you whine. he chuckles at your needy tone and kisses just under your jawline, slowly sucking on your skin. “mhm, so am i,” he says, “you want a baby, we’ll have a baby.”

rex grabs a handful of your tits as he thrusts into you, suddenly overcome with thoughts about how your breasts are gonna swell up during pregnancy, how full your stomach is gonna look, and how much he’s going to enjoy every second of it. and then the best part—seeing you hold your baby for the first time, making you both his two favorite people in the galaxy. “fuck, you’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?” he groans, squeezing your tits as he buries his face into your shoulder.

fives takes your nipple between your lips, swirling his tongue as he flicks his gaze to you. “oh, yeah?” he smirks, fucking you nice and slow. “you want a baby with me?” he moves to give your other nipple the same attention, groaning at the idea of being parents together, with mini yous and hims running around. “fuck, you’re gonna be the sexiest mom…i’m gonna cum just from thinking about it…” he drops his face to your chest with a low moan, his sharp hips grinding down on yours.

kix intertwines your fingers together, pressing your hands down on the bed beside your head. “you think we’re ready for that?” he asks. you nod and roll your hips forward to meet his, which brings out a low moan from his lips. “yes, i do,” you whimper, “kix, please…” and he nods, soothing you with a soft, “shh, alright, i hear you…” he crushes his mouth to yours, kissing you slow and sweet before pressing his lips over the rest of your face. “i’m gonna take good care of you, okay?”

jesse would give you the world if you asked for it. “yeah, i’ll give you a baby,” he says hoarsely, your legs spread out wide around his muscular shoulders. “i’ll give you whatever you want…” he runs his rough, calloused hand over your thigh, fucking into you at a leisurely pace, smugly watching your eyebrows scrunch together in a pout from the pressure of his cock. “you know why?” he kisses your ankle. you stare up at him and whisper, “hm?” he smiles. “‘cause you’re my girl…”

hardcase lets out a low and deep chuckle against your chest. “you sure about that?” he mumbles. you scratch his head softly, trailing your touch down his back as he slides his cock in and out of you, patient instead of the usual wildness. “mm, what if they end up like me?” he asks, glancing up at you. you touch his cheek, teasing, “and what would be so bad about that?” he thinks about it for a second before grinning deviously at the thought of your perfectly crazy family. “you’re right…”

gregor is too distracted with kissing and sucking on your neck to process your words, running his tongue over your marks with a low “mmm” sound coming from the back of his throat. “gregor, sweetie, did you hear me?” you whisper. “hm?” he says, glancing up at you. “i said i want a baby…with you,” you tell him, cupping his face. his eyes widen as he slows his cock inside of you, just barely moving his hips back and forth. then he smiles at you. “well, who else would you have it with?”

howzer shakes his head, leaning down to kiss you. “please…” he murmurs against your lips, “don’t say that if you don’t mean it.” he thrusts into you slowly, the heavy strokes of his cock make it hard for you to kiss him back. “i do,” you moan, throwing your head back with your nails digging into his sculpted shoulder blades. “it’s all i can think about…” you tell him breathlessly. he looks at you through heavy-lidded eyes, caressing your hair down the side of your face. “me too…”

emerie pauses her lips at your lower stomach at your words. her soft kisses still linger on your skin as she looks up at you, doe-eyed in surprise. you run your hands through her long, brown hair. “you’re serious,” she says breathlessly. you nod, gently tracing the features on her face. “mhm, and i want her to look like you…” you tell her quietly. she props herself up and leans in close, brushing your lips together. “you don’t have to flatter me into this, you know…” she says with a slight smile.

Pairing: TBB Crosshair x F!Reader Warnings: Theres like a little suggestiveness but mostly emotional A/N: am I a sucker for soft, emotional, vulnerable crosshair. yup. is it in character, idk, lets ask the audience!

A lazy hand swept slowly along your backside, drawing soothing circles and patterns into the expanse of your skin, luring you from the depths of your slumber in a gentle pull. You shift slightly, a soft sigh leaving you as the hand traces up to your neck, brushing you hair aside before chapped lips kiss a line from the base of your skull down to the curve of your shoulders.

Eyes still closed, you hum lightly, a small smile on your face. "That feels good," you whisper, skin prickling as a huff of warm air brushes against your neck.

"Go back to sleep," the drowsy drawl makes you giggle, and you finally turn around, meeting the tired glare of Crosshair in the darkness, a man you've come to care for dearly, and yet also find completely insufferable.

"Maybe. What time is it?"

"Why do you have to ruin things?" he says, sounding as if he'd gotten caught doing something he shouldn't.

"If I don't, you'll just run off again without telling me." His glare quickly melds into an obnoxious eyeroll, and in a swift movement, he rolls over and scooches to the edge of the bed. You frown, eyes narrowing at him in the dark. "Don't be like that."

He only grunts and you take his silence as a good opportunity to search for your comm underneath your pillow. It was a little past four in the morning, and your heart aches at the realization that he'd been up earlier than that, if he had even slept at all.

Quietly, you lay down behind him, slipping your arm around his waist and tugging him into your body. His skin is cold to the touch, and you snuggle into his backside to try and press your own body heat into his. His heartbeat is surprisingly steady, and he lets out a breath that sounds tired and not in the kind of way that makes you assume its because of lack of sleep.

"Please stay," you whisper, kissing his shoulder blade. He stays silent, and your lips tremble as you pull away, heart aching. "For me, please stay."

For a moment, you think he might've dozen off, his silence going on for an unnaturally long time. But finally his gravelly voice breaks through the endless quiet and steadying your frantically beating heart. "Alright."

"Alright?" You repeat, wondering if you might've imagined his yielding agreement.

He shifts, sheets rustling as he turns back around to face you. His eyes are dark, the large bags underneath catching your attention. He rarely stays the whole night. You're not sure if its because he can't or he refuses to, but regardless, you're determined to uncover that softer side of him you know is underneath the callousness of his nature. And you were going to tonight.

"Alright."

You stare at him for a long moment, torn between smacking him in the shoulder and pulling him closer. It couldn't be that easy. If he's agreeable, it means he has an ulterior motive. But you don't have the opportunity to think about it further when his hand slips over yours and he draws your fingers close to his lips.

"I'm sorry," he whispers before kissing your fingertips. "I'm sorry for leaving," a kiss to your knuckles. "I'm sorry for not telling you," the back of your hand. "I'm sorry for being a dick and showing up without warning," a soft kiss to your wrist and then his eyes flutter shut, long lashes laying across his pale cheeks. "I'm sorry--"

"Crosshair I--" you interrupt him quickly, cheeks hot and skin flushed and sweaty. He blinks and his intense gaze is drawn back to you. Your dry throat encourages you to swallow the saliva building in your cheeks, and you finally gain the courage to speak. "Just...why? Why do you do it?"

He kisses your wrist again and in a swift move he moves over you, an arm beside your head and hand cupping the side of your face. He leans over, brushing his lips over your forehead in a gentle caress that makes your heart flutter in your chest. You know what he's doing, trying to distract you, to dodge the question, to make you forget so he can pull away at the last second.

When he moves down to kiss along your jaw, you curl you fingers into to hair and lightly tug, drawing his attention back to your gaze.

"How many times will you make me beg?"

He sighs, and finally those walls break apart. His lips turn downwards and his head sinks into your neck like the exhaustion has finally caught up with him. He mumbles something quietly into the curve of you shoulder, and you hum in softly in question.

"When I'm with you, its easy to forget," he whispers, a leg snaking between yours. "You're intoxicating. Addictive. I can't stop coming back but...but when it gets quiet, I remember."

You can only imagine what he means. The war, the discrimination against clones, the constant battling between life and death and the underlying fear of tomorrow possibly being his last. How he doesn't return even more agitated than normal is lost to you. That confident nonchalance he carries himself with is born from pure willpower and restraint alone, and he does it for you. And even if he didn't put up this constricting performance, you still could never be mad at him.

"So you leave?"

"You wouldn't like the real me, doll." He kisses the sensitive skin of your neck, soft and fleeting and not nearly enough as he sits up. He stares down at you, a simmering hunger beneath his gaze that you've grown familiar with. But this time it burns with something else.

"Am I not looking at the real you?" You ask, lifting a hand to cup his cheek.

"Maybe not."

"Then would you do me the pleasure of seeing the real you, if it means you'll stay the night?"

The request challenges all that Crosshair has built. Its asking him to take down his walls, to expose his truths, to reveal his faults and to be raw and open and bleeding. Its a line of trust that has never been crossed by anyone but his family. Its putting his trust to the test by hoping you will accept him for who he is, or risk turning you away by being naked to you wholly.

"I have to be gone by sunrise," he whispers, but he's already relented, body slowly settling in beside you. He reaches for the blanket and tugs it up and over your body, hand reaching for your shoulder.

"There's plenty of time until then."

"I won't sleep."

"That's okay."

Tech has seen firsthand the two do this exact thing.

Bonus Sketch:

He was sure he would have liked it better under different circumstances. The language was beautiful, even if the idioms themselves were… less so, and the cuisine was as delicious as it was painful. He liked Satine far more than he probably should have. He might even be able to get past the ubiquity of blasters, if they weren’t shot at him so often. But that was precisely the problem.

Obi-Wan felt a familiar prick of warning from the Force and ducked beneath a sudden streak of blaster fire, Force shoving Satine from the path of a second and wincing when the stool she’d been perched on toppled to the floor, sending her sprawling. He’d be getting an earful about that later. He hauled her to her feet and the pair of them burst through the window of the cantina they’d been eating dinner in, knowing from experience that Death Watch would have commandos at every conventional exit.

Satine pressed close to his back as he shoved his way through the busy street outside, forgoing blending in as a hunting cry went up behind them and Death Watch opened fire, heedless of the crowd. Satine refused to wear armor, and Obi-Wan relied on his agility and maneuverability to win fights, so they were a lot more likely to be killed by a blaster than anyone else around them. This particular dome city was a traditionalist holdout, so most of the passerby were fortunately wearing beskar. Less fortunate was the fact that they hated Jedi, so Obi-Wan had to forgo using his lightsaber unless absolutely necessary.

Mandalorians were a shoot first, ask questions later sort of people, and many of the people around them were doing just that in retaliation. Traditionalists didn’t hate Death Watch any less than they hated Jedi. Obi-Wan grabbed Satine’s hand and the pair of them pelted down the street, their path quickly clearing as Mandalorians scrambled for the best vantage points for a firefight. The rooftops would quickly become more crowded than the street, at this rate—every other person they passed was wearing a jetpack, and more than a few had taken off. A pair of them whizzed past overhead, grappling in midair. 

“Over here!” Satine yelled, swerving into a narrow side street, blaster fire narrowly missing her head and scorching the wall behind her. Obi-Wan cursed but followed, his hood slipping down from his speed and baring his distinctive ginger padawan cut. He could only hope they’d be able to find a proper hiding spot, or at least a more open area, before—

Two Mandalorians descended from above, landing heavily in front of them and behind them, effectively cutting off their escape. They’d been neatly caught, like shrill monkeys in a trap. 

Obi-Wan yanked Satine into an alcove and planted himself in front of her, resigning himself to yet again revealing himself as a Jedi and subsequently being hunted for sport for at least the next 48 hours. He reached into his spacer jacket for his concealed saber.

It wasn’t there.

The Death Watch commandos advanced on them, jeering as he frantically searched for it. They liked to play with their food; it had gotten them out of more than one tight jam in the past. Of course, they were still doomed if he had no way to defend them; Satine’s stunner was useless against beskar, and even if she had allowed him to set it to kill, which she never would, it wouldn’t work much better.

Then a streak of dull, dirty metal full body tackled the two commandos, beskar screeching as they went down in a heap. Satine cried out, and Obi-Wan threw himself into the fray, pinning one beneath him and yanking off their helmet so that he could concuss them with it as the newcomer gave the second commando a vicious beatdown. The fact that their opponent was wearing higher-quality beskar didn’t faze them; they just found gaps in the armor to exploit and bent limbs the wrong way until they audibly snapped. Once they stopped, a full minute later, their opponent lay groaning beside the commando Obi-Wan had knocked out without even attempting to stand up.

Obi-Wan turned to look at their rescuer, taking in the piecemeal armor, a patchwork of durasteel and beskar that looked like it had been scavenged from a battlefield, only to find them staring back.

“Hello, there,” he said cautiously.

The stranger laughed. Even through the vocoder, it was a cracked, broken thing. Obi-Wan could sense the swell of some sharp-edged, burning hot emotion, but it was stifled before he could recognize it, as if the stranger had practice, training, even—or had gone through something that made psychic shielding a necessity.

The stranger reached for their belt, and before Obi-Wan could react, they were holding out a familiar silver hilt.

“You dropped this.”

Obi-Wan was proud of the diplomatic poker face Qui-Gon had drummed into him, but he couldn’t help himself. He gaped. Lightsabers were worth tens of thousands of credits on the black market, and that wasn’t even considering the fact that a Mandalorian was willingly arming a Jedi.

Satine thumped him on the back, hissing, “Grab it before he changes his mind!” 

Obi-Wan took it, conscious of the fact that the pommel was pointed towards himself. If he turned it on, it would skewer the man in front of them, but there was no fear in his posture or in the Force, no wariness. Obi-Wan couldn’t quite tell what he was sensing from their rescuer, but there was a lot of it, all focused entirely on him.

“Who are you?” Satine demanded, once Obi-Wan had reclaimed his saber. She might have disdained violence, but she obviously felt safer with a warrior and a weapon between herself and the newcomer.

“No one you need to concern yourself with, Duchess,” he said, and Obi-Wan couldn’t see his eyes, but he could tell he hadn’t so much as glanced Satine’s way. 

“I’m just the heiress. My father is the Duke,” Satine said, though her hand grabbed Obi-Wan’s. They hadn’t heard from Qui-Gon, or Satine’s family, since they’d been separated weeks ago, and the Mandalorian sector was extremely politically unstable. Obi-Wan and his master had been dispatched to calm things down, but so far they hadn’t managed anything of the sort.

That finally caught his attention. “Is that so,” he said mildly, helmet tilting just slightly toward Satine before swiveling back to Obi-Wan. “And that would make you a padawan, yeah?”

Obi-Wan tensed. Most people, even on Coruscant, had very little knowledge of the Order’s internal structures. This man might have asked a question, but it was rhetorical. There was no curiosity in the Force, only certainty, and a swell of something underneath that was steadily building behind beskar mental shields.

“That’s none of your concern.”

“It is when you can’t even hold on to your own weapon,” the man countered. “That’s a bad habit. You need to work on that.”

Mortified, Obi-Wan felt his ears burn. He felt like a fresh initiate being scolded for recklessness, not a Jedi facing off against an ancestral enemy. He wondered, in the back of his mind, what Satine must think of him at the moment.

“Let me help you,” he said, stepping closer. Obi-Wan had to struggle not to back away, conscious of Satine peeking over his shoulder. “I won’t harm you or your heiress.”

“Who are you?” Obi-Wan asked. The man hadn’t deigned to answer Satine earlier, but something told Obi-Wan that he might get a clearer answer.

The man paused, then reached up to remove his helmet. His dark hair was cropped short, his face clean shaven, eyes amber and intent. “Do you recognize me?”

“No. Should I?”

He sighed. “It’s probably for the best that you don’t. I have a ship, down at the stockyards. I can take you to Kalevala, or wherever you need to go.”

“Can you take me to Sundari?” Satine cut in.

“…If that’s what Obi-Wan thinks is best.”

He didn’t—he thought the man must be untrustworthy, even if his strange desire to help Obi-Wan was crystal clear—but he doubted Satine would listen. The stranger calling her Duchess must have caused her to fear for her father’s life, her family’s lives. “I’m her guard, not her keeper, as she often tells me. I go where she goes, not the other way around.”

Their rescuer frowned, but didn’t argue, though Obi-Wan could tell he wanted to. “Understood. Let’s get you out of here.”

Obi-Wan put his hood back up and followed the stranger back into the crowded main street, which was still loud but no longer sounded like a warzone. The fight must be over. He was careful to keep his eyes on the stranger’s blatantly unguarded back, thrown by the man’s irrational trust in him. It was no wonder Satine had been so quick to believe him—he was risking everything to help them, evidently with nothing to gain. He barely seemed to care about Satine at all, which meant he wasn’t affiliated with either side of the current political conflict, either. And while the traditionalists were too scattered to be a true faction anymore, weakened as they were by Death Watch and Galidraan, there was no way the stranger could be one of them—not if he let a Jedi live.

And then one of the milling passersby grabbed Satine and put a blaster to her skull.

Obi-Wan went to ignite his saber, only for the stranger to grab his hand. “Don’t,” he whispered. “You light that thing up, they’ll kill her.”

The crowd surrounding them no longer looked quite so disorganized. They were all traditionalists; the Death Watch commandos had all either fled or died. 

“Mand’alor,” someone said, and the stranger’s hand tightened around Obi-Wan’s own. Obi-Wan whipped his head around, but they weren’t talking to Satine, or some yet-unnoticed Death Watch commando. They were speaking to the man beside him.

He bent close to Obi-Wan’s ear. “If you make a move, Kryze dies. If you do as I say, she’ll be fine. Do you understand?”

The bottom dropped out of Obi-Wan’s stomach. “Yes.”

“Good,” the Mand’alor said, the hand not holding his reaching up to grab his shoulder, as if to reassure him. “I know you… love her. Maybe more than you love being a Jedi. I don’t want to hurt you, even by hurting her, so I won’t unless I have to. I promise.”

Obi-Wan fought to keep his breathing steady. How had the Mand’alor fooled him so thoroughly, seen through him so easily? How had he put a name to the thoughts and feelings that Obi-Wan himself was still in denial about? He couldn’t be a Force user, but how else could he know so much about Obi-Wan?

“Mand’alor Fett,” the traditionalist from before said impatiently.

Satine gasped. “Jango Fett? It can’t be. You died.”

Fett glanced at her. “Well, you’re not wrong.” A curious scar curled at his temple, almost as if his helmet had broken at the visor—but that couldn’t happen with beskar. “She’s to be treated well. We’ll use her as a bargaining chip to get those damn Kalevalan aruetiise off our planet—it’s not like they’re Mando enough to fight. And then we’ll wipe out the rest of Death Watch ourselves.”

“OYA,” the entire street, the entire domed city, thundered, pride and bloodthirst and loyalty swelling so deeply that Obi-Wan almost felt like he was floating in it. And then Fett’s eyes were on Obi-Wan’s again, and he felt a little bit like he’d been caught in a riptide, pulling him under.

A hand touched his cheek, almost tentative. “Obi-Wan, I’m going to make things better. I’ll make it all up to you. Please let me. I won’t kill any Jedi this time.”

Galidraan, Obi-Wan thought, he must mean Galidraan.

“If we’re together,” Fett said, hand sliding beneath his hood and to the back of his neck, “We can fix things. You can feel it, right?”

The Force whispered in his ears, a million words too faint to make out, but it was pushing him, slowly and inexorably, toward the man in front of him.

Commander Thorn ♥️🪽 There he is, the self proclaimed representative of the Coruscant Guard when it comes to dramatical things ✨

@tazmbc1 wondered if a Corrie might show @foxwithadarkside’s pouting ARC Trooper Fives and Commando Captain “Chaos because I can” Gregor how it’s done 😎 Thank you dear, it worked 😹🫶

As it’s Thornsday and as he and his gorgeousness live rentfree in my brain, I gave in 😹 Give that diva his stage! 😽✨

Close up on a Corrie peacock sunning himself in all his glory:

Taglist: @lezz-agna @returnofthepineapple @sunshinesdaydream @vrycurious @chaicilatte @ladylucksrogue @freesia-writes @littlebitofeverything-lass @thecoffeelorian

My Chaos vode💥 @sabaccsniper @lonewolflupe @wings-and-beskargam @eclec-tech

Precious friends 🫶 @foxwithadarkside @tahny-andthe-diamonds @feralferrule @clonethirstingisreal @nocturius-pabu-core @fuzzyenthusiastnelket01

Huh 🤔 Now I want to call Fox 🦊 If he’s awkward in heels…? 😽

Like. Instead of waiting until the inhibitor chips are activated and the Empire is already ascendant to realize that the Galactic Empire absolutely will not allow there to be a planet that mass-produces clone armies for the highest bidder, they have this realization BEFORE Order 66 goes out.

AU where the Kaminoan government looks at their position, looks at the likely fallout, and weighs their futures under a Galactic Empire to whom they are a threat that has outlived its usefulness VS a grateful but still slow-moving Republic, with all its factions and legalities intact, its social mores primarily unchanged….its army filled with thinking, feeling men to whom Kamino is their homeworld and who are in control of their free will and thus capable of refusing orders that strike at their own hearts…its main enemy in the form of the Separatist Alliance neutralized but not utterly annihilated, ripe for both sides being played against the middle…

And quietly, about six weeks before Knightfall, without telling anyone, just…..deactivates the chips. Sends out a pulse via comm channel designed to fry or alter them. Remote killswitch. Something like that.

So Palpatine like. He’s WON. He’s TRIUMPHANT. He kills the Jedi strike team, gets Anakin to kill Mace Windu, names his new apprentice Vader, has him swear allegiance, sends him to wipe out the Jedi, goes all “COMMANDER CODEEEE”

“exEcUtE oRDeR SIxtY sIx”

and

nothing

happens.

Cody politely asks for clarification because that’s not a term in the GAR manual, sir, apologies. Long pause. Cody equally politely apologizes and explains that he’s in a pitched battle, sir, but I’m sure the General will contact you when we’ve taken the planet.

[Palpatine voice] “Hwat.”

He hits the next button on his carefully-curated Order 66 contact booklet for the high-priority targets he wants taken out before the general transmission so they don’t get any warning. He sits impatiently through the tinkly elevator music.

“COMMANDER REX EXECUTE ORDER 66″

Rex blinks, explains he’s not familiar with that code, sir, but Rex is a little less polite than Cody due to long-term exposure to Anakin Skywalker, and has the presence of mind to also point out that the Supreme Chancellor isn’t even technically IN the GAR chain of command, he’s a CIVILIAN leader, what’s going on–

Palpatine hangs up on him.

Okay, fine, whatever. Annoying but not unsurpassable, those two were ALWAYS an irritant, their clone commanders must have done something to the chips, it WAS a clone from Skywalker’s battalion who nearly discovered them after all. He’ll take out the rest of the Council and the all-call general transmission will take out the rest of the Order, he can deal with the treacherous 501-B and 212th later–

Shaak Ti’s clone commander asks in abject bewilderment how the Supreme Chancellor even got his personal comm number. He’s not even on duty. It’s 3am. Half the Council’s clones don’t even respond. Those that do just promise to have their Jedi call back about this Order 66 thing when they’re available.

He sends the general transmission with significantly less gravitas than originally planned.

He immediately starts getting confused email notifications. Unduli sends a TEXT from some random rank-and-file clone’s comms politely reminding him that she was present for the most recent strategy meeting and there was no operation codenamed Order 66, and reminds him coolly to respect the chain of command. Depa Billaba’s commander not only calls back but actually GETS HER ON COMMS to ask if she knows the term. They patch her padawan into the call to puzzle it out. The padawan asks Palpatine what happened to his face. He sits through three full minutes of playful banter before screaming and cutting the line.

Anakin gets downstairs to kick off Knightfall. The 501st blinks at their orders, exchange long looks, agree wholeheartedly, and stun him in the back the moment he turns around before dragging his ass to the Temple medical wing. 

The war ends twelve hours later.

he’s so greedy bro SHARE.

Obi-wan looks in the mirror and sighs. It was gone. The beard he'd spent the last handful of years growing was gone. Lost to the sticky sap on Aproths holy trees. The people did not know it would stick to him as it had. He does not blame them. It was only hair.

He looks like a child again. Curse his Stewjoni genes and their eternal baby face.

--------

Padme politely does not laugh at how young he looks when they arrive to guard her. He almost looks younger than his kriffing padwan. His padwan who had looked at him in horror and demanded he grow his beard back right that instant when he had walked out of the fresher without it.

Obi-wan has decided to keep a clean shave just to watch Anakin grimace when he looks at him. After suffering a decade of his padwans pranks, its only fair he gets to have some form of revenge.

Anakin does not know why he shaved and Obi-wan isn't about to tell him it's because a child smeared sap over his face trying to show him that the colors matched.

-----

They sent a child to arrest him. Jango thinks almost hysterically. The kid can't be over 16. He's a bit taller than Jango, but so were most of his own clones.

Jango refuses to fight the kid. Then the kid opens his mouth and-

There is no kriffing way this is a grown man. But he introduces himself as Master Kenobi.

Jango starts laughing. The man sighs. Looking pained. He then starts cursing Jango out in Mando'a.

Jango doesn't get arrested. In fact Kenobi explains theres no point. He does want Jango to explain the clones however.

Well, if Jangos not being arrested, and being allowed to keep Boba with him, but also told not to leave the planet, then he's going to spend this time harrassing the baby faced man.

----

The clones stare at the child they are being told is their general. Did he even have experience? Why would they send a child to lead them? Was this a test of their loyalty? To see if they would follow any command? Any jedi in charge?

Prime had taken to following the kid around and picking at him. Making jokes about eternal youth. The clones didn't get it.

Then another kid shows up claiming to be the first kids student despite looking older than the redhead.

"Seriously. Master. Obi-wan. Why?" The kid is demanding. "Why did you shave the beard off? You look like a baby!"

It's Cody that blurts out the question on all their minds.

"He's old enough to grow a beard?!"

Prime wheezes with laughter from the corner of the room. Tears are streaming from his eyes.

"I'm 34!" The redheaded Jedi cries. Throwing his hands up.

------

Mace Windu was sitting at a table in Jango's kitchen when the man comes back from training. He doesn't even bother to ask how the man got in.

"What?" Jango sneers. He only likes 1 whole Jedi. And that one is out running an army and flirting with sith. He merely tolerates the rest. Well, he will admit that hes starting to like Shaak Ti. A little bit.

Windu shrugs and flicks on a holonews station. "People demanded to know why the senate is letting a child run their army." The man explains. "I informed them the jedi was hand picked by the chancellor himself."

Jango grabs a few snacks and a couple of beers. This was gonna be good.

On screen there is an anchorbeing seated across from Obi-wan Kenobi. The poor bastard still looks all of 16 with his smooth face and long hair. He's even pulling out the tooka eyes.

"How old are you?" The anchor asks.

"I'm very sorry, but that information is classified. I hope you understand. The chancellor doesn't want any information about his generals to fall into the wrong hands." Kenobi answers. His innocent act is good. Jango would have fallen for it.

The anchor shoots a concerned look to someone off screen before asking their next question. "Can you tell us how you joined the Order?"

Kenobi bits his lip for a moment before nodding. "There are many people who are afraid of what jedi can do. I understand, of course. What we do can seem unnatural. There are planets that believe in sacrificing the children who show any gift for the Force."

The anchor shoots another horrified look off camera. "When you say sacrifice?"

"My parents believed that drowning me in a river would clense their clan name of the curse. I was rescued by a fellow jedi knight and brought to the temple."

Jango shoots a questioning look to Windu who nods. "Master Fey was his finder. Brought him to us when he was 3. Stewjon has no love for Force users."

"They tried to kill you?" The anchor looks shocked.

"It's sadly very common. Rescuing these children is how we got labled as child stealers. No one wants to admit to trying to kill a baby, so they say we steal them." Kenobi sighs sadly.

Someone off camera coughs. Signaling the anchor to move on. "You're a bit young to be leading an army." The point out.

Jango laughs, so does Windu.

"Well not really. The senate has padwan learners out in the field."

"Padwan learners?"

"Oh yes. When we reach the age of 11 we can be chosen as a padwan. The youngest out on campaign just turned 11 a few months ago. The senate wants to make sure they're ready to take command." His eyes are wide at this. Something genuinely sad in them.

"And the jedi let them?!" The anchor demands.

"We don't really have a choice. It's our duty to protect the Republic, and we must listen to any requests the Senate sends us." Kenobi sighs. "We only want peace. We aren't trained for war. We do best when we're able to nagotiate peace but our poor Chancellor just doesn't think the Separatists will listen."

"Kriff he's laying it on thick." Windu snorts.

Another cough from off screen. The anchor gathers themselves. "You said you aren't trained for war. Yet despite your youth you seem to be one of the best strategists we have."

"Oh thats not true. My dear Commander is a great help when it comes to planning." Kenobi flashes a proud grin before letting it fall. "This isn't the first war I've had to fight though. When I was 13 the senate ordered my Master and I to a planet to nagotiate peace. One of the groups was made entirely of children. The Senate wouldn't send them aid so I stayed to help fight." Kenobi hesitates. It doesn't seem planned. "It was a few months, but I learned all I could to help nagotiate peace like the Senate wanted."

The anchor shoots a nauseous look off screen. "Im so sorry to hear that."

Kenobi smiles. "It's quite alright. I know that it seems like a terrible thing to hear. Honestly it was better than the time I had to go undercover as a pleasure slave for a Senate mission."

Jango chokes on his beer. Windu sighs and buries his head in his hands. The news feed cuts abruptly to an ad.

Senator of Naboo Padme Amidala, Ambassador of Tatooine Anakin Skywalker, and Viceroy of Stewjon Obi-Wan Kenobi all argue over the custody of Jedi Padawan Ahsoka Tano.

Her teacher, Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn, is just trying to figure out which one of them assassinated the Chancellor.

Fun fact: it wasn't any of them. Not to say any of them may or may not have had intentions to assassinate the Chancellor, but it looks like Commander Fox (You know, the one assisting Master Jinn's investigation) finally snapped and got there first.

They're bustling to cover for the poor guy.

Super fun fact: It was not Commander Fox. It was Senator Riyo Chuchi and it was genuinely a freak accident but, you know, it was the Chancellor of the Republic.

Anyway, he invites himself in for a Dark-Side snack, figuring he'll figure out what's got the child so frightened and see if he can't make it worse -

Now, Riyo Chuchi, right, is in her office, and she hears this - scuttling croak.

So she looks and there is this - this - this horrifying cricket-centipede monster climbing up the wall, right?

So she does the whole 'there is a rat in the kitchen!' panic dance, jumps up on her chair, grabs the heavy ornamental spear that hangs on her wall and like, turns wildly, trying to figure out where this horrible chattering creature went, and it's scuttling across the wall towards her so she jumps from her chair to her desk and the Chancellor just strides into the room and she steps on a datapad, slips and basically gets flung forward, completely unintentionally and with no malice whatsoever and gores the Chancellor of the Republic right in the chest with her fripping spear. Man is one-and-done, right through the heart in a rip of gore because the blade on this thing, right? It's a piece of work. Possibly even Force-Nullifying and/or coated in toxin ( Not that poor sweet Riyo Chuchi knows anything about that!)

So there's Riyo Chuchi, stunned silent and more than a little bruised from her fall.

And there's the Chancellor of the Republic, very dead in a very gruesome manner, spear sticking out of his chest.

Fox walks in to ask if she's had any issues with vermites in her office.

Riyo, still in shock, points to the ceiling.

It hisses at them.

Fox shoots it. It falls dead next to the Chancellors body.

"Well," Fox sighs. "That's one problem solved, Senator."

Because Riyo Chuchi, out of the goodness of her heart, keeps the Corrie Guard supplied with care-packages of Pantoran Caffa Beans.

Could I request boyfriend headcanons for the Nightbrothers with a plus size s/o? And maybe what they would be like if their s/o had some insecurities regarding their weight (For example, Maul wants them to sit on his lap but they’re afraid of hurting him because they’re a heavier person? Or one of the boys is out with their s/o in public and they hear snickers because s/o is plus size and their partner is not?) Thank you so much for your time and I hope you have a beautiful day/night!

Hearing that you guys enjoy what I write and that it makes your day even a little bit better, keeps me going!🖤Thank you for your request! Enjoy!

The Nightbrothers - with a plus size s/o 🖤

warnings: mentions of body shaming

Darth Maul

Deeply spiritual and drawn to the architecture of a person’s mind long before anything physical. He doesn’t strike me as someone who notices bodies first, regardless of shape or size. Appearance alone would never be enough to truly catch his attention; his thoughts exist somewhere far beyond the surface level of attraction. In fact, knowing Maul, his interest in you would probably begin through some ulterior motive or calculated curiosity rather than romance itself. But over time, as he learns you piece by piece, something shifts in him almost against his own will.

And once Maul falls, he falls catastrophically.

That’s when he begins noticing everything. The softness of you, the warmth of you, the comfort of your presence. He develops this near obsessive appreciation for every part of your body because to him, you become art in its purest form.

Starts commissioning paintings and sculptures inspired by you, wanting your image immortalized in grand dramatic ways. Sometimes he’d have you lounging nearby while he works through plans or speaks aloud to himself, pacing the room in circles, absentmindedly trailing his hand across your waist or thighs every time he passes. Not even out of lust half the time, more like grounding himself through your presence.

Loves having you in his lap too. Not in a teasing way, but more like.. possessive, like your weight against him calms something restless in his mind. The second you try to get up, his hands tighten around you immediately.

“Stay.”

That low dangerous tone softens just slightly when it’s directed at you.

“Do you have any idea how comforting you are to me?”

And as he notices everything about you, he also notices your insecurities pretty fast. He’s observant to a fault. Even if he personally finds society’s standards irrational and insignificant, he still recognizes when they’ve hurt you

If someone throws a comment your way, Maul does not let it slide quietly. The room goes dead silent the second he turns his attention toward them. The verbal destruction is worse than the violence that comes after.

He picks the person apart. Every insecurity, every weakness in their character, every pathetic little contradiction in the way they carry themselves, he exposes it all publicly and mercilessly. His voice stays controlled while he dismantles them piece by piece until they look genuinely humiliated standing there. By the end of it, they’re practically praying for the floor to open beneath them.

Then comes the sharp flick of his hand.

The Force wraps around their throat instantly, lifting them just enough to send panic flooding into their expression before he slams them violently back into the ground without even breaking eye contact.

All while standing beside you like a dark furious god defending something sacred.

Afterward, though, his attention shifts back to you immediately. The rage melts into something quieter the second he notices your expression. One hand comes to your waist, pulling you against him possessively as he lowers his voice.

“No one speaks about you that way in my presence.”

He becomes almost suffocatingly attentive for weeks after, constantly pulling you close, praising you with this intense sincerity that feels like devotion.

I could even see him trying to reshape entire spaces around you without realizing how extreme he’s becoming about it. Surrounding himself with art, fashion, statues, paintings, all inspired by your body type because in his eyes you represent abundance, softness, beauty, divinity. To Maul, nobody could ever truly replicate you anyway. People could imitate the aesthetic all they wanted, but they could never recreate your mind, and that’s the part of you he worships most.

Savage Opress

Absolutely fell for you at first sight and then spent the rest of his life pretending he has any self control about it. He’s quite physical by nature, instinct driven in a way that makes his attraction impossible to hide. The second he’s drawn to someone, it shows in everything he does. His hands are always on you, pulling you closer, lifting you into his lap, carrying you around without even thinking about it. He’s huge, so your weight means absolutely nothing to him physically, if anything, he prefers feeling more of you against him.

Adores your curves shamelessly.

The man is obsessed with touching you. Wrapping his arms around your waist from behind, gripping your sides possessively, resting his head against your belly after exhausting days like it’s the only place he can finally calm down. There’s something deeply comforting to him about softness, something grounding and intimate that awakens this protective, animalistic side of him. He doesn’t just find you attractive, he treats your body like something precious, something he genuinely craves closeness to at all times.

Which is exactly why it hits him so hard when he realizes you’re insecure about the very things he loves most.

At first, he genuinely doesn’t know how to process it. In his mind, your body is beautiful so obviously that the idea of you seeing it differently confuses him. But Savage understands insecurity more than people realize. His own body was violently altered in such a short amount of time, transformed into something unfamiliar and painful. I think he carries deep discomfort about that, the roughness of his skin, the scars and stretch marks left behind from the change, constantly feeling too large, too monstrous, too unnatural.

So when he traces your stretch marks with his fingers, there’s this quiet fascination in his expression. Because the things you criticize about yourself look soft and beautiful to him. So human.. so warm and alive.

He’s not very good with words normally, but I think this would be one of the rare situations where he genuinely tries to say the right thing, find the right words. Telling you about his own insecurities in a hesitant, awkward way just so you don’t feel alone in yours. And once the two of you cross that line of vulnerability together, his protectiveness becomes even more intense afterward.

If somebody ever insults you in front of him, the atmosphere changes instantly. One look from Savage is usually enough to make people regret speaking at all, but realistically… it rarely ends there. He takes it personally. Deeply personally. Not just because they hurt you, but because he cannot comprehend anyone looking at you and seeing something worthy of mockery instead of worship. It always ends up being messy..in a fist fight, he’s really not the best at self control in general, especially if someone messed with you.

Afterward he’d hover around you constantly, visibly worried you’re still thinking about it. Pulling you into his chest every few minutes, pressing little kisses against your forehead, cheeks, shoulders, anywhere and everywhere really, just like trying to cover you in his love.

“You’d tell me if you were hurting, yes?”

And even if you insist you’re fine, he still spends the rest of the night holding onto you tighter than usual, unable to fully relax until he feels you melting back into him again.

Icarus

His attraction is very specific and deeply intentional. He’s the type to fall in love with very particular kinds of people, not just physically but emotionally too. So if he loves you, it means you fit into that hidden place in his mind perfectly. He probably noticed you long before you ever realized he was paying attention.

He studies people quietly.

Your habits, your routines, the way your body changes with stress or comfort, the little unconscious things you do when you’re tired, upset, overstimulated, happy. He memorizes all of it without even trying to; the exact moment your smile becomes forced, or when your posture shifts because you suddenly feel bad.

And he loves every single part of you for it.

Hes very protective too. Not loudly like Savage, or possessively like Maul, but in this controlled, watchful way that feels even more intense. Like he’s constantly aware of the possibility of the world hurting you and is always mentally preparing for it.

When you open up about your insecurities, he listens quietly, nervously fidgeting with his hands while you talk because hearing you speak badly about yourself genuinely unsettles him. He hates that the world managed to convince you that softness or weight could ever diminish your beauty. You can practically see anger building up behind his eyes, but he swallows it down because he doesn’t want to overwhelm you further.

Instead he just pulls you against him tightly, holding you there for a long moment like he’s trying to physically shield you from every cruel thing ever said to you.

And if you insult yourself too harshly? He’d probably respond with this dangerous little look before pulling you into his lap and muttering something low and firm against your skin.

“Don’t talk about yourself like that again.”

There’s definitely a darker edge to his affection too, the kind that comes out through control, teasing, restraint, wanting to overwhelm you with attention until you forget every awful thing you believed about yourself. …Basically you might get punished for being mean to yourself, he’ll show you mean! ;P

And if somebody throws a comment at you, I don’t think he’d make a dramatic scene. He cares too much about you and doesn’t want extra attention onto the whole thing. But the look he gives them is enough to make their blood run cold. Completely silent, completely lethal. The kind of stare that promises he hasn’t forgotten their face.

Later that night, you’d notice him watching you more carefully than usual.

Teasing you softly just to see if you laugh the same way you normally do. Checking your reactions. Looking for any sign that the comment is still sitting heavy in your chest. The second he senses even the slightest shift in your mood, he moves closer immediately, taking your hand and rubbing his thumb across your knuckles absentmindedly before leaning down to murmur quietly:

“I wish you’d see yourself with my eyes.”

Scorn

Genuinely loves all of you, and your body is no exception to that. I imagine him as someone deeply indulgent by nature, the type who experiences love through physical closeness and comfort more than anything else. Being around you becomes one of his favorite forms of pleasure. Endless cuddling, long lazy makeout sessions, constantly pulling you into his chest just because he wants to feel you there. He could spend entire days tangled up with you and still act like he hasn’t gotten enough.

And the contrast between you two is something he adores privately.

He’s all sharp edges, muscle, roughness, while you feel soft and warm against him in a way that completely melts him. I feel like Scorn would become deeply attached to the feeling of you specifically. The shape of your waist beneath his hands, the softness of your thighs pressed against him, the way your body sinks perfectly into his when he holds you close. It comforts him more than he knows how to explain.

Especially loves when you wear soft fabrics, thin silks, oversized robes, anything his hands can easily slip beneath while he’s holding you. Half the time he touches you almost instinctively, like he’s reassuring himself you’re always there. His palms wandering slowly across your sides, your stomach, your hips, memorizing every inch of you through touch alone.

He’s obsessed in the gentlest way possible.

The scent of you after sleeping against him for hours. The warmth of your skin. The softness of your body compared to his. He experiences all of it so intensely that it becomes addictive to him. Loving you becomes tied to comfort, safety, peace.

Which is exactly why seeing you insecure hurts him so badly.

The problem is that Scorn doesn’t fully trust himself to say the right thing. His first instinct is to overwhelm you with affection and compliments because to him your beauty feels painfully obvious, but he also understands that insecurities run deeper than a few sweet words can fix. So instead of dismissing your feelings, he listens carefully. Lets you speak without interrupting. Holds your face gently between his hands while you talk, thumbs brushing softly over your cheeks the entire time.

And the more vulnerable you are with him, the more tender he becomes.

Squishing your cheeks lightly before leaning in to kiss you slowly, almost like he’s trying to pour reassurance directly into you.

“You couldn’t possibly be more perfect,” he murmurs quietly against your lips. “The universe would not survive it.”

He also has these tiny little habits that become second nature around you. Giving your cheeks a gentle squeeze, then your shoulders, then your arms before taking your hands in his and squeezing them a few times. Little grounding gestures. Like he’s constantly reminding both of you that you’re together.

Most people are too intimidated to say anything at all when Scorn is nearby. He’s always watchful around you without even realizing it, standing close, always scanning the room, always looking threatening to anyone who stares too long.

But if someone does hurt you when he isn’t there, and he notices you quieter afterward?

It devastates him.

You can literally see the anger simmering under his skin, but he forces himself to stay calm because your feelings matter more to him than his rage in that moment. He just pulls you close, lets you vent everything out against his chest, rubbing your back gently while asking suspiciously detailed questions about whoever upset you.

“What did they look like?”

And the way he asks it makes it very obvious he’s already considering tracking them down later.

Feral

Treats you like something sacred. Not even in a dramatic metaphorical way either, he literally looks at you with the kind of devotion people reserve for gods. Every curve of your body feels precious to him. He loves the weight of you leaning against him, the warmth, the pressure, the softness, all of it makes him feel grounded and safe in a way he’s never experienced before.

He gets ridiculously attached.

There’s something needy about the way Feral loves. When you’re home together, he constantly seeks physical contact without even realizing he’s doing it. Resting his head in your lap, wrapping himself around you while you’re sitting somewhere, pulling your hand back into his the second you let go for too long. If too much time passes without touching you, he starts getting visibly restless and anxious.

I fully believe he’d want to spend every second attached to you if he could.

And he hates when you go out alone.

Not because he wants to control you, but because he’s aware of how cruel people can be. He notices the tiny shifts in your mood immediately, how sometimes you come home quieter, less energetic, more withdrawn after being around others. And it genuinely upsets him that strangers can affect you like that.

So whenever you’re outside together, he sticks close to you, watching people with this intense suspicious stare that naturally scares most of them away anyway. Nobody wants prolonged eye contact from an overprotective Zabrak towering nearby looking like he’s one bad comment away from biting someone.

When you finally open up about your insecurities, he goes completely quiet at first. But the longer you speak, the more visibly emotional he becomes because he simply cannot understand how anyone could look at you and make you feel anything less than adored.

His responses come out impulsively, almost desperately.

“But you are beautiful.”

“People are stupid.”

“How can they not see you properly?”

He gets too emotionally invested too fast, speaking before thinking because he wants so badly to pull you out of that pain immediately. And then the second he realizes he’s getting worked up, he gets shy about it. Like he’s worried his reaction somehow made things worse instead of better.

So he just buries himself against you.

Hiding his face in your neck or chest, taking slow deep breaths like your scent alone calms him down. His arms tighten around you instinctively, almost clingy, like he physically cannot bear the idea of letting go while you’re hurting.

The more vulnerable you are with him, the more attached he becomes afterward. Like every insecurity you trust him with only deepens his devotion further because to Feral, being allowed close to the softer wounded parts of you feels like the greatest proof of trust imaginable.

The Cake Series

(Because who doesn’t love a little something sweet 😉💕)

thank you!!! i love everything you’ve written 😪

the rest of forever

tech x jedi fem reader summary: tech is supposed to be giving omega a flight lesson today, but he gets a little sidetracked first. (established relationship) warnings: some suggestiveness a/n: wow this was a request from eons ago...the ancient texts...😅😅

as much as you like the sweet slowness of pabu, you can’t help but think about how it’s not the temple. it’s certainly not coruscant. and yet, it feels like home—a safety you haven’t had in a while. none of the civilians here know your past, something you’re not quite sure if you’re ready to part with. it’s an odd place to be when you’re rooted at a standstill, while everyone else seems to walk forward just fine.

you sigh and rotate a bit in the marauder’s pilot seat like a bored child. the world looks like a dizzying blur, getting faster and faster until a firm hand clamps down to stop your spinning. you look up, blinking as your vision readjusts. a warm blush slowly spreads through your skin when you see tech standing over you, his eyes round and soft despite the hard line his mouth is always pressed in.

“you’re in my seat,” he coughs.

you lean back and tilt your head to the side. “going somewhere?”

“not without your permission, of course,” comes his sarcastic reply. you give him a pointed look, and he averts his gaze a bit as the tips of his ears turn red. his words are always witty where the rest of him isn’t. this has always been endearing to you.

you giggle under your breath and shake your head. his eyes follow your body when you slowly rise from the seat, bringing your faces much closer. “permission granted, soldier,” you whisper softly, patting your hand down on his chest before drawing it away.

tech is quick to catch your hand in his, lifting it to his lips. he kisses your knuckles, his eyes staring into yours as he says, “i’ll be back before sunset.” he pauses, his tone slightly dry when he adds, “that is, if i survive.”

“aw, give the kid some credit,” you tell him. tech stiffens as you slowly wind your arms around his neck and lean in close. “besides, she has a good teacher,” you wink.

tech’s hands wrap around your waist with a gentle squeeze. “good would be an understatement, darling.”

“oh, so he’s confident,” you tease.

“within reason.” he touches his forehead to yours, staring at your lips. you laugh softly and cup his jawline, stroking with your thumb.

“just kiss me, already, would you?” you murmur.

that’s an order he’ll always follow. your eyes flutter shut as he leans in carefully, sliding his hands down to your hips for a tighter grip. your lips collide like the waves breaking along the shoreline, slow but hard, leaving you no room to breathe. he tilts his head and drags your bottom lip out whenever he pulls back, just to seal his mouth over yours at a deeper angle that claws out a whimper from your throat. the sound vibrates through the kiss, and he slips his thigh between your legs, holding you firm against him as you gasp at the pressure.

“tech—” you whine, “don’t tease…”

“i’m kissing you…” he replies, equally breathless. his nose slides against yours. “…like you asked.”

you laugh again, this time louder, but it trails off into a moment where you just look at him, your gaze softening as you slide a hand down his face. he leans into your touch, his eyes searching yours for answers beyond words. for the thoughts inside your head, the only illogical place he’d like to go. but it’s an uncharted course, one that slips beyond even his abilities. you fascinate him in that way. he’ll spend the rest of his life loving you if he could. the rest of the forever he vows not to waste.

“well, don’t stop,” you whisper, closing the distance again. his hands slide up your back to grip your shoulder blades, embracing you with a tight desperation as he kisses you feverishly, groaning when your fingertips slip underneath his shirt. you touch his warm bare skin all over, your lips parting and colliding in wet and slow kisses that drag your tongues together, tasting every last bit of time fleeing through this moment. he kisses you until a lively, feminine voice nears the ship in the distance, and you both break apart with heavy pants bringing your chests up and down.

he opens his mouth to speak, but you shake your head, resting a finger against his lips.

“don’t be late,” you tell him. he blinks, all disheveled from the kiss that still lingers on his swollen mouth, but you know he hears you loud and clear. you smile at him over your shoulder as you step off the ship, unsurprised when omega whizzes past you with a high-pitched “sorry!” you watch them in the cockpit from the ground outside, lifting your hand when the young girl starts waving at you. and then you meet tech’s eyes, seeing not just your present, but the possibility of a future where it’s not little omega in the pilot’s seat anymore—it’s children of your own.

such an imaginary sight brings chuckle to your lips, not wanting to get ahead of yourself just yet. but the thought seems to settle in your stomach a little easier now, and you suppose it has something to do with the kindhearted man staring down at you through the glass.

you blow him a kiss and watch the marauder lift into the sky. it grows smaller and smaller until it’s just another star you’d like to wish the rest of your forever on.