* 𝗴𝘂𝗶𝗹𝘁𝘆 !

His kriffing goddamn mouth!! Galya doesn’t even have time to be annoyed with him, she flinches as she watches Ben go down, the Ithorian now attached to her side at least keeping her impulse control in check. (If he hadn’t been there she most likely would’ve jumped at this woman….it wouldn’t have had a great result.)

Gears in her head already turning as her eyes dart around the group, how many were hostile to their intention of getting out in one piece? Five, counting the one at the door. Five lifeforms to grab Ben? Felt like overkill, but whatever it was he did this time must merit it. Her eyes widen when she realizes she’s being addressed, but then she’s always done very well at being the severely underestimated wide-eyed innocent one. “—-Stars? Hardly,” irises dart to Ben, he’s okay, then up to one of the monitors showing the podracing. She does it all in the fraction of a moment, but she’s sure he knows what she’s getting at. I have to drag this out another thirty-four seconds. “I was promised some drinks and a good time, but it looks like I’m getting neither. You guys collect for the gambling halls or somethin’—?”

Her feint move at confusion elicits a few chuckles, as she draws what looks like a lipstick from her pocket. Ben’s going to be so annoyed that something she designed to bother Tenniel ends up saving their lives. As the podrace on the main screen is about to end she presses the end of the small case in her hand, and the interference on the holos temporarily warps the screens, with shrieks and yelling now coming from around the club. In the moment the Ithorian is distracted, she elbows his wrist, hard as she can, releasing the grip on his blaster. She’s ready and pulls it from his grasp, flailing with it for a moment (the thing was huge), before firing in priority order: one, lady who kicked Ben; two, lifeform waiting to grab them if the went for the door; three, the one with Ben’s blaster. (He’d get the other two, she had to move now, before the Ithorian could grab her.)

Curling her fingers into the fabric of Ben’s jacket so she doesn’t lose him (prior incident experience), she drags them out the door, stumbling to the alley where she drops the blaster and stops, back pressed against the wall, clutching her chest, catching her breath. Hopefully the bouncers in the club were dealing with things now and would give them a few seconds. “D'ythink they’re okay? I hope so. How’re you?“

if ben’s good at anything it’s playing along, so for once in his life he decides to keep his mouth SHUT. it’s difficult, because when galya pulls that small object from her pocket, he knows it’s something that’s about to give them their clean getaway and he’s going to have to resist the all encompassing urge to yell something like ‘yippee ki yay motherfucker’.

and then it happens; so fast ben wonders if he’s getting too old for this shit. there’s yelps and grunts and then there’s three shots, high pitched orange jolts whizzing through the air ( nice one gal ) and, just like that, they’re even-numbered. he spots his blaster slide across the floor and realises he’s got maybe five, six seconds to do something moderately heroic and badass before he’s captured again and so he scrambles like a flailing gelagrub across the ground grabbing his weapon and...

MISSED.

he grits his teeth in annoyance, rolling his eyes as he fires again, this time hitting the oncoming square in the shoulder. when did he become such a shit shot? 

he doesn’t get a moment to process or take out the final hinderance because galya is yanking him with surprising force out of the club, past unsuspecting party-goers and into a dim alleyway, illuminated only by a flashing neon pink sign for tsiraki. he could really go for one of those right now...

he’s dusting the front of his jacket off, brushing away any indications he’d just crawled across a dirty nightclub floor ( this wasn’t the first time if you believe ) when gal checks in on him.

“ who me? i’m good. but i think you should consider a career in acting kid, i hear they pay good credits for those chandrillian soap operas. ”

fishing through his inner jacket pocket, he’s relieved to feel the cool metal of the holocron against his fingers; their naboo mission would live to see another day. 

@starschased​​ said: ❝ if you don't sit still, this is going to be the worst haircut you've ever had, and it will be on PURPOSE. ❞ continued from: here

ben is CONVINCED the reason he’s such a bad marksman, is because he almost always has hair in his eyes. it was a adequate excuse after all. so he was a little lazy when it came to personal grooming --- so what? it was an UNCOMFORTABLE experience, letting someone touch your head whilst wielding scissors and he wanted to avoid it for as long as possible. 

“  is that a threat ?  ”  

he hopes she doesn’t hear that to be honest. he doesn’t want to start a fight with someone who has the ultimate power to make him look ridiculously ugly. the hair was a crucial part of the ben solo package ( ladies LOVED the hair ! ) and one wrong slip would mean he’d have to go into exile. 

“  ---don’t make me look TOO GOOD kid, otherwise i’ll have a hard time getting off this planet.  ” 

@powerarise​​ said: “ did you really have to be that honest? ” from: - ; phrases that really hit you where it hurts

“   my mom didn’t raise a liar.   ” 

he takes another generous swig of his plastic red cup ( miniscule in comparison to his large hand ) a stream of warm beer sliding down his oesophagus like liquified gold. he winces, because there’s no pleasant tingle and it’s fucking tasteless. this party SUCKS. 

however, his costume, unlike hers, doesn’t --- he’s leon from leon: the professional (1994) starring jean reno and natalie portman. his eyes are obscured by round gold wire sunglasses, head topped with a beanie, tall frame wrapped in a long black coat. AND OF COURSE, the majority of these losers didn’t even know who he was --- even when his date, who’d dressed as mathilda, stood right next to him. uncultured idiots.

he realises the slim brunette is still in his presence. he would have expected her to of stormed off by now considering how brash his comment had been. maybe she waiting for him to elaborate? his words come out slurred, the alcohol in his system beginning to take a hold. about time, he’d had like 7 beers already. 

@asinisterbuzz​ said: " stop yelling! " from: - ; phrases that really hit you where it hurts also for: @datapadz​

luck was on their side today. the bullet in question had only skimmed the side of hux’s skull and ben is trained to know that 20% of the blood from your heart goes to directly to your brain --- therefore it looks way worse than it actually is. of course, hux doesn’t agree, he’s an incoherent and bloody mess, angry ( with every right to be ) as he’s dragged down a stairwell by a much larger and forceful ben. galya is close by his side, attempting to put pressure on the wound but no avail. much like the gush of red streaming down the left side of his face, ben has no intention of slowing down, hastily shoving both the injured redhead and a shellshocked galya into the back of the exit suv as soon as it miraculously appears. he slams the door, hands quick on his lapel radio.  

“ delta tango seven-two, merlot and sinatra are secure; repeat merlot and sinatra are secure. ”

@disasterpieces​​ sent: ♡ / literally whoever u want, ok? Ok 😈 from: send me a ♡ for my muse asking yours to be their valentine

maybe --- just maybe ---- he’d gone slightly overboard. he couldn’t help it; ‘go big or go home’ his roommate josh had said and of course, ben ‘no impulse control’ solo had only gone and purchased the biggest bouquet of roses he could carry, a fancy truffle chocolate box from la maison du chocolat and a comical headband with hearts that wiggled every time he moved his head ( his piece de resistance )

surely this would make up for their terrible first date or at least make her laugh. what sort of man would he be if he didn’t make a fool of himself for her forgiveness? he smiles to himself whilst he ambles down the corridor, getting closer to his destination. he knows for sure he’s the last thing she’s expecting tonight, therefore making his romantic plan true genius. by the time he knocks on her apartment door, he’s using every bone in his body to contain his excitement and that’s when the lock clicks, door opening nice and slow.

“ surpr---  ” he can’t even finish, the goofy smirk wiped clean off his face. 

nicole stands before him in the doorway, her features just as shocked as his. except that’s not what he’s looking at --- he’s looking at her cleavage, practically spilling out of a crimson red lace bra accompanied by her lower half in matching panties and a garter belt.

he doesn’t know what to do --- well, his body does --- his jeans suddenly feeling A LOT tighter. his fingers have turned to jelly, dropping the bouquet and the heart shaped box, expensive french chocolate goodness spilling spectacularly across the floor. 

it’s a complete MESS and he just wants to salvage the situation and finish what he had rehearsed the whole way here; something along the lines of ‘be my valentine?’ but all he can manage to say is:

“  holy shit.  ”

@datapadz​​ sent: ♡!!!!!!!! from: send me a ♡ for my muse asking yours to be their valentine also for: @asinisterbuzz​

there are a multitude words being thrown around --- delegates, conventions, money, but it’s not his job to know or care what it all means, his mind only willing to accept fleeting mentions of locations, times, people. speaking of, his favourite has arrived --- usually he would be with her ( since she was almost always with hux ) but she’d had other matters to attend to. richardson follows close behind her, giving a solemn nod in his direction. ben reciprocates, body not even shifting in the slightest. 

she sheds her prussian blue wool coat, a last slither of air vapour rising from her lips when she steps deeper into the warmth of their make-do headquarters. this was the last leg of the trip and he can tell she’s unbelievably stressed, teetering on the edge of sanity. making a beeline for the kitchen, ben knows he’s to follow her like a dog to a bone, but not before swiping a single white rose from the vase that sits on the hallway table. 

he takes a few moments to study her from behind, a small distance between them. she’s rolling her neck, clearly in discomfort, hands preoccupied with organising hux’s ever growing pile of fan letters on the kitchen table. how much sleep was she getting? he wonders if she’d been slouched over a desk all night working. so he steps right into her, his mouth at the shell of her ear in an instant, delivering a whisper. 

“ did you sleep funny? ”

she hums in agreement, not even phased by his proximity in such a public place. she’s focused on trying to work out the kink, fingers now pressing craters into the neck muscle. he tells himself it’s technically in his job description to do what comes next --- hand pulling hers away, her fingers replaced by his lips, planting a few soft kisses across the affected area, a couple more up the column of her neck for good measure. 

he can feel her relax under his touch, leaning into his much bigger frame, her shoulders dropping with a satisfied sigh.