#zinzinina

You sob through your third orgasm of the night, all of them due to Cody's wicked tongue.

Two of his fingers curl inside your cunt, stroking your walls with a wet squelch that has you covering your face. The squelch is drowned out by the sound of Cody sucking your clit into his mouth.

Your thighs jerk, fighting against Cody's broad shoulders keeping them splayed open, and for just a moment you swear you can see divinity.

"Shit!" you shriek, head dropping against the pillow as a fourth orgasm, devastating and all-consuming, sweeps over your body.

It's as if Cody thinks he can survive off of your cunt, because he doesn't stop.

He keeps sucking your clit through your orgasm and scissoring his fingers inside your hole. His eyes, just about the only part of his face that's not buried in your pussy, stare up at you is if in challenge.

His fingers crook and —

"Fuck!"

Cody wins whatever unspoken bet he had with you the moment you squirt all over his face.

You push at his face, sobbing out nonsensical words that has Cody grinning when he finally pulls away from you.

"You gonna let me fuck you now? Let me make even more of a mess of your pussy?" He looms over you, one hand — dripping wet with your many releases — closing around your jaw and tilting your head to make eye contact.

You're nodding before you can consider the consequences.

If Cody fucks you like he ate you out, you'll be ruined. You'll never be the same again, just a husk of a human being that had the life fucked out of them.

Drops of your own orgasm drip off of Cody's chin, falling onto your neck and trailing down to your clavicle.

A moan wells up in your throat as Cody dips down to lick it up.

"You're fucking perfect," he rumbles into your neck, "I love you so fucking much."

His cock slides into your soaked cunt with zero resistance.

Your pussy pulls him in with the most obscene of noises, one that would have you flushing if you could hear it over Cody's groan.

His hands pull your legs up and over his shoulders, and he leans forward until he's damn near folded you in half.

Cody is splitting you open with this new angle. It's catastrophic the way he drags across the spot that has you keening, and he knows it.

"You like the way I fuck you, pretty thing?" Cody demands, fucking you like he'd win the war if he made you cum again. "You gonna squirt all over me again? Make a mess of the sheets?"

Tears leak down your cheeks.

Cody has made you cock dumb, and his favorite part of making you get this way is when you start to run your mouth.

"If you keep fucking me this good, I'll marry you."

Cody freezes inside you.

The planet stops on it's axis.

An apology is on your tongue, just mere seconds from being spoken until —

"Fuck," Cody's lips smash against yours, both arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you even closer against his body. "'m gonna marry you," he whispers against your slack mouth, "gonna make you my wife,"

Your hands slide up to his hair, nails scratching against his scalp as you pull him back in for a kiss.

It's sloppy and messy, and maybe too many teeth to be a proper kiss after what could be considered a proposal, but it has your cunt tightening around his cock that's started to fuck back into you like a jackhammer.

Cody is yours — he's been yours since the moment you laid eyes on him — and you're his. You've always belonged to each other, but this?

The thought of being Cody's wife has you more excited than you've ever been since this damn war started.

Cody presses hot, open-mouthed kisses into your neck, all along your jaw with just the barest hints of teeth. "I'm gonna make you cum on your husband's cock,"

You nod in agreement. It's all you can do against the full-fledged war Cody is waging on you.

He's annihilating all of your senses and overwhelming you, but you pull him closer and revel in how he splits you in two.

Cody fucks you like a man diseased — like fucking you is the only cure.

“Truth or dare?” you stare at him with a raised brow, skepticism painted across your features, “Really Cass? What are we, 14?”

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” he grins, “besides, it beats whatever this is.”

It’s late. You’re not exactly sure what time, but the sun had slipped below the horizon hours ago. You and Cassian pulled the short straw, ordered to take the night watch on the south side of the base. It’s not as if the job wasn’t important, but you couldn’t really imagine why anyone would attack the unsuspecting forest moon — that and you’d rather be asleep now, instead of sat in the lookout tower gazing out into the night.

“Fine,” you relent, deciding to humour him, “but it would be more fun if we had something to drink.”

His lips curl mischievously and he pulls a flask from the inside pocket of his jacket, “I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

The term of endearment tugs at something in your belly but you quickly brush it off. Of course, Cassian was handsome — funny, determined, badass — you could probably go on for hours but you were just friends…right? Just friends with this stupid boy you’d had a crush on for years.

“You’re gonna get us in trouble,” you shove him playfully and snatch the flask from his hand, unscrewing the lid to take a sip of the bitter liquor inside. It burns down your throat and pleasantly warms your insides. Cassian’s tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip as he watches your throat bob, eyes darkening as his mind begins to wander.

“Okay, truth…” you smile, passing the flask back to him, “or dare?”

Cassian tips the flask against his lips, pondering for a moment, “dare.”

“Hmm,” you wrack your brain for something to dare him — something that won’t get either of you into too much trouble if it goes south, “I dare you to send a dirty message to the last person you commed.”

Cassian rolls his eyes, and passes you the flask again, pulling out his comlink. You eye him amusedly, taking another sip as he types a message, hits send, and then looks back at you expectantly.

“You gotta show me so I kno—” your own com beeps in your pocket, “…wait, I was the last person you commed?”

Cassian just smirks, taking the flask back and waiting for you to read the message. Your face heats up and your heart begins to beat just a little faster as you pull up your message thread with him.

~ Those pants look good on you, but I bet they’d look even better on my bedroom floor. ~

Your embarrassment dissolves instantly and you try to stifle a giggle, covering your mouth with your hand, “Is that the best you can do? Come on, Cass, make me sweat.”

He huffs in faux annoyance, and you wonder if maybe this might be a bad idea, given the alcohol beginning to flow through your bloodstream dulling your sensibilities, and your secret feelings for your friend.

“You want me to make you sweat, huh?” his eyes darken as he inches closer to you, “Sure sweetheart — truth or dare?”

Your heart thrums, as you try to decide. The energy shifts from playful to something else entirely. You know he’s going to take this as a challenge and you’re not sure if you’re ready to suffer the consequences.

“Truth,” you breathe, hesitantly meeting his gaze.

He moves even closer and leans in until his breath fans warm across your cheek. You can feel your heart hammering in your chest as your breathing grows shallow.

“Do you think of me when you touch yourself?” he asks, voice low in your ear. He places his hand on your knee and squeezes lightly.

Your breath catches in your chest and you nearly let out a soft whimper. Warmth floods between your legs, pooling in your panties. You’re at a loss for words, unable to even think straight with the liquor hazy in your mind and Cassian so, so close.

“Tell me,” he murmurs, lips ghosting against the shell of your ear. His hand brushes up your thigh, edging closer and closer to your aching centre.

“Y-yes,” you nod, voice barely a whisper.

Cassian groans, adjusting himself in his pants. Your eyes flick down to catch a glimpse of his evident bulge. It seems you have the same effect on him as he has on you and that fact gives you a burst of confidence.

“Your turn, Cass…truth or dare.”

“Dare.”

You lay your hand over the bulge in his pants and he gasps.

· Sorry in advance if these thoughts are so scattered but

· Could you imagine Tech just being so completely and utterly out of his comfort zone in this situation? The clothing, the physical proximity, this non-militarized setting where just two people who like each other are meant to dine and converse and revel in the company? Eating actual food that doesn’t come prepackaged or tasting of raw clay?

· No wonder he’s nervous and coping the only way he knows how…

· This is your first real date together. His first real date period. No matter who asked who out or planned on the setting, he wants so desperately to impress you, which only adds to his uptight demeanor – does he realize the lack of eye contact might come off as a bit antisocial? In the back of his mind, he does. Does he care that every time he clears his throat, he’s worried you might think him to be an acid reflux-ridden Wookiee? More than he’d like to admit.

· But he can’t stop talking – just as a Binexan Shark must swim to survive, so must Tech with his own mechanism.

· The truth is, the domesticity of it all is reallygetting to him – the wardrobe, the ambiance, and you, dressed more casually than how he’s used to seeing you, looking as magnificent as ever and sitting right across from him with those unwavering eyes that display such devotion, such attention.

· So when you crack your little innuendo of a joke, the whole scene breaks down around him.

· You want him to feel comfortable, to relax – you knew Tech could get a little wound up in normal circumstances, but right here, right now, was meant to be different: intimate and special and a major change of pace from what the pair of you are used to.

· You adore his reaction as your hands touch, but you’re the one left in a state of shock as his own turns ever so slowly underneath yours, adjusting your palm and running his thumb across the top of your fingers.

· Public displays of affection weren’t really Tech’s strong suit. In general, any display of affection was few and far between - you could tell how much of an effort he was putting in to connect with you in this moment.

· He might pay a compliment to your wit and crack a small smile himself, which is just enough praise for you – you’re more than willing to laugh at your jokes for you both.

· The part that means the most to him from your silly comment is the fact that you were absorbing all of his espousal to begin with. You listened to him, enough to synthesize the information and attempt to crack a joke.

· A joke that wasn’t at the expense of his intelligence.

· Once the ice breaks, you can tell he’s appreciating the outing just a bit more. He’s been given a night to enjoy himself and you don’t intend to waste it with awkward, stiff interactions. You offer him more to drink and you goad him into sharing a dessert towards the end of the night. He initially declines, stating how he doesn’t have much of an experiential tolerance for sugar, and you cast your vote for the most obscenely decorated confection on the menu just to see his reaction. In the end, you compromise and convince him to split a caramelized jogan tart with you.

· You may or may not have offered him to steal a taste from your own spoonful.

· Yes, the tips of his ears turned red again.

· By the time your meal had ended, you found yourself across the table from where you started. There was still ample room between you, but neither of you had commented on the change of seating arrangement until you stood from your table.

· This was always the worst part of dates for you – you had always been so awful at reading social cues after events like these ended. Was the night officially over? Was he disappointed you both weren’t staying at the restaurant longer? Should you step up and offer to continue the escapade, suggest touring your surroundings and keep him to yourself for a while longer? What if he was exhausted and just wanted to retire for the night but decided to be too polite to turn you down?

· Sure enough, these were the thoughts on Tech’s geniusmind as well – if only you two didn’t have to return to the others at some point. Now that he found himself at ease, he wasn’t quite sure he wanted to return so soon, despite the night closing in and growing ever so colder in the process.

· But you don’t mention your desires, and neither does he - for once.

· Your trek back through the small town towards the barracks is a slow one, a leisurely one.

· Or depending on the perspective, the feeling of walking towards an imminent death that can only be delayed, not prevented.

· You try you best to stay positive.

· You pass a shimmering stone fountain just outside the township’s boundary, and you nod in its direction, a silent request.

· The pair of you veer off the path and take a seat on the edge of the cold marble ring surrounding the fountain – he’s a good few feet away from you, and you prayed to the Maker that he’d just move a little closer.

· He’s busying himself with recapping the extent of your date so far – regaling you with the tale of his initial wardrobe struggle, asking you if a recognized a certain species of flora that resided just up the road that you passed mere hours ago.

· He suggests he might take a quick scan tomorrow morning if the crew remains grounded an extra day.

· You just want him to move closer.

· He asks you if you enjoyed your meal, if everything was to your liking. What your favorite part was. If you preferred white over red wine.

· You just want him to move closer.

· He compliments the construction of the fountain you currently reside on, running a hand between the two of you in order the inspect the texture more closely.

· Your hand lands on his.

· And he’s silent again.

· And he notices you have that look in your eye still – the one he noticed after your joke, but one he now realizes never left your gaze all night.

· And you move closer.

· And closer.

· And closer.

· Until he can smell the coarse sugar and fruit of the tart you shared for dessert on your breath.

· And he can feel your body heat emanating between you despite the chill from the breeze.

· And he can taste your lips against his in a kiss he had wanted to partake in since he first escorted you from your quarters.

· Slow and soft and grazing, yet so tender and addictive and right.

· He pulls away, a bit too abruptly and you’re afraid you misjudged everything.

· You begin to worry your bottom lip between your teeth, and you notice his dark brown eyes following your actions in the light of the streetlamps.

· “I forgot to tell you.”

· “What is it?” Your voice is no more than a whisper.

· “The Neimoidian Firespit Lobsters mate for life.”

Clones did get to see colors. Not really, anyway, just the muted, modulated ones their buckets provided - not the ones that brought grown men to their knees.

The ones that made elation run through a person's veins and completion paint the world in light.

The soulmate colors.

Clones didnt get to see them, because clones weren't supposed have soulmates. Why would they? Their very existence was specifically curated not to encourage them to find themselves, not to go on adventures, or develop dreams, and certainly not to fall in love.

Still, when he stood at the corner of the mess hall, and watched his brothers quarrel and laugh, with their uncontrollable hair and skin spattered with scars, Rex wondered.

Because the more time he spent, the more he saw new painted patterns and heard annoying inside jokes, the more he thought somewhere in all those calculations, they got it wrong. They were individuals, they went on adventures, and had different dreams.

So, like scuffs collecting on shiny plastoid armor, a new determination scratched a mark somewhere deep inside him. If his brothers could be and do all that they already had? Love, even, was not quite so unrealistic.

He didnt talk about colors much - none of them did, and he of all people rarely had the time. But he thought about them more than he should, ached for them during quiet nights alone in his bunk.

The feeling was frusterating, something unreasonable to share, impossible to explain, so as time flew on, he learned to bury it. It felt like a lifetime ago when he learned to guard his mind and control his thoughts around his jedi generals. Still, there was a time when he - his friend and jedi - had been distracted, gazing into his certain someone's eyes, that Rex had watched. And just for a moment, his mind had slipped.

Another scratch in his chest, wanting - wanting - what? Just someone to look at, to really see, and... someone who would see him, too. That's all he wanted. It was a selfish thought, hot and fierce, seering his careful facade, branding another scuff before he could shake it away.

-

When he first saw you, even through his aging helmet, you were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

You were walking, talking to someone, not relevant to his mission, but important and he wanted to walk after you, to be the one you were talking to, but... then you were gone.

Someone else asked who you were and he felt suddenly possessive, a strange feeling immediately followed by confusion. It was an illogical response, by all accounts, you had never even met before.

And then someone else answered - a trusted friend of Senator Amidala's, and he felt relief, that he hadn't been forced to choose looking foolish by asking or the much worse option: not knowing.

And it was another illogical response.

Weeks went by, stealing glimpses of you floating through the hall, and pondering his responses in his meager free time. Was there a reason he wanted to smooth the line between your brows? Or have his arm be the one you tucked your hands into as you climbed the stairs in your heavy robes?

There shouldnt have been. But when you appeared in front of him, your lovely eyes wide and thoughtful, here shouldnt have been a reason his brain short circuited, either. But it did - images of you appeared before him: you kissing his cheek lashes fluttering as you made him promise to stay alive, your head against his chest plate as your breaths thickened with peace and his own were full of pride. You, gasping his name as your hands grasped desperately against his skin, holding onto him as he took you for his and his alone.

Rex had never been quite so dysfunctional in his entire life. But before he could collect himself, you ducked your head and ran.

-

There were conversations Rex had never indulged before, at the bar, or between his brothers whenever they had a moment. Conversations about love and colors and... soulmates. And it had seemed selfish to listen, selfish to participate, like it would only add to his ache, and steal from his duty. Until you.

Each time he turned to see you watching him, before your eyes would widen guiltily and you'd turn your head in embarrassment, his resolve slipped away. He was already indulging, by stealing his own glances at you, and through the intentness at which he listened beyond your educated opinions for your laugh.

And when you tripped, walking quickly through a corridor opposite of him, and grabbed his arm, holding him like he could keep you steady, it snapped.

Then those conversations became like water - they were everywhere and he craved them like he needed it to survive.

"What, really?" As always, he tried to seem only politely interested.

"Honest, we only talk for a bit -"

"And admittedly he'd been drinking, but -"

"Yeah, they seemed in love. Way more than just fucking, he was acting stupid and happy."

"It was nice, you know? A vod looking like a normal dude -"

"- kept kissing and -"

" - talking about colors - "

Rex nodded and slipped away.

After long missions, his muscles would ache with scrapes and bruises, but he always told the shinies it prepared himself for the next one. He was done collecting aches - he wanted it. Soulmates or not, he wanted you.

-

The opportunity came sooner than expected, in long moments after a meeting had dissolved sooner than expected.

The two of you were left alone looking over a projection, and the convenience spurred his bravery.

"You do well, with all those idiots." Brave, certainly, but smooth? Not as much. You looked surprised and pleased at his praise, and pride shot through him.

"Thank you, I..." You glanced at him, and he watched your eyes trace over his marks, along the lines of his armor and then into his visor. Hands fiddling with a little dark grey pendant around your neck, you seemed like you were building courage.

"I'm sorry I've been avoiding you."

His head tilted. You had been avoiding... him? Him, specifically? Maybe Rex shouldve felt upset, but the definitive proof that you knew who he was, lit his whole body on fire.

"Why have you been avoiding me?"

"You're so admirable! And capable and," you turned away, shoulders raising a bit as you confessed - "and there's something about you that's just..."

He'd never wanted someone to finish a sentence more. It seemed impossible how much he ached for you, how right you seemed for him, how it seemed like maybe you agreed, but he had defied a world of impossibilities.

"I didnt want to seem too eager," your voice was but a whisper. Hope fueled his heat, filling his armor until it felt too much to bear.

Pulling off his helmet, Rex reached for you, saying, "You couldn't -" before his words cut off.

You looking him face to face and his whole world changed in a single moment.

"- Mesh'la."

The pendant was... a color that matched the way rain felt, and the paint on his armour, brighter than he'd thought. You were his.

And you were wearing it, looking like a dream, staring at him like you'd never seen a man like him before. And... you hadnt.

As he grabbed your hands, and your fingers fit inbetween his own, Rex knew you hadn't. Because he as in color, and he was yours.

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You hummed to yourself quietly as you chopped vegetables as the oil in the pan heated up, getting lost in the rhythmic sound of the knife hitting the cutting board. You were sautéing the vegetables so you could add them to the stock you had simmering on another burner. 

Meal prepping for the week ahead used to feel like a chore to you, but somewhere along the line it had turned into a habit of yours. Every Sunday before work, you’d spend some time making a big batch of food for the coming week. Usually, the last thing you wanted to do after a long day at work was stress about what you were going to cook yourself, and having something already prepared was an easy thing you could do to make things easier for yourself. You usually ended up making soup, as it was easy enough to prepare and reheat. Plus, you’d collected enough different soup recipes over the years that you never felt stuck eating the same thing every week. 

Just as you were about to scrape the vegetables into the pan, you caught a whiff of something burnt. You managed to tilt the cutting board up to prevent anything from falling over and set it off to the side before examining around the pan to see if anything had accidentally fallen onto the burner. When you found nothing you quickly pulled the lid off the pot of stock, to see if anything had gone wrong inside. Coming up empty, you quickly wiped your hands on your apron and started looking around the kitchen for the culprit. The smell was stronger now, and intensified further as you got closer to the front door of your apartment. It must be coming from one of your neighbors’ apartments, then. 

As if on cue, you heard the fire alarm start to blare through the wall that you shared with the apartment next door, followed by what sounded like a string of muffled expletives. Though you knew it was most likely just a cooking mishap, you couldn’t help but remember the story your mother had told you about her first time living in an apartment building. She’d smelled something burning and assumed it was just someone burning something in the kitchen, especially because no alarms had gone off. Less than ten minutes later, she’d heard the commotion as the firefighters were kicking in a door down the hall. Later, as she was waiting on the sidewalk across the street from her building with the rest of the residents who’d had to evacuate, she learned that one of her neighbors, an old woman living by herself, had fallen asleep with something on the stove, and by the time the firefighters had gotten there half of her kitchen was engulfed in flames. Not a single fire alarm in the building had gone off. If it had not been for the quick thinking of her LEP droid, the woman would have died from carbon monoxide poisoning in her sleep and much more than just her kitchen would have been destroyed. 

You’d heard the story many times growing up, most recently when she was helping you move into this apartment. It had stuck with you, and it’s probably why you were now darting out of your door and knocking at the apartment next door. There was a short, muffled conversation you couldn’t make out behind the door before it swung open, revealing a young man with a half-panicked half-annoyed look on his face. 

“Hi I’m your-” you started, but one glance over his shoulder sent you into a panic. “Wait! Stop! Is that a grease fire? Don’t put it under the water!” you shouted, pushing your way into the apartment towards the man with a flaming pan in his hand that was headed for the sink. 

Nights like these were the worst. Your boyfriend, Echo, was set to ship out first thing in the morning on a ‘top secret mission’ for the Republic. Nights like these were the worst because there’s always a heavy cloud hanging over your heads at the idea that Echo might not come home.

There was just something different too, about Echo this evening. While he was usually very sweet when he was making love to you, he was almost desperate, hands grabbing at every inch of skin he could reach. His lips never left your body unless it was to whisper in your ear that he loved you -that he loved you so fucking much- and it was unnerving. But you assumed that it was because he had such a high importance mission coming up and swallowed the impending feelings of dread as time came for Echo to head back to base.

“I have to go, mesh’la. Rex told me only had until 2300 to get back to base,” he says, lifting himself off your belly and putting his armor back on. You just nod, picking at your fingernails until Echo pulls you off the bed and up against him. “I’ll be back before you know it,” he said, thumbs stroking your cheeks as he cups your face.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Echo,” you joke, leaning into his gentle touch. He presses his lips to yours, soft and firm against your own. The kiss conveys all the things you’re not ready to say to each other and it feels so final.

“Two weeks. I’ll be back in less than two weeks,” he promises as he leaves your place, the lights of Coruscant illuminating him. Gentle fingers brush away the tear that drops down your face as you nod, leaning against the doorway. You whisper an I love you at his back as he walks away, helmet under his arm before heading back inside.

-

Two weeks later a knock sounds at your door and you rush to it, itching to see Echo. Since he’s been gone you realize that not telling him that you loved him was the stupidest idea you’d ever had, so you’re determined to smother him in kisses and I love you’s.

But it’s not Echo at the door, it’s Fives and Rex, helmets under their arms and apologetic looks on their faces.

“Where’s Echo?” You ask, even though you already know. Fives hangs his head and it’s Rex that speaks.

“I’m so sorry,” he says as he hands you the medal Echo got when he was promoted to ARC Trooper, almost as a consolation prize. “He loved you,” Rex says but you’re numb. The world sounds like an ocean rushing in your ears and you shut the door in their face and clutch the medal to your chest.

-

It’s been ages since Rex and Fives came to your door, offering you the only piece of Echo that they still had left to give. Every day has been tough, the pain of losing him nearly too much to bear. But you make it through every day, even if it’s only barely.

You’re cooking a small dinner when a knock sounds at your door and you pause. It’s a Trooper knock, one you haven’t heard since-well you don’t really want to think about that right now. It’s been a good day, no tears and no wishes to join Echo and you don’t want to bring yourself down. But then the knock sounds against your door again and you can’t resist the pull to open the door and see who’s there. The knock sounds a third time as your reaching for the handle and you pull it open to see a ghost at your door.

“Echo?” You whisper, reaching out to touch his face. A face that you could recognize out of a crowd, even though he shares it with millions and it looks different now.

“Hey mesh’la, I told you I’d be back,” he smiles and you fucking lose it. You’re crying and you’re mad but you’re also crazy happy because what the fuck how did he get here?

“Echo. What happened?” You ask because he’s gaunt and pale and fucking thin and missing a hand and both legs but fuck he’s alive. He’s here. At your door, cracking jokes like he just left yesterday.