Captain Rex x Jedi!OC Talia Riva - from the fic Illicit Affairs
Note: So I had seen stuff for clone x oc week a bit ago, but life has been insane so I forgot about it until I saw a lot of stuff being shared yesterday and I wanted to participate but I had nothing for the Introduction/First Meeting prompt because I technically wrote Rex and Talia meeting already in IA but then the idea slammed into me "what if I wrote the meeting from Talia's perspective" and then BOOM months of writers block disappeared. This isn't beta'd and obviously all the dialogue was previously used, but it was fun to peer into Talia's head a little bit. Also special shoutout to the anon who sent me a message yesterday saying they missed Rex an Talia; this is for you. Thanks @clonexocweek for hosting an event for a community that truly does not get enough love.
Rating: This scene is just mature for some language and themes, but the overall fic is explicit 18+ !
Word Count: 2.3k
Talia knew how to blend in a crowd – much of her training had been spent teaching her how to get lost amongst people, make herself unnoticeable, or even manipulate the Force so she would be overlooked when she needed to be. It was a skill of hers she was confidant in enough to say she was good at it, which is why it was frustrating that she couldn’t shake this one drunk businessman.
Talia smiled up at the man pleasantly, masking the way she wanted to scowl at the obvious scent of liquor on his breath. She would nod and make agreeing sounds, while she tried to drown out whatever he was saying to her. She wasn’t even sure how he had cornered her in the first place, if he weren’t so drunk she would have assumed he had some special training of his own, but Talia supposed it was just the delusional persistence only an entitled man could posess. She had been working the perimeter of the ballroom in Naboo’s Royal Palace, trying to spot anything out of the ordinary to try and see if the threat posed that evening was real or just false information. Her disguise as one of the Queen’s Handmaidens had been her idea with the support of the Council; the Republic presence was strong for the gala, and Anakin and Ahsoka were already out in the open as Jedi. If they wanted a chance to uncover any hazards to the evening, a bit of stealth was better than a show of strength. Just one of the methods Anakin and Talia frequently disagreed on, which was why he wasn’t aware of her attendance that evening. Perhaps it was her preoccupation with avoiding her fellow Jedi Knight that first allowed the man, whose name she purposely ignored, to corner her in the first place.
She had tried to excuse herself, citing some vague excuse of business but his persistence followed her into the hall, and Talia’s limited experience with men meant that she was running out of ideas on how to shake this guy while also focusing on her job. And she felt like she was about to lose all her sense of decorum if she had to listen to him talk about his starship modifications for a moment longer.
“Sounds fascinating, I’m sure you must be quite the handyman,” Talia cut the man off from his ramblings, hoping he would catch the sarcasm in her tone and finally catch the damn hint that she wasn’t interested. He was leaning on the wall beside her while looking down at her, and she was grateful in that moment that the dress she was wearing had such a high neck.
“Aww come on, I’ve been trying to picture what you look like without that dress on, and I think it would look much better on the floor of my –,” patience was a virtue for Jedi, but that was a skill Talia had much room to work on, which held true as she couldn’t hold her temper in and slapped the guy before he could finish his sentance. Perhaps it was a bit of an extreme reaction, but when the man just shook it off and smirked back down at her she was ready to swing again before she heard a clone’s voice calling down the hallway.
“Excuse me, miss; The Queen was requesting you,” Talia glanced to see a clone trooper walking down the hall; by his pauldron and kama she could guess he was an officer of some sort and Talia couldn’t ignore how perfect his timing was to be her literal knight in shining armor.
“Thank you, trooper. Could you escort me to her? It’s so crowded and I don’t want to keep Her Majesty waiting.” She turned back to the man, not at all trying to hide the relied and pleasure from her tone. “Apologies, sir, this conversation was truly… stimulating.”
She followed the clone down the corridor, and once they were far enough away she relaxed her shoulders and let out a sigh, “Maker, thank you. I’ve been trying to get rid of the slimo for the past half hour. I figured it wasn’t exactly appropriate for a representative of the Queen to deck one of the largest potential donors to her event, but as you could tell I lost that internal battle.”
“Not a problem, ma’am. All part of the job” The clone was still wearing his helmet bearing a Mandalorian design, jaig eyes if she remembered correctly, so she couldn’t see his expression but she could feel the smirk in his voice.
“I heard the troopers of the 501st were known for their quick thinking and heroics,” Talai started, for some reason unable to stop herself from rambling as the clone and her walked together. “Nice idea saying the Queen was summoning me, that’s the only thing he couldn’t have argued with.“
“How do you know I wasn’t telling the truth?”
“The Queen would send one of the other handmaidens, not a clone trooper.” She smiled up at him, searching for the eyes behind the vizor. “What’s your name?”
“Rex, ma’am.”
“Oh, so I have the pleasure of being rescued by the famous Captain Rex then?”
“Well, I wouldn’t go that far-”
“About the rescue or the famous part?” OK maybe it was cruel to tease the officer on duty a bit, but Talia was enjoying her fun the one time a clone didn’t refer to her as ‘commander’ or now ‘general’ which she was still adjusting to. She was nineteen, dressed up in a gown on a night out at a fancy gala with a presumably handsome (considering what the clones looked like) man at her side; it felt like a touch of normalcy, a life she never would have so why not have a little fun and tease a little? And it seemed like she was slightly flustering the clone, as she could sense him fumbling for his words for a moment before he spoke again.
“I think he’ll have a mark from that backhand for a week. We could use fighters like you on the field with us.” Talia couldn’t help but chuckle at that slightly, if only he knew.
“Well, I don’t know about that. The truth is I’m not exactly great at these types of social engagements. I came to the hallway for some peace and quiet when Mr. Charm first cornered me. If only you had found me first,” ok her rambling had gone too far, some light teasing that ventured close to flirting was one thing, but she was definitely pushing her luck if she kept it up. “What I mean is, I owe you one, Captain.”
Talia was grateful that they finally arrived back at the ballroom, so she could be saved by the social ineptidude that had suddenly hit her. The gala was still in full swing, the voices and music bounced off the opulent marble walls. One could almost forget there was a war going on, had there not been troops posted at every entrance. The captain seemed to share her sentiments, as he surveyed the room shifting his weight between his feet.
“You know, you can stay and enjoy the party a little bit, I’m sure the food here is much better than your ration bars,” Talia suggested, knowing that the nutritional protein offered to troops was far from fine cuisine. Plus, if Rex serve dunder Anakin she knew the soldier deserved a break. “I’m sure the Republic won’t fall if you relax a little.”
“Hey Rex, anything going on?” Talia mentally swore as she heard Anakin’s voice; it was way too early for her cover to be blown. She couldn’t risk saying a goodbye, she slipped away from Rex’s side before Anakin could even notice her and disappeared into the crowd. She was on the other side of the room, behind a pillar when she finally glanced back to see Rex glancing around the room as Anakin teased him about something. Her moment of fun was good while it lasted, a break from work to enjoy herself a little but she had to get back to work and she had a feeling her true identity was going to be revealed before the night was over.
Talia went back to the shadows after that, floating around the halls of the palace and watching over the ballroom as she felt necessary; perhaps the Republic’s caution wasn’t need and this was going to be just a Gala because as the night passed there were no threats to be found. She was standing against a wall, conveniently hidden by some decorative floral arrangement as she sipped on a glass of champagne when the Captain caught her eye again. She could tell her felt out of place, and she could feel the surge of panic that went through him as Representative Binks called his name. Talia set her glass aside, knowing it was her chance to return the Captain’s favor.
“Sorry to steal you away, Captain, but there’s some security info I think we should go over She steered Rex through the crowd and away from Jar Jar, who had already slammed into a waiter, causing glasses of champagne to shatter and conceal Rex’ escape.
“Well, I guess we’re even now.” The relief and gratitude were palpable on Rex’s voice,
“Well, I wouldn’t be much of a lady if I didn’t return the favor,” Talia quipped, smirking up at him. “Besides, I haven’t had the pleasure of getting to know Representative Binks, but from what I understand he can be a bit – uh – overenthusiastic.”
Rex chuckled at that as they made their way into a long corridor. “That’s putting it mildly. He was told by Senator Amidala that he should receive combat training and he’s got it stuck in his head that I’m the one who should do it. I’m a good trainer, but I’m not a miracle worker. But I would gladly take his company over your friend from earlier.”
“Oh, Mr. ‘Invites-women-to-his-spaceship-so-it’s-harder-for-them-to-get-away’?” She cocked a brow at Rex as she leaned against the wall beside her. “Yeah, I don’t think he was a winner by any standard.”
“Are you sure?” Rex asked, mirroring her movement, and leaning on the wall across from her. “I think he almost won you over with the talk of his ‘personal modifications.’”
“Oh yes, of course. I was totally swooning over him; it was really rude of you to interrupt us.”. Her cheeks felt hot from how much she was smirking and trying to control her urge to laugh, she didn’t need to come off as a schoolgirl all because a man was talking to her but something about his charm was so effortless.
Rex motioned behind his shoulder in the direction of the ballroom, a grin tinting his voice. “I’m sure I can go find him again for you. I’d hate to think I ruined your night.”
Talia shook her head and softly smiled at him, “Far from it, Captain, you’re making this night a lot more interesting. Tell me, do you often go around parties rescuing damsels from terrible conversations with intoxicated men?”
“Only if they’re pretty blondes in black dresses.” Oh. Well, that was not as forward as she thought Rex would go, but Talia would be lying to herself if she didn’t feel her stomach twist at the compliment. She hoped her face wasn’t flushed completely red as she smirked back at him.
"Well, I guess I’m lucky that I fit into that box tonight, Captain,” she chuckled. Rex’s comm went off, making him mentally curse as he chided himself for getting so distracted on the job.
“Rex, it’s Jesse. Sid and Oak didn’t report in for their check-ins. Some of our guys have been having comm issues so it might be nothing but wanted to let you know.”
Talia was still new to being a Jedi Knight, but she had been training on the field long enough that she should have known just because a night seemed calm and that there was no obvious threat, didn’t mean there would be no threat. She had much to learn still, that was abundantly clear as she stood on the balcony after the fight with Ventress. Her gown had torn, which was a shame, but otherwise she was unharmed just exhausted with the threat of a migraine on the way with how much Anakin was going to annoy her about this. Luckily, he seemed distracted with checking in on how Senator Amidala was doing so for the moment it seemed she was reprieved. Rex was along the wall, being tended to by a medic so Talia took her moment to address her deceit now that her identity had been revealed.
“I do owe you an apology, Captain, for not being completely honest about who I am,” she said, awkwardly smiling to try and diffuse some of the tension she felt.
“Nothing to worry about mis—uh, Sir.” Rex insisted as his eyes met hers. Now that he was out of his helmet, her earlier presumptions proved correct and he was handsome. The blond hair was a surprise, she wondered if it was natural or if he bleached it. “I owe my apologies as well. I’m sorry if anything I did was out of line or – “
Talia laughed, raising her hands reassuringly at him. She couldn’t say what she was really feeling; that it was nice to feel like a normal girl at a party and having an attractive man call her pretty, but she felt that would cross all sort of appropriate boundaries.
“No, nothing at all; you made a boring party a lot more exciting.” She smiled at him and held out her hand to him. He accepted the handshake and returned a light smile as she formally introduced herself. “It was nice to finally meet the famous Captain Rex.”
ID: A rough painted monochrome study of Silco from that one scene in act two.
Idky but I am just obsessed with this perspective in characters. The classic over the shoulder gets me every time. Like they don't know you're there. Watching. Admiring them from afar. Then their eyes light up upon seeing you. (❤️ ω ❤️)
Also, I literally did this in like 20mins so don't come for me pls k thnx. 🙏🏽
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Maul x Nightsister OC (Zaiya Valessa) - Slight Canon Divergence
Bounties are placed on the heads of the Dathomirian Quartet and the hunt for their hunters begins!
Mentions of violence and death.
New chapter available here: AO3
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Hi there, I've never done a request before, so fun! 🤗 Could you do angst/fluff (enemies to lovers) with fem reader and Crosshair? "What are you staring at?" / "You, is that a problem?" I'd love for the fem reader to give Cross a dose of his snark, so maybe she's the one saying "You, is that a problem?" Some snark to fluff would be wonderful. Thank you for all you do! ❤️
Under the Moon 🌊
🫧 pairings: Crosshair x Female!Reader
word count: 2k
prompts:
• “What are you staring at?” / “You, is that a problem?”
Crosshair didn’t like new people so naturally, he didn’t like you. Or did he? He can bark but you show him that you can certainly bite back.
warnings: Safe for Work, Enemies to Lovers, Kissing, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Bickering, Sassy Moments, Light Angst, Scar/Burn Insecurities, Female Reader.
authors note: sorry for the wait, hope this is okay @megmegalodondon 🫧
The Marauder buzzed with activity, each member of the squad engrossed in their routines. The hum of machinery and quiet murmur of voices filled the air. You were content assisting Tech when a burning sensation prickled on the side of your face, like the intensity of a laser sight. You didn’t need to turn to know who was staring.
Since joining the team, Crosshair’s disdain had been clear. From the moment of his return, he made it obvious he didn’t like you. The others mentioned he wasn’t fond of people in general, and new members who acted like they knew everything were especially irritating to him. Unfortunately, that was you to a tee. Your confidence and cleverness only seemed to amplify his irritation.
As you worked at the main console running diagnostics, you felt Crosshair’s gaze drilling into you. Stealing a glance, you shot him a look of annoyance, but his face remained an impassive mask, eyes like cold steel.
You muttered under your breath, turning back to your task, but his presence was an undeniable distraction. Despite his abrasive attitude, you couldn't ignore his striking looks—though you'd never admit it aloud. His chiseled jaw, the intensity in his eyes, the way his hands worked methodically over his rifle — it was all infuriatingly attractive. Sadly his snarky attitude was less than desirable.
“Can you keep the static to a minimum?” Crosshair’s sharp voice cut through the silence, jolting you from your thoughts. His brows were furrowed in irritation, lips a thin line.
You rolled your eyes, fingers pausing on the controls. “It’s called doing my job, Crosshair. Maybe you should try it sometime.”
He set his rifle down with a clatter and stood, his tall frame casting a long shadow over you and his eyes bore into you. “My job is to keep us safe, and I can’t do that if I can’t concentrate.”
“Oh, please. Like your concentration is ever that perfect,” you retorted, standing to meet his gaze. “Or maybe you’re just looking for an excuse to complain.”
His brown eyes darkened, a dangerous glint in them. “I don’t need excuses to point out incompetence.” He stepped closer, the tension between you thick.
“Incompetence? You—” Your retort was cut short by Omega’s innocent voice from her corner, breaking the charged atmosphere.
“Why do you two always fight? It’s like you actually like each other or something.”
Wrecker, lounging on a crate nearby, let out a booming laugh. “Yeah, it’s like a schoolyard crush! You both just need to admit it!”
Your face flushed with embarrassment, heat rising to your cheeks. “What? No! That’s ridiculous,” you spluttered, glaring at the two of them. “Crosshair would be the last guy in all the galaxy I’d ever get with.”
Crosshair crossed his arms, a smug smirk playing on his lips. “Feeling’s mutual.”
Tech glanced up from his datapad, adding his two credits. “Statistically, opposites do attract. It’s not entirely out of the question.”
You and Crosshair turned on him in unison. “Shut up, Tech!”
He raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “Charming. But that just proves my point.”
Your embarrassment deepened as the rest of the squad chuckled. “I’m done with this,” you muttered, turning on your heel and storming away from the others.
Omega’s voice trailed after you, “We were just teasing!”
The next day, you were tasked with scouting a base for Rex, determining the best points for a future infiltration. The dense jungle surrounded you, the air thick with humidity, leaves glistening with moisture and you’re still in a sour mood from yesterday which is only to worsen. As you navigated through the underbrush, Hunter’s voice cut through your thoughts.
“You and Crosshair will go ahead together. Maybe sort out your differences while you’re at it.” Clearly, yesterday’s bickering had reached his ears, and this was your punishment. Crosshair merely grunted, a typical response, and began moving ahead without waiting for you. Reluctantly, you followed.
The jungle was alive with the chirps and calls of unseen creatures, the air heavy with the scent of damp earth and foliage. At the coordinates, Crosshair suggested a lookout point, but you were less than convinced. “You’re out of your mind if you think that’s a good vantage point,” you stated, shooting him a stern look.
He raised an eyebrow, his face a mask of annoyance. “And where would you suggest, General?” he drawled, sarcasm dripping from every word.
You pointed to a higher spot, frustration evident in your voice. “There, we’ll have a better view of the perimeter.”
Crosshair crossed his arms, a mocking smile on his face. “That’s weak. We’ll be seen.”
Your face flushed with annoyance because this wasn’t the first time he disagreed with you, it was almost every single time.
“Or maybe you can’t handle the climb and that’s why you’re opting for the lower point?” You challenge.
His smirk faded slightly, and he took a deliberate step closer, invading your space. With a fluid motion, he removed his helmet, locking his intense eyes on you. “You’re new here, Kitten. Maybe you should learn to trust my judgment.” His voice low and testing.
Your heart pounded, and you could feel the heat radiating from him. “Trust your judgment?” You scoff, doing your best to ignore the petname he just gave you. “You’re so arrogant!” you retorted whilst also trying to ignore how his proximity affected you.
Crosshair leaned in even closer, his breath brushing against your face. “Arrogant? Or just right?” His gaze flicked down to your lips, lingering. “You should watch that pretty mouth of yours.” The air between you crackled with tension, and for a brief, electrifying moment, it seemed like he wanted to kiss you. Or maybe you wanted to kiss him.
But did he just call you pretty? Was he mocking you? Either way, you find yourself in a sudden daze as you’re hypnotised by his eyes. The realisation hits you hard, leaving you momentarily speechless and strangely drawn to him despite your better judgment.
His breath is warm, scented but breathing deadly silent. If you closed your eyes, you probably wouldn’t even assume he was mere inches from you but he was and it was consuming.
Before either of you could react, a blaster shot rang out, shattering the moment. “Cover’s blown,” Crosshair snapped, his voice yanking you both back to reality. He sprang into action, and you followed, the adrenaline overtaking your argument.
Maybe, it was best to leave the arguing for after the mission.
Later that night, the squad had returned to Pabu, the mission a success despite the rocky start you and Crosshair had caused by not paying attention.
The others were inside the Marauder, their laughter and chatter a comforting presence. The warm, humid air wrapped around you as you stepped outside, needing space to clear your head, especially to think about what had happened earlier with a certain Sniper.
The tropical night was alive with sounds—creatures chirping, leaves rustling in the gentle breeze, and the distant call of birds. You wandered down to the beach, the soft, damp sand cool beneath your bare feet. The waves lapped rhythmically at the shore, and the moon hung low in the sky, casting a silver path over the water.
As you walked along the shore, you noticed a lone figure lying on the beach. At first you panicked thinking someone was injured but upon closer inspection, silhouetted against the moonlit horizon, it was Crosshair.
He lay on his back, arms folded behind his head, staring up at the vast expanse of the night sky. His usually stern features seemed softer in the moonlight, lost in thought.
For a moment, you considered turning back, but something compelled you to approach him. The sand crunched softly beneath you feet you drew closer, stopping a few feet away. You don’t say anything at first and then end up doing something unexpected—you lay down beside him, your eyes tracing the same stars he was watching. Did he do this often?
Supposedly all the time he spent in a cell made stargazing a rare luxury.
The usual tension between you seemed to vanish in the night air. Crosshair remained silent, his face expressionless as you both lay there, the silence stretching out, surprisingly comfortable.
After a few minutes, you turned your head slightly, your hair brushing against the sand as you watched him. His profile was illuminated by the moonlight dancing; casting sharp shadows and highlighting the lines of his face.
Just like you had noticed him staring at you the day before, he sighed. “What are you staring at?” he asked, his voice low and rough, like gravel.
“You. Is that a problem?” you replied, tone challenging.
He shifted slightly, his eyes flicking towards you before returning to the sky. “Are you looking at my scar?”
“No,” you replied with a small frown, not realising that might be a sensitive topic for him. You had heard about how he got it, but it wasn't something you consciously noticed.
“Good. Look away,” he grumbled, but there was no real anger in his voice. Instead of arguing, you did as he asked, not wanting to make him uncomfortable.
After a few minutes, Crosshair sighed once more. “Tech was right.”
You turned your head, confusion knitting your brows together. “About what?”
His gaze remained fixed on the moon, his profile bathed in its soft light. “Sometimes, opposites do attract.”
You were taken aback, eyes widening and quite unsure of how to respond. “Really?”
He nodded slowly, the movement almost missable. “I secretly admire how you take my comments on the chin and aren’t afraid to speak your mind. It’s... admirable.” His voice was awkward, as if admitting his feelings was a foreign concept. His usual mask of indifference slipped slightly, revealing a hint of vulnerability.
Surprise washed over you. All this time, you had thought Crosshair hated you. His constant criticism, the way he always seemed to challenge you—it had all felt like disdain. But now, you realized it was his strange way of showing respect, of acknowledging your strength.
“You could’ve gone about it a different way, y’know?”
“I know.” He responds stiffly.
You smile softly. “That’s a strange way to apologise to me as well.” You jest.
There’s a very faint chuckle that parts his lips as he says, “don’t push it.”
A heartfelt silence settled between you, the sound of the waves the only interruption. But, you still had one thing on your mind.
Breaking the silence, you asked, “Earlier, during the mission... what do you think went wrong?”
Crosshair's expression hardened slightly, his eyes narrowing. “We were distracted. We weren’t focused.”
You bit your lip, gathering your courage. “I thought... for a moment, I thought you were going to kiss me. Would you have?”
Crosshair fell silent, his expression unreadable in the dim light.
Oh no. Why did you have to open your mouth?
Embarrassment flushed through you, and you began to sit up, ready to leave. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”
Before you could finish, his hand reached out, gently stopping you. He said nothing, his gaze intense and unreadable as he held onto your arm.
Slowly, he sat forward and tilted your face towards his, his touch surprisingly gentle. Without a word, he leaned in and kissed you, a brief but electrifying connection that left you breathless, your heart trying to leap out of your chest.
The kiss was soft, tentative, as if he was testing the waters. He pulled back before you could even comprehend what was happening, his eyes searching yours, and for once, there was no hostility, only a vulnerable sincerity.
“How’s that for an apology?” he murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper, his breath warm against your lips.
You lick your lower lip, having to suppress a dreamy sigh as you could taste him on your tongue. “Surprising.” You say softly, completely smitten all of a sudden.
He smirks, eyes scanning your face. “I’ve never seen you so bashful,”
“Yes, well, kissing someone who you thought was your enemy tends to have that effect.”
He chuckles, lifting his hand and tucking some hair that was dancing in the soft breeze behind your ear. “How about another one?”
You grin, leaning in close. “I won’t say no to that.”
seeing y'all being giddy over Hunters happy trail i would like to point out that i included them on Tech and Crosshair as well since none of you seem to notice them there
ID: A grayscale pencil-style sketch of my OC Emalia being nuzzled up to by Crosshair as he leaves tender kisses along her shoulder. I am so soft for them... idk what to do with myself.... ´¯`(>▂<)´¯` Happy Bad Batch Eve, everyone!
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An Eya & Fives story.
Huge thanks to @pinkiemme for loving me and letting me borrow Fives art for my little header!
Rating: Mature (for some gore and heavy themes)
Wordcount: 5.1k
Warnings: angst, fighting, gore, general violence, panic attack/ptsd, hurt/no comfort
Summary: The match ensues... everything goes well and everybody is happy forever (I am lying).
Part I ✧ Part II ✧ Part III
━━━━━━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━━━━━
Part III: A Dance with Death
Coruscant, Ramikadyc Dojo.
19 BBY.
Eya feels the tension of Fives’s body more than they see it. That is the first lesson they were taught, just a small tadpole in the créche of their youth, only learning how to walk after their legs had grown in. And they soaked up the knowledge that was given to them: A true warrior relies on all their senses. Sight is never the most important thing, especially for a Nautolan.
They can practically hear their buir’s voice when they sidestep Fives charging at them, a memory tugging at the edge of their mind.
“Isiri abiik, Ne’kho. Aala agol be aru’e. Ori’jate, ad’ika!”
Fives’s teeth are clenched, his lips curled into an ugly snarl, and Eya realises this fight means something to him. He thinks he has something to prove – if not to himself then to them. This might have started as friendly sparring, might even be a way to get the tension out of Fives’s body, but it’s become more than that to him. Whether it is out of frustration or because their talk has stirred some ambition inside him – Fives wants to win this fight desperately.
Too bad he won’t.
“Udesii, vod!” they call out to him, dancing around the mat as they gauge his movements, trying to assess whether his rage runs deep enough to be dangerous. “This is a fight between friends, no? Doesn’t matter who wins in the end.”
The way Fives growls at that is almost enough to make them pity him. He will not come out of this a happy man, not with this… this need he has, this desperation to win. Eya even considers letting him win only for a split second, but – no. He asked for this, not for special treatment. Fives will bloody well learn what it means to fight Kyreya.
“Stop mocking me,” Fives grits out. Anger hangs in the air, sudden and acidic, so much so that Eya can taste it even though their tendrils remain safely knotted behind their head.
“I am not mocking you,” they say, their hands raised as if to calm a wild animal as they mirror Fives’s steps. “You want to… let it all out. You want to throw your anger at me, that’s fine. Do your worst, and I will take it. Vode ratiin, nayc? Get angry. Go loud. Just… don’t get angry at me. It was you who wanted to fight in the first place. Let yourself feel, and then use that anger. Don’t lose yourself in it.”
Fives crumples up his nose, then gives a sharp nod.
“Vode ratiin, Kyr’eya.”
“Jate.”
Eya relaxes their posture for a moment, shaking out their arms before they drop back into their fighting stance, fists raised in front of their face. Fives shifts on his feet, and Eya can feel it coming – that eruption of tension; they can see the lunge before he takes a step, see it in the way his muscles tense and how he ducks his head to go low. Still, he nearly gets them, missing only by an inch when they twirl out of the way.
Fives is fast – faster than they had anticipated. It was to be expected that he would be well-trained- he is not only a soldier, he is an ARC-Trooper and despite the army’s preference for meaningless chest candy, ARC does actually mean something among their ranks. And he is Mando’ad, trained in the ways of battle, even if the approach was… less traditional than Eya’s upbringing.
Eya grins at the obvious frustration pouring off of Fives in waves. Riling him up might not be the wisest thing to do in his current state… but gods, is it ever fun.
“Come on then, verd’ika, come at me. I thought you wanted to fight.”
Fives spits out a curse, but he doesn’t attack again, keeps his distance as they both prance around the other, sizing up their respective opponent. Eya is heavier, but that also makes them slower, no matter how hard they train, no matter how good their reflexes. Fives is lighter, less muscle which means less force. Even when – even if – he does hit, he will have to hit a lot harder than Eya to make them waiver. They don’t doubt for a second that he can, and that he will. They just need to make him angry enough to charge.
The taste of battle is familiar on their tongue, settling heavy over them. It’s the smell of sweat, of fear and anger, of blood and the dirty ground beneath their steady feet. Eya’s eye whirs in its socket as they regard Fives, the heaving of his chest, the flame of his eyes.
And Eya pounces.
A quick shift of weight, a mean left hook, aimed right at Fives’s chin- and they miss. He moves, faster than even their cybernetic can follow, a shadow slipping out of reach. Eya laughs.
“Ah, there we go!”
Their laughter turns a little mean as they follow Fives’s retreat with a giant leap, ducking out of his way the same moment they have solid ground beneath their feet and he throws his small fists at them in rapid succession. None of the blows land, but Fives nearly loses his balance from his own momentum, too sure he would hit solid muscle, and Eya uses that.
One of their feet hooks between Fives’s legs and he stumbles to the ground, reaching out to pull Eya with him, barely just managing to throw them off kilter enough for them to fall. They land in a pile, Eya rolling over quickly with Fives straddling their chest, his wrists in the death grip of their left hand, his foot on their right arm, pressing it to the ground.
“You fight dirty,” Fives grunts, but those are all the words he can get out before Eya lets go of his hands to land a brutal blow, punching the air from his lungs. He gasps like a fish out of water, but recovers quicker than should be possible, bending down without regard for his own safety and knocking his head against Eya’s, hard. The surprise is enough to give Fives time to twist out of their grasp and back away from them, spitting onto the ground as he stalks around the circle of the mat.
“Maybe you should fight dirty too,” Eya suggests, pushing themself up from the ground as casually as they can manage, just to stoke the fire of rage in Fives’s chest. “I thought you wanted to beat me.”
“In a fair match!” Fives exclaims, sounding equally out of breath and angry.
“Is it not fair if we both fight dirty?” Eya cocks their head. “I said, come on. Throw all you’ve got at me, be bitter and angry and unfair. Use every trick in the book, and then use those never written down. I am Mandalorian, I can take it. You won’t hurt me, ad’ika.”
“I. am not. little.” Fives spits the words out like bile, and Eya gurgles.
“To me, almost everyone is. So make good use of it. Be smart about it. Don’t just try to hit me, vod. Make it count, make it hurt.”
Fives’s face softens for a moment when he regards them with serious eyes.
“You sound almost like you want to be hit.”
“And what if I do?” Eya hums. “It’s been ages since I have felt the remnants of a truly good fight, and you… you have the makings of a worthy opponent. Try your hardest to make me bleed and see if you can manage.”
“I…” Fives shakes his head for a moment. “I don’t want to actually hurt you, Kyreya, cyare.”
“I know.” Eya shakes their head. “It’s not about that, not about me. Forget that it is me for a moment. Picture everything, picture everyone you have ever wanted to destroy. Think of them when you aim your blows, I promise I won’t break.”
Fives squares up his shoulders at their words, the flame in his eyes back with a vengeance. He sees a chance to win and he won’t back down. Which is exactly what Eya wanted. His voice, hesitant at first, is stronger now.
“If you say you are fine with it…”
“I am,” Eya confirms. They are itching for the fight now- for the taste of blood on their tongue, for the aches and scars and bruises that come with battle. It’s too late to turn back. They need this fight just as much as Fives did earlier. Maybe even more.
When a good soldier tastes blood, they don’t back away. They look for the source and then they apply pressure until the pain stops or death ends it all. Eya is a good soldier. Eya is the best soldier.
Fives shifts from one foot to another, contemplating where to best put his weight. Eya mirrors him as they watch, ready to counteract any attack thrown at them. The muscles in Fives’s calf contract, and just as Eya steps forward, so does Fives.
They collide in the middle, in a tangle of limbs and fists. A quick sequence of exchanged blows, barely any of them landing- the rattle of Fives’s laughter- the tight knot of Eya’s tendrils squirming in an attempt to taste like they usually do: The air smells like sweat and anticipation, and it makes Eya’s skin tingle.
Yes, they want to scream. Yes, this is battle. Give me all you have, make it hurt.
Their fist hits Fives’s side and he groans, stumbling backwards and gasping for air. Rough curses fall from his lips as he eyes Eya up and down, and they smile their gleaming beskar smile.
Fives’s fist hits them square in the mouth and they can feel their lip split, but the sharp pain only spurns them on. The taste of seaweed blood replaced the taste of beskar in their mouth when they wipe their face, smearing the blood all over.
The next hook Fives throws is easily countered, one of Eya’s taped knuckles crashing into his cheekbone with a sickening crack. Fives howls but doesn't retreat. His movements grow frantic, but Eya still meets him on equal footing, just as fast and with more force than before.
The soles Eya’s feet scrape against the ground, cold and hard and unforgiving, just as Fives’s fingers dig into their bicep, pulling at them. Eya stumbles for just a moment, and Fives’s knee is jammed into their crotch. They thank the heavens that they have no vital organs there - none that have deigned to show themselves today, anyways - and grin in the face of Fives’s confusion.
“Fuck’s sake, not fair,” he groans.
Eya doesn't respond. Fives is still beautifully distracted, and when they lean back and kick their foot against his chest with dangerous force, he tips over backwards.
Fives roars when his back meets the ground, his spine against violent duracrete. He curls in on himself like a child for just a second. Eya watches, panting from exertion. They have not enjoyed themself like this in ages.
Fives’s saliva is bloody, dripping down his chin when he stands up, anger distorting his usually so beautiful face.
The world goes quiet.
There is the soft exhale of air, and the thumping of their heartbeats in their ears. With one step, one move, the fire of battle crackles again. Fives throws himself at Eya, sinuous and so small compared to them. His foot kicks upward, aiming at the softness of their stomach this time, and while Eya is distracted deflecting the blow, a clenched fist connects with their jaw.
Eya’s kyram’edeem clack together audibly, metal biting into bone, their lip cracking at the force of the blow.
“Fuck, you hit harder than I would’ve given you credit for, verd’ika,” they spit, but there is a grin on their face. Finally, the taste of blood, the taste of a good fight, of a worthy opponent.
“You should know better,” Fives calls out. “Come on, you can hit me harder than that!”
Fives is grinning at Eya with bloodied teeth. When he wipes his face with the back of his hand, their eyes focus on the way his knuckles are ripped open by the force of his blows against their unwavering chest.
“You don’t want me to, soldier,” they snarl through gritted fangs. “Don’t overdo it.”
“Careful is my middle name.” Fived chuckles.
“It really, really isn’t,” Eya growls. Fives only laughs in agreement, and starts circling them again, waiting for another opportunity to attack. Eya doesn’t give him much time.
They leap forward, their fists raised, pushing at Fives’s hasty defence in a craze, thrashing and pushing, pulling none of their punches. Fives ducks and counters. His fists are quick, and he lands one – two – three blows in rapid succession, sweet pain blooming in the wake of his hands.
Eya curls their lip in disappointment. For a moment, they step back to gather themself. They need to be faster, they can’t keep underestimating Fives. He’s good – not good enough, but better than they had anticipated. His blows barely hurt, years of rigid training and practise have rid Eya of that pesky feeling, but still – if they let Fives get any more hits in, he’ll get cocky.
A deep breath. The stench of sweat stains Eya’s tongue, combined with the faintest whiff of blood – Fives’s metallic and red, Eya’s tangy and deep blue. And the fight starts again.
Fists and faces collide in an explosion of ecstatic violence. Eya’s breath is cold on Fives’s face, his hot in theirs. Their tendrils fight to unwind, to taste him, to help them, but Eya keeps them under control.
They block and attack, almost as if taking turns, as if both of them had agreed to draw the fight out as long as they can. Eya savours it, this perfect anger that rises in their chest.
They could end him in a heartbeat – the longer they fight, the more certain Eya becomes. Fives has weaknesses that are glaringly obvious: He leaves his left side wide open whenever he attacks. One good hit to his kidney, and he would be on the ground and at their mercy. His face is precious and he tries his best to protect it, so Eya makes it their mission to hit him as often as they can: A fist to his jaw, then his nose.
While the blows to his chest and sides make Fives stumble backwards, Eya puts less force into their assaults on his face. They would like to keep Fives intact and conscious for as long as they can. This is only just starting to become fun.
“You’re pulling your punches, Kyreya,” Fives snarls when they connect again, his fist crashing against Eya’s clavicle in a move that has them suck in a wheezing breath through their teeth.
That one hurt.
“Hmm, would you rather I break your pretty little face in half?” Eya hisses, their tone much meaner than their actual intention. They never want to hurt him, as much as they need to hurt someone.
“Don’t you worry about my pretty little face.” Fives laughs when he hooks his fingers into the waistband of Eya’s trousers and, in a move that seems almost erotic, pulls them closer. “I’d be more worried about your own nose, cyare. Seems that’s about the only part of your face that’s still intact.”
It’s a mean comment, and Eya shouldn’t let it get to them. They growl, one of their hands wrapping around Fives’s throat, moving so fast not even he can counter it. Their fingers close, and just like that, Fives is lifted- lifted from the ground, into the air.
It’s so easy. He would be so easy to snap in half.
He claws at Eya’s hand – they always become so desperate so quickly – but finds no leverage. Eya stares at him coldly, cocking their head, their arm not even shaking from holding up his weight.
“Gar serim, vod’ika. I am the one who should be worried.” Sarcasm drips off their voice like poison. They squeeze just a little tighter, Fives’s head dark red as he gasps for air and is granted no reprieve.
In a desperate attempt, he stretches out his arm, legs kicking until Eya lets go of him.
“It would have been so easy for me to destroy you,” they jeer, the cruelty of their words bitter on their own tongue. A small voice in the back of their mind tells them they are being mean, tells them they should stop, tells them they should check in with Fives. They ignore it.
“Why don’t you, then?” Fives’s voice is impossibly hard, anger soaking the air between them, anger that makes Eya’s vision swim red at the edges when they taste it. “Why don’t you, hm, Kyreya? Have you gone soft in your time here? You, who pretends to be such a great warrior, lost their edge? Stayed out of the fight too long, huh, hut’uun?”
The word comes unexpected, the insult drifting through the air and burying its hooks deep inside Eya’s hearts. They narrow their eyes, rage boiling in their blood like molten fire.
“Nu hut’uun, haar chak! Gar nakar’mi meg gar sirbu.” They spit out the words like they burn on their tongue. “You don’t know the ways of old, vod’ika. How dare you insult me like this? Especially after losing to me in battle, how dare you-”
“I haven’t lost yet,” Fives whispers, and even before the words have left this tongue, he is on them again, clawing at their side until Eya doubles over, sharp nails burying into their skin. Fives uses the opportunity, wrapping his own body around theirs until he’s hanging from their back. Eya roars and twists, but they can’t reach him, not like this.
Fives howls triumphantly, fingers digging into the meat of Eya’s shoulder. His legs wrap around their middle, his arm snaking around Eya’s throat until he has the leverage he needs to block their air supply.
Eya’s vision starts to swim, wheezing breaths wrenching themselves from their dry lungs. Their gills flutter uselessly, tendrils coiling tight with the taste of Fives’s premature triumph.
There is only one way out, and it’s dangerous. Eya makes it work. They stumble forward, one step – two steps, to where soft mats cover the ground. And let themself fall backwards.
Fives is crushed beneath their weight, his victorious howl fading into a wheeze, breath rattling in his throat. His arm drops, nails clawing at Eya, at the hardness of them, the muscle of their shoulder, the bone of their jaw, until they find something soft.
Fives’s fingers press into Eya’s eye sockets, and then, all they see is red.
The world fades, and it’s all them and that pain, that unbearable pain and their eye- gone- they can’t see, there is only darkness, darkness and the shiver of impact, the crack of bone beneath them. Their fists curl up as Eya twists, their movements more muscle memory than conscious decision. The eye whirs in their skull, strange and hateful, and something presses down harder, throbbing in their skull.
It’s like blacking out, only worse. Eya’s ears are ringing, their hearts pounding in their chest as they try to find whatever is hurting them like this- find it and get rid of it, destroy it, annihilate it, crush it until this pain- this fucking pain- until it stops, it stops, it needs to STOP.
Bone snaps beneath their palm when they punch down, but they still can’t see, can’t see, can’t see CAN’T SEE.
Their head is swimming with disorientation, their gills contracting with dry air instead of water, and Eya floats. Blood is dripping down their cheek, but it tastes… wrong, tastes like metal instead of the sea, is thinner, is sweeter than their own.
Someone is groaning, and Eya’s fist shoots out in the direction of the noise. There is that sickening crunch of bone again, their fist connecting with a soft nose. Everything smells like blood, like sweaty fear. Finally, the pressure fades from their eyes, and Eya tries to open their eyes. Only one does, the other stuck somewhere between past and present.
Eya is met with the image of Fives below them, their hands wrapped around his neck, his face blooming with bruises, his nose broken. He is covered in blood, red and blue mixing on his tan skin in patterns of horrible beauty. Eya stares and stares and doesn’t see, their hands still squeezing, their breath still sharp, their hearts still out of rhythm. Their left eye whirrs in its socket, comes back to life, but Eya can’t see anything but the lifeless form below them, chest moving shallowly, legs still twitching. Their mind is unwilling to comprehend what their eyes are telling them: The dance with death is over.
It ends with Fives’s red grin as he spits blood in Eya’s face, with his smaller hands clawing on their larger ones, until they recognise his face under all that blood. Until their hands slowly unfurl from his delicate neck to let him breathe, his chest heaving when he gasps for air, his eyes unsteady, flicking back and forth.
“Oya, vod.” He hunches over, holding his knees tight, trying desperately to catch his breath. “I thought you were about to kill me just then.”
Eya is panting hard, their tendrils curling in the air as they taste the familiarity of Fives, trying to ground themself, trying to find their way back to the here and now, to this sweaty dojo and to their brother, who is alive, alive, though the look in his eyes is different than it was before the fight.
They did this. It’s their fault – he is afraid. They scared him, they-
Fives… Eya stretches out a tendril and he leans back a little, away from them in a weak attempt to hide his feelings. Eya can still taste it in the air though; not even a clone soldier can hide the stench of mortal fear.
They crouch down next to him, fingers knotted in their lap, eyes swimming. Eya stares at Fives’s bloodied face, at his broken nose and his split lip, the missing tooth and the gash through his brow, at his hair that’s matted with blood. And they realise they did that. This is all their fault – they hurt him when they promised they wouldn’t, they took him and broke him. He almost died by their hand, right here, when all it was supposed to be was a bit of fun.
Eya lost control, and they nearly destroyed him. Their vod, who trusted them with his life, and they took it and crushed it until he nearly bled out right next to them.
“I’m sorry.” Eya’s voice doesn’t sound like their own. So, they repeat it, over and over and over again until the words feel more familiar on their heavy tongue. “I’m sorry- I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”
Fives’s terror still hangs in the air like a shroud, and still, his small hands find their way around Eya’s, holding them tight and bathing them in something new- something soft and lovely and warm- love.
Eya shudders and tries to pull away, but Fives keeps them steady.
“Ne tok’kad,” he says firmly. “Stay with me, Kyreya. Look at me.”
Eya can’t bear it – can’t bear the soft affection lacing his voice, dripping from his skin, can’t bear the forgiveness he is showing them for no reason at all, can’t bear that he is here and alive when he was so close to dying for the stupid choice of trusting them.
They should have never agreed to fight him, should have never said yes, should have never-
Memories come crashing in, cruel and uninvited, dark shadows on the doorstep of their mind.
And they remember it all: The war, the fight, the death. A pale blue hand slipping from their grasp, the terrified sound of their buir in the face of an explosion that should never have happened, that Eya was the cause of. The look in Healas’s eyes dancing across the room, spotting them- The cries of the children left for dead, and the taste of pure dread that choked them all those years ago- the searing pain of their missing limb, the taste of burnt flesh on their tongue… and then, the witch, and the millions of souls living inside her, screaming and screaming and screaming and tugging at Eya, tugging them down to where everyone they had ever killed was waiting for their turn, pulling them from their own body. A voice, familiar and loved… until Eya hears the words it says.
Gar cuyi kad, gar cuyi kad, gar cuyi kyr, gar ner, ner kad ner kyr ner oya, Ne’kho-
“Kyr’eya!” There is another voice, steady and serious, almost angry, nagging at the back of their mind, a voice that is familiar but not of old. “Gar be’chaaj, verd’ika. Ke yaimpa at ni. Jii.”
Hands shake at them insistently, pulling at their real body, pulling them back from where they went, back to where they are tethered to the real world, where their arm aches and their knuckles burn, where the air smells of blood but not of death, of desperation but not of terror anymore.
“Eya, love.” The voice is right next to them, accompanied by the warm sweetness of affection that seeps into them. “Eya, I’m here. You’re here, and you’re okay. I’m okay.”
Eya turns their head, and the missing weight of their tendril weighs so heavy that they think they will tip over for a moment, and their eye isn’t right- isn’t right isn’t right, it’s so loud-
Finally, they focus, and reality comes flooding back. A small hand is patting their cheek, Fives nearly seated in their lap in order to get close enough to touch them. Fives. He looks so small, his lip trembling, his eyes large as he regards them.
“Eya?”
“Yeah.” Eya’s voice is rough, their throat dry and they can’t seem to swallow down the taste of metal on their tongue.
“You good?” Fives sounds like he doesn’t even expect a serious answer, and Eya isn’t about to give him one. There is nothing they could say that could make this better.
“Aye, I’m good. Don’t worry about me, vod.” Eya shakes their head, tendrils unravelling from the tight knot that has formed behind their head, trying to absorb all the smells that fill the air. “I was… my mind was far away. It happens after a fight, sometimes. I’m good, I promise.”
“Hmm.” Fives stares at them with dark eyes. “I- Don’t get mad, Eya. But… I don’t think you are.”
Eya opens their mouth to object, but Fives raises his hands as if to stop them.
“We don’t- we don’t have to talk about it. Not if you don’t want to, and… not to me. But maybe you should talk to… I don’t know. To someone. I don’t… I don’t think that is normal. I don’t think this is supposed to happen- gods, the way you were screaming-”
Screaming? Eya furrows their brow. Nobody has ever said anything about them screaming during an episode before.
“I didn’t mean to scare you.” They shrug, their mind going a mile a minute. Screaming… it’s getting worse. But still- the way Fives is looking at them; somehow it’s worse than before. Pity has always been so much worse than fear.
Fives shakes his head, then flinches at his own movement. Dark bruises are blooming around his neck, the shape and size of Eya’s hands. Guilt rises in their chest like bile, bitter and rotten.
“It’s not about that,” Fives mumbles. “I just- I don’t think you’re well, Eya.”
“I’ve been fine until now,” Eya snarls, a sudden anger overtaking them at Fives’s insistence. They push his small body away to stand up from the ground. “I’m… fine. I’ve been managing, this was just… a mishap. I should not have agreed to fight you, I should have known better.”
“Known better?” Fives stares at them. “You mean- this has happened before?”
Eya shrugs and turns away, Fives’s gaze burning a hole into their back as they walk towards the lockers. This was just… a bad day. Just a bad day. They’re fine, they’ll be fine. Next time they’ll know- next time they won’t fight someone who means something to them, next time-
“Like I said,” they mumble, pulling their shirt over their head carefully, “I’ve been fine until now. Just… leave me be. I’ll take care of it.”
“Will you?” Fives’s voice is quiet and closer than they expected it to be. “I hope so… Gods, Kyreya. I hope so.”
Eya grunts noncommittally and turns to face Fives, who is staring up at them with a more serious expression on his face than they have ever seen him wear.
“I’ll see to it,” they repeat, though there is no real force behind their words. They are not sure they mean them just yet.
Fives eyes them a moment longer, mistrust shimmering golden in his eyes. Then, he nods slowly.
“If you say so.”
Quietly, they get dressed. When they walk out, Fives hugs Eya goodbye as he always does. Their tendrils curl around him softly, smoothing over his skin, covered in fresh bruises and old scars. It hurts to feel the love he still has for them, even after all this. He should hate them, but he has so much love to give.
Next time. They’ll talk about it next time. Tell him everything that happened, tell him who they are. He deserves to know. He deserves to know it wasn’t his fault that they hurt him, that it was all them- that they won’t do it again. He deserves to know that his love won’t be wasted on them. That they are trying to be better.
Next time. Eya’s tendrils curl around Fives’s arm for a moment before they let him go. He tastes like family, and when he smiles up at them, their hearts finally find their rhythm again.
It ends like this: With Fives walking away from them, kicking a pile of dirt in his way. With Fives turning around to wave at them, a small smile on his lips, and with Eya’s heart aching as they wonder where exactly they went wrong, and how to fix it all because if there ever was someone who deserves it, it’s this man with his soft heart and his sunshine smile.
It ends like this: With Fives fading into the grey of the city, and never coming back.
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Fin.
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Mando'a:
Isiri abiik, Ne’kho. Aala agol be aru’e. Ori’jate, ad’ika! - Smell the air, Ne'kho. Feel the moving flesh of your enemy. Very good, child!
Udesii, vod! - Chill, bro.
Vode ratiin, nayc? - Brothers forever, right?
Jate. - Good.
Gar serim, vod'ika. - You are right, little brother.
hut'uun - Coward (atrocious insult to Mandalorians, the worst thing they can possibly be called)
Nu hut’uun, haar chak! Gar nakar’mi meg gar sirbu. - I am not a coward, dammit. You don't know what you are saying.
Gar cuyi kad, gar cuyi kad, gar cuyi kyr, gar ner, ner kad ner kyr ner oya, Ne’kho- You are the sword, you're the sword and the death, you are mine, my sword my death and my life, Ne'kho.
Gar be’chaaj, verd’ika. Ke yaimpa at ni. Jii. - You are far away, soldier. Come back to me. Now.
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I'm sorry (I'm not). If you liked the angst, please leave a comment and a reblog! Always much appreciated.
Warnings: Dom/sub relationship, restraints, blindfolds, safewords, oral (M! Receiving), edging, teasing, orgasm denial, light slapping, biting, unprotected PiV, not proof or beta read cuz I wanted this up before Tech Tuesday ended
LMK if I missed any (✿◡‿◡)
Authors Note: *pockets the money* your wish is my command. Okay, I wrote this really quick and I do hope it lives up to your expectations. I am mainly a sub myself, so it was a fun challenge to write this as a dom instead. Hope you like it!
If you like it, please do let me know by liking and commenting and maybe even reblogging, it would mean a lot to me 🥺👉👈
If you want to, you can also help me by buying me a coffee ❤
The waiting. The anticipation. Never knowing when or where the next touch was going to come from. That was probably the worst part for Tech… And the most exciting.
Once again, Tech found himself completely naked and sprawled out on a bed. His hands were cuffed to the headboard above his head and his vision was obstructed by a blindfold.
This soldier was completely at your mercy.
Your hand barely caressed his cheek, but it was enough for a visible shiver to run down his body.
“Have you thought about what you did?” Your voice sounded like poisoned bristlemelon. Sweet, but deadly.
“Yes.” Tech replied, his voice restraining to hide his desperation. “And I deeply apologize.”
Not letting him off that easily, you lightly tucked at his restraints. A sign for him to continue talking.
Tech let out a shaky breath. For such a genius, he could be oblivious at times. But this time, he was certain about what he did wrong. “I am sorry for having interrupted you, my dear. I will do better next time.”
Good. He’s learning.
You got up and walked towards the other end of the bed, your finger lightly tracing his bare skin on the way. “We both know you won’t. But that’s why I am here. Safeword?”
Your hand was inching closer to where he wanted it the most, closer to the inside of his thigh, closer to the only part of him that wasn’t lying down.
“I won’t need it.” He was trying so hard to hide the desperation in his voice, but lost all composure when you pulled your hand away. With a desperate gasp, his hips shot up from the bed, looking for the much needed touch you denied him.
You lightly slapped his hip, making him lie flat on the bed again. “That’s not how this works, love. If you want me, I need to know it. Now, safeword?”
“Macrofuser.”
Of course that was his safeword. You smirked to yourself and the weight of the bed by Tech's feet shifted, as you finally settled in.
“Good boy,” You praised, with a kiss to his thigh as a reward. His stiff cock twitched in response, needy and already dripping with precum.
You had made sure he was all riled up, by the time you cuffed and blindfolded him. And you had made him wait for what probably felt like forever to him, every now and then making small sounds and touches to keep him aroused.
He had been good. Only begged to be touched once, when you used a loud toy near him, to pleasure yourself. He deserved a little treat.
With one hand on his thigh, inching slightly closer to his hard member, the tip of your fingers on the other hand brushed against his shaft.
This was enough for the clone to let out a loud moan, his hips bucking into the air.
“Easy now, soldier, you want this to last, don’t you?” You asked, your voice a mix of humor and danger.
“Ah yes, apologies.” Tech’s voice was barely louder than a whisper, all his energy and focus was spent on you and your touches.
Your fingers kept running up and down his shaft, not fully grasping and stroking it, but enough to keep him whimpering and needy. Your other hand abandoned his thigh to cup and massage his balls.
The small sounds he made was like music to your ears. You loved this. The genius who never shut up, completely at your mercy. All his thoughts had been replaced by you and his voice turned into an instrument that only you could play so beautifully.
It was hard for you to control your own need, when he was completely displayed like this and his body begging for yours.
Leaning over, you replaced your fingers with your tongue, placing it flat on the base and running it up the shaft, all the way to his head. You ran your tongue in circles around his tip, before completely engulfing him in your mouth.
It was impossible to fit all of him, without choking yourself. He was long and girthy, with a slight curve to it. Every time you sucked him off, it would turn into a sloppy mess - and this time was no exception.
A mixture of precum and spit was running down the part your mouth couldn’t reach, working as lube for your hand, which was now fully grasping and working his shaft.
It didn’t take long for Tech to lose what little control he had left, for his legs to do little kicks in an attempt to ground himself, for his hips to buck him deeper into your mouth to chase his high and for his whimpers to turn into full blown moans.
You let this go on for just a little bit longer, just long enough for his balls to tighten, for him to nearly cum - and then you pulled away.
Tech cried out in frustration, his legs and hips still moving in the hopes of creating enough friction to carry him the rest of the way. Though he felt his high slip away, like sand between fingers.
You waited a bit, watching to make sure he wasn’t actually in any real distress or discomfort. Once assured of this, you patted his thigh to calm him down, while clicking your tongue in tsk-tsk sound. “You know love, if you want to cum, you need to behave.”
“It was a natural reaction, I had little to no cont-”
The sound of skin hitting skin interrupted him, as your hand landed on his thigh in a slap - not enough to truly hurt him, but enough to leave a mark.
“No excuses,” You ordered.
With a defeated sigh, your genius apologized once more, keeping it short and direct. And with no explanations added to it.
“Better,” you praised, your hand caressing the skin that was just slapped. Then you pushed yourself further up the bed, climbing his slim frame and leaving a trail of licks, kisses and bite marks on your way.
With a last playful bite to his neck, you sighed contently. “Oh Tech, whatever shall I do with you? An exceptional man in every way, and yet you still don’t know how to follow orders.”
A smirk appeared across the soldiers lips, a rare but welcoming sight. “I suppose we just have to continue these lessons, until I do.”
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were enjoying this.” You chuckled, as you began lining yourself up with him.
Everytime his head just graced your lips, Tech gasped in anticipation, his whole body stiffened and shivered, waiting for the glorious feeling of being inside of you.
You lowered yourself onto him, throwing your head back in a moan of ecstasy. It didn’t matter how many times you’d experience this, he always stretched you perfectly and hit all the right spots. It was like the two of you were made for each other.
Tech always managed to hit that special spot, deep inside you, that made you see stars in no time.
As you began moving, finding the right rhythm and pace, the two of you moaned in harmony, creating music like no other.
Knowing that Tech wouldn’t last long after everything you’d put him through, you began rubbing rough circles on your own clit and teasing your own nipples, to hurry your own orgasm along the way.
Tech smiled knowingly, feeling your hand against his pelvis, he knew you were working to make the two of you orgasm at the same time. He was also, between moans, stuttering the components to different metals, trying to keep himself from cumming without your permission.
In any other situation, you would have punished him for this, but you were so close yourself, that you were willing to let it go. Especially since Tech was pushing his cock even further inside of you and making it twitch in the most delicious way.
You leaned over and left open mouthed kisses on his neck, before whispering in his ear: “Cum with me, my love.” An order you did not have to repeat.
Tech’s head was thrown back in ecstasy so hard, his blindfold flew off. The groan he let out vibrated through your body, as ropes of his seeds shot deep into you.
The feeling was overpowering for you too, making you bite down on his shoulder to keep yourself from getting too loud. Your hands dug into his skin and he was struggling against his restraints.
Wave after wave of pleasure shot through the both of you, a seemingly never ending high.
You collapsed on top of him, gasping for air, as his cock began going soft inside of you.
But your job wasn’t done yet.
Reaching up, you freed the soldier from his restraints and helped him put his goggles back on. You placed your hands on his cheeks, caressing them gently.
“How are you doing? You did so well, you were so good. Do you need anything? Water? Food?”
An exhausted chuckle escaped the genius' lips, as he wrapped his heavy arms around you, holding you against him.
“Just let me hold you for a while, okay?” He whispered against your head.
“If that's what you want,” You agreed, resting against him.
Shout out to @kimageddon for this wonderful artwork of my favourite guy in red :D
I had this idea of Fox looking at fireflies thanks to the song "Fireflies" by Binky. My brain went insane for the song and linked it to Fox (a fangirl delusional about her blorbo and a random song? It's more likely than you think!)
So I thought to myself: I have this mental image, but I cannot paint for shit and that image deserved to be in glorious colour (It is a miracle that my own profile pic ended up as great as it did lol).
So I took a look at my bucket list and comissioned someone for the first time to bring that image to life.
Thanks again @kimageddon for deciphering my ramblings and sketch so accurately :D
I have been staring at it and giggling ever since I got the finished artwork, what better day to post it than on my birthday?
hey i thought of something new and i know these things never work bc some people don't WANT to understand or don't care. but let me try
this applies to tumblr, which is a REBLOGGING WEBSITE
pressing "like" on a thing only shows me as a writer you have consumed my creation.
reblogging a thing on the other hand shows me AND OTHERS that you have enjoyed a thing, that you have loved a thing, that you took the time to appreciate the thing.
i know this sounds like a fucking ad but reblogging is a step away from content consumption and toward actual fucking enjoyment of things. maybe if you think of it like this it'll help spamliking my entire masterlist and asking for more without ever appreciating the hundreds of thousands of words, of hours of work and care and love that i've put into my writings.
cheers you assholes. reblog shit.
Oh, the stories I could tell. So many of them true @ashotofspotchka - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
