Love Begins
Not today Justin
titsay
⁂
Kaledo Art
KIROKAZE
Game of Thrones Daily
d e v o n
RMH
No title available
Sweet Seals For You, Always
Misplaced Lens Cap
if i look back, i am lost
izzy's playlists!
ellievsbear
Mike Driver
wallacepolsom
No title available
DEAR READER
taylor price
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Brazil
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Israel
seen from Brazil
seen from Canada
seen from Brazil
seen from United States
seen from Morocco
seen from Portugal
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from Bangladesh
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Singapore
@catatectic
Asks are open!
18+ Blog Only, MINORS DNI! All of my fics are female reader unless noted.
Guide: 🔥 = Smut 🥲 = Angst 🍬 = Fluff 🎭 = Comedy
🥲🍬To Me, You're All I Am - Soap x Ghost
🥲🍬Routines - Soap x Ghost
🔥Him. - F!Reader X Anakin Skywalker 🥲🔥 How Many Seconds Are In Forever? - F!Reader X Anakin Skywalker
How Many Moments Are In Forever?
I went to Galaxy’s Edge at DisneyWorld recently and got to meet Vader, and he was so scary and intimidating that I just had to put it down into words. But also spice because of Helmets. This is kind of a continuation of Him., but it’s not reliant on Him., so you don’t need to read it to read this. Also, Anakin’s face doesn’t get Mustafar’d, but he wears the helmet to help him breathe, just so that the reader recognizes him. Bless his heart.
OR
After the Chancellor commanded the clones to execute the Jedi, your master, Anakin, sent you away in an escape pod, bound for Mustafar. He told you he’d come to you, but when you witness him and Obi-Wan duking it out, you’re forced to escape. Will this new Lord Vader show you mercy? Or will he break his promise to you and execute you like the younglings?
Warnings: Angst, Smut, trauma, Order 66, peril, a short bit of a happy ending. Is Anakin still having a face/hair canon compliant? I don’t know. No beta we die like the younglings.
crossposted here on ao3 All characters depicted are 18+.
So sorry it took me so long to get out. Hope you guys enjoy, and once again thank you to Cilantro and Rio for peer pressuring me into finishing it.
There’s blood on your skin, ashes on your hands, your forehead, staining your vision and future. Where is he? He said he’d be here. He’s never lied to you before. He’s always been there. He sent you to this hell, this planet, and told you you’d be safe there. Just wait for me , he whispered into your ear, placing a warm kiss on your lips.
You can still feel it. His soft, chapped, gunsmoke lips, carrying the weight of the world, pressing against yours, worried, gentle, loving. He had looked down at you with those ocean-blue eyes, filled with worry, and gently buckled the strap of your seat, tight around your torso. You had stared at him, silently begging him not to send you away, but he stepped back and shook his head, smoke rising from the temple behind him.
Your head hurts, so, so badly. It’s throbbing, sharp, like a part of you has been ripped out and stomped on. What is this feeling? Where is he? Where is your master? Maybe it’d be best if you just slept, if you just went away, if you just…
~
Two black durasteel boots step over the forgotten, discarded plates of a destroyed door. Soldiers without names in white armor step aside, as the black fluttering cape brushes past their bowed heads. Those in his wake look up, seeing shining black plates in place of eyes, a mouthpiece sounding out the last song they'll ever hear--a song of pain, of death, of violence, of labored breathing, and ashen lungs. You can’t tell who it is. Are you one of his victims? One of his soldiers? You’re staring up at him, impossibly tall, impossibly strong. You can sense his signature, but it feels..wrong. Artificial, like someone took a once healthy signature and slashed and cut and slashed and cut until it was nothing but ribbons, and then stitched and stapled it together, a horrific chimeral amalgamation of what it was.
He turns to look at you, those eye plates staring right into your soul, and you know who it is, oh maker, what happened to him? He raises that scarlet blade, humming with energy, and raises it to slice at you, the red glinting off his helmet, you can see his eyes, yellow and red, oh maker he’s swinging, so quickly, so painfully, and—
~
You snap awake, the molten and ashen air greeting your abused throat and lungs. How long were you asleep? How long were you unconscious, unaware of where he could be? Is he here? Did he leave you? Is he gone? Who was that man, with the massive scarlet blade, why did he feel like your master? What happened to him? Where is Anakin?
You finally look around at your surroundings, the landing space having been cleared due to the powerful downward-facing thrusters of your ship. There are what look like lava falls flowing down distant spires and mountains of charred rock, and the black sand on the lava bank next to you is being lapped at gently by a flowing molten river. The atmosphere here is thick, angry, with..you can feel it in the air, burning hatred and sulfuric power, as if darkness has festered in this place for millennia, for longer than you could imagine.
Mustafar.
You’ve heard of this little moon, once lush and vibrant, like Naboo or Alderaan, but the Sith (or something, Master Kenobi wouldn’t tell you when you inquired further) corrupted it, leaving it charred and hellish.
You can see glowing blue blades in the distance, dancing across a thin beam of metal in front of massive waterfalls, and you immediately know from that aggression who it is.
Ani.
You stand quickly, before watching as he leaps toward the shore of a riverbank, and the other blue blade slices up, impacting and cutting through his legs—
You have to go. You have to go. Something is very wrong and you need to leave right now. You can’t tell what it is, can’t tell who is forcing you to leave, can’t tell if the force or your own gut is telling you, but you need to escape right knifing now . You smash your hands into the buttons, desperately trying to get the small ship to activate, and it slowly lifts into the air as the overhead cover closes. You feel the engines roar as it begins to send power to the hyperdrive, and you’re pushed back, further, further, and you leap. The bright whistling lights of the stars racing past greet your eyes, and then it hits you, like a ton of bricks.
Maker, he’s dead. And you left him to die. You didn’t save him.
What have you done?
When he needed you most, you left him. This man who has given you everything, gave you a home, gave you knowledge and instinct and love and pleasure, gave you happiness and a place to stay when you had nowhere else to go, the man who saved your life from certain death, was left to die on a shore of fire and lava by the woman who should have loved him more than anyone else.
Wait.
That vision, that dream you had. What did it mean? What could it possibly have meant? That man, maker you hope was a man, felt so much like him, so much like the one you love, does that mean he survives? You don’t know. You hope so, but that red blade…
Does Anakin become a Sith?
~
The drunk man crashes down next to you, thrown by his partner. You look over at him, taking another sip of the disgusting pisswater they have the nerve call spotchka. At least it’s liquid. You take a deep breath, before looking back at the current bar fight going on over, what you’re pretty sure, was a game of sabacc gone wrong. Your mind wanders back to that day on Mustafar, the last time you saw him. How did you even find yourself here, this shithole known as Tatooine, a worker in a bar, cleaning after hours and giving your…unique clientele their drinks. At least it’s out of the way.
The empire has been hunting Jedi, with Darth Vader at its helm, and you’re at the top of the list of bounties they’ve got. You don’t even know how many credits you’d fetch now, but it’s got to be enough to buy a waterfront property on Naboo and never have to worry about working again.
Not that anyone has the balls to take on a former Jedi. You’re fully aware of what your people can do, and bounty hunters usually leave the Jedi hunting to inquisitors. Sometimes you catch eyes, though. Through the crowd, brown-robed men with vibrant blue eyes that you swear you’ve seen before, with familiar tired lines and sandy brown beards, before they disappear through the crowd. It’s better not to gather. Better to stay separate, silent, and alone. If you’re caught, you at least won’t know the location of any other Jedi.
Almost as if on cue, you can hear the stomping of stormtrooper boots, as they flood in to break up the fight. Your hand immediately tenses to your side, before lowering. Of course, your lightsaber is hidden. You don’t have it out anymore. It’s still on you, but if someone were to see it, you’d be arrested and sent to… indoctrination before you could even blink. They pull the two men who started it apart, both soaked in their and the other’s blood, and other patrons immediately back up to their seats, avoiding the troopers. Everyone here has bad blood with the empire. It’s part of living here, in the outer rim, staying well away from their gaze.
Something’s wrong. Of course, it is. Your mind immediately goes to finding an escape route, finding some way to get out of here, but the black fluttering of capes freezes your train of thought. You’ve done this before, you can do this, you can get out of here. It’s just like the last few times, you’ll be able to get out, right? You’ve smelled this stench before, this stench of death, of hate, of malice, of eradicating the only life you ever knew.
Inquisitors. Looking for you. You step back from the bar, and their heads jerk toward you, quickly vaulting over the counter, spilling your spotchka. You narrowly duck under their arms, before slamming the back door of the bar open. You dodge around stacks of supplies and long-expired bills and spotchka, dodging around your now very confused boss, and you finally see it, the exit door, the door to freedom, the door that will let you escape from them, and you shove it open—
Black, dark black boots. A red and black cape, with a glinting dark helmet blinding you in the desert sun. Three inquisitors? You’re important. You draw your blade, its color gleaming off their armor, and you slash at them in a wide circle, blasting them back with a quick wave of your hand, before shoving past the one in the doorway, praying you stunned him, praying to the maker you successfully escape—
A hand wraps around your tunic, yanking you back, and a needle jams itself into your stomach. A strong, black leather glove holds you tight, pulling you back, and pushing you down, further, further, until you’re crushed against the ground, like a stone under thousands of tons of pressure at the core of some far-off planet.
As your vision fades, you see the helmets glinting down at you, dangerous, nightmare incarnate. Shouting around you becomes muddled, indistinguishable, a hundred or a thousand voices speaking, screaming, yelling, it’s all the same, what are they saying…? Everything’s fading, you can’t see, can’t think…
Kriff.
~
His hand wraps tight around your throat, pulling you back into him, his strong, sweaty, muscular chest pressing itself into your shoulder blades. He pulls you back further, panting hot breath against your ear, and he slams himself deep into you. How long have you been at this? How impossibly long have you been like this, being ruined by your–
Your mind freezes as his free hand travels from somewhere near your head, gripping the sheets, down your body, down, further, further, before gently touching your nub and rubbing sweet, sweet, nuclear circles into it, freezing your mind every time he slams his cock into you again and again and again.
His stamina is infinite. How many times have you already come? How many times has he brought you over the edge of that divine cliff, tossed you off, and he hasn’t leapt once? Your wandering mind rips back to reality once again as he pounds once, twice, three times, you’re so close, running, sprinting, a blur of light against an impossible sky, before you take that olympic leap.
You’re frozen. His hands, paused, his cock, an immovable force against an unstoppable orgasm. And then he–
~
You’re thrown from your dreams as your head collides with the metal plating of what your drug-addled brain assumes is a cell, and you’re left alone for a moment. You were just in his arms, just with him, just curled soft and warm underneath him, protected, why are you here?
Where are you? How long were you asleep? Why..why is there so much noise? It hurts your ears, so loud, so sudden, so angry, like metal ripping and tearing and cracking and shattering, breaking as if the world is made of glass and your ears are hammers. From the indiscernible noise, you can almost hear alarms, something akin to an emergency..why is there an emergency? It’s shaking your skull, shattering your bones, making your brain feel too big for your skull, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, maker it hurts,
And it stops.
Silent. You can hear nothing except his voice. His. Voice.
It’s Him.
Standing in front of you, staring down at you, his black durasteel eyes reflecting hell on earth, reflecting a person you don’t recognize, is that you? How could that be you? When were you covered in blood? When did you have such scars, such exhaustion painting circles under your eyes, thinning your cheeks, hollowing your sockets? What have you become?
“....Padawan.”
He was thinking the same thing. The world is frozen around you, and for once, nothing else matters. Nothing except him. He runs his black-gloved thumb across your cheek, but it’s cold. Artificial. Alone. Where did the warmth go that he had? Where is the comforting star within your void of life?
Where did the man who would do anything for you go?
“...Ani?” Your voice sounds hollow, far away, like you’re hearing it through a window.
Awful, artificial breathing greets your ears. Plastic, metal, durasteel, and bacta tubes scrape across your eardrums, like nails on the chalkboard of your soul. He stares down at you, his breath almost catching in his throat. Does he even have a throat anymore? Is he the man you fell for, the man you adore?
He lowers his hand slowly, before tilting his head and murmuring a short, simple command in a voice you’ve never known yet always loved.
“Follow.” And with a whisk of a cape, he’s walking away, leather boots thumping against the metal grate flooring. You quickly stand to follow him, and stormtroopers flank you on either side, their rifles held to attack at any moment, to gun you down like the thousands of innocents they’ve killed.
You follow your former lover down hallway after hallway, a maze of industrial lights and alarms and troopers sprinting past as the floor, walls, and ceiling quietly shake. You try to run to catch up with him, but his strides are so impossibly long, he’s so impossibly tall, that you’re cursed to inevitably follow behind him, never able to get to him. Just like Mustafar.
He finally turns what feels like the tenth corner, and you see a massive hangar with ships, pods, and craft of all kinds whirring about like some kind of dock hell. He walks over to a sleek, black ship, where troopers in strange black durasteel uniforms salute quickly, and climbs up the ramp. You lower your head as a rifle presses into your back, and a trooper’s voice sounds out behind you.
“Follow Lord Vader.”
Lord Vader? Is that what they call him? Is that what he calls himself? Is that who he has become? Some…lord of evil? Some lord of darkness, like a Sith? You’ve never heard of anyone besides the most powerful Sith being called Lords, is he that twisted, that corrupted?
Your mind snaps to reality as your legs quickly hurry up the ramp, and it closes once you’ve made your way into the small ship. There’s a simple cot against the wall, a few simple crates with various articles of clothing, and then there’s Him. Leaning against one of two cockpit chairs, he stands there staring at you, before reaching up towards that horrible, horrible black helmet, and pulling.
Anakin.
His fluffy blonde hair, now with a few silver streaks through it, is slightly pressed to his forehead above two… yellow…? eyes, his familiar scar across his eye drowned out by the massive burn across his cheek. Dark circles line his undereyes and his face..it’s so, so tired, so weary…
“I..thought you left me..I…” You stammer, the correct words hiding from you like flitting ghosts in a swirl of blazing, burning fire. How is he here? How is he alive? He sets the helmet down on the seat behind him, before stepping toward you, striding closer, closer, he’s so big, so intimidating, so tall, you step back, further, further, your back is pressed against the wall, he’s so close, right up against you, and…
He kisses you. But to say that would be disrespectful to the love, to the passion you feel. His lips press against yours, like two halves of a whole finally reuniting and sealing, bonding together as if telling each other that they will never, never separate again. His hands wrap around your face, holding you, his thumb rubbing your cheek, and you can’t help but wrap your arms around him, so small against him. He presses further against you, one hand sliding down to your shoulder and pulling your neckline down, and his lips trail slowly down your neck, before he latches onto the muscle, and he bites.
You squeak in pain as he removes the hand on your face and begins to shed his armor, dropping plate after plate after durasteel plate onto the ground with clangs. He’s left in nothing but a tank top and simple cloth pants, and the full extent of the pain he went through is revealed, missing both arms and both legs up to the thighs. You push him back for a moment, and he stares down at you, silently questioning.
“What happened?” Your eyes fill with tears as you scan the damage, gently running your hand along the seam of his larger prosthetic arm. You always knew he was missing one hand, but never his full arm. Never..this. Maker, how much can this cruel universe take, and take, and take, and take, and expect him to live as he has been?
What kind of life is this, to live for nothing at all?
“....I’m not living for nothing, padawan. I have you.” He gently takes your chin, letting out a small cough, and tilts it up to face him, the skin around his eyes crinkling slightly as he smiles softly. Right, he can do that. He can read your mind. You smile weakly up at him and–
You’re thrown into each other as the ship rocks violently, and more alarms blare outside as you’re reminded of the predicament you’re in. Immediately, he focuses while holding his arm out and your fall is slowed down as you land on his chest. He stands quickly, his arm holding you tight against his chest, and he takes your face in his hands again, coughing again harder.
“Hold onto something.”
He turns to the cockpit and quickly throws himself into the pilot seat, before flipping switches and levers and knobs as if he’s done this a thousand times before. You quickly hurry to the front of the ship, sitting down in the other seat and strapping yourself in, and his hand gently lands on your thigh, holding you as he presses the throttle forward, the ship lifting slowly before leaning and soaring out of the collapsing imperial star destroyer. He presses a few more buttons, and the ship shudders slightly before launching into hyperspace.
“Aren’t you a servant of the emperor?” Your voice wobbles slightly, and he sighs softly.
“I’m done. With it. With everything, padawan.” He coughs, his shoulders shaking slightly, and he groans in slight pain before looking over at you.
“The emperor would have you killed or tortured. I’m not letting him ever get to you again.” He says your name, soft, warm, whispered through a broken man’s voice, whispered through years of suffering and longing, loneliness and pain. He smiles weakly, and gets up slowly, holding his hand out as the buckles of your seatbelt undo themselves.
“I have missed you, so, so dearly. Ever since that day.” You stand slowly as he speaks, and he looks around.
“And I have not forgotten what we started earlier.” His nostrils flare with desire, before he pushes you back, back, back, until you’re against the ship wall once again, and he growls as he clenches his fist into your tunic, before pulling his hand back and tearing. He looks down at your bare chest with adoration, before grabbing you by the throat and throwing you down onto the cot, bouncing slightly as he lifts his own shirt off, revealing burn after burn after burn across his still well-muscled chest, and he walks toward you.
Your whole life, you’ve felt at least somewhat strong. You may not be the biggest, the tallest, or the strongest, but you’ve been capable. You’ve never felt true fear for your life…until now. As this predator, this chosen one, this Sith draws closer, you feel like a dewback being stared down by a massive Krayt Dragon, with rabid hunger and malice in its eyes. He smiles that familiar fanged smile, before leaping onto you, and you can’t help but let out a squeak as he grabs and squeezes everything he can get his hands on.
He grinds against your still-covered core, and his hand finds your waistband before pulling and pulling until you’re bare before him, an art piece before a destroyer.
He leans back for a moment to admire you, before climbing down slowly, staring up at you as he comes closer, closer, closer, kissing his way down your stomach, running his hands along your soft inner thigh, and he stares at your entrance before leaning down and kissing your clit.
Maker, it’s like you’re being touched by a god, like your very self is being held by divinity. He begins to rub sweet, sweet, beautiful tight little circles into your nub with his tongue, and his fingers trail along your inner thigh before finding your entrance and pressing.
Oh maker he’s thick, stretching you out so perfectly that you can’t help but cry out and cover his fingers with your sticky sweet nectar. He begins to slowly rub into your core, his fingers fluttering gently, and you let out gorgeous little whimpers, whining as he kisses your clit again, and again, pulling back for a moment as his fingers begin to speed up.
You haven’t felt this good in years. You never could find it in yourself to try to pleasure yourself, your mind too preoccupied with thoughts of stress, fear, worry, losing the tight grip you have on your force signature to remain undetected, the pain of losing the people you love and grew up with, and the pain of not being able to find Ani.
But here, but now, his fingers pressing further, further into you, pressing against the spot that makes you squeal, you’re finding it so hard to think.
Maker, he’s so big, too big, you’re practically soaking his fingers, you can feel the band begin to tighten as he licks, and licks, and licks, tighter, tighter, tighter, tighter, so much impossibly tighter, the pressure building,
He stops, pulling his fingers back. Silent. Empty. Empty. Empty. His face pulled back from you. It’s agony, pure, unfiltered, suffering, your body desperately clenching around emptiness, searching for the pleasure it had, searching for the beautiful full feeling, and as he stares down at you, that malicious smile so carved into his face, you can’t help but cry slightly, welling salty tears filling your eyes.
“Oh, don’t cry, beautiful. I’m not done with you yet.” He crawls over you, his massive chest dwarfing your body, and he plants his elbow above your head before pressing his mouth against yours, so warm and soft and wet and inviting, with the softest hint of salt on his tongue.
He reaches down with his free hand and slowly unzips his pants, before pulling his cock out, and the sight of it just about makes you cry. It’s so big..so perfect, so adored, so… and he pushes.
Maker, if you thought his fingers were big, this is going to break you in half. He presses further, stretching your tight walls apart, before his cock kisses your core gently, and you gasp softly, grasping onto his hand as your chest begins to heave up and down. He pulls back out slowly, his cock rubbing against the soft walls of your center, and then he slams.
Maker, it’s like you’re being smashed by a jackhammer. He pulls and pushes and pulls and pushes, the most beautiful grunts dropping from his breath like flower petals, and you can’t help but sob his name like it’s a prayer like it’s the only word you’ve ever known. He grasps the sheet above your head, growling, and continues slamming himself into you, your bodies rubbing against each other like beautiful friction defining the universe. He forces your mouth open with his tongue, fighting yours for control over your very soul .
Maker, how is he speeding up? How is he so strong, so good, so fast, so hard, the pressure is building like explosions you can hear noise, whose voice is that, is that you? You can’t even tell, you’re so close to that explosion, the pressure is so bright, so tight, so fiery, you’re so overwhelmed, you’re so close, and then it snaps.
You’re like a star, with planets circling you, and you supernova. An explosion sending out across the universe, your force signature flaring bright with a rainbow of colors you couldn’t hope to comprehend, could never hope to understand. Wave after wave after wave after perfect, indescribable wave rush through you like oceans upon oceans upon oceans of desire, your mind’s so gone it’s like it was never there in the first place, you couldn’t even give your name if you tried. There’s a ringing in your ears, your fingers feel so foreign, so tight, they feel androidish.
He’s still pounding, still going in and out and in and out, you can hear words like Padawan and Love, and without knowing what they mean, you know that you’re loved, for the first time in so, so damn long. He’s sliding in and out with far more ease than before, like your body is expecting, needing him and his warmth.
Padawan, I’m close. Is that his voice, is he speaking? He’s so fast, so deep, so perfectly inside you, so perfectly yours, that the answers to the questions never mattered in the first place.
He jerks a few more times, shaking, and from somewhere far away, you can feel something warm, something hot, something blazing like fiery liquid fill you. He slowly pulls out, smiling, and flops down next to you, panting slightly, and he coughs again. He slowly throws his arms around you, lazy and exhausted, and pulls you tight against him, your legs still numb, core still shaking. How many seconds are in eternity? How many moments measure forever? You don’t know, you’ve never known, you could never know in the first place. But whatever the answer is, you’d be willing to spend the rest of your feeble little life with him, seeing him, knowing him, loving him. Maker, you missed his face, his voice, his smile, everything about you. He watches you, those unfamiliar yellow eyes boring into yours, and for a moment, it’s like there’s streaks of blue, blazoned deep into them, like cracks in a dam about to break open.
“I missed you, Padawan.” He gently runs his thumb along your cheek, the mechanics of the arm creaking and clicking.
“I know.”
hey op? this is fucking amazing. this is insanely good. i couldn’t put it down thank you so much for sharing this
I'm so glad you enjoyed it!!! Thank you so much!
https://www.tumblr.com/cactuswater2822/731929320813101056/how-many-moments-are-in-forever
i read this post of yours hours ago and it’s still on my mind it was so enjoyable. i’m seated & excited to see anything anakin/vader related from you, i rly liked it
Oh my god I'm literally gonna cry. Thank you so much I'm glad you enjoyed it!
How Many Moments Are In Forever?
I went to Galaxy’s Edge at DisneyWorld recently and got to meet Vader, and he was so scary and intimidating that I just had to put it down into words. But also spice because of Helmets. This is kind of a continuation of Him., but it’s not reliant on Him., so you don’t need to read it to read this. Also, Anakin’s face doesn’t get Mustafar’d, but he wears the helmet to help him breathe, just so that the reader recognizes him. Bless his heart.
OR
After the Chancellor commanded the clones to execute the Jedi, your master, Anakin, sent you away in an escape pod, bound for Mustafar. He told you he’d come to you, but when you witness him and Obi-Wan duking it out, you’re forced to escape. Will this new Lord Vader show you mercy? Or will he break his promise to you and execute you like the younglings?
Warnings: Angst, Smut, trauma, Order 66, peril, a short bit of a happy ending. Is Anakin still having a face/hair canon compliant? I don’t know. No beta we die like the younglings.
crossposted here on ao3 All characters depicted are 18+.
So sorry it took me so long to get out. Hope you guys enjoy, and once again thank you to Cilantro and Rio for peer pressuring me into finishing it.
There’s blood on your skin, ashes on your hands, your forehead, staining your vision and future. Where is he? He said he’d be here. He’s never lied to you before. He’s always been there. He sent you to this hell, this planet, and told you you’d be safe there. Just wait for me , he whispered into your ear, placing a warm kiss on your lips.
You can still feel it. His soft, chapped, gunsmoke lips, carrying the weight of the world, pressing against yours, worried, gentle, loving. He had looked down at you with those ocean-blue eyes, filled with worry, and gently buckled the strap of your seat, tight around your torso. You had stared at him, silently begging him not to send you away, but he stepped back and shook his head, smoke rising from the temple behind him.
Your head hurts, so, so badly. It’s throbbing, sharp, like a part of you has been ripped out and stomped on. What is this feeling? Where is he? Where is your master? Maybe it’d be best if you just slept, if you just went away, if you just…
~
Two black durasteel boots step over the forgotten, discarded plates of a destroyed door. Soldiers without names in white armor step aside, as the black fluttering cape brushes past their bowed heads. Those in his wake look up, seeing shining black plates in place of eyes, a mouthpiece sounding out the last song they'll ever hear--a song of pain, of death, of violence, of labored breathing, and ashen lungs. You can’t tell who it is. Are you one of his victims? One of his soldiers? You’re staring up at him, impossibly tall, impossibly strong. You can sense his signature, but it feels..wrong. Artificial, like someone took a once healthy signature and slashed and cut and slashed and cut until it was nothing but ribbons, and then stitched and stapled it together, a horrific chimeral amalgamation of what it was.
He turns to look at you, those eye plates staring right into your soul, and you know who it is, oh maker, what happened to him? He raises that scarlet blade, humming with energy, and raises it to slice at you, the red glinting off his helmet, you can see his eyes, yellow and red, oh maker he’s swinging, so quickly, so painfully, and—
~
You snap awake, the molten and ashen air greeting your abused throat and lungs. How long were you asleep? How long were you unconscious, unaware of where he could be? Is he here? Did he leave you? Is he gone? Who was that man, with the massive scarlet blade, why did he feel like your master? What happened to him? Where is Anakin?
You finally look around at your surroundings, the landing space having been cleared due to the powerful downward-facing thrusters of your ship. There are what look like lava falls flowing down distant spires and mountains of charred rock, and the black sand on the lava bank next to you is being lapped at gently by a flowing molten river. The atmosphere here is thick, angry, with..you can feel it in the air, burning hatred and sulfuric power, as if darkness has festered in this place for millennia, for longer than you could imagine.
Mustafar.
You’ve heard of this little moon, once lush and vibrant, like Naboo or Alderaan, but the Sith (or something, Master Kenobi wouldn’t tell you when you inquired further) corrupted it, leaving it charred and hellish.
You can see glowing blue blades in the distance, dancing across a thin beam of metal in front of massive waterfalls, and you immediately know from that aggression who it is.
Ani.
You stand quickly, before watching as he leaps toward the shore of a riverbank, and the other blue blade slices up, impacting and cutting through his legs—
You have to go. You have to go. Something is very wrong and you need to leave right now. You can’t tell what it is, can’t tell who is forcing you to leave, can’t tell if the force or your own gut is telling you, but you need to escape right knifing now . You smash your hands into the buttons, desperately trying to get the small ship to activate, and it slowly lifts into the air as the overhead cover closes. You feel the engines roar as it begins to send power to the hyperdrive, and you’re pushed back, further, further, and you leap. The bright whistling lights of the stars racing past greet your eyes, and then it hits you, like a ton of bricks.
Maker, he’s dead. And you left him to die. You didn’t save him.
What have you done?
When he needed you most, you left him. This man who has given you everything, gave you a home, gave you knowledge and instinct and love and pleasure, gave you happiness and a place to stay when you had nowhere else to go, the man who saved your life from certain death, was left to die on a shore of fire and lava by the woman who should have loved him more than anyone else.
Wait.
That vision, that dream you had. What did it mean? What could it possibly have meant? That man, maker you hope was a man, felt so much like him, so much like the one you love, does that mean he survives? You don’t know. You hope so, but that red blade…
Does Anakin become a Sith?
~
The drunk man crashes down next to you, thrown by his partner. You look over at him, taking another sip of the disgusting pisswater they have the nerve call spotchka. At least it’s liquid. You take a deep breath, before looking back at the current bar fight going on over, what you’re pretty sure, was a game of sabacc gone wrong. Your mind wanders back to that day on Mustafar, the last time you saw him. How did you even find yourself here, this shithole known as Tatooine, a worker in a bar, cleaning after hours and giving your…unique clientele their drinks. At least it’s out of the way.
The empire has been hunting Jedi, with Darth Vader at its helm, and you’re at the top of the list of bounties they’ve got. You don’t even know how many credits you’d fetch now, but it’s got to be enough to buy a waterfront property on Naboo and never have to worry about working again.
Not that anyone has the balls to take on a former Jedi. You’re fully aware of what your people can do, and bounty hunters usually leave the Jedi hunting to inquisitors. Sometimes you catch eyes, though. Through the crowd, brown-robed men with vibrant blue eyes that you swear you’ve seen before, with familiar tired lines and sandy brown beards, before they disappear through the crowd. It’s better not to gather. Better to stay separate, silent, and alone. If you’re caught, you at least won’t know the location of any other Jedi.
Almost as if on cue, you can hear the stomping of stormtrooper boots, as they flood in to break up the fight. Your hand immediately tenses to your side, before lowering. Of course, your lightsaber is hidden. You don’t have it out anymore. It’s still on you, but if someone were to see it, you’d be arrested and sent to… indoctrination before you could even blink. They pull the two men who started it apart, both soaked in their and the other’s blood, and other patrons immediately back up to their seats, avoiding the troopers. Everyone here has bad blood with the empire. It’s part of living here, in the outer rim, staying well away from their gaze.
Something’s wrong. Of course, it is. Your mind immediately goes to finding an escape route, finding some way to get out of here, but the black fluttering of capes freezes your train of thought. You’ve done this before, you can do this, you can get out of here. It’s just like the last few times, you’ll be able to get out, right? You’ve smelled this stench before, this stench of death, of hate, of malice, of eradicating the only life you ever knew.
Inquisitors. Looking for you. You step back from the bar, and their heads jerk toward you, quickly vaulting over the counter, spilling your spotchka. You narrowly duck under their arms, before slamming the back door of the bar open. You dodge around stacks of supplies and long-expired bills and spotchka, dodging around your now very confused boss, and you finally see it, the exit door, the door to freedom, the door that will let you escape from them, and you shove it open—
Black, dark black boots. A red and black cape, with a glinting dark helmet blinding you in the desert sun. Three inquisitors? You’re important. You draw your blade, its color gleaming off their armor, and you slash at them in a wide circle, blasting them back with a quick wave of your hand, before shoving past the one in the doorway, praying you stunned him, praying to the maker you successfully escape—
A hand wraps around your tunic, yanking you back, and a needle jams itself into your stomach. A strong, black leather glove holds you tight, pulling you back, and pushing you down, further, further, until you’re crushed against the ground, like a stone under thousands of tons of pressure at the core of some far-off planet.
As your vision fades, you see the helmets glinting down at you, dangerous, nightmare incarnate. Shouting around you becomes muddled, indistinguishable, a hundred or a thousand voices speaking, screaming, yelling, it’s all the same, what are they saying…? Everything’s fading, you can’t see, can’t think…
Kriff.
~
His hand wraps tight around your throat, pulling you back into him, his strong, sweaty, muscular chest pressing itself into your shoulder blades. He pulls you back further, panting hot breath against your ear, and he slams himself deep into you. How long have you been at this? How impossibly long have you been like this, being ruined by your–
Your mind freezes as his free hand travels from somewhere near your head, gripping the sheets, down your body, down, further, further, before gently touching your nub and rubbing sweet, sweet, nuclear circles into it, freezing your mind every time he slams his cock into you again and again and again.
His stamina is infinite. How many times have you already come? How many times has he brought you over the edge of that divine cliff, tossed you off, and he hasn’t leapt once? Your wandering mind rips back to reality once again as he pounds once, twice, three times, you’re so close, running, sprinting, a blur of light against an impossible sky, before you take that olympic leap.
You’re frozen. His hands, paused, his cock, an immovable force against an unstoppable orgasm. And then he–
~
You’re thrown from your dreams as your head collides with the metal plating of what your drug-addled brain assumes is a cell, and you’re left alone for a moment. You were just in his arms, just with him, just curled soft and warm underneath him, protected, why are you here?
Where are you? How long were you asleep? Why..why is there so much noise? It hurts your ears, so loud, so sudden, so angry, like metal ripping and tearing and cracking and shattering, breaking as if the world is made of glass and your ears are hammers. From the indiscernible noise, you can almost hear alarms, something akin to an emergency..why is there an emergency? It’s shaking your skull, shattering your bones, making your brain feel too big for your skull, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, maker it hurts,
And it stops.
Silent. You can hear nothing except his voice. His. Voice.
It’s Him.
Standing in front of you, staring down at you, his black durasteel eyes reflecting hell on earth, reflecting a person you don’t recognize, is that you? How could that be you? When were you covered in blood? When did you have such scars, such exhaustion painting circles under your eyes, thinning your cheeks, hollowing your sockets? What have you become?
“....Padawan.”
He was thinking the same thing. The world is frozen around you, and for once, nothing else matters. Nothing except him. He runs his black-gloved thumb across your cheek, but it’s cold. Artificial. Alone. Where did the warmth go that he had? Where is the comforting star within your void of life?
Where did the man who would do anything for you go?
“...Ani?” Your voice sounds hollow, far away, like you’re hearing it through a window.
Awful, artificial breathing greets your ears. Plastic, metal, durasteel, and bacta tubes scrape across your eardrums, like nails on the chalkboard of your soul. He stares down at you, his breath almost catching in his throat. Does he even have a throat anymore? Is he the man you fell for, the man you adore?
He lowers his hand slowly, before tilting his head and murmuring a short, simple command in a voice you’ve never known yet always loved.
“Follow.” And with a whisk of a cape, he’s walking away, leather boots thumping against the metal grate flooring. You quickly stand to follow him, and stormtroopers flank you on either side, their rifles held to attack at any moment, to gun you down like the thousands of innocents they’ve killed.
You follow your former lover down hallway after hallway, a maze of industrial lights and alarms and troopers sprinting past as the floor, walls, and ceiling quietly shake. You try to run to catch up with him, but his strides are so impossibly long, he’s so impossibly tall, that you’re cursed to inevitably follow behind him, never able to get to him. Just like Mustafar.
He finally turns what feels like the tenth corner, and you see a massive hangar with ships, pods, and craft of all kinds whirring about like some kind of dock hell. He walks over to a sleek, black ship, where troopers in strange black durasteel uniforms salute quickly, and climbs up the ramp. You lower your head as a rifle presses into your back, and a trooper’s voice sounds out behind you.
“Follow Lord Vader.”
Lord Vader? Is that what they call him? Is that what he calls himself? Is that who he has become? Some…lord of evil? Some lord of darkness, like a Sith? You’ve never heard of anyone besides the most powerful Sith being called Lords, is he that twisted, that corrupted?
Your mind snaps to reality as your legs quickly hurry up the ramp, and it closes once you’ve made your way into the small ship. There’s a simple cot against the wall, a few simple crates with various articles of clothing, and then there’s Him. Leaning against one of two cockpit chairs, he stands there staring at you, before reaching up towards that horrible, horrible black helmet, and pulling.
Anakin.
His fluffy blonde hair, now with a few silver streaks through it, is slightly pressed to his forehead above two… yellow…? eyes, his familiar scar across his eye drowned out by the massive burn across his cheek. Dark circles line his undereyes and his face..it’s so, so tired, so weary…
“I..thought you left me..I…” You stammer, the correct words hiding from you like flitting ghosts in a swirl of blazing, burning fire. How is he here? How is he alive? He sets the helmet down on the seat behind him, before stepping toward you, striding closer, closer, he’s so big, so intimidating, so tall, you step back, further, further, your back is pressed against the wall, he’s so close, right up against you, and…
He kisses you. But to say that would be disrespectful to the love, to the passion you feel. His lips press against yours, like two halves of a whole finally reuniting and sealing, bonding together as if telling each other that they will never, never separate again. His hands wrap around your face, holding you, his thumb rubbing your cheek, and you can’t help but wrap your arms around him, so small against him. He presses further against you, one hand sliding down to your shoulder and pulling your neckline down, and his lips trail slowly down your neck, before he latches onto the muscle, and he bites.
You squeak in pain as he removes the hand on your face and begins to shed his armor, dropping plate after plate after durasteel plate onto the ground with clangs. He’s left in nothing but a tank top and simple cloth pants, and the full extent of the pain he went through is revealed, missing both arms and both legs up to the thighs. You push him back for a moment, and he stares down at you, silently questioning.
“What happened?” Your eyes fill with tears as you scan the damage, gently running your hand along the seam of his larger prosthetic arm. You always knew he was missing one hand, but never his full arm. Never..this. Maker, how much can this cruel universe take, and take, and take, and take, and expect him to live as he has been?
What kind of life is this, to live for nothing at all?
“....I’m not living for nothing, padawan. I have you.” He gently takes your chin, letting out a small cough, and tilts it up to face him, the skin around his eyes crinkling slightly as he smiles softly. Right, he can do that. He can read your mind. You smile weakly up at him and–
You’re thrown into each other as the ship rocks violently, and more alarms blare outside as you’re reminded of the predicament you’re in. Immediately, he focuses while holding his arm out and your fall is slowed down as you land on his chest. He stands quickly, his arm holding you tight against his chest, and he takes your face in his hands again, coughing again harder.
“Hold onto something.”
He turns to the cockpit and quickly throws himself into the pilot seat, before flipping switches and levers and knobs as if he’s done this a thousand times before. You quickly hurry to the front of the ship, sitting down in the other seat and strapping yourself in, and his hand gently lands on your thigh, holding you as he presses the throttle forward, the ship lifting slowly before leaning and soaring out of the collapsing imperial star destroyer. He presses a few more buttons, and the ship shudders slightly before launching into hyperspace.
“Aren’t you a servant of the emperor?” Your voice wobbles slightly, and he sighs softly.
“I’m done. With it. With everything, padawan.” He coughs, his shoulders shaking slightly, and he groans in slight pain before looking over at you.
“The emperor would have you killed or tortured. I’m not letting him ever get to you again.” He says your name, soft, warm, whispered through a broken man’s voice, whispered through years of suffering and longing, loneliness and pain. He smiles weakly, and gets up slowly, holding his hand out as the buckles of your seatbelt undo themselves.
“I have missed you, so, so dearly. Ever since that day.” You stand slowly as he speaks, and he looks around.
“And I have not forgotten what we started earlier.” His nostrils flare with desire, before he pushes you back, back, back, until you’re against the ship wall once again, and he growls as he clenches his fist into your tunic, before pulling his hand back and tearing. He looks down at your bare chest with adoration, before grabbing you by the throat and throwing you down onto the cot, bouncing slightly as he lifts his own shirt off, revealing burn after burn after burn across his still well-muscled chest, and he walks toward you.
Your whole life, you’ve felt at least somewhat strong. You may not be the biggest, the tallest, or the strongest, but you’ve been capable. You’ve never felt true fear for your life…until now. As this predator, this chosen one, this Sith draws closer, you feel like a dewback being stared down by a massive Krayt Dragon, with rabid hunger and malice in its eyes. He smiles that familiar fanged smile, before leaping onto you, and you can’t help but let out a squeak as he grabs and squeezes everything he can get his hands on.
He grinds against your still-covered core, and his hand finds your waistband before pulling and pulling until you’re bare before him, an art piece before a destroyer.
He leans back for a moment to admire you, before climbing down slowly, staring up at you as he comes closer, closer, closer, kissing his way down your stomach, running his hands along your soft inner thigh, and he stares at your entrance before leaning down and kissing your clit.
Maker, it’s like you’re being touched by a god, like your very self is being held by divinity. He begins to rub sweet, sweet, beautiful tight little circles into your nub with his tongue, and his fingers trail along your inner thigh before finding your entrance and pressing.
Oh maker he’s thick, stretching you out so perfectly that you can’t help but cry out and cover his fingers with your sticky sweet nectar. He begins to slowly rub into your core, his fingers fluttering gently, and you let out gorgeous little whimpers, whining as he kisses your clit again, and again, pulling back for a moment as his fingers begin to speed up.
You haven’t felt this good in years. You never could find it in yourself to try to pleasure yourself, your mind too preoccupied with thoughts of stress, fear, worry, losing the tight grip you have on your force signature to remain undetected, the pain of losing the people you love and grew up with, and the pain of not being able to find Ani.
But here, but now, his fingers pressing further, further into you, pressing against the spot that makes you squeal, you’re finding it so hard to think.
Maker, he’s so big, too big, you’re practically soaking his fingers, you can feel the band begin to tighten as he licks, and licks, and licks, tighter, tighter, tighter, tighter, so much impossibly tighter, the pressure building,
He stops, pulling his fingers back. Silent. Empty. Empty. Empty. His face pulled back from you. It’s agony, pure, unfiltered, suffering, your body desperately clenching around emptiness, searching for the pleasure it had, searching for the beautiful full feeling, and as he stares down at you, that malicious smile so carved into his face, you can’t help but cry slightly, welling salty tears filling your eyes.
“Oh, don’t cry, beautiful. I’m not done with you yet.” He crawls over you, his massive chest dwarfing your body, and he plants his elbow above your head before pressing his mouth against yours, so warm and soft and wet and inviting, with the softest hint of salt on his tongue.
He reaches down with his free hand and slowly unzips his pants, before pulling his cock out, and the sight of it just about makes you cry. It’s so big..so perfect, so adored, so… and he pushes.
Maker, if you thought his fingers were big, this is going to break you in half. He presses further, stretching your tight walls apart, before his cock kisses your core gently, and you gasp softly, grasping onto his hand as your chest begins to heave up and down. He pulls back out slowly, his cock rubbing against the soft walls of your center, and then he slams.
Maker, it’s like you’re being smashed by a jackhammer. He pulls and pushes and pulls and pushes, the most beautiful grunts dropping from his breath like flower petals, and you can’t help but sob his name like it’s a prayer like it’s the only word you’ve ever known. He grasps the sheet above your head, growling, and continues slamming himself into you, your bodies rubbing against each other like beautiful friction defining the universe. He forces your mouth open with his tongue, fighting yours for control over your very soul .
Maker, how is he speeding up? How is he so strong, so good, so fast, so hard, the pressure is building like explosions you can hear noise, whose voice is that, is that you? You can’t even tell, you’re so close to that explosion, the pressure is so bright, so tight, so fiery, you’re so overwhelmed, you’re so close, and then it snaps.
You’re like a star, with planets circling you, and you supernova. An explosion sending out across the universe, your force signature flaring bright with a rainbow of colors you couldn’t hope to comprehend, could never hope to understand. Wave after wave after wave after perfect, indescribable wave rush through you like oceans upon oceans upon oceans of desire, your mind’s so gone it’s like it was never there in the first place, you couldn’t even give your name if you tried. There’s a ringing in your ears, your fingers feel so foreign, so tight, they feel androidish.
He’s still pounding, still going in and out and in and out, you can hear words like Padawan and Love, and without knowing what they mean, you know that you’re loved, for the first time in so, so damn long. He’s sliding in and out with far more ease than before, like your body is expecting, needing him and his warmth.
Padawan, I’m close. Is that his voice, is he speaking? He’s so fast, so deep, so perfectly inside you, so perfectly yours, that the answers to the questions never mattered in the first place.
He jerks a few more times, shaking, and from somewhere far away, you can feel something warm, something hot, something blazing like fiery liquid fill you. He slowly pulls out, smiling, and flops down next to you, panting slightly, and he coughs again. He slowly throws his arms around you, lazy and exhausted, and pulls you tight against him, your legs still numb, core still shaking. How many seconds are in eternity? How many moments measure forever? You don’t know, you’ve never known, you could never know in the first place. But whatever the answer is, you’d be willing to spend the rest of your feeble little life with him, seeing him, knowing him, loving him. Maker, you missed his face, his voice, his smile, everything about you. He watches you, those unfamiliar yellow eyes boring into yours, and for a moment, it’s like there’s streaks of blue, blazoned deep into them, like cracks in a dam about to break open.
“I missed you, Padawan.” He gently runs his thumb along your cheek, the mechanics of the arm creaking and clicking.
“I know.”
"Evil is inevitable in this world, in all worlds, old friend. Will you resist the shifting sands or kneel to them and flow as you always have?" -a friend.
a few reminders because i’m tired and angry
fandom is a hobby, not a form of activism
adult women aren’t inherently creepy for being in fandom and having hobbies apart from raising babies and doing taxes
the vast majority of people pushing back against the worrying trend of instigating harassment over fictional characters and relationships aren’t incest supporters or pedophiles, actually
liking a m/f ship doesn’t make someone a dirty heterosexual invading your space
preferring gay ships doesn’t make you ‘’woke’’ and good
no one owes you a disclaimer that they are a good person who recognizes that their favorite fictional villain’s actions are evil and that they don’t condone those actions irl
liking a fictional villain is in no way comparable to advocating abuse/murder/genocide/etc and you’re a fucking idiot if you believe that
just because a woman is attracted to a fictional villain doesn’t mean she’s promoting toxic relationships or going to end up in a toxic relationship. assuming women can’t tell fiction and reality apart stinks of internalized misogyny
some rando’s a/b/o fanfics have none of the level of influence that popular tv shows and movies spreading propaganda have
no one owes you a detailed description of their traumas and mental health problems
abusive relationships are not the same as enemies to lovers ships
y’all need to chill the fuck out over people, relationships, actions and events that don’t actually exist and learn how to enjoy and discuss them like normal people
fandom is a hobby, not a form of activism
feel free to add more
THE WAY I SPED TO HIT REBLOG-
This is a request to the entire Tumblr community, please help me spread it!
I'm looking for anyone who knows or has met @idreamofboobear in person. I haven't heard from her at all since December, and I'm getting seriously worried.
I just want to know if anyone has heard from her and if she's okay. Please ❤️
✨reblog if you're accepting anonymous asks about anything✨
what's your favorite world to write smut about, like Star wars, Harry potter, Games, etc?
That’s hard. I love writing about Star Wars (if you couldn’t tell), but I’ve also considered writing Sebastian Sallow/Reader smut in the past/present. So I’d say probably Star Wars 😊
Him.
I wrote this instead of sleeping. I have no regrets. Reader is femme coded and 18+.
OR
When you find yourself accidentally walking in your Master, Anakin Skywalker, you're affected more than you think. Unfortunately (or fortunately) for you, so was he.
Warnings: Smut, Fluff (just the tiniest bit tho), this is filthy, Vaginal Fingering, Orgasm, Forced Orgasm, Bathroom Sex, dirty thoughts, Force Mind Reading, Breaking the Jedi Code (fuck the Jedi code), Hand and Finger King (squint and you'll see it), Sex Pollen, Muscles, and an Alien planet.
crossposted here on ao3
Thank you to Rio and Cilantro for inspiring this and also being there as I wrote it. You guys are the best!
All you can think about is him. Him. With those water beads running down that sinfully muscular bare chest, that tiny white towel covering his waist, just barely disguising the girth of his member, those muscular legs that could crush you in bed..maker, what is wrong with you? You quickly turn to leave the fresher, of course, you didn’t mean to walk in on him. You’re just his padawan, you’re just his student. You’re nothing more. You can’t have feelings, you’re a Jedi. What would the other padawans think? What would they think of you, having these thoughts about your master, the Anakin Skywalker, about the man supposed to be training you? You look around as you push the door of the fresher open, the pink sky of some alien planet other than Coruscant gleaming above. You pause.
Sweet. Like flowers. Like warmth, straight to your core, you can feel your heartbeat in your center, pounding away. God, your panties are so slick they’re borderline soaked. There’s some kind of pollen in the air, and you lift your hand towards it. The gentle green grains settle on your palm, bright against the sky, vibrant against your skin. Is this some plant’s pollen? Your inner academic calls to you, ask your master! He’d know–
That’s right. Your naked master, with his massive muscles, bare less than ten feet from you, you could turn at any moment and see him again, surely it wouldn’t hurt, right? Surely it wouldn’t hurt to see him fresh out of a hot, steamy shower, drying that delicious sandy blonde hair of his, removing that towel from his waist to change, that rippling scar against his perfect face, surely it wouldn’t…
No.
You’re a jedi. You’re soon to be a knight. Your whole life, you have studied and prepared, prepared to fight for the Republic, prepared to die for the cause you were born with. You cannot lose your way. The code is life. No attachments, the code reads out, clearer than a Nabooian summer day. No attachments. Not to your master, not to your life, not to the things you find..so deliciously attractive.
You shake your head, trying to clear it again, and continue walking..before a warm, strong, perfectly tanned hand wraps around your waist, pulling you backwards, further, further, and you’re suddenly in the fresher, the door sliding shut silently in front of you, and you’re pressed into the wall, steel and ice cold against your cheek, and the hand around your middle begins to fiddle with the wraps holding your robe together. “You should really keep your thoughts to yourself, padawan.” His voice is so perfectly baritone, so perfectly deep against your ear, the hot breath of his voice whispering past your ear and sending earthquakes to your core. You can see out of the corner of your eye, more of that strange green pollen filtering in through the air vents, and his other hand presses your face further into the wall, icey and so, so hot, the perfect juxtaposition that rocks your mind.
“Fuck the code.” He finally finishes pulling the straps of your robes apart, sliding them down your shoulders, revealing more and more of your skin until all that is left is your chest wrap and underwear. His hand slides up from pinning your head, and it coils itself into your hair before twisting and gripping and pulling. Maker, his blue eyes burn themselves into your retinas, filled with a fire you’ve never seen before, filled with a light that you never imagined you’d be able to experience. It’s feral. Inhuman, with darkness and desire in his eyes, with those slightly pointed canines of his glinting in the light, as he runs his tongue across his lips.
“Maker, you’re gorgeous. You have no kriffing idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.” He runs his hand up your chest, before running his thumb along your bottom lip and pushing. Two of his fingers are in your mouth, and you immediately begin to wet them with your tongue. They taste like warmth, gunsmoke, like a thousand memories left unsaid, like a thousand salty tears caught. Maker, he tastes absolutely divine.
He pulls them out, a slight string of saliva connecting his fingers to your lips, and he looks down before growling at the sight of your still-covered core. He flicks his hand, and the underwear rips to shreds.
The back of your mind laments at the loss of a nice pair of undergarments, but it’s quickly replaced with a blazing hot need as he lowers his fingers, closer, closer, Maker they’re right there, and..he stops.
“Padawan..we shouldn’t do this.” His voice, no longer animal and rumbling, less a tsunami and more a gentle entering tide, moves away from your ear.
“Master, I…” Your voice, reduced to the tiniest little whine, sounds strangely far from your ears.
“It’s the pollen. My master, Obi-Wan, had told me about pollens on certain planets that could negatively affect how a soldier performs, and even affect us Jedi, but...I didn’t know this would be what he meant.” His hands start to slide away from you, but before you think, your hands secure themselves around his, keeping him pressed against you, wrapped around you.
“P-please. Don’t-don’t..don’t let go..” You whimper out, and he growls, deep in his chest and throat. You can see that green pollen swirling in the air again, and it flows into your nose, down your throat, into your lungs before you can even think. Maker, you’re so hot. You’re burning up, like someone tossed you into a volcano and the only escape is your master absolutely ruining you. It doesn’t look like it’s affecting him any less, you can feel something absolutely rock hard pressing into your back, right into the triangle bone below your spine, just above your ass.
“P-Padawan. We-we really..fuck…oh, fuck the code..” He snarls into your ear, re-coiling his hand into your hair, pulling back, and his fingers quickly find your entrance before pushing.
Oh maker, you’re so full. The stretch of his thick fingers is almost painful, and he pushes further, further, you’re so full, you can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t see, oh maker. And then he begins to rub, his thumb pressing right on your clit.
You feel like you’re out of the galaxy. His fingers are pressing right against the spot that makes you cry, that makes you sob with need, that makes you moan his name as if it’s a prayer to the only maker you’ve ever needed to believe in. Maker, his fingers are too big, there’s no way they’re going to fit, you feel so tight.
And then it spreads. The tingling, flickering like fire all over your body, down to the tips of your fingers, up your hands, up your arms, closer and closer to your core, you feel like you’re running toward a cliff edge, sprinting closer, closer, closer, the band in your stomach tightening, tightening, and then you jump.
Maker, it’s like you’re flying, for a moment, and then you explode.
Like electricity soaring out from an arc tower, like a volcano erupting across a massive landscape, fusion at the seismic level, the white-hot pleasure races through your body, crackling and rushing, like a massive hurricane smashing into the dams and barriers of your Jedi core. Falling, falling, falling for what feels like an eternity, as wave after wave after wave breaks through you, crushing you, shockwaves out across the room, the base, the planet, the whole universe. You’re alive. Like the whole of the force flows through you, you’re alive. So, so, beautifully present, like the whole of the Jedi Council could burst in at any moment and it wouldn’t affect how happy you are. The pleasure is indescribable, spreading from his fingers through you, to the whole world. Your heart beats to the drum of your shocks, loving and so, so aware yet unaware. His fingers slow, you can tell from somewhere, and the volcano finally starts to cool.
You finally feel yourself starting to return to your body, your whole body cooling, breathing, maker, you’ve never felt so alive.
“That was gorgeous. You have no idea how beautiful your force signature was, Padawan.” He purrs into your ear, and you feel your cheeks redden impossibly further. He removes his fingers, and they’re covered in your clear, salty juices. He brings them up to his lips, before licking. He licks his fingers clean, before smiling and pulling you back from the wall, twisting you to face him, and finally releasing you
Jellylegged, you collapse into the wall, sliding down, and you look up at him. Maker, he’s so perfect. Rock hard, his member is huge. He crouches down to eye level, before running his thumb softly across your cheek.
“My padawan. Meet me tonight in the bunks. Don’t be seen.” He smiles that fanged smile, sending another shock to your blissfully used core.
“Y-y..yes, master.” You giggle out, and he shakes his head chuckling.
“Just one orgasm, and you’re already reduced to a blubbering mess? What will I ever do with you, beautiful?” He presses his lips to your forehead, and for the first time in decades, you feel loved.
He starts to pull your robes back around you, affixing them and tying their straps, before helping you slowly stand. He runs his hand through his hand, and aside from the occasional green pollenite specks, he looks..normal. He pulls his robes and armor on, already back to the honorable and powerful Jedi Knight that padawans and separatists alike fear.
You, on the other hand, are nowhere near that. Your hair is everywhere, your face flushed, your clothes still messy and lopsided, and your eyes are…so glassy.
“Clean yourself up, Padawan. I need to go make sure Jesse hasn’t killed someone yet.” He turns to leave, before looking back at you one last time, those gorgeous blue eyes leaving you so, so hungry for more.
I’m neither a neuroscientist nor a mycologist, but I am pretty sure the pollen was actually the spores of some cool planet’s ‘Shrooms…
Maybe 😉. Whatever the case, I’m sure it won’t be the last time our reader gets a face-full of the good stuff.
Him.
I wrote this instead of sleeping. I have no regrets. Reader is femme coded and 18+.
OR
When you find yourself accidentally walking in your Master, Anakin Skywalker, you're affected more than you think. Unfortunately (or fortunately) for you, so was he.
Warnings: Smut, Fluff (just the tiniest bit tho), this is filthy, Vaginal Fingering, Orgasm, Forced Orgasm, Bathroom Sex, dirty thoughts, Force Mind Reading, Breaking the Jedi Code (fuck the Jedi code), Hand and Finger King (squint and you'll see it), Sex Pollen, Muscles, and an Alien planet.
crossposted here on ao3
Thank you to Rio and Cilantro for inspiring this and also being there as I wrote it. You guys are the best!
All you can think about is him. Him. With those water beads running down that sinfully muscular bare chest, that tiny white towel covering his waist, just barely disguising the girth of his member, those muscular legs that could crush you in bed..maker, what is wrong with you? You quickly turn to leave the fresher, of course, you didn’t mean to walk in on him. You’re just his padawan, you’re just his student. You’re nothing more. You can’t have feelings, you’re a Jedi. What would the other padawans think? What would they think of you, having these thoughts about your master, the Anakin Skywalker, about the man supposed to be training you? You look around as you push the door of the fresher open, the pink sky of some alien planet other than Coruscant gleaming above. You pause.
Sweet. Like flowers. Like warmth, straight to your core, you can feel your heartbeat in your center, pounding away. God, your panties are so slick they’re borderline soaked. There’s some kind of pollen in the air, and you lift your hand towards it. The gentle green grains settle on your palm, bright against the sky, vibrant against your skin. Is this some plant’s pollen? Your inner academic calls to you, ask your master! He’d know–
That’s right. Your naked master, with his massive muscles, bare less than ten feet from you, you could turn at any moment and see him again, surely it wouldn’t hurt, right? Surely it wouldn’t hurt to see him fresh out of a hot, steamy shower, drying that delicious sandy blonde hair of his, removing that towel from his waist to change, that rippling scar against his perfect face, surely it wouldn’t…
No.
You’re a jedi. You’re soon to be a knight. Your whole life, you have studied and prepared, prepared to fight for the Republic, prepared to die for the cause you were born with. You cannot lose your way. The code is life. No attachments, the code reads out, clearer than a Nabooian summer day. No attachments. Not to your master, not to your life, not to the things you find..so deliciously attractive.
You shake your head, trying to clear it again, and continue walking..before a warm, strong, perfectly tanned hand wraps around your waist, pulling you backwards, further, further, and you’re suddenly in the fresher, the door sliding shut silently in front of you, and you’re pressed into the wall, steel and ice cold against your cheek, and the hand around your middle begins to fiddle with the wraps holding your robe together. “You should really keep your thoughts to yourself, padawan.” His voice is so perfectly baritone, so perfectly deep against your ear, the hot breath of his voice whispering past your ear and sending earthquakes to your core. You can see out of the corner of your eye, more of that strange green pollen filtering in through the air vents, and his other hand presses your face further into the wall, icey and so, so hot, the perfect juxtaposition that rocks your mind.
“Fuck the code.” He finally finishes pulling the straps of your robes apart, sliding them down your shoulders, revealing more and more of your skin until all that is left is your chest wrap and underwear. His hand slides up from pinning your head, and it coils itself into your hair before twisting and gripping and pulling. Maker, his blue eyes burn themselves into your retinas, filled with a fire you’ve never seen before, filled with a light that you never imagined you’d be able to experience. It’s feral. Inhuman, with darkness and desire in his eyes, with those slightly pointed canines of his glinting in the light, as he runs his tongue across his lips.
“Maker, you’re gorgeous. You have no kriffing idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.” He runs his hand up your chest, before running his thumb along your bottom lip and pushing. Two of his fingers are in your mouth, and you immediately begin to wet them with your tongue. They taste like warmth, gunsmoke, like a thousand memories left unsaid, like a thousand salty tears caught. Maker, he tastes absolutely divine.
He pulls them out, a slight string of saliva connecting his fingers to your lips, and he looks down before growling at the sight of your still-covered core. He flicks his hand, and the underwear rips to shreds.
The back of your mind laments at the loss of a nice pair of undergarments, but it’s quickly replaced with a blazing hot need as he lowers his fingers, closer, closer, Maker they’re right there, and..he stops.
“Padawan..we shouldn’t do this.” His voice, no longer animal and rumbling, less a tsunami and more a gentle entering tide, moves away from your ear.
“Master, I…” Your voice, reduced to the tiniest little whine, sounds strangely far from your ears.
“It’s the pollen. My master, Obi-Wan, had told me about pollens on certain planets that could negatively affect how a soldier performs, and even affect us Jedi, but...I didn’t know this would be what he meant.” His hands start to slide away from you, but before you think, your hands secure themselves around his, keeping him pressed against you, wrapped around you.
“P-please. Don’t-don’t..don’t let go..” You whimper out, and he growls, deep in his chest and throat. You can see that green pollen swirling in the air again, and it flows into your nose, down your throat, into your lungs before you can even think. Maker, you’re so hot. You’re burning up, like someone tossed you into a volcano and the only escape is your master absolutely ruining you. It doesn’t look like it’s affecting him any less, you can feel something absolutely rock hard pressing into your back, right into the triangle bone below your spine, just above your ass.
“P-Padawan. We-we really..fuck…oh, fuck the code..” He snarls into your ear, re-coiling his hand into your hair, pulling back, and his fingers quickly find your entrance before pushing.
Oh maker, you’re so full. The stretch of his thick fingers is almost painful, and he pushes further, further, you’re so full, you can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t see, oh maker. And then he begins to rub, his thumb pressing right on your clit.
You feel like you’re out of the galaxy. His fingers are pressing right against the spot that makes you cry, that makes you sob with need, that makes you moan his name as if it’s a prayer to the only maker you’ve ever needed to believe in. Maker, his fingers are too big, there’s no way they’re going to fit, you feel so tight.
And then it spreads. The tingling, flickering like fire all over your body, down to the tips of your fingers, up your hands, up your arms, closer and closer to your core, you feel like you’re running toward a cliff edge, sprinting closer, closer, closer, the band in your stomach tightening, tightening, and then you jump.
Maker, it’s like you’re flying, for a moment, and then you explode.
Like electricity soaring out from an arc tower, like a volcano erupting across a massive landscape, fusion at the seismic level, the white-hot pleasure races through your body, crackling and rushing, like a massive hurricane smashing into the dams and barriers of your Jedi core. Falling, falling, falling for what feels like an eternity, as wave after wave after wave breaks through you, crushing you, shockwaves out across the room, the base, the planet, the whole universe. You’re alive. Like the whole of the force flows through you, you’re alive. So, so, beautifully present, like the whole of the Jedi Council could burst in at any moment and it wouldn’t affect how happy you are. The pleasure is indescribable, spreading from his fingers through you, to the whole world. Your heart beats to the drum of your shocks, loving and so, so aware yet unaware. His fingers slow, you can tell from somewhere, and the volcano finally starts to cool.
You finally feel yourself starting to return to your body, your whole body cooling, breathing, maker, you’ve never felt so alive.
“That was gorgeous. You have no idea how beautiful your force signature was, Padawan.” He purrs into your ear, and you feel your cheeks redden impossibly further. He removes his fingers, and they’re covered in your clear, salty juices. He brings them up to his lips, before licking. He licks his fingers clean, before smiling and pulling you back from the wall, twisting you to face him, and finally releasing you
Jellylegged, you collapse into the wall, sliding down, and you look up at him. Maker, he’s so perfect. Rock hard, his member is huge. He crouches down to eye level, before running his thumb softly across your cheek.
“My padawan. Meet me tonight in the bunks. Don’t be seen.” He smiles that fanged smile, sending another shock to your blissfully used core.
“Y-y..yes, master.” You giggle out, and he shakes his head chuckling.
“Just one orgasm, and you’re already reduced to a blubbering mess? What will I ever do with you, beautiful?” He presses his lips to your forehead, and for the first time in decades, you feel loved.
He starts to pull your robes back around you, affixing them and tying their straps, before helping you slowly stand. He runs his hand through his hand, and aside from the occasional green pollenite specks, he looks..normal. He pulls his robes and armor on, already back to the honorable and powerful Jedi Knight that padawans and separatists alike fear.
You, on the other hand, are nowhere near that. Your hair is everywhere, your face flushed, your clothes still messy and lopsided, and your eyes are…so glassy.
“Clean yourself up, Padawan. I need to go make sure Jesse hasn’t killed someone yet.” He turns to leave, before looking back at you one last time, those gorgeous blue eyes leaving you so, so hungry for more.
May I request more Roach and Gaz?
They are besties on Snapchat
Never About Us - Chapter 5
Chapter 5: Offerings from a Beroya
Rating: Explicit Word Count: 4.7k
For anyone who has trouble imagining a sith din, here’s a link to a Tumblr post with something I made on mandocreator.
Chapter Warnings: Angst, a hint of fluff for you goblins, violence, descriptions of injuries and blood. Arguing, Greef Karga (is he a trigger?), fluff, mando being an overprotective socially inept brick wall, I’m making things up about armor and metal. Should I tag this as slow burn? Idk anymore. Hinted at S/A (unsuccessful), fennec shand is cool. Forced drugging, more passing out. Please let me know if I missed any, I know this was a pretty heavy chapter. I love you all, and thank you for staying with me.
Translation guide: Beroya (mando’a): “Bounty Hunter”
I have no excuses for why this took so long. Love you all! Thank you to geo for betareading!
“I thought you said you knew how to fly this damn thing!” You scream out, as the ship around you rocks, screams, rumbles, and twists through the atmosphere as the flames lick at the plasteel viewing panel. Of course, he should have known how to fly, he’s Mandalorian.
“I…may be a little rusty.” He is clearly struggling, his teeth gritting as he fights to correct the ship’s course so that you two don’t end up as two little bug splatters on the blazing surface of Nevarro. You’re thrown into the ship's wall, as he yanks the controls, dodging around a mercantile ship as you arc through the clouds.
“Learn to drive, Mando!” You shriek, as he spirals down towards the landing docks. He yanks back on the controls, sending you into the back wall of the cockpit, and the ship gently slows to a stop with a thud as it lands on the ashy sand.
He turns back to look at you from his seat and tilts his head.
“Are we going?”
You glare up at him, before standing up and dusting yourself off.
“Once you learn not to kill me. One of us doesn’t exactly have a full suit of beskar.”
He watches you, and you can imagine under there he might be smiling if he even smiles. You’re still not even sure he’s human under there. Who knows? Is he just some really well-designed AI, some killer robot masquerading as a Mandalorian waiting until you have a weak moment and then leaping in for the kill? What if he–
“Keep moving.” He bumps into you as you’re caught in your thoughts, gently pushing your shoulder toward the exit of the Crest. You blush, and hurry toward the exit, not wanting to irritate him by getting in his way, lest he leave you there on Nevarro without a ship. You walk by his side, the painting of his armor as an inquisitor parting the crowd around you like the sea in some religious story you were told as a youngling. You smirk a little to yourself, feeling like he’s protecting you from the normally unsafe and crushing crowds of Nevarro’s city. In the distance, you can see the sun beginning to set, a dull blob of light against the ash of Nevarro’s atmosphere.
You finally arrive at the entrance to the guild, and you enter first, your Mandalorian bodyguard an ominous shadow behind you. You sit down in front of Karga, sliding him the completed puck of the bounty you took. He doesn’t need to know you completed it only with the help of a very dangerous inquisitor.
“Ah, my favorite little crash-lander. How are you?” He flashes his signature grin at you, his eyes flicking up to the beskar-clad warrior currently trying to squeeze into the booth next to you.
“I want to add him as a bounty hunter. We’re a pair now.” You cut to the chase, hoping he won’t make you drink more of his sand-flavored spotchka. Mando watches him, his fist resting on the table between you, and he nods slowly.
“You picked up…an inquisitor, and you want him to join you. Become part of your…little..team. I...I suppose that can be arranged, but I do need to know his name.” He begins to tap away on a holopad, and you look up at Mando, hoping he behaves himself and doesn’t kill the good guild leader for asking for his name. Mando’s shoulders tense, and he looks at Greef, his hand beginning to tighten.
“Can’t you just put it as Mando Lorian?” You cut in, hoping to prevent a murder.
“I can make that work.” He taps it into the pad and slides it over.
“Sign there. He’s your responsibility now. As for the bounties, here is the payment, and new pucks. I have one I think you’d like.” He chuckles nervously, and you quickly sign with your finger.
“Figured this one would be good to get you on the good side of the empire. It’s all under the table, not even an official bounty.” He slides over a puck and a tracker.
“The one on the left is a normal Tattoine bounty. You’re capturing an assassin named Fennec Shand, she’s evaded Republic capture for a long time. The one on the right will lead you to the offerer of the private bounty, who will provide you with the tracker to the bounty itself. And get this, paid in beskar.” He smiles at Mando, whose shoulders stiffen further when he hears that it’s being paid in beskar. Your eyes widen at the sound of your payment, fist clenching on the table. You’re being paid in stolen beskar that should have been yours.
“Hey, let’s not get too aggressive, now. Why don’t you two head to Tattooine and see if you can’t capture Ms. Shand? If you’re successful, I’ll give you the private bounty.”
You slowly reach your hand out to the puck, but Mando snatches it off the table and slips it into a pouch on his belt. He slides out of the booth, and you look at Karga again.
“Thank you for the puck–” Your arm is grabbed by a thick leather glove, and Mando drags you out of the bar without any more discussion.
“He’ll take advantage of you.” Mando releases your arm, and you have to jog to keep up with his strides.
“Advantage? I’m perfectly fine. I’ve survived this long, I’m not scared of some slightly–”
“You don’t understand.” He spits your name, quickly grasping your wrist again and dragging you into an alley. He crowds you against the sandy brick, and you have to crane your neck to look up at him. His arm presses at the brick next to your head, and he studies you through his visor. You can feel his eyes searching your face, and he tilts his head again.
“Oh? Is that so? What do I not understand, Mando? Don’t treat me like one of your stormtroopers. I’m not your servant.” You glare up at him, your snarky mouth running before you can stop it. Of course, you’ve been trained to stay independent, to push people away, it keeps you alive. Your secrecy is your survival, after all. With each word, you can see his hand clenching into a fist, and he takes an audible breath.
“He will hurt you. Badly. He will take and take until There. Is. Nothing. Left. It was never about us. It’s about keeping you safe.” His helmet glints in the last light of the sun, leaving you in almost total darkness, save the artificial lights of the night market.
“I don’t need your protection.” You slide out from under his arm, and begin to walk back toward the direction of, you hope, the ship. He follows you with his helmet, and you push into the crowd. You weave and bob through people, half-hoping that he stays following you and half-hoping to lose him.
Of course, he follows you. You keep bobbing and weaving, hoping and praying to the maker that you know where you are going, even as the sun sets and you’re cast into the artificial yellow and white of fluorescent night market string lights. And then you see it. Like a beacon from the darkness, your ship, glimmering with the barely-visible stars and the blinding lights of night, laying there in the docks. You speed up in your steps, almost running, and you finally clamber up the too-steep ramp and practically jump up the ladder into the cockpit.
You hear his heavy footsteps thud up the ramp, and you begin to press buttons almost haphazardly, trying to get off this makerforsaken planet, as if leaving Nevarro will leave Mando there. Who does he think he is, commanding you? You’ve survived your whole life alone, doing nothing but rejecting those around you so that you stay safe. After all, attachments could lead to your heart or bones being broken. But..why does a part of you feel raw for wanting to leave him? He saved your life, hunted you down and kept you alive from that awful Trandoshan, but..he wants to hold you like you’re some pristine artifact, any scratch capable of shattering and ruining you.
So why do you feel this way?
All too quickly, your thoughts are once again interrupted as his hand lands on your chair’s back. He looks down at you, tilting his helmet toward the copilot’s seat expectantly. Right. He likes to drive. You sigh, get up, and move back to the copilot’s seat, not without shoving past him.
He sits down as if your pass at him hadn’t felt like more than being brushed by a Kowakian monkey-lizard’s feather, and begins to plug in the coordinates for Tattooine, and you’re both pushed back by the jump from reality into hyperspace.
“Hey, mando.” You finally break the silence, and he turns to look at you.
“We should..probably repaint your armor. Inquisitors aren’t exactly popular, and that suit of armor puts a target on your back..”
He looks down at himself, as if having just realized the implications of walking around in a suit of metal propaganda, and he nods. He gets up, and looks at you, as if waiting for you to follow. You quickly get up, and follow him down the ladder, grabbing a box of basic ship repairing equipment as you move past the storage closet.
Mando sheds his armor quickly and without grace, revealing that..the armor wasn’t exactly lying about how muscular he is. His arms, covered by that sinfully tight flight suit, flex as he pulls his chestplate off, dropping it onto the floor with a thud that sends shockwaves through your system and right to your core.
He hands you one of his bracers, and a piece of sandpaper, before he plops down and begins to sand his chestplate. And you sand. And sand. And sand. And sand. And sand. How much sanding can one piece of beskar require? Your father wasn’t kidding when he said that beskar is some of the strongest material in the galaxy.
After what feels like millenia, you finally finish sanding, and you put the armor piece down, finally stripped of its paint. He looks at you, having finished about three in the time it took you to finish one bracer, and he gestures to the paints you pulled.
“How about just raw beskar? We can smooth the surface and coat it with a gloss..” Your mouth begins to run off mechanic terminology, and he nods slowly.
“Will you be sanding your helmet?” That touched a nerve. His hands tighten on the gloss tube, and it splurts some of the expensive, albeit shiny gel.
“I don’t take my helmet off.” He growls in your general direction, and you raise your hands defensively.
“Sorry. You’re…one of those mandalorians, huh.”
“One of those?” He squirts more of the gel onto the floor, and you glare at him.
“Could you put that down? That shit is practically worth more than bacta.”
He sets down the tube, and you scoop up the gel and begin to smear it onto a piece of equipment that he’s finished sanding and shining.
“Yes, one of those. There’s a cul–a group of people that have elected to never remove their helmets because that is how the ancient mandalorian culture used to be, and they’ve lived their lives entirely behind a mask. I’m assuming you were..brought up by them before the empire took you?”
He nods slowly, scooping up the rest of the floor gel, and spreading it onto his armor.
“Got it. So no helmet removing. Do you sleep with it on?” You try to lighten the mood, and he begins to wipe the excess gel away with a cloth.
“Yes.”
“Have you taken it off at all?”
“If you’re asking whether or not I shower with it, no. I don’t shower with it on.” He casts away the cloth, sending it into a box of other mechanical equipment, and he examines his now finished armor. He nods, and you smile softly.
“Does it come off in bed?” You wink at him, and he pauses for a moment. You can almost see his ears flushing red, his lip quivering as he tries to come up with what to respond to that. He clears his throat, before beginning to pull his armor back on.
“...Depends on what you mean.”
“During s–” You’re cut off by the ship beeping loudly, signaling its imminent departure from hyperspace, and you both quickly clean up before heading to the cockpit and getting strapped in.
You’re jolted as you’re pulled into interplanetary space, and the great yellow and dusty planet lies before you. Haven’t you had enough sand for one life?
As you enter the atmosphere, you’re strangely reminded of Geonosis, even though that had been sterilized artificially. Can people really live on this hellish planet? There’s no water, hardly any shade, and the stories you heard as a child of Krayt dragons terrified you to no end. Then again, they likely ask the same thing about Geonosis. Irradiated, hellish, with zombie parasites and abandoned pre-empire factories filled with the skeletons of droids that could have been, now condemned to live in perpetual imperfection, with cults and slavery and shadowy figures that could snatch a small child from their mother’s arms and burn them into a worshiper of death and darkness.
“You have that look again.” You’re jolted out of your fears by his voice, baritone and honey, and you sigh.
“Sorry. Was thinking about Geonosis and Tattooine. I just don’t understand how people have grown to live and settle on these apocalyptic planets..” You trail off, embarrassed to bother him.
“They make do. We live and we learn.” His words are jarringly wise, almost strangely so. For a moment, his somber tone makes you wonder what hell he has been through. Has he seen the burning flames as you have? Did he see death like you had? What has the emperor put him through, to become a mandalorian inquisitor, hunter of jedi and now hunter of bounties?
“I do not think you want the answer to that question, little mandalorian. And you’re not bothering me.” He places his hand on your shoulder.
“You carry the galaxy on your shoulders. I am here to help you carry that burden.”
He tightens his grip, and it’s..strangely comforting, like you’re two beings against a galaxy of hate. Perhaps this isn’t so bad after all, you have to learn what makes the other tick, but at the end of the world, it’s you two, and you wouldn’t trade him for the world. As if he can smell it on you, he pulls his hand away, and the comfort is gone.
At least you have the memory of his warmth.
~
Blood. So much blood. Charred flesh, hatred, glowing red blade strikes and bruised throats are all you can see before everything goes dark. The crunch of a shattering femur focuses your senses, and you’re brought out of shock. Hot. Arid. Burning sand sprays across your face, and are you..are you on Geonosis? You blink quickly, trying to clear the sand from your eyes, and you narrowly avoid a flying limb, which, upon further inspection, appears to be inhuman in form. You look toward the loud sounds of blade cutting through flesh and bone, and you see him, like a silver wraith in the shadows.
He’s standing over a crying man, hunched over and spitting green blood. He raises his hand toward Mando, who tilts his head silently as he clenches his fist, crushing the man’s windpipe into oblivion. You quickly stand up, unsure of how long you had been unconscious, and begin to survey the scene around you.
Lots of blood spattered across sandstone alley walls, three or four mangled bodies, some missing a limb or two, glowing with molten cuts, and so, so, so much sand. Mando turns toward you, stepping over body and limb alike, and he reaches out to touch your face. He gently reaches down, lifting you to your unsure feet.
You remember now.
~
“Hey, sweet thing, why don’t you leave droid boy there and come have a good time?” One of them had slurred at you, clearly drunk out of his mind. You’ve been catcalled before, it’s nothing you’re not used to, and you let the insult slide off your shoulders as you attempt to continue your journey across Mos Espa, but that hadn’t been enough for them.
You can sense them beginning to surround you, wall you in, and you begin to calculate escape routes as they slowly corner you and Mando into an alley.
“Surely you mustn’t have heard my friend here. Leave droid boy and come with us, it’s been so long since–”
There is a glowing red blade right through his throat, and as he reaches up, eyes widening to feel the new..air hole in his trachea, Mando slices to the left, cutting the man’s head off. He then twists, and as he twists, you feel a small prick in your neck, a disgusting arm wrapping around your torso as it presses the plunger of the small syringe in your neck. You’ve heard of drugs like these before, used on drunk or unsuspecting patrons at bars and clubs, used to take them home for…for…
You can’t remember. Your train of thought begins to fade, as the world around you feels silent, gray…it’d be so easy to sleep right now, so easy to just…
~
“How many fingers am I holding up?” He gently touches your face with one hand, keeping your dizzy eyes focused on his hand, and you pause for a moment to clear your head.
“F-four. Four fingers.” You shake your head.
“Why did you do that? You have a target on your back, Mando..” You look around worriedly, concerned of the implications of him revealing himself.
He just tilts his head at you, as if he’s confused.
“We need to leave, surely word has spread by now..” You grab his hand, and pull at it, stumbling as your legs relearn how to take your weight.
“Why are you worried? This is Tattooine, little mandalorian.” He follows you, holding onto you to make sure you don’t collapse again.
“Couldn’t you have just knocked them out?” You hiss, and he pauses mid step.
“And let them walk the earth unpunished for what they did to you?”
“They didn’t do anything until you got involved. They wouldn’t have drugged me, I could have just…jedi mind tricked them..I could have figured it out…that was completely unnecessary, Mando!” You finally regain your confidence, and he pulls you into another alley.
“I was doing it to protect you.”
“I don’t kriffing need your protection, Mando! I’ve been surviving on my own this long, I do not need some overgrown sith warrior in indestructible armor following me like a lost puppy, and I especially do not need one to protect me! First, Nevarro, now here! When will you learn? I escaped from you, I can escape from the empire. I do not need you painting an even larger target on my back than the one that is already there because you cannot control your temper!” Your voice is shaking as it increases in volume, and you feel saltwater tears streak down your dirty face, dripping onto the parched sand below. You step back, and glare at him, wiping your tears furiously. You take a few deep breaths, trying to calm your heart rate, trying to lower your blood pressure, and look back up at where you hope his eyes are.
“I don’t need your protection.” You finally reiterate, before turning and leaving the alley. His visor never leaves your back.
~
“Fennec Shand. Assassin and sniper.” You quietly murmur to no one in particular, not that the man in metal next to you is even listening. Since you finally broke and screamed at him in that alley, he’s been silent, even more so than usual, not even responding when you try to communicate with him or get his attention, not even when you try to make the jokes that always would have gotten at least a quiet chuckle from him.
You peer back into the binoculars pressed against your face, scanning the horizon in the distance for any sign of life, any sign of the legendary ranger that is worth so much she could pay your fuel costs for three months, not that you’re even being paid in credits.
“There. Next to that outcropping!” You notice the bright red glint of a sniper’s red laser, and you quickly duck your head down as a red blaster bolt flies through where your forehead just was. His head jerks toward you, before he starts to stand, and you grab his arm and yank as hard as you can.
“She’s using heat tracing. We have to wait either till morning when the sun blinds her or until we can come up with a new idea to stop her. We’re sitting ducks anywhere but here.”
He nods slowly, before he turns to look down at his toolbelt, and you can almost see the idea lightbulb above his head blink on.
“Grenades.”
“What?”
“She’s using heat tracing. Flash bangs will blind and defean her temporarily, which lets us get close enough that I can freeze her.” He finally speaks after a moment, having figured out how to explain his absolutely batshit idea to you.
Except..it’s not batshit, It’s genius. He does think like a mandalorian, like a bounty hunter, coming up with ways to weaken his opponent until he can immobilize or kill them. He hands you three of the little handheld suns, and looks toward the speeders that brought you all the way out here into the Dune Sea.
“On three, I’m going to throw the first one. Get on your speeder, and wait for my signal. We will alternate, until we’re close enough to get cover at the base of her cliff.” He commands you, and it reminds you strangely of times that have never happened, of lives long past. What if you had been a soldier, or captured and became an inquisitor? Would you and he be close? Would you–
“Three!” He throws the grenade, and it explodes, a red blaster bolt shooting off a ways away, Fennec’s shot having been thrown off its course. You jolt up, your feet propelling you to your speeder, and you leap onto it, revving it and speeding off into the dune stretch between you and your target.
“GO!” He shouts, his voice straining to be heard over the wind rushing past your ears, and you press the button on top of the grenade before tossing it, and it explodes, sending another shot careening into the sky.
He tosses his, and your speeders weave back and forth on the dunes like dna, intersecting and then arcing away from eachother. You continue this deadly dance, this dance of evasion and light and blaster shots, until the once tiny cliff on the horizon becomes a monolith in front of you, all you can see, and you slow to a stop at its base.
“How do you plan to get up?” You pin your back against the rock, in case there is any way Shand could shoot you if you’re too far out.
He tilts his head, before he crouches and flies up into the air like a rocket. That’s right. You could just force jump.
You crouch as he did, hoping to replicate your success on Geonosis, but all you do is a nice little hop. In the distance, though, you see a ramp, and you sigh before climbing aboard your speeder and taking the naturally formed ramp up the side of the cliff. What feels like hours later, you ride up expecting to see his blade out or a dead body, but instead you see a bound Shand and a mandalorian inquisitor shining his bracer.
“I was wondering where you were.” He looks up at you, and you blush before slowing to a stop and climbing off the speeder.
“Not all of us were trained in the force from birth, Mando.” You pick Shand up by her wrists, gently laying her onto the back of your speeder.
“I suppose I’ll meet you at the bottom–?” You look up, and he’s already falling toward the sand below.
Of course he is.
~
“So now that she’s in carbonite, what’s our next bounty, oh keeper of the pucks?” You twist the towel around your sopping wet hair, patting it dry and casting the damp towel into a hamper. You stretch, feet padding against the metal floor of the ship, and you look at the interior of your ship. The bruise on your neck from the injection site still aches, but the pills Mando made you take before you showered must have been some kind of reversal agent, since you feel almost back to 100% much quicker than you should have been in any other situation involving those drugs.
After you retrieved Fennec, it was a fairly simple matter getting through the streets of Mos Espa and getting her frozen in the on-board carbonite freezer. You’ve never seen one work up close, and it took you at least twenty minutes to stop shivering from the gas. You finally decided to take a shower, cleaning yourself of the dust and sand, and the warmth helped your still slightly frazzled mind clear. You’re glad for midichlorians and the force, for it allowing you to heal quicker than the average person, the dull ache in your ankle from what feels like years ago nothing but that–a dull ache. He looks up toward you, his visor tilting up and down, and he leans back against a wall. His visor locks onto the small bruise on your neck for a moment, before he looks back down at the tablet he was swiping through.
“You look comfortable.”
“Been a while since I’ve had clean clothes, Mando. Thank you for washing them for me. While I was unconscious.”
He looks away, and you blush at the memory, not having meant to be so passive-aggressive to him. After all, he didn’t exactly knock you out, but he didn’t keep you awake on Hoth. It was probably for the best, you would have screamed and bit the whole way back if you had been awake.
“Our next bounty is a long jump away, and it’s another desert planet.” Was that..humor? From mando? You let out a small giggle, never having thought you’d see the day where a mandalorian inquisitor cracks even the worst of a joke.
“What is it? Tell me it’s not Geonosis.” You shiver, the radiation coming back to you like burning flames and licking hell against your skin, ripping apart your machinations like nothing but wet paper. You don’t ever want to have to venture out into the irradiated deserts again, the one time Gakrux made you having left you crying and screaming as you could imagine your flesh melting and burning away. You were just a teenager then, your life barely having started, and already you had been scared of it ending. The radiation isn’t too terrible now, nor was it when you ventured, but the trauma and idea was enough to tell you the most radiation you ever want to experience again is a star’s light from the comfort of a spaceship.
“No. It’s called..Arvala-5.”
~
I am so sorry this took so long. My life kind of got kicked in the shins and I had a massive burst of writer's block, rewrote the chapter, and today I had the biggest burst of inspo while listening to music. I'm so sorry this took so long, again, but thank you so much for writing. I'll try to have the next one out in a timely manner :)
Cactus
Mario is the first isekai
Vergil with long hair looks like DMC4 Nero!
MOD:
Vergil’s Face on Dante
Dante the White Knight
Are you frustrated you can't leave second kudos on AO3? or third kudos? or whatever-who's-counting kudos?
Well, have I got the html for you!
Plop any of these in a comment (by copy&pasting the code) to make an author's day and show your appreciation!
Second kudos: <img src="https://i.ibb.co/tHMjbb6/second-kudos.png" alt="second kudos">
Third kudos: <img src="https://i.ibb.co/52bggQH/third-kudos.png" alt="third kudos">
nth kudos: <img src="https://i.ibb.co/6y7qGtC/nth-kudos.png" alt="nth kudos">
yet another kudos: <img src="https://i.ibb.co/wKtcj0s/yet-another-kudos.png" alt="yet another kudos">
It will look something like this (and will be transparent with white outline on dark backgrounds):
Feel free to spread and use these as much as you like! (and if you have ideas for other variations, let me know ✌️)
Another Rough Day
gif credit @chrishemsworht
Part Twenty of the Rough Day Series
Rating: Explicit
Word Count: 13.7K
Warnings: Angst, violence, canon-typical blood and gore, language, hurt/comfort
A/N: i wanna thank yall for sticking around during my hermit era, in the time ive been gone i am now officially a junior at a university majoring in aerospace and it’s a fuckin nightmare and i hate everything and god help us all literally kill me and I will be posting INCREDIBLY slowly because of that (I’m talkin weeks or months in between updates yall, im sorry I can’t dedicate more time to this but I am going to finish this fic within the next handful of chapters idk maybe 5 or 6 so you shouldn’t have to wait too too long). As a heads up there will be hard angst as we enter the final arc, there will be hurt and it’ll get dark but everything is gonna turn out alright so thanks for sticking with me and continuing to stick with me. im sorry if you dont like it or your expectations were subverted or if this isn’t what you’d hoped it would be after following and waiting around for so long but this was planned a long time ago and it took me a good year or two to recognize that I started writing this fic for me and now I’m going to end it writing for me and I hope yall can respect that
ALSO I asked my best BEST FRIEND in the entire world @cptnbvcks to collaborate with me for this after we both took a very long break from creating and she drew some GORGEOUS artwork for this chapter so it will be posted at the end, everyone please go follow her and say hello
ps brittany girl you’re a fuckin menace i had to use my own two ears and listen to ethan literally say the words “the mandalorian cums, hard” what the fuck was that im actually suing
anyways chapter below the cut lets get serious yall
Keep reading
Holy shit it’s HERE!!!!
