If you're new here, then welcome! If you're a long time resident, I can't believe you've stuck around this long 🙃 Either way, I'm happy you're here!
This is now a multi-fandom blog. I tried keeping everything separated, but it just didn't work. I write, I read, I reblog art. If you like what I write, comments and reblogs are appreciated 🖤 My inbox is always open, but I'm currently not taking requests. I don't stick to a writing schedule for the sake of my mental health, but I love my writing and my peoples, and one of these days I'll get my shit together and have cover art and proper tumblr posts for all my stories (not just AO3 links)
Masterlist Below
(** Indicates Smut)
Star Wars
Metal Bones
Maulsoka AU
The Unforgiven
Maulsoka
Blasters & Blue Eyes
Crosshair x Asajj **
The Force of Evolution
Cody x OC (collab with @milkshaketheboybringer)
Flight Risk
Fox x Reader
Bitter Souls
Obi-Wan x Siri **
Chain of Command
Alpha-17 x Reader **
A Grim Fairytale
Crosshair x Reader
COMING SOON
Give In Again
Rex x Reader
COMING SOON
Lucky Number Five
Fives x Reader
COMING SOON
Horizon: Zero Dawn & Forbidden West
Blood, Sand, & Bone
Kotaloy
The Killing Kind
Niloy
Blood Upon The Snow
Niloy ft Balahn
The Bullet That Eclipsed the Sun
Kataloy AU
Apex Predator
Aloy/Kotallo/Drakka **
Shadow to Sun
Heloy
Moon Knight
Wake Up Call
Steven Grant x Reader **
Long Night Ahead
Jake Lockley x Reader
COMING SOON
Split
Splintered
COMING SOON
Stranger Things
Missing You
Misery Loves My Company
Pain Without You
Hurts So Good
Pt. 1 ~ Pt. 2
Scientists and Soldiers
What Hurts the Most
Help
Books & Baseball Bats
Dreams
I Promise
Blueberry Pancakes
That's Gonna Leave a Mark
Vodka and Nursery Rhymes
Pt. 1 ~ Pt. 2 ~ Pt. 3 ~ Pt. 4 ~ Pt. 5 ~ Pt. 6
Wasting Away
Pt. 1 ~ Pt. 2 ~ Pt. 3 ~ Pt. 4 ~ Pt. 5
~~The Stranger Things stories don't have links yet, for some reason Tumblr decided it hates me and doesn't want the link function to work anymore 🙃~~
Divider by @saradika-graphics
Summary: After a mission went to hell from bad intel, you clean up your boys. Your stress is high, your Commander is on your nerves, and you think you're about to lose your mind. You can't ignore the tension that's been building up, and it comes to a breaking point.
Pairing: Alpha-17 x Reader
Warnings: 18+, MDNI! Shameless smut, Dom!Alpha-17, Rough Sex
Words: 5,289
A/N: A gift fic for @milkshaketheboybringer ❤️ Crossposted on AO3
The safehouse reeked of smoke and scorched metal, a low hum from the damaged generator filling the silence. It was more of a shack than anything, but it gave the four of you a chance to hole up and check your injuries.
Well, it would be the four of you, once A-17 dragged his ass back in.
As usual, he made sure the rest of his squadron got to safety first, and then insisted on a final sweep of the area. You tightened your jaw, nerves frayed, as you worked. You never liked it when he lagged behind.
You checked out Odd Ball first, having been closest to the explosion. Thankfully, his armor had protected him from the majority of the damage. He had a few burns that you slathered in bacta and a deep gouge on his chest that you stitched up easily. The rest were just scrapes and bruises that would heal with time. He thanked you with a smile and a pat to your shoulder.
“Good job out there today, Doc.” he said. “Not bad for a civ.”
You snorted and rolled your eyes. “Thanks, commander.” you said. “Go get some rest.” He nodded, scrubbing a hand down his face, and headed for one of the bunk rooms hidden away in the back. He’d picked up his kit and sighed wearily, liking the sound of a decent nap.
Jorir sat down hard on the crate, already scowling at you before Odd Ball had even made it halfway down the hall. “I told you it was fine,” he grumbled, beginning to mutter in Mando’a as you reached for his arm.
“Uh-huh,” you replied dryly. “And if you’d listened to me ten minutes ago, your shoulder wouldn’t be halfway out of its socket.”
He hissed when you reset it, teeth clenched, then let out a sharp breath. “Kriff,” he muttered. “You enjoy this too much, Doc.”
You snorted. “Trust me, I don’t.” Your hand reached into your medkit and you found the stims and painkillers effortlessly, your eyes scanning Jorir for any other injuries as you grabbed your other supplies. You held the stims between your teeth, also grabbing a sling and a few bacta patches for the cuts on his forehead and cheeks.
“17 is gonna need to get me some new coils and a thermal distributor before we can go anywhere. Those karking droids put us on the ground for a while.”
“Uh huh,” you muttered around the vial in your mouth. You slammed one of the stims into his good shoulder, quickly followed by the other. “You aren’t going to be working on any engines for a while, trooper.”
That was when the door creaked open.
You didn’t look up, but you felt it. The shift in the air. The weight of another presence, familiar enough to make your shoulders loosen and tighten all at once. Your hands stilled for half a second before muscle memory kicked back in and you continued working, finishing applying the bacta patches and giving Jorir the sling with quiet instructions to kriffing use it.
Jorir glanced past you, then back again. His scowl slowly morphed into something far more amused, a smirk playing on his lips.
“Well,” he said, wiggling his brows exaggeratedly as he stood, rolling his shoulders once. “Looks like you’ve got priority care coming in.”
Heat crept up your neck as you stood with him. “Jorir—”
“I’ll go check the ship,” he added quickly, already backing toward the door. “Make sure nothing’s…uh…on fire.” His gaze flicked pointedly between you and Alpha-17. “Try not to wreck the rest of the equipment, yeah?”
And then he was gone, laughing to himself as the door shut behind him, leaving the safehouse suddenly far too quiet.
The silence stretched after the door shut, thick and heavy in a way that had nothing to do with the smoke. You were suddenly acutely aware of how close he was…close enough that you could feel the warmth of him at your back, steady and grounding.
“Doc.”
You swallowed. Damn.
His voice was lower than before, stripped of battlefield sharpness. It wasn’t loud; it didn't need to be. It landed anyway.
You finally looked up, feeling like your heart was in your throat.
Alpha stood just inside the doorway, helmet tucked under his arm, armor scorched and scratched in a way that made your stomach tighten. His gaze swept over you in one slow, deliberate pass, your face, your hands, the faint tension still wound through your posture, before settling, intent and unreadable.
“You okay?” he asked.
It was such a simple question. It shouldn’t have hit as hard as it did.
“I’m fine,” you said automatically, then huffed a quiet breath. “Everyone else is stable. No critical injuries.” Your brows furrowed as your eyes were drawn back to the scorch marks on his armor. “I should take a look at you, though. Make sure your injuries aren’t bad.”
His jaw tightened, just a fraction. “That’s not what I asked,” he said lowly.
You hesitated, fingers brushing through the hair that you’d taken out of the regulation bun. “I…” you sighed before nodding. “Yeah. I’m okay.”
Alpha stepped closer, setting his bucket down and crossing his arms. His movements weren’t rushed or aggressive. Just…inevitable. The space between you narrowed until his presence filled your peripheral vision, his attention so focused it felt like a physical thing.
“You did good out there,” he said, voice steady and certain. “You kept your head when things went to hell. You kept my men alive.” His eyes lifted to meet yours fully now, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You kept me alive.”
Heat crept up your neck at the weight of his gaze. Praise from the others was one thing. It was casual, easy.
This was different. This felt earned in a way that made your chest tighten and your pulse speed up.
“I was just doing my job,” you murmured, looking away.
A faint smirk tugged at his mouth. “You keep saying that.” He paused, eyes flicking briefly to the medkit, then back to you. “Doesn’t make it any less impressive.”
He reached out, not touching you yet, but close enough that you felt the intent in the motion. “You’ve been running on fumes since we hit the ground,” he added quietly. “Now everyone else is taken care of.” His gaze softened, just a bit. “You don’t have to keep holding on anymore.”
The words settled over you like a release valve you hadn’t realized you were holding shut.
For a moment, it was just the two of you. No mission. No squad. Just the low hum of the generator and Alpha-17 standing far too close, looking at you like nothing else in the galaxy mattered quite as much.
He didn’t move away.
You waited for it, for the subtle retreat, the professional distance to snap back into place now that the squad was gone.
It never came.
Instead, Alpha stayed right where he was, close enough that you could see the scars and burns along his armor, close enough that his attention felt almost tangible. His gaze lingered, steady and assessing, as if he were committing every detail of you to memory.
You shifted, suddenly aware of how small the space felt. “Alpha…” you started, not entirely sure what you were about to say.
He raised a brow, saying your name in response, his voice rumbling from his chest.
He was your commanding officer. You were his medic. Your mind was conjuring all sorts of things that would probably get you both court martialled, but hearing your name fall from his lips in that tone of voice sent heat rushing through you.
He tilted his head slightly, studying you. “You notice things, Doc,” he said quietly. “Details. Patterns.” His eyes flicked briefly to your hands, still hovering near the medkit, then back to your face. “So tell me. What are you noticing right now?”
Your breath caught. You could feel the answer in your body before you found the word. The heat, the tension, the way your pulse had kicked up the moment you realized he wasn’t backing off. You could see the intensity in his gaze, the predatory stance, the possessive angling of his body.
“That you’re…still standing there,” you said softly.
A corner of his mouth curved, but it wasn’t quite a smile. “Good.” He stepped just a fraction closer, enough that his overwhelming presence became impossible to ignore. “Because I’m not done yet.”
His voice dropped, stripped of command and edged with something far more personal. “You’ve been holding it together all night. For them.” A pause. “For me.” His gaze softened, intent narrowing until it felt like the rest of the room had disappeared. “I’m not going anywhere until you stop.”
The words settled low in your chest, loosening something you hadn’t realized was wound so tight. Alpha-17 remained exactly where he was; close, attentive, and unmistakably focused on you.
His hand lifted, slow enough that you saw the decision in it. Slow enough to give you the chance to tell him to stop.
He didn’t rush. Didn’t grab. His fingers brushed the edge of your sleeve first, a light, grounding touch. He was giving you every chance to pull away, every chance to end whatever this was before it got started.
But you didn’t.
Your breath caught instead.
His thumb pressed gently into the inside of your wrist, right where your pulse jumped under his skin. He felt it, of course he did, and his gaze sharpened, locking onto yours with quiet intensity.
“Easy,” he murmured, not a command, but reassurance. “I’ve got you.”
Something in your chest loosened at that. You hadn’t realized how tightly you’d been holding yourself together until his touch made it unnecessary.
Alpha stepped closer, the space between your bodies minimal. His hand slid from your wrist to your forearm, steady and warm, anchoring. “You don’t have to be ‘Doc’ for me right now,” he said quietly. “You can just…be.”
You leaned into him before you fully realized you were doing it, your shoulder brushing his chest. The contact was soft, tentative, and it sent a spark straight through you.
His breath stuttered, just barely.
That was all the permission either of you needed.
Alpha’s hand shifted, settling at the curve of your waist, firm but reverent, thumb pressing lightly as if to ask the question his voice didn’t. You answered by relaxing into the touch, letting your weight rest there.
“Good,” he hummed softly, approval threading through the word. “That’s it.”
The safehouse felt smaller now, the hum of the generator fading into the background as his attention narrowed fully on you.
No squad. No mission.
Just the quiet heat of his hand at your waist and the unspoken promise in the way he didn’t let go.
His thumb shifted at your waist, pressing just enough to make you aware of it. Alpha’s gaze flicked briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes, a faint, knowing curve at the corner of his mouth.
“There it is,” he murmured. “That look.”
You swallowed. “What look?” You silently hated how breathless you already sounded.
“The one you get when you’re pretending you don’t know exactly what’s happening.” His voice dropped, warm with amusement. “You’ve had it all night. Every time I got too close. Every time I didn’t listen and stayed in the line of fire.”
You huffed softly, trying to sound unaffected as you rolled your eyes. “You’re impossible.”
A quiet chuckle vibrated through his chest, close enough that you felt it. “Funny,” he said. “I was thinking the same thing about you. All business. All focus.” His thumb traced a slow, deliberate arc where his hand rested. “And still reacting to me like this.”
Heat bloomed low and undeniable. You shifted without meaning to, and his eyes darkened immediately.
“Careful, Doc,” he teased gently. “If you keep leaning in like that, someone might think you want this.”
You lifted your chin, meeting his gaze heatedly despite the way your pulse raced. “And what if I do?” you challenged.
That finally earned you a real smile, one that was slow, dangerous, and unmistakably pleased. “Then,” Alpha said quietly, leaning in just enough for his breath to brush your cheek, “I’d say you’ve earned a little more attention than I’ve been giving you.”
His hand didn’t move away.
If anything, it settled more firmly against your plush skin, claiming the space, the moment, the tension. It left the promise of what came next hanging deliciously between you.
Alpha’s thumb stilled at your waist, then resumed its slow, deliberate press, as if he were testing how aware you were of it. “You know,” he murmured, voice low and almost thoughtful, “For someone who insists she’s all business…you’re not very good at hiding when you want something.”
You scoffed softly, though your breath came out a little uneven. “Pretty bold claim.”
His eyes flicked to your mouth again, lingering this time. “Is it?” he asked quietly. “Because every time I get this close…” He leaned in just enough that his presence filled your senses. “…you stop pretending.”
Your pulse jumped. He felt it again and this time he smiled like he’d won something.
“Relax,” Alpha added, with warmth in his voice. “If I were going to push you, Doc, you’d know.” A pause. “This?” His thumb pressed just slightly more firmly. “This is me being patient.”
The implication settled heavy and electric between you.
“And if I stop being patient,” he continued softly, eyes never leaving yours, “I have a feeling you won’t complain.”
You hummed, eyes trailing over his features. “And if I did?”
He chuckled. “Every time you think you’re in control, Doc…you’re not.”
Your eyes lit up, something dark and dangerous. “So…show me who is.”
The challenge hung in the air between you, a gauntlet thrown down in the quiet room. The smile that had been playing on Alpha-17’s lips didn’t just widen, it sharpened. It was the look of a predator who had been invited to the hunt.
“Careful what you wish for, Doc,” he murmured, the words a low rumble that vibrated through your very bones. “You asked for this.”
His patience evaporated. The hand at your waist stopped its gentle teasing and tightened, fingers digging into your flesh with a possessive grip that stole the air from your lungs. He used that hold to pull you flush against him, the hard planes of his armor pressing into you, unyielding and absolute. The other hand shot up, tangling in your hair, his grip firm as he angled your head exactly where he wanted it.
There was no hesitation. No tentative first kiss. His mouth crashed down on yours, a claiming, a branding. It was hungry and demanding, his tongue sweeping past your lips to stake its claim. He tasted of ozone and smoke, something uniquely him, a flavor that was all Alpha-17. He kissed you like he was starving, like he’d been waiting for this moment for months and was finally taking what was his. A low groan rumbled in his chest when you kissed him back with equal fervor, your hands coming up to grip the pauldrons of his armor, holding on for dear life.
When he finally pulled back, it was only enough to speak, his lips brushing yours with every word. “That’s better,” he breathed, his voice thick with satisfaction. “No more pretending.”
He didn’t give you a chance to respond. He maneuvered you backward, his body a solid wall of muscle and plastoid guiding you until your back hit the cold metal of a supply crate. The impact was jarring, but his body was there immediately, caging you in, one hand slamming beside your head on the crate, the other still fisted in your hair. He loomed over you, a shadow of pure dominance, and the sheer scale of him in the small space was intoxicating.
“Look at you,” he growled, his gaze raking over your heaving chest and flushed face. “All that control, just…gone.” He leaned in, his nose tracing the line of your jaw. “You wanted to know who’s in charge? It’s me, mesh’la.”
His free hand left the crate, his movements sure and practiced as he found the hem of your shirt. He didn’t ask. He didn’t have to. With a single, decisive tug, he pulled it up and over your head, tossing it aside like it was nothing more than an inconvenience. The cool air hit your skin, pebbling your nipples into tight points, and you heard his breath hitch.
“Kriffing perfect,” he muttered, more to himself than to you. His eyes, dark and intense, devoured the sight of you. His hand returned, not to your waist this time, but to the large swell of your breast, his thumb brushing over your hardened nipple through the thin fabric of your bra. The touch was electric, a jolt of pure pleasure that shot straight to your core.
You arched into his touch, a soft gasp escaping your lips. The sound seemed to break something in him. His mouth was on you again, hot and demanding as he kissed a trail down your neck. He bit down gently where your neck met your shoulder, a sharp, possessive sting that made you cry out with want. He soothed the mark with his tongue, a wet, warm glide that only made the throb between your legs intensify.
“Alpha,” you gasped, his name a broken plea. “Please!”
“Say my name again,” he commanded against your skin, his voice a low growl. “I want to hear it when I make you fall apart.”
His hand left your breast, sliding down your stomach to the waistband of your pants. He paused, his fingers hooking into the fabric, his eyes locking onto yours. The question was clear, the final point of surrender.
You answered by lifting your hips, a silent, desperate permission.
He made a sound of pure, unadulterated triumph. In one fluid motion, he tugged your pants and underwear down your legs, letting them pool at your ankles. He didn’t bother removing them completely. He just spread your thick thighs with his knee, his gaze dropping to the slick, wet heat he’d just exposed.
“So responsive,” he praised, his voice thick with lust. “All this for me.” He ran a single finger through your folds, gathering your wetness on his fingertip. You whimpered, your hips bucking, seeking more. He brought his finger to his lips, his eyes never leaving yours as he tasted you. A slow, wicked grin spread across his face. “Delicious.”
Then he was on his knees before you.
The sight was enough to make your head spin, Alpha-17, the unshakeable ARC commander, kneeling at your feet, his face level with your most intimate place. He hooked one of your legs over his shoulder, opening you completely to his gaze. You didn’t even have time to feel self conscious about the width of your hips or the rolls on your stomach before his voice cut through the stillness again.
“Remember this feeling, Doc,” he said, his voice a dark promise. “Remember who’s making you feel it.”
And then his mouth was on you. He didn’t start slow. He licked a long, broad stripe up your slit, his tongue flat and firm, before circling your clit with devastating precision. He ate you out like a man possessed, all consuming hunger and absolute focus. He alternated between sucking your clit into his mouth and flicking it relentlessly with the tip of his tongue, his beard stubble a delicious friction against your sensitive skin.
Your hands flew to his hair, your fingers tangling in the curly strands as you ground your hips against his face. The pressure coiled in your belly, tight and hot, and you could feel yourself hurtling toward the edge with a speed that was almost frightening.
“Alpha… please,” you begged, not even sure what you were begging for.
He responded by doubling his efforts, one of his hands coming up to slide two fingers inside you. He curled them immediately, finding that spot inside you that made you see stars. He pumped them in and out, his mouth never ceasing its assault on your clit.
The orgasm that ripped through you was violent and all-consuming. It was a blinding wave of pleasure that crashed over you, stealing your breath and making your entire body shake. You cried out his name, a ragged, broken sound that echoed in the small room as you came against his mouth and his hand.
He didn’t stop. He worked you through it, his tongue and fingers drawing out every last spasm of pleasure until you were a boneless, panting mess against the crate. Only then did he pull back, his face glistening with your release, his expression one of smug satisfaction.
He rose to his feet, his movements fluid and powerful. He looked down at you, his chest heaving slightly, his eyes burning with a possessive fire that made your breath catch.
“We’re not done,” he stated, his voice leaving no room for argument. He reached for the fastenings of his codpiece, the sound of the armor plates clicking open loud in the sudden silence. “Not by a long shot.”
The heavy plates of his codpiece hit the floor with a clang that was deafening in the quiet room, but your attention was nowhere near the sound. Your eyes were locked on him, on the hard, thick length of his cock that sprang free from the confines of his blacks. He was already impossibly hard, flushed a dark, angry color and leaking at the tip. He was big, bigger than you’d let yourself imagine, and the sight sent a fresh jolt of pure, unadulterated lust through you.
He wrapped a hand around himself, giving a slow, deliberate stroke, his eyes never leaving yours. “See something you like, Doc?” he taunted, his voice a low, gravelly purr.
You could only nod, your mouth suddenly dry. You were honestly surprised he wanted more.
“Good,” he grunted. He stepped forward, crowding you against the crate again. His hands went to your hips, gripping you tight as he lifted you. It was effortless. Your legs locked around his hips and you gasped at the sensation of being in his arms, being wholly encompassed by his heat and strength.
He placed you on top of the cold metal crate, the sudden height putting you perfectly at eye level with him. He spread your legs with his hands, his fingertips digging into your thighs with enough pressure to leave bruises before positioning himself between them.
He leaned in, his mouth next to your ear, his breath hot against your skin. “I’m going to fuck you now,” he stated, it wasn't a question, it was a statement of fact. It made you whimper against him, wishing his shoulders were bare so you could feel his skin beneath your fingers. “I’m going to fuck you so hard you won’t remember your own name. All you’re going to remember is mine.”
He didn’t wait for an answer. He lined himself up with your entrance, the thick head of his cock teasing your slick, sensitive folds. He pushed in, just the tip, and the stretch was immediate, a delicious, burning pressure that made you gasp. Your hands flew to his shoulders, your nails digging into the fabric of his blacks beneath his pauldrons.
“Fuck,” you breathed, your head falling back against the wall. Your knees tightened around him, pressing into his ribs as you took in short, ragged breaths.
He chuckled, a dark, triumphant sound. “That’s the idea.” He pushed in further, inch by agonizing inch, his gaze locked on your face as he watched you take him. The stretch was intense, almost too much, but the way he was looking at you, like you were the most incredible thing he’d ever seen, made you want more.
You wanted all of him.
Finally, he was seated to the hilt, his hips flush against yours. He stilled for a moment, letting you adjust, letting you feel the sheer, overwhelming fullness of him. He was so deep, a solid, unyielding presence inside you.
“You feel that?” he growled, his voice strained with the effort of holding still. “That’s where you belong. Stretched around my cock.”
You couldn’t speak. You could only moan in response, your walls clenching around him involuntarily. You locked your ankles together behind his ass, urging him ever so slightly deeper, the head of his cock nudging your cervix and making you shudder bonelessly.
The movement seemed to be his breaking point. “That’s it,” he snarled. “Hold on.”
He pulled out almost all the way, then slammed back into you. The force of it stole your breath, a sharp cry tearing from your throat. He set a brutal, punishing rhythm, his hips snapping against yours with enough force to rock the crate beneath you. He was fucking you exactly as he’d promised; hard, deep, without mercy.
His hands were everywhere, gripping your hips, sliding up your back to tangle in your hair, pulling your head back so he could bite at your throat. He was marking you, claiming every inch of you. The sounds were obscene, the slap of skin on skin, his guttural grunts of exertion, your own desperate, breathless moans.
“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice rough. “I want you to watch me while I fuck you.”
You forced your eyes open, meeting his burning gaze. The intensity in his eyes was staggering, a raw, primal possessiveness that was both terrifying and incredibly arousing. He watched you as he drove into you, his expression a mask of concentration and pure lust.
“You’re mine,” he growled, punctuating the words with a particularly hard thrust that made you cry out. “Say it.”
“Yours,” you gasped, the word ripped from you. “I’m yours, Alpha.”
A triumphant snarl ripped from his chest. He shifted his angle slightly, and on the next thrust, the head of his cock slammed directly against your g-spot. Your vision went white, a blinding flash of pleasure so intense it was almost painful. A choked sob escaped your lips.
“There it is,” he grunted, a wicked grin spreading across his face. He’d found it. And now he was going to destroy you with it.
He aimed for that spot again and again, his hips a relentless, pistoning machine. The pressure inside you built at an alarming rate, a tidal wave of pleasure threatening to drown you completely. You were so close, teetering on the edge of a precipice.
“Alpha… I can’t…” you whimpered, your body trembling uncontrollably.
“Yes, you can,” he ordered, his voice leaving no room for argument. One of his hands snaked between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing it in tight, merciless circles. “Come for me. Now.”
The command was all it took. The orgasm that ripped through you was cataclysmic, a supernova of pleasure that obliterated everything else. You screamed his name, your body convulsing, your inner walls clamping down on him like a vise as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed over you.
The feel of you pulsing around him was his undoing. With a guttural roar, he buried himself deep inside you one last time, his body going rigid as he poured himself into you. You could feel the hot, thick spurts of his release as he came, his face buried in the crook of your neck, his harsh, ragged breaths the only sound in the world.
For a long moment, you both just stayed like that, slumped against each other, your bodies slick with sweat and trembling in the aftermath. He was still inside you, a heavy, comforting weight. The low hum of the generator was the only sound that broke the silence, a steady reminder of the world outside this small, shattered bubble.
Finally, he lifted his head, his eyes soft as they met yours. He brushed a stray strand of hair away from your face, his touch impossibly gentle after the ferocity of what had just happened.
“Told you I’d make you fall apart,” he murmured, a ghost of a smirk on his lips. He leaned in and kissed you, a soft, lingering kiss that was a stark contrast to the brutal claiming from before. This one was slow, deep, and full of a quiet satisfaction that was somehow more overwhelming than the raw lust from moments earlier.
When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours. “Stay with me tonight, Doc,” he said, his voice quiet, almost vulnerable. “Just…stay.”
The quiet vulnerability in his voice was more disarming than any command he’d ever given. It was a crack in the formidable armor of Alpha, a glimpse of the man beneath the commander. You felt your chest tighten with an emotion that was far too complicated to name, something that went far beyond the raw lust of moments before.
You lifted a hand, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw, feeling the rough stubble there. “I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered, and the simple truth of the words settled between you, solid and real.
A soft sigh escaped him, and the tension in his shoulders seemed to melt away. He leaned into your touch, just for a second, before his usual decisive nature took over. With a gentleness that was startling, he eased out of you, the loss of his presence leaving you feeling strangely empty. He reached down, grabbing your discarded trousers and helping you slide them back on, his hands lingering on your hips. He then pulled your shirt over your head, his knuckles brushing against your cheek as he did.
He didn’t bother with his own armor. He simply scooped you up into his arms, one arm behind your back and the other under your knees, as if you weighed nothing. You looped your arms around his neck, burying your face in the crook of his shoulder, breathing in the scent of smoke, sweat, and him.
He carried you past the main room and down the short hallway to the bunk rooms, kicking open the door to the one he always claimed. It was sparse, just a narrow bunk and a footlocker, but it was private. He laid you down on the thin mattress with a reverence that made your heart ache, then stretched out beside you, pulling the scratchy military blanket over both of you.
He didn’t say anything. He just pulled you into his arms, your back flush against his chest, his body a solid, warm presence behind you. His arm wrapped around your waist, holding you close, and you could feel the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart against your back. It was grounding, a silent promise that you were safe, that you were his.
You lay there in the semi darkness, the low hum of the generator a familiar lullaby. The adrenaline was gone, replaced by a bone deep exhaustion and a profound sense of peace. You could feel the faint, tender ache between your thighs, a physical reminder of his possession, but it was a comforting ache, a mark of his claim.
His lips brushed the crown of your head. “Sleep,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble. “I’ve got you.”
And for the first time since you’d landed on this karking rock, you believed it. You let your eyes drift shut, your body relaxing completely into his embrace, and drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep, held securely in the arms of the man who had both broken you and put you back together again.
Rancor Rehabilitator: I just can't figure out why the others keep rejecting her. They won't spend more than a handful of minutes with her...
Banshee, after exchanging a few grunts and growls with the rancor: I can see why...
Rehabilitator: Fantastic! What is it?
Banshee: She's speaking the language, but she's not saying anything...
Thorn: What does that mean?
Banshee: Exactly what I said, bro.
Rehabilitator: ...She's...speaking the language...but...she's not...saying anything...I don't understand.
Banshee: MAN! Uh...My socks are dry, don't eat my files.
Rehabilitator: Pardon?
Banshee: My socks are dry! Don't eat my files!
Thorn: Banshee, I think you're having a medical emergency...
Rehabilitator: Wait...No, he isn't. He's speaking our language, but he isn't saying anything!
Banshee: Kriff yeah! He gets it!
Thorn: So she sounds like she's having a stroke?
Banshee: I mean, sort of? A rancor wouldn't see it as a stroke, though. They'd just see it as something wrong. If they don't know what's wrong with something as big as they are, they see it as a danger. Kind of like that dude outside of Privvy's that yells about the old gods of the sewer and insects rising up out of the freshers.
Rehabilitator: I know who you mean. Why haven't they arrested that man yet?
Thorn, ready to spill the tea: Ok, so what I was told--
Banshee: Can we get back to the babe here?
Rehabilitator: Babe?
Banshee: Yeah, bro. She's a total babe for a rancor.
Rehabilitator: We need to get her socialized then! We need more of these creatures breeding in the wild.
Thorn: So how do we do that?
Banshee: I dunno, man...You can't just make her observe the others from a cage, because she's just gonna try to talk to them and get discouraged when they try to get away from her. She wouldn't really get holo recordings of other rancors either. They're just background noise to rancors, or the tiniest blue rancors they've ever seen. So...maybe I can talk to her in my free time? I know she's trying, so I'm not gonna just walk away from her like the other rancors. She'll learn like the little ones learn, by listening and repeating.
Rehabilitator: That would be fantastic!
Thorn: ...Something tells me you wouldn't tell us if there was any other way to do this...
Banshee: Nope.
Thorn, sighing: Sure, let me just ask Fox if I can send one of my men into a cage with a rancor every chance he gets...
Banshee: If he's got a problem with it, he cAN KARKING FIGHT ME!!!
Rehabilitator: ...?
Thorn, proverbial cup overflowing with tea: Ok, so what happened was--
Summary: What do a murder, a personal assistant, and a massif hound have in common? Commander Fox. Typically, an assignment with the Coruscant Guard is reserved for the hand picked candidates of the Commander. And when you’re suddenly thrust into the world of the Corrie Guard, you quickly realize that you’ve got your work cut out for you in dealing with Marshal Commander Fox.
Pairing: Commander Fox x Reader
Warnings: 18+, MDNI. Eventual Smut, Canon Typical Violence
Words: 3,931
A civ.
Of all the karking things on the planet, he had to get stuck with a civ.
The Chancellor had been very insistent about the change, and Fox hadn’t really had a choice in the matter. His protests had fallen on seemingly deaf ears.
”Nonsense, Commander. You and your men work ceasingly to keep the peace on Coruscant. You all need someone to keep some semblance of peace within your units. That’s why I’ve assigned her to you.”
That was the response he’d gotten any time Fox had tried to fight the ‘new recruit’.
What made it considerably worse was that he wasn’t given much notice. And it seemed, neither were the senators that you worked with. While Mas Amedda and the Chancellor were content to watch from their office deep within the Rotunda, Fox had to deal with the chaos of the fallout.
He read the file. The woman that the Chancellor had picked out seemed competent, but that wasn’t the problem.
While she had undoubtedly gone through any number of background checks and security passes to work with the multitude of Senators, Fox hadn’t been able to do his own investigation. He knew little about the woman besides her name, and that she was a Coruscant native. She’d come from the lower levels, but there wasn’t much else in her biography.
He tried to dig, he really did. With what little information he had, he was able to gather that she was known for her discretion and care when it came to dealing with sensitive situations. She had a reputation for being able to keep things close to the vest, which was exactly why she was perfect for politics.
And it meant he wouldn’t be able to trust her.
Not for a while.
And it had almost sent him into a spiral.
She was from the lower levels, and that would indicate she had a rough upbringing. She would have had to fight her way to the upper levels, which would mean that she would have had to make a name for herself somehow. Would that be from just being discreet? Or for something else? Was she an information broker? What if she was a mole? What if she was reporting sensitive information to the not-so-kosher senators?
What if, what if, what ifwhatifwhatifwhatif-
So when she’d sent a mail with a short introduction and a request for comm channel access, he’d immediately slammed up all defenses.
The Chancellor and Amedda might have stuck their fingers in and stirred his pot, but Fox was not about to let a civilian have access to their comms. That was the last thing he needed. It was bad enough that he was required to give her access to their network whenever she officially started. He wanted to keep her away from their internal talks as much as possible for as long as he could.
~*~*~*~
He’d heard her knocking on the door, quietly announcing herself, but he remained firmly planted in his seat. His finger tapped rhythmically on his desk as he stared at the door, the alert blinking dimly in the corner of his HUD to alert him of movement on the camera outside his door.
He waited another moment and hummed in mild contentment as she rapped five times on the door again after precisely five minutes.
Tap. Tap. Tap, tap, tap.
Fox tagged the security footage, eyes narrowing as he took in her form. She stood with impeccable posture, her hands clasped behind her back as she waited.
And waited.
And waited.
For the answer to the door that was inevitably not going to come.
Every squad knew the rules. And if this civ was going to survive more than a day, she was going to have to learn them too.
He cocked his head slightly as he watched a visible debate flicker across her features before four more knocks on the door.
Good, he thought.
He turned his attention back to the datapad in front of him, looking down and seeing her mail from the previous evening, saying that she was looking forward to working with him and his men.
Swiping it away, he carefully tapped a few new letters into the rotation on the debriefing schedule.
Additional person in the rotation. Debriefs usually take less than five minutes each, three if it was quiet. If she keeps it concise, we should stay on schedule.
He took a deep breath and leaned forward, adjusting the holocomm on his desk, before standing and taking off his helmet to run both hands through his hair.
It was going to be a long day.
~*~*~*~
It started off easy enough. Fox kept working through the overnight reports and filings as he tapped in the code to the lock. The door opened and three officers followed by the civ quietly stepped inside, all standing in line at attention in front of his desk.
He quietly finished signing off on the last document, watching the woman out of the corner of his eye. It didn’t escape his notice that she did a quick check of the surroundings, eyes clocking the door behind her as the only visible exit before settling on the shielding of the duraglass. He watched as she nodded imperceptibly before taking in the rest of the surroundings…and him.
When he finally released his breath and looked up, the sound coming from his vocoder was harsh. “Report.” he grunted.
Thorn was first, followed by Hound and Grizzer, and then Stone.
While Fox resisted the urge to toy with the large flat disk he kept on his desk, he allowed his finger to tap on the arm of his chair.
He narrowed his eyes when he noticed the woman tense ever so slightly at the mention of the warrants.
Interesting.
“Shiny.” he said.
The rest of his men turned to her and she stared into his blank visor, a bit of panic written on her face. But, she stepped up and cleared her throat before introducing herself and explaining her presence.
Though Fox knew why, he was curious to know what she knew. Or what she was told.
When it was clear she was finished, Fox turned back to his datapad. Another complaint had come through, this time from one of the flight decks.
“Dismissed.”
Three sets of footsteps began to head for the door.
“Sir?” she asked, somewhat nervously.
“I said, dismissed, Shiny.” he growled.
But apparently, it wasn’t getting the message across. “I…don’t understand. What exactly is it you want me to do? I’ve been trained in several areas-”
Fox angrily slammed his fist down on the desk, making her visibly jump. He tried to control the shake in his voice and the rage that settled deep in the back of his mind. “Shiny. I gave you an order. I’m not going to tell you again.” he said deliberately, turning to face her. Her eyes were wide as he glowered at her, though his expression was hidden beneath his bucket.
She tried to read his body language, eyes skimming over his frame. He noticed her fingers curl tightly around the strap of her bag and her chest expand as she took a deep breath. “…yes sir.”
He heard the lock click back into place when the door slid shut behind her and he leaned his head back against his chair with a sigh.
Thorn likes her already. Stone was shifted toward her, so he more than likely feels protective. Interesting. Hound seems indifferent.
He kept tabs on her through the day, watching with mild surprise as she tidied up Hound’s caf room with care, making sure to replace everything the way she’d found it each time she used something and cleaned each of the mugs from when they were used that morning. He watched in amusement as she tried to figure out where she would set up a workspace, and he could see the thought process on her face.
But he clenched his fists so tight that the leather of his gloves squeaked as his fingers tensed against each other when he saw her chosen area.
She carefully tucked herself out of the way and made herself comfortable on the floor.
Fox thought he might physically explode.
He stood up abruptly, his chair rolling away from behind him as he muttered a string of colorful curses under his breath.
“Fucking hell. No. She can’t work on the kriffing floor.”
He watched with horror as she sipped her caf and adjusted her glasses, typing away at her datapad and snatching a notebook out of her bag a moment later.
Fox couldn’t take it. He ripped his helmet off, practically throwing it on his desk, and gripping his overgrown curls at the roots. His breath was beginning to come in rapid succession, something he knew he needed to get a handle on before it became ragged gasps and a fight for control of the panic that was settling in his stomach.
There were so many problems with that scenario.
So many.
First of all, she was in the way. What were to happen if any of the Guards were to be making their rounds and fall over her? Either one of them could be injured because of her carelessly having her things scattered around the hallway. God forbid the Chancellor decide to make a surprise visit to the RJCDC and find her strewn about. Not to mention how dirty that had to be. He was going to have to make sure she had those clothes dry cleaned before she came in wearing them again. And how did that look? Fox was supposed to have a new member on his staff, and he didn’t even have a place for her to work?
No, no, no-
This needs rectified immediately.
His fists moved from his hair to the edge of his desk and his arms shook.
“Get ahold of yourself,” he said quietly. He closed his eyes and tapped a quiet rhythm on his desktop before inhaling a shaky breath.
Fox straightened after a moment, blinking several times and recollecting himself. He did need to fix the situation, and his mind began working overtime on different viable options.
~*~*~*~
He was brought out of reading the newest casualty report by the sound of rapid knocking on his door. A deep scowl set in his face as he looked up, glancing at the camera on his HUD.
“Commander? she called, her voice smooth, yet nervous. She shook her head with a sigh, her ponytail bouncing around her face. “Look, I don’t know if you have your own hidden kitchen in there or what, but it’s getting close to lunch time. I can bring you something, if you need?”
Fox sighed, pressing two fingers into the temple of his helmet, wishing it was his head so he could rub some of the pressure away.
She was giving him a headache.
He had a schedule to keep. And taking a break for lunch wasn’t really a top priority.
Fox could hear the irritation building in her voice, though, he gave her point for retaining her professionalism.
“I’ll go ahead and assume you don’t want any caf…last chance to change your mind, Commander.”
Fox shook his head, trying to put his focus back on the report. His eyes skimmed the names and numbers, his breath caught in his throat as he prayed to whatever diety was listening that he wouldn’t recognize any of them.
“Fine, suit yourself. But if they happen to have Colo Claw Fish tails, don’t complain to me that you didn’t get any. I offered to bring you some.”
He started, blinking rapidly and dropping his datapad.
Colo Claw Fish tails? he thought. How did she…
He watched as she turned and walked away, leaving him in peace for the first time that day. He stared at the security cam footage for a moment, clenching and unclenching his jaw as he thought.
Perceptive. I wonder if she picked that up herself or if one of the boys told her.
In all honesty, neither option would surprise him. He wouldn’t put it past either of them to say something just to annoy the hell out of him or to try and get under his skin.
Either way, he shook it off and took a deep breath, trying to refocus his mind to the task at hand.
When he found he had to rewind the footage for the third time, he decided it was time to get up and pace the length of his office several dozen times.
~*~*~*~
Fox groaned, almost dropping his bucket onto the desk when his comm dinged. When he looked at it, her name appeared, followed by five attachments. He slammed his report down onto the desk, instead picking up his datapad. He opened the message and skimmed through it before stopping and setting the pad down.
He yanked the bucket from his head, practically throwing it to the side, before picking up the datapad again and thoroughly reading the message again.
‘Commander, I came across some information I thought you’d find interesting, and I hope this helps. Please let me know if there’s anything I can do to assist.’
She’d signed her name, keeping it short and sweet.
There was a record for Zilcar Saun attached, which he opened first. The mugshot pictured a teenager, about fifteen, with chocolate skin covered in freckles. There were piercings in his nose and eyebrows, the side of his head was shaved, and the rest of his hair was twisted into long dreadlocks. What caught his attention was the tattoo on his throat, which was another of the attachments.
There was a close up of the ink, showing the five elongated diamond blades angling out to splay out across his collar bones.
The next attachment was for an arson case that had lost traction about two months ago. There were a few suspects that he’d been interested in, but it had been pushed to the back burner for the more pressing cases. He frowned as he scrolled through the file. Zilcar’s name wasn’t mentioned, but there was another Saun. This time it was Rolori.
Fox opened Rolori’s file. He looked similar to Zilcar, but with several noticeable differences. His skin was several shades lighter than Zilcar’s, and it was also spotted with Vitiligo. His black hair was cut in an unruly mohawk of curls, with splotches of white scattered among the dark strands. Down and across his left eye was almost a perfect diagonal line of spots, bleaching his eyelashes and changing his dark brown eye to a light grey.
The same tattoo adorned Rolori that covered Zilcar’s throat, though white ink covered the dark skin and black ink covered the pale skin.
Fox frowned and continued reading through the file. He was a typical low level criminal with a record. He’d been arrested for theft, assault, spice distribution, and a charge of manslaughter. Somehow, he’d managed to avoid being locked up every time. The evidence against him was all circumstantial, witnesses seemed to decide to back out of testifying, and the cases would fall apart.
When he was questioned as a person of interest in the arson case, he was quieter than a commando droid in stealth mode. Fox had several cameras capture him in the area around the time the warehouse went up in flames. But that was the only thing he had, and Fox couldn’t hold him on that alone.
The warehouse that had exploded was part of a manufacturing business, one that a lot of mechanics on the surrounding levels sourced parts from. While it wasn’t on his list of what the Chancellor considered top priority investigations, Fox still considered it high enough on the list to warrant attention. He’d been more than a little irritated when he’d received orders to pull his men off the investigation for additional security around the Rotunda.
Fox rubbed his jaw before letting out a frustrated sigh and setting the pad back on his desk. He remembered questioning the majority of shop owners, including Arall Mor, the owner of Scrap and Scarab. The Twi’lek had seemed aloof and uninterested, which only served to heighten Fox’s interest in the establishment.
And when he looked at the Saun brothers’ tattoo, he worked his jaw as he realized they weren’t the only two he’d remembered seeing them on.
While theirs had been blatantly inked onto their throats, Arall’s had wrapped around his wrist.
There was another con that he remembered coming across, a Chiss woman named Tevash
She was one that had an incredibly long rap sheet. Homicide, assault, arson, robbery, torture, and about a thousand other things Fox didn’t care to think about. He ran into her once. And she left him with a scar he wouldn’t soon forget.
He was investigating the death of a senator’s aide a year ago, found decapitated and dismembered in an alley near GearHead Solutions Supply, which just so happened to be the warehouse that had been set on fire recently. At the time, senator Divinian had been trying to smooth over some rumors about his questionable involvement in the Commerce Guild. His aide, a young Nabooian man named Brotris, had been attending a meeting in his place. From what Fox understood, it was some sort of bartering disagreement between Divinian and Ormo Hyn that led to Brotis attending the negotiations for additional trade access.
Brotis’ head had been pinned to the wall of the alley with an electrostaff, tears of blood spilling down his cheeks. And while he wasn’t the intended target, the message was received.
Had Senator Divinian attended that meeting, he would have been the one found in the alley, despite his ties to the Commerce Guild, and their deeper connections.
Fox had found Tevash two weeks later, blending in well enough with a crowd of low-level bounty hunters, mercenaries, dealers, pimps, and assortment of other unfriendly types. She informed him that she wasn’t the enforcer he was looking for, that he would find his interests much more attracted to the Devaronian brute named Jeddik who did most of Arall’s bidding.
And when Fox wasn’t happy with that answer…well.
He had more than a few days recovery in medical.
During the altercation with Tevash, Fox had clocked the same tattoo that the Saun brothers and Arall carried. And while theirs were sharp and blunt, Fox remembered that Tevash’s was more…delicate. It had wrapped around her ear, the blades fanning out and embellished like crystals. He would have to look through old bucket footage to find the stills, but if he remembered right, there were Milla and Zeilla flowers woven amongst branches of thorns.
Of course, that side of her head had been shaved at the time, fresh wounds from a Nexu having been slathered in bacta gel, so the tattoo was easier to spot.
Fox was sure now of a connection between them, even if it only came from a little patch of ink. But if it involved the murder of a senator’s aide, arson, and theft, Fox was going to have a much bigger problem on his hands. That was the perfect trifecta for a rising crime family…just what he needed.
He leaned back in his chair, letting out a long sigh as he did. He scrubbed a hand down his face before carefully massaging his temples.
Shiny’s got some good investigative skills, I’ll give her that, he thought, grunting while he tried to fight off the headache he could feel building behind his eyes. No wonder the senators kept her around. Quick on her feet, thinks for herself, takes initiative. I’ll have to have a chat with Amidala about her.
He had to admit that he was mildly impressed with the information she presented him with. It helped him connect a few dots, line up a few puzzle pieces. But on the other hand, it just made him ask more questions about her.
There was still something that sent alarm bells ringing in the back of his mind, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.
~*~*~*~
Link, Codex, Stasis, and Bolts made quick work of their check in, which Fox was thankful for. The shift change was an easy one, and he just hoped he wouldn’t be drowning in cases by the time he walked into his office the next morning.
He pulled his helmet back down over his head, a light groan following the motion as an ache settled in his shoulders. A hot shower and a few hours of sleep would do him wonders. He slowly pushed away from his desk and stood, pushing his datapad back to the center before adjusting the few stacks of papers and scanning the room to make sure everything was in order.
He placed his fists on his back just above his hips and leaned over them slightly, grunting with satisfaction at the few pops that echoed in the silence. He huffed a sigh and rolled his neck and shoulders before heading toward the door. It was 0200, and he was ready for his shift to be over.
He headed to the door, mentally running through the list of things he would need to do when he reached his quarters.
Ration bar, shower, review Senator Mothma’s request for an excursion to the lower levels,
He opened the door and moved to step out, jumping in surprise at the form leaning against the doorframe. His hand reached for the blaster on his belt, fingers wrapping around the grip like a vice before he recognized her.
She mimicked his action, letting out a noise somewhere between a squeak and a yelp as she quickly threw herself away from the doorframe and scrambled to her feet, hurrying to fix her glasses as she did.
“Commander,” she said, sounding more than a little flustered. “I’m sorry, I meant to have all this picked up-”
Fox brought up the hand that had been wrapped around his blaster, bringing her stammering to a halt. “Shiny,” he began, his tone harboring both irritation and a bit of admiration, “What the hell are you still doing here?” He tilted his head as he looked her up and down, taking in the scattered datapads, comms, holopads, and notebooks. He was honestly surprised she was still there. He thought she would’ve been gone hours ago.
She cleared her throat and shifted awkwardly, gesturing to his office weakly as if that explained everything. “You, uh, never left…” she said softly. Fox raised an eyebrow beneath his helmet and she continued. “It’s my job to be here when you are…so…here I am…heh.”
He continued staring for a long moment, working his jaw as he tried to fit all the new puzzle pieces together. The ones he thought were falling into place were now quickly being thrown into the incinerator.
Finally, he sighed. “Go home. Get some rest.” he said.
She blinked at him before nodding and murmuring a quiet, “Yessir,” and bending to gather her things and shove them into her bag. She moved quickly, though she was still riddled with sleep. Fox watched as she straightened and gave him a curt nod.
“Good night, Commander.”
He grunted in response and she walked away, adjusting her glasses again.
He had a lot of work to do. So much for a quiet night.
A/N: Hey guys :) Just wanted to let you know that this is a scheduled update. I'm on a bit of a hiatus right now. I'm taking a break from my socials for a while, but I still love you all and will be popping into my emails once in a while to check on everyone ❤️
its actually so clear which of you are either young, or new to fandom based on what freaks you out
now none of this is to say you have to reader any of this, but anyone that’s been on tumblr or divienart or just fandom spaces the last ten years or more has seen things some of yall would freak about
forget giving a Victorian child McDonald’s sprite, a tumblr feed from 2012 could kill yall instantly.
Somewhere, fandom became so fucking sanitized and you can tell because “this isn’t canon” “that character wouldn’t” “this sex isn’t realistic” became common phrases
I grew up reading dark fanfiction and bdsm fanfiction in my early teens and never once did I take it as gospel or what sex should he like. I learned on my own what I am into and what safety during sex should be.
There’s a lot of jokes about the my mom sold me to one direction brand fanfiction where reader takes her hair into a messy bun but that is far from all there was.
avengers mpreg, Wincest, Twincest, non con, gayness everywhere, gender swaps and trans characters, every kink you could imagine and every interpretation of a character possible.
you didn’t wanna read Thor getting Loki pregnant? You just go “by golly how strange” and move on.
you think someone’s characterization is wrong? Well you either move on or read it anyway
you wouldn’t last a day in the asylum where they raised me (2013 Superwholock)
Fox: I have always been nothing short of loyal to this Republic, and to you, Chancellor...
Palpatine: ...That sounds suspiciously like something that would be followed by a--
Fox: BUT if you don't get your hand off of my lower back right now, I will show you how enhanced a clone's strength is by tearing your testicles off with nothing but my bare hand and the fury of the clones that have had to suffer the unwanted touches of politicians since the day they arrived on Coruscant.
Palpatine removes his hand from Fox.
Fox: Thank you.
Palpatine: For the record, I was just guiding you through the appropriate door, Commander...
Fox: Noted. My threat still stands.
Palpatine, clearing his throat: Noted.
Warnings: +18 MDNI, slight exhibitionism, hair pulling, unprotected PiV sex, outdoors sex, mentions of sexting, glove kink if you squint, the armor stays on, enjoy lol
A/N: If you haven't read part 1, this might not make a whole lot of sense but if you're just here for the filth, then you could probably skip the first part lmao. I'm not even sorry for the person I become when it comes to writing Fox 😈
Part 1
It was easy to forget how populated the city-planet was until you were hundreds of feet in the air, your speeder bike cutting through traffic lanes. Coruscant's air was slightly less polluted this high up, the smog hanging somewhere below your dangling feet, and you savored the fresh air.
Well, as fresh as Coruscant could be.
Your heart skipped when the familiar imposing shape of the Coruscant Guard's headquarters came into view. It had been about a week since your mission with a certain Marshal Commander, and to say you were excited to see him again was an understatement. Hells, you couldn't even think too hard about him without remembering how he tasted.
That was something you knew now, and your treacherous brain made sure to remind you far too often.
The soles of your boots had barely hit the duracrete outside the club when Fox’s com had started to chime, and even with the modified helmet on, you could see how he had deflated. You barely said goodbye before he took off, jogging to the nearest landing pad in time for a gunship to swoop down into view. At least he looked just as disappointed as you felt before the larty whisked him away.
The details of his assignment were need-to-know - you knew better than to ask - but the first message that came through one evening helped. His messages were scattered and irregular, but he kept up the conversation throughout the week since you last saw him. Conversations ranged from innocent ‘how is your day?’ to messages that had you setting your datapad down and hoping no one noticed the wide-eyed look on your face as you shifted in your seat.
Yeah, this visit was long overdue.
Bringing your speeder closer to the surface, you merged into the skylane that would bring you around to the Guard’s headquarters, and your heartbeat skipped. Even in the middle of the day, the military police headquarters was intimidating. Red dots moved about near the front of the building in perfectly spaced lines, and if you didn't know any better, you'd automatically assume their superior was a dick.
Well. He kind of was, but that was beside the point.
Cutting a sharp left, you slowed to a reasonable speed, deciding to avoid the spectacle it would be if you used the main entrance and headed for one of the landing pads near the back of the building you were more accustomed to using. Thankfully, the landing pad was empty and covered in shadows.
The brakes squealed as you brought the bike to a stop, and you flinched. Making a mental note to call your usual garage later, you shut the engine down, unaware of the shadow lingering in the doorway. The fumes weren't as heavy on the surface, but it was a noticeable difference, and you tried not to grimace as you climbed off the bike. Maybe one day you'd get used to it.
Wrapped up in your random train of thought, you missed when the shape near the door moved closer, just enough to make the paint on his armor discernible. You nearly jumped out of your skin when you turn toward the building. Shock outweighed your joy for a few precious moments.
"Stop hiding in the shadows like a creep," you huffed, thinking about tossing your riding goggles at his stupid head. The urge didn't go away when his armored shoulders shook faintly with silent laughter.
“Wasn’t hiding,” Fox countered, pulling his helmet off to reveal the faint smirk on his face. Maker, how did it make you want to kiss him more?
“Hm, seemed like it to me,” you mumbled, tucking your goggles into the saddlebag beside your leg. You didn’t turn to look at him, mostly because you didn’t want him to see the smirk on your face but also because you were curious about what he’d do. Some of the messages he sent you the last few days were…detailed. “I think you were hoping to sneak up on me.”
A low hum was Fox’s only response, and it took considerable effort to stop the gasp from tumbling past your lips when you realized he was close enough that you could lean back against his chest if you wanted. Gods above, you were on a landing pad where anyone could walk through the door, but apparently, Fox didn’t give a shit. Honestly, you didn’t either when he leaned down, his soft exhale brushing past your ear.
“And if that was my plan? Then what?”
He hadn’t even touched you yet, and it felt like you were going to disintegrate on the spot. Well, a week's worth of subtle and not-so-subtle teasing would do that, you supposed.
“Then I’d hope you’d follow through with one of those ideas I’ve heard so much about,” you whispered, leaning back just enough to feel the brush of his chest plate against your shoulder blade. “My personal favorite was something about bending me over this bike.”
This time, you did gasp when Fox pulled you against his chest, the harsh cut of his codpiece pressing against your ass. You couldn’t care about that, though, when he growled, and the sound sent a wave of heat pumping through your veins. You wanted to hear it again.
“Oh, I will, cyar’ika, don’t worry,” Fox murmured, nudging the side of your face. His lips brushed your cheek as he spoke, and his grip on you slackened only for him to knead your hips gently. “But that’ll be for later.”
It took all your self-control not to bodily drag Fox onto the speeder and race back to your apartment. Then one of his hands started to drift down, his fingers teasing the top of your pants, and instead of pulling away, you leaned more of your weight into him, one of your hands drifting back to trace the outside of his thigh plate.
“You’re done for the day, so what’s stopping you?” You felt his sigh before you heard it, and that alone had your hopes plummeting.
“Senate called an emergency meeting. Either I’m stuck here until they’re done or switch places with Stone.” His wandering hand doesn’t stop, sending a chill racing across your skin when just the tips of his gloved fingers slip under the waistband of your pants. “Can’t leave just yet, but I’d still rather be here.”
At this point, you’d take whatever relief you could get.
“You’re on call, then?” Laughter rumbled against your back, and you would’ve smiled, but the open-mouthed kiss just under your ear wiped any coherent thought from your mind. All you could think about was Fox’s mouth and his hand slipping further into your pants.
“Yeah, but pretty sure Thire isn’t gonna call me unless the galaxy’s on the verge of ceasing to exist.”
Even though the situation wasn’t ideal, it was better than nothing.
Fox’s eyes were bright even in the shadows of headquarters when you twisted your upper body around to see his face.
“Good to know,” you whispered before pulling him into a heated kiss. The ghost of the first kiss you shared with Fox had been haunting you since it happened, but this time was different, hungrier. The bitterness of caf lingered on his tongue as it slid into your mouth, and you sighed, releasing the side of his thigh to grip his vambrace.
The contact made his fingers twitch, the fabric of his gloves brushing over your sensitive skin just enough to force a pathetic sound past your lips. Every inch of your body was humming with need like you hadn’t experienced in a long time, if ever. You blamed it on the steamy messages that were finally becoming a reality and the pent-up frustration you’d been shoving down for nearly a year now.
You blamed that when you tugged Fox’s arm, whining against his lips, “Please.”
This close, you could feel the shudder that rippled through his body, and the hand still holding your hip tightened, keeping you in place. Your mouth dropped open, but no sound came out; every thought in your head was obliterated as Fox slid a finger through your soaked folds.
When you finally opened your eyes, his face was out of focus. Intense was a good word to describe Fox at times, and right now, it was the only word you could think of to describe the look on his face as he slowly slid a finger into you. The fabric of his gloves wasn’t unpleasant, but you were almost positive that anything he did at this point would drive you wild.
Fox drove you wild, plain and simple.
The deliberate pump of his finger made your lids heavy, and you clenched around the digit when the muscle in his jaw fluttered. In this position, you couldn’t move well, your hips trapped in place by his iron grip, and any attempt to grind against his hand was pointless. Although, your attempts at finding more friction seemed to goad Fox into giving you what you wanted anyway.
As he added a second finger, Fox’s eyes darted around your face like he was searing the visual of you like this into his mind. The soft, pleading whine of his name made his eyes darken, and his tongue poked out to wet his lips. Your eyes tracked the movement.
“Fuck me,” you whispered, finding his eyes.
“Right here?” Fox’s voice was rough, each word dragging over gravel as they passed his lips and your pussy clenched around his fingers. A sinful smirk lifted the corner of his mouth, and fuck, you never wanted to see someone’s face between your legs as bad as you did at that moment.
“What? Scared?” You wanted to pat yourself on the back for not sounding as ruined as you already felt.
Then, the smirk on Fox’s face turned wolfish.
The disappointment at being empty only lasted a few seconds, your head spinning when Fox pulled you around to face him. It had to be the armor that made him look so broad. Although, if you remember correctly (you remembered perfectly), his shoulders still looked just as wide when he wasn’t wearing armor.
The back of your legs bumped the seat of your speeder, and you slid onto the cushion without being prompted, fighting off a smirk when you leaned back against the control panel. Your feet came to rest on the housing holding the seat in place, your knees falling open as an invitation, and the way Fox’s eyes raked down your body made your walls flutter weakly.
Fox said nothing as he walked around to the back of the bike. The model you drove was compact, narrower than most, and Fox easily straddled the engine. Your throat clicked as your eyes trailed upward until you reached his face.
Maybe this position wasn’t the best idea when he’s looking down at you like that.
Shuffling forward, Fox gently knocked your feet off the durasteel, moving to stand over the seat and forcing your legs open wider to accommodate his hips. The kama hanging around his hips brushed against the material of your pants, and suddenly, you needed to feel him again.
The second his eyes dropped to your belt, your hands moved; Fox smirked, his hands resting on your knees. He took over once your pants reached your knees, and you tried not to snort at the few failed attempts at getting your pantleg over your boot. Any hint of amusement vaporized the second his fingers teased the inside of your thigh.
“Take my codpiece off.” The order - and that was exactly what it was - made you jump, forcing your attention away from the feather-light touch of his fingers.
For some reason, it wasn’t until that moment that you realized he was still fully armored…and would remain that way. Your lips parted around a nearly silent whine, but your hands were already moving to do as he said, even as his fingers wandered higher.
It took a few tries to find the correct clip, but once you did, Fox groaned low in his throat without the pressure of his armor. Gods, he looked bigger than you remembered, but before, you could only feel him through layers of clothing. If you were being honest, you never thought you’d get past a few fleeting touches.
This was much more than you expected. Not that you were complaining.
Your thoughts screeched to a halt when a finger hooked up the band of your panties. Your breath caught when Fox shuffled forward again, only to pause. Fox’s eyes darted around like he was looking for something, and you tried to follow his movements. When he huffed through his nose, you reached up to gently cup his face, drawing his eyes back to you.
“Probably should’ve thought about the logistics before we got here,” Fox mumbled, his nose wrinkling. The mannerism unique to him made you smile absently as you tried to think of a solution.
“Come on, handsome, you’re a Marshal Commander. Don’t think you can keep us upright and fuck me senseless at the same time.” It was meant to be a joke, and it came out that way, but when Fox’s dark eyes snapped to your face, all the moisture in your mouth evaporated.
All you could do was throw your arms around his shoulders to keep yourself from tumbling off the speeder when he suddenly pulled you further down, stretching you out under him. The hand not wedged between your bodies grabbed the valley between controls, bringing his face inches from yours, and your walls fluttered again.
“Watch me,” he growled.
A broken gasp was punched out of your chest when the head of his cock brushed through your folds, gathering your arousal, but it didn’t fully hit you that, yes, you were about to do this until he paused at your entrance. Your nails scrapped against his backplate, clawing to have him closer, and Fox didn’t make you wait long.
Lightning arced up your spine, your mouth dropping open as his hips shifted forward. It wasn’t until Fox’s mouth slanted over yours that you registered the high-pitched moan falling from your lips. Although he wasn’t much better, the kiss muffled his answering moan as he sank into you with care.
The pinch of his armor should’ve bothered you when his hips finally stopped moving, but the hint of pain only made the pleasure clawing its way out that much more intense. Fox shuddered when you whimpered.
“Fuck, you feel incredible,” he panted into your mouth, his free hand squeezing the side of your thigh.
“Fox,” you gasped, one of your hands sliding into his hair. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you made note that it was softer than you imagined. Then, he shifted his hips, and you might as well have forgotten what hair was. With a grunt barely muffled behind his teeth, Fox picked up a slow, careful pace that punched a broken sound past your lips that you tried to smother against the side of his neck.
The bike shook with every roll of his hips, and while you had teased him about it earlier, you genuinely hoped you wouldn’t tumble to the ground. At least it would be an interesting story.
As if he were reading your mind, Fox slid his hand up to your waist to coax your back to arch slightly so he could wrap his arm around you, lifting your hips in the process. The slight change forced your shoulders down against the control panel, and the next rock of his hips had stars exploding behind your eyelids. He wasn’t fast enough to muffle your cry this time, yet he didn’t seem to care anymore as he moved a little faster.
“There we go,” he rumbled, his lips brushing over the corner of your mouth.
Lights flashed in your vision, and you couldn’t tell if it was passing speeders or the pleasure blinding you at this point. Every nerve ending felt like it had been scorched, and Fox’s labored breathing and the occasional groan frayed your nerves even more. Your fingers tightened in Fox’s hair, and the answering moan that filled the air had you clenching around his cock, your back arching further.
“Do it again,” Fox panted, his hips moving faster and harder than before. The bike trembled dangerously, but you were too far gone to care. You blindly did as he asked while he zeroed in on the spot that made your body tense almost painfully. His voice broke around a soft cry when you tugged on his curls again, and a fresh wave of heat coursed through your veins.
Mindlessly, you forced your hand between your chest and Fox’s. The first brush of your fingers against your clit had every muscle pulling taut as you raced closer to the edge.
Fox cursed, blindly searching for your mouth as his thrust grew sloppy. The speeder bike’s frame whined under the strain.
You teetered on the edge for a heartstopping moment, blood rushing in your ears, and then the pleasure crested in a spectacular explosion of color. Fox shuddered against you, and you were almost too far gone to realize his hand had moved from the controls to cover your mouth.
Sensations blurred together until all you knew was Fox: the feel of his hips snapping against you one last time, the vibration of his chest as he groaned one last time, and the taste of his mouth on your tongue. You were addicted, without a doubt.
The bike wobbled when Fox slumped against you, the hard press of his chest plate forcing out the little bit of air in your lungs with a wheeze. The fragmented pieces of your awareness slowly knitted back together, your fingers absently combing through the curls on the back of his head. Your lashes fluttered when he shifted, the soft hum in the back of his throat vibrating against your chest.
The fucked out grin on his face had no right looking that good, and you vowed to see it again and again. As many times as he let you.
“Told you I could,” Fox mumbled, blindly searching for a handhold to take some of his weight off of you.
What he said sank in after a few seconds, and your borderline delirious laugh filled the air, making his smile grow.
“It wasn’t a challenge,” you managed between laughs, your smile matching his. Fox merely shrugged, but his smile faltered when he moved to stand straighter, his expression pinching briefly.
“Good, ‘cause my legs kinda hurt now.” Another laugh fell from your lips, echoing off the building surrounding you, and you pulled Fox back down into another kiss, smiling against his lips.
That was the first thing your brain managed to scream as you skidded into the dim corridor, pulse thundering louder than your boots. The Guard was two levels above, sweeping the old shipping docks like they actually believed you’d be stupid enough to double back.
And yet — here you were.
Because, apparently, you were that stupid.
Or maybe it wasn’t stupidity. Maybe it was the voice in the back of your head whispering a name you weren’t supposed to want to say.
Fox.
The second you rounded the corner, you knew something was off.
The corridor was too quiet. Too still. And the red wash of emergency lighting painted everything in heat and warning. You backed toward the shadows—
—and slammed into a body.
Solid. Warm. Unmovable.
You twisted, reaching for your blaster, but a gloved hand caught your wrist mid-draw.
“You really do like to get caught, don’t you?” came the voice, low and dark and infuriatingly amused.
Your heart jumped into your throat.
“Fox,” you hissed, trying to yank your arm back.
He didn’t let go.
Of course he didn’t.
His eyes dragged down your face, lingering just a second too long on your mouth before flicking up to meet your glare.
“I warned you,” he said, tone hushed. “Three times. Stay out of Guard territory. Stop poking around. But here you are. Again.”
“You always this obsessed with me?” you shot back, smirking despite yourself.
He chuckled. Not kindly.
“I’m not obsessed,” he murmured, voice dangerously close now. “But you are a problem I intend to fix.”
“And how do you plan to do that, Commander?”
His gaze darkened. Then, without warning, he shifted.
You barely had time to stumble back before he stepped forward — not with his hands, no.
With his foot.
A solid press of armored boot pinned your thigh to the wall, his knee braced between yours, holding you still.
You froze. Heat bloomed down your spine.
“Fox—”
“You’re reckless,” he said, voice low, lips close enough to make your breath catch. “You show up in places you shouldn’t. You run your mouth. You act like you’re untouchable.”
“I am untouchable,” you said, jaw tight, ignoring the heat pooling in your gut.
“No,” he murmured. “You’re not.”
His foot pressed a fraction tighter, just enough to make your mind swim.
Neither of you moved.
Seconds stretched like wire between clenched fists.
Then—his voice dropped lower.
“I should cuff you right now,” he said, eyes sharp. “Drag you back to Guard HQ. Let the others see what happens to people who test me.”
You lifted your chin. “But you won’t.”
He studied you.
And gods, you hated how well he read you.
“No,” he said finally. “I won’t.”
And just like that, he stepped back.
The air rushed between you like a vacuum breaking.
You stumbled, catching yourself on the wall, heart in your throat and skin still burning from where he wasn’t touching you.
Fox exhaled like he regretted everything.
“I don’t know what you’re trying to prove,” he muttered, turning to go. “But you’re playing with fire.”
“I think you like that about me.”
He paused.
Looked over his shoulder.
“I hate that about you,” he said. “That’s the problem.”
Then he was gone, boots echoing down the hall, leaving you flushed and breathless and absolutely wrecked.
You hated him.
You hated that you didn’t hate him enough.
---
You didn’t see him for five days.
Not that you were counting.
Not that you’d replayed the way he’d pinned you to the wall — with his foot — more times than you could justify.
You were working intel again, back-channel slicing for a Senator who didn’t know half of what she was sitting on. Boring. Predictable.
Safe.
Which was exactly why it felt wrong.
Because safety never had red armor.
Never looked at you like you were the last line before the cliff's edge — and he was already leaning too far over.
Then, on day five, he came back.
No warning.
No footsteps.
Just a sudden presence behind you in the shadowed alcove of a deserted corridor, where you were running surveillance traces in peace — until you weren’t.
“You always find the worst places to loiter,” he said.
You stiffened.
Turned slowly.
And found him leaning in the doorway, helmet off, eyes unreadable and dangerous.
“Fox,” you said, far too calmly.
He didn’t move. “Didn’t expect to see me again, did you?”
“I assumed you were busy wrangling your moral compass.”
His lips twitched — not a smile. Something more tired. More painful.
“You think I have one?”
“I think you want to.”
He stepped forward, and the corridor felt smaller.
You didn’t back up.
“I can’t afford to want things,” he said, voice barely above a whisper now. “I don’t get to want. Not in this job. Not with this face. Not when I—”
He stopped.
You tilted your head. “When you what?”
He looked at you like you were something he hated wanting.
Then — slowly — he reached out, his gloved fingers grazing the side of your neck. Light. Careful.
You swallowed.
“Do you know what it’s like,” he said, eyes fixed on your mouth now, “to have every piece of you trained to shut people out, only to have someone like you break through anyway?”
You couldn’t speak.
Didn’t need to.
His hand slid to your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek — and gods, he looked so angry about how much he wanted this. Wanted you.
“I dream about you,” he admitted.
You blinked.
“…What?”
He stepped closer. “I try not to. I tell myself it’s just stress. Just proximity. You’re loud. You push buttons.”
You huffed. “Thanks?”
“But then I see you,” he went on, voice rough. “And all I can think is that I want to tear you apart just to find the part of you that got under my skin.”
You sucked in a breath.
And this time, you were the one who moved first.
Fisting your hand in the collar of his armor, you pulled him forward, reckless, heat spiraling in your gut.
“You could’ve kissed me that night,” you said.
“I should’ve.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
He looked at you like he wanted to sink into your bones.
“Because if I started,” he said, “I wouldn’t have stopped.”
And then — finally — he kissed you.
Hard. Breathless. Like it had been burning in him since day one. Like if he didn’t, he’d lose whatever pieces of himself he still had.
You gasped against his mouth, and he pushed you back into the wall, all heat and teeth and frustration, hands braced on either side of your head.
You were both angry. Desperate. So full of need and guilt and want it hurt.
When you finally broke apart, gasping, lips bruised — you were shaking.
He pressed his forehead to yours.
“I still shouldn’t want this,” he whispered.
“But you do.”
“Yeah,” he breathed. “I really, really do.”
The kiss left your lips tingling.
Fox stood too close, the heat of his body almost unbearable in the tight corridor. His helmet hung from one hand, the other still braced against the wall beside your head, caging you in with silent intent.
You hadn’t moved.
Neither had he.
Your breath came fast, chest rising and falling in rhythm with the thundering of your pulse. Every inch of your skin was painfully aware of him — his scent, his stare, the slight curve of his mouth that never quite became a smile.
“You sure about this?” he murmured, voice low and frayed.
“You’re the one who kissed me.”
“Didn’t hear you complain.”
You met his gaze, defiant. “You planning to stand there all night or—?”
He cut you off with movement. Quick, fluid, overwhelming.
Your back hit the wall with a dull thud as his knee came between your thighs, pressing you in place. His hand found your jaw, tilting your face up with just enough pressure to make your breath hitch. The tension between you snapped tight like a tripwire.
"You think you’re clever," he said, his thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. "Waltzing into Guard HQ, flashing that look like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing to me."
“Maybe I don’t,” you whispered, the words trembling even as you smirked. “Why don’t you show me?”
That was all it took.
Fox surged forward, and his mouth crashed into yours with none of the careful restraint he usually wore like a second skin. It was unfiltered, raw — like he’d been holding back for far too long and the dam had finally cracked.
You kissed him back just as fiercely, fingers curling into the fabric at his waist, pulling him closer. His armor dug into you, cold and hard — a contrast to the heat that poured off his skin.
And then his hand was back at your hip, sliding down, gripping tight as if grounding himself. His thigh pressed firmer between your legs and your body reacted instinctively — arching into him, your breath catching in a way that made him growl low in his throat.
“You’ve got no idea what you’re doing to me,” he muttered against your jaw.
“I think I do,” you whispered. “You’re shaking.”
“So are you.”
His lips trailed lower, grazing the edge of your throat, biting gently at the curve before soothing it with a soft kiss. It wasn’t just passion. There was something deeper. Frustration. Longing. Need, frayed and tangled and barely held together by duty.
“I can’t think straight when you’re near me,” he admitted, voice rough. “You drive me halfway to hell and make me beg to stay there.”
You cupped the back of his neck, fingers threading into the short hair at his nape, pulling him down until your foreheads touched.
“I don’t want careful, Fox,” you whispered. “Not with you.”
His eyes met yours, dark and full of something that looked dangerously close to surrender.
“Then I’ll stop pretending,” he said. “But you’d better mean it. Because if I start—”
“I won’t want you to stop.”
For a breathless moment, neither of you moved.
Then he kissed you again.
And this time, there was no restraint left at all.
---
(MWAHAHA! Oh to be a tease. You want more don't you, you lovable yet filthy little degenerates!)
You are working in Senator Chuchis comitte and your life on Coruscant is not exactly how you had pictured it. But there is one good thing. Fox. You are best friends and he spends more nights crashing on your couch than in his barracks. You quickly caught feelings for him but you are pushing them away, afraid to ruin your friendship. But after an unlucky mistake you made things take a different turn.
Notes:
I’m a bit late to the game but this turned out too sweet not to publish it even if Valentines is over. The focus of the Festival was on the Bad Batch but my prompts were «workplace booty call» and «hang on, we’re going to fall off the bed» and we all know there is only one chronically overworked gruff clone that needs to be peeled from his desk so I decided to write this with Fox. This is a classic friends to lovers story that includes mutual pining, sending nudes to the wrong person, love confessions, a little pinch of hurt/comfort, lingerie, oral f and m receiving, PinV sex, unprotected, creampie and aftercare.
I hope you all like it. Comments, likes and reblogs appreciated as always.
Coruscant had never felt like home. It was too loud, too fast, and too indifferent. The Senate District was a machine that never stopped moving, and you were just one tiny cog in it—part of Senator Chuchi’s committee, buried under an endless pile of policy drafts, security protocols, and late-night crisis management. It wasn’t exactly what you had envisioned when you left your homeworld, but it was a step up, wasn’t it?
At least, that was what you told yourself whenever you trudged into your apartment after another exhausting day, kicking off your shoes and collapsing onto the couch.
And then, at some point, Fox had just… become part of your routine.
It started with the heightened security measures after the bombing threat. He had been assigned to oversee the Senate protection detail, and somehow, in the chaos of late-night security briefings and emergency lockdowns, you and Fox had become friends. Real friends, not just polite workplace acquaintances.
You weren’t even sure how it happened. Maybe it was the way he always made sure to walk you to your speeder after a long day, or how he’d show up at your office under the pretense of checking in, only to grumble about whatever kriffing disaster the Chancellor was throwing at him that day. Maybe it was the first time he crashed on your couch because it was “a hell of a lot better than the damn barracks,” or the way he somehow kept coming back.
You hadn’t questioned it much.
Not when you found yourself leaving an extra blanket on the couch. Not when you started ordering an extra portion of food without thinking about it. Not when the sight of him slumped against your cushions, snoring softly, felt… normal.
Fox was gruff and always overworked, constantly running on caf and sheer spite, but in your apartment, the tension in his shoulders eased, if only slightly. He rolled his eyes at the holodramas you insisted on watching, but he never left. He complained about your terrible food choices, then stole bites off your plate.
“You know this is basically toxic waste, right?” he grumbled once, staring at the greasy mess of noodles and deep-fried meat in front of you.
“You don’t have to eat it,” you replied sweetly.
Fox huffed but grabbed a fork anyway.
The evenings passed like that—easy, warm, unspoken. When you were too exhausted to do anything but stretch out on the couch, Fox would sit on the floor beside you, rubbing the knots from your sore feet with his calloused hands, muttering about how you needed to stop wearing those kriffing shoes. He was warm and solid, it felt good to lean on him, and even when he eventually passed out on the couch, you never minded.
You should have minded. You should have thought more about what it meant, how your chest felt a little too tight when he let out those rare, quiet chuckles at something stupid you said. How you found yourself glancing at the door, waiting for him, when he worked late.
But you didn’t.
You were happy.
And if you were a little too happy when Fox was there, if your heart tripped over itself when he tossed his armor aside and let himself relax in your space like he belonged there, slipped some of his civies into your closet—well.
That was something you could keep telling yourself didn’t mean anything.
Right?
Your love life was a mess anyway.
Dating on Coruscant was a nightmare.
Between your work schedule and the chaotic nightlife, you hadn’t exactly had the time or energy to put yourself out there. Senatorial committee work wasn’t the most social job in the galaxy—late hours, endless meetings, and the constant looming threat of some political disaster meant that your personal life had been put on hold more often than not.
And yet, you still wanted to try.
Fox had laughed when you mentioned signing up for a dating holoservice.
“You know people still meet the old-fashioned way, right?” he teased, sprawled on your couch as he flipped through your holo channels.
“Yeah, well, not all of us can just walk around in intimidating armor and have people throw themselves at us,” you shot back.
Fox snorted. “Trust me, that is not how it works.”
But even if he made fun of your digital matchmaking, the holoservice was easier. You could chat with people without the pressure of an immediate connection, and for a while, it seemed promising. Most of your matches fizzled out—either they were too busy, too weird, or just not that interesting—but then there was him.
Tall, dark hair, warm brown eyes, and a smile that made your stomach flip. He was handsome, charming in a casual way that made conversation easy. You’d messaged back and forth for a while before meeting up for caf, and it had been nice. Simple. Comfortable in a way that made you want to see where it could go.
And then Valentine’s Day started creeping closer, and you thought—why not?
You were touch-starved, lonely, and ready to do something about it. You didn’t just want romance; you wanted connection, something real. So, in a moment of determination (and maybe a little desperation), you had spent an embarrassingly high amount of credits on a cute red lingerie set. Something bold. Something that would make you feel sexy and wanted.
But then, he stopped messaging.
At first, you convinced yourself that he was just busy. People got caught up in their work all the time, right? It didn’t mean anything. A few days passed. Then a week. By the time Valentine’s actually arrived, you had no more excuses left.
You had been ghosted.
The disappointment was sharp and bitter, curling in your chest like a stupid ache you didn’t want to admit to. Maybe it wasn’t personal—maybe he had just lost interest, or met someone else—but it still sucked. It left you feeling stupid for getting excited, for spending money on something no one was even going to see.
For a brief moment, you considered going out alone, just to do something—but the idea of sitting in some bar, surrounded by happy couples and overly flirtatious strangers, made your skin crawl.
There was only one thing you wanted now, your best friend. You grabbed your com and messaged Fox.
You free tonight? I got ditched, I need duraslug rolls and someone to let me sulk in peace.
It took him a few minutes to reply.
Buried in reports. Might be late. But I’ll come over, I promise.
You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. At least someone still shows up for me.
Slumping back onto the couch, you tossed your com aside and sighed. Well. Happy kriffing Valentine’s Day, you exhaled sharply as you stared at the ceiling. Well, this was pathetic. It wasn’t like you had expected some grand, romantic night, but you hadn’t thought you’d be spending Valentine’s alone, pouting into your throw pillows.
The door system chimed.
You frowned. You hadn’t ordered anything.
Dragging yourself up, you made your way to the door and opened it to find a small delivery droid hovering there, a neatly wrapped package clutched in its mechanical arms.
“Delivery for you Miss,” it chirped.
Your brow furrowed as you accepted the package. It was a bottle of wine—Alderaanian, expensive-looking. Definitely not something you’d ordered for yourself.
“Thank you. Who sent this?” you asked, but the droid had already begun its departure, floating off down the hall.
Curious, you turned the bottle over in your hands and spotted a small note attached to the neck. You peeled it off and unfolded it.
I’m sorry you got ditched. You deserve better. Enjoy the wine and leave some for me. See you later. -Fox
A startled giggle bubbled up in your throat.
Of course it was him.
For all his gruffness, all his constant exhaustion and dry sarcasm, Fox still had his moments—little things that reminded you why he was your best friend. This was so him it made your chest ache. He hadn’t even asked what happened, hadn’t prodded or teased, just… made sure you weren’t spending the night wallowing alone.
Smiling, you grabbed your comm and quickly typed out a message.
Thanks, Fox. You didn’t have to do this. I owe you one. Security code is the same in case I pass out before you get here.
He didn’t answer immediately, probably still drowning in reports, but you felt lighter knowing he’d be coming over.
You took the bottle to the kitchen, pulling out a glass and pouring yourself a generous serving. The wine was good—rich and smooth, exactly what you needed. You made your way back to the couch, sinking into the cushions as you took another sip, trying to push away the lingering frustration from earlier.
But then your gaze drifted toward your bedroom.
And landed on it.
The neatly wrapped box, still sitting on your dresser.
A reminder of your own foolish excitement.
Your stomach twisted. That idiot. That kriffing idiot.
You had spent a ridiculous amount of credits on something beautiful, something you had wanted to wear for him—and for what? To get ghosted? To sit here drinking alone while he probably entertained someone else?
For a moment, you considered returning it. Maybe you could get at least some of your credits back.
But then a slow burn of anger started rising in you.
No.
No, you weren’t going to let some random guy make you feel unwanted. You weren’t going to let him ruin this night entirely.
He had disappeared. His loss.
You took another deep sip of wine, feeling the warmth spread through your chest as you stood up and made your way to the dresser.
Maybe it was time to teach him a lesson.
The neatly wrapped box stared back at you, a cruel reminder of what should have been. Not anymore.
You tore the packaging open, peeling away the delicate tissue paper to reveal the lingerie set inside. The price tag still dangled from the lace, mocking you, so you ripped it off and tossed it aside. If that di’kut thought he could ignore you and walk away unscathed, he had another thing coming.
You tipped the wine glass back and took a slow, deep sip, the warmth pooling in your stomach. Then, without hesitation, you pulled your shirt over your head and let it drop to the floor. Your pants followed, pooling at your feet.
The lingerie was soft beneath your fingers, the lace delicate and intricate as you slipped the bra over your shoulders and adjusted the cups. It was scandalously sheer, barely covering anything—but that was part of the appeal. The center tied closed with a luxurious satin bow, resting right between your breasts, practically begging to be undone.
The matching thong was just as sinful. Made of the same sheer lace, it sat high on your hips, the satin heart appliqué nestled right above your mound. You smoothed your hands over the fabric, taking a moment to appreciate how good it felt.
You reached for the complimentary satin robe, slipping it on and letting it drape over your shoulders. The material was smooth against your skin, adding just the right touch of elegance. When you turned to the mirror, a slow smirk curled at your lips.
Damn.
The ridiculous amount of credits you’d spent? Worth every single one.
The lingerie hugged your curves perfectly, accentuating everything it should. The lace was suggestive enough to tease but left little to the imagination. You ran your fingers through your hair, loosening the bun you’d haphazardly tied earlier. Your locks tumbled around your shoulders, framing your face in soft waves.
Perfect.
You rummaged through your vanity drawer, searching for the final touch. A moment later, you found it—the perfect shade of soft pink lipstick. You twisted the tube, swiping it across your lips with practiced ease before pressing them together. A single spritz of your favorite perfume followed, the scent light yet intoxicatingly sweet.
You met your own gaze in the mirror, tilting your head as you admired your handiwork.
You looked like a treat.
No. You looked like a feast.
And what a pity that no one was here to appreciate it.
You sighed, picking up your holopad and shifting your weight. Then a thought—a wicked, petty thought—slid into your mind, and your smirk returned.
If he didn’t want you, then he was damn well going to regret it
You turned slightly, angling yourself in the mirror, and lifted your wine glass. The dark liquid contrasted beautifully against your fingers, and the movement made your robe slip just enough to reveal the delicate lace beneath.
You snapped a few pictures, each one more tempting than the last. The soft lighting of the little lamp beside your bed cast a warm glow over your skin, and your hardened nipples—barely covered by the lace—pressed against the fabric, making the images even more suggestive.
One final shot.
You shifted, letting the robe slide down one shoulder, your lips slightly parted, your gaze smoldering. It was perfect.
Satisfied, you attached the best one to a message and typed out the words that would seal the deal.
Look what you’re missing out on, di’kut.
Ha, what a good use of the mando’a word Fox had learned you.
You smiled to yourself. And then you hit send.
You tossed the holopad onto your bed and flopped down beside it, stretching out with a satisfied sigh. Now it was his turn to sulk.
You sighed, stretching out on your bed, the silky fabric of your robe cool against your skin. The wine had left a pleasant warmth in your belly, making your limbs feel heavy, lazy. You turned your head, glancing at the chrono on your bedside table.
How much longer until Fox finishes his work?
You had no idea. He hadn’t given you an exact time—just a vague promise that he’d come over, even if it got late.
You huffed, staring at the ceiling.
You missed him.
You missed the easy, effortless way he fit into your life. The way he crashed on your couch like it was his, how he bitched about his work while you rubbed his shoulders, how he made fun of your garbage taste in holodramas but still ended up watching them with you anyway.
He made everything better.
You toyed with the satin tie of your robe absentmindedly, twisting it between your fingers as your thoughts drifted.
You imagined him here with you now.
Not just on the couch, like usual, but here, in bed.
You pictured the way he’d look at you—warm brown eyes dark and focused, his strong hands pinning your hips, his broad chest pressing against yours.
Heat bloomed deep in your core.
You swallowed, shifting against the sheets, your breath coming just a little quicker.
No.
You forced the thoughts away, shaking your head. This was Fox. Your friend.
It wasn’t the first time your thoughts had drifted into a territory you knew was dangerous. Hell, you had started this whole holo dating thing to keep yourself from falling for him even more.
He didn’t see you that way.
And even if he did—even if, by some impossible chance, he wanted you the way you wanted him—was it worth the risk?
Your friendship with Fox was the best thing in your life. The thought of ruining it, of making things weird, of losing him because you couldn’t keep your feelings under control—No.
You wouldn’t let that happen.
You exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down your face as if you could physically wipe away the dangerous thoughts clinging to your brain.
With a deep breath, you forced yourself to focus on something else—anything else.
The flickering lights outside your window. The senator’s latest scandal. Anything but Fox.
You reached for your wine glass, taking another sip.
***
Fox rubbed his eyes, exhaustion clinging to him like a second skin. It was already too late—long past the end of his shift, not that such a thing really existed for him. He had stopped counting how many cups of caff he’d consumed today, but the sharp bitterness still coated his tongue.
He should be with you right now.
His fingers hovered over the datapad as his thoughts drifted where they shouldn’t.
You had messaged him earlier, something about a bad date and needing company. He wanted to be there. Kriff, he should be there—on your couch, his hands kneading the tension from you, listening to you rant about whatever di’kut had decided to ditch you.
Fox scowled at the thought, his grip tightening around his pen until the cheap plastoid creaked in protest. He didn’t understand how any man could stand you up, let alone ghost you. The idea made his blood boil. You were the most beautiful, soft, good thing in this whole damned galaxy—sharp when you needed to be, quick-witted, stubborn, but never cruel. You had a way of making him feel like more than just a soldier, like more than a walking blaster waiting for orders. You saw him, really saw him, and these idiots? They didn’t even deserve to breathe the same air as you.
If it were him—kriff, if only it were him—he would never make you feel unwanted. Would never make you doubt yourself, not for a second. He’d treat you the way you deserved, worship you the way these blind, clueless di’kuts never even thought to.
Fox exhaled sharply, forcing himself to focus, this was dangerous thinking, dangerous, selfish, and a waste of time. But he wanted to be with you now, distract you from your misery.
Instead, he was stuck here, drowning in endless reports. His men had already called it a night. Even Thorn, who was nearly as much of a workaholic, had begged him to go the kriff to sleep when he passed him in the hallway earlier.
Fox had ignored him. Just one more report.
He forced his focus back on the datapad in front of him. Some incident with a Jedi and a Senator on the lower levels, again. He had skimmed it at least three times already, but none of it registered. The words blurred together, his mind elsewhere.
Back with you.
He could almost hear your laugh, the way your eyes sparkled when you gossiped about the latest. Senate drama, how your lips curled in amusement when you called his caff addiction ‘a slow-motion suicide.’ He huffed, rubbing a hand down his face.
Enough.
He needed to get through this, or he’d be stuck here until morning.
Fox stood, grabbing his empty cup, and stalked toward the caf station. The last dregs of the pot were cold and sludgy, but he poured himself another cup anyway. It wasn’t as if the caf here was good when it was fresh—it was the cheapest the Senate offices provided for the Guard. The real stuff was reserved for Senators and their guests.
Like you.
You always had the good stuff at your place. You insisted on it, claiming he deserved better than the swill they forced on him. That was just who you were—always looking out for him, making sure he had something decent, something warm, something real.
His throat tightened.
He wanted that warmth right now. Wanted to be with you.
Fox exhaled sharply and forced himself back to his desk. He could entertain those thoughts later—no, he shouldn’t be entertaining them at all. He had no business wanting things he couldn’t have. There had never been any signs you were interested in him beyond friendship and he would not destroy that.
He rolled his shoulders, cracked his knuckles, and forced his gaze back to the report. Just finish it, sign off, go to you.
His comm beeped.
A message. From you.
His lips twitched into something close to a smile—until he saw the attachment.
He hesitated for only a second before opening it.
The moment the image filled his screen, all the exhaustion in his body vanished.
Oh. Fuck.
You. In your bedroom, standing in front of your mirror, wrapped in red lace and satin.
The lingerie barely covered anything. The sheer lace of your bra clung to your skin, the satin bow between your breasts looking as if it could come undone with a single pull. The matching thong sat high on your hips, the soft heart appliqué teasing at the very place he should not be looking at.
Your lips—plush and perfect—were painted a soft pink. Your hair was tousled, like you had been running your hands through it, or maybe—kriff.
Fox swallowed hard.
This couldn’t be real.
His fingers curled around the edge of his desk as heat rushed through him, tightening low in his stomach. His body reacted instantly, blood surging south in a way that made sitting in this kriffing chair unbearable.
A part of him—his more rational, self-preserving part—knew he needed to put the comm down. Needed to pretend he never saw this, needed to erase it from his mind immediately.
But another part?
Another part wanted to burn the image into his memory.
His breath came a little quicker, heart pounding as he stared at the screen, taking in every detail. The way the lace stretched across your curves. The way your lips were slightly parted, like you were waiting for someone to claim them. The way your robe hung open just enough to tease what lay beneath.
His comm beeped again.
Another message from you.
Look what you’re missing out on, di’kut.
Fox cursed under his breath, heat surging through his veins like a live current.
He wasn’t getting any more work done tonight, his pulse hammered as he typed out a quick reply.
Stay where you are. I’m on my way.
No hesitation. No second-guessing. No thinking about what he should do—only what he wanted to do.
His body was already moving before his brain could catch up. He pushed back from his desk, standing so quickly his chair nearly toppled over. His codpiece had become unbearably tight, and he readjusted it with a frustrated grunt before snatching up his helmet and belt.
Then he was out the door.
His boots pounded against the cold, polished floors of the Senate Guard Headquarters as he strode through the halls with singular focus. The lingering exhaustion from his endless shift had evaporated—burned away by something hotter, needier. The only thing on his mind was you.
He didn’t even glance at the few troopers still stationed on night duty as he pushed through the exit, his long strides carrying him toward his speeder.
He needed to be with you, he should have left all these karking reports behind already after your first message.
***
You let out an amused huff as your comm chimed with a reply.
That was fast.
Maybe that idiot did have some regret after all.
You took another slow sip of wine, letting him stew for a moment longer. You had no intention of entertaining him again—he had his chance, and he blew it—but you enjoyed making him suffer a little.
Smirking, you finally flicked your thumb over the screen, opening the message.
Your heart stopped.
Stay where you are. I’m on my way.
Not from him. From Fox.
For a long, terrible moment, your brain failed to process what you were looking at. You stared at the screen, a cold shock crashing over you like a tidal wave.
No. No, no, no, no—
You scrambled to check the message thread, dread creeping into your stomach. You had sent it to Fox.
Fox, your best friend. Fox, who crashed on your couch. Fox, who made fun of your trashy holodramas and stole sips of your expensive caf because he refused to admit it tasted better than the cheap mess hall stuff. Fox, who was now on his way here because he had seen you in that lingerie and—
Oh fuck.
Panic seized you. Your fingers flew over the screen, typing in a rush.
Oh kriff, no, please, Fox—I’m so sorry. Forget what you saw. It was a mistake. I didn’t mean to send it to you.
You hit send.
Seconds passed.
No reply.
Your stomach twisted.
Then—another chime.
A new message.
You stared at your comm, pulse roaring in your ears as your eyes flicked over the message again and again not able to process what you were reading.
If that’s really what you want, tell me. I’ll head back to the barracks and try my best to pretend it never happened. But I am tired of watching when another one of those idiots lets you down, tired of pretending I don’t want you.
The air in your apartment suddenly felt too thick, your skin too warm. Your brain tried to rationalize, to find some kind of misunderstanding—because Fox didn’t just say that. He couldn’t have.
But the words were right there, glowing against the dimness of your room.
I’m tired of pretending I don’t want you.
Your breath hitched. Your chest tightened.
Your fingers hovered over the keypad, but you had no idea what to type. What could you even say?
For so long, you had convinced yourself that what you felt for him was just friendship, that the easy comfort between you wasn’t something more. You had forced yourself to believe it—because wanting him, really wanting him, had felt like an impossible dream.
But now? Now he had stripped that illusion away with a single message. And you couldn’t pretend anymore either.
I want you too, you thought. I’ve always wanted you.
But you still hadn’t typed anything when another chime made your heart nearly jump out of your chest.
I’m here. Let me in or tell me to leave, please be honest.
For a moment, you just stared.
He was here.
Not in his office. Not across the city. Here, outside your door, waiting for you, exactly where you had wanted him just minutes ago.
Your stomach flipped violently, and suddenly you were scrambling to your feet, nearly tripping over yourself as you rushed toward the door.
Shit—your robe.
You yanked the silk tighter around your body and securely tied the belt, hyperaware of the flimsy lace beneath it. What the hell are you doing? You had sent him the picture. He had seen it. And yet, the reality of standing in front of him like this sent a fresh wave of nerves through you.
But there was no time to think. Your feet carried you forward. The door hissed open.
And there he was.
Fox stood just outside, still in full armor, helmet clipped to his belt, his stance tense as if bracing himself for the worst. The dim corridor lights cast sharp shadows over his face, highlighting the exhaustion in his eyes—but beneath it, beneath the weariness and the ever-present weight of command, there was something else, something you hadn’t seen there before. Something hungry.
For a long, breathless second, neither of you moved. The tension between you crackled like a live wire.
And then—
You broke.
You surged forward, hands flying up to curl around his neck, pulling him down as you crashed into him. Your lips found his, desperate and searching, pouring everything you couldn’t put into words into that one kiss.
Fox made a sound deep in his throat, a half-growl, half-sigh, and then his hands were on you—one curling around your waist, the other threading into your hair as he yanked you closer, kissing you like he had been starving for it.
As soon as the door hissed shut behind the two of you, you yanked him further inside, your hands grabbing at his armor, at the fabric of his blacks—anything to keep him close.
You nearly tripped over each other in your urgency, stumbling as he kicked security panel to seal the door. Fox let out a breathless chuckle, his hands tightening on your waist to steady you both, but neither of you spoke.
Because the moment you stopped moving, your hands still clutching at his armor, your body pressed against his, you both realized—this was real.
Fox’s gaze swept over you, taking in the way your chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, the way your lips were still parted from the last kiss, swollen and inviting. His jaw tensed, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.
And then he snapped.
He surged forward, claiming your mouth again, one hand cradling the back of your head as he kissed you with a heat that made your knees weak.
You melted into him, gripping his chest plate for balance, but the cold plastoid only reminded you that he was still wearing too much and this was not enough.
Fox must have thought the same thing because his hands roamed down, gripping your hips, guiding you back—until your shoulders hit the wall with a soft thud, and suddenly, his thigh was pressing between your legs.
You gasped against his mouth, your fingers digging into his armor. The hard press of his thigh against your core sent a shock of pleasure through you, and without thinking, you rocked against him.
Fox groaned, his grip on your hips tightening. “Kriff,” he muttered against your lips, voice rough with restraint. “You can’t do that.”
“Do what?” you teased, but your own voice was shaky, betraying how much you wanted him.
Fox pulled back just enough to look at you. His golden-brown eyes burned into yours, searching, waiting.
Then his hand moved, trailing up your side, slow, steady—before curling around the silk tie of your robe.
He hooked a finger beneath it, giving it a gentle tug but not untying it just yet. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”
His voice was softer now, quieter, but there was something deadly serious in the way he said it, in the way his fingers trembled just slightly against the silk.
You swallowed, your heart hammering in your chest. Did he really think you didn’t want this? After everything?
The words tangled in your throat, and instead of answering, you reached for his wrist, guiding his hand up to your pounding heart.
Fox sucked in a sharp breath at the feel of it, and his fingers flexed against your skin, his restraint hanging by a thread.
“I don’t want you to stop,” you finally whispered. “Not now. Not ever.”
His breath hitched, his entire body going still for half a second—then he moved.
Fox’s thumb traced over your jaw, down the slope of your neck, then lower, dragging over your shoulder as he pushed the fabric of your robe aside.
The silk slipped from your skin, revealing the lacy red lingerie beneath and Fox froze.
His eyes darkened as they roamed over you, taking in the sheer bra, the delicate bow between your breasts, the tiny satin heart on your thong. His hands twitched like he wanted to grab, to tear, to devour—but he didn’t.
Not yet.
Instead, he let out a low, shaky breath. “Karking hells.”
You shifted under his gaze, suddenly feeling the weight of his stare, but before you could react, Fox leaned in.
“I don’t think you understand what you just did,” he murmured against your lips.
Your pulse stuttered. “What did I do?”
His fingers brushed down your arm, slow, deliberate, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
“You just made it impossible for me to pretend I don’t want you,” he admitted, voice raw. “And now…” his hands gripped your hips again, his thigh pressing up between your legs once more, making you gasp. “…now I’m not pretending anymore.”
And then he kissed you again, harder, deeper, like he had finally let himself fall.
His hands trembled slightly as they traced along the delicate lace of your bra, fingers ghosting over the intricate patterns, over the bow that sat right between your beautiful titts—just begging to be untied.
He swallowed hard. You really were a present.
Perfectly wrapped. Made to be unwrapped.
And he was aching for you.
His cock throbbed painfully against his blacks, the tight fabric doing nothing to ease the need pooling low in his gut. His hands clenched where they rested against your ribs, his self-control hanging by a thread.
His voice was rough when he finally spoke. “I still can’t believe you wanted to give this to some idiot who just—” He exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. “Who just threw you away.”
You bit your lip, shifting slightly against his thigh, but it wasn’t enough. You needed more.
Fox cupped your jaw gently, forcing you to meet his gaze. His golden-brown eyes burned with something dark, something possessive.
“I’m glad you didn’t send it to him,” he murmured. “He didn’t deserve this.”
Didn’t deserve you.
You hesitated for only a moment before admitting, “I was only dating because I wanted to distract myself.”
Fox’s brows furrowed slightly, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “From what?”
You swallowed, nerves twisting in your stomach, but there was no going back now. You let out a shaky breath.
“From you.”
Fox inhaled sharply, like the words had punched him, and his grip on you tightened.
“Mesh’la.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “Promise me something.”
You nodded weakly, lost in the intensity of his gaze.
“Promise me you’ll never waste yourself on someone who doesn’t deserve you again.” His voice was firm, steady, but underneath it, you heard something else—something desperate.
Your throat tightened. “I promise.”
Fox let out a breath like he had been holding it in for years.
Then he leaned in, his lips brushing yours as he murmured, “Then I promise to be better.”
A shiver ran down your spine.
“To treat you the way you deserve.”
And then he kissed you. This time, it was needy. Messy.
His hands gripped at you now, no longer holding back, no longer afraid to take what he had wanted for so long.
You moaned into his mouth, fingers threading into his hair, tugging him closer. The friction against your core was maddening, not enough, never enough—
Your hands fumbled between you, grabbing at the silk bow between your breasts, and you took one of the ends, pressing it into Fox’s palm.
His breath hitched.
His eyes flickered between you and the delicate ribbon, realization dawning in his expression. He didn’t need you to say anything. Slowly, carefully, he gave the bow a gentle pull, the knot unraveled, the lace parting, slipping from your body like it had only been waiting for his touch.
Fox stared.
His breath was ragged, his pupils blown wide as his gaze drank you in. His hands hovered at his sides like he didn’t know whether to worship or ruin you.
Then, slowly, he reached out, his thumb ghosting over one of your hardened nipples. A soft whimper slipped from your lips.
Fox exhaled shakily, his hand sliding down to grip your waist, but the gentle touch wasn’t enough. You needed more. You ground down on his thigh, gasping at the delicious friction, he groaned, his grip tightening, but it still wasn’t enough. You needed him.
Your hands moved to his armor, desperate to get it off, to feel him, to have him skin to skin—but your fingers were trembling too much, the clasps refusing to budge.
You let out a frustrated noise, tugging at the chest plate uselessly.
Fox chuckled, voice low and dark. “Mesh’la, if you keep that up, I’m going to lose whatever restraint I have left.”
“Then lose it,” you begged, arching against him.
Fox cursed under his breath, then pulled back.
You whined at the loss of contact, but Fox only smirked, his hands already moving to tear his armor off. The plates hit the floor with dull thuds, one after the other, as he shed the heavy layers in record time. Then, finally, finally, he stood before you in nothing but his blacks, the tight material stretching obscenely over his body.
Your eyes dropped—
And you let out a needy whimper.
Because fuck, the bulge straining against his blacks was huge. Fox let out a low chuckle, the sound downright predatory.
“Something wrong, mesh’la?” he teased.
You swallowed hard, pressing your thighs together.
“Bedroom,” you panted. “Now.”
Fox groaned, his grip tightening on your waist before he scooped you up effortlessly. A gasp left your lips as your legs wrapped around him, your arms locking around his neck. He was so strong, holding you like you weighed nothing.
On the way to the bedroom, your robe slipped from your shoulders, pooling onto the floor, and the delicate lace of your bra followed—leaving you in nothing but the tiny scrap of lace that barely qualified as a thong.
Fox didn’t stop.
He carried you straight to the bed, laying you down gently before crawling over you. His lips found your neck first, his breath warm against your skin. Then your collarbone. Then lower.
His hands slid down your sides, rough fingertips tracing every inch of bare skin as he worked his way down, his lips finally closing around your nipple.
You gasped, arching into his mouth, fingers threading into his hair as he sucked, his tongue flicking over the hardened bud.
“Fox—” you whimpered, back arching against him.
His only response was a pleased hum, sending vibrations through your sensitive skin.
But it still wasn’t enough. You needed more. Your hands slid lower, clawing at his blacks, searching for the damn zipper. When you couldn’t find it, you let out a desperate whine. “Please—”
Fox pulled back, amusement flickering in his expression. “Please, what? Use your words mesh’la.”
“Take them off,” you practically begged, shifting underneath him. “Now.”
Fox chuckled, clearly enjoying just how needy you were for him. “So impatient, mesh’la,” he teased, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips before finally sitting back.
Your breath caught as he reached for the hem of his blacks, his fingers slowly peeling the fabric away from his body.
The first thing you noticed was the warm, golden-brown of his skin, perfect, just like the rest of him. The second thing was the dark trail of hair running down the center of his toned stomach, leading lower. Your mouth went dry. He was gorgeous.
Solid. Warm. Strong. Yours.
And then he pushed the rest of his blacks down, and your heart stopped.
His cock was big. Thick. Hard. The tip already glistening with pre-cum.
“Like what you see?” he smirked satisfied, “it’s all yours.”
You let out a needy little sound before you could stop yourself, your thighs pressing together instinctively. You couldn’t help it, your hand slipped between your legs, pressing down against your neglected clit through the lace of your thong, desperate for any relief.
Fox’s eyes darkened instantly.
His voice was low when he spoke. “That’s not yours to touch tonight, mesh’la.”
Before you could react, he was on you, his body covering yours as his mouth crashed against yours.
You gasped into the kiss, but Fox swallowed the sound, his tongue sliding against yours as he ground his aching cock against you.
“F-Fuck—” you whimpered, hips lifting to meet his.
He groaned, the fabric of your thong barely a barrier between you as he rolled his hips again, his cock pressing right against your clit.
You squirmed, trying to slip your thong off, but Fox grabbed your hips, stilling you instantly.
“That stays on,” he murmured against your lips.
A shiver ran down your spine.
“But—”
Fox smirked, dragging his cock along your soaked core again. “I like it on you.”
Your breath hitched, your body trembling beneath him.
“Fox—”
He grinned. “Patience, mesh’la. We’re just getting started.”
Fox kissed his way down your body, his lips and tongue leaving a burning trail in their wake. Every press of his mouth sent a shiver through you, anticipation coiling tighter in your core. His hands gripped your thighs, squeezing, massaging as he settled lower.
Then he ghosted over where you needed him most—his warm breath fanning against your soaked folds, teasing, driving you insane.
“Please—” You whined, hips shifting restlessly.
“I know, mesh’la,” he murmured, his voice low and needy. “Been wanting to taste you for so long.”
He pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, then another, and another, his stubble dragging against your sensitive skin in a way that made you shudder. His hands held your thighs apart, thumbs tracing soothing circles as he teased just outside where you wanted him.
You were dripping, and he could see it.
“Look at you,” he rasped. “So fucking wet for me.”
And then, finally, finally, he hooked a finger into the thin strap of your thong and pulled it to the side.
The moment his lips met your soaked folds, you both let out a moan.
It was like a revelation.
Something that had always been there—something you had ignored, pushed down, denied—finally being acknowledged.
His tongue flicked against your clit, sending a jolt of pleasure through you. Your back arched, your hands fisting the sheets.
“F-Fox—”
“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice muffled against your dripping core.
And stars, he devoured you.
His tongue was everywhere, licking, tasting, swirling around your clit with slow, deliberate pressure. Then he sucked, and your hips jerked.
He groaned, loving the way you reacted to him, the way you melted beneath him.
“Kriff, you taste so good,” he rasped, the vibrations of his voice sending another wave of pleasure through you.
Then he slid a finger into you, slow, filling you just enough to make you desperate for more.
“So tight,” he groaned. “Want another, don’t you?”
You nodded frantically, “Yes—yes, please—”
He added a second finger, curling them inside you as his tongue kept working your clit. The stretch was perfect, filling you up while he rubbed against that sweet spot inside you.
You were already close, your thighs trembling, pleasure coiling in your stomach.
“Come for me, mesh’la,” he rasped. “I want to feel it.”
And stars, you did.
Your release crashed over you like a tidal wave, pleasure rippling through every nerve in your body. Your back arched, a choked cry escaping your lips as you clenched around his fingers.
Fox groaned against you, not stopping, working you through your orgasm until you were trembling, whimpering and almost too sensitive.
You gasped as he finally pulled back, pressing one last kiss to your inner thigh.
“You’re so perfect,” he murmured, looking up at you, lips glistening with your release.
But you weren’t done with him.
As soon as you caught your breath, you reached for him, your fingers tangling in his hair to pull him up before shoving him onto his back.
«Hold on cyare we’re going to fall off the bed»
You didn’t even care. He grunted as he hit the floor, but there was amusement in his dark eyes. “What are you—”
“My turn,” you whispered, crawling over him, pressing kisses to his warm, golden skin.
His breath hitched as you made your way down, kissing every inch of him, every scar, every muscle, worshipping him the way he deserved.
You reached his stomach, your lips grazing the trail of dark hair leading down to his cock.
He was aching for you, so hard it almost hurt, his length flushed and leaking against his stomach.
You pressed a kiss to his hip bone, then another just above his cock, your hand wrapping around the base, feeling the heat of him.
“Fuck—” he hissed, his hips twitching.
You smirked before finally, finally, lowering your mouth to his tip, flicking your tongue over the bead of pre-cum gathered there.
Fox shuddered. “Kriff—”
You took him into your mouth, inch by inch, hollowing your cheeks as you sucked.
His groan was deep, his fingers threading into your hair, not pushing, just holding, like he needed something to ground himself.
“So good,” he panted. “Mesh’la, you feel so—fuck—”
You moaned around him, letting your tongue swirl over the head before sinking down again, taking more of him. Your hand stroked what you couldn’t fit, your pace slow, teasing, savoring the way he twitched under you.
His thighs tensed. “If you don’t stop—”
You hummed, sending vibrations down his length, and he jerked, letting out a choked groan.
“Fuck—” He suddenly grabbed your wrist, pulling you off him with a pop.
You blinked up at him, lips swollen, breath heavy. “What—?”
Fox was panting, his golden eyes dark with lust. “I don’t want to finish like this,” he rasped. “I need to be inside you.”
Fox barely managed to tear himself away from your mouth, his entire body tight with restraint. His cock was throbbing, desperate for you, but he wanted this to last. Wanted to feel every second of you wrapped around him, to memorize the way you felt.
He peeled you off his cock and effortlessly threw you back up on the bed, guiding you down onto your back. His hands were firm but reverent as he spread your legs, settling between them. He pressed a kiss to the inside of your knee, then ran his hands over your thighs, pushing them wider, savoring every inch of you.
“Look at you,” he murmured, voice thick with desire. “Mesh’la… can’t believe this is real.”
His cock pressed against your entrance, the thick head nudging against your dripping folds. The pressure alone made you giddy, your body aching for him.
“Fox—” you whined, shifting your hips in desperate invitation.
He locked eyes with you, dark and full of unspoken things, and then—finally—he pushed in.
The stretch was exquisite, the slow, steady glide of his cock splitting you open inch by inch. Your walls clamped down on him instinctively, drawing him deeper, desperate to keep him.
You both groaned.
“Fuck—” Fox gritted out, his fingers digging into your hips. “So kriffing tight—”
You couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything but feel. The way he filled you, the way your body stretched around him, the way he fit—like he was made for you.
“Kriff—Fox—” you gasped, nails raking down his arms.
“I know, sweetheart,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I know.”
He started to move, slow at first, letting you adjust, letting you feel him. The friction was unbearable in the best way, every drag of his cock sending sparks of pleasure up your spine.
“You feel so good,” he groaned, his pace quickening. “So fucking good.”
You whimpered, wrapping your legs around his waist, urging him deeper.
Fox snapped his hips into you, the wet, filthy sound of him filling you over and over making your cheeks burn.
“Fox—” you gasped, hands gripping his broad shoulders, desperate for more.
“I’ve got you,” he panted. “Gonna make you come, mesh’la. Gonna make you feel so fucking good.”
He shifted, adjusting his angle, and stars—he found that spot deep inside you that made your vision go white.
“There—there—” you cried, your thighs trembling.
Fox grinned, dark and pleased. “Right there, huh?”
Then he pressed a hand against your lower abdomen, and a lewd, broken scream ripped from your throat.
“That’s it,” he murmured, watching you unravel beneath him. “Kriff—so perfect.”
It took only two more thrusts before pleasure crashed through you, your entire body shaking as you clenched around him, milking his cock with pulsing waves of bliss.
Fox groaned, his fingers digging into your thighs, fighting to hold on, to not come just from the way you squeezed him.
“Fuck—” he panted, burying his face in your neck. “You’re gonna kill me, mesh’la.”
He barely managed to hold himself back, his body trembling with restraint. But then he shifted, lifting one of your legs over his shoulder, his cock sinking even deeper into your still-throbbing core.
You gasped, overstimulated, but needy.
His thumb found your clit, rubbing slow, tight circles. “Give me one more,” he rasped, his voice strained. “I know you can.”
You sobbed, gripping onto him as he drove you higher again, his thrusts relentless, the way he stretched you perfect.
The sight of you like this—your red lace thong still pushed to the side, completely soaked, barely covering your swollen folds where his cock was sliding into you—was something he would never forget.
He was ruined.
“Come for me,” he murmured, voice raw. “I want to feel you.”
You shattered around him, your second orgasm tearing through you even harder than the first.
“That’s it,” he groaned, his pace faltering. “So good—fuck—”
He was losing it, chasing his own release, but still, still he held on—”Where do you want me?”
You barely managed to catch your breath before you answered. “Inside—please—make me yours.”
Fox snapped, he couldn’t hold back any longer, not after what you had just said.
He buried himself to the hilt, a deep, guttural moan tearing from his throat as he came, his cock pulsing, thick ropes of warmth filling you.
The feeling of him spilling inside you was almost better than your orgasm itself, you clutched at his thighs trying to force him even deeper. The way he claimed you, the way you took him, the way you fit together—like you were always meant to.
Fox collapsed against you, his breath ragged, his body trembling from the force of it. He pressed a lazy kiss to your shoulder, still buried inside you, reluctant to ever leave.
“Mesh’la…” he murmured, his voice rough but tender. “I’m never letting you go.”
You kept your legs wrapped around him, not ready to let him go just yet. You wanted to feel him for just a little longer, to savor the warmth of him still inside you, to keep him close.
Fox groaned softly, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips, then another to your jaw, then your shoulder. He was gentle now, unrushed, showering you in kisses, in soft murmurs of praise.
When he finally slipped out of you, you whimpered at the loss, and he hushed you with another kiss before collapsing beside you. Without hesitation, he pulled you onto his chest, wrapping you up in his arms like he never wanted to let you go.
You nuzzled into him, inhaling his warm, musky scent, burying your face against the crook of his neck, your arm draping over his chest. Even after everything—after having him so deep inside you, after coming twice on his cock—you still wanted more of him, still wanted to be as close as possible.
Fox ran his fingers along your back in slow, lazy strokes, pressing another kiss to your temple.
You let out a sigh. “I was so stupid.”
“Hmm?” he hummed, the vibrations rumbling beneath your cheek.
“Trying to deny my feelings…” you admitted, pressing a soft kiss against his neck. “Dating those random guys, pretending I didn’t want you.”
Fox scoffed lightly. “You’re not stupid, they are,” he murmured, fingers trailing over your bare skin. “You’re perfect.”
You lifted your head, meeting his gaze. His eyes were soft, full of something deep, something unchanging.
“I love you,” you whispered.
His expression melted, something in him cracking open.
“I love you too,” he said, his voice quiet but firm, like it was the simplest truth in the world.
Your chest ached with it—with the sheer relief of saying it, of knowing he felt the same. You kissed him, slow and sweet, and he kissed you back like he meant it.
After a while he finally pulled away, running his knuckles over your cheek. “Come on,” he murmured. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”
Before you could protest, he was already moving, scooping you up into his arms like you weighed nothing.
You yelped, but he just chuckled, carrying you towards the refresher.
“Fox—” you huffed, looping your arms around his neck. “I can walk, you know.”
“I know,” he said, grinning. “But where’s the fun in that?”
You giggled, letting him take care of you, feeling warm and cherished in his arms.
As he stepped into the refresher, a sharp drip of warmth slid down your inner thigh.
You both paused.
And then—plop.
A thick drop of your mixed release splattered onto the floor. There was a beat of silence. And then Fox snorted and you both dissolved into laughter
“Look what a mess you’ve made mesh’la.” he chuckled.
“Me?” you squeaked, looking at him in playful protest.
Still grinning, he set you down in the refresher, making sure the water was warm before adjusting the settings.
As the steam began to rise, he turned to you, brushing damp hair from your face. “Still want duraslug rolls?”
You nodded eagerly. “Yes, please.”
Fox smirked. “Thought so.”
He kissed you one more time before stepping out to place the order.
You sighed, watching him go, your heart feeling full in a way it never had before.
And when he returned, slipping into the shower beside you, his hands finding your waist as if it was normal —you knew, you were his, and he was yours.
After your shower, you both slipped into comfortable clothes—well, you did. Fox had only grabbed a fresh pair of his blacks, the tight fabric clinging to his body in a way that made you almost regret putting on your own cozy pajamas.
You ended up on the couch, exactly like always. But everything was different now.
Fox had gone overboard with the food, ordering not just the duraslug rolls but every kind of greasy, indulgent junk meal you could imagine. Spicy fried nuna bites, crispy noodles, something smothered in way too much melted blue cheese—it was a feast.
“You do realize there’s only two of us, right?” you teased, plucking a crispy nuna bite from the pile and popping it into your mouth.
Fox just smirked, pouring you both another glass of wine. “The evening was long. We need to refuel.”
You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t argue with that.
Curled up against him, you giggled as you both gossiped about the Senate staff between bites of food. It was a favorite pastime of yours, but this time, something about it felt even better.
“—so I finally gave up and signed off on it,” Fox was saying, chewing thoughtfully on a duraslug roll. “Because I don’t care if a Jedi and a senator want to get up to questionable business on the lower levels. That’s not my problem.”
You nearly choked on your wine. “Wait—what?”
“Oh, yeah.” He smirked, taking another sip of his drink. “They weren’t exactly subtle. I think I lost count of how many reports I had to overlook. ‘Suspicious activity in a back alley,’ ‘disturbance in an abandoned speeder lot’—like, c’mon. It’s clear what they were doing.”
You cackled, covering your mouth. “You mean to tell me you’ve been burying evidence of a secret affair?”
“Burying? No.” Fox shrugged innocently. “Just… acknowledging that it’s none of my business.”
You giggled, leaning further into him, wine warming your veins, food making you sleepy, and the solid weight of Fox next to you making everything feel perfect.
And despite how much it was the same, something had changed.
The way he looked at you now—soft, open, like you were his.
The way you didn’t have to hold back anymore, no longer forcing yourself to ignore the way you longed to curl up against him.
You could. And you did.
And the best part?
Later, when the two of you finally made your way to bed, he wouldn’t be snoring on your couch.
He’d be warm and solid beside you, yours in every way.
Summary: The Jedi Code leaves a lot of grey areas. Attachments...Entanglements...what's the difference? And who's to say one can't be a little bitter over the vagueness? Obi-Wan certainly has questions. Siri has some answers.
Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi/Siri Tachi
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, Smut (PiV), Oral (M receiving) Inappropriate Use of the Force
Words: 8208
A/N: Written for @area-fiftyone. (This is what happens when I'm unsupervised) Thank you @jetii for listening to me rant and rave and for helping me write!
Politics.
Obi-Wan wrinkled his nose in distaste, fingers gripping his glass a little tighter. His lips were set in a thin line and his head was already pounding from the noise.
The wedding had been bad enough.
The reception was another ordeal entirely.
He brought the glass to his mouth, letting the amber colored liquid flow down his throat. He closed his eyes for a moment, relishing the deep burn of the whiskey as it worked to soothe his fraying nerves.
“Master?”
Obi-Wan turned his attention to the Padawan beside him, arching a brow and inclining his head.
“What exactly is the point of this? I mean, I understand that Senator Prestor…excuse me, Senator Organa is important. But…what are we doing here?”
Obi-Wan sighed. “Anakin,” he said, setting his glass down on the table, his fingertips settling on the rim as he gazed at his Padawan. “What is our duty as Jedi?”
Anakin frowned, looking puzzled. “To…keep the peace?”
Obi-Wan nodded. “Exactly. And for us to be able to keep the peace, we must know what is happening. Which, as boring as it might be, includes attending important events and ceremonies such as this.”
Anakin let out a long breath and nodded, picking up his own drink of mixed juices and gently swirling it around before sipping it. He looked pleasantly surprised at the taste, which made Obi-Wan smirk to himself as he sipped his whiskey again.
Just a few more hours, he reminded himself. You can get through it.
While Obi-Wan hadn’t been the only member of the Order to receive an invitation, he had been the only member to have actively participated in the ceremony. Bail had approached him months ago with the request. At first it had startled Obi-Wan. He had spent many late nights talking to Bail and meditating, wondering if he was an appropriate choice for such a personal and sacrosanct event.
His brows furrowed and he tipped his glass to the side, eyes watching the liquor as it clung to the shimmering glass while the liquid swirled around.
Attachments.
Entanglements.
Friendships.
Bonds.
A quiet hum left him as he picked up his drink and finished it in a quick swallow.
“Master?” Anakin asked, eyeing Obi-Wan with a small frown. “Are you all right?”
Obi-Wan closed his eyes and let out a sigh before turning a smile to Anakin. “Yes,” he said. “Just thinking.”
Anakin smirked. “I can feel the tension from here, Master.” he teased. But then he tilted his head, eyeing the older Jedi with a bit of concern. “But…you do seem unbalanced.”
Obi-Wan cleared his throat. If he was being honest with himself, this entire ordeal had thrown him rather off kilter.
Even meditation sessions with Master Yoda hadn’t calmed his inner turmoil.
“Balance is a delicate thing,” he admitted. “The smallest ripple can cause a tidal wave.”
Anakin hummed. “What has you troubled, Master?”
Obi-Wan snorted and shook his head. “Nothing to be considered during such festivities.” he said, gesturing to the guests mingling around them. Some were dining, others were dancing, and still others were presenting well wishes to the newly married couple.
“Perhaps that’s the problem?” Anakin suggested with a raised eyebrow.
Obi-Wan stared at his Padawan, a bit surprised at the perception of the young man. “Perhaps,” he agreed. Then he gestured to a group of teenagers close to Anakin’s age. “Go. Introduce yourself. Mingle. Learn what you can about Alderaan’s culture while we’re here. We head back to Coruscant tomorrow. Make the most of this experience while you can.”
Anakin’s eyes brightened. “Thank you, Master.”
Obi-Wan smiled to himself as he watched Anakin carefully move through the crowd. It wasn’t long before he ran a hand through his hand and picked up his glass and headed to the bar on the opposite side of the open room, smiling and gracefully bowing to nobles and politicians alike before he made it to his destination.
There had been a conflict in Obi-Wan that he hadn’t been able to quash. It was a roiling dark mass that troubled his conscience and settled in the pit of his stomach.
He leaned against the bar between two High Borns, who were debating the current trade situation, and raised his hand to get the attention of the bartender. The woman smiled and nodded at him, grabbing the Corellian whiskey from the second highest shelf, having to stand on her tip toes to do it. She unstopped the bottle and stepped up to him, pouring the amber liquid into his glass.
“Thank you, my dear.” he said.
“Of course!” she replied. “Anything else I can get you, sweetheart?”
He felt his head spin, noticing the way her fingers brushed against the back of his hand that gripped his glass. She was smiling at him with a spark of desire, her eyes flicking up and down as she took in his ceremonial robes.
“No, thank you.” he said politely, inclining his head with a small smile.
She grinned back at him. “You know where to find me if you need anything.” she said with a wink.
Obi-Wan’s heart fluttered in his chest and he found it a little harder than he would have liked to push away from the bar and make his way toward the balcony that overlooked the gardens.
Get it together. He scolded himself, shaking his head as he walked. He ground his teeth and gripped his glass with enough force that he could almost feel it creaking beneath his fingers.
He was hit with a rush of fresh air as he stepped outside and he took a deep breath, closing his eyes and relishing the cool air that filled his lungs.
The noise in his head and within the Force was considerably quieter out here, dulled to a humming white noise instead of a screaming cacophony of voices. When he let out a long sigh, he rubbed his forehead and made his way to the balustrade. He leaned against the cool granite, the cold of the stone seeping through the sleeves of his cloak and tunic and sending a pleasant chill down his spine. It was a nice change compared to the stuffiness of the reception hall.
He let his eyes slip closed again, allowing his consciousness to be directed by the Force. There was a gentle tug, a pull at his mind that he couldn’t ignore.
”Follow the Force,” Qui-Gon had said. ”Allow it to guide you. It will never betray you. Trust in the Force, and it will lead you to where you need to be.”
Obi-Wan had always done his best to follow that advice. Even when he didn’t understand, he tried to trust the Force. Granted, he’d had to learn to follow the Council’s rules, but Qui-Gon was right. The Force hadn’t let him down.
And now, as he let the Force guide his consciousness through the sea of people, he was drawn to a single beacon. Within the throng of white and grey of standard signatures, there was a soft blue. It was the color of Coruscant’s sky right after the sunrise, a gentle blue that reminded him of comfort and peace. It pulsed slightly, drawing him in, seeming to burn brighter the closer he got.
He felt warmth begin to blossom in his chest, spreading through his entire body.
It was a pleasant feeling, one that wrapped around him and made him feel…at peace. He recognized the signature, though it did surprise him.
He hadn’t expected to see her there.
When he opened his eyes, he found himself looking. There was no direct draw, but Obi-Wan could still feel her. His eyes darted back and forth as he searched the sea of guests, trying to pinpoint where she was.
And then he saw her.
She was dressed in a single shoulder blue dress, the color matching almost perfectly to her signature within the Force. The sheer sleeve wrapped elegantly around her bicep before dropping into a shimmering, clear, gathered kimono sleeve.
The light blue silk bandeau crossed over itself across her chest before wrapping in an angular pattern around her midsection. It wove into the same opaque and sheer material of her sleeve, cascading in layers of different hues of blue down her hips and legs. A slit came up to her mid thigh on the right, exposing her leg every time she moved.
She was deep in conversation with members of Breha’s family, cousins if Obi-Wan remembered correctly, a smile on her face.
Siri Tachi.
Obi-Wan swallowed hard.
He could feel the shift in the air. The smile morphed into a small frown and she raised a hand and excused herself from the conversation, looking around with furrowed brows.
Curiosity lit up the Force and he smiled to himself, stepping back from the window and turning to look over the balustrade again. He could feel her reaching out, testing the waters, gently probing to see who had reached for her first. He allowed himself to reach back ever so slightly, just enough to give her an idea of where he was, before settling back to wait.
He didn’t have to wait long before her voice filled the quiet evening air, making him turn to face her.
“Obi-Wan,” she said, tilting her head with a smile. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Siri…” he replied, though he suspected he sounded more than a little breathless. “I could say the same. I wasn’t aware you were on friendly terms with Bail.”
She hummed, bringing a glass of brandy up to her lips. “I can’t say that I am. Though I happen to know his new bride quite well. We’re old friends.”
He arched his brow. “Really?”
“Indeed.” She watched him, her pale blue eyes scanning his features before dropping down to his attire. “Though I have to say, I’m rather impressed, Master Kenobi.”
“Oh?” he asked. “About what?”
Siri hummed again, turning to set her glass on the banister before walking around him in a semi circle. “I can feel your unease, Master.” she said quietly, brushing her fingertips against his shoulder as she came to stand at his other side. He sucked in a sharp breath, grip on the ornate rail tightening so hard he thought he could crack the stone. “It’s been building like a storm in the Force.”
Obi-Wan sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face, pausing momentarily to scratch at his beard. He thought he’d been doing a rather good job at keeping his emotions at bay.
She grinned at him. “Don’t worry,” she said softly. “You have been. I’m just good at reading people.”
“And minds, apparently.” he quipped.
Siri rolled her eyes. “You’re projecting, Obi-Wan.”
He blinked rapidly, feeling his heart begin to thunder in his chest. He took a steadying breath.
I am one with the Force, and the Force is with me. He reminded himself.
She leaned down onto the banister, her bare forearms pressing into the cold stone as she let out a sigh. The sound was both pleasant and nerve racking, but he couldn’t figure out why. And when she leaned against his arm ever so slightly, he felt that warmth begin to spread through him yet again.
“There’s no need to try to mask yourself out here, Obi-Wan.” she said, glancing up at him.
“I’m not sure I know what you mean.” he feigned.
Siri rolled her eyes. “Please,” she snorted. “Meditating, repeating the mantra, grounding yourself. You, Master Kenobi, are unbalanced.”
He huffed. “You’re not the only one who seems to think that.”
She hummed. “Anakin always was perceptive. What’s on your mind, Obi-Wan?”
Obi-Wan didn’t respond right away. He wasn’t sure how. There was so much to consider, so much he was thinking.
“Too much,” he said after a moment.
“Care to explain?”
He sighed and raked a hand through his hair. “This wedding has made me question…things.”
“How enlightening,” she teased. “What kind of things?”
He shrugged noncommittally, but a current of unease rippled through the air. “There’s so many grey areas,” he said eventually. “Attachments, bonds, emotions, feelings. I’ve been questioning whether this friendship with Bail goes against the Code.”
Siri tilted her head, examining Obi-Wan carefully. “You’re not the only one to question that, you know.” she says softly. “I’ve known many in the Order who have asked similar questions. I think the tipping point comes when their life is in the balance. Would you choose your friendship with Bail over the life of thousands? Choose to save him instead of the greater number?”
Obi-Wan hummed. “Perhaps it’s a delicate balance. But Master Yoda has always said that attachments lead to emotions. Emotions lead to loss. Loss leads to anger. And anger leads to the dark side.”
Siri rolled her eyes and gently knocked her shoulder into his. “If that were the case, we’d have all fallen a long time ago.” she said, tipping back her glass and finishing the last of the wine. “Friendships and bonds are part of being human, part of being alive. Nothing can change that. It’s how we react to the emotions and loss that determine how we truly fall within the Force.”
He looked at her with furrowed brows. “When did you become so wise?”
She smirked. “When they started allowing me to travel on my own.” she quipped back. “I’ve grown a lot since the last time we saw each other, Master Kenobi. And it looks like you have too.”
Obi-Wan shrugged. “I’m not sure about that, my dear.”
Siri smiled at him and there was a feeling of calm settling over them as they leaned against the stone rail, looking down at the well maintained gardens below. They were quiet, no words seeming to need to pass between them as their signatures simply brushed against each other occasionally, bringing comfort in its own way.
She leaned part of her weight against him and let out a contented sigh. Obi-Wan couldn’t help but look down at her with a mixture of emotion.
Regret, longing, sadness, confusion, all of them tore through him like a vibroblade.
“I can feel you staring, Obi-Wan.” she teased.
He snorted. “Can you, now?”
“Mhm,” she responded, turning to glance up at him with a small smile tugging at her lips. She pushed away from the rail, leaving her empty glass shining in the moonlight. “Come on. I’ve got something I want to show you.”
Obi-Wan frowned, but followed, letting her lead him back inside to the fray of people.
The Force had never led him astray before.
So why would this be any different?
Obi-Wan let himself be guided by her, simply following her beacon, the warmth, the peace, the stillness that was Siri. For a moment, he lost her in the crowd. Her slight frame and her regal dress helped her blend in with the people that belonged there.
He smiled to himself. She was always the one that felt at home on assignments like this. Even as Padawans, she found the world of politics and negotiation intriguing. Obi-Wan had to admit that was one of the reasons he felt drawn to her in the first place.
What was that saying about kindred spirits? They were more alike than he originally believed, which piqued his interest even more in the present.
Despite having lost sight of her, his body knew where to go before his mind did. He easily danced around the guests, light on his feet, dodging swaying couples, laughing teenagers, and mingling nobles. He muttered quiet apologies whenever he got too close for comfort, bowing his head in respect and slipping into the shadows on the hallway that led to the inner court.
Only when he was bathed in darkness did he allow himself a moment to pause and breathe.
Even then, he could feel the ghost of her touch on his arm, the gentle tug of his hand to guide him in the right direction.
Follow the Force.
Obi-Wan cleared his throat and rolled his shoulders to collect himself.
It had been years since he’d last seen her. But that didn’t stop the thundering of his heart.
He still remembered the lunch they shared during their first meeting when he was no older than a freshly shaved teenager, and the feelings it evoked.
The thoughts.
The desires.
He turned down a hall to the right before coming to a stop at a large wooden door that was propped open. He could see the soft yellow glow of candlelight emanating from inside the library.
Trust the Force.
The warmth in his chest pulsed with the rhythm of his heart, seeping down to his very bones as he carefully nudged the door open.
Siri was standing with her back to him, braid over one shoulder as she stared out the large paned window that overlooked the city.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” she breathed, looking down at the jumble of lights in the distance.
Obi-Wan stepped inside the room, careful to close the door without a sound. “Indeed,” he agreed.
“Have you ever wondered what it would be like?” she asked quietly, not taking her eyes off the landscape. She watched as people, tiny specs from their position, milled about, crafts hovered here and there, and transports moved passengers from one place to another.
He didn’t have to ask what she meant. He could feel it. “At times.” he admits quietly, slowly, almost shamefully. Siri turns to him, her expression soft.
“Don’t do that,” she says softly.
Obi-Wan furrows his brow. “What?”
“That.” she responds, tilting her head towards him. “You aren’t the only empath, Kenobi.”
He hums. “Then what, pray tell, am I feeling?”
Her smile fades into a frown, and Obi-Wan can feel the brush of something against the edge of his consciousness. While he expects it, it still startles him mildly. Her presence is powerful, inviting, and intoxicating. It sends a thrill down his spine that makes his mouth water.
“Do you really want the answer to that?” she asks, eyes twinkling. “Because I’m not sure you do.”
Obi-Wan inhales quickly, trying to calm the hammering of his heart in his chest.
Trust in the Force.
He could feel something in the back of his mind. He wasn’t sure what it was; whether good or bad. But it was guiding him here for a reason. There was an undeniable pull towards Siri, one that he’d felt since the first day he’d met her. The warmth that she radiated only seemed to grow the closer he got. And the feeling of rightness intensified the longer her Force brushed against his.
There was a feeling of something cracking within him; a carefully constructed dam holding back turmoil and confusion that was begging for release and rapture.
They were two souls, lost in the eye of the storm, surrounded by the living Force pushing them together.
It confused Obi-Wan.
It scared him.
Attachments are forbidden.
Her eyes lit up.
“Attachments might be,” she said, turning her back to the window. The expression on her face was more of an invitation than anything else as she leaned back against the thick glass. “But entanglements aren’t.”
Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow. “What are you suggesting, my dear?”
She smirked at him, a sultry expression that told him everything he needed to know. “Do you trust me?”
“I barely know you.”
Siri hummed. “Do you trust the Force, then?”
He paused. “…yes.”
“Open your mind, Master Kenobi.” she said gently. “What is the Force telling you?”
He narrows his eyes at her, his pulse thundering in his chest, but does as she asks. He lets his eyes slip closed after rolling his shoulders. There’s a brief lapse into silence while he fully allows his mind to open to the Force. And then he feels it.
Everything.
It slams into him with an intensity he didn’t expect, almost ripping the air from his lungs as the emotions flood his mind, lighting a fire in his veins and starting a cascade he wasn’t sure he could stop.
Longing. Lust. Need.
He felt that same tether connecting them, pulling him towards her. Her ambient blue signature was a balefire that called to him like a ship lost in a storm. His anchor on reality, on the here and now, was lost somewhere in the Force, while their signatures collided like stars. It was an explosion of pure energy and ardor that threw him off the edge of the precipice, the euphoria transcending any doubt he might have had.
Obi-Wan liked to think himself a talented empath.
But this?
He’d never experienced anything like this. It was almost too much.
Almost.
He moaned into the feeling of her signature beginning to wrap around his, their minds brushing together in a dangerous dance of melding emotions and lust.
Siri returned the sound, leaning into him and wrapping an arm around his shoulders.
It was then that Obi-Wan came to his senses.
His eyes fluttered open to find that he had pressed himself bodily against Siri, leaving no space between them, and her bare back was against the glass window. His lips were barely a hair away from hers and his breath came in ragged gasps. She was whimpering beneath him, tilting her head ever so slightly to brush their lips together as she spoke.
“Please,” she said quietly. “Please, Obi-Wan.”
He took a shuddering breath and closed his eyes, dropping his forehead down to rest on her shoulder. “Siri,” he started, his voice deep and breathy. “I…we…”
She shushed him, taking her free hand and running it through his hair. “Trust the Force,” she whispered. “It brought you to me.”
He made a small sound at the back of his throat before pulling back and staring at her, his eyes seeming to bore into her very soul. “Siri,” he said, this time more insistently. “Attachments…we can’t…”
“Entanglements, Master Kenobi,” she reminded him, eyes hooded as she leaned up to capture his lips in a slow kiss.
Obi-Wan was surprised by the movement and didn’t fight it, though he didn’t respond as immediately as she would have liked. His lips slowly moved against hers and he reached up to cup her cheek in the palm of his hand. When he pulled away from her, there was doubt and confusion written on his expression.
“How can it simply be an entanglement for you?” he asks quietly, before brushing a strand of blonde hair out of her eyes. “No emotional attachment, not even the slightest?”
She smiled up at him, turning to press a kiss into his palm. “There can be attachments, Obi-Wan,” she explained. “The trick is choosing the Order over any attachment we might have.”
He furrowed his brows.
“Now,” she said, sliding her hands down his chest and grabbing the lapels of his robe. “Are we going to continue talking, or are you going to fuck me?”
His breath caught in his throat at the bluntness of her words, but he couldn’t help but feel the strain in his trousers. He hissed through his teeth and she smirked before reaching down to untie the sash at his waist. “Ceremonial robes have so many unnecessary layers, wouldn’t you agree?” she teased with a smile, leaning in to press her lips to the edge of his mouth, barely ghosting the promise of a kiss against his skin.
“Siri,” he tried, his voice low as his hands gripped her wrists tightly. There was an anxiousness that began gnawing at him, settling low in his stomach, overpowering any sense of arousal he felt.
She paused, noting the seriousness in his tone. “Obi-Wan?”
He groaned, whether in frustration or anticipation, she wasn’t sure, before pinning her with his icy eyes. “I don’t know what you’re expecting,” he said slowly. But I’m not…well…I haven’t…” he cleared his throat awkwardly before looking away, a blush rising to his cheeks above his beard and spreading across the bridge of his nose.
Siri tensed and it took her a moment to realize exactly what it was he was trying to say. “Obi-Wan Kenobi,” she teased, gently smacking his chest. “Are you telling me you’ve never fucked a woman before?”
He huffed and rolled his eyes.
“What about a man?”
He narrowed his eyes and she giggled, leaning forward to kiss him, slow and sweet, to reassure him that she was only teasing. When she pulled back, she brought a hand up, running her fingers through his hair.
“Have you had any experience?” she asked gently.
He hummed, closing his eyes and leaning into her touch. He could feel her curiosity and concern. “Some,” he said. “Though admittedly it was more about my partner’s pleasure than mine.”
She snorted. “Well, we’re changing that.” she said.
Any residual doubt he might have felt evaporated when he felt her signature brush against his again. It was open and honest, a raw and intense feeling that he wasn’t expecting. There was still that deep burning desire, though it was tempered slightly with curiosity and a tenderness he didn’t think he would associate with such a primal act.
Trust me.
He blinked in surprise as her voice echoed in his mind like a faraway memory that was trying to crawl to the surface.
Obi-Wan took a deep breath and nodded. Siri smiled at him and he leaned in to kiss her. It started slow, his lips molded delicately to hers. She let him take his time, let him feel her, let him truly touch her for the first time. His hand moved from her wrist to the back of her neck, his fingers tangling in the hair at the base of her skull that hadn’t been pulled tightly into the braid.
The Force thrummed around them.
Siri hummed against his lips, feeling him lick into her mouth. She carefully trailed her hands across his shoulders and down his chest, fingertips barely brushing against the exposed skin beneath his robes. He shivered under her touch and she couldn’t help the pleased smirk that fought its way onto her face.
Open yourself, slowly, she directed, moving to kiss along his jaw. Obi-Wan held back a growl as she nipped the sensitive skin below his ear before whispering quiet praises in his ear. His fingers dug into her waist so hard she knew there would be bruises, but she leaned into the touch, happy he was reacting.
“Let yourself feel,” she whispered, sucking on his throat before lavishing the skin with her tongue.
His nostrils flared and he gripped her hair by the roots, pulling her away from him. His pupils were blown so wide there was only a thin ring of blue surrounding the black depths as he towered over her. His presence was overwhelming, intoxicating, and she wanted more.
“Yeah,” she encouraged, gripping the collar of his tunic in a vice. “Just like that.”
Obi-Want hummed, leaning in and carefully tracing his lips down her throat, nuzzling the skin with his nose and gently taking it between his teeth. Siri let out small sounds of encouragement, the feeling of his mouth on her sending shivers down her spine. He paused when he came to the juncture of her shoulder, noticing how sensitive she was there. She whined a little, feeling him nudge one of his thighs between her legs as he nuzzled against her.
“You’re sure you don’t have much experience?” she teased, letting her head loll back against the glass. It was cool to the touch and Obi-Wan was lighting a fire beneath her skin.
He hummed against her, closing his eyes and sucking the skin between his teeth harshly. She let out a quiet gasp, her hands shaking as she gripped his tunic tighter.
“I said I’ve had some,” he corrected, satisfied with the blossoming bruise that was rapidly forming. He nosed along the tendon of her throat, skimming his teeth along it lightly while the tips of his fingers prodded beneath the intricate folds of the bandeau.
A jolt of static shot through the Force, running from the tips of his fingers all the way to his spine and Siri gasped, arching into him. He was surprised at the feeling and he pressed further, splaying the palm of his hand flat against the small of her back and pulling her against him. The static roared in his head and he hissed into her ear while she shoved the outer robe off his shoulders. She guided his lips back to hers and let the feeling of him consume her.
Obi-Wan carefully untangled his fingers from her hair, trailing the tips down the side of her neck, the front of her throat, and skimming down her chest before he grabbed her thigh and hiked it up over his hip, making her moan into his mouth. He smothered the sound with his tongue, forcing her lips apart and licking into her.
His skin burned against hers, his palm almost branding itself into her as he kneaded the supple flesh. She tightened her leg around his waist and rolled her hips downward, keening slightly and fumbling for the second sash on his tunic.
“Obi-Wan,” she whined, feeling him begin to distance himself.
He hissed as he pulled away from her, but she caught his lip between her teeth, making him growl as the hand pressed into her back came down to grab her other thigh and lift her completely off the ground. His arms slid under her ass while her hands flew to his hair, her nails raking across his scalp and tugging on the dirty blonde strands.
“Siri,” he rasped, bouncing her once and making her giggle as she tried to recapture his lips in another fervent kiss. I’m not done with you yet.
Hearing his voice echo in her mind sent a thrill down her spine that she couldn’t explain. His eyes were smouldering as he stared at her, an intensity known only to Master Kenobi settling deep in his expression.
The Force rippled and churned around them, and in all honesty, Obi-Wan was surprised that nothing, aside from the two of them, was shaking. He was sure both of their signatures were lit up like flares should anyone, like a nosy Padawan, decide to go looking for them.
He could already feel what Siri was going to do next, but having her shove him away so violently still took the breath from his lungs. He let out a quiet oof as he dropped her, rather gracelessly, surprised and a little uncoordinated.
“What-”
She quickly grabbed his belt and pulled him forward, pressing a finger to his lips. He felt his cock jump at the action, and his eyes almost rolled back as she delicately brushed against the bulge in his trousers while she shushed him.
“I told you,” she said, replacing her finger with her lips momentarily. “We’re going to change that.”
He huffed as she dropped to her knees, her palms on his pelvic bone. Siri smirked up at him, her eyes dark as she brushed her thumbs against the sides of his cock. Obi-Wan moaned, slamming his own palm into the glass window with so much force he was surprised it didn’t crack.
She hummed to herself as she took her time undoing the laces, all the while gazing up at him through her lashes and wearing that infuriating smirk. By the time she was finished, there was a noticeable wet patch on his pants. He was clenching and unclenching his jaw, but the sensations of pure bliss that were rolling off him let her know that it was more than enjoyable for him.
She hooked her fingers into the waistband and slowly began dragging his trousers and undershorts down, making his legs shake and her smirk only grow. “I’ve barely even touched you,” she said. “Trust me, Master Kenobi, this will be worth it.”
His thighs quivered and he moaned at that, doing all he could not to roll his hips into her at her words.
Finally taking mercy on him, she tugged his breeches just low enough that his cock sprang free. He gasped as it slapped against his still clothed stomach, the tip swollen and leaking precum. Siri couldn’t help but lick her lips and rub her thighs together at the sight.
She grabbed his hips and raised herself on her knees, leaning forward and licking him from base to tip in a languid stroke before pressing a gentle kiss to his head.
Obi-Wan groaned, his Force singing with pleasure. Siri swirled her tongue around the weeping slit, spreading the precum and tasting him at the same time. She whined before hollowing her cheeks and taking him as deep down her throat as he would go.
“Ah, Siri,” he grunted, his hips faltering and his arm quivering as he tried to hold himself steady. He bit the knuckle on his fist before setting his free hand on top of her head. She could feel the fact that he wanted to sink his fingers into her hair, and the broken moans coming from deep in his chest only spurred her on.
She slowly raised her head, sucking and dragging her lips along him as she went. When she got about halfway up his cock, she sank back down, opening her throat and taking him until her nose brushed against his pelvis.
“Hng, Siri, darling, fuck-”
Siri smirked, nuzzling the patch of hair at his base before rising slowly again.
Don’t hold back, Obi-Wan, she encouraged.
He grunted in response and she felt his palm flatten against the top of her head, his fingers threading through the intricate braids starting at the back of her skull. His grip was gentle and rough at the same time as he pulled her back down onto him.
That’s it. So good for me,
She preened at the praise, her nails digging into his hips as she swallowed around his thick length, making him tremble. When he pulled his hips back, she was a little startled, which led to a gentle scrape of her teeth against the top of his cock.
The Force practically howled.
He pulled out of her mouth, his breath coming in ragged pants, the tip of his cock still connected to her by a long trail of precum and spit, and she smirked.
Fuck my mouth, Master Kenobi. She leaned forward ever so slightly and took the very tip of him into her mouth, sucking on it hard before releasing him with a pop. “I know you want to.”
Obi-Wan stilled, staring down at her with hungry eyes. He clenched his jaw and a surge of lust shot through Siri as he removed his hand from the window and took his cock in his fist, pumping it several times, before guiding the tip to her lips. She opened automatically, eyes shining as shook with anticipation. She sat back on her heels as he approached, lowering her head and sticking her tongue out to lick the underside of his cock in a wide stroke, gently thrusting her tongue over the ridges and veins, before spitting on the tip.
He tasted a mix of salt and musk with just a little bit of sweetness that made her want more. So when he suddenly slammed his hips forward, shoving himself as far down her throat as he could, she readily accepted. Even though she’d relaxed her throat, the suddenness and roughness of his action sent her gagging around his cock, bringing tears to her eyes while her hands flew to his hips, scrambling for something to hold onto.
Too much? The worry in his tone was endearing, and at the sight of her tears he was immediately beginning to pull out of her mouth, but she gave a small shake of her head and a muffled, “No,”
What surprised him next was the sudden and uncontrolled jolt of his hips forward again, making him grunt and throw his hand into the window again for support so he wouldn't go crashing into Siri. She moaned, swallowing around him and bobbing her head up and down in short, shallow thrusts. It was then that he realized she had forced him into her.
“Cheeky,” he huffed, cutting himself off with a groan and throwing his head back as she reached up and cradled his balls. She hummed, spit drooling down her jaw as he thrust shallowly into her mouth.
His breathing was coming in ragged gasps, his thoughts a jumbled mess, all he could focus on was the heat and feel of her. He was rapidly losing control, a string of incoherent curses and praises falling from his lips while he fought to stay on his feet. The pleasure was almost overwhelming at this point. Between her hand and her mouth, she was going to have him coming undone within seconds.
You can cum for me, she soothed, moaning when he leaned over her to stroke the back of her head before shoving her farther onto his cock, practically spearing the back of her throat. The sound of her gag had his balls tightening in her palm and she massaged them gently, rolling them back and forth as she guided his hips with the Force.
“Siri,” he choked.
Obi-Wan, she moaned, using one hand to dip beneath the skirt of her dress and shove her underwear aside. She gasped around his cock as she ground down on her fingers, seeking friction the moment she brushed her folds. She gathered the wetness that was absolutely dripping from her and slowly began pumping two fingers in and out, keeping pace with her thrusts on Obi-Wan’s cock.
A loud whine ripped from the back of her throat as Obi-Wan tangled in her hair and yanked her head back, while her hand was simultaneously jerked away from her core.
His eyes, hazy with lust, blazed at her. “What are you doing?” he hissed.
She gaped at him, mouth hanging open, still a little stunned.
“I didn’t say you could touch yourself.”
Siri whimpered and ground her hips down onto nothing. “Fuck, you catch on fast.” she muttered. “Are you going to let me finish sucking you off now?”
He snorted. “I can think of something else I’d rather you be doing,” he said. He tugged gently on her hair, nodding for her to stand, and she began to move, albeit slowly. When she wasn’t fast enough, she hissed when she felt something slam inside of her with enough strength to knock the air from her lungs. She gasped and gripped onto Obi-Wan’s arms, legs wobbly underneath her.
“I don’t think,” she started, smirking at him, “That’s considered an appropriate use of the For- ah-”
He smirked back, repeating the motion, this time a little slower. Siri felt a low vibration accompany the movement and she bit her lip to keep from crying out again. “I told you, it was about her pleasure, not mine.”
“Mhm,” she responded, clinging to him like her life depended on it. She bit her lip and thrust her hips down, grinding into the upward movement of the Force.
Obi-Wan moved to fist his cock, giving it several hard pumps and letting out a long groan of frustration. “If it's all the same to you, darling,” he said, leaning down to steal a kiss. “I’d like to fuck you properly now.”
Siri whined and chased his lips, nodding fervently. “Please,” she begged. “Need you.”
He grunted and bent slightly, hoisting her up and capturing her lips in another heated kiss. His signature pulsed with desire. He could feel the lust in Siri, building like a tidal wave. There was a knot in his stomach, and every stroke of her tongue against his tightened it, like something rhapsodic was about to happen. He stumbled back a few steps toward the chaise lounge he’d seen, waiting for the back of his knees to hit the plush piece of furniture.
Siri wrapped herself around him, pressing as close as she could get with the layers of clothing still in the way. She began tugging at his tunic, a pitifully needy noise coming from her. “We’re both wearing far too many clothes.” she complained.
Obi-Wan chuckled, kissing his way slowly along her jaw and down the side of her neck. “Then do something about it, my dear.”
She huffed and rolled her hips, her clit catching on one of the laces of his trousers and making her hiss. “I don’t think you’d appreciate me ripping these,” she said, tapping his shoulder gently. “I know how particular you Masters can be about your robes.”
Obi-Wan groaned and bucked up into her, hands smoothing up and down her back. “And I’m going to assume the same about this lovely dress?”
“It was a gift,” she panted, dropping her forehead onto his shoulder. “Please don’t ruin it.”
“Well, my dear. If you’d be so kind as to remove yourself from my lap, that would make this a little easier.” he teased.
She growled in frustration, weakly hitting her fists against his chest. “Bastard.”
He smirked, kissing the top of his head and bouncing his knees slightly. “Come on.”
Siri did as he asked, disentangling herself from him and reaching around to begin making quick work of the intricate wrappings of the dress. Obi-Wan grabbed the collar of his tunic and yanked it up and over his head, tossing it to the floor. His boots and trousers quickly followed, and within moments, he was reclining on the chaise, watching Siri with a smirk. He threaded his fingers together behind his head, eyes watching her movements carefully.
The dress was more complicated than it looked. And he had to admit, she was handling it with much more grace than he would have. He would've lost his patience at the first layer of fabric and simply ripped it apart.
Maybe it was better that she was the one taking it off.
“Enjoying the show?” she teased, finding the last clasp and letting the dress pool at her feet. Obi-Wan’s eyes followed the garment before taking in the rest of her body. She was lean and muscular, with the power of the Force flowing through her.
“Very much.” he agreed.
She reached behind her to undo her breastband and he shook his head. “Leave it,” he said. She gave him a questioning look but did as he asked, reaching hesitantly for her underwear. He shook his head again and instead motioned for her to join him.
She did as he asked, crawling over his body when she reached the lounge. He spread his legs to accommodate her, one of her knees settling between his thighs while the other caged his hip. She planted her elbows beside his head and leaned down, a smile on her face, before capturing his lips in a sensual kiss.
He reached up, one arm wrapping around her waist and his other hand cradling her cheek.
At that moment, everything was perfect.
A sense of calm washed over Obi-Wan that he hadn’t felt in a long time. A sense of peace.
A contented sigh left him as she pulled back slightly and he smirked up at her, his hand sliding up to pop the clasp of her breastband. It unravelled easily and he dropped it to the floor beside them.
Beautiful, He leaned up, pressing a kiss to the hollow of her throat before circling the sides of her breasts with his thumbs. She shivered slightly at the touch, and her nipples were already hardening with the cool air of the room. “Perfect.” he muttered, kissing and sucking across the top of each breast. He palmed each one before flicking her nipples with his tongue, making her squirm and gasp. Obi-Wan blew a breath of cool air over the sensitive buds and she moaned, rocking back into him.
“Obi-Wan,” she whined.
I know, my dear.
He worked his hands slowly down her sides before hooking his thumbs in the waistband of her underwear and dragging them down her hips. When they reached her knees, he smirked at her and there was the distinct sound of fabric being ripped.
Master Kenobi, she scolded, groaning as he grabbed a handful of her ass and kneaded it gently.
“Mhm?”
She let out a frustrated sound and readjusted herself before grabbing his cock and carefully lining him up with her entrance. Goosebumps erupted across her skin at the feeling and she shivered.
Obi-Wan was faring no better. Sweat was beading on his forehead and his chest was heaving.
Siri shifted her hips, letting his cock slide through her folds and gather her wetness.
She looked back at him, a question on her face. She reached up, fingers brushing against his cheek. You’re sure?
His eyes softened and he nodded. Siri took a breath and thrust just enough to seat his head inside her. She gasped, her grip on him tightening and making him hiss before she dropped to his chest.
Take your time, Obi-Wan encouraged, his hands rubbing her thighs and hips.
The sensations were almost overwhelming.
When she finally sank down on him, she wasn’t slow. She took him in one fluid motion, dropping so that she was seated in his lap. And then she took her time to look at him. Obi-Wan was looking at her like she was pure Light. There was a reverence in his expression that should have scared her, should have triggered something in the back of her mind, but she ignored it.
Feeling his cock stretch her and split her open made her see stars. Her palms were firmly planted on his chest and she threw her head back, feeling like she’d been thrown into hyperspace. An entire galaxy exploded behind her eyes and she let out a sinful moan and let herself fall until their bodies were flush against each other.
Obi-Wan’s hands were on her hips, holding her in place, steadying her while she trembled above him. He could feel the tether between them weaving and threading around itself, knotting and tightening and strengthening.
Lust.
Love.
Longing.
All of the things entanglements weren’t supposed to be. Everything an attachment was.
“Obi-Wan,” she begged, her voice barely above a whisper. “Please, I need you.”
“I’m right here, my love.” he said quietly, reaching up and brushing his fingers against her cheek. She whimpered and leaned into the touch, rolling her hips over his and taking him a little deeper.
He hissed between his teeth and threw his head back.
Their signatures twined around each other, dancing together in the Force as much as their bodies were entwined on the physical plane.
Then she started moving. It was slow at first, then she picked up the pace. She rose and fell on his cock, seeing the entire galaxy every time she came down. Obi-Wan clenched his jaw and dropped a foot to the floor as a brace before he began thrusting in time with her, fucking up into her while she rode him.
“Yes, right there,” she gasped, clenching down on him. “Don’t stop, please,”
“Not a chance.” he responded, grabbing her hips and slamming her down while he thrust up particularly hard. She cried out, raking her nails down his chest.
Yes! Won’t last long…
He grunted in response, a little startled when she grabbed one of his wrists and guided his hand to her cunt, pressing his fingertips against her clit.
Pressure, she instructed. Just a bit-fuck-perfect.
Obi-Wan teased her clit between his thumb and forefinger, applying just a slight amount of pressure before letting off and then applying pressure again. He repeated the motion several times and he could feel her walls fluttering around his cock.
“Cum for me,” he said, panting as he kept the brutal and punishing pace. “Cum on my cock.”
Siri whined and there was that low vibration again, deep in her abdomen, and she broke. Her cunt spasmed around him and he could feel her suck him in deeper.
The coil in his belly was about to snap, and he ground his teeth. “Where-”
Inside.
That was all he needed. He thrust a few more times, hard, inconsistent, and let go. Thick ropes of cum painted her walls and he shook as she worked him through it, whispering praises through the Force and trailing kisses across his chest.
When he finally stopped moving, he was completely out of breath. Siri was in much the same condition, her forehead resting against the hollow of his throat.
The same peace from earlier spread through the room like a blanket, surrounding them in their own little bubble. As they came down from their high, Obi-Wan began tracing mindless patterns on her back with his fingertips, letting his consciousness float in the Force.
It was true, he still had a lot of questions, and some doubts. He wasn’t sure where he was going to find the answers, or if he even could find them.
But with Siri draped across him, the calmness in the Force and the quiet in his mind, he could get used to an entanglement.
The aftermath…that was something he was going to deal with later.
Rex comes home to you in the middle of the night. His plan is take a shower before joining you in bed, but you decide to join him instead.
EXPLICIT. 18+ ONLY | about 2.3k words | smut. shower sex/piv. groping. softness. ty @rowansparrow for giving this a looksie since my brain is well past the point of tired and I really wanted to get this out bc I said I would. and also ty for the title bc I come up blank every single time. also I wrote in a pet tooka for added domesticity
A dip in the mattress near the edge. Warm lips gently grazing across your forehead. A light breath tickling the skin of your cheeks - your nose. The soft heat warming your face and neck from the proximity of the man leaning over you. Without so much as cracking open an eye, you know, even as you toe the blurred line of dreams versus reality, that Rex has come home to you, unintentionally nudging you awake from your deep slumber with his sweet greeting.
You keep still, letting sleep fight to claim you once again as Rex’s arm retracts from where he’s holding himself up at the edge of the bed - the dip evening out. The familiar footfall of his boots sound to the other side of the room - pieces of armor unclasping and dropping easily with each of the clicks and subsequent thuds against the ground. It does take him some time to undress, as it usually does, since Rex is normally quite neat and organized, especially in caring for something as precious as his armor. You can picture the sorted plastoid pieces in their self-designated spots on the floor along the wall. The hamper’s lid creaks open as he tosses his worn blacks into the basket to be washed.
You blink the goop from your tired eyes - finally allowing them to open. Unsuccessful in its daily conquest, sleep slips from your grasp. You don’t much ache for it in its loss.
Still pleasantly cocooned within piles of blankets, you notice the light in the ‘fresher pop on as the door slides open, shortly followed by the sound of a solaced groan coming from Rex as his bare feet pad into the stall. The squeak of the faucet as the shower turns on comes next - the steady waterfall breaking as he steps to stand under it. You can easily picture the dirt, blood, and grime rinsing away from his skin, the dark water swirling around the drain before seeping through the tiny, netted holes.
Sleep is the furthest thing from your heart’s desire at the moment - pounding and screaming and longing to be close to the man who has long since claimed it. The drum of your heart joins with the serene sounds of falling water - the melody warming your bones. It’s only about a minute of the two, steady rhythms easing your mind when you decide that you’d like to join Rex - to bathe underneath the soothing stream while pressed against his sturdy body.
You're quiet about it as if he’d hear you through the soft roar of the running water, unwrapping yourself from the warmth of the surrounding blankets, climbing out of bed more elegantly than you’d anticipated due to the grogginess. You look at the time, shedding your clothes while blinking your hooded eyes made heavy in your mind’s stupor within the darkness of the bedroom, only slightly illuminated by the light coming through the crack of the fresher door - the steam from the water's heat seeping through as well. It’s very early in the morning - the sun hours away from peeking over the horizon. Plenty of time for a nice shower and whatever may come next before the native creatures begin chirping and singing - signaling the start of day.
When you step inside the ‘fresher, chilled toes against the moist tiles, wading through the growing weight of steam, Rex is facing the tiled wall - palms splayed against it, his head tilted down and hanging between his arms.
Slowly, but not sneakily enough to stir something sensitive and practiced within him, you step into the stall and wrap your arms around his torso in a crawl - the hills and plains of his muscles underneath your fingertips - his heated skin made hotter by the temperature of the water. Rex sighs, a smile no doubt forming on his perfect lips as you squish your chest into the firmness of his back.
Too easily, you take the bar of soap from his hand, running the soft brick up and down his arms - a dusting of suds forming in its wake. You run it along his abs, his chest, his collarbone - massaging any remaining tension from his muscles with your free hand. The warm and earthy scents of his favorite soap - the one you use to coat yourself in him in his absence - sticks to the rising steam and sits heavy in the air - your lungs. You continue to wash him, scrubbing as much as your hand can comfortably reach from this position, planting kisses along his back where your chin digs into his skin.
Rex turns around in your hold, his forehead tapping against yours as you start to work on his rear - the smooth dip of his back as it curves into his ass - the tender space between his shoulder blades. He melts into you - bones sagging and muscles loosening. The waterfall of liquid relaxation rinses any and all suds and bubbles away, leaving the two of you slippery and warm within each other’s arms. You cup his cheek, running your thumb over the stubble growing along his cheek and jaw.
The bar of soap falls from your fingers, hitting the shallow pool at your feet with a soft splash. Rex’s forehead remains pressed to yours, the water splashing from atop his head and dripping down from his hairline, cascading down his strong features then down his chest. Your hands run up and down his back, palms and fingers digging into his skin as you work every last bit of tension from where he keeps it. Rex vibrates under your hands, practically purring from your touch as his own hands start to linger from where they once sat still at your hips. Eyes open and looking directly into his through the broken streams of water, you mirror his movements, letting a hand circle around his waist and ghost over the flattened hairs of his inner thigh. Rex’s breath hitches when your fingers brush against the softened appendage hanging between his legs, his blood quickly rushing south as it hardens in your loose grip.
He hums, a chuckle bubbling in his throat, a little smile now on his lips. “Hi.”
“Hi,” you echo - palming him to his full length. He groans, and you smirk - tenderly squeezing the head. “Welcome home, my love.”
Rex throws his head back, brows pinched as you start to languidly pump him. His hands continue to travel, grabbing at your ass to pull you in closer. Your lips attach themselves to the taut skin of his throat, the lingering scent of the soap climbing through your nostrils. A hand on your ass moves inwards, fingers grazing the wet lips of your sex.
“It’s good to be home,” he manages through a quiet groan, his head returning upright. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
You hum with a grin, nodding your head and closing your eyes as Rex leans in to capture your lips with his. It starts off gentle - soft and sweet and everything a ‘welcome home’ kiss is meant to be. His hands move upwards to the back of your neck and head, pressing your mouth as deeply as it can get within his own. It’s all so passionate - a delicate approach that soon bleeds into something far more urgent - desperate. The glide of his soft tongue along your lips - between your teeth. The heavy breaths seeping from his and your nostrils - deepening as the moments go on. The water weighing down your eyelashes as they stick to your cheeks - heavy droplets dripping from the fine hairs. Rex claims your mouth with his own as you pump his cock in earnest - hands grabbing at every inch of you - trying to feel all of you, all at once.
“Osik ,” he curses while breaking for breath. His fingers crawl down your stomach, sliding effortlessly through your folds and deliberately grazing your clit. When you gasp from the sensation, consequently picking up the pace of your hand’s glide along the smoothness of his length, Rex bites his lip - centering. “It- it’s too soon, cyare. Wanna - fuck - I wanna be inside of you.”
It’s not hard to tell just how close Rex is to unraveling, with being too worked up and in desperate need for a sweet release - lower muscles becoming tighter and breaths shortening. His plea sends a burst of flame through you, pulsating heavily between your legs. The thought of him spilling inside of you is postitively erotic, and with a look , tongue peeking from between your lips and eyes hooded with desire, you release him, instead running your hands up his torso and connecting around the back of his neck.
Nothing else is said when your wordless agreement is demonstrated by the guidance of his hand by your own to hold your leg up in place at his hip. Rex’s lips part with a shuddering sigh as you grip his cock, running the head between your folds and prodding at your entrance. He carefully walks you back towards the tiled wall, out from directly underneath the running water to be braced by the wall at your back and his body holding you up at your front. As he breaches you, you both share an exhale of relief, Rex’s hands grabbing underneath your thighs to urge you to jump up. When you do, your cunt swallows the entirety of his length, the soaked curls at the base rubbing against your clit. You’re both still for a moment, savoring the delicious stretch of your clenching walls working to accommodate him. Your thighs squeeze at Rex’s hips when he finally begins to thrust, moving slowly as his forehead once again meets yours. With your back pressed against the wall and large hands holding you steady from underneath, you wrap your arms around his neck and relax your lower muscles as he plunges up into you.
The angle has Rex hitting something incredibly devastating within you, knocking the air from your lungs and making your toes curl even with this easy pace. He knows your body extremely well, probably on par with the way he knows his own dual blasters, and never fails to strike the most divine chord every single time, leaving you as nearly a pile of warped bones and flesh that bleeds for him.
“Missed you,” he murmurs against your lips. Your nails scrape along the thick skin of where his shoulders curve into his neck as your moan breaks your smile. “Thought about you every single day. About you, about this… ”
Rex picks up the pace and you cry out - lips connecting. His soft groans mingle with your whimpers, the sounds of pleasure being breathed into one another. It’s been weeks without Rex, without feeling the man you love, and it’s all just so overwhelming - so all-consuming and euphoric and the heat streaming through you is morphing into a dangerous wave, taking you under in the blink of an eye - a choked wail of pleasure. Rex’s groans grow louder, his movements stuttering as they become more purposeful, and as you clench impossibly hard around him, your cunt threatening to never let him leave, he whines, offering a few more sharp jabs before spilling himself into you.
You rock against him the best you can to help coax out the last of his release, fingers digging into the meat of his shoulders. The back of your head meets the wall, and your eyes instantly grow heavy - sleep coming back for vengeance. Rex kisses along your throat, your jaw, your chin, your cheeks - holding your body up as you both come down as one. From behind the darkness of shut eyes, you feel your feet once again standing in the shallow water, feeling the gentle splash of water between your legs as your chin rests against Rex’s shoulder. He holds your exhausted body upright as he rinses you, making sure to clean up the mess the two of you had made in that moment of bliss.
You’re fading in and out, you can feel it - the haze in your head growing as your body becomes limp. Not many sounds are noticed by you save for the squeak of the faucet as the water shuts off. Suddenly your feet are off the ground again, a gentle breeze cooling the droplets on your skin. In the next moment of consciousness, you’re laying in bed, blanketed by your favorite quilt, Rex’s arm curled around you and your head tucked in the crook of it. You’re not sure how long it’s been since the shower, but his warm, bare skin feels dry underneath your cheek and arm, and he’s fast asleep - snoring soundly.
You begin to notice a weight sitting on your stomach, and when you look down, you see two, large golden eyes looking up at you. Blue watches your hand as you bring it to pet the top of his head, but as your palm makes contact with his soft fur, he decides to relocate to Rex’s stomach instead - curling up and paws tucking. You roll your eyes at Blue’s ‘fuck you, mom’ gesture and look to Rex, who’s still asleep and clearly unbothered by the cat now sleeping on him. His expressions are so soft - so peaceful. Lips parted. Features relaxed. Eyelashes fanned against his cheek. Wrinkles and crinkles at ease. When you look at him, your heart pounds . It’s such a strong feeling every single time - a love that is never fading, but that is growing with each passing day. When you inhale, you smell the lasting scents of his soap. He’s clean. Relaxed. Asleep. At peace. You wish you could keep Rex like this all the time.
I'm not sure just how far this road will go (Part 2)
Pairing: Fox x Padawan!Reader / Fox x fem!Reader
Summary: After weeks of distance and silence, the fleeting moment you shared with Fox seems destined to fade into memory. But your Commander in scarlet armor has other ideas.
Word count: 8.7k (when i said he possessed me...)
Tags/Warnings: NSFW 18+; the plot got in the porn again; fingering; semi?-public sex; pinv sex; unprotected sex (armor up your little trooper before deployment guys); armor kink if you squint; pov parkour because I like knowing what everyone is thinking; so much fucking angst; slightly even more awkward!Reader; soft!Fox; would anyone be interested in a part 3?
Read part 1 here.
ori'vod - older brother ; vod'ika - little sister
vod - brother ; vode - brothers
cyar'ika - sweetheart, darling
ner - my
mesh’la - beautiful
Jetti - Jedi
shebs - ass
As much as you couldn't wait to message him when you got his frequency, you surprisingly simply... didn't. You got back to your cabin, all giddy and excited, you opened his comm channel and... you froze. You stared at the small typing bar flickering on the screen for what felt like hours urging your brain to let you do anything.
Cody said he asked for your frequency first, that meant he wanted to talk you – logically you knew this. But your damn anxious brain wouldn't let you message him.
You deleted what had to be five attempts at nice, normal greetings, scoffing at the weird phrasing. Everything you wrote felt off, as if you suddenly forgot all the Basic you've been speaking for your entire life. The words looked wrong and you triple checked the spelling on almost all of them, worried that you'd gotten the simplest ones like 'mission', 'system' and even 'weeks' wrong. It was infuriating.
After half an hour of staring at your comm you gave up, threw it on your bed and jumped in the shower, vowing to finally send a simple 'hi' once you were done.
But that was six weeks ago.
You're sitting on a cot in the medbay now, watching the clone medics milling around. The battle was long and exhausting, but it's finally ended and you're en route to Coruscant. You're not injured – you're there for moral support for Waxer, who caught a stray blaster bolt right at the end of the siege. He'll be fine, nothing major – you're actually in there to keep yourself distracted if you're honest.
You still haven't commed him. You thought about it daily, but you kept putting it off. And now you're on your way back to Coruscant where you'll spend the next seven rotations while the men finally have some much-earned leave.
And you're terrified.
Has he thought of you at all these past weeks? Does he still want to see you? You'd know if you'd managed to kriffing comm him… But your anxiety and insecurities didn't allow it. And well, there was also the other issue… the small, impossible-to-ignore issue of, you know, the fact that you’re a Jedi. You’re not supposed to form attachments. Not supposed to get involved with a clone. Not supposed to be hiding in the medbay, unable to focus on anything around you because all you can think about is seeing Fox again.
Will you even run into him? You don't really see how your paths might intersect – you have no business in the Senate, he has no business in the Temple.
Maybe at the 79s? But he's rarely there. In all the times you’ve been there with Cody, Rex and the other troublemakers of the 501st, you've never seen him in.
No... you doubt you'll run into him unless you actually pick up the comm and send him a message.
But it's been so long. Six standard weeks of no contact. And after what? One single night of drunken mistakes? One amazing night that you can't get out of your head... But who are you kidding – the odds of him clinging to it the same way as you have are slim. There's no way he's still thinking about you.
Fox watches the stream of troopers pour out of the transports, his eyes scanning for any sign of Jedi robes among the orange-painted plastoid.
He’s not really supposed to be there. He happened to be on patrol in the area, noticed the transports coming down, and decided to wait for Cody since he'd not seen him in a while.
Well… that’s the story he'll give him and anyone else who asks what he’s doing at the main Base. But the truth is he'd arranged his schedule this way. He wanted to be in the area, knowing that the 212th was returning on-world.
He wanted to run into you.
Fox had tried a second time to get your frequency from Cody – a couple of days after his vod had refused to give it to him – and he learned that you've also asked for his. And Cody gave it to you.
So Fox waited.
And waited.
And waited…
The first rotation passed as it usually did, with Fox dealing with the banthashit thrown at him by various senators or the Chancellor. He’d not even had the time to check his comm until the evening, and when he finally did, he was disappointed to see there was no message from you. He hadn’t even realised how much he’d been expecting it…
The next rotations were spent checking his comm increasingly often. At first it was a couple of time throughout the day, but as the days turned into weeks and you still had not reached out to him, Fox began to check it constantly… obsessively.
After four weeks he caved and sent a comm to Cody.
CC–1010: Are you sure you gave her the correct frequency?
His brother’s response came excruciatingly slow – the 212th was in the middle of a siege after all.
CC–2224: I did. She hasn’t messaged?
CC–1010: Oh she has, we’ve been talking all day, every day, and I’ve commed you for no kriffin’ reason.
CC–2224: Don’t take it out on me, vod. She probably came to her senses. It sucks, I get it. But she’s Jetti. You’re a GAR officer. I suggest you follow her example and snap out of it.
CC-1010: Thanks, vod. Always such a pleasure speaking to you.
He hated this. Hated that he expected something from you. That a part of him – the part that should’ve known better – kept hoping you hadn’t forgotten what it meant, even if it had only been once. You’d been his moment of warmth in a never-ending sea of anxiety, pressure and political nonsense. You’d been the first real connection he’d felt with another person in way too long.
And he thought you’d felt it too.
Cody was right, however. Fox had to snap out of it. He had to get his head back in the game. He was the commanding officer of the Corries. He had a duty to the Chancellor, to the people of Coruscant, to his vode. He had to focus on that. He had to get you out of his mind.
And yet, every time the comm lit up, he checked it.
And every time, it wasn’t you.
To his credit, Fox really did try to let it go. He tried to focus on anything else – even on the conversations of senators he usually tuned out. But you wouldn’t leave him. You haunted his dreams, your face appeared clear as day in front of him every time he closed his eyes. It was pathetic, infuriating. And it was really getting to him.
His mood had soured more than usual, his patience even thinner than before – he actually made a couple shinnies cry at one point. The others noticed. Thorn, Thire, Stone, even Hound – they all tried to figure out what had happened, their worry for their vod growing.
But Fox was Fox. The more they tried to reach out to him, the more he pulled away. Especially from Thorn, who knew about that night. Knew about you. Knew what to imply with his questions.
His vod tried, but Fox refused to speak about it. Every time Thorn approached him, he would find something that needed his attention, some place he needed to be. He didn’t want to talk about it. Didn’t want to name it. Because once he did, it became real – and real things could be lost.
You asked Cody for his frequency. You had the means to contact him. So why didn’t you? Why even ask for it if you weren’t going to use it? You must’ve wanted to send a message – Fox was sure of it. Was it a rejection? Was that why you hadn’t commed yet –were you going to reject him, tell him that it couldn’t happen again, but you didn’t know how? Were you going to tell him it had meant nothing to you, or worse, that you did regret it?
All these questions swarming in his mind – it was driving him crazy.
You were driving him crazy.
So when he learned that the 212th was returning to Coruscant, Fox decided he needed to see you.
So now he’s here, stiffly stood at parade rest in the hangar of the main Base, as if he’s preparing for a thorough inspection.
Ideally, he wants to talk to you – but he knows he shouldn’t. Because what he really wants is to ask if you’d thought about him, if that night had meant anything to you. He wants to ask why you haven’t commed.
He wants… he just wants to be in your warm presence again, hear the melody of your voice – even if only for a moment.
It’s embarrassing, really, how much of an effect you had on him.
Fox steps to the side to let the medics pass, eyes briefly scanning the injured troopers laid out on hover-stretchers. The first transports are always filled with the wounded – those being moved from field medbays to proper infirmaries, or even to the GMF if the damage is bad enough. He’s actually relieved you weren’t on any of them…
He counts the LAATs that have already landed. He’s read the casualty reports – he knows how many transports should be allocated for the injured.
Then come the officers.
If he estimated correctly, you should be on the next one.
He squares his shoulders and takes a deep breath, the exhale filtering loudly through the voice modulator of his helmet. The transport is approaching. His left hand balls into a fist before he flexes his fingers a couple of times, trying to shake the nerves.
He shouldn’t be this nervous – it makes no sense. He’s never nervous. Not when chasing dangerous criminals through the lower levels. Not when dealing with temperamental, vindictive senators who throw a fit if they don’t get their way. He’s always calm, collected, in control.
Hell, he wasn’t even this nervous that night. He was the one in control – you allowed him to be. Sure, he was also emboldened by the vapours of alcohol, but there’d also been something about you – an openness that encouraged him to let his guard down, to flirt and tease. To be himself. Not a clone. Not a commander. Just–
“Fox?”
The voice almost makes him flinch.
Fox turns, seeing blue-painted plastoid approaching from behind him. His eyes then lift from the tally marks scratched into the vambrace to the bleached buzzcut of his little brother.
“Rex,” he greets with a nod.
Rex’s face lights up. “Didn’t think you ever left the Senate,” he says, clearly pleased to see his ori’vod. “What brings you all the way out here?”
“Saw the transports coming in, figured I’d catch Cody,” Fox replies casually. “Haven’t seen him in a while.”
Rex pauses, giving Fox a quick once-over. “You alright?”
“Still breathing,” Fox says, then hurries to change the subject. “I didn’t know you were on-world.”
“Special assignment with Skywalker,” Rex answers. “Redeploying tomorrow. It’s why I’m here actually. Was gonna ask Cody to join me at the 79s tonight.”
The hiss of the repulsorlifts draw Fox’s attention and he glances over in time to see the doors of the LAAT swish open. He swears his heart stops for a moment.
But the first to jump off is Cody.
Fox can pinpoint the exact moment his vod spots him. Cody’s walking beside his general, gaze scanning lazily across the hangar – until he freezes mid-step. His helmet snaps toward where Fox and Rex stand. And he just stares.
This isn’t ideal…
Fox hoped he’d manage to get your attention while somehow avoiding him.
Cody, who will immediately see through his lie and know the true reason he’s there.
Cody, who thinks of you as a little sister and is fiercely protective of you.
Cody, who he’d never seen furious – properly furious – until that night outside his office.
Their last interaction had been that comm exchange two weeks ago. It didn’t exactly end on a friendly note.
“– so you’re coming, yeah?” Rex’s voice cuts in, clapping a hand to Fox’s shoulder.
“What?” Fox blinks, only now tuning back in.
“To the 79s,” Rex grins. “You’re coming with us.”
“Uhm… sure,” Fox mumbles, his gaze already moving back to the 212th’s Commander.
Cody is marching towards them, his helmet now off, eyeing Fox with a mixture of confusion and suspicion. Fox straightens instinctively, his posture going rigid.
The uproar of the chaotic hangar fills the gunship as soon as the doors open, momentarily drowning out the noise of your anxious mind. You’re among the last to disembark the transport, hovering around Waxer despite his protests that you have no reason to fuss over him. But you need something – anything – to keep your mind busy. To keep your mind from thinking of–
Him.
Hard plastoid hits your chest as you walk straight into Boil’s back, knocking the wind out of you for a second.
“Sorry,” you mutter under your breath. You bring your hand up to the left side of your sternum and rub what will undoubtedly become a new bruise – as if you didn’t already have enough after the siege.
“You alright, vod’ika?” Boil asks.
But you don’t even register his question. Your eyes lock on a figure you didn’t expect to see here.
Commander Fox – talking to Rex and Cody.
His scarlet armor is glistening in the iridescent light of the hangar and he is standing tall, hands clasped behind his back and shoulders squared. He looks just as imposing and maddeningly confident as you remember. As if nothing happened…
“I wonder what he’s doing here.” Waxer unknowingly voices the question buzzing in your mind.
Well… one of the questions anyway.
“Eh, can’t be anything bad” Boil comments. “No other Corries in sight.”
Their conversation doesn’t quite reach you – it’s like you’re listening to it from underwater. Plus, the sound of your heart thudding loudly in your ears seems to muffle all noise of the busy hangar.
You don’t know what to do.
Should you go over there and say hello? Risk embarrassing yourself – blurting out something idiotic, or worse, admitting you’ve been thinking about him nonstop for six weeks?
Or should you bolt?
He hasn’t seen you yet. You could make a run for it and catch up to Obi-Wan who’s heading toward the shuttle that'll take him back to the Temple. But he’s just given you permission to stay behind after you said you wished to remain with the men a little longer. If you suddenly change your mind he might figure out that something’s wrong.
No… the risk is too high – you don’t trust yourself to properly mask your emotions right now.
Maybe if you stick close to Waxer and Boil until you’re and out of the hanger… then head straight for the infirmary. There’s bound to be more than enough for you to do there. Help the medics. Focus on the walking wounded. Take the minor cases and lose yourself in the work.
Long enough for a certain Commander to return to the Senate where he belongs.
But you don’t get to make a decision.
You glance back toward the three men–
And your stomach lurches.
A shiver jolts through your body. He’s seen you. Fox is looking straight at you.
You’re sure of it. Even through the dark visor of his helmet, you can feel it. Your eyes meet – you know they do.
For a few moments you don’t move. You can’t – it’s as if you're frozen in carbonite.
Then, after what feels like an unreasonably long time of just staring, your brain kicks back into gear and you realise how ridiculous you must look. And how ridiculous this whole situation is. You are a Jedi – a damn good one too – and here you are, freezing like an Alderaanian deer in the headlights at the sight of a man you slept with once. Get it together. You’re supposed to be better than this.
Unfortunately for you, the others can see that something is wrong.
"Are you okay?" Waxer asks. "You look a little out of it."
"Uhh... fine," you manage to croak. You swallow hard, then start walking without another word.
Every step you take feels heavy, like wading through water. Your hesitance is impossible to hide. He's not making it easy either. The only sign of tension is the slight stiffening in his shoulders – barely noticeable, but you catch it. Though you don’t know what it means. He still stands tall, still looks unbothered. Calm. Collected. It makes your stomach twist.
Because a small part of you – a tiny, treacherous part – hopes that maybe, somehow, he’s here for you.
And that scares you. You’re worried that if you let that seed of hope take root in your heart, it’ll just be crushed. You can feel the heartache before it even takes place. Maker, you wish you’d bolted when you had the chance.
Captain Rex notices you approach, and warmly says your name.
“Captain,” you reply with a slight curl of your lips.
It’s a rehearsed smile – the kind that doesn’t quite reach your eyes – but it’s the best you can manage right now. Too bad Cody knows you so well – you really wish he didn’t look at you with such blatant concern written all over his face.
“How’d the siege go after we left?” Rex asks, glancing between you and Cody.
“Believe it or not, we can actually handle a few of droids without the 501st,” you sigh, rolling your eyes with theatrical flair. “Careful, Rex – it sounds like you’re letting Anakin’s overconfidence get to your head.”
“Never,” the Captain chuckles.
Next to him, Fox shifts his weight from one foot to the other. The slight movement catches your attention, and without your permission, your eyes glance his way again.
“Do you know Commander Fox?” Rex asks. “He’s–”
“We’ve met,” Fox cuts in.
His voice hits you like a physical blow. It’s not cold. It’s not bitter. Just… impersonal, completely devoid of any emotion. No wonder some troopers joke that the Corrie Guard Commander is secretly a droid – he might as well be, speaking and standing so damn rigidly.
Actually…
You look at him – really look at him. He’s too rigid. His voice is too emotionless. Not at all how you remember him from that night. He’s… different. Apprehensive. Maybe even anxious?
That little seed of hope stirs again in your heart.
“Yes,” you confirm. “We met at the fundraising gala.”
Your voice is lighter now, and the small smile you offer is more genuine. Maybe you’re reading too much into it – analysing the smallest movements – but it seems to have an immediate effect on him. Some of the tension leaves his shoulders and there’s a slight tilt of his helmet your way. Like he’s waiting. Like he’s hoping you’ll say more. Acknowledge that night in some way. You need to think of something quickly.
“The Commander actually saved my shebs,” you blurt out. Heat rushes to your cheeks as both Cody and Rex turn their heads to look at you. Maker, why did you open your mouth? “The Senator of my home planet he… uhh – there were these-these journalists taking photos – and, uhm, anyway I could’ve been in trouble.” You wince. “Still think that was abuse of power though,” the conclusion is accompanied by an awkward laugh.
Your eyes drop to the floor and you bite your lip, cursing your heart for racing and your mouth for spewing out incoherent nonsense. And yet, it worked.
“Brenko lost the election,” Fox says, voice steadier. “The new Senator actually seems decent.”
You glance back into the black of his visor, hoping that your eyes meet – it feels that way anyway. That sounded… more like him.
“Good. I couldn’t stand that fucker,” you chuckle.
A quiet, amused huff crackles out through his voice modulator. He laughed – sort of.
And just like that, that seed of hope is a flower in bloom.
“You were planning his murder if I remember correctly,” Fox says, the edge in his voice softening into something almost cordial – maybe even a little teasing. “Bold of you to admit that to the commander of the Guard.”
Definitely teasing.
“I said I was considering it, not actively planning,” you shoot back, slipping easily into the banter. “Don’t twist my words, Commander. That won’t stand in court.”
Another small huff escapes his lips and you can’t help the bright smile that lights up your face. Fox seems more at ease now – the tension in his shoulders has melted away and he finally releases his hands from behind his back.
“I could probably fabricate some evidence,” Fox continues, crossing his arms over his chest. “We’ve already established I’m not above abuse of power.”
“I knew the Coruscant Guard was corrupted,” you exclaim dramatically.
Next to him, Rex frowns slightly, shooting Fox a quick, confused look. He’s not actually… flirting, is he? The confusion deepens when he glances at Cody – who is glaring at Fox. His jaw is clenched, and the helmet is gripped so tightly, his knuckles must be white under the glove. So Rex isn’t imagining it. Cody sees it too – and he’s clearly not thrilled.
Rex takes half a step back – he’d rather not be standing between the two commanders right now. But the movement startles both you and Fox, breaking the spell. You glance around the hangar, then at Rex, whose eyes flick between his brothers, suspicion written plainly across his face.
You feel it now – the ripple in the Force coming from Cody. Not as furious as that night outside Fox’s office, but still… very much not happy. You swallow hard and risk a glance. Just as you expected, an annoyed grimace darkens his face.
Fox sees it too, and his posture instantly goes back to rigid.
The uncomfortable silence that settles over the four of you is deafening, and as much as you’d like to talk to him for longer, you need to escape the tense atmosphere. You cannot deal with Cody right now, and you can basically see the wheels turning inside Rex’s head – he’ll figure it out if you don’t dissipate the tension soon.
“I uhh…” you start quietly, pausing to clear your throat. “I should head back to the Temple.”
Fox’s helmet dips toward you, then shifts ever so slightly to Cody. His left fist clenches and unclenches by his side a couple of times as he quickly runs a few scenarios through his mind. It can’t end well – he knows it – but he still wants to do it. He wants to be close to you just a little longer.
“I can give you a ride,” Fox offers. “I’ll drop you off before I head back to the Senate.”
Cody inches closer to you, in an unspoken plea for you to decline. But nothing he could do or say right now could stop you. Not when your heart is racing with anticipation and butterflies are fluttering in your stomach. All at the prospect of spending more time with him. Alone.
“Thank you, Commander. That’s… really kind of you,” you reply with a small smile.
Fox stands a bit taller. A warm flicker of pride swells in his chest every time you smile because of him. His eyes linger on you just a moment longer before he turns his head toward his brothers.
“Rex. Cody,” he nods at them before he starts walking.
“Bye guys,” you say as you move to follow. But your steps falter as you make eye contact with your ori’vod. “See you later, Cody?” you add timidly.
Cody exhales hard, shaking his head with a loud, disappointed sigh. “See you later, vod’ika.”
You mouth a silent “sorry” before jogging to catch up with Fox.
Rex’s watches the two of you disappear out of the hangar. “What… was that?”
“Don’t ask,” Cody replies flatly.
The BARC speeder wasn’t designed for two people, so you feel a little cramped sat behind Fox. At first, you try to give him space, gripping the seat's edges instead of him as the two of you leave the military compound, but Fox is having none of that. He lifts the bike up and accelerates sharply, then veers into a higher traffic lane, swerving around a transport like he’s in a podrace. A tiny squeal involuntarily leaves your lips, but you still don’t do what he wants.
“You’ll fall. Hold on to me,” Fox orders over his shoulder.
You don’t immediately comply, so Fox switches traffic lanes even more abruptly. This time, your arms fly around his waist, anchoring you tightly to him so you won’t slip. You hear him make a satisfied grunt and the bike significantly slows.
“Were you flying like a lunatic on purpose just to get me to do that?” you exclaim.
“You were being stubborn,” he deadpans.
“You… you are such an asshole,” you mumble.
A low chuckle comes through the voice modulator. “We’ve already established that, cyar’ika.”
Heat rushes to your cheeks at the Mando’a pet name – you’d forgotten how much you liked it when he called you that. Thank the Maker he can’t see your face; it’s probably the same shade as the paint on his armor.
You tighten your grip around his torso and lean forward, pressing yourself against his back and resting your chin lightly on his shoulder. You look around; Coruscant doesn’t look so bad from up here.
The durasteel buildings gleam under the harsh midday light and the colourful speeders flying around in all directions paint a chaotic picture of life. You close your eyes, enjoying the feel of the cool wind on your heated face. Then you breathe in. Underneath the smell of fuel that is ever-present in the busy traffic of the city, you can make out the clean, familiar scent of GAR-issued soap… with just a hint of bitter caf. His scent.
Fox hears your content sigh and turns his head slightly – but the sunvisor of his helmet makes it impossible to catch even a glimpse of your face. However, he can see ahead, and in the distance, the Jedi Temple already looms, tall and imposing. The end of the line. Another goodbye with no promise of tomorrow. No resolve, no clarity… no reassurances.
You see the Temple too. He can tell by the way you straighten, then let out a deep, defeated breath. You nuzzle into the crook of his neck, like you're trying to get as physically close to him as possible. The hard plastoid must be digging into your skin, but you don’t seem to care. You just want to savour the fleeting moment for as long as you can.
He should be content. This already was more than he’d expected. He didn’t think he’d even get to talk to you, let alone have you so closely pressed against him. This is more than he could’ve hoped for.
But it’s not enough.
A few soft words policed by his brothers’ presence are not enough.
Your arms around him for half the duration of an already short speeder ride are simply not enough.
Fox needs more. He wants more.
And Maker help him – he hopes he’s right to think that you do too.
He veers sharply.
The sudden change of course startles you, and you look up as the speeder bike starts to descend. The Temple fades from view, swallowed by the skyline as the tall buildings rise around you. You’re getting closer and closer to the surface. You can’t pretend you’re not relieved.
“Are you kidnapping me, Commander?” you ask sweetly.
“Yes.”
You chuckle at his curt response, soft and amused, then rest your chin back on his shoulder. You have no idea where he’s taking you and, truthfully, you don’t really care.
Fox steers the speeder deeper into the planet. Sunlight fades, giving way to neon lights and flickering holograms as you enter the lower reaches of the Uscru District. But Fox doesn’t stop. You ride past glowing shopfronts and loud clubs, catching fragments of cheers and bursts of laughter. The nightlife of Coruscant is always awake this deep within the planet.
But he keeps diving lower. The light dims, the streets thin out, and the architecture grows more industrial. You’re somewhere in the mid-levels now – right on the border of what most would consider the lower levels. It’s not a place you’ve ever been before. The streets are rougher, more dilapidated – the kind you wouldn’t walk alone, even as a Jedi. But you’re not scared. You feel completely safe.
Because you’re with him.
The speeder glides to a stop on a narrow street in front of what looks like a warehouse. Fox dismounts and offers his hand to help you up. You accept, timidly curling your fingers around his. There’s no fireworks at the touch – just warmth and grounding steadiness. The kind that melt your insecurities away and encourages you to be at ease in his presence.
He doesn't let go once your feet are on the ground. Instead, he keeps your hand in his, tracing the back of your palm with his thumb. You take a breath in and step closer, looking up into the dark visor of his helmet. You wish he would take it off already.
Fox gently squeezes your hand, then let's go, his gloved fingers settling on the small of your back, applying tender pressure.
“This way.”
“You know, regular people go to a caf shop on their first date, not to dodgy industrial areas in the lower-levels,” you say half-teasingly.
Fox freezes for a second – is this a date?
He clears his throat. “We’re in the mid-levels. And uh… I’m not a regular person.”
You glance down at the floor and bite the inside of your cheek to temper your grin. He didn’t argue with the ‘first date’ part.
Fox guides you to the entrance of the warehouse, pulling his hand away from your back in order to pry open the control panel and start messing with the wires.
You chuckle at the sight. “Are we allowed to be here?”
“Abuse of power, remember?” he shoots back. You let out a soft laugh that makes his chest tingle.
The door half-opens with a mechanical hiss, just wide enough for a person to slide past. You glance at it, then at Fox, who gestures for you to step inside.
The lights begin to turn on one by one once you’re past the threshold and activate the motion sensor. You take a couple steps in–
Then you stop, eyes wide.
The room is large; you count at least two dozen support pillars lined in two parallel rows. But the size is not what captures your attention.
There’s grass on the ground. Actual grass – wild and unkept. The ceiling panels show images of blue skies and clouds – scattered with dark patches of faulty screens that keep glitching. There are large planters with purple-leaf bushes and even a couple of trees – you recognise the species as one native to Chandrila, although they’ve definitely seen better days. In the centre there’s a shallow dip in the floor – you can only assume it’s meant to hold a pond.
You’re speechless. You did not expect to encounter a corner of nature this deep in the heart of Coruscant.
“It was supposed to be a community garden,” Fox answers your unspoken question, coming to stand by your side. “There was an issue; something about permits, funding – whatever. Got tied up in red tape, so it’s been sitting like this ever since.”
“It’s beautiful,” you breathe.
“I thought you’d like it,” Fox quietly mutters.
The small comment wasn’t meant to reach your ears – but it does. You look up at him and find his helmet tilted your way. He’s clearly startled that you caught him. Fox clears his throat and abruptly looks away, then with a couple hurried strides he’s by the side of one of the duracrete pillars.
“There used to be bird songs too,” he says, pointing to the speakers mounted at the top of each pillar. “The sound system broke a while ago.”
“So you’ve been coming here for a while then?” you ask, slowly walking until you’re leaning against the pillar, facing him.
“Yeah,” Fox admits with a long sigh. “It’s a good place to clear your head.”
“And you come here a lot? As in…” you continue sweetly, “if I wanted to accidently run into you, would this be a good place you try?”
Fox turns to face you better, crossing his arms over his chest. “If you want to run into me cyar’ika, you could just use that frequency you asked Cody for and comm me.”
You straighten from the pillar, feeling your stomach drop and chest fill with embarrassed panic. “Y-You know about that?”
“I do.”
The garden suddenly feels too hot. You stare into the dark visor and swallow hard, even though your throat feels as dry as Tatooine.
“Oh…”
Your gaze drops, idly fixating on your boots. Silence settles around you, broken only by the low hum of the overhead lights and Fox’s breathing, filtered out through the voice modulator. But then – a hiss cuts through the air. You lift your eyes and watch as Fox finally pulls his helmet off.
He looks just as gorgeous as you remember – and just as tired. The bags under his eyes are still there – an ever-present part of him – but now there’s also a thin layer of stubble all across his jaw. His silver-streaked hair seems a bit longer as well. His duties must’ve kept him busier lately.
And, Maker, those whiskey-coloured eyes… your knees feel weak just at their sight. You could easily get lost in their amber hue. But the way he’s looking at you? It takes your breath away. There’s a longing in his gaze, a quiet hunger. And underneath all that, a softness you hope he holds just for you.
The corners of his lips lift into a small smirk and Fox cocks his head to the side. “You’re staring.”
“Maybe I missed your face,” you say in a kittenish voice.
“You've been surrounded by my face,” he snorts.
“No” – you shake your head – “not by yours.”
Fox studies your expression, his eyes lingering on your lips for a brief moment. Then he inches closer, voice dropping low as he utters the question that’s been tormenting him for weeks. “Then why didn’t you comm?”
The question is not accusatory. It’s not angry or disdainful. It’s raw, vulnerable – more vulnerable than Fox ever allows himself to be with anyone else. There’s a gentleness in his voice that stirs something in your chest.
“I…” you start, words eluding you at first, “I was worried you didn’t really want me to.”
Fox reaches his left hand and tenderly cradles your cheek. “I did, mesh’la.”
And then his lips are on yours.
It takes a second for your brain to catch up with what’s going on, and by then, your hands are already grasping his chestplate, fingers hooked at the base of his neck. Fox moves his lips against yours in a slow, deliberate pace, taking the time to reacquaint himself with your sweet taste. Your eyes flutter closed, melting at the way his thumb delicately strokes your cheek.
You shift a hand, lazily sliding it around his neck, until your fingers tangle in the hair at the base of his skull. It’s soft – softer than you remembered – and just long enough now to start curling at the tips. Maker, you’ve missed him; and from the way he’s kissing you, it seems like he’s missed you too.
When you tentatively slip your tongue past the seam of his lips, something in Fox snaps.
There’s a faint thud as his helmet slips from his grasp, landing in the grass by his feet – but he pays it no mind. His right hand comes to tightly grip your hip, pulling you flush against him, as his body presses you firmly into the pillar. The hand that was cradling your cheek slams against the duracrete just above your head, caging you in.
The kiss deepens, turns hungrier. His tongue enters your mouth, sliding around yours in a desperate dance of needy intimacy. It’s so soft, and there's that taste of caf again, dark and earthy. Him. Oh how you missed the taste of him.
You match the frantic movements, your heart racing in your chest. It feels so good that you can’t stop the whimper that sounds from the back of your throat.
Fox breaks the kiss and pulls back, taking a moment to admire your heated cheeks and slightly swollen lips. A self-satisfied smile tugs at the corners of mouth.
“Am I moving too fast?” The question is half-genuine, half-laced with teasing.
“N-No,” you answer. You’re breathless, panting for air, but Maker, you do not want to stop.
“Good.” Fox leans back in. “Normally I’d be more patient,” – he moves his lips along your jaw, then start trailing down your neck – “but you made me wait, cyar’ika,” he murmurs into your skin. “I don’t like waiting.”
You gasp when you feel his teeth sink into the base of your neck. Fox chuckles, a low and dangerous sound that travels straight to your core, causing tingles of anticipation to shoot through your body.
Then his hands move, quickly travelling to your chest and sliding your overtunic aside as much as possible. His mouth returns to yours as his left hand cups your breast through the fabric of the undertunic. But his right hand trails lower and lower.
“We're technically in public,” you break the kiss to whisper against his lips, as if anyone could hear you in this desolate garden.
“We are.” His hand doesn’t stop, and it finally reaches the waistband of your trousers, fingers toying with the button. “If you want me to stop just say so.”
Your ragged breathing is the only sound you hear as you meet his gaze. His pupils are blown with lust and desire – and you know yours must be too. You want everything he has to give, and you want to give him everything you have in return.
“I... I don't. Don't stop, Fox. Never stop,” you pretty much whine.
“That's what I thought,” he leans in to rasp in your ear.
Fox unbuttons your trousers and slips his hand between your thighs. His fingers graze over the fabric of your underwear, moving back and forth in a slow, maddening pace. Your breath catches lightly every time they slide over your clit and without thinking, you start grinding into his hand, trying to build up that delicious pressure. His eyes are studying every shift in your facial expression, every crease of your brows and parting of your lips. But just as you think he’s about to slip his fingers underneath the thin fabric – he abruptly pulls his hand away.
“No! Why–” you start, your eyes snapping to meet his.
But you don’t finish your complaint.
Fox lifts his hand to his mouth, gaze locked on yours, and pulls off his glove with his teeth. The motion is fluid, controlled – intimate in a way that punches the air from your lungs. You swear your brain short-circuits. That was the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.
You gasp when he swiftly returns it to your core, this time slipping it underneath all layers of fabric. His fingers glide through your folds, gathering your arousal before gently circling your clit. He repeats the motion, slowly dragging his fingers from your apex all the way to the edge of your entrance and back, but every time he reaches your sweet spot, his touch turns so featherlike, you can barely feel it.
Fox crashes his lips back into yours to keep you from objecting to his teasing. The kiss is deep and hungry, but you can feel the way he’s smirking against your lips. He’s very much enjoying the small vexed whimpers you’re making and the way you try to grind down on his hand. His codpiece feels uncomfortably tight, but he is determined to see you fall apart on his fingers before he does anything else.
“Fox…” you whine, breaking the kiss. “Please.”
“Please what, mesh’la?” he asks.
“Please stop teasing.”
“You want me to stop teasing?” he repeats between the kisses he’s planting along your jaw.
You respond with a nod, unable to form any words as you feel his fingers glide closer to your entrance. He pulls back to look at you, eyes darkening.
“I’ll stop teasing.”
And with that he pushes two fingers inside.
Your sharp gasp turns into a moan as Fox sets a rapid pace. His fingers pump in and out, curling just right along your walls. You can’t help the way your nails dig into the back of his neck, while your other hand is still holding on for dear life to the rim of his cuirass. His lips frantically return to yours, kissing you with a speed that matches the motion of his fingers. Then he trails his mouth lower, licking and nipping at the column of your neck. Your head falls back against the duracrete of the pillar, eyes fluttering closed.
“Don’t stop,” you beg.
The pressure is building, Fox can feel your muscles tense, clenching his fingers tightly. He keeps up the speed and brings his thumb to brush against your clit. Your eyes snap open, meeting his burning gaze. The determined look alone is almost enough to make you come. He’s not just trying to pleasure you. He wants to ruin you in the best possible way. To remind you exactly how good he can make you feel.
With just a few more thrusts of his fingers, Fox gets his wish. You squeeze your eyes shut as the pressure releases, and cry out his name. Pleasure spreads like electricity all over your body, surging through your veins in warm, rapid pulses. Fox doesn’t slow the relentless drag of his fingers until he feels your walls relax.
You’re panting heavily and your knees feel weak, like they might melt away at any second. But before you can even catch your breath, the world spins – and you find your front pressed against the cold duracrete pillar. Fox is right behind you, his body molding to yours, the hard edges of his plastoid armor biting into your back. Not that you mind – the pain quickly reignites the desire in your core.
His hands roam your sides, greedy and unrelenting, before one of them slides up to grope your breast. His mouth returns to your neck, the kisses now desperate. You can feel how worked up he is by the intensity of his movements. A hiss escapes your lips as he gets carried away and sucks on your neck a little too hard.
“Sorry,” he whispers, soothing the sting with the slow drag of his tongue.
“I don’t mind,” you breathe. “But I wouldn’t make them too visible if I were you. You’re the one in trouble if Cody sees them.”
Fox grunts. “Let’s not bring him up right now.”
Your giggle is cut short by Fox suddenly yanking your trousers and underwear down in one fluid motion, exposing your bare ass to the chilly air. There’s another small thud as something hits the ground, but before you can identify the sound, his hard length presses against your inner thigh. You arch back, encouraging him to slide through your folds and coat himself with your arousal.
“Kriff,” he mutters under his breath, hands tightly gripping your hips.
The tip of his cock catches at your entrance and your entire body tingles with anticipation. Then, without waiting any longer, he sinks in, accompanied by an incoherent Mando’a curse falling from his lips. You press your forehead to the cool duracrete as you adjust to the sting of the stretch, taking a couple of breaths. Fox pauses, buried to the hilt inside of you.
“Are you ready for me to move?” he asks.
“Yeah,” you nod. “Just start slow please.”
Fox leans in and plants a gentle kiss on your cheekbone. “Alright, mesh’la.”
He begins to move, rolling his hips slowly and listening to every small whimper that leaves your lips. The painful sting soon gives way to pleasure and you start pushing back to meet his thrusts, letting him know he can move faster. Fox groans and buries his face in your hair, inhaling deeply. He can’t tell whether it’s perfume or shampoo, but whatever it is, it’s intoxicating – and his new favourite scent. His grip on your hips turns vice-like.
You reach your arm back, curling it around his neck, and you tilt your head against his shoulder in a silent invitation. Fox immediately complies, crashing his lips to yours in a messy, uncoordinated kiss. His hips pick up speed, and his armored chest slams against your back with every unforgiving thrust, knocking the air out of your lungs. You almost laugh – he’s quite literally taking your breath away. You squirm, trying to make room for your ribs to expand, and he notices. Shifting slightly off you, he braces one forearm against the pillar and leans to the side. The new angle is exquisite for the both of you.
“You feel so good,” Fox mumbles in your ear. “So… so tight. So good.”
You moan his name as a response, your vision starting to blur around the edges. The tip of his cock is hitting that spot inside of you perfectly and you can already feel your second orgasm approaching. He is not too far behind. More incoherent mumbles fall from his lips as Fox gets lost in chasing his pleasure. At one point you think he says “ner mesh’la Jetti,” and your heart skips a beat.
You probably misheard. But the thought alone? The thought of being his? It’s enough to push you over the edge.
Your fingers tangle into his hair, pulling firmly at the strands, and you arch back into him. He groans, but you can barely hear it over the loud moans that leave your lips as the climax ripples through you. Fox keeps the rhythm steady as you ride out your high, not changing a thing until he feels you melt into his grasp. Then his hips pick up speed, the thrusts turning harsh, unforgiving, frantic, as his low grunts fill the air around you. He slams into you a couple more times before going rigid, his cock the only thing still twitching inside your walls, filling you with his warm release.
His head falls on your shoulder and his ragged breath feels hot on your skin. The hand on your hip wraps around you, holding you tightly against him. You bring your own to his, interlacing your fingers together as you simply stay there and breathe. The moment stretches on in comfortable silence and you savour every second of it. His armor is still digging into your skin – there will definitely be some bruises tomorrow – but you can’t bring yourself to break the spell. Not when his other arm wraps around your chest. Not when he’s holding onto you like you’re a rare sunny day, shining after weeks of cold, unrelenting rain. Not when you can feel how much he needs the closeness – how much he needs you.
But your body betrays you – the chilly air of the abandoned garden makes you shiver. Fox notices immediately and slowly slides out of you, tucks himself back in with two quick motions, then helps pull your trousers up.
“Thanks,” you say as you turn to face him.
The sight that greets you is one you want to carve into your brain. There’s a soft smile frozen on his lips and his eyes are bright, pupils still a little blown. A thin layer of sweat glistens on his forehead and the hair you ruffled during the act looks wild and messy. But the most striking thing is that he looks so young, so relaxed. It won’t last long – you both know it – but just for a moment the two of you and this garden are the only real thigs in the galaxy.
You don’t think you’ll ever get tired of seeing him like this.
Without thinking, you reach your hand to smooth down his hair. Fox closes his eyes, a small hum slipping from him on the next exhale. It’s such a small, natural gesture, yet it fills his chest with a warmth he’s almost afraid to name. He opens his eyes and finds you watching him, your gaze soft in a way that stirs something deep inside. But there’s something else behind your eyes – something he can’t decipher.
“You okay?” he asks gently.
“Better than okay,” you chuckle. “That was amazing. Ten out of ten.”
“Maker,” Fox groans. “That joke was terrible then, and it’s still terrible now.”
“Too bad,” you grin, a little smug. “I’ll make it after every time.”
His brain short-circuits for a second. Every time. That implies a next time. A next time he’ll get to have you in his arms, to hear you moan his name. ‘Every time’ implies a future he’s never allowed himself to dream of. But now? Now that it’s standing in front of him, wearing your smile, he wants it more than anything.
He recovers fast, and arches a brow as he steps closer.
“Every time? So we’re doing this again?” he teases.
Heat rushes to your cheeks. “W-Well, I do-I’d like to” you stammer. “If you want to of course, I can’t demand-I-I’m not assuming you want to because it-it is against the rules and–”
Fox silences you with a kiss. Searing, but slow. Passionate, but careful. His tongue moves around yours in measured, deliberate motions, fully demanding your attention. It tastes dangerously close to a promise.
When he pulls away, you feel weightless, and can’t stop the bright smile that spreads across your face.
He plants another small kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Come on. I need to actually deliver you to the Temple before they send out a search party.”
You roll your eyes, trying not to show your disappointment. You knew you couldn’t stay here forever – but that doesn’t mean leaving won’t sting.
Fox reattaches the codpiece and picks his helmet up, then frowns as he looks around.
“Where the hell is that glove?” he mutters.
You both look around the pillar, but it’s like it vanished into thin air. After a few minutes of sifting through the tall grass, Fox gives up with a resigned sigh – he’ll just get a new one – and the two of you leave the garden behind.
The ride back flies by in comfortable silence. You hold onto him tightly, smiling the entire time. He doesn’t go to the hangar; instead, Fox pull up on a street close to the Temple entrance, but just out of sight from any Jedi that might walk past.
“Thank you, Commander,” you purr, sliding off the speeder. “It was so kind of you to give me a ride.”
You can’t see his face under the helmet but you can just about imagine his unamused expression – and the slight shake of his head confirms it.
But before you can leave, he catches your wrist.
“Don’t make me kidnap you again,” he says, his voice a low growl.
“You say that like it wasn’t the best kidnapping I’ve ever had,” you laugh.
“I mean it, mesh’la,” Fox continues. “Actually comm me this time. I… I want to see you again.”
There’s a slight anxious edge to his voice, one that immediately sends butterflies to your stomach. He wants to see you again. Whatever this is blooming between the two of you, he feels it too, you’re certain now. You gaze into his visor, briefly wondering if he can feel the racing pulse in your wrist.
“I will. I promise.”
His hand lingers a little longer, thumb gently stroking your skin.
“Good.” He lets go.
Then he’s off, revving the engine of the speeder twice before disappearing into the Coruscant traffic.
You walk away, still feeling the warmth of his fingers on your skin. You’re already planning the comm you’ll send tomorrow.
A/n: if anyone is wondering what happened to the glove, a rat took it. Give me a shout and i'll write the rat's pov too
Taglist: @selene131 ; @lilooos-stuff (hope you don't mind the random tag, but it was your comment from a few weeks ago that motivated me to actually start writing, so thnx)
You have no idea how many times I go back and reread part one because I love Fox so goddamn much. Jedi romances are my favorite trope, and this is done so *chefs kiss* p e r f e c t l y, I just can’t
I would 100% love a part 3, and please tag me if you do
I'm so glad you liked it 🥹 Honestly, the fact that someone reread something I wrote multiple times feels so surreal. I’ve reread your comment a few times now with the biggest smile on my face. The jedi x clone is absolutely my favourite trope, so I’ll definitely write a part 3 (maybe even 4) eventually and tag you when I do ✌🏻 Might take me a little while though 😅
Your version of Fox is one of my favorites, and you actually kinda inspired me to start my Fox short fic. He gets so much hate within the fandom, but he is one of the ✨best✨ clones, imho
Jedi x Clone is life, and I will die on that hill with a blaster in my hand like a good soldier 🫡
And I love the fact that Cody has a little verd’ika 🥹
But first! We must thoroughly understand this man's fractured and devastated sense of self. Only then can we truly appreciate how connected he feels to her while finger-banging the soul from her body.
