The fact that so many people claim to hate fascists but are literally trying to cancel (read that as: censor) a woman for voicing her own opinions is trash and hypocritical. If you want Gina Carano fired for having an opinion that is different than yours, you’re a fascist. Plain and simple.
Gather ‘round class. Here’s another example of how, despite being able to write this person proves they cannot read because, as all we with thumbs, phones and the internet are aware, this is not what “fascist” means.
Please, explain to me what you define as fascism, then (outside of legal/economical contexts), since you seem to think you're the authority on it.
Fascism involves the authoritarian censorship of differing/subjectively undesirable opinions, which is what some people on the far left want for anyone who thinks differently than them, like Gina. Granted, fascism isn't the best term in this specific case because it's usually a far right ideology that is characterized by many other things (like nationalism, specific forms of economic and social policies, etc) but the supression of differing ideals does fit here. Maybe there's a better term for this kind of thing but it loosely fits by virtue of the fact that fascists do the same thing. They censor people. They get people fired/supressed/jailed/sometimes killed (in extreme cases) for not conforming to the way of thinking that they approve.
In the future, maybe you shouldn't say things and act like you know more if you can't back it up by proving it.
The fact that so many people claim to hate fascists but are literally trying to cancel (read that as: censor) a woman for voicing her own opinions is trash and hypocritical. If you want Gina Carano fired for having an opinion that is different than yours, you’re a fascist. Plain and simple.
The fact that so many people claim to hate fascists but are literally trying to cancel (read that as: censor) a woman for voicing her own opinions is trash and hypocritical. If you want Gina Carano fired for having an opinion that is different than yours, you're a fascist. Plain and simple.
Rex: Your shinies may already be war heroes with medals but one of mine just fit 47 tater tots in his mouth at lunch yesterday and that’s a new 501st record.
Hey! Idk if you do smutty stuff or not, but could you write like a HOT make out session with Fives or Rex please?
Peep me, sidling up to the bar of my drafts, cowboy hat tipped, as if this hasn’t been waiting on me for forever. I hope you guys enjoy this bc this mf right here was rewritten probably ten times total over the past year before I settled on this version. I was goin thru it, sis, times was tough outchere. 😪
Warning: this turned into much more than a make out session, oops. Moderate level smut with our favorite sexually deprived Captain exists here, beneath ye olde innocence-preserving cut. An undercurrent of angst trickles through. You’ve been thoroughly warned.
Also I suck at endings. You’ve been double warned.
It’s amazing what time apart can do to two people, how primal emotions become when they’re stoppered for too long, pressurized by the loom of violence and wartime grief.
Amazing how it can all implode into a chasm of heat and unbridled passion with a few short knocks.
When Rex manifests at your front door, tired but wild in the bright night of upper-level Coruscant, you feel your footing crumble away just as his body crashes into yours. Your half-sob of a greeting is swallowed up by his kiss before he even boots the door shut.
It’s a marvelous tumble.
“How long?”
(The question against his lips pulls at something in him, some familiar ache, but he chooses to ignore it for now—while he can.)
He gathers you up by your thighs and ass like you’re as weightless as you feel.
“Tonight.”
And the chasm deepens.
His tongue and yours twirl a dance as he hauls you through your living room, each step punctuated by the pull of a lip or the brush of a nose. He just barely misses taking a blind tumble over your ottoman before one hand slides up the fabric of your camisole along your spine and lowers you down to your couch.
“Missed you, cyare,” His eyes glow honey in the light from the window, soft brown and swimming with the stars he returned from, “Missed you so fuckin’ much, ‘m’gonna prove it.”
And you collide again.
It’s a feral affair, kissing any part of him you can reach, pulling at him, trying to get some friction against his plated body while his hands and lips explore you with equal hunger. His fingertips stroke shallow ditches into the skin of your hips, your thighs, your ass, chiseling your attention into a fine-tipped focus on your overwhelming need for him. You're so taken, you wouldn’t notice the end of the galaxy if it burned you down where you lay, underneath the heavy weight of comfort, the reassuring pressure that he was home and all was well, if only for the night.
It’s been months. Months of no contact, no word, no idea if he was even alive, spent staring up at the night sky, wondering if he was even breathing somewhere out there, among stars that twinkled instead of burned, so far away you may never truly know if he wasn’t.
(He’d been watching too, catching moments to himself like rare torchflies and glancing up at the galaxy on every planet he set foot on, wondering if you’d be there when he got back. If he got back. Thinking about all the possibilities that lay in the time beyond his return for good, at the end of this damn war, if there was an end. He hoped there could be a future for the two of you somewhere, anywhere if it meant you’d always fix him with those nebula eyes and laugh his planets back into orbit.
He’d take Tatooine, with its heat and sand and misery, if it came with your smile.)
A wash of kisses pepper into your skin, sweet and tacit in the emotions they’re heavy with, aches that the both of you know all too well. It beckons your heart into your throat and your hand into his hair where the blond is fading subtly at the roots, just enough to tell you how much of an easy deployment this one hadn’t been.
“Armor,” you breathe, feeling the chasm grow teeth, “take it off, please.”
And he does. Feverishly, he starts ripping himself bare above you, stripping layers of his second, more protective skin off with fumbling hands.
You do your best to help him as he sends large chunks of plastoid composite clattering to the floor in a pile of battle-worn whites and blues. His blacks come off last, and when he finally peels them off, lower half torn from his ankles with an impatient grunt, you can do nothing but stare.
He’s really here. He’s really here and he’s alive and you love him.
“I need those panties off.” He orders as he settles back between your legs on the couch, all rippling muscle under tan skin as his cock bobs half-stiff with every move. He doesn’t wait for you to react before big hands hook under your hips and he all but rips the fabric out from under your ass and tosses it away into the darkness of the room.
You would laugh at the gesture’s eager impatience if it didn’t come with the look that it did. A hungry regard, drinking you in through parched eyes that wander up your body alongside kindred hands, roaming your skin, bleeding warmth through the flimsy fabric of your top, until they settle either side of your face.
It feels absolutely reverent.
Fuck, do you love him.
“I want to drag this out more, mesh’la, but I can’t fuckin’ stand it,” his voice is unsteady in that needy sort of way, and you feel his hand burn a trail down your body to direct himself against your sex, “I can’t fucking stand it...”
A slow pass of skin on skin startles a moan from your chest. You both shudder as he does it a second time, another wet slide that makes you want to sing.
“Please,” You beg, hoarse and shameless. Your hands find his back and grip down on the broad muscle there, your body trying it’s best to buck up against him under his solid weight, “Rex, please.”
(And stars, if only he could resist you. If only he were a more patient man, a less ravenous lover not taken with raging against your body as if it were the last time. It could be the last time, if he’s honest. He could leave in the morning and die thousands of lightyears away and never see you again— so soft and bathed in the city lights that paint you the color of a Naboo sunset.)
There’s a final fracture of his willpower in the furrowing of his brow, in the steadying of his body and the capitulating groan that ghosts down your face. The tip of his cock presses at your entrance and you swear you could vibrate onto another plane.
He splits you steadily, filling you to the hilt in one fluid, full-body motion, his muscles tense, one hand gripping down on your hip like steel, the other fisted in the hair splayed around your head.
You both sigh.
It doesn’t take long at all.
It’s a slow stroke at first, one impassioned and fueled by love, by distance, by impossibility, or all three. The tempo slowly rises with the urgency of your whining, his rusty knowledge of your climactic process still adept enough to lead you quickly to that blissful ledge. The pad of his thumb finds your bundle of nerves and he watches the double stimulation drive you wild through heavy eyelids and rasped groans of his own.
A string of Mando’a that sounds like it could be poetry helps to send you falling.
It’s a catastrophic shattering, one that racks your whole body back and fires off at nerves and synapses until you’re nothing but a shaking mess of whimpers and dopamine beneath him. Your orgasm soaks him, pulls a deep, ragged moan from his chest when your walls slam tight around him he loses himself in it even as it subsides.
“F-fuck.” He growls against your neck, and you feel the unmistakable rising force of his own coming release.
As forceful as he can get, he bucks against you, ramming himself completely within you and all you can do is lay there and open yourself up so he can dig deeper. Deep enough that you hope the feeling finds a place to hide, a place that all the loneliness that floods your life beyond tonight can find, but the time that passes can’t.
The sound of your couch smashing back and forth rises up and meets the crescendo of a chorus of pleasure, high and low, and briefly you wonder if your neighbors can hear you.
Part of you hopes they do.
Your lust deepens at the passing thought of the Devaronian couple in the next apartment overhearing your tryst with the 501st Captain and you catch his lips again in another sloppy kiss. He tastes faintly of ration bars and corellian whiskey and he lets a strangled moan as you take his lower lip between your teeth. He kisses you back madly, just as his thrusts cross the threshold from even and punctuated to hopelessly sporadic.
He’s hardly able to form the question where, too gone to remember the contraceptive implant you got right before his last leave, and just barely registers your affirming inside, before it all bubbles over.
He gives one last good slam and empties himself, gasping and grabbing and straining as far in as he can go, until he’s reduced into a heavy, panting mass of sweat and exhausted muscle breathing against the crook of your neck.
After a silent moment, there’s a smattering of kisses from your collarbone to your lips when he’s finally put together enough to ease out. The emptiness lets a mess dribble down onto your cushions but that’s a worry for later, when there isn’t an overworked, exhausted trooper, deprived of everything but war, above you.
Gently, he resettles his weight, careful not to crush you and gets snagged when his eyes meet yours. Soft brown searches your face, just wet with thoughts better left unsaid and a splinter cracks through your chest. Fingertips, protected from callouses and roughness by perpetual gloves smooth across your cheek. He smiles, a genuine smile, such a rarity from your burdened Captain that you feel like you’ve struck gold, and when he speaks, it’s a tentative whisper. A careful sound, but not bereft of feeling, like he’s afraid of scaring away the moment as he tries to seal it in his mind forever.
“I love you.” He tells you, and it’s hard not to choke on the emotions that storm your throat.
GOD star wars: the clone wars (2008-2014) was the absolute fucking BEST. u do absolutely not get anymore buckwild than the insane range of emotions that these seven seasons can put u thru. obi-wan commits a war crime in the first episode. anakin drinks a space martini. a sixteen-year-old decapitates four men in a single second and it is literally never mentioned again. anakin, obi-wan, and mace windu find SPACE GODZILLA and the entire jedi order collectively drinks We Love Peta™ juice, decide not to kill it, bring it to the capital city, and it breaks out (ofc) and kills, like, a half million people. sheev just hangs out in padme’s office for six whole seasons being, i dunno, evil and absolutely not a single person catches on. there’s a blue guy in a dope-ass big hat who beats every single jedi’s ass and they still only call him, “that guy in the hat.” darth maul’s been living in a literal garbage dump with eight legs for the past ten years. anakin endorses state-sponsored terrorism. padme once contracted the black death. the jedi order tries to prosecute a twelve-year-old for war crimes. maul is forcibly murdered two (2) times over and still lives for some bananas fucking reason. whenever anakin does something mildly risky the darth vader theme plays. yoda asks anakin if they’re friends. the jedi order tries to prosecute a sixteen-year-old for war crimes. a cartoon made for twelve-year-olds has a four-episode arc about government oversight of international banking. this all happens in the range of three years. this show is absolutely fucking nuts.
this is on the sweeter side but; wolffe looking at you and just knowing you’re gonna be the mother to his children and then later on that night making sure you know while he’s deep inside you 🥴
I think it's a well established hc that Wolffe and all the commanders have breeding kinks.
Wolffe wants to nut inside you and make you his baby mama 🥴🤙🏽.
"Hm?" Thire hummed looking up from the bowl he was drying. He saw his little girl sitting at the island across from him. Curls pulled into two pigtails and his wife's big eyes staring at him much too seriously for a five year old.
"How did you meet Mommy?"
He stopped at that, surprised at the question. But Lilla was always curious about everything, always asking questions. She wants to know everything, and how everything works. Thire doesn't think her 'why?' phase will ever stop. He thinks somehow she short circuited Fox with all her questions when he came to babysit once. His curious little girl.
"You and all our uncles always tell stories about the war and how it ended but how did you meet Mommy?" Lilla continued.
Then Owet, Thire's eight year old son, bouncing over and rested his arms and head on the granite counter.
"Yeah Dad! I wanna know how you met Mom! Did you save her in battle like one of the pretty senators in the stories you read us!" The boy questioned and Lilla gasped.
"Was she? Was Mommy a senator?"
Thire laughed as his two kids began to create wild scenarios about how their parents met. He was the knight in shining white armor who saved her from a wicked gundark, he met her as the captain of pirates, and other scenarios.
"I'm afraid its not that exciting" he chuckled while finishing drying off dishes. He had Owet put away the cutlery for him while he placed pots and pans in their place in the cubboard.
"Well then how did you meet!"
Thire stopped and watched his two kids carefully. Owet had moved to sit in the chair next to Lilla. Even still it shocked Thire how much Owet looked like him and all his vod at eight. He had been terrified that his kids would have the advanced aging and wouldn't get to be kids for very long. He had begged any doctor he could to run test after test just to make 100% sure.
Thire clicked his tongue and grinned at his kids "Go get your shoes and coats and Ill show ya".
Giggles and peals of laughter erupt from the kids and they scramble to get ready. Thire shakes his head laughing before putting the rest of the dishes away and going to get himself ready.
"Come on Daddy come on!" Lila bounced and tugged on Thire's arm as he tied up his shoes and pulled on a jacket. He grabbed the keys to the speeder and settled both his kids in their seats, making sure they were both snug.
A short trip later brought them to an upper level Corosaunt diner. It was old and worn but always a good eat. Thire got his kids out of the speeder and they stood outside one of the large windows. Thire kneeled down,sat Lilla on his knee and pulled Owet close to keep him warm. He did his best to tuck his kids into his own jacket to keep them warmer.
"This is where I met her" Lilla and Owet gasped and wiggled in Thires arms begining their barrage of questions, "Hold on, hold on I have to tell the story!" He laughed and rubbed their arms to keep them warm. Despite Corosaunt being a mostly city planet it still got frigid at times.
"It was right after the war had ended, literally 10 mins had past. Me and all your uncles were all still on duty, I was on patrol when I heard the news" He explained, both pairs of eyes wide open with curiosity. The two of them silent and eagerly waiting for the story. Thire prided himself on being one of the best story tellers.
"At first...I was scared" Lilla gasped.
"Daddy! You? You never get scared! You always chase the bad guys away! And the monsters under my bed!" The little girl protested. Her Daddy was the bravest hero ever! He was never afraid. Owet nodded in agreement.
"Yes I do chase them away! But sometimes even the bravest heros get scared" Thire laughed, squeezing his little girl close, she then laid her head on his shoulder and looked up at him.
"So there I was, on a speeder at the end of the war, the war that created me and all your uncles. And I was scared, I didn't know what was gonna happen next. Before the war ended I knew what my purpose was. But then I realized that since the end had come, I could go get things I had never been able to reach before" Thire explained, "And I remembered this girl..."
"Mommy! Its Mommy right!?"
"Shush Lilla! He's telling a story!" Owet scolded. Thire laughed and quieted them.
"I remembered the girl who worked at this very diner" he explained, pointing up at the building, "I fell head over heels the first time I saw her, and I made sure to always come by to see how she was. But I never had the guts to talk to her, I had a duty to the Republic. But for the three years I was on guard, Id always come past here to see her."
"So what did you do?" Thire grinned at his boy.
"After I had heard about the war I came straight here, and I saw her. Right in this window" he whispered. He looked up and it was almost like he was replaying the memory as it happened.
A younger Thire standing outside of a diner, staring at a young waitress. He shook his head and looked at the chronometer on his gauntlet.
"Okay, 20 seconds of insane courage" He whispered to himself. And he grasped the metal handle.
"I walked in the door and there she was, she was talking to a customer so she hadn't seen me" Thire explained, walking the children through his movements.
The young Thire fumbles to take off his helmet and props it up on his hip.
"I was so nervous, I was fidgeting and twitching and I, believe it or not. Your suave dad dropped his helmet in front of this unbelievably gorgeous girl" the kids giggled at the idea. Thire tickling and teasing them as he went on.
Thire quickly stoops to pick up his helmet and when he stands he's staring right into your eyes. And they were so stunning, and it wasn't the color or shape that made them so amazing. It was the emotion that she held in them. Her eyes, they felt like home. He was just so awestruck by actually seeing her, standing right in front of him. Not just a glace while he rides a speeder past or a longing stare if he saw her out and about with friends. She was really here, right in front of him. Stained apron tied around her waist, hair tied back and away from her face. Her smiled at him so...genuinely. And after a few minutes he realized he had to say something because he was just staring.
"What did you say Daddy?"
"I said..."
Thire adjusts the collar of his blacks and gulps before returning his eyes to yours. Heart pounding so loud in his chest, he hoped and prayed you couldnt hear how it was banging against his ribcage. If any of the Guard were called because Thire had a heart attack because of a girl, he'd never hear the end of it. He felt a bead of cold sweat slide down his temple. He's got 15 seconds left.
"You are the most breathtaking women that I have ever seen..." Thire trailed off, he fidgeted and ran his thumb over the lip of his helmet "I have been dreaming of talking to you, but I've never had the courage to before. And I was wondering..."
He stopped, heart rattling against his ribcage. Deep breaths, don't rush it out.
"I was wondering if there was even a shred of a chance that a beautiful girl like you, would ever go on a date with a guy like me?"
Lilla tugged on Thires had again to bring him down to her level. Her face beaming at the story with her mother's smile. Owet squeezed his hand and waited patiently, watching his dads reaction.
"What happened next!"
Thire chuckled and looked at Lilla, he cupped her face and ran his thumb across her cheek. He turned to Owet to ruffle his hair.
"She said-"
"I said yes"
The trio turned to see the beautiful woman in question behind them, leaning on a pillar. Still as beautiful as all those years ago when Thire first saw you.
"Mommy!"
"Mom!"
Both kids squealed and ran to give you hugs. You scooped up Lila and pressed a kiss to Owet's head. Thire then comes and steals a kiss.
"And the rest is history" Thire finishes his story. The two of you just watched each other for a while, a loving gaze. You smiled at Thire before bouncing Lilla in your arms.
"You guys came all the way to my Dad's diner to hear that story?" You questioned, tickling Owet lightly.
"Best way to learn something is to see it, why dont we grab dinner here?" Thire asked before leading you to your booth. The booth where the two of you shared your first kiss. Where Thire met your parents. And where he proposed to you, on a cold and rainy night. He had wanted that day to be perfectly romantic, but the weather disagreed. So you settled for eating at your Dad's diner after it had closed. Dancing in the light of a datapad playing soft music before Thire got down on one knee and made you the happiest woman alive.
The two of you sat in the round plastic covered seating, Lila and Owet chatting happily.
"They're amazing" Thire hummed, slinging a arm around your shoulder and sinking down into the seat. He smiled as the kids made people out of straw wrappers and the forks on the table. They made silly voices and pretended to recreate one of their fathers war stories of him and his brothers. Lilla and Owet leaning across the table to play together.
"They really are arent they?" You smile leaning into Thire's embrace, you sweetly kiss his cheek before looking at him again.
"Guess its a good thing we're having another" you grin, and then laugh at Thire's bug eyed reaction. Thire tugged you in for a deeper kiss, mutter sweet nothings into it.
look i’ve been reading a LOT of sin stuff today and i can now make the highly educated decision that the motivation behind hate fucking for cody is bc you have more top energy than he does and it pisses him tf off
YALL FED ME BACK W THE inspiration oh wow >> rini
⁂
He fucks you hard, with no remorse.
You don’t expect anything less. After you’d commissioned two of his men for one of your assignments without his permission — and they’d listened — he’d stormed into your quarters in only the bottom half of his armour, and you’d found yourself with his hand around your throat, back against the wall.
It was still there, multiple hours and orgasms later — he’d made you cum with his fingers, cock, and mouth, and still, showed no signs of stopping. From the way he managed to outlast you every sparring session, you’re worried for your stamina.
You don’t show that, though. Instead, you snarl defiantly when he bites your lip.
“You think you’re so smart? So tough? Think you can just tell people what to do and they’ll bend over backwards for you?” He shoves his cock back between your legs, impaling you ruthlessly and bouncing your hips back onto him. He’d only taken off his codpiece — hadn’t even stripped anything else before he’d fucked you silly. “Like to see you bent over backwards.”
You bite him back, teeth sinking into his fingers when he tries to hold down your tongue with them. He grunts, but doesn’t let up his assault between your legs. He grabs your mouth before you can spit any retorts back at him, gasping breathlessly when he replaces his bitten finger to your thigh and pulls you farther on him.
Your eyes roll back, his cock pushing deeper, and your lashes flutter in orgasmic bliss when he hits the spot what no one else seems to reach. Any insult you had hoped to throw at him turns into a strangled moan, and your muscles go slack.
“Look at that. Can’t even take it,” he grins, claiming your lips in a sloppy kiss. You mutter sometjing unintelligible into his mouth as he fucks you through your bliss, and a few tears slip past your eyelids. He wipes them away, the only gentle motion he’s made since splitting you open with his cock. “Better perk up, sweetheart. I’m not even close to done.”
