DJ!!! If it's okay, for the first kiss prompt could I humbly ask for
"are you sure about this" with our voice king, Sev?
Or!!
their hearts stopping when they hear someone's camera click (a friend catching them in the act ?) with Tup?
Whichever one inspires you more! Please and thank you 💙
A/N: Thank you so much for the ask @secondaryrealm! It was so fun to get back into the swing of writing Sev. You’ll notice that I’m incapable of writing him without mentioning his voice. Voice kink gonna voice kink. Prompt is in purple!
Pairing: Sev x Reader (GN)
Rating: T, but minors DNI as always
Wordcount: 519
Warnings and tags: fluff, mentions of vomit
Summary: You do Sev a solid.
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“Are you sure about this?” Sev’s deep voice rumbled in your ear, sending a tingle of awareness across your neck.
You turned to look at him over your shoulder. “Kriff, no.”
He smirked and slid his helmet into place. “Too bad.”
Without warning, he spun you around and tackled you, sending you both flying out of the LAAT/i and into the abyss as his arms clamped around your body.
You shrieked, too terrified to be embarrassed by the sound. “Oh, my gods, I’m gonna die!”
You clung to Sev, burying your face against his chestplate as you squeezed your eyes shut, clenching your jaw to try to keep from screaming again.
Sev’s low, modulated chuckle sounded through his helmet speaker. “Relax, I’ve done this hundreds of times.”
“Carrying another person?!” you demanded raggedly, still not opening your eyes.
“Uh… no,” he admitted. “That’s why we needed volunteers for the training exercise.”
Your eyes snapped open, not that it mattered, since all you could see was Sev’s armor and helmet.
“Sev,” you asked nervously, “how many times have you done this while carrying somebody?”
“This is the first. I think it’s going well.”
“I can’t believe I let Scorch talk me into this,” you groaned.
“Everyone who’s ever met Scorch has said that at some point.”
You felt your weight shift as he adjusted the flight path of his jetpack, and your stomach flip-flopped. Gods, I think I’m gonna hurl. Please, please don’t let me hurl on him, you prayed silently to the Force.
“Don’t drop me,” you begged.
“Even if I did, the tether would keep you close.” Sev seemed to sense you didn’t find that as reassuring as he thought you would, and he tightened his fingers on you briefly. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”
True to his word, he soon landed the pair of you safely on the ground. As he released you, your knees buckled, and he caught you just before you collapsed. He yanked off his helmet with his free hand, and you heard it thud to the ground as he tilted your head so he could see your face.
“You okay?” he asked, scanning you quickly for injuries.
“Yeah, sorry,” you said shakily. “I just need a minute.”
You willed your legs to work as you tried not to stare at his deep, gorgeous eyes or his stupid, perfect mouth that you’d been trying to ignore for months. Why does he smell so kriffing good? He has no right to smell like that.
You cleared your throat. “I, uh, think I can stand now.”
Sev didn’t loosen the arm he had wrapped around your waist, and he stroked your cheek softly with his thumb as he held your head. You gazed into each other’s eyes, as though suspended in time, and then he closed the distance between you as his lips met yours. His lips felt exactly as soft and stupidly perfect as you’d imagined, and you sucked in a tiny, broken gasp when the kiss ended far too soon.
“Wow,” you sighed. “I’m so glad I didn’t hurl on you.”
---
Looking for spicy Sev x reader fics? Allow me to plug my incredibly spicy fic, “Turn It Up When You’re Gone” Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3. The fourth and final chapter will be dropping next month!
I like to imagine that at least once during the clone wars someone sent a report to General Kenobi and a very tired Master Kenobi just graded it and sent it back.
#my type of amusement varies based on whose report was graded#Ahsoka revises the mistakes and politely resubmits assuming Obi-Wan is teaching her how to write better reports#Anakin throws a tantrum because he’s a knight now and nothing is ever good enough for Obi-Wan anyway#Cody immediately picks up on what must have happened and sends the report back with some revisions accepted and some rejected#Mace calls him and tells him to take a nap#Yoda goes over the entire report with a green pen (Obi-Wan used red) and corrects the sentence structure to match his speech patterns#Waxer and Boil spend several hours overthinking whether or not the General is upset with them#Depa calls just to laugh at him like an older sister#Luminara wonders if this is a joke from Obi-Wan or a critique from Councilor Kenobi before she figures it out#Admiral Yularen just blinks at it because he knew working with Jedi was an experience but wow#Palpatine is enraged and seething at this power play he does not understand#it consumes his thoughts even after Obi-Wan sends an apology which obviously must be part of the power play
HEY HEY HEY you CANNOT leave these in the tags!! You CAN’T
Summary: Mando comes back from a hunt to have sleepy sex with you send tweet.
Tags: Din Djarin Removes the Helmet × Vaginal Fingering × Vaginal Sex × breath play × Sleepy Sex × Soft Mando × Dirty Talk × attentive din djarin × y'all × this is so horny × Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot × Fluff and Smut × Mando'a Language (Star Wars) × Implied Age Difference × Explicit Consent
Words: 1,644
Link to AO3
It’s always done something to you, the taste of Din’s skin on your tongue. Salt and heat and sweetness.
Being alone with only the kid for company is hard the majority of the time, but Din makes it worth your while. Whenever he comes back from a hunt to your sleeping form, he makes sure to take care of you. Shuts off all the lights in the hull, crawls into the cot in only his underthings, wakes you gently with lazy kisses pressed to the back of your neck.
This time in particular, he’s quickly got you rolled onto your back, lazily pushing your shirt up your sleep warm skin, pooling the fabric above your breasts and ghosting gentle hands over the goosebumps on your chest. He swallows your quiet whine with his lips, letting you buck softly into him while he plays with you.
“Missed me?” he whispers, chuckling at your sleepy nod. You wrap your arms around him, curling your fingers into the shag of hair at the nape of his neck before you lick a stripe from his collar to his jaw. He hasn't cut his hair in a while, and it's curling at the ends. You always imagine it being brown, black even. He probably has dark eyes, too. Pretty ones. Crinkled at the corners, with long eyelashes. He shudders, the way he always does under your mouth, and you preen. You can taste sweat on him, and it only stokes the coiling heat in your belly.
Maybe it’s a little gross, but you like it when he comes home sweaty. You love tasting him and the evidence of his hard work while he's trying his hardest not to get carried away. And work hard he does, providing for you and the kid, making sure you’re safe and well-cared for. He deserves something sweet for his troubles. You tug on his pants, frustrated by the barrier when you just want him in you now.
“Please,” you whine before he's pulling your underwear off, thick fingers finding you wet and needy.
“Be patient,” he admonishes. You mouth over his pulse, sucking until you can feel him starting to cave. “I want to be gentle with you. Don’t you want me to be gentle with you?” he asks quietly, and you shiver, teeth grazing his collarbone. “Doesn't seem like it,” he mutters, and you bite down softly. Your breaths are coming out in little puffs, still in that beautiful state between sleep and horniness, and he groans.
“Din,” you whisper after you've licked the saliva off the bite mark. “Please just put your dick in me.”
He shucks his flight pants, totally naked in the dark, and it passingly reminds you, not for the first time, of a tale you heard on a distant planet once. That of a girl and the god who fell in love with her, but only came to see her at night, shrouded in darkness. After so many visits, her sisters planted the idea that he might be a monster out of jealousy.
You see Din outside of his bunk, of course, but always suited up. He told you his name, but hasn't given you his face yet. What if he’s a monster, like the girl in the story was worried about?
A monster could never make you feel this way, you think, as he gently takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger, sealing your lips together and stroking your tongue with his. And besides, everything worked out for that girl in the end, you surmise absentmindedly before his hand is traveling down your body. His fingers trip over your clit on their way to enter you, jolting you, and all thoughts of the strange couple's story vanish. You whimper into his mouth when he starts fingering you, and he practically growls.
This is everything. He is everything. You’d live in this moment forever if you could, sleep-drunk with his hand between your legs. He’s been gone a few days, and sex over the comm isn't the same as the drag of his fingers in you. For one thing, your fingers are a poor replacement for the way he curls his into you just right, reducing you to a drooling, babbling mess. There’s just no point when he’s not around.
But now, here he is, fingers leaving your heat and tracing damp circles over your nipple while you arch into him, electricity coursing down your spine and into your gut.
“Din,” you whisper drowsily. “Don't make me wait anymore.” He kisses you one more time.
“Are you sure?” You’ve had sex dozens of times, but he always asks. Always wants to make sure you're comfortable, completely ready for him. It's beyond sweet.
You kiss his nose and smile lazily, even though he can't see it in the dark without his helmet. “Yes please.”
He takes himself in hand, coating his length with your slick. The way his hips push into you is borderline reverent, and you exhale steadily while he mutters sweet things into the crook of your neck. The first time you had sex it took forever to get him inside you, but that turned out to be a good thing with his size. Even now he stretches you beautifully, drawn a soft moan out of you.
“Good girl,” he whispers when there's no more room to move, nosing under your ear. You shudder, body involuntarily letting him know just how good you're willing to be. Your fingers are still tangled in his hair, and you tug gently when he doesn't immediately move.
He moans, a soft sound, and a jolt runs through you. “You gonna fuck me soon, old man?”
“Hey,” he groans when you roll your hips gently. “Don't call me that. Makes me feel dirty.”
“But you like being dirty,” you whisper, still frustrated that he's not moving. “Like using my body to get off, right? Teasing me?”
His scruff scratches your neck, and you shiver. Not fair. He knows how much you love his facial hair. Especially when he's using his mouth on you. One of your favorite feelings is mild rugburn on your inner thighs.
“Pretty girl, if you keep saying things like that this’ll be over before it’s started.” His hand moves from your hip to rest under your jaw, and though you're not in the mood for choking right now, the mere idea of it makes you clench.
“How can it start if you won’t fuck me,” you whine, prickling heat cutting through your honey sweet languor.
He presses a dozen kisses into your cheek, grinding lazily into you and pressing his cock into a spot that makes your mouth water.
“Do you like that, mesh’la? Hm? Is this what you wanted?” he asks as he snaps his hips into you, punching the air from your lungs.
“Din,” you breathe, jaw falling open. You press back against him, his hair tickling your face as his head falls back into your shoulder and you rock back and forth.
Your legs wrap around him, fingers digging into the smooth skin of his back. You inhale his scent as he wrecks you, slowly pulling the pleasure out of your body the way only he can.
“Are you okay?” he asks, and you almost laugh. You would, except he’s fucking you so sweetly, so attentively that it takes your breath away.
“Yes, just fuck me like this, love it so much,” you mumble, starting to enter that weird, sexed out headspace you find yourself in whenever he… Makes love to you? You guess that's what this is, and even though that phrasing would make you gag under normal circumstances, in this case it's the only appropriate term. He uses the hand on your jaw to turn your lips back into his, biting down softly on your lower lip. You keen, lifting your hips in tandem until he's fisting the thin sheet under you.
“So sweet to me, pretty girl,” he says, actually pulling out a bit and fucking you properly this time. You gasp, burying your face back into his shoulder when he finally gives you everything you want. “So fucking wet for me, aren't you? Always ready for me, always waiting for me to come back and ruin you,” he rambles, and salty hot tears of overstimulation slip down your cheeks that he kisses away. “You gonna come sweet thing?” he asks against your cheek, and you practically sob.
“Please,” you beg, moving in earnest. The hand that's not secured around your neck moves down to press soft circles into your clit, and you almost sag with relief.
“I love making you come,” Din whispers. “Such a good girl for me. Taking everything I give so sweetly.” His thumb strokes over your pulse point in tandem with the thumb smudging your clit, and it's all you can do not to convulse.
“Please," you whimper, pleading with him like your life depends on it.
The hand around your neck tightens, and it's over.
His name is a prayer on your lips as you use his body to ride out your release. It’s slow, rolling over you in waves as you whimper, Din’s tongue slipping into your mouth again. Stars, you’re never going to get enough of him.
Before you know it, he’s following you over the edge, grunting as his stuttering hips grind into you and you gasp softly. His hand fumbles, releasing your neck so he doesn’t crush it in his death grip.
When you’ve finished, you’re even sleepier than you were before. You make sure the blanket covers the both of you before you pass out again, covered in a thin layer of sweat and intensely satisfied.
Din laughs quietly when he realizes you’re already snoring, wrapping an arm around you fondly and slipping into blissful unconsciousness next to you.
Warnings: very mild descriptions of PTSD, description of nightmares, Kaminoans being awful, mentions of grief, mild angst, fluff throughout
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Pel (Soft)
Smoke. Droids. Darkness. Pain.
The sound of a hundred metal feet marching closer and closer.
The taste of adrenaline rolling over a tongue.
Darting across a space that is just too vast, too open. Unprotected.
A dull throbbing in a leg- chest- throat-
Pale fingers outstretched, failing to hide a sneer and cold silver eyes as it got harder and harder to breathe past the immense tightness in your throat…
You flew upright in bed, gasping loudly and fumbling with the comlink attached to your wrist. The sheets had hardly finished floating to rest in a puddle on your lap when the call went through.
“I-” you managed to take half a breath, swallowing with difficulty. “No-nothing. Nothing is wrong, Alpha. I’m- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to- I just… Sorry.”
And you disconnected the call before he could say anything else. The room was dark, lit only by the comlink’s glowing face. You stared down at that small spot of brightness, noting absently that it was the middle of the night. You had only been asleep for a few hours before you had started to dream- well, have a nightmare, really.
But you didn’t want to think about that.
Instead, you forced your mind to focus on the comlink itself. It was an exact match to the one Alpha had given you in the cafeteria so long ago. Funny enough, you had ordered it to replace the one Alpha had given you to keep in touch with him. However, when yours had been destroyed during the Separatist attack, Alpha had insisted that you take this one.
The Separatist attack…
You sighed. It seemed that all mental paths were conspiring to take you to the one place you didn’t want to go.
Knowing full-well that you weren’t going to get back to sleep for a while, you switched on the small, bed-side lamp and sat staring at the wall, trying to quiet your mind. When a knock sounded at your door, you weren’t surprised, not really.
Wordlessly, you opened the door to let Alpha inside.
The ARC captain immediately made the room seem to shrink around his broad form. He settled on the chair by your bedside like it had been made for him. It may not have been, but he had been the one to place it there, taking up a guard shift over more than one of your naps when you had first been released from the medbay. He had certainly spent enough time in that chair. No wonder he seemed so comfortable in it.
Alpha didn’t speak, choosing instead to stare pointedly at the bed. Every muscle in your body screamed to go, to move, to run… but you obeyed his unspoken command and climbed back onto the mattress. The silence stretched. It didn’t put you enough at ease to grow drowsy, but it also didn’t grow tense enough to make you break it.
You didn’t have any way of knowing how long you had sat in the hush of your room when Alpha finally crossed his arms over his chest. “Bad dream?”
“Yeah.”
You hadn’t even considered being embarrassed by your admission, despite how much more - how much worse - Alpha had experienced. Throughout the process of your healing, Alpha had been fully supportive and understanding, and you were willing to tell him anything.
Well, almost anything.
“Happens to most soldiers, especially after their first combat,” Alpha said.
“I’m not a soldier, though,” you countered.
Alpha shrugged. “You handled yourself better than most shinies. Especially considering that you don’t have any of their training. But no matter how well you did, the bad dreams still come.”
You nodded, but didn’t say anything. There didn’t seem to be much to say to that. Alpha’s knowledge came from a place of personal understanding, so you trusted it implicitly.
“Do you want to go back to sleep or do you need to talk through it?” he asked.
With a sigh, you admitted, “I’m not sure. I don’t think I’ll be able to go back to sleep right away, but I don’t really want to talk about it. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have bothered you.”
“No, you did exactly the right thing,” Alpha said firmly. “I want to know what’s going on with you, neverd’ika - good, bad, anything. I need to know what’s happening so I can help. I’m here, so just tell me: how can I help? What do you need me to do?”
“I don’t know,” you hedged. “Can you just talk for a little while? How are you doing?”
Alpha watched you with a hint of a frown on his face, but began speaking a moment later. He didn’t talk about his own emotional state or any troubles he had handling the aftermath of the Separatist invasion - no, he mostly talked about the reconstruction efforts.
“We’re slowly working our way through to where the destroyed platform is,” he told you at one point. You grimaced, knowing how dangerous it was to travel between the platforms that had survived and the stilt that made up the base of the new platform. Alpha insisted on supervising the process, no matter how many times they told him he wasn’t needed there. “They’re still focused on preserving what they can of the corridors between platforms.”
You nodded anyway, knowing that Alpha’s interest in the reconstruction of the laboratories was how he was processing the attack. He had kept most of his reactions to the attack secured inside his mind rather than sharing them with you. But still, you saw the way his jaw tightened when he saw a group of cadets that was clearly one man short of a full squad. He frowned so fearsomely when he saw the gaps at the tables in the cafeteria that you had started to arrive later to meals. The spaces weren’t as noticeable then.
But he had slipped once when you were with him. You had joined him as he was observing one of the barracks. It had sustained heavy damages during the attack and the Kaminoans had started to work on making it safe again. Alpha didn’t trust any Kaminoan as far as he could throw them - probably less than that distance, honestly - and he wanted to check up on the process personally.
When you had stepped into the room, you found that most of the work had already been finished. There was a trooper sweeping the floor while a group of Kaminoans consulted with each other beside one long wall. Buried in the group was Lama Su, the Prime Minister of Kamino.
"What do you think you're doing?" Alpha had shouted across the expanse, the harsh demand in his voice making you jump.
"Painting a wall, Captain," one of the Kaminoans explained. You didn't recognize him, but he clearly knew Alpha.
"The kriff you are," Alpha bit out. Something in his tone made you glance over at him. Alpha was watching the Kaminoans, gaze intent. His body was carefully relaxed, but you could see that the muscles in his neck were corded, standing out from his skin. "Back away."
"Alpha," you had murmured, setting a hand on his arm. He had thrown it off a moment later as he stalked forward to stand in front of the wall in question.
"The first one to touch this gets-"
You had cut through his threat swiftly, pushing yourself between Alpha and the Kaminoans. "What exactly is it that you're painting over?"
"This graffiti," Taun We said, gesturing gracefully to the wall.
You turned to look at it, grabbing Alpha's wrist at the same time. He could have shaken you off easily, just as he had the first time, but he didn't. Instead, his wrist had twisted in yours, moving until your fingers were laced together beside the rough weave of his kama.
It took a moment to process the shock of Alpha's movement, and you stared blindly at the wall you were supposed to be seeing. When your surprise had passed, you had refocused on the section your eyes were directed toward.
...and your breath caught in your throat.
The 'graffiti' turned out to be a simple but stunning mural featuring a clone trooper helmet in front of a pair of crossed blaster rifles. Underneath were a mixture of names and CT numbers, written in painstakingly neat script.
You reached out with the hand not clasped in Alpha's and traced the numbers '99' on the wall. "Is this a memorial?"
Alpha didn't say anything, but his hand tightened around yours.
"You cannot insist on humanizing the clones," Taun We told you. "They are manufactured beings, products, and there is no need-"
"I think there's a very great need," you interrupted. "In fact, I think a mural on a wall is a poor thank-you to the troopers who gave their lives to ensure that the Separatists were repelled."
"You are already the cause of much disruption," Taun We warned. "Why are you attempting to cause even more disorder?"
"Tell me, how would your bottom line have done if the troopers stood back and let Ventress take the Fett genetic sample?"
Your question had hung heavy in the air, the Kaminoans looking down at you in the closest thing to disgust you had ever seen them display.
"We would have found another sample," an unfamiliar male told you.
"Yes, but how long would it have taken to find another sample, create batches, and edit the genes as necessary?" you asked. "My guess is a year, maybe longer. And every day this laboratory isn't producing troopers is a day on which you are losing millions of credits. You would probably make up for those losses, but could it be done in time to avoid the Republic finding another cloning service?"
"They would do no such thing," Lama Su denied, pulling his head back in offense. "We have a contract."
"Yes, I've seen it," you agreed. "I especially liked the clause that allows the Republic to seek out alternate sources for troopers if the Kaminoan laboratories are unable to provide them."
The Kaminoans glanced at each other, sharing their displeasure among the group. You didn't especially care at the moment.
"So with all of this at stake, the fact that the troopers held off an army of Separatists, isn't it fair to let them have this one memorial? A chance to remember their dead?" you pressed. "If they're denied that chance, they could request much more. And I, in particular, would be thrilled to help them articulate their request."
"Very well," Lama Su agreed sourly. "They may have their graffiti. But do not make the mistake of thinking you can interfere with more of our training methods. We must have order and obedience from our clones, regardless of how the Republic may feel."
Alpha's grip on your hand felt tight enough to bruise, but it had loosened considerably as the Kaminoans left the barracks. The trooper who had been sweeping the construction debris came over, offering a salute to Alpha and a nod to you.
"Thank you for sticking up for us, sir," he had said, gratitude filling his face. "Ma'am. It means a lot for the men to have something like this, a way to remember the ones who didn't make it."
"Don't thank me, soldier," Alpha had ordered, gaze intent on the list of names on the wall.
You had stayed to talk to the trooper for a while longer, but Alpha hadn't let go of your hand until you were leaving the barracks.
"Are you okay?" Alpha asked.
You blinked at him, vaguely recognizing that he had interrupted his own story about the stilt city's reconstruction. "Yeah, I think so. Why?"
"You're fidgeting."
His nod down at your hand made you frown, but Alpha was right - you were tapping your fingers in a frantic, unfamiliar beat against your thigh. You stopped the moment you realized it, but the forced stillness only made a hot, tangled ball of ugly energy rise in your chest.
"I- I'm not sure what that's about," you admitted, watching in utter detachment as you began to wiggle your foot from side to side as quickly as the motion could be done. "I just feel like I need to move."
"Do you want to walk around?" Alpha asked, half-standing from his chair.
You did, more than almost anything… but the idea of seeing that bleak, distrustful look on the faces of the cadets made you shrink back. It had been happening since the attack, and you didn't think you could handle it, not right now. "No, I… I'm okay."
Alpha watched you closely, lowering himself back into the chair. "Are you ready to talk about it?"
"I don't think so?" you guessed. Because it was a guess. You couldn't honestly tell what you were feeling, besides that you were uncomfortable and on-edge.
"Talk to me, neverd'ika," Alpha urged, his voice soft and persuasive in a way you never heard it. "Tell me what’s going on."
"I don't know if I can, really, but I'll try," you agreed, feeling self-conscious as Alpha's eyes focused on you. "I feel like… I have too much energy… but, at the same time, like I can't go anywhere or do anything."
A silence fell and you chuckled self-deprecatingly. "That doesn't make much sense, huh?"
"Makes perfect sense to me," Alpha disagreed, still watching you closely. "What else?"
"I also feel like… like the room is too big, somehow." That struck just the wrong chord and you struggled to take a full breath. Your arms came up to hug yourself. "Like I'm gonna get lost in it. Like I can't control anything."
"Do you have a heavy blanket?" Alpha asked, the question just odd enough to bring you back to yourself.
"Uh… no," you said. "Are you cold?"
After giving you the driest look you had ever seen, Alpha shook his head. "It helps sometimes. A sweater, clothing, something to give you a sense of weight. You don't have anything like that?"
"No," you admitted, hugging yourself tighter and squeezing your eyes shut. Shipping things to Kamino was a long and arduous process, but you would make a note to get a heavy blanket sent to you. Assuming your next meeting with Judge Oiplis didn’t end with you getting sent away from Kamino and, more than likely, locked away in a prison of some kind.
Unsurprisingly, this train of thought wasn’t helping much. It was getting difficult to keep your breathing even and steady.
The bed lurched into an alarming angle and your immediate thought was that the platform holding your room was tipping into the storm-tossed oceans. When your eyes snapped open, you found that the room was still fully upright and not bound for the ocean, but Alpha was closer.
Much closer.
“Alpha?” you squeaked out.
“Lie down,” he ordered and you did it without a second thought.
The moment you were fully horizontal, Alpha shuffled closer to you, turning onto his side at the same time. “Do you trust me?”
“Yes,” you agreed immediately. It hadn’t even taken a moment for you to think over the question. You trusted Alpha more than anyone - more than you trusted yourself, most days.
A heavy arm crossed over your chest, his hand wrapping around your shoulder on the other side from where he was lying. The moment his forearm pressed against your skin, the tension dissipated from your muscles. From your waist to your sternum and up to your shoulder, Alpha’s arm served as a weight that managed to shrink the room and give you something to ground yourself in.
Your eyes drifted closed without your permission and you simply soaked in the peace and silence for longer than you could track. Eventually, Alpha stirred slightly, and you turned your head to look at him.
He had settled on his side facing you, one arm tucked under his head while the other provided you with the weight you had needed. Your bed was large enough to suit you, but there wasn’t room for two people to be far apart - especially when one of them was Alpha’s size. You were staring into his deep brown eyes from so close that you could see the way his pupils dilated in the low light.
“How are you feeling?” he murmured, voice still so deep that it vibrated up through his arm and across your entire torso.
“Better,” you replied, shocked at the languid relaxation in your voice. How had you ever been confused about the impact this would have on the situation? The weight of Alpha’s arm was amazing, a way to feel physically centered, grounded in this place and time in a way you had been struggling with since the attack. “Thank you, Alpha.”
A low laugh rumbled through his chest and across your torso. “No need to thank me, neverd’ika. This isn’t exactly a punishment.”
The end of his explanation ended with a tightness, a sense of tension in the air that made you start to frown, but you were too relaxed to follow up on that.
Instead, you admitted quietly, “I think I might fall asleep.”
“Good,” he told you, approval warming his voice. “You should.”
“Alpha?”
“Mmm?”
“Do you have nightmares?” you asked, your tiredness removing your filter.
“Most soldiers do,” Alpha replied simply. “Nothing different about me. I get ‘em sometimes. Not often anymore, but they happen.”
“If you want-” you started, pausing while you tried to build the courage you needed to finish it. He was watching you curiously, but you let your eyelids drift closed so you didn’t have to meet that gaze. “If you want, I could return the favor next time you have a nightmare.”
Alpha didn’t say anything and when you snuck a look at him from under your lashes, he was watching you with an odd softness in his expression. “I’ll keep that in mind, neverd’ika. Enough talking. I’ll stay until I know you’re asleep.”
You hummed an affirmative. Now that you had said what you needed to, the weariness had returned in full force and you were steadily losing the battle against sleep. Drowsily, you told Alpha, “Could stay longer if you want.”
If he answered, you didn’t hear it. You were gone as soon as you finished making your ill-advised offer, dropping into sleep like a stone into a pond - swiftly, silently, and without even a ripple.
The last thing you were aware of before the darkness closed over your head was the feeling of someone combing fingers through your hair.
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A/N - Like I said, short chapter. Maybe the fluff makes up for it a bit? Thanks for reading and I hope you liked it! Thanks to those who have reblogged to help my work spread, and those who left comments or asks about this fic! I appreciate you!
Other works can be found on my masterlist or you can sign up for my taglist here!
ok so i know i’ve posted a lot about this, but i need fandom to remember and understand why ek johnston is NOT a good choice to continue telling stories within the gffa
1. she wrote a book series about how colonialism was good?? did we forget that??
it was an au, futuristic version of the british empire that never fell and somehow eradicated racism because queen victoria arranged the marriages of her children to the leaders of the countries she was colonizing - and this somehow led to a world where racism didn’t exist anymore but a colonial empire still did. i wish i was making this up, but i’m not
2. she wrote a different book series that appropriated west asian history and lore - retelling stories that weren’t hers to retell
the book series is set in an alternate universe that is supposed to be the “middle east”. her version of the region is depicted as oppressive to women, dangerous, and exotic, like many other harmful depictions that have had lasting negative impacts. despite her statements that she wanted this to be empowering, the series is filled with blatant orientalism - including the common western supremacist themes about the middle east as a place where daughters are worth less than sons, and husbands not allowing their wives to speak outside their homes, etc. extremely condescending and wildly offensive
3. her commentary about where she would like to take barriss offee’s story and her desire to write more terrorism
when fans became upset over this, and brought up the harm and bigotry present, she responded by telling us all to “take a deep breath”
yeah.
4. instances of racial stereotyping in her previous star wars books
from designing an entire clan of criminals after a south/west asian family, to stating that they all looked exactly the same, to taking one of the only handmaidens of color and giving her a criminal history and describing her as a “conwoman”, when all her white handmaidens have prestigious and privileged backgrounds, to her plans to write barriss offee under an islamophobic narrative - and that’s just a few
E.K Johnston commissioned an artist to draw Sister, the first canon trans Clone Trooper.
In this artwork, Sister is drawn with cornrows.
At this point, people (Disney specifically) are so fucking willfully ignorant of anything Polynesian. Sister is a Clone Trooper. Which means she’s based on Temuera Morrison. A Māori man.
Cornrows have racial and cultural significance in Black culture. They are specific to Black culture. They’re not Polynesian. They shouldn’t be worn by a Polynesian woman. Black and Polynesian are not interchangeable races. Each are specific and deserve recognition and respect. Using cultural elements interchangeably is disrespectful to both parties and it’s so hurtful.
it’s hurtful to Polynesian fans like myself, who just want representation, and it’s hurtful to Black fans because their cultural identity is constantly stolen as an aesthetic.
This is such bullshit and I’m so fucking sick of it.
Good morning! I had several comments on Sister's hair overnight. You know representation is important to me, so I wanted to address that.
First off, this is 100% on me, not the artist, for not explaining properly. In looking over our conversations, I realize that I was so focused on Sister's face that I fell short. Her hair was meant to be more like 6 or 8 French braids, because it's long and she'd need something flat and stable to wear under the helmet. There are no Black American descriptors in the book.
Look EK, I'll be honest. While I grasp you're attempting to apologize, it falls short in that you didn't try in the first place. You claim representation is important, but rather than providing this artist with better critique or better photo references, let alone maybe taking a moment to look up Māori hairstyles (it's easy enough, I've done it myself), you allowed this to pass by.
Additionally, I'm glad you're not trying to let blame land on the artist, but your apology is lacking, particularly to the Black and Polynesian fans this both hurts and lets down.
Please, look to commission this artist for a fix (again, as an artist, while it may be a hassle it's not a file-ruining change) and listen to the fans discussing this. I want to see my friends get good representation in both their trans and cultural identities.
Warnings: Canon-typical violence, swearing, English is not Basic, wrong terminology used on purpose
Summary: Lennox can’t believe she made it out of that facility alive, but the uncertainty of her place in this strange new world now weighs down on her.
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