Koof/Koofins/Andie || 33, they/them+he/him || All of my works are NSFW || MINORS DNI || If you ship inecest, extreme age gap or gross power imbalances I will block you || (I follow back from Spookoofins) (header by atotalposer on twitter)
So I posted this on my AO3, but for the time being, my Clone Wars days are over.
Ok so like. Lemme be so for real with y'all. My life was in shambles for like, the past two years. I trusted the wrong people for too long in my life and didn't start trusting myself until fairly recently. My creativity was completely shot and sorta ruined in a way for a while. Im only now starting to get special interests in things again. I haven't written in more than a year outside of one-on-one RP with a friend.
I've gone long stretches of not writing but this one has felt...really quite bad, almost entirely bc this is the first time in a long time I've had peers to share my writing with. To be clear, y'all haven't made me feel bad, my inability to feel any sort of creative spark has bc I know my writing has entertained...at least one of you! Maybe! And really that in itself is mind boggling, I sometimes look at all the bookmarks and comments and think "wow...at least one of these people were entertained, that's like....SSSSUUUUUPER crazy."
So on to the parts Im sure no one was looking forward to.
I do not know if I will ever have the creative spark to come back to the Bucket Lovers Anonymous, Old Man, Old Habits, or any associated Clone Wars fics. Even if I wasn't actively writing for it, I've been lurking on tumblr. The fandom can be so divisive and judgmental (not to mention QUITE RACIST) and quite frankly like...I just haven't felt the love for it I once did since 2022. I love so much that each of y'all has enjoyed these series, and I will never not hold a special place in my heart for TCW and SW. But for now, I am going to regrettably say I don't know when or even if I will come back to these fics.
I will say, however, that I rid have Caf Delivery Service mostly planned out from the last chapter to the end. Im considering writing down a loose description of events and setting it loose so if anyone has any sort of inclination to write their own takes on it, they can, but that sounds kinda daunting since I have some pretty personal OCs kinda wrapped up in the mix. Let me know what y'all think though.
I cannot thank y'all enough for the love and support for my writing you've given to me over the years. Creativity was an escape for some pretty heinous abuse I dealt with from family members as a child-into my young adulthood, and not to toot my own horn but I like to think I actually turned my creative work into some decently enjoyable shit. But I wouldnt have viewed it that way if it weren't for you kind, wonderful folks.
Im still around. Still poking through works and making bookmarks. I might be making a separate AO3 profile much later down the line for another place to dump my fandom BS. I am a furry/digital artist, so if you wanna see the stuff I make you can check me out on bsky. I also occasionally repost shitposts on my main tumblr. I also make some NSFW work but who knows where I'll be able to legally post that anytime soon.
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In closing, thank you again. To my fellow Americans, fuck the orange. Minorities will never be eradicated. Free Congo, Palestine, Ukraine, and do not go gently into the dying light. Raise hell. Love your community. I sure do love y'all.
Came from A03 cuz I really like the way you string your words together and your stories and character depiction just work so well I had to come and see if you had any other fics on your tumblr page. Looking forward to read anymore of your upcoming fics! 😊😊
WEGH. Thank you so much. I haven't written hardly at all since my latest update to BLA sadly, but maybe someday the spark will come back. Thanks to everyone who's stuck around!
All credit for this beautiful artwork goes to @pinkiemme! If you don't already know and love her, go check out her stuff, and whether you do or don't already follow her, leave some love for her! She deserves all of it.
Summary: Sometimes, everything gets to be too much, even for Rex. On a planet of blood flowers, where else could he turn but to the night sky?
Rating: General
Wordcount: 2.2k
Warnings: Angst, Self-Doubt, Rex has a panic attack, Rex doubts his self-worth and personhood, hurt that turns to comfort eventually, brotherhood between soldiers.
A/N: I know I've been pretty absent from the Star Wars fandom, and unlike most of my other fics this is not OC content nor a reader insert.
This fic is a gift for and a collaboration with @pinkiemme, who is a wonderful friend and so beloved to me. Every day you inspire me, my love. Thank you for asking me to collab, I had the best time! ❣
Rex’s heart is beating way too fast. He knows that, his hands shaking and his breath too hot inside his bucket. But nothing helps, nothing calms him. Nothing can take away this feeling of being outside of his own body, and simultaneously being trapped inside himself.
Rex tries to breathe, but the weight on his chest just won’t let him; he is being dragged under, voices fading into the background when he should be focusing on them and not the abnormally loud rush of his own blood in his head.
Campaigns like this are always hard, the ones where he has to be away from base for a long time. Not that he ever had any place to truly call home - not even Kamino, even though that might have been the closest he ever came.
But campaigns like this are still harder, being deployed for months at a time without a break, no time to truly rest, no time where he ever gets to feel safe.
Rex tells himself that he should be able to bear it, that he was designed for this, made for this.
It doesn't help: his heart still races and his hands still shake. The weight on his chest gets heavier, and the ringing in his ears unbearable.
Rex leans forward, clinging to the table where the Generals have set up a projection of the upcoming battle to talk it through. His knuckles must be white underneath his gloves from the force it takes him to stay upright, and General Skywalker’s concerned enquiry is just an indistinguishable mumble.
Rex feels like he might pass out just then, dark spots swimming in his vision as he desperately gasps for air beneath his bucket but his lungs just won’t fill.
“Excuse me,” he mumbles, abruptly leaving the war meeting. He knows General Skywalker is staring after him, he knows General Kenobi and Cody are looking at each other with furrowed brows. But if he stays here even one second longer, Rex knows he is going to scream and scream and never stop again until a blaster finally gets him.
It’s a miracle he is still alive, after all this. By all accounts, he should be dead a hundred times over. So many enemies, and they just keep coming. It never stops, never slows, not even when Rex feels like he could just… crumble to the ground if it only meant he got to rest.
So many vode have been lost. Too many, even though they were bred for this, made for this, engineered for this. They are not real - were never real - just like Rex is not real. Not a real man, not even a real soldier. Just a clone, one of millions, all of them with the purpose to die, and do it slowly, to keep the Republic on its last legs a little while longer.
Rex bites down on his lip until he tastes blood, feet carrying him away from the light, from the chatter, from company and everything else. Just… away. He walks fast until he reaches the edge of their encampment, and only then does he let his legs speed up, running and running, almost in full gear, helmet fogging up, but he can't get his feet to stop.
The Republic is dying, and Rex is dying either for it or with it. There is no other way. That is all there is for him, because that is all he was made for, and that thought tastes so bitter he gags.
Treasonous thoughts, these are. Thoughts he would be court-martialed for if he ever spoke them aloud, even if he has heard rumblings in the barracks that have never been reported. The vode are loyal, even more to each other than to the Republic they were made for. But all it takes is one weak link.
The threat of reprogramming looms over them eternally: a fate worse than death, where nothing is left of the old soldier as a new one is made from his flesh, no more than a blank slate.
They are all expendable, Rex has no illusions about that. No matter how soft General Skywalker's eyes go when he looks at him, no matter the way General Tano bumps-
Rex stumbles, nearly dropping to his knees. He has not been watching where he’s going, just walking, running, sprinting - escaping the endless rows of tents. Fleeing with no rhyme or reason, his heart too heavy in his chest as his feet thunder on the ground.
When he looks around, there is nothing as far as Rex’s eyes can see, not a soul, not a building. Just meadows and rolling hills, and the deep night sky.
This planet could almost be beautiful if the flowers did not only bloom after blood had soaked the ground.
Rex double checks his surroundings with a heartbeat so fast his chest wants to break apart, but there is nothing and no one. He is really and truly alone, for the first time in weeks. Probably months. Maybe years- maybe ever.
That realisation hits Rex like a speeder train. Everything is too much: his body is not his own and he wants to shed it in this moment. He wants to cease existing in this way, and that is treasonous when it should be natural.
Rex lets himself drop to his knees, lets himself rip off his gloves and bury his fingers in the deep grass that surrounds him. And he lets himself scream. Scream into the void and the vast emptiness of the universe. Scream until his lungs give out, silent tears running down his cheeks and soaking the cushions of his buy’ce.
In the vastness of this universe, Rex is nothing. Not just nobody, but truly and entirely nothing. He is lost and without purpose, because his whole life means nothing in the grand scheme of things.
An old Mandalorian saying pushes through the heavy fog of anxiety that has settled on his thoughts, so pragmatic it nearly makes him laugh.
Ca’tra darasuum rohaka verd’an.
The eternal night sky defeats all warriors.
Rex almost tips over with the laughter that bubbles up in his chest. It falls off his lips like bitter pearls, but he cannot seem to swallow it down, and he can't breathe like this but it doesn't matter.
He can tell he is becoming hysterical, hiccups shaking him between laughter and tears, but he just can’t stop. Rex lets himself fall, and he lets himself feel. All of the emotions he has been pushing away, everything that has happened, all the little cracks in his armour, slowly eating through the Republic-issued plastoid until Rex just… falls apart. His cuirass is laying in the war tent with his General, Rex’s brittle heart exposed in the middle of a war zone.
And still, it’s not a shot from an enemy that brings him to his knees, it is the vastness of space looming above him, it is the hundreds of lightyears that lay between him and his fallen vode and it is the memory of Ahsoka’s small hand on his arm when they first met.
His protection is already frail, and there is nothing to be done about it. He is all alone, and without cover, with no back up and no weapon. And for once, Rex allows himself not to think about it as he takes off his buy’ce to look at the sky with his own eyes. The eyes of the man that he was made from, that are somehow still Rex’s own, made so by the things he has witnessed, by the bloodshed he has caused and the battles he has fought. Made so by the love he has been part of, and by the family he has found, most of them sharing those same brown eyes.
Rex lays back in the grass and stares at ca’tra darasuum, and he lets himself remember. The stars swim before his eyes as this blood-soaked planet slowly turns and turns, making its way around the centre of its universe. Rex lays between flowers born from the blood and the sweat and the pain of his brothers, and he feels so much that he thinks he will burst. Time passes like honey, and the sky is still dark when he is finally found.
Cody is like the sunrise, advancing slowly and then all at once, bathing Rex in his golden light even in darkness.
“Thought you couldn’t be far,” he mumbles as he crouches down next to Rex. “Guess I was wrong. Took me fuckin’ ages to find you, vod’ika.”
“This world is big,” Rex simply replies, with a voice rough from tears. “This world is so big, Kote. If we survive this, it won’t even make a difference. I look at the stars and all I see is cold indifference in the face of suffering and death.”
Cody cocks his head, and even through his dark visor, Rex can feel his brother's eyes on him. The sound of Cody’s voice is filtered through his helmet.
“Ca’tra darasuum rohaka verd’an.”
Rex laughs at that, a dry, humourless laugh. Nobody else knows what he is thinking the way Cody always does. Two generations of brothers, sometimes closer even than those from the same batch ever are.
“You know me too well.”
Cody scoffs.
“No such thing. Not when it comes to family.” He offers his hand to Rex. “Come on, vod’ika. You have been out here by yourself for too long already.”
“Nayc.” Rex shakes his hand. “Shebe ti’ni. Please. Just for a moment.”
Cody sighs deeply.
“I forget how young you can be sometimes.”
But he stays. He sits with his brother, in spite of everything, In spite of the war, the death, the pain that surrounds them every day and every night. Rex lays back again, while Cody keeps watch.
“The galaxy is so vast,” Rex says again, but this time, his voice is coloured not by sadness nor fear, but instead by awe. “Kote, if we get out of here alive… maybe we can be someone. Become someone. You know… the end of the war-”
“We don’t speak of the end of the war,” Cody interrupts him. “Cuyi verde, vod. Don’t fuck with me, you know this. We all know this. It's the truth that guides our path.”
Rex exhales. His breath forms little clouds in the cool night air, and something almost akin to peace washes over him. This is it. This is tangible proof that he is here, and he is real. Just like the grass beneath him, flattened by his weight. Just like the earth below, warmed by his body heat. Proof for his existence. He inhabits this galaxy.
“I have never asked for anything,” he says, and that makes Cody shut his mouth with an audible click. Rex smiles, sadness and fragile joy mixing on his features that are so much like Cody’s, but no matter how hard the Kaminoans have tried, have never been exactly the same. “I have never asked for anything, Kote. I have never had anything of my own, and I have been alright with that. But I’m asking you now. Let me have this moment, just a moment of peace and quiet. I am falling apart. Let me glue my pieces back together so I can hold on a little longer. Nakar’tuur mhi oyacyi akaanir ashi’tuur, isn’t that how the song goes?”
Cody goes very quiet and very still next to him. He does not respond, but when he takes off his bucket and sets it down next to Rex’s, Rex knows he has won.
“Look at the constellations with me, Kote,” he says, and in this moment, he is seven years old, tugging at Cody’s shirt sleeve and dragging him to the big skylight at Kamino, the one that never sees daylight in the eternal rain, on the one night of his life he can remember where no rain fell on Kamino. “Ta’raysholan verda, vod. They came before us, but we will outlive them. Let me dream of the end of our war before we die. Please.”
Cody smiles his crooked little Cody smile, the one that looks exactly like it did when they were children.
“War?” he says, and settles down on his back with his hands tucked behind his head, mirroring his little brother. “What war?”
Rex’s cheeks hurt from the smile that splits his face, and he lets himself bask in this moment of happiness. They are alive. They are here. He raises his hand to point out the first constellation they learned, way back when. Even though it looks all wrong, he would recognise it anywhere. Kamino seems a million lightyears away, and maybe it is. But the night sky still seems the same to him.
vode - brothers
buy’ce - helmet
Ca’tra darasuum rohaka verd’an. - The eternal night sky defeats all warriors.
vod’ika - little brother
Nayc. Shebe ti’ni. - No. Sit with me.
Kote - Glory (my own personal headcanon where the name ‘Cody’ comes from)
Cuyi verde, vod. - We are soldiers, brother.
Nakar’tuur mhi oyacyi akaanir ashi’tuur - Tomorrow, we live to fight another day. (Taken from my Mando’a lullaby)
Ta’raysholan verda - A thousand warriors (also taken from that same lullaby - fuelled by the belief that dead soldiers become stars to watch over their fighting siblings).
Taggies for the beloveds and a huge shoutout for @baba-fett, my eternal wonderful beta-reader who messaged me back within 2 seconds when i dropped the words 'rex angst' on her doorstep.
Some of the best chemistry/relationships in fiction exist between characters who are/become friends. Here are some tips for making friendships come alive on the page:
1. Banter
One of the most interesting aspects of fictional friendships is the way the characters interact with each other whilst important plot points are occurring.
If your characters have easy banter, teasing one another without missing a beat and managing to bounce off each other even in the toughest circumstances, it will be clear to the reader that these two are/should be good friends.
Friends know each other well. They know the other’s character so well that they can easily find something to tease each other over. However, this also means knowing which topics are off-limits.
If you want to write a good, healthy friendship, your characters shouldn’t use humour/sarcasm as a way to hurt the other. It should be good-natured and understood as such from both sides.
Different friendships will have different types of chemistry. Some friends may tease each other with facial expressions. Others may already anticipate a snarky remark and counter it before it’s been spoken. Others will have physical ways of goofing around.
Some friends might not tease each other at all. Banter isn’t necessary; it’s just a good way to make your characters come alive and make their friendship one that is loved by readers.
What’s important is chemistry - the way they automatically react to each other.
Think Sam and Dean in Supernatural or Juliette and Kenji in the Shatter Me series.
2. Mutual support
Unless you purposefully want to write an unhealthy/toxic friendship, your characters should both be supportive of the other.
This means that, even if one is the MC and the other the side-kick, both should be cognisant of the other’s feelings and problems, and should be considerate in this regard.
Few things will make your MC as likable as remembering to check in and be there for their best friend even when they are in the thick of a crisis.
You need to show your characters being vulnerable in front of each other and being supportive in ways that are tailored to the needs of each friend.
So, if one of the characters really responds to physical comfort, the other should know to give hugs/rub their back when they’re not feeling well. Similarly, if one of them doesn’t like being touched and responds to material comfort, have the other bring them ice cream and join them for a movie marathon. Whatever works for your characters.
What gets me every time is when a character is falling apart and won’t listen to/be consoled by anyone but their best friend (but this is just personal preference).
3. Knowing the other’s past/family life
This really only applies to characters who have been friends for quite a while.
Good friends know each other’s backstory - the highs and lows and mundane details. They know they layout of their family home and they probably know their family members well.
Friends will often talk about these things, only having to mention a few words for the other to know what they’re talking about i.e. “The ‘09 Thanksgiving disaster” or “You know how Uncle Fred is”
This will instantly make it clear that your characters are close and have come a long way together.
Perhaps there are issues at home/trauma from the past that the other character will immediately understand. So, if one character appears with a black eye, their friend might know that the father was probably drunk the night before and got violent. Or if the character has a nightmare, the friend might know that it was about childhood abuse etc.
This can also apply to good things i.e. if one of the characters gets a nice note in their lunchbox, the other might know that their grandma is in town.
Whatever works for your story should be used to indicate the level of unspoken understanding the friends have.
4. Being protective
Few things will make your readers love a friendship more than the friends being fiercely protective of each other (in a healthy, non-territorial way).
Has someone hurt one of the characters? The other should be furious and want to exact revenge. Does someone say something demeaning to one of the friends? The other should defend them immediately and vehemently.
This can also take on a humorous twist if one of the characters starts dating someone. The friend can make extra sure that said date is sincere and promise to exact vengeance if their friend is hurt.
This can also be a great plot device, since it could explain why the MC’s best friend joins the quest/goes along on the journey. Perhaps this is the main plot point: a character seeking to protect/avenge their friend.
If you want to go in a toxic direction, this can be taken too far i.e. a friend who never lets the other spend time with anyone else/stalks the other/is patronising etc.
5. Common interest(s)
Even if the two characters are vastly different, there should be something that keeps them together besides loyalty.
This is especially important for characters who become friends throughout the course of the novel.
This doesn’t have to mean that both of them go hiking every weekend or want to become pilots one day. It could be something small, like a love of cheesy movies or a shared taste in music. Maybe they both enjoy silence/don’t like other people. Maybe they are both social justice warriors, but for different causes.
This could also be common characteristics instead of interests. Perhaps both are very ambitious/funny/social.
There should just be some factor that ignited the friendship and brings the two of them together.
This doesn’t necessarily have to be a big part of your story, but you should at least have it mentioned to make the friendship appear more authentic.
Reblog if you found these tips useful. Comment if you would like a Part 2. Follow me for similar content.
So um. Still ongoing. But I might be rebranding this profile, bc ya noodl has found themself completely enamored with
You'll never guess it
MORE PIXELATED CHARACTERS
But this time, not Star Wars related! Let me explain. Life/depression&ADHD/writing/interest stuff under the cut, I'm 33 years old minors pls do not interact
So for a great many years I've sort of had this pattern of bouncing around between interests, entirely due to ADHD/depression having me in a death grip. It makes sticking with things VERY difficult.
That being said! My first and greatest love to pour myself into is Star Wars and Clone Wars/Mandalorian related things, so that's what I always find myself cycling back to. However, before there was TCW (which is arguably where that part of my personality began), there was....
ANIME
and manga
So, now I find myself in this dilemma. I've been unable to write for months now, or draw, and it has honestly been doing terrible things to my psyche. But currently, I don't have the completely vested interest I did when I was still writing TCW a few months ago. (A few. IT WAS EARLIER THIS YEAR LMAO.) But due to A Shenanigan or two, I've found myself intensely interested in My Hero Academia and other anime/manga, and it's been FUN. Because those were my roots! Sailor Moon and YuYu Hakusho were what introduced me to both my sexuality and gender identity/expression, and ALSO fandom culture/writing/art. So I have about a thousand different tumblr blogs (besides my main @spookoofins, there are seven others) and now find myself wanting to post more of my writing/art.
But do I do that HERE, or do I make another blog entirely? I do have a self-shipping/writing blog I could blow the dust off of, because let's be real, I do that for the majority of the time I dabble in fandom stuff.
So what do? IDK yet, but hopefully I will be able to put time into applying to another job where I'm not dying due to exhaustion/not having enough time to FUCKING EAT (no literally, it's a problem). We shall see folks! Thanks for sticking around as long as y'all have!
Miguel O'Hara X F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info
Summary: An accident at one of Alchemax’s labs has led to Miguel being briefly contaminated with cA1m - a prototype drug that is meant to calm animals. However it seems to have a very different effect in humans.
A/N: A massive thank you to @midgardian-witch for reading the beginning of this (catching a hilarious typo), making some excellent suggestions, and reassuring me that I hadn’t just lost my mind completely (yet).
Reader doesn’t know Miguel’s spiderman.
Warnings: dubious consent - it’s basically a sex pollen fic, blood, hair pulling (can I write a fic without an Oscar Isaac character getting their hair pulled?), so much cum, hand job, oral (both m and f receiving), things get a little rough, face fucking, cum eating, biting, scratching, p in v sex, typos, please let me know if I’ve missed a warning!
Word Count: 5433
________________________________
“It’s mainly preliminary.” You said with a smile. “You weren’t in the room, but the filtration system links four of the labs.”
You check over Miguel’s notes, so far, he didn’t have any symptoms.
There had been an ‘accident’ in Lab B2, an accident that was being rapidly looked into. Lab B1, and B4 had been empty, but Miguel had been in B3.
Miguel was currently in a rapidly repurposed testing room, sitting on the bed with his shirt rolled up his forearms. His specific request for somewhere with reinforced walls, doors and windows had been… unusual. But he was a big guy, couldn’t hurt to be too careful.
“How are the others doing?” He asked with a slightly raised eyebrow.
“Okay,” you nodded. There had been eight people in Lab B2 when the container had broken. Two people, like Miguel, weren’t showing any symptoms.
The chemical compound, nicknamed cA1m, while liquid in its storage unit, turned to a gas at above zero degrees. Luckily it also denatured quickly, and there was a good chance that those who still weren’t showing symptoms were unaffected.
The chemical’s intention was for a more humane way to calm wild animals and livestock during veterinary checks. That way the animal in question didn’t need potentially dangerous anaesthetic for basic to mild level medical care.
It also wore off in 24 hours.
However, it still needed some work. And while early tests had gone well, apparently it did not have the desired effect in humans.
Four of the six infected had gone feral, absolutely crazy with rage, trying to kill and destroy everything and everyone within their reach.
Luckily no one had been severely injured before they had been tranquilised.
The other two were different, they had… other urges.
“Have you found any links as to why Doctor Guerrero and Doctor Vaughan didn’t react like the others?” Miguel asks. His voice was calm and controlled, like it always was. Politely interested, like he was listening to a presentation about your latest control data.
“Well, I have an idea. Though I haven’t fully proven it yet.”
He tilted his head to the side in a silent question. The action was endearing, it made your heart flutter and heat rise to your skin. And you hated it so, so much.
You smiled quickly and looked down, trying to cover the fact you’d been staring at him for a second too long.
“So,” you continued, drawing the word out a little to give you a pause of breathing room. “Both Guerrero and Vaughan are in relationships, both of them wanted to,” you pause for a moment, trying to find the most professional way to phrase it. “get to their partners. Unlike the others they also had a massively increased level of oxytocin.”
“Your theory is that that cA1m causes a berserk level of rage unless the subject is in love?” There was the smallest smirk on his lips.
It sounded stupid when he put it like that.
“Well… yes.” You fold your arms. “Look, Miguel,” he grinned when you said his name and you fought, and lost, the urge to smile back. “I’ve had fourteen hours and six people to base this off, plus three who are showing no symptoms. Give me a break, yeah?”
He held up his hands playfully. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You gave me a look.”
“What look?” He teased.
“I know you want to be trying to figure this out yourself, but you’re the one who insisted on not being allowed any breakable, or expensive, equipment while you’re in here.”
He smiled. “It’s true.” His gaze was heavy, crushing almost.
You shook your head and turned to the side table. “Anyway, are you gonna let me draw some blood or what?”
He nodded and held his arm out to you.
You know why you had been ‘nominated’ (begged) to be the one to see Miguel. He wasn’t the easiest CEO to work for in the sense that he was both physically and mentally intimidating, but what usually threw most people was that he was quiet, tended to watch and listen.
And he had a bit of resting bitch face.
But he was actually pretty pleasant to talk to when you got to know him.
You brushed your arm against his as you moved to get your equipment. Miguel audibly gasped.
A flash of worry pinched at your mind, you turned to look at him. “You okay?”
Miguel nodded; he was staring straight ahead at the wall. Obviously in distress.
“Miguel?” This wasn’t the same as those who had suddenly developed into a full-blown rage, but still you couldn’t help the sense of apprehension that crawled along your skin. You glanced at the sedative on the side table and shook your head.
“Miguel?” You spoke again, a little softer and moved a step closer towards him.
He shuddered at your voice, screwing his eyes up tightly. Sweat was beading on his forehead, heat rolling off him in waves.
“Miguel, I’m gonna-”
He moved faster than you could comprehend, one second he was sitting on the bed and the next he was looming over you, his hands clenched tightly around your biceps, and forcing you back.
You yelped as he pressed you into the wall, grabbing hold of his forearms.
His eyes were dark and wild, brimming with a terrifying energy.
“Miguel, wh-”
He crashed his lips into yours, swallowing down your words and slipping his tongue into your mouth frantically. It took you a fragment of a second to react, surprise freezing your limbs solid.
Miguel took your delay to his advantage, pushing his knee between your legs and pressing close. Not leaving a fraction of space between you as he devoured your mouth. Stealing your breath and igniting heat along your veins.
“Miguel,” you managed to push him back, the heels of your hands in his chest. This was the cA1m affecting him, it was the only explanation. Maybe the filtration system had diluted the chemical and caused a delayed reaction. “You need to-”
He snarled, his eyes pinpoint focused on you as he leaned forward and kissed you, hard. All tongue and sharp teeth as he wrapped his fingers around the back of your neck and gripped your thigh bruisingly tight, hitching it high on his hip.
You’d had dreams like this, fantasies, where he pinned you to the wall and kissed you until you couldn’t breathe. But you couldn’t do this, you couldn’t take advantage of him like this-
There was a sharp pinch of pain as Miguel sank his teeth into your bottom lip. You let out a small squeak of surprise, pulling away from him. And raised your hand to your mouth, your fingers coming back red.
Miguel, however, seemed unphased as he trailed kisses along your neck, smearing your blood along your skin. He ground his hips into yours, rocking back and forth and- oh god, he was big, just like the rest of him.
“Miguel, you need to,” you swallowed down a whimper as he sucked at your pulse point, just managing to resist the urge to hold him closer, to run your hands through his hair. “It’s the cA1m, you’re not thinking straight.”
He murmured something into your neck, his mouth not leaving your skin far enough for the words to be intelligible.
“Miguel-” You gasped as he nipped at your throat, not enough to break the skin this time.
Heat was burning from his skin, scorching into your body like you were too close to a flame.
You grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back a fraction too forcefully. You thought the brief pain might snap him out of it, give him a second of clarity. But as his chin tilted upwards, exposing his neck, he let out a long groan, his eyes squeezed shut.
It went straight to your core, your thighs clenching at the sound.
“Need you so bad, shit,” he rocked against you harder, pressing his length right up against your centre. “Always need you, you don’t understand,” he moaned and buried his head back into your neck, despite your grip on his hair, and sucked a love bite into your skin.
This time you couldn’t resist the urge. You sunk your fingers deeper, scratching your nails along his scalp and pulled him closer, pushing his face in your neck.
Miguel groaned appreciatively, digging his sharp nails into your shoulders. He nipped just below your ear, the keen, yet sweet little sting of pain blended with the slow and steady roll of his hips was simply tortuous. Almost enough to make you lose all common sense.
Almost.
You couldn’t do this, you couldn’t do this, you just couldn’t do this.
“Miguel-”
He whined as you said his name.
And you had to bite your lips together in order to hold onto your fading self respect.
“On the table,” you swallowed, trying to get your words out quickly, “there’s a sedative. It’ll help, it’ll-”
“You’ll help, being near you helps.” He mumbles, the words barely audible. He snakes his fingers along your ribs, just teasing the hem of your shirt.
“We just need to-oh!”
Miguel grabs hold of your shirt and pulls, ripping it open, buttons pinging off and going flying. Honestly, there’s less resistance from the material than you expected.
And then he's everywhere, his face buried in your chest, kissing the tops of your breasts as his fingers pinch at your nipples through the thin fabric of your bra.
You can't stop the moan of surprise that escapes your lips as you arch into his touch.
You had to stop this, now. Before he did something you'd very much enjoy and he'd very much regret.
"Fuck," you hiss under your breath and act quickly, trying not to overthink and get yourself caught up.
Maybe if he… had some relief you could grab the sedative in the afterglow. Hell, maybe he wouldn't even need the sedative if he came once.
Before you can lose your nerve you quickly unbuckled his trousers and managed to squeeze your hand under the material despite Miguel's frenzied mind trying to keep the physical space separating you both to a minimum.
He gasps as you touch him, letting out a choked sob that your brain was already committing to memory and filing under 'for use later'.
The velvety soft skin was rock hard and burning hot against your hand. So big that you couldn't even get your fingers fully round his girth.
"Please." He muttered, pressing his forehead against yours, his hands resting tightly on your waist.
His eyes were screwed shut, his mouth slightly open and when you moved your hand, the smallest upwards movement. He let out the sweetest sigh.
You bite your lip and wince as you catch the broken skin, but it doesn’t stop you from tracing your thumb over the tip of him, smearing precome along the head. You were trying to be quick, methodical, clinical, as you began to stroke him, setting an even pace. This was just a problem to solve. You should not be enjoying this.
But every glide of your hand, every touch, made Miguel gasp and moan as if it was the first time he’d ever experienced such sensations, made him bite his lip with his sharp (had they always been that sharp?) teeth, and it was intoxicating.
He pistoned his hips into your touch, thrusting faster and faster, and practically growling as he grew closer to his release.
You couldn’t help but watch him, enraptured, as heat pooled in your lower stomach, your own need growing. But this wasn’t about you.
Still, you couldn’t help yourself rocking back and forth against his leg ever so slightly to just take the edge off.
Miguel grunted, his eyes rolling back in his head, and there was a sharp pinch of pain as he tightened his grip on your waist, his nails digging in much harder than they surely should have been able to.
He swore under his breath as he cums, twitching under your touch, and coating your hand and stomach with his release.
There’s so much of it, far more than there should be as he cums and cums, gasping for air. Another side effect of the cA1m - perhaps you’d be annoyed as his release soaks into your ruined shirt if the sight of him reaching his peak wasn’t exhilarating.
You let go of him quickly, managing to disentangle yourself from him, despite Miguel low, exhausted whine of protest.
God, how were you going to get a new shirt without running into someone? And, you realised, probably a new pair of trousers too. Miguel’s spend had run down and soaked into the left side.
You grabbed the sedative from the side table. Your mind already racing, it wasn’t Miguel’s fault but would he remember? Would he be awkward with you now? Would your little chats and jokes stop? You swallowed down a pang of fear and turned. Now wasn’t the time for what ifs you-
Miguel grabbed your arms and you squeaked in surprise. How could he move so silently? His eyes were dark, hooded with lust, his trousers just hanging from his hips and… well, obviously so much for the idea that him cumming once would be enough.
“I need you.” He growled, his voice so low that you almost felt light headed. “I know you want me too, I can smell it.” He leaned forward scraping his teeth over your pulse point, and for a shameful moment you let yourself get caught up again, allowed yourself to revel in the sensation for the smallest second.
While he was distracted you pushed the needle into his upper arm, through his shirt, and injected the sedative.
It shouldn't take long.
He growled, pulling his mouth away from your neck to stare dangerously into your eyes.
You swallowed. A spike of fear dug into the base of your skull, some ancient urge telling you to run.
“It’s okay,” you said soothingly, unsure if you were really talking to Miguel or yourself. “It’s just the sedative.” You pulled the needle out of his arm. “You’ll be fine, let’s lay you down so-”
He kissed you hungrily, harsh and demanding as he forced his tongue into your mouth.
You allowed yourself to kiss him back the smallest amount as you waited for the sedative to work.
And waited… And waited…
Oh, no, just no, this wasn’t right, this couldn’t be right. There was more than enough in the injection to knock him out and yet he didn’t show any signs of slowing down.
Okay, so, this definitely wasn’t how it went with the others.
You side step, trying to twist past him and break his hold all in one movement. Maybe you could get to the door, maybe you could do… something. Your mind raced, there had to be a way to fix this, to help him, to be useful.
The side step didn’t work, Miguel’s grip was too tight, and you stumbled, skidding around and to your knees. The edge of the bed thumped into your back.
You gasp, gulp and stare up at him. That spike of fear dragging itself down your spine.
He growls and moves closer, his length bobbing and perfectly at your eye level. His gaze is dark and desperate, his bottom lip pinched between his teeth. You could see his pulse thundering in his neck, echoing along the length of his dick.
Rapid heartbeat was one of the side effects all the others had experienced, the sedative being the only thing that had managed to return it to a normaler level.
Maybe there was only one way you could be useful.
Miguel shifts his weight, preparing to move, but you lean forward first and run your tongue along the length of him.
A deep moan rumbles in his chest as you touch him, a gasp of breath. The sound floods heat to your core.
You wrap your lips around the tip, grabbing hold of his hips to pull him closer as you swallow as much of him as you can. You bob your head, encouraging him to move with you and there is a moment where you can feel the tension in his muscles, the strain in his thighs as he tries to hold back, to keep himself in check.
It doesn’t last long.
He snarls and thrusts forward, snapping his hips and nearly choking you. You splutter, trying to breathe through your nose but Miguel doesn’t give you a second to recover. He pushes forward, the back of your head slamming against the edge of the bed as he plunges deeper and deeper into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat with ease and still not even half way in.
Your grip on his hips tightens and you don’t know if you’re trying to pull him away or urging him on.
It burns, the size of him makes your jaw ache, tears roll down the sides of your cheeks from the force of his relentless thrusts.
His hands dig into the mattress by the side of you head, tearing into the fabric as he pounds into you, fucking your mouth with everything he’s got.
He groans, “yes, baby, yes,” his voice low and barely distinguishable as words.
You do your best to just hold on, to breathe and take as much as you can. The sounds of his moans filling your ears and mind, and god, how you wished you didn’t have a gag reflex and could take him deeper.
He keeps ramming into your mouth, snapping his hips against you with a frenzied energy and you push against his lower back, silently begging him to keep going.
Your neck throbs from discomfort, bruising forming where the skin is repeatedly hitting against the hard outline of the bed frame. Your knees burn from where they continuously rub against the floor with every buck and thrust.
Miguel lets out a short, animalistic cry as he cums down your throat suddenly. You moan against him, trying to swallow all of it but there’s just so, so much. It spills out of the side of your mouth and down your chin despite your best efforts.
He leans forward, breathing hard, his cock still in your mouth. And for a second you think this is it, the sedative will take hold or maybe this mindless lust has come to an end.
But he’s still hard when he pulls himself out of your mouth, his eyes still glazed over with the same madness when he looks down at you. He runs his hand over your chin, the pads of his fingers slightly sharp, and collects some of his spend that hasn’t trickled down your neck and onto your torn shirt and bra. Another item of clothing you’d need to change.
He smears his cum along your cheek, the movement possessive, like he was marking his territory.
There’s a pause, the lull in the eye of the storm before he pulls you up from the ground with a shocking display of strength, moving as if you were no heavier than a glass of water he was eager to drink down.
You can’t help the little yelp of surprise that escapes you as he practically throws you onto the bed, your back hitting the mattress and momentarily knocking the air out of your lungs.
But then he’s on top of you, pressing himself firmly between your legs as he growls and snaps his teeth close to your neck. He bites at your throat, hard enough to break the skin and you cry out as the pain quickly disappears into pleasure.
Your mewls only make his actions more frenzied as he tears your clothes completely off you with a speed that makes your head spin, before removing his own. The material rips so easily, as if he used a blade.
He runs his tongue along your chest, messily cleaning up the cum he’d spilt along you just moments before.
“Miguel-” You try to start, but then his mouth is back on yours, tasting like salt and iron as he drinks down your words to leave you breathless.
You gasp as he breaks away, trailing sloppy kisses down your body, his fingers running over your skin and leaving scratches. He bites your hip partially deeply and you keen, arching up into him as he moans.
“Your so fucking sweet.” He mutters before kissing lower and lower and, oh god. You nearly scream as his lips wrap around your clit and he sucks hard. Pleasure coils tight in your belly as a new wave of wetness leaks out and soaks into the torn up sheets beneath you.
His fingers dig into your thighs as he pushes his face into you, only breaking away so that he can lick through your folds hungrily, devouring you like a starving animal.
“Miguel!” You whine, letting out a series of high pitch moans that sound alien even to your own ears.
He sucks your clit once more, his teeth just grazing across it before he snarls and pulls away, pushing the back of your thighs and pressing them against your chest with a crushing strength.
You struggle to take a breath, barely filling your lungs before he’s thrusting into you with a guttural groan and a sharp snap of his hips.
The size of him hurts, it’s too much, too fast and you gasp in pain. You clench your jaw, your eyes screwing up as your hands fly to his shoulders, trying to push him back even though you know it’s no use against his strength.
But he stops instantly, stilling his movements.
You stare up at him in surprise. His eyes are still dark but there’s something else there, something pushing through that lust haze.
“Pain?” He whispers, sounding the most like his old self that he has since this ordeal began.
You swallow and nod, tears building at the corners of your eyes.
He slowly loosens his grip around your thighs, letting go shakily as if it is taking a lot of self control to do so. And while he doesn’t pull out, he doesn’t thrust in deeper either.
Carefully, he manoeuvres your legs down onto the bed either side of him, watching your face for any sign of increased discomfort. It’s only then that he looks down to where you’re joined, completely split open with only a quarter of his length inside.
He groans lows and you brace yourself for a brutal thrust that never comes. Instead he keeps his hips still as he slowly trails his sharp nails down your stomach, teasing the very edge of your clit before pressing his thumb against it fully.
A small moan escapes you and you clench down instinctively. Miguel hums in approval and starts to slowly circle the bundle of nerves, the touch light and soft as he just borders on the edge of losing control.
The pain starts to dissipate quickly, replaced with a steady continuous build of that deep need from before. You start to squirm. The pressure of his thumb isn’t enough and you rock your hips ever so slightly, your breathing hitching in your throat.
"More?" He whispers.
You nod your head rapidly.
“Thank god.” Miguel sighs, the words mumbled like a prayer almost too quietly for you to hear, and lets some of his weakening control slip.
Slowly he pushes further in, the tension shaking in his thighs as he fights with every instinct to pound you into the mattress and turn you into a crying mess beneath him.
He keeps circling your clit, groaning as feels a fresh wave of wetness leaking out of you.
You moan, grabbing hold of his shoulders. But this time you pull him towards you, urging him deeper. God, he’s big. Already it’s like you can feel him in your throat.
The stretch burns, but it’s good, it feels right. Like he is going to reach a whole new devastating part of you. Make you cum so hard that he’ll ruin any other sexual partner for good.
You hook your left leg on his hip and squeeze your calf over his lower back, encouraging him closer, deeper. While you plant your right foot firmly against the bed to rock up against him.
Miguel groans, his eyes closed. His movements on your clit falter as he slides further in.
There’s a sharp pain in your hip where his left hand holds you tight, his nails (it had to be his nails) dug in so deep that they broke your skin.
You let out a soft whine, clenching around his girth as he presses up against you perfectly and still pushes further in. The pleasure in your stomach tightening and starting to completely overwhelm all other thoughts, urging you to just chase your release.
Tears prick again at the corners of your eyes, a soft emotion beating hard in your chest. And you can’t help yourself, you grab hold of the back of Miguel’s neck, pulling him down towards you and arching up at the same time to kiss him hungrily.
He moans into your mouth, pushing back against you and forcing you into the mattress. His hips snap forward, finally sheathing himself completely in your tight, wet heat.
For a moment it’s like you can’t breathe, so completely full that not even air can enter.
Miguel stills, giving you a moment to adjust as he licks into your mouth and groans as your walls squeeze around his length. His pubis bone presses firmly against your clit, and you can feel the echo of his racing heart beat along his skin.
He breaks the kiss to breathe hard, his eyes closed and forehead pressed against yours. “I can’t… I need to…”
“Please,” you answer desperately, kissing him softly as you start to rock your hips ever so slightly.
Miguel lets out a whine, his eyebrows pinched together in bliss and the expression alone is nearly enough to make you cum on the spot.
“Can’t stop,” he mutters and you're not even sure if he’s aware of what he’s saying anymore as he grabs your wrists in either of his hands and pins them to the bed. “Feels so…” He ruts into you, pulling out so that just the tip of his cock stays inside before slamming back into you. “Fuck. So. Fucking. Tight.”
You wail under him as pleasure runs up your spine and down your legs as he punctuates every thrust with an upwards rock of his hips, continuously rubbing against your clit and pressing the head of his length to that perfect spot inside.
“So. Fucking. Wet.” He growls. His nails are slicing into your wrists, but you don’t care. Can’t care, you’ve lost all ability to feel anything but the glide of his cock and the heady build of your orgasm.
“So. Mine.” He growls and bites down hard on your neck. You cry out, the brutal pace of his hips only increasing, bringing you closer and closer and-
You gasp, his name catching in your throat as you finally cum. Every muscle shaking as it crashes over you in waves.
Miguel tears his mouth away from your neck, blood shining on his lips as he watches you come undone. He moans, his thrusts not faltering for a second.
“That’s it, cum all over me,” he glances down for a moment watching himself disappearing into you, amazed at how well you’re taking him, how tightly your walls are griping him, trying to milk him for all he’s worth. “Squeezing me so tight, oh shit-”
He cums loudly, still pistoning in and out of you as he fills you up with his release. There’s still so much of it, some leaks out, spilling out of your abused hole and sticking to your thighs.
You breathe deeply, your mind foggy from how hard you came. Your legs ache from being stretched so wide, your pussy throbs from overstimulation.
Miguel doesn’t stop, still rock hard and trusting. Pushing his cum deeper into you.
“Miguel,” you whine, your throat raw.
“I can’t-” he bites his lip, “I can’t stop, I need to, fuck, please, I need to-”
You kiss his neck, biting harder than you normally would at his jugular. He whines, the sound going straight to your core. Heat starts to build again.
“Keep going,” you mutter against his skin. “Keep going as long as you need to.”
.
You wake up sore and sticky. Aching and in pain. Even the slightest movement brings out an array of discomfort. Every muscle throbs, like you had done a year's worth of exercise in one day, and all the bites and scratches sting as you shift, the scrapes making you feel like someone had tossed you naked into a bush of brambles and thorns.
It takes you a moment to remember where you are, the tiredness in your bones trying to coax you back to sleep.
“I’m sorry.”
Miguel’s voice makes you jump. He’s still close to you, laying on his side with his chest pressed up against your back. One arm around your waist. There’s tension there, you know he wants to move away but is scared to move at the same time.
His cock is pressed against your backside, soft and sated.
You turn to look at him, too tired to worry about your nakedness. Besides, he had seen plenty of it anyway.
“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”
He scoffs. His mouth pressed into a thin line as he looks down.
It’s only then as you turn around completely to look at him that you see tears in his eyes. “Miguel?”
You softly touch his cheek but he flinches away from you. The action spikes through your heart. He can’t even look at you now.
“I’ve got everything to be sorry for, I, I took advantage of you, I rap-”
“No, no, no, no,” you can’t help but touch him again, putting your hand back on his cheek and rubbing your thumb soothingly across his skin.
This time he leans into it, letting out the smallest, shaky breath.
“You were infected, Miguel, you couldn’t control yourself. I don’t know how much you remember but the sedative didn’t work, and your heart rate was just, I mean, it was crazy high. And, if anything, I was the one that took advantage of you and-”
His eyes snap open. “You? You took advantage of me?” He says disbelievingly. “Look at you.” He touches the bite marks on your neck gently.
You give him a little smile. “I don’t mind.”
He breathes out another shaky breath, but there’s a hint of a smile. “You don’t mind?”
You shake your head. “Happy to help.”
He chuckles a little at that and nods as he runs a hand through his hair.
There’s a pause, a silence that you can’t stand.
“I guess I was wrong.”
Miguel frowns a little, confused.
“My theory, about people having that reaction if they’re in love, I mean.”
There’s a pause, the only sound a little gulp as Miguel swallows. Something passes over his face for a second, a faint trace of heat rising to his skin.
Oh. Maybe you weren’t wrong.
“Miguel?”
He breathes deeply, looking down. “I-”
You don’t give him a chance to finish, letting your adrenaline overwhelm you as you quickly lean forward and press your lips to his. Hoping against hope that you weren’t misreading the situation.
He’s caught by surprise for a moment, but moans happily and softly kisses you back as his arm wraps around you and pulls you close.
The kiss is slow and gentle, languid and sweet. It makes your stomach drop like you were falling from a great height. His embrace the only thing keeping you safe.
He runs his tongue over your bottom lip lightly, careful of the cuts, but licks into your mouth hungrily the second you part your lips. It’s not the same lustful need from before, this is deeper, sharper and desperate in a different way. As if after devouring your body he now needed to devour your soul.
He kisses you again, lightly before you both pull back for a second. He grins at you, a little shyly and you smile as you stroke his cheek.
“You weren’t wrong.” He muttered.
You frown and shake your head, confused.
He chuckles and kisses you again. “Your theory about love.”
I'm vaccinated so my chances of having caught it weren't high, so I don't know how the fuck I did. Kinda mad I did, but that's neither here nor there. I've been off from work since the 1st, which isn't great, but honestly I needed the break even if I was bed ridden during that time. I'm fine now, I stopped having a fever as of yesterday, and I'm scheduled back in by tomorrow. So that kinda sucks. Given me some time to reflect, and sadly I don't think the post office is for me 8T
BUT, on the plus side, I've dabbled back into writing again! Just not TCW
I've gotten into ATSV instead. HAHA. Enough that I'm planning a three part fanfic with Miguel O'Hara and an OC, bc I'm just gonna be self indulgent, heehoo
Anyway. Thanks to everyone who's stuck around, I'm sorry I haven't posted ANYTHING lately. I miss you all and I hope everyone's doin well!
Rating: Explicit
Wordcount: 7.8k
CW: Dom/sub undercurrent, Domme!Elia, sub!reader, teasing, finger-sucking, dirty talk, praise, degradation (just a sprinkle she's so mean), edging, fingering (reader receiving), talks of a strap.
A/N: Everyone who has interacted with this fic has meant the world to me, y'all are so nice and so kind, and I appreciate every single incoherent reblog, every kind word and every sweet message in my inbox more than I can say.
Huge thanks as always to my lovely beta @baba-fett who has also apparently been left incoherent by this chapter. She'll be back in 3-5 business days, folks.
✦⋆ Main Masterlist ⋆✦
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Chapter 5: The Mercy
Elia Kane does not know mercy.
You should have known - should have known from what is being said about her, from what you have read about her, should have known from the way she looks at you like you are something only for her to devour.
Elia Kane does not know mercy, and you knew that. You just never thought it would apply to you quite in such a direct way.
You beg and plead, you whimper and cry in her lap, and all you get in return is a derogatory look from golden eyes as she teases you without giving you the satisfaction of ever really touching you.
There is a satisfied smirk on her lips when the singular word slips out of your mouth - please - and she pulls her fingers from you. All it does is make you want her even more.
You feel the loss of her deep in your belly, feel the way your pussy still pulses even though you feel empty. It’s overwhelming - you got so close, so fucking close to everything you have ever wanted, only for her to take it away.
Elia’s hand is wrapped loosely around your waist, her eyes heavy-lidded as she regards your writhing form in her lap, your hands clutching at her muscular arms while you desperately try to gain back what you have lost.
You press your lips together so no words will slip out, even when all you want to say is, Gods, Elia, please- I didn’t mean to, I just wanted- no one has ever made me feel so good, please let me come, I promise I’ll be good…
Elia stares at you like she can read your mind, and you can feel the heat rising to your cheeks under the intensity of her gaze.
“Is there something you want to say?” Her voice is deceptively soft and gentle. It’s a trap and you know it, and still you can’t help but walk into it. She is baiting you, and you will happily let her if it only means she might touch you again.
Your hips are still rocking shallowly against her, though the friction is barely there. It is nothing in comparison to her fingers inside you, it’s not enough compared to the perfect smoothness of her palm pressing against your pulsing clit with every stroke.
You close your eyes and swallow. You take the bait of Elia’s sweet, honey-dripping words.
You whisper, “Please.”
The desperation makes your own voice sound like a stranger’s to your ears. You have never begged for anything like you have begged for her. You have never wanted anything as much as you want her.
Elia’s steel-cold eyes go bright and warm, and for a moment you think she will give you what you want. She raises her fingers from her thigh, your arousal dripping from them as she raises them to your lips. You open up willingly, let her push inside.
Elia smiles at you.
“No,” she says sweetly.
Your heart flutters at her sugary-sweet denial. Elia regards you, her head cocked to the side as she continues to push her fingers in and out of your mouth, curling them in the same way you wish so desperately she would curl them inside you.
“No,” she says again, her voice a little raspier this time, eyes fixed on your mouth. “No, I don’t think begging will be enough this time, angel. I think I want to see you cry from how much you want it. How much you need it- because you do, don’t you? You need me.”
“Fu- mhm.” The sound you produce is filthy, muffled by the heaviness of her fingers on your tongue. Elia smiles, baring her sharp teeth. Her eyes crinkle, and even in your dishevelled state, you can’t help but notice the freckles that are sprinkled across her nose. She is so beautiful your heart wants to burst, and the way she tortures you is so delicious you wish she would never stop. From the way she is looking at you, you might get your wish.
“I know, sweetheart. I know.” Elia pulls her fingers from your mouth, wiping them carelessly on your bare thigh. You shiver in the cool air and look at her with pleading eyes. Goosebumps spread across your entire body at the look in her eyes.
It’s sheer determination, mixed with something akin to reverence, though you don’t think she would ever say so. Elia has told you many things, but somehow you don’t think she will be quite so open when it comes to her own feelings for you.
The spark in her eyes tells you one thing, though: She will keep her promise. Elia Kane will take you apart until there is nothing left of you, and you will let her. You will thank her on your knees if she allows you to.
Elia’s fingers trace a path across your shoulders, along your collarbones, and your breath hitches. The path slopes down between your breasts, over your belly, before she stops just above your pussy.
“I think you’ll be patient for me this time, won’t you?” she asks. Her fingers twitch with the rise of your belly.
“Yes,” you breathe, your head already halfway in the clouds from the thought of getting to feel her inside you again.
“That’s what I like to hear,” she mumbles. Her fingers dance across your skin, caressing, teasing. Down your thigh and up again, featherlight across your hip bone in a way that reduces you to a dripping wet mess.
Elia laughs quietly at the look on your face, at the way your back arches involuntarily, at the way you buck your hips as if anything you do could make her go any faster. It’s a genuine laugh, not a mean one. It makes her eyes crinkle in the corners, and lets you see the perfect pearl-white of her teeth. You want to make her smile like that every day.
“Someone promised to be patient without knowing what that means,” she grins. “You are making this so much harder for yourself than it needs to be, angel.”
You want to respond, but your voice comes out as a weak whimper when Elia’s fingers slip down to caress your aching pussy. The delight in her golden eyes turns to hunger when she hears the noise - a deep, burning hunger that makes you feel like you are on fire just from the way she looks at you.
Elia barely touches you at first - it’s anticipation and excitement more than it is actual touch, it’s the mere idea of her feeling how wet you are, the soft ache it will be when she pushes inside you again.
You bite your lip, letting your head fall back as you close your eyes and try to prolong the sensation of her hands teasing you. There is a rustle, then Elia’s soft hair tickles your chin, and before you can move, her teeth scrape at the vulnerable spot of your throat at the same time she sinks her fingers inside you.
“Fuck,” you gasp. “Fuck- oh gods, fuck- Elia-”
The movement of her fingers inside you is languid and deep. She barely moves, but it’s enough to make your toes curl. Her lips are now soft on your throat, like nothing ever happened, but you can feel the threat - the promise - of her sharp teeth sinking into your skin if you make even one wrong move.
You let yourself fall. There is nothing you can do, nothing you could say to persuade her, so you let yourself turn malleable under her hands, docile and desperate to be good for her so she might give you what you need.
“‘Atta girl,” she murmurs into the softness of your throat. You can feel her warm lips gliding along your skin as she speaks. “Relax for me, sweetheart. I’ll take care of everything for you, all you need to do is be good for me. Be perfect for me, then you can have your reward… Let me use you, let me take you- take all you have to give.”
There is a beat in which you can only hear the pounding of your own heart, only feel your body where Elia is touching you, as you process her words. And then you understand. She is asking for permission, in her own, strange way. You are more than willing to give it to her.
“Take it,” you exhale, rolling your hips in a desperate attempt to feel her even deeper inside you. “Take me- anything you want, you can have it, anything for you- please, Elia-”
Her fingers curl at a different angle, and it’s right against that spot that makes you see stars. The sensation is new, a sudden burst of bliss from your core, and you welcome the pleasure. It’s perfect - she’s perfect, like she knows you inside and out, and was holding on for your permission before she let herself show you. You choke on your own moan when Elia hits the spot again. And again, and again, each stroke of her fingers inside you perfectly controlled.
It’s pure ecstasy. It feels like spice being injected right into your veins, like nothing you have ever felt before. Elia’s head moves, her lips roaming down the side of your neck. She kisses you before you can feel the sting of her sharp teeth. She doesn’t break the skin, too careful not to hurt you, but you can feel the veiled threat in your entire body. The sensation of her teeth raking across your throat, followed by her soft lips kissing the spot makes your whole body shiver. Your hips start to grind down harder, begging to meet her strokes each time. Elia presses her face into the crook of your neck, sucking on that sweet spot below your jaw that makes you moan her name.
There is the edge you have been missing- balancing the line between pleasure and pain, and you can feel your core clench. Your pulse rises through your chest and into your head, echoing in your heart as you feel yourself getting closer and closer to release. Elia’s fingers make an absolutely filthy sound gliding in and out of your soaking cunt, and you can’t even find it in you to be ashamed of it.
“You hear that, sweetheart?” Elia mumbles, pausing her mission of marking your neck for a tiny moment. “Hear how wet you are for me? Feel how perfectly I can fit inside you- so willing, so eager, I bet you really wanna come for me, hm? But this time you know not to beg, come on angel, just a little longer, hold on for me, be good for me…”
Her lips descend onto your burning skin again, and you feel the sharp ache when she sucks another lovebite into your skin. Elia’s fingers never stop moving, curling in that perfect way that makes your core feel so deliciously tight. It’s nearly enough to get you there, nearly enough to let you tumble over the peak if only she-
She stops.
Elia stops moving her fingers all of a sudden, completely stilling inside you. Her lips pull back from your neck.
Your mouth makes an indignant sound - a mix of a plea, disappointment, and rage.
“No,” you whine, the word barely more than a breath. Elia hears you anyway. She clicks her tongue.
“Again,” she says. At first, you think she is scolding you for complaining again, but when you finally gain enough control over your body again to open your eyes and actually look at her, you see the desire that darkens her eyes.
“....what?” you ask weakly.
“This is what I want,” she explains calmly, matter-of-factly, as if she is not currently knuckle-deep inside you. “I want to see you on the brink of having everything you need, again and again. You will push yourself there for me over and over, and you will stop yourself every time. Do you understand me?”
Her dark eyes burn into yours and you shiver, your pussy clenching around her. Elia smiles her sharp smile.
“You will not come unless I tell you to. No matter how close you are, no matter how much you want it. You will stop yourself. Every. Fucking. Time. Is that clear?”
Her voice is like the edge of a knife, but the harshness is softened by the look in her eyes: An affection you did not expect to see, and she didn’t mean to show. You swallow thickly.
“I understand.”
Elia regards you pensively. Her fingers stay still, but you can feel them nonetheless, perfectly filling you. Your pulse is slowing down little by little, but the desire deep inside your belly only grows.
She smiles again, this time a little meaner, and the gentleness of her voice is deceptive when Elia asks you, “If you want to come, what do you say?”
You bite your lip. It’s a trap. You turn the words over in your mind, taking your time to respond, hoping your answer will be what she wants to hear.
“That doesn’t matter,” you answer eventually, carefully choosing your words. Your pussy flutters in excitement at the next words you say. “What I want doesn’t matter. Only what you want. I’ll get to come when you let me.”
Elia bares her teeth in a dangerous smirk that makes your heart stumble.
“Good girl.”
Your body betrays you, your walls tightening around her long fingers that are still so neatly fitted inside you. A smile plays around the corners of her eyes.
“Gonna have to use my praise sparingly with you,” she muses. “You’re so easy- so wet for me, your perfect little cunt so tight around my fingers. Wouldn’t wanna make you come by accident. Not before you work for it.”
You make an undefinable little noise in the back of your throat and Elia laughs quietly.
“Always so eager,” she mumbles.
Slowly, ever so slowly, her fingers start to move again. You keep your eyes trained on her forearm, watching the muscles flex with her movement. Feeling her fingertips grind against your walls feels like equally so much and not enough.
You are enthralled by the smoothness of her movement, by the way her expression barely changes. Elia is fully focused on you, taking in every gasp, every breath of air and every stifled moan.
Sweat starts to bead on your forehead as the minutes tick by. Elia seems unmoved, unbothered by the steady motion of her arm. She never wavers for a second, keeping her rhythm strong and steady as she fucks you slow and deep.
Your thighs start to shake from exhaustion of holding yourself upright in her lap. Elia raises an eyebrow but says nothing, instead just continuing with that delicious curl of her fingers inside you. Your hands dig into her shoulders as you try to keep yourself steady, but she does not flinch.
A wave starts to build inside your belly once again. It grows higher with every stroke of her fingers, the shake in your thighs now not from exhaustion alone anymore. It’s a ripple inside your belly, taking over your arms, your legs, making your heart beat faster until you feel it in your throat. Sweat drips down your chest as you try to keep the pleasure contained inside yourself, though you can’t help moaning her name.
Elia smirks.
“Mhh, are you getting close again, angel?”
“Yeah,” you breathe shakily, your mouth producing words without you meaning to. “Yes- fuck, gods you’re way too good at this, it’s not fair, ‘s not fair- f-fuck, you feel so good, wish I could keep you inside me forever, wanna feel you- never wanna feel anything else but this again…”
“-be my little plaything forever?” Elia cuts you off. She looks at you like a predator looks at its prey, eyes roaming over your heaving chest, over the beat of your heart in your throat, following the bead of sweat that slowly trickles down between your breasts. Her eyes are so full of desire that you have to look away. “Mhh, I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you? No work, no need to think, just there for me to use whenever I wanted to. You’d be so perfect like that for me, my pretty angel, only mine.”
You shudder and cry out, the coil in your belly so very nearly ready to snap- it’s her words that almost do you in, her words and the look in her eyes. But Elia knows you too well already, she can feel it even when your brain goes too empty to form words.
She pulls her fingers from you once more, and you shiver.
“Fuck,” you whimper. “Don’t-”
“Ah-ah,” she interrupts you. “You don’t give the orders here, sweetheart. Don’t make it any worse for yourself than it already is.”
Without waiting for your response, her hands, still wet with your arousal, guide your legs to wrap around her waist again. When she is sure you are securely hanging on to her, Elia pushes herself up from the chair, carrying you over to the bed with a few quick steps. You are only barely keeping yourself from going limp, your muscles feeling like jelly in your body.
The way she lays you down is surprisingly gentle. Then, her hands slide up the backs of your thighs, pushing you up the bed until your head touches the headrest. Elia stuffs a pillow underneath your hips, then impatiently pushes your legs apart, sighing with satisfaction at the way your body melts under her touch.
Her eyes light up at the sight of your glistening pussy bared and spread before her. Maybe it’s just a trick of the light.
“Beautiful,” she mutters, so quietly you could have dreamed it.
Her hands glide up your thighs, steady and strong. With one hand, she holds down your hips, while the other slips between your thighs. Her long fingers play with your pussy, but this time, she doesn’t push inside. Two of her fingers circle your clit instead, the pressure so light you could barely feel it if you weren’t so turned on.
You moan and buck your hips, but she is merciless. She takes her time exploring you, her touches featherlight at first. Your thighs twitch when she increases the pressure, slow and steady, until you are a writhing, sweaty mess beneath her, your words and pleas barely coherent.
She laughs at you and teases you through it.
“That’s my desperate girl, listen to you- moaning for me like a whore, you need it bad, don’t you, sweetheart? Yeah? Mhh, don’t buck your hips, pretty girl, keep them still for me- take what I give you, don’t get greedy now, that’ll only make it worse. But you know that, don’t you? Even with your little head so empty, you remember that you’re mine, that this is for me… Oh, don’t cry, sweetheart, you’ll get your reward… eventually.”
Elia is patient, so patient, as she strokes you, denying you one, then two, three, four orgasms like this. She switches hands in between, though you never see any other sign of her getting tired.
You are sweating, your whole body feeling like liquid fire every time she brings you so close to the edge only to pull you back from it forcefully and without mercy.
Time loses all meaning. There is only her, and what she gives you, and what she denies you. There is only her hands, and her lips on your thighs, and the pleasure that she allows you to feel. There are only her words - mean and degrading, and then soft and sweet, coaxing one moan after another from your lips.
You lose count of the times you held yourself back. Elia is careful, learning the signs of your approaching release inside and out, and she always pulls back in time. The intervals of rest you need between your near-orgasms grow longer and longer, but Elia’s patience never wavers. At some point, you need more than a few minutes of rest only for her to take mere seconds to bring you right to the edge again, and leave you hanging on by a thread.
The only thing keeping you from letting go is the memory of her deliciously raspy voice. You will not come unless I tell you to.
Producing sound becomes nearly impossible. Your throat has grown dry from pleading, from moaning and crying her name as if it had any influence.
When Elia pulls away from you again, the wave of your near-orgasm making your whole body shake, you finally break.
You take a few steadying breaths, trying to will your body to calm down, trying to make yourself stop shaking.
“Water,” you croak eventually. “Elia, please- I need water, I’m so thirsty.”
You can feel your tongue stick to the roof of your mouth even from those few words. She cocks her head and contemplates your request. Then, Elia leans over you. She kisses you, her tongue slipping into your mouth with ease.
Her lips ghost across your cheek, over to the shell of your ear.
“If you drink, it’ll be from my mouth only,” she mutters. “You’ll take what I give you, won’t you, angel?”
You try to respond with a yes, but your voice is too hoarse to make a sound. Elia laughs at you, then quickly gets up from the bed. You close your eyes and let yourself rest. It’s the longest break from her delicious torture you have had in quite a while, and you savour the chilly night air cooling your hot skin.
You can hear the tap running for a second, and only moments later, the mattress dips when Elia sits down next to you, putting a full glass on the bedside table. You stretch out your hand, your body feeling too weak and boneless to sit up properly, and Elia slaps your wrist lightly.
“Don’t forget your manners,” she warns you. “I told you, if you drink, it’ll be from my mouth.”
You let your head fall back against the pillow. Her words don’t seem to make sense, but maybe you are just too far gone.
Elia straddles you, one thick thigh on either side of your hips. Her hands glide up your chest, caressing your breasts for a moment before she pulls back. She takes the water from the nightstand and takes a sip. Mesmerised, you watch a drop fall from her lip and run down her sharp jaw, following the tendons in her throat, kissing her clavicle before it soaks the hem of her breastband.
Elia swallows. Her hand slips up your neck to close around your jaw.
“Open up, angel,” she commands sweetly. You follow the order without thinking, opening your mouth wide.
You expect her fingers to slip inside your mouth. What you don’t expect is Elia taking another sip of water before carefully setting the glass back down. She leans forward and presses her lips to your open mouth. Water trickles from her mouth into yours, and you nearly choke on your surprised gasp.
Fuck.
This has no right to be as hot as it is.
Elia feeds you the water slowly, so slowly. You drink from her mouth eagerly, savouring the taste of her and the sweet, sweet hydration. She gives you just enough - not too much, just enough to make your cracked lips fill out again, enough to take away the soreness of your throat.
When she finally pulls back completely, you look at her like she hung the stars in the sky.
“Thank you,” you whisper. Elia smiles.
“You’ve been good for me. And you are going to need your strength. After all, I want to make you scream.”
You nearly cry when she touches you again. Every inch of you is so overstimulated, and yet there is nothing you crave more than her hands on you.
Elia smirks as she runs her fingers down your arm. You are shivering, arching your back to meet her touches, trying to mould yourself around her.
“Mhh, you’re desperate now, aren’t you, angel?” she mutters. “Just look at you- you were being so good for me, but you nearly didn’t make it, did you? It would be pathetic how much you want me if it wasn’t so sweet.”
You open your mouth to protest - what exactly you want to say, you don’t know. Because Elia is right: You are pathetic. Already fucked out without even one orgasm, begging for her, pleading and whining, so desperate that you would do anything she asked if only it meant you would get to come around her perfect, long fingers stuffing you full.
“Aww.” Elia laughs, and it’s a sound much too sweet to be coming from her mouth. Her finger strokes your cheek. “Speechless, are you? That pretty head is so empty, just how we like it.”
You reach for her, close your fingers around hers in a desperate attempt. You are clinging to her like you are drowning and she is the rock that lifts you up to breathe.
Her fingers glide over your warm body, her nails too short to leave any marks. You nearly mourn the fact - you would bear her marks proudly, show them off even. Scream into the skies that you belong to her, because you do. You have from the moment you saw her, and anything different was just wishful thinking.
“Kiss me,” you breathe, and - at the raise of her brow- you hastily add, “please.”
The corner of her mouth quirks up, and Elia bends down.
Her lips are touching yours when she mumbles, “Now, when you ask like that…”
It’s not a soft kiss. It’s a hungry one - Elia’s mouth devouring you, her tongue gliding against yours. You are both panting, her clothed chest rubbing against your bare tits, and the friction feels so fucking good.
You don’t resist when Elia gathers your wrists in one of her strong hands and pulls them above your head, holding them down. No, you don’t resist - you happily let her have her way with you, because this is the best you have ever felt in… possibly all your life.
“So obedient,” she praises, her voice husky with desire. “I think that deserves some appreciation, don’t you, sweetheart?”
Your lips are swollen from her kisses, and your brain is so empty you can barely form words. Your skin is tingling with anticipation, and you can feel your heartbeat in your damn pussy every time Elia looks at you.
“If that’s what you want,” you whisper.
“And why’s that?” Her voice demands an answer, and you are scraping together your last remaining braincells to form a response.
“What I want doesn’t matter,” you finally manage to press out, gasping when she presses kisses along your jaw, her nose nudging you. “Only- fuck- only what you want. This is for you, only you.”
“That’s right.” She kisses your neck and you lose a little more of your mind right then and there. “This is all for me. Just like you. You are all for me, aren’t you, angel? All mine?”
“Yes!” Your voice turns into a moan when Elia bites down, sharp teeth digging into the tender skin of your neck until she very nearly draws blood. “Yes, gods, of course- course I am, I’m all yours. I belong to you, Elia, only you.”
Her tongue is soothing the sharp pain as you speak, and you are so distracted by the sensation that ripples through you that you don’t notice her hand slipping down and down, following your curves.
Her other hand is still holding your wrists above your head, and you quietly hope her rough grip might leave marks on you.
“That’s what I like to hear.” Elia’s voice is barely audible, a strained whisper against your throat. “Open your legs for me, pretty girl. Let me feel how wet you are for me- let me feel what’s mine.”
Her words make your pussy clench and your breath stutter. With some effort, you manage to gain enough control over your muscles to spread your trembling legs. Elia shifts over you, now straddling only one of your thighs. Her golden eyes are fixed on your bare pussy.
“Fuck,” she whispers, and there is an undefinable note of admiration in her voice. “Oh, look at you. My desperate girl, you’re dripping for me. Gods, I bet if I got my strap right now I could fuck you with no preparation at all- look at that, look how you writhe when I say that. Would you like that, sweetheart? You want me to fuck you?”
“Y-yes,” you gasp, your voice more an approximation of a whisper than an actual noise. “Fuck- only thing I want- just you-”
“Good girl.” Elia’s hand slips between your thighs, long fingers barely ghosting over your swollen clit, but it’s enough to make you cry out. “Before we get to that, I think I’d like to make you come around my fingers though. Wanna feel it, bet your pretty little pussy squeezes so tight when you’re coming, mh?”
Her smooth fingers glide through your pussy without any friction - you are so wet you can feel yourself dripping onto the mattress.
You watch Elia watching you: How her eyes light up at the sight of her fingers disappearing inside you, at the way her lips part just a little when you arch your back to take her deeper. You can feel how Elia’s hips start to grind down against your thigh, rolling in an unhurried movement while her fingers fuck you deep and slow.
Tears gather in the corners of your eyes - finally- you may get what you want-
“Can you take another for me, angel? I think you can, don’t you? Gonna have to make sure my cock fits inside you, you’re already so full…”
The thought of Elia decked out in a harness that hugs her hips tight, of her hands continuing to hold you down while she pounds into you until you beg her to stop makes you moan. Elia simply swallows the desperate noise in a kiss.
“That a yes, angel? Say it for me,” she commands.
“Yes,” you stumble over the words in your hurry to get them out. “Yes, I can take more- please let me, please- I wanna feel you, want you to fuck me, wanna come for you- be good for you- be perfect for you-“
“That’s right, you’ll be perfect for me.” Elia pulls her fingers nearly all the way out of you and you impatiently arch up your hips, pressing the pads of your feet into the mattress for leverage. She laughs quietly at your eager response, but when her fingers sink inside you again, you’re suddenly so full that all other sensation seems to fade away.
She fits perfectly inside you like this, fucking you at just the right pace, her three fingers pulling the filthiest sounds from your soaking cunt every time.
You can feel it coming from a mile away - that coil in your belly ready to spring.
“Elia-“ The sound of your own voice is unfamiliar to you in its desperation. “Elia, baby- fuck- fuck, I’m gonna come, I can’t-“
“Come for me, then,” she coaxes, her fingers hitting the perfect sweet spot inside you every time. Your eyes meet with hers, and she never looks away. She holds your gaze as she repeats herself. “Come for me, angel. Let me see you, hear you- scream my name, because it’s all for me, it’s all mine, you’re all mine-“
And that is it.
You wail when your orgasm finally pulls you under, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of it- the buildup of a dozen denied highs spreading through you like wildfire. You cry out her name, over and over, because it’s the only thing that still makes sense - her, and nothing else.
Elia.
You can feel everything- every slow curl of her fingers as she fucks you through it. You can hear her words of surprisingly encouraging praise as though from far away, and you can feel those honey-golden eyes on you, making you her own in a way only she ever could.
Your entire body is still trembling even as you start to come down from your high.
“Fuck me,” is the first thing your brain comes up with once you regain some coherency, unclenching your fists from the sheets you have bunched up just to have something to hold onto.
“Oh, you ready for another round already?” Elia grins with those too sharp teeth, and your heart wants to fall out of your chest.
A thin sheen of sweat covers both you and her, but neither of you minds.
“Gimme- gimme a second,” you murmur, trying to sit up on your elbows. You wince when the angle of Elia’s fingers inside you changes with the movement - every little stimulation too much, every touch a small explosion of overload.
“Mmhm.” Elia hums. She lets go of your wrists to hold herself up as she slowly, so slowly, pulls her fingers from you. You dig your fingers into her biceps.
“Fuck, your pussy doesn’t want to let go, hm?” she chuckles. “Pulling me in like a fucking- There, there, sweetheart. Relax for me.”
“‘s where you belong,” you mumble, your brain still foggy. Elia makes an odd noise at that, but before you can inquire, her fingers suddenly slip out of you all at once, and you’re left with an overwhelmingly empty feeling in your lower belly.
“Oh fuck, look at that.” Elia’s voice is the perfect smoky rasp that makes you feel like you can taste it on your tongue. “Look at you angel, coming all over my fingers like that. Maker, this is…”
“Sorry,” you mutter. What you’re apologising for, you don’t rightly know.
“No, no,” she smiles in response. “This is a mess that I’m gonna enjoy cleaning up.”
You watch, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, as Elia licks each of her fingers clean with military neatness. She smirks at you.
“You want a taste?”
You nod, not trusting your own voice, and are surprised when, instead of letting you suck on her fingers, Elia bends down to kiss you. The taste of yourself on her tongue is intimate in a way you can’t quite grasp.
“Thank you,” you whisper when she finally pulls back.
Elia cocks her head.
“Don’t thank me yet, sweetheart. I’m not done with you.”
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Previous Chapter <;< ⋆✦⋆ >> Next Chapter [coming]
Elia owns my entire pussy. Enjoy - y'all mean the world to me.
Rating: Explicit
Wordcount: 7.6k
CW: D/s dynamics, Dom!Elia, sub!reader, Elia is a little mean about it, degradation, praise, nicknames for reader, dirty talk in general, reader eats Elia out, talks of marking each other up, grinding, a little edging (to be continued...)
A/N: This chapter is so fucking horny so you're getting a next chapter full of smut too lmaoo. A million thanks and kisses to my sweet wonderful beta @baba-fett for helping me and being so supportive like always! ❥
✦⋆ Main Masterlist ⋆✦
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Chapter 4: The Sinner
Her hands are on you the second the door hisses shut, then her lips. You burn for her and the way every touch seems to worship you.
Elia presses you up against the door, one hand wrapped around your waist, the other in your hair.
“Fuck,” she groans, eyes fixed on your lips. “Fuck, I’ve been wanting to do this ever since I saw you for the first time. Couldn’t take my fucking eyes off of you.”
You moan in response, looping your arms around her neck and pulling her back in for another kiss. Her tongue slips into your mouth and you let her, you let her take and take and take whatever she wants. Elia’s hand slips lower, to the waistband of your trousers, dipping inside.
“Take those off for me, sweetheart,” she mumbles into your mouth. It’s not a question, it’s a command, no matter how softly she speaks it. She kisses her way along your jaw, down your neck and up again, teasing you. Her teeth scrape across your skin ever so slightly, and you shiver before she pulls back to let you undress.
With trembling fingers, you undo the laces and buttons of your trousers, wiggling them down your legs as fast as you can. Her eyes fixate you in a way that makes you feel like she can see every single tiny imperfection. You tremble a little, but you don’t dare cover yourself up.
“Gods, I want to leave marks on you, pretty girl.” Elia’s voice is barely more than a whisper, but you hear her nonetheless. You laugh breathlessly and stretch out your hand to pull her back into you.
“Do it then,” you dare her, your head cocked to the side.
Elia smirks, and you can feel the coil of arousal in your belly tighten.
“Would you like that? Being marked up by me?” she asks, tilting your chin up with two fingers to stare into the depths of your soul.
Stars, the things her voice does to you.
“Yes,” you answer, shivering with the thought of how her lips will feel kissing up your thighs. “Gods yes, I’d like that. I want you to… do anything you want to me. Anything, Elia, just please- touch me- please-”
Her eyes widen slightly.
“That’s the first time you’ve said my name,” she whispers. She kisses you with more urgency now, her hands slipping down your back to grab your ass. “And… anything I want, hm?”
“Mhh,” you sigh when she squeezes, long fingers digging into soft skin.
Elia tugs at your shirt.
“Take this off.” There is that commanding tone again that reduces you to shambles every time. In your haste to rip your shirt off, you nearly stumble. Elia chuckles quietly. “So eager.”
You stare at her accusingly and gesture at the entirety of her.
“Can you blame me?”
The blush that rises to her cheeks is so endearing you damn near lose your mind. It’s a slip in the careful poise, a crack in her facade of power. It makes her human, and you can’t believe you get to see it.
Elia makes an indignant noise at the smile that spreads across your face. Her hand moves along your shoulders, dancing up to your throat and wrapping around it. She does not squeeze - she just holds. You nod at the unspoken question in her eyes.
Yes, this is fine.
Better than fine, really. The mere touch of her does unspeakable things to you, your skin burning where it touches hers, your heart beating so fast as if it might spring out of your chest. In spite of her warning hand, you have to speak your mind - you have to, or you will lose the courage to say anything at all.
“Elia,” you whisper softly, pulling her into you, caressing her face. You take in the golden eyes, the freckles across her nose, the quirked corner of her mouth, the stray strand of dark hair. Carefully, you trace the bow of her lips with your finger. “Elia, you’re beautiful. I thought that too, from the first moment I saw you. You are… incredible. Intoxicating. Being around you is…”
Your voice trails off breathlessly. Gods, you can’t believe you are admitting those things out loud when you can’t even admit them to yourself.
“Such a sweet girl for me,” she praises. “Bet you’re so good like that when you want to be - so nice and sweet and gentle. You gonna be a good girl for me tonight?”
She doesn’t wait for a response. Elia leans in, and as her lips touch yours again, all thoughts vanish into thin air. Gone is the charming, sweet Elia that holds your hand while you meander through the green valleys of the gardens. This Elia wants something - needs something - and she takes it.
The kiss starts soft, growing more urgent each second. You are only vaguely aware you are making sounds - little noises of pleasure. Too focused are you on the soft breaths and quiet moans that fall from Elia’s lips, on the way she shivers when she slips her tongue into your mouth again, on the way her fingers dig into your skin when your tongue pushes back against hers, when her teeth graze your lip and you inhale sharply.
There is never a second to breathe, lost in the taste of her, in the feel of her skin finally on your skin, in the feeling of taut muscle under your hands, and the smell of her shampoo. Elia’s hands glide up and down your torso, exploring, teasing, but always stopping short of your breasts until you finally get impatient.
“Touch me,” you beg her again, your voice reduced to a whine. You hate having to stop kissing her, but the desire in your belly grows with every touch and you can’t bear it any longer. You need to feel her, need to hear her moan when she realises how wet you are, need to see that spark in her eyes that makes you feel like the most beautiful creation in the galaxy.
“I thought I was touching you,” Elia teases, her fingers ghosting down your sides in a way that makes you tremble.
“More,” you ask breathlessly. She chuckles in response. Her lips look so kissable it should be a crime - don’t think about her crimes - and you pull her in once more. Under her hands, your body goes soft and pliable, making it so easy for her to take whatever she wants.
Finally, Elia’s resolve breaks, her breath hitching as she lets her hands cup your tits.
“Fuckin’ beautiful,” she breathes, her golden eyes fixed on the way your nipples go hard in the cool air before she has even touched you. “So gorgeous for me- Maker, I can’t wait to make you fall apart, again and again and again until there’s nothing inside that pretty little head but my name and the feeling of me inside you.”
Your breath is shaky, but that only seems to spur her on.
“I bet you taste like heaven, angel.” That nickname is new, and you decide you like it only when it falls from her lips. “I bet you have the prettiest fucking pussy in all the galaxy, and fuck- fuck, I can’t wait to ruin it.”
You let your head fall back when Elia peppers kisses down your throat, licking and sucking little love bites into your skin. The hot air of her breaths warms you before Elia’s tongue darts out to trace a path along your collarbones. She is taking her time, taking you apart with skilled hands, and nobody could put you back together but her.
“Fuck,” you breathe when she flicks her thumb over your hard nipple, everything inside you tensing at the new sensation. “Fuck, do that again.”
Elia straightens up and you whine, but she only pulls you with her, settling onto the bed and pulling you into her lap.
“Mhm, better,” she hums. “I promised you some marks, didn’t I, sweetheart? I think your tits are a good place to start.”
You look down between the two of you, noticing that unlike you, she is still fully dressed. The thought of getting to see her sparks a hunger in you that goes straight down to your cunt. You want to see her - to worship every inch of her, to see her all fucked out with her hair messy and her cheeks reddened. You want to be the one that is responsible for breaking her.
“Would be better if you took your shirt off too,” you grumble, playing with her short shirtsleeves. The cords of muscle in her arms flex, and Stars, you want to lick and kiss your way along them.
“Making demands now, are we?” Elia quirks her brow, but follows your request nonetheless, tugging her shirt up and over her head, leaving her in just a breastband. You are entranced by the new expanse of skin that is revealed to you.
Before you can kiss her or touch her, though, Elia presses your wrists together behind your back.
“No touching,” she commands. “You are here for me to touch. Mine. Let me savour what’s mine, angel. Be good for me, and I’ll make it so good for you. I’ll give you everything you have ever wanted, but only if you follow my orders. No touching unless I tell you to. Can you do that for me, pretty girl?”
Her voice is so soft yet so harsh at the same time. It’s a voice that knows that her orders are to be followed, and it sends shivers down your spine. You had already guessed that Elia would not be someone who relinquished control easily, and that thought has fuelled many daydreams of yours. To experience it, to feel the air of power and control that surrounds her, to hear her voice saying the words you have been dreaming about brings you a rush that is hard to describe.
It’s a tingle that starts in your toes, a pleasure that spreads through your entire body. You want to hear her call you a good girl again. You’d do anything.
“Yes, Elia.” Your voice is breathy and soft. “Yeah, I can do that.”
Elia lets go of your wrists, grabbing your waist instead to steady you as her mouth descends onto you once again: Kissing sweetly along your collarbone, sucking at that spot below your ear that makes you see stars.
You writhe and moan in her lap, your underwear growing increasingly damp against your skin.
Elia looks up at you from underneath long lashes as she lets her tongue graze over your nipple. It’s a sharp, sudden pleasure, and your fingers twitch.
“Please,” you whine. “Please, Elia, please, I-”
“Please what, sweetheart?”
“More,” you plead. “Please, I want more- want you- fuck, I wanna feel you everywhere, want your mouth on my tits, wanna feel you inside me, just p-please-”
When her tongue darts out again, your hands move without you telling them to, burying in her thick, dark hair. You freeze for a moment, suddenly very conscious of the fact that she gave you an order and you promptly ignored it.
“This- oh, fuck- this okay?” You ask breathlessly, thrown off by the fact that she hasn’t stopped you, or even what she is doing to scold you. In fact, from the look she gives you from underneath her lashes, she seems to enjoy your hands in her hair more than she would ever admit.
“Mhh,” Elia hums her agreement without lifting her mouth off of you, and the vibrations spread through your entire body. “Yes, this is fine, pretty girl.”
You hold on to her agreement, your fingers playing with strands of her hair, tightening when she sucks your nipples into her mouth again, her tongue playing, teasing. Bolts of pleasure shoot through you, and by now, you are pretty sure you have soaked through your panties just from this. Maker, just a little foreplay and it’s nearly enough to make you come undone for her.
Elia sucks and kisses, leaving dark marks etched into your skin wherever she goes. The look of those dark marks on you drives you insane; the way that Elia shows no sign of pulling back or stopping makes your core clench. Her hands on your waist keep you right where she wants you as she makes you into her pretty little plaything.
Her sharp teeth graze the skin of your neck when she kisses her way back up to your mouth. You moan and arch your back in response.
“Fuck,” you moan. Elia chuckles darkly, repeating the same movement until you are reduced to a whimpering mess in her lap, so hungry for more that you can barely think of anything but her mouth on you, and her teeth sinking into your skin to leave deep red marks that’ll last weeks.
“You know what, sweetheart?” she murmurs, placing a quick kiss on your lips before trailing the path of her kisses with her tongue before she leans back, staring at you intently. “I think this is the prettiest I’ve ever seen you look. Your pretty head so empty, your perfect little mouth gasping and moaning for me, and I have barely even gotten started. Fuck, I’m gonna ruin you so beautifully.”
Her words make your hips twitch. The damp fabric of your panties rubs you in just the right way when you try to adjust on her leg, and you groan quietly. Your head falls back as you continue rolling your hips, grinding down on Elia’s thick, muscular thigh.
“That’s it, pretty girl,” she praises. “That’s it, show me how good it feels. Wanna get you so wet- make it so easy for me to fuck you. Use you like you deserve to be used.”
You whimper and double your efforts. Elia’s hands settle on your hips, guiding your movement as you use the rough fabric of her trousers to get yourself off, your panties only a flimsy barrier between the two of you. Your eyes fall shut as you lean back, trusting her to keep you steady while you lose yourself in pleasure.
Elia’s lips wander across your chest, her soft hair pressed against your chin as she sucks one of your nipples into her mouth again.
“Elia,” you moan, your voice breaking. You are trembling, all that pleasure catching up to you. The fire in your belly burns hotter and hotter, the seam of your panties catching on your clit with every small move you make. “Elia, please- please…”
“Let’s get these off of you,” she purrs. Her hands leave your hips to tug at your panties. You still your movement, ready to clamber off of her lap and wiggle out of your underwear, but Elia doesn’t give you the chance.
Her long fingers wrap around the thin fabric, and she tears. You can see her biceps flex, see how the light catches on the muscles of her forearms, see the tendon in her neck pulsate from the quick strain. There is a loud rip of fabric - too loud for what little material you are wearing, you think for a second, and then Elia casually tosses your torn panties into the corner.
You stare at her.
“There,” she says with a self-satisfied smirk on her lips. “Isn’t that so much better?”
You wish this stupid showing off didn’t turn you on as much as it did, but fuck… Fuck, that had no business being as hot as it was. Your heart beats a little faster just thinking about it, about the impatience that made her not even wait two seconds, that made her quite literally tear your clothes off.
“Maker,” you whisper, your nipples harder than they have ever been in your entire fucking life. You gather your courage and declare, “Thanks a lot. That was my favourite pair.”
Elia’s fingers dance across your spread thighs. Her eyes grow darker when she feels the wet patch your pussy has left on her trouser leg, and one of her hands suddenly closes around your jaw like a beskar clamp.
“And tell me, sweetheart.” She looks up at you with those warm-cold eyes, pupils blown out, and her lips swollen from your kisses. Her voice is deadly soft. “Wasn’t it worth it?”
It takes you a moment to gather your thoughts, especially because her fingers never stop moving - gliding up and down your thighs, making their way closer to where you want them - where you need them - every time. In your mind’s eye, you keep replaying the moment in which her hands ripped at the fabric of your underwear, about that delicious flex of her muscles. You want to see it again.
The thought distracts you so much that you miss her question entirely. Only when you dreamily open your eyes again do you notice that Elia is still staring at you, her lips twisted into a cocky grin. You try to gather your senses.
“I… hm?”
Elia smirks at the hazy look in your eyes and clicks her tongue disapprovingly.
“We’re gonna have to work on your attention span, angel. When I ask a question, you answer it. Yes?”
“I- yes.,” you answer, out of breath from the sheer power she exudes in that moment. Elia nods contentedly at your fast response.
“Good girl. See, I knew you could be good for me. You just have to want it enough.” She ignores the fact that your hips start moving again when she praises you. Instead, her dark eyes fixate on yours. “Now, tell me. Sacrificing your favourite pair of panties so I’ll fuck you. Wasn’t it worth it?”
“Yes,” you moan, your hips rolling faster and faster. You can feel the twitch of the muscles in her thigh beneath you, see the blush that rises to her cheeks from holding you steady. “Yes- gods, yes it was worth it. Anything to have you, to feel you-”
Elia’s fingers sneak up your thigh as you speak. When her hand cups your pussy, you inhale sharply at the same time that Elia exhales, “Fuck.”
You are so wet that there is not even a hint of friction as she slides her fingers through your cunt, dragging them slowly while her other hand remains on your hip to lead your movement.
The feeling of her fingers gliding between your pussy lips is fucking heaven, and you can’t suppress the long moan that escapes you. Elia groans when you continue rocking your body, now grinding down against her hand instead of her leg. It feels different - less friction, but pleasantly warm and so… human.
You carefully pull your hands out of her hair to hold on to her strong shoulders instead. The feeling of her bare skin beneath your fingers fans the flames that burn in your core - you can feel her muscles flex with each movement, see her work for your pleasure. Your legs are getting tired from this position, but there is no way in hell you are going to stop now.
“That’s a good girl,” Elia mumbles. “Hold on to me, keep doing that. Maker, I knew it, you’re perfect. So perfect for me, trying so hard to get off, hm? I knew you were made for me to use, knew from the second I saw you that my fingers would fit perfectly inside your pretty pussy.”
A broken sob escapes you at her words, barely recognisable as your own voice. The coil in your belly tightens until it’s nearly ready to burst as her words echo in your head.
Elia notices the stumble in your steady rhythm, and of course, she can’t just let you have it. She’s not nice like that.
“Aw,” she mocks, pulling her hand back to grab your waist again instead until you still in her lap, whining about the loss of friction. “Was my girl getting close?”
You avert your eyes and nod, frustrated that she made you stop, embarrassed at yourself and how easy you are for her to read.
“Yeah…” Elia mumbles. “Yeah, I could tell. But that’s not what we want yet, yeah? That’s not what I want. Not yet.. You get to come when I say you can, pretty girl, and no sooner. You get to finish in the way I choose, and not before. You are mine to use, and I promise I’ll make you feel so good if you just have a little patience for me. I want to see you fall apart for me.”
Your pussy pulses at the warm honey of her words, at the way her eyes are still fixated on your spread cunt against her leg. Elia kisses you, then taps your lips with a finger. A finger that tastes like you.
“Clean this up for me, will you, sweetheart?”
Eagerly, you open your mouth and let her push her fingers inside. She watches you with sharp eyes, hypnotised by the spot where her soaked digits disappear into your willing mouth. You put on a show for her, swirling your tongue around each knuckle, not caring that your spit runs down your chin in your excitement.
“Mhh, sloppy,” Elia scolds, but she looks surreptitiously pleased. “We’ll work on that. We’ll get it perfect, don’t worry. You’ll be perfect for me.”
She pulls her hand back to wipe the spit from your chin with her thumb, then kisses you. You know she can taste your pussy on your tongue, so you let her explore your mouth. She takes her time, moving her tongue against yours languidly, savouring the flavour of your arousal.
Slowly, Elia pulls you up in her lap until your legs are wrapped around her waist. She gets up like it’s no effort at all to carry another person, her hands grabbing your bare ass, squeezing as she stumbles over to the large chair in the corner of her apartment. You don’t stop kissing her, trailing your tongue down her neck as she navigates through the space. Her quiet moan when you suck a bruise into the sensitive skin of her throat spurs you on, but before you can leave another mark, Elia settles the two of you into the chair.
She leans back, her pupils blown wide and her hair messy from your hands. You relish the sight of her. Her hands are still settled on the swell of your ass when she raises her voice.
“Before I can make you feel really, really good, there is something I want you to do for me.” Her voice is measured and calm, like she is discussing the weather, but you can see the burning hunger in her eyes. There is a slight pause, and you nearly open your mouth to inquire what it is you can do, before her steelhard gaze fixes on you again.
She licks her lips.
“I want you to do your best to make me come, sweetheart. Because once I get started on you-” she lets her eyes roam over your naked body, taking in every curve, every tremble of a muscle. “-once I get started on you, there is no way I’m going to stop myself. I’m going to take you apart, piece by beautiful piece, until there is nothing left of you. I want to make you scream my name until your voice is raw, and you will let me. But first, you’ll show me that you deserve it.”
You can’t seem to find your voice, but it doesn’t matter, because Elia cups your jaw with her hand and commands:
“On your knees.”
You slip out of her lap to kneel between her legs. Elia stands up, her thighs framing your face as she gazes down at you and tells you to take her trousers off for her.
With impatient fingers, you undo her buttons, tugging on the waistband until she can step out of the pants that pool around her ankles. Elia is left just in boxers and her breastband, and you swear that even if she was entirely naked she could not look any hotter. She looks so comfortable in her own skin, her toned abs so lickable in the dim lighting of the room. Your fingers play with the hem of her boxers, and Elia throws you a stern look.
“Patience, sweetheart. You’ll get what you want soon enough. You wanna take those off of me?”
You nod eagerly, and Elia chuckles.
“Use your words, angel. Do you want to eat me out like the good, obedient girl that you are?”
“F- yes.” You are breathless at the prospect of being so close to her, of finally tasting her. It has been so long, and the weeks and weeks of pining after her have frankly made you desperate. Elia’s smirk is irresistible - cocky and confident, sprinkled with a superiority that should make you hate her but really really doesn’t.
She smiles her sharp-toothed smile at you.
“That’s what I like to hear. Now you can take them off.”
As eager as you are, you can’t resist the opportunity to tease her. Even here, kneeling on the ground at her command, your pussy all but dripping onto the floor for her, you can’t help but tease her just a little bit. Elia might hold power over you, but you are not going to let her take that spark from you.
You kiss up her thighs, blinking up at her innocently when she hisses at the touch of your warm lips to her skin. Her legs are hard, corded through with thick strands of muscle, and the urge to bite down nearly overpowers you. You want to see Elia as overwhelmed as she makes you feel. You want to see her lose control, even just for a second.
Carefully, you let your teeth graze along the soft part of her inner thighs before you return to soft, sweet kisses. Elia growls. Her hand wraps around the back of your head to pull you away from her, and you whine.
“Not so obedient after all, are you, angel?”
You take a second to come up with the most obvious, angelic lie you can think of.
“I just wanna make you feel good.” You smile your most innocent smile, but you can tell that Elia is not at all fooled by you. Her other hand comes to your chin to tilt your head up as she leans down. You expect a kiss, but of course you don’t get one.
“No, you don’t. You want to tease me, is what you want. Don’t lie to me, sweetheart. It doesn’t suit you.” Her voice is a dangerous whisper. “How do you make me feel good?”
You cast down your eyes, though it’s all only pretence. It’s a game that you are all too happy to play your part in.
“By licking your pussy.”
Elia nods, thoroughly satisfied with your answer.
“There’s my good girl. Do as you’re told, angel. Don’t force me to take away your reward. I’d hate to bring you to the edge again and again and again only to never give you the pleasure of getting what you need.” Now, she places a quick kiss on your lips. “All depends on you, pretty girl.”
You smile a gleaming smile up at her as you finally tug down her boxers.
“Fuck.” The curse escapes you, quietly, harshly. Unlike yours, Elia’s underwear is not soaked through, but now that she is bare and right in front of you, you can see her pussy shine with arousal. Even she can’t control everything.
You bite your lip and look back up at her.
Elia runs her fingers down your cheek, then settles back down into the chair, legs spread so wide that your shoulders fit between them. She presents herself to you without shame or embarrassment, and you can feel your mouth start to water at the sight.
“Fuck, Elia,” you whisper again.
She cocks her head and blinks at you lazily.
You can’t help but run your hands up her thighs, just to feel those muscles twitch under your touch. You are transfixed - hypnotised by the sight before you. You scoot forward on your knees until you are close enough that you can smell her. It’s intoxicating, her dripping pussy right in front of you combined with a scent that is so intensely her that it makes you dizzy.
Slowly, you lean forward, your hands still resting on her thighs. Elia’s hand slips around your head again, guiding your movement, pressing you down gently. Your tongue flicks out to lap at her the second you are close enough to do so, and you take pleasure in feeling Elia’s thighs tense under your hands, though she makes no sound. Yet.
She tastes like heaven - musky but not sweaty, intense, but not unpleasant. You savour the taste on your tongue for a moment before you lick at her again. Elia’s hand twitches on the back of your head, pushing you further into her impatiently.
You take the invitation and start licking her in earnest. Your tongue glides through her pussy until it catches on her clit, and that causes Elia to make the first noise since she sat back down. It’s a low moan, barely audible, but you hear it. The sound makes your own pussy pulse, because you want to hear it again. And again and again… And you want to hear more.
Carefully, you focus your attention on her swollen clit, flicking your tongue in fast, practised movements. Elia tenses, her thighs clamping around your head to keep you in that position.
“Right there,” she murmurs. “Right there, that’s a good girl. Keep doing that.”
You bloom under her praise. Your fingers dig deeper into her thighs though Elia has way too much self control to buck her hips like you would in her place. She stays perfectly still, her legs keeping you right where she wants you.
The fast flicks of your tongue are a nice touch, but you know they will make your jaw tired soon, so you try a slightly different approach. Elia grumbles when you stop the movement, then inhales sharply when you instead close your lips around her clit and suck.
“Fuck- gods, angel, aren’t you good for a f-fucking surprise.” She stumbles over the word ever so slightly, but it makes you irrationally proud. A crack in her unshakable facade. You hum into her and feel Elia’s surprised chuckle as a reward.
“Oh, Maker,” she groans, her fingers softly caressing the back of your head. “That’s it, pretty girl, right there- just like that. Now you got it, there we go, there we fucking go. Knew you could be good for me, knew you’d figure it out- you wanna make me feel good, I know you do, you wanna make me proud, hm? Could see it in your eyes the second you stepped foot through my door, could see that you were made for me- just for me.”
The sudden burst of words shocks you, but her voice makes you feel tingly inside. It’s genuine praise, and the compliments go straight to your core. You double your efforts, alternating between flicking your tongue and sucking on her clit, and licking long, languid stripes through her cunt whenever your jaw needs a break. Every time you get another compliment, you can feel your pussy throb with need. You start to wish desperately that you had something to grind against, that you could touch yourself while you eat her out, that she had given you anything- gods, anything- you just need some relief…
“Look so good on your knees, angel, like that’s where you’re meant to be- fuck- on your knees for me, that’s where you belong, don’t you?”
“Mhm,” you can barely get the words out. Breathing is not really a priority right now, not when you can be entirely buried in the heaven that is Elia’s perfect pussy. Her thighs unclamp slightly, giving you some more freedom of movement, and you use that to dip your tongue inside her for the first time.
The sudden change of movement elicits a rough moan from Elia. The pressure at the back of your head changes when she starts pushing your head down and down and down, greedy for more.
“You wanna give me more? Give me more then, sweetheart. Show me all you got, give me everything, and I’ll be so good to you. I’ll make you forget your own f-fucking name- right there, fuck, keep going, keep going, angel, you’re being so good for me. Such an obedient little plaything for me, aren’t you?”
You should be insulted that she dares call you that without having talked about it first, but right now, you really can’t bring yourself to care. All Elia’s degrading praise elicits from you is a guttural moan against her cunt.
“Hmm, you like that?” Her voice is teasing, but there is a strain to it - like it takes her some strength to hold it together. “You like it when I call you my obedient little plaything?”
You moan again, unable to peel away from her pussy for even one second. You are lost in her - lost in the way the walls of her cunt feel around your tongue, lost in the scent of her where your nose pushes against her clit, lost in the way you can feel the muscles of her thick thighs strain beneath your fingers. Elia Kane can call you whatever the fuck she wants to call you, you decide. Your head is swimming, and begrudgingly, you tilt your head back to breathe for a second.
Elia tips your chin up at her. She doesn’t ask if you are alright, but you know what she means. Instead of answering the silent question, you lift one hand from her thigh to loop it around her neck and pull her in for a kiss. Elia lets you, and she does not even tease you for needing a break.
The kiss tastes of her - her pussy on your tongue, her tongue inside your mouth. You whine when she pulls back, but obediently get back to work.
Slowly but surely, you can feel the tension taking over Elia’s body as you lick her like you were starving before she made you drop to your knees. And you were - gods, you were starving for here, you have been for weeks. Finally, now, here, this is so much better than you could ever have dreamed.
Her reactions let you know exactly when you do something right - a mumbled good girl, a sharp inhale, her thigh jumping beneath your hand. And she lets you know when she dislikes something - when your breathers take too long, or you go too slow or too fast.
More than anything, you like making her ramble. When you do something just right, a filthy litany falls from Elia’s lips like it is everything she has been holding in for her entire life.
“Fuck me, angel- that’s it, I knew you could do that, I knew you could follow orders if you wanted to. My pretty girl, her head gets so empty when she gets to eat me out, hm? I can see it in your eyes, gods I love it when you look at me like that. This is all you wanna do, y-you’re trying so hard, aren’t you? Trying so hard to please me- f-fuck- you really want that reward, don’t you, sweetheart? Want me to fuck you so hard you cry, because that’s what you deserve… Mhhm, yeah you do, you know that- fuck- that’s it, such a talented tongue, bet you wanna make me come so bad- you wanna feel it, wanna taste it, wanna fucking walk home with my cum smeared across your face, don’t you?”
Something about her losing control like this is so incredibly hot. It’s the flick of your tongue against her clit that makes her stumble over her words, the feeling of your sharp nails digging into her skin that makes her voice strained and hoarse.
Elia’s fingers dig into your shoulder blades all of a sudden, pressing you down. You swear you hear her whimper before she catches herself.
“Keep going, pretty girl- keep going, I’m right there… fuck, don’t you dare get tired on me now, that’s it, I know your jaw is tired, you can relax soon, yeah? Relax while I fuck you, but for now you’ll keep doing this, for me- there we go, good girl, come on- fuck- f-”
You taste a new kind of saltiness on your tongue as Elia’s grip on your shoulders becomes nearly painful. She shudders, and you can feel her legs shake as her high takes her - suddenly, without much warning.
You lap it all up, sucking her clit gently through her orgasm, dragging it out for her only so you’ll hear more of those praises spilling from her mouth.
Her voice is hoarse when she finally says, “Stop.”
Slowly, you lift up your head, your eyes blown out and the entire lower half of your face covered in her slick. Elia curses at the sight of you.
“Oh, look at you.” Almost gently, she runs her thumb down your cheek before pushing it into your mouth. She smiles at you, her cheeks glowing. “Look at you, my perfect angel. You wanted it so bad, hm?”
She bends down until her face hovers right above yours. There is a bead of sweat that runs down her neck, and you want to lick it up, but that thought is lost when Elia kisses you. You can feel everything she doesn’t say in that kiss - or at least, you imagine so.
Well done. I’m proud of you, you did so well for me.
Her fingers trace your jaw, follow the strained tendon in your neck down and down until her hand closes around your throat, tugging gently. After a second, you get the hint and clamber into Elia’s lap, keen to feel more of her warm, bare skin against yours again.
“Hmm, still so eager,” she sighs. “What am I gonna do with you? How am I ever supposed to let you go again when you look at me like that? When I can see your pussy dripping from eating me out? Maker, you’re something else.”
You lap the tiny piece of honest praise up like a lothcat.
One of Elia’s hands curls around your waist while the other slips between your thighs. You inhale when you feel her long fingers gliding through your pussy. You thought you were wet before eating her out, but now, you are soaked. It almost embarrasses you how wet you get for her.
Elia chuckles at the expression on your face - a dark, mean chuckle, though there is a familiar sparkle in your eyes that you tell yourself is affection. You shudder at the feeling of her fingers burying themselves between your drenched lips. Elia cocks her head and raises an eyebrow.
“You enjoy getting used like that, hm?”
Heat rises to your cheeks when you think about how much you actually enjoyed that. You swear if you’d had even a fucking pillow to grind against, you could have come just from eating her out.
“You taste good,” you defend yourself, resisting the urge to cross your arms in front of your chest like a defiant child. Elia’s smirk only grows wider at your sullen response.
“Hmm.” She pauses, her fingers dragging through your soaking pussy ever so slowly. “In any case,” she says then, the liquid metal of her eyes focusing on yours, “I think you have earned your reward today, angel.”
Before you can process the words, two of her fingers slip inside you. You moan at the sudden sensation. You are so wet and so turned on that there is no resistance at all, and that fact alone somehow turns you on even more. Elia’s palm drags over your clit when she slowly starts pumping her fingers in and out of you. The sensation makes you arch your back, pushing your tits closer to Elia’s face.
She looks up at you from underneath long lashes, her tongue darting out to lick her lips.
“I think you deserve to come at least once before I take my time with you,” she mutters. “Mhh. I think most of all, I deserve to feel this pretty pussy clench around my fingers when I make you come. I bet you look so pretty when your eyes go empty with pleasure for me. My perfect little plaything.”
You can barely keep yourself together enough to conceive any words in your current state. The sweet, languid drag of her long fingers inside you makes you forget anything you wanted to say earlier. She curls her fingers just so, and your hips jolt suddenly.
You can feel Elia laughing, her chest shaking slightly against yours.
“So eager,” she grins. “Bet it won’t take me any time at all to make you come, pretty girl.”
You whimper in response. You can already feel the tremble start in your belly, the slow beginning of an intense wave of pleasure. Elia takes in your warm cheeks, the shaking of your hands where you hold yourself up against her.
“Mhm,” she nods to herself in a decidedly self-satisfied manner. “No time at all.”
Her fingers continue their steady rhythm inside of you, palm dragging over your sensitive clit with every stroke she makes. Elia’s other hand rests on the small of your back, keeping you steady against her, pulling you closer into her.
Her eyelashes flutter as she kisses her way up your chest. You barely register it, too engrossed in the feeling of her inside you, fucking you so slowly it’s nearly teasing. The slight pressure of it is bringing you closer to the edge though, unhurried and thorough. It’s never quite enough though - not until Elia’s mouth closes around your nipple.
You whimper at the sudden contact - at the heat of her mouth and the sudden flick of her tongue over your painfully hard nipple.
“Stars- fuck, Elia,” you moan. “Fuck, I’m gonna come if you k-keep doing that, gods, how do you- how is-”
Your babbling becomes incoherent when the movement of her hand speeds up. You can fucking hear yourself now: hear how wet your pussy is with every thrust of Elia’s fingers into you. You are sure that you’re leaking onto her leg, that your arousal is dripping down her muscular forearm, but you simply can not bring yourself to care.
It feels too good, too fucking good and you can’t-
“Elia,” you whimper, grinding your hips down on her fingers, meeting her strokes halfway, only an inch away from fully slamming yourself down on her hand to make her fuck you harder. “Elia please- please, I wanna come- please, I’m so fuck-fucking close, please let me come, I wanna come for you-”
Elia leans away from your chest and you whine at the loss of her hot mouth playing with your tits.
“Hm?” You can hear the smirk in her voice even with that small sound. “What’s that? My pretty girl is gonna take what I give her without being greedy? She’s gonna be a good little plaything that lets me use her the way I want to without complaining? My angel knows what’s good for her and doesn’t beg like a fucking slut for me to fuck her?”
“Please.” The word tips off your tongue before you can hold it back- you are just so close, and it’s all so much and-
Elia clicks her tongue in disappointment.
“Aw, that sealed your fate, angel.”
All of a sudden, the delicious, steady pressure of her fingers inside you vanishes. Your eyes fly open. The abrupt loss of her is so intense that a single tear rolls down your cheek.
No. She wouldn’t.
“Oh yes, I would.” Elia’s smile is pure sadism as she looks at you, takes in your dishevelled state.
Fuck. Did you say that out loud?
“You gotta learn to listen, pretty girl,” she scolds you. “I told you exactly what to do if you wanted to come, hm? But you didn’t listen. So now, I’m gonna take my time with you. You’ll have to learn some patience. I really wanted to feel you come around my fingers, but you just had to get impatient.”
Sheclicks her tongue again, then wipes the tear on your cheek away with her thumb and tilts your head down so she can kiss you.
“Don’t cry, angel. I’ll make the punishment feel so good.”
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Previous Chapter << ⋆✦⋆ >> Next Chapter [coming] [just like reader ] [eventually]
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Series Rating: Explicit (each chapter will contain warnings. NSFW chapters will be noted as such and marked with "*" in the masterlist and the appropriate warnings above the cut)
Disclaimer: This is an 18+ only blog! MINORS BE GONE. If you are under the age of 18 or are not considered a legal adult in your country, do not interact with my blog in any way. If I suspect you are a minor, I will block you.
Series Summary: It wasn't often that a Jedi departed The Order only to be summoned back. But in the aftermath of the Umbara Campaign, Anakin, Rex, Ahsoka, and Fives journey to an undeveloped planet in search of a former Jedi who knew the disgraced Master Krell better than most.
Warnings: This is where things start to get dark, folks. Canonical type lightsaber violence, implied torture of minors (i.e. early teen younglings), mention of dead bodies, emotional distress, trauma response due to flashbacks, death of a minor (not described in detail). There really isn't anything in here that hasn't been in TCW episodes, however I wanted to be as transparent as possible. If there is anything that I missed, please reach out and respectfully let me know.
Dividers by: @/djrrex and @/eloquentmoon
Word Count: 5k
Ahsoka awoke with a start. The interior of the Twilight was foreign as the foggy mental images of Raa’ma and A’sha faded from her mind. Finally able to absorb her surroundings, she realized the ship had landed and Sinda was nowhere in sight. Unfastening the harness and jumping to her feet, she darted to R2 and switched him back on, who resumed the protesting trills and rocking that had been previously cut-off by Sinda.
“Easy, Artoo,” she soothed, coaxing the droid to settle as she peered out the cockpit to get her bearings. “I guess Sinda already went inside. Stay with the ship and keep it on standby in case we have to make a quick escape.”
Despite the concerned warbles that followed, she lowered the ramp and descended. Dense clouds blanketed the planet, giving the atmosphere an eerie sense of nightfall, despite being the middle of the day. The air buzzed with energy she could feel in her montrals, as though an electrical storm was brewing above the cloud cover. Ahead lay a simple curved duracrete structure with a door which, she presumed, led to a subterranean bunker. With her senses open and sabers in hand, she jogged through the door and into the darkness.
The door opened on command, revealing a long, grated staircase that vanished into darkness. Immediately, a wave of pain and anger rushed from the confined space, as though the door alone sealed the secrets away. Tension built in her gut as she entered, feet light and silent as she cautiously descended. Every step of the way, her eyes adjusted to the absence of light until she was able to see with aid of the dim orange safety lights that still worked along the stairwell.
Upon reaching the bottom, the musty air tainted with the metallic taste of stale blood overwhelmed her senses for a moment. Unclipping her sabers from her belt, she slowly advanced. The corridor was claustrophobically narrow, not even wide enough for her to raise her arms from her sides when she wasn’t standing at the entryway to a small cell. More orange lights glowed in the ceiling at evenly spaced intervals, though the illumination was clouded by the haze of uncirculated air. As she moved deeper into the bunker, the smell of death became more pronounced, as were the echoing cries of pain and fear she sensed through the Force.
“I am here,” Sinda quietly called in a somber voice.
Picking up the pace, Ahsoka followed her voice to an open cell toward the end of the corridor. Upon rounding the doorway, a cold chill settled across her exposed shoulders and tingled down her spine, compelling her to stop in her tracks. The inky darkness that surrounded her called to mind the nightmare of her fall to the dark side, one that felt more real than a mere dream, but an experience she couldn’t fully recall. At first she assumed Sinda was the source, however as she entered and stood at her side, she came to realize the charged emotions were the lingering remains of the tortured youngling that previously occupied the cell.
“What happened here?”
The answer came without hesitation, “Master Krell trained the padawans.”
“This wasn’t training, this was torture,” Ahsoka rebuked, crouching to trace her fingertips along the deep gouges in the stone floor. “What do you think happened to them?”
Sinda answered with a grave look that conveyed a deep, knowing pain rather than words before changing the subject, “I sense a presence deeper in the bunker. Return to the ship and keep it on standby.”
“No way!” Ahsoka insisted, jumping to her feet. “You’re going to need help.”
Suppressing a sigh, Sinda contemplated her options. She knew she could compel the padawan to go if she truly wanted to, however her protests were valid. Deep down, she knew exactly who was waiting for them and why the surviving youngling was recently moved there from the cell, but she wasn’t yet ready to admit her suspicions aloud. Rather than waste time in an argument, she opted to strike a deal.
“Very well, but if I tell you to go, you go and do not wait for me. Understood?”
“Understood.”
Undeterred by the knot cinching ever tighter in her gut, Sinda called the lift only to have the doors open immediately, “They know we are here.”
“Let’s not keep them waiting then,” Ahsoka replied, entering the carriage with a confidence that could only come from Anakin’s teaching.
Despite the certainty it was a trap, one where the lift was likely their only means of escape, she boarded all the same. The doors closed and with a sharp jerk and grind, the carriage descended. A short ride later, the doors opened and a rush of acrid, burned ozone met them. Sinda’s face pulled at the metallic taste it left on her tongue. Every hair on the back of her neck stood on end as she stepped from the lift, Ahsoka at her side. Their only path forward was to the end of a short corridor that opened into a large laboratory, where she only sensed darkness.
The room was bathed in the eerie blue glow of three bacta chambers at the back of the room. Two were occupied by the lifeless bodies of the padawans they had been sent to find, a human female and a Nautolan male. Despite ineffectiveness of the treatment, the tanks hummed and bubbled all the same, cycling the hazy liquid mixed with bodily fluids, preserving the bodies rather than restoring life. Disturbing as the sight was, it was the presence of the only survivor, facing away from them at the base of the tanks that was most unsettling. Sinda unclipped her sabers as her head tilted to the side in observation.
Based on the data supplied by the Council, the survivor was Aller Greev, a human male who was already quite adept in the Force and poised to become a great Jedi with the proper guidance. He remained indifferent to their presence, kneeling with hands resting on his thighs as though he was deep in meditation. Her eyes drifted around the room, examining the darkened rafters and corners. At the far end of the room, her gaze settled on the thick shadows, staring deeply at the presence she felt but couldn't see. When Ahsoka moved to approach, Sinda extended an arm to block her path.
“He needs help,” she hissed in protest.
“Who do you think killed the other two and put their bodies in the tanks, hmm?” Sinda replied.
“No, that’s…a Jedi wouldn’t do that.” Sidestepping her obstructed path, Ahsoka walked to the youngling all the same and crouched next to him. “We’re here to help you. What’s your name?”
“Aller…Aller Greev.”
“Aller, can you tell me what happened?” she rested a comforting hand on his shoulder.
“He said I would do great things if I obeyed,” he muttered. “He promised I would make a fine apprentice.”
“Who promised?”
As Ahsoka tried to glean details from the boy, Sinda flanked them, circling with the room with a wide berth toward the bacta tanks. Her keen eyes stayed on the Aller with every deliberate step. She knew to trust her hunter’s instinct. A wounded animal was far more dangerous than an angry one and there was no mistaking the deep trauma the boy had been subjected to. The question that remained was whether or not he could be saved.
“I only have one last test before he’ll accept me,” a giggle escaped Aller’s dry throat.
“Before who accepts you?” Ahsoka asked. “Master Krell?”
“No,” the giggle gave way to quiet laughter, his dirt-caked hands gripping the filthy, thread-bare fabric of his trousers. “Master Krell said I was his gift. Master Krell taught me everything I needed to know in order to be ready for him.”
Sinda reached the bacta chambers and studied the occupants’ wounds, scrutinizing each exposed burn. Some were well healed and scarred, others more fresh, suggesting the padawans were subjected to injury multiple times over an extended period. The raised, proud nature of the scars were a telltale sign of accelerated healing by bacta exposure. As she studied them, the angle and direction of the wounds were a damning clue. Rather than coming from extreme angles, as they would from someone as tall as Master Krell, the pattern was consistent with their opponent being closer to their own height. It was the confirmation she needed to proceed.
Turning her focus back to the pair in the middle of the room, Sinda watched Aller for a moment before speaking, “Master Krell makes many promises he never keeps. His words are lies, you should not believe them.”
His head snapped at her comment, revealing bloodshot eyes, irises tinged with yellow and red, “He told me all about you. He called you his greatest failure. That you being made a Jedi was proof the Council was weak and corrupt. You are an apostate.”
“If submitting fully to Krell’s teaching would have made me a success in his eyes, I am happy to be a failure,” she glanced back at the tanks, hoping to provoke a reaction from the unstable boy. “He couldn't break me so he learned to prey on the weak-minded, like you.”
With a snarl, Aller launched toward her with surprising speed and power. His saber ignited, the once pure green blade was stained red from the bleeding crystal within its core. Sinda easily repelled him with a Force push, sending him skidding back to the middle of the room. Rather than engage her again, he turned to Ahsoka, who was ready and easily parried his attacks. It would have been easy to overwhelm the boy with their combined skill and experience, however neither Ahsoka nor Sinda wanted to kill him. Instead, the latter reached out with the Force in an attempt to calm his frantic mind, perhaps even help him turn back to the light before it was too late.
His attack faltered just enough for Sinda to pull the saber from his hand and Ahsoka to break his stance. With a kick to his chest, Aller fell and landed hard on his back, his head bouncing off the stone floor before his body went limp. Crouching over him, Sinda rested a hand against his forehead and carefully entered his tangled mind. The pained, fearful, and angry thoughts that saturated his psyche lashed out at her intrusion, but she pushed on with little resistance, searching for some sign that there was still good within him. After several moments of searching, she found a small flickering voice, crying out in remorse over and over.
Retreating from his mind, she stood and inhaled deeply, “Part of him is still in there, but it is buried deep. We will take him to the Temple. Perhaps with time and guidance he will find his way back.”
“Master Krell really did this to him?”
“To all of them,” Sinda corrected, unable to shake that cold prickle that kept across her shoulders knowing they were being watched.
“What about the others? We can’t leave them here,” Ahsoka asked, but Sinda barely heard her.
“I want you to go back to the ship and contact Coruscant. I will stay and gather the bodies,” she instructed quietly, trying not to alarm her companion.
“What about him? I don’t want to leave you alone.”
“Ahsoka, do as I say. Now,” she harshly commanded.
Confusion flashed through her eyes at the urgency, but reluctantly she turned to do as instructed. Suddenly, a bolt of lightning ripped through her body from a darkened corner of the room. With a choked, garbled cry, she fell. Sinda spun around, sabers igniting just in time to block another bolt. The energy buzzed through the Druskin casing and into her hands, setting her nerves alight. After a moment, it ceased, leaving an eerie silence behind.
"Show yourself, Dooku!" She demanded, rotating her wrists and moving into a low, defensive stance between the fallen Ahsoka and her opponent.
An amused chuckle rippled from the darkness as he came into view, imposing in his presence as much as his physical stature. Behind her, she heard muffled groans as Ahsoka and Aller regained consciousness. The former was immediately on her feet, though she swayed slightly while the latter dropped to his knees.
"Master, please let me prove myself. Master Krell trained me well. I will kill them and prove my worth."
Another amused chuckle, "I see the Jedi still teach blind obedience from the beginning. Pity you so foolishly trusted them."
Raising his empty hand, Dooku effortlessly lifted Aller from the floor, choking him with the Force briefly before pulling the boy toward him. Sinda reached to grab him, a vain attempt to stop what she knew was coming, but fibers of his tunic only slipped through her fingers as he flew past her. The red, angry light of his saber punctuated the youngling's doomed fate. It happened in a second, barely enough time for Aller to register what was happening, but that didn't stop the sudden rush of fear and chaos from running through his mind as a single swipe of the blade ended his life.
"Ahsoka, run," Sinda commanded, shaking away the haunting sound of Aller’s last thoughts from her mind.
Rather than comply, Ahsoka ignited her sabers and also took a defensive stance, "We can end the war today if we capture Dooku. You need my help"
"Skywalker has taught you arrogance. It will be your downfall,” he warned.
Before Ahsoka could charge, Sinda leapt forward to engage, only to find herself suddenly surrounded by three MagnaGuard that dropped from the darkened rafters. Their electrostaffs buzzed like a swarm of bees as they wasted no time attacking. Both Jedi countered and moved to try to break the trio’s combined assault. Two focused on Sinda while the other steadily worked Ahsoka toward a corner to pin her down. Despite her stature, the Togruta padawan held her own against the much larger opponent.
After a series of aggressive blows and acrobatic moves, Sinda found an opening and finally struck down one droid. Both sabers slashed through the metal chassis with ease, leaving it in pieces on the stone floor. The other droid swung its staff as she raised her guard. Although she managed to block the blow aimed for her chest, it took all the strength in her body to hold back the crackling purple electrode that steadily moved closer and closer to her toward her face. In the background, she saw Ahsoka fall to a knee, sabers crossed overhead as she too struggled to fight off her opponent.
Sinda’s gaze returned to the blank, emotionless mechanical face of the MagnaGuard. Tendrils of electricity licked at her cheek, sharp and jagged, setting her nerves ablaze. Memories of the assault before her Jedi Trial flooded back with a potency never experienced before. All at once the pain and betrayal that gripped her existence seized her heart and mind. In the blink of an eye, something inside her snapped.
Unleashing a snarling shout, she shifted her feet and lunged. The pale blue of her sabers traveled up the length of the electrostaff, sparking and crackling as both blades turned and buried to the hilt in the MagnaGuard’s chest. Thrusting her arms apart, the droid split in two as it fell, glowing eyes flickering briefly before going dark. Rage burned in her chest as she set her sights on the last droid, who kicked Ahsoka in the chest and raised its staff to land a fatal blow. Rather than charge, she raised a hand and reached out with the Force.
The staff trembled in its hands and fell, clattering to the floor. Fighting through her attempt to seize control, the droid’s servos whined and strained as it turned toward her. It managed to take two stalking, heavy steps, but the wrath with which she wielded the Force was stronger. Through the adrenaline-fueled quake of her hand, her fingers curled like gnarled tree branches, stopping the MagnaGuard in its tracks. Polished durasteel groaned and sparks erupted from the joints of the chassis as the droid dented and crumpled under the invisible weight of the Force.
Only when the eyes flickered out did she release the droid, which landed with a thick, hollow, metallic thud. She breathed deeply through her nose, feeling stronger than ever before. Power hummed in her veins, power that she hadn’t felt before, power that felt good. Ahsoka gathered herself and ran to her side.
“I told you to run,” Sinda gritted through clenched molars, holding her focused gaze on Dooku.
“You need my help,” she argued, still unwilling to back down from the fight.
“And you need to learn to listen!” She barked, her former master’s very words unconsciously tumbling from her mouth.
Without hesitation, she Force pushed Ahsoka away with startling intensity and thrust her into the open carriage of the lift. No sooner had her body landed against the wall and dropped to the durasteel floor than the doors closed and the lift rose. Once they were alone, Sinda refocused her mind, taking a ready, but casual stance after rolling her neck to release the tension building in her muscle and bone.
“Fascinating that you refuse assistance,” he mused, rotating his saber to hold it behind his back. “Do you truly believe she will obey?”
“She won’t have a choice,” she replied firmly.
“I sense the darkness in you. Seeds planted by your master that you have denied, yet they continue to grow, nevertheless. It's a pity the Council didn’t see fit to assign you to me. I would have taught you well. Certainly better than Pong Krell. Kneel and join me. I will show you how to unlock your true potential.”
“You betrayed the Jedi and everything they stand for,” she countered. “This war was your doing. Even if I was your padawan then, I would not have followed you.”
“My former padawan, Qui-Gon Jinn spoke of you often. He said you had great talent in you, but also great conflict. Balance eluded you, even as a youngling.”
Invoking Qui-Gon’s name was a ploy to provoke her to attack and, although she resisted, the tingle of action in her fingertips refused to abate. Anger flared, propelling her forward. Dooku chuckled as she attacked with increased aggression, but was out of balance as she did so. She wielded her blades with raw power, refined by years of experience but sloppy from the torrent of unchecked emotions running wild with her mind.
“I see you have been studying your forms. Juyo serves you well,” he mused as he easily countered her strikes, not retaliating to attack, but seeming to evaluate her abilities. “Dig deeper into your anger and you’ll find more power than you know. There is much I will teach you, once you kneel to me.”
The certainty with which he spoke gave her pause. A vision that plagued her at times resurfaced in her mind’s eye, cutting through the haze of anger. Disturbing memories of watching from outside her body as she kneeled at a Sith Lord’s feet, wearing a black armored uniform with red piping trim, as she accepted a double-edged saber with crimson blades. Watching helpless as her village was consumed in flames, the screams of the dying echoed through the roaring blaze. A cold chill settled into her bones at the possibility of having fallen into that fate.
“There is much fear in you,” Dooku delightfully rumbled, reaching out to her psyche with the Force. “Fear of loss and pain. Fear makes you powerful once you wield it against your enemies.”
Sinda resisted the intrusion of his mind in hers, “Fear does not control me.”
“We shall see.”
All at once, she couldn’t breathe, as though an invisible hand closed around her throat, cutting off her air supply. Her sabers fell from her hands as she choked and gurgled. Dooku raised his hand, fingers curled and lifted her feet from the floor. He held her aloft as she fruitlessly thrashed to free herself. Darkness seeped into her vision as she began to drift out of consciousness. In the final moments before losing the battle to stay awake, she saw the corners of Dooku’s mouth curl upward.
Upon reaching the surface, Ahsoka sprinted from the bunker but reeled back at the sight of the platoon of battle droids standing between her and the Twilight. Opening her comm, she shouted for Artoo to get the ship ready. The droids opened fire, which she deflected with ease, taking out droid after droid with both her blades and richotched shots. As the B1 droids fell in their attempted advance, B2s and several Droidekas moved forward. Under the sheer volume of blaster fire from the advancing enemies, Ahsoka was pinned into the entry to the bunker.
That was, until the Twilight’s engines engaged. The rotating cannon swiveled around and aided in clearing the landing pad. Under the heavier firepower, the Separatist forces didn’t stand a chance. Seizing the opportunity, Ahsoka took the offensive and carved a path through the remaining droids. As she neared the ship, the ramp lowered and, no sooner were her boots on the deck, than the ship lifted off and escaped.
“Thanks Artoo,” she panted as she sat in the captain’s seat. “Open a channel to the Council. We need reinforcements to capture Count Dooku.”
The droid, who was plugged in at the rear of the cockpit, warbled rapidly.
“What do you mean there’s already a programmed course back to Coruscant? We can’t leave!” Ahsoka attempted unsuccessfully to divert from the pre-programmed flight path. “Artoo, get me control of the ship! We can’t leave!”
The droid rocked back at the scoop-port, chattering with agitation as it worked to override the flight path. Despite the effort, before manual override could be returned, the hyperdrive powered up with a crescendoing hum of the engines. Ahsoka shouted in frustration as the stars streaked. She was thrust back into her seat, having no choice but to accept that they were returning to Coruscant without Sinda.
It was late, much later than Fives had planned on returning to the barracks, but by the time he realized curfew had already passed, he supposed a few more hours weren’t going to make a difference in the end. A smug grin crept across his face as he slipped a few credits to the trooper keeping the arrival log in the wee hours of the morning to ensure his return wasn’t recorded. Staying between Citta’s thighs was definitely a more favorable place than the creaky bunk and thin mattress that awaited him. He could still taste her on his tongue. Sunshine was his favorite flavor. Standing at the door to the 501st’s barracks, he glanced over his shoulder one last time before entering, only to have his gut drop to his feet.
Rex stood on the other side, consuming the entry with his stern gaze, “We need to talk.”
It was a tone he knew better than to try to argue, despite the volume being low. So in lieu of protesting with the intention of deferring the conversation until it never happened, he nodded. Rex strode down the corridor, helmet tucked underarm as he followed. The walk was short, just around the corner to one of the small, but private, officer’s quarters that was available on rotation to the captains and commanders of the Grand Army when they were planetside. Entering the code, Rex set his bucket on the small desk built into the corner before taking a seat on the durasteel stool, which was bolted to the floor. As the door closed, he gestured to Fives to sit on the vacant bunk.
“I’m sure you understand the risk you’re taking,” Rex began, knowing better than to fuss with pretext. “But does she?”
“‘She’ who, exactly?” Rather than give himself up, he instead chose to gamble on a bluff.
“Fives…” he pinched the bridge of his nose, far too tired for games. “I know you’re carrying on an affair with General Eleri. I ignored the harmless flirting, even the fraternization on shore leave. You’re both capable of making your own decisions, but staying out past curfew when you’re on duty rotation is going to have to be accounted for if you’re caught by the wrong person.”
“The wrong person being you?”
“I can only turn a blind eye for so long. This can’t keep happening or I will have to report you. I need you to think with your brain, not your dick.”
Fives blinked, taken aback by the threat, “That’s pretty rich coming from you.”
“Excuse me?”
“You carried on an affair with General Perth with zero consequences.”
“Zero consequences? We were almost caught. If she hadn’t left the Order, I would have faced formal reprimand, probable reconditioning. Cody caught wind of the rumor and pulled me aside. We had a very similar conversation to the one you and I are having right now. He told me to end it. You’re being incredibly reckless just to fucking around with a Jedi.”
“I’m not just-” he started defensively, but held his tongue for a moment, eyes dropping to his boots. “I think I’m in love with her.”
Rex’s eyes widened for a moment as he ran a gloved hand back and forth across his buzzed hair, “Does she feel the same?”
“No, at least…I don’t know. She’s been evasive whenever I try to talk about the future,” he paused, rolling his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “How did you get General Perth to leave to order for you?”
“What makes you think Sinda left the Order for me?”
“That’s what scuttlebutt says. You two met, got attached, and she left to avoid the conflict with her commitment to the Jedi.”
A tired sigh rose and fell in his chest, “She didn’t leave the order for me, Fives. Yes, we were having an affair and bonded just before she returned home, but I didn’t even know she was planning to leave the order until after it had happened. She told me after speaking to the Council. Any influence I had on her decision was tertiary at best. Becoming a Jedi is a lifelong commitment. Expecting someone to leave for the sake of love, especially when we’re at war and expendable in the eyes of the Republic. Would you really want to have to convince her to walk away from the only life she’s ever known?”
Although Fives the answer, his defiant heart refused to give up, “You can’t compel me to stop seeing her.”
“I know that, and I’m not telling you to. I just need you to be smarter than you’ve been. No more sneaking her into the base after hours, no more staying out when you aren’t on shore leave. Understood?”
“Yes, sir,” he reluctantly grumbled.
“Good, now get some sleep. You're on duty at oh-six hundred.”
Fives stood but paused at the door, “If she hadn’t left the Order…would you have ended it? With General Perth, I mean.”
“Yes, I would have,” he answered without hesitation. “I would have hated to do it, but if the Jedi was where her heart belonged, there would have been no other way.”
With another reluctant nod of understanding, Fives departed the cabin, even though he knew sleep would elude him for the rest of the night. Likewise, Rex wearily looked around his quarters. Despite the physical exhaustion that seeped into his bones as he began shucking his armor, his mind still spun with the cryptic conversation with General Riva that started his day. He’d chewed on her advice to be cautious regarding his relationship around General Skywalker. He couldn't help but wonder how the apparent animosity between the two Jedi could have anything to do with him, or when it even started.
And, perhaps more importantly, if it had indeed started, when did it end?
Laying on his bunk after turning out the light, he released a deep breath in an attempt to clear his mind enough to sleep. Without fail, the utter exhaustion of his demanding life took control. It didn’t take long for his limbs to feel heavy and eyes to droop. Not even the worries that percolated in his mind could keep him awake. His body twitched several times, and, just as he began to drift away into the abyss of slumber, his comm chimed on the desk. Despite the annoyance of being summoned back to duty, he obediently rose and retrieved the device.
“Captain Rex,” he could help the tired grumble in his voice.
“Rex, it’s Ahsoka. I’ve tried to reach Anakin, but his comm is turned off,” her voice was urgent.
His stomach clenched as adrenaline flooded his body, snapping him back to a state of alertness, “What happened?”
She replied with a regretful sigh and paused.
“Ahsoka…” his voice was calm but stern. “What happened? Where’s Sinda right now?”
Rating: Explicit (in short sequences)
Wordcount: 3.7k
CW: moral conflict, obviously Elia is ex-empire, lusting after The Enemy™, exposition for smut with some explicit lines.
A/N: Huge thanks and kissies for @baba-fett for beta-ing and being a generally sweet and wonderful and awesome human. Your comments make my day every time ♥
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Liberation
Chapter 2: The Temptation
When Elia enters her room the next week, you are prepared. You dwelled long on the question whether it would be weird to invite her to leave the compound this weekend. Whether it would be inappropriate.
Your boss has nodded this plan off, of course. They may not exactly believe you when you say Elia is plotting something - then again, at this point, neither are you - but they still trust your judgement. You have very rarely been wrong, and besides- what is it to them even if you are? You are not getting paid for this part. Your boss made it very clear that if you were to take Elia off the compound, that would have to happen on your own time and on your responsibility. They let you know in no uncertain terms that they don’t want the business tied to anything in case things go sideways with this little experiment.
And you are very okay with that. Otherwise, asking Elia out would have felt even stranger. Not that you’re asking her out. Except, kind of…
You are cleaning, going through your prepared speech in your head over and over again when Elia steps in, fingers pressed to her temples, her beautiful face a grimace of pain.
“Headache?” you ask sympathetically. Fuck. Already off-script.
“Mh.” She shrugs, then hisses as the flaring pain in her head. “Bad one.”
She doesn’t say anything else, but by now, you know that her being so short has nothing to do with you. She has asked you to stay time and time again, every time you offered to leave to give her a break. You don’t know why, but she seems to want you here. Even when she is in the worst of states.
Elia smiles a small smile at you as she picks up the glass of water you got ready for her. It has become a ritual - you prepare it every week, she drinks it every week, no matter how she is feeling. You try not to watch the bobbing of her throat, or the little drops that run down her chin as she downs the drink like she was parched for weeks. You want to wipe the drops away before they fall. Kiss them if she lets you-
Elia steps over to the bed, grunting as she pulls off her overshirt. You can feel the heat rising to your cheeks, and quickly avert your eyes. It’s not like she is naked or anything, but the sudden baring of skin makes your heart stumble. Elia doesn’t notice, she just slumps into bed.
You look her over as she lies there, thumbs pressed into her eye-sockets, chest rising and sinking as she breathes through the pain.
Your suspicions that she could be lying about the headaches had been thrown overboard long ago. No one can fake that well. You’d know.
Elia moves, forearms draping across her face as if she can’t bear even the dim light of the afternoon inside her tiny cubicle flat. Of course, you notice the way her shirt strains over the thick cords of muscle in her arms, but you try not to pay too much attention. Not to the bulge of her bicep when she shifts, or the tendons in her strong forearms. Not to the thin sheen of sweat, or the way you can see the blue of her veins through pale skin; not to the weaknesses in the strong facade that make up Elia Kane.
In spite of yourself, you are genuinely concerned about her. She does not look well, and this has been going on for weeks. You wonder if some days, she comes home like this even when you are not here. Your stupid heart hates that thought.
You clear your throat awkwardly.
“Rest for a bit, alright?” Your voice is much softer than you intend. Off-script. Unprofessional. Well, fuck it. All or nothing. “I’ll wake you up before I leave if you want?”
Elia’s hands fly away from her eyes. Her shockingly golden stare meets your own. You are never prepared for the colour of her eyes - so much warmer than you ever expect.
Slowly, she nods, then hisses when her headache begins to pulsate behind her eyes. You grimace at her pain and wish you could do more than just stand there.
Elia closes her eyes and smiles.
“Okay,” she says quietly. “I’d like that.”
***
Elia rests. You clean. Nothing feels unusual, except for the fact that words burn on the tip of your tongue.
I got vetted for you. I got permission for you. We can leave the compound and do whatever we want. I’ll take you out for real food. I know you like the red ration biscuits, because you collect them in the back of your closet, but I know a dessert place that’s even better than those. Let’s make new memories, ones without the shadow of the Empire. Let’s go to the gardens together this weekend. Come to the gardens with me, Elia.
You scold yourself for being a useless fucking romantic. And for the fact that it’s Elia Kane of all people that you hear yourself saying these words to. Elia Kane, right hand to Moff Gideon. Elia Kane, with a list of war crimes tacked to her pristine imperial uniform that’s longer than your entire arm. Elia Kane who snores in her sleep and gets headaches that make you want to take care of her more than you have ever taken care of anyone. Stars, you’re a fool.
A fool for love.
You tell your brain to shut up.
Elia’s unit isn’t tiny, but it’s not big either. It has a small kitchen that Elia keeps spotless. You can’t tell if she ever cooks, but you like to imagine that she does. Something about the image of her, twirling a spoon between her long fingers feels right to you.
There’s a windowless refresher. A double bed that’s only a few feet away from the entrance. Everything is kept in quiet, neutral colours: Beiges and sands, earthy tones. Neutral, but not sterile. Whoever equipped this room took great care not to make it feel like imperial architecture.
As you clean, you quietly wonder whether Elia Kane has a favourite colour. Whether she carved out time to develop a personal taste. Neither the Empire nor the Amnesty programme seem like the types of organisation that would particularly inspire a sense of interior design. You ponder whether Elia would paint the walls a different colour if she was allowed to.
You try to imagine her reaction to your own tiny, cramped flat on the surface of Coruscant. Better than most people have it - you get actual sunlight for about a half hour each day. And it’s actually pretty quiet. The bars tend to be located on the lower levels, and the traffic is worst mid-air, not on the surface. The surface feels oddly peaceful, unless you happen to look up. You wonder if Elia would like your taste in decorations, if she’d ask about your keepsakes the way you’d like to ask about hers.
What about that Twi’lek centrefold is so appealing that you broke imperial laws to take her on a ship with you? What do the red biscuits actually taste like? How did you grow up? Is this Coruscant different from the one you remember? What happened that made you join the Empire? How do you sleep at night?
There are a million questions that you would like to ask her. None of them have anything to do with what your work tells you to find out. Most of them you could look up in her file, but you want to hear it from her. You want to look at her beautiful face while she explains the reasons behind killing hundreds and thousands and millions, and maybe you won’t be so infatuated with her anymore.
***
When you finish cleaning, Elia looks so peaceful that the thought of waking her up seems unbearable. Quietly, you sit down in her chair and look around the room. Watching her sleep intentionally is different than catching glimpses of her sleeping while you are focused on your tasks. It feels more… personal. You try to focus on anything else but her, stretched out on the bed.
Elia’s foot twitches. She snores just a little, and you can see her eyes moving behind her closed lids. She feels so human that you pinch yourself. This is not what you are here for. By the gods, you have to pull yourself together. You grimace at yourself and your stupid, fluttering heart that focuses on the shadows that her lashes cast on her cheeks, on the rosiness of her upper lip, on the messiness of her hair and the roughness of her fingertips.
Stars. You shake your head at yourself and sigh quietly. You’re so stupid. A stupid, stupid fool, falling in love with the villain of the galaxy’s history just because she’s so pretty that you think a touch of her lips might send you to heaven.
Stupid.
Shaking your head again to rid yourself of the thoughts that haunt you, you start to hum as you gather your cleaning utensils together. You try to create casual clattering to wake Elia gently and naturally. It doesn’t work. She’s fast asleep, eyes still rolling behind closed lids. You clear your throat quietly, then louder. Elia does not stir.
Well, fuck.
You cough. You knock over a broom and let it clatter to the ground. Elia does not stir.
You struggle with yourself for a bit before you step up to the side of her bed. Reaching out and gently putting your hand on her shoulder feels forbidden, and you hate the small shiver that runs through you when you feel the heat of her body beneath your fingers.
“Mhh.” It’s a small sound that Elia makes, barely audible.
You pull back your hand as if you’d burned yourself.
“Elia,” you whisper, crouching down. There’s no reaction.
Carefully, you reach out again, laying each finger down gently as if she could break if you touched her too fast. You can’t help yourself but let the hand run down her arm, your fingers ghosting over her bare skin. She stirs.
Her eyes open before you can pull back, a shock of molten gold in her freckled face. Gods, she has freckles. You never noticed that before.
You bite your lip and go entirely still, your hand frozen on Elia’s upper arm.
“Better view than I usually get when I wake up.” Elia’s voice is rough with sleep, but she hasn’t lost that lopsided smirk. Her teeth look sharp behind her full, soft lips.
You can feel the heat rising to your cheeks at her unabashed words. Hastily, you stumble back. Elia’s smile grows broader, showing more of her sharp, pearl-white teeth. She chuckles, her smile growing even bigger at the heat you can feel in your cheeks. You just know that she can tell exactly how embarrassed you are.
That thought makes you frown. You’re embarrassed, and she’s laughing at you. That’s the kind of person that your foolish heart has chosen to fall in love with. She has done so much worse, but for a second, you get hung up on this tiny little thing: Her laughing in your face as you want to sink into the ground for ever laying a finger on her.
“I have to go,” you say abruptly, standing up and turning on your heel.
There’s the rustle of bedsheets behind you, the commotion of a body moving fast. Before you can take the few steps to the doorway, Elia plants herself in front of you, sleep still dripping from her eyes. It doesn’t make her less beautiful. You curse yourself for noticing.
“Leaving so soon?” she asks and cocks her head, golden eyes full of concern.
She’s way too close to you.
“I’ve finished,” you answer nonchalantly, although her presence makes it hard to breathe.
Elia’s eyes flick up and down your body. She runs her hand through her hair and leans against the doorframe. You can’t help the way your gaze follows every single one of her movements. She moves so smoothly, with the attitude of someone who has never cared what people think.
That thought irks you. It can’t be true. You don’t rise in the Empire’s ranks if you don’t care what your superiors think. The Empire was all about rule compliance, about fitting into moulds, about fulfilling expectations.
And maybe that is it - maybe the freedom from the strict rules of the Empire have given her this confidence. Maybe she too is glad to be free. Maybe she has changed.
Maybe she has changed.
Elia still watches you like a predator watching its prey. You don’t mind it as much as you should. In fact, you don’t mind it at all.
What you do mind is the sudden urge to press your thighs together, the need to reach out and touch her sharp jawline, to lean forward and kiss her. To feel her sharp teeth sink into your bottom lip. To tell her how pretty she looks right now, and see her blush.
How could the gods make something so beautiful and let it be evil?
“Stay.” Elia’s tone doesn’t fit the look in her eyes. Her voice is soft - nearly a plea. Fragile and vulnerable. If she were anyone else, she would have said please.
“Why?” You have been wondering that for weeks. Why does she allow you to see her in her most vulnerable state? Why did she not send you away, why does she keep coming back when she knows you will be here?
“Because.” There is a break so long that you almost think this is all the answer you will get. Then, Elia breathes in sharply and the words stumble over her tongue faster than you can process them. “Because you remind me that this is real. That reality is here. That the Em- that I’m on my own now, that I won’t go back. That there is nothing to go back to. You’re real, and so this must be real too.”
Her hand shoots out, and you don’t find it in you to flinch away when she places her hand on your cheek.
“You’re real,” she mumbles again, her thumb caressing your skin. It sounds more like a reminder to herself, and her eyes look into a past you can’t follow, staring straight through you even as she holds you so gently.
You don’t trust your voice, so you just nod. Elia closes her eyes and lets out a deep, shuddering breath. When she opens them again and you are still here, she smiles.
“Stay,” she says again. This time, some of her confidence sneaks back into her voice. Less of a plea, more of a command. You can’t resist her.
“Okay,” you sigh.
As suddenly as she touched you, she now ceases to. Your cheek burns where her hand was only seconds ago.
“I’ll make us a cup of tea,” she says abruptly, squeezing past you to stalk into her tiny kitchen area. Your whole body is aflame where she brushed against you. You wish your shirt was short-sleeved like hers - even the touch of her arm against yours would be better than nothing.
Clattering from the kitchen is the only thing grounding you in reality as your mind daydreams about what it would be like to be allowed to touch Elia Kane: The softness of her skin, the ripple of scars beneath your fingers. The sounds you wish you would get to hear her make.
Your fingers curl into a fist until your nails dig into your palm, bringing you back to a reality where she is not yours to touch.
Without anything to do, you stand around feeling useless, until you finally decide to take a seat on the singular chair in the corner. Sitting on Elia’s bed would feel… odd. Like an invitation. And you want it to be one, gods do you want it to be an invitation to touch you and kiss you and do absolutely unspeakable things to you.
But Elia doesn’t know that; Elia is simply making tea.
You daydream about stepping behind her, wrapping your arms around her middle. About her raising your hand to her soft lips to kiss it, about being lifted onto the counter, and how it would feel if she kissed her way up your thighs. If she would tease you, or if the hunger sits as deep as it does in you.
Moments later, a steaming mug is placed beside you. Elia sits down on the edge of her bed right across from you, one hand wrapped around her own mug. It’s impossible that she knows what you have been thinking about, and yet, something in the way her lip curls seems to say exactly that.
I know what you daydream of.
Neither of you says anything for a long time. You don’t know how to start, and somehow, despite all her confidence, you suddenly realise that it’s quite likely that Elia has never made friends with anyone.
The silence grows so loud that you say the first words that come into your mind.
“Come to the gardens with me.”
There is a beat where Elia looks at you without understanding.
“I can’t go. I can’t leave my designated perimeter without-”
“-someone who has been vetted to accompany you? Yeah, you mentioned that.”
You smile at her, and watch the realisation sink in.
“You’re-” you never thought that you would see Elia lost for words, but here she is, stumbling and stuttering like a youngling. “You got approval for me?”
For her.
The words hit you right in the belly. Because it is, of course it is. This is not for you, or for work, no matter what you tell yourself. This is for her.
She mentions just once how much she misses the smell of real flowers, and you do all this. For her.
You’re a lost fucking cause. You know it as soon as you look into eyes made of liquid metal, shimmering and soft. You’re lost to Elia Kane.
“Yeah. I got approved for you.” You blink once, twice. Averting your eyes is impossible - you are trapped and lost. Elia shows no other reaction than a tremble in her cheek, so you repeat your offer. “Come to the gardens with me. I want to show you around.”
There is another moment of silence, then a hand with long, soft fingers finds yours. A smile appears on Elia’s face, not the small smirk that you usually get to see. A rare smile, a real one, that lights up the boring apartment and sneaks its way into your heart as if she hadn’t already been nestled inside.
“Are you asking me out, pretty girl?”
The compliment flows through you like warm honey. Your hand shakes slightly as you run a finger up her arm, following the veins under paper thin skin.
“I… guess so. Yeah.”
Elia’s breath is warm on your face when she leans in, only inches away from your lips, and mumbles.
“Good. Because eating you out without taking you out first would really be a shame.”
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Previous Chapter << >> Next Chapter [coming]
We're leading up to the spice slowly and then all at once. I'm so excited about this fic, I haven't felt this inspired in a while! Leave some love in the comments ❥
Summary: It's been a no good, very bad, awful day. A surprise visitor helps in ways you can't describe.
Wordcount: 1.5k
Warnings: bad mental health day, physical symptoms like low appetite, inconsolable loneliness - but rex is there, so kinda (mental) hurt/comfort.
A/N: This ficlet is dedicated to the incredible @pinkiemme, who lights up my days and inspires me in so many ways. I hope you like The Sad. Rex is there to comfort you.
Special thanks go out to my girl @baba-fett who is the bestest beta reader in all the world, I love you and your comments and critiques.
Even though this particular work is SFW, my blog as a whole remains NSFW. Minors, please do not interact.
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You hate it when you get like this. There is nothing - no cure, no help, no comfort. Every little thing has you ready to snap.
Being alone makes you feel lonely, but company seems impossible to bear.
Some days are just like this, you tell yourself, curled up on your tiny couch. The blanket is more for comfort than warmth, but it’s not helping as much as you hoped it would.
You’ve picked up your book at least three times only to put it back down. You’ve scrolled through your collection of holovids for what feels like hours on end, but the process mostly just makes you feel more exhausted. Every small decision you have to make feels like another drop in an already full barrel.
Your comm chirps.
You ignore it. There is no one you want to talk to right now.
You lay down flat on your back and stare at the ceiling. Thank the gods you don’t have work today.
At the same time, spending your day off like this feels like such a damn waste. You feel guilty, and that makes your mood even worse, so you do even less, so you feel more guilty and-
The cycle goes on and on in an endless downward spiral.
Your comm chirps again. You throw it to the other side of the room. You’re not in the mood for jokes from your friend comm group, or for a coworker asking if you can take their shift or help them out.
Your stomach growls. It makes you absurdly angry. How dare your body be such a silly thing as hungry when life is so heavy you can barely get up?
For a while, you try to ignore the vigorous noises that keep getting louder, but finally, you give in. You should probably drink something anyways.
You whirl through the conservator in search of leftover food. Today, you really don’t have the patience to cook anything.
The thought of doing dishes makes you want to cry, so you decide to order in.
Deliberately avoiding your comms, you order the food with the quickest delivery option possible.
Chirp.
Order confirmation.
Chirp.
Payment confirmation.
Chirp.
You sigh heavily and fling the comm across the room again. Whatever. Food is on the way, everything else can be dealt with when you don’t feel like a wet towel anymore.
You’ve barely settled back down when the doorbell chimes.
Stars, they weren’t kidding about that Hyperspace delivery time.
The bell rings again, and you can’t help the slight annoyance that rises in your lower tummy. You explicitly told them to just leave it at the door. Even facing a delivery droid is honestly too much right now. They are too… friendly. They don’t get paid, don’t get tips. They’re friendly to everyone because they’re programmed that way, and for some reason, that thought makes you irrationally angry.
The doorbell rings again. You resist the urge to smash your face into a pillow and scream.
Instead, you get up and shuffle over to the door, ready to release a tirade of nonsensical cuss words onto an unsuspecting droid.
“Listen here, buddy, I don’t know what bantha took a dump on your central processing unit-“
Your voice dies with a strangled sound when you look into the face of Rex.
Your Rex.
Well, not yours, technically.
It’s complicated.
He’s… Rex. He’s here.
“You’re here.”
Stars, even your voice sounds dead.
The amused glimmer in Rex’s eyes vanishes, and his brow furrows.
“I… yeah.” Suddenly, he looks so unsure. “Should I not be? I commed you, and when you didn’t answer, I thought I’d try here since I ship back out tomorrow-“
The tears just start running. You stand in your doorway like a starforsaken idiot, unblinking, as tears stream down your face.
Rex takes a small step in your direction, then stops himself, his hand already halfway reaching for you.
“Hey… hey.” His voice is so familiar, so sweet and soft when he wants it to be. “Is it okay if I touch you?”
Helplessly, you shrug, sniffling with your cheeks reddened and your eyes swollen.
“Okay, let me just-“ Rex’s voice fades as he gently places a hand on your arm, not grabbing you but just… being there.
“This okay?”
Gods, he’s so gentle. Like you’re made of glass. Today, it feels like you are.
You nod, not trusting your voice just yet although the tears are getting fewer.
“Can I hold you?”
Wordlessly, you shuffle a bit closer to him, your cheek finally squished against the cold, unforgiving plastoid of his armour.
He smells like blood and death, like wreckage and pain. And yet, all he has for you are gentle caresses and comforting words.
You sling your arms around his middle and squeeze.
Rex lets out a wheeze that he tries to cover up with a hasty cough. You loosen your grip a bit.
Slowly, as if giving you time to pull back, Rex’s arms wrap around you.
You stay like this for a while, in between the sterile, flickering light of the hallway and the warm, comforting shine of your home.
An automated voice interrupts you.
“This is a delivery for the resident of apartment 363. Please confirm that you have received your order. This is a delivery for the resident of apartment 363. Please confirm-“
Rex comes inside with you. He asks, of course - tells you not to feel guilty if you want to be alone.
You try to put the feeling that has its claws in you into words, try to tell him that being alone only makes it worse, but that this is not a mood he wants to see you in. That you don’t really want him to see you like this.
He murmurs something in Mando’a in response.
“Ni hiibi gar ogir’olar, mesh’la.”
When you arch an eyebrow at him, he clears his throat awkwardly and mumbles: “I don’t mind.”
You get the feeling that’s not a direct translation.
You share the food that you got, because he looks like he needs it. He always looks like he needs it - him and all his brothers and siblings. The GAR doesn’t starve them, exactly, but real food is different from ration packs.
Rex talks a lot. Somehow, he finds topics that have nothing to do with the war and the pain of battle, even though that’s all he’s seen in the last few months. All he’s seen his whole life.
You listen, quiet, and ready to hide away at a moment’s notice. He is here now, and the apartment feels a bit more at peace, not so restless anymore. But you are also well aware how out of place he looks here. How temporary his visit is - not just because he has to leave again, but because he wouldn’t be yours to keep in any case.
Usually, Rex doesn’t talk as much as he does today, but it feels like he can sense that you need it. You need the mindless blabber to nod along to while you shovel food into your hungry belly. You need the comfort of his fingers playing with yours without asking for anything in return.
After dinner, Rex leans his head on your shoulder. It’s the first sign of exhaustion he has let you see.
“Couch?” you ask. The warmth in your voice has returned, you can feel it even in that one syllable. Maybe it’s the food, or maybe it’s him. Everything is not alright, but at least your heart feels like it’s beating again.
“Bed,” he answers.
Your stomach cramps and you stiffen. Hastily, Rex sits up to cup your face in his rough hands.
“Not like that.” He shakes his head and sucks in his cheeks. “I’m sorry, not like that, mesh’la. That’s not what I meant.”
“Oh.” Your heart grows heavy when you think about being alone again. “So you’re leaving?”
“What? No, I-“ Rex hesitates, then sits up straighter. “I thought… if you were okay with it, I might sleep here?”
Your world stumbles.
He has never slept here before. Well, maybe, once or twice, too exhausted to leave after various… activities. But he has never just slept here.
Rex watches your face, a sharp worry painted in his furrowed brow.
“I can leave if you want me to.” He tries so hard not to sound disappointed that it breaks your heart.
When the words come, your tongue stumbles in its haste to get them out.
“No, don’t go. I want you here, please- I don’t want to be alone. If there’s anyone I could stand tonight, it would be you. I didn’t think I’d get the chance- I thought you were gone on a mission, I didn’t even think that- gods, Rex, please stay.”
Your voice breaks with the last word, but the small smile on Rex’s lips glues the shards of your broken world back together again.
“Okay,” he says quietly. His warmth envelops you as he stands up to wrap around you again. “I’ll stay.”
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Mando'a translations:
Morut'gar - You (are) a stronghold.
Ni hiibi gar ogir’olar, mesh’la. - I’ll take you either way, beautiful.
Taggies for the beloveds - I know it's been a long time since I posted anything but OC content and I hope y'all are still around.
Caf Delivery Service - An Update and a Rewrite (And a preview!)
Arright so, stuff under the cut, minors DNI etc etc
Okay so shit has been. Really rough with this new job.
But ey, I gotta have hobbies still.
Outside of art, I'm trying to get back into writing. Which again - hard. But recently I got a comment on AO3 about the Caf Delivery Service fic, and if I'm thinking about coming back to it.
To those wondering: yes, I do intend to. But, it's getting rewritten, and while Barista is still essentially a reader...she's becoming an OC. But only in name, because I can't make myself do another fic in second person for the time being. I'm sorry to those who aren't too keen on this kinda thing, BUT Barista (who's name for now is going to be Piper) will still be the same. Just a bit more of her feisty side is gonna be showing through. Hopefully it'll be as funny and enjoyable! Speaking of...here's a preview!
“In your dreams, vod.”
Hound paused, clearly watching Piper as she blankly stared at one corner of the now empty cart. She could practically feel him watching with the intensity of a hawkbat. But she wasn’t about to look at him. Especially not after she heard the hiss of his helmet seals.
“Looking for something on your cart? Or are you still freaked out from last time?”
Don’t look don’t look don’t look -
“Oh c’mon, not even going to peek?”
“And give you the satisfaction?” Piper tipped her chin up belligerently, eyes still closed. “Not a chance.”
“This isn’t my caf.”
“What?!”
With how fast her head snapped round to gawk at Hound, Piper was shocked her neck didn’t snap. But the flash of guilt was immediately covered by concern and a little bit of fear as Hound’s gaze locked onto hers. With practiced ease he used his thumb to pop the lid off his caf, lifting it and making a show of inhaling the steam. There was a concerning amount of that, because for whatever reason, Hound liked his caf bordering on scalding.
With his eyes still locked on Piper’s, Hound drank said nearly-scalding caf in about fifteen seconds flat.
With a long-suffering sigh, Piper pressed her fingers to her temples once he slammed the cup down, “Do I need to call a medic?”
“Mm-mm,” Hound shook his head with a far-too-pleased smirk. “Not for me, at least. Maybe for you once you talk to the Commander and have a heart attack.”
“I am not -- you are such a -- rrgh!”
“Down, girl.”
“You’re a goddamn nuisance.” There wasn’t any heat in Piper’s words as she smirked at Hound, pushing her cart towards the only door in the room besides the elevator. “I’m bringing you iced caf next time.”
“Pot meet kettle!”
Hope y'all have enjoyed! Thanks for your patience!
Ok long story short ive got a job as a mail carrier, so thats awesome. Only downside is its gonna keep me BUSYYYYY. But I've found that I'm having an easier time writing than making art! So new fic idea!
Shit under the cut, children pls go away
So new fic idea
Mando hits up a sex hotline and its an oc bc me do wat me want
Also the oc is a trans dude, ALSO bc me do wat me want
The oc will have a name, a bit of a history thats pretty generic, but otherwise he's gonna be a blank slate. As a trans dude myself ill try my best to write something that is relatable, but i do only have my own experience to refer to. Ill have more of a detailed trigger warning as I write more.
