Welcome to not so innocent salted popcorn. Where I’m trying to write a book but other things (ahem this) & film reviews keeps getting in the way of it.
I started writing on here properly in November 2022 after doing some shorts & some custom stories on other social media pages. I’ve finally found my stride now. Please don’t be a stranger, all feed back is welcome, but I already know in the past few months I have grown more in confidence in writing all of this. Hopefully you will find something on here that you enjoy.
All feed back is welcome, please let me know what you think. It’s always really appreciated. Thank you all for reading
Each post comes with its own warning, but please don’t read the majority of these if you are under the age of 18.
UPDATE DECEMBER 2024
I’ve learnt there’s a limit on links per post, who knew? Also means I’ve written a lot so I will slowly be creating each person a page for all their fics, just click on their names or the post marked masterlist for them.
I also used to have a film review podcast that you can find here or here . Spotify changed there formatting so it’s currently on hiatus. Might be back in 2025.
PEDRO COLLECTIONS:- little collections of Pedro boys in certain circumstances or seasons can (can still be found under each character)
PEDROTOBER 2024
PEDROTOBER 2025
SEASONS OF LIFE
HOT GIRL SUMMER
AUTUMN
CHRISTMAS
THIS IS THE MAY
DAVE YORK
One week with Dave York (chapters) 11 in total
Attending Mr York (additional chapters to the One Week with Dave York Series)
Training (sub chapters linked to One Week with & Attending Series)
Fatal (chapters)
Cherry Kisses
The Good, The Bad & The Naughty
Peppermint
The Cabin
A Good Judge of Character
Wholehearted Attention
Handling the Situation
All Inclusive
Domestic
Handy
Little Red Bows
Sizzling
Upon One’s Self
Watch & Learn
His To Come Back To
I Have Spoken…
JAVI GUTIERREZ
MASTERLIST
DIN DJARIN
MASTERLIST
TIM ROCKFORD
MASTERLIST
OBERYN MARTELL
MASTERLIST
FRANKIE “CATFISH” MORALES
MASTERLIST
MARCUS PIKE
MASTERLIST
MAX PHILLIPS
MASTERLIST
MR BEN
MASTERLIST
JOEL MILLER
MASTERLIST
MARCUS MORENO
MASTERLIST
DIETER BRAVO
MASTERLIST
MAX LORD
MASTERLIST
AGENT WHISKEY/JACK DANIELS
MASTERLIST
SANTOS
Better with You
The Collectors
Wet, Dirty, Filthy
Strike A Bargain
GENERAL MARCUS ACACIUS
MATERLIST
JAVIER PEÑA
MASTERLIST
SILVA
MASTERLIST
REED RICHARDS / MR. FANTASTIC
MASTERLIST
EZRA
MASTERLIST
PERO TOVAR
MASTERLIST
LUCIEN DE LEON (The Uninvited)
MASTERLIST
TED GARCIA
MASTERLIST
HARRY CASTILLO
MASTERLIST
ALEX SERIAN (BEHEMOTH!)
Across The Stars
CLINT
Membership
Counter Offers
The Scoundrel
RENALDO (SNL)
Wrong Room, Right Song
One Song, One Rebel & One Dance Break
NICO (HOUSE COMES WITH A BIRD)
Impulsive
THE THIEF
Stolen Looks
Material Instincts
The Foundling
LIAM (Nikita)
Only In Our Dreams
Brick By Brick
FINK (all these are soft or are linked to other Pedro Characters)
MASTERLIST
MRS FLORES (most of these are linked to other Pedro characters shes just the key to it)
MASTERLIST
PEDRO CHARACTER DRABBLES
A selection of what certain Pedro bars gets would do on events or special days
Next time I want to do a challenge I won’t give myself like 5 days notice. But I got there & it’s time for the finale with the thief from the wine adverts…
This one is basically a thank you & ehen you get to the end of it that will make sense.
Synopsis:-When Grogu is stolen during a chaotic press event, you're the first to react. The chase leads to an unexpected encounter & a reminder that sometimes the people who help us find where we belong never realise the impact they've had.
Word Count:-1250
Warning:-soft Flirting, romantic tension, emotional vulnerability, found family themes, themes of belonging, loneliness & connection, brief chase scene, security/pursuit, celebrity AU, confession of feelings, physical closeness, mild suggestive dialogue, mention of theft/kidnapping of Grogu (humorous), references to The Mandalorian & Star Wars.
Thank you all so much for reading these 31 fics. It’s been wonderful to do. See you all for the next one whenever that may be.
Press tours are chaos dressed up as organisation. Too many people. Too many voices. Too many moving parts that all insist they’re the most important thing happening at any given moment. You don’t get caught up in it. You’re not here for that. You’re here to watch. Track. Anticipate.
Security doesn’t get distracted.Even when it’s for something like this. A new The Mandalorian film press event, all polished smiles & carefully timed appearances. Cameras flashing. Fans pressed behind barriers, calling out names like prayers.
Sitting right at the centre of it all… Grogu.
Small. Green. Ridiculously beloved.
Millions of dollars of puppetry coming to life for the world to see.
He’s Currently being moved between staging areas by handlers who look far more nervous than they should be.
You clock everything automatically:
* entry points
* exits
* blind spots
* people who don’t belong
So when the unusual happens, You see it.
Like you do right now…A slight shift in the crowd.
Too smooth. Too deliberate.
A figure moves in, masked by the moment, hood up, head down, slipping through the gap like they’ve done this before.
In the blink of an eye…Grogu is gone.
Snatched in plain sight.
You’re already moving.
“Asset taken,” you call, sharp & controlled into your comms, but you don’t wait for a response.
You’ve got them in your sight. They’re fast.
Cutting through the back corridors like they know the layout, or at least how to read it. Not panicked. Not sloppy. That’s what keeps you on them. This isn’t random. This is planned.
You gain ground. Step by step. Turn by turn. They glance back once. Just once. it’s enough to tell you that They’re not afraid to be caught. Almost like it’s a game.You don’t slow.
“Stop!” you snap, rounding the next corner, they don’t. Of course they don’t. So you move faster, harder.
Down a side corridor. Through a service door. Into a quieter section of the building where the noise of the event dulls into a distant hum.
They turn sharply into a small room. You follow. The door slams shut behind you. Silence.
You’re already reaching for them.
“Don’t…”
They stop. Still holding Grogu. Not resisting. That throws you off more than anything.
“Put the child down,” you order, steady.
They hesitate.
Then slowly, carefully, place Grogu on a nearby table. You don’t take your eyes off them.
“Turn around.” They do. Slowly. Like this isn’t urgent. Like none of this is.
Your pulse is still high, adrenaline sharp in your system as they reach up & pull the hood back.
You blink.Once.
“…you’ve got to be kidding me.”
It’s him.
Pedro Pascal
Not a lookalike. Not a joke.
It’s actually him.
Hair slightly out of place. Breathing a little heavier than he probably wants you to notice. Expression caught somewhere between sheepish and something else you can’t quite place yet.
You stare.
“…you stole Grogu,” you say. He winces.
“When you say it like that…”
“How else am I supposed to say it?” You’re trying to keep it professional but inside your heart is racing for so many reasons.
He exhales, dragging a hand down his face.
“I was going to bring him back.”
“After what? A joyride?”
There’s a beat.
“…maybe.”
You stare at him harder. He doesn’t joke again. The energy shifts. Fast.
He leans back against the wall slightly, like something in him has just… given out.
“I just needed five minutes,” he says.
Not performative. Not for an audience. Just… honest.
You don’t respond immediately. Because that wasn’t what you expected.
“Five minutes?” you repeat.
“Yeah.”
He lets out a breath, shaking his head slightly.
“Where no one’s asking anything from me. No cameras. No handlers. No…”he gestures vaguely back toward the noise of the event beyond the walls, “…all of that.”
The adrenaline in your system doesn’t disappear, but it… shifts. Recalibrates.
“You picked stealing a major prop to do that?” you ask.
“It got your attention.”
That lands. You narrow your eyes slightly.
“…that wasn’t part of your plan.”
“No,” he admits. “That part was… improvisation.”
Of course it was. There’s a pause. The room feels smaller now. Quieter.
Grogu sits between you on the table like a silent witness to whatever this is becoming.
“You’re supposed to arrest me,” he says after a moment.
You don’t move.
“You’re supposed to not steal things,” you reply.
A faint smile tugs at his mouth.
“Fair.”
Silence again. Different this time. He looks at you properly now.
Not like earlier, passing, distracted, half-aware between everything else happening around him.
This is focused. Intent.
“…you didn’t hesitate,” he says.
“When?”
“When he was taken.” He nods slightly toward Grogu. “You were already moving.”
“That’s my job.”
“Yeah,” he says softly. “I know.”
There’s something in the way he says it. Like that’s not the only reason he noticed.
You shift slightly, suddenly aware of how close you are. How quiet it is compared to the chaos outside.
“You should go back,” you say, though there’s less authority in it than before. “Before they realise what happened.”
“I know.”
He doesn’t move. Instead, he steps closer. Slow. Giving you time to stop him. You don’t.
“I wasn’t planning on this,” he says.
“Stealing your own kid?”
He huffs a quiet laugh.
“No.” A beat. “This.” That pulls your attention back to him fully. His voice lowers.
“I’m tired of pretending I don’t notice you,” he says.
That… wasn’t expected. You blink.
“I… I…”
“I know,” he cuts in gently. “Bad timing. Terrible setup. Possibly the worst confession I could’ve chosen.”
Despite everything, a small smile tugs at your lips.
“That’s one way to put it.”
“But it’s true.”
There’s no performance in it now. No charm dialled up for effect. Just him.
Close enough that you can see the shift in his expression, the nerves underneath the confidence, the honesty sitting right at the surface.
“I kept telling myself I’d say it properly,” he continues. “At a better time. Somewhere that made sense.”
A pause.
“This doesn’t make sense.”
“No,” you agree quietly. “It doesn’t.” He studies your face for a second. Searching for a response.
“I’m tired of not saying it,” he finishes.
The room feels very still. Very small. You don’t step back. He takes that as his answer.
Closes the last bit of space between you.
“Should probably arrest me,” he murmurs.
You exhale softly.
“Yeah,” you say.
“Probably.”
Neither of you move. You stretch your hand out & touch his face. Soft & warm as he blushes.
“You are a thief after all” you say softly.
“I’ve stolen more today than just grogu” he replies.
“You sure about that?”
“I’m certain.”
“You know,” you say softly, fingers brushing against Grogu’s ear absently, like he was actually real “… before all this… before this job… I never really felt like I belonged anywhere.”
“Then I found this,” you continue, gesturing vaguely toward the chaos outside the room. “The films. The people. The community. My clan, I guess.” A small laugh escapes you. “ A Found family sounds ridiculous until you finally have one.”
He doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t joke.
“You don’t know it,” you admit quietly, looking back at him now, “but you were part of the reason I stayed.”
The room goes still after that. Not awkward. Just honest. Pedro looks at you differently then. Like the moment finally settles into something real.
You’ve found your people & you’ve just thanked the man who is partly responsible. You have spoken… & this is the way.
Sorry for keeping some of you waiting so long, I know Peña is catnip for lots of you. So hopefully this satisfies your needs a little.
Synopsis:-A debate about Star Wars blasters turns into shameless flirting when Javier Peña decides proving himself is far more entertaining than arguing.
Word Count:- 600
Warnings:-Heavy flirting, innuendo, sexual tension, suggestive dialogue, references to weapons/firearms, cocky behaviour, implied sexual content, alcohol consumption, teasing power dynamics.
Hope you all liked this. Thanks for the read come back tomorrow for the finale.
You don’t even mean to start it.
“I’m just saying,” you shrug, swirling your drink, “Star Wars blasters look better.”
There’s a pause. You feel it before you see it. Javi’s attention locks onto you from across the table.
“Better?” he repeats, slow.
You glance up, already smiling.
“Sleeker. More dramatic. Bit more… Millennium Falcon, less… whatever you’ve got going on.”
That earns you a look. Not annoyed. Interested.
“Oh yeah?” he says, leaning back in his chair, eyes never leaving you. “You into smugglers now?”
“I’m into style,” you reply. “You can’t tell me you’ve never wanted to walk into a room like Han Solo.”
A corner of his mouth lifts.
“I walk into rooms just fine.” You laugh.
“I’m sure you do. But do you make an entrance?”
That lands. He studies you for a second, like he’s deciding how far to take this.
“Careful,” he says. “You keep talking like that, I’m gonna think you’re disappointed.”
You tilt your head.
“Maybe I am.” There’s a beat. Something shifts. Tension rising.
He leans forward now, forearms resting on the table, closing the distance just enough to matter.
“You ever seen a real one up close?” he asks. You raise an eyebrow.
“A real what?”
“My gun.” Direct. Of course it is. You huff a small laugh.
“Wow. Subtle, Peña.”
“I’m not trying to be subtle.” That’s the thing. He really isn’t.
You sit back slightly, crossing your arms like you’re unimpressed.
“I just think,” you say, “if you’re gonna compare yourself to a galaxy far, far away, you better have something to back it up.”
His eyes flick over you, slow, deliberate.
“Trust me,” he says quietly. “I do.”
Your stomach does something annoying at that. You ignore it, well at least try to.
“Still sounds like a lot of talk,” you tease. “Very ‘the force is strong’ energy.”
That gets a low chuckle out of him.
“Don’t start quoting Obi-Wan Kenobi at me,” he says. “You’re not ready for that conversation.”
“Oh, I’m very ready,” you shoot back. “I just don’t think you are.”
Now he’s smiling properly. Like he’s enjoying this a little too much.
“Alright,” he says, pushing his chair back slowly. “You wanna test that theory?”
You watch him stand. He doesn’t rush you. Doesn’t push. Just waits. Confident you’ll follow.
“Is this where you dramatically offer to show me?” you ask.
He steps closer instead. Close enough that your knee brushes his.
“Not dramatic,” he murmurs. “Just practical.”
Your breath catches, just slightly. You hold your ground.
“Practical,” you repeat.
“Yeah.” He winks. “Wanna see for yourself?”
There it is. Not loud. Not flashy. Just… inevitable.
You look up at him. At the way he’s not joking anymore.
“You always this confident?” you ask.
“Only when I know I’m right.”
You shake your head, smiling despite yourself.
“This is about a gun,” you remind him.
His gaze drops briefly to your lips, then back up.
“Sure it is.” Your heart kicks. You stand anyway.
“Fine,” you say. “Show me.”
That earns you a slow, approving look.
“Careful,” he murmurs, stepping past you, close enough that his hand brushes your waist for half a second too long. “You might not like what you find.”
You turn to follow him.
“Oh, I doubt that.” He glances back over his shoulder, that same confident smirk settling in.
“Yeah,” he says quietly.
“Most people are impressed.” he doesn’t wait for you to catch up this time.
“I’m not most people Peña” you reply & reach the bedroom door frame.
“I know & that’s why you’re about to experience everything.”
This was another one that was hard to link to Star Wars, but then I hit this epic idea & now I kind of want to explore it further. So if you could let me know if you’d be interested in more of this for a possible book please let me know once you’ve read it.
Synopsis:-Around a dying campfire, Pero Tovar tells the story of a disastrous cargo exchange gone wrong, about a galactic threat that is still coming.
Word Count:-850
Warnings:-Sci-fi themes, time travel references, implied war/invasion, tension, discussion of violence & survival, aliens, looming apocalypse themes, slow-burn attraction, destiny/fate undertones.
See told you this was a little different. Thanks for the feed back peoples. Just 2 more days to go.
The fire has burned down to low embers by the time he starts talking. Everyone else has gone quiet in that post-mission way, too tired for jokes, too wired for sleep. Just the soft crackle of wood & the occasional shift of boots in the dirt.
Pero Tovar sits a little apart from the rest. Like always. He turns a stick in the coals like he’s deciding whether the fire deserves more attention than the night.
“You don’t want the short version,” he says suddenly. A few heads lift.
Someone snorts. “We never get the short version.”
That earns a faint smirk from him, but he doesn’t look up right away.
“Good,” he replies. “Because I’m not giving it.”
He leans back slightly, eyes on the fire now.
It makes his face harder to read like this. Shadowed. Thoughtful in a way he doesn’t usually allow people to see for long.
“It started on a rock moon,” he says, like that’s a normal beginning.
You glance up from where you’re sitting without meaning to. Of course it starts like that, it’s meant to grab attention.
“There was supposed to be a clean exchange,” he continues. “Credits for cargo. Simple.”
He lets out a quiet laugh that doesn’t match the story.
“Nothing is ever simple.” The fire pops.
Somewhere behind him, someone mutters, “that’s always the line before it gets worse.”
Pero hears it. Just nods once.
“Correct.” Now people are listening properly. Not just tolerating him. Listening. He shifts slightly, voice dropping into something steadier.
“The buyer didn’t show,” he says. “Which would’ve been fine, except the person who did show decided they wanted the cargo, the credits & my ship.”
A few low reactions ripple through the group. He doesn’t pause for them.
“I told them no & They didn’t like that.”
The firelight flickers across his face as he speaks, like the past is still close enough to touch.
“Two factions got involved after that. Then a third. Then something I still don’t think was technically alive but definitely wanted the cargo.”
That gets a quiet laugh from someone near the back. Pero doesn’t smile this time. Not yet.
His eyes flick up, briefly.
They land on you. Just for a second too long. Then away again.
“I’ve dealt with worse,” he adds, quieter now. “Aliens with worse manners than most people I’ve met.”
A few people chuckle. But his attention keeps slipping back. Not to the group. To you. Like he’s measuring your reaction more than anyone else’s. You don’t notice at first. Or maybe you do, but you don’t understand it yet.
He continues.
“There was a point where I thought I was done,” he says. “Ship half gone. No exit route. Just a very angry agreement between species that none of them were going to survive the night.”
A stick shifts in the fire. He watches it burn for a moment.
“I got out,” he says simply. No embellishment. Just fact. Silence settles again after that. Longer this time.
Someone finally breaks it with a low whistle. “& you’re just… casually telling us this?”
Pero shrugs.
“It happened.”
But his eyes drift again. To you. Still unaware. Still just listening like everyone else. Except you’re not. Not really.
Because when he looks at you this time, something in his expression softens, before he catches himself & looks back to the fire.
“You always tell it like that?” someone asks.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re bored of it.”
That earns a faint exhale from him.
“I’m not bored,” he says.
“I just don’t repeat myself for people who aren’t listening properly.”
That lands differently. A couple of people glance around. But you just tilt your head slightly, still focused on the story. Still listening.
That seems to matter more than anything else.
The fire burns lower. Pero’s voice softens with it.
“There was one person who didn’t run,” he says, almost like an afterthought.
That’s new. People notice.
“So I didn’t either.” A pause. Longer now.
He doesn’t explain who. Doesn’t need to.
But his gaze flicks, just once, towards you again & lingers a fraction too long.
Then he clears his throat slightly, as if remembering himself.
“The cargo was useless anyway,” he finishes. “Of course it was.”
A few quiet laughs return. The tension breaks back into something lighter.
But he doesn’t move from the fire. Doesn’t join the group again. Just sits there, watching the embers settle.
No one truly believes this man was stolen & transported to a different place out of time, but you do. Because you were there & you are the person out of time now sent back to the past. Ready to embrace the oncoming threat that changes the world’s fate. That’s why you’ve been lead here, to find the other man who had an encounter with time & aliens, because you know you both need to prepare for the om coming attack.
Aliens from a galaxy far far away are going to attack at some point soon & you know from history thar this mysterious mercenary Pero Tovar has to fight on your side so you can win.
Our man has been very public about his hate for kareoke which is probably why writing Renaldo from snl is very appealing.
Synopsis:- Renaldo turns karaoke night into a full galactic event when his performance is upstaged & his shameless flirting becomes impossible to ignore.
Word Count:- 750
Warnings:- Flirting, innuendo, suggestive touching, sexual tension, one night stand implications, alcohol, cocky behaviour, mild explicit language, chaotic karaoke energy.
I hope you all have fun with this one. Thanks for the read peoples.
Karaoke night was supposed to be simple. One drink. Maybe two. Laugh at whoever got brave enough to grab the mic. Leave before anything got embarrassing.
It never stays simple.
Renaldo is already halfway across the room when you arrive, like he’s been waiting for this exact moment his entire life. There’s a drink in his hand he definitely didn’t have five minutes ago, & a grin that suggests he’s about to make everyone’s night worse in the best way possible.
“Oh no,” you say immediately. He turns like he’s been called to a stage he owns.
“Oh yes,” he replies.
Before you can stop him, he’s up there. Microphone in hand. Standing too confidently for someone who has never once been asked to do this.
“I would like to dedicate this performance,” he announces, “to the galaxy.”
A pause. Confused half drunk faces look back at him.
“…which galaxy?” someone shouts.
Renaldo considers it.
“All of them.”
You groan, already laughing. The backing track starts.
& it is… not good. But it is committed.
He sings like he’s leading a rebellion. Gestures like the mic is a weapon. Completely ignores the fact that he is not on beat, not on pitch, and possibly not even on the right song anymore.
Then the doors at the back of the room open & everything gets worse.
A group of stormtroopers walk in. Fully geared. Unbothered. Like this is exactly where they were meant to be.
There’s a beat of silence. Then one of them climbs onto the stage. Another follows.
& suddenly, unironically, Renaldo is performing with backup dancers he absolutely did not hire.
You nearly spit your drink out.
“Oh my god,” you laugh, pointing. “Is that…are those…”
“Stormtroopers,” someone confirms.
Renaldo doesn’t even stop singing. If anything, he gets louder.
“This is my moment,” he declares into the microphone.
One of the stormtroopers tries to dance. It is not coordinated much like their shooting in the films.It is deeply concerning.
You’re laughing properly now, shoulders shaking, watching the whole scene unfold like a fever dream.
Renaldo spots you in the crowd. Of course he does. He points mid-verse.
“Hey you, sexy! Stop laughing at me!”
“I’m not laughing at you,” you call back, still laughing. “I’m laughing because of you!”
That seems to fuel him. He leans into the chaos. Even worse choreography. Even louder singing.
The stormtroopers fully commit now, forming a very loose, very incorrect line dance situation that no galaxy should ever witness.
When the song finally ends, there’s a moment of stunned silence. Then applause. Confused. Reluctant. Slightly terrified applause. But justly deserved.
Renaldo bows.
The stormtroopers salute.
Someone drops a drink.
You’re still laughing when he gets off the stage, walking straight toward you like none of that just happened.
“You enjoyed that,” he says.
“You just performed karaoke with stormtroopers,” you reply. “I think I’m still processing it.”
“I noticed you smiling.”
“I was coping.”
“That’s the same thing.”
You shake your head, still grinning.
“You know,” you say, “I always thought you were more Star Trek than Star Wars.”
He gasps like you’ve insulted his entire lineage.
“I am offended.”
“You brought imperial soldiers into karaoke night.”
“They invited themselves.”
“Sure they did.” You almost choke on your drink as you say it.
He leans slightly closer now, lowering his voice like it’s serious business.
“For the record,” he says, “I could survive in either universe.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
“It should’ve been.”
You laugh again, nudging his shoulder lightly.
“You’re trouble” you say trying not to blush.
“& yet,” he says, gesturing vaguely behind him at the still confused stormtroopers, who were now dancing with the next group of singer “…you’re the one who’s checking me out.”
You glance at him. Still smiling.
“…unfortunately,” you say.
He grins.
“Good answer.” He winks “your drinks are on me tonight sexy.”
“Do you have a tab?”
“Ooh no… but” he then whispers in your ear “but my apartment is just minutes away & I can tell you now that when you come back with me you’ll see more than just the galaxy”
You mock gasp at his arrogance.
“You just assume that I’m gonna have a one night stand with you?” You say before he then grabs your arse in your skin tight jeans. It arouses both of you.
“Baby, once you’ve tasted Renaldo, you’ll be back for more than just one night under the stars.”
This is probably one of the least Star Wars related of the set but I know you all love our prince so I just wanted him to be commanding, just not in Kings Landing or Dorne.
Synopsis:- In a crowded cantina on Tatooine, Oberyn Martell realises you’re the only person watching him without becoming part of the performance.
I hope you enjoyed that it’s a bit different for sure, but I want to make sure everyone has something they like. See you tomorrow.
The cantina on Tatooine is loud in the way all places like this are, too much heat, too much drink, too many stories happening at once. It should feel chaotic.
But somehow, he doesn’t. He never does. Oberyn Martell sits like the room arranged itself around him. Cape draped lazily over one shoulder. Glass in hand. Smile resting just at the edge of amusement, like he’s already heard every conversation before it’s even started. People notice him immediately. Of course they do. He lets them. A glance here. A laugh there. A touch of attention given & taken back just as easily.
It isn’t aimless. It just looks like it is.
You notice that quickly. You’re not part of the noise. Not really. Just watching from a quieter corner, observing the way he moves through people like he already knows where every thread connects.
He catches you looking. Of course he does. He’s Oberyn. It doesn’t interrupt him. Not immediately.
He finishes what he’s saying to someone beside him, something light, something that makes them smile like they think they’ve been chosen for something, &then, almost casually, his gaze shifts to you & it stays there. Just a beat longer than necessary.
You don’t look away first. That seems to amuse him.
He excuses himself from the conversation without ceremony, already stepping through the crowd like it was always going to happen this way.
When he stops in front of you, it feels less like approach and more like conclusion.
“You’ve been watching me,” he says. Not accusing. Just curious.
“I’ve been sitting here,” you reply. A faint smile tugs at his mouth.
“That’s not what I said.” You tilt your head slightly.
“Should I be concerned?”
“Only if you think I don’t notice things.” There’s a pause. Heat flickers somewhere between words.
Around you, the cantina keeps moving, laughing, drinking, talking, but here it feels… slowed. Contained.
He gestures loosely to the room.
“You think I’m flirting with everyone,” he says.
“I think you’re very comfortable with attention,” you reply. That earns you something real in his expression. Not surprise.Approval.
“Comfortable is a generous word,” he says softly.
You study him for a moment.
“You’re not here for this place,” you say.
A slight lift of his brow.
“No?”
“You don’t look like someone who stays anywhere without a reason.” That makes him pause. Just for a fraction longer than everything else.
Then he smiles again, but smaller now. More focused.
“You’re quieter than the others,” he says. It isn’t a compliment, but It isn’t an insult.It’s more of an observation.
“So that makes me dangerous?” you ask.
“No,” he says simply. “It makes you honest. That lands differently. The noise of the cantina feels further away now.
He leans slightly closer, not invading, just narrowing the space like it belongs to him to adjust.
“You think I’m performing,” he continues.
“I think you enjoy it.” A soft laugh escapes him at that.
“I do,” he admits with a seductive smile.
“But not for everyone.”
That shifts something. Because now you’re not watching him with the room anymore. Now it feels like he’s watching you outside of it.
“Why me?” you ask.
He considers that.Really considers it. Like it’s not a line. Not a game. Not part of the usual rhythm he moves through. Then he tilts his head slightly.
“Because you didn’t try to be part of the audience,” he says. Your heart races a little.
“You watched like you were deciding whether I was worth your attention.”
A faint smile crosses your face before you can stop it. Betraying yourself.
“& am I?”
His gaze holds yours. Longer now on purpose.
“I haven’t decided yet,” he says.
But he doesn’t look away & neither can you. The corner of his mouth curves slightly at the silence that follows. Not awkward. Measured. Like he’s letting it settle between you on purpose.
Then, unexpectedly, he sits. Not across from you. Beside you.
Close enough now that you catch the scent of spice & wine & something warmer beneath it. The kind of presence that feels dangerous only because it feels easy to lean toward.
“You know,” he says lightly, gaze drifting back toward the crowded cantina, “most people decide very quickly what they want from me.”
You glance at him. “& what do they usually decide?”
A quiet laugh escapes him.
“That I’m entertaining.” There’s no bitterness in it. That’s what makes it land.
Your eyes move over him again, the confidence, the ease, the performance he wears so naturally it almost stops looking like one at all.
“Are they wrong?” you ask softly.
His gaze shifts back to yours then. Slower this time.
“No,” he says. Honest. “But they rarely look long enough to notice when I’m tired of it.”
That changes something. Not dramatically. Not loudly. Just enough.
The noise of the cantina suddenly feels further away than before, all blurred edges & distant sound while he watches you like he’s waiting to see what you’ll do with that truth now that he’s handed it to you.
“You don’t seem very tired tonight,” you murmur. Another one of those small smiles appears. Softer now. Less for the room. More for you.
“That,” he says quietly, “may be because you’re still here.”
There’s no performance here or flirtation. Just something warm & deliberate settling between you, beneath the twin suns & noise & heat of a world built for people passing through.
For the first time since he approached you, Oberyn Martell looks less like a man entertaining a room & more like a man asking someone to stay in his orbit a little longer.
Thanks as always for reading peoples. I hope this one made you smile.
Money doesn’t stretch far these days. You’ve learned how to make it behave. Bills first. Food next. Everything else is whatever’s left over, if anything is left over.
That “extra” usually becomes something small. A LEGO set. Nothing big. Nothing you have to justify too much. You tell yourself it’s enough. It usually is. It distracts you from the world, helps your mind calm for those 20 minutes or so.
Liam notices things you don’t say out loud. Not in a loud way. Not in a showy way. Just… quietly. Like the way you turn the box over in your hands before opening it when you can afford some Lego. Or how you don’t rush the build. How you slow down when you’re focused, like the rest of the world doesn’t matter for a while.
You’ve caught him watching before.
“You staring?” you asked once.
“Thinking,” he said.
“About what?” He just smiled & walked away. That’s as close as you get to an answer. Liam was you man. Mysterious & dangerous but also would take a bullet for you.
Tonight is late when he comes home. Too late for how tired you are.
You’re on the sofa already, half-finished Lego flowers spread out on the table, small pieces carefully lined up like they matter more than they probably should.
The door clicks open. You look up immediately.
Liam steps in like he always does, calm, controlled, like the night belongs to him.
He shuts the door behind him with his foot.
“Hey,” you say softly.
“Hey, baby.”
His voice is easy. Like he hasn’t just come from whatever world he lives in when he disappears. You sit up slightly.
“You’re late.”
“Job ran long.” Of course it did. But he doesn’t sound in pain or stressed so clearly it went well.
You nod, trying not to read too much into it, but your eyes flick to him anyway.
That’s when you see it. The bag. Big. Heavy. Yellow. Definitely not something he left with.
You frown slightly.
“What’s that?”
He follows your gaze, then looks back at you like he’s already decided how this goes.
“Well paid job,” he says.
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“It answers enough.”
You stare at him. He doesn’t move. Just holds your gaze like he’s waiting for you to catch up.
“…Liam.”
“Open it.”
That tone.Simple. Certain.
You hesitate for half a second longer than you mean to, then get up.
The bag is heavier than expected when you pull it closer. You glance at him once more. He just nods. Permission.
You open it & freeze.Because you know that box.
You’ve seen it a hundred times in shops. Online. In passing conversations you never really thought meant anything.
The Millennium Falcon. The big one.
Your breath catches before you can stop it.
“…Liam.”
He doesn’t say anything. Just watches you. Carefully.
You pull it out properly, staring at it like it might disappear if you blink too hard.
“This is…”you laugh under your breath, disbelieving. “This is insane.”
“Yeah,” he says simply.
“You didn’t have to…”
“I did.”
That makes you look up at him. Properly.
“You can’t just bring home something like this.”
“I can.”
“I was fine with the small sets.”
“I know.”
That stops you. You blink.
“…you know?”He shrugs.
“I’ve seen you.” Something shifts in your chest at that. Small but sharp.
“You’ve been watching me build LEGO?”
“I watch you a lot of things,” he says, like it’s nothing at all.
You look back down at the box again, hands still on it, like it anchors you.
“That’s ridiculous,” you say quietly.
“Probably.”
You shake your head, trying to process it.
“This is… so expensive.”
“I know.”
“& you just… what…decided to get it?”
His gaze doesn’t move from you.
“Yeah.”
There’s no explanation after that. No defence. Just certainty. Like that’s all there is to it.
You laugh once, breathless, still holding the box.
“You’re unbelievable.”
“Yeah,” he says, stepping closer now. “I’ve heard that.”
You should probably say something else. Something normal. Ask about why not spend the money from this clearly well paid job on something more important. You don’t.
Instead, you set the box down carefully & close the distance between you in one quick step.
Your arms wrap around him before you even think about it. He catches you instantly. Of course he does.
Hands settling at your waist like it’s automatic, like he already knew this was coming.
“You’re insane,” you murmur into his shoulder.
“Mm,” he replies. “You said that already.”
“You bought me the Falcon.”
“I did.”
“The Big Falcon.”
“I’m aware.”
You pull back just enough to look at him. There’s something in your face you don’t bother hiding.
“Why?”
That’s the first time he hesitates. Just slightly.
“I saw you looking at it,” he says. “For months, every time we walk past that shop.”
Simple.
Honest.
“That’s it?” He nods once. That’s it.
Your breath catches again, softer this time.
Then you laugh, small, real & shake your head.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Yeah.”
You don’t overthink it. You just kiss him. Quick at first. Then deeper when he doesn’t pull away.
His hand tightens slightly at your waist, pulling you closer like he’s not interested in letting go anytime soon.
When you break apart, you’re both still too close.
“You’re helping me build it,” you say. He huffs a quiet laugh.
“Am I?”
“Yes.”
“That wasn’t part of the deal.”
“You don’t get to bring home a Millennium Falcon & walk away from consequences.”
That earns you a proper smile this time.
“Guess I’m staying then.” You soften.
“Yeah,” you say.
His hand stays at your waist a second longer than necessary.
“Yeah,” he repeats quietly. “But I’m no good with any Lego stickers.” The room falls into soft laughter again before your lips meet once more.
I know most of you haven’t seen or met Lucien, he was a mission for me to even track down but I did. So him having his own section of this theme works really well if you know him.
Synopsis:- Lucien is the ultimate flirt, but charming you quickly becomes a game he refuses to lose.
Word Count:-1100
Warnings:-Heavy flirting, sexual tension, suggestive dialogue, alcohol consumption, seduction, implied sexual content, one night stand vibes, celebrity/actor dynamic, arrogance/charm, innuendo, power play undertones, emotionally guarded characters, intense chemistry.
Thanks as always for the e read peoples, have a lush day & i will see you tomorrow.
You clock him before he even reaches you. Not because he’s subtle. Because he isn’t.
There’s a certain kind of man who walks into a bar like it’s a stage, like the lighting is better because he’s in it, like every glance is part of the performance.
He’s that man & he knows it.
You take a slow sip of your drink, watching him approach like you’ve already decided how this is going to go.
“You look like you’ve already made up your mind about me,” he says as he stops beside you. His voice is smooth. Practiced. Just the right amount of amused.
You glance up at him, letting your gaze linger a second longer than necessary.
“I’m deciding if you’re interesting,” you reply. That earns you a flicker of something real. Not surprise. Interest.
“Dangerous answer,” he says.
“Only if you’re boring.”
He huffs a quiet laugh at that, shifting slightly closer, not crowding you, but definitely not giving you space either.
“I’m Lucien,” he says.
Of course he is. You secretly know who he is.
You give him your name in return, & he repeats it like he’s testing how it sounds.
“Alright,” he says, leaning one elbow against the bar. “What’s your verdict?”
“You’ve been here thirty seconds…” he pouts at you pleadingly.”…& you haven’t said anything interesting yet.”
That does it. There’s a pause, brief, sharp, then he smiles properly. Not the rehearsed version. The one that says okay, you’re different.
“I like that,” he says.
“I didn’t ask.”
“No,” he replies, “but you don’t seem like someone who needs to.” & with that the charm offence begins as he nods at the bar tender.
The conversation flows after that. Effortlessly, annoyingly so. He’s quick. Funny. Just self-aware enough to get away with the arrogance & you match him, step for step, not giving him an inch more than he earns.
At some point, drinks turn into leaning closer to hear each other. Then into not really needing an excuse anymore. Heat & tension rising wondering how far this will go.
“You always this hard to impress?” he asks at one point.
“Are you always trying this hard?” you shoot back. He grins.
“Not usually.” That should sound like a line. It doesn’t. That’s the problem. Lucien might be a celebrated actor but he often gets what he wants & he was hoping you’d be much easier than you have been. Not that you’re not willing or falling for him.
You don’t remember exactly who suggests leaving. It doesn’t matter. It’s mutual.
Like the decision had already been made somewhere between the first drink & the third time he looked at you like he’d figured something out.
Soon you are at his place & it is exactly what you expect for someone of his standing. Minimal effort, but expensive enough to make up for it. There’s a jacket thrown over a chair. A script on the table. Something half-finished, half-forgotten. Art work worth more than your yearly salary just collecting dust. & trophies, armfuls of them, scattered across the place.
You take it in without commenting. He watches you do it.
“Judging me already?” he asks, closing the door behind you.
“Just observing,” you reply, setting your bag down.
“Dangerous habit.”
“For you, maybe.”
That earns you another one of those smiles. Closer now. Less performance. More intent.
“So,” he says, stepping toward you, “what’s the verdict now?” You tilt your head slightly.
“You’re still trying to impress me.”
“I’m succeeding.”
“Debatable.”
“Well you are here, there was a few minutes back at the bar where I didn’t think you’d come back with me.”
“Well maybe don’t judge a book by its cover.”you reply. He laughs under his breath, running a hand through his hair. Then he smirks with one last shot at leaving you speechless.
“You know,” he says, like it’s just occurred to him, “I was in the last Star Wars film.”
You pause. Just enough.
“…were you?”
“Mm,” he nods, clearly pleased with himself. “Small part. But I had lines.”
“Lines,” you repeat.
“Important ones.”
You fold your arms, leaning back slightly against the table.
“Important to who?”
“To the story,” he says, like that’s obvious.
“Convincing.”
“I’m serious,” he insists, stepping closer again. “Full costume, whole thing. I even got a close-up.”
“Oh wow,” you say flatly. “A close-up.”
He narrows his eyes at you, amused.
“You don’t believe me.”
“I believe you think it was important.”
That gets a laugh out of him. A real one.
“Alright,” he says, holding his hands up slightly. “Tough crowd.”
“Extremely.”
He studies you for a second then, something shifting again. Less about proving something. More about… figuring you out.
“You’re not impressed,” he says.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
You push yourself off mantel you were leaning against, closing the space between you by a step.
“You didn’t need to do all that, you know.”
He tilts his head slightly.
“All what?”
“The film. The lines. The performance.” There’s a beat. Your voice drops just slightly.
“You didn’t need to impress me to get me into bed.”
That lands. Properly. For the first time since you met him, Lucien actually goes still. Just for a second.
He smiles. Slower this time. More deliberate.
“Oh,” he says quietly. A step closer. Now there’s barely any space between you.
“I know.”
Your breath catches, just slightly.
“But where’s the fun in that?” he adds.
There it is again. That edge. That confidence of a man who knows he can have it all. But now it’s different. Less about proving himself. More about the two of you.
“You enjoy the performance,” you say.
“I enjoy the reaction,” he corrects.
His gaze flicks to your mouth, then back up.
“& yours has been very interesting. I had to bring out the big guns.”
You should step back.You don’t.
“Careful,” you murmur. “You’re starting to sound like you care.”
He huffs a quiet laugh, reaching out just enough for his fingers to brush lightly against your wrist.
“Maybe I do,” he says. It’s quieter than anything he’s said so far. “& maybe I knew you wanted the hard sell.”
“Hard sell?” You scoff “I’m not one to be bartered”
“Oooh i could tell that” Lucien whispers “but I just wanted to see how much I had to do before I got someone like you to soften up”
“Well I’m not sure if I am lucky or not” Lucien takes your hand & leads you down the corridor as you say this both unfazed about Whats about to happen.
“Trust me beautiful” he says before opening the bedroom door. “The magic isn’t just left to the movies”
I claim to be a wife of York, & Javi Gs girl, but honestly, I think me & Mr Ben from SNL might just be soul mates. For a character that’s on screen for 5mins I have written a lot about this man. I hope you all enjoy reading them.
Unapproved Curriculum (on going no set end to this)
Hope you enjoyed this. Thanks for the read. See you all tomorrow.
I was ready to be mad at him tonight.
Like properly mad. Not the joking kind. Not the “you’re annoying but I’ll get over it” kind.
The real kind. The kind where you sit there, arms folded, already rehearsing what you’re going to say when he walks out the door to go do something stupid.
Because that’s what it was. Another “job.” Another “I’ll handle it.” Another night where he goes off, gets himself into trouble, comes back with bruised knuckles and that same shrug like it doesn’t matter.
I hate that shrug.
So yeah. I was ready.
He was halfway out the door too, jacket on, keys in hand, that look on his face like his mind was already somewhere else.
& I said it.
“You don’t need to do this tonight.”
He didn’t even turn around at first.
“I said I’d take care of it.”
Of course he did.
“You always say that,” I shot back.
That got him to stop. Finally.
He turned then, looking at me properly, like he was actually hearing me for once.
There was a second, just a second, where I thought he was going to argue. Or leave. Or do that thing where he brushes it off & walks out anyway.
Instead, he just stood there. Thinking. Which, for Clint, is already suspicious.
Then he sighed, ran a hand through his hair, & looked straight at me.
“C’mon.”
I blinked. “What?”
“We’re goin’ out.”
“…you were just…”
“Yeah,” he cut in, already moving back toward me. “Plans changed.”
No explanation. No big speech. Just… that.
I should’ve questioned it more. I should’ve asked what the hell that meant. But I didn’t.
Because it was Clint, & when he decides something, that’s kind of it. His choices are set.
So where did we go… Clint took me to the movies. An actual cinema.
I didn’t even realise what we were seeing until we got inside & I saw the poster.
The Empire Strikes Back.
I just stood there for a second, staring at it, then at him.
“…you ditched a job for this?”
He shrugged like it was nothing. “Felt like a better idea.” Like that was a normal decision.
Like he hadn’t just chosen this over whatever trouble he was about to walk into. I didn’t know what to do with that.
So I let him buy me popcorn & a drink. We had so many snacks like he didn’t know when to stop buying stuff.
“Clint,” I said at one point, watching him come back with another box, “this is too much.”
He glanced at it, then at me. “You’ll eat it.”
“…I won’t.”
“You will.”
Annoyingly… he wasn’t wrong.
We sat near the back. Of course we did.
He slouched down in the seat like he owned the place, arm draped along the back, legs stretched out just enough to be a problem for anyone walking past.
I tried to focus on the film. I really did. But every time I glanced over, he wasn’t even watching it.
He was watching me.
“You’re not even paying attention,” I muttered.
“I know what happens,” he said.
“Then why are you here?”
He didn’t answer straight away. Just looked at me for a second longer than necessary.
“Didn’t feel like bein’ somewhere else. I wanted to be with you.”
That… did something.
I looked back at the screen quickly, pretending that didn’t land.
“You think you’re Han Solo or something?” I said, trying to play it off.
He huffed a quiet laugh.
“No.”
He then held my hand.
“…but he’s not wrong.”
I rolled my eyes, but I was smiling. Couldn’t help it. My Clint was doing something for me with me. I knew consequences would probably follow but for now it was just us.
Somewhere halfway through, it got quieter. Not the film. That was still loud. But us. Closer.
I don’t even remember when it happened, but I was leaning into him, & his hand had found mine like it had always been there.
“You were really gonna go out tonight,” I said quietly.
“Yeah.”
“& instead you’re here.”
Another one of those shrugs.
“Didn’t feel like it anymore.”
That was it. No big explanation. No apology. Just… that. Yet somehow that meant more than anything he could’ve said.
I don’t know who moved first. I think it was both of us.
One second we were watching the screen, the next I was turning toward him & he was already there.
The kiss wasn’t soft. Not really.
It was a little messy, a little impatient, like neither of us had planned it but neither of us was surprised either.
His hand came up to my jaw, steady, grounding, pulling me just a little closer like he wasn’t about to let me change my mind.
“You’re impossible,” I murmured against him.
“Yeah,” he replied, like he didn’t care. “You still love me though.”
I huffed a laugh into the kiss, which only made it worse, Or better.
We probably missed half the film after that. I don’t even care. I only watch sci-fi as he likes it.
Because for once, he didn’t leave. For once, he chose this. Chose me.
I knew when the credits would scroll at the end of the movie, he would take me back home & the head out to his job. That is just the way it is. But for just a few hours, it was just simple & safe us.
Did anyone else notice last night during the bed time story thst he slipped into some of this accent? Or are we all just still hung up on that, the puppies & the movie? I know I am.
Synopsis:-A routine debrief with Agent Whiskey turns into sharp banter and escalating tension when a disagreement over mission tactics becomes something far more personal.
Word Count:- 650
Warnings:- Flirtatious conflict, enemies-to-lovers vibes, workplace tension, suggestive dialogue, kissing, sexual tension, dominant/confident behaviour, cocky male lead, innuendo, emotionally charged confrontation, close physical contact, power-play undertones, spy/action setting references, and Star Wars references throughout.
Thanks for the read everyone. See you all tomorrow.
“You improvised.” You don’t even look up from the file as you say it. Across the table, Jack leans back in his chair like the word doesn’t apply to him at all.
“I adapted,” he corrects.
“That’s not what the report says.”
“Well, the report wasn’t there.”
You finally glance up. He’s watching you already. Of course he is. Hat tipped back slightly, sleeves rolled, that easy confidence sitting on him like it’s permanent.
“You went off-plan,” you say.
“I solved the problem.”
“You escalated the problem.”
“I handled it.”
You close the file with a quiet snap.
“That’s not the same thing.”
He leans forward now, elbows on the table, interest sharpening.
“Funny,” he says, “because everyone’s still breathing. Mostly.” You don’t react to that.
“You shot first.”
“Damn right I did.” You pause.
Then tilt your head.
“…that’s not how that goes.”
He blinks once. Slow.
“Excuse me?” You fold your arms, settling back slightly.
“That’s a whole debate. & you’re wrong.”
He takes a moment before he smiles. Not polite. Not subtle. Interested.
“I’m never wrong.”
“You are right now.”
His chair scrapes quietly against the floor as he shifts closer, not quite standing, not quite staying where he was either.
“Careful,” he says, voice dropping just slightly. “You’re treading into dangerous territory.”
“You mean disagreeing with you?” you reply. “I think I’ll survive.”
“That confidence,” he murmurs, studying you now, “is either admirable… or a bad decision.”
You don’t move.
“Good thing I make my own decisions.” That lands. His eyes flick over your face, slower this time. Measuring. Contemplating.
“This would be a whole lot easier,” he says, almost thoughtful now, “if you were Princess Leia.”
You blink.
“…what?” This has come completely out of blue.He gestures vaguely between the two of you.
“You know. Less arguing. More…”
“No,” you cut in immediately. “Absolutely not.”
He grins.
“Worth a shot.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“& yet,” he says, pushing up from the chair now, closing the distance properly, “you’re still standing there.”
You should step back. You don’t.
“You’re impossible,” you say instead.
“Been called worse.”
He stops just close enough that you can feel the shift in the air. That moment where this stops being a debrief & starts being something else entirely.
His gaze drops briefly, your hands, your shoulders, then back to your face.
“You’re trembling,” he says. You scoff, too quick.
“I’m not.”
His eyebrow lifts. He’s Smug & arrogant.
“Sure.”
Heat creeps up your neck. You hate that he noticed.
“You always get like this,” he continues, voice lower now, quieter, “when you’re about to do something you shouldn’t?” Your breath catches, just slightly.
“Or is it just me?” he adds.
You meet his gaze properly now. Steady. Unimpressed.
“…don’t flatter yourself.”
“Oh, I’m not,” he says, softer still. “I don’t need to.”
That lands somewhere you weren’t expecting. Too close & direct.
“You’re insufferable,” you say. “I like nice men…”
“& yet…”
You don’t let him finish. You grab the front of his shirt & pull him in.
The kiss hits fast. Sharp.
Like you’ve both been standing on the edge of it for longer than either of you want to admit. A little frenzied, all mouth & tongue in a mad rush at the beginning.
He stills for half a second,just enough to register it. Then he’s there.
Hand coming up to steady you at your waist, pulling you closer like he’s not about to let you second guess it.
It’s not soft & certainly not careful. It’s heat, a challenge & something dangerously close to a victory smirk pressed into it.
When you pull back, it’s only just. Barely any space between you. His eyes are darker now. Satisfied. Both panting.
“Told you,” he murmurs, voice low against your lips, “this would be easier.”
If you’ve been following my Mr Ben stories you know what your going to get but this is one that can be read om it’s own too. To read the last chapter click here there is also a main page for this set of fics.
Synopsis:- Mr Bens class are lacking motivation for mock exams, you manage to make sure everyone’s attention is grabbed.
Word Count:- 5200
Warnings:- DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18! Teacher/teacher relationship, workplace romance, classroom secrecy, suggestive themes, explicit sexual content, oral sex, power dynamics in a professional setting, rule breaking, risk of professional consequences, student-adjacent chaos (non-sexual), use of costumes/cosplay themes, emotional intensity, consensual sexual content between adults, humour mixed with intimacy, & morally grey behaviour in a school environment.
This is the fic I had going on in the back ground which helped inspire the whole challenge, so I hope you have all enjoyed this. See you tomorrow for some calmness.
Easter break is well & truly over. You’re now both back at school trying to get your 16 & 18 year olds ready for exams & everyone else ready for mocks. You do often find yourself day dreaming about the engagement moon you & Ben took. It may have only been a few days in a 4 star hotel with a spa in somewhere much warmer than here, but it was everything. You did have some family members ask why you weren’t tanned but they didn’t want to know what went on in your hotel room. The Do Not Disturb sign firmly on the door.
But now you stand in your classroom at the end of the day putting up a new display board, hanging onto the memories of what you & your now fiancé got up to when the lights went off.
As you pin henry the 8th to the royal family tree the door swings open. You don’t even have to sniff the smell or turn around, just from the way the door hit the wall you know who it is.
“Babes…”
“How did you…”
“You don’t think I don’t know how youngling doors open Ben”
“Fair enough” he says & now you turn around, stripy shirt, hair disheveled, smelling of coffee & smug as he always is. Yea that’s your man. You sigh at the look in his eyes “that bad huh” he says.
“Yep” you say “who’s upset you today.”
“Year 10 as always, they aren’t taking their mocks seriously”
Ben dropped into one of the student chairs at the front of your room like he’d been personally defeated by Year 10 energy alone.
“I just need them to concentrate,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face. “That’s it. That’s the whole job. It shouldn’t be this hard.”
You glanced over your shoulder from the display board, pin still between your fingers. “They’re 15 babes. Concentration is, like, a mythological creature to them.”
He huffed a laugh, but it didn’t quite land. “No, but genuinely. I’ve set them a revision task & half of them are staring at me like I’ve personally cancelled Star Wars.”
That got your attention.
You turned properly now, leaning against the desk. “Star Wars? Whats that got to do with mocks & exams, other than a Jedi training school?”
Ben pointed vaguely toward the corridor. “New film. Trailer dropped. They’ve been feral since break. I swear I heard someone say they were ‘mentally unavailable’ due to Grogu using the force.” He raises his hand. He’s already lost the battle.
You blinked. “…That’s actually impressive multitasking.”
“Don’t encourage them.”
“I’m not encouraging them,” you said, walking over, voice lighter now. “I’m just saying… you’re fighting the wrong battle.”
He looked up at you, exhausted, hair falling into his eyes. “Oh, am I?” He holds his head in his hands “I usually don’t, I can then get them back to the current world.”
You stepped closer, hands sliding onto his shoulders without thinking. His whole body softened under your touch immediately, like it was muscle memory. Comfort he needed
“Yes,” you said simply. “You’re trying to pull their attention back in.”
“I am a teacher,” he muttered.
“& I am telling you baby…”you said, squeezing gently, “grab their imagination, Ben. You’re the best at that.” That made him pause.
He glanced up at you properly now. “That sounds suspiciously like one of your ideas that ends with me in a costume.”
“You started the cosplay journey”You smiled sweetly. “But Not necessarily does it need to be like that…”
Then, softer: “Okay… maybe a little bit necessarily.”
He let out a low laugh, tipping his head back against your hands. “I knew it.”
“But think about it,” you went on, more animated now. “They’re not ignoring you because they don’t care. They’re ignoring you because you’re competing with something bigger than a textbook right now.”
“Mandalorian,” he said flatly. “More Pedro Pascal, even if you can’t see his face.”
“Exactly,” you nodded. “So stop trying to out revision it.”
His brows lifted slightly. “& instead…?”
You leaned in just a little, voice dropping like you were letting him in on something obvious. “Make them want your story more.”
That landed.
You could see it in the shift of his expression, the way his brain started turning even while he still looked mildly annoyed at the concept of teenagers having opinions.
“So what,” he said slowly, “I just… become Star Wars? I go all Jedi?”
You smiled. “Ben. You know what you have to do”
He scoffed, but there was no bite in it anymore. “That’s a terrifying statement.”
“You walk into a room dressed like a Roman general & they behave for a week.”
“That was one time.”
“& Cupid.”
“Also one time.”
“What about….”
“Okay,” he cut in quickly, pointing at you now, “don’t list my crimes of cosplay.”
You laughed, hands still resting on his shoulders, thumbs brushing lightly. “I’m just saying. You don’t need to fight for their attention. You just need to redirect it.”
He looked at you for a moment, then leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on your desk like he was conceding defeat in the most reluctant way possible.
“…So what do you suggest, my wise yoda?”
You pulled at face at him calling your yoda but then giggled.
“Give them a challenge,” you said. “Make it a game. Make it bigger than the film. Bigger than the lesson.”
His eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re enjoying this.”
“Always, it’s painful but it always end up fun.”
He sighed, but you could already see the idea forming behind his eyes now, that familiar spark of chaos returning.
“Right,” he said slowly. “So I basically weaponise their obsession.”
“Now you’re getting it.”
“& I’m guessing,” he added, looking up at you again, “this is where you tell me I’m going to regret listening to you.”
“Ben you started this with gladiator” You tilted your head. “But yea you Probably will.”
He nodded once. “Yeah. That tracks.”
Then he reached up, catching your wrist gently & pulling your hand off his shoulder just long enough to press a quick kiss to your knuckles.
“Fine,” he muttered. “But if this ends with me in another costume…”
You grinned. “You started this career choice, babe. You love it don’t shy away.”
He stood, finally a bit more alive than when he’d walked in. “I hate that you’re right so often.”
“I don’t,” you said brightly. He paused at the door, looking back at you with that familiar mix of fondness & resignation.”Grab their imagination, Ben,” you repeated softly.
He pointed at you once. “I’m going to regret asking what that means.” He then goes to leave but pauses & looks back at you “love you honey” he winks & Then he was gone. You sighed, as your heart fluttered, you went back to your display board smiling, already knowing, whatever he came up with next… you were absolutely going to make it worse.
Three days later, school had settled into that early may revision season exhaustion where everyone was technically working… but emotionally stressed or checked out.
You were in the lunch hall queue, half listening to two teachers debating whether Year 11 revision timetables were “motivational” or “just psychological warfare,” when you felt a familiar cluster of energy approaching.
You turned just in time to see a group of Year 10s hovering awkwardly near your table you sit at when you have to monitor the canteen.
“Miss…” one of them started.
You raised a brow. “That tone already tells me I’m about to be involved in something I didn’t agree to.”
They exchanged looks. Then Sophie, your favourite child in your tutor, stepped forward, clearly designated spokesperson. “It’s about Mr Ben.”
That got your attention immediately.
You set your lunch down slowly. “Right. Go on.”
Another student leaned in, conspiratorial. “He’s doing a test next week.”
“I’m aware,” you said carefully wondering where this was going
“& he said,” Sophie continued, “that if we take it seriously… we get Star Wars chaos.”
You paused.
“…Star Wars chaos,” you repeated. You’re now concerned you’ve accidentally sent Ben into a rabbit hole he can’t handle.
A few of them nodded eagerly like this was sacred curriculum.
“He said,” another added quickly, “that if 80% of us do well, he’ll ‘reward us properly’ but he wouldn’t say what it is.”
You stared at them for a second. Of course he did. Of course he’d promised teenagers Star Wars chaos like it was a formal assessment objective. Your mind is now wondering if he even has any Star Wars costumes at home, of if you’ll be turning the dinning room curtain spur of the moment into a jedi robe.
You pressed your lips together to stop yourself smiling too obviously. “& you’ve come to me… why exactly?”
Sophie shrugged. “Because you help us with his lessons sometimes.”
“That’s not how teaching works,” you said immediately.
Another boy spoke up. “Please, miss. We just need revision help. He’s actually scary when he’s disappointed. You know that the most.”
That made you snort despite yourself.
“Fair point,” you admitted.
They all relaxed slightly. You tapped your fingers against your tray, thinking. Then slowly, an idea formed. You looked back up at them.
“Right,” you said lightly. “Here’s what’s going to happen.” They straightened instantly.
“You’re going to revise,” you continued. “Properly. Not half-hearted, not ‘I’ll just watch a video & hope for the best’ or ask chat gpt about it.”
A few guilty faces. You are all to well aware how revision has changed in the last couple of years.
“&,” you added, a little softer now, “you’re going to come see me at lunch every day this week in my class room.
Their eyes widened. “Really?”
“But,” you said quickly, lifting a finger, “you do not tell mr Ben…”
Silence.
Then: “Wait…what?”
You smiled sweetly. “If he finds out, I lose control of the situation. & frankly, I enjoy chaos when it’s correctly managed. & let’s be honest Mr Ben secretly enjoys it too. I mean he started these dress ups, he can keep them going.”
Sophie grinned. “So you’re helping us cheat the system?”
You gasped lightly. “No. I am helping you revise efficiently.”
The kids looked at each other their smiles lifting.
“…Which may or may not improve your chances of achieving Star Wars chaos.”
That sealed it. They all lit up instantly.
“YES MISS.”
“We’re so passing this test.”
“This is actually sick.”
You bit into your salad. You pointed at them as they started backing away, already buzzing. “Not a word to Mr Ben.”
They mimed zipping their mouths shut.
As they disappeared back into the hall, you finally let yourself smile properly.
Because honestly? Ben was about to be very, very confused next week & you were absolutely going to enjoy every second of it.
2 weeks later, the school had that post-assessment calm that never really lasted long enough to enjoy properly. Papers were marked, results were starting to come in & Year 10 had been suspiciously… proud of themselves.
You were just finishing tidying your desk & packing your lap top away when there was a knock at your classroom door.
Not a student knock. Not a quick check-in knock. A Ben knock. Confident. Familiar. Slightly dramatic.
You didn’t even look up properly. “Come in.”
The door opened.
He stood there in his usual post-teaching state, tie slightly loosened, sleeves pushed up, that look on his face like he’d been holding in a thought all the way down the corridor and couldn’t wait any longer.
“Can I have a word babes…”he said.
You finally looked up. “That sounds ominous. Why?”
He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. A pause. Then, slowly:
“My Year 10s got 92% in their exam.”
Silence. You blinked once. Then a second time.
“…92%” you repeated carefully. “Wow” He nodded. Slowly. Watching you now. Very, very intently.
“That’s suspiciously high,” you said.
“It’s an excellent result,” he replied, but there was something in his tone now. Something knowing.
You leaned back slightly in your chair. “That’s… really impressive for them. You must be very proud.”
“Mhm,” he said. “Especially considering how deeply unbothered they usually are by everything I say.”
You nodded slowly & tried not to give the game away . “True.”
Another pause. His eyes didn’t leave yours.
“So,” he said casually, “I started thinking about how suddenly motivated they were. How they started asking for extra revision. How they were suddenly… very organised.”
You swallowed slightly. “Right. I mean these mocks mean they can be set for next year’s exams.”
“& then,” he continued, “I remembered something you said to me. About grabbing their imagination.”
“Did I?” You cleared your throat claiming innocents . “I say a lot of things.”
“Mhm,” he repeated again. He took a step closer now.
“& then I remembered,” he added, “how they kept mentioning you in passing. Lunch revision. ‘Miss said this.’ ‘Miss helped us with that.’ Very helpful, apparently.”
You stared at a point just over his shoulder. Knowing making full eye contact would give you away & also make you feel all unnecessary.
“…I am a very supportive colleague,” you said carefully.
Ben hummed. “You are.”
Another pause. A small laugh from him before he tried to make eye contact.
Then, softly: “You helped them, didn’t you?”
You opened your mouth. Your eyes locked. Closed it again. That was enough. His expression changed instantly, not annoyed, not angry. Just that slow, inevitable realisation settling in. Soft but realising defeat.
“Oh my God,” he said quietly.
You pressed your lips together. He laughed. Properly this time. Head tipping back slightly, one hand coming up to his face.
“You absolutely did,” he said, pointing lightly at you now. “You absolutely interfered with my revision results.”
You tried to stay composed. “I prefer the term educational enrichment.”
“Enrichment?” he repeated, still laughing. “You ran a covert lunchtime revision operation behind my back.”
You shrugged. “They were stressed & it helped them. I also only helped a couple…”
“… you decided to become a secret academic benefactor?” He interrupted.
“I like chaos when it’s correctly managed,” you said calmly. That made him laugh harder.
He stepped closer to your desk now, bracing both hands on it & leaning in slightly. “So let me get this straight,” he said. “While I was thinking I was finally winning as a teacher…”
You tilted your head. “Yes?”
“You were over here running… what, revision intelligence?”
You smiled innocently. “Maybe.”
He shook his head, still grinning. “I knew something was off. There is no universe where my Year 10s suddenly become that responsible without external influence.”
You gave a small, proud shrug.
“They were very motivated,” you said.
Then he sighed, rubbing a hand through his hair secretly proud of the hand you had in this.
“…I can’t believe you actually helped them.”
“You’re welcome,” you said. “Makes you look good.” You wink “you always do though babes.”
He looked at you again, softer now. Fond in that quiet, knowing way he got when he stopped pretending to be annoyed.
“You do realise,” he said, “this is exactly how I end up in ridiculous situations at work.”
You smiled sweetly. “You started it with Star Wars chaos.”
He pointed at you again. “That was a promise. Not an invitation for educational espionage.”
You leaned back in your chair, completely unbothered now. “& yet, here we are….” You pause before winking “…once again” He exhaled a laugh, shaking his head again before finally straightening.
“I’m telling them it doesn’t count,” he said.
“You absolutely are not.” You bluntly reply.
“I am,” he said immediately.
“You’ll ruin my reputation.”
“You ruined mine first,” he shot back.
That made you pull a face at him thar said so much without saying a word.
He stepped around your desk now, leaning down just enough to press a quick, affectionate kiss to your forehead.
“You’re unbelievable,” he murmured.
You smiled up at him. “& yet, you love me.”
Ben blushes before then making eye contact “always”.
He leaned in for the kiss but that’s when the school bell rang.
“Damn” he muttered “I wanted to teach you a lesson, but I bet…” you shake your head & he pauses. You then get up.You waited until the corridor outside was finally quiet. No footsteps. No chatter. No risk. Then, very deliberately, you reached past Ben locked the classroom door shut.
Ben turned slowly. “What are you doing?”
You leaned back against the door, arms folding, expression far too calm. “Locking it. I have no lesson 4, it’s marking time”
He raised a brow. “That usually means something dramatic is about to happen.”
You smiled. “Maybe you should put me in detention, Mr Ben. For the wrong type of student encouragement.”
Bens mouth twitched. “Oh?” He wasn’t going to say no though.
You tilted your head. “I’ve been interfering with lessons. Undermining authority. Helping students pass your tests without telling you.”
He stepped closer as you slowly walked back from your classroom door.
His eyes narrowed slightly, amused now. “You’re enjoying this.”
“Maybe I am.” That earned a quiet laugh from him. He glanced toward the blinds, then back at you.
“…Turn around,” he said.
You blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Turn around,” he repeated, softer this time. “If we’re doing detention properly, I’m at least pretending to follow procedure. So turn miss” the way he said miss set off lust in your body.
You rolled your eyes, but turned slightly anyway. You heard the blinds slide down. The room dimmed. When you turned back, he was already watching you.
“That’s very dramatic for a fake detention,” you said.
He shrugged. “You started it.”
You took a step forward. “I think you’ll find you started it with Star Wars chaos & emotional manipulation of teenagers.”
“Educational engagement,” he corrected instantly.
You laughed. “Of course.”
A pause settled between you, slower now, warmer, the kind that always crept in when neither of you bothered pretending anymore.
“So,” he said, leaning lightly against your desk, “what exactly are you guilty of?”
You stopped in front of him. “Helping your class do too well.”
He nodded once. “Mm. Serious offence.”
“Mm-hm.” you licked your lips.
“& how do you plead?”
You smiled slightly. “Not sorry in the slightest.” You then tugged on his tie. That made him exhale a laugh under his breath.
“Bad student,” he murmured.
“Bad teacher,” you shot back.
His eyebrows lifted. “Careful.”
“Or what?”
That stopped him just long enough to change the air between you again. Then he stepped closer, so you were now technically on the edge of your desk.
“You keep talking like that,” he said quietly, “& detention’s going to take longer than usual.”
You didn’t move. “Is that a threat or a promise, Mr Ben?” He secretly loves it when you call him that.
“Depends,” he said softly, “are you going to behave?”
You tilted your head. “No.” Bold blunt & honest. That did it.
He let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Worst student I’ve ever had.”
“Best one you’ve ever wanted to kiss,” you replied instantly.
“The only one”
Then his hand lifted, just barely brushing your waist as if checking you were still real in front of him.
“I thought detention was about discipline,” you said softly.
“It is,” he replied.
“Then why are you looking at me like that?”
That made him pause. Then he exhaled a slow laugh, shaking his head like he’d given up pretending.
“Because you’re impossible,” he said quietly.
“& yet?”
“& yet,” he repeated, softer now.
The minimal space between you disappeared without either of you deciding it.
His hand slid properly to your waist this time, steadying you like he didn’t trust either of you to behave anymore. Your fingers lightly caressed the front of his shirt.
Then you murmured, “So what happens in detention, Mr Ben?”
His voice dropped.
“Usually,” he said, “I tell students off.” He moved the hair off your face”… But you’re a very distracting case.”
You smiled. “Am I?”
“Extremely baby.” That was all it took.
Ben who so often control himself with you at school suddenly had a primal urge. Ben kissed you like he’d been thinking about it for years .
Slow at first. Deliberate. Like he was savouring the moment like it might be your last. His hand stayed warm against your waist as yours curled into his tie, tugging him closer until there was barely space left between you.
“You are such trouble,” he murmured against your mouth. Your tongue dancing as the heat grew.
“You love trouble.”
“I love you,” he corrected softly. That stole the smugness from you for half a second.
His forehead rested against yours briefly before his lips found your jaw, then your neck, unhurried kisses that made your breath catch every single time. Outside the classroom the school still existed somewhere beyond the blinds, but in here it felt suspended. Hidden away in your own little world.
Your fingers slid up into his hair as he kissed you again, deeper now, the kind of kiss that made thinking impossible.
“Still think helping my class behind my back was a good idea?” he asked quietly.
You smiled against his lips. “Considering 92% passed? Absolutely.”
He laughed softly under his breath. “Hopeless.”
“You’re welcome, Mr Ben.”
That name nearly finished him off on the spot.
His eyes closed briefly as he exhaled, hands tightening slightly at your waist before he looked at you again with that expression you knew far too well now, warm, wrecked, completely gone for you.
“You know,” he said quietly, “most teachers get thank you cards.”
“You got improved data.”
“I also got emotionally manipulated.”
You grinned. “Grabbed your imagination though, didn’t I?”
He actually laughed properly at that, head dipping to your shoulder for a second before he kissed you there too.
“God I love it when your a menace,” he murmured again, softer this time.
You wrapped your arms around his neck as he guided you fully onto the edge of the desk, settling himself between your knees like it was the most natural place in the world to be. His tie had come loose beneath your fingers now, shirt slightly open at the collar, hair already ruined from your hands.
“Definitely detention worthy behaviour,” you whispered.
“Mhm.” His nose brushed yours. “Think this one might require a very long conversation after school.”
“Shame,” you replied innocently. “I suppose I’ll just have to stay behind.”
His smile turned devastating.
“That’s my girl.”
Then he kissed you again, slower this time, before he then dropped to his knees & lifted up your dress. Your face instantly red, knowing what Ben was about to do.
“Ben? Here… what if…”
“No one’s gonna walk in on us” he says his hands rubbing your thighs, your body trembling. You lift yourself up to scoot back & he takes that oportunity to pull your knickers down, the white lace now around your ankles. Ben licks his lip looking at the state of you.
“Never gets old” he snigger before rubbing his thumb over your clit. Your hips react instantly to his touch.
“Fuck” you groan.
“Swearing means a longer detection.” He says as he sinks a finger inside you working you open.
“Ooh fuck fuck” he laughs at that.
“You are trouble” he says with a wicked grin “I like it when you play up.” Without any further warning his head goes straight to your sex, & his tongue, that magnificent tongue, starts to work, lapping away. Your body responsive, shaking with desire as Ben has you clamping instantly.
“Oooh fuck”
“Don’t come already baby” he moans “wanna take my time.” He says as you fist your hands into his hair. It will be more disheveled than usual as he continues to pleasure you.
You don’t ever ask Ben to go down on you, but when he does it’s always a surprise but it’s always exactly what you need. The way he moans, the way his lips feel, the way it turns you to jelly, the way every sense in your body is on high alert. It’s the best kind of euphoria.
He never expects oral in return. In fact you both have learnt what each other need when the time is right& right now as you cum coating his face sat on your class room desk you know this was the exact right thing to do. He whimpers as you tug on his hair as your orgasm hits. Glorious & magical as it is every time. Your breath raged as Ben licks up every single drop.
He wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t loud any of this. Just the kind of closeness that made the whole classroom feel like it had shrunk to the space between you, soft laughter, quiet teasing, words that faded into something neither of you bothered finishing properly anymore.
He eventually stood up & his lips now met your mouth. Tender, soft, & tasting of you. You just held each other for a while, your hands resting against him as you steadied yourself on the edge of the desk.
Ben didn’t move away. In fact, he looked like he had no intention of doing so.
His forehead rested briefly against yours, a quiet exhale leaving him like he was only just remembering how to breathe properly again.
For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then you let out a small, breathless laugh.
“We could both be sacked for that,” you murmured.
His mouth twitched slightly, still warm, still a little undone. “Probably.”
You looked at him properly now, like reality was slowly starting to creep back in at the edges of the room.
“…That was very unprofessional,” you added.
He hummed in agreement, but didn’t sound even slightly sorry. “Extremely.”
You gave him a look. “You’re supposed to be the responsible one.”
“I stopped being that somewhere around you locking the door,” he replied softly. That made you smile despite yourself. You shifted slightly on the desk, still not quite ready to create space between you.
“What if someone had walked in?” you asked.
His eyes flicked to yours, calm, amused, entirely unbothered now.
“Then they’d have learned an important lesson about timing.”
You snorted. “That’s not a lesson.”
“It is when I’m in charge,” he said. That got another quiet laugh out of you. But neither of you actually moved away. Not yet.
His hand rested lightly at your waist again, steady, familiar now in a way that felt more honest than anything said out loud.
“You okay?” he asked quietly.You nodded.
Then you added, softer, “We really shouldn’t do that again in school.”
His lips curved slightly. “Agreed.”
“…Probably.”
That earned him a look. He smiled properly this time, leaning in just enough to press a slow, grounding kiss to your forehead, not rushed, not chaotic anymore, just warm & certain.
“Come on,” he murmured. “Before I start ignoring every rule I’ve ever made for myself & bend you over the desk for a real lesson.”
You exhaled a small laugh, finally shifting off the desk, though his hand lingered for a second longer than necessary before letting go. You pulled up your knickers & straighten yourself out, before you glanced at him.
“…We are definitely in trouble,” you said.
He straightened his tie like nothing had happened at all.
“Worth it,” he replied simply. “We can pick this up when we get home though, where we know only the cat will interrupt us.”
The day before the film release, Year 10 were already impossible. Ben stood at the front of the classroom in full Mandalorian armour, helmet off for now, resting on the desk beside him, trying to talk over a level of noise that had absolutely nothing to do with his lesson. He knew he looked good & everyone was lapping it up but unlike the other times he had dressed up he was struggling to get control.
“Right,” he said firmly, clapping his hands once. “If we are going to revise, we are going to actually revise.”
A few students straightened up. Most did not.
Someone in the back whispered, “He looks so cool though.”
Another replied, “Sir, are you actually going to the cinema like that tomorrow?”
Ben exhaled slowly. “No. I am not going to the cinema like this. I am teaching like this. There is a difference.”
“So you do have the outfit for tomorrow?”
Ben opened his mouth. Closed it again.
“…Focus.” The class erupted anyway. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Honestly, I am one more comment away from turning this into a silent written task.”
That got a few half-hearted attempts at silence. It lasted about six seconds.
But then there was a Knock at the door. Ben didn’t even turn immediately.
“Oh, now what,” he muttered under his breath.
He walked over, pulled the door open, still mid-exasperation… he stopped. Jaw hitting the floor.
You stepped into the room. Full Mandalorian armour. Helmet under one arm & in the other…Grogu. You had snuck your costume into school over the last week. Even Ben hadnt notice he was as speechless as anyone.
The entire class went dead silent for half a beat. Then exploded.
“NO WAY.”
“MISS???”
“THERE’S TWO OF THEM??”
“THIS IS ACTUALLY INSANE!”
Ben just stood there for a second, staring at you. Then a slow smile spread across his face like he’d just lost the argument in the best possible way.
“Well,” he said quietly, “looks like I now have a clan & a foundling”
You walked further into the room like this was completely normal, Grogu safely cradled in your arms as the students practically vibrated with excitement.
“I heard there was chaos,” you said lightly.
Ben let out a short laugh. “You caused this you know…”
“Allegedly,” you replied.
A student called out, “MISS IS BETTER THAN SIR!”
Ben pointed immediately. “That is subjective”
Another voice: “Are you both going to the cinema like that tomorrow??”
You glanced at Ben, then back at the class, smiling.
“Maybe,” you said. They screamed again.
Ben shook his head, still smiling despite himself. “Right. Everyone sit down. We are still doing revision.” Groans immediately.
You stepped beside him now, lowering your voice just for him.
“Helmet stays on, Mr Ben,” you said, teasing.
He looked at you properly then, that familiar spark in his eyes, soft at the edges but absolutely entertained.
Then he winked.
“…It’s off for a special occasion,” he said a little too loudly. You blushed. The class lost it all over again. For once, Ben didn’t even try to stop the noise straight away.
Just stood there beside you, shaking his head slightly, like he’d accepted that this lesson, like most lessons with you, was already completely gone. But somehow, exactly how he liked it.
This one was one of the harder ones to link to Star Wars. I had the general being a jedi master, & even that his army took on droids but in the end I went for the empire as my strong hold. Also I love soft Acacius.
Synopsis:- Marcus returns from war carrying the weight of the empire, but you remind him who he truly fights for.
Word Count:- 950
Warnings:- discussions of war and death, pregnancy, emotional intimacy, political themes, references to loss of soldiers, exhausted Marcus Acacius, protective husband behaviour, soft domestic moments, mentions of empire & military duty, implied trauma, comfort & reassurance.
Thanks for the read peoples. Tomorrow is my anchor fic… the one that helped inspire that I’d been working on for a while.
You hear him before you see him. The weight of his steps is different tonight. Heavier. Slower. Not injured, your heart would know that immediately, but… carrying something. At least he was returning to you.
You set your hands against the table to steady yourself as you stand, one instinctively resting against the curve of your stomach.
“Marcus?” He appears in the doorway a second later.
Still in parts of his armour. Dust clinging to him. The scent of iron, mud on a shoulder blade. He was holding the weight of the world with him.
But his eyes, They find you instantly & something in him settles.
“You came back to me,” you say softly eyes dampening.
It’s not a question. It never is.
“I always do,” he replies. “My lady.”
His voice is lower than usual. Roughened slightly by whatever the day demanded of him.
You step closer, slowly, like approaching something that might disappear if you rush it.
“You’re actually 3 days late.”
“We held longer than expected.”
Your gaze flicks over him, checking without touching.
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
You don’t entirely believe him, but you don’t press. Not yet. Instead, you tilt your head slightly.
“What happened?”
He exhales through his nose, glancing away for a fraction of a second before answering.
“We took the ridge before dawn,” he says. “Held the higher ground. Observed & waited for the weather to be just right.”
You frown slightly, trying to picture it.
“& that was enough?”
“It gave us the advantage.”
“How?”
He shifts, like he’s deciding how much to say.
“Position wins wars,” he says eventually. “Not strength.”
The words sit between you. Practical. Certain. You study him for a moment.
“& the men?”
A pause, it’s slight, But you feel it.
“They followed orders,” he says.
“That’s not what I asked.”
His jaw tightens slightly.
“…we lost some….” He gulps “more than I expected.”
You nod once, quietly. “I’m sorry Marcus”
He doesn’t respond straight away.
Not because he doesn’t hear you, but because he doesn’t quite know what to do with it.
“You always say that,” he says after a moment.
“Because it always matters. People lost brothers, husbands, fathers &…” you touch your belly “sons.”
That pulls his attention back to you fully. Something softer flickers there. Gone almost as quickly as it came.
You step a little closer.
“Do you trust the men who send you to fight?” you ask gently.
The question isn’t sharp. But it isn’t light either. It’s not one someone like you should ask but you still do.
He lets out a slow breath.
“That is not a question with a simple answer.”
“I didn’t think it would be.”
He looks at you then. Properly.
“Men in power are rarely what they appear to be,” he says. “But the structure holds because it must.”
“& you?” you ask. “You just follow it?”
“I serve it.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
Another pause. You can see the tension in his shoulders now. Not from battle. From this. From your question. You are only asking this because you love your husband.
“We follow orders,” he says. “Not always truth.”
The honesty of it settles heavily in the room. You don’t argue. You just take one more step forward. Close enough now that you can see the faint line of exhaustion at the edge of his eyes.
“But you’re not like them,” you say quietly.
His expression shifts immediately. A small shake of his head.
“I am exactly what they made me.”
There’s no anger in it. Just certainty. He is a general after all, but one who leads from the front & is decorated & beloved.
You lift your hand then, slowly, giving him time to stop you if he wants to. He doesn’t.
Your fingers brush against his wrist, guiding his hand gently downward until it rests against the curve of your stomach.
Everything changes. The tension leaves him in an instant. His breath catches, just slightly. His hand stills there, like he’s afraid to move it too quickly.
“…this,” you say softly, “is not what they made you.”
His gaze drops. Then lifts again to meet yours. There’s something different there now. Quieter. More certain than anything he said before.
“I fight for this,” he says.
“I know.”
You cover his hand with yours, holding it there.
“Then be this when you’re here,” you murmur. “Not a general. Not a soldier.”
His jaw tightens slightly, like the idea is harder than anything he faced out there.
“That is not so easily set aside.”
“I didn’t say it was easy.”
A faint exhale escapes him. Something close to a laugh, but not quite.
“You ask much of me.”
You smile, just a little.
“I married you. I’m having your baby. I’m allowed.”
That finally earns you something real. A small shift in his expression. Softer at the edges. Warmer.
His free hand comes up, resting lightly at your side, careful, steady, like he’s grounding himself in something real again.
“I will always return to you,” he says.He then leans & says to your belly “& I will always return to you my child”
The words are simple. But they land heavier than anything else he’s said.You nod, leaning into him just slightly.
“I know.”
For a moment, neither of you move.
The world outside, orders, power, battles, men who decide the fate of others, feels far away.
Here, there is only this…
This Empire will strike back again but for now all that matters is Marcus is safe & he is here to protect you & his heir.
