Summary: A one-shot. Ben’s going to get you into trouble again. Figures.
Rating: M (for suggestive flirtation)
Warnings: None, aside from massive fluff and the fact that it’s impressively mediocre.
“Oh, shit!”
There’s a clatter in Ben’s direction, but you can’t see what it is he’s knocked over because of the darkness. The hangar was empty this time of night, save for the security droids that scanned the perimeter. You’d mentioned that to him as he landed his ship half a mile from base; the both of you couldn’t afford to be caught sneaking off planet again.
Or, well, he could. He could afford it. Ben Solo was able to get away with almost anything, but you were just a technician without a regal name like he had. You had no upper-hand, nor any way of dancing around another strike. How Ben had always tempted you into sneaking away with him during the wee-hours of the night, you’ll never understand.
Okay, that’s a lie. You could. It was his hands...his arms...and the way he whined your name in a pathetic whimper, full bottom lip jutting out in attempt to coerce you into more trouble. He always needed a co-pilot, he said. He always needed you.
That’s fine, you supposed. As long as the nights ended with breathless make-out sessions in his beloved ship - a ship he so valiantly named after his mother - The Organa, he called it. You’d told him it was strange to grind against his thigh in a machine honored by his mother’s maiden name.
Your eyes strain through the blackness of the night; you’re trying to see what it was he (more than likely) destroyed.
“Ben, what did you break now?” you hiss.
“Not a damn thing. Calm down.” He touches your hand with his and you jump, shocked by the sudden interaction; you hadn’t realized he was so close now.
“Don’t scare me like that!” you try to scold, but you find yourself giggling when he pulls you to his chest. “Ben!”
He shushes you, enveloping you into a hug. The night was cool and you hadn’t brought a jacket because you expected to have been home before the wind caught its breath. Ben wanted so desperately to take you to a nearby planet called Jacoin, which was more-or-less an entire rainforest, but had an amazing view of the stars overhead.
There’s no pollution, he’d told you.
We can see the galaxy while traveling, Ben.
Not like this.
You enjoyed it, you wouldn’t deny him that. You enjoyed the way he lifted you effortlessly upon the hull of the ship, how he laid beside you, and how you finally gathered the courage to straddle his lap and kiss him deeply. The two of you spent three hours entwined with one another before one of the suns began to rise.
But it’s night here on D’Qar, and the chill of the air has you snuggling your face into Ben’s chest, his embrace so warm you never wanted him to let go. He grins against the top of your head before pulling your chin upwards.
“We’re going to get caught...” you whisper.
Ben grazes your mouth with his. “Shh, I’m trying to kiss you...” he mumbles against your lips.
You smile sweetly against him. “Ben.”
“Say my name like that again and I’ll take you back to the ship,” he mumbles.
You giggle as he peppers your face with simple, innocent pecks despite the suggestion.
The laughter doesn’t last very long though, because the lights of the hangar have been switched on rather abruptly. You wince at the sensitivity of the sudden glow and push your face into Ben’s torso again; surely this would become something of a habit.
“What the kr...” Ben starts, hand going to shield his eyes.
There’s a sigh that echoes from the opposite end of the hangar. Whoever it is doesn’t sound as angry as you’d have expected - just exhausted; maybe a friend of Ben’s who’d been on duty and heard the ruckus. But when you peek through the crook of Ben’s arm, you discover, in horror, that it is the general.
General Organa.
She’s in a tanned, silken nightgown that blows gently behind her in the outside wind, her hair having been braided to crown the top of her head. How in the Kriff did she manage to look so angelic while half-asleep? You barely wore the cotton issued undergarments to bed.
You can feel Ben tense beneath you. “Mom,” he says, lifting his palm to wave slightly.
Leia rubs her eyes with the back of her hand and sighs again. “Get her back to her room, Ben.”
The General leaves then, the familiar Artoo trailing behind and whistling softly. The droid beeps something in your direction and you see Ben rolls his eyes at whatever was said.
The lights turn off again with a thunderous boom.
Ben loosens, his muscles not quite as rigid as before. His mother must scare the hell out of him, you think with a smirk. You brush your hands against his chest, standing on your tippy-toes in order to reach his full lips.
“You heard her, Solo.” You kiss him softly. “Take me to my room.”
He caresses your cheek, thumb brushing the skin so softly that his digits feel like feathers. “I don’t think that’s what she had in mind...” he lingers against your mouth, breath mingling with yours.
“Oh, but it’s what I have in mind.” You suck the skin above his clavicle; it’s enough to cause goosebumps but not enough to bruise him. “I’m cold and I need warmed up.”
He hums under his breath. “I can do that.”
“Yeah?” you tease.
He nods against you and runs a palm up the inside of your shirt; his skin is warm and calloused. You lean into his touch and let out a small breath of relief.
“Well,” you begin, tearing away from his grip. You walk backwards, even in the darkness, even when so clumsy, in attempt to be seductive; he deserved that. You wag a finger as though to say come hither. “You better catch me.”
Ben hums. “I thought you didn’t want to get caught?”
You step further away. “Do you want me or not?”
The smuggler growls playfully and tears off from a standing point. You scream, laughter mangling itself with a faux show of fear as you sprint unsteadily towards your quarters.
tag urself: symptoms of my SSRIs i should probably talk to my doctor about
-not being able to walk in one circle without immediately feeling the need to puke
-slightly manic... but thats aight i guess
-hating everyone around you with a BURNING passion
-what the fuck is a sleep schedule?¿
-i actually think i might be dead i literally cannot tell
-UGGGGGggggghhhhhhhhhhhhh
-getting mad because I STILL FEEL PRETTY FUCKING DEPRESSED
-constant paranoia. and over dumbass shit. the other day i cried because i was scared i would purposely grab my earlobe and rip my ear off.
-a c n e
-honestly i cant tell if im gaining or losing weight but somethings up
Have you ever felt like you weren't yourself? Like, there's the core piece inside that doesn't belong, and you're wearing this old, dirty, not you thing, and it just feels wrong? And you don't feel like you can do anything the same? You don't enjoy the same things, or think straight, and you're just lost in this haze of existence?
