elthadriel - Tumblr blog

[elthadriel]

Don't ask me where they found a bed with this much space.

Alt version under the cut

I like the atmosphere of the first one way more, but also it covers up some details that I'm pleased with so I wanted to include one with less intense shadows

[elthadriel]

She woke up like this

Reference

[elthadriel]

I need them

The fact that one of the directors secretly pushed for barriss and ashoka to enter a romantic relationship

[elthadriel]

u got a lil something

no ur other left

[elthadriel]

💖 rough kiss / hot and heavy / making out

Cody/Kix, if you're open to requests. Please and thank you. 😊

Kix’s hair is freshly shaved, the lines of the intricate pattern sharp and next. He smells faintly of evergreen trees—he must have been planning on going out. He’s come to see Cody instead.

“I’ve got work to do,” Cody says, there’s a pile of reports from 3rd system commanders that he needs to read before he can even start to consider himself on leave. “I can spare an hour.”

Kix runs his tongue over his teeth, visibly weighing up his options. They both get the same thing out of this, there’s no need to pretend they don’t. There’s no reason to make it personal.

“An hour will do,” Kix decides. He steps past Cody, eyes flicking over the details of Cody’s quarters and then back to Cody. Cody closes the door and slides back behind his desk.

“Shove everything on the bed into my kit bag. I’m finishing this.” He’s almost done, and it’s better it’s not left lingering.

“Does this come out of the hour?” Kix asks, without a hint of sarcasm. The bed ruffles and Cody’s things thump into his kit bag.

“Yes,” he says.  

The bunk creaks as Kix sits down. He doesn’t attempt to make any more conversation.

Cody closes the report and logs out of his data pad.

Kix’s shirt is on the floor. He shaved everywhere along with his hair, the smattering of chest hair clones have gone, leaving him smooth. There’d been no doubt that he’d planned to go out, but this paints a perfect image of what exactly he’d planned. Cody’s easier than going out. No need to butter him up, or flirt over drinks.

Just ask if he’s game and bring enough viciousness to keep things interesting. Kix rarely lets Cody down on that note.

Cody climbs into Kix’s lap. The smell of Kix's cologne is clearer in the hollow of his neck. Cody puts his tongue to it and under clean sweat is a sharp hint of bitterness. Kix breaths deep, his chest raising and falling between them. Kix likes to think himself unflappable, but Cody knows him well at this point, knows how to get under his skin and ensure they both get what they want. Cody kisses him softly, mouth closed. He cups Kix’s jaw with a tenderness that won’t go unanswered.

Cody kisses him until Kix gets impatient.

Kix flips them without warning. Cody roles with it, letting Kix pin him to the bed, looming over him.

“Why do you always make everything difficult?” Kix demands.

“You’re a better lay when you’re pissed off,” Cody smiles,too wide and too smug.

Kix’s laughs, but there’s a sharpness to the edge of it. Kix’s mouth collides with his with bruising force, tongue pushing into Cody’s mouth, teeth nipping too hard at soft skin.

They’re both here for the same thing and it’s not a conversation.

Kix shoves Cody’s shirt up his chest, breaking the kiss to drag it up over Cody’s head. His fingers skim over the newly bared skin. The touch isn’t light for more than a moment. He grabs one of Cody’s nipples and twists. Cody hisses, snapping at Kix’s mouth. Kix rewards his effort by smashing their mouths back together. Aggression makes it clumsy, makes it more teeth than lips. Makes it wet and desperate and breathless

Kix’s chest heaves, heart thudding fast again Cody. He’s flushed already. He’d looked so perfect when he came in and Cody’s already messed him up. Cody pulls Kix closer by the back of his head, nails scratching across the clean lines of his hair.

Now just to make him sweat enough to wash that cheap cologne right off him.

[elthadriel]

💙: cody/kix

hiiii ❤️

💙 drunken kiss / tipsy // instead of being found during the sequel era, kix is found by cody and cody's pirate crew ten years after the end of the war. everyone is dead or worse except them (or so they think)

---

Kix stumbles back from the shadows, still struggling with the zipper of his pants, and starts making his way back to the fires up on the beach. The sand is damp under his bare feet, and the breeze that rolls in from the sea makes him shiver, and the ground seems to shift and swell under him, the crew’s cheap spotchka sloshing in his belly. 

Cody’s pirates are a noisy bunch. Kix can hear them singing and laughing despite the noise of the waves crashing against the shore, despite the noise of his own heartbeat in his temples. Someone dragged a holoplayer from the ship, and now they are dancing to a song that Kix remembers from the war, in pairs and groups or all alone, bottle in one hand and face turned up to the starry sky. 

Cody isn’t there. Kix turns on his heel, his limbs heavy with drink, blinking stupidly in the lack of light. He can see the ship, huge and ugly and terrifying even in the distance, and he can see the crew, and that’s about it. Kix sighs. He knows it’s a bad idea even before he makes himself start walking.

His memories of the man who used to be the 212th’s commander are a brittle, cracking thing. That Cody is always at Rex’s side, watching him and smiling at him and stealing his drinks, his hand on Rex’s shoulder or hooked in Rex’s belt, but only when he thinks no one is watching. He is a good officer and a right bastard, and Kix trusts him but isn’t quite sure if he likes him. 

The last time they spent time together was during that op on Skako Minor—Kix escorted him back to base camp, trying his best to keep him alive, mostly for Rex’s sake, and then that was that.

Sometimes Kix feels like a piece fo shit for not feeling more grateful, for not being kinder to the man who found him on that Seppie shuttle, but then he actually interacts with the bastard and he gets over it. 

He finds Cody alone, as Kix knew he’d be. He treats his crew the same way he used to treat his officers—he’d die for them, but that doesn’t mean he is that interested in sharing a drink or his bed with any of them. Kix drops on the sand at his side with a grunt and starts rooting around his pocket for his smokes: Cody glances at him and back at the waves, his knees bent and his arms around them.

It’s been ten years, and he wears them well. He kind of looks like Kix vaguely remembers Prime looking one of the very few times he saw him, thicker around the shoulders and the torso than he used to be. His hair is still dark, and he wears it shorter than he used to, and there’s a scar on his chin that wasn’t there the last time Kix saw him. 

He looks like the future. 

It’s too windy. Kix curses under his breath and twists and turns on the sand, fighting his numb fingers and his lighter. The first taste of smoke sinks into his chest and calms the vague sense of anxiety he didn’t even know he was feeling, and Kix exhales, leaning in his free hand, legs stretched out in front of him towards the sea. 

Cody’s watching him: Kix can sense the weight of Cody’s stare on the side of his face, and he doesn’t even have to look at Cody to know the way his lips will be pressed together.

The thing about Cody is that while he’s glad he found Kix, a part of him can’t help but hate that he’s not someone else. 

(A part of Kix hates that he was found at all.)

“Kix.” His voice has changed. It’s lower, rougher. Too many years roaring orders and inhaling battlefield fumes.

“Hm?” Kix flicks the butt of his cigarette and turns to look at Cody.

His hand is warm and dry on Kix’s face. He tastes of the same cheap liquor they’ve all been drinking for hours, and Kix finds himself trying his best to chase it back into his mouth, Cody’s hand hot like brand and now cradling his jaw, his nose cold against Kix’s cheek. 

It’s too much and not enough. Kix turns his face away, because he can’t breathe and he’s dropped his smoke and this is not what he wanted. He’s glad when Cody doesn’t let go.

[elthadriel]

Codex Week Day 7: I'll Find You There

Summary: Cody rounds on Rex. One step is all it takes to trap him, Cody in front of him, the fire burning at his back, endless sky above them. “Don’t you fucking dare act like you want this more than I do.” Rex is all he’s ever wanted. Rex is a kinder man than he is, but his temper is icy. It builds slower and grips harder. “Don’t I? You’re the one who keeps leaving.” It’s not fair. He wants to stay. He has to leave. Rating: E Tags: Rebellion Era, Established Relationship, Arguing, Fist Fights, fighting to fucking, Unresolved Emotional Tension, the sexual tension gets quite resolved, Rebel Rex, Cody as Fulcrum, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Inspired by Brokeback Mountain For @codex-week day 7: Farewells and Reunions and alt prompt Still from Brokeback Mountain.

Campfire smoke smells different to blaster smoke. It’s rich and natural while blaster fire smells of plasma and hangs like acid in the air. Cody makes the connection anyway, the part of him that is Purge Commander 2224 straightening up in his saddle, eyes scanning the harsh landscape. They’re exposed out here, the trees too far to provide cover, and the stretching lake offering terribly long clear sight lines.

The Empire would never think to look for them here, but if they did, they’d shoot Cody and Rex before they even knew they’d been tailed.

If PT-2224 chased a Jedi out here he would—

Rex is sitting by the fire, in clothes borrowed from Jalo, the same rebel who had provided Cody’s. Rex wears his far more comfortably. He looks like he could belong here in a way Cody doesn’t think he could.

Rex looks up and if not for Cody’s dalgo being far less affected by Rex than Cody is, they’d have come to a complete halt. It’s easy to forget in the weeks, months, years that pass between these stolen moments how exposed Cody feels when Rex looks at him. Rex’s smile is nervous and tentative before blossoming into something too big for Cody not to return.

Cody swings his leg over his dalgo. His foot catches in his stirrup—he’d take a speeder over this any day—and he’s barely hopped free before Rex collides with him. He’s laughing at Cody, but then he’s kissing him, pinning him back against the dalgo, gripping him tightly, mouth bruising.

Rex kisses what’s left of PT-2224 right out of Cody.

Desperation makes them clumsy, teeth knocking, tongues too wet. Cody stumbles and the dalgo huffs, shaking her head, frills fluttering like she can dismiss them like she would an insect. Cody grabs at fistfuls of Rex’s jacket, holding him tight until he remembers how to be Rex’s Cody again.

He’ll have to pick up the abandoned parts of himself again, pull them all back around him when he drags his armour out from under Jalo’s floorboards, handing back his borrowed dalgo and clothes. He hasn’t got long. The Empire will miss him, and the Rebellion will miss his intel.

For Rex he makes time, though never as much as either of them would like.

Read the rest on Ao3

[elthadriel]

MaZey

@elthadriel gave me brainworms (a couple lines of dialogue taken from the novel Order 66 by Karen Traviss)

The Null— the Mandalorian clone leaves the room. Maze tries to slot this new knowledge into his understanding of the situation. What Zey said a Sith was, and what Ordo had corroborated, does not paint a reassuring picture. These had been men he’d relied on the whole war. Now suddenly everything is changing, but some things must remain the same, certainly?

He does not want to follow these orders. Perhaps there’s room to maneuver within them.

“If you surrendered, came quietly,” he tries.

“No, I’m dead already,” Zey says bleakly. “Please, do it. I know you have no malice in you, Captain. End it for me. I know what’ll happen if he gets me.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Maze says. “But if that’s an order…” Only, if Zey was a traitor, Maze doesn’t have to follow his orders anymore. Maze desperately wants someone in authority to rescind the command.

“Do as you will, Captain Maze,” Zey says, very very quietly, all resistance gone out of him. He closes his eyes, there beside his lapizinlaid desk, and waits.

This is more the sort of order Maze can countenance. But what did he will? General Zey had obviously done what he thought was morally right rather than what was lawful. Does Maze dare afford himself such luxury?

Maze considers his former commanding officer carefully. Years, it’d been, the two of them together, working in tandem and living for the work, always in each other’s orbit. Even a Jedi did not have enough momentum to escape such forces. The pull of gravity between two bodies inevitably settled into something stable. Theirs had been a slowly decaying orbit of attraction; it would have taken a lifetime or more for the distance between them to collapse. They’d both adjusted for it, adhering to proper, professional conduct in all their interactions.

Maze had made himself content to work alongside Zey, to share space and time, intel and insight, nothing more intimate. They were a good team. More was not in the stars for them; they were neither of them men susceptible to flights of fancy.

But everything is changing. He leans in and kisses him.

Against his lips, Zey gasps, eyes flying open— oh, that Null is probably still in the hall, listening. That class never could resist the urge to gather intelligence. He won’t be learning how Zey opens his mouth to the kiss; Maze squeezes the trigger to cover the sounds of their kissing with a blast of plasma. Likely the blastershot will cause Ordo Skirata to believe he’d executed the Jedi. It is what Maze had been ordered here to do, after all. It makes sense, much more logical than this other unplanned foray beyond their established boundaries.

A question trembles behind Zey’s teeth, but Maze is not heartless enough to make him to try to word it diplomatically. The time for professionalism is past.

“We’ve got to get ourselves out of reach quickly if we want to live, Zey,” Maze murmurs, brushing his nose up the taller man’s cheek.

The silence of shock—perhaps for Maze’s informality, perhaps for his impending desertion—is only momentary. Zey sags minutely in something like relief. “We…yes,” he answers, just as softly but no longer hopeless, “yes, Maze. I want to— I want us both to live. Shall we?”

[elthadriel]

💜 surprise kiss / impulsive kiss for maze/zey? :>

Zey drags his boots on the mat outside the door, scraping wet mud from the soles. He taps his keycard on the panel and steps into the warmth of their apartment and out of the rain. He pulls off his dripping coat, hanging it up beside Maze’s. Maze must have got back before the weather turned because his is still dry, while Zey was caught unprepared in a coat made for the cold but not the wet. His shirt clings to him in damp patches around the collar where his coat had become too saturated to protect him.

He sighs, putting down the grocery bag to sit on the small bench by the door. He removes one boot and then the other. His hair and beard are soaked, only adding to the unpleasant dampness of his coat.

The floors creak as he moves through the apartment, and he finds Maze exactly where he expects him to be. They work out of the office downstairs, but they have a desk seat up in the apartment too, and it sees almost as much use. Maze looks up as Zey enters, but the caution is habit, it’s clear in the Force that he already knew who it was from Zey’s boots on the stairs.

He’s had another attempt at fixing the desk’s wobble, wedging several folded sheets of flimsi wedged under the back left leg.

“Anything I should know about?” Maze asks.

“Kasi’s alibi held up, but something feels off about the whole thing.” Zey has had nothing but bad feelings about the whole job. Zey nods and says nothing, though he more than trusts Zey’s instincts. “Oh, and I picked up some more caf.” He holds up the bag.

Maze grunts a thanks, but doesn’t look up again. He’ll be done working for the evening, trading in police reports for his latest haul from the library. Zey will prompt him over dinner, and Maze will gladly provide a lecture on whatever he’s been reading about.

They’ll need to eat soon, but he’ll change first. He’ll leave Maze to read.

“Zey.”

He turns back with a questioning sound.

Maze puts down his datapad. He doesn’t turn it off—he intends to be right back to it—and stands. His presence is a strange thing. Zey is familiar with him, understands the subtleties of his emotions despite how well he shields himself. He’s certain in the way he usually is but there’s something else that Zey doesn’t know what to make of. He doesn’t dig to try and make sense of it. Maze has never asked him not to look closer than the surface stuff Zey can’t help but see, but that’s only because he’s never had to.

Maze steps close, close enough that they’re almost touching. They’ve been closer, but there’s a deliberateness to it that’s thick and heavy.

Zey is damp from the rain and holding a grocery bag and Maze is going to kiss him.

There’s plenty of time for him to step away—they've been carefully stepping away for years—but Zey…

Maze closes the gap but Zey twists his head to make it easier. Hair from Zey’s beard gets between their lips but neither of them act to fix it. It’s over as quickly as it began.

It felt like the most natural thing in the world. It’s almost impossible to believe they’ve never done it before.  

Maze considers him, and then gives a small nod. He steps away again, walking back around his desk.

“Why now?” Zey asks, voice coming out rougher than he expects. They’ve been edging around for almost as long as they’ve known each other, since some unknowable moment during the war. They’ve built something here, a business, a home, perhaps a life.

Maze leans back in his chair, considering that answer as carefully as he considers everything. He’s clever in a way few people are, his willingness to take his time making him cleverer still.

“You should have taken your other coat,” he says at last. “You warned me this morning to keep an eye out for rain.” 

Zey follows Maze around his desk, cupping his jaw and tilting his head up. He kisses Maze again, lingering this time until Maze’s mouth turns up into a smile under his.

There's a dark spot on Maze’s collar from where Zey has dripped onto him.

“I’ll start dinner,” he says. “I’ll call you when it’s ready.”

Maze’s smile is still there, as small and achingly familiar as always.

[elthadriel]

hi im here to cause problems 😌

💛🖤

any of the ships in the terrible horrible no good polycule (echofivestupdogmaslick+)

Despite his best efforts Tup can’t quite manage to tear his eyes away from where Fives is trying to eat Echo’s face. He wrinkles his nose. It wasn’t every day that your dead partner came back to life, but did they have to celebrate so loudly?

“I think this might be good for us,” he says.

“Really?” Dogma asks hopefully.

“Really?” Slick is less optimistic.

“Really.” Across the landing bay Fives gropes clumsily at Echo’s ass. Tup can hear them moaning from here. Is Five that loud with him? He hopes not. “I met Echo before he died—”

“Before he went missing,” Dogma interrupts.

“Before he went missing. And Fives talked about him all the time. He seems sensible.” They could use another level head around here.

Echo pulls at Fives’ hair with his remaining hand. Their mouths are open so wide they might as well be licking each other.

Slick hums in a way that makes people want to punch him. “By ‘met’ do you mean drooled at him working out in his ARC gear across the gym?”

“No! I mean I had a conversation with him.” He’d also drooled at him across the gym, but who hadn’t?

“Look, kid,” Slick says, as though Tup hadn’t ended up serving longer than he had, even if he’d been decanted first.

“Don’t call him kid,” Dogma says. He doesn’t look at Slick either, eyes locked on the two ARCs. He’d been drooling right next to Tup.

Slick rolls his eyes, but bows to Dogma’s wishes in a way he refuses to for anyone else. “I just think we should all keep in mind that Echo and Fives were already members of the 501st when I was arrested.”

A sort of dread that is usually reserved for when Fives and Slick really get into it pools in Tup’s gut. And maybe a little lower. It wasn’t going to happen, but that didn’t mean that Slick and Fives fighting wasn’t hot. What would adding Echo to the mix even—

Tup needs to get laid. He has two actual partners and a sort of partner in the form of Slick. How is it he never seems to manage more than jerking off in the tiny shared fresher?

“Did he know you?” Dogma asks. “If he…” he trails off, eyes widening in an expression that Tup is familiar with. Sure enough, Fives has shoved up Fives shirt, showing off his broad back.

The landing bay is empty except for them, but there’s no guarantee it’ll stay that way. They’re supposed to be laying low. Fugitives of the Republic and all that.

How had Echo even found them? Tup files away the question for when Echo’s mouth isn’t occupied trying to deep throat Fives’ tongue.

Slick cocks his head at the display, but doesn’t lose focus. “Nah, I didn’t interact much with the 501st if I could help it. But I bet I got some of their little buddies killed.”

Fives wedges a leg between Echo’s and Echo’s civvies don’t hide enough to for Tup to even pretend that Echo isn’t humping it. Echo’s lost the built ARC that Tup jerked off to a couple of times before he died—it had felt morbid after—but he still holds himself with a straight-backed confidence that hits very nicely despite the circumstances.

So Echo won’t like Slick. Fine. What’s new?

“Yeah, but no one likes you, Slick,” Tup says.

“We do,” Dogma points out, which is only true on a technicality.

 Slick lounges back against their ship looking so very pleased with himself. “Yeah, I’m sure he and Dogma will be the very best of friends.”

Dogma pales. “Fives and I have moved on,” he says very quickly.

“Sure you have, kid.” Slick says. “But you arranged for a firing squad to shoot Echo’s favourite lay. How do you think he’s going to feel about you? Even if said lay has decided to stop bringing it up.”

Dogma’s face makes it very clear he’s come to the exact same conclusion as Tup. So much for getting to fuck two ARCs at once he supposes.

“He’ll probably like you,” Dogma says to Tup, dejected misery having fully consumed any optimism.

“Yeah, trooper. You’re just everyone’s favourite.” At least Slick sounds happy.

“Lucky me,” Tup mutters.

They lapse into several seconds of blissful silence, interrupted only by the wet activities happening across from them.

Slick straightens up. “Huh. Those limbs are more dexterous than I’d have imagined.”

“Okay!” Tup slaps Dogma and Slick on the shoulder. “We’re waiting inside the ship!”

[elthadriel]

💜 surprise kiss / impulsive kiss for Cody/Waxer/Boil?

It’s really just a combination of unfortunate positioning and having been awake for long enough that Boil had forced himself to stop keeping track.

Boil’s helmet comm crackles, Butcher’s voice coming through patchy and full of static. “Commander Cody, this is LT Butcher reporting.”

Cody’s helmet hangs at his waist, visor smashed beyond all reasonable use. He speaks into the comm at his wrist instead. “Butcher, report.”

Boil’s throat constricts, anxious nausea rolling through his stomach.

“Made contact with Waxer and his unit,” Butcher says. He sounds as tired as the rest of them, but the relief in his tone gives away the good news even before he continues. “All accounted for. Some minor injuries to attend to, and then we’ll join you at the extraction point.”

“Minor injuries?” Patchwork says from somewhere behind Boil. “After the scare they gave us they couldn’t have mustered up something more dramatic?”

Boil barely hears it. The news takes a moment to sink in, for the numb dread he’s been nursing to be replaced with jubilant relief. It only takes another moment for him to remind himself where he is, and the professionalism that’s expected of him. Unfortunately before that second realisations hits he does something uncharacteristic and provides Patchwork with the drama he’s looking for.

Boil rips off his helmet and grabs the man closest to him, laying one right on the man’s mouth. He realises what exactly he’s doing as soon as their mouths make contact and then he’s wrenching himself backwards, eyes wide.

The only saving grace is that Marshal Commander Cody of the Third Systems army looks more confused than annoyed.

The silence is uncomfortably dense. The longer Cody stares at him the worse it gets, morphing into something that squirms in Boil’s gut and makes him feel like a cadet still too young to have been fitted for their first set of armour.

“Sorry, sir,” he croaks. “I didn’t mean to…”

He looks around frantically, looking for some sort of help. The rest of the men are either staring with the same horrified expression as Boil would aiming towards himself too, or very deliberately not looking. Maybe there are still Seps left after all. Maybe they can mount a surprise attack and save him from his own stupidity.

”Didn’t mean to what, lieutenant?” Cody asks. The confusion has faded into a terribly familiar expression. Cody’s eyebrows are raised in a challenge and Boil is too busy dying of mortification to even consider how he might avoid the trap he’s about to be walked into.

Boil’s going to open his mouth and make it worse. He doesn’t have any other choice.

“I…” he says, mouth too dry to continue. He’s going to combust and Cody is going to watch with mild amusement. Boil licks his lips trying desperately to find his voice again.

He probably can’t taste Cody. It’s probably just his imagination.

Patchwork is an excellent sergeant. He’d earned himself a reputation by throwing himself on a grenade and saving Commander Tano’s life two weeks after she was deployed. It seems he intends to make a habit of it.

Patchwork whistles.

Cody’s eyes snap away from Boil to Patchwork.

“Something to say, sergeant?”

“Always, sir,” Patchwork says, hauling himself to attention.

Boil takes the mercy his brother has shown him and slams back on his helmet, hiding his flaming face and shuffling away as quickly as he can manage. Cody will notice anyway, but he doesn’t turn back, accepting Patchwork’s noble sacrifice.

“So when I ask for volunteers to inventory what’s left of our ammo, I assume that means you plan to offer you and your squad.”

Patchwork doesn’t hesitate. “Of course, sir.”

Cody snorts. “Get to it then.”

Patchwork’s squad groans, but hoist up their kit and follow after the martyr.

Boil manages to pretend that Cody isn’t looking at him again until Cody huffs. In the corner of Boil’s eye Cody loosens up, expression finally softening into amusement. Boil glares at his kit as Cody approaches—Cody might not be angry, but that doesn’t mean Boil can stand the embarrassment of continuing the conversation.

Cody doesn’t stop, but passes close enough that he can reach out and clap Boil’s shoulder.

“Not while we’re on duty, trooper,” Cody says.

Boil splutters, jerking his head up just in time to see Cody smirk before he’s all business again, returning to organising the rest of the extraction.

Waxer might not survive today after all—he’s going to die laughing when he hears about this.

[elthadriel]

If you're still taking requests, I'd love Codex and 💕 kissing somewhere other than lips please

The sound the emergency comm makes is referred to in official documentation as a chime. Rex would like to shove a chiming comm up the ass of whoever made that decision.

The comm's screeching jerks Rex awake, and he's half sitting up before he’s even aware of why or that he can’t actually sit up due to the body slumped across him. Cody wakes in the same second as Rex. 

Cody snarls a foul curse that he only seems willing to use in the first five minutes of being awake and hauls himself up just enough to fumble in the direction of the self by the bunk.

“Yours or mine?” Rex asks.

“Yours,” Cody announces. His smug delight is somewhat undercut by the fact it’s delivered as more of a sleepy mumble . Rex’s comm hits his bare chest followed closely by Cody who attempts to nuzzle back into the warm spot he just left.

The comm’s pale glow is blinding in the dark. Rex squints into it, the words slowly settling from blur to proper letters. Rex is needed in a holocall. Promptly.

Rex closes his eyes and pretends they can stay closed. It’s an unforgivable hour in the morning, and he’s exhausted. The bunk is warm and Cody is sprawled on top of him, almost too hot where their bare skin has been pressed together for hours.

He breathes deep, Cody’s head rising on his chest. 

“I have to go,” Rex says and opens his eyes. Cody makes a sound into Rex’s skin, which Rex chooses to interpret as sympathy.

There’s no reasoning with Cody at this hour so Rex doesn’t bother trying, extracting himself from under Cody who impressively manages to convey bloodthirsty fury despite his refusal to open his eyes or form any recognisable words.

“I love you too,” Rex mutters. He drags himself over Cody, managing with only minimal success to avoid kneeing him in the back; it would be easier if Cody was capable of being at all cooperative when freshly awake. 

Rex dresses in the dark, pulling on blacks and then his armour. Cody grumbles at the sound, expanding out to take over the slither of the bed he’d graciously allowed Rex to have all to himself.

“You get to go back to sleep,” Rex hisses. “Stop complaining.” 

Cody grabs Rex’s tragically abandoned pillow, shoving it over his head. He rolls onto his side, putting his back to Rex. If life was at all fair, Rex would be able to climb back in next to him.

Hopefully this call won’t mean the 501st and 212th are separating again so soon. 

“If I’m still here by—” Rex stops. There’s no point. Now Cody knows he’s not getting up, he’ll be most of the way back to sleep. He won’t remember anything Rex tells him.

Rex finishes strapping on his pauldron, fingers finding the buckles through practised memory even in the dark. It only leaves one remaining order of business.

Rex lifts the pillow off Cody's head. Cody’s eyes scrunch up tighter and he twists, mashing his face into the other pillow. Rex would laugh if it wouldn’t get him kicked, if not now, later. That Cody would remember. He kisses Cody’s temple and is rewarded with another sleepy noise of complaint.

“I hope yours goes off too,” Rex says. 

Cody puts every second of his intense training to use. Fast as a Kodashi viper he snatches his pillow back from Rex’s hands. The way he slams it back over his head can only be described as violent. 

Rex rolls his eyes and finally leaves Cody to sleep in peace.

Hopefully he’ll be back soon enough. 

[elthadriel]

Padmé/Sabé as nominated and voted by patrons

Full uncensored ✌ on Patreon

[elthadriel]

I love your sub!Fox he haunts me. That one with the Chancellor and the collar and the fucking machine? The one with Echo and the bootlicking?? The way he’s so proud but also not at all, broken down to fit underneath their heels. It drives me nuts I eat it up (not a prompt just a compliment)

Thank you for the kind words.

I always have such a fun time writing sub!Fox because of exactly that: he is both so deeply prideful and also so completely unmade by humiliation. Man is just tying himself in knots all the time. He’s having a good time, he’s not having a good time, he wishes he was having a worse time.

Also, while I can't promise anything will come of it, I was talking to a friend the other day about the spiritual sequel to the bootlicking fic that I at one point had planned to write and then never got around to.

[elthadriel]

Codex Week Day 6: Sensitive Information

Co-written with @trudemaethien Summary: Rex is pretending that the Imperial Purge Trooper passing him highly sensitive data is Cody because he can. It is entirely coincidental, of course, that the particulars of how this clone fingers Rex remind him of the love of his life. Rating: E Tags: Identity Porn, Rebellion Era, Rebel Rex, Cody as Fulcrum, Undercover, Interrogation, Public Sex, Humiliation, Public Nudity, Anal Fingering, work-related fingering, Object Insertion, Mildly Dubious Consent, Purge Trooper Cody, cavity search misrepresented, Prostitution, Exhibitionism, Pining, Strip Search For @codex-week day 6: Undercover | Mistaken | Secret Identity

Rex fiddles with his lighter, smokestick dangling between his lips, smoke drifting up between the tall buildings and dissipating into the air. A woman walks past him without seeing him, the smokestick and the handful of doors leading to the backs of restaurants giving him an anonymity as foolproof as a shiny’s first deece. He could be any grubby cook or weary waiter taking their break.

It’s his third smoke. His contact is late.

He knows he has the coordinates correct, and he’s far too seasoned to give himself away by double checking. They’ll either come or they won’t.

They had better come. The Rebellion needs this intel. Rex isn’t privy to what it is, only that it’s too sensitive for the normal channels. Dodonna himself had impressed upon Rex the importance of not letting the datachip out of his sight for even a moment. They’d tapped Rex for this because he’s one of the few clone operatives they have left, experienced soldiers with a reputation for dependability.

Rex will burn one more smokestick and then he needs to get himself far away from here. If the spy has been caught, they’ll no doubt search for local accomplices next.

He inhales deeply, breathing fragrant smoke out through his nose.

Military boots hitting hard permacrete in rhythm is an unmistakable sound. Rex tenses up and then forces himself to relax. The marching inevitably heralds a squad. It’s not a large contingent, but unfortunately they’re all in black armor rather than white, their commander decorated with red kama and pauldron. Damned purge troopers.

Read the rest on Ao3

[elthadriel]

🤎 kix/boil/waxer >:)

Kix passes what’s left of his drink to Echo, tugging his uniform jacket from the pile in the corner of the booth the 501st have set themselves in. It’s too hot to be wearing this many layers—Kix’s shirt is already clinging to his back—but he pulls it on anyway, heat thickening between his skin and his jacket. 

He plays the expected role in the jokes the others make about the 212th man they’d seen him with—look who remembered we’re here; leaving already?; 212th, Kix? Really?—and who would surely be waiting for him. It’s easy enough, and habit carries him through most of the conversation.

And if he’s busy taking Fives’ shit, he can ignore the way Jesse is sulking. 

He says his good nights and leaves to find Waxer. He pushes his way through the crowd, finally stepping out into the cooler air though the pounding music follows him, ringing in his ears. Waxer is off to the side, just out of the cloud of smoke. He isn’t alone.

The pulsing lights of the club pushing back against a consuming sort of darkness always give a dishonest view of a man. He’d have made do with the bathrooms, but Waxer had insisted on a bed.

Waxer’s smile is just as warm in the humming street lights as inside, but the shadow of stubble over his jaw is more visible now, the purplish yellow bruise on his forehead, the way alcohol makes his eyes a little heavy. It’s a complicated thing. Kix thinks Waxer looks better like this, but doesn’t like the way it makes him feel like he knows Waxer better.

Bruises like that probably came from rattling around his own helmet. The 212th had a run in with Ventress before their leave. Maybe she threw him.

It probably doesn’t hurt anymore.

It might be tender.

“Do you mind if my friend joins us?” Waxer asks. His friend is scowling, cheeks hot—embarrassed rather than excited.

“I don’t like being an extra to a couple,” Kix says, frowning himself. It’s still early; he can find someone else.

The friend’s expression sours further. “I’ll go. I told you—”

“It’s not like that,” Waxer interrupts. “Boil and I fuck other people more than each other. He just struck out.”

Boil curses under his breath. Waxer rolls his eyes, his smile widening but remaining just as kind—he really does think it’s a silly thing to be embarrassed about. Waxer’s tongue in his mouth had promised a lot of filth that he wants to collect on. Boil seems… He’s handsome, if sullen, and is looking at Kix, not Waxer.

“I’ll leave if it’s not working for me,” Kix warns.

“We’ll pay for your shuttle back,” Waxer says.

“You’ll pay.” Boil wrinkles his nose.

“I’ll pay,” Waxer corrects.

Waxer lets Kix step into his arms as eagerly as in the club. He dodges Kix’s mouth, pulling at Kix’s collar instead. There’s already marks on Kix’s neck, a couple from a corrie boy who’d gone to get a drink and not come back, and another handful from Waxer. Waxer doesn’t suck more, kissing softly instead. He starts as low on Kix’s shoulder as the collar will allow, kissing up his neck to under Kix’s ear only then finally selling his mouth over kisses skin and sucking.

Kix breathes deep and almost steady.

“Are you going to just watch?” he asks Boil.

“Maybe,” Boil grunts.

He doesn’t mind being watched, but he’ll have to adjust himself accordingly. 

He’s saved from having to think about what precisely his reactions to Waxer are projecting but Boil stepping forward. Waxer lets Kix go as easily as he took hold. Boil is more direct, kissing Kix on the mouth, hand on Kix’s jaw. It’s tender and not at all like his friend. 

Kix breaks the kiss. Boil’s top shirt button is undone, a tempting slither of skin bared. Later Kix will put his mouth in all sorts of places. 

“Let’s go,” he says, jerking his head to where they can catch a speeder back to the barracks.

Waxer nudges Kix with his shoulder, stealing another kiss on the way past. He’s smiling like he’s already certain he won’t be spilling credits on Kix’s shuttle. 

Kix follows after him, Boil taking up the rear. 

They'll find out if Waxer's optimise is earned sooner or later.

[elthadriel]

💕 for Cody/Maul?

Cody returns with a half dead Inquisitor, dumping them in front of Maul’s throne with the air of Tooka delivering the remains of its breakfast. The Inquisitor struggles to stand, but his arms are shaking even before the Force shoves him back down. He pushes feebly back against Maul but Maul is a Sith, and these Darksiders just pretenders.

Cody steps away from his writhing prey, climbing the steps to Maul’s throne. He pulls off his helmet, hooking it to his belt beside the Inquisitor’s lightsaber. He still wears his purge trooper armour, though it’s been years since that’s a role he’s played. Maul had given him beskar and Cody had shown up the next day in the same armour and smile playing around his mouth daring Maul to ask why.

Cody draws level with the throne, looking down at Maul. It’s a rare angle, and one that Cody’s presence in the Force refuses to reveal if he takes pleasure in.

“I caught this skulking around, my lord,” Cody says, in that bland tone he’s so fond of. Cody is as impressive as Maul had been led to believe—well worth the effort of stealing him away from the Empire—but while he’d graced Maul with the required loyalty, his respect is still lacking. He says the right words and performs the right actions, but just barely buried under the surface is a challenge. It is unacceptable, but there are so few interesting people in this forsaken Galaxy that Maul allows it.

 Maul doesn’t look away from the Inquisitor, but his lip curls, baring some of his teeth. He jerks his head and the lightsaber wrenches from Cody’s belt to his hand. Cody stumbles, but catches himself on the back of Maul’s throne. He lets out a rush of air that’s as mocking as his words.

“Excellent work,” Maul says. It’s a small, petty thing to take from the Empire, but Maul will take everything he can. He’ll make the pretender scream before dies.

He stands, Cody’s focus moving with him. The Inquisitor makes a wet sound in his throat, flopping in a growing puddle of his own blood.

Cody catches Maul’s hand, pulling him back from the Inquisitor.

Cody’s eyes are dark, Maul’s own reflection staring back from the blackness of them. Cody lifts Maul’s hand, ducking his head and pressing his lips to Maul’s knuckles. He holds Maul’s eye, opening his mouth a fraction wider, teeth scraping over skin stretched over bone. The Force comes out of Maul in an uncontrolled burst. Cody crashes to the floor, rolls, and catches himself on one knee. His dark eyes are still wide and something triumphant slips through his carefully maintained barriers.

“My sincerest apologies, my lord.” In the Force he is all mirth and not a lick of regret. “I forgot myself.”

Maul wrenches Cody back up, the dying Inquisitor wheezing unattended at the foot of the stairs. He holds Cody off the ground, feet dangling, kicking in the air. He’s not afraid.

“It won’t happen again, my lord,” Cody promises, neutral and mocking and incomprehensible. He catches his lower lip between his teeth. He’s lying. He wants Maul to know he’s lying.

Maul drops him.

“See that it doesn’t,” Maul snarls. The Inquisitor’s lightsaber bursts into life. He screams as Maul finishes the job Cody started.

The clone is an unpredictable asset, one Maul should force into line.

But he is so very interesting.