#mon mothma and reader

[tsotf-fic]

♚ chapter 1 - when stars collide ♛

ii. birds of paradise

The Royal Family departed Cantham House for the Imperial Palace right as the Coruscant sun began to set. Within the speeder, nobody dared to speak under the looming shadow of Imperial surveillance.

Y/N leaned up against the transparisteel window, wistfully looking upon the planetwide city. Coruscant was unlike any other metropolis planet; as far as the eye could see, there were absolutely no traces of life that weren't artificially transplanted from somewhere else. To many, including the Organas, it served as a cold reminder of the effect humans had on the galaxy.

If planets were considered living beings, she pondered, Coruscant would certainly be considered a droid.

"Be careful not to smudge your makeup, dear," Breha said, breaking the silence and snapping Y/N out of her daydream.

To the untrained eye, Breha maintained an air of queenly confidence and serenity, but her family could tell she absolutely radiated with anxiety.

Bail gave her hand a gentle squeeze and smiled. "She'll be fine, my love. We all will."

Feathers rustled as Leia shifted uncomfortably in her dress. "I still have a bad feeling about this," she muttered under her breath.

The speeder landed on the platform just outside of the Imperial Palace, where a crowd of dignitaries, politicians, and socialites from all corners of the galaxy rushed to enter the party first. Each person seemed desperate to outperform the other with their custom-made costumes commissioned from the best designers in the galaxy. The costumes themselves included animals, historical and legendary figures, and various other symbols of planetary cultures.

Leia scoffed. "I bet the materials used to make those are worth more than entire planets in the Outer Rim!"

"I doubt anyone else here cares," Y/N replied, subtly gesturing towards a gaggle of visibly intoxicated politicians.

"Girls, please do not stare at your colleagues," Breha said under her breath with a fake smile plastered on her face.

Bail stifled a laugh as he watched none other than Representative Binks trip over the tail of his blarth costume. "How he manages to stay in power is certainly one of the galaxy's greatest mysteries," he whispered to Y/N and Leia, earning a glare from his wife.

"Perrin! This is a formal celebration, not an excuse for you to get drunk!"

Mon Mothma's husband stumbled out of the crowd. Sparkling, crystalline triangles jutted out from his outfit at all angles, and one could only assume it was meant to mimic the crystal cliffs north of Hanna city, albeit a very gaudy version.

"I jus' wanted to have a li’l fun before the party starts," he slurred, completely oblivious to his wife's anger at the spectacle he was causing. "It's a celebration! I'm celebrating!"

"Not like that," Mon retorted, practically dragging him by his collar. Whether intentional or not, her costume directly contrasted his with its organic, blossom-covered branches twisting elegantly around the lush green fabric of her dress. "If you plan on acting this way the whole night, don't even bother returning to the embassy!"

Most bystanders turned away in embarrassment as the Chandrilan senator berated her husband. Mon did her best to maintain her composure, but she was clearly on the edge of tears; it didn't help that Perrin's inebriated friends loudly tried to egg them on.

Breha and Bail exchanged sympathetic, knowing glances, almost as though they had an unspoken secret language–they were practically Lorrdians when compared to their Chandrilan counterparts.

Perrin wriggled out of his wife's grip and turned around to point an accusing finger at her. "And you wonder why your daughter hates you!" He hobbled off, leaving Mon standing there, flustered and humiliated. However, something about the way she quickly regained her composure told Y/N that she was happy to be rid of him.

Mon’s tear-pricked eyes lit up when she saw the apprehensive Alderaanian girl.

"Y/N, dear, how are you? My, you look so beautiful," she said, placing a hand on the side of Y/N's cheek, her face glowing with pride.

"It's so nice to see you, Auntie Mon! But I guess the situation requires that I refer to you as Senator Mothma," Y/N laughed.

"Oh, please, there's no need for that. People are already judging me for that little fiasco, so what harm would it do for us to drop a little formality?"

With that, the senator immediately drew in the younger woman for a tight embrace, albeit yielding enough to prevent their costumes from being crushed together. Y/N didn't know if it came from the flowers on her aunt's dress or a perfume on her skin, but something about the warm, delicate scent made her feel so calm, so at home. Perhaps it was just a reflection of its wearer's personality: gentle and elegant, with hidden strength beneath the surface, everything Y/N aspired to be. It pained her so much to see someone she held in such high regard be treated so poorly.

"We're here, too, you know," Bail's voice rang, interrupting their embrace.

"I figured as much, Your Highness," Mon playfully retorted. She pulled away from Y/N, giving her one last smile as she wiped the remnants of tears from the corners of her eyes, and went to greet her colleague. "It's always a pleasure to see the Royal Family."

After exchanging bows with the Viceroy and Queen of Alderaan, she turned to the young princess and her eyes lit up again, although not as bright as they were for Y/N.

"Ah! Matching costumes, how charming! I wonder whose idea that was." She turned to look at Breha, who let out an uncharacteristically loud laugh.

"What better way to compensate for our lack of costumes than by showcasing Alderaan's loveliest young ladies?" The queen responded, resting her hands on both girls' shoulders.

"I still think a costume would have suited you well, mother. You and father would have made for quite the pair of swans," Leia said with a tinge of sarcasm behind her voice as she patted her mother's hand.

"Well, perhaps you're right, but I'm afraid there are more pressing matters than us arriving at the ball as a flock of birds."

"I would have liked to be a bird," Bail chimed in, earning a chorus of laughter in response.

Y/N laughed along with the group, but something about the whole conversation felt stilted, awkward, especially considering how well they all knew each other. Perhaps it had to do with the discomfort of her being a mere noble in the presence of planetary leaders; as much as they tried to include her, she never truly fit in among them. They couldn't help that, though, none of them could. It was just the way things were. So, she continued to smile as she always did.

fanfiction by @kaleidoscope1967eyes

[animazi]

monkleya

@midnight-melancholiaaa happy half-of-the-year-that-your-birthday-is-in! artist: @lesbiandardevil wonderful donation commissions for Palestine!!

[areyoufuckingcrazy]

“Rules of Engagement”

Commander Neyo x Senator Reader

⸻

You weren’t what the Senate expected.

You laughed too loud, danced too hard, and didn’t mind a drink before a midnight vote. You were also scarily good at passing legislation with a hangover.

Neyo didn’t know what to do with you.

He’d been assigned to guard you temporarily—something about threats, instability, blah blah. You didn’t care. What mattered was that he had a cool speeder, a gravelly voice, and those wraparound tactical visors that made your stomach flutter in ways you couldn’t explain.

He followed you everywhere.

And you made sure to give him a show.

“So what’s your opinion on martinis, Commander?” you asked one night, leaning across the bar table.

“I don’t drink.”

“Of course you don’t. You’ve got that whole ‘I eat war for breakfast’ look.”

He didn’t respond. Just stared. Probably judging you. Or calculating your odds of surviving the dance floor in six-inch heels.

“Come on,” you grinned, tipping your glass back. “You’re always so serious. Loosen up. Life’s short.”

“Life’s valuable,” he said flatly. “Especially yours. You should treat it that way.”

You pouted. “Are you flirting with me or threatening me?”

“Neither,” he replied. “Just trying to keep you alive.”

“How noble.”

That night, you dragged him to The Blue Nova—a Senate-frequented lounge pulsing with lights and low beats. Senators Chuchi and Mon Mothma were already there, nursing cocktails and giggling over some poor intern’s fashion sense.

Neyo stood rigid by the wall, arms crossed, helmet on. You danced.

You danced like no one was watching—except Neyo definitely was. You saw the subtle shift in his stance every time someone got too close to you. Every time someone brushed your waist, he tensed. When one particularly bold diplomat tried to pull you close, Neyo was there in seconds.

“She’s done dancing,” he said coolly.

You smirked as the man scurried off.

“Jealous?” you teased.

“No.”

“You hesitated.”

“I hesitated to answer a ridiculous question.”

You walked up, lips close to his helmet, breath warm.

“I think you like the chaos, Commander,” you whispered. “You just don’t know how to handle it.”

He stared at you for a long moment. Then, to your complete shock—he took his helmet off.

Face sharp. Stern. Battle-scarred. Beautiful.

“I handle a lot of things,” he said softly. “I don’t make a habit of chasing Senators around nightclubs.”

“And yet…”

He stepped closer. Close enough for you to feel the war in him, vibrating under the skin.

“You’re not what I expected,” he said.

You grinned. “Good.”

He didn’t kiss you—not yet. He wasn’t the type. But his gloved hand brushed yours beneath the table, quiet and electric.

And later, when you slipped into your speeder with him and leaned your head on his shoulder, he let you.

Because even soldiers like Neyo had a weakness for bright lights, fast music—and senators who didn’t play by the rules.

⸻

You woke up on your office couch, face down, wearing one boot and someone else’s scarf.

Your stomach roiled.

There was the taste of shame, spice liquor, and possibly fried nuna wings coating your mouth like regret.

“Ungh,” you groaned, clutching your head as if it were a ticking thermal detonator. Your presentation to the Senate chamber was in—oh kriff—thirty-two minutes.

You stumbled toward the refresher, tripped over Chuchi’s shawl, and made it to the toilet just in time to vomit your dignity into oblivion.

Twenty minutes later you were brushing your teeth with one hand, swiping through datapads with the other, your hair tied back in a half-dried bun, steam curling around your face like battlefield smoke.

You were dying.

And still—you were determined to win.

A sharp knock came at the door.

“Senator,” Commander Neyo’s voice rang, low and deadpan as ever.

You staggered to the entry and opened it slightly, eyes bloodshot, breath minty, skin blotchy.

He blinked.

“You look—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” you rasped, voice hoarse.

He nodded. “Fair.”

He stepped in, glancing around the wreckage—empty drink glasses, a senate-issue heel stuck in a potted plant, a half-written speech blinking on your datapad.

Neyo exhaled slowly through his nose. “We need to go soon.”

You collapsed onto your vanity. “Then fetch the war paint, Commander.”

To his mild horror, you started multitasking like a woman possessed. Concealer. Hair curler. Eyeliner sharper than your tongue. Hydration drops. A stim tab. Robes pressed. Shoes polished.

By the time you swept out of the room, datapad in hand, a vision in deep indigo velvet with subtle shimmer at the cuffs, you looked flawless.

Not a trace of the hungover banshee who almost passed out in the shower. Not a single clue that you’d had one foot in the grave twenty minutes ago.

Neyo stared at you in stunned silence as the turbolift doors opened.

“What?” you asked innocently, breezing past.

“When I first saw you,” he said, voice tight. “You were pale. Trembling. Sweating.”

“I was warmed up.”

He blinked. “You threw up.”

“And now I’m ready to lead a planetary reform discussion.”

He said nothing, but you could feel the tension behind his visor. Not irritation—something else.

Awe, maybe. Or confusion. Or grudging admiration.

He escorted you into the Senate chamber, back straight, flanking you like a shadow. You entered to hushed murmurs from other senators. You took the platform.

Lights brightened. All eyes on you.

You smiled.

Then you spoke.

Commanding. Persuasive. Engaged. Like you hadn’t danced barefoot on a bar counter hours earlier. Like your liver wasn’t currently filing for emancipation.

When it ended, with soft applause and nods of agreement, you stepped down coolly. Neyo followed close behind.

In the corridor, he finally said:

“You’re… something else.”

You smirked. “Are you flirting or threatening me?”

He almost smiled. Almost.

“Neither,” he muttered. “Just trying to keep up.”

⸻

The hovercar ride back to your apartment was silent.

You leaned against the window, sunglasses on despite the overcast Coruscant sky, hand gripping a hydration tablet like it owed you money. Neyo sat beside you, unnervingly still, as usual.

“You pulled it off,” he said finally, breaking the silence.

You didn’t even open your eyes. “Barely. I think I lost consciousness for a moment during Taa’s rebuttal.”

“I noticed,” he replied calmly. “Your left eye twitched in morse code.”

“Did I say ‘sustainable galactic reform through bipartisan unity’?”

“Yes.”

“Impressive.”

“Also a lie.”

You smiled weakly. “I’m not a miracle worker. Just a hot mess with good timing.”

When the speeder landed, Neyo helped you out like a proper guard—but the moment the lift doors closed in your apartment building, your knees buckled slightly.

“Stars,” you groaned, pulling off your shoes like they were weapons.

Neyo caught your elbow, steadying you with practiced hands. You didn’t look at him—couldn’t. Your head was pounding too hard, your bones liquifying.

He didn’t say anything. Just supported you as you limped down the hallway.

Your apartment was clean—thanks to your overpaid droid—but still smelled faintly of scented oil, warm fabrics, and overpriced wine.

The door shut behind you.

And you dropped your datapad like a dying soldier discarding a blaster.

Without preamble, you dragged yourself to your bed and belly-flopped face-first into it with the grace of a crashed starship.

“Urrrghhh,” you groaned into your sheets. “Tell the Senate I died nobly.”

Neyo stood in the doorway for a long second.

Then—

“You forgot to remove your hairpins,” he said.

You made a muffled whining sound.

“You’ll stab yourself.”

“Let the assassination succeed,” you moaned.

But he moved closer. Carefully. Gently.

And began removing the decorative pins from your hair.

One by one.

You stayed perfectly still, secretly stunned. He was… delicate. Surprising.

His gloved fingers swept your hair back from your temple, warm through the fabric, steady and sure.

“Better,” he said softly.

You peeked up at him, mascara smudged, lips dry, eyes bloodshot.

“You’re being weirdly sweet.”

“I’m not sweet.”

“Well, you’re weird then.”

A long pause. He didn’t move away.

Then he added, almost reluctantly, “You did well today.”

You smiled, eyes fluttering shut. “That almost sounded like a compliment, Commander.”

He hesitated.

Then, “Rest. I’ll stand guard.”

Your heart thudded softly against your ribs.

You didn’t respond. Just let yourself finally sleep, Neyo’s presence a silent shadow at your door.

You knew he wouldn’t leave.

And that—for once—felt like safety.

⸻

It was past 0200 when you stirred.

The sheets tangled around your legs like a battlefield, your head finally calm but your throat dry as sand. You padded barefoot across the apartment, wincing at the cold floor and the slight ache still lingering behind your eyes.

You found Neyo right where you expected him.

Standing just outside your bedroom door.

Helmet on. Blaster slung. Spine straight.

Unmoving.

“Have you been standing there this whole time?” you asked, voice low and raspy.

“Yes.”

You blinked at him. “Kriff, Neyo. At least sit. I’m not a senator worth slipping a disc over.”

“Your safety doesn’t rest well on upholstery.”

You snorted softly, leaning against the doorframe. “Still all thorns and durasteel, huh?”

“I’m consistent.”

“Irritatingly so.”

You were about to tease him more when you noticed something shift behind him—just past the window’s faint reflection.

Your eyes snapped to it. Too fast.

Neyo noticed.

Then everything happened at once.

A flash of movement—glass shattering—a stun dart zipping past your ear—

And Neyo tackled you to the ground.

The world blurred. You hit the floor, tucked under his armored weight as a blaster bolt sizzled into the wall where your head had been.

Another shot. Close.

Neyo rolled off you and into cover in one swift, practiced movement. “Stay down!”

You didn’t need to be told twice.

A figure dropped through the busted window—a sleek, masked bounty hunter, compact and fast. They moved like they’d done this a hundred times.

They hadn’t met Neyo before.

He opened fire, short, brutal bursts. Not flashy. Efficient.

The bounty hunter ducked behind a column, tossing a flash charge—blinding light filled the apartment, and you covered your head as the sound cracked through your skull.

Then silence.

Then Neyo’s voice, low, deadly. “You made a mistake.”

You peeked up just in time to see him lunge—shoulder first—into the attacker, sending them crashing through your dining table.

The fight was brutal, close-range. Fists. Elbows. Armor slamming against furniture.

You watched through wide eyes, heart hammering in your ribs.

The bounty hunter went down with a hard grunt—stunned and unconscious before they even hit the floor.

Smoke. Dust. Silence.

Neyo stood over the wreckage, breathing hard, visor glinting in the broken light.

You slowly got up from behind the couch, staring at your shattered window, your ruined table, your torn carpet… and the one thing that somehow remained miraculously untouched:

Your liquor cabinet.

You limped over.

From the wreckage and the chaos, one lonely, very expensive bottle sat upright and proud, like a survivor of war.

You picked it up reverently, uncorked it, and took a long swig.

Then you held it out to Neyo.

“Drink?” you offered hoarsely.

He stared at you for a moment—visor unreadable. Then, slowly, he removed his helmet, setting it on the countertop with a heavy thud.

He took the bottle from your hand.

Took a sip.

Didn’t even flinch.

You whistled. “Tougher than I thought.”

He handed it back. “You don’t know the half of it.”

You grinned, despite the mess around you, your pulse still racing.

“Well,” you said, leaning against the ruined wall. “If this is going to be a regular occurrence, I’m going to need better windows. And more of that bottle.”

He glanced down at the unconscious bounty hunter, then back at you.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

That shouldn’t have made your breath catch.

But it did.

⸻

You were sprawled on your couch with a blanket around your shoulders like a dethroned monarch, cradling a caf mug and trying not to move too much.

Neyo stood a few meters away, helmet back on, deep in conversation with a squad of Coruscant Guard troopers who had secured the perimeter and taken the unconscious bounty hunter into custody. One of them was talking into a datapad, another bagging evidence.

Your apartment looked like a warzone.

Scorch marks on the walls. Smashed glass. Your poor dining table in pieces. A chair impaled by a vibroblade. And somewhere, inexplicably, a boot had ended up in the chandelier.

The door buzzed.

You groaned.

“Tell them I’m dead.”

Neyo didn’t even turn.

The door buzzed again.

You hissed and dragged yourself up with the grace of a dying tooka.

The door slid open.

“Holy kriff—what happened in here?” gasped Senator Chuchi, her eyes wide, sunglasses on despite the dim lighting.

Behind her, Bail Organa and Mon Mothma followed in, blinking like the lights offended them.

Bail took one look around and sighed deeply. “Did you throw a party after the party?”

Riyo covered her mouth. “Oh stars, is that blood?”

“No,” you rasped, sipping caf. “It’s the soul of my décor, leaking out.”

Neyo, still conversing with the Guard, ignored the comment.

Riyo winced, kneeling beside the splintered dining table. “This was antique…”

“So was my liver,” you muttered.

Another Guard trooper approached Neyo. “Sir, we’ve confirmed the bounty was hired off-world. Probably just a scare tactic—or someone testing security.”

“They tested the wrong kriffing senator,” you said from the couch, raising your caf like a battle flag.

Bail crossed his arms. “You’re not staying here.”

“I can’t just vanish in the middle of a political firestorm. I have three meetings today and a vote on trade tariffs.”

“You nearly died.”

“I nearly died hot, Bail. There’s a difference.”

He looked to Neyo. “Can you keep her alive through all this?”

Neyo gave a single nod. “Yes.”

You snorted. “He’s too stubborn to let me die. It’d mess with his stats.”

The Guard filed out slowly, leaving behind scorched walls, broken decor, and the lingering smell of smoke and citrus-scented panic.

Your friends started cleaning instinctively—stacking plates, lifting fallen cushions.

Mon handed you the bottle from last night. “This survived too.”

You stared at it.

Then smiled.

“Guess I’ll call that a diplomatic win.”

⸻

The assassination attempt made the front page of every news feed.

“Assault in the Upper Rings: Senator Survives Bounty Attack in Her Apartment.”

“Corruption? Retaliation? Speculation Rises After Attack on Popular Senator.”

“Bounty Hunter Subdued by Marshall Commander in Daring Apartment Ambush.”

Your face was everywhere—mid-speech, mid-stride, mid-bloody hangover.

They didn’t know that part, of course. But you did.

In the wake of it all, security protocols were rewritten overnight. A flurry of emergency Senate meetings, security panels, and sharp-toothed reporters hunting soundbites. You barely slept. When you did, it was light. Restless. Searching for a presence that wasn’t there.

Neyo had gone back to barracks immediately after the incident. De-briefed. Filed reports. Gave statements.

And now, word had come down.

He was being reassigned.

⸻

The knock on your door was unnecessary.

You already knew it was him.

You opened the door slowly—draped in a robe, caf in hand, rings under your eyes that even the finest Coruscanti powder couldn’t hide.

Neyo stood there in full armor, helmet tucked under one arm.

“I got the memo,” you said before he could speak.

He gave a short nod. “Senate security is shifting to full internal protocol. Coruscant Guard, under Commander Thorn, will oversee protection from now on.”

“Ironic, considering you’re the reason I’m not dead.”

“My orders weren’t to stay,” he said plainly.

You leaned against the doorframe, studying him. His armor had new scuffs. He was cleaned, pressed, regulation-ready… but the quiet between you hummed with something unsaid.

“You going back to the front?” you asked, already knowing.

He nodded.

You stared at him, your throat tight.

“I’m not one for speeches, Neyo. Or long goodbyes. Or… feelings. But I’m pissed.”

That caught his attention.

“Why?”

“Because you’re walking away like none of this mattered. Like I’m just another senator on your route. Another mission. And you know what? I wasn’t. Not to you.”

His eyes dropped for a moment.

Then rose again—meeting yours.

“Of all my deployments,” he said slowly, carefully, like the words were foreign, “this was the first time I didn’t feel like I was wasting time.”

Your breath hitched.

“I didn’t know how to say that,” he added. “Until now.”

You laughed, wet and quiet. “You’ve got a strange way of being soft.”

“I don’t do soft,” he replied, mouth tugging at the corner in what might have been—might have been—a smile.

“Right,” you murmured. “Just war and discipline and smashing bounty hunters into my furniture.”

He stepped closer, lowering his voice.

“If it were up to me,” he said, “I’d stay.”

Your heart stung.

“I know.”

Silence.

Then, on instinct—or maybe defiance—you reached up, fingers brushing his cheek just beside the helmet line. He didn’t move.

And for the briefest second, he leaned into your touch.

Then pulled away.

Duty won again.

“Goodbye, Senator.”

You stood in the doorway long after the lift closed behind him.

Outside, a new Guard squad took position at your apartment.

Inside, you poured the last of the bottle from the night before into a glass.

And toasted to what almost was.

[meshla-cyarika]

oh my god

I just finished the book "Leia princess of Alderaan" by claudia gray and oh my fucking god I'm distraught like I'm actually speechless I wanna lay on the floor in fetal position and cry oh my god.

[cissyenthusiast010155]

Mommy Kink with Mon Mothma ~Kinktober 2023

Happy October 19th!!! It’s almost three week of Kinktober! 🤍🎃 The kink of the day is a Mommy Kink. This kink will be partnering with the marvelous Senator/Chancellor Mon Mothma. Hope you Enjoy!! 🖤🪐

Previous Day <—found here!

Kinktober 2023 <—Here!!

Mommy… Master List

Requests & Prompt-List

Warnings: NSFW, 18!!, smut, mommy kink, vibrator use, fingering, light humping, teasing, pet names, light overstimulation, light orgasm denial, implied future smut, etc.

Enjoy (;

“Mommy please… it hurts…” you whimpered desperately as the toy ruthlessly vibrated against your clit.

The woman chuckled lightly in amusement, and she shook her head.

“No, sweet girl… You can take it.” Mon cooed, insistent in her stance.

You whimpered and whined lightly in response.

“Yes mommy…” you breathily whimpered in defeat, continuing to let the toy absolutely ravish your folds.

You sat over the woman’s lap, you ass in the air, as the vibrator placed in your folds went ham on your aching sex. Your legs twitched as you hung on top of Mon’s legs. The woman caressed your ass with one hand, trying to soothe your shaking, as she worked at her desk.

You whimpered and whined throughout the whole process. But the woman was quick and stern to silence you.

“Shhhh, Mommy needs to work…” Mon reminded you, “And she cannot focus if her Baby is whimpering every other second.”

You bit your lip and nodded.

“Sorry mommy…” you whispered, your head going down in shame of disappointing the woman.

“Good… Be good for mommy for twenty more minutes, and then she’ll be finished with her work.” Mon hummed.

You nodded again, this time with more enthusiasm.

“Yes Mommy…!”

The twenty minutes seemed to be that of the longest twenty minutes of your life. You squirmed in pain as you desperately tried to stave off any possibility of your orgasm, as Mon had said that you weren’t allowed to cum. Finally, you breathed a sigh of relief, when you heard her putting away all of her papers.

The woman then picked you up and placed you in her lap. Her fingers went in your pants and past your knickers, slipping with ease into your throbbing cunt. Your eyes rolled back and your hips eagerly bucked into Mon’s lap. Your arms flew to her shoulders for support, as two of her digits curled inside you.

“Oh Mommy Yessssss…!!” You hissed in delight.

Mon chuckled at your response.

“You were good for Mommy…” she hummed, “So I thought you deserved a reward”

You nodded eagerly.

You couldn’t agree more…

~~~

Next Day <—Uniform Kink!!

Mon Mothma Masterlist

Kinktober 2023 Masterlist

[ravennasgf]

MMothma: party’s aren’t for me

Prompt: Christmas ball

As I walk in to the ballroom I grow self conscious very quickly. I look for one person in particular the host of this evening. Senator Mon Mothma decided to host a christmas ball to which I had been invited to. Mon and I have known each other a long time. Since we were kids. I was the governors daughter and with Mons parents Senator there were a lot of dinner partys. somewhere along the way I fell for her knowing She'd never feel that way, which brings us to tonight with my recent rise "governor" of chandailla I had to attend tonights ball. 

spending time mingling and enduring smalltalk I make my way to the balcony, leaning of the railing I breath if the ‘fresh’ air.

"you were never one for balls or parties , " I hear mon say from behind me. 

"you know me. "I say turning to look at her 

“indeed I do, I also know that you like me" My few drops along with my head- 

“I'm sorry mon, you won't have to see me again. " I say ready to leave. 

I go to walk past her but she grabs my wrist. 

“Hey, I like you too I have for a long time. I was just too afraid to say it til I knew for certain that you liked me and there was never a right time to tell you. " 

"that's why i never told you I was never sure if you liked me so I didn't."

"well we’re already close as friends, now as colleagues and now in whatever this is. " Mon says. 

"What's a little more closeness between us" I can sarcastically, knowing not much will change between us in the way we act. She cups my face. 

"I love you y/n I always will I’m so glad that our parents worked together and we met." 

"I love you too Mon so much more than you'll ever know." we stand on the balcony side byside ams wrapped around eachothers waist looking at the views 

christmas with mon this year has been more special than ever 

[mmuffncakes]

In your fic, The Perfect Shot (the Mon Mothma one), are we ever gonna know what Cal said to Mon during his party?

ooooo i wanna tell you so bad, but the thing is???? the thing is, is that--and hear me out here:

its between her and cal.

the whole point of the fic isnt about what cal said to mon, its not even fully about the image, its the proof that mon will always respect cal's boundaries and his secrets. after all, thats her son, right? you know, the son that she keeps senate-facing when he was part of something that the empire destroyed. so of course she's never going to say what he told her out loud. that would be breaking their promises to each other, and it would be breaking cals trust towards her.

so im very sorry to say that: no one (besides myself and one other person [ @nightingalesighs ]) will ever know what cal said to mon during his day of days celebration.

[lodgeofeilhart]

I hate that man. Mon deserves so much better, ME, for example!!

[cassanovablue]

Casanova

Cassian Andor x Reader | Part 1/3

a/n: this is my very first thing i've ever written for cassian AND the first of my writings i've ever uploaded here! shout out to the people who were interested in this - i hope you like it!!

word count: 2.9k

warnings: petty cass (his true self), messing with canon per usual

summary: two of the most stubborn rebels constantly get paired together - what could go wrong?

“Y/N, we need you. I need you.”

“No you don’t,” you replied, eyes fixated on the book in front of you. 

“Y/N-”

“I said no.” You turned around in your chair to face the man before you, giving a glare that made the man wince. 

It wasn’t the first time Luthen had come to you, asking for your assistance in one of his grand schemes. It also wasn’t the first time you had refused him.

It wasn’t that you didn’t believe in the cause, it was more so a general dislike of having to constantly uproot yourself. You liked the home that you had made for yourself on Chandrila and preferred to stay nested within your sanctuary, dealing with the more technological side of things rather than being physically active in it. 

Once you were satisfied that your message had gotten across, you turned back to your work.

Despite the fact that you practically always refused his requests for help, you always caved in the end. Luthen knew it wasn’t because of a weak resolve - you had one of the strongest dispositions out of everyone he knew - but rather an undying devotion to Mon Mothma. He didn’t know the details around the arrangement you two had, but he knew enough to know that she knew something that could put you in danger. He would never pry about it though; he was a foolish man but even he knew better than that.

He sighed behind you as you continued scribbling notes, attempting to decode some Imperial plans that Mon had managed to snag. 

The only sound that filled the study room was the sound of your pencil furiously scratching. The two of you sat in silence for a minute until you couldn’t take it anymore, turning around to meet Luthen’s piercing gaze.

“What is it now?” You dejectedly sighed. He gave you a smirk as he straightened up, happy to have won the silent treatment battle you often found yourselves entangled in.

“You caved quickly this time.”

“Yeah, well I’m tired so hurry up. I promised Leida I’d go on a walk with her later,” you said, leaning back in your chair with your arms crossed, feigning nonchalance. 

“It’s simple this time. I need you to go to Aldhani,” he explained. You rolled your eyes at his vague explanation.

“To do what?” He stayed silent for a beat too long, and he could tell by the way you straightened up that you noticed it. 

“I need you to join a group of rebels to attack the Garrison.” You barked out a laugh.

“Are you crazy? Luthen that’s the most suicidal thing you’ve ever asked of me,” you argued.

“I know that but I’ve already crafted a group of rebels and-”

“Then why do you need me?” You interrupted.

“There’s a new guy on board and I need you to make sure he stays in check,” he carefully explained, knowing that he was treading on thin ice.

“So you need me to be a free babysitter,” you said, getting up from your chair to commence your pacing. This was another part of the routine you two participated in. It was at this stage that he could lose you. It’d happened before, once. And that mission ended terribly, all the rebels who were a part of it perishing.

“He’s getting 200,000 credits out of this,” Luthen gently explained. You paused your pacing and looked him directly in the eyes. 200,000 was a lot of credits, even for Luthen and his schemes. 

“This kid must be the real deal then, huh?” You mumbled, eyes darting across his face for any sign of an explanation. Either this guy was the best damn asset the Rebellion has ever seen or Luthen was convinced he wasn’t making it out alive.

“I don’t know.” You contemplatively hummed. Just the answer you suspected.

“Did you pitch him as a replaceable member to Vel?” You questioned, tossing the man a smirk. You had met Vel Sartha once before briefly in passing, but you knew enough about the Aldhani rebel leader to know that she would be cautious about getting a new guy on this mission.

Luthen let out a half-hearted chuckle. “You know me too well.” You smiled at his admittance. He was a stubborn man; getting him to verbally admit that you were one of the few people who could read him like a book was thrilling.

“What’s his name?” You asked.

“Clem,” Luthen said, his eyes quickly flitting across your desk. You could tell that he was lying and he knew it. He was constantly torn between hating and loving your observance.

“That’s an alias,” you noted. “You’ve given that name before.”

“Well yes, you know I shouldn’t-”

“I don’t care what you should or shouldn’t do, Luthen,” you snapped. “It’s clear that you need me for this to not go entirely south and add more of a death count onto your conscience.” His left eye twitched. It was a low blow on your part, but you were petty and stubborn and wanted to know this guy's name. Besides, if things did go south quickly, the least you could do was tell the guy his real name one last time. 

“What’s his name?”

Luthen let out a defeated sigh.

“Cassian Andor.”

~~~~~

It had been a year since the Aldhani heist, one in which Cassian and yourself had come out unscathed. You hadn’t spoken much after the mission - or during the mission for that matter - but you both knew that your paths would inevitably cross again. You had been intertwined with the rebellion since Mon found you and if Cassian wasn’t interwoven with it before, he certainly was after Aldhani. 

You heard scattered whispers about his whereabouts, but you never gathered enough information to find out where the man truly was or what he was doing. During your time on Aldhani, he proved himself to be an enigma through and through. For someone who claimed to just be in it for the money, he was arguably one of the most passionate people there. You had met your fair share of people who were just in it for the money or who claimed to be passionate, but also just in it for the money. But no one that you had confronted had quite the demeanor that Cassian did.

All you knew was that he was coming to join yourself and the rest of the rebels on Yavin 4 that evening.

Engrossed in your work, you barely noticed the light tap on the door. “Y/N?” The door opened to reveal Mon standing in the doorway.

“What’s up?” You asked, turning your chair away from your beloved work and towards the woman at the door.

“I need all my captains present to welcome the new rebels. There are quite a few this time around, all of who are vital to our cause. I need them to feel like they’re important,” she explained, tentatively stepping inside the minuscule room, letting the door shut behind her. Mon knew better than anyone that there were days where you were a fuse waiting to explode, especially on the days when your fingertips were covered in pencil residue.

You scoffed. “I know I can fly but last time I checked I wasn’t a captain.”

“Well, yes, but you’re quite good at welcoming new recruits and I just wanted to let you know that-”

“This is about Andor, isn’t it?” You questioned.

“Yes, it is. I just wanted to let you know that-”

“He was the one on Aldhani with me. The guy Luthen hired,” you finished with a smug look, relishing in the perplexed expression on Mon's face. Despite your strong allegiance to the Chandrilian woman in front of you, it never hurt to stump those in higher positions.

“Did you always know that?” Mon questioned.

“Luthen told me,” you mumbled. “I told him I wouldn’t do the mission if he didn’t tell me. Didn’t gain me much, but you know how I like to do things.” Mon Mothma let out a breathy laugh.

“Now that I do.” She gave you a small smile. “Well, since you know that, would you like to join us?”

“Might as well,” you said, groaning as you stood up and stretched out your back. “I’ve been hunched over that desk all day trying to figure out the easiest way to break through Coruscant’s communication towers.”

“Some air will be good for you,” Mon mused, opening the door to your quarters and guiding you towards the flight deck.

You felt slightly out of place amongst all the captains and lieutenants. Sure, you could fly - quite well if you were being honest - and you wasn’t too shabby with a blaster either, but you felt the most comfortable nestled in corners around the base with your notebooks and blueprints.

Once the ships had landed and their occupants were safe on solid ground, Mon welcomed the new recruits. Your eyes searched the faces of those standing before you, noting the various emotions that graced everyone’s features. Fear, excitement, and a pair of searing brown eyes you had seen once before.

Cassian Andor.

~~~~~

It had been a few weeks since Cassian had joined you on the Yavin-4 base and, much to the dismay of quite literally every single person on the base, the two of you had been picking petty fights non-stop.

“Andor.”

“I’m on my break.”

“You’re in my spot,” you pointed out, hovering over Cassian. It was stupid, really, but he was sitting in your favorite corner spot and you had a long day.

In total fairness, you both had a long day. Whilst his morning was filled with debriefs, yours was spent continuing to make plans for an infiltration mission Mon Mothma had tasked you with organizing. The afternoon was spent with some flying drills, where you two had spent more time arguing through your COM systems than actually flying.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize that we suddenly had assigned seats,” he said, not even bothering to turn around and face you directly. Your face scrunched up in frustration.

“I think the pen marks I’ve left there over the past few months tell a different story,” you retorted, moving Cassian’s strategically placed hand to reveal various equations you had scribbled down over your time on the rebel base. 

It wasn’t a big deal, in all honesty. Sure, you loved your corners - you would swear on the Rebellion itself that they were the most comfortable of places to work - but there were plenty more for you to sit at. It’s just that you were exhausted after a grueling day’s work and wanted to spend some time in one of your favorite spots.

And maybe poking at the pilot in front of you was fun, but you wouldn't dare to admit that out loud.

“Maybe if your brain spent more time in the sky than it does in your skull we wouldn’t be forced to do those stupid lessons,” he grumbled, still choosing to not turn around and face you, which just frustrated you even more.

“So it’s my fault they’re making us train then?”

“I could do it just fine on my own.”

“Right, yeah, okay sure. Let’s blame the person who's been slaving away to try and understand just how these new Imperial ships work instead of blaming the Empire itself. Nice going Andor,” you practically shouted, causing a few heads to turn in the fairly empty mess hall. You could've sworn that you could hear a few of them sigh - a here we go again murmured amongst the tired rebels even - but you were purely focused on the man from Ferrix who sat before you.

Cassian abruptly stood up, finally facing you. His gaze was hard and cold, bordering on terrifying.

It was one of the reasons why you hated Cassian; you were supposed to be the one with the terrifying stares, not him. It was what you were known for. He couldn’t be both the greatest pilot and the greatest “death stare giver-outer”. It wasn't fair.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” he seethed, jaw clenching in an attempt to control his rising anger.

“Well that’s sure as hell what it sounded like,” you retorted, eyes quickly darting across his face before settling back on his eyes. His clenched jaw and hardened eyes indicating that you were really in for it now.

“Forget it,” he exclaimed, abruptly pushing his seat back to leave. “Take your damn chair.” It shocked you a bit, that he didn't keep pressing as he normally did. But you were both tired, so you brushed it off, trying to hide your disappointment that he was backing down so easily.

“See, that wasn’t so hard was it now Andor,” you shouted after him, a smirk donning your features as he flipped you off without so much as turning back around to look at you.

Sitting down in your spot, you let out a sigh of relief. Finally, a moment of peace. You pulled out your notebook to read through the notes informants had provided to you when your pages instantly got cast with a shadow.

“Look, Andor if you’re going to be a bitch about this then I think-”

“You two are worse than children,” Mon's voice rang out. You whipped your head up, giving a sheepish smile in return. 

“Sorry Mon, thought you were Andor,” you mumbled. Mon shook her head, a slight smile gracing her lips as she sat down opposite you.

“I really was hoping that two of our greatest assets wouldn’t be at each other’s necks all the time, you know,” she remarked.

“Someone’s gotta put his ego down a rung.”

“I could say he’s doing the same for you.” You gasped in mock offense. 

“And here I thought you were on my side.”

Mon let out a half-hearted chuckle. “I’m on the side of the Rebellion.” 

“Of course, you have to ruin my fun with your realistic statements,” you grumbled.

“You know me,” Mon said. “Anyways, I wanted to speak with you about an upcoming assignment.”

You groaned. “Again? I just got back two days ago from the last one and I swear this time that I’m so close to figuring out the easiest way to break through Coruscant’s communications systems.”

“I know and I’m sorry. I wish I could give you more time to work your magic but it’s urgent.”

“When do I leave,” you sighed in defeat. You knew there was no way to argue around an assignment, let alone one directly given to you by Mon.

“You’ll find out tomorrow. I just wanted to give you a heads up so you don’t flip out in front of everyone again,” Mon Mothma explained, trying - and failing - to suppress a smirk.

“That was one time!” You exclaimed. “Besides, it wasn’t my idea to pair Andor and I up on a long-ass mission to the Outer Rim.” It was at that moment that Mon made a crucial mistake. Her eyes flitted to the wall behind you, and it was at that second that you connected the dots.

“No!” You shouted, standing up from the table. There was no way you were going on another mission with him again.

“The situation was entirely out of my control, you-”

“I’m not listening to this right now,” you grumbled, slamming your notebook shut and grabbing your belongings. 

Mon sighed, knowing her arguing would be futile. “Get some rest, please," she pleaded.

“Whatever,” you murmured, walking away from the leader. You knew you were being childish, but the exhaustion of the day had caught up to you and you were so grateful to finally be back on base that the idea of having to leave so soon agitated you further. Especially if you had to be with him. 

As you practically stormed towards your sleeping quarters, you passed a confused-looking Cassian who was in the middle of talking with some fellow pilots. 

“Wait up!” He shouted to you. You were too exhausted with everything to argue and let him catch up with you.

You two walked in silence for a minute or so until Cassian spoke up. “Ran out of snarky comments for today, huh?”

“Just quit it Cassian, I’ve had a long day,” you grumbled. He paused directly in his tracks.

“Woah.”

“What now?”

“You called me Cassian.”

“So?” You shrugged. “That’s your name, isn’t it?”

“You always call me Andor,” he pointed out. You never noticed it until this very moment, but you realized he was right. 

“Just tired, is all,” you mumbled.

“Are you sure?” He questioned.

“Careful there Andor,” you lightly chuckled. “I’m gonna start thinking that you don’t hate me.”

“I don’t hate you.” You looked at him then and was shocked at the amount of honesty you found in his gaze. You shook it off instantly, blaming it on the exhaustion that evidently radiated off the two of you.

“Yeah right.” You paused in front of your door, turning around to face him. “See you in the morning Andor.”

“Goodnight.”

You closed the door on him without so much as a second glance, instantly flopping onto your bed. 

I can’t believe I have to go on another mission with him, you thought to yourself.

Cassian Andor.

*** *** *** ***

thanks for reading this far!! i hope you guys liked it - let me know what you think! this was originally gonna be a one shot and then i was like wait let me cook so i hope you enjoy my yapping <3

i swear they're gonna interact more in the next part gang we just had to do some set up here (i promise there will be WAY more fluff this man deserves some happiness because he's always having a shit time, but it's also cassian so naturally shit has to be complicated)

expect the next part soon!! working on it as we speak :D

[absolxguardian]

So Saw is 100% lying about having been in an Onderon work camp. His partisan group before they were given Republic training couldn't have broken him out. And if it was a "normal" prison sentence by the pre-Seperatist government of Onderon, he wouldn't have been fighting to restore the monarchy that did that to him. After his arc in TCW, he stops being an insurgent for a bit until the Empire shows up. And we see from The Bad Batch, that there more likely to just kill Saw and all of his partisan if they caught him. And he fled Onderon shortly afterwards.

He obviously still has some sort of weird complex and perhaps even psychological addiction to the high of rhydonium. I think he must have been introduced to it in a less inspiring way, like as an adulterant in cheap spice. I think the episode was supposed to imply that its the cause of his breathing problems in Rogue One. When he appeared in Rebels season 4, less than a year before RO, I remember some people being confused that other than a dead eye, he didn't have any of his injuries from the movie. This new character trait suggests that the loss of both his legs and his breathing problems ("burns you from the inside") are the result of some kind of rhydonium related accident.

The way his paranoia is depicted is very consistent with Rebel Rising. He's convinced someone has betrayed him off little evidence, Pluti asking what station they were going to hit ahead of time. And the reader is unsure if he was right, or if he planted the evidence because he's so certain that he's right. I'm a bit conflicted about them depicting the most radical rebel as crazy from getting his brain cells cooked by gas fumes, but Saw is more than just radical. The self-defeating paranoia is an established character trait, obvious in Rebel Rising and implicit in Rogue One. You could even read Saw's instability as a warning about the dangers of forming a movement around one charismatic unquestioned leader. You all become slaves to his flaws. And remember, in Rogue One, it's not the Rebel Alliance that's right. It's the Rogue One crew who combine Saw's unhesitating use of violence with not committing war crimes (and the same goes for Rebels. It's the Ghost crew that's right, while Saw and Mon Mothma are both wrong) that take the right approach, which the Alliance is forced to adopt to get anything done going forward.

[mcrdvcks]

coming home to you

summary: The war is over, and like you promised, you're going to find Cassian. word count: 900+ pairing: cassian andor x gn!reader notes: ugh... this is super angsty because after watching ep 9, all i could think about is the fact that bix and cassian will never see each other again, and also that bix might not even know for years that he's dead. so, this was born because apparently i love pain warnings/tags: post return of the jedi, canon to rogue one, angstttt, painnnn, wrote at 3am in 20 minutes because of insomnia

Even beneath the warmth of a victorious sun, beneath skies cleared of Imperial banners, you shivered. The city glittered again, pulsating with life and liberation. And yet, it felt strangely empty, as though the price paid for freedom had hollowed out the very heart of the galaxy.

It had been weeks since the Empire’s fall, weeks since the galaxy began piecing itself back together. Yet you were still searching. For one man—one face. Cassian.

They told you to check the Archives of Remembrance, a somber building newly established in the heart of the Senate district. It was a grim place, filled with grieving eyes and whispered prayers—a place dedicated to tracking lost souls. Missing soldiers, vanished rebels, anyone swallowed whole by war.

You were there, eyes scanning lists of names, fingers tracing endless holographic entries. Nothing. Your heart strained under each letter you read, yet never found his name. It was as if he’d vanished like smoke.

“Excuse me,” you approached an archivist carefully, voice tight with suppressed hope, “I can’t find a record. I'm searching for Cassian Andor. He was part of the Rebellion, a captain. Could you please—”

The archivist's face softened, as if they'd heard the same desperate plea countless times before. “Not everyone is accounted for yet. Please, check back soon. Many records were lost or are still incomplete.”

You nodded numbly, stepping back. The murmurs around you blended into a distant hum as you turned to leave, heart heavy and body weary from your search.

A small commotion caught your attention as you stepped out onto the wide balcony. A group of dignitaries walked through the grand plaza below, surrounded by guards in muted uniforms. At their center, unmistakably elegant and dignified, walked Mon Mothma herself. You hadn’t seen her since that day on Coruscant—the day Cassian brought her safely from Imperial jaws.

Something snapped within you. Before rational thought could silence the impulse, your feet carried you swiftly down the marble steps, past startled guards and curious onlookers. “Senator!” you called out, your voice shaking.

Mon Mothma paused, gracefully turning toward the source of the voice. Her eyes, clear and compassionate, settled on your face. Recognition flickered there, subtle but unmistakable.

“I know you,” she said softly, stepping closer. Her guards shifted uneasily, but she stilled them with a gentle raise of her hand. “You’re—”

“I need your help,” you interrupted desperately, your composure unraveling like threadbare cloth. “Cassian Andor. I—I can't find him. He wouldn’t just disappear. You knew him—he saved you. Please,” your voice broke slightly, and you hated yourself for the vulnerability, “please tell me where he is.”

Her expression shifted. Sadness dimmed her eyes, pulling a shadow across her delicate features. For a painful moment, she hesitated, clearly choosing her words carefully.

“Walk with me,” she finally said, her voice steady but unbearably gentle. She guided you away from the curious ears around you, leading you to a quieter corner of the plaza. The cityscape sprawled before you, bright and promising, painfully oblivious to your aching heart.

“Where is he?” you asked again, the words little more than a whisper this time, dread creeping into your bones.

Mon’s gaze lowered briefly before finding yours again, solemn and compassionate.

“I thought you knew,” she said quietly, heartbreak etched in every word. “Cassian gave everything for the Rebellion. He was there on Scarif, at the very end. He’s gone.”

Silence filled your ears, deafening in its emptiness. The truth punched through you—sharp, definitive, brutal. You swayed slightly, a breath catching sharply in your throat.

She gently took your hand, grounding you amidst the painful shock. “He saved all of us. He changed everything,” she whispered sincerely, her voice filled with quiet reverence. “I'm so deeply sorry.”

And there, on the sunlit streets of a liberated Coruscant, your world quietly shattered. For all the galaxy had won, you'd lost the only thing that truly mattered.

Cassian was gone.

Tears formed in your eyes as you tried to blink them away. “No, I—” You took a shaky breath, “I left him. On Yavin. I told him that I’d find him, that—I left because I knew he had to stay, because he couldn’t just leave, they needed him.”

Mon squeezed your hand gently. "He understood that. Cassian knew exactly why you left. He never blamed you."

You shook your head, your throat tightening. "I should've stayed. I could've been there, I could've—"

"No," Mon said softly, but firmly. "This isn't on you. Cassian made his choices. He made them willingly. He believed in this—he believed in all of us. In you."

You stared at her, searching desperately for some kind of hope, some hidden truth that she'd kept back. But her eyes only reflected honesty and quiet sorrow.

"When I last saw him," you whispered, voice raw and shaking, "he said he wanted out. He was tired. I was supposed to be his reason to leave, but I couldn’t—I didn’t want him to abandon everything because of me."

Mon nodded slowly. "You were right. He would have regretted walking away. It wasn't who he was."

"He deserved better," you said bitterly, tears finally falling freely. "He deserved to survive this."

"Yes, he did." Mon looked out at the liberated city. "But he gave us this, and he gave us a chance. Don’t underestimate what he sacrificed for."

Your voice trembled as the weight of loss finally pressed down fully upon you. "He wasn't just a symbol or a sacrifice. He was Cassian. He was my—"

"I know," Mon whispered, pulling you into a gentle embrace. You buried your face against her shoulder, finally breaking beneath the realization. "He loved you. I know he did."

Around you, the celebrations of freedom continued—oblivious, hopeful, and painfully distant from the ache in your chest. For now, you let yourself mourn, because Cassian had fought for a future he'd never see, leaving behind a hole no victory could ever fill.

[cyber-nya]

pir'ekulor - boba fett x droid defender!reader

summary: pir'ekulor - verb - weep. droid defender (reader) crashes and burns to the beat of the cantina. boba brings her home. a/n: hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii. this fic is brought to you by: one hour of dancing mon mothma, my own crash out, and a rewatch of the book of boba fett. also @laavenderhoney. read on below or over at ao3. dividers by @saradika and @dreamland-gallery

Things kept going from bad to worse. A client cheated you out of the credits owed for droid repair; your datapad, already well past its seasons, shattered after slipping off a crate. Another client canceled on you last-minute, and on top of the already-present impostor syndrome building, you felt like you were drowning in the sand.

Add on the burn on your forearm you caught from a speeder exhaust the previous day and the ache in your back? You were bound for a crash-out of galactic proportions.

It’s how Boba Fett, Daimyo of Mos Espa, found you - circling the dance floor of the cantina like the twin suns, drink in hand.

You didn’t know what time it was, nor did you care. The beat that reverberated through the dimly lit room kept you going, kept the tears at bay for now —

Boba watched quietly from the entrance (avoiding all the bowing that were to happen, just for a moment), a wrinkle in his brow. This wasn’t you - yes, you’d go and drink at whatever establishment you felt, but you’d at least tell him. Tonight was different. When you hadn’t returned to the palace after your shift at the repair shop, he worried. You always communicated with him. Little encrypted notes, voice messages he saved far too many of…

His thoughts trailed away as he saw the tear-tracks on your face. The strobe lighting caught at just the right angle he could see them. Boba clenched his jaw for a moment and set his shoulders, helmet tucked tightly under his arm.

It was time to get you home.

Sure, you felt queasy - being full of liquor and very little food would do that. The queasiness was definitely better than the anxiety and sadness that overwhelmed you. It distracted you, kept you moving, spinning on your toes as the beat powered you. Sweat trickled down your back - you’d forgotten how long you’d been here already, and how many drinks you had - as you shifted towards the bar to get something else. Your step only faltered slightly, and you briefly considered if you’d had too much when someone stabilized you. The room was dark, it took a moment for you to focus and —

“ Goran’ika.”

You blinked - only two people call you that. Well, one —

Kriff.

You sobered up quickly, heart hammering in your chest as you try and keep the tears at bay. Boba came to find you? At the kriffing club? Your stomach churned violently with anxiety as you straightened up. His helmet was off, he was - he was —

“Let’s go home,” Boba said into your ear as he leaned down to you.

You nodded wordlessly, a lump in your throat as he brushed his free hand over your cheek gently. The leather of his glove was a comfort as always, soft and worn against your skin. He gently led you out of the cantina, a hand at the small of your back. If it wasn’t so packed, he’d have carried you out of there. Given the way you looked now, though, there was no need for a show. You deserved better than that.

(Fennec Shand would say he’s gone soft , given she had offered to come extract you herself.)

“Onto the speeder,” he commanded softly, gesturing with a nod of his head.

You followed the order, doubting you could make the walk back to the palace anyway. Normally, you’d sit behind Boba, but in your current state there was a chance you’d slip off. The weight of his chest piece at your back grounded you as you bit back tears, chewing on the inside of your cheek. Was he going to scold you? Were you in bigger trouble for missing out on credits from clients? Was he —

“Out of your head, goran’ika .”

A tear escaped down your cheek and you nodded. The planet seemed to spin for a moment and you pressed back into Boba as the speeder came to a stop. He scooped you up wordlessly, no longer in the presence of prying eyes, and carried you into the throne room. In passing, Fennec raised an eyebrow, drink in hand - before the corner of her lip pulled up only briefly.

“You’re going to be alright,” Boba said softly, modulator accentuating his words. He carefully took the throne, cradling you across his lap. You hiccuped softly at the reassurance. “I’ve got you. You can cry freely.”

And you did.

Boba’s hands left you briefly as he removed his helmet, wiping the sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. You took the opportunity to shuffle in his lap, pressing your head against his thigh as you curled into a ball. The fabric of his pants - soft, warm from the heat of his body - and the weight of his chest plate grounded you fully. You were somewhere safe, you were home.

You’d apologize for the tear stains on his pants later, when you sobered up; for now, you sobbed, first softly until something finally snapped within you.

“Let it all out, little one,” he hummed softly, the faint tune of a long-forgotten lullaby on his lips. “Don’t let it eat at you.” Boba gently stroked the top of your head, fingers gently tracing your hairline as you weeped.

You attempted to speak briefly but your words turned to warbled syllables, followed by a violent case of hiccups. Boba felt you scowl in frustration under his thumb, gently stroking your cheek.

“Easy,” he whispered, “I’m not goin’ anywhere. We’ll watch the suns come up together.”

You nodded, curling tighter into a ball. Your chest finally eased up as you cried every ounce of frustration and anxiety (and alcohol) out. Exhaustion finally began to seep into your bones, tired from the dancing, the crying, the existing. Boba continued to hum as your shoulders stopped slowly shaking.

“That’s it,” he smiled, wiping a few tears away as your eyes became heavy. “Tomorrow is a new day.”

You nodded weakly, exhaustion winning the battle; no longer sobbing, your hiccuping breaths turned soft and easy, signaling you’d fallen asleep.

Boba dared not to wake you, not after the days you’d had. He knew better than to ask - seeing as he already knew - or make you explain yourself. The whispers inside his own head reminded him of the struggle some days. He leaned back in the throne slightly, careful not to move you too much as he watched you sleep. Boba etched your features into his mind, noting every freckle and scar as you relaxed in his lap, features softening with each breath.

You were so much more than you believed yourself to be.

mando'a note:

goran'ika - engineer (endearing/affectionate) -- a little nickname for my droid defender, currently living with boba while din is away. (idfk i'm just making this up as i go)

[erinkeifer]

ℕ𝕠𝕥 𝕞𝕪 𝕔𝕠𝕕𝕖 - ℙ𝕒𝕣𝕥 𝕀𝕍

[Anakin Skywalker x Padawan!Fem Reader]

Masterlist | Wattpad | AO3 Not My Code Masterlist

Summary: When Anakin was away on missions, all you could do was miss him and work at the temple. Now, on the eve of your knighting ceremony, Anakin returned, very exhausted, but you didn't hesitate to comfort him in a very special way.

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI | smut | rough oral sex (m!receiving) | face fucking | dom!Anakin | sub!Reader | kissing | cursing | mentions of injuries

Author note: I'm doing my best to make each part readable on its own, without knowledge of the previous ones, so no worries! If you don't want to catch up on the storyline, you can treat it as a one-shot!

Word Count: 4,2k

Though you won't admit it to anyone, you feel that as the ceremony approaches, your self-assurance is growing. The past few weeks have been difficult to endure - Anakin barely returned to the temple, and when he did, it was at night when you had no chance to see him. A few times, you communicated through comlinks, but he was never alone, so you waited very patiently.

However, contact with Anakin wasn't the only thing you lacked patience for during this time. Yesterday marked two weeks since you should have had your period, and if you hadn't gotten it today, your first meeting with Anakin after the separation would have been rather stressful.

Stepping out of the bathroom, a weight lifted off your heart - relieved of one worry, you walked to your wardrobe and chose one of your outfits that you had recently purchased.

In your spare time this week, you allowed yourself to spend a few credits in Coruscant, and since you had gazed at the luxurious boutique next to Luthen's antique shop, you decided to splurge a bit. You had always admired Mon Mothma's fashion, and when you discreetly observed her leaving that very shop during one of your missions, you took it as a true mark of quality.

One of your choices was a beautiful jumpsuit in a dark, iridescent purple, snug with a long, flowing overlay that embraced your shoulders, waist, and gently flared down, creating a gown-like effect. The bottom of it could be fastened, but today, you decided to leave it unfastened, revealing your legs adorned in the shimmering material and high, comfortable heeled shoes.

Leaving your quarters, you made sure your makeup looked flawless and ran your fingers through your unruly, long waves that majestically cascaded down your shoulders like a curtain.

The stretch of the corridor you were walking along, leaving your room, seemed empty, but just around the corner, you heard a familiar noise that piqued your curiosity.

"Hey there? Buddy?" you muttered under your breath, taking a few more steps forward before leaning out from behind a nearby pillar.

"Don't tell me you've been waiting here the whole time!" You smiled, placing your hands on your hips, catching your favorite droid hiding behind the wall. R2-D2 let out a series of chaotic beeps.

"I know, I know, I didn't hear you at all from behind the door." Thank goodness. At least you know Anakin's talk about soundproof rooms wasn't just hot air."

"Did you distribute everything? Didn't miss anyone?" you asked, to which R2 responded with affirmative beeps.

"Good job, my friend. You've earned my gratitude." You patted the droid on the head, and he beeped triumphantly.

With R2's response, you continued forward, walking at a calm pace toward the landing platform where Anakin and the crew would soon arrive. Your heart raced at the thought of reuniting with your master after weeks of waiting, but you tried to suppress any tension within you enough not to arouse any suspicions.

Riding the elevator with the friendly droid, you ascended one floor, and just a few seconds after entering another corridor, you heard familiar footsteps and voices.

"I think we all need a day off." you heard Rex say as he walked in the middle between Obi-Wan and Skywalker.

"Tell that to Master Yoda." Obi-Wan replied jokingly, and the three men laughed, but their eyes quickly landed on you as you walked slowly in their direction.

"Gentlemen." you nodded in greeting and smiled slightly, noticing a certain kind of surprise on their faces.

"Good morning, Ma'am. You're blooming!" Rex greeted, admiringly looking at you, and Anakin glanced at him out of the corner of his eye.

"I have to agree with the Captain's words." Obi-Wan replied with a smile, which you immediately reciprocated.

"Thank you, General, thank you, Captain. It's a pleasure to finally see you. You too, Master." you said, standing tall, with your hands clasped behind your back, and your gaze finally landed on Anakin's eyes. Skywalker nodded, smiling at the corners of his mouth.

"Did you all receive invitations to tomorrow's ceremony? R2-D2 did his best to reach everyone." you asked with a smile, exchanging glances with the three of them.

"We all received them, and of course, we'll be there as a matter of duty. Thank you very much." Obi-Wan replied proudly, to which the rest of them smiled and nodded in agreement.

"I'm glad to hear that. I've heard rumors that your mission today was a success." you replied, wanting to show interest in what was happening around the temple.

"Absolutely. We're just heading to report with the Captain, and then, hopefully, it's time for some well-deserved rest." Kenobi answered, smiling warmly at Rex.

"And rightfully so. I've planned a very long day for tomorrow. Carry on with your duties, I won't keep you." you said, returning Kenobi's smile.

"General Skywalker, I assume that's all for today. We're leaving you with the Padawan." Rex replied before moving with Obi-Wan to the briefing room.

"Yes, I believe so. Give your report and head for some rest." Anakin responded, speaking for the first time during the conversation, and your gaze shifted toward him.

"Just don't kill each other." Kenobi quipped, turning in your direction as he and Captain Rex walked in the opposite direction of the corridor.

"We'll try." you sarcastically retorted, watching both men disappear from your sight.

"Hello, Master." you said to Skywalker when his friendly droid was the only one accompanying you.

"Hey." he responded with a warm tone, initially locking eyes with you, but after a moment, he looked you up and down.

You pretended not to notice his gaze, and though it was challenging to restrain a mischievous smile, you maintained a neutral expression. Anakin knelt down and glanced at his droid, almost as if checking to ensure that no harm had befallen him under your care.

"Missed him, did you?" you said, smiling at the sight of the Master and his faithful assistant.

"Thanks for looking after him." Anakin said, directing his gaze at you and then back at R2.

"It was a pleasure, as always. Besides, he performed quite well." you replied, still smiling.

"Was that so, R2? Did she do well too?" Anakin asked the droid, who beeped chaotically in response.

"All night? Seriously?" Skywalker retorted with feigned annoyance in his voice, turning his gaze to you and raising his eyebrows in surprise. Oh, shut up, you little troublemaker.

"Ooh, he came back in the night after distributing the invitations, and I was already asleep and didn't hear him through the door." you replied, narrowing your eyes at the droid who got you into this, to which Anakin smiled and stood up slowly.

"I'll punish her for that, I promise." he said, patting the droid on the head and pointing in the direction you both slowly started walking.

'I'll hold you to that promise.' you thought in your head as you walked alongside your two companions.

"Anyway, Master, I have two pieces of news: good and bad – which one do you want first?" you replied after a few silent steps, to which Anakin instantly sighed.

"Well, let's get the bad news out of the way first." he replied, turning his attention to you.

"So – it's not time for rest just yet. Yoda has planned a meeting with the younglings, and they're probably waiting for you already." Anakin sighed again and rolled his eyes.

"And the good news?"

"That's the last thing for today – unless the Separatists decide to change our plans – we're off duty for the rest of the day." You smiled, and Anakin's facial expression became slightly more optimistic.

"If you want, I can take R2 for a while, and you can deal with the younglings." you asked with a mischievous smile, subconsciously trying to avoid the tasks you didn't particularly enjoy.

"Oh no, not this time. You're coming with me. It's not just my show." Anakin immediately replied, knowing how much you would like to get out of it.

"Ouch." you muttered under your breath, and the expression on your face dropped.

"No sighing. Get it together, Padawan." Anakin smiled at the corners of his mouth and gave you a motivational nudge on the shoulder.

...................................................................................................................

Perhaps it was supposed to be your joint 'show,' but Anakin certainly struggled more with it. After the training and a long series of presenting new techniques along with answering the kids' questions, the group thanked both of you, and it was time for a well-deserved rest.

"I don't know about you, but I feel like I've been through the wringer." Anakin said, closing the training room door behind you.

Before leaving, you managed to tidy up, collect the props that had been brought from another location, and basically, all that was left was to return them to where they were taken from and head to your respective quarters.

"A bit better, but only a bit. After all, I wasn't the one on a mission today." you smiled, watching Anakin turn the key.

"Uh, right. This way." Skywalker directed, and you headed towards the storage room for training props.

The setting sun tinted the sky with a purple hue, and the temple was beautifully illuminated at this time, feeding your gaze with a beautiful view until you descended to the covered rooms one floor below, where the storage room awaited you. Soon, you emptied your hands there.

"I guess that's it." Anakin said, shaking off his hands and leaning against the wall in the dark room.

"I guess so." you replied, shrugging. Finally, you left the dingy room and closed the door behind you, heading in opposite directions.

"You should go and rest, and I... Well, I guess the first thing is to wash this off me." you said, turning away from Anakin, standing with your back to him. Your hands were dirty from the dust, and even your face had some unwanted spots that you gained inadvertently by touching it.

"Not just you." Anakin replied, pointing to the muddy traces on his clothes and skin.

"On me?" he added after a moment, and you didn't fully understand what he meant by that.

"What do you mean?" you asked.

"We can go to my place. Your quarters are on the other side of the Temple, mine's practically around the corner." Anakin clarified, and a green light lit up in your mind. You absolutely didn't want to finish this day alone, and truth be told, you were secretly hoping for it.

"Lead the way." you smiled, and without adding anything else, you headed towards Anakin's quarters, accompanied by R2, who was still with you.

Well, Anakin wasn't lying at all – his quarters were less than a minute away from the storage room, and as soon as you reached the door, you felt a certain kind of tension within you.

You remembered this place; you had been here for a moment when, a few years ago, at Kenobi's command, you had to find Anakin due to a sudden call from the crew. You recalled how much Skywalker didn't want you here – and what stuck in your memory the most was the sight of a woman, none other than Padmé Amidala. That day, you learned about their relationship, but that's already history.

"Come on in, feel free." Anakin's voice snapped you out of the flood of memories, and in the blink of an eye, you returned to reality. With slow steps, you entered the room, and behind you came your Master's friendly droid – well, at least it attempted to enter.

"R2, do me a favor, buddy." Skywalker said to the droid, who directed its indicators toward him as if it started to listen attentively.

"Stay outside and keep an eye in case someone unwanted would be lurking around, okay?" Anakin requested, to which the droid beeped in agreement and retreated behind the door.

"Thanks." he smiled and slowly closed the quarters' door.

Wait, didn't Anakin mention once that on his stretch of the corridor, nobody really hangs around because there's no reason to? Hm, anyway...

His quarters weren't just ordinary quarters. You stood in a spacious, beautifully, albeit somewhat dimly, decorated apartment with a kitchen, living room, bathroom, and a terrace – the latter particularly catching your attention.

The beautifully situated terrace revealed the best view of the cityscape, and in its secluded corner, there was a bar and a large jacuzzi, ingeniously incorporated into the robust structure of the building. On the other side of the terrace, you could see the balconies of guest apartments, which at the moment exuded emptiness.

Well... It's impressive.

"Today's a bit too cold for that." Anakin spoke from behind you as he saw you looking at the outdoor jacuzzi.

"But I can invite you in here." he added after a moment, gesturing for you to follow him, and headed to the bathroom. It was much more spacious than yours – besides the shower, there was also a bathtub, and frankly, you didn't know what you'd prefer for today.

Once both of you were inside, Anakin closed the door behind you and without hesitation began to remove his robes.

"Shit." he muttered under his breath, and you quickly noticed that his issue was with the fabric stuck to a wound, which, when pulled off, caused quite some discomfort.

"Let me..." you reached for his robes to do it more gently and as painlessly as possible.

"Well, at least somewhat lighter than last time..." you remarked, revealing rather fresh, though less extensive, wounds on his chest. It was worse when it came to bruises – you weren't surprised he felt like he'd been through the wringer.

"Have you checked this in the Med Bay? Something might be fractured..." you asked, looking with concern at the purplish marks on Skywalker's body.

"Nah, nothing major. Thanks." he replied, taking back his robes from you and tossing them into the laundry basket.

You weren't sure whether to start undressing yourself; you were sore too, though not for the same reasons as Anakin, and frankly, you didn't know how to tell him that today, there wouldn't be anything 'interesting' happening.

Skywalker, on the other hand, didn't hesitate to remove his pants and boxers, then took two towels from the hanger, tossing one in your direction.

"Won't you join?" he asked, stepping into the shower cabin. Finally, you tore your eyes away from the mirror where you examined your slightly stained face, and had to admit it to yourself again – his body was intimidating.

Your heart raced faster, and though you didn't know what to say, you took off the upper part of your jumpsuit, standing in front of Anakin in just tight pants. Skywalker scanned your bare chest, and before – as usual – you instinctively began to cover yourself, he pulled you into the – still dry – shower cabin.

"Still got that same tic, sunshine?" he whispered, standing very close, his face near yours, taking your waist in a strong grip.

"You have no idea what you did to me in this... outfit." he continued, bringing his face to your ear.

"But you know what's wrong?" he murmured, gently tilting your chin in his direction with a slight movement of his hand.

"That I haven't ripped the rest of your clothes off yet."

At that moment, you felt your back forcefully collide with the wall, and you let out a slight hiss, not even noticing when Anakin's hands reached for the zipper of your pants.

"Anakin, please, wait..." Although Skywalker's hands trembled with desire, your dramatic tone halted his further movements, and his eyes landed on yours.

"I... I can't." you said with a hint of disappointment in your voice.

"Why?"

"You know... I'm bleeding." you blushed, trying to gently withdraw Anakin's hands from your zipper.

"Darling, you know I really don't have a prob..." he started, but you quickly interrupted him,

"I know, but... Somehow I can't. And it hurts a bit too much..." you replied, and only after a moment did you process in your mind the term Anakin used to address you – 'Darling'... You felt like melting for a moment.

"I can leave your underwear on if that's okay with you, but just be here with me, okay?" he suggested.

"I mean... You can take everything off; I'm protected... We just won't..."

"Okay, sure..." he replied, and following your words, he slid your pants and underwear off.

When all the clothes were lying on the floor, Anakin closed the shower cabin's door and gently let the water flow. In the first moments, he didn't move, just watched. He watched as your body became increasingly wet and shimmered with water droplets falling onto it.

You made the first move, gently embracing him at the waist and nestling into the wet strands of hair falling on his shoulders. Soon, however, you felt as if some demon had awakened in Skywalker – his strong arms gripped you around the waist and turned you towards the wall, so you collided with it with your breasts, while Anakin pressed his body against yours from behind.

"You have no idea... Damn... You have no idea how you would fight for survival on this wall if I could fuck you right now." he muttered into your ear with a hoarse, needy voice, colliding with your body and simultaneously pressing you against the wall.

"You'd have worse bruises than mine, you know that???" You responded only with soft moans, feeling how his words ignited you from within. Suddenly, he turned your body back to face him.

"Kiss me." he whispered, and you didn't hesitate, just pressed your wet lips against his. The kiss lingered; when you ran out of breath, you pulled away for a second, so he could slip his tongue back into your mouth after a while.

Moment by moment, it became increasingly sloppy, and your hands wandered chaotically over each other's bodies. Soon, you parted your lips from each other—only a thin thread of your saliva separated them.

You looked at him and saw how painfully hard he was; you gently touched his lower abdomen when he didn't take his eyes off you.

"How can I take care of you?" you whispered, returning your gaze to your Master, who took a moment to think.

"Kneel."

One word was enough for you to start feeling like your heart was about to leap out of your chest. Without breaking eye contact with Anakin, you complied with his request and slowly bent down on your knees, ultimately kneeling before him on the wet shower floor.

He smiled at the corners of his mouth as his hand caressed your face, and his fingers traced a ticklish path across your cheeks. Finally, one of his fingers began to wander over your lips, eventually stopping and gently parting them.

"Open your mouth."

Obediently, you did as your master commanded, and although you expected something different, Anakin inserted two fingers into your mouth. Without taking his eyes off you, he slid them in as deep as possible, as if testing you.

He watched attentively every one of your grimaces, and the longer he looked, the more painful his desire became. When he 'prepared' your lips and felt he was on the edge, he withdrew his fingers from your mouth and pivoted his body closer, almost touching his length to your face.

"Do it for me." he whispered, and you swallowed saliva, wanting to please him in the best possible way but also fearing you wouldn't handle his massive size. To start, you wanted to assist yourself with your hands—placing them at the base—but he gently set them aside.

"For now, just your mouth, please." he muttered, and you nodded, placing your hands on his hips, trying not to squeeze too tightly around the bruised areas.

Finally, you took a deep breath and enveloped the tip of his erection with your lips, suctioning and teasing it lightly with your tongue. Anakin hissed softly, feeling the touch of your lips on his throbbing, sensitive point, while you gradually tried to test your boundaries.

You pressed your lips against his shaft and began maneuvering them with a sliding motion, so far unable to reach even halfway. Anakin's quiet moans were music to your ears, motivating you to maintain your pace—a pace he thought he had already outlined in his wicked plan.

Soon, you felt his trembling but strong fingers grabbing your hair, first with his mechanical hand, then adding the other, initially without applying pressure.

The sound of his deep, increasingly rapid breaths, the gentle stream of water, and the wet sound of your lips sliding along his length filled your ears—enough to make you feel ecstatic, but at the same time, you felt a blockage. You were afraid of choking, afraid of embarrassing yourself, and he knew it all along, piercing you not only with his gaze but also with his mind.

"D-do you remember what I said when we were heading to training?" he muttered above you, and you released him from your mouth for a moment to look at him questioningly.

"Do you mean..." you began to wonder, but he didn't let you.

"I promised to punish you." Hearing his words, you could simultaneously see something beastly awakening in him, and his dilated pupils buried in you widened.

"Take it." he growled, and you repositioned your mouth as before, continuing what you hadn't finished. Suddenly, you felt the pressure of his hands on your head, and your mouth filled even more.

Your eyes narrowed more and more, and your lips grew numb as his wicked smile spread across his face. Taking one of his hands off your head, he patted your cheek when you involuntarily crossed over half of his length, and tears welled up in your eyes. You thought you could somehow adjust your throat to him, but all that remained for you was to accept your fate when suddenly he began to fulfill what he desired so much. He thrust straight into your throat.

For a moment, it felt like you were falling apart, and when he did it a second time, the tears accumulated in your eyes instantly splashed onto your cheeks.

"Oh my... Fuck!" Anakin almost shouted, feeling how hopelessly you clenched onto him.

You were so overwhelmed by the intense sensation that it belatedly occurred to you that you were practically choking. Impulsively, you pulled away from Anakin, somehow overpowering the grip of his hands, but he still wasn't as strong as he planned.

"Don't even think..." he growled, thrusting again into your mouth, but before this—fortunately—you managed to quickly take a deep breath.

"Keep going... Just a bit more... -Fuck... A little more." he muttered, breathing heavily and trembling with excitement, watching you take his thrusts painfully.

You whimpered, choking on his length, and he fucked your face until your lips reached the very base. As he felt your trembling hands digging into his bruised hips, his loud moans mixed with growls, punishing you for it, pressing you against him so hard that he didn't even consider that you might vomit at any moment.

"I'm... Oh fuck... Oh f-fuck." Anakin began to choke on his own voice as he felt his orgasm approaching, and his back forcefully hit the shower wall as he tried to maintain balance.

His hands were numb as he climaxed, so when he didn't press you so hard anymore, you helped yourself with your hands, jerking him with great force until you finally felt his warm cum filling your mouth. His own throat muffled the screams he could have let out—he groaned and panted above you with clenched eyes until he emptied himself completely. When he finished, he grabbed the wall next to him to gain any balance.

You slumped hopelessly onto the wet shower floor, trying to catch your breath. Your makeup was smeared, and mascara ran down your face in numerous teary streaks. Both of you were detached from the galaxy at that moment—you had no strength for anything, not even to simply leave the shower. After a few minutes of regaining your breath, Anakin slowly turned off the water tap, and the only sound that reached his ears at that moment was your—still quite rapid—breathing.

When he felt less numb, he opened the shower door and, smoothing your back beforehand, carried you out of the cabin. You calmed down, feeling his pulsating chest so closely, and without saying anything—without even having the strength—you simply waited for the next scenario.

Exiting the bathroom, he immediately guided you towards the spacious bed that awaited just around the corner, and the next thing you felt was the touch of a soft mattress.

After gently placing you on the bed, Anakin handed you a blanket, which he eventually decided to spread himself. Before lying down, he sat beside you, smiling at the corners of his mouth at the sight of your exhausted face.

"Now it's time to rest."

[areyoufuckingcrazy]

“Collateral Morals” pt.1

Commander Thorn x Senator!Reader

The Senate chamber was a palace of marble and double-speak.

Your voice cut through it like a vibroblade.

“I will not stay silent while the Republic condemns slavery in the same breath it sends engineered men to die nameless in another system’s dust!”

Murmurs rippled. Eyes narrowed. A few senators visibly flinched.

“I will not—cannot—stand by while the Republic claps itself on the back for dismantling slavery on one hand and sends the clone army to their deaths with the other.”

You continued, stepping away from the podium, unshaken despite the weight of every eye trained on you.

“We decry the Zygerians, the Hutts, the slavers of the outer rim—but we justify the manufacturing of a living, breathing people because they wear our uniform and die for our cause.”

There was a stillness in the room now. Even the usual side-chatter had ceased.

You weren’t drunk. Not now. Not here.

You were righteous. Unapologetic. You were chaos in silk, fire behind a senator’s seal.

“They are not tools. They are not assets. They are men. We claim moral superiority while deploying an engineered slave force across the galaxy. We praise the courage of the clones while denying them names, futures, choices.”

A few senators whispered among themselves. Bail Organa looked grim. Mon Mothma’s hands were clasped in silent support. But others—the loyalists, the corporate-backed, the status quo—were already sharpening their rebuttals.

You stared them down.

“The clones are not our property. And if we continue to treat them as such, the Republic is not the democracy we pretend it is.”

You bowed your head. “That’s all.”

And you walked off the podium to the thunderous silence of a room unsure whether to cheer or crucify you.

⸻

You returned to your apartment, dimly lit, your shoes discarded at the door, and your shoulder already aching from tension and too many political threats disguised as advice.

You poured a drink—nothing fancy—and leaned against your balcony rail, staring at the neon jungle below.

“You did good,” you murmured to yourself. “Or at least, you told the truth.”

You raised your glass. “To inconvenient truths.”

That’s when the glass shattered.

You froze. A second bolt followed, scorching the edge of your balcony railing.

Sniper.

You dropped to the floor just as a third bolt zipped over your head, and crawled behind the couch, heart hammering. Your comm was somewhere in your bag across the room. The lights flickered. You could hear movement. Someone was in the apartment.

A shadow shifted across the floor.

Then—crash.

A body slammed through the window behind you, and you screamed, scrabbling backward as the intruder raised a blaster.

But before he could fire—Three red bolts tore through the assassin’s chest.

You blinked, stunned, as the armored figure that followed stepped over the body and into your apartment like the chaos meant nothing.

Crimson armor. Sharp as a blade. Helmet marked with authority.

Commander Thorn.

He scanned the room once, then motioned to his men.

“Clear.”

Two more red-armored Coruscant Guards entered, rifles up, fanning out.

“Senator,” Thorn said, voice clipped. “You’re being placed under full security protection by order of the Chancellor.”

You were still catching your breath. “Nice to meet you too.”

Thorn’s helmet didn’t move. “You were targeted by a professional. It wasn’t random.”

“No kidding,” you muttered, pulling yourself up. “Didn’t think a critic of the military complex would be popular.”

His head tilted slightly. “You’ll be assigned two guards at all times. Myself included.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You? You’re—what, my babysitter now?”

“I’m your shield,” he said coolly. “Whether you like it or not.”

There was steel in his posture, in his voice, but also something else—something unreadable beneath the weight of his duty.

You scoffed, brushing glass off your skirt. “Hope you’re not allergic to disaster, Commander. I tend to attract it.”

“You attract assassins,” he said. “Disaster is just the symptom.”

You paused.

“…You’re kind of intense.”

He stared.

“You’re kind of loud,” he replied.

You blinked—then grinned. “This is going to be so much fun.”

⸻

You woke up to three missed calls, two blistering news headlines, and one very annoyed clone standing guard inside your kitchen.

Thorn hadn’t moved from his post since 0400.

You stumbled in wearing a shirt that definitely wasn’t clean and cradling your hangover like an old lover.

He didn’t even blink at your state.

“Your 0900 meeting with the Chancellor has been moved up,” he said without looking at you. “You’re expected in twenty minutes.”

You opened the fridge. Empty. “Does that meeting come with caf?”

“No.”

“You’re a real charmer, Thorn.”

No answer.

You slapped together something vaguely edible, tossed on the cleanest outfit from the pile on your couch, and let Thorn escort you through the durasteel halls of 500 Republica like a dignified mess being smuggled into a formal event.

Outside your building, the press was already gathered. Dozens of them, hollering questions, waving holorecorders. Most were shouting about your speech. Others were speculating on the assassination attempt.

You lowered your sunglasses, jaw tight.

Thorn’s voice was calm in your ear. “Keep walking. Don’t engage.”

You didn’t.

But you did flash a grin at the cameras.

“Can’t kill the truth, folks!” you shouted over the noise. “Especially not with bad aim!”

Thorn muttered something under his breath, possibly a curse, definitely not a compliment.

⸻

“She’s here?” Palpatine said, glancing toward the door. “Well, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Punctuality was never her strength.”

You walked in like you owned the building. “She can hear you, Sheev.”

Thorn stayed just inside the doorway, silent as ever, arms folded across his chest.

Palpatine gave you a smile that was mostly teeth. “Senator. I trust you’re recovering?”

“I’m not dead,” you said, collapsing into a chair without being asked. “Which is more than I expected, considering how many people are pissed at me right now.”

He folded his hands. “You courted controversy.”

You raised a brow. “I told the truth.”

“A dangerous thing to do in wartime,” he replied smoothly.

You ignored that, leaning forward. “How’d you know, Sheev?”

Palpatine tilted his head. “Know what?”

“That I was in danger. The Guards were in my apartment before my assassin finished climbing in. You reassigned one of the Republic’s best commanders to me. That wasn’t a panic decision. That was preparation.”

He smiled again. “I have… many sources. Intelligence moves quickly.”

“Cut the bantha,” you said, eyes narrowing. “You know something you’re not saying.”

He didn’t deny it. “Perhaps. But for now, consider this a favor from an old friend.”

“Friend,” you scoffed. “You just like having me close where you can monitor the damage.”

He laughed—light, calculated. “That too.”

You stood. “You owe me answers.”

“I owe you safety,” he corrected. “And you owe the Republic your discretion.”

Thorn shifted behind you, a silent shadow.

“Come on, Commander,” you muttered. “Let’s go before I commit a diplomatic incident.”

⸻

The day hadn’t gotten better.

You’d dodged three interviews, gotten a drink thrown at you by a rival senator’s aide, and broken your datapad in half slamming it on a desk during a debate about clone rights.

You flopped onto your couch, exhausted, mascara smudged, shoes kicked off, hair a mess.

Thorn stood by the window like a living sculpture, arms behind his back.

“You don’t say much,” you mumbled.

“Not required.”

“You don’t flinch either.”

“No point.”

You cracked one eye open. “You ever… relax?”

Silence.

You laughed. “Of course not. You’re like a walking bunker.”

More silence.

You looked over at him. “Do you hate me?”

“No.”

“Then why do you look at me like I’m a mess waiting to happen?”

He finally turned his head toward you. “Because you are.”

You blinked—then smiled.

“For a guy who’s made of rules and laser bolts, you’re kinda boring.”

“I’m not here to be fun.”

You sat up, facing him. “Why are you here then, really? Is it just duty? Or did someone decide I was too much trouble to leave unmonitored?”

He didn’t answer.

But he didn’t leave either.

You leaned closer, voice quieter now. “Do you think I’m wrong about the clones?”

“No.”

You blinked.

“But I follow orders,” he said. “You question them. That makes us different.”

You smiled faintly. “Or it makes us the same. You follow orders to protect lives. I break them for the same reason.”

His visor tilted just slightly. “We’ll see.”

And for a moment, the tension between you wasn’t about politics, or rules, or ideology.

It was the electric kind.

The kind that promised more.

⸻

The club was called The Silver Spire, and it was upscale enough for senators to pretend they weren’t slumming it, but scandalous enough that holonet gossipers would have a field day by morning.

You stepped out of the transport wearing a dress that didn’t scream “senator” so much as it whispered come ruin your reputation with me.

Thorn, behind you, said nothing.

Padmé was already waiting at the front with a small group—Senator Chuchi, Bail Organa (reluctantly), and Mon Mothma, who had her hair up and her tolerance down.

Three red-armored Coruscant Guards flanked the entrance, scanning the street. Thorn spoke into his comm lowly as you joined the others.

“Extra security is in place. Interior sweep complete. Rooftop clear.”

Padmé greeted you with a grin. “Tried to get here early so we could actually enjoy ourselves before the whispers start.”

“I’m already hearing whispers,” you said, nudging her. “Mostly from the commander behind me.”

“I don’t whisper,” Thorn said flatly.

Padmé bit a smile. “Clearly.”

Just then, a new figure approached—dark robes, loose tunic, that signature brow of broody disapproval.

“Senator,” Anakin Skywalker said to Padmé, too formally. “Council approved my presence tonight—just as added protection.”

Padmé raised a brow. “Did they?”

“They did,” he said. “Too many of you gathered in one place after a recent assassination attempt… it’s a risk.”

“Right,” you said, sipping your cocktail from a flask you hadn’t told Thorn you’d brought. “And I’m sure it has nothing to do with the fact that Padmé’s here.”

Anakin ignored that. Barely.

Thorn, beside you, was watching the crowd, the rooftops, the angles of the building like he was mapping out a warzone.

You turned slightly toward him. “Do you ever stop scanning?”

“Only when you stop being a walking target.”

You laughed. “So never?”

“Exactly.”

Inside, the music was low and tasteful, the lights golden. You were seated in a semi-private booth, guarded at all angles. The senators tried to act casual—like they weren’t all wearing panic buttons and sipping around holonet spies.

You watched Padmé and Anakin from across the table. They didn’t touch. They didn’t flirt.

But their eyes never really left each other.

You leaned toward Thorn, who stood behind you like a silent monolith.

“Are all Jedi that obvious when they’re trying not to be obvious?”

Thorn didn’t blink. “No.”

You smiled. “So it’s just Skywalker.”

Thorn didn’t answer—but you were almost sure his mouth twitched.

You sat back, swirling your drink. “You ever go out, Commander? When you’re off duty?”

“I’m never off duty.”

“Do you have a bed?”

“Yes.”

“Do you use it or does it stand in the corner like a decoration?”

Thorn finally looked down at you. “Do you ever stop talking?”

“Do you ever start?”

That almost-smile again.

And just like that, the press of people, the chatter, the pretense—it all seemed distant.

Just you and Thorn and the buzz of something quietly building between bulletproof walls.

“Y’know,” you murmured, “you should really enjoy this moment.”

Thorn’s gaze flicked down. “Why?”

You tilted your head. “Because it’s the closest you’ll ever be to letting your guard down.”

For a second, just a second, his eyes lingered.

Not as a soldier. Not as your shield.

As a man.

Then—

“Senator—movement on the south entrance.”

His voice was clipped, all business again. The moment gone.

You stood, heartbeat ticking faster, not because of the threat—but because you hadn’t realized how close you’d gotten to crossing a line neither of you acknowledged.

The commotion turned out to be nothing.

A waiter with nerves and a tray full of champagne had slipped near the side entrance, knocking over a heat lamp and sending sparks into the ornamental drapes.

No fire. No attack.

Just a very excitable Skywalker igniting his saber in the middle of the dance floor like a drama king with no sense of subtlety.

“Code Red!” he shouted. “Everyone get down!”

“Anakin, stand down!” Padmé hissed, yanking his arm. “It’s a spilled drink and a curtain, not a coup.”

You leaned sideways in your booth, already two cocktails and one shot past rational thinking. “Didn’t know Jedi training included interpretive panic.”

Commander Thorn muttered something into his comm as his men de-escalated the scene. His voice was sharp, focused, firm.

Yours was not.

“Commander,” you slurred, tipping your glass slightly in his direction. “You ever seen a lightsaber waved around that fast outside of a bedroom?”

Chuchi nearly snorted her drink. Padmé covered her mouth to hide her laugh.

Mon Mothma gave a long-suffering sigh. “I knew letting her have wine was a mistake.”

You grinned at her, shameless. “Mistakes are just… educational chaos.”

“Stars,” Bail said dryly, “you’re drunker than a Republic budget.”

You slapped the table proudly. “Drunk, but alive! Which is better than last night, thank you very much.”

Thorn exhaled, long and quiet. “You’re done drinking.”

You blinked up at him, all wide eyes and mischief. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

He stared down at you. “You’re under protection detail.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m under you,” you whispered.

Dead silence.

Padmé choked.

Mon Mothma turned very interested in the far wall.

Thorn blinked once, slowly, before turning to the other senators. “Evening’s over. Time to go.”

⸻

You were a pile of glitter, political scandal, and heels. And you refused to walk.

“You’re heavy for someone who doesn’t eat real food,” Thorn grunted, carrying you in full armor up four flights of stairs after you refused the lift, citing, “The lights are judging me.”

You giggled against his shoulder. “You’re comfy. Like a walking shield.”

“That’s literally my job,” he deadpanned.

“I like your voice,” you slurred. “You always sound like you’re disappointed in me.”

“I am.”

You laughed so hard you nearly slid out of his arms.

He adjusted his grip with practiced ease. “You’re going to be hurting in the morning.”

“I already hurt,” you mumbled. “But, like, in a sexy tragic way.”

He snorted. Actually snorted.

You grinned. “Was that a laugh, Commander?”

“No.”

“Liar.”

He deposited you onto your couch with surprising gentleness, removing your heels and placing them neatly aside.

You flopped dramatically. “You missed your calling. Should’ve been a nurse.”

“I don’t have the patience.”

You curled up, eyes closing. “You’re not what I expected.”

He stood over you, helmet off now, expression unreadable. “Neither are you.”

“Is that a compliment?” you asked through a yawn.

He watched you quietly, the chaotic senator turned half-conscious mess under his protection.

“It might be.”

You were half-curled on the couch now, dress hiked slightly, makeup smudged, dignity somewhere on the floor with your shoes. Thorn hadn’t left—not even after you’d settled. He stood a few paces away, helmet off, arms crossed over his broad chest.

Watching. Waiting. Guarding.

“I’m not always like this,” you muttered into the throw pillow. “The drinking. The… dramatics.”

“You don’t need to explain.”

“I do.” You shifted slightly, blinking blearily at him. “I’m supposed to be a leader. I give speeches about justice, fight for ethics, talk about ending the war, and then I come home and pour whiskey over my own hypocrisy.”

His expression didn’t change. But something in his stance eased.

“You’re not a hypocrite,” he said quietly.

You looked up, surprised.

“I’ve seen hypocrites,” he added. “They talk about morality while funding the war. You talk about morality and get shot for it.”

You laughed—low and bitter. “So what does that make me?”

He hesitated. “It makes you dangerous… and honest.”

You sat up slowly, legs tucked beneath you, your eyes catching his in the low apartment light.

“You really think I’m dangerous?” you asked, voice dipping softer.

His jaw ticked. “Not in the way they do.”

That made you smile.

He didn’t move as you stood, slowly, stepping closer. The room felt smaller. Or maybe just warmer. It could’ve been the wine. Or maybe just him—that presence, that gravity. Commander Thorn wasn’t the type of man women flirted with lightly. He didn’t bend. He didn’t soften.

And still… you reached out, fingers brushing his forearm.

“You ever wish you weren’t born for war?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper. “That you could just… be?”

Something flickered in his eyes. Not pain. Not quite. But something quiet. Something unspoken.

“I don’t know what I’d be if I wasn’t a soldier.”

You stepped even closer now, your chest nearly brushing his, head tilted up, eyes locked. “Maybe something softer.”

“I don’t do soft,” he said.

“I noticed.”

And for a heartbeat—just one—you leaned in. Close enough to kiss him. Close enough to feel the heat between you tighten, coil, burn.

But you stopped.

Just short.

Your breath hitched. You stepped back quickly, blinking it all away.

“I should sleep,” you said, a little too quickly.

Thorn didn’t stop you. Didn’t move. But he watched you turn and disappear toward your bedroom, silent and unreadable.

You paused in the doorway. Just once. Just to check.

He was still standing there.

Still watching.

Still unreadable.

⸻

Morning crept in too early.

You cracked one eye open, instantly regretting it.

Head pounding. Mouth dry. Memory foggy. Your brain felt like a poorly written senate proposal—messy, circular, and somehow your fault.

The last thing you remembered clearly was Thorn’s voice. Then his arms. Then…

Stars.

You sat up too fast and nearly fell right back down.

“Water. Water, water, water,” you croaked to the empty room.

A glass appeared on the side table beside you.

You blinked up.

Commander Thorn.

Helmet on now. Fully armored. Exactly how he should look. Except—

He was standing just a bit too close.

“Appreciate it,” you muttered, taking the water. “You didn’t have to stay.”

“I did,” he said simply.

Right. Assigned protection detail. Not a choice. Orders.

Still—something about the way he looked at you felt like choice.

You downed the water and stood slowly, stretching. “So, uh… rough night?”

He didn’t answer.

You didn’t look at him. Couldn’t. The memory of how close you’d gotten—how close you’d almost—

No. You shook it off.

Professionalism. That’s what today needed. That’s what he was good at.

You, less so.

“Thanks for not letting me fall face-first into the street, by the way,” you said lightly, walking past him toward the kitchenette.

His arm brushed yours. Light. Barely a graze. But enough.

Your breath caught.

“Would’ve been an unfortunate headline,” he said. Still steady. Still unreadable.

“Senator turns into pavement garnish?” you replied, trying for a laugh. “Would’ve matched my mood lately.”

He didn’t laugh. But he looked at you. Really looked.

“I meant what I said last night.”

You blinked. “Which part?”

“You’re not a hypocrite.”

You busied yourself making caf, hands a little too shaky, smile a little too bright. “Well, that’s nice of you, Commander.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t fill the silence.

But you could feel it. The tension in the room like a tripwire.

“About last night…” you started, not even knowing where the sentence would end.

“It didn’t happen,” he said smoothly. “You were drunk. I was on duty.”

Right. Of course. Clean line. No moment.

You turned around with your cup. “You’re very good at this.”

“At what?”

“Being a soldier. Not breaking character.”

His eyes met yours behind that visor. “It’s not a character.”

You stepped around him—again too close, again intentional—and he didn’t move. Just let your shoulder skim his chestplate.

“You should eat something,” he said quietly. “Briefing at 0900.”

You nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

But as you passed, you felt it again—his hand brushed your lower back. Light. Careful. Not an accident.

He didn’t speak again. He didn’t need to.

He wanted you.

And he wouldn’t act on it.

Because that’s what made him him

⸻

The Chancellor’s private dining room was lavish, but you’d long stopped noticing the gold trim and absurd chandeliers. You lounged in your chair, a flute of something far too expensive in hand, pretending you weren’t hungover and avoiding Thorn’s gaze like it was a live thermal detonator.

Across from you, the Supreme Chancellor smiled—too pleasantly, too knowingly.

“Well, if it isn’t the Republic’s most unpredictable idealist,” Palpatine drawled, pouring his own glass. “You’re in the news again.”

You groaned into your drink. “Don’t pretend you don’t love it, Sheev.”

Fox twitched behind the Chancellor, eyes flicking between you and Thorn with that razor-sharp gaze of his. Thorn stood two steps behind your chair—silent, steady, a red-and-white wall of unreadable authority. But Fox saw the difference. The slight tilt of Thorn’s stance. The angle of his chin. The way his eyes never really left you.

It was subtle. Surgical.

But not subtle enough for Fox.

He stepped beside Thorn under the guise of adjusting his vambrace. “You good, Commander?”

Thorn didn’t look at him. “I’m fine.”

“Mm,” Fox murmured. “Right.”

You and the Chancellor kept chatting—well, arguing more than anything. You never could sit through a lunch with Sheev without poking holes in something.

“So,” you said, slicing into your overpriced meal, “how did you know to send guards for me before the assassination attempt? I never requested security.”

The Chancellor’s eyes glinted. “I make it my business to know when my senators are in danger.”

“Your timing was suspiciously perfect.”

“Are you accusing me of conspiracy?” he asked with an arched brow, too amused.

“I’m accusing you of being five moves ahead of everyone, as usual,” you replied dryly.

Behind you, Thorn shifted ever so slightly. Fox noticed that too.

Fox leaned closer, voice low enough only Thorn could hear. “You’ve got a thing for her.”

Thorn said nothing.

“You don’t even flinch when she says the Chancellor’s first name. That’s love or lunacy, vod.”

Still, no reply. Just the twitch of a jaw.

Fox chuckled under his breath, then stepped back to his position, but the damage was done.

You looked back at Thorn over your shoulder, sensing the change. “Everything alright back there, Commander?”

“Yes, Senator,” he said smoothly, though his voice was a little rougher than usual.

You raised a brow. “You seem… tenser than usual. Something in the wine?”

“Possibly,” Fox muttered from across the room.

You narrowed your eyes but let it go. You turned back to the Chancellor, who was watching the exchange with mild curiosity and a hint of amusement, like he was reading a play he already knew the ending to.

“Oh, I like this,” he murmured, smiling into his glass.

You leaned in toward him conspiratorially. “Don’t get clever, Sheev. You’re not writing my love life.”

His smile only widened.

But behind you, Thorn stood stiff as stone—closer than ever.

And Fox, watching it all unfold, didn’t say another word.

But he knew.

⸻

The meeting had ended. Senators filtered out. The Chancellor had retreated to his private chamber. And you? You were gone with a flick of your hand and a half-hearted “Don’t let them kill each other, Commander.”

Now, the room was quieter. Almost peaceful. Almost.

Fox found Thorn where he knew he’d be—by the far window, helmet tucked under one arm, eyes still tracking your last known direction. His posture was perfect, as always. Controlled. Still.

Too still.

Fox stepped up beside him, arms crossed over red plastoid. “You got it bad.”

Thorn’s gaze didn’t shift. “Not the time, Marshal.”

Fox exhaled, slow and deliberate. “Look, I’m not trying to be a di’kut. But you need to hear this—from someone who actually gives a damn about you.”

Thorn’s silence stretched long enough to feel like permission.

“She’s not just another senator. She’s not just your senator.” Fox’s voice dropped low. “She’s his.”

At that, Thorn’s jaw ticked. Just barely. But Fox saw it.

“The Chancellor’s had her back for years. Don’t know why, don’t care. Maybe it’s her mouth, maybe it’s the trouble she causes, maybe it’s guilt—but she’s got more power than half that rotunda and she knows it.”

“I know who she is,” Thorn said quietly.

“Do you?” Fox leaned in, voice tight. “Do you know what he’s capable of when it comes to protecting her?”

Thorn met his eyes then, sharp as a blade.

“I’ve seen what he’s capable of.”

Fox gave a bitter smile. “Then don’t be stupid. Because if something happens—if you’re the reason she gets hurt, distracted, reckless—he won’t just end your career, Thorn. He’ll end you.”

Thorn looked away. “She’s already reckless.”

“But you keep her steady,” Fox snapped. “You’re already involved. I see it. I see the way you track her movements like a sniper. The way your whole body shifts when she’s near.”

He paused, voice softening just a hair.

“I get it. I really do. She’s electric. She makes everyone feel like they’re on fire. Even the Chancellor lets her talk to him like an old friend.”

A beat passed.

“She calls him Sheev, Thorn. That alone should terrify you.”

Thorn didn’t laugh. But something like it ghosted behind his eyes.

Fox straightened. “Just… be careful. Keep your walls up. Because she doesn’t need a guard who forgets who he is. And you don’t need to be another ghost in her story.”

They stood in silence a moment longer—two commanders, scarred and stubborn, still brothers beneath it all.

Then Thorn spoke, low and steady.

“I know what I’m doing.”

Fox shook his head, muttered, “No, you don’t,” and walked away.

Next Chapter

[meshla-cyarika]

Tell Me About Your Day

Pairing: Kleya Marki x f!reader

Word count: 1,090

Tags/warnings: none.

Summary: The both of you have had a long day and make each other feel better.

--------------------------------------------------

The hidden war with the Empire has been going on for as long as Kleya can remember at this point. Recent events have taken a toll on Luthen, he's slipping and needs a break desperately, but the Empire and the Rebellion never sleeps. Including Kleya.

She works restlessly, piecing together bits and pieces of conversations from the many bugs they have planted across the galaxy, while also responding to calls from rebel soldiers. It all has slowly become one big blur to her, everything is so similar. She's had to correct errors in her notes numerous times.

Kleya is sure Luthen will only point out her mistakes instead of thanking her for working so late into the evening. Speak of the devil, he's just walked through the main entrance to the antique shop.

"You're late." Her tone isn't harsh or cold, like she wants it to be, it's just neutral and tired.

"I know." Luthen's tone matches her own as he joins her in the backroom. "Anything interesting?"

Kleya removes her earpiece and slides the communication compartment back into it's hiding place. "Senator Organa was escorted back to Alderaan with high security, like we had predicted, Lonni reported that Hert has been promoted to Lieutenant Supervisor and Andor has completed his mission and is on his way back to Mina-Rau."

"Good." Luthen says, distantly. "You're dismissed for the evening."

"Are you sure you can handle it here for the night?" Kleya asks, not in a snarky way, but in genuine concern for his well being.

"I just said you're dismissed." Luthen emphasizes his point, his tone more demanding.

"Fine. You're the boss." Kleya grabs her bag and makes her leave. She didn't put up much of a fight with him, because, quite frankly, Kleya has been wanting to leave that backroom hours ago. Her body moves her in the direction of your apartment before her mind can keep up. That's all she needs. You.

《》《》《》《》

You softly hum the rhythm of the song playing quietly on the radio as you dry your hair. As Senator Mon Mothma's aide, you have had a very long day. You listened to all the meetings she had and made note of nearly everything said to scribble down on your datapad later, you started writing a speech about Mon Mothma's new bill that she's trying to get votes for, put up with Perrin's snide remarks, walked with Leida and provided her with emotional support towards her betrothal.

You almost let a relived sigh slip past your lips when Mon dismissed you for the day. You've been Mon Mothma's shadow for as long as you can remember now and not much can phase you. As soon as you reached your apartment, you removed all your fancy clothes and jewelry and took a well needed bath. The sweet floral smell of the bath salts is still wafting through your home.

A faint hiss echoes through the apartment and a small smile appears on your face. "In here, love."

Kleya soon emerges in the doorway, looking just about as exhausted as you feel. "You really shouldn't say that. What if I had been a burglar?"

"The point still stands." You rise from the chair at your vanity and make your way towards your partner. "You'd make a very hot burglar."

Kleya let's out a faint snort in amusement and let's you wrap your arms around her to pull her into an embrace, her arms loosely looping around your waist. You press a kiss to the crown of her head from where she's slightly slouched in your arms 

"Long day?" It's a stupid question really, because you already know the answer.

"The worst." Kleya pulls away from you, but only enough so that she can finally kiss you after so long. It's been about a week since you've seen each other. You were off world with Mon for a while and Kleya has been very busy the past few days.

"Come on." You guide her over to your vanity and sit her in the chair. Kleya makes a small sound of disgust, thinking that wiping off her make up, letting her hair down and changing into a different pair of clothes is so much work.

It's quiet for a moment, as you slide the neatly placed pins from her hair and place them into their own compartment on you vanity. Kleya silently observes you through the mirror, admiring your slightly tousled hair, the lack of make up on your face and the way your pyjama shirt is slipping off of your shoulder. This is the real you. Not the girl who hides in a Senator's shadow with a fake smile plastered on her face all the time.

"Tell me about your day." Kleya requests and you give her a small smile through the mirror. You know she's asking for a distraction, a set routine her mind can think about instead of worrying about everything else.

"Well, Senator Mothma decided to have breakfast with Senators Bail Organa and Riyo Chuchi. They only talked about problems we already know about and can't fix." You begin. "By the end of that, Mon entrusted me to write her a new speech for one of her many bills, which I started writing the draft for during Mas Amedda's banquet."

You slide out the last pin and Kleya's hair falls past her shoulders. You gently turn the chair to face you, so you can focus on cleaning the make up off her face.

"On the way back from the banquet, Perrin decided to become very talkative. I was strongly resisting the urge to punch him in the throat." You tell her.

"That's the spirit." Kleya let's out a small laugh.

"I went on a walk with Leida and Mon soon dismissed me after that." You conclude and finish wiping the make up from her face. "And then, I had a visit from my lovely girlfriend."

Kleya teasingly rolls her eyes. "I am lovely, aren't I?" She stands to wrap her arms around your neck.

"Only when you bring meiloorun candy." You smirk, hands moving to her waist.

"God forbidden you ever get caught by ISB. All they would have to do is tempt you with something covered in sugar." Kleya scoffs out a laugh.

This is what makes it all worth it. Fighting the Empire, lying to everyone you ever meet, staying on high alert all the time. It's all worth it when Kleya can come back to you at the end of the day.

[cissyenthusiast010155]

Weekly Relief Pt. 2 ~Mon Mothma xFem Stripper!Reader

Some more Mon Mothma content… Part 2 of Weekly Relief. Mon and Reader have some more fun together, allowing Mon to relax for once.

Link to Part 1

Mommy… Master list

Requests & Prompt-List

Warnings: NSFW, 18+!, implied smut, implied past smut, implied cheating, grinding, kissing, stripper!reader, groping, tit play, body adoration, implied Ma’am/Sir kink, whimpering, moaning, etc.

Enjoy (;

Weeks went by and you hadn’t seen the stunning Senator since that fateful day. You tried to shrug it off. It was your job, and she was your client… She had no obligation to come back. But you wanted her too…

Friday night, you walked into work and clocked in. You went to the dressing rooms and met with the other girls who were working the floor with you. You got out your outfit for tonight, an iridescent purple and black two piece with lacing on the back and at the sides. You wore this along with your signature black heels.

The first half of your night went pretty decent. You danced on the stage and racked up a good chunk of cash, and then spent the rest of your shift wandering the club, giving lap dances to customers. As you finished dancing for the upteenth random guy, your eyes traveled to a certain woman entering the club.

It was her.

You got your cash from the man, then turning your entire attention to the Senator. She was hidden in her garments once more. But she had come back. And she sat in the same exact chair in which you had danced on her. You walked over to the woman, trying to calm your nerves. You came up flush to her in a teasing manner, trapping her in her chair with your arms.

“Like me so much, you came back…?” You teasingly purred.

Mon’s eyes raked over your body. You could feel her staring.

“As a matter of fact I did…” Mon breathed out.

This made you smile and blush lightly.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t return earlier… I was preoccupied.” She said in a hushed tone.

This made you sigh in relief. She did want you…

“Nonsense. It’s my job. You have no obligation to me.”

“No, but I said I would be back in a week, and it took me over a month. That wasn’t very kind…” Mon insisted.

You sighed lightly, already relaxing in her presence. You let her have the win, as it was useless arguing.

“Private room?” You suggested.

Mon nodded eagerly. You took the woman’s hand and immediately led her to a private room, closing and locking the door behind you. As soon as the door was closed, the Senator was throwing off her hood, veil, and any and all coverings which would hinder your access to her. You threw your shoes off at the same time.

She left her normal layer of clothing on, getting impatient and pushing you against the door. And then she just stared at you, letting her eyes wander and take in your frame. Your eyes widened and your breathing quickened.

“So beautiful…” she murmured.

You were the one who closed the gap between lips, smashing yours into hers. Mon eagerly kisses back, backing up and guiding you to sit in her lap on the lavish couch. You wiggles around a bit, finding a comfortable position to sit in her lap on. When you were satisfied, you looked back to the Senator.

“That’s right… Sit pretty on my lap.” She hummed in satisfaction.

You hummed at her words, agreeing. You felt her eyes go back to taking in your frame. You leaned forward and brushed your lips to the woman’s ear.

“Have your way with me, Senator… I’m yours…” you purred, before retracting from her ear and meeting her gaze again.

Mon’s pupils dilated at your words and her throat went dry. Her eyes then darkened and she smirked. Her hands then wandered down to your ass, groping and caressing unabashedly.

“Call me Mon, dear girl…” she purred right back.

Her wandering hands put a spike in your heart rate and an elevation to your breathing rate. You closed your eyes and slowly bucked your hips into her lap, lightly and airily moaning. You then felt a smack to your ass, eliciting a small whimper from your lips. Your eyes opened in reaction to her action.

“Eyes open…” Mon warily purred.

“Yes Ma’am…” you breathed out, keeping your eyes open.

You continued to slowly grind into the woman’s lap as her hands wandered all over curves. Breathy whimpers and light moans flowed from your lips. Her hands wandered up to your tits, and her eyes met yours, asking for permission. Your hands swiftly undid the tie behind your neck, making your top fall around your waist and exposing your breasts to the woman. Her hands began gripping and attacking your tits, teasing you even more. You only ground into her lap even more, grinding so sloppy you were breathless.

“That’s a Good girl…” Mon hummed, twisted your nipple as she spoke, eliciting a particularly lewd and breathy moan from your lips.

More sinful whimpers and moans slowed from your lips as the red head continued to grope and feel you up in her lap. Your grindings into her lap only got more desperate and sloppy.

“What do you want, hmmmm…?” Mon purred.

“Want… wanna make you feel good…” you mewled.

“Such a sweet girl. So needy, and yet still thinking about others needs first…” Mon cooed.

Your response was an incoherent whimper and a nod.

“Let’s take care of you first, love…” The woman purred.

~~~

Mon Mothma Masterlist