#phasma imagine

[wifeofwandamaximoff]

Fine...

A/N: Sorry it took so long to update I just didn't really have the motivation also I usually don't proofread my work so I do apologize. Also I wanted to update as quick as I can while making this so its a bit smaller then I would've preferred but ill try to make a longer part next time! Also thank you Max for the tips!

"Come in." Weems said from the other side of the doors. Oh how her voice was so raspy and soft. It's like whenever she talks her words are coated in love spider webs.

I step into her office, mentally preparing myself to see her. Once i'm in her office I instantly see her red plump lips that look so inviting. I quickly shake my head slightly to get out of my trance.

"Im here for our art lesson." I said with my stoic expression, my voice sounding like a hundred freshly made blades.

"Ah yes Miss Addams, I apologize I lost track of time." She said apologetically. Which I stared at her. The air in the room wasn't awkward but it wasn't comfortable either. She then decided to interrupt the silence.

"Follow me to the art studio then, this is where we will meet up instead of you coming to my office just like today." She smiled while standing up and walking around her desk.

She opened the door for me, I then step out of her office and wait for her to lead the way. When she was walking on her way to walk in front of me our hand's gently grazed each other. Making me feel spiders crawl in my stomach.

"Here we go Miss Addams." She smiled sweetly while opening a door. Inside there were a bunch of blank canvases, art supplies, etc. Basically any art supplies that some artist wished to have is right here in this very room.

I scan the room to see two canvases set up for the both of us and two stools. I look back at her to see her smiling at me with that soft smile that could make even an Addams's heart melt.

"Lets begin Miss Addams." She smiled, gesturing towards the stools. I stay quiet and go sit on one of the stools. She then goes to occupy the other one.

"Now Miss Addams what do you already know about art?" She asks me. I look at her, thinking if I should answer her or not. Eventually I decided to.

"About how to make art or what is art?" I asked in my icy cold tone. I see her a shiver a bit from that tone making my lips twitch in a small smirk. I quickly turn away, hoping she didn't see it.

"Well I suppose I should be more specific, what is art Miss Addams?" She said while clearing her throat. I see her starting to take off her gloves to reveal her soft porcelain skin.

Seeing her pale skin makes me shiver, but of course my skin was paler. "Art is a way of communicating with your thoughts and feelings, but thats the deeper meaning. Art is an object that is expressed with skill and imagination." I said while getting some acrylic paint out.

Weems just looks at me with a soft smile. "You think outside the box Miss Addams." She compliments. "Your first assignment is to paint what you have on your mind right now. Now this may take a couple of sessions to complete but do not rush."

I then think for a moment, I then look around the room. My eyes then look at her. In that moment I then decided what I was gonna paint.

----

The next day I was roaming the halls when Enid came up to me.

"Bell! The Poe Cup is soon and I was wondering if you could join us? Wednesday said she'll go if you go so please say yes!" Enid squealed. Shaking my shoulders making my tempted to cut off her fingers and stack them right in front of her.

"Ill think about it now please don't ever touch me again." I said before pushing her away. Not too hard but not to soft either.

I then walk to the quad, up from above I see Weems with her binoculars looking down at all the students. Our eyes then lock making her put her binoculars down and smile at me. Making a bowl of spiders crawl in my stomach. Which was definitely a feeling I was unaware of. I then turn away, walking to the art room since it was my free period and deciding to work on my painting for a while.

I peeked back a bit to see Weems with a sad expression before going back into her office.

I walked into the art room and looked over at Weems's painting. It seemed like a painting of black rose. My favorite rose...

"Lets play 21 questions hm? I think its only right since we will be giving these paintings to each other." Weems smiled at me. I just nodded.

"You will got first Weems." I said flatly while giving her my usual glare. She just nodded before thinking for a bit.

"Why did you decide to come to Nevermore?" She asked me after a few minutes. I think about my answer for a bit.

"Because I was in a boarding school in France before. I was there for a few years and I decided I wanted a change of scenery and Wednesday has expressed how much she wanted me to come back through our letters to each other." I said while starting to paint the background. Some clouds with hues of pale yellow.

"A boarding school in France? Wednesday told you she missed you?" Weems said, firing questions at me.

"Wednesday and I are very close. We always did everything with each other and for the question about me going to France for school. I needed to get away from mother and father. They were too affectionate and over-protective." I said while creating soft stroked on my canvas. I look over to see Weems with a bit of a sad look.

"Too affectionate?" She said in a bit of a sad tone which she tried to hide but I caught on right away.

"Yes too affectionate, they would smother me in hugs and kisses and always made sure to know where I was going." I said a bit softer then usual.

She just nodded which I thought was a bit strange but I brushed it off. I then started to think of what I should ask her.

"Do you think angels are good?" I asked. She looked at me perplexed since this was a strange question for me to ask her. She then thought for a bit.

"I do believe angels are good Miss Addams. They are supernatural beings that have many tales about their good deeds and what they have done for humans in the past." She said. I then see her finally starting to pain.

"Yes but only of their good deeds, they must have committed something down right sinful at least once." I said while starting to paint some golden gates. The gate ways to heaven hell. As I believed she was sent from heaven hell.

"What's your favorite flower Miss Addams?" She asked with a smile.

"A black rose." I said with ease. One of the easiest questions that could she could ask from me.

"It represents elegance and mystery." I said while glancing over at her. I see her get out black, grey, and white paint. I then quickly assume she will be painting my flower which made the corner of my lips turn up a bit before I shook that odd pleasant feeling down.

I then quickly return back to the present. Though I felt a strange feeling when I realized she was painting my favorite flower.Even though I already knew that it still made spiders crawl in my stomach. Basking myself in joy despair.

I then hear Enid calling my name which me roll my eyes. I then hear her open the door to the art room to see me which made her grin widely.

"Bella! Can you participate in the Poe Cup this year please?" Enid asked with puppy eyes which didn't prove effective on me.

"No." I stated plainly before going back to painting.

"Please Bella? I know I already asked today but please??" She pouted which made me roll my eyes before sighing.

"Fine." I said, finally relenting to join this silly event.

"Really?" Enid said happily, about to go in for a hug before I glared at her. Signaling to not do that.

"Oh Principal Weems will be so happy that you'll join! I told her how I wanted you to join the team today and she hoped that you would join and you did! I have to go thank her!" Enid smiled excitedly.

"Oh and we'll build the boat this week!" Enid smiled before walking out.

I sighed, already regretting my decision to join the Poe Cup. But I then thought about how Weems would be happy to see me play which made it kind of worth it.

I snap out of my daze, looking back at my painting of an angel. As I saw Larissa Weems as an angel. I mentally conflicted with myself if I should use Weems's face but decided against it since it would seem weird. I decided to put a mask on the angel. The identity hidden.

I then feel something crawl on my shoulder to see Thing. I glare at Thing, mentally saying to get off my shoulder.

Thing decided to stay on my shoulder which irritates me.

"What do you need Thing?" I asked while starting to paint the mask of the angel. Thing quickly starts doing signals which makes me look at him.

"You want me to help Enid build the boat?" I said asking him. Which makes him sign a yes. I sigh, looking back at my painting before starting to clean up.

"I suppose." I said setting Thing down on the floor. Thing then starts to lead the way to where our team was building the boat.

In the distance I see the blonde werewolf and my sister. I get closer and seem them both trying to paint a black cat which makes me sigh. I then decide to paint the other side.

"Leave the painting to me you fools." I said starting to paint. Enid looks surprised that I was helping out since Wednesday probably told her I wouldn't. It seems that Wednesday was surprised to. I just glare at them making them both quickly go back to painting the other side.

"Thing tie my hair up." I ordered which makes him do so obediently. He ties my hair making my raven hair into a ponytail. My hair shining a deep purple in the sun.

After about an hour of painting I am halfway done with my side. I look over to see the two gone. I then feel three sets of eyes looking at me. I turn around to see Enid and Wednesday looking at me paint. But there were only two people behind me. I drag my eyes around my vicinity to see no one us but us three. Weird...

I decide to ignore it and go back to painting my cat for our team.

After about another hour I finish my painting, going back a few steps to marvel at my work. I see Enid come closer, inspecting it before turning to me and smiling.

"Oh Bella it looks amazing! Thank you!" She said happily, about to go in for a hug which makes me step back immediately. Like second nature.

I see Wednesday right next to me, shoulder to shoulder. I see Enid looking at us excitedly before pulling out her brain sucking device.

"We should take a picture and make memories!" She said excitedly before snapping a picture of me and Wednesday making me a bit mad but I suppose it was okay. Just one photo...

After Enid took our photo I demanded to see it. Conflicting with myself if I could delete it or not. I take the phone and look at the picture. Me and Wednesday standing shoulder to shoulder, Enid in the corner of the picture. A failed part on hers of trying to include herself in the selfie. I then examine the photo.

But in the background I see a shadow...A shadow of a large figure. The tree right next to the shadow has three claw marks...

I then look back to see the shadow gone but the marks still there...

Taglist:

@poorwritingandstalecoffee  @maxfanartfan @a-goblin-named-cherry

[luke-shywalker]

to be human with someone again

“The rations are still sealed,” said Phasma, rising to her feet. “They should be safe to consume.”

Kylo picked up one of the boxes. It resembled the kind of box one might use for sewing supplies—a thought that threatened to conjure up suppressed memories, so he pushed it away—but the compartments were filled with a variety of different-looking foods.

If they could be called foods. They resembled animal feed.

…Then again, he had felt rather like an animal, as of late.

His stomach grumbled, and he felt his face grow hot beneath the mask. Phasma’s head tilted, but she said nothing.

“…You should eat,” she said at last. “We will need our strength to ensure our best hopes of survival.” Then she paused again. “Do you require privacy?”

Ren scoffed. Where could she go? The halls had all caved in with rock.

Still, he appreciated that she had asked.

“That will not be necessary,” he said.

And then they both stood there, for a moment.

They would both need to remove their helmets.

Kylo recalled legends of the Mandalorians—that race for whom removing one’s helmet was a great dishonor. Neither he nor Phasma were Mandalorian…but they had never seen one another unmasked.

…As long as it wasn’t Hux, Ren thought to himself. True, Hux had seen Ren’s face before—he recalled that night on Arkanis, how it had felt to be twenty-four and trembling with his bare feet on the cold durasteel floors—and he remembered that cold stare of judgment, that sneer that seemed to say, Ah. So the Supreme Leader has placed his faith in a child.

“…I sense the reason for your hesitation,” Phasma said, breaking Ren from his thoughts. “Unfortunately, I doubt we have a choice.”

Ren nodded. And then he put his hands to his helmet, and pressed the button to remove it.

Phasma watched, and removed hers at the same time. Perhaps she thought it polite.

The first thought that Kylo had, upon seeing her, was that he was surprised that she was human. He didn’t know what else she could have been—but from her demeanor, he wouldn’t have been surprised if she had been part-droid. But, no—she was human, and looked hardly older than he was, with fair skin and blue eyes and hair like the yellow floss of kerncobs.

He wondered if she had a former name, like he had. But he was not willing to ask.

Phasma seemed to look at him, too. But if she had any thoughts about his face, his appearance, his humanity—she kept those to herself.

Ren liked that about the Captain. General Hux had a tendency to air far too many of his thoughts.

Phasma handed him one of the boxes, and took one as well. Kylo wondered if General Organa had eaten rations like these, back in her Rebel days—but that was another thought he shoved away.

It had been many years since Ren had taken a meal with another being. In his former life, meals had been social affairs, meant for conversation and enjoyment and relaxation. In the life he knew now, eating was an inconvenient necessity, and nearly embarrassing—almost as undignified as the bodily functions that resulted from it.

Kylo and Phasma did not speak as they ate. But strangely, he sensed something like camaraderie in the silence. A shared acceptance of the burden of being mortal. They could hear one another breathe, in the silence, with their helmets off—hear one another chew, and swallow. Phasma even sneezed, and Kylo muttered a blessing on reflex, as strange as that felt.

…It was certainly odd, he thought, to be human with someone again.

[nothing-but-flowers88]

Thinking about kylux in my modern au and the first order/resistance being rival universities. Ben Kylo has to compete with some snooty ginger to impress dean Snoke, but something happens and they have to share a dorm for a period of time (maybe professor Sloane got sick of their bickering during class and wanted to teach them a lesson). Of course the first few weeks are misery but I love the trope of falling in love because you have to be around each other. Plus if you both have trouble sleeping you might as well talk to each other

[sithlordsae]

imagine a captian phasma animated show... it would look like this

[techniiciian]

Wait, I meant

📏 6’3” Phasma

matt vc: all i wanna do, is see you turn into a giant woman

@chromium-siren

ngl matt is SO pleased to have a friend who is as tall as he is. and the fact that phasma is even taller in armor? bad ass.

[lauraneedstochill]

god, I loved this so so so much, absolutely everything about this is perfect 💔 the tenderness she treats him with, and how it seems like with every layer of his clothes she also removes layers of his restrain, and he eventually can’t help but give in because he craves her affection and her understanding. I love that there’s no rush in your writing, and the pacing makes it feel like I’m watching a scene from a movie unraveling right before my eyes. and it’s just so soft and so beautiful!

this is instantly one of my forever favorite pieces, thank you for writing it 💔

After the storm

Aemond Targaryen x gn!reader

Warnings: all ages, hurt/comfort

Summary: what transpired after Aemond's return to King's Landing? playing a little fast and loose with dragonflight times so let's just pretend it was raining the whole way back, okay? 900 words

Your throat tightened the moment you walked into the room. You had come to him as soon as you saw Vhagar circle the city. You had been anticipating his return, anxious about his errand. There was a chance he would come back betrothed to a Baratheon but you couldn’t care about that now. You saw his wet hair plastered to his head, his eye patch dangling from his hands, his shoulders slumped as he rested his arms on his legs. He didn’t turn toward you when you approached. He had heard the door open and close, you saw his violet eye flick toward you. But the only other movement was the sway of the leather strap between his legs.

“Did it go so poorly?” You walked slowly toward him, conscious that you didn’t want him to perceive your anxiety. He didn’t answer, he only dropped his head. You lowered yourself onto your heels next to him so you were eye level with him. His eye was closed. You caustiously laid your hand on his knee and stayed silent. His face wore a curious expression of pain and confusion.

“‘Poorly’?” Aemond breathed out something like a laugh, but when he looked at you nausea tore through your stomach. He had never looked at you like that. He noticed you flinch away from him and narrowed his eye. “What could you possibly know about it?”

“I..” you tried to reply but the words caught in your throat. He turned his gaze back to the floor and you let your hand slide off his leg. You stood and inhaled deeply, steadying your nerves.

“I couldn’t know anything about it, Aemond, if you don’t tell me,” you glared down at him. “So ‘poorly’ isn’t the word you wanted. What in the seven hells did happen?”

When he looked up at you your hands went cold and you felt a twinge of guilt at your harsh words. You had never seen him cry and you didn’t want to now. The pain written on his face made your chest ache. His violet eye flicked away from your face and you glaced at his sapphire, the skin around it was angry. You let out the breath you were holding. When you stepped in front of him he instictively rested his head against your stomach. You placed both of your hands on the back of his head and smoothed down his wet hair.

“Come,” you said as you slid your hands gently under his chin. You guided him to look up at you. “Come with me.”

You stepped back, took his eye patch from his hands, and dropped it on the table. You slid your hand into his and began to walk. He stood up, a defeated man, graceless and lumbering. Nothing like Aemond at all. You kept your face neutral and calm.

He followed you to the bed, but he wasn’t with you, he was far away. His gaze was on the floor when his eye was open at all. You stopped, turning to him. You reached up and unfastened the leather tie in his hair. You smoothed wet strands back from his face. You gently passed your thumb over his cheek. He glanced at you but it was fleeting.

You began to unlace his tunic and slide it from his shoulders. Aemond didn’t resist. He let himself be guided by you. So you proceeded to remove his wet garments and boots with very little help from him. This was so utterly peculiar that you moved as if this were a task that you had to do correctly and efficiently. You didn’t speak, only focused on each article of clothing. Your hands shook at first but then the cold of his wet clothes made them almost numb. He wasn’t shivering. He was long past that.

You left him for a moment to fetch some towels from the armoire. You gestured for him to remove his pants and you held the towel so that you could immediately wrap it around his waist. He stepped out of the sodden pile of fabric as you tied the towel around his waist. Aemond muttered something and you looked at him for clarification. Your brows knit together in confusion.

“Thank you,” he said, barely audible.

You give him a kind smile in return before he looked away again. You pressed gently on his shoulders so he would sit on the edge of the bed. Slowly and carefully, you dried his face, his neck and shoulders. You watched those same shoulders shake slightly as you pulled the towel away. He would tell you soon enough, but whatever had transpired was worse than you could imagine.

As you dried his hair he rested his forhead against you. It seemed to take a long time to dry, but when you were finally satisfied you dropped the towel to the floor onto the pile of clothes. You raised his face to yours again, this time his eye was pleading, searching your face. You kissed his forehead and smoothed your hands down his jaw. You let go and moved around him to climb onto the bed. You stacked the pillows and reclined against them. You didn’t have to instruct him. Without hesitation he laid his head in your lap and curled his knees to his chest. You let your fingers trace lightly over his head, his shoulder, his arm. Then he spoke.

“I didn’t mean for her to do it.”

Masterlist Aemond masterlist

[starlightsearches]

Just a Matter of Time

Armitage Hux x wife! reader

AN: We've got even more marriage AU, my friends!! We're going a bit out of order now—I'm working on a different piece about Hux's first time with his wife, but it's giving me a little bit of trouble. I wrote this one for funsies because I'm obsessed with the idea of these two exploring sex and intimacy together. Let me know what you think, please! Comments, likes and reblogs are my favorites!!

Warnings: 18+ only (no minors), piv sex, unprotected sex (raw. next question), brief discussion of protection, partially-clothed sex, pulling out, cum, semi-public sex, titty sucking, language, and I think that's it. Let me know if I missed anything!

Armitage checks his reflection in the gleaming surface of a tie fighter and cringes internally. Just as he suspected. The shame is clear on his face.

Luckily there’s not many around to see it. It’s late in the night cycle, and this hangar receives less traffic than the others—usually reserved for small ships on diplomatic missions, or officers choosing to take their leave planet-side.

That’s why Armitage is here now.

Hux can’t imagine what would possess someone to willingly attend any of those noxious nightclubs on Canto Bight, and yet you had been endlessly thrilled when you received the invitation from a group of officers you had tentatively befriended. The prospect was exciting to you, and, regardless of his own opinions, Armitage was grateful for anything that allowed him to bask in the warmth of your delight.

Even if the thought of your going had his stomach tied in knots.

You had spent the evening getting ready, and Armitage had hung around in your shared quarters, making poor attempts to look busy: tapping away stupidly on his data pad as you rushed from your closet to the refresher, slipping in and out of every pair of shoes you own, covering yourself with glitters and fine-smelling perfumes.

He should have expected it, of course. The dresses you wear daily, while beautiful and elegant, would look out of place where you were going. And still, his heart had stuttered in his chest at the sight of so much skin—your legs stretching long from the hem of a very short skirt, hugging tight to the curve of your hips, the neckline that dipped low over the center of your breasts, held up by the flimsiest of straps.

Oh, fuck.

“How do I look?” you had asked, and it was clear to Armitage that you were in need of reassurance, shifting from foot to foot, fingers twisting together. 

His dry-mouthed response to your question had left much to be desired, and yet you had hardly noticed, so preoccupied with your own nerves that you couldn’t see the ways your husband had lost himself—about to drop to his knees in desperation and bury his face against your thighs.

Armitage caught you by the arm, instead, your skin bare and warm beneath his hand. Despite all the ways he’s held and felt you, touching you like this—so casually—still had his heart beating at a strenuous pace. 

“Per- perhaps,”Armitage had stuttered out the word, and regretted it, starting again, “perhaps I should accompany you, as well.”

That had made you laugh, which at least made his idiocy worth it. Your nose had wrinkled pleasantly, your feet carrying you a step closer, bringing him nearer to the magnetic field of you as you looked up at him with soft eyes.

“Why?”

A fair question—and one Armitage had no answer for. It would cause all kinds of discomfort and embarrassment, and yet the need was there, the desire. Armitage wanted to be there with you, not only so he could deal with anyone who glanced in your direction with less-than-chaste intentions, but so they could see him beside you. Could watch the way you wanted him, reached for him over anyone else. 

“For your . . . protection.”

You had rolled your eyes, pressing your fingers playfully against his chest. “It’s not an active war zone, general. Besides, Phasma will be there.”

Ah, yes. That had been his one concession, although he never mentioned it to you, letting her presence on your little excursion appear as natural as possible. Phasma would certainly keep you safe, and his reasonable ground was slipping. If it had continued, he would have ended up begging you to stay with him with the hopes you might call him general like that again.

And now he’s puttering around an empty hangar, making more work for himself and waiting for your return like a love-sick pup. 

Armitage’s patience, or desperation, is rewarded, though. His mental pacing is interrupted before too long by the whir of an approaching ship.

He watches the landing from a distance, straightening his posture and keeping his brow stern as the others unload from the transport, waiting for you to emerge.

His eyes catch on a glimmer of rich fabric, and a breath punches from his lungs when he sees the rest of you—a little more disheveled from the journey, but alive and in one piece. How is it possible you look even lovelier now than you did in his feeble memory?

Armitage’s heart crumples in his chest when you meet his eyes and smile.

There’s a few slurred goodbyes as you part from the group—and a cloud of noise following the officers as they stumble down the hallway in pairs or groups of three, arms slung around each other to keep the most inebriated from falling. 

You seem clear-eyed, though, as you approach Armitage, and steady on your feet. The even tempo of your heels against the floor echoes through the hangar, and his chest.

“Hello, general,” you greet him, meeting his eyes through your lashes, “were you waiting for me?”

Of course he had been, but it seems shameful to admit it, and so he stumbles into a lie, instead. 

“Only to make sure you arrived back safely,” Armitage claims, “are you feeling . . . well?”

Your laugh is quiet, but the melody of it rings in his ears when you press a hand against his chest. Armitage resists the urge to glance around, to check for some disapproving glare or whispered conversation outside his line of sight. There’s no one around, really—a few technicians working on a busted tie-fighter on the other side of the hangar out of sight, some mouse droids zipping past, but no audience to this contact that seems wholly inappropriate in public.

And still you’re smiling that same secret smile. “I haven’t been drinking, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“Ah,” Armitage replies, rather stupidly, but it can’t be helped with the way your fingers shift, circling around his bicep, stroking over the fabric of his greatcoat, “that’s—why?”

There’s a gentle frown on your lips. Armitage resists the urge to brush it away with a kiss. 

“Because you won’t touch me if I’ve been drinking.”

Oh. 

There’s so much in that statement that Armitage will need to parse through later—the pouty tone in your voice and the way it stokes the fire in his chest, your strange exasperation with his concern for your unhindered consent.

But in this moment, there’s only one realization on your husband’s mind: you want him to touch you. 

Fuck. If only he had known. Armitage would have used his time more wisely, wouldn’t have spent so much of it pining for your return, dreaming of the sight of your legs in that skirt again, hoping he might feel the swell of your breast through his sleeve as you clung to his arm on the walk back to your quarters. He would have used it to his greatest advantage: fulfilling deadlines, creating plans, responding to missives, and he would have done the work happily—all with the motivation of your weight in his lap and your lips at his neck for as long as he could convince you to stay.

Armitage mentally tabulates the time it would take to return with you to his quarters, to lay you down on his bed and touch you the way you had asked, the way he craves. And there’s simply not enough for that and for the tasks he was supposed to already have completed before he must return to the bridge. 

“I— I don’t think,” Armitage begins, even with all the ways you make his refusal difficult—the sensual warmth of you through his uniform, your teeth absentmindedly gnawing on your plush lower lip, “there’s so much to— it’s . . . unavoidable.” 

He finishes the smattering of words with a pathetic little gasp as you bring your body even closer, his blood thrumming through his veins at the contact, cock growing stiff in his trousers. 

There are no words at your lips, no hit of a frown. Armitage watches as your gaze shifts, landing deliberately on the transport you had just vacated. 

Your eyes meet his again. The message is clear. 

Oh. No. 

“We couldn’t.”

That’s what Armitage tells you, but the voice in his head speaks much louder. He could. He wants to. He’s not sure if he can resist. 

“No one will know,” you whisper through a smile.

Technically true—but Armitage is aware of the security cams, positioned around the large hangar and monitored always. He had watched the footage himself only a few hours ago as you left, and so he knows exactly what would be seen: his hand in yours, the look of incredulous panic on his face as you led him into the mouth of the transport before you both disappeared from view. That is, if the heat of his blush didn’t scramble the feeds. 

Maybe no one would know, but someone might assume. And given the number of incorrigible gossips on this ship, they would certainly tell, and that message would spread, uncontained.

But Armitage finds he is not as opposed to the idea as he thought he would be.

“Yes, but . . .” it’s so like Armitage, arguing against his own interests, denying himself something he wants so desperately for reasons even he can’t understand, “what if someone were to . . .”

You interrupt before he can finish the thought, your other hand sneaking it’s way up to the back of his neck, your warm skin pressed to his. “The entrances all lock.”

How long had you been considering something like this? That alone could break down his resolve. Armitage might be able to keep himself from those distant pleasures, but not you. Never you.

And yet his hesitation has sent a different message. There’s an almost imperceptible shift in your demeanor—a half step you take away from him, the uncertain tremor in all those points of contact he had been enjoying only moments ago.

“But you have work to do, of course,” you concede, “if you don’t want—”

Fear strikes Armitage in the chest at the way you turn from him. He’s disappointed you, and worse, he’s made you feel unwanted. The shame floods through him, momentarily overwhelming his desire.

He might be too eager when he reaches for your hand, fingers circling around your wrist to keep you in place.

 “I do,” he tells you. Armitage wants. He hopes you can feel it, past all his failures and idiosyncrasies. You must know how desperately he wants you, in every moment. Always. 

His thumb traces over the veins in the back of your hand, relishes the way you tremble. Your lips part with a pop, expression unsure, and your eyes search his face the same way Armitage watches yours. 

“Really?” 

Against any better judgement, your husband nods. 

And it’s all a blur for the next few moments—just your hushed laughter and the blood flooding his cheeks taking up all his thoughts. He imagines the scene from someone else’s perspective: an onlooker, brimming with skepticism as you pull him eagerly across the hangar. He’s sure they would find the situation as unbelievable as Armitage does.

Once you are alone—the mechanical whir of the locks assuring it—Armitage regains some command of himself, pulling into you. Your body is soft against his, your touch eager as you push the heavy fabric of his greatcoat off his shoulders. Armitage lets it fall to the ground with a thud, then reaches for you as soon as it's gone—tracing the slope of your hips, pressing you further against the durasteel until your spine bows and the only thing he can feel between the two of you is your heartbeat. 

You kiss him, messily, eager, little giggles slipping out with each breath you take at this moment of rebellion and Armitage drinks your laughter in heavy gulps, kissing you back with fervor. Each encounter has brought him additional confidence, and seems to have given you more of the same—no longer hesitant in asking for what you want.  

One of your hands snakes down the length of his chest; Armitage burns in its wake, unable to take any air in when your fingers trace over the outline of his aching cock.

“Fuck.”

The expletive slips out before Hux can stop it. He shouldn’t speak so coarsely in front of you—in front of his wife—and yet you don’t pull away, your hand cupping his length more fully as you slide your tongue between his lips. 

Armitage will finish right now if he’s not careful. It takes so little from you—your hot breath and curious touches—to have him right on the edge, ready to spill into his trousers. He can’t have that.

And so, with one swift movement, he pins your hands out of the way, pressing his knuckles against the wall as he grips at your wrists like a vise.

He doesn’t have any time to waste. Not if he wants to feel you coming around him in the next few minutes. 

Armitage takes in the heady scent of you as he traces the length of your jaw with his nose, parts his lips around the stretched expanse of your neck. His tongue follows, picking up the taste of your skin. There’s the tang of salt and the chemical flavor of perfume, and beneath that, something lighter, more refined.

He travels lower, kissing at the juncture just above your collarbone, feels your pulse jump against his tongue, and sinks his teeth into your plush skin until he hears you whine, your hot breath feathering through his hair. 

Perfect. 

Armitage continues to taste you as he shifts his grip, trapping both of your wrists in the grasp of one hand. He lets the other explore as it traverses over the dips and curves of your body before brushing the strap from off your shoulder, slipping the neckline down until he can cup at your exposed breast. 

Your nipple pebbles pleasantly in the cool air of the transport. Armitage watches, transfixed for a moment, and then takes the bud into the warmth of his mouth.

The transport echoes with the sound of your high-pitched breaths, a few moans when Hux lets the flat of his tongue travel over the stiff peak while his hand slips up between your thighs, petting at the swollen ridge of your clit.

You gasp his name, pulling at his hold on you with desperation that still surprises him, despite everything. 

There’s a part of him—a little cruel, incredibly curious—that wants to keep you like this. Wants to see how close he can bring you to the edge when you have no chance to retaliate. The thought ignites something in him. Armitage would like to hear you, tear-soaked, begging for him until his resolve finally broke. 

Pity there’s so little time.

So he relents, loosening his grip, and you’re on him again before he can recover his bearings—your nails carding through his hair and your mouth fierce against his own and the press of your warm, soft body. Armitage lets his weight cage you in, holding you tighter against the wall behind you, his hands cupping at the swell of your ass until your body is flush with his, the hot press of his cock jutting against your stomach. 

You groan, needy, and you once again drop one of your hands, slipping the fastening of his trousers out of the way, fingers just barely dipping past the band at his waist, nails dragging against his skin. 

Armitage feels his desire in the backs of his thighs, coiling at the base of his spine, flooding his lungs—that strange singing sting that has his teeth bared, chest shuddering with rapid breaths. He wants to give into it, to fuck into you with rabid strokes, wants to feel you unravel around him as you spill moan after moan into his gloved palm.

Just as your fingertips meet the head of his dick, he’s interrupted by a frustrating oversight.

“I don’t,” he grunts out the words, pulling away from you, despite the pain it causes, “I don’t have any . . . protection.”

Armitage digs his knuckles into the durasteel behind you, lets his irritation manifest itself in the ache that blooms through his hand. He never would have assumed something like this would happen, but he should have been prepared, regardless. He’d been so careful elsewhere—quietly maintaining the stock in his quarters and, shamefully, his office, although the need for it had felt like a distant fantasy at the time. 

You meet his eyes, and he knows that the full meaning of what he’s said is beyond your understanding—something he, once again, is to blame for. Conversations around his insistence on protection had been limited, and Armitage considered it his sole responsibility for moments like these.

“Oh,” you respond, and there’s a tinge of heartbreak in your voice, “should we . . .”

Stop? Armitage knows what you’re going to say, and can’t bear to hear it. He won’t even let the word broach your lips, kissing you deeper, more fully than he had previously allowed. You accept this answer without question, like you had accepted so many others—things about Armitage you had never even considered could be denied. 

He lets rationality take over for just a moment, lets it ground him. Armitage pulls away slightly, breathing deeply and doing his best to ignore the wet shine of your lips, the strings of your spit that tremble and break in the space between you.

He won’t last long, not if he’s looking at you. Watching your eyes roll back, feeling your lips tremble against his with unrestrained moans—it would have him spilling inside you before the moment had truly begun. So Armitage takes your hips in both his hands, guides you gently to face away from him.

Armitage can’t remember a time where he’s felt like this—so desperate for gratification, his vision blurry and lungs heaving, on the edge of tears for the need of it. Your head lolls back against his shoulder as he takes the hem of your skirt in both hands, pulling it up over the swell of your ass. There’s a soft sound, like seams popping, but it’s barely audible over the groan that escapes him at the sight of your soft skin, the way it indents against the harsh press of his hips. 

He frees his cock, gives his length a preliminary stroke. It’s not necessary—he’s more than hard enough for you, blood throbbing at the feeling of your wet folds against his leather-covered fingers as his other hand peels back the sticky lace.

Your husband breathes, steeling himself as he slips his cock between your thighs, wetting his length as it brushes against your slick and eager folds. A moan breaks through your lips when the head of him nudges against your clit, and he repeats the movement again just to soak in the sound.

“Are you ready for me?”  Armitage asks, his whispered breath hot against the shell of your ear. You nod in response, and he feels your lips against his neck, forming the word yes.

He slips the tip of his cock back toward your entrance, presses gently until your body opens for him, head buried inside the inviting heat. The grip of your walls tightens around him, and Armitage grunts, pressing forward—slowly as he can manage before wrapping one arm around your waist. He braces the other against the durasteel to mitigate the press of his weight as he begins to thrust. 

Your body welcomes him, as it always has, taking him so perfectly for every inch he gives you. It feels different, without the thin barrier Armitage had become accustomed to. The already intense sensation is multiplied to a dangerous degree—the warmth, the soft grip of your cunt. He pauses once he’s fully seated, breathing in the scent of your hair and perfume, soaking in the feeling of you, of your presence, of your want.

Wants he’s not fulfilling. Your hips press back against his in desperation, breathing out his name. 

“Armitage, please.”

The movements are automatic—Armitage is so adverse to denying you anything in this moment that his body responds without thought, his hips shifting against yours immediately. He starts slowly, but that tempo only lasts so long, and the transport fills with the measured beat of his hips against yours, and the wet squelch of your cunt and those soft, alluring moans. 

One of your hands reaches back, cupping at his neck, fingers grazing through the soft hairs there. Armitage feels your head tip against his shoulder, feels your damp breath against his flushed skin. 

And under normal circumstances, your husband would hate to rush you, would let you find your release gently and on your own terms. But Armitage is too close, and has to be careful his end doesn’t sneak up on him. So he drops his grip from your waist, slipping two fingers against your clit. The pressure of his hand has you shaking in his grasp, but he doesn’t relent, circling the little bud with an even tempo, matching the pace of his thrusts until he feels the tell-tale clench of your cunt around his cock, the flood of heat and the weakness in your legs that has your husband supporting most of your weight as you let the pleasure take you.

Armitage barely has the sense about him to slip out of you before the shocks find him, his cock throbbing and his mind a dizzying mess as he spills his seed . . . right onto the magnificent skirt bunched up around your waist.

Your gaze finds his over your shoulder before you’ve even caught your breath, slipping the garment back down over your hips, assessing the damage before leveling him with an accusatory stare.

“This was new.”

Your admonishment only serves to make him laugh, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a prideful smirk as he admires the slow drip of his cum down the fabric. Armitage presses his forehead to yours, and your demeanor changes, brows pleading, your lips searching for his.

“I’ll get you another,” he promises. Armitage would buy you a thousand just like it, if he could mar some of them in the same way. He hears no protest from you when he presses a kiss to your waiting mouth. 

There’s a gentle shuffle as Armitage rights his uniform, erases any trace of this little dalliance from his appearance. There’s no such ease for you though. 

“I can’t make it back to our quarters like this,” you whisper against his mouth, a hint of a smile at the corners. 

That is certainly true. If he had thought people would talk before—with only the security footage of your path to the transport—the sight of you now would cause a riot.

But the transport is frustratingly low on supplies that might help in this situation. Armitage searches the space with an analytical eye, and finds only one solution: his greatcoat, in a heap on the floor.

Armitage lifts the heavy garment, holds it out for you, and finds his cheeks heating with a blush when you slide your arms inside the sleeves.

Oh. It doesn’t fit you well—the coat was made for him, and it shows in the gaps at the shoulders, the way the hem rests a little too close to the ground. And still, Armitage’s heart races when you pull the front of it closed around your body like a blanket, finding comfort in something that is so ostensibly his.

“How do I look?” you ask the question for the second time that night, and once again, Armitage is at a loss for words. There’s no need for it, though, not when he can hold you in his arms, assure you with a few gentle kisses. 

Your goodbyes are short, but no less full of longing. Armitage watches your form as it disappears into the distance and feels his heart as it thuds heavily in his chest with each sway of your hips. The desire to follow you almost overwhelms him.

Well. At least he has plenty of motivation to finish his work now.

[arcielee]

ānogar

Summary: Your husband helps comfort you. Paring: Daemon Targaryen x Wife!Reader Word Count: 2k+ Warnings: Reader AFAB, menstrual mentions, there will be blood, fingering, oral (f receiving), edging?, unprotected p in v Author’s Note: Thank you @schniiipsel and @sylasthegrim for being my beloved beta readers and making sure Daemon was Daemon-y enough. Thank you to the wonderful @zaldritzosrose for this banner! And thank you @lady-phasma! Your return to Tumblr and your anons inspired this depravity. 🖤 Valyrian translations: ānogar means blood, sȳz riña is good girl.

While the king only sought to sate the hold that the house of the dragon held within the Seven Kingdoms, the Lord Hand wished to find a wife to preoccupy the king’s brother. You were carefully chosen with this intention, the embodiment of what they both searched for, with the echo, “A sound match,” following your footsteps. 

Before you had left for King’s Landing, your mother made it painfully aware of the weight of the reputation belonging to the Rogue Prince. “You must satiate his appetite, at whatever cost,” came her hot whisper in your ear, pinching your upper arm to hold your attention, “and make sure it results in a babe.” 

Her words left a fluttering trepidation that accompanied your heavy steps, a hesitation that was twisting in the pit of your stomach as you entered the Council Chamber. Inside you could see that the king and his Hand were already seated, as well as Prince Daemon. 

The silence was thick around you, and it seemed the prince was almost amused with your apparent discomfort. His steely gaze washed over you before falling to your fidgeting hands; a smirk played at his mouth. 

“Well done, Otto,” he announced loudly, emphatically, and you burned from his informality. The king grimaced and Ser Hightower pursed his lips, but Daemon continued, unabashed: “Ābrazȳrys mazōrīnna.”

I accept my wife. 

Though you were wary of the marital obligations that your mother frightened into you, the prince quickly soothed them away. He was as insatiable as rumored, but not in the way you had been warned. Instead, there was an unseen kindness that was reserved for you alone. Daemon took care to show you consideration and the first month of wedded bliss was a heady haze, an entanglement of bare limbs and open-mouthed kisses that boldly bruised your skin. 

Though despite all this, you failed to produce an heir, and your shame came hot and slick between your legs. 

“Imagine my hurt to learn that my wife does not wish for my company.”

Your maids had just left you alone after helping you change into a sheer chemise and wrapping the heated stones to place on your lower abdomen, something to help soothe your cramps. You look up to see Daemon leaning against your doorframe, waiting. 

“I have been unwell today, husband,” you said, unable to hold his eyes. 

His brow knots with his concern and he glides across the cobblestone to your bedside, his hand reaching to touch your face. “You are flushed, but not warm,” he observes, his eyes trailing to your tight grip on the bed linen. His large hands are gentle to unfurl your hold, pulling away the layers until he sees the wrapped stones laying on your stomach. 

You squirm under his scrutiny, all too aware of how your body presses against the fabric you wore, all too aware of the crimson stain. Daemon dips his head to capture your eyes, his own showing a flicker of amusement while yours were wet with your embarrassment. “And this was reason enough for you to deny my company?” His voice was soft, but his cheeky undertone remained.  

You struggle to put the words together. “But I am unclean.” 

His eyes darkened with your admission, a grin spreading across his face. “What’s a little blood to a dragon?” He teases, looming closer to capture your lips. 

You gasp, your body already yearning to touch him. Your fingers follow along his jaw and drop to pull at his collar, to pull him closer. He growls against your skin, a low rumble that reverberates through you; his hand moves to cup the nape of your neck and he bites into your lip. 

You whine softly, a pulse of pleasure that is quickly crushed beneath the stones. You pull away. “Daemon, we shouldn’t…” but your protest is weak. Your body is already moving, spreading your legs to welcome him. 

And Daemon knows this. He smirks, his hands pulling away the stones. “If you truly believe that I fuck you for the sole purpose of a silver haired babe, then perhaps I have not done my part right.” He shifts between your thighs, his hands just as warm as the rocks removed, skimming across your flesh and pushing up your chemise until you are able to pull it over your head. “Allow me to rectify that, ābrazȳrys.”

You fall back onto the bed, bare for your husband and already burning under his potent stare. His chin falls to his chest, watching his fingers flit to your patch of hair, trailing lower and pressing to spread your folds. A cooper scent fills the air, mixing with your own arousal, and he lets out an appreciative hum. His palms press to your thighs to lower himself between, placing a kiss on the inside of your knee with a tickling touch that you squirm against. 

His hands tighten his hold on you, dimpling into the softness of your thighs. “Paghagon, sweet wife.” Breathe. The exhale with his command was a cool contrast to your heat building, your blood mixing with your passion that was thrumming to the surface. He pushes closer. “Allow me.” 

You melt from the intimate kiss he places, your head tucking to see the glint of red to his wicked grin. He watches you as his other hand moves to touch and your mouth falls open with the wet squelch of his fingers curling within you–the same that have learned you so well. You feel the stretch of your velvet walls as Daemon searches carefully, delicately, until you finally emit the softest sound. 

Daemon returns his attention to you, victorious, watching the gooseflesh ripple over you and your nipples pebbling from his touch. His fingers continue to curl upwards to that sweet spot, slow and deliberate. His other hand grips into your hip, pulling himself closer to place another kiss to your pearl that trills up your spine. “That’s it,” he murmurs against you. “Let me hear you.” 

Your body is aflame from his ministrations; the come-hither pace of his fingers have your moans falling with abandon from your lips, from the buddying warmth that spreads and begins to brim on overwhelming. “Yes,” he growls, his grip now anchoring you to this pleasure building, almost bursting. You whine, your hips bucking. “Sȳz riña, just like that.”

It erupts from you with a fiery passion, your blood searing through your veins and muscles contracting, twisting the air from your lungs. You arch your back against the mattress, your fists knotting in the sheets as Daemon continues to pull this pleasure until you see spots of light dizzying in front of your eyes. 

You are panting from this euphoria, tears spilling from the corners of your eyes before he finally withdraws his hand from you and wipes it onto the bed, a crimson red bold against the cream color. “Sȳz riña,” he repeats, and you feel something stir in your core again, sparked by the little bit of Valyrian he has taught you thus far: good girl.

“Daemon, please.” You push to your elbows, your eyes glassy. “Jaelan tolī.” 

I want more.

He glows with a sense of pride with how it rolls off of your tongue and the bed dips with his weight, leaning over for his lips to trail towards your stomach. It tingles with the mixture of his mouth and the billow of his tunic, dotted with red. “Who am I,” his each deliberate word spills as his fingers dimple into your skin, pulling himself up and closer, “to deny my wife of what she wants?” 

Your writhe beneath his weight and he moves to claim your mouth again. His lips are soft and warm with the taste of iron;  when you sigh sweetly, he swallows it. 

“You did so well for me.” His voice is velvet, a sultry praise you cherish. He shifts his body on top of you, pulling himself from his breeches and settling into the cradle of your hips. “One more for me, my sweet wife,” but he says it more as a statement than a request. 

You are already willing, already canting your hips towards him. His arm reaches between to guide his length until you feel his swollen cockhead lining with your entrance with a slick, dull pressure that jolts through you. 

He begins to move with gentle thrusts to fill you until he is sheathed deep within; Daemon stills when his hips are flushed to your own. He watches as you gasp for air, clenching to adjust, and his grin returns in tandem as he continues the slow roll of his hips, pressing even deeper. 

Your moans mix with your cry, and the sound only spurs your husband to pull upright, reaching behind your knees and pushing until the tops of your thighs touch your chest, folding you and hovering above to set a brutal pace. Each thrust sparks something smoldering through your veins and pouring into your core. 

Your cunt suctions greedily, a sticky mess. “I am close,” you gasp with the flutter of your walls. Daemon pulls away and you let out a sound. 

“Not. Yet.” His large hands grab you with force, twisting you onto your stomach. You feel his palms kneed into your lower back, a firm touch that follows up your spine, massaging your aching muscles, and you moan but in a different way. You relax into his touch, and the bed shifts again as he leans over to press his lips to your spine.

“Daemon,” you are breathless, a different ache you are begging him to soothe. “Please.”

He tsks, still grinning, still pressing his palms to your skin, and you cannot help but savor the warmth of his tongue. “Sylugon arlī.” He says. Try again.

You lick your lips. “Daemon.” You are desperate. “Kostilus.”

“Please what,” he taunts, but you can feel his biting grip into your hips, pulling your arse upwards. You gasp as he sinks into you again, stretching you from a new angle. You bury your face into the bed, muffling your moan, a wet spot forming from your spit. 

His fingers curl into the nape of your neck, pulling you up to meet with his merciless rhythm. He pounds into you, deeper and harder, and your pleasure begins to brim to the surface again. Your fingers curl into the linen as it splits you in half, a returning ecstasy with full force; Daemon allows you to fall forward, a sobbed release into the linen and its tangy mix of sex and blood. He bends over until his brow presses between your shoulder blades, a low groan as he hotly empties himself inside of you. 

There is a quiet moment that follows, the sweet exchange as you both gather your breath, the returning tenderness reserved for you alone. You feel another kiss on your backside and your skin ripples in response. Daemon pulls away, a sticky mess in his wake, and you lazily roll over to watch as he tucks himself back into his slacks, unbothered by the red stains that now adorn his clothes. 

He moves towards the door, but stops. “I will call for your handmaidens to draw you a hot bath,” his eyes flicker over towards you, “and to heat up new stones.” 

You curl into the sheets, allowing ample skin to show for your husband. “Shall you join me for the bath?” Your tone is purposefully coy. 

Daemon turns fully to look at you, his eyes raking over you and color still staining his cheeks. His heavy steps pull him back towards you, using one arm on the bed edge as the other reaches to grab you. You meet with him, hungry to kiss your husband again, and his tongue craftily rekindles the warmth you can still feel pulsing in your core.

He stops and pulls himself upright. Your eyes are wide, watching his signature smirk, his arrogant strut that takes him from the room. He leaves you with a fluttering warmth from his kiss, and though he said nothing, you trust that he and his insatiable appetite will return to you. 

general taglist: @gemini-mama @fan-goddess @abecerra611 @myfandomprompts @dixie-elocin

@darkenchantress @fictionalmenjusthitdifferent @namelesslosers @itbmojojoejo @multyfangirl

arcie's navi || house of the dragon masterlist period smut collab

[aboutthenabaron]

COLLECTION OF FEYD-RAUTHA FICS

This blog is about collecting Feyd-Rautha fics. The posts are only reblogs. They are tagged by categories (see tag guide) and, as of now they also get tags like imagine, oneshot, headcanon, series, masterlist and the name of the writer’s blog.

If anyone wants to be crossed off the list or the blog let me know.

I’ll reblog fics I come across from now on, if you want your Feyd fic to be reblogged just tag @aboutthenabaron

List of writers:

@alavestineneas • tagged reblogs

@amica-aenigmata-naboo • tagged reblogs

@austinbutlerslovers • tagged reblogs

@barbiedragon • tagged reblogs

@cherienymphe • tagged reblogs

@citrusdarling7 • tagged reblogs

@clooyd • tagged reblogs

@cosmictheo • tagged reblogs

@dreamlandcreations • tagged reblogs

@eraenaa • tagged reblogs

@foreverdolly • tagged reblogs

@fqntasies • tagged reblogs

@francis-writes • tagged reblogs

@harkonnin • tagged reblogs

@houserautha • tagged reblogs

@kasagia • tagged reblogs

@kpopnstarwars • tagged reblogs

@lady-phasma • tagged reblogs

@lieutenantfloyd • tagged reblogs

@luminnara • tagged reblogs

@missjadesfics • tagged reblogs

@n-slayaaaaa • tagged reblogs

@perlelune • tagged reblogs

@plutoswritingplanet • tagged reblogs

@queenofmistresses • tagged reblogs

@peggyao3 • tagged reblogs

@sansaorgana • tagged reblogs

@sebastianswallows • tagged reblogs

@seresinhangmanjake • tagged reblogs

@space-mango-company • tagged reblogs

@steph-speaks • tagged reblogs

@ughdontbeboring • tagged reblogs

@valeskafics • tagged reblogs

@vulpine-spectacle • tagged reblogs

@itbayyyyyyy • tagged reblogs

[miscellaneousjo]

Phasma, about to go to war against Brendol Hux for Armie.

Imagine Your Otp

Person A: Dinner was fine. Your parents were fine.

Person B: Then why can’t you look at me?

Person A: Because they hurt you. They hurt you and you don’t even care!

[ivystoryweaver]

i love you leia i love you luke i love you han i love you ben i love you 3PO i love you R2 i love you yoda i love you lando i love you vader i love you mon i love you ackbar i love you ewoks i love you x-wing i love you lightsaber i love you storm troopers i love you force i love you dagobah i love you tatooine i love you yavin i love you hoth i love you endor i love you imperial guards not you palpatine i love you padmé i love you anakin i love you obi-wan i love you satine i love you shmi i love you qui-gon i love you mace i love you coruscant i love you naboo i love you jar jar yes even jar jar i love you sabé i love you ki-adi-mundi i love you plo koon i love you shaak ti i love you luminara i love you barriss i love you kit fisto i love you geonosis i love you jedi star fighter i love you jedi temple i don't love you midi-chlorians i love you owen i love you baru i love you cliegg i love you clone troopers i love you dooku i love you lightsaber duels i love you bail i love you alderaan i love you chewy i love you wookiees i love you utapau i love you space battles i love you force lightning i lava you mustafar i love you baby luke i love you baby leia i love you rey i love you poe i love you finn i love you rose i love you general organa i love you d'qar i love you jakku i love you black orange x-wing i love you bb-8 i love you ben i love you kylo i love you hux i love you crait i love you holdo yep even her i love you jannah i love you phasma i love you jedi i love you sith i love you mando i love you din i love you grogu i love you mandalore i love you bo katan i love you boba fett i love you hutts i love you rebels i love you resistance i love you old republic i love you new republic i love you empire (what a great enemy) i love you kanan i love you ahsoka i love you cody i love you ezra i love you sabine i love you maul i love you thrawn i love you saw i love you cassian i love you bix i love you jyn i love you galen i love you bad batch i love you hope i love you found family i love you imagination i love you star wars

[daydream-cement]

Suits and Hallways (NSFW)

Captain Phasma x Reader

Phasma notices you staring.

First weekend in Smutember with @alexusonfire! The first week prompt is formal wear!

When you were invited to attend the officer gala, you hadn’t been expecting to be put in such a position as this. With your pressed against the cold metal wall, you felt your dress being shifted upwards around your hips. 

You had on your formal dress, putting your best foot forward to make an impression on your higher ups. You thought you had done so when Phasma approached you. Moments ago you had been summoned to the deserted hallway by your captain, and with a viscous degree of roughness, Phasma had you up against the wall. 

“Your eyes have been wandering far too much. You are beyond obvious with those disgusting thoughts of yours.” Phasma hissed, her hands working into the waistband of your underwear. It was unceremonious - the way the captain pushed her fingers between your folds and felt her way to your clit.

“Wet already? 

You could only whimper. This felt so wrong. This was so unbecoming of a person of your status in the Empire. But you gave yourself over entirely, unable to say no to the alluring and handsome captain. This evening, she had been wearing a formal captain’s uniform that made your mouth water. The jacket fit her muscular shoulders perfectly and her pants were cut tight enough that nothing was left to the imagination. Your gaze must have caught her attention.

“You’re so fucking pathetic.” Phasma whispered, pressing the pads of her index and middle finger against your clit to rub circles against the bundle of nerves. The pressure of Phasma’s hand against the side of your head only seemed to increase as the degradation continued.

Phasma growled once more, her body weight fully pushed against you. Her voice was low and guttural, almost as if she were angry with you. In reality, it was all just a way to make sure she held dominance over you. “Do you like this? Do you like being treated like a stupid little slut?”

You remained silent, but this was clearly not the response the captain wanted. She pushed your face against the metal harder and the intensity of it all made tears prick in your eyes.

“Answer the question.”

“Yes…”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, I like being treated like a- a stupid little slut…”

“That’s what I thought.”

The grip on your face loosened slightly as her fingers went back to work, circling your soaked clit with increased fervor. Her breath was hot in your ear as she panted slightly. If you could have see. her face, you would have seen the mild look of enjoyment plastered across her lips and brow.

The captain’s fingers worked their way back towards your slick heat and you gasped quietly as she wedged her fingers into your cunt. She offered you no time to adjust to her lengthy digits when she began pumping them in and out at a building pace. 

Your little moans became more and more frequent. In spite of this, you attempted stifling them by clenching your teeth. When this failed, you drew a hand to your mouth and clamped your hand over it. 

Phasma disapproved of this action and made her dissatisfaction known by releasing your head from her grasp and wrenching both of your hands behind your back. She held your wrists in a vice grip and began slowing her movements in your underwear, teasing you to the point you felt as if you could explode. 

“P-please…” You begged Phasma, but she wasn’t interested in your pleas. 

“You think you have the right to ask me for anything?” Phasma scoffed as her fingers left your cunt to wad the fabric of your underwear around her fist. There was the sound of seams popping and the discomforting pain that was Phasma ripping the fabric off your body. “Fucktoys don’t get a say.”

At the feeling of the cold night air against your pussy, you felt terribly exposed. Anyone could walk from the gala at any second and watch you being dominated by your captain.

Her fingers dove back into your cunt, pushing their way into your fluttering hole. The pleasure of being filled again had you doubling over - your forehead pressed to the cold metal wall while your hands were still ratcheted behind your back. Phasma began pounding your cunt with her fingers - the removal of your underwear was her way of removing the barrier that kept her from doing so earlier.

Your cheeks turned red when you thought you heard the slap of her hand against your cunt echoing through the empty hall. You were praying no one would find you, but first and foremost, you needed to cum.

“How long have you been wanting me to do this? Have you been watching me in the locker room? Or do you just fantasize about what’s under the armor? Is that why you can’t control yourself now?” From Phasma’s tone, one could tell she was smirking. She was so satisfied with herself for making another of her subordinates crumble. 

“Y-you look so good in your suit…” You sob, unable to be dishonest about what drove you to stare.

“I know.”

The captain’s confidence was unbelievably sexy. 

Suddenly, and without warning, you came hard, a strangled cry jumping from your throat. But Phasma wasn’t stopping there. Her rapid fingering continued, only now she released your arms and added her other hand to the mix. With her opposite hand, she began rubbing at your clit and you felt yourself losing all control. 

“Silly little slut. What if the other lieutenants saw you like this? How would you feel?”

The captain was obviously trying to get a rise out of you, combining shame with your growing desire. 

The skill held in her fingers made you dizzy. You knew if you ever had the chance to spend the night with her, Phasma would show you pleasures far beyond pushing you against a wall and fucking you silly. 

As Phasma worked you towards another orgasm, a round of applause echoed from inside the gala hall. As much as you should have considered the possibility of someone exiting into the hall at any moment, you were far too focused on being pushed over the edge. 

You finally came from Phasma slamming her fingers inside you, tipping you over the edge. Before you could process the blinding orgasm, Phasma growled, her hand squeezing your jaw into submission. “Open your mouth…”

You opened your mouth the rest of the way and quickly realized Phasma intended on spitting in your mouth. You allowed it to happen, regardless. At this point, your only goal was appeasing her to hopefully make this occurrence happen again.

“Now get back to your quarters and clean yourself up.” Phasma pushed your face away from hers, and swatted you firmly on the ass, sending you on your way.

“Y-yes, captain.” You mutter, sending your gaze to the floor. Quickly, you began down the hallway - your face growing redder and redder as the realization of what just occurred hit you. 

Before you could round the corner, you glanced back at Phasma, unable to help yourself. Your breath caught as you watched her push your discarded underwear into her pocket. You tore your gaze away and hurried down the hallway - face bright red as you attempted to comprehend what just happened.

Taglist: @charymobile, @bri-sonat, @weemswife, @smutuniversesblog, @opheliauniverse, @enchantressb , @renravens @scream-queenlover , @shyladyfan , @mcufanisme , @peanutbutterprincess , @larissaoftarthweems , @principal-weems09 , @imlike-so-gaydude , @emilynissangtr , @xuukoo , @brienneswife , @oculusalien , @giogwensversion , @milciak @gela123 , @thevillagegay , @katiemcgrathsbitch1 , @naomi-m3ndez , @salems-spaghettios , @imgayforwoman69 @bychrissi , @h-doodles , @alexusonfire , @weemssapphic

[miscellaneousjo]

Phasma would totally say that, tho.

Phasma voice

you dumb bitch

[kiss-me-muchoo]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐀𝐥𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬 || 𝐊𝐲𝐥𝐨 𝐑𝐞𝐧 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

part one: the albatross

part two: little old her

part three: no name yet

Summary_ As the force awakens, what you know as the truth starts to crumble and the sudden change of emotions for Kylo Ren also interfere with your destiny.

Warnings_ age gap? lol (reader 20, Kylo 28), slowburn, ? to almost lovers to enemies to lovers xd, eventual angst, fluff and dramaaa

A/N_ this is exactly how I imagine myself in the Skywalker Saga bye. song recs: the albatross (Taylor Swift) and psycho (EMM).

♪ ♫ my Adam playlist (awful) ✰ index (masterlist/ other works there)

⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺ ⁺˚⋆｡°✩₊✩°｡⋆˚⁺

There was a crack in the glass. A straight line was visible in the glass separating you from the stars. Was it dangerous enough to break the whole thing with pressure? Not your business. You had been part of the First Order long enough to know that by the next days over, that crack was going to be gone. They cared a lot about their surroundings. No wonder why their floors were always shiny and squeaky.

A pair of boots can be heard. You remain looking at the glass. The pair of boots do not sound squeaky against the black floors. These are angry steps, confident and threatening.

“You were expected to lead a division of stormtroopers along Phasma. I was clear enough about meeting you in Jakku” Kylo Ren says through his well-known modulated voice. You can hear his breathing, he’s angry.

In four years of knowing him, you got used to his terrible anger control. So you remained calm. Or at least tried to do so.

“And you knew that I had an important dinner in Canto Bight. Supreme Leader Snoke said you were notified of my departure.” You respect him, a lot. But ever since you were saved by The First Order at eleven years old, Snoke told you to cover your face until you were old enough to show your face to the galaxy. Whatever that meant, you obeyed him. And refused to turn around and face the masked man. On rare occasions, you had seen his face, as well for him. It was a weird dynamic.

“Supreme Leader Snoke might have the last word, but you always come and report to me first, not him.” You sigh, tired of never being able to get a compliment from him. Four years, and you feel like time has slowly passed. You have so much to give, but nothing to rely on that thought.

“This is the last time I want to hear about you not following my command. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Master Ren.”

There’s more. You already know that little pause he tends to make before adding more.

“Dinner is over, get changed and ready. The map to Skywalker is in a droid, it should be back with us soon.”

He leaves and you finally turn, looking at his tall and imposing figure walking away. Then you look down, checking at your dress, all black and covering you. You liked feeling dressed up, wearing heels, using exotic makeup, and letting your hair free. But you weren’t a fancy woman of Canto Bight, you were a force user with a military ranking in The First Order. You were a young woman who knew nothing other than lies, which remained unknown to you. But not for so long…

…

You look at General Hux and your master arguing once again. The BB unit droid being unable to be found was transforming into a big issue for everyone. You hadn’t had time to train, you just looked at your superiors sending daggers through each other’s eyes. When Ren left, you walked towards Hux. You notice how tense and tired he is, holding his serious and professional facade as long as he can.

“How can you stand him after all this time? I’ve been here longer than him, but I haven’t known him long enough like you” The red-haired man makes a face of disgust at your words.

“I’ve learned to not care enough, I just care about Snoke preferring my techniques rather than his. After all, he is just the Supreme Leader’s puppet” You frown, but you then remember. Snoke took Ben Solo under his wing, there was no Kylo Ren before. You were still eleven when he joined, he had killed the original leader of the knights of Ren and everyone started fearing him. Except for Hux who was just starting to lead his father’s legacy at the time.

“Do you think I’m a puppet as well?” Hux shrugs, then looks at you. He has known you since you were a teenager and he was a young adult. For some reason, he knows you very well.

“I cannot tell what you are to Snoke. But you are Ren’s albatross” he says, making you smile. You avoided causing trouble, but it was evident that all you did was annoy your master, instead of bonding with him like you wanted. Because Phasma was not mean to you, Hux was something like a friend, but you wanted to not feel alone. You wanted to feel the warmth of a bond.

“All I want is from him is to not make me feel like a burden”

“Stop caring about what he thinks. Your goal should be to prove yourself to Snoke”

Maybe he’s right.

…

Hux's advice keeps coming back to your thoughts. You shut your thoughts to your master, who is sitting beside you, piloting a ship.

“Was the next step in my training necessary to be outside of the Starkiller base?” Later that day, Ren and you met with Snoke. His hologram assured you were ready to take another step in your training. Then your master literally dragged you to a ship and quietly started a route unknown to you.

“Yes.” He says uninterested, mask fixated on the control of the ship.

“Oh.”

He takes a small glimpse of you. Your black attire partially covers your face with a delicate transparent fabric, it was difficult to see if he had given you bruises over the years of training. You have sad eyes, and he can’t help but feel a little like the cause of it. He doesn’t hate you like you believe. It just was so fucking difficult to have someone under his mentorship when Kylo Ren himself still felt like his training wasn’t over.

“Can you still see your surroundings if you cover your eyes with that thing?” He suddenly asks, making you frown in confusion.

“Uhh… yes. Why?”

“It’ll be better if you cover your whole face when we get to our destination?” He made you believe it was to be in disguise but actually, it was because he was taking you to a place that was used by ancient Jedis. Snoke couldn’t know where the mission happened, just that it was completed. He was taken there by his father when he was a kid. Ren knew he shouldn't be there, but something from the place was calling him.

“Oh, okay.” You limit yourself to say. He nods and you know you are in Dantooine once he enters the planet. There is an orange sunset covering the empty land. It was only a field that you saw after your master carefully and perfectly landed the ship.

“Master Ren, this is beautiful.” You say as soon as your boots touch the yellow grass, breathing the fresh and almost pure air.

“This isn’t the reason why I brought you here”

He can see some strands of your hair flying around the edges of the fabric covering your face. He can sense you are in a state of pure relaxation. It surprises him to see you like this. Even he feels… peace?

“Aren’t we gonna train here?” He sighs under his helmet.

“Follow me.” He guides you towards the little mountain. It’s a simple hike. At the top, there’s a curve and the entrance of a cave. He gestures for you to walk inside. It confuses you enough to frown and stop moving.

“You want me to go in?” You just know he is rolling his eyes inside the helmet.

“Correct. You go alone and pick a crystal. Remember… you’ll know once it’s calling you” You can’t hide your surprise. But knowing who your master is, you just nod, entering the cave. The day you would build your lightsaber was coming, but it shocked you to know it was already happening.

As soon as you start venturing inside the cave, some crystals start sparkling in blue, yellow, dark green, purple, and indigo. The force feels incredibly strong inside the cave. And you know that isn’t how the dark side feels. It was peace, balance, order. Some blue crystals shine brighter than others. But finally, one starts pulling you towards it. It’s a bright green, like lime and mint mixed. It was beautiful, it transmitted a feeling of wisdom. Your hand touched it, and a shiver ran through your spine. The voice of a man clearly echoed suddenly.

The light is closer than you know, y/n.

You pulled the crystal quickly and looked around, the cave became dark, as all the crystals stopped shining, except for the one in your hands.

That wasn’t the voice of Ren. Perhaps it was just the cave. But it felt very personal. Almost like the voice knew you.

When you get out of the cave, it’s almost dark. What you thought it was a couple of minutes had actually been almost an hour. And Ren is there, holding his helmet in his hand. His face takes you aback. Sometimes you forget he is also a human like you.

He glares at you and starts looking, probably for the crystal. So you show it to him.

You know what's next, and honestly, you weren’t ready.

“This is where I suppose I have to make it bleed” Kylo almost wants you to keep the crystal-like it is, it was certainly beautiful. And your happiness was resulting infectious.

“Do it when you’re alone. It’s not easy to do so, you need to concentrate…”

“And let the pain take over me, I know, master,” you say, almost angry at him suddenly. You just hated the process. It was enough to feel alone already.

“I can help you… If you want.” The fabric in your face had been brushed aside, showing most of your features. Ren sees each mole, the dryness in your lips, the hope in your eyes. And he understood you just wanted someone to bond with. He felt it a while ago, a little after you two officially met and started working together, but he wasn’t just ready to share anything of himself. Yet, when you stare at his full lips, sad eyes, and non-expressive face, he knows he can have a potential ally staring at him in that empty valley.

“I would like that…” he nods, starting to go down the little mountain once again.

“Wait, master Ren” he turns to face you.

“When I touched the crystal, I heard a voice, it was a man. I thought it was the cave, but it just felt weird, like it was meant to be for me”

“What did the voice say?” He asks you to stay quiet. He senses you are unsure whether to tell him or not. He walks back again, staying just inches away from you.

“You can tell me…” he meant it, staring through your lashes, he expects your answer.

“That…that the light was closer than I know” you admit looking at the hem of his black robes.

“I’ve felt it too, a pull towards the light” his words leave you shocked. You gulp, blinking a few times before staring at his brown eyes again.

“We can’t fail…” the way you said, it made him feel like… he wasn’t alone.

…

The room is cold, and dark and has a peculiar smell of humid rocks. Snoke appears in a hologram form, sitting on a throne that makes him look impossibly taller.

“Dear child, What is it that has your thoughts running unstable?” His raspy voice echoes everywhere, you focus on his face, trying to see anything, but Snoke has never shown signs of emotion.

“We haven’t received any news from the ambush in Takodana…” Your voice trembles a little bit, and Snoke notices it.

“You are quickly caring too much for your master suddenly”

Busted.

“I want to care for him… and as much as I hate to admit it, I want him to care for me” you accept, looking down, embarrassed.

“But of course, you need to build a connection with your master. Is there anything conflicting with you?” You certainly don’t want to tell him about the incident in the cave. But you know the supreme leader must’ve already sensed it.

“When I was searching for the crystal for my lightsaber, a voice called me, saying that light was closer than I knew. Supreme leader… What could that possibly mean?”

“When I found you, my dear child, your home was already a living hell. But the lands where you came from were once filled with so much light. Your roots will always call you, it is in yourself to keep being on the right path” It might have been a comment, but it felt like a threat. A warning that you had to remain faithful to the dark side.

“Go and find your master. Gain his trust and guide each other towards your mutual goal; finding Skywalker and destroying the hope of the Jedi.” You nod, lowering your head as his hologram disappears.

In the silence of that empty room, you meditate on what just happened.

Your inner voice was clear; Snoke was keeping some details to himself. You never thought of your past. You lounged a family because you knew you had one, but… it didn’t matter anymore. Only that the curiosity was inevitably growing.

Quietly you leave the room. The hallways of the base are filled with troopers walking and moving in different directions.

They came back from Takodana.

You start walking faster, pacing till you stumble upon a dark tall known figure. Kylo Ren looked incredibly intimidating with the mask and hood together. He gestures to you to go inside an empty planning room and you open the door. He was looking for you too.

He follows quietly, closing the same door. His hands remove his helmet and place it on a table. You are just analyzing each movement he does.

“Did you get the map?” you ask straight to the point. Ren actually wanted to ask if you had finished building your saber. But you had other questions.

“In a certain way, yes.” You cross your arms, confused at him.

“Can you be more specific?”

“The scavenger, she has seen the map.” you huff in disbelief.

“What? You brought a dirty scavenger instead of the droid?” his face covered in moles sighs, quickly losing patience, you can tell.

“I’ll take the map from her”

“Don’t underestimate that girl. She has been able to get away so far, she might be more dangerous than we thought” he rolls his eyes.

“Stop it.”

“This is nonsense. We were supposed to have the actual map with us and-“

“ENOUGH!” He yells, his hand rises and you are quick to suppress his use of the force, making him bend half of a chair that was near.

Shocked, you realize he was going to choke you. Anger quickly builds up, and Hux’s advice rings into your head; Stop caring about what he thinks. Your goal should be to prove yourself to Snoke.

“You are my master but I will never be tired to remind everyone I’ve been here long enough to know what is convenient for us and what isn’t. You just might have invited the whole Resistance to the base and it won’t be my fault, Master Ren.” You push past him and you leave the room slamming the door. You take off the fabric in your face out of anger.

Some minutes pass and you are still mad. He was such an asshole. Always giving you the cold shoulder instead of listening to you. You were younger, but you had almost the same training from Snoke as him. Ren was difficult and very stubborn. Whoever was the famous scavenger, you could feel she was going to be a problem.

Out of nowhere Phasma appears, holding a blaster and looking down at you.

“Lieutenant y/n, your command is required by General Hux” You nod, calming yourself as you start walking with the woman. You pass near the throne room and you are able to hear Snoke and Kylo’s voices. You stop Phasma and she seems taken aback, but soon you tell her to hear and she relaxes.

“We’re going to get caught” she whispers. The woman was known to be on her business and on no one else’s.

“I’ll be quick” you whisper back.

Then Snoke starts saying Kylo is going weak. He reminds your master about his father; the infamous Han Solo. That the scavenger resisted him and that he isn’t putting your training on his priorities.

You hear Kylo say he always thinks back on you. And you know you shouldn’t have blushed or felt your heart racing, but you did. He made it sound like he cared for you.

“There are many mysteries surrounding us that she must not know,” Snoke says and it triggers you. Thankfully Phasma pulls you away and forces you to keep walking. Probably just in time so Kylo wouldn’t see you overhearing.

Snoke isn’t telling you everything. Ren knows something too.

“Everyone heard your argument with Commander Ren,” Phasma says teasing, but also commenting to warn you. It didn’t surprise you that the argument was loud. Any argument with Kylo ends up being in the news of the First Order. Also, Phasma doesn’t say anything about the conversation you two just overheard.

“I’m getting tired of being his apprentice. I want to succeed by myself, not by being his shadow.”

“Your time will come. A little treason wouldn’t hurt. Everyone here is dying to escalate in ranking” she admits. You look at her chrome helmet with curiosity.

“You seem happy with your position forever”

“I am.” Phasma must’ve been smiling under the helmet.

She disappears as soon as you both reach the command center.

Hux is there, along with other officials who monitor the aftermath of the weapon that had just attacked the Republic.

“The girl escaped and Ren must be angrier than ever,” the red-haired man says looking straight at you, with his hands behind his back.

“She is force sensitive…” Hux nods.

“I knew this was bad. I told Master Ren, but he didn’t listen…” An anxious feeling starts creeping into your stomach.

“Yes. And thanks to his little outburst and obsession with the girl, we are closely monitoring if we have a sudden attack from the Rebels” Once again, you sigh.

The feeling in your stomach grows, making you frown. Hux also frowns, caressing your shoulder.

“Are you alright?” You feel a sudden pain in your chest and you describe it. It was Kylo, someone he loved who died. It had to be his father or mother.

“Something's off, I can feel it” you manage to say. At the same time, a loud explosion is heard, the floor is assaulted by a little tremor and alarms start sounding.

You exchange worried looks with Hux and both run to see what just happened.

The chaos quickly envelops the Starkiller base, there are troopers moving everywhere, officers getting in and out to report things to you and Hux. And still, you are only thinking about your master. Was he safe?

Your guts were telling you he wasn’t safe.

With the invasion of the Rebels, everything was getting trickier.

“We need to evacuate. The base is about to collapse, lava is going to consume the surroundings at any time” Hux says hurriedly.

“I won’t leave without Ren. I will go for him!” before you can leave, the man grabs your forearm.

“Be quick, a boarding ship will be waiting for you both… but not for long” You nod, offering a serious smile before leaving.

The base was enormous, you had no idea where could Ren be. Each step feels unsure because you don’t know where you’re going, you try to concentrate but the constant explosions and screams from people entering in panic don’t help at all.

Master Ren, please, guide me towards you, you repeat in your head, hoping he’d hear.

Through the wide crystals, you can see TIEs and X-Wings flying around, and you grow impatient.

You stop when another tremor comes. Holding onto a wall, you close your eyes, trying to reach for Ren one last time.

You call him. Doesn’t matter if he doesn’t want your help, or if he’s mad at you for yelling, you just know you don’t want to leave the base without him.

Snow, droplets of blood in the white snow. The scream of a woman and the sound of sabers colliding.

He answered.

…

The lava makes you hurry, time is running out. The snow is fresh, it makes your boots sink and turn your steps slower. The beating of your heart grows as you distantly see a purple light, created by a blue and a red lightsaber.

They don’t notice you yet, but you are able to see a man unconscious near the woman fighting your master; the scavenger.

She’s skilled, fearless and you have to admit it impressed you. But the thought is quickly gone when you arrive, witnessing how the woman sliced your master’s face.

“KYLO!” You scream in horror when he falls, dropping his saber. The woman turns to look at you and you send her flying, making her skull collide against a rock. You run towards the man and kneel beside him.

His face was covered in blood, it was a deep wound, part of his attire was ripped, and you could see his shoulder bleeding.

“I’m here… I’m here.” Your desperate attempts to make him gain stability fail. But he slowly blinks, holding onto your hip to clear his vision and stop feeling like everything is spinning. His face hurts, his head pulses and he feels on the verge of fainting. But he’s able to clearly see your face. You came to help him.

“I’m not leaving without you.” You say touching his chin, trying to calm him.

A lightsaber ignites and you know the scavenger was still there. Your little moment of vulnerability was enough to make her recover.

You stand, turning to face her. She looks pissed, desperate to run, but so you are.

You grab your freshly made lightsaber. It’s dark chrome and with tiny details that resemble constellations and stars. And it’s cold, but soon turns warm when you ignite it, revealing a red double-sided saber.

The scavenger runs, confident that she will attack and target you. But you’re quick, you remember Kylo saying you had the ability to use your reflects too quickly.

The double sides of your weapon trigger the young woman, who is already tired. You can see how she huffs annoyed. But you take that to your advantage. You keep hitting her blue saber until she starts giving up. She is conflicted, she is a nobody, and you can feel how alone she has been.

Her weaknesses are your strength, and in the blink of an eye, you have burned her leg, making her scream and fall. And before you can do anything, a trail of lava appears, and the whole base is about to disappear. The scavenger gives one last curious look before running away. And finally giving you time to run back to Kylo, who is still breathing and wants to fall unconscious.

“Stay awake, hold onto me. We need to get to the boarding ship to leave” he seems to have nodded, his strong arms feel heavy and weak. It’s difficult to walk with his massive weight relying most of it on you.

With each step, he keeps leaving a little trail of blood. You need to hurry, the snow is slowly melting, drenching your boots.

Kylo is in shock, he tries to process everything but he can’t, because it isn’t over, he needs to get to that ship. But somehow, he holds onto you. He feels slightly better knowing that you came for him. That you are guiding him through the woods.

To him, the sudden change of getting closer to you was abrupt. He wasn’t used to talking much or looking out for someone. Not even with his knights.

He succeeded for a long time having no issues with you. But now, you dragged his body into the ship, his body lying and a droid immediately checking him. He hears distant voices and through blurred vision, he sees you talking with Hux.

He overheard the annoying General saying how much of a trouble you were for him. You started twisting his thoughts, the need to feel closer to you, the attraction towards the light. Hux was right.

You were Kylo Ren’s albatross.

_______________________________________________

To keep going with this mini series or not lol

[blackfyrerebels]

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ Interview With the Vampire *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

smut = ❤️‍🔥 (please note I may forget to add the heart, so read the tags yourself)

This masterlist is mostly for my own use, but also serves as a recommendation to anyone who stumbles upon this blog, and an archive in case any fics are deleted or blogs go inactive. If you would like your fic removed please message me.

Armand

tag: #thevampirearmand Martyrdom - @lady-phasma Imagine being Lestat's younger sister, and Armand flirting with you (feat. Lestat) - @random-imagines-blog note: incest vibes Law One - @satinestales

Lestat de Lioncourt

tags: #thevampirelestat Imagine being Lestat's younger sister, and Armand flirting with you (feat. Armand) - @random-imagines-blog (warning: incest vibes)

[c-e-d-f]

feel like they would absolutely have a convo like this

“I think I’m going to fuck Ren,” Armitage declares over their third glasses of wine. Phasma makes a sound of consideration. “Have you consulted Ren about this?” “What’s to be said? He’s desperate for attention. The second I come onto him he’ll fold.” “You have a point.” She takes a long drink. “Any particular reason?” “I need to remind Snoke that what’s his will eventually be mine. And he’s not half bad looking.” Armitage frowns. “Ren, not Snoke.” “Good god, can you imagine?” “I’m trying my best not to.”