#plo koon x femreader

[dukeoftheblackstar]

ѕαтυяиιиє || ρℓσ кσσи χ fєм!яєα∂єя

Dividers by Saradika

I was supposed to make something smutty, but then it didn't go so well and then it went okay and now it's out of the WIP furnace, I can sleep.

“Don’t..” 

It was all you needed to keep your eyes closed and the room vehemently dark. You didn’t particularly like it, but there you were, drawing your hand back over your chest before you could even reach for the lamp. You could tell it was one of those nights Plo wanted something he could never bring himself to ask nor speak of. Nights when he’d come from a grueling mission that left him doubtful even through numerous hours of meditation and decompression with the other Jedi Masters; nights when words fail even the most eloquent and wise Kel Dor that he’d come to you unannounced to be something that is not of a Jedi — himself.

Plo had already broken his vow of celibacy when he had met you and it had been even more of a constant struggle to manage a certain emotion that he knew well within himself should not be a difficult task. Plo never once was plagued with the need to temper insecurities or jealousy for that matter, they were insignificant negativities that hardly impacted his role as a Master Jedi.

It would not deter him from  being a remarkable pilot or an exemplary swordsman, nor will it tarnish the depth of connection he has to the force knowing he had, if not perfected, neutralized an unbreakable hold of his emotions to not let it cloud his judgment. Surely if he could have harnessed such power to procure control over his Electric Judgment, mere jealousy would be of no match… yes?

But he had seen you days before he had finally landed the interceptor a walk away from your humble abode. He had seen you so full of mirth and without a care in the world as you danced and twirled, and cheered, and sang, and laughed, and smiled with the locals celebrating some sort of festivities that he wasn’t even made aware of. He had seen you bask in the glory of peace and though his heart swells at the sight of you safe and sound, merry and perhaps having the time of your life, he couldn’t rid the darkness that pooled within him in the form of envy. 

Vicious, vicious envy caressing him like the mistress of hate that had taken form in that very man you had allowed to touch you so closely, so intimately. He had spent hours of meditation to rid the image of how he had held you in his arms as you danced and sang, and twirled, and laughed, and smiled. Hours indulging his fellow Jedi for a bout or two, had hovered over the designated docking area for the interceptor but opted to leave with an even heavier heart.

He couldn’t bring himself to speak to the Grand Master either for reasons he knew he should be able to handle this with the grace of a Master Jedi and one of his experiences. And so he did; he had kept himself away for days when he had been granted time to tend to ‘personal matters’ to retain a sound mind for when he would be called for business. He had also elected to keep your messages unread and your calls declined — all at the expense of satiating both conditions ; to be sound as a Master Jedi and to be sound as a beloved who would not be in any way unreasonable, confrontational, and untrusting. After all, it was just a dance … right?

A meager dance with his fingers laced between your delicate digits, your eyes sparkling with unabashed bliss as you laughed at everything he said, smiled at every turn and twirl with your forehead against his and your body so firmly in place against him.

An inconsequential matter that should not have his own fists balled up under his sleeves as he listened to his commander reprimand the chaos of Boost and Sinker arguing over proper bathing etiquette while Comet and Warthog heartily cheered ‘brawl’ repeatedly. A minute happenstance that should not even qualify as a problem but it has. 

And so it brings us to the current. 

“Plo, what’s wro —”

You drew breath from the deepest recesses of your lungs, pitched and rapt with unexpected pleasure as you felt a pair of talon-clad fingers press against the sweet bud nestled between your folds. Your voice shakes and you silently curse how wet he had made you with just a press as if you were some switch that activated a harem of whores begging for a fuck. He hadn’t even moved the slightest, but you could feel the rough hide of his fingers caress you in short, circular motions, parting to spread your folds not even by much to let his fingers slide down, but enough to make you whimper a little.

You knew something was wrong by how he had chosen to touch you but not dare look at you. He had always been one to tell you how beautiful you look, how your lips beckon him even in silence, and how your eyes illuminate the darkest of his nights when lost and uncertain. He had always kept the light on; always looked down at you when you writhe under his touch and begged him to fuck you as raw and unbridled as possible, knowing the next may never be certain.

He’d always trace the contours of your face from the bridge of your nose to the curves of your lips, from the arches of your brows to the spans of your jaw, and from the column of your throat to the dip between your clavicles before he’d ask — no, beg; beg so desperately to touch you as if you were some fragile little thing that would break under the size of his hands and the sharpness of his spurs.

You shudder under the cold, stannic mask grazing along your thigh and you could hear the slight whirr you’ve come to love, knowing it was how his breath had gone heavy as yours. You’ve memorized every ridge and texture, every camber and cavity, every point and tube that has roamed your body many times over your skin but never often there. 

Not because he didn’t want to, but because he couldn’t for reasons so valid you’ve forgotten it ever existed — it being the feel of his mouth or tongue that was hardly permitted to kiss you on the lips more so down south, it being how beyond comprehensible it felt when he’d go down you, and the fact that Plo Koon is indeed, a pussy-eating champ that would leave the both of you literally breathless. 

“Plo, are you al— Fuck.” 

He had descended to daub along the stripe of your cunt until you were fully glossed with arousal, bestowing upon him a web of intimacy between his fingers. You feel his touch briefly part and the whirring heightens as the mask, too, had abandoned your thigh. Plo Koon grunts as his talons bury onto your calf, complying with the unspoken request to spread yourself more for him. And so you do, you lift your knees and part to the stance that had made the mattress sink further to his comfort and his grip firm on each leg.

The spurs of his mask prod at your thigh for a moment as if to distract you from the cold, viscous, hardness of his rebreather smearing over your flesh until he had pressed his rebreather in between. Your legs closed abruptly and swift that even Plo didn’t anticipate the sudden clamp. But before you could mutter an apology, he had brought one leg down with his hand and blocked the other, hooking it slightly elevated over his shoulder.

He pressed his mask further into you, nuzzling and rubbing the metallic device all over, parting your folds and dragging every groove up and all over. You writhe and arch your body up, peaks attentive should they be given the attention they so desperately crave beneath your shirt. Hands balled on each side with blankets scrunched between your fingers, pulling one off by a corner. You moan and whimper, hips lifted swung left to right only to be stilled back down and be slipped two fingers in, ruthlessly pumping with abandon you swore it was laced with animosity. 

Plo had focused his rebreather between your folds and right over your clit, turning and tossing his head lightly as he fervently fucked you with his fingers, one curling after the other inside you. You propped yourself on your elbows as if it would do you any good, but all it did was reel you back into the bed and have you rake and pull your hair back as your hips sank onto the bed and your chest arch to the heavens. 

Your breath ragged and desperate, toes curling as you felt your walls constrict. You were so wet with shame that you’ve come apart so ungracefully onto him, so.. prematurely without even a fight.

He stopped when you did — fingers steady inside and his mask slowly pulled away. You can feel yourself drip from his mask and onto your leg. You can hear his mask whirr louder for a moment and feel the rustling of the blankets as he wiped his mask clean with it. Panting, you apologize and beg him to come up and hold you. You tried to ask what troubles him as his fingers slipped out gently and lathered the stripe of your pussy with your own slick before you sensed him dismount the bed quietly. 

You hear a loud whizz and locks unclipping. Then footsteps and the chime-like sound the antiox mask made when he’d hook it over a specialized stand when he would clean the filters or tweak the seals. You’d expect the room to pump Dorin gas any minute and you were ready to reach into your side of the bed and take out a smaller version of a mask you’ve made for yourself as a present so he could undo his mask when he’d have the time to visit. 

You turned to reach for the nightstand, but he had pulled you back to the center of the bed as he mounted your shared cot. Plo had pulled you by the hips high up over his lap and folded your legs until your knees touched the pillow underneath your head. 

“I saw you..” Came Plo’s sullen response, his voice soft and barely audible without the mask. It wasn’t velvet sweet or sultry deep, it was neither arousing nor hypnotic — rather it was as real as he could possibly make it so. He would have to scream for you to hear him and you heard him. You heard him scream how he had seen you and it didn’t take long for you to realize that it truly was him flying over during the festival. You felt it in you that day and instead of rushing home, you danced and sang, and cheered, and laughed, and smiled — you were so drawn by the crowd and the music that you turned not to meet him, but meet him.

“Happyier.”

It wasn’t an argument, let alone a conversation — mainly because he wouldn’t let you speak. Not when he had dragged his tongue from the very pinnacle of the back of your pussy to the very peak of your clit with the thickness of his tongue and the deliberate slowness of his stride without ever disconnecting the touch. He lugged his tongue back in the same fashion; slithering back all the way back ensuring no crevice nor flesh left untainted while you stammer and desperately explain yourself that it was harmless fun.

You were panting when he stopped. Chest heavy with confusion and unexpected guilt as if you’ve committed such a crime that you wonder if it is unlawful for a Kel Dor’s partner to be seen dancing or embracing another man — considering they have such a peculiar law against theft.

You force your quivering voice to make your point, explaining how it meant nothing and it was truly, truly, just happenstance that the man was there for the dance. But you couldn’t, not when he had lapped at your pussy with such vigor and quickened flicks while both his hands took purchase of your breasts with such roughness and aggression you were starting to believe that it had truly, truly upset him — no, infuriated him.

“Betrayal” was all you heard, but you can feel how loud he had shouted — how loud he wanted to be for you to hear him. 

You feel him hover more as his hands grip at your hip, allowing one leg to fall before shoving himself head to hilt without warning. He pulls you steady, anchoring himself with every thrust that deliberately disentangles himself from you only to plunge himself all the way back to the hilt. 

You groan in pain, not so much the pleasure. He bottoms you out rough enough to make you cry and reach out to push him, but only for a while. Plo had rarely been anything but kind and sweet that it was starting to feel like a well-deserved punishment. You sniffle and grunt in agony until you finally manage to speak. 

“Plo, it hurts…” You’d say softly that it sounded more like an apology. Not because you should, but because he couldn’t. He couldn’t apologize for something he is yet to understand. And it wasn’t that he couldn’t comprehend the concept of envy, but because he couldn’t calibrate himself to a level of understanding said emotion as a Jedi should — not one to suppress or indulge, but one to manage and neutralize. 

Plo Koon pulled away and once more dismounted the bed. You hear him pace in the dark and reattach his mask with a loud hiss and a few clicks. A sigh soon followed — resigned and troubled; followed by a shift of weight on the mattress as he sits by the edge of the bed.

“I am.. old.” He would say with an equally pliant huff.

“You are.” You’d smile. Biting the urge to laugh as you test the waters of his mood.

“Obstinate.”

“Mhm.”

“Disconsolate.” 

“I don’t know what that means, my love, but yes.” Came your response that merited a small chuckle from your beloved, currently sullen and stressed Kel Dor lover.

“Captious, perhaps?” Replied a much calmer Plo Koon. The warmth of his hand over your calf meriting another smile and ease in your chest.

“Sure, my love.” You giggle, clearing your throat in mock remorse. His hand moving further up the back of your knee.

“Saturnine.” Came another as he positioned himself knelt between legs he’d lift by the back of your knee and part very gently. 

“Oh, so we’re just making up words now?” You teased, propped on your elbow and slightly sat up.

“Old and cranky.” You hear him chuckle, followed by the cold touch of his mask on your forehead, then at the tip of your nose, your chin, the column of your neck, and down to your shoulder, pushing you back onto the bed.

“Sounds about ri—(ght).” You groan, feeling him hard between your thighs with one hand by the side of your head and the other wrapped around his cock. You hear him grunt at the slightest contact of his engorged head slip between your folds with each stroke. 

“Mine?” Plo would ask, once more barely above a whisper — that of a plea to hear no other word than ‘yes’.

“N.. Not… Not yet…” Your voice trembles, reaching to place upon fingers on each shoulder as if to brace yourself knowing fully what was about to come. And ‘come’ it came.

Plo slid himself slowly inside, only to pull and angle himself so the engorged head of his cock would dip and slip out with a wet pop a few times, knowing how flustered it makes you to hear yourself so damn wet for him. You whine in complaint as he purposely timed himself to move away when you tried to sink down on him. You harrumphed and he’d titter, reaching to flick the lights on. 

You wince and blink, trying to acclimate your sight from the darkness that surrounded you hours ago.

“Beautiful.” He’d say. “And now?” 

“Spirits, yes!”

Whether it was your answer to his question or the fact that had just plunged himself all the way to the very hilt, lifted your leg up over his shoulder, angled himself to strike that deliciously sweet spot of yours that made you moan like a proper bitch in heat than the elegant lover of this seasoned, saturnine Master Jedi, we may never know.

We do, but you know — cue dramatic effects.

[my-head-is-an-animal]

Equipment Testing

Plo Koon x FemReader

Word Count: 1146

Warnings: Adult Content 18+ NSFW

You’d never been to Plo’s home planet before, so you had no idea what to expect. You’d read up as much as you could, but the only thing worrying you was the fact that you needed to wear a mask at all times. The air didn’t have the ability to sustain human life, being made up of mostly Dorin Gas.

    Plo had assured you a thousand times that as long as you wore your mask, you would be fine, but there was still something terrifying about the only thing between you and suffocation was the apparatus covering your nose and mouth.

    You managed to keep yourself calm enough to meet Plo’s family, they were wonderfully welcoming and fascinating people. You learnt so much about Plo’s kind and all the things they deemed important. The Kel Dor community was incredibly peaceful, quicker to diplomacy rather than anger and valuing wisdom over rash action. They were such a family loving people and it got you wondering about how much Plo missed his home.

    ‘I always allow myself moments to think on them,’ Plo told you as he guided you around his village. ‘But only moments. My duty to the Order is far too important.’

    Plo was relieved to have taken his mask off, indents were visible where the air tight device clung to his face and you felt incredibly sorry that he had to go through such difficulty to simply survive off world. But he never complained, not once.

    He could still sense your worry about your own mask, there was no reason to think it would break, but the thought still haunted the back of your mind. The nights on Dorin were freezing, the days were hot, but it didn’t seem to bother the Kel Dor as much as it did you. Luckily Plo was well aware of your anatomical needs.

     He closed the door to his room and gestured to the window seat so that you could watch the suns descend. It was beautiful, nothing quite like the bright red sky lighting up every corner of the village. Stunning.

    But still you worried. Every breath you inhaled from your mask, worried you that it might not last.

    ‘Perhaps you need a distraction.’ Plo suggested, his fingers gliding up your leg. ‘You seem anxious to breathe normally, I believe I know how we may reinforce your faith in your mask.’

    ‘Oh really?’ You raised your eyebrow, interested to know where exactly he was going with that statement.

    ‘I confess another reason I brought you here.’ Plo moved closer to you making you warm up immediately. His pale, marble like eyes took in your body and his breathing had gone shallow. You knew exactly what was on his mind.

    ‘You know that I won’t be able to use my mouth.’ You smiled, tilting your head.

    ‘I am aware.’ Without the barrier of his anti-ox mask, Plo was able to show his facial expressions more clearly and it looked like a blessed relief for him. ‘Lie down for me.’

    He rarely had to ask you twice for anything. Plo made you feel more than you ever thought you could feel, it made you put a trust in him like no other.

    You moved away from the window and lay back on his warm, soft bed. Plo brought the blind down and tapped the lamp so that soft, yellow light illuminated the room. He stood at the edge, moving himself between your knees and smiled down at you.

    Plo was slow and co-ordinated, removing your clothes, letting his hands drift over the skin, encouraging you to relax, to simply feel and to not feel as if you owed anything in return. He worshipped every part of your body, delicately and gently, soon bringing his mouth into the equation, again flooding your sense with warm desire.

    His soft tendrils that were normally hidden, began sweeping over the skin, eliciting sounds of pleasure from your chest.

    Plo needed to be careful, he’d told you that sometimes the way Kel Dor’s make love could be overstimulating at best. He’d wanted to do this for some time, but with his anatomy not allowing for it beyond Dorin and the added obstacle of your much more fragile human physiology, nothing about your relationship had been easy or rushed.

    Plo slowed down once again, knowing he needed to get this right, but sooner than he expected, your body was writhing for more. You wanted more than he was giving. Plo listened to your body, sitting on the edge of your mind, checking you were okay at all times.

    ‘Relax.’ He breathed, his tendrils sending hot rushes straight to your core as he descended down your stomach. Your hands grasped the sheets of the bed as he continued down your body, pushing your legs apart and allowing you one last moment before letting his tendrils drift over your core.

    Plo slowed for his own sake as much as yours, the one thing he’d always wanted was to taste you, to make you come using his mouth and tendrils; he wasn’t about to rush the opportunity. Your legs were already quaking with the power he had over you, electric bolts of heat were shooting through your body, making you pant and moan his name.

    You felt his ridged tongue slide through your folds and heard his groan into you. How had you never even thought of this? Every time you and Plo were together, it was you going down on him and for the most part, you enjoyed it, the only downside was his size made your jaw hurt far too quickly.

    This was something else altogether.

    Plo’s technique seemed to be the louder you responded the more he was attracted to repeating the action. He was in full control of your body in a way that had you forgetting everything that wasn’t him, until finally you were there, coming undone against his mouth.

    You began to breathe a little steadier than before, your body taking in everything Plo had made you feel, the sensitive tingling in your limbs, the fog in your brain and the quiet bliss that followed.

    You managed to open your eyes to see Plo smiling above you. It was only when you breathed out a laugh, that you felt your body flaring with aches from where he’d brought you to the very heights of known pleasure.

    ‘Wow.’ You breathed.

    ‘Indeed.’

    You noticed how out of breath Plo was as well, hovering above you.

    ‘I think it’s safe to say, your mask will be fine.’ He said, with a coy smile, one you’d never seen before. But he was right, you chuckled, realising all your worries about your mask were now settled. If it could stand up to that kind of need, it would be fine for the rest of your time on Dorin.

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