#repcomm writing

[dystopicjumpsuit]

DJ!!! If it's okay, for the first kiss prompt could I humbly ask for

"are you sure about this" with our voice king, Sev?

Or!!

their hearts stopping when they hear someone's camera click (a friend catching them in the act ?) with Tup?

Whichever one inspires you more! Please and thank you 💙

A/N: Thank you so much for the ask @secondaryrealm! It was so fun to get back into the swing of writing Sev. You’ll notice that I’m incapable of writing him without mentioning his voice. Voice kink gonna voice kink. Prompt is in purple!

Pairing: Sev x Reader (GN)

Rating: T, but minors DNI as always

Wordcount: 519

Warnings and tags: fluff, mentions of vomit

Summary: You do Sev a solid.

Masterlist | Sign up for my tag list

“Are you sure about this?” Sev’s deep voice rumbled in your ear, sending a tingle of awareness across your neck.

You turned to look at him over your shoulder. “Kriff, no.”

He smirked and slid his helmet into place. “Too bad.”

Without warning, he spun you around and tackled you, sending you both flying out of the LAAT/i and into the abyss as his arms clamped around your body.

You shrieked, too terrified to be embarrassed by the sound. “Oh, my gods, I’m gonna die!”

You clung to Sev, burying your face against his chestplate as you squeezed your eyes shut, clenching your jaw to try to keep from screaming again.

Sev’s low, modulated chuckle sounded through his helmet speaker. “Relax, I’ve done this hundreds of times.”

“Carrying another person?!” you demanded raggedly, still not opening your eyes.

“Uh… no,” he admitted. “That’s why we needed volunteers for the training exercise.”

Your eyes snapped open, not that it mattered, since all you could see was Sev’s armor and helmet.

“Sev,” you asked nervously, “how many times have you done this while carrying somebody?”

“This is the first. I think it’s going well.”

“I can’t believe I let Scorch talk me into this,” you groaned.

“Everyone who’s ever met Scorch has said that at some point.”

You felt your weight shift as he adjusted the flight path of his jetpack, and your stomach flip-flopped. Gods, I think I’m gonna hurl. Please, please don’t let me hurl on him, you prayed silently to the Force.

“Don’t drop me,” you begged.

“Even if I did, the tether would keep you close.” Sev seemed to sense you didn’t find that as reassuring as he thought you would, and he tightened his fingers on you briefly. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

True to his word, he soon landed the pair of you safely on the ground. As he released you, your knees buckled, and he caught you just before you collapsed. He yanked off his helmet with his free hand, and you heard it thud to the ground as he tilted your head so he could see your face.

“You okay?” he asked, scanning you quickly for injuries.

“Yeah, sorry,” you said shakily. “I just need a minute.”

You willed your legs to work as you tried not to stare at his deep, gorgeous eyes or his stupid, perfect mouth that you’d been trying to ignore for months. Why does he smell so kriffing good? He has no right to smell like that. 

You cleared your throat. “I, uh, think I can stand now.”

Sev didn’t loosen the arm he had wrapped around your waist, and he stroked your cheek softly with his thumb as he held your head. You gazed into each other’s eyes, as though suspended in time, and then he closed the distance between you as his lips met yours. His lips felt exactly as soft and stupidly perfect as you’d imagined, and you sucked in a tiny, broken gasp when the kiss ended far too soon.

“Wow,” you sighed. ��I’m so glad I didn’t hurl on you.”

---

Looking for spicy Sev x reader fics? Allow me to plug my incredibly spicy fic, “Turn It Up When You’re Gone” Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3. The fourth and final chapter will be dropping next month!

[lamaenthel]

Waterboarding

[read on ao3][masterlist]Febuwhump prompt: Waterboarding

Kal dips a towel in the bucket and folds it in half. "What we are doing today is called waterboarding," he says, pretending like he's alone. It's a dummy on the table, not a real little boy. Not his little boy. "It feels just like drowning." "Can it kill you?" Ordo asks. "Yes, but it's hard to do accidentally." Kal picks up the filled pitcher. "I'd have to keep going after you went unconscious." Ordo nods, filing the information away in that magnificent brain of his. "I'm ready whenever you are, Sir." Kal wants to scream, punch someone, burn down the white, sterile hell they're trapped in until it's nothing but black ash, anything except what they came to do. Instead, he puts the towel over his son's face and starts to pour.

Characters: Null-11|Ordo Skirata, Kal Skirata Wordcount: 759

Kal hates the rain and the way it makes his shattered ankle ache, he hates the food, he hates the way he knows he's trapped on the dar'mandla planet, but what he hates most of all about Kamino is the fierfecking sterility of it all. White walls, white floors, white clothes on the longnecks with larval-white skin and white rings in their eyes, it all makes him dizzy. He's forgotten what mud smells like. Sometimes he breaks the inkballs at the practice range on purpose just to see some color on the walls.

At least they were smart enough not to dress little boys in white. Ordo's kaminii'a fatigues are red to differentiate him at a glance from the rank-and-file cadets in blue. In Kal's opinion, anyone with a set of eyes should be able to do that at a glance based on the defiance and mando'kar that sparkles in the eyes of his ad'ikase, but he isn't paid for his opinion. Those little red fatigues are thin, made from duraweave and were designed to not show dirt and dry quickly when wet. 

"Do you know why I brought you here today, Ord'ika?" Kal asks his boy, squeezing his little hand twice.

Ordo squeezes back. "I assume it's enhanced interrogation resistance based on the last time we used this room," he replies casually. 

"My clever boy." Ordo's five years old, looks ten, and speaks like he's twenty. Kal's heart breaks even more for what he has to do. "Yes, we're training for that today."

"And that's why we're alone." Ordo smiles at Kal's nod, happy to have gotten it right.

"Yes. This is best done solus bal'solus."

"One and one?"

"Yes, one and one. Means just the two of us Mandos." Kal smiles and keys the door. It's a small white room without a defined purpose—a rare thing for Kamino, where everything has a purpose—set up today with only a metal table, a pile of white towels, a white sanitation bucket, and a white pitcher. Even the water comes out white when he turns the tap on.

"Chilly in here." Ordo hops up onto the metal table and sits with his hands in his lap like he's at the doctor, though a normal kid would kick their legs back and forth instead of sitting deadly still like a snake in the corn. 

"That's on purpose. Water evaporates off your skin and takes your warmth with it. That's why we sweat." Kal turns the tap off and takes a long breath to steady himself. "I'm going to have to hurt you today, son. You know I hate to do it, but you've got to learn."

Ordo's eyes are wide and dark in his little copper face. He nods, solemn like always. "I know, Sir."

Kal presses their foreheads together in a brief kov'nyn then draws back, distancing himself emotionally as well as physically from his son. "Take your shirt off and lay down with your head at the edge of the table." 

Ordo, good lad that he is, folds his shirt before he obeys precisely. He keeps his arms straight down at his sides, standing at attention even while laying down.

Kal dips a towel in the bucket and folds it in half. "What we are doing today is called waterboarding," he says, pretending like he's alone. It's a dummy on the table, not a real little boy. Not his little boy. "It feels just like drowning."

"Can it kill you?" Ordo asks.

"Yes, but it's hard to do accidentally." Kal picks up the filled pitcher. "I'd have to keep going after you went unconscious."

Ordo nods, filing the information away in that magnificent brain of his. "I'm ready whenever you are, Sir."

Kal wants to scream, punch someone, burn down the white, sterile hell they're trapped in until it's nothing but black ash, anything except what they came to do. Instead, he puts the towel over his son's face and starts to pour. He watches Ordo stay still at first, then start to struggle once he runs out of air. Kal holds his boy down with a firm hand on his chest. "Thirty seconds, trooper, that's an order," he barks sharply. "Put all of your fear and pain into a box like I taught you. It's not happening to you. It doesn't even exist. Endure this."

As Kal watches Ordo fight his own instinct to survive, he can't help but wonder if the children he sired with Illipi didn't have the right idea about declaring him dar'buir after all.

Taglist: @starwarsficnetwork, @febuwhump, @soliloquy-of-nemo Divider: @saradika-graphics

[trudemaethien]

If you're still looking for writing prompts, I got:

Echo/Fi for the ship and "Exchange, Integrity and Trouble" for the word prompts! (You did say words, so hope 3 is enough!)

They sorta took the bit in their teeth and ran away with it, lol. prompts what prompts? 😅

“Hey, is that Ghez Hokan’s— I thought you died!”

“No, but didn’t you die?”

“You two…know each other?”

The commando in the grey beskar doffs his helmet and in unison two eyebrows on two different faces go up as they swing in incredulous unison to Hunter, as if questioning their acquaintance is the abnormal part of this encounter, and not an RC and an ARC somehow knowing each other on sight. Those groups didn’t usually play well together.

“How do you know each other?” Tech interjects.

The commando grins, brilliant and lopsided and says, “Well, y’see what ha’happened was, Eya’ka here—”

Echo promptly makes a rude noise over him. “Nuh-uh, you lost the right to baby-name me fair and square, Ei-Oh-One-Fi.”

“You cheated,” Fi slings back, immediately heated. At least one of the other commandos is laughing under his T-visor.

“You wish I had to—”

“—if I coulda proved—”

“—cheat to beat your ass.”

Echo’s smile is out in full force, cocky and blinding, dimples and all. Hunter glances at the rest of the batch to see if they’re seeing what he’s seeing. The commando’s squadmates look just as far behind.

Fi purses his lips and visibly decides to take the better part of valor on this particular battlefield. “Cadet 21-0408,” he resumes, “did not beat my ass. He had a gambling problem. He bet outrageously against my trainee squad on some trumped up bullshit dare, and then mercilessly extorted us for all we were worth when he won on a technicality.”

This must not be his trainee squad, then. Hunter winces internally, but Echo is shaking with silent laughter. “You sure know how to hold onto a grudge, Fi’ika,” he quips.

“That’s n-not all you held onto,” Fi grumbles, fondly disgruntled.

Echo is still smirking. “No, no it was not,” he says, and that’s—he’s flirting? With this asshole? It almost sounds like they had a fling… The commandos look like it’s news to them too, but not all that shocking. Good. Some of those cohorts could be real pricks about inter-unit relationships.

Wrecker’s picking up on it too. “You guys…?” He points from one to the other eloquently and then ruins it with a blatantly obscene gesture that means a lot more than fucking.

“No!” Fi squawks, but Echo is still laughing, so Hunter really doubts the veracity of his denial. “I meant his kama,” he tries to excuse.

But hadn’t Echo not gotten that until he’d passed ARC Training?

“Can hang onto that anytime,” Echo flirts.

The laughing commando in purple and brown beskar’gam leans over, even with his comms muted, obviously dying of hilarity.

“I never—” Fi protests, trying futilely to defend himself but only making it seem more and more likely to be true.

“Mmm, I seem to recall—” Echo says, gearing up to cause even more trouble no doubt, and Fi has had enough. He tackles him to slap a hand over his mouth. Echo stumbles and twists, Fi slips, and the entire audience of two squads starts forward abortively to try and help.

With a whine of servos, Echo manages to turn their fall into something less drastic, but they end up in a tangled heap of grey and red-edged kamas on the ground anyway.

“Osik,” Fi says, winded, “can’t tussle like tubies anymore, can we?”

Echo pats his ass. “A repeat of last time is right out too.”

“Everyone who witnessed anything that may or may not have happened is dead,” Fi says hastily, the grief being trotted out old and worn, barely remarkable. “You can’t prove a thing.”

“Just us left, old boy,” Echo agrees pensively, then turns wicked again, helping Fi sit up. “Bet I could make you make that noise again, though.”

The atmosphere shifts back from the precipice of grief to a much more pleasant sort of remembrance. The Mandos call that aay’han, Hunter recalls due to their current company.

“No! What noise? There was no noise. There was no noise!” Fi protests as around them the rest of their adopted squads join in the laughter.

Young and Old, Merry and Bold 🔒 https://archiveofourown.org/works/51930292

[mamuzzy]

"Hey! What did I do?" Seventeen demanded indignantly, rubbing the spot of this unacceptable treachery. "Consider this a warning, ner vod. Please refrain from trying to kill each other while I am attending my needs in the fresher" Maze glanced at Ordo too with a disapproving look and with that he disappeared into the crowd. "'Attending my needs', just say you're going to take a piss like normal person" Seventeen growled in annoyance, not because he really minded the words of choice but because he could.

934 words written today.

[cabezadeperro]

❤️ Maze/Zey >:D

thank you for coming through with this prompt i was kind of waiting for 🙏

❤️ first kiss / realization

maze/zey, somehow both prompts at once and not at all. 400w, T, prerelationship, mutual pining.

---

Zey drops his stylus. It rolls under his table, disappears under Zey’s, hits Zey’s right boot. Across the room, Zey curses under his breath, surprisingly filthy and with feeling. Maze presses his lips together until he’s safe behind his desk. His back pops and twinges while he looks around blindly, awkwardly bent and still on his uncomfortable chair. Finally, his fingers touch the round and smooth edge of the stylus, still warm from Zey’s hand. 

“Here,” Maze says. “I have it.”

He stands up and rolls his neck, stylus loosely held in his right hand. Zey’s office is brightly lit despite the hour: the harsh white lumas hurt both their eyes, but apparently having them changed is one of the few things beyond Director Zey’s power.

Zey smiles at Maze across the room. He’s dishevelled and flushed, dark circles under his eyes and his greying beard unkempt. Maze drops the stylus in his outstretched palm, the tips of his fingers brushing the calloused skin, and Zey blinks, clears his throat.

“Thank you, captain,” he says. He rubs the stylus with the pad of his thumb once, twice, and then carefully places it on the desk once again, this time caught between two datapads. “I can finish here. You should get some sleep.”

Maze considers himself a relatively intelligent person. He knows that Fett was smarter than most, and he knows that he himself is observant and good at reading between the lines. 

It occurs to him just then that if he were to bend across Zey’s desk right now, if he reached out and cradled his face with his right hand and kissed Zey—Maze thinks Zey would kiss back. He thinks he’d wrap one of those big warm hands of his around Maze’s wrist, that Zey would grip the back of his neck and he would kiss Maze back. 

It’s so obvious, so clear—Maze can almost taste him. Bad caf, spit. The bitter, medical taste of Zey’s lip balm.

Maze reaches his desk. He powers down his workstation, grabs his gloves and his bucket and his empty caf cup. 

“Thank you, sir,” he says. He puts the bucket on, listens to the seal hiss and click. Zey’s staring at him like he can see through him, like he can see into him, an expression Maze has never seen before on his face. 

I think you want me. I think I’m more than fine with that.

“Goodnight, Maze. I will see you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, sir.”

[aka-trashrat]

*IF* you are still taking those comfort ask things.

"🤝 - Some help performing a basic task." For Fi and Ordo. I am big on those two being brothers. And I think Ordo would stop wrassling his little brother to help him out a bit after the accident. (They can beat each other up about their skirts later xoxo)

IF YOU ARE NOT DELETE THIS ASK N MOVE ON THATS TOTALLY GOOD TOO

I absolutely AM still doing the ask meme! It's fun!! Keep them coming!

I feel like this scenario was almost too obvious, but the intimacy involved in shaving a loved one/being shaved by a loved one was too much to pass up.

Ordo finds Fi in the fresher, struggling to give himself a much-needed shave and decides that Fi would probably get a better shave if he had some help. Fi puts up a cursory argument about wanting to do it himself, but Ordo's very persuasive. He whips out a sharp straight razor and proceeds to give his little brother a thorough shave—better than anything Fi could have done himself in his current condition. Fi sinks into the lulling scrape of the razor across his face, the warm hands cradling his head, his ori'vod at his back and it's nice. Ordo works in silence, focused wholly on the task of cutting down every bit of stubble to the skin, but he notices how Fi relaxes into his hands and feels a sense of satisfaction at a job well done. He uses a hot washcloth to clean off any excess shaving cream, pulling a contented sigh from Fi before patting him dry with a fluffy towel. "I can do it," Fi says, taking the towel from Ordo's hands and drying himself off the rest of the way. "Parja wanted me to fetch you for lunch," Ordo says, breaking from position to head back to the door. It was the reason he came looking for Fi in the first place. "Come down when you're ready." With one last lingering glance at Fi, Ordo leaves his little brother to it, heading back to the karyai to grab a serving of lunch for himself.

[mamuzzy-creates-stuff]

last line challenge

rules: in a new post, show the last line you wrote (or drew) and tag as many people as there are words (or as many as you feel like). 

Thank you for the tag @loverboy-havocboy!!! I love when this game returns <3

“HE FUCKS A MAN, KAL’BUIR!” Mereel now screamed like a distraught child who came to realize that things didn’t go in his way, in fact, it had become much worse than he anticipated. Buir’s anger supposed to strike at Ordo, not him!

NPT: @ithillia @riinoaheartilly @nooneherebutusghosts @hurryupmerlin @cc-kote @dogmafives @trudemaethien aaaaand everyone who wants to do it <3

[firewoodwander]

🦇 for Maze/Ordo?

Trick or treat prompts

“You need to do something about your wards,” is the first thing Maze says when he walks through the door. He dumps an armful of bags on the counter and huffs. “They hate me. I have to spent ten minutes convincing them to let me in every time I come over.”

“Take it up with Kom’rk,” says Jaing, smirking over the top of his pad at Ordo. “He’s a picky bastard.”

Ordo leaves him at the kitchen table and goes to help Maze pack away the food, ignoring the eyes on the back of his head. Last time he tampered with the wards Kom’rk shut him out and nearly didn’t let him back in, and not even Mereel took pity on him—he’s not risking it again.

Ordo understands the principle, and for anyone else, sure, he’d agree. But this is Maze, who’s been living on Levet’s farm for over a year, who brings them food with extras for Mird. Prudii was always the one who said Alphas still were brothers at the end of the day.

Maze quickly runs out of counter space to put the things he unpacks. Ordo is finding places for them all in the pantry and conservator, but when he turns around half a dozen vegetables are levitating behind him, waiting. It’s the kind of trick Ordo never bothers with—too demanding on concentration he could use elsewhere. But Maze spent most of his time under Zey juggling assignments and datawork, and his ease with simple, domestic charms and spells is always… distracting.

Maze catches him watching. Ordo looks away hurriedly.

“Anything good this week?” Jaing asks.

Maze is above glaring, but the twist of his lips says it all. “Everything we give you is good,” he replies, and then purposefully doesn’t elaborate.

Ordo wishes Jaing would get the hint and leave. Unfortunately Ordo’s brothers are the biggest dicks this side of the unknown regions; A’den probably put him up to this.

He and Maze work together quietly until the kitchen is in order. It’s Delta’s turn to cook tonight and they have plenty to choose from, though it’s unfortunate that their culinary skills are still a work in progress.

“Will you stay for latemeal?” he asks.

Maze pauses to frown at the chrono on his wrist, but Jaing pipes up again before he can answer.

“Come on, Captain, what’s the rush? Don’t make Ordo miserable just after you arrived.”

“Vod.”

Maze shrugs. “I can stay,” he agrees, and then glances from the sides of his eyes at Ordo. “We can’t let Ordo sulk.”

Ordo is feeling the strong urge to find an empty room and do just that.

“You’re not allowed to gang up on me,” he grouses.

Maze reaches out to pick a flower from the vase on the windowsill behind the sink. It’s lilac and sharp-petalled and perks up noticeably in Maze’s hand. He slides it into Ordo’s open shirt button. “I don’t need your brothers around to help make fun of you. It’s far too easy.”

Jaing snorts so hard he probably hurts something. Ordo is surrounded by karking traitors.

[engagemythrusters]

god the way in which its so disheartening to even THINK about writing for a very small fandom. like. whats even the point. "writing it for myself" feels ridiculous when I can just Think The Thoughts in my head.

[dystopicjumpsuit]

Turn It Up When You're Gone (1/2)

Starting my fic migration off with a bang! This is by far my most popular work on AO3, because people be horny. Delta Squad/Republic Commando girlies, come get y'all juice!

Rating: Mature/18+/Minors DNI

Pairing: Sev x Fem!Reader

Wordcount: 2.9k

Summary: You are a GAR analyst, and your job is to process clone trooper helmet feeds. Being surrounded by incredibly handsome, competent troopers makes it hard to keep a professional distance, but you've managed. Until now.

Warnings: SMUT; voice kink, praise kink, body worship

Next chapter | Masterlist

You love your job. As a GAR tactical analyst assigned to the Venator-class Star Destroyer Guarlara, you spend your days immersed in clone trooper helmet feeds. It might seem boring or tedious to some, but with your keen eye for detail and extensive knowledge of tactics, it is as close to a perfect occupation as you can imagine.

Besides, the clones are pretty entertaining. You always love the snippets of banter that pop up in their comm feeds, from gallows humor, to good-natured mockery, to genuine awe or delight at a new planet. Seeing the galaxy from the perspectives of these men, who have seen too little of beauty and too much of the chaos and horror of war in their short lives, gives you a new appreciation for its wonders.

At first, you try to maintain some professional distance from the troopers, if only to preserve your sanity when so many of them are lost in each engagement, and you have the responsibility of watching as their helmet feeds fade to black. But it isn’t easy. The battlefield camaraderie you witness in their feeds continues onboard the Guarlara, and you can’t help being pulled into it. You make friends with a few clones, and every time they go on a mission, you hold your breath until they come back safely.

It doesn’t help your resolve to keep them at arm’s length that you are surrounded by incredibly handsome, competent soldiers in peak physical condition. Several of your fellow nat-born analysts have already had flings with clones, and by all accounts, the experience is worth the risk of official reprimands or even demotions. You haven’t done it yourself—yet—but you’ve been tempted.

And the temptation just got one thousand times stronger.

A new clone commando unit has been temporarily assigned to the Guarlara: Delta squad. Regular clone banter is entertaining, but the Deltas are on a whole different level. Boss is all business, and Fixer is quiet and by-the-book, but Scorch and Sev are hilarious. You often have to bite your lip to keep from bursting into unprofessional laughter at their antics, even as you are blown away by their tactical prowess.

You find yourself saving the Delta feeds for the end of your work cycle, just so you can finish your day on a high note. Sometimes, you wish you could get your hands on some Mantell Mix while you’re watching the feeds. They’re better than any holoflick you’ve ever seen. If only they could be released to the public; they would make a blockbuster action comedy.

But there’s another reason you are quickly becoming obsessed with the Delta feeds.

The first time you hear Sev’s voice, you gasp, and prickles run down your neck. He sounds different from the other clones: deep, gravelly, menacing. Incredibly sexy. You often find yourself replaying snippets of his comm feed, just so you can hear him speak. Whether he is making a dark joke, tallying his kills, or snarling at an enemy, his voice never fails to make you breathe a little faster.

You have never met the squad, never seen their faces, though you’ve seen them in their distinctive armor around the ship. The commandos mostly keep to themselves. You aren’t even sure which armor belongs to which commando, though you would bet every credit of your cycle’s pay that Sev is the one with the helmet painted to look like a bloody handprint. 

You know that the commandos were the same height as all the rest of the clones, but somehow, they seem larger. More solid. Far more intimidating. Maybe it is the armor, but you doubt it. And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t think about what Sev looks like under all that bulky commando armor. Lying in your bunk during your sleep cycle, you picture him. Copper skin, curly black hair, eyes the color of amber. Hard, sculpted muscles. Broad shoulders, narrow hips that flex against yours, driving his thick cock deep inside you until you whimper his name. And of course, you imagine his voice: deep and dark, murmuring the filthiest words in your ear as he pounds into you with that incredible clone commando stamina.

When you meet up with your fellow analysts for lunch in the mess hall, you confess that a clone has finally caught your eye—or more correctly, your ear.

“He has the sexiest voice I’ve ever heard,” you say, keeping your volume low so as not to attract attention from the troopers eating at nearby tables or milling around in small groups.

“They all do,” laughs Drinna. “They’re clones!”

“This one is different,” you insist. “It’s so deep and growly. He sounds so… dangerous.”

Jeelee shivers next to you, and you don’t blame him. None of your friends can deny that the rush of adrenaline is at least a small part of their attraction to the clone troopers. There’s just something about a soldier who has been trained from birth to be a killing machine that activates your fight, flight, or fuck response.

“Stars, I never thought I’d get turned on listening to someone yelling, ‘Trando scum,’” you say with an uncertain laugh. “If it weren’t a massive security breach, I’d try to smuggle some of his feeds into my bunk for a little private viewing session.”

Drinna snorts with laughter, and the group hurries to finish the meal before you all have to get back to your stations to close out your work cycle.

---

Sev can’t believe his ears. He’s sitting in the mess staring at the empty table where you and your friends were just sitting. He’s off duty and wearing only his black body glove, which is why you don’t notice him sitting alone when your group takes the table next to his. But he notices you. How could he not? He’d spotted you the very first day he and the Deltas came aboard. 

He isn’t completely sheltered. He’s met nat-born GAR personnel before, including a few female officers. And he has made the rounds at 79’s during Delta squad’s all-too-rare shore leaves. But something about you grabs his attention. He first notices your laugh. You laugh a lot, and you do it with your whole body. Your eyes light up, your mouth opens in a delighted smile, your head tilts back, your shoulders shake, your tits bounce. One time, he saw you laugh so hard you had to lean against a wall for support when your knees gave out. It makes him want to be the one who makes you laugh.

His keen sniper’s eyes have also spotted you stealing glances at him and the rest of his squad when you pass in the hallways of the Venator. He’s seen you chatting amiably with other clones, and he wonders why you never try to talk to the Deltas. Maybe she’s intimidated, he thinks. He doesn’t blame you.

When he overhears you talking to your friends, he doesn’t think much about it. He just enjoys getting a little glimpse into your life. And then he hears it: “... turned on listening to someone yelling, ‘Trando scum.’ If it weren’t a massive security breach, I’d try to smuggle some of his feeds into my bunk for a little private viewing session.”

Sev nearly chokes on his nutrient paste, and for once, it’s not because of the flavor.

It’s me, he realizes. She’s talking about me.

All this time he’s been watching you, and now he knows you’ve been thinking about him. Getting off to his voice. Imagining him during your “private viewing sessions.” The thought of it has him semi-erect in the middle of the mess hall, with no armor to disguise his state. He spends a long time eating his nutrient paste.

---

The next time the Delta feeds update, you notice that Sev’s is a little longer than the other three. As usual, you save his feed for the last of your day. You take a quick look around to make sure nobody is watching, which is ridiculous, because this is literally your job. But you can’t help feeling a wicked little thrill as you queue up his feed, as though you are about to do something forbidden. You settle the headphones over your head and turn up the volume as you press play.

The holofeed isn’t what you expect. Instead of a battlefield or the inside of a gunship, you see a barracks filled with empty bunks. It looks spare and sterile. The bunks don’t even have pillows; just thin blankets and rough sheets. Your own quarters are austere, but at least you have the luxury of a door and a small refresher. You’ve never seen the inside of the clone barracks before, and you feel as though you are intruding on something private. You reach to scrub forward through the feed, but you halt when Sev’s voice crackles in your headphones.

“I heard a sexy little analyst say she likes my voice,” he says. “I have a present for her ‘private viewing sessions.’ If she comms me the code to her quarters, I’ll know she wants it.”

Oh, stars. He heard. He knows. And he knows who you are. If ever there were a time for the Guarlara to have a small hull breach and launch you into space, now would be the ideal moment! Your heart beats so hard you are sure everyone around you can hear it. You steal a glance out of the corner of your eye, but none of your fellow analysts have noticed anything out of the ordinary. 

You send him a quick message. “RC-1207, this is the tactical analysis center. Your helmet feed flashed an error code during your most recent upload. The code is one-one-three-eight-four-echo-bravo. Please run a diagnostic and purge your helmet’s memory bank to prevent corrupted feeds.”

The reply comes almost instantly. “Copy that, tactical. Thanks for the code. That’ll help me track down what I’m looking for.”

You take a deep, shuddering breath, and turn your attention back to the feed. It cuts to the hallway of the Venator as Delta squad heads out for a mission, and the comm feed is just more of their usual banter, followed by their day’s activities in the battlefield.

You scrub back to the beginning of the feed and listen to it one more time before you trim the recording and upload it to the GAR server. You often have to cut out sections of feeds, so the missing section won’t raise any eyebrows, but Sev could get in huge trouble if anyone higher up the command chain saw the original recording.

With shaky hands, you tidy up your workstation as you do at the end of every work cycle. You straighten your uniform, joke with your friends, and head out of the analysis center. You meet up with a few clones in the corridor, and you make your way as a group to the mess hall, where you complain about the bland rations and make plans for your next shore leave. When you’re confident that you haven’t aroused suspicion, you stretch and tell your friends that you’re going to turn in early. 

You barely restrain yourself from running through the halls to your quarters. You key in your door code with fumbling hands, and once inside, you spot it immediately: a datachip lying innocently on your pillow. You plug it into your personal player. There’s no holo, but Sev’s voice rumbles through your headphones.

“Get comfortable, beautiful. I want this to be good for you.”

You gasp. You pause the recording and strip out of your uniform in record time, flinging it across your cramped quarters to lie rumpled on the floor. Crawling into bed, you slide naked under your blanket and pull the headphones back over your ears.

“That’s my good girl. Are you naked? Kriff, I hope so. You look hot as hell in your uniform. You must be the prettiest karking thing in the galaxy out of it. All that soft, smooth skin. I want you to feel yourself for me, little one. Run your fingers through your hair. Is it as soft as it looks? Does it smell as good as I imagine?”

Oh, sweet gods, he’s been imagining you, too. You wonder if he has been picturing you when he touched himself. Arousal licks up your spine, tinged with a tiny bit of disappointment that you hadn’t made a move sooner. You push the thought aside, determined to enjoy this moment.

“Now I want you to touch your skin. Slide your hands up and down your body, your arms, your thighs. Cup your tits. Give your nipples a little squeeze. Do you like that?”

You nod, biting your lip and breathing hard. You imagine Sev’s hands, rough and strong and big, and your hand drifts down your belly.

“Don’t touch your cunt, sweetheart. Not yet. I don’t want you to rush this.”

Force, it’s like he’s there with you, watching you, instead of away on some Maker-forsaken planet blasting droids. You obey his pre-recorded commands, wanting to get the full experience.

“Brush your fingers over your neck. Do it gently, like you can feel me whispering in your ear instead of a recording. Touch your mouth, baby. Gods, I wish it was me. Would you lick my fingers? I wonder what you taste like. I bet you taste amazing. Sweet, soft lips, wet little tongue. Fierfek, you make me so hard I could nut right fucking now. How kriffed up is it that I’m jealous of your hands?”

Your breath stutters as you hear another sound in the recording: the rhythmic slide of skin against skin. Oh stars, he is getting off on this, too. Or he already got off. Whatever. You roll your hips instinctively, looking for stimulation.

“Damn it, Sev, let me touch myself,” you whisper.

But you don’t. Not yet. You wait for his permission. Instead, you writhe in the bed, sliding your hands all over your body, pinning your hips to the mattress, touching yourself everywhere except the place you so desperately need.

“If I were with you, I’d take my time. Explore your whole body inch by inch. I would kiss you, and taste you, and suck on your tits until you beg for more. I’d bite your sexy ass and then kiss it better. I’d eat that pretty little pussy until you scream for me. Oh, fuck—” He panted for a moment. “Sorry, honey, I needed a minute to cool down or I was gonna blow early. I don’t want you to think I’m not up to the mission. Because right now, you are my mission. And you know that the mission always comes first.”

You can’t help it: you giggle. It’s endearingly cheesy, but you suspect it’s also true. Once Sev has you to himself—because you have no doubt that he will, and soon—he is going to give you the ride of your life.

“Have you been a good girl for me? Did you touch your pussy before I said you could?”

You shake your head. “Please, please, Sev, I need it.”

“I think you have been a good girl, and now you deserve your reward. I want you to touch your cunt, angel. Just brush your fingertips over it, nice and easy. Are you wet? Kark, I hope so, otherwise I’m doing this wrong. Slip your fingers inside, just a little. Get them nice and slick. Now I want you to play with your clit. Do what you like best, baby. Go hard, or go soft. Rub it in circles, or give it a little tap, or press on it nice and slow. I can’t wait to find out what makes you scream. Do you like it when I suck on your clit? Or maybe you like it a little rougher. Do you want me to slap you, pretty thing? Slap that beautiful little pussy and then lick it better? Or would you rather I go slow and gentle, just barely touching you, taking hours to build you up before I ruin you?”

You moan as you work yourself frantically. You are close, so close, and his voice is doing unholy things to you. You can hear him fucking his fist again, and it turns you on even more to know he is into this just as much as you are.

Sev’s breath grows ragged. “It’s gonna be so good when I fuck you. I know your cunt feels amazing. So tight and wet and warm—fuck—gonna be incredible. I can’t wait, I can’t kriffing wait—gods baby, gonna make me come—FUCK!”

He grunts, and it is loud. You can hear the wet spatter of his orgasm, and the sound of it pushes you over the edge. You feel the entire universe contract into your body, so tight, so hot, and then Fuck! The tension snaps, and you cry out as your body jerks and spasms. You gasp for air, twitching away from your own fingers as your hypersensitive body shudders. Your body is drained, your head is empty, every drop of energy in your being is utterly spent. Your eyes close, and you slip into oblivion.

---

Chapter 2

Tagging: @blueink-bluesoul

This compilation of lines from the Republic Commando game will never not be funny to me: https://youtu.be/WHXy-_mztg0

[lamaenthel]

Human Shield

[read on ao3][masterlist]Febuwhump prompt: human shield

Darman could smell rain on the wind that gently blew their bedroom curtains. The sun was just beginning to rise, clouds filtering the pink light into cold gray. He buried his face in Etain's hair and took a deep breath.

Characters: RC-1136|Darman Skirata/Etain Tur-Mukan

Wordcount: 876

Darman could smell rain on the wind that gently blew their bedroom curtains. The sun was just beginning to rise, clouds filtering the pink light into cold gray. He buried his face in Etain's hair and took a deep breath.

"Morning." She shifted uncomfortably. Her belly had officially reached massive status, though Darman would cut his leg off before saying it to her face. "Mm. Lemme just…" She flung a sleepy hand in the direction of the window, closing it with her Force powers.

Darman chuckled and kissed the back of her neck. "You could have just asked me to close it, you know."

"Why get up when I can…" She wiggled her fingers. 

Darman took another deep breath of her dewberry blonde hair; she insisted it was brown, as though she'd never seen her own hair in the afternoon light. Her shampoo smelled like sunshine and had some sort of cactus he didn't recognize on the front of the bottle. "I like doing things for you."

"I know you do." She struggled to turn over in his arms. "You don't have to wait on me, Dar. You're not subservient to me."

"I absolutely am." He kissed her neck, and ignored the scowl that popped up in favor of gently biting the thin skin over her pulse point. "I'm your riduur. You're carrying my child. I am subservient to you in every way imaginable, and I wouldn't have it any other way."

"You're incorrigible," she grumbled.

He laughed. "And how are you feeling this morning, ner Et'ika?"

Etain looked dolefully down at her giant stomach and sighed. "Enormous." 

Darman kept kissing her neck, considering it the smarter option over confirming her opinion. "Do you want a massage?" he mumbled into her skin.

"Maybe later." She caught his hand and guided it to her belly, smiling. "Do you feel your son?"

He nodded, his throat going tight. There was a fluttering pulse under his palm. "He's kicking," Darman said in awe.

"Yeah he is." Etain adjusted herself again and frowned at her big belly. Darman sympathized with her. He'd jumped out of more than one larty hauling more in equipment than what his runt of a wife weighed soaking wet and seven months pregnant.

"He's feisty. Like his mama." Darman kissed her cheek.

"He's a pain in my shebs like his daddy," Etain corrected him. 

"Oh, you know I love it when you speak Mando'a, ner cyar'ika." Darman said, nuzzling her neck. He blew a snozzberry in her throat and made her laugh. "Ner jet'ika, ner mesh'lane cyar'ika, gar dinui ner runi mirjahaal. Ni kartay'li gar darasuum."

"I love you too," she sighed, lacing their hands together over her stomach. "I'm sorry, Dar."

"About what?"

"That we never got to do this." She blinked her big, sad green eyes at him. "We deserved this, but we never had it."

"What are you talking about, Et'ika?" Darman sat up, confused.

Etain just looked at him patiently. "You know what I'm talking about."

"I…" Darman couldn't draw a full breath.

"It's not your fault. You did nothing wrong, my love."

"I…" Not my girl! Not my girl!

"Hey." Etain pulled his face close, pressed their foreheads together. "It was my fault. I've been using a lightsaber since I was four years old. I knew better than to try and stop one with my body."

"Then why did you?" Darman whispered, shaking. "What were you thinking?"

"I wasn't." She laughed softly. "I wasn't thinking, Dar. I acted on instinct and made a stupid, stupid mistake that cost me my life. I'm sorry you had to watch."

"I miss you." Darman squeezed his eyes shut. "I miss you so much, Etain. I wish you could see Kad. He's… he's like you. He needs you, but he doesn't have you."

"Lucky for him, he has the best dad in the whole galaxy." She kissed his fingers. "I love you, Dar. I will always love you. Ni kartay'li gar darasuum, ner riduur." 

"Etain," Darman said frantically, "Etain, wait—"

"Daddy?"

Darman shot up, instantly awake. He'd never lost that ability, even though it'd been four years since he'd seen active combat. The smell of Etain's shampoo lingered in the air. "Kad?" He held out his arms to the silhouette in the doorway. It was early; the sun had just barely risen, the gray rainclouds above Kyrimorut bleaching the pink dawn into cold gray.

His son dove into his arms eagerly. "You okay, Daddy?" he asked, getting situated.

"Of course, ad'ika. Just a sad dream." Darman fluffed his son's dewberry-blond hair, the same as his mother's. "Let's get some breakfast. Daddy's hungry."

"Was it a mama dream?" Kad didn't seem eager to leave his arms.

Darman sighed. "Yeah. It was a mama dream."

"Well, that's okay then." Kad smiled. "That just means she misses you. That's what she says when I have mama dreams. She comes and sees me 'cause she misses me so much."

Darman didn't want to cry in front of his son, but it was a damn close call. He forced himself to smile instead and threw off the covers. "Come on. Let's make some waffles." He reached up to close the window he'd left cracked the night before and paused.

It was already closed.

Mando'a Translations riduur: spouse ner Et'ika: my little Etain shebs: butt ner cyar'ika: my sweetheart ner jet'ika, ner mesh'lane cyar'ika, gar dinui ner runi mirjahaal. ni kartay'li gar darasuum: my little jedi, my most beautiful sweetheart, you give my soul peace. i hold you in my heart forever ad'ika: child

Taglist: @starwarsficnetwork, @febuwhump, @soliloquy-of-nemo Divider: @saradika-graphics

[trudemaethien]

How about Sev/Glitch and "fill, separation, registration"? (Asdfghjkl those are genuine results i got and i have the screenshots to prove it lmfao)

how far is kashyyyk from draay 2 i wonder? (i did not check *handwave handwave*) you get one definite prompt fulfilled and vibes on the other two.

Sev is four places back from the head of the line when his attention gets drawn. “Where is your registration,” the droid intones, and a far too familiar voice responds.

“Here, you see my registration,” the clone says in a smooth cadence. He sounds like… Bard’ika trying to mind-rub some two-cred lowlife.

Does he really think he can use the Force? Does he think it’ll work on a droid? As far as Sev knows, it doesn’t. That guy is so screwed.

He doesn’t have a registered chain code either; Sev had been planning on trying to jam or slice his way past the tinnie. He needs to get off this waystation just as badly as the other clone seems to.

The droid is making increasingly obstinate noises, so Sev shoulders past the queue and steps up. “Give my brother here a pass, bolt-brain, or we’ll start realigning your vital circuitry, cozen?”

“Attempted security breach has been reported, please proceed to the waiting area without further deviation,” the droid says, and that’s enough for Sev. Who knows what it’s called down upon them.

He busts its bucket and proceeds somewhere decidedly other than where they’ve been instructed to. “Let’s go,” he growls, manhandling the other clone along with him by a firm grip on his bicep.

He hasn’t seen another clone in months. He’s not leaving him behind, not like some guys might.

“Hi,” the clone says, sarcastically hysterical, “how are you? I’m just fine, thanks for ruining my plan to keep my head down and get through here quietly, appreciate it!”

“You’re kriffing welcome, di’kut,” Sev says. “You’re plan wasn’t working, I improvised and adapted it. You packing heat?”

“Do I look like I—through a security checkpoint? You’re insane. You’re insane! Let go, I can kriffing well walk on my own. Insane,” he mutters, capping off his tirade.

“Sev, actually, a commando,” he introduces himself.

“Glitch,” the trooper grudgingly responds. “And I do have, uh…” At this juncture he flashes open his poncho a bit to reveal a honest-to-goodness lightsaber.

He does think he’s a Jedi!

Alarms have begun going off around them. Sev moves faster, as quickly as he can on his fucked leg. Glitch sees it, ducks under his arm, and loops his arm around Sev’s waist, seamlessly falling into step and taking weight off the injury.

It’s been even longer than the last time he saw his squad since Sev’s been touched, and he flinches, accidentally making overly honest eye-contact with the Jedi-clone. Now’s not the time to be thinking about the heat and press of a body against his vulnerable side, the comforting heft of a brother under his arm, the familiarity and the disparity of it being a total stranger.

Glitch is startled by it too, and his tongue reflexively darts out to wet his lips.

“So, Commando, you want to, hmmm, share the rest of our escape plan?” he asks, and Sev ruthlessly jerks his brain back into tactical mode.

First they have to make it out of here, and then they can figure out …everything else.

Lost Boys 🔒 https://archiveofourown.org/works/51594406

[kanerallels]

OKAY HERE WE GO I'm attempting to get into a consistent schedule for posting the Steve Miller Au. And I thought, why not on Tuesdays cause that's when Ahsoka was coming out? *pauses to be emotional and miss Ahsoka*

Anyway, new chapter up! Hope you guys enjoy despite me throwing in YET ANOTHER obscure Star Wars blorbo-- no regrets, to be honest. First lines under the cut!

Taglist: @laughingphoenixleader @seleneisrising @accidental-spice @day-to-day-thots @auroramagpie @heckin-music-dork @opalknight @cassie-fanfics (DM me if you want to be added or removed from the tag list!)

It shouldn’t have surprised Rex, just how little Teth had changed. He’d known, of course, that planets didn’t age at the same rate as living beings, far from it.

But it had been roughly eighteen years. Almost everyone who’d been on Teth with him was long since dead, with the exception of Commander Tano, and so much had changed. But as the Phantom slipped into the atmosphere of the jungle planet, Rex marveled at how unchanged it was.

The Ghost’s trip through hyperspace had been relatively uneventful, up until the end. Minutes after they arrived above Teth, Rex had heard alarms going off and Captain Syndulla’s very irritated voice coming from the cockpit.

Kanan appeared not long afterwards, his face set into a studiously neutral expression as he explained what happened. Apparently, the hyperdrive had been damaged in the Ghost’s last altercation with the Empire, and hadn’t been repaired properly. So Captain Syndulla and Chopper would be staying behind to make repairs, while the rest of them headed down to the surface.

Rex was no Jedi, but he didn’t need the Force to see the tension Kanan was carrying with him. He was well aware that Kanan barely trusted him, and definitely didn’t like him.

Under normal circumstances, that would be fine. Rex understood it— he’d seen the aftermath of the Jedi Purge. Kanan couldn’t have been older than Ezra was now when it had happened. He’d also seen more than his fair share of troopers dealing with shellshock and a thousand other kinds of trauma, to say nothing of General Skywalker himself. But these weren’t normal circumstances. They were working together, in the field, and if Kanan didn’t trust Rex to watch his back, things could get very messy. We’re going to have to talk about this, sooner rather than later, Rex thought.

[cabezadeperro]

❤️ I'm torn between Fi/Ordo and Maze/Ordo so can I say "surprise me"? Is that legal?? lol

-Possum (evil)

hi friend!!!!!! i went with maze/ordo (i will take any and all excuses to write maze my boy maze my best friend maze)

short and sweet and dumb.

❤️ first kiss / realization

---

Maze doesn’t quite connect the paper cup of caf to his right to Ordo’s momentary absence from the room until he’s half-way through his drink.

It’s early morning: watery sunlight comes in through the row of windows at Maze’s back, shines on the dust motes within the room, makes them dance. It’s a morning like any other, and they’re going through their respective inboxes in silence that while Maze wouldn’t necessarily call companionable it is nonetheless—comfortable. Almost comforting. Ordo sits to his right, half a dozen datapads in a tidy little pile at his side, and he frowns down at his terminal, his ungloved fingers moving quickly over his keyboard.

When Maze nudges him under the table he scowls down at his screen and doesn’t look up. He moves his ankle out of Maze’s reach, and his typing speeds up.

“What.”

“Thanks,” Maze says.

The typing stops. Ordo blinks up and at Maze, his scowl softening.

“What?”

He looks so genuinely confused. It’d be cute if it wasn’t so—awkward. Maze clears his throat.

“For the caf,” he replies. Ordo looks at him for a long beat, face blank, and then he blinks, looks away. He shrugs and turns back to his work. 

His ears are pink.

“Next one’s on you,” Ordo tells his screen. 

“Okay,” Maze says. Ordo presses his lips together, shoulders lifting towards his ears.

Maze glances back at his screen: a new message appears in his inbox with a cheerful little noise. He opens it with a sigh—it takes him embarrassingly long to understand what it says, the words and their meanings blurring together.

Okay. 

His caf is lukewarm and bitter and full of grounds. Maze takes a sip and attempts to scrape the acidic aftertaste off his tongue with his teeth.

Maze sneaks a glance in Ordo’s direction: he’s already staring at Maze from the corner of his eye. He blinks and looks away.

Okay. 

Fuck. 

[imrowanartist]

"What is taking them so long?" Fi groans for the umpteenth time as he shifts positions again and 'accidentally' bumps his shoulder into Sev sitting next to him.

"I'm sure they'll be done soon." Sev grunts, and Fi pretends not to notice that he doesn't actually move away. That he hasn't done that in a while actually.

"Hey, did I ever tell you about that time we went to Kessel?" Fi says instead, and tries to hide his glee at Sev's dramatic sigh, "There were like, pirates and explosions and-"

"Do you ever stop talking?" Sev interrupts him, his voice almost a growl.

"I'm chatty, it's part of my charm."

"It's annoying. That's what it is."

"Then why don't you kiss me, you di'kut, and make me shut up." Fi blurts out and feels his ears turn red at his unexpected confession. Next to him he feels Sev stiffen.

There's a heavy silence that seems to drag on forever and Fi fears that maybe this time he has screwed things up beyond repair. Its not mutual after all, these feelings he's been having-

When suddenly Sev turns towards him and grabs his chin, pulling him close and smashing their lips together with a surprisingly gentle motion. Fi freezes for a moment, then lets himself melt into it, savouring the soft feel of Sev's lips.

Guess he wasn't wrong then.

Far too quickly Sev pulls away, his ears now burning too. Then he gets up and stomps out the door, his shoulders hunched up high.

Fi watches him go, though he can’t help the silly little grin that spreads on his face.

Sev and Fi hold my heart thank you very much

Also thank you @anstarwar for letting me use your designs for them

[mamuzzy-creates-stuff]

Alright, giving you Ordomaze with 💙

Because I think having them tipsy would be funny? I can't imagine drunken Ordo lmao

Hey @hexerein, thank you so much for the request! ♡ (￣З￣)

YES, drunk Ordo is really something challenging, but also I'm obsessed with the thought that Ordo is also a menace in his own way. I usually depict him as someone who never goes overboard with drinking since he likes to be in control, or doesn't drink at all when he doesn't want to - he is pretty much immune to social pressure coming from larger groups. Now I did a little exception for the sake of the scene, but I think competitive-drinking is something he won't say no to either way. Especially against an alpha or his own brothers.

As for the fic, I have to admit... I overdid a little. xD Wordcount-wise, I only wanted to do a little snippet and ended up having 1600 word long shenanigan with these dorks.

Are they drunk? Pretty much. Are they kissing? Oh yes. Funny? You decide :) I hope you like it!

Every mispelled word in the dialogues are deliberate. Outside of it, sorry for that.

After so many hungover survived together, Ordo and Maze always reached to that conclusion that the real winners of the drinking contests are the bar owners themselves. But they would never learn. Ordo may appeared a sore loser tonight, but his premature retreat from the challenge’s end before both of them end up throwing up in one of the alleys of Coruscant was deliberate and very much calculated - on one hand, HE didn’t want to throw up in one of the alleys of Coruscant. Second, he didn’t want Maze throw up in one of the alleys of Coruscant either. Also, drinking eventually led to horniness which overrode every instinct of competitiveness in him and fucking Maze in the middle of the bar suddenly looked a tempting idea, but Ordo also remembered that indulging in a fantasy of fucking someone on the barcounter while everyone else’s watching might be a good way to show that the alpha’s ass belonged to him, but overall, it was not socially acceptable to do it in the CSF officer’s club. Neither was throwing up in one of the alleys of Coruscant.

The null and the alpha captain were a stumbling mess of a pair, clinging to each other’s necks, trying to navigate their way in the Arca-barracks. Their usual banter lead to the same disaster if less rage-filled carnage this time.

“M’room” grumbled Ordo.

“Mroom” meowed back Maze, because was sure that’s how you maintain a conversation in tooka, and was certain Ordo tried to imitate one.

“No, mine!”

“’kay” Maze flashed a broad smile as he leaned in to bore his head into Ordo’s, only he didn’t exactly assess well the intensity of his display of affection and bumped their skulls so hard, they both saw stars for a minute.

“Oww! The kriff??? Whazzatfor?” Ordo bent his elbow around Maze’s neck to get into a chokehold.

“I ssssaid ‘I love you’ in tooka!”

“Ah… okay. That’s fine” Ordo was pleased with the answer, so didn’t actually choke his boyfriend. He released him to cling onto his arm more instead. That limb belonged to the null now. “’Love you too.”

“You are so sweet right now, my love” cooed Maze back. “Sweet, sweet kitten.”

Ordo blushed as he felt a pleasant heat going into his cheeks. He pretty much wanted to be Maze’s kitten right now. The only and favorite. But also he was sure his words didn’t reach the drunk Alpha’s brain.

“But my room. My room. We go there. Take me tom’room.”

“Ayy-aye, whersyouroom again?”

“I don’t care, don’t - Just… just… take me there.”

“My room then.”

“Noooo!” whined Ordo in protesting and bumped into Maze, “your blanket smells like you fa-woaahhh!!!” he couldn’t elaborate on how exactly Maze’s blanket smelled like, because the alpha lost his balance and both started to lean in one direction like an over-packed sack of potatoes.

Maze had to grab the nearest fire extinguisher on the wall to keep themselves on foot - and he tore it down. They both look at it with child-like astonishment before started laugh uncontrollably but this time they had the wall to hold onto. Maze wanted to put it back to its place but his hands trembled from the tremors of shared laugh, it kept falling down, making loud clashing noises, probably waking up the whole barrack by now.

Several doors suddenly whooshed open, an adrenaline-heated sergeant dashed out, about to yell who’s causing this ruckus and tell them to keep it down, only to be stopped by the sight of Ordo hunching forward, shaking with inaudible laughter as Maze tried to give his sincere ‘appolojeews’ to the fire extinguisher, now war-weary and bent, lying on the floor.

The sergeant considered his options in this situation. If he wanted to make a smart comment about the very fact that Captain Ordo had been so wasted like it was obligatory, he quickly reminded himself that the null captain not just outranked him but was completely able to maim him to death with his bear hands even in this drunk state. Now while Captain Maze also outranked him, wouldn’t maim him to death with his bear hands (he could), but given that the alphas were all prideful and self-conscious bastards, Maze would find a way to make the sergeant’s rather short life miserable, worse than death, given they shared space under the same roof. The sergeant silently retreated back to his room without saying a word.

The pair eventually reached Maze’s room. One last opponent to be defeated: a door with access code needed to open. They stood before that door and Ordo took his time to enjoy this moment of peaceful silence. It was cozy, they were alone in the half-lit empty corridor of the alpha-wing, and it made Ordo snuggle closer to Maze. Their armors collided with small clank, but Maze’s skin peeping out of his blacks was to his liking and gently started nosing the carotid. He liked the feeling of the pumping blood pulsing through his lover’s vein. Almost could hear his heartbeat. He counted them for at least two minutes, when Ordo realized that Maze didn’t just not reciprocated the small gesture of affection to his dismay, but nothing was happened at all.

“What ar’you waitin’ for” He looked at Maze in confusion and nodded to terminal.

“Uhhh…” Maze scratched his head. “I forgot.”

“What.”

“The code. Forgot my code.”

“Sevn-sevn-three-six-nain-sevn-five-eigth-ate…” mumbled Ordo as gently started to sucking on his skin, leaving a lovemark.

“Wha-wha-wai-wai-wai-wai-waitholdon, you’re notartikyulting! Not that - Ordo.”

“Honey-sweet” Ordo now whispered in his ears, teeth gently nibbling on it.

Maze shuddered, hearing the petname Ordo gave him long time ago. He was sure about he messed up the numbers along the way because the terminal blared “access denied” into his face.

“I have to consentrait, you know” his voice started to rasp and tried to tap the numbers again into the screen with much more urgency.

“Multitask then.”

Ordo reached his lover’s mouth, sucking on his lower-lip like his life depended on it. Maze huffed into the kiss with amusement. He messed up the numbers again. Access denied.

“What the…”

“Stupid alpha, you can’t even do this right…” Ordo growled, became irritated how his alpha boyfriend couldn’t even get into his room without his help. But that meant he could take the opportunity to shine. He turned Maze around and pushed him to the wall, pressing his lips to Maze’s, one hand keeping him in place, while he tapped the screen without even looking. He didn’t need to look, only needed to stare into those brown eyes, slowly filled with the lust for him.

“Howdoye- how do…” Maze tried to form his question which bugged his last remaining intelligent part of his brain, but Ordo sent that solitary braincell completely AWOL too.

“I would be an osik’la boyfriend if I didn’t know all your codes to reach you.”

“Fuckin' creep” Maze grinned into his lips. Ordo took the initiative to push his tongue inside Maze’s mouth, exchanging a wet, sloppy kiss, loud with Maze’s moans. The alpha embraced him with his arms, combing through his hair with his fingers.

Access denied.

Now Ordo furrowed his forehead in dissatisfaction, but also, unbelieving. Unless Maze changed the code, no way his memory failed him now. He broke the kiss to lick that sweet spot under Maze’s jaw with an ulterior motive to make the alpha a mewling, needy mess, but also to have half an eye on the screen. He tried to tap the numbers again.

He couldn’t finish. The door swooshed open, revealing a very annoyed alpha glaring at the smooching couple with such intensity, they started to believe the jaig eyes on his forehead only served the sole purpose to lend him another pair of eyes to judge them.

Ordo broke the kiss and sneered back malevolently while maintaining eye-contact with Fordo’s real eyes - in the wildlife another set of eyes were meant for the predators to distract and scaring off bigger adversaries than themselves and Ordo wasn’t stupid. Just drunk. And jealous. Why was Alpha-77 in his boyfriend’s room and why was another naked ass mooning him from Maze’s bed?!

Maze didn’t exactly connect the dots just yet but he already felt Ordo tensing up in his embrace. He instinctively held him tighter to comfort him, the null would usually rather die than suffer from shame. Now the thing is, Ordo rarely felt shame unless it got him into trouble and Maze knew that very well so there was a slight chance that his boyfriend plotted a homicide instead. Double, if he was fortunate enough. Unlike Ordo, he felt ashamed in front of his alpha brother right now.

Good thing, Fordo never wasted words to tell off his younger brothers. Just kept on glaring, with his hand signed to direction of room next to them.

Maze followed the gesture. “Oh” he said, staring into the air as light understanding suddenly shined through the haze of inebriation. “Right. Thanks” waved a little goodbye with a sheepish smile.

Fordo flipped him off and returned to his room, shutting them out, hopefully once and for all.

Ordo teared himself away from Maze to run at the next door, his boots screeched at the floor as he stopped and excitedly started to type the code into the door terminal. Maze could only blink and Ordo was already in his room.

Maze was about to drown in self-pity, left alone in the corridor, still leaning against the wall when Ordo sticked his head out, searching for him and yelled.

“ALPHA, I DESIRE AFFECTION!” And disappeared again.

Maze almost burst out in a loud laugh, Ordo’s unique approach of seduction caught him off guard and made the unfortunate encounter with one of his brothers a minor inconvenience. He followed after his lover, giggling under his nose, and closed the door behind them.

Tags for those who asked: @ithillia, @insertmeaningfulusername