#servodriver

[seimitsu-factory-automation]

Direct Drive Motor| CKD Pneumatics

A direct drive motor that transmits power and operation by directly connecting a load without the intermediary mechanism of a reducer, belt, or gear. Ideal for indexing table drives, pick and place & turntable assembly. The elimination of the intermediate mechanism offers various advantages • No backlash • Space saving • Maintenance-free • Reduced design processes • Silent • Improvement of environmental friendliness SEIMITSU Factory Automation Pvt Ltd is an authorized distributor of CKD Products. To know more please visit https://www.seimitsu.in/CKD-direct-drive-servo-motor.html or you can contact us on the following details Mail ID- sales@seimtisu.in Contact No- +91 902812121

[asteamtechnosolutions]

Rockwell Automation Kinetix 5500 Servo Drives Features :-

Delivering the performance and scalability you need to compete in today’s marketplace, our Kinetix 5500 Servo Drives help you achieve the most from your motion processes. With their innovative, compact design and EtherNet/IP communication, Kinetix 5500 Servo Drives help minimize machine footprint and simplify machine design, operation and maintenance. These versatile servo drives can help you deliver optimized operation in a wide range of single-axis or multi-axis applications from basic position moves to high-speed and coordinated motion solutions.

🌐Website :- https://asteamtechno.com

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[starrylothcat]

Hi! I was wondering if I could request spicy Tech (gn reader plz also sorry if you're not doing requests right now! You can ignore this if you aren't)

More spicy prompts! Thank you for this Tech ask, anon. This is my first time fully writing Tech so please bear with me…I hope it’s satisfactory 😉

I wasn’t sure if you wanted something from the spicy prompts list, so I chose “Just lay back and let me take care of you.”

Offering a Hand

Warnings: NSFW 18+. You give Tech a hand with his work (you give Tech a handjob)

Pairing: Tech x GN Reader

Word Count: 1400. These are getting longer. Lol

Spicy Prompts

You and Tech had been tinkering all day, doing much-needed repairs and tune-ups on The Marauder.

The others had just left to search for some parts at a nearby junkyard per Tech’s request.

You slyly stayed behind, saying Tech needed your help with repairs to the navigation system. That was a bald-faced lie, and everyone knew it, but it was an excuse to be alone with your boyfriend.

You were in the cockpit, as was Tech. He was hunched on the ship’s floor, soldering a piece of equipment he had ripped from underneath the main console.

His jaw was set tight, fingers working quickly and expertly, his eyes set in intense concentration.

You swallowed, a familiar spark igniting in your loins, thinking of what those fingers could do, how you wanted that intense, yellow-tinted gaze on you, your lips on that incredibly alluring jawline…

“Do you need assistance with something?” Tech questioned without looking toward you, continuing his work.

“No…just enjoying the view.” You remarked as you schooched next to him, pressing your shoulder to his. You were also on the floor, trying to sort a pile of wires that was untouched.

“Can you hand me the servodriver since you are just “enjoying the view” and not assisting me like you told the others?” Tech adjusted his goggles, glancing at you momentarily before going back to his tinkering.

You chuckled, remembering Hunter’s look when you said Tech needed your help and you should stay behind.

Hunter knew that wasn’t true, but gathered Omega, Echo, and Wrecker to go to the junkyard, knowing you wanted privacy.

“Sure...only if you kiss me.” You leaned into him more, the aroma of hot metal mixing with his natural musk flaming the fire inside you even more.

Tech stopped, placing his soldering equipment down, looking fully at you.

“I presume your proximity to me and the promiscuous tone in your voice means you will not be handing me the servodriver, correct?”

“That’s right.” You smiled, brushing your hand across his cheek.

Tech adjusted his goggles. “I also infer you stayed behind, not because you wanted to aid me, but to be alone with me. Is that also correct?” You bit your bottom lip, nodding.

“Ah. What would you like to do?”

You took one of Tech’s hands in your own.

“Well, I was thinking I could actually give you a hand if you’d let me.” You raised your eyebrows, seeing if he’d catch your meaning.

You could see Tech’s cheeks darken slightly as he cleared his throat. “Oh, I see.”

You leaned in, your nose brushing against his as you moved your other hand up his thigh.

You could hear Tech’s breath hitch, his own hands coming to your shoulders as your lips met.

“It’ll be a while before they get back. And besides, you look like you need a break.” You muttered against his lips, giving his upper thigh a hearty squeeze as you grazed your hand over his crotch.

Tech gripped your shoulders and let out a low groan as he leaned toward you, kissing you back, his body relaxing as your mouths moved together.

“Just lay back and let me take care of you.” You whispered as you pulled away momentarily, seeing a quick flash of hunger pass over his brown eyes. “We have time before the others get back.”

Your hands roamed up and under his shirt, watching Tech begin to calculate behind his goggles as you tried to tug his shirt off.

“Taking into consideration the travel time to and from the junkyard, and how quickly they may be able to find the parts, we more than likely have an hour before they return. So I suppose you can…assist me.”

You grinned mischievously, crawling on top of Tech’s lap, his shirt halfway up his torso, him still calculating how much time you might have alone.

“Sounds like plenty of time, don’t you think?” You asked before taking his lips on yours again, and Tech finally helped you get his shirt off.

Your hands roamed his lean form, and you could feel his muscles flex under your gentle touch.

You pressed down into his lap, feeling him harden beneath you.

Tech’s hands were now skirting under your shirt, touching all the places he knew elicited a response from you.

He had every inch of your body mapped and memorized, knowing exactly where and when to touch you to get the best response.

You hummed in contentment against his lips, those expert fingers working their magic as he caressed your skin.

You released his lips from yours, yanking off your shirt and going straight back to an impassioned make-out session.

You began kissing down his chin and nibbled on his jawline as Tech pushed his goggles back into place.

You worked to undo his pants, making quick work of his many straps and pockets, tossing them to the side with a thud as you slipped a hand under his waistband. You carefully ran your fingers up his now hard length, relishing how he felt.

This situation was one of few where Tech was speechless, a shaky sigh from him the only sound he could emit.

Tech grunted while you teased the head of his cock with your fingers, eyes wide under his goggles as he stared down at your careful ministrations.

You loved how he felt under your fingertips, his velvety head already wet with precum. You used your thumb to slowly spread it around, and you could feel Tech tremble against you, his quiet sounds of pleasure catching in his throat.

“Hold on.” You said, quickly jumping up off his lap and running to your bunk, digging through a small drawer. You grabbed the bottle of lube that Tech loved to use on you, but this time it was all for him.

You squirted a generous amount on your hand and hurried back to where he was eagerly waiting, now sitting in the pilot’s seat. You stepped up to him as he tugged his pants further down his thighs.

“Easier access and more comfortable for the both of us.” He stated as you sat back on his lap, Tech’s rigid cock pressed against his belly.

You reached down between the two of you, gently sliding your hand up and down his length, a hiss of approval escaping through Tech’s clenched jaw, his eyelids fluttering at your touch.

You squeezed and twisted your fist in a languid rhythm, also knowing just how he liked it.

Tech grabbed at your waist, his head leaning back against the headrest as you worked his cock with your hand.

He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, but a low groan came out instead as you squeezed him a little harder.

You watched his chest heave faster, his other hand digging in to the armrest as his brow furrowed, concentrating and focusing on how you were making him feel.

“F-faster.” Tech urged, sweat beading on his brow, his breath labored.

You obliged, increasing the pace of your fist around his cock, loving how you could feel every ridge and vein slide across your palm as Tech came apart in front of you.

Tech suddenly grasped the back of your head, bringing you to his lips, his mouth hot and desperate on yours as you worked him.

“Close…” was all Tech was able to utter, his pleasured moans becoming louder and more frequent.

You couldn’t help but let out a blissful sigh, seeing how much pleasure you were bringing him as your other hand reached down to tenderly squeeze and cup his balls.

Tech twitched and bucked against you, his head falling back again to the headrest, cursing under his breath.

“Cyare…I won’t…last much longer.” Tech warned, his goggles now sliding down the bridge of his nose.

With a final twist of your wrist, Tech let out a long groan of your name, his pearly release coating his lower abdomen and chest.

You eased him through his orgasm, feeling his cock twitch and throb under your palm, milking him of every drop, drunk on the sight of him fully undone just by your hand.

You stroked him a few more times, rubbing your thumb over his sensitive head as Tech tried to compose himself, pushing his goggles up with his hand, steadying his breathing.

“That was…satisfactory. Thank you.” He leaned forward, kissing you sweetly in thanks.

“I hope it was more than just satisfactory.” You teased as you hopped off him, grabbing a clean towel from your bunk.

A small smirk tugged at the side of his mouth. “It was, very much so.”

You leaned over him, gently cleaning him up as he softly ran his hand down your face.

“Thank you, cyare.” Tech tugged his pants back up and you sat on his lap again, leaning onto him as he held you. You felt his hands wander, his fingers now slipping under your waistband.

“Based on my calculations, we still have plenty of time for me to return the favor.”

Tech’s words were husky in your ear as you smiled into his neck, shivering at his touch. “It’s my turn to enjoy the view, hmm? Now…where did you put that lube?”

A/N: Am I sorry for continuously posting smut and having a great time writing these? No. 😅

Taglist: Taglist: @blueink-bluesoul @pb-jellybeans @the-cantina @king-chaos-world @wolffegirlsunite @523rdrebel @dukeoftheblackstar @sleepingsun501 @wanderer-six

[starilicious]

mere haath mein (echo x gn!reader)

》 summary: reader and echo's love story from strangers to friends to lovers throughout the clone wars (a 4+1 type of story)

》 series masterlist: (please read the masterlist before continuing on!)

part 1 📍 (you are here!) | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 4.5.1 | part 4.5.2 | part +1

click here to read on AO3

》 part 1 word count: ~1.5k

》 part 1 warnings: none

》 part 1 spoilers: none

》 a/n: i really hope you enjoy! please let me know what you think ^_^

१ (1)

The first time you see him, you’re stationed with the 501st, responsible as the head engineer to manage your team and keep repairs going as fast as possible. As an engineer, you automatically hold a higher rank thanks to your formal education and experience in inventing. Mechanics are those who actually repair the machines you innovate. But you never liked delegating tasks and just watching–you much preferred working alongside your coworkers, getting down and dirty with grease on your face and sweat in your eyelashes. That’s where the real fun of engineering comes in anyway.

Currently, you’re trying to mend the high-pressure shaft of a turbofan engine. Space debris and well-timed blaster bolts during a rough battle completely tore apart the interior, forcing you to have to get inside the tight space of the engine in order to remove the old shaft and replace it with a new one.

Because the job is so complicated, you decide to lighten the load on your team–with the amount of treacherous missions Anakin and Ahsoka take the 501st on, it’s safe to say that you and your fellow mechanics have no shortage of work in repairing the shuttles and fighters they bring back smoking.

Granted, astroengineering isn’t your forte, but you would be damned if you didn’t give your team a break. You let them all retire to their rooms early this evening, forcing them to get some much needed rest despite their protests. But your favorite coworker refused to leave you alone, insisting he should stay to help you out. In actuality, you appreciate the help.

“Prauf! Hand me that plasma cutter, would you? This piece just will not come out,” you call out to your friend as you attempt to pry out a piece wedged into a corner. It’s annoying to have such little space to move–there’s only enough room for the upper half of your body to fit, leaving your legs hanging precariously out of the turbofan. Your hot breath from the exertion makes the ludicrously small space steamy and suffocating.

You grunt as you continue pulling, waiting for Prauf to hand you the piece, but it’s no use. Stupid thing won’t move!

“Prauf? Come on, I don’t have all day,” you holler as you grab a servodriver from your toolbelt, shoving it in a crack between the debris and the shaft. Maybe some torque will help?

But alas, the pesky little piece just won’t move. You sigh in frustration and move your legs around blindly, trying to kick the elder Abednedo lightly to bring his attention back to the present. Maker knows he loves to daydream. But you’re exhausted and don’t have the patience to spare.

“Stars Prauf, are you drooling over Sonia again? It might work better if you actually go up to her rather than just stare at her” you laugh as you continue trying to find him with your legs. But your smile dies away when you hear no response and can’t find purchase on his clothing with your feet. Even though you’re both bone-tired and about to drop dead from exhaustion, you know Prauf would answer you back.

Perhaps he is just getting you the tool you requested? But then he would have said he was getting it…

Fatigued, you wiggle your way out of the turbofan, accidentally banging your head hard against the durasteel of the fan. A sounding hum vibrates its way through the rest of the metal of the fan as you groan in pain.

“Owww,” you mutter, holding your head in your hands as you finally shimmy out into the open space of the hanger and drop down a good five feet to the ground when your feet miss the ladder. I am going to kill Prauf.

“Did it hurt?”

You look up to see two clones standing over you, the one on the left with a blue hand painted on his armor looking worried while the other with a ‘5’ tattooed on his temple looking amused. Prauf is nowhere to be seen.

Your head is still throbbing and now your ass is killing you because of your fall. Not to mention the pain in your legs from landing on the ground so hard. “Pardon?”

“Did it hurt?” ‘5’ repeats, a slight smirk on his face as he holds out a hand to help you up. You accept it, your other hand still holding your head as you stumble upright. The sleep deprivation is really starting to catch up to you, you realize, as you process what the clone says after.

“When you fell from heaven?”

You stare at him for a few seconds in shock. ‘5’ doesn’t let up with his smile and you burst out laughing, doubling over from the complete surprise at the fact that this man actually used the cheesiest pick-up line you have ever heard in your life.

‘5’ and ‘Blue Hand’ look at each other in slight confusion, clearly not expecting your reaction. ‘Blue Hand’ looks a bit concerned.

“I-I’m sorry,” you choke out, pain dulling in light of your heavy laughter as you try to breathe. “It’s not even that funny but I really just cannot believe you said that out loud.”

‘Blue Hand’ snickers, elbowing ‘5’ who looks a bit offended. But he humors you anyway.

“Well, what can I say, my mind short circuits when I see a beautiful person like you,” he grins and you shake your head fondly as your pulsating pain fades a bit. You can’t tell if the use of an engineering pick-up line is better or worse.

“I’m going to take your word for that,” you say instead, biting back a smile. ‘Blue Hand’ shakes his head in response.

“Trust me, that’s a bad idea. If Fives gets any encouragement, he’s gonna stick to you like glue,” he teases and Fives lightly punches his friend’s arm in retaliation. Fives. So that’s his name. It makes sense–he literally has the number 5 on him. (Your brain is really not working at full capacity at the moment.)

“But on a more serious note: are you hurt? You had quite the tumble there,” ‘Blue Hand’ continues, reaching out and placing a hand on your arm to steady you as you almost trip over your overturned box of tools on the ground.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, thanks. Everything is sore from pain and I’m running on six cups of caf, but it’s nothing I can’t handle,” you shrug as you bend down to pick up your things. In truth, your face is flaming with heat, embarrassed at your clumsiness. Prauf truly picked the worst time to leave you alone. Being half way to loopytown with pain and no sleep is hitting you much harder than you thought it would.

Both men crouch down with you, setting their helmets aside as they help you gather the various tools.

“Six cups? Sounds like you need some rest, trooper,” Fives jokes and you can’t help but chuckle.

“What can I say, anything for the Republic! I’m fighting my own war here against the machines,” you beam, pretending to punch the air with the shears and spanner currently in your hands.

The clones laugh as you start sorting through the tools you’ll need to take up with you back into that damned shaft.

“Do you need some help? I know it’s two standard hours past midnight, but Echo and I have some time to kill before we have to head to the barracks,” Fives offers, once again holding out a hand to help you up. You pick up on Fives’ underlying message as you register the other’s name. Echo. Hm, interesting. You vaguely wonder how he got the name.

You glance at both of them, observing them closely. Despite the caring smiles on their faces, you know exhaustion when you see it. Hell, you’re very much feeling it yourself right now. Their help is a tempting proposal.

“Thanks boys, but I think I’ll pass. I’ve got to get this done fast before the mission tomorrow. Can’t rest when duty calls!” you say with a tired smile as you set up your fallen ladder, making sure it’s secured so it doesn’t tip over again. You doubt your body can handle another fall like that.

“You sure? We don’t mind. I promise we know more about engineering than we let on,” Echo responds kindly and with humor, gazing at you as you begin climbing.

“I don't doubt that, but I'm sure. The mission reports today were pretty intense. You guys did a lot of work out there–you should get some shuteye,” you affirm warmly when you reach the top.

The men look at each other again, an unspoken message being passed in between them. Do they have some sort of secret brother language?

“Alright then, we’ll go. Remember to dream of me!” Fives calls out, winking. Echo slaps his arm and waves to you. You roll your eyes, but wave back anyway, watching their backs retreat from the area. Your heart pangs in… something. You elect to ignore the surfacing emotion, squashing it back down when Prauf (the little kriffer) finally decides to grace you with his presence.

“Astro! I did it! I got a date with her!”

---

part 1 📍 (you are here!) | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 4.5.1 | part 4.5.2 | part +1

please consider reblogging! it really helps me and is super encouraging ^_^

[sullustangin]

Fluffy February Day 5: Planet

SWTOR

Rating: T

Time: Roughly, now in canon

Pairing: Theron Shan/Eva Corolastor; whole crew makes an appearance

~~

They awoke to the sound of her name being called.  “Captain!”  “Eva!”  “Boss!”  The cries came through the ship intercom system as they finally stirred.

Initially, Eva squirmed to try to tuck herself closer to him. 

Duty called.  “We’ve got to get up at some point, Eva,” Theron yawned.

Eva rolled slightly to prop herself up on his chest. “We finally get away from Odessen together, for the first time in six months.  Now you’re telling me I have to leave our bed without being prompted by shrieking because my crew is probably running around holding the wrong end of a servodriver.”

Theron stretched his arms out to the side.  “That, or Argo is having a fit wondering where we are.” 

“Theron, you’ve heard that baby cry.  We’d hear him from up here.”

He guffawed.  The baby was safely stowed with Bowdaar, who adored Little Girl’s even littler boy.  Eva’s maternity leave had abruptly ended when her boring excursion to Port Nowhere with Rass Ordo had launched her – and the Alliance – into a rescue of Ord Mantel.

Corso Riggs, of course, helped lead the charge.  Now everyone was due for some R&R, but Eva had again followed Theron’s example of …not quite stopping work. 

Eva dropped her head back down onto Theron’s chest. “You want to do this again sometime?”

“Of course.”

The ship’s intercom went off again, and another chorus of hails demanded Eva’s attention.  “They aren’t going to get quieter,” Theron told her as he kicked at the covers.

With a huff, Eva got to her feet and pulled on one of her robes, adding some layer of protection to the green and gold pajamas.  Then she smashed a finger into the intercom.   “Is something on fire?”

“No,” replied Corso.

“Bleeding to death?”

“No.”

“Why are you waking me up?” 

“We made it to Distilion.”

“I can’t believe you’re seriously naming it that.”  Risha’s eyeroll was nearly audible.

Theron sighed too.  He really shouldn’t have inspired her with the idea it was her mission to save all the wineries, distilleries, and other liquor-producing planets in the galaxy. 

Now she’d karking bought a planet, with the intended purpose of making a booze planet.  All the planetary beverages that had been taxed to death by the Eternal Empire?  Eva’s plan was to bring them all back, with the traditional brewers, in a haven dedicated to alcohol.  Distilion. 

The Voidhound’s long-lost fortune… was not that lost. 

Suddenly spry, Eva was a whirlwind as she assembled her clothes and popped into the fresher.  She did a record-time run of her routine and was out the door.

By the time Theron made it out to the lounge, where C2 passed him a cup of caf.  “Lana Beniko has just received the manifesto and bill of sale for the planet,” he dryly informed him.

Oh boy.

“You can’t just buy a planet and add it to the Alliance without any groundwork!”  Aghast, Lana nearly tossed her datapad as she wildly gestured in the Odessen conference room. 

Eva flashed a near-manic smile at her as Guss passed her a datapad.  “New Imperial land ordinance said I could so I did!”  Theron wasn’t sure if she was happier about the purchase or rattling Lana. 

“We have no established government there – it’s just being handed off to us ‘as is’ and we have no inkling as to what ‘as is’ means!” 

Eva’s wrist comm let out a squawk.  “Money fixes everything, Lana, as far as ex-Pub or Imp worlds go.  Go look at Rishi.  And good timing, Lana.  The seller is on the line.”  Eva added another holographic image to the Thief’s holo comm unit.  

A rough and tumble-looking Rodian appeared on the screen.  “Good day, Captain.  So happy you’ve come through for us financially.”    

“And I’d like you to come through for us regarding the infrastructure, or else some funds will remain in escrow,” Eva replied evenly, taking the cup of caf that C2 offered her. 

The Rodian’s snoot shriveled up for a moment.  “Fine.  Didn’t expect you to take the property entirely without a problem.  We have our share of separatist problems –”

“What sort of seps?” Corso asked, archly.

“Given this was an Imperial planet, probably those who wish to go to Republic.  Or at least the Alliance,” Akaavi said, leaning in the doorway.

“Minor sewage –”

“80% of the planet does not have indoor plumbing,” Eva read off the datapad.

“Occasional volcanic –”

“There’s a massive line of tectonic activity at the equator.”  Eva squinted at the numbers.  “Less volatile than the deep mining in Makeb, so I think we can work with that.”

“Don’t forget the parts of the lowlands that need a respirator due to the toxic waste burial sites from two wars ago.” Guss jabbed at the datapad. 

Eva pointedly looked up at her Rodian counterpart.  “Why would you sell this treasure trove?”

The Rodian sputtered, and then –

Theron nearly burst out laughing as he saw the internal crisis play out on the Rodian’s face.  He thought he was off-loading a cesspit on Eva, backed up by the data, but now he was wondering if he’d let it all go for too little – and now he’d always wonder, since the initial documents had been inked – with real ink, knowing her. 

Some things were worth more than the credits. 

“I… I work hard to make a better life for my Wookiee.” He mumbled as he tried collect himslf.

Guss perked up.  “That your honey name for tall, shiny, and intimidating over there?”  He pointed at the bounty hunter next to him (not a Mandalorian, but he certainly had the disposition down pat). 

“No, my Wookiee.  Kawrog,” the Rodian replied.  He visibly untensed and the face was unscrunched.  “More accurate to say I’m his fourth pet cat or something.  He’s 152 now.”

Eva thumbed toward the general direction of the crew quarters.  “Bowie’s celebrating 215 later this year.  Whenever the Naboo Food Festival is.”

“Oh, he enjoys that too?  Kawrog is a snob now that he’s been –”

Somehow, Wookiees and smugglers always worked things out. 

~~

@fluffyfebruary

[okdeedee]

here i am

cassian andor x gn! reader - 6th installment of latch

masterlist

a/n: alright besties here's another chapter. life day celebrations And other things aka gratuitous party ish scene + Angst + the power of friendship. IN WHICH;;;,,,, cassian andor plays the role of mr darcy for a bit. title from stuck in the middle with you by stealer's wheel because,,, clowns to the left of me. jokers to the right. here i am, stuck in the middle with you.

content? warning?: shara bey and kes dameron cameo x. the introduction of another oc who i Love. she's a 6 foot 9 or 2.05m tall devaronian menace. angst. swearing. ramping up that sexual tension but no smut Probably Ever because i just wont. drinking moderately in a social context, no drunkenness or alcoholism. kissing! amorous touches! this was written with almost exclusively rosalía's motomami album playing in the bg so just keep that in mind. jk.

wc: 10.2k HUH

It’s Life Day, and other than essential personnel, the base is off-duty.

Unless, of course, there is a catastrophe, but everyone has decided there won’t be. You all need a break.

You and some of the mech crew are deemed essential personnel, but just in the morning. There are some Y-Wings that need repair before a mission tomorrow.

You’re working on Shara’s ship – she’s become a fun friend to have around. You hold similar opinions on repairs and mods, and she’s interesting to talk to – always complaining about that soldier Kes, who keeps asking her out.

You know she likes him; she just wants to string him on a bit. The thought of it makes you laugh.

Only a few other mechs are scattered around.

One of them is Lakan, a middle-aged Besalisk who was an engineer before he joined the Rebellion. He helped a lot in your first couple months – he’s endlessly patient and deeply affectionate. It’s sort of like having a father again, and he greets you with his crushing four armed hugs every time you see him.

Another is a younger Togruta individual with vivid blue skin called Eyroa – they’re something of a prodigy, and the sort of being that seems to know what you need before you ask for it. They’re often handing you a different sized servodriver or a drill-bit with a shy smile.

The other mech present this morning is Greda, the Devaronian you have become good friends with. She’s ridiculously tall and covered in tattoos. Her skin is a deep green, her hair is blonde and short – you still haven’t worked up the nerve to ask if it’s natural or not – and she is a complete nuisance.

Greda likes to wear earplugs while she’s working; she says she gets her best work done when she isn’t distracted by other people. Your friendship started on your second day of work as a mechanic, when she approached you right as you were going on your lunch break. You weren’t sure who she was because she’d been holed up working on a Hammerhead Corvette so you hadn’t met her yet, but you were quickly very glad to know her.

Not here today are the following:

Your fellow humans: Yemmi, an older man who is a notorious flirt, Manala and Hasset, the twins who never stop talking, and Riekk, the Bith, who plays a beautiful new genre of music through his speaker every workday.

They’re good co-workers. They were welcoming when you arrived, and you’re fond of all of them.

Greda, however, is being a pain today.

She’s always a pest, but since it’s a holiday, she’s decided she’s going to wreak havoc upon your morning instead of actually getting work done, which is a first for her.

She picks strange hills to die on.

Right now, she’s sitting on top of Shara’s Y-Wing, kicking her feet, and ranting about something. You zoned out five minutes ago and now her deep, resonant voice is just a buzz in your ear.

You hold out a wrench to her so you can root through your toolbox with both hands, and she takes it without thinking, not pausing in her speech.

You find what you need, but you leave the wrench in her hand. If she’s not going to work, she can at least be useful as a tool stand.

A few minutes later, she stops talking and looks at the wrench in her hand.

“Did you give me this?”

“Yeah, like five minutes ago.”

“I’ll drop it on you.”

You laugh. “I thought you were anti-violence. That’s why you’re a mechanic.”

She huffs and jumps off the Y-Wing. “You’re not being fun today.”

You grunt as you pull a panel of the engine off. “I’m more fun when I’m not being interrupted during work.”

She raises her hands in surrender. “Apologies, my liege.”

You swat her with a rag you had in your pocket. “Enough from you,” you reprimand.

Greda starts to walk away, whistling some annoying little song.

“I’ll see you at the bonfire tonight, though, right?”

“Yeah! See you then!”

She disappears into the hull of a G-75, then there is blessed silence, because Lakan works without music.

You find yourself thinking about Cassian, wondering what he’s doing with his day off.

He visits you in the hangars often, just to say hi, or to keep you company for a bit. You feel honoured to receive his individual attention. You’re flustered by it, too.

No matter how hard you try, you can’t quite get used to the intensity in his eyes when he’s focussed on you. You find yourself looking at his lips, or the line of his jaw, or the sweeping length of his eyelashes more often than not these days.

Flustered or not, you cherish those visits – like the one several months ago where you talked about Onderon, and you kissed each other’s hands. It still brings heat to your face and a thrill through your body just to think about it.

Or the one last week where Cassian told you about his childhood and his family.

The hardest are the weeks when Cassian can’t visit at all because he’s on a long mission.

He’s one of the best operatives the Rebellion has. He’s ruthless, efficient, and observant. He’s killed people just to be able to get back home.

You know how good he is at this work, but you’re still terrified that each time he visits will be the last.

A dozen times, he’s come back bruised and battered, and you hold him extra-gently and extra-long in your arms.

Once, he was rushed to the med centre for carbon dioxide poisoning. You stayed by his bedside for a full 18 hours.

You love him wholeheartedly. He’s your best friend. You’re not sure what that means in the long run, but for now it means he has to come back alive from all of his missions, so you get more time to figure it out.

And maybe one day, tell him.

.

Cassian actually has things to do on this day off. Leisurely things.

He and Melshi are going to sit down and have caf and talk, of all things. They’re both off today, and he hasn’t really spoken to Melshi in a couple months because of conflicting schedules, so that will be nice, he thinks.

A year ago, he probably would have baulked at the idea – Melshi is a friend he made out of necessity; a brother-in-arms – not that he doesn’t like him or enjoy spending time with him.

It’s just that they became friends by escaping a slave-labour prison and establishing trust by clinging on a cliffside together for hours, not by discussing their mutual interests.

He used to do it all the time on Ferrix. He’d walk to Brasso’s work just to catch him before he went home, he’d hang out with Bix, deliver something from Maarva to Jezzi, shoot the shit with Xanwan while he was waiting for a transport.

The rebel base on Yavin 4 doesn’t quite have that same homely feeling yet.

Now, he’s warmed again to the idea of talking, visiting people just to see them, thanks to his constant need to see you.

It’s ridiculous how often he finds time to visit the hangar. The first few times, he pretended it was because he had something else to do and he just happened to run into you, but he can’t be bothered to lie anymore.

You always greet him with a smile and touch his arm with your hand, or if he’s coming back after a mission, you’ll hug him.

What you don’t know is that Cassian comes to the hangar most days he’s on base, but he’ll only talk to you if you’re alone.

Often, you’re talking to Shara Bey about her Y-Wing (or about that ground soldier, Kes, that keeps hitting on her), or chatting across the hangar to one of the other mechanics. Sometimes, you just look like you’re concentrating really hard, and he doesn’t want to disturb you.

He gets embarrassed for some reason and walks away with a little ache in his chest.

Cassian is still bewildered by how obviously overjoyed you are to see him every time he visits. He’s not sure what he did to deserve the smiles you send his way – you smile with your whole being. It’s like being a plant in the sun; like he needs it to get through the day.

He’s pretty sure he’s in love with you.

He doesn’t expect to ever tell you, doesn’t entertain thoughts of crossing the physical boundaries the two of you have. He only dreams of you once every month or so, and that’s out of his control.

He’d rather never tell you he loves you that way than chance losing your companionship. If he made you uncomfortable and you drifted apart, he’d be so shattered that he’d probably become more reckless than usual with his work.

If he dies on a mission one of these days, he doesn’t think he’ll regret that decision.

The rebellion always comes first, now.

.

It’s evening, and Life Day festivities are starting.

Some of the more artistically inclined members of the Rebellion have decorated a sizeable part of the runway outside the temple.

There are random different sizes and kinds of lamps hanging on wires that are precariously strung between generators and trees, scraps of spare fabric (mostly orange, likely from pilots’ jumpsuits), and a massive bonfire being constructed in the centre of the clearing.

There are a few fold-out tables laden with portions of vastly contrasting foods in mismatched containers or piled on mess-hall trays.

For the last couple of weeks, a lot of the rebels who went off-world for missions or recon made pit-stops to pick up different ingredients for cultural delicacies they wanted to make for Life Day.

You smile to see a couple dishes your pilot friends mentioned in passing on the table.

There’s jaunty music playing at an agreeable volume through the runway PA system.

You watch over the next half an hour as more of your comrades fill the space, bringing food or musical instruments, some not in uniform, all relaxed and happy.

The bonfire is lit, during which there’s a song sung by some of the rebels in a language you don’t recognise, but you don’t mind – you feel a part of it regardless.

You’re basking in the joy and freedom of this night until someone practically tackles you from behind and you stumble.

“Hey, babycakes,” Greda says, a little too loud right next to your ear.

You grunt trying to bear her weight. You shove her off, laughing. “Babycakes?”

“Just trying something new,” she says breezily, “you like it?”

You shake your head, but get distracted by watching everyone mingle, unable to keep the smile off your face.

The two of you stand there, soaking it in, until Greda gets fidgety.

She hums that annoying song from this morning and circles you like a loth-wolf, looking around at everything, until she stops and pokes your shoulder over, and over, and over again.

“Greda, what the hell are you doing?”

“Who’s the little grumpy dude watching you from the corner?”

Your head whips around. “Where?”

She points to a dark corner of the runway, right near a path into the forest. You follow her hand and at the end of it is Cassian Andor. He glances away as soon as you clock him.

Shit.

You yank her hand down and give her your fiercest glare.

“Stars and planets, Greda, are you allergic to discretion?”

She grins. “Oh, calm down. Who is it? So tiny and angry.”

You huff. “Everyone’s tiny to you, you’re almost seven feet tall.”

“Still.”

You turn her away from him and watch him over her shoulder. You feel flustered, all of a sudden. “That’s Cassian. He’s – uh – we –”

“So, you’re on a first name basis with the Captain Andor? Interesting.”

You frown, and Greda has a mischievous glint in her eye, and you’re realising this is probably a set up.

“You just implied you didn’t know who he was.”

“That’s on you. Everyone knows who he is. I was just trying to figure out if you knew him.”

You shove her with your hip. “Asshole. Why do you care?”

Greda grabs your hands and swings them between you like you’re dancing.

“Because,” she says in a sing-song voice, “you’re so mysterious, and I can’t tell if you have any friends. I wanted to know if you knew him because he was looking at you like he wanted to take all your clothes off.”

“I have plenty of friends – and I’ve known you for months now, I would have thought you count,” you say, taking control and swinging her arms more violently.

“You didn’t deny that he looked like he wanted to take your clothes off,”

“I wasn’t planning on dignifying that with a response, you perv. And how did you not notice Cassian and I were friends? He visits the hangars like twice a week.”

“I don’t know, I’m busy. I don’t really pay attention to other people,”

You scoff. “Next time you accuse me of being mysterious, get your head out of your narcissistic ass first.”

She makes an exaggerated sad face. “You’re not nearly drunk enough for me to lead this conversation where I want it to go.”

“I’m stone-cold sober, Greda.”

“Exactly.”

Then Lakan and Yemmi join you, so that conversation trails off.

You haven’t had easy, relaxed fun like this in a long time, so despite her threat, when Greda offers you your first drink of the night (with no repayment in order), you take it.

You dance with all of the mech crew in a big, messy circle, copying each other’s moves and tripping over yourselves. Manala and Hasset try to teach you a dance they made up as children, but it’s really quite intricate. The two women can’t stop laughing at you.

Later, when you get a rush of self-confidence, you leave your crew and go chat to Bassa who’s standing by the fire. She’s gruff, as always, and pretends she’s not happy to see you.

You know she is – you can tell by the extra crinkles around her eyes that she’s doing her version of smiling.

She tells you about a couple of her recent missions, and retires pretty early, bemoaning old age.

Greda offers you a second drink maybe an hour later. You accept.

By about 2100, you’re relaxed, just a little bit buzzed, but you still have top-notch fine motor control. 

You’re sitting with Greda, cross-legged on the ground. For all her tomfoolery, you trust her.

She just has a cheeky streak half the galaxy wide.

You find yourself thinking that if she were to ask you about Cassian, you might tell her the truth. You’ve never told anyone about him – your friendship, your feelings.

You haven’t had enough to drink for that thought to be the alcohol talking, so you’re pretty sure you actually want to tell her.

At that moment, Cassian walks by. You say “Hey,” too quietly and reprimand yourself internally, but he hears you and turns his head.

“Hey,” he responds, a little more rigidly than usual.

Silence.

You smile awkwardly and look between him and Greda.

“This is Greda. She’s part of mech crew. Greda, Cassian. Cassian, Greda.”

Cassian acknowledges her with a nod. She grins, nods back.

“What are you drinking?” He asks.

You open your mouth to speak, but Greda interrupts, “Corellian Rum and some kind of soda I nicked. I needed our Wompy to relax a little. You know how it is. It’s been a difficult few months.”

You gape at her incredulously.

“How have I not been relaxed? And more importantly, how do you know about that fucking nickname?”

Cassian smiles, just barely. His dimple is just visible from this angle. Your face gets warmer.

 “A little birdie told me.”

You groan. “Bassa?”

“Indeed. A few months ago. I was just keeping it for the right moment.”

You cover your face with your hands.

There’s a pause. You see Cassian’s feet shift through a gap in your fingers, and you hear him sigh.

Your heart sinks just a touch – he’s probably not interested in this conversation, and he’s not super sociable so he won’t sit down and talk to you and Greda.

“Sorry, Cass, you were going somewhere. I interrupted.”

“No, it’s okay – I’m just… I was just leaving.” He shoves his hands in his pockets.

“Ah. Well. Have a good night,” you try.

He nods. “Thank you. You too.”

With that, he walks away.

You sigh out deeply.

Greda starts cackling. “What in the seven hells was that?”

You punch her shoulder. “Shut up, shut up, shut up,” you mumble under her laughter.

“No, really. What just happened? You call him Cass? Cute. But I thought you were friends? That was so awkward. And he just stood there staring at you.”

You tilt your head back and look at the stars, trying to find something to get you out of this.

You find nothing, except your mind’s eye replaying the image of Cassian smiling in the firelight.

“I think he’s the love of my life,” you say before you can think.

Greda stops laughing abruptly.

“Oh, my gods.”

She turns to you and her face is serious. You stare back blankly, “What?”

Greda starts ranting in her mother tongue - by the tone of her voice, you think she’s swearing.

She finishes her tirade in Basic:

“Really? Andor? He’s so cranky and you’re so… likeable.”

Something blooms in your chest at the confirmation that Greda, who likes just about no one, likes you. You smile at the ground.

“Why?”

Your mind floods with a ridiculously detailed montage of interactions with Cassian over the last year and you can’t help the beaming smile that appears on your face.

Greda groans in disgust.

“Shut up. Cassian’s been there for me ever since I joined the Rebellion. He’s… intelligent. He’s very good at what he does. He’s easy to talk to.”

“You sound like you’re recommending him for a job.”

You narrow your eyes at her. “You are not making this easy. I can end this conversation whenever I want.”

She has the decency to look a bit sheepish. “Sorry.”

“We trust each other. He’s got a very gentle heart underneath it all. And… he’s – he’s very-”

“What?”

Your whole body feels warm. “I like his face.”

She snickers. “He is pretty. In sort of a depressed, haunted loth-cat way.”

“I can’t stand you.”

You shove your foot into her shin, but it doesn’t hurt her. All it does is throw you off balance, and you topple backwards and end up flat on the ground.

Her giggling turns into fully fledged booming laughter.

“You are such a child,” you reprimand through your own giggles.

Greda doubles over and slaps your leg repeatedly, laughing so hard she’s silently shaking. 

Fucking Devaronians.

.

Cassian comes to see you in the upper hangar two nights later and thank the stars, you’re alone.

He’s pretty sure you’re working on Shara’s astromech, an R5 unit.

There are droids that do that sort of work so you don’t really have to, but he remembers you saying you were happy to help and you needed the practice, and Shara was happy to lend a her droid to you.

The speaker next to you is playing soft music, and you’re sitting cross legged on the floor in the lamplight.

Cassian can hear you talking the astromech gently through what you’re doing – it’s powered down, so talking to it is completely redundant, but he’s endeared by your kindness.

He doesn’t want to ruin your peace, but he needs to ask you something.

He’s about to greet you when you turn to get something and see him approaching.

You give him a tired smile and his heart races.

“Hey, Cass,” you say. You reach out your hand up him and he instinctively takes it. You give his hand a squeeze and sigh contently.

“Hi,” he says, trying to keep his voice soft.

“What brings you here? It’s so late,” 

He takes a fortifying breath and says what he came here to say.

“Would you do me a massive favour?” He asks.

You nod immediately. “Yeah, ‘course.”

“I just – I need a mech, for an operation next week, and they said to pick anyone I wanted, and I want you,” his face flushes, “I mean - I wanted to ask you. I know you don’t like active combat. You’re not gonna be in danger.”

Wariness takes over your face. A mission?

“Tell me more.”

.

The plan is to land near a city on Numidian Prime. Cassian will go into the city undercover, into one of its many gambling hubs, and try to gamble information from someone who knows someone who’s supposed to know the whereabouts of a Rebel informant who’s recently gone missing.

This informant is vital to the function of the Rebellion, it seems.

The mission is somewhat complicated for Cassian, but your role in it isn’t too stressful. The Rebel Alliance has an old U-Wing model that, with a little paint job, can pass as the sort of vintage ship a rich gambler might own instead of an Alliance ship – the latter of which could cause a lot of problems. The only shortcoming is that because of its age, it can really only survive one trip into hyperspace before repairs have to be made.

Which is where you come in.

As soon as Cassian leaves the ship, you need to get to work on repairing it, replacing any parts necessary (which might require a trip into town yourself) and making sure it’s ready to fly back to Yavin 4.

Despite the importance of the operation, it isn’t particularly intense. No one bats an eye at another souped-up looking ship on a planet filled with smugglers and gamblers in hiding, and Numidian Prime doesn’t have a government or law-enforcement agency that might enforce a parking fine or impoundment – or even check the details of ships that land there.

Cassian looks like he’s worried you’ll say no.

The thought did cross your mind, but you’d much rather be with Cassian on a mission in a non-combat capacity than stay on Yavin 4 and hope he’s alright.

Your only qualm with the whole situation is really his choice of mech.

“Why me?”

That seems to be the last thing he was expecting you to say. “What do you mean?”

You shrug. “Lakan has years more experience than me, Eyroa’s practically psychic when it comes to ship diagnostics. Riekk is much more efficient than the rest of us.”

There Cassian goes again, with his earnest face. He strokes your hand with his thumb.

“Because I trust you.”

You chew on your lip.

“Okay.”

.

There are a couple meetings over the next three days. You, Greda and Eyroa spend your spare moments detailing the old U-Wing, painting and buffing so it attracts normal, ship-enthusiast attention on Numidian Prime.

It’s interesting being part of mission briefs again, after a year and a bit off. You listen raptly and are incredibly thankful you don’t have to do what Cassian does.

His alias is a man called Dimik Kayo – a man who frequents the casinos of Canto Bight but is looking for more high-stakes and tucked away places to make money. Thus, Numidian Prime.

They gave him some clothes to wear during the mission, and he won’t show you, but he doesn’t seem pleased. You’re sort of morbidly excited to see how bad the outfit is.

The day comes, you get in the U-Wing with as many tools and parts as your mech team can spare and get on your way.

.

The flight is relatively short, only a day and a half. Cassian spends a fair amount of it sleeping; he’s just off the back of a last-minute mission and hasn’t slept for a couple days. You amuse yourself by watching him or going through the Mechanic’s Manual for the U-Wing.

As expected, the landing on Numidian Prime is easy. You’re a couple kliks out from the main city in a clearing, surrounded by trees. No one comms in and asks for identification – one of the perks of dodgy planets.

Cassian’s getting changed. You wait in the copilot’s seat, your back to him. You’re completely silent - you feel anxious about the mission and just nervous in general.

Then you hear the click of dress shoes walking towards you. 

“This is as good as it’s gonna get.” 

You turn around, and as soon as you set eyes on Cassian, you’re filled with an all-encompassing want.

You’ve always thought of Cassian as attractive. He’s a beautiful man and a good person, and those big brown eyes of his definitely don’t hurt. 

But the difference between this moment and every other time you’ve interacted with Cassian is that - it’s just -  

It turns out that Cassian Andor is hot. 

He’s tried to comb his hair back, but it’s still pretty messy. His facial hair is grown out at the moment, but he’s just trimmed it, so his cheekbones and jaw look extra sharp. 

And the clothes he’s wearing. A muted, dark blue suit jacket with a high rounded collar, with the top two out of six buttons undone. You can see the entirety of his clavicle and some of his chest. The sleeves are tight, and they make him look particularly built. 

The same with the legs of his trousers. They’re snug around his thighs, and you have to tear your eyes away. You can hear your pulse in your ears. 

‘As good as it’s going to get’ is … very good. 

Stars, he’s so hot your tongue feels numb. 

He’s talking, but there might as well be static in your ears. 

His hands. 

There are rings on his fingers. 

Half of your mind is taken up by a montage of all the places you want his hands to touch you, the other half sounding the alarm that it is not ideal to desire your best friend carnally, it will lead to a wealth of problems. 

He takes a step closer, and you can smell him, the cologne he just put on, and if you weren’t already sitting your knees would give out from under you - 

“Are you listening?” 

You snap your mouth closed. “Hm?” 

“I’ll call you ‘Wompy’ just to annoy you into paying attention.”

You’re sort of thinking he can call you anything he wants when he looks like that, but instead you say, “I’ll kick you in the shins if you do,” uncharacteristically combatively. 

He frowns, a little concerned.

You curse internally; you’ve been thrown off your rhythm. 

“Sorry,” you wave a hand in the air vaguely, “lost in thought. What were you saying?” 

.

You’re acting weird. 

You’re fidgeting in a way Cassian hasn’t seen from you since that first time you spoke in the forest of Yavin 4 after Nar Shaddaa. The last few things you’ve said have gone just a touch past your usual level of banter into defensiveness. 

While he was talking through the order of operations, it seemed like you were zoning out. 

Cassian’s attaching his comm to his inside jacket pocket, tucking a blaster in his boot, watching you in his peripheral vision. You look deep in thought, one of your legs bouncing up and down. 

Nervous? 

He turns slightly towards you, debating on whether to talk to you or not.

You glance up like you feel his eyes on you. He watches your eyes scan his body from head to toe, and he feels his face heat up. 

He feels ridiculous in this getup, it’s a lot less coverage than he’s accustomed to wearing when he’s working, and it’s like half of his torso is on display. 

Cassian was already feeling unsettled, and now you’re acting strange, and he needs to sort this out, otherwise he’ll just be worried about you for the whole mission.

He runs a hand through his hair (freshly gelled, which feels slimy and disgusting) as he makes his way over to you. Then there’s residue on his hand and he can’t wipe it off on his trousers, so he just stares at his hand, standing in front of you. 

Force, what is going on today? 

“You want a cloth for that?” You ask, cutting through his mile-a-minute thoughts.

He nods. “Please.” 

.

So you stand up to get a cloth without factoring in his proximity to you, and suddenly you are almost chest to chest. You put your arms out in front of you to brace yourself and they land on each side of the deep V of his suit jacket. 

He’s warm. You stare at his neck for a second to gather your wits, which doesn’t work very well because his neck is just as nice as his…everything else.

Then you look up, and he’s already gazing intently at your face. 

He’s very close. And his eyes are so beautiful. 

You have the compulsion to chew on your lip out of pure stress, but what if that’s weird and Cassian notices, so you just purse your lips in to stop yourself from doing anything stupid with them. 

Cassian immediately looks at your lips and you feel your entire body go stiff. 

He frowns, and the hand that isn’t covered in hair gel comes up and squeezes your upper arm. 

“Is everything alright?” He asks softly. You can feel his breath on your face. 

You let out the most stupid, timid “yep” of your life and you want the ground below you to cave in.

He searches your face. “Come on. Tell me.” 

You let out a sharp sigh. You have no idea how to get out of this. 

His hand moves from your shoulder to the side of your neck, and it practically sends sparks through your entire body. “Are you nervous?”

Silence.

.

Cassian starts to stroke your cheek with his thumb without thinking. He just wants that eopie-in-the-headlights expression on your face to fall away. “This is an easy mission. Plus, I’ll have you in my ear the whole time. You don’t need to be nervous-”

“Maker, Cassian, don’t do that!” You push him away, and that comforting warmth of your hands on his chest disappears. 

He’s scrambling, trying to figure out if he overstepped - he doesn’t think he did, he’s touched your face before. 

You rub your hands over your face vigorously. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap.” 

Something in his chest aches to see you out of sorts like this. You laugh a little bitterly, which confuses him even more. Then you look at him and take a deep breath. 

“I am nervous. Not about the mission. It’s fine. I’m sorry I’m being so weird. Don’t worry.” 

“What are you nervous about?”  

You look flustered, and you indicate to him with a vague wave of your arm.

“Me?” 

You cringe. “Yes.” 

His mind is racing. “Did I do something wrong?” 

.

You can see Cassian is panicking that he’s made you uncomfortable, and you shouldn’t have said anything, but he needs to know he hasn’t done anything wrong, so you say:

“You -” you gesture uselessly, “you look… You look really good and I’m…just sort of…”

Realisation dawns on Cassian’s face, but he’s still and silent. 

You can’t stop yourself now that you’ve started. “Like, stars, Cassian, do you think they made your sleeves tight enough? And those stupid rings? And they really picked the right colour for the suit, didn’t they?” 

Cassian’s got a tiny, incredulous smile on his face as he looks at you. His eyes are bright. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” you say in an embarrassingly weak voice. 

That smile turns into one of those stupid little smirks he does. 

There is a long pause, where you’re just looking at each other. 

.

“You really like this outfit?” He asks. 

You groan and cover your face with your hands, muttering a muffled “I hate you.” 

Outside, he looks calm enough. Inside, his heart is racing, his body feels too hot, and he thinks he’s going to lose his balance. 

You, the most gorgeous, radiant person he has ever seen, are flustered by him in formal wear. You think he’s attractive, so much so that you’re stumbling over your words. 

He can’t help but laugh for the pure elation the idea brings him. 

You cringe and peek at him through your fingers. “Don’t laugh!” 

He schools his face. “I’m not-” You glare at him. “I am, I’m just. I’m not laughing at you.” 

You roll your eyes, set your jaw. There is a tiny hint of a smile on your face. “I’m getting you a cloth for your stupid hand.” 

He watches you walk away, eyes the lines of your body, the movement of your hips. It’s not the first time he’s done it, not by a long shot.

You return with the cloth and hold it out to him, arm completely outstretched for maximum distance between the two of you.

He takes your hand anyway and pulls you toward him, which makes you gasp. Cassian desperately wishes he didn’t have a mission to do right now. 

You shove the rag into the centre of his chest and yank your hand out of his grip.

“Go be good looking somewhere else.” 

Cassian feels like he’s about to jump out of his skin. 

Neither of you move. 

Cassian wipes the gel off his hand and tosses the rag on the floor.

You lean closer in. 

Stars above. 

He knows physical intimacy. He’s plenty experienced, but his hands are shaking anyway, because it’s you. 

Instinctively, Cassian reaches out, wraps an arm around your waist, pulls you against him. 

“Cass,” you warn, but you’re sliding your palms up the front of his suit jacket anyway. Cassian shudders and reaches his hand up to the side of your face. You press your cheek against his hand, and the movement exposes the wide expanse of the other side of your neck. 

He can’t hold back, not anymore, so he leans in and kisses you in that soft space just above your collarbone, once, before he can even think about it. You gasp softly, and one of your hands moves up to the back of his neck. 

He knows this is a good sign, so he kisses you again, a little higher. You make a gentle, breathy sound in the back of your throat that makes his heart trip. Another kiss, lingering, a little higher. You tilt your head further back for ease of access, and his hands squeeze involuntarily on your waist. He feels like it’s his first time kissing someone.

This time, when his lips meet your neck, he sucks on your skin for a second or two. 

.

Your mind is ridiculously hazy, overwhelmed entirely by the situation, but when he sucks on your neck you have a moment of clarity.

The mission. 

“Cassian Andor, don’t you dare start something you don’t have the time to finish.”

It comes out much more breathily than you would have planned - in your head you were more authoritative, but his beard feels so lovely against your skin and you can’t quite breathe. 

Cassian just shushes you, the bastard, and kisses along your jaw, getting closer to your lips. He pulls away, about to kiss you again, but you grab his chin and make him look you in the eyes. 

He looks flushed, his eyelids are half closed, and he’s breathing heavily. 

Whatever you were about to say goes into hyperspace and exits your mind. You open and close your mouth a few times, trying to come up with something to say. 

There’s a lazy smile on his face, like it’s fun for him to watch you struggle. You grip his chin a little harder and he laughs, breathy and low. 

“Cass-”

“I know,” he murmurs, drawing back. He doesn’t move his gaze from your lips, though. 

You pull his bottom lip down gently with your thumb. He makes a little pleading sound, which is probably the most beautiful thing you’ve ever heard.  

You let his lip go. “Kiss me again after the mission, gorgeous.” 

His jaw drops and you laugh deliriously in shock at yourself.

“Sorry. It slipped out,” you push him away and he takes a couple of wobbly steps backward. 

“Off you go.”

“You can’t just call me that and then tell me to leave,” he appeals. 

You’re still laughing. You cover your mouth with your hand. “The sooner you go, the sooner you can come back.” 

He stares you down affectionately with those ridiculously intense eyes of his, and it’s hard not to cave in and fall back into his arms. 

He shakes his head at you minutely and he’s trying not to smile. 

You’re still grappling with the events of the last five minutes, but you’re so elated it’s hard to focus. 

“Stop loitering,” you tease. 

He scoffs good-naturedly and walks backwards in the direction of the shuttle ramp. His gaze meanders up and down your body, which makes you feel like you’re on fire. 

Flirting. That’s new. 

“I’ll be talking in your ear for the entire mission. You won’t even have time to miss me.”

He meets your eyes. “I wouldn’t be so sure, angel.” 

You freeze, bewildered by his chosen term of endearment. Cassian’s rendered you speechless and he knows it, so he grins. A mischievous, joyful smile that makes your knees weak. 

He turns and walks down the ramp. Then he’s out of sight. 

Angel. 

The speaker crackles to life in the cockpit, and it’s just Cassian laughing over the comm. You're somewhat embarrassed, but you feel like you’re about to take flight or something. His laugh. 

“And you had the audacity to complain about me calling you gorgeous. What the fuck, Cass.” 

He’s still laughing as you pull out your toolboxes.

.

You both focus entirely on the mission, after that. You're both good at compartmentalising.

Cassian plays the role of a sleazy, womanizing gambler, and you hurriedly repair the ship.

Several hours later, the comm crackles on again.

.

“Success?” You ask. 

“Yeah. Coming back now.”

“Alright. I’m just replacing a floor panel, otherwise, I’m done.’

He makes a satisfied “hm.”

You grumble into the comm as you replace the floor panels of the shuttle, “That was fast on your end, though. You should dress up as a money hungry man-whore more often.” 

“Hey,” he reprimands.  

“What was this character’s name again?” You ask as you search your toolbox for a wrench. 

“Dimik. Kayo.” 

“Yikes,” you grunt as you put your bodyweight into tightening a bolt. 

“What’s wrong with ‘Dimik’?” Cassian asks. 

“Oh, you know…” 

It dawns on you while you’re talking with Cassian that this is all brand new. The comfortable, easy friendship you’ve developed has changed irreversibly, regardless of how things go when he gets back to the ship.

You trust Cassian. That’s the easy part. 

But romantic relationships are not particularly familiar to you, and you’re in the middle of a war, and the what ifs start piling up. You’re not sure you really want the newness when everything around you is already changing all the time. 

.

Cassian notices you trail off mid-sentence. He figures you need to concentrate fully on your work for a second. 

But after a minute or so of silence, he checks in. 

“Hey, are you okay?” 

A pause. 

“I’m gonna ask you something, and you have to answer me honestly,” you start softly. 

His heart thuds like a death knell in his chest. You sound solemn.  

“I would never lie to you.”

“Are we going to be alright? After…” everything that just happened. 

Cassian’s steps almost falter. “We are,” he says. 

Do you regret it? Do you want it to be a one-time thing? You said he could kiss you again when he gets back, but was that a joke? Heat of the moment?

He realises that the idea of not getting to kiss or hold you again is a source of stress, which throws him into a panic.

He’s not ready for this. You’re his best friend. Knowing you is easy, and integral to his life. Kissing you was easy – he enjoys it, he’s good at it. And he… likes you.

But those two components together are –

They’re daunting. He’s never wanted to give all of himself to a person before. He never felt he had much to give.

Your voice is timid as you say, “I can’t lose you. You’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

“You won’t. I - you won’t lose me.”

You hum, deep in thought. 

Cassian is still making his way to the shuttle. He waits for you to speak. 

“Okay,” you start, voice uneven. 

His heart just about melts. “Yeah?” 

“I - care about you a lot, okay, and I’m not sure I’m good at relationships. Romance.” You sigh. 

He wants to run back to the shuttle and wrap you tightly in his arms, but he thinks if he saw the look in your eyes right now, he wouldn’t know what to do, so he keeps walking at the same pace.

“This was so much more coherent in my head. I just want - I don’t want this to be weird. I don’t - I don’t want anything to change. Between us.” 

Cassian tries to stay calm, but his heart is sinking. So you do regret it? 

He asks in a very neutral voice, “As in, you don’t want to be more than friends?”

“Shit, no - sorry - stars, I’m doing a terrible job of this,” you mutter, “let me start again.” 

Cassian takes a deep breath. “Okay.” 

You curse quietly. 

“Okay. I love you, Cass. And I want you. Every part of you in any way I can get. But I’m not so familiar with dating or partnership and I really don’t want to fuck it up. Would we just be the same we’ve been but with … new physical aspects? Or is there something else I’ll need to be? I’m bad at flirting, I think I just turn mean. I don’t know how to be…sexy, or attractive, I don’t know. I think I’m scared that that’s what I need to bring to a relationship, and I won’t be able to, and you’ll leave eventually, and I will have lost my best friend. So.”

It’s like he’s floating in antigrav. Or like he’s high off some top-quality spice. “You love me.” 

You sigh gently but exasperatedly, “Yes, of course I do. Did you hear everything else I said, though?” 

Whoops. “Yes. I-” The shuttle comes into view. Shit. “- I did. I heard you.”

“You don’t have to respond right now. If you need time to think.” You’re making a valiant effort to accommodate him, but your voice is wobbly.

The thing is, at the heart of all his worry, Cassian knows this:

No one’s ever been as kind to him as you. No one’s ever been so considerate. No one’s as steadfast, as non-judgemental. He has never trusted a person like he trusts you. 

He knows he doesn’t deserve you. It’s selfish, but that won’t stop him from holding onto you until his dying breath. He decides in that moment that he wants to do whatever it takes to keep you by his side.

He reaches the hangar the ship is docked in. 

“I don’t need time to think.” 

He hears you take a shallow breath. “Okay.” 

.

You’re waiting for Cassian to speak when you hear footsteps up the ramp. You whirl around, about to grab something from your toolbox as a weapon, when you realise it’s Cassian, which in this very moment is scarier than if it was a random attacker.

You stand stock still. He takes his comm out and puts it in his pocket.

Your pulse is racing, and you can hear your blood in your ears. 

The two of you stand there a metre and a bit apart for what feels like a little eternity. 

Then Cassian takes a few purposeful steps towards you and takes you in his arms. 

He’s so warm, and he smells so good, so you tuck your face into his neck. His hand moves up to cradle the back of your head. 

“Hey,” he whispers. 

“Hi,” you say, muffled.

You can’t lose this. The feel of his arms around you, the warmth of his chest against yours.

But you need an answer now, so you whisper, “You said you didn’t need time to think.” 

Cassian’s fingers sift through your hair. “I don’t.” 

There is a pause. 

Then Cassian says gently in your ear;

“You don’t need to be anything you aren’t already. I love you because of who you were when I met you, who you are now. Who you’re always gonna be. Nothing else.”

He loves you. You’d fall to your knees if he wasn’t holding you up. You don’t know what to say, but you can’t leave him hanging. 

“Cassian-” 

“If it helps, I always thought you were attractive. Sexy.” 

You think you might die with his soft, raspy voice in your ear saying that. 

“And hey, if the physical stuff takes some time, I don’t mind. I want you, too, but I’m ready when you are. Any way you want me.” 

You tilt your head and whisper in his ear, “Andor, I’m gonna do something indecent if you keep talking to me like that.” 

He smiles, and you feel it against your cheek. “Like I said. I’m ready when you are.” 

He runs a hand through the hair at the nape of your neck, and you release him from your hold to put your hands on either side of his face. 

His expression is so soft. You can see the dimple on his left cheek, and his eyes are catching all sorts of light. 

This beautiful man. 

“You love me?” You ask, trying and failing to hide a smile. 

He lets out a nervous laugh. “Yeah, I do,” 

You make this funny sound, like halfway between a single laugh and a hiccup, because your body can’t quite process the joy you’re feeling.

Cassian snorts. “What was that?”

You shake your head giddily, grinning. “I don’t know!”

“Stop making weird sounds,” he murmurs. His eyes don’t leave your lips.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you mumble as you close the distance between you.

His lips are ridiculously soft, and they’re moving languidly against yours like you’ve got all the time in the world. His facial hair is a little scratchy, but in a pleasant way that makes your face feel hot.  

It goes like this for a minute or so - until his tongue runs across your lips. You gasp, and your hands fall from his face. You sling your arms around his neck while he licks into your mouth, filthy and slow.

You try to give back as good as you get, but stars, this man can kiss.

Suddenly, his lips aren’t on yours anymore, and he’s walking you back into the wall of the ship.  You hit the wall with a soft thud and then Cassian starts kissing your neck again.

You feel like a teenager again.

“Cassian,” you manage to choke out.

He grunts in response.

He lingers on one spot on your neck for so long you’re pretty sure there’s going to be a mark, which will be fun to explain when you get back to base.

Cassian’s hands start to roam all over you, and you’re getting a little restless. You pull his face back up to yours and kiss him again as fervently as you can manage.

You’re there for Force knows how long, exploring each other in this new way, until the pace slows and you’re both breathing heavily. You start to pull away, but Cassian bites your bottom lip and tugs on it a little.

You make a soft, surprised sound and he chuckles, low and gentle. You feel another wave of heat rush through your body.

He gives you one more searing kiss, steps back with a smug little smile on his face and starts to get the ship ready for take-off.

You flatten your palms against the wall. Your head falls back in a haze.

You look over at Cassian.

It seems like it’s his personal mission to make you swoon today, because he’s sitting in the pilot’s chair with his headphones on, his hair all messy, still in that suit. His posture is relaxed, his eyes are focussed on the switchboard before him.

You love to see this man in his element.

You stand there leaning against the wall of the ship in a daze while he goes about his work.

He’s about to take off, so he turns to you to tell you to take a seat, but he sees your expression and he stops. There’s a quizzical look on his face.

“What?” He asks.

His shoulders look so broad in that suit.

You have too many thoughts in your head to be able to pick one to say, so you stay silent and just keep following the lines of his body with your eyes.

He fiddles with his hands. He looks embarrassed or even a little shy, which sends a thrill running through you.

“Are you gonna sit down?”

You’ve succeeded in flustering the notoriously stern and unflappable Cassian Andor, and it feels fantastic. You do take a seat, but you don’t stop blatantly watching him. You can’t look away.

He shifts under your gaze, but he manages to take off and get the ship into the atmosphere without any issues.

You let yourself get lost in thought.

.

It’s been silent for a while, and Cassian is calculating the hyperspace route on a datapad. He’s finally feeling like he has control over the situation when you ask, “Are you planning on keeping the beard? It felt so nice on my neck.” 

Cassian drops his stylus, but he manages not to choke on air, so he thinks he handles that pretty well.  

He leans down to grab it, but you get there first. You offer him the stylus and your hand lingers on his for a second.

His hand shakes as he types in the coordinates. This is a lot to deal with. 

“Uh, maybe? It’s sort of annoying to take care of.”

“Hm.”

Is it warm on the ship? He checks climate control.

Maybe it’s just him. He undoes a button of his jacket and rolls up a sleeve.

He looks over to you while he’s working on his second sleeve and you’re still staring at him, a little dazed. Your eyes meet and you quickly look away. 

Cassian feels powerful, that he can make you look like that. He’s also terrified – did he make the wrong choice? Are you better without him?

The screen flashes to notify him that the engines are ready, so he pushes the lever forward and the ship launches into hyperspace.

He watches as the inside of the ship is washed in faint blue from the streaks of light out of the window. Watches the colours playing on your skin.

It occurs to him that the two of you are alone on this ship now for an entire cycle. 

A silence stretches out between you, punctuated by accidental eye contact when both of you try to sneak a glance at the other and get caught. 

At some point, Cassian stands up, walks over to his pack and grabs his water canteen. 

Out of absolutely nowhere, you say very nonchalantly, “I wish there was a shower on this ship.” 

Cassian’s mind goes to about fifteen very naked places it’s not supposed to be, and it almost gives him whiplash. “What?” 

“Your hair’s all crunchy from the gel. If there was a shower you could wash it off.” 

The hair gel isn’t bothering him, so he’s a little confused. “I’ll be able to wash it off tomorrow,” 

You nod. “I’ve just always wanted to run my fingers through your hair because it looks so soft, and I figure you’d let me do that now. But the gel is in the way of that right now.” 

Suddenly, the hair gel is bothering him. A lot. 

“I thought you said you were bad at flirting,” he manages to rasp out. 

“You think that’s flirting?” 

Cassian thinks he might not survive this flight. “What do you think it is?” 

“That’s just my stream of consciousness.” 

‘Stream of consciousness.’ Stars help him. 

Cassian’s still a little drunk on you saying you love him and feeling your hands and mouth on him, so his self-preservation skills are lacking. 

Plus he’s never been one to think much before he acts. 

This is what leads him to ask; “What else is in your stream of consciousness?” as he takes a sip from his canteen. 

A contemplative hum.

“I was thinking you look hot with your sleeves rolled up.” 

He chokes on his water. 

You watch him, alarmed, as he coughs up his lungs. It’s embarrassing, but he can’t stop coughing, to the point where you rush over. 

“Shit, are you okay?” You reach out to touch him.

Cassian waves your hand away as he tries to get his breath back. 

Once he manages to take a few blessedly uneventful breaths, and you take the opportunity to stroke the side of his face. Your eyes are so wide, so concerned. You’re the most beautiful person he’s ever seen. 

His chest aches. He doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve you. 

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to-” 

And now you’re apologising. For complimenting him. For calling him hot. 

“- Stars, Cass, I thought you were dying for a second there, is there anything I can-”

He rushes you backwards against the wall of the ship again and does his very best to kiss you breathless. 

Before he can even think, he’s pushing his knee gently between your legs. You let out a very soft moan. 

He can’t stop. He’s kissing every bit of your skin he can find, and your hands are roaming everywhere on his body. 

Maybe if he makes you feel good; if he pleases you, keeps you happy that way, you won’t notice how wrong he is for you. 

“I love you,” he murmurs as he moves to kiss your lips again, “I love you,” as he pulls away to take a breath, “I love you,” before he bites your earlobe. 

You gasp and grip his shoulder. 

Something dark and possessive runs through him. 

He can’t lose you. He can’t.

But he knows he shouldn’t do this to you, either.

.

Cassian’s moving with reckless abandon, his lips and teeth and tongue are everywhere he can reach. 

The tenderness and joy of the first few kisses you shared are washed away by this intensity, this focus. 

And it’s not that you don’t like it, the urgency, but when you catch Cassian’s expression, it’s as stern and intense as he is during a mission. 

Something’s wrong. 

You brace your hands on his chest. “Cass, are you okay?”

He ignores you and presses his lips to yours. 

You try a couple more times with gentle coaxing, to figure out what’s going on with him, but he doesn’t respond, so you grab his face, press his forehead against yours, and say, “Stop, baby.” 

His eyes fly open and he wrenches himself away from you without a word. 

He paces the length of the ship over and over again, and you watch the furrow in his brow get deeper.

Slowly, you slide down against the hull of the ship and sit on the floor. 

You’ve known Cassian long enough to be able to identify some of his habits and patterns of thought. You trust him enough to know he didn’t lie when he said he loved you, but there’s something stopping him from giving himself to you. 

He’s the sort of person that will give love, but not accept it back. 

He stops and looks at you. “We can’t do this.” 

Twenty minutes ago, you would have allowed this, given up and nursed a bruised heart for months. 

But this is now, and you’re not letting the man you love forfeit something that could make him happy because he thinks he doesn’t deserve it. 

He’s obviously not expecting the calm expression on your face, or how you say, “Sit down.” 

He sits immediately, leaning against the other side of the hull. 

“I’m gonna say some things, and then I’ll give you time to think, and you can come back and respond, okay?” 

Cassian nods, dumbfounded. 

“If you don’t want this, you tell me that. Otherwise, don’t make my choices for me. You haven’t tricked me into loving you. I’ve loved you since you walked over to our table in the mess hall, dead on your feet with your grumpy face, looking like you were about to kill someone. There isn’t an expiry date or a condition on that. I’m not going to wake up one day and decide that I don’t love you because of what you’ve done, or who you are. You’re a good person. You deserve to be happy. To be loved. I’ll love you regardless of whether you’ll accept it or not,” you smile a little, “if you look at it that way, you could find that you may as well make the most of it.”

His eyes are shiny - more than normal - and you realise there are tears there, waiting to spill over. You want nothing more than to go over and hold him, but you don’t need physical contact to keep distracting you from conversations that need to be had. 

“Make sense?” You ask. 

He nods. 

“Good. I’ll be here for you. I’ll still be here for you when we land back on Yavin, no matter how long it takes. Just take your time, sweetheart.”

.

If anyone else called him ‘sweetheart’, Cassian would start a fight, but when you do, you say it like you mean it. Like you think he’s good, or precious. 

You put the meaning of the two words in it. ‘Sweet’ and ‘heart’. It would be enough to make him cry on a normal day, let alone this one. He clears his throat to keep himself under control. 

After a while, you move to the bench in the middle of the ship and lie down on it. You didn’t get much sleep during the flight here, so Cassian isn’t surprised when your eyes fall shut almost immediately.

So he sits on the floor of the hull in silence, and he thinks.

.

A few weeks pass and Cassian hasn’t visited you in the hangars once.

You assume he needs space away from you to think. You said you’d give it to him and you are, but you’re not endlessly patient, and doubt is creeping in.

You trust Cassian, you do, but what if he said he loved you because he felt obliged to, or because of the heat of the moment? What if he’s never going to visit you again? What if those kisses were the only ones you were ever going to share with him?

Greda, for once, is being tactical. She seemed to notice something was off, but she hasn’t mentioned it except for asking you how you are once or twice.

You’re entering the lower hangar with a late-night cup of herbal tea when you hear the alarm for an emergency landing going off on the runway.

You and Riekk are on the night shift tonight, which means you do some mech work or personal projects, but mostly you’re on call for any emergencies ship-wise throughout the night.

You run up the stairs to ground level, your tea left on the bottom step.

When you get to the runway, there’s a BTL Y-wing half in flames, haphazardly landed.

Through the smoke, you see two figures making their way out of their seats on the ship.

K-2 and Cassian.

K-2 might be a little banged up, it’s hard to see from here, but Cassian is hunched over, holding his side. His other arm is limp.

You comm the med centre and ask for the medics on call to bring a med-rig.

The med team arrives while you and Riekk are putting out the last of the fire, and Cassian is taken away on the rig before you can see him.

In the adrenaline rush and anxiety, you manage to convince yourself that Cassian won't want you there with him in the med centre. You need to keep giving him space. He's not dying, just injured. You'll only be an annoyance in the med centre anyway.

So after you've gotten a couple of the bigger maintenance droids to tug the Y-wing out of the middle of the runway into the upper hangar, you trudge back downstairs to work on some carbon scoring that's built up on one of the Corvettes.

You pick up the tea you left on the bottom step and take a sip, but it's been steeping too long, so it's bitter and cold.

[eluvisen]

Heartfire - Chapter 6

Fandom: Star Wars KOTOR

Characters: Juhani & Carth Onasi

Rating: M

Summary: There is no emotion—a lie that runs hot in Juhani's blood every day. There is emotion, and as long as her blood sings with it, there will be no peace. And yet when she leaves Dantooine, it is not as a fallen Jedi, but as part of a mission to save the galaxy. 

If only she knew how to deal with a crew of strangers.

—

Juhani was the first to wake in the darkened starboard dormitory, listening to the soft sounds of the other still-slumbering occupants. For several minutes, she was content to close her eyes and count the distant ticks in the power couplings. From the sound of the engines, the Ebon Hawk had since exited hyperspace. Dressing quietly, she left the dormitory, only to hear the stillness broken by a growl from the garage. Zaalbar, she discovered, dismantling a spare blaster rifle with more force than necessary. The servodriver snapped in his grip, and he barked in frustration.

All instincts on alert, Juhani peered into the garage. Zaalbar threw down the broken tool in disgust, hard enough that the servodriver bounced once, twice, three times, and fell off the edge of the workbench. He growled and dug through the drawers with jerky movements before giving up and wrenching the power cell out of the blaster with his paws.

She wavered on the threshold. “Are… are you well, Zaalbar?”

“I am not.” He hesitated, then added, “I fear we will find no welcome on Kashyyyk.”

Admittedly, that was surprising—but then, she thought, why would he have lived on Taris, of all worlds, if he could have simply stayed on his homeworld? Juhani wondered how best to approach this, considering several possible responses. She knew little of Kashyyyk beyond its great forests and did not want to be insensitive. At last, she settled on, “I understand having… complicated feelings for one’s homeworld. Should you wish to share what troubles you, I would be willing to listen.”

At once, Zaalbar shook his head. “I cannot speak of it. Forgive me.”

[Read on AO3]

[chengmao01]

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[scythedelic]

"Action Repeat" by Asystematik

[hebe-autochd]

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[creative-frequency]

Inquisitor!Cal Kestis x Reader: Free Time

Word count: 1564 Pairing: Inquisitor!Cal Kestis x Reader Notes: I had a mighty need for inquisitor Cal, asked what kind of scenarios would you guys like to read and here we go.

My Writing Masterlist

He is always training.

Alone.

You don’t know much about this new Inquisitor who some call unofficially the Eleventh Brother. There would be plenty enough numbers available among the first ten. Some even whisper that he is the next Grand Inquisitor. He doesn’t look that special to you, but you don’t want to go close enough to get a better look.

With the way he handles the red lightsaber, it’s clear that he is no stranger to the weapon. After a few sparring matches, the Purge Troopers quickly learned to avoid him in training spaces. Everyone gives him a wide berth.

Former Jedi Cal Kestis is always training because when he isn’t, he can hear his own thoughts, screaming inside his head. There is no one to talk to, no one to drown the thoughts with. The other Inquisitors barely treat him as equal, most often settling for avoidance. The feeling is mutual.

Cal feels the yearning for companionship, but there is none he can trust now. None who would comfort or encourage him. Getting physically exhausted and falling into dreamless sleep makes his new life somewhat more bearable. There is no light in his existence now. Just aimless darkness where he wanders, trying to hold his head above the surface. He is just surviving.

Attending to your duties at the Fortress Inquisitorius, you have no time to stare at the new Inquisitor, as handsome as he may be. He is swinging the double-bladed lightsaber in a speed that makes you dizzy. You don’t like the way the Second Sister looks at him, like a trophy from a hunt. It makes you feel sick but there is nothing you can do, especially show your disgust.

Nur wouldn’t have been your first choice, but one can’t exactly say no to a direct order. So you just focus on the job and hope that a new order will come soon.

It’s been two years.

Working in maintenance isn’t the most exciting career under the rule of the Galactic Empire. At least you don’t have to torture or murder anyone, only look the other way when someone else does. Things like that tend to numb people. You’re not proud of it. You’re just surviving.

Most of your coworkers are droids. Sometimes you hear people joking that you’re leading an army of your own. You tend to avoid the Troopers and especially the Inquisitors. Keeping a low profile is not just the best tactic to stay alive on the planet, it’s a necessity.

With a job that mainly requires only hands, you have too much time to think and wait for the comlink to spark into life.

“Requiring maintenance on residential level. Over.”

An everyday occurrence. You sigh. “What seems to be the problem? Over.”

“Another blasted lock. Apartment 2-5-7-K. Over.”

Gripping the comlink, you bite your lip. Shit. Anything over 250 means it’s an Inquisitor’s door. You’d best hurry.

“I’m on my way. Over.”

A blasted lock. You wonder what the reason is this time. What Trooper was stupid enough to draw a weapon in the hallways? They probably paid for the insolence with their life. Maybe there was a skirmish with one of the prisoners or someone tried to escape. Wouldn’t be the first time. You try to think of something else.

The hallway is fortunately empty so you speed walk to the right door. 257K. After a short inspection it seems that the lock is not actually broken, the door just needs some basic maintenance. The room hasn’t been in use for a long time but apparently someone has moved in recently. You make a mental note to bump it higher up on the priority list and to make sure a droid is taking care of it.

“It just needs adjustment, right?”

A scream almost flees you and you drop the servodriver.

The red-head Inquisitor stands next to you, slightly crouched to see better what you’re doing. You didn’t hear anyone approaching.

“Would’ve fixed it myself if I had the tools,” he continues, ignoring your almost heart attack.

“I’m sorry! This’ll be ready in a minute,” you say hastily and try not to look at the freckles on his face.

The Inquisitor’s brows crease closer together when you don’t look him in the eye.

“Okay,” he simply replies and leans against the wall, arms folding on his chest and looking like he isn’t going anywhere soon. If anything, he seems to enjoy watching you panic. A light smirk on his face and all.

You feel the eyes on your back as you work as fast as you can, checking and testing the connectors. Some of them need to be changed soon and that requires another order of spare parts. You just love paperwork and spending the Empire’s credits.

“Can you take a look at the AC inside? It’s been acting up.”

The servodriver almost falls from your grip again. You turn around to bow your head to the Inquisitor. Your eyes are obstinately drawn to the lightsaber resting against his thigh. “Of course, sir.”

The constant feeling of “I hope he doesn’t kill me” in your gut makes your hands shake but somehow you manage to make sure the lock works again. The Inquisitor still leans on the wall, looking like he has all the time in the world to just hang out. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him outside the dojo.

“There. Is it okay if I go in to check the AC now?” You don’t want to look him in the eye and with your every cell hope that he will leave now and let you work in peace.

Not a chance.

He shows you inside and stays hovering nearby as you try to calm yourself enough to work. He can’t seem to take his eyes off you. Something about you, watching you is… itching him.

“The thermostat seems to be broken, sir.” You dare a peek at the Inquisitor. He doesn’t seem as intimidating as the others and is actually younger than you initially thought. “I’ll need to go fetch some parts but I’ll set a static room temperature for now.”

“Okay.” He runs his hand through his ginger hair and sighs. “Can’t you just make a droid bring the parts?”

You blanch. “Uh, yes. Of course, I just thought it’d be faster if… I go… myself…” Your voice trails off under the cryptically meaningful look in his eyes.

Cal examines you, circling around in a slow, lazy arc. He has noticed you before even though you actively make every effort to not stand out. He felt something spark inside him in the hallway and he needs a moment to realize it’s curiosity that brings life to his dull existence. The feeling has some exhilarating new shades and he wonders is it because you look like a cornered animal, shaking in fear.

It excites him.

“Sir?” you squeak and can’t form the follow up question because Cal takes a step towards you.

“Who are you?” he asks slowly, gaze trained onto your face, eyes boring holes into your mind. His pulse is quickened like in the thick of a combat and he cannot understand why.

“Um, I’m not sure I– I’m just a technician. I’ve got clearance, y-you see… I can show you my ID…” you stutter and fumble a hand into your chest pocket to fish out the ID card. “See?”

Cal doesn’t even spare a glance at it.

“Yeah. I’m not interested in that,” he says coolly. He stands close enough to either strangle or hug you – though you know he wouldn’t need to get close and personal to kill you. You’re starting to panic.

“Sorry…” you peep, “Can I…”

Go?

You can’t finish the sentence because the Inquisitor leans forward and plants a gloved hand against the wall over your shoulder – a predator enjoying one last sniff of his prey before the killing blow.

All of your jittering ends and you completely freeze. The whimper that escapes your lips doesn’t sound like you at all. He has so many freckles and the feeling they enact in you acts as the perfect opposite to what their owner is doing. As good-looking as he may be, getting within a kissing distance to the Inquisitor wasn’t on your bucket list.

However, while you’re waiting perfectly still – in spite of your racing heart – for his next move, Cal hesitates. The excitement that spurred him into taking the initiative is gaining an altogether different tone. He is suddenly nervous and has to ball his hand into a fist to stop it from shaking.

You stare at each other, mere inches away and lightly gasp for breaths. The menacing Inquisitor aura is gone and you curse him for toying with you like that since there’s no way you can forget this ever happened. For a fleeting moment, you think should you just kiss him and be done with it – and gamble your life on his goodwill.

Cal finally loses his nerve and leaves without so much as a word or a glance at your direction.

You wait for a few stunned breaths to hear if he is coming back after the fateful sizzle of the door. Your head is positively spinning by the time you make it out alive from the quarters of Inquisitor Cal Kestis.

You hope nothing breaks in his room again.

//

Part 2

[cm-industry-supply-automation]

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[sullustangin]

Flufftober #3: Thick as Thieves

Rating: T

Word count: ~675

~~

The four gathered at their usual booth at Odessen’s cantina.  Unusually, however, they were pooling intel on the hot topic of the goddamn year – possibly decade, PROBABLY EVER on Odessen.

Quan, ever placid, was the first to speak.  “So let’s lay out what we know already in an orderly, organized fashion –”

“The operations manager has been banging the boss all along!” burst out Nika, her Sith-orange eyes flaring up in excitement.  “Former SIS, professional, stuffy, and a bit of a killjoy –”

Harlow slammed their webbed hands on the tabletop.  “And NOW they’re MARRIED.”

Quan just covered his face with his hands.  “This is not meeting the criteria I set out.”

Ovi rolled her eyes, as only a Mon Cal could.  “Fine. I’ll take it from the top.  They came back married after he’d pulled off the biggest double agent op I’ve ever heard of –”

Harlow asked rhetorically, “How many of those ops do people hear of?”  

“And with people alive at the end?”  Nika added as she reached for her sonic servodriver.  

Ovi went on, ignoring those two.  “And then she’d disappeared because she was –”

“Pissed.  Rightfully.”  Nika’s lips puckered at the strong citrus in her drink.

“He did it for her. For all of us.  That fleet was ever going to end well,” Quan objected.

Ovi finished her summary, “And then they came back –” and then, imitating Harlow, hands slamming on the table and all – “MARRIED.”

Odessen had only been populated within the last few years, but assuredly, this was the hugest thing that ever happened at this base.  Invasions were expected.  Epic battles were assumed to be on the potential duty rota.  

But this….

Quan shook his head. “I talked to Schorr, and he talked to the Pub he’s …entangled with –”

Harlow sipped their beer. “You are still so damn Tython.”

“—and she knew nothing either.”

“You know, they always were thick as thieves.  I just – ” Harlow gestured with their beer. “You know.   Always professional.”

Nika waggled her finger at them.  “Oh, she always teased him.  It just seemed like she might as well be flirting with a durasteel panel”  

Harlow grabbed at that finger.  “But she always skated along that line with a lot of people.  Even her putdowns are flirty.”

Ovi swished her whiskey, neat, around her glass.  “There had to be signs – we just didn’t put them all together.  It’s only when you look back, you realize stuff and it all makes sense.”  

The table fell silent. What clues had there been that had been missed?  

And then a jumble of voices all at once ---

“They always had at least one meal together on days they’re on Odessen – I thought they were working lunches.”  

“He always monitored her landing pad.”

“She brought him caf when he was working weird hours – like, even for him, weird hours.”

“…when she needed help out of the field, he didn’t carry her like Ovi does a sack of potatoes –

“Hey, I love my potatoes –”

“Sorry, no offense intended.”  

“She gave him stuff to read – like old-school books and stuff.”

“He actually stopped reading to talk to her – you know he secretly keeps a datapad in his jacket pocket?”

“Well, it’s apparently not a secret anymore, since most of the base knows.”

That wasn’t Ovi, Quan, Nika, or Harlow.

The four of them silently turned their heads in mute horror.

It was the master spy, Theron Shan, himself.  He’d gotten the drop on them and probably heard everything they’d said.

For lack of any better response, the four junior members of Odessen’s forces scattered – Nika actually jumped off the back of her bench and disappeared into the decorative shrubbery to escape.

“Is this what you did to keep the enlisted scared of you on Yavin?”  Eva strolled up behind him, watching the last of the cohort leg it right out of the cantina.

“Something like that.”

The busdroid made quick work of the table, and Theron made an overly grandiose bow as Eva walked past him and took a seat in their booth. 

~~

@flufftober

[marketresearchnews00]

Global Servo Presses Market Set for Rapid Growth During 2021 - 2028

In 2021, the Global Servo Presses Market’s size was valued at USD 186.8 million and is estimated to reach USD 256.8 million by 2028 and is expected to be growing at a CAGR of 4.96 % throughout the forecast period. In this report, 2021 has been taken as the base year while 2020 is the historical year. The forecast year for the report is 2028 to approximate the size of the market for Servo Presses.

Get Exclusive Sample Report: @ https://iconmarketresearch.com/inquiry/sample/IMR1407

 The major players in this market are:

·         AIDA ENGINEERING

·         Fagor Arrasate

·         SIMPAC

·         Chin Fong Machine Industrial

·         Promess, Nidec-Shimpo

·         Shieh Yih Machinery Industry

·         Schule

·         Komatsu

·         ISGEC Heavy Engineering

·         Japan Automatic Machine

·         Hoden Seimitsu Kenkyusho

·         Hitachi Zosen Fukui

·         Amino

·         Tox Pressotechnik.

 Regional Analysis

The Servo Presses market report provides a study for more than 20 countries and their market players The report covers a regional and country-level analysis that covers North America, South America, Europe, Asia Pacific (APAC), Africa, and the Middle East. The market is deeply analyzed for each region, which helps in identifying the market trends for each region, growth opportunities, and restraining factors.

 The Report Provides Insights on The Following Pointers:

 ·         It gives a forecast analysis of factors that are driving or restraining the development of the Servo Presses market.

·         The report gives a seven-year forecast value evaluated on the basis of the current market performance of the manufacturing and construction industry

·         It helps in understanding the main segments of the products and their future.

·         The report gives a deep analysis of changing competition in the market which keeps you ahead of your competitors.

·         The report gives the market definition of the Servo Presses market along with the analysis of different factors influencing the market such as drivers, opportunities, and restraints.

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[carterashofficial]

"I wouldn't mind falling asleep put here"

It got long

“SHORTY!” Carmadda bellowed over the blasterfire. “I SAID NO!”

The mini-astromech beeped back, telling her exactly where she could go stick her favorite servodriver. And then the little droid continued down the hallway as if he had no care in the world.

“WELL FUCK YOU T- Oh shit.”

Blasterbolts hammered into the panel above her head and sent a particularly large piece of the ceiling clatterinng down half a foot from her.

Carmadda stared at the ceiling chunk for a good half-second.

The other panels groaned overhead.

It was time to go. She checked her scattergun, decided it was primed enough, and chucked a flash grenade in the direction of the pirates.

And then promptly took off down the other hallway after MT-4T. “Shorty!”

He was already at the door, extendable arm plugged in. His dome slowly turned as he tracked her running up to him.

“What did I tell you about running off on your own?”

MT-4T stayed silent. Instead he opened the door.

Fog greeted them.

Carmadda grunted as she picked him up. “Oooh boy, you’d- Fuck.” She broke into an awkward jog as more blasterfire sailed past them. “Why are you so heavy- Yes, I know you’re made of durasteel,” she snapped at his beeping.

Her speeder was only another ten- five- just there-

She plunked MT-4T into his retro-fitted carrier on the back of the bike.

The pirates were still on them. Blasterfire pinged off the speeder’s plating, and- Oh. They had assault rifles. Lovely. All this effort just for the little datacard she’d liberated.

Carmadda threw another grenade in their direction and kicked the speeder on. “You ready, MT?” She pulled up her flight goggles, grinning.

He screeched happily.

She spun the speeder in a circle and shot towards a shadow looming out of the gloom, leveling her scattergun and pulling the trigger. The figure fell and she hung a tight left, narrowly missing the warehouse. If she’d wanted to, she could’ve reached out and touched it.

Carmadda flicked on her fog lights, risking it. If the pirates saw the lights, they’d know it was her. But she could outrun them. It was harder to outrun a streetpost right in the middle of her path. It was much easier to run into.

She weaved through the warehouse district. Water was collecting on her goggles; the fog making her jacket and sleeves damp.

MT-4T let out a warning beep.

The speeder protested as she forced it up a wall, then almost immediately to level out on top of the warehouses.

Carmadda killed the lights and turned the engine down to idle.

In the alleys below came the whines of swoop bikes. Smaller, more agile. 

MT-4T’s beep could best be summed up as ‘bring it on suckers’.

“No, we’re not racing them,” she said over her shoulder to him. “We got what we need.” Carmadda turned the speeder around and coasted along, skimming the warehouse roofs.

What they needed, specifically, was a nice little datacard with access codes to Captain Andronikos Revel’s private banking account with the Galactic Bank.

It was payback for him trying to blow her ship up on a run.

She piloted the speeder out of the city, past the docks and rivers where the fog was thick enough that she dared flick her fog lights back on.

Part of Carmadda wished she’d pulled the little theivery stunt in the daylight, but the fog was the perfect way to slip out of grasp of the pirates.

The coordinates beeped on her datapad, and she slowed.

And then a massive shadow, boxy and irregular, loomed out of the fog.

The Freighter.

“Shorty,” Carmadda warned the droid.

He threw the holoprojector remote at Goldy and went racing down the hallway to crash into Deuces.

She didn’t bother to get up and see if either droid was okay. They were. If they weren’t, then they’d be making a ruckus. Well, to be fair, more of a ruckus. Deuces always pitched a fit when MT-4T ran into him.

“Mistress Shade, I tell you-”

“That he needs to be kept on a leash like an aak dog, I know.” Carmadda tried to hide a yawn.

C2-N2 didn’t miss it. “I changed the sheets in the captain’s chambers, Mistress Shade. And removed all traces of Master Jarn.”

“Don’t call him ‘Master’ anything unless you’re gonna call him a massive dickhead.” She rubbed her eyes. “I wouldn’t mind sleeping out here- SHORTY, PUT THAT DOWN-”

Where the droid had gotten the welding torch, she had no idea, but MT-4T was going after Goldy with it.

Carmadda sighed. “Deuces, lock yourself in the cockpit. You’ve got permission to clean it. Goldy and I will be in my room. Shorty can amuse himself alone out here until he gets tired of the torch.”