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palpipeen · 2 years

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Caf Delivery Service Part 3 - CC-1010 Fox/Reader

Your job should be easy, in theory. Take caf orders once a week for the Coruscant Guard, make the orders, and deliver them. Simple as can be. So long as you don’t count the Commander, that is.

Rating: NC-17 Warnings: Sexual Content, Dry Humping, Vaginal Fingering, Frotting, Handjob, Come Eating, Sloppy Makeouts, Dirty Talk, Reader overthinking everything AGAIN, Fox has a lot of emotions and not enough sleep to navigate them, Helmet Kink (?), They have to talk like adults and woh that's scary, The seggsy times happens in a utility closet haha oops Reader is AFAB and uses She/Her Pronouns Word Count: 6507 (oops) AN: Based on the increase in word count, I'm going to operate under the assumption that we all know stuff is going down in this chapter! I didn't want to split it up bc it didn't read right when I did. The next few chapters might be this long, they might be the same length as previous ones. Anyway. Expect more spice but also A LOT OF ANGST in the next chapter~ Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8

NSFW/18+ Under the Cut! MINORS DNI

If there was a word in Basic that could describe a thousand times worse than nervous, you were fairly certain you’d be the definition of it. Cited as the source of it. They could write research papers about you and advance the study of mental health in a day, with the leaps and bounds of logic your brain was making.

Needless to say, you’re kind of terrified. You’re pretty sure you’ve worn down your nails to the quick. (You haven’t, it just feels like it.) The only reason why you’re okay with this in the first place is Thorn and Hound assured you they’d be right outside. Not that their assurances insinuated the Commander would do anything untoward - just to prevent anyone from thinking something like that would happen.

But let’s be honest here, part of you wished something like that would happen.

It’s difficult to unpack everything, but you can’t help it. You’ve been obsessing over every minute detail the entire twenty-four hours before you’re supposed to be at Fox’s office. And it’s been difficult because everything with Fox is so up-and-down. It’s been an exhausting day even if you didn’t do much at work or at home. But does that stop you from worrying about how intense your feelings for him are?

Sure as shit doesn’t.

You have a crush on him. Okay, the idea of him, since you knew next to nothing about him besides his name a little over a month ago. He’s competent, a hard worker, and the awkward inability to stumble through small-talk was something you could relate to. But he was also abrasive at times, even a little hostile. None of which you deserved, which you hope you’ll be able to tell him when you arrive at his office.

Just because all of Coruscant walked all over him didn’t give him the right to walk all over you .

The drive there is a little jarring. Everything is so different in darkness. Well, relative darkness. You’re still thankful you put aside some credits to buy black-out curtains. The neon lights are a bit more garish and while there’s not as much rush-hour traffic, people are still impatient to get to where they’re going. Seeing crashes in Coruscant is fairly commonplace, but you see and nearly get clipped in about a dozen by the time you get to the Department building. Which does nothing for your already shot nerves.

You’re glad you showered before you came here, but you wonder if it did you any good with how much you’re sweating.

Standing at the stairs to the entryway makes you feel incredibly small. More than the senate buildings and businesses you’ve been to. It makes you feel insignificant, which is ironic in the worst way. The Guard has filled the role of protecting the Coruscant public - there are so many of them, and yet the Republic treats them like next to nothing. You’ve heard a few of them recounting the horrific interactions with senators or civilians. And you wonder if this is how all of them feel when filing into this building to report for duty.

It boils your blood. Sure, you get to have a little more one-on-one conversations with Hound and Thorn - but there are so many others you’ve come to know. There’s one with an auburesh tattoo on his left jaw who has to eat his croissants a certain way, and has to finish it before he’s even made it to his table or else he’ll catch hell from his brothers. And there’s the one with the sweet tooth who has striking gray eyes. ‘Something went wrong in my tube,’ he told you once, when he caught you staring. But you always make sure there’s an extra cherry pastry for him, and he’s one of the few who always takes time from his orders to make sure he holds the door open for you on your way out.

There’s more than a dozen who wait to hear your recommendations for the day. And half of them always go with whatever they’re familiar with, a little sheepish as they do it. But you know they enjoy hearing your suggestions. You’ve been told so many times by them that they appreciate what you do that you’ve lost count. And each time it’s so earnest . They mean it. And it’s unspoken, but when they tell you this, it feels like there’s some underlying words.

You see us , they say. You see us as living, breathing, bleeding individuals . The fact that they all share the same face and genetic material has become an afterthought to you by now. And their individuality means a lot to you. More than you’d realized until you’re on the lift to the right floor. Sometimes you swear they treat you like family, which is a rarity in your life you’ve come to cherish. You really hope that you can keep helping them feel seen.

But that’s all on Commander Fox now.

By the time you’ve reached the floor his office is in, you’ve chewed a spot on your bottom lip raw. So you’ve got that going for you. It’s a good thing you didn’t have any caf this morning, because your stomach is in such a state of upset you’d book it for the fresher the second the doors open. But Thorn and Hound are there waiting for you, so - so -

You swallow, hard, and it feels like you just took a bite out of some sandpaper and thought it was a good idea to digest it. So everything sucks, that’s where you’re at.

“Thanks,” you eventually say as you step out of the elevator. When they don’t reply, you gesture vaguely in the direction of his office. “For this. Look, I’m sorry for being demanding, but —“

“You have no reason to apologize,” Hound says when you just. Stop talking. He shrugs when you look at him incredulously. “Commander’s a dick sometimes, but he has to deal with folks outside the senate sometimes. He’s gotta learn there’s consequences for being — “

“ — the way he is,” Thorn finishes when Hound seems to be at a loss for words.

“Right. Being like that. If you’re out, we’re out of decent caf for however long it takes for another shop to sling some out way.”

“Hopefully it won’t come to that.” Even as much as you've thought Fox's up-and-down behavior made this not worth it, you know deep down you want this to work. For them. You take in a deep breath, and with a curt nod to them both you stride up to the door. It hisses open at your approach, and you step inside.

His helmet is off. That’s what you notice first, because of course you do. You’d been trying to ignore the butterflies in your gut the entire way here, and you’d done a decent job. But they come back with a vengeance the moment you see the unruly curls, the unshaven beginning of a beard along his jaw, and the deep circles under his eyes. Eyes that haven’t looked up from the datapad on his desk.

There’s a lot of silence. You stand there in it - drowning in it. Mired in it. The quiet is maddening. You can hear the pops in your jaw as you grind your teeth, the jingling of the zipper on your jacket is deafening. But worst of all, you can hear your thoughts.

This is so fucking stupid. He’s going to tell you to fuck yourself. He’s going to say you’re crazy for thinking he was flirting with you. Look at you, you just deliver caf - why would a man like him stoop that low? He’s going to he mad, he’s going to yell at you, he’s —

“Almost didn’t recognize you without the cart.” You nearly jump out of your skin, and there’s that quiet snort again. Definitely a laugh. His eyes flick up from the datapad to give you a quick look. And joy of joys, you can tell exactly nothing about what he’s thinking from that look. Just that he’s acknowledging your presence.

Sort of. Because after that, he goes quiet again. But he did break the seal, so…

“It wouldn’t fit in my speeder,” you say with a shrug. He snorts again, but it turns into a surprised laugh. Your eyebrows lift up at the sound. “Wow, did you actually sleep, or is laughing something that you’re capable of when you’re well rested?”

“Define ‘well rested.’”

“A solid eight standard hours that go uninterrupted?” He scoffs at you, and you fold your arms with an exasperated groan. “Let me guess, you don’t have time?”

“No. I don’t. And I really don’t have time for this,” he gestures between the two of you, “either. So make it quick.”

“Thanks ever so much for taking time out of your busy schedule,” you say, rolling your eyes. You’ve just about had it, so you close the distance between you and his desk. Bracing your weight on your palms, you lean down so your eyes are level with his. “Look. The elevator thing. That wasn’t cool.”

“What, the boys not telling you about the others?”

“No, don’t play stupid, Commander. The whole — “ you glance away from him as you feel a blush creeping up your neck “ — when we were talking about what you wanted, and I accidentally…I mean when you said, but I’m sure you were just joking — “

“Oh, you mean when I came onto you.” You reel back from the desk, and he stands up. Slowly. He’s…huge. He’s broad - more than his brothers. How didn’t you notice?! You did, but it's just the context of this conversation that makes it really sink in. Fox’s eyes remain locked onto yours as he continues. “I wasn’t joking.”

“O-okay, cool!” Fuck’s sake, since when did your voice get that high? “Good to know, alright I, didn’t think - I didn’t want to make any stupid assumptions, I mean you’re - you’re a very busy man and you, you’ve got the entire Guard to run and I can’t even imagine how much that takes out of you, and how many people probably throw themselves at you so I — I think I’m just gonna go.”

A lot happens at once. You think you managed to get halfway to the door before he caught up to you, and he grabbed your wrist, but then you’re slumped against him? Did you two trip? You’re not sure, but he’s close enough that you can feel the rise and fall of his chest, and fuck he’s out of breath and suddenly you can see he’s freaked out and wow that’s hot. Less the last part, but it’s that kind of vulnerability that makes you feel like maybe he’s not fucking with you?

“Stay.” His voice is a growl again, and you shiver. He sees it, because of course he does, there’s nothing that happens in Coruscant that he misses. But you can’t think as his hand reaches out to your face. The fabric of his gloves makes you jump as he strokes your cheek with the back of two fingers. “I’ve got time. If you’re willing.”

“Oh I am.” Wow, you sure did shout that, huh? Screwing your eyes shut, you let out a frustrated sound and plant your hands on his cuirass and push . “Wait, hold on. This isn’t - okay, rewind. Please.” He moves, quickly, backing away from you with his hands held up. Running your hands down your face, you glance around the office, and without thinking you grab him by the wrist and drag him to the two chairs in front of his desk. “Sit.” He does, but he looks like he’d rather not until you sit across from him. Holding up your hands, you notice he stops leaning towards you. “Look. You’re all over the place. And you’re clearly very, very sleep deprived. You’ve kind of been a dick to me, a lot, and whatever happens - if anything at all - it depends on you at least trying not to be that way.”

“I can. I will . But I’m not - I wasn’t made for this.” He gestures between the two of you, and your heart breaks a little. Not for you - the validation that he was hitting on you is enough. For now. At least that’s what you tell yourself. “I was created to be a soldier, and now I’m nothing but the Chancellor’s glorified errand runner. I’ve got to watch out for the entire fucking planet, my men, a Republic that thinks of us as little more than goddamn meat shields .” He spits the last part out, standing up so abruptly his chair falls back with a loud clatter. You would have jumped if you didn’t know that none of this was aimed at you. “And all they can manage to give us for fighting this war for them, for keeping them safe from the hundreds of terrorist attacks and assassination attempts that happen every fucking hour is…is caf ?!” The Commander wheels around, pacing like a caged animal. “They’re my men. My brothers. They’re all I have, and I’m supposed to keep them safe. Trying to figure out where you fit in this mix - if at all - it's impossible.”

“I know.” Two words. They’re simple, but they’re true. You see something in his eyes when he turns to face you, something like…well, it’s like hope and fear and dread and elation all wrapped into one. It’s difficult to name, but even his carefully put-together mask can’t hide it when you say the first thing you can think of. “I see you, Commander.” The sigh you let out is tired as you stand up, picking up the chair and leaning against the back for support. “I see all of you - and I wish I could do more than just caf. But I’m just one person and I know that. But so are you.”

“I can’t afford to be just one man.” He sounds furious with himself, and you glance over your shoulder at him. Disgust drips from his words as he continues. “Don’t give me that look - you and I both know it’s true. I have to be in a dozen different places at any and all given times, any order given I have to be there, for the Republic.”

Slowly, you tilt your head at him. All of this has been really weird. He’s still up-and-down, and just when it seems like you’re making headway, he backpedals. Folding your arms, you wander over to his desk, leaning your hip against it with your back to the Coruscant skyscape. Your head falls back as you let out a noisy sigh, lips pursed in thought, before you roll your head to one side and stare at him. Commander Fox stares back at you. Hands flexing at his sides, balling into fists, clenching and unfurling. You see his throat bob with a hard swallow. And you can recognize anxiety in another person when you see it, but he doesn’t look away from you. It’s funny. It’s almost like now that you’ve seen one emotion, you can see the rest.

When you pat the space on the ledge of his desk next to you, he crosses the space in two strides. Just two. And you have to take a moment to reel in the fact that he’s just -

He’s fucking huge.

“How long do we have?”

“...for?” It’s just one word, but it’s heavy with implications. You make a face at him, swatting gently at the side of his arm with the back of your hand. He looks away and has the decency to look a little ashamed, running a hand down the length of his face. When he speaks it’s slightly muffled behind his hand. “Alright, if not for that, I guess…half an hour?”

“Wow. You thought you and I could…that we were gonna…but Thorn and Hound, can’t they --” You turn to squint at him incredulously. “Half an hour?”

“I’ve had less time.”

“I -- wow, okay.” That’s a lot to unpack. You push off the desk, fingers steepled in front of your chin. “Interesting. Anyway! I have a proposition for you.”

“Now who’s being hot and cold?”

“Okay, smartass, but this isn’t about that.” Not yet anyway.

“Then what?”

“So,” you turn to him, and you can’t help but beam at him. This idea - it’s just too good. “Y’know how I said there’s not enough room for my cart on my speeder?”

“...yeah.” He tilts his head slightly, staring you down and giving you the side-eye at the same time. “What’re you getting at?”

“Five minutes - that’s all the time it’ll take to get there. And I know a shortcut if we need to get back sooner. So that’ll give us - what - twenty-ish minutes? Twenty minutes. Outside the office.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Oh come on, Commander --”

“No.”

“What, think I don’t know how to keep track of time?” Hands on your hips, you step into his space again. "I work in the service industry, honey, keeping track of time is as necessary as breathing in this industry."

“I doubt your ability to get us there and back in that amount of time, because you don’t have the clearances to drive that fast, or the training to fly like that in open-air traffic.” You lift an eyebrow at him, your lips curling slowly at the corners. His brow furrows in confusion, then exasperation as he rolls his eyes at you. “Maker, don’t tell me --”

“I might’ve borrowed my speeder from work and have the delivery settings on, yes. And before you ask, I know how to roll it back so none of this will get tracked back to us. And you don’t know me and my ability to drive a speeder, mister.”

“Ugh.” The frustration in the sound is at complete odds with how he looks at you, and you try not to let yourself think too much about it. But it’s hard not to as he chuckles, warm and fondly, shaking his head. “Why do I get the feeling you’ve done this before?”

“I’m terrible at lying so I’m not gonna say I haven’t.”

“Most of you civs are terrible liars.” He sighs, picking up his helmet from his desk and putting it back on with practiced, confident motions. Huh . Who knew seeing him cover back up would make your stomach twist in knots? “Alright. Lead the way.”

Under the cover of his helmet, Fox watches your face break out into another one of those grins. He’s never seen this side of you, and that’s the only reason he’s taking such a huge risk. No. Really. It’s all he can think about as he follows you down to ground level, and the short ride that seems to last eons. If you smiled at him like that more, Fox was certain he could move mountains for you. And as tired as he was, he was grateful the helmet kept his face hidden.

If he’d gone without, you’d see just how much seeing you this happy was affecting him. And he'd never be able to go back from that point.

----

Time isn’t on your side, and later, you’ll regret that. Much, much later. Because not a lot of talking will be going on. But for whatever reason, you feel like you’re both on even footing.

…even footing standing on top of the neighboring skyscraper’s roof.

“How the hell did you get up here the first time?!” Fox sounds a little impressed. But mostly pissed. You don’t take your helmet off, knowing the air is thinner and your filters are the only things keeping you from passing out. A lesson you’d learned and nearly died for the first time.

That is not a part of this story you’ll be telling the Commander, of course. Not yet at least.

“Before the war,” you shout to be heard above the howling winds, “someone was trying to steal the credit chits for deliveries. I lost them up here.” You keep the speeder on - the familiar rumble just barely heard, but keeping the engine on is necessary. The winds would knock it clean off. Stepping off carefully, you stretch out. Having him pressed in tight against your back was something, but damn if you hadn’t wound yourself up tight. Turning, you jerk your head towards one of the utility exits. It's one you've been to more than a few times - the door doesn't close right so there's no actual protection from the wind or air quality, but it'll give you both some privacy. “C’mon - bit more sheltered over here.”

The Commander follows you, slowly. It’s a bit funny watching him shuffle the first few steps, arms outstretched like that’ll keep him from falling. Does he not know there are automatic gravity fields on these roofs? You decide that’s something you’d rather tell him later. It can wait. But this can’t. You hold the door open for him and lurch back when it slams shut from the force of the wind, both of you watching it for a moment as it slaps against the frame. How the hell this door hasn't been upgraded to something automatic is beyond you, but it speaks to the level of actual consideration architects gave utility workers.

Eventually the two of you look at each other, waiting. Then you lean against the nearest wall and sink down.

You see his head moving as he sinks down next to you, but you can’t hear him. It's a little more muffled, but you can both only make out half-sentences and words. A glance at your HUD tells you it might be the signal, but you don't feel like it would be smart to take your helmet off. After a few precious seconds of trying to hear each other, his head moves in a way that tells you he’s probably groaning again. He taps at one vanbrace, then pulls something out of his belt’s many pockets. The Commander holds out a microchip to you, no bigger than your pinky fingernail, and you manage to hold onto it as his hands reach out to feel around the underside of your helmet. A few more seconds pass as his fingers search and prod, until he finds something just under your jaw. You feel something click, and you’re quick to slide the chip into the slot.

“-- hear me?” His voice echoes around your ears, inside the helmet. You flinch, and you hear him chuckle. You can hear him breathing, too. “Our buckets are mass produced - malfunctions are bound to happen. The commlink channels don’t go often, but we usually carry extra links just in case.” It’s jarring down to your shoulders when he thunks his knuckles against your helmet, twice. “Lucky for us, yours is pretty versatile.”

“Neat,” you say, glancing nervously at the timer readout in your HUD. “Cheap store bought helmet has many uses. Anyway. So - I didn’t bring you up here just to uh, chat. I think.”

“You think?”

“I mean - urgh. Fox.” You turn so you’re facing him, kneeling next to him. One hand reaches out, gripping the hard edges of his knee-guard. “We don’t have to talk, if you want.” Your throat nearly closes up at that last word. Fuck, you’re so nervous. And you can feel the tension in his leg under your hand, but knowing he’s wound up doesn’t exactly put you at ease. “There’s not a lot of time, I know. But we have some time - and no, there aren’t any cameras up here. So no one will see us. It’s just us. So.” You slide your hand just slightly, so you can drag your fingertips against the fabric of his blacks in the gaps between his armor. “Do whatever you want. I’m more than willing.”

For a moment - much too long, in your opinion - he’s silent. You can’t hear him breathing. Not until he speaks again, a soft pop of feedback and then his voice is flooding the inside of your helmet again.

“Get up here.” He takes your hand off of his knee, placing it on his shoulder instead. Broad hands bracket your hips, guiding you so you’re straddling him. You almost sit down but he squeezes, keeping you hovering for a moment while he reaches down, under you and between his legs. When he pushes you down, it’s fabric on fabric, not armor on fabric. And it’s not a lot, but it is. Because it’s fucking freezing even with your flight jacket and trousers on, but you can feel the heat of him.

You both groan, clinging to each other, as recognition floods you both. That this is real, and it’s happening, and it’s not just some one-sided desire for the other person. The two of you barely know each other. But it feels safer up here, under the cover of darkness and the fact that no one else ever comes here. Safer to address those unexplored feelings and just…

Let go.

When your head falls forward, it clips the side of his helmet. Fox guides you with a hand on the back of your neck, but even so it’s awkward at first. His armor still digs into you, his grip is vicelike and you can feel your skin bruising already, but eventually it all clicks into place. You’re soaked through, and that does nothing to help the fact that grinding on him fully clothed hasn’t been doing anything. Right up until he angles his hips just right, and his shaft grinds against your cunt.

“Fucking Maker.” He practically spits the words out, and you hear the words turn to a groan as you bare down on him, circling your hips just-so. “Fu-uhhhck, right there. Right fuckin’ there mesh’la . Gods I can feel how wet you are.”

You whimper for him, and his fingers slide from your hips to grab a handful of your ass and squeeze. Hard. You let out a surprised sound as his other hand grabs the other side, and you know there will be some really interesting bruises there tomorrow. Arms sliding up from where you’d been clinging to his shoulders, you wrap them tight around the back of his neck, letting him guide you.

It’s not enough and too much at the same time. You both rut against each other, gasping and moaning into your helmets, in a channel only the two of you can hear. It somehow makes things that much more intense, at least for you. Hearing every sound, every gasped breath, every hissed out oath and half-word. Knowing you had this affect on him, and knowing he wanted you to feel just as good. It made you dizzy, and with every deliberate drag of his cock against you you could feel pressure building.

Slowly.

It seemed like that was the same conclusion Fox had just come to, because in the next half-second he was moving. Turning you both so you were flat on your back, his body still slotted between your thighs, desperately trying to open up the front of his blacks. You got the idea and immediately hooked your fingers into the waistline of your trousers, pushing them down, reaching for his. The two of you fumbled and struggled until both of you had the most important parts bare, though you were the one less covered with your pants pulled down past your knees.

“Shit it’s fucking - freezing up here.”

His voice is tight, and cracks near the end when he brushes the head of his cock against your pussy. It’s still awkward, and you’re about to suggest he let you turn around when his fingers slide through the arousal that’s dripping from you. You’re about to protest when he moves his hand away, but quickly replaces it by covering your cunt with his other hand. And you’re not sure when he took his gloves off, but the sensation of his skin on yours is a welcome one. Calloused fingertips tease at your entrance and you push your hips up, your movements and his blending seamlessly so two of his fingers slide into you at the perfect angle.

“Fuck, Fox,” you whine, your hands immediately reaching out to clutch at him. He struggles to pry your dominant hand off of him, bringing it to close around his shaft. It’s slick somehow, and realization dawns on you. Your laugh is breathless as you start working your hand up and down his cock. “What, no lube?”

“Didn’t - nnh - didn’t want to presume anything, mesh’la.”

After he grits out every word he begins to fuck you with his fingers, moving with the kind of precise motions that tells you he’s done this before. Enough times to open you up for him and get you worked up quickly enough that you’re already close. But how could you not be? When you factor in his voice and how easily he pushes all of your buttons, and the fact that it’s been a long time. Plus the fact that all you can hear is him all while not being able to see his face is doing things for you. You can see him of course. But with the speakers of your helmet only picking up his voice, it’s practically drowned out everything else.

Also, he’s huge , too. Turns out that just seems to be a running theme for Fox. You can’t wrap your fingers all the way around him. You think about having all of that inside you and whine in the back of your throat as you stroke him, from base to tip. He’s already leaking, and you wish you didn’t have your helmet on. When you rub the pad of your thumb around the head, his breathing stutters as he lets a punched out moan. So you do it again. And again. Eventually you grab him with your free hand and pump his shaft, using the hitches in his breath and the way his hips twitch to guide your motions.

It isn’t perfect. And it isn’t what either of you wanted - okay, so it is. But all you can think about is him fucking you. And even if he’s working you quickly towards your climax and you’re doing your best to do the same for him, it’s not quite there .

“I wish we had m-more time,” you gasp out. He tilts his helmet at you slightly, an invitation to elaborate as he focuses on wringing every ounce of pleasure out of you. You laugh breathlessly again, and the sound twists with the almost cruel twist of his fingers as he works a third finger into you. As you struggle to put your thoughts to words, he seems content to distract you: sliding in and out, quirking his fingers at your inner walls as he pulls every noise out of you.

“For?” His voice is gruff, the quiet grunts and hitches of breath the only hint that the way you’re working him up is having an affect on him. “C’mon, mesh’la . Tell me.”

“Want you to fuck me.” His cock twitches in your hand, and you laugh again. This time low and in the back of your throat, and that seems to do things for Fox. His hips surge forward, rocking into your hands, and you keep a steady grip on him as you let him use you. “I uh - mi-might’ve thought about you - fuck , fucking me on that elevator. All day. Mmh, a lot.”

“Fuck.” He shoves his fingers in until his knuckles are digging into you, and you can feel the tremor in his arm. All the while his hips move, thrusting into you, and you can hear him panting in his helmet. “Fuck, you - nnh, don’t know how badly I wanted to. Wanted to get down on my knees and - “ His hand starts moving again, but instead of the in and out motions, it’s up and down. The warm coil of pleasure in your gut jumps, burning you from the inside out as the pressure starts to become unbearable. And he’s been talking the whole time, but you only manage to catch some of it when your head catches up to your body. “ - taste you, make you scream for me, see h-how much of me you could handle - “

“All of it,” You don’t know how you manage to get the words out as your hips uselessly try to rock into the way he’s absolutely destroying you. In the best way. “Give me all of it Commander.”

So - turns out, the whole growling quality of his voice thing. You'd already decided you found that very attractive. And then that’s all you can hear, Fox growling, and you can feel it when his whole body bears down on you even through his cuirass. His hand is relentless between your legs, and you’re so close, the sounds he’s making and the stretch of his fingers filling you up, but you’re not quite there.

“Come for me.” At some point his helmet got tucked into the crook of your neck - as best as he can, anyway, with your helmet and all of your clothes still mostly on and his hips messily thrusting into your hands still. But gods does it all feel so good, especially knowing this man is out of his mind for you. “C’mon - come for me, haven’t got much ti-ime left baby, come for me - come for me - “

The way he’s pleading for you is what does it. That and when he twists his hand just so, and he reaches his thumb up to rub it against your clit. Spots of black flood your vision as your body tenses up, and you clench around him as the pleasure pushes all other senses out. All you can feel is him, all you can hear are the rough, short grunts he lets out as he wrings every last ounce of your climax out of you, his body caging you in. The reality of it makes this all the more jarring, knowing that this is Fox, the Commander of the Coruscant Guard, the man you've been bringing caf to for months. Now reduced to a shuddering, incoherent mess as he works you through one of the best orgasms of your entire life.

It lasts for a while. Which is honestly alright with you.

Though it makes the mess in your hands a little bit confusing.

“When did you --?”

“When you called me ‘Commander.’” You both grunt when he sits up, one elbow braced on the floor above your head. Slowly, he pulls his hand from you, and you whine at the loss of him. Even if he’s still there. It’s still so good though, even if it’s freezing, even if your helmets are still on. Made even better when he looks at his hand, splaying his fingers open so a thin sheen of your arousal spreads between them. He swears in a language you don’t know - it’s similar to when he called you ‘mesh’la.’ “Fucks sake, how the hell am I gonna - “

“Here.” You rip your helmet off. It’s not a smart idea - your ears pop and you can immediately feel the thinner air quality, plus all the smog making your head spin. But the way he goes completely still as you grab him by the wrist and wrap your mouth around his fingers, one by one, makes it all worth it. And there’s also the mess on your hands from him, which you have to clean up. So you get to taste him anyway. A lot of him. Halfway through licking the bittersweet mess he left you with, you hum. “Damn, been a while, Fox?”

He doesn’t answer you. Instead he rips his helmet off too, and he’s on you again, his mouth covering yours. But you have a moment, just a moment, where you see how wrecked he looks. And gods does he really wreck you as he kisses you. He’s tasting you, and himself, thoroughly . It’s rough at first. He shoves his tongue into your mouth, moaning into you, stealing the breath from your lungs. But that roughness is sort of something you’ve come to associate with him. Even when your teeth knock and his stubble scratches, or when he bites at your lip a little too hard, it’s good. It’s so good. Getting to be privy to this side of him, even if you couldn’t see his face at first. Knowing he’s just as affected by you is more than you could have ever imagined.

Eventually, though, all good things must come to an end. You both jump when an alarm starts going off in both your helmets. Then you’re both scrambling to get your clothes on, gasping for air after you shove your helmets back on to breathe in clean, filtered air once you both tumbled out of the utility exit. You’re not sure where he put his codpiece or his gloves, but by the time he mounts the speeder behind you it’s like nothing has happened. It’s a little jarring. But you don’t have much time to dwell on it as you rev the engine and take off, using the shortcut just like you’d said.

The shortcut which ends with the bike hovering just outside the window to his office.

“This is your shortcut?!” You wince - the two of you are still on the same channel, but he’s yelling like you’re still both unable to hear each other over the wind. Fox lets out a frustrated sound that almost makes you shiver again, but it’s the cold from when he opens one of the windows with a control on his vanbrace. Paper and datapads go flying, and you wince. He sighs, clearly exasperated, and gives you a curt warning to ‘keep her steady.’

It’s terrifying to see him leap over the open air with such confidence, but one second he’s on the bike behind you, then he lands easily in his office. Well, mostly easily. He stumbles a bit. You can’t help but feel a small thrill of pride, wondering if you’ve reduced him to such a state. Shaking that thought off, you watch as the window starts to close, then wave your hand frantically at him.

“Don’t you want this back?” You tap at the underside of your helmet when he tilts his in confusion. A second passes and he shakes his head.

“Keep it.” He pauses. “Just - keep it between us.”

“Sure,” you say, grinning behind your helmet as you turn the bike towards the sector you live in. “It’ll be our little secret, Commander. See ya next week.”

“Yeah,” he says. And when you’re out of range, well out of range, is when he finally turns away from the window. Back in his office again, with his men, his brothers, in familiar territory. With a hollow pit of dread slowly opening up inside him, with fear and anger and frustration slowly crawling out of it. Fists clenched tightly at his sides, the Commander stalks to the door.

“Next week.”

#Commander Fox x Reader #Barista!Reader #Clone Commander x Reader #spicy.txt #NSFT

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obaewankenope · 3 years

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Okay so, I have ADHD. I'm 18 and was diagnosed 2 months ago? Maybe one? I don't remember. Anyways, I'm constantly thinking about and bouncing between the "hey it's okay you can't do this, it's not your fault, you just need some extra help and you can do it!!!" and "you're so stupid, just try harder, if you cared enough you'd be able to do it. why are you asking for special treatment and being a burden?" lines of thinking.

And that, especially lately, has led me to hyperfixating on the fear that, hey, maybe even when I do start medication and have finally figured out how to manage this with my therapist... what if I still can't do it?

This is especially difficult when it comes to art. I'm an aspiring artist & illustrator, and the struggle to do something that I love so much is so incredibly frustrating.

And it makes me worry that, even when I am finally medicated and have what I need, and even now when I'm REALLY struggling... maybe the problem is me and not the clearly albeist system I'm forced to work in.

Maybe I don't love it enough. Maybe I'm not as passionate and dedicated and driven to succeed with my art as I think I am. And it is so unbelievably soul crushing to think that because, that's it for me, that's all I can think to do with my life. I don't really have anything else, which I know sounds dramatic but, yeah. And the idea that I might not care for it enough, or that simply caring for it isn't enough, is really messing with me.

Uh so I'm not really sure what I'm asking aside from, WHAT DO I DO? How do I manage this? How do you deal with the imposter syndrome? Help????

Okay so, there's a LOT to unpack here, bean, and we're gonna do it now at 2:39am because why the fuck not, right?

You're 18 which means your brain is still developing. That means you have to deal with the chaotic brain chemistry that comes with growing on top of the chaos of adhd. That sucks.

The whole swings and roundabouts thinking on your ability is, sadly, very common. Too common to be as normalised as it is tbh. The first thought process is the Good One. That's the one that is Accurate To You And Your Needs. The second thought process is the Society Mindset Of Judgement.

I call thoughts like that "brain weasels" - a concept my friend Lily mentioned one day in chat and I just instantly accepted it as reality.

All those bad thoughts, all those moments of "you're a failure" are given a Name in my mind. That is Brian. Brain Weasel Brian. My mother calls them Brain Weasel Paddy.

I heartily advocate that sort of thing. Adopting this method of Attributing A Name to the thoughts that Don't Help You, is a good method of teaching your brain to separate the bad thoughts and the good ones that help.

Sometimes it doesn't work. In my depressive episodes, it doesn't work great if at all. But that happens. Sometimes nothing helps then. Sometimes existing is about as much as I can manage. It's Sucky but it's not permanent.

Rarely, is anything truly permanent. We just tend to think they are.

Next, hyper fixating on fear.

Again, pretty damned normal if also very sucky. Our brains, no matter whether we're neurodiverse or not, are Very Good at remembering the bad and giving up lots of Risk Lists to consider. This mechanism helps us as a species in the wild, of course, but in the world we live in now... well, it's not the best mechanism out there.

We can't stop it, though. It's part of our evolution as humans. We can figure out tricks to help manage it. See, the biggest problem we have with fear and anxiety is we try to push it down and away or we obsess over it. Those are the worst options.

Anxiety and fear have to be imagined to be like smoke. Its there in the air. Its part of it when a fire happens and we need fires for warmth. So anxiety and fear is natural. It's healthy to have both but not so much that we can't function. The mechanism is messing up if we can't function.

Anyway.

Have you ever tried to capture smoke in your hands? It's not possible. You can't cup your hands like you would with water, can't grip it like you would a solid. No. Because smoke is a gas and it moves and shifts and fills up any space it can.

Anxiety and fear are like smoke. They're part of everything and exists because of Reasons and they can be a good thing but can also be a bad thing too.

It can also become too familiar for us sometimes. Like a smoker who lights up and savours the smell of a burning cigarette.

We cling to what we know even if what we know is bad for us. It's human nature. But just because we cling to what we know doesn't mean we can't be brave and let it go. That's human nature too.

We're a species of messy contradictions, after all.

Medication helps the brain chemistry and assists that fear and anxiety mechanism. It's not a cure, contrary to belief, but it will help. Therapy helps you work through things and medication helps settle your brain which will help you further.

Does that mean it's going to fix you? No, because you're not broken. You're different but not broken.

With your art and illustration and your desire to become an illustrator, I can wholly understand the frustration you feel.

But I wonder, does that frustration stem from fear of failure or from feeling so many emotions and not being able to figure out their source?

If its the former, then that's understandable. We all fear failure. But sometimes, it's not failure we actually fear. What we really fear is success. Because we don't know what to do if we succeed. That's a long term thing.

Failure can be immediate and short term. It's something we can think about in the immediate future because our brains are able to follow the tangent of time enough for that.

But success. Success means long term considerations. It means thinking about what comes after. It means considering potential promotions, opportunities, work pieces, connections and so on. It means thinking of those things beyond the short term where our brain's are most comfortable.

ADHD brains are not really built for long term planning. We're good planners for short term things. Good problem solvers. But rarely is it a long term sort of solution we come up with.

Not because we can't, but because we get so mirred in the details, in the What Ifs and the Possibilities that we lose our focus on the Whole Picture. We lose the tangent.

I don't necessarily think you're not passionate enough. Hardly anyone who draws lacks passion. They may lack technique, but passion... That's something any artist needs in my opinion. Even just a spark.

But being able to use that passion, to convey it, now that's the challenge. That's Hard.

Sometimes it's next to impossible.

The thing is, ADHD and Autism make you feel things Deeply and Chaotically. This makes you struggle to process those feelings.

Being a young adult with Expectations and Responsibilities on top of sucky brain growth chemistry just makes that struggle worse.

You may not be able to channel your passion into your art currently, but that doesn't mean you don't have it.

Think of your passion like a tube that's got a blockage in it. The pressure inside is immense but you've got nothing on hand to remove the blockage. It'll take time to develop the tools, to find them, to help. Or. It might have to remove itself.

This doesn't make you lacking in passion. It just makes you temporarily injured in the passion department. We don't blame someone for a sprained ankle resting. Don't blame yourself for taking time off because of this.

Imposter syndrome is... Hard. So, so hard.

I don't have an answer for you about how to handle it. I do a pretty poor job of it myself. I fake confidence, am awful at accepting praise, and constantly feel inadequate. I just hide it really well.

But that's emotion. That's fear and doubt and anxiety. That's societal expectations stoking the emotional disturbance of imposter syndrome.

Logic tells me different.

But logic is hard to believe. Especially when the emotions are very Loud and Distracting.

Sometimes you have to call those doubts and fears for what they are: Brain Weasels.

Sometimes you have to think of it all like it's smoke.

Sometimes you have to sit down and meditate, crossing a mental bridge between reason and emotion to deliver a message to both sides.

We are individuals who pick out pebbles from the river and admire them. Sometimes we keep them. Sometimes we put them back. Most times, we move on. Those pebbles are difficulties, challenges, doubts.

ADHD tends to try and keep the pebbles. Imposter syndrome uses them as building blocks.

Sometimes you have to dig out the foundations and toss those pebbles back before you can start to work on fixing up the rest.

This has become very rambly now, I'm sorry. Its 3:24am and I need to sleep. I do hope this helps in some way, though. If not for you, then for others.

#Kat replies #ADHD #Neurodiversity #Neurodiverse #Autism #Mental health #Disability

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arizonaconservativegal · 3 years

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First of all, thanks for replying. And thanks to the people in the notes who followed up, as well. In terms of interests, while I would love someone who shares a lot of them, I really only have one that's necessary. As an aspiring game developer, games are my art form, especially the world building and the mechanics and systems in place. I want someone who shares this love, who I can bond over with. Anything else would just be icing on the cake. In terms of appearance, I'd prefer if she were shorter than me by a good amount, ideally at or below 5' 6" but I'm fine as long as she's not above like 5' 10". I'm not the leanest person myself, I've got a little belly, but I'm working on it and slowly losing weight. I don't mind if she's a little chubby either, but if she's really fat I just can't go with that. I'm probably a little hypocritical here as I'd obviously prefer someone who's in shape, but I can find some heavier women attractive as long as they're short and feminine. I dislike body modifications, and would prefer someone without any, but I could deal with a few small tattoos and a few piercings, as long as they're not gauges or septum piercings. And obviously she needs to want kids (but not have any), needs to be not a full-on leftist (I'm fine with a centrist, conservative, or ideally a libertarian), and just have a nice personality that gels with mine. I tend to be a pretty low-key, somewhat boring person, and have trouble dealing with people who have "big" personalities. I find that at my age, it's hard to find someone who wants kids but doesn't have any, and who likes games but isn't butch or seriously fat or really punk or whatever. Those are pretty much my lines in the sand, appearance and personality-wise. Do I have too many of them? Are there things I should care less about? As I said, I've never been in a relationship, so I really don't know what's important and what's not. I'm just basing what I want on what I personally prefer.

And I know what I need to do to become more attractive, myself. Lose some weight, get a better job, move out. Is there anything else I need to do, and what should I prioritize? Right now I'm thinking about trying for a raise at work, but I'm also worried it'll put me over the pay limit for subsidized healthcare, and I've got a lot of health problems that are out of my control. I'd need to jump to a job with actual benefits to make it really worth it, so it'll be hard just moving up gradually.

And finally, just because I'm spilling everything out here anyway, there's a girl at work who recently broke up with her boyfriend of 5 years who I've been becoming quite friendly with. She's always enjoyable to talk to, and she seems to like me at least as a friend. However she's not got a lot in common with me. There's a guy who clearly likes her, and she has a friend that's probably into her, and I knew her ex and they all have a similar look that's very different to me. I think she also tends to go for "bad boys" and I'm definitely not one of them. She recently asked about my interests and stuff kind of probing more deeply, but since I basically haven't had any friends for years I don't know if that's just what's normal or if she's actually a little bit interested in me. Honestly I'm not sure what to do or if I should even do anything. She's basically a normie and I'm borderline autistic. I'm not used to anyone actually being interested in anything about me and I don't know how to tell one kind of "interest" from another. And considering she's a coworker and I enjoy her company, I don't want to fuck anything up. What do I do?

Ok there's a lot to unpack here...

First of all, I'm not going to be that person who tells you looks don't matter because let's all be honest here for a second, they do and anyone who says otherwise is lying for internet morality points. Obviously if you're going to date someone, you need to not be repulsed by their physical appearance.

But. Looks are not the most important thing and they're also not permanent. Plus in my experience, the more you get to know someone, the more attractive they become to you because you just see people differently when you love them. So don't worry so much about finding the most beautiful girl you've ever seen, or being the most handsome guy she's ever seen. When it's right, that stuff will handle itself.

(Also, I'm not saying you did this, but if you put all that in your online dating profile, please delete it immediately because it will scare women off if it's public and even if it's just for the algorithm, you're probably losing a lot of potentially good matches by being too specific)

I would think a little more about personality. It can be a lot harder to define that than appearance, but that's the part of her that you're going to really fall for. What does "big" personality mean to you? Does that mean just being loud, or is it a certain kind of humor, or just being extroverted or outgoing? Think a little about the people you enjoy spending time with and figure out what it is about them that makes you want to be around them. Interests are a good starting point, but try to think about what drives those interests and how they express them.

And think about you too. How would you describe yourself? I'd guess with your interest in game development, you probably have a big imagination and attention to detail, yeah? Do you have a dry sense of humor, maybe? Are you a patient person? Do you prefer to be busy or to take it easy? When you get stressed out, what calms you down? What are your values in life?

Think about what kind of person complements all that. Remember you're looking for a partner, someone to build a life with. That means the two of you have to make a good team. You'll bring out the best in each other and compensate for each other's weaknesses.

As for the changes you think you need to make, I'm going to let you in a little secret about women: there is nothing sexier to us than a guy who has his shit together. And that doesn't mean you need a fancy law degree and a six figure office job and a mortgage. It means knowing who you are and what you want and be working a clear, realistic plan to get there.

So yes, everything you mentioned is probably a good idea because it sounds like that will help you have more confidence and get on more solid ground with your life and future. But as for what you should do first, just focus on what is best for you, not for some hypothetical future wife you haven't met yet. It sounds to me like you've still got some healing to do and that needs to be your priority.

But when you're ready, the only thing to do is start talking to people and go on lots of dates that will mostly go nowhere. That's okay. The point is to meet girls and see if there's enough there for a second date, then maybe a third, and so on. You're not looking for something that's perfect right away. You're just looking for a starting point to build something more from.

In your case, yes, you probably do need to find a girl who at least has some interest in video games. It's going to be too much of your life for her to not at least be willing to indulge you when you want to talk about the game you're working on. I would guess that there are a lot of girls in "nerd" category who maybe don't know much about video games but would be interested if someone they cared about wanted to show them. Or if you really want to start off with just a pool of people who are as interested in game development as you, I'd hazard a guess that there are conventions or online forums on the subject. Maybe check out some of those and just start talking to people. Maybe it goes nowhere. Maybe you make a new friend. Maybe more. Who knows?

As for the girl at work, I think you're setting yourself up to get hurt. Girls who go for bad boys don't usually change their habits easily. She may be interested in you because you're not like her ex and she's trying to try something different, but that doesn't usually last. It isn't that you're doing anything wrong, it really is just how girls like that are. And it doesn't make any sense but it's how it is.

In general though, if you're getting to know a girl and you're not sure if she's looking for a friend or a boyfriend, it's okay to ask. Don't be creepy about it or anything, but it's okay to say something like "I just want to make sure I'm not reading too much into this." And be prepared to drop it if she says she just wants to be friends.

(Also my rule for dating coworkers is this: if it's a job you plan to stay at long term and you work closely together, the answer is no. If it's more of a temporary thing or you really only pass her in the hall once a week, that's probably okay as long as your company doesn't have some policy against it)

Bottom line, you're overthinking this. Love isn't logical. You can make all the plans and checklists in the world and none of them matter because that's just not how it works. Trust me, if it was, I'd be married by now too.

All you can really do is be the best version of yourself for you, meet a bunch of people, probably get your heart broken a couple of times along the way, and eventually you'll find someone who makes it all worth it.

As a side note, are you in a good church? If you're a person of faith at all (and I'm an atheist, so no judgement if you're not), I think having a community like that around you would be good for you right now.

#anyone else want to give the dear abby thing a shot?

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