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PROMPT POST #4

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prompt post one
prompt post two
prompt post three

+ All comments except fills should be posted anonymously.
+ All prompts should focus on TFA characters. You can't post OT or PT-only prompts.
+ One prompt per comment please.
+ You can request both kink and non-kink content
+ Crossovers, characters from the other media are allowed, but must relate to the 2015 movie in some way.
+ All prompt comments should begin with a pairing tag (eg Rey/Finn) or Gen for no pairing.
+ Use 'Any' when prompting for any pairing at all (eg Kylo/Any or Any/Any)
+ Anyone, everyone, no one? Use "Other." (e.g. Poe/Other)
+ Warn for common triggers, please
+ NO PROMPTS FEATURING CHARACTERS UNDER 18 IN SEXUAL SITUATIONS.
+ don't hijack other people's prompts.
+ prompts should not exceed ~250 words.
+ also, while this is not really a rule I can enforce, please try to limit yourselves to fewer than 5 prompts per page.
+ reposting prompts is currently not allowed.
+ no prompts based on real life tragic events. e.g: 9/11 au, concentration camp au, etc
+ PLAY NICE

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Aw!

Aw, perfect! It's impressive how thorough Poe was with his answers, you have to wonder how many times he got replies like "INSTRUCTIONS UNCLEAR, DICK STUCK IN X-WING???"

This was so unexpectedly beautiful! Thanks for sharing <3

O M G YES AMAZING WORK

A!A Well I figure especially for some of this the consequences of fucking up are EVEN MORE EMBARRASSING THAN TALKING ABOUT THE KINK, so Poe knows his audience of kinky-ass pilots and Resistance bros, he's gotta be clear!

Thanks :D

I messed up the previous chapter number, it should be 2, so this one is 3

--

FN-2187 is ready.

Or at least that’s what he kept telling himself.

Stay calm, stay calm, and they’ll never suspect you. Until it’s too late.

People came and went in the barracks at night all the time. No one is bothered by the shuffling of armour or movement around them, so as long as he says nothing, he is fine. Sneaking around is also easy since he knew the schedules, and the paths of the guards making their rounds, and he quickly made his way to a small side door and into the night air.

The next part of his plan is to strip off the armour and hide them in the forests in the opposite direction of where he would actually be going. The only unfortunate part is that the stormtrooper armour is too constraining to actually allow him to carry anything in his hands, and it might be incriminating if he got caught anyways.

So FN-2187 had only the clothes on this back as he darts away from the castle, and away from his former life as a Stormtrooper.

He remembers where the tower he saw before is, but the path there confuses him since most of it is occupied by trees and shrubs and he gets tangled in the thickness. He finally decides to zigzag around the clearer paths but maintain the direction he is going in. It looks to be a long trek that way.

If he is lucky, his absence will not be noticed by Captain Phasma until mid-morning during check-in. His squad mates certainly never cared about what he does, and probably wouldn’t realize it right away either.

But as he continued the winding paths, the trees started to look the same, and unless he could climb one, he couldn’t see any traces of that tower. FN-2187 lost track of where he is, and for a moment he panicked, until he realized just how remote this place is, and that he still had time to figure this out. Dawn hasn’t approached yet, or at least it is still dark out.

He has been walking for a long time though, he could use a break. FN-2187 sat down on the mossy ground, marveling that it is actually quite soft, and laid against the curtain of moss covering the trunk of a fallen tree.

Or at least that was what he thought he was doing. He stretches backwards only to find himself falling all the way through the curtain and to the ground. He flailed from his miscalculated impact on the ground and looked up to find himself slipping under the tree trunk. He stood up to try and look around the darkness and noticed a light on the other end and followed it.

He emerged from the underbrush to see the sun peeking over the treetops. He had stumbled upon a small isolated area of the woods surrounded by cliffs on all sides. The sun’s light slowly bathed the area in glowing yellow, and illuminated the tower FN-2187 had been trying to get to.

The tower looked sort of like a tiny cottage put on a huge stack of boulders and then glued together. He couldn’t imagine that anyone would live here, so remote and hidden, and also climbing the tower would be a pain to do everyday.

Which made it the perfect hiding spot. All he has to do now is get to the tower and find a way to climb it. FN-2187 may have left almost everything he knew behind, but he has a few things going for him: his strength, and intense concentration and discipline, all courtesy of the Stormtrooper program, and so Finn got to climbing.

It is a grueling task, but the creases between the rocks were sturdy. FN-2187 shuts his eyes and pretends he is still climbing the rock wall back during survival training, which was more dangerous anyways because it will try to kill you while you’re climbing.

By the time FN-2187 reaches the top, he is quite sweaty and the sun’s warmth on his black clothing didn’t help as he just felt more heat emanating from his own clothes. So he climbs quickly over the window and shuts it with a bang, leaning against it to catch his breath.

He found the perfect hiding spot.

Then he saw nothing.

--

“Today is that boy’s birthday is it not?”

“Yes, and he has asked for some specific parts for that damnable droid of his. I will have to spend today hunting for them”

“You are going to honour this request?”

“I agreed so that he would stop asking to leave the tower.”

“He is becoming impudent. But… eighteen is the proper age.”

“Poe can be of great help to the Order. I believe that, as long as he is unaware of the First Order's truths, he will be an asset to us. He does not realize it yet, but I sense that he has some force-sensitivity, and his healing ability is, as always, incredibly powerful.”

“He will be joining us soon?”

“I have already prepared the perfect accommodations, and the move will be done soon.”

“Bring him to me after you are done.”

“Yes, Supreme Leader.”

--

Poe’s first thought is to panic because there is a strange man in his room. His second thought is to panic again as to what Ben will say until he realizes Ben isn’t coming today.

He isn’t sure if it is lucky or unlucky that BB-8’s selenium cables will cause Ben to stay away for a whole day.

Then again… Poe figures he should investigate first. To see what he’s up against.

He pokes the knocked out man with his broom handle, the longest stick he has in the tower.

Nothing happens.

Poe can see that the man is wearing thin clothing, all black, and wonders if the man is trying to look shadowy and scary. Then again, Ben favoured black clothing as well so it doesn’t mean anything right?

BB-8 chirps, moving around to draw attention to a drawing Poe made of what he thought a cruel face would look like: sharp teeth, crazy hair, and crazy eyes.

But from what he can see from his angle, this man had short, neatly cut hair rather than any excessive long and wild hair, but the rest of his head had planted face first into the floor. Poe slowly walked closer and used the handle to tip his head to the side so he could see his face.

The man looked nothing like a scary monster. In fact, he has two eyes (they were closed), one nose (a nice one too), and one mouth (with a well-defined jaw). Poe stares in awe, having never seen another human being, other than Ben, up this close before, and never in such a nice dark shade of skin before either. Ben's is lighter than Poe's, but this man's is darker than Poe's, what fascinating contrasts they make.

“Beeps,” Poe whispers, “what should we do? He’s going to wake up any minute!”

BB-8 swivels back to the sleeping man, before looking back at Poe, then beeps a few suggestions.

“What? No! I can’t throw him out the tower, he’ll die!” Poe protests, before inspiration struck.

“Wait… he came from outside… BB, he can help me! He can be my guide to the outside world.”

BB-8 beeps in worry.

“I know, I know, he’s a stranger and I don’t know anything about him, but… okay, help me BB-8. Let’s figure out what to do with him. You will supervise okay?”

BB-8 strongly approves of that plan.

--
I have so many ideas for this story, I sincerely hope you all like it so far! The beginning/premise is similar to Tangled but it will change very quickly soon. Like I said earlier, it's a fusion with the The Force Awakens (spot the references!) and multiple Easter Eggs of fairytales (try and spot those too!)

The best thing that can be said about meals at the Resistance is that they’re plentiful, and better than most emergency ration packs.

Kes Dameron’s culinary sensibilities are practically decadent by comparison, for all that his approach to meals has always been simple, comprised of three main components: meat, starch, and some sort of local fruit or vegetable. Today, it’s the fried, breaded meat that Poe’d always liked as a kid, cut up into easily manageable strips like a four year old (or a grown man with only one functional arm), would need, with plantains on the side, and a squishy, red, boiled fruit on the side. There’s also green spicy sauce that Kes would normally have poured over everything indiscriminately; today, it’s in a side dish. Poe looks at it and raises his eyebrows.

Kes shrugs. “Painkillers always fucked with my digestion back in the day. Figured you might want something a little less…” Kes waves his hands vaguely.

“Thanks, dad,” he says, and finds himself meaning it.

Kes grins at him, winks, and goes to work drowning each of the items on his plate in sauce.

“Got any requests for the rest of the week?"

“I don’t want to put you out,” Poe says, automatically.

Kes huffs a laugh. “Yeah. Well, I was thinking of headin’ to the town tomorrow. Gotta stop by the market, see some friends. You feeling up for it?"

“Sure,” he says, having no reason not to. “Can I drive?”

His dad gives him a look. “With one arm?"

“Still be a better driver than you,” he points out, grinning, and Kes rolls his eyes.

“Whatever you say, hotshot."

Poe chuckles to himself and digs into his meal. It’s a pain to eat with one hand but he’s gotten used to it. “Pá in town this month?"

“Nah, he’s gonna be pissed he missed you, though. I’m never gonna hear the end of it."

“I’ll give him a call when I’m—when I’m back on base.” That’s the best case scenario, anyway. His grandfather’ll be glad to hear from him, at least: it’s been too long since he reached out, but Poe's not sure he wants him knowing the full details of his trip back home just yet. It’d been tough enough explaining his decision to give up Rapier Squadron.

Kes nods; Poe’s not sure if it’s at himself or in agreement with his plan. “He’ll like that."

**

He goes to bed early.

His room is, as ever, untouched: model ships hanging from the ceiling, bed made, old holorecords lined up in alphabetical order on the shelf his dad had helped him put up when he was ten. There’s a desk and chair he’s not even sure would fit him anymore, and the bed’s smaller than what he’s got on base, but it’s softer, too. He flops down on it, not even bothering to change. Just kicks off his boots and lies down on top of the covers, listening to the sounds of the jungle beyond his window: the cooing of whisper birds, the hoots of woolmanders as they swing from branch to branch of the ancient Massassi trees.

Inside, he can hear BB8 beeping at his father, and his father laughing, talking to the droid as if it were a child: gently, enthusiastically, though Poe knows he doesn’t understand a thing.

The night storm starts, and he shuts his eyes, drifting off to the sound of raindrops on the durasteel roof.

**

Habit has him up before dawn the next morning, which is still not before his dad, who’s already gotten a start on brewing caf and making breakfast. Eggs, with spiced sausage, and fresh juice. Poe can’t complain.

“Where’s BB-8?” he asks, stifling a yawn.

Kes snorts, and pulls him toward the window looking over the backyard: between the line of storage unit, his mother’s A-wing, and the squat chicken coop his father’d built the year Poe left for the Academy, BB-8 is rolling across the grass, pursued by—

“What the hell is that?"

Kes sighs. “That’s Xóchitl."

Poe stares at the large, feline creature, with dark purple fur, pointy ears, and a thick plumy tail. “The fuck’s a Xóchitl?"

“No clue,” says Kes. “Your grandfather brought her back from some planet where they breed ‘em. Told me she’d be good for keepin’ the stintarils away from the chickens."

“Is she?” says Poe, morbidly fascinated as the animal leaps over BB-8 and then flops onto her back, rolling in the grass for a while as the droid beeps excitedly at her.

“Haven’t lost one since,” says Kes.

Poe nods to himself, thoughtful. Kes hands him a mug of caf, which he takes a sip from, and then puts down on the kitchen table.

“Sleep well?”

“Yeah,” Poe says automatically, only to realize that that it’s true. Better than he has since leaving Mirrin Prime, even. “You?"

Kes shrugs, and hands him a plate of eggs. Poe takes it, sitting down and wondering at Kes’s sudden reticence: his father’s never been a big talker, but he’s always made it a point to answer direct questions directly.

His father fills his own plate, then sits down in front of Poe. They meet each other’s eyes, nod, and dig in.

Breakfast is quick and quiet, like it has been ever since Poe was a kid (or, at least, ever since it was only Poe and his dad at the kitchen table). When they’re done, Kes washes and dries the dishes, and Poe stands awkwardly to the side, doing his one-handed best to put things away once they’re clean. Everything’s where he remembers it, at least.

After, they both go outside: Xóchitl bounds up to his father, butting her head against his thigh, humming like some strange, organic engine. Kes chuckles and gives her a few loud pats before heading off for one of the storage units, and Xóchitl goes back to darting around BB-8.

Poe approaches them slowly, carefully; Xóchitl turns her head to look at him before he’s close enough to touch. She’s got big golden eyes and ears that prick forward, as if waiting for him to speak. “Hey, girl,” he says, taking another step, and reaches out, runs careful fingers through the thick, dark fur. She makes a strange, low mrrrrow sound at him, and Poe finds himself smiling.

BB-8 bumps against his leg, and he laughs, reaching over to pat his head. “Sorry, buddy. I’ve only got one the one hand right now.” He eases himself onto the dew-damp grass, and is met with a wave of all-encompassing feline affection as BB-8 makes vaguely scolding noises.

By the time Kes comes back, firmly ensconced behind the controls of the transport vehicle, Poe’s got Xóchitl sprawled expansively over his lap, purring loudly, as BB-8 beeps and bumps playfully against Poe’s back.

Kes hops out of the speeder and raises his eyebrows at them. “You okay down there?" he says.

“Oh, fine,” Poe says. “Always wanted to be mauled by wild animals and ambushed by machines.” BB-8 titters at him, clearly insulted. Poe laughs and nudges back against him. “Just kidding, buddy."

Kes snorts, before letting out a sharp, short whistle and jerking his head to the left. Xóchitl bolts off of Poe instantly and lopes away in that direction. “Gotta be firm with her, kid,” says Kes, with that tone he gets when he’s about to start the these’re working animals, they ain’t pets lecture. Poe’s heard it enough times and doesn’t really need it repeated, and just nods, hoping to hold it off. His father offers him a hand, and Poe takes it, lets himself be dragged up, off the ground. “You ready?”

Poe nods

“Good.” Kes glances over at BB-8. “You comin’, little guy?” The droid gives a steady stream of bleeps that basically amount to I’d rather stay and play! Kes looks at Poe, who shakes his head. Kes shrugs. “Okay, then,” he says, and waves a stern finger at BB-8. “Behave yourself, BB-8.”

The droid chirps affirmatively, before streaking away in search of his new best friend. Poe can’t hold back a slightly bemused chuckle. Kes hears it, and grins. “Don’t feel too bad,” he says, slinging his arm over Poe’s shoulders. “I still like you best.”

“Oh yeah? Enough to let me drive?”

Kes throws his head back, laughing, as he steers him over toward the passenger side, and slides open the door.

“No,” he says, and shoves Poe inside.

**

The Town of New Hope is about a twenty minute drive from the ranch, if you’re making reasonable speed and observing the recommended guidelines proliferated by the local government.

Kes Dameron, who drives below a reasonable speed at the best of times and seems especially cautious today, seems determined to make sure it lasts about thirty.

Poe tries to mind, but being in the fresh air is nice, as is seeing the jungle stretch out around him, instead of blurred into the tangle of green it usually becomes when he drives. He can smell eyualca flowers blooming, and the sounds of pirahna beetles over the rumble of the engine.

His father’s quiet, which is normal, but keeps glancing over at him, which is not. They’re approaching the ancient-looking but actually barely thirty year old gates that signal the entrance to town before he finally speaks.

“You talk to Mel recently?"

Poe blinks. “You mean since we broke up? Not really."

“Shame,” says Kes. “Always liked him."

“Well, I think he’s still single. Could get you his number, if you want."

Kes huffs and reaches over to ruffle his hair. “Okay, smart ass. Who are you seein' these days?"

“No one."

“No one?” Kes gives him a look. “Or no one exclusively?"

“Dad!” Poe says, surprised into a laugh, though he wonders what his father’s heard — Kes doesn’t seem particularly perturbed by the possibilities, and just smirks as he pulls the speeder over in front of the market.

“You coming in?”

Poe starts to shrug, like an idiot, and winces. “Yeah,” he says. “Why not?”

Massassi Market Square, like most of the buildings at the very center of town, is about as old as Poe. The architect, an Alderiaan ex-pat, had designed it according to what he called Ancient Massassi Principles, meaning a lot of local stone, heavy columns, and artistic interpretations of the ancient, still-untranslated glyphs found on the many temples scattered around Yavin IV.

It’d been started a year after Poe and his family had moved to the moon, to commemorate the fifth-year anniversary of the Battle of Yavin, and completed the following summer. Poe’s memories of the opening ceremony are some of the earliest he has: lots of music, cut-paper streamers hanging from the roof, stalls piled with brightly colored fruits. Holding both of his parents' hands, walking between them, pulling them along in his desperation to see the booth with model ships hanging from the support beams. His first kiss had been against the building's smooth, sun-warmed outer walls; it’d tasted like the sour-sweet muja juice Old Val had sold in vibrant plasto bubbles. He knows the place like he knows parents' ranch, like he knows the interior of his x-wing: instinctually, fundamentally.

Or at least, he had.

“It’s bigger,” says Poe, pointlessly, as he looks around.

“Storm took out the east wing ‘bout two years ago. Council voted for an expansion and renovation plan. Put in permanent stalls, fixed up the fountain, that kind of thing."

“It’s nice.” And it is: the interior’s brightly lit, uncluttered. The permanent stalls add an air of order to a place that Poe’d always loved for its hectic bustle. He feels his father’s gaze on him, and turns his head to meet it. “I like it,” he says, reassuring himself more than anyone. He takes a breath: the scent of spices and candy and meat, both raw and grilling, meets him, but not at nearly strongly as he’d remembered it.

“New air filtration system too,” says Kes.

“Good,” Poe nods, and tries to ignore the strange, swift punch of disappointment low in his gut. “Old Val still in business?"

“There’s a new Val now,” says his dad. “But the menu’s the same."

“Wanna meet me there in an hour?” Poe says, forcing a smile. “My treat?"

Kes gives him a careful, steady look. “Okay, kid. Keep out of trouble."

"When do I ever get into trouble?” Poe mutters, automatically, and Kes's gaze rests on Poe’s busted arm just long enough to make his point. Poe rolls his eyes, but nods, acknowledging it. Kes cracks a smile, leans in, and presses a kiss to his forehead.

Poe blinks in shock, but before he can say anything, his father’s turned and walked away, disappearing behind the booths piled with new and gently-used clothes.

And, just like that, Poe’s on his own.

Or at least, as one his own as he can be, in the middle of a crowded market, being jostled by a band of older women dragging bright canvas shopping carts, wide-eyed tourists from the Core planets, and the occasional bored-looking Civilian Defense Guard.

Poe sighs. Steadies himself. Avoids squaring is shoulders, because he imagines it would hurt, but nods to himself, and heads off, with no real direction in mind, other than away.

**

Poor Finn, don't worry I'm sure that it'll turn out the best for you! Another great chapter! Loving this fic so much!

Anon. ANON. I don't know for the life of me how I missed this fantastic fill. Thank you so much for writing this! It's so immersive and the way you describe spaces is really great. Like, damn. I wish I could write like this.

Sweet and hot..as well as informative! lol
The moment when Poe reads the letter I think we can guess that it's Finn! :) I always like it when it's Finn who made the first move. It's also sweet that Poe already came to the phase in his life ready to settle down with the one after all his wild younger years.
(Still hope that someday we can read the Poe/Wookie gangbang story though..or Poe/other aliens that he'd done with. We're not that picky)

Yessss! You're BACK! And you brought such a richly detailed chapter with you. I'm so glad to see this wasn't abandoned <3

This is really wonderful. One wonders what sorts of trouble Poe Dameron could get to by himself in a Yavanese market. (the answer is porbably all of it lol)

Oh OP I'm so glad you're enjoying it! I promise I will be a little more consistent about posting chapters to it from now on. It's been a fun one to write so far!

I adore everything about this, I live for fics with Kes and all the little details in this is just so perfect

OHHH this was just such a great, great fic! I hope you will continue it! I love everything about it! everything! I love your characterization of Ben and Hux and Phasma! And poor Ben captured in this room by Hux! He seems to have something akin to Stockholm syndrome going on! Poor little thing.

I like the idea of a sedated Ben, hidden away and Hux with his 'fucked-up' way of caring. Hux who has a stone in his chest, where a heart should be and yet seem to care for Ben. He seemed very protective and possessive over him and I love it! I love also the unhealthyness of their relationship and that you never fail to make us see that!

I am glad that Ben could be rescued and that he is now with Han and Chewie and co. again! So heartbreaking! So utterly heartbreaking! I love your Han so much!

I also like the idea of the drugs which put Ben under and oh my heart breaks for Ben who seems to hurt so much, as the fog slowly gets thinner!!! Ohh poor thing! Poor little thing!

I hope you will continue this soon! It is wonderful! Very wonderful!

- Lady Ren ;3

Fill #3. Yep. This one gets smutty pretty quickly, because the backstory is in 'Edge of Night' and 'Counting Days'.

AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/7068865/chapters/16068250

Poe’s parents had been nothing but holograms to him for the first few years of his life. It wasn’t until Yavin IV that he’d been able to form memories of them as human beings, and he’d watched them carefully as they moved through the world: the way his mother’s eyes sparked with interest and amusement, the way his father’s hands moved as he spoke, the way the two of them smiled at each other, how they’d seemed to speak without words, over his head, with nothing but a twitch of the lip or a wink or a quick glance.

But then, he’d watched everything carefully, peaking from behind his mother’s hip. He hadn’t been afraid, precisely, just always wary of being noticed. People who saw him tended to react, tended to want to talk to him, coo over his curls and his serious expression, but he’d wanted to see them as they were when they didn’t know he was looking.

Market day’d been good for that — always an event, the only time, before Poe’d started school, where he’d spent time with people who weren’t his parents.

Once a week, he and his parents would pile into the old transport vehicle, take the long drive down to town, and make a day of it, buying produce and meat for the week, eating lunch while waiting out the midday storm, and perusing the stalls loaded with second-hand tech, hand-made toys, and clothes in the afternoon.

His mother, always calm and serious, had a great eye for quality: even back when the market itself had been nothing but canvas tents on recently cleared earth, she’d had merchants clamoring for her attention and approval of their goods. His father, generous with his grins and handshakes even when he couldn’t be with his credits, had built real friendships with them, picking up names and stories like some people did blades of grass or wildflowers.

And Poe, finger hooked in his mother’s beltloop, watching as the cloth merchants folded and unfolded their wares, as brightly colored spices were scooped into plasto containers and weighed, as the thick-armed and cheerful butcher cleaved gushing pink flesh apart and then tucked it into tied brown paper bundles. The produce vendors shouting prices per weight, bantering at each other and their potential customers; Poe, who’d never seen half the vividly colored and strangely shaped fruits and vegetables on their stalls, learned a lot of words that way, some of which described the merchandise, most of which described the merchants and probably shouldn’t've been added to the vocabulary of a six year old child.

Poe’s relieved to find most of that unchanged — the delicately swirled mounds of seasonings; the neatly folded piles fabric, most of it silky-smooth and light, given the climate; the trilling, droning cadence of the fruit and vegetable sellers. The butcher, older now, but still with that wide smile and stubby fingers, waves at Poe, apparently recognizing him. Poe waves back, automatically, lost in thought.

It doesn’t take him long to get actually lost: this side of the market is newer, full of stalls run by people about his age, maybe even younger, none of whom he knows. He doesn’t mind, really: there’s plenty to see.

Tech from the Core has always taken a while to make it to Yavin IV, so datapads and comm units are always about a generation behind, but the variety, Poe has to admit, has improved. There’s also toys he could’ve only dreams of as a kid — a remote controlled X-wing that not only flies but sends out bright imitations blasts, for one, which he nearly caves and buys.

The reminder that he’s got nowhere to put it, and won’t for a while, stops him: being the child of two soldiers has taught him to live light, to keep his quarters on base neat and bare of anything he’d be crushed to lose in the case of an emergency evacuation or a sudden raid.

His good hand slips back into his jacket pocket, and he keeps walking, nodding a quick thanks to the purveyor of the X-Wing; she gives him a half-hearted salute in response, which he finds strange, but not disquieting enough to stop and investigate.

He trails along the seemingly infinite rows of stalls. These are piled with souvenirs, mostly replicas of the Great Temple hand-carved from local wood or stone, or headdresses made from the feathers of whisper birds that’ve been dyed garishly red and green. Supposedly, they're inspired by the drawings of Massassi warriors found within some of the ancient temple complexes. Poe’s never been as fond of those.

He weaves around the gaggle of tourists — Durosians, by the look of them — and heads for the sound of running water. Yavenese architecture, for reasons of tradition and convenience, tends to center itself around fountains, and the Market Square is no exception. It’s a good a place as any to get his bearings a little, and is unlikely to have been changed.

He’s spotted the black tile border that designates the central courtyard before he realize he can hear someone calling his name. He looks around: there, by a small cart, piled with holorecords and ‘vids and posters, is a man of about his height and age, with sun-lightened brown hair, jumping up and down, whooping, and waving both hands in the air. Poe finds himself grinning and waving back, jogging toward him immediately. “Sola!"

“Dameron!” He reaches out and grabs Poe’s free hand, drawing him in and bumping their chests together. It’s an old greeting, and Poe laughs a little as Sola slaps his back, and then pulls away. “Man! Look at you! Lookin’ good, brother!” Poe laughs, and ducks his head. Sola takes this as permission to ruffle Poe’s hair, like he used to when they were kids. “Haven’t aged a day, you son of a bitch. What’s the Navy got ya’ doin’ these days, modelin’? You still out on Mirrin Prime?"

“Nah, I’m—” Poe shrugs, ducks his head again. Sola shakes his shoulder a little, friendly, obviously avoiding Poe’s sling. “Doin’ some other work."

“Top secret shit, man, yeah, I hear ya. Good stuff, good stuff. You here to see your dad?"

“Uh—yeah. Yeah, you know. Been a while since I’ve been back."

“I’ll say, man. You hear I got married? Got divorced, like, three days later, total shit show. You in the market for anything?"

Poe’s torn between congratulations and my condolences and looking at the pile of merchandise, the majority of which is of questionable origin and legality. But there’s no one better than Sola Bele and his family for the newest releases, some of which are, rather inexplicably, obtained weeks before their official premiere dates. Sola grins at him again, and punches his arm. “Damn, Dameron. Still so fucking handsome, dude."

“Not so bad yourself, man,” Poe says, and blushes. Because he’s not: Sola’s got golden eyes and full lips, and his light brown hair falls over his forehead in soft curves. Poe’d had one hell of a crush on him when they were both fifteen, has always wondered if Sola’d realized.

Sola snorts, and turns away. Yeah, he probably had.

“Wait, I got somethin’ for you,” he says, digging through a colorful pile of disks that don’t seem to be organized in any particular way, but he finds what he’s looking for quickly enough: Hakko Drazlip and the Tootle Froots, Poe reads off the cover, as it’s pressed onto his palm, and nearly drops it.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me."

Sola grins. “Your dad’ll love that, huh?"

“I—yeah, how the hell did you—"

“Oh, you know, got my ways, right? Remastered from the club recordings, clear as crystal, they’re gonna release it in the Core next week, but for you..."

“How much?”

“Make it five, and you buy me a drink before you leave town."

“Sola,” he says, sharply; it’s worth at least three times that, probably cost him a fortune to obtain. For all Poe knows, he’s got a buyer lined up already who’s willing to pay more than it’s worth, even.

“Okay, okay,” Sola says, raising his hands in surrender. “Two drinks, final offer.”

Poe laughs. “You sure?”

Sola holds out his hand, and Poe takes it; finds himself reeled into another chest-bumping, full-bodied embraced. “Been much too long, man,” Sola murmurs, patting his back again, before he lets him go.

“I hear you, buddy.”

**

Seven credits lighter, in possession of what’s almost certainly contraband, Poe wanders back toward the fountain.

It’s been cleaned, and some of the old, chipped tiles around the base have been replaced, but otherwise it remains mostly same: sky-blue and melon-green ceramic tiles arranged in a broad circular base, water flowing in steady arcs from four tiers.The water in the reservoir glimmers — it’s clearer than it used to be, probably a casualty of a new filtration system.

Poe sits down on the edge of the basin. His plan is to take a bit of a break, check the time, figure out how to get back to Val’s.

Instead, his eye immediately catches on a wholly unfamiliar octagonal structure, about the same size as the larger market stalls, painted in what’s playfully known as Yavenese Green, and adorned with signs reading TOURIST INFORMATION in several languages. The girl seated within it has long dark hair braided with green ribbons, and is reading from a data pad. She looks up, startled, when Poe approaches.

“Welcome to Massassi Market Square pride of Yavin IV cradle of the New Republic,” she rushes out in lightly accented Basic. “Can I help you book a tour to our grand temple structures or one of the many natural wonders of our lovely moon?"

“Not…right now, thanks,” Poe says. “I’m actually just…trying to find my way back to the northwest entrance? Old Val used to have a stand back there, I don’t know if you—"

“Ah, a local boy,” she says, dropping the manic tone. She smiles at him; her name, according to the name tag, is Ayla, and she can’t be more than sixteen years old. “You’re very close. Down that row,” she says, gesturing as she explains. “Two lefts, and a right. Can’t miss it. But just in case…” She reaches over and hands him a map: it’s made from the cheaper kind of paper, only capable of rotating between a few sets of images, but apparently featuring some low-tech locator function, because a dot appears over the charmingly rendered Market Square and cheerfully proclaims: YOU ARE HERE!

Good to know, Poe finds himself thinking. He presses a finger to the pictogram, and a text bubble appears, informing him of the date of construction, the architect, and a few more fun facts about the building, before blooming into a detailed floor plan.

“Can I hold on to this?” he asks.

“Of course! That’s what they’re here for!” she says, brightly, and then sobers, seemingly remembering something. “All maps and promotional materials are generously provided by the Town of New Hope’s Chamber of Commerce.” Poe cocks his head, and she leans in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “They make us say all that."

Poe smiles. “Never woulda guessed it."

She blushes, and smiles back. “Good luck, local boy,” she says. “Drink some muja juice for me."

Poe winks and gives her a little salute; she matches it, still blushing, and drops her gaze back down her datapad before he can say anything else.

**

He makes it to Val’s before his father does and settles onto one of the red plasto stools in front of the counter. Makes idle conversation with New Val, who was a year ahead of him in school and was well known, even then, as the artistic sort. This seems to have born out: her stall is adorned with meticulously realized depictions of Massassi warriors and anthropomorphized trees sharing plasto-bubble drinks with a variety of alien races and such distinguished company as a young Leia Organa and Luke Skywalker in a well-intentioned approximation of Jedi robes.

The day’s offerings of freshly made juices are displayed in broad, clear casks lined up behind the counter; the names and prices are detailed in lovely flowing script, which he’s in the midst of reading when he feels the wide hand settle around the back of his neck.

“Didn’t get lost, did you, kid?"

“Nope,” Poe says, half turning on his stool. Kes gives a low snort and sits down next to him.

“Lyin’ to your old man already,” he says. “Knew running around with the Resistance’d be a bad influence on you. Hey, Val,” he calls out, smiling as she turns around to greet him. “How you doin’?"

“Hey, Sergeant. Just keeping this off-worlder company, y’know?” she says, nodding at Poe.

“Damn tourists, always sniffing around,” Kes says, gruffly. "Not givin' you any trouble, is he?”

“I’m right here,” Poe feels compelled to say, and rolls his eyes as they both dissolve into laughter.

“So what can I get you boys?” says Val, once she and his father have had a good chuckle on his account.

Kes looks at him. “The usual?” Poe nods; that’ll be one muja juice for him, and chilled paricha for his dad. “The usual, Val."

“Comin’ right up,” she says, winking at Kes before she turns away, making a show of flipping her glossy black hair over her shoulder as she goes.

Poe smirks at his father, who narrows his eyes and mouthes Don’t start. Poe shakes his head, chuckling to himself and looks around for whatever it was his dad came to buy.

“Already dropped everything back on the transpo,” Kes says. “Mighta got a few surprises, maybe."

“Oh yeah?” Poe says, thinking of the record tucked safely away in his jacket pocket. “Fancy that."

“Not for you, mind. But I thought BB-8 could use a nice treat, and I know you can’t keep a secret worth a damn."

“Well, you ain’t wrong about that,” Poe says, and straightens as Val returns with their drinks. “So who’re we meeting up with after this?"

Kes takes a long sip from his paricha. “Mm,” he hums, that low, satisfied, dad noise he makes when pleased. "Just a couple of the guys from the VETCO. If you’re feelin’ up to it, anyway."

“I think I’ll survive,” says Poe, dryly; his arm hasn’t hurt all day, and he can picture worse ways to spend his afternoon than drinking with his dad’s old war buddies.

What’s the worst that could happen, really?

"What's the worst that could happen, really?"...an invitation for trouble.

Oh Poe your life is trouble. You attract it like ants/flies to honey.

Wonderful chapter!

I am in love with this <3

Filling my own prompt. Hope everyone enjoys. :) These will be more like "series" loosely connected together than one overarching thing. Think like a 5 +1 scenario.

---

Steam billowed up around Kylo’s body as he stepped into his private ‘fresher. Having a real shower instead of the sanisteam was a luxury he afforded himself in his otherwise sparse chambers. He liked the feel of it against his body and the way it eased some of the pain in his muscles after a particularly intense training. That, and it was the only time he could relax and let his mind wander towards a certain red-haired general.

Hot water quickly flattened his hair against his skull and Kylo tipped his head back to let the sweat wash away while he soaped up his body. He could feel Hux’s constant presence in the back of his mind like a familiar, low hum that he derived secret pleasure from. At first it had been intentional to occasionally reach out with the Force to monitor the General’s whereabouts and keep tabs on him. First to make sure he was loyal to the First Order and to Snoke. Then just out of curiosity of the other man as they started to work together. And eventually, after months of clandestine fucking, through personal (and admittedly possessive) interest. And now he was just there all the time like a quiet presence Hux didn’t know about that linked them together.

Kylo sighed and closed his eyes while he let his sudsy hand drop down to his cock. He hadn’t been able to steal time away with Hux in a while due to the increasing demands the General had after a particularly bloody battle that the First Order had eventually won. It was important, Kylo knew that, but it didn’t stop him from being frustrated in more than one way. He wanted to grab Hux by the front of his pressed uniform and drag him into the nearest room for a hard kiss and a quick fuck.

His hand worked on his quickly hardening cock as he thought about slamming the smaller frame up against the wall, grinding their erections together while Hux whispered things into his ear. The General had a filthy mouth and a wicked tongue and it drove Kylo mad with sexual frustrations. His thumb slid over his sensitive head and down the underside of his cock causing him to shiver and let out a soft groan.

If Hux was here right now he would- His train of thought broke off in shocked confusion. Hux’s presence in the back of his mind had abruptly disappeared to leave behind a void. Arousal snuffed out, he reached out with the Force to try and sense Hux again and encountered nothing. He couldn’t feel him anymore, and the realization of that was terrifying in its implications. Hux was dead.

Rage quickly overtook terror and he slammed out of the ‘fresher. The air seemed to sizzle about him as he called his lightsaber to him before storming out of his room. “Hux. HUX!” Kylo roared. He didn’t know if he was yelling it or screaming Hux’s name in his mind as he raced down the Finalizer’s hallways with a single-minded focus. He couldn’t feel Hux anymore. He couldn’t. He couldn’t. Nononononono not him. He wasn’t allowed to die.

People screamed and tried to get out of the way of his whirling lightsaber. The hallways buckled and twisted inward with the sound of metal screeching on metal and bursting pipes as if drawn towards Kylo’s moving body. The Knight was heedless of the amount of destruction he left in his wake, intent on getting to Hux’s private quarters where Kylo had last felt him. He was going to kill whoever had murdered Hux that had caught the General by surprise. How dare they? HOW DARE THEY?

Hux’s door loomed in front of him at the end of a restricted access hallway barricaded by a blaster door. Kylo tore through it and the one behind it leading to Hux's interior rooms with nothing more than a minor thought to get inside and ready to destroy. His lightsaber was crackling wildly in his hand, blade up to slash at… “Hux?” Phasma was sitting next to him but she didn’t register to Kylo because it was Hux. He was there. And…alive.

Hux was staring at him, red eyebrows arched high into his hairline and blaster pointed dead center at Kylo’s chest. “Have you gone mad?” he asked incredulously but lowered his weapon.

“It was only a matter of time,” Phasma murmured with a straight face as she clipped her blaster back on.

“I…but I thought,” Kylo floundered and powered off his lightsaber. “I didn’t feel you through the Force,” he finished. And then Hux turned to look at Phasma with a pleased smile and Kylo wanted to kill her.

“So it works.” He flicked his eyes towards the doorway and destruction beyond. “Unexpected repercussions from it, but I’m glad to find it of use.” Hux pressed a button on a sleek black band he was wearing on his wrist and the two halves fell open.

Immediately Hux’s presence filled his mind again in a dizzying rush of sensation. “What?”

“Force dampener,” Hux said crisply. “Keyed to a person’s signature. Personally, I have no time for such magic Bantha fodder, but Captain Phasma was telling me about the tactical advantages of it for stealth missions.”

Phasma’s helmet was off and on Hux’s side table so Kylo could clearly see the amusement dancing in her eyes. “My technicians didn’t say it also brought naked, wet men. I might have to get one commissioned for myself.” Her eyes dropped none too subtly to his crotch.

It was then that Kylo realized he had run all this way without even grabbing a towel first. He scowled fiercely to cover up his embarrassment as suds dripped down his body and onto the floor. “Watch yourself, I am your superior,” he said darkly.

With as much dignity as he could muster, Kylo turned on his heel and stomped back the way he came, but not without crumpling the Force tampering device in Hux’s hand. He heard the General shout something but Kylo ignored it. As soon as he got some clothes on he needed to visit the technician’s center and have a little chat about tampering with things beyond their pitiful knowledge.

OP: Yikes, sorry for the weird spacing. Will fix that in next installment.

i m crying goodbye

bless u phasma

see i wondered if you just forgot to mention him putting a towel on before storming out, happy to see that was intentional. the poor finalizer crew lmao

I am certain any suds that had been concealing parts of his body were lost in his haste to get to Hux.

Bless Phasma indeed. Brilliant woman indeed.

C R Y I N G wet naked rampage Kylo is my fave Kylo. Don't mess with him when he's trying to jerk off! I loved that both Hux and Phasma had their blasters out when Ren burst in, like they're prepared for any attack from whatever it is that's trying to kill them today and... Oh it's just Hux's dramatic nude boyfriend, lol (eight pack: confirmed.)

Those poor technicians though, they're gonna get such a choking for doing their jobs too well.

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