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corellianangel · 5 years

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For @otterandterrier Scoundress Saturdays prompts - “I’m trying so hard not to kiss you right now” and One character adjusting the other’s jewelry/necktie/ etc.

A/N: So the last scoundress saturdays for awhile. :( This isn’t much. But this little bit of Han x Leia lurking in my docs was the closest thing I had to done for today. No plot, just mood, and a bit of HanLeia love.

Rating: T

Timeline: Star Wars rebellion era, Return of the Jedi. 4ABY Rebel Fleet Command Ship - Home One

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She’d gone from ecstatic and proud, to somewhat betrayed and left out. Even though it wasn’t really Han that she should be angry with... Well, she couldn’t be angry with High Command, she wasn’t allowed to be. Especially not at this stage of the upcoming major military operation. And so, Leia was angry with him. Angry with him because she could be. He not only allowed it, he encouraged it. To get it all out. Out of her system. No one else could allow her to vent and rage like Han could. He just took it all, redirected her negative energy, absorbing it when he had to, transforming it when he could, and – certainly– often in their pre-relationship past – he would hurl it back at her. Challenging and humbling her in a way no one else dared.

Nerfherder, Leia’s wordless, scalding ire was squarely directed at the lanky, dark haired man she shoved out of the elevator doors. Gods, she was kriffing angry! She’d just got him back, and he throws himself into an insanely dangerous mission for the Rebellion without even telling her? Not one word or peep from him until it was announced at the briefing?

What was he thinking?

“When were you planning on letting me know? When they bring your carcass back?” Leia’s eyes were red rimmed, and flashing angrily as she pushed at Han once more. The lift behind, closed on the stoic but bemused witnesses to their argument.

“You’re supposed to be happy, I joined finally.” Han snapped back at the petite ball of fury fuming before him. Shifting a long coat he’d thrown over his left shoulder, along with a bundle that contained both their kit for the strike team, Han walked backwards in front of Leia with his arms outstretched for a few paces.

“You were supposed to remain with me on the command ship while you recovered from being encased in carbonite!” Leia snapped.

Smirking, Han waved off her argument. “Nah. And let these other kids have all the fun? No way, Princess. Boring.”

Two personnel mutely redirected their paths around the couple to skirt the opposite side of the hall. A third, engrossed in his datapad, nearly plowed into the edge of Han’s shoulder, then stopped dead, a little bewildered at the public spectacle. Han and Leia shot him a look, and he hastened down the corridor. After a moment Leia decisively twisted her head, to fix her anger on Solo once more.

She glared at him, waiting for him to quail. He almost never did. Today was no exception. His lazy grin was a sin in itself. No excuse, apology or regret lurked there, only those two hazel orbs with a glint of mischievousness.

“You should have told me.” Leia skewered his shoulder with her forefinger. Han winced, drew his head up and squared his jaw, looking at her out of the corner of his eye.

“Thought you’d be happy I joined,” growled the Corellian once again.

Leia’s right finger dropped to trace out the square metal plate of coloured rank lozenges on the dark tan of Han’s new Alliance issued jacket. They’d just returned from the supply officer with their kit for the Endor forest moon mission. Han had grudgingly agreed to wear his rank, as long as it stayed only on that jacket, and only if that jacket was the only piece of official uniform he wore. His ubiquitous black vest and new camouflage duster, along with a rucksack were in a bundle, slung over his left shoulder. Shifting his load, Han lifted a brow at her curiously, awaiting her answer.

Her throat constricted, “I- I’m just trying so hard not to kiss you right now. You half-witted…” She shook her head, “I want to hit you. I want to punch you so hard, that you stay in that bed in the medicenter.”

Leaning her forehead against his chest, Leia quietly explained, “Now that I have what I want, I don’t want to lose it.”

Han’s free hand traced her cheek, “You won’t. Until you say otherwise, I’m with you for the long haul, Princess.”

Leia fidgeted with the rank tab on Han’s jacket for just a second longer.

A General. My General.

Swallowing a hard lump that suddenly coalesced in her throat, Leia gave Han another small push against the doorframe, then pointed a stern finger at him, indicating he should remain. Meanwhile, she dialed in her access code to her assigned quarters with her free hand.

The door hissed open. Leia turned to incline her head at Han, and gestured come in with a roll of her wrist.

When the newly minted Rebel General hesitated, his deep set eyes following the bustle of personnel in the hall, Leia grabbed the bundle off Han’s shoulder and dramatically tossed it in the chamber entrance-way with an outstretched arm. Then she shrugged off her rucksack and roll with her poncho, and dropped it on the pile.

Han made to open his mouth to say something. Whatever it was, didn’t matter anymore. He’d barely squeaked out a, “Hey!” when Leia stood on his boot tips and stretched up to plant a very unexpected and passionate kiss on his lips. And the tension that had been building in the set of his jaw and shoulders since they’d left the command meeting dissipated. Leia held him there at the threshold of the doorway, her hands on the collar of his jacket tugging his head down to her.

Han’s eyes remained wide open as Leia relaxed into him. When they finally disengaged from the kiss, she drew out his lower lip between her teeth, until she stepped back down onto the floor. Han nearly bent double as he followed her on down to her level.

A chorus of murmurs followed whistles and catcalls from the hall, heralded their break. Both their eyes dropped, embarrassed by the reaction of their comrades to their display. Traffic continued in the corridor, with a renewed sense of confidence and guarded hope amongst their number. No-one spoke directly to the couple. Though there were a few asides and mutterings.

“About time.”

“Took you two long enough.”

“Nice catch, Highness.”

#scoundressaturdays #han x leia #HanLeia #star wars #Princess Leia #han solo #star wars fanfiction #return of the jedi #leia organa #no plot here #unbeta'd #sw #sw fanfiction #fanfiction

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ellielstories · 5 years

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Princess

Han/Leia, sometime post-ROTJ (but not in any canon timeline), nothing but fluff

Scoundress Saturdays (old) prompt: Royalty

His hand rested on his baby’s foot. Or possibly elbow. Maybe even knee. He wasn’t really sure, but it looked like it could be in no way comfortable for Leia, as the protrusion stretched her already taut skin even farther. He pressed gently against it, trying to persuade the offending body part to perhaps take it a little easier on her mother.

As the foot eased away, he felt Leia shift in front of him.

“Sorry.”

“It’s not you, it’s her. She’s apparently wide awake.”

“So you’re wide awake too.”

“You don’t have to be. I know you have that simulator training session in the morning. Don’t let me keep you awake.” She rolled over to face him, shifting back to make room.

“You got stuff tomorrow too. S’not fair you don’t get to sleep.”

“I’ll just get up and do a little work now so maybe I can catch a nap tomorrow.” She kissed his forehead, then started to move away.

“Nah, stay here, I’ll keep you company.” He caught her hand in his, thumb stroking her wrist, and felt her settle back down onto the bed.

Reaching around her, he kneaded her upper back, feeling the tension there ease a bit, before she tensed again as the baby seemed to somersault around. One of his hands slid back down to feel the movement under her skin.

“Can I ask you something? ‘Bout the baby?”

“I think you’ve read more of the books than I have at this point, but if you’ve got questions--”

“Not technical like that.” His hand ran over her, trying to be soothing as he searched for the words. “You’re a Princess. Will she be one too? How’s that work?”

Leia hummed a bit, stilling, and he knew she was thinking. “I...hadn’t thought about it. Were you thinking about it?”

“More just curious. Not sure how the royalty thing worked. She’s gonna get treated like one either way.”

“Technically, yes, as the child of the heir apparent, any child of mine would be a princess or prince. I’m sure there are parts of the Diaspora who would be delighted to have that announced at the Blessing Ceremony, but I’m just not sure--”

“Blessing Ceremony?” He racked his brain, trying to recall being told about any baby ceremonies.

“It’s Alderaanian royal custom. About a week after the birth, the baby is blessed by the eldest member of the ruling family, and their title and names are announced. It’s the day that’s publicly celebrated for them, rather than the actual birthdate, which is just for family.”

Frowning, he studied her face as well as he could in the dim light. “Why am I just hearing about this now? Seems important.”

“It was,” she responded after a moment, her voice close to a whisper, and full of melancholy. “But I’m the only member of the ruling family left, and I don’t think that titles are necessary for any children I have. There’s no Alderaan for them to inherit.”

“I thought you wanted to keep traditions--the holidays and the language and stuff. Fancy hair.”

“I do.”

“But you don’t need her to be Princess Leia II to accomplish that.”

He could feel her nod against him, moving closer. His arms closed tighter around her, feeling some of the tension ease out of her.

Abruptly she pulled away, studying him. “Do you want her to have a title?”

That was enough to make him laugh a little. “You know that doesn’t matter to me. But if it matters to you….”

“It doesn’t not matter, but I want our children to be private citizens first. If she decides one day that she wants to take up the cause of the Diaspora, or one of their Senate positions, and would like to be recognized as Princess, she can make that choice for herself.”

He pondered that information for a minute, stroking her back and liking the sound of letting the kid choose for themself. “But how’s that work? You just up and make up a title at eighteen or whatever?”

When she laughed against him, he could feel her relaxing. “No, it’s always there. Understood by Alderaanians but unused. There are some Alderaanians, and Elder House members, who will address her that way whether we choose to use it or not.”

“We gonna get some crazy baby tiaras as presents?”

“I’ve issued a notice that in lieu of gifts, I would like donations in the name of Baby Organa Solo to be made to the Alderaanian Orphans fund. Anything actually sent will be donated as well.”

“What if Luke gets her a baby sized lightsaber?”

She actually giggled then. “You know he knows better.”

He smiled, and kissed her forehead. “Anyone falling asleep over there?”

“I think….” Closing her eyes, she took a slow breath and assessed her situation. “I think the little princess may just be quieting down.”

“How many more weeks of this?”

“Five. Then another eighteen years.”

“Yeah but it’s easier for me to share some of that. This you’re kinda stuck with.”

Twisting next to him, she lifted one leg over his, easing some of the pressure on her hips with a sigh. “You’re up too. I appreciate it.”

He splayed his hand over the small of her back, kneading gently. “Well I only got five more weeks of having you to myself. Gotta make the most of it. Maybe by sleeping with you.” A yawn overpowered him, leaving the last few words mangled. She understood, anyway.

Closing his eyes, he smiled. “Goodnight, Your Highnessnesses.”

He barely felt the whack of her hand on his bicep, but drifted off the the sound of her soft laughter.

#scoundressaturdays #swfic #myfic #han x leia #han/leia #fluff

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otterandterrierwrites · 5 years

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also on FanFictionNet

I did it!! Happy Scoundress Saturday, everyone!! 😭💖👏 Here’s the long-teased next chapter of my trip to Bespin series, “The Inventory of Han Solo Kisses”, that I’ve been toying around for the past two years. It’s a relief to have finally wrapped that up!

#scoundressaturdays #han x leia #hanleia #Han Solo #leia organa #han and leia #star wars fanfiction #verse: inventory of han solo kisses #rated m #one-shot #series #esb #period: trip to bespin

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maplefiasco · 5 years

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All of the Fire I've Swallowed

Holy crap, I actually kinda finished something. And have it ready to go for Scoundress Saturday and everything! Title comes from “Take Me To War” by The Crane Wives

Han/Leia. Rated T. Pre-ESB. Three times Leia took something she wanted.

(Posted below, or if you prefer, you can read it on AO3 or on FF.N)

The first time she kisses Han is a mistake. Yet another in a long line of bad impulses she seems to have around him.

Their mission had been quick and simple, just her, Han, and Chewie picking up a shipment of medical supplies. But it was still a surprise when it turned out to be one of those rare missions that go smoothly. No unexpected Imperial checkpoints to shoot their way out of; no bounty hunters ambushing them at some key moment.

It's just so damn rare to get a win these days. When they actually do, it feels like the whole galaxy is hers to conquer, shape, do with as she sees fit. Today, a couple crates of bacta. Tomorrow, the galaxy.

Chewie's busy in the cockpit, so it's just the two of them in the main hold, both flush with adrenaline and a strange light giddiness. Han had even hugged her after the jump to lightspeed. Even more alarming, she had hugged him back. And now, watching him re-scan the cases for tracking devices (can't be too careful, sweetheart), she tries to remember why it is she goes to so much effort to avoid him, keep him at a distance.

If Leia is being truly honest with herself, which she usually is. Though not on this subject. On the subject of Han, she is coy and elusive with herself, watching herself from a safe distance with a silent smirk most of the time. But for this one brief moment, she allows herself to be open to the possibility of admitting to herself that maybe, possibly, theoretically... kissing Han Solo is the kind of thing she wants to do.

And why not, this new carefree and confident voice in her head asks. If she wants to kiss him, she can. It doesn't have to change anything or ruin her life or break her heart. Like any other mission, she can have an objective, achieve it, and then get out before it gets dangerous. Not everything in her life has to feel like the end of the galaxy. Or maybe it should, given her particular lifestyle these days, in which case she should seize every moment, right? Either way. This feels like a moment. An everything-is-good-and-also-maybe-there's-no-tomorrow moment.

Han is oblivious to her epiphany and how it will shortly affect his mouth. He gives her a good-natured wink and turns off the scanner. We're officially not being tracked. Told ya you were being paranoid as if it hadn't been his idea to do the second scan. Propelled by lingering adrenaline and newfound resolve, she takes a step to close the space between them and kisses him. Whatever she lacks in buildup or seduction, she thinks she makes up for with straightforward enthusiasm.

(Once, when she had been nine or ten, young, but old enough, she had joined her parents on a tour of Isata, a continent far from Aldera and its vibrant hustle. Every day that summer, they visited farms and villages, posed for holos with the locals that would later be broadcast across the planet. It was the first time in her young life Leia had felt on display. Commodified. Today the royal family saw the largest auberal harvested on all of Alderaan. Why it's a few inches taller than our little princess. Up next, your weekend weather forecast.

They had been touring yet another a village, stopping to meet the owner of a frozen joral cream shop. The midsummer sun had hung high and oppressively bright. Leia's elaborate braids had been damp and heavy against her neck with sweat, the hairpins jabbing her scalp every time she moved. The shop owner had offered her a joral cream, any flavor. It would be my honor to serve our sweet princess something as sweet as she. Just name your flavor, your highness.

She had been trained for this. Repeatedly. She knew her line by heart. Thank you, but I could only enjoy it if you give it to a child in more need than me. All summer she had parroted her script and curtsied to Isata's finest confectioners, toy makers, and bakers. What generosity! How compassionate and unselfish the princess is! And then she watched them pull their temptations out of her reach. She hadn't minded, mostly. The affectionate pat on her head from her father was a reward in itself.

But that day, the sun, the constant pressure of being on, all of it, had bested her. She had stood there, boiling in her dress's heavy puddle of fabric. Across the shop sat a girl about her age. Her bright hair swept back in a loose braid, her simple dress breezy on her skinny limbs. She was barely paying attention the royal procession in front of her, so enraptured in her half-melted joral cream. Leia had watched her devour the frozen treat with envy, how she caught the stray drips of melted juice before they could trickle down the cream's flimsy stick and onto her tight fist. Her lips were stained purple, and when she slurped on the cream it echoed all the way across the shop, each a satisfied pop of tangy, cool fruit that Leia could feel on the back of her stale tongue.

At that moment she had so longed to be that girl. Why could she, princess and therefore (as she understood it at the time) most important girl on all of Alderaan, not be as free and natural as the next village girl. She felt her parents' keen eyes on her, waiting to hear her well-rehearsed line. But wasn't she just as hot and hungry as any other girl? The day was already so long, and yet so far from over. Didn't she need a respite as much as anyone else? Why couldn't she, just once, have the simple pleasures that everyone else got to have? The sudden longing and unfairness of it all overrode her royal training. Starblossom flavor, please!

Her mother had laughed and smiled her most diplomatic royal smile, the one that didn't entirely reach her eyes if you really paid attention, thanked the shop owner profusely when he stretched across the counter to bestow Leia with the stick of sweet frozen cream. But when she met her mother's eyes, she knew she'd pay for this defiance later; a stern speech about how one behaves and what one represents that will undoubtedly go on for too long, stirring in her equal parts guilt and boredom. But at that moment, it had only made the joral cream taste all the sweeter.)

So yeah, she kisses Han. And for a single, endless moment she tastes icy sweet starblossom.

The moment after that one, however, is flooded with cold reality. The rational part of her mind, having finally wrestled control back from her giddy idiot brain, went into overdrive. Every very real, very logical reason why this is a very bad idea hits her all at once. A wave of electric panic shoots up her spine, the tang of fruit and summer replaced with ash in the back of her throat. Already cringing, she opens her eyes.

He's standing perfectly still, eyes wide in surprise. This close she can watch the color in them change, from bright green to dark gold, literally watch his mind process what's happening while his face catches up.

The panic takes a quick jaunt through her entire body before settling in the pit of her stomach. Kriff damn hells.

She pulls back stiffly, the way one is supposed to back away from a feral sabercat if they cross paths with one in the wild. Maintain eye contact and don't show weakness. His lips curve up in something between a smug grin and a surprised O. She'll never hear the end of this.

Maybe if she looks aggrieved enough, she can act like what just happened didn't actually happen. Maybe she tripped. Maybe his kriffing ship bucked and bounced her mouth onto his mouth. Because that happens, right. Maybe–

He's full-on grinning now, so no luck there. "Why, Princess–"

"Shut up." Not her most diplomatic tactic, but her mind's blanking on anything more articulate.

"I haven't even said anything yet!"

"Well don't!"

"Hold on, you're the one who just kissed m–"

"No, I didn't, so don't even start." She stomps to the crew quarters and spends the rest of the trip working, definitely not just reading the same page over and over and avoiding him.

This seems to do the trick, because when they land and she finally emerges, he's carrying cargo down the Falcon's ramp, only nodding when he passes her. It's an offhanded, same-shit-as-always kind of nod. Nothing that would indicate that he now knows the taste of her lipgloss or the smell of her hair, which he almost certainly must.

He doesn't say anything and obviously she doesn't say anything. After a while, it's almost enough that she can convince herself it didn't actually happen.

The second time she kisses him, however, he's ready for her.

Remembrance Day was as good an excuse as any for the entire base to celebrate and let off some steam. Some low-grade cabin fever had been making the rounds at Echo Base; the remote location making everyone itch with isolation and anxiety. Why not bring out a few cases of alcohol and let the base run wild for a night. Shake off the nervous energy.

It's noisy and chaotic, the base a barely controlled riot of merrymaking. But in that good way that makes Leia's heart ache. Enthusiasm and camaraderie and everyone here, brought together by a shared mix of fierce dedication and naiveté to believe they can change the course of the galaxy all by themselves.

She's tipsy, not drunk, for the record, because royalty doesn't get shit-faced. A small crowd has ended up in the main briefing chamber. Not completely separate from the partying out in the hall, but adjacent to it.

By day, she's Commander Organa, down in the front of this chamber, presenting intel and passing out mission assignments like some school teacher of war. But now there's a forbidden thrill to being in this room at night, being in a purposeful room without purpose. The usual stresses and duty she associates with this room on pause for the night. It reminds her of playing tea party in the formal banquet hall as a child. Sipping air at the same seat her mother often led state dinners and entertained the galaxy's leaders.

They're holed up in a back corner, the harsh overhead fluorescents off, so the room feels dim and strange. Han doesn't share her reverence for a good briefing chamber. He rearranges the chairs with a casual disregard until they're better suited for social drinking and bullshitting.

She chats for a while with Shara about the pilot's current difficulties. Which are mainly adapting speeder engines for Hoth's temperatures, and getting a strong enough signal to call her parents regularly. (Not that her infant son is much of a conversationalist, but it's the principle, y'know? If he doesn't hear her and see her often enough, how's he going to remember who she is?)

Han and Wedge seem deep in something, their Corellian flowing too rapidly for Leia to pick anything up in the snatches she hears from across the room, especially in Han's thick Tyrenan accent. Luke's in between the two of them, nodding a lot, which means he's either better then she is with Corellian, or he's somehow even worse. At least it sounds lyrical, whatever they're saying, like all Corellian does. Every now and then Han catches her eye across the small crowd. He smiles and cocks his chin towards her ever so slightly. Like they're co-conspirators. Like the two of them share some precious secret only they know about. Her cheeks burn at the presumed intimacy of it. Not embarrassed, but something close to it.

It's well after midnight before the crowd starts to thin out. Shara and Kes had stumbled off in search of Endrolian ale and never returned. Luke, ever the farmer and habitual early riser, had called it a night. Slowly, then all of a sudden, it's just the two of them.

Leia doesn't miss the carefully effortless way Han approaches her, stretches and yawns, then drapes his arm across her shoulders, pulling her close. As if they do this every day. As if tucked under his arm is where she belongs. He's close enough she can smell the whiskey on his breath. "Well honey, you throw a pretty good party." He looks younger when he's not scowling, as he so often is. Softer.

She's far gone enough to enjoy this, thrill slightly at his domestic make-believe, even if a scant few hours ago she would have sooner bit his hand off. "I think it was actually Mon's idea."

"Then tell her she really knows how to run a Rebellion next time you see her." It's high praise from the man who usually only has two opinions about Mon Mothma. One, she's an idealistic fool. And two, she pays too well. But don't correct her on that count.

"I think you like our little Rebellion."

Han sighs before he answers as if it takes a moment to build up the courage to relent and say, "I guess I do." He catches her gaze, smiles his achingly Han smile. "Don't tell Leia, though. She'd be insufferable if she knew." Leia retaliates with a sharp elbow to his ribs. Enough to register, but not hard enough to actually hurt.

"Stars forbid we have one nice moment. If you could just be nice for–" she's gesturing sharply until he catches her hand, kisses the back of it, quick and amiably. A gesture of apology for the words he'd just said, and the ones he knows he's going to say next.

"See? Already insufferable."

She laughs despite herself. It's nice, this. Fighting for fun. (There's a word for that. Flirting. But admitting to herself that that's what they're doing right now is one step too far for her, even now.) It's a struggle to pinpoint the last person who teased her, treated her like Leia, as opposed to Commander or Princess. She knows it was before, before– well, even Luke still has a hint of awe in his voice when he talks to her sometimes.

It's as close as she's gotten him to admit to caring about the Rebellion and she wants to savor this victory. And it shouldn't be a turn on. She's on a base literally filled with sentients who care so damn much they're ready to give their lives to the cause. But it is. Because everything right now feels warm and soft. Because it's him. Because maybe she likes her men like she likes her political revolts. Hard-won and more difficult than they should be.

If she's thinking about kissing him again, it's his fault. For having that stupidly beautiful smile, and directing it at her while admitting he cares about the cause, saying he likes the rebels in a way that really means he likes her. It's not fair. Who grins like that, warm and somehow indecent all at the same time.

So really she has to kiss him, if he's going to have that face.

And it's like he's been waiting every moment for the past three months for this. For it. Again. Like he needs to prove himself after last time when he'd just stood there dumbfounded. Without hesitating, his hand cups her jaw, guiding her closer.

It turns out Han kisses the same way he flies, the same way he argues with her, the same way he does everything in life. Focused and intense and just a little bit carelessly pleased with himself. It's just as impressive and infuriating as anything else he does. He's... unhurried. Less interested in conquering her and more simply exploring, mapping her unfamiliar constellations so he can navigate by them in the future.

She leans further into him, doubling down on her own boldness as if that's the way to somehow regain control of the situation.

He only responds with an arm around her waist, until their bodies are flush against each other. This got away from her so fast. It's dangerously close to something she can't take back, if she even wants to. She feels lightheaded and fuzzy on the exit points.

A loud crash out in the hallway, followed by the sound of glass breaking, shatters the spell between them. Outside, people laugh and carry on, like everything's still normal.

This time her this-is-a-bad-idea brain is slower to pipe up, struggles to gather enough righteous indignation to push him away. He doesn't look offended when she does, though. He looks about as far from offended as possible. "Sorry sweetheart, but I think this time you have to admit you kissed me."

"Don't worry, it won't happen again."

He doesn't look convinced. But then, she didn't sound convincing.

They go three weeks and two days without any more kissing incidents. Not that she's keeping track.

It's either very late or very, very early. If anyone ever asked, not that they did, she would say she spent so much time on the Falcon because it was warmer than the rest of the base, short of her hanging out down on the fuel reservoir level, warming her hands against one of the large fuel pipes that keeps the entire base running.

But everyone seemed to know better than to ask.

Han had spent the evening replacing a motivator in the Falcon's shield generators. She was there under the pretense of needing somewhere warm and relatively quiet, somewhere with an endless supply of kaff, to review reports. Except most of the night had been her sipping kaff while passing tools to Han and watching him work. Grease-stained white shirt with sleeves absentmindedly pushed up to the elbows. Bare feet.

Working on the Falcon is a physical undertaking; throughout the evening he's done everything from dangle half of his body into an open panel in the floor, to bury himself in the sea of wires and circuitry that live behind the main hold's command station. Over the years, she's heard him declare that his blood and sweat are what hold the Falcon together. But it's fascinating to watch the act, the ritual offering of himself to his ship's wellbeing, see for herself how his declaration is in no way metaphorical.

She's on her seventh dossier (and fourth mug of black kaff) when he sidles up to the table, wiping his hands with a deeply stained rag. "Don't you ever take a break, sweetheart?"

"The emperor's not taking breaks. Vader doesn't take breaks."

He plops down next to her on the bench, his body close enough she can feel its warmth. "And isn't that what separates them from us? How we value life and," he waves his hand vaguely. "–actually getting to live it?"

"I promise to live my life after they're dead, how's that for a compromise?"

A wry smile graces his face as if he doesn't want to disturb the quiet of the ship by laughing out loud. "And what about the next Vader? And the Vader after that Vader? And the–"

"Alright, I get it." She pushes her mug of kaff around the table with great interest before she finally answers. "Someone has to do it."

"But ya don't need to do it single-handed, Leia. What about what you want?" He adds before she can answer, "And I mean you. Not what the Rebellion wants."

Maybe there's not enough left of herself for herself. She remembers who she was like one remembers a distant relative you met only briefly as a child, at holidays and weddings. 'Leia Organa' is just an abstract concept to her, another chunk of rock and dust floating around what had been Alderaan's atmosphere. If your home, where all the experiences and memories that made you you, is no more, are you no more as well? If you can't go back home, can't find those places again, can you ever reunite with yourself? Or are you destined to wander the galaxy as Not Yourself, until you eventually become someone else. If so, she's still getting to know this someone else who shares her name, who has no one and nowhere to return to, whose anger always boils just beneath the surface, who hangs out with dangerous men on their smuggling ships in the middle of the night.

She doesn't– can't say any of this. So she settles for turning her attention to him. "You can't talk. You're up same as me, still working."

"Ah, that's different. I'm working on my baby," he reaches out to pat the hold's wall affectionately. "Which is never really work."

She's witnessed enough times when 'working on his baby' was mostly just cursing and hitting it, then cursing at Chewie, then Chewie cursing at him, to know that wasn't true. But it's too late for pesky things like facts and reality.

When he finally speaks again, his voice is low and unfamiliar. He determinedly stares in a direction that is not her's. "Hey, y'know how you keep kissing me?"

Kriff.

"No, I–"

"Because y'know, if it's just getting caught up in a moment. That's one thing. I mean, I get it." He gestures to his lean, stupid body that she will very shortly push into another trash compactor. Then he adds, because he can't help himself, "I know how irresistible this package can be."

He leans closer, now firmly in her space. Surely they had an unspoken pact to never speak of this, and here he is, blatantly speaking of it. "But if it's not. If you somewhere deep down actually like me–" He doesn't even have the decency to wait until they're in some heightened, life-or-death situation. Or drunk. He really thinks they're going to have this conversation politely, at the table, over cold kaff.

She cuts him off in the tone she learned from her mother, her I'm royalty and you're not tone. "Of course I like you. Don't–"

"You know that's not what I mean. Come on, Princess." If he'd had a fraction of her diplomatic training, he'd know the proper protocol was to dance around the topic for a couple more years without ever directly addressing it.

"I– I like how involved you've become. With the Rebellion." His jaw clenches in silent aggravation. Too bad. He won't let her lie her way out, fine, but he's not provoking her into some heartfelt confession. "You have! You run missions efficiently... most of the time. You're reliable. Riekeen can't stop singing your praises–"

"I'm not talking about being another dedicated soldier for your cause. You have Luke for that. What you're describing is Luke. Is that what you want?" The air of betrayal in his voice is only half-teasing.

"I do not!" Invoking Luke is out of bounds and he knows it.

"You want Luke, but you don't want to scare him off. So you're using me as a cheap substitute."

"That's absurd. Don't you think I'd be with Luke right now if I wanted him? I don't want Luke."

"Then prove it," he challenges. It's a stupid dare to get her to kiss him again, she gets that. But he doesn't actually think she'll do it, does he? He can't. Which would mean he'd be so surprised if she did actually kiss him. She could kiss him, quick and cold, to shut him up and wipe the smirk off his face. That's fine. That's just beating him at his own stupid game, right. She takes a moment to pride herself on her own strategic ingenuity, then presses forward.

Damnit.

Apparently, he did think she'd kiss him. His mouth meets hers easily, his lips slightly open and encouraging. It's like the last time they kissed, but more. More intense, more real. Sharper and in full color. Her ingenious strategy immediately forgotten, she leans into him, kissing back.

She should–

She moves her arm to better reach him, sink her fingers in his hair. In the process, she elbows her forgotten kaff mug. "Shit," he hisses under his breath. Han reaches and fails to catch the mug before it tips and spills across the table.

"Is kaff on all my files?"

"And getting into the dejarik table wiring. Great."

"If this table wasn't so damn small–"

Han's already turning his attention back to her, muttering, "Forget it, I'll clean it later."

"–and surrounded by junk–" she stretches and shoves a box of tools off the edge of the bench behind him. If they're being messy and destructive, might as well go all in.

He catches the handle of the toolbox before it can hit the ground, only to throw it across the room. "Are you seriously starting a fight right now?! We coul–" A loud clanging stops them as a rogue hydrospanner falls down an open panel, hitting something down there with a sickening thud. A second later, smoke drifts up from the panel. "Okay, that's definitely the hyperdrive."

"You just broke your hyperdrive?"

"I can fix it later!"

"It's on fire!"

"Barely!"

The reality of their ever more compromising situation hits her. The sudden absurdity of it. How will she explain to Riekeen, Mon, Luke for crying out loud, how she died in a fire on the Falcon, in the middle of the night. Or maybe they'll survive, evacuate out into the hangar looking disheveled and compromised, where she'll only be able to wish she was dead. Or maybe nothing more will happen than Luke will stroll aboard in the next moment, hiding out and warming up before his early shift. All possibilities feel equally catastrophic. "That's it, I'm out."

"Because of a tiny mechanical fire?!"

"That's not it." Leia struggles to extricate herself from the table, his arm, the mess of tools and exposed paneling. All of it. Finally, she storms towards the Falcon's gangplank. "You can't go five minutes without breaking something." Hyperdrives. Ships. Nice, peaceful moments they were having. Unspoken agreements to kiss sometimes and not ask each other follow-up questions about feelings. Their whole tenuous friendship. The list goes on.

"Oh come on. You're not as blameless as you like to imagine, Your High and Mightiness."

"Don't try to pull me down to your level."

"Is that– fine leave, before I dirty your royalness with my level and my fire."

"That's not what I meant!" It's impossible to articulate what precisely she did mean, though.

"Great! Come back when you know what you want."

"It won't be you!"

Tomorrow morning she'll pick up her kaff-stained reports. When she does, she'll call him captain and stare at the bridge of his nose rather than make any real eye contact. She'll pretend she can't see his expression oscillate between wounded and annoyed. Then she'll get back to work. And if she finds herself entertaining any more bad impulses when it comes to Han, she'll sternly remind herself that it only leads to destruction and doom. Literally.

In the meantime, she ignores the fact that to her rattled, tired mind, the smoke in her hair smells like starblossom fruit.

#scoundressaturdays #han x leia #fanfic #my fic #fanfiction

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yoyomarules · 5 years

Link

Leia asks Han a question about Chewie. Written for Scoundress Saturday, and in honour of both May the Fourth and, of course, Peter Mayhew.

‘He refers to me as “extremely tiny little being”?’

‘Well… sort of.’

‘That’s—’ Leia sat up a little straighter. ‘I’m not that tiny.’

‘Don't worry,’ Han said. ‘He calls me that, too.’

#scoundressaturdays #han x leia #star wars #my fic #sw fic

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hanleiahothwars · 5 years

Link

Han and Leia, on a slow flight to Bespin

#han x leia #scoundressaturdays #hanleiaarchive #period: ESB #length: MC #in-progress #my fic

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iverna · 5 years

Text

A little bit of Han and Leia, set during the Rebellion, pre-Hoth. Prompt is @otterandterrier’s:

“It’s too hot to sleep.”

Han gave Leia an incredulous look. He’d seen her sleep in dozens of impossible positions and situations. On storage crates, in storage crates, on top of an ancient generator that rattled and spouted smoke, on the floor. She could even curl up on the bench in the Falcon’s hold, and then there was that memorable occasion where she’d fallen asleep in the engine room of a borrowed corvette where they’d hid her to mask her heat signature.

So sure, Tragan VI was hot and humid and uncomfortable. But Han knew for a fact that Leia had a proper bed in her quarters, and there was no way it was hotter than an engine room.

“No, it’s not,” he said, leaning against the door and watching as she scowled down at her datapad. There was no one else in the briefing room; the only place that showed activity at this time of night was the command centre next door.

“How would you know?” she demanded. “You only just got here.”

“Yeah, and if my day and night cycles weren’t messed up, I’d be able to sleep,” he countered. “You’re making excuses.”

She finally looked up, and glared at him with eyes that definitely had some dark shadows under them. She’d been worried lately. Or throwing herself into work. Or both. Probably both. “Why do you care?”

He shrugged. “You’re nicer to deal with when you’re not sleep-deprived.”

He didn’t know why he said it. He didn’t know why he kept saying things like that, except that they made her eyes spark and her anger rise, and chased away some of that awful tiredness that hung over her sometimes. “Maybe you should try being nicer,” she snapped. “You could start by showing up when you’re supposed to, and not four days late!”

“I’m being nice,” he protested. "And it wasn’t my fault we were late, I told you, the shipment got delayed.”

Leia just shook her head, annoyed, and turned back to her datapad.

“I’m being nice and looking out for you,” he went on innocently, driven by that familiar urge to get a rise out of her. He hadn’t seen her in over a month. He wanted his money’s worth. “Get some sleep. And some food. When’s the last time you ate?”

He was overdoing it on purpose, and she knew it; it gained him another disdainful look. “I’m not a child, Han. I told you, I can’t sleep.”

Can’t sleep, he noted. No mention of the temperature this time. The answer, if he had to guess, was in the way she kept stopping herself from fidgeting. After-effects of adrenaline, though he didn’t know from what. He had only seen her briefly after docking, when she’d smiled at him, hugged Chewie, and then started snapping at him about being late.

Although that might have been because of his quip about missing her.

“Sure you can,” he said. “Sleeping’s one of the easiest things in the galaxy.”

“Not when it’s too hot.”

“It’s not too hot.”

“Easy for you to say,” she said. “You’re sleeping on the Falcon, which is insulated.”

“So come sleep on the Falcon,” he said. “We’ve got space. You can bunk with Chewie, or I’ll bunk with Chewie and you can take mine.”

She glared at him. He smirked at her, a wordless challenge. Temperature problem solved. So either there was another issue, and she’d have to admit it, or...

“Fine,” she said, putting her datapad down with slightly more force than strictly necessary. “I’ll bunk with Chewie.”

“Sure.” He stood back to let her pass, gesturing her towards the exit with a bow that he was pretty sure was Alderaanian court custom. From the look she shot him, trying to be annoyed rather than smile, it was.

He followed her, feeling smug and a little triumphant. She didn’t talk to him all the way to the Falcon, and he didn’t push, knowing that if he got too smug about it, she’d get stubborn and storm off and probably spend the rest of the night with that damn datapad just to make a point.

Not that he cared.

#han x leia #han x leia ff #scoundressaturdays #star wars #sw ff #fanfic #mine

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lunaachic · 6 years

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I made this for all the Scoundress people, but mostly for @otterandterrier lol

#scoundressaturdays #han x leia #star wars

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otterandterrier · 5 years

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Remember me, love, when I'm reborn.

#scoundressaturdays #han x leia #swedit #starwarshub #strwrsdaily #hanleia #han solo #leia organa #starwarsedit #stuff by me #this song is about them purely during esb and i won't be accepting comments that talk about tfa thanks

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lajulie24 · 5 years

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The end

You didn’t think I was going to let the last official Scoundress Saturday go without any fic, did you? This turned out a bit silly, but I thought we could have a little fun with post-ROTJ Han and Leia. Also, to be clear, I still have plans for many other Han and Leia fics in the works (some of which were started or continued thanks to Scoundress Saturday), so this is far from the end of writing or posting. Thanks, all, for the wonderful support that has made writing these things each week so much fun.

Leia strode into the apartment, a bit later than her estimate, but well within the time Han had figured into his calculations for dinner.

“Would’ve been earlier,” she said, after kissing him and accepting a glass of Corellian red, “but I had to lose some old friends.”

Old friends used to mean Imperials or bounty hunters; now it meant the paparazzi, who had evidently decided that Leia and Han were much more interesting than they actually were. No less relentless, but at least they were slightly less likely to try to kill you. Unless it would make a good story, Han thought wryly.

“’S okay,” Han said. “Almost ready. How’s your day?” He finished cutting a selection of cured meats and cheeses, offering the plate to Leia.

“Fine,” Leia said, tearing off a hunk of bread and adding a slice of cheese to it. “Met with the Bothan delegation. Your good and close friend Borsk was not there,” she noted at Han’s raised eyebrow.

“Ah, so actually had a prayer of gettin’ something done,” Han said. Borsk Fey’yla, though a valuable asset to the Rebellion, was proving to be something of a perpetual stumbling block as the New Republic worked to move the galaxy from war to governance.

Leia laughed, taking another sip of wine. “A prayer, yes. Actually, it wasn’t that bad. How about you?”

Just then, the timer for the meat rang, and Han went to take it out of the oven. “Oh, y’know. The usual. Oh, yeah,” he said, placing the pan on the counter and then turning to her with a deadly serious look, “almost forgot. It’s over. We’re splitting up.”

“Again?” Leia asked mildly. “Too bad. What’d you do this time?”

“Oh, no, this time I’m leaving you,” he said smugly.

Leia sighed and took another sip of wine. “Well, I guess I can’t hide my baby bump from you forever. You have one really good Crathulian meal—” She shook her head. “Whose love child am I having now?”

“Wedge’s,” Han said. “Apparently I am real pissed off.”

“I can’t imagine Luke is very happy about it either,” she said. “Do you think that will make dinner awkward? Where the hells are they, anyway?”

“Eh,” Han shrugged as he tested the temperature of the meat. “You know the kid. He’s on Jedi time. Just Force-comm him.”

Leia made a face. “He hates it when I do that to remind him he’s late,” she reminded Han. “And then he gets all bitchy with me in my head.”

Luke and Wedge showed up without a reminder just after the meat had finished resting, and after a lively dinner—including ample banter about Leia’s and Wedge’s paparazzi-imagined affair—they settled down in the living room for what promised to be some intriguing after-dinner entertainment.

One of Leia’s secret pleasures was watching the collection of holofilm biopics and television series purporting to portray her friends in the Rebellion—The Courtship of Princess Leia, The Life Day Special, Jedi Ewok Princess, the Last Jedi—and she’d recently converted not only Han but also Wedge and, begrudgingly, Luke to this particular pastime. Their latest viewing party had been a rewatch of Jedi Ewok Princess, which had some of the worst production values they had ever seen (“I think they just bought a few houseplants and called it Endor,” Wedge had noted incredulously) as well as some entertaining dialogue.

Tonight’s selection was a rare feature, a bootleg copy of which was obtained not by the former smuggler in the group, but by Luke. Well, technically, by R2D2, but with Luke’s help.

“You owe me,” Luke said gravely as he handed over the disc. “Big time. Do you even know how many porn versions of your relationship are out there?”

Leia turned to Han. “Eight? Nine?”

“Nine,” Han said with confidence.

“Thirteen,” Luke corrected. “And Artoo downloaded them all when he was looking for this show.” He shuddered slightly.

“Huh, some new ones,” Han said. “Maybe they got a new guy to play me. That other guy was way too short.”

“Don’t think that was the dimension they were casting for,” Leia said dryly.

Wedge, who had started laughing quietly at this exchange a few minutes ago, fell over on the couch, no longer able to hold it in. “Just start it,” he said. “I wanna see how bad it is.”

The new show was called Days of our Rebellion, and it was a limited holoseries purporting to tell “the true stories of the lives and loves of the heroes of the Rebel Alliance.” It was supposed to have come out six months ago already, but apparently the network airing it was still skittish about releasing something that could cast the current political leadership in an unfavorable light, likely based on the memory of Palpatine’s frequent crackdowns on such things. But never estimate the power of an astromech droid to help them snag their very own copy of the series.

“Okay, this looks promising,” Wedge said as the opening credits began. “Obviously not a houseplants in Endor production situation here.”

The Luke was an up-and-coming actor who had recently been cast in a superhero movie, and he actually sort of looked like Luke. “Or Luke’s younger brother,” Han joked, as Luke elbowed him in the ribs.

“Aw, my baby daddy made the credits,” Leia said, as the actor playing Wedge showed up on screen. Wedge had gotten written out of The Courtship of Princess Leia with the exception of some generic fight scenes, and wasn’t even named in some of the other holos.

Leia’s double was an actress who had played a Padmé Amidala-like senator in another miniseries. “Oh, she’s good,” said Wedge.

They kept showing the Han actor in wide-angle shots, and when they finally showed him in a close-up both Leia and Luke gasped.

“That’s not—“ Han said.

“Go back and freeze-frame,” Leia directed, and when Han did, Luke was the one who collapsed with laughter this time.

“Oh my goddess that’s Porn Han. They cast Porn Han!” Leia exclaimed.

“Naw, they wouldn’t—“ Han began to insist.

“They did,” Leia said again.

“You’re right, he is way too short. He doesn’t really look like you, except that he’s wearing your outfit,” Wedge pointed out. “And there’s a Wookiee with him. Did they get real Wookiee actors?”

“Yeah,” Han confirmed. “Wouldn’t give ‘em the rights if they didn’t.”

The first episode opened on Yavin, but spent all of five minutes there before moving to a familiar-looking winter landscape.

“We’re going to Hoth already?” Luke asked.

The designers had managed to make a pretty convincing set that really did remind Han of Hoth, He shivered a little to think of it.

Porn Han and Not-Senator-Amidala were having an argument in the hallway, as personnel squeezed past them on their way somewhere else.

“Ha, look at all those people just walking by while we argue,” Han said, laughing.

“I know,” Leia said. “Right in the hallway! ‘Don’t mind us, we’re just going to have incredible amounts of sexual tension while you try to go about your daily lives,’” she continued.

Luke and Wedge exchanged a look. Oblivious to the end, these two.

��Releasing tension, huh. I think that’s what Porn Han is for,“ Wedge quipped.

#scoundressaturdays #han x leia #hanleia #star wars #myfic #han solo #leia organa #luke skywalker #wedge antilles #luke x wedge #the gffa paparazzi

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corellianangel · 5 years

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Lollipop

For @otterandterrier Scoundress Saturdays prompt - “I’m not staring at you eating your popsicle // I’m not eating my popsicle all suggestive-like to make you stare” ...In which the popsicle is replaced by a lollipop in this story.

Rating: M (below the cut)

Timeline: Star Wars rebellion era, Empire Strikes Back. Millennium Falcon interior, the trip to Bespin

==================================

A dense cloud of steam billowed from the ship’s engine hold. Beyond the plume of vapor, could be heard the crisp curse of a human male and the animalistic howl of a Wookiee’s outrage. The golden-plated protocol droid C-3PO - fussed, interfered and complained incessantly; rarely providing useful information. Klaxons rang throughout the freighter. Crimson emergency lighting flashed over the ribbed bulkheads. As the ship’s captain would put it, currently; “All hell was breaking loose.”

Princess Leia tucked down the tails of the Millennium Falcon’s captain’s shirt in under her buttocks, crossed her bare legs, stuck her lollipop in her mouth, and used her toe to push away from the engineering console, spinning in place on her stool. Every second rotation, she noted the numbers on the data-output; some red, most yellow, a couple in the green. Leia sighed, popped the candy out of her mouth and gave it a long suffering and critical look.

Assigned to status monitoring duty, on the narrow stool next to the aft engineering station, Leia was within sight of the flurry of activity in the engine hold. Hours earlier, the ship’s cooling lines erupted, threatening to overheat their backup hyperdrive – a plodding one-shot emergency drive they were using instead of the Falcon's temperamental, delicately tuned, military-grade hyperdrive. If their backup gave out, the ship likely would take centuries to reach the closest port, and the crew would all be dead of dehydration or starvation long before arrival.

Nothing to worry about though, Sweetheart, the princess silently informed the generously sized lollipop. Leia had secured the sugary treat a couple of nights earlier in an incredibly intense sabacc card game. Top prize was the citrus and cream candy sucker, found in the bottom of a storage bin – age: unknown, but hell... it was merely processed sugar anyway. So the trio gambled for it, since a single lollipop could not be fairly distributed like a bag of crisps.

Leia resumed spinning on her stool in a leisurely circle, sucking indulgently at her sweet taste of victory. She mentally repeated the Falcon’s captain’s reassurance upon the instance of the ship’s various alarms blaring earlier. Everything’s gonna be fine, Princess.

Leia snorted. As if. It didn’t take a battle-hardened politician like Leia, to see through Han’s dismissive reassurances.

To bolster Leia’s pessimistic opinion of the state of the ship, and possibly their fate – there was another opaque burst of coolant steam. The corridor filled with bluish white clouds and the high-pitched scream of burst piping. As if in harmony, the roar of a Wookiee accompanied the venting steam. Then the sputtering sharp-tongued response of the captain.

Leia twirled the pop in her mouth. Abruptly, two of the alarms were either shut off, or had simply died. Nothing on the ship appeared to function reliably, it seemed. Her gaze flicked to the status readout. Leia groaned inwardly. Still critical.

Chewbacca’s roaring carried on for some time, along with the distant tinny responses from the captain. The steam abated further to a degree, the cacophony calmed somewhat, and there were skeptical assents. More clattering of tools and then Han’s curt “Hang on a minute. I’ll check.”

Musing idly about how long repairs would take yet, Leia traced the circumference of the lollipop. It was - initially- of fairly substantial size, tinted to represent the peel and pith of a non-descript citrus fruit. And the flavor of fruit - even artificial - after months of rationing onboard this crippled wreck, was something Leia didn’t realise she absolutely needed.

She might have to pull her blaster on the boys if they ever found any real fruit onboard during this ridiculous trip.

“Mmmm.” Leia allowed the edge of the treat to rest against her bottom lip. She exhaled, closing her eyes to better visualize it as actual fruit. And at this point, anything would suffice.

Socorran lemon. Mar-fruit. Oh yessss - maybe...maybe Festian lime.

“Mmmm.” Leia repeated once more, at the succulent recollections.

Chewbacca’s complaints suddenly interrupted Leia’s thoughts. The Wookiee bellowed in irritation, calling for his captain. Leia’s brows furrowed, struggling mightily to maintain her fantasizing despite the noise. She startled, as Chewie raucously called for Han once more. Two more times, followed by a death threat against the captain, and Leia’s concentration and motivation just broke. She cursed under her breath and made to find Han. As she rose off the stool toward the door, she stopped dead.

Han was leaning rather exhaustedly against the hatch. His hand wrapped around the edge of the door, clinging to it as if he was about to be swept away. Mouth agape, he just stared at Leia.

Leia considered Han’s expression, “Captain?” She was torn between teasing the Rebel smuggler, or scolding him to get back to work. “You have a ship to repair, yes?”

Han continued to gape dumbly.

A weird silence followed, and feeling something off, Leia flushed and licked at the dribble of sugar collecting at the edge of her mouth, using her finger to subtly remove the rest.

Han sucked in his breath, gasping as if he’d been robbed of lung capacity. He gestured weakly at Leia, and struggled to speak.

Oh gods. Did she have some on her face too? Leia felt the mortified blush spread from her inflamed cheeks to nape to chest. As she checked her person for more dribbles, she caught a sticky strip on her wrist and sucked the offending sugar smear off.

Han appeared to sigh and meld into the frame of the doorway further.

Leia blinked at him. And then it dawned.

Oooh…

Han’s subsequent lost expression was about the cutest thing she’d ever seen. And Leia misplaced whatever shred of logic, decency or self-restraint she’d had a minute ago. Or before that, or well…whatever.

Han opened his mouth to speak, until Leia - opting for rather mischievous; curiously, deliberately, very deliberately ran the top edge of the lollipop against the base of her lip while gazing directly into Han’s gleaming green-gold eyes.

Han’s knees slackened to a point where Leia was concerned that he might fall to his knees in some form of prostration, and his jaw appeared to want to follow suit.

There was a clank, a wookiee’s bark of outrage, and new pitch of escaping steam from the engine room.

In the distance, Chewbacca detailed a holo-worthy version of how he was going to dismember his captain, if Han did not garner an appearance – immediately.

The copilot then promised removal of certain parts of Han’s anatomy, that Leia had admittedly grown extremely fond of in the last two months.

“I think Chewie wants you.” Leia reminded Han dryly.

Han shook his head dreamily, “He’s got it under control. Don’t need me. Threepio is pretty good helping out too.”

“Now that’s the absolute, worst lie, I have ever heard you tell.”

Han feigned shock, his hand going to his heart, lips pursed and brows peaked in mock innocence.

C3PO’s distant nattering to Chewbacca grew to an elevated pitch, that ended in a robotic squeal of terror. Leia’s brows rose in wonderment as the prissy protocol droid then scuttled past, begging to not be disassembled. Han jerked back into the present crisis, and swore colorfully. More than just mildly amused, Leia gave him a small wave goodbye as the more familiar scowling countenance and grease-streaked (oh - and sweaty, and lean, and tan, and, and..) form of Captain Solo blinked out of his stupor, and stalked after C3PO, threatening methodical, deliberate, and gradual disassembly by Han’s hydrospanner.

Left alone for the moment, Leia pouted at the lollipop.

We might die sooner, rather than later. Oh, but we all know the hated protocol droid will outlive us all, the princess mused ironically, languidly sucking at her lollipop in conclusion.

Nearly purple with rage, Han had returned from the opposite direction, pushing a protesting C3PO before him. He was swearing at the droid in an unfamiliar guttural tongue - Huttese, in all likelihood. Whatever language it was, it had an impressive arsenal of threats and insults it seemed, as C-3PO absolutely did not want to be tossed back onto that hellpit of Tatooine and sold to the Hutts and, and, and, and... Then the droid was forced around the corner, out of Leia’s line of sight, wailing and complaining as if its photoceptors were being torn from it. Leia craned her neck to follow the pair, witnessing them disappear into the once-again expanding cloud of vapor that was emitting from the engine chamber.

Was it green now?

When no-one emerged immediately, and the relative chaos of work sounds resumed, Leia spun the chair again, retracing the edges of the lollipop with her tongue. The occasional glimpse at the gauges confirmed that the hyperdrive’s coolant pressures were levelling off. Leia pushed off with her toe from the console once more, closed her eyes and dropped her head back, feeling the blood rush to her skull as she spun. Lightheaded and vision blurred, Leia slowly righted at the end of her rotation, letting her head loll comfortably on the pivot of her neck. She was reminded of being a child in the palace gardens on Alderaan, spinning in place with her best friend Winter. Whirling, giggling and challenging each other until they collapsed, dizzy, dirty and nauseous amidst the sweet scent of grasses and mountain wildflowers.

She wondered what Winter would have thought of Han.

Time passed, and the crew toiled to repair the ship. Leia chose not to check the chrono, as it would be far too depressing. She suspected the boys were well aware of the passage of shifts, though they continued on like heroes. At one point Leia realized it had been some time since anybody had threatened to dismember someone else (usually Threepio) – that she spotted Chewie headed in the direction of the ship’s refresher facilities. Leia studied the ship’s monitors, noting the reflection of the woman opposite. Early twenties, petite pale human female, chestnut hair done up in a braid that brushed the bottom of her buttocks. Weeks of rest, regular sleep and meals aboard this wounded, crawling vessel she was forced to take refuge on, had transformed Leia’s features from hollowed and wan, to blushing and bright. A smile now often stood in place of what had been a grim, taut line of battle on a bereaved princess that had witnessed the destruction of her home planet, and was now a twenty-three year old seasoned general in a galactic revolution.

Leia had indeed changed.

And there was a glint - an emotion there. One Leia wouldn’t have recognized two months ago; happiness - love even. Leia gave that girl in her reflection a secret, meaningful look, I know why you’re smiling.

Laughing to herself, Leia stuck the lolly in her mouth, shut her eyes, spun and allowed the chair to naturally slow to a stop. The dizziness swept through her, and the blood rushed in her ears once more. Then suddenly, the lollipop was plucked from where it hung between her lips. Leia’s head jerked up, visibly offended. Vertigo almost claimed her as a result.

“Hey!”

Captain Han Solo stood across from her, arms crossed, leaning against the ship’s bulkhead, Leia’s lollipop bulging in his cheek. The toolbelt around the smuggler’s hips rode his bloodstripes low, the upper crest of his hips’ bones visible and utterly tempting above the beltline. Han wiped his hands on possibly the filthiest rag Leia had ever seen. His once-white tank top was scarcely better, and Han’s exposed skin was flushed with heat, slickened with sweat, and blackened with trails of grease. Han gave her his most impish look, noisily rolling Leia’s treat around his back teeth.

“That’s mine!” Leia cried. She made a swipe for the candy. Han tilted his body out of reach with the speed of a born gunfighter, lithe and lightning quick, chuckling at her efforts.

“Thought I’d borrow it for a minute.” Han grinned. The smuggler twisted away once more, and Leia’s fingers caught on the double-prong belt that circled his hips. Han stepped sideways theatrically as she dragged him closer. Leia used to hate the fact he made her laugh with his antics. The last few weeks had altered her opinion on that. He made her human. Made her safe, comfortable. Made her feel (and feel loved, even).

Especially, he made her smile. Often. And that was important.

“Thief! Scoundrel!” Leia snagged Han’s shirt front with her other hand. Han mock-struggled as Leia pulled, eventually nestling in a spot by her knees. The moisture from the labor, steam and overheated drive fluids ran in rivulets down the slope of his exposed shoulders, and in wider lines down the sinewy contours of his bared arms. Leia traced her upper lip with her tongue, taking in this very delectable human treat in front of her. She oh-so wanted to—

Oh, but he was so filthy.

Leia released her hold on Han’s belt, instead tracing a line down the prominent ridge of the vein on his bicep, leaving a trail of clean, tanned skin. Han’s teeth ground around Leia’s sabacc prize. He edged in closer and waggled his eyebrows at the princess flirtatiously. Grinning, Leia ducked, fixing him with a warning tone, then booped him in the nose reproachfully. “You are incredibly dirty.”

Han’s speech, lisping around the lollipop, echoed through the metal confines of the engineering alcove, “sDidn’t bother you earlier, Shweetheart.”

No? Yes, she had to admit that it hadn’t. In fact, Leia was beginning to enjoy Han in varying states of disarray, disorder, unshaveness, and undress. And filth...Oh so very, very much.

The Princess reeled Han in further by the fabric of that awful stained tank top. Drawn in by the promise behind those emerald, copper and gold eyes. She got him close enough, to feel the breath expelled from his nose on her periphery. Han gave her a side-eye.

“I am actually very dirty,” declared the Corellian. “But Chewie’s in the sonic shower right now. And I’d rather straighten up, than deal with a tired and pissed-off, coolant-soaked wookiee.”

“Is it ‘done?’” Leia referred to the repair, then made a quick grab for the lolly’s stick in Han’s mouth. Han merely, deftly shied away again.

Thief!

“Done as it can be. Got Threepio cleaning up the tools too,” he smugly replied. Han sucked at thinning lolly thoughtfully. And, watching Han, having him so close, and so obscenely rugged looking; Leia’s imagination began to drift down a path, that would end up with Han and her most definitely not getting clean.

Scoundrel, Leia thought at Han fondly.

“Really?” Leia complained, attempting to carry on some vestige of acceptable conversation. “Can’t you find something less menial for Threepio to do? He can’t manipulate his hands that well. It’ll take him forever!”

Han twitched, “Forever? My! What a shame, your Highnessness.” Han dove into an imitation of Threepio’s haughty core-world voice. Shaking her head at him, though smiling broadly as she did; Leia gave Han’s shirt a sharp tug, leaning in invitingly. Han refused to retreat this time, and Leia plucked the lollipop from his mouth. Han began to object when Leia closed the distance and pressed her lips to his instead. Han’s two days growth of facial hair was rough against her chin and cheek, but the taste of that mouth and the way his tongue twisted with hers...

Gods, he was dirty. Dirty, sweaty and delicious.

Tucking her lollipop behind her back with one hand, Leia hauled at Han’s shirt, her nails inadvertently ripping a fist-sized section of dingy white fabric loose on the upper edge of his abdominals. Han initially objected with a “Hey!” ...until Leia planted her mouth on his again. When they came up for air, Han hastily yanked the offending garment over his head, while Leia’s gaze roved over him approvingly; taking in the flex of bronze pectorals, the sharp ridges of obliques on his sides, the scattering of coppery hair on his chest.

Absolutely delicious, the princess affirmed, eager to devour this gorgeous treat that walked and talked, fired, fought and flew for her Rebellion, and swore up and down that he only did it for the money – but never took so much as a credit.

She thought she might love him. She knew he did love her.

Heart fluttering somewhere in the vicinity of her collar, Leia gave a slightly strangled, “Guess we got time then.” Uncrossing her legs, Leia reeled Han in by that damn belt again. The princess and the smuggler’s lips met, dueled and the heat began to build between them – a fire fueled by three years of built up tension. Three years of self-restraint for him, and three years of self-denial for her; it lit and flared - quick and hot, boiling over into a searing, soul-filling passion. Leia’s hands slid into the slick strands at the nape of his neck and Han’s grease stained fingers cupped her jaw. He squared his hips with hers, pressing in close. Then, closer yet. Their need evident by the pressure against her hip, and the hot press of her body against his, and the wild entanglement of her fingers in his hair.

When they broke for oxygen, their chests were heaving, and dark eyes smoldering. Han held up his index finger between them, indicating a need for a moment’s respite. He let out a short laugh after a few gasping seconds, “That-, That-” the Corellian began. Unable to finish, to muster even a complete phrase; Han’s eyes became saucers when he saw that Leia had unbuckled his tool harness, allowing it clatter to the deck around his feet. Tongue tucked between her teeth in effort, Leia’s fingers began to work at the two prongs of Han’s trouser belt. “Ah, kriff Leia, “ the Corellian cursed hoarsely instead.

“I’ve been sitting here for hours watching you like this,” Leia confided in a whisper, as she yanked the last length of leather belting from Han’s narrow waist. “So… Gods, Han. I didn’t know how much I enjoyed watching someone else work. Until now.”

“You liked watching me well enough. At least as far back as Hubin.” Han reminded her.

Two and a half years earlier, they’d been stranded for weeks on a planet with no regular ship traffic, no communications, no currency system, and an agrarian group of recluses - their entire economy built on a system of barter and trade. With nothing to barter with on hand, Han had kept himself, Luke, and Leia comfortable by performing physical labor for the locals. The work was arduous, and outdoors under the hot sun. So, with only one set of clothes available to him, Han was often stripped to the waist. And Leia would somehow manage to stumble across Han’s work site at least once or twice a day. Especially if it was rather warm outside.

Leia laughed shyly at the memory, “Oh yes. I remember that.” She traced circles on his chest, studying the pattern of hair she disturbed. Leia looked at Han up and down, and she purred sinfully,

“I was not checking on you. I just wasn't sure about trusting our hosts,” It wasn’t necessarily an outright lie.

Han’s laugh was short – unbelieving. And Leia couldn’t blame him. “Yeah, sure. More like checking me out.”

Well....Yes.

Instead, Leia hummed noncommittally. She pulled at him again. Han stumbled forward. Their mouths met once more, and words were lost to them.

Lips devouring the salty, glistening hollow at the base of Han’s throat, Leia’s hand traced the vertical dip in the center of Han’s chest. Han gasped, and snatched her wrist when she reached his navel. Ticklish, Leia surmised with private glee. With his hand free, Han winked and suddenly pilfered the lollipop from behind the princess.

What the?!

Leia yelped and pawed at Han. The smuggler muted her by shoving the disputed lolly in her teeth. Leia snarled at him over it in response. Her teeth clenched ferociously around the hard candy, as Han took a half step in reverse, then lowered to his knees.

“What are you–“ Leia began, and couldn’t finished as shivers rolled through her torso. Han licked a delicate line from the tip of her knee, along the midline of Leia’s thigh, up - just using the absolute tip of his tongue.

The man had talents. And Leia’s sole regret, was that she should have initiated this relationship, this thing between them years ago.

“Han,” Leia clamped down hard on the lolly, as Han’s open mouth grazed the top of her thigh along the hem of Leia’s borrowed shirt. Her palm slapped on the round of Han’s shoulder, the edge her nails digging in. “Please.”

“‘I’m dirty, Leia. Really, really dirty.“ Han reminded her in a baritone murmur, moving in with a short hum of approval as Leia hiked up the shirt to expose a scandalous amount of hip. Han snapped his teeth playfully at her, then went in for the kill, and dragged unsuccessfully at the hem of her underwear. Entangled, he then looked up a Leia a little helplessly with a loop of lace caught up in his eye-teeth.

Sniggering naughtily, Leia obliged Han, first shutting him up by stuffing her candy into his mouth. Han observed her shimmying out of the slip of fabric. The panties dropped to drape over the wide strips of Han’s leather belting on the floor.

Leia tilted Han’s chin up at her, and addressed him in a rough command, “Then get dirty with me.”

“Is that an order, General?” Han teased.

Gazing up at her worshipfully, and planted so uncharacteristically on his knees, Han’s lips were pursed woefully around the worn stick of Leia’s nearly depleted lollipop. The Princess then couldn’t help herself from giggling down at the pilot. Han pouted comically, until Leia popped the treat from his mouth, returning it to her own. She held it ostentatiously pinched between forefinger and thumb, her ring finger and pinkie raised elegantly behind.

“I’m a princess first. I only give commands.”

Han barked with amusement, then growled seductively, and scraped his teeth along her thigh. He carried on, alternately licking and sucking at her flesh in what could be considered a less modest area of her leg. Han kissed her from hip to knee in a trail of electric anticipation. At first, the Princess merely basked in the skillful flick of the smuggler’s mouth against her heated skin, until Leia’s hand yanked the back of his tousled brown hair – hard.

And he hadn’t even used his hands or fingers yet.

Gods… He was so good.

When Han’s careful oral ministrations reached the apex of her thighs, Leia was forced to wrench the candy sucker from her lips, panting and arching her spine. Fumbling blindly, the princess slapped the remaining sliver of lollipop on the engineering console. Leia gripped Han’s head with trembling hands, wrapped a leg over his shoulder, burying her face in the sweaty mess of his hair as he buried his face between her thighs. Leia’s voice quivered in anticipation, as she fought to regain her breath. The princess was beyond orders, or commands, or any thought further than—

“Yes. Please.”

------------------------------------

Approaching the end of Chewie’s shift, a good twelve hours later, the wookiee co-pilot discovered the forgotten candy, cemented by its dried sugar to the console surface. Delicately, he picked at it with a foreclaw, and eventually he removed it with minor effort.

The Falcon’s co-pilot considered the treat for a moment. He sniffed it, sniffed the air, made a harsh grimace, then shot the treat another appraising look, and licked it experimentally.

Chewie tilted his head, thought about it, then made a resigned shrug. He shoved the remainder of the abandoned lollipop in his fangs and crunched down on the candy as he completed his shift’s tasks for the day.

It could barely be considered recompense for all this overdue, ridiculous human mating ritual drama he had to put up with after all.

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ellielstories · 5 years

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SW Fic - “Distractions”

In honor of the 100th Scoundress Saturday, one final (old) prompt fill! Thank you @otterandterrier for creating such a fabulous celebration of Han and Leia!

SW/HanLeia/PostROTJ/Vignette/PG13 Prompt: Han’s solution to a boring meeting

General Han Solo leaned back in his chair and casually surveyed the other beings seated at the conference table. Most of them seemed to be totally focused on whatever the fresh hells Dodonna was rambling about now. Probably not facial hair regulations.

Though that did give him an idea.

Trying his best to look like he was making very important notes, he tapped around on his datapad, until he found the perfect image of a wampa. He glanced around the table, sizing up the targets. Leia looked attentive and involved, which he’d have to do something about in a minute. Wedge would probably laugh, but not really get it. Then his eye came to rest on Luke.

Perfect.

A few more taps on the datapad and he drop-linked the image directly to Luke’s own datapad. It must have been set to silent, but he saw the screen flash brightly as the image appeared.

That was the great part of the drop-link — it popped right up, with no help from the datapad owner. Suddenly he regretted not selecting a video. Though if Luke’s pained smirk across the table was anything to go by, mission accomplished. Luke coughed, trying to disguise a laugh, while glaring at Han. He only gave him an innocently blank stare in return.

“...and what do you think on the red versus green issue, General Solo?”

He froze, with the distinct feeling he should have been at least half listening. When there was no imminent threat of death, it was easier to forget to pay attention during these meetings. “Well,” he drawled, trying to buy time while studying Leia’s face. Surely she’d help him out—but no, only a quirked brow. Damn.

“Red tends to be more visible.” That seemed a reasonable and practical point to make, and he gave a little nod.

Dodonna did too, so it must have been at least vaguely correct, as he heard the Defense Chief go on, “As the General agrees, the red would be much more visible…”

He took a breath in relief, not caring what he’d just agreed to, and promptly zoned back out. Picking color schemes was not his area of interest or expertise. He wasn’t even sure why he was in this meeting. There seemed to be a lot of brass here for a meeting about colors.

Venturing another look at Leia, he watched one brow raise at him questioningly. There were so many ways to answer her. He tapped his datapad awake again, and saw that Luke was no longer available for drop-link and smirked a little. Leia still was though. He debated between sending her something that way, or via message.

Starting small seemed the way to go, lure her in with something simple then engage her. Leia was all about strategy. He pulled up an image of one of the mountain lakes they’d visited on Naboo a few months ago, and drop-linked it to her.

When the image flashed up on her datapad, she eyed him warily before looking down at it. But then she smiled, a mild smile she didn’t bother trying to hide in the midst of the meeting, and he knew he’d made the right choice. He noticed his messenger box pop up almost immediately.

L: That was such a nice trip. Wish we were there now.

Oh yes, he could work with that. He gave her a little wink, and proceeded to carefully compose his response.

H: Me too. Remember sitting out on the deck at sunset?

He was certain she did, and just as certain she remembered how little sitting had been involved.

She frowned at the message, but her cheeks grew just a bit pink. Then she looked down and furiously typed out a message.

L: Sunsets there were very dramatic.

Leia’s face was neutral, and focused back on Dodonna, when he looked up from reading.

H: We’ve got a balcony here. Could recapture a little of that drama later.

This time she did actually glare at him after reading his message.

L: Our balcony is directly under Mon’s, and overlooks busy travel lanes.

H: It’ll be dark til this meeting is over. And if you’re less dramatic, Mon will never know.

He heard her muffle her reaction with a cough.

L: I’m not the one who actually echoed across the lake.

H: I’m not the one worried about being overheard.

Across the table, Leia tapped a stylus on her datapad, giving him a sharp look, before turning back to whatever the matter at hand was.

“Are we being too speciest in our color selection though? What about those beings more sensitive to the infrared spectrum?” He heard her voice, understood the words, and had no clue what they could be talking about. Were they repainting the whole fleet? Red? Or green?

Then his datapad flickered again.

L: You promise to keep quiet, maybe I’ll consider it.

He blinked, then cast a cautious glance around the room. Everyone else still seemed involved in this debate, not paying any mind to him.

H: Maybe? I can be real quiet.

She actually winked at him from across the table.

L: You’ve never been able to keep quiet when I use my tongue.

Was this a challenge? Two could play at this game. And potentially both win, in his estimation.

H: Neither have you. Challenge accepted?

At the head of the table, Dodonna tapped a knuckle on the heavy wood. “That brings all time for discussion to a close. Show of hands please, those in favor of retaining hangar markings in green? Four, four it is. Refreshing to red markings? Seven, seven, excellent.”

With a frown, he realized he’d spent the better part of his afternoon in a meeting about the hargar directional markers everyone ignored anyway.

L: I’ll see you on the balcony at 2130.

Maybe the meeting hadn’t been a complete waste of his time.

#myfic #swfic #han x leia #scoundressaturdays

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otterandterrierwrites · 5 years

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{Hungry hearts} IX. Star fritters (pt. 1)

A/N: We’re back with more Hungry Hearts!! I was excited to write this just because the food this chapter is focused on was inspired by a traditional dish from my country (and other parts of LatAm): pastelitos! Since it’s popularly agreed upon that Alderaan is Latinamerican-coded, I thought it would be a nice way to have Leia finally bringing something to the table---literally. Pastelitos are filled with quince cheese, but since I don’t like that name and in Spanish it’s membrillo, I decided to call it membrill cheese (although, much like Han, I’m like “wtf, this ain’t cheese”). I didn’t manage to finish the whole thing today, so enjoy this first part for now!

Supply runs for the Alliance didn’t require a formal debriefing unless things had gone unexpectedly (which often meant really badly). Apart from accounting for the required goods, however, the mission’s captain was required to attend a reunion with the person at the head of the operation. The purpose of these conversations was mostly to assess the continued viability of their route, their supply source, and any difficulties that might have arisen.

One of Leia’s many assets to the rebellion was her catalogue of connections, of allies or possible collaborators, through the galaxy, what they had to offer, and the ways in which they could be persuaded to offer it. This regularly put her in charge of coming up with and planning said supply runs, and given his undeniable skills as a smuggler, Han had become her most demanded executor.

It was because of this alignment of their respective aptitudes that they often found themselves sitting at opposite sides of a desk in the tiny cubicle she used for an office whenever she wasn’t covering a workstation in the command center, holed up in High Command meetings or off-planet.

‘Don't see why we can’t do this over some whiskey back at the Falcon, Your Worship,’ Han usually joked, or variations of it.

This time he was serious, although he wished he’d brought the whiskey. Their supply providers had come from Espirion: after the battle of Yavin IV, Leia had established an alliance with the planet’s population of Alder-Espirions as part of her efforts to reunite all of Alderaan’s survivors. When her fleet had come under attack from a Star Destroyer in orbit of the planet, Espirion had sent one of their own ships and helped bring down the Impstar. Things had become somewhat dire for Espirion after that, and Han knew that still weighed heavy on Leia. Still, the Empire’s tightening hold on their planet had brought even more allies to the rebels’ cause, some of whom had recently met Han in a distant space station to hand over their contributions.

‘I wish Beon had come with us,’ Leia said with a tired sigh, pressing two fingers to her brow as she thought of the Alder-Espirion chief who had chosen to remain hidden planetside.

‘I dunno about that, Princess. Seems he’s more useful to you there,’ Han reasoned, but Leia waved a hand vaguely.

‘Well, yes, but I don’t want him to get caught. Besides, he’s a good leader; we could use him here.’

Han didn’t say anything to that. Leia wanted what Leia wanted, and it was pointless for him to try and argue with her that other people might have their reasons, too.

‘You okay?’ he asked, as she had an intense, pensive look and her fingers were still digging into her forehead as if to push away a headache. At his words, Leia straightened up, her worries apparently gone.

‘Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just been kind of a four-cups-of-coffee-before-9-am kind of day.’

‘Thought that was your regular breakfast order,’ Han teased, drawing a chuckle out of her.

‘You’re free to go, we’re done here,’ she said, scrolling down her datapad and scrawling her signature at the bottom.

Han held up a finger. ‘Just a minute. I have something for you that might improve your day… I think. If you like it.’

Frowning slightly with curiosity, Leia watched as Han removed something from an inside pocket of his jacket. He deposited the square of bright red, thick jelly wrapped in transparent flimsiplast in front of her on the desk.

‘Plenty more where this came from,’ he said with a tilt of his chin. ‘Wasn’t in the list you gave me. Our friends sent it as an extra gift, saying you and the other Alderaanians were gonna enjoy it. You know what it is?’

Leia didn’t answer immediately: her eyes had gone round at the sight, her mouth gaping a little in surprise, and then her expression morphed into one that seemed both joyful and heartbroken—nostalgia, Han realized.

‘Yes,’ she said, clearing her throat a little. ‘That’s membrill cheese.’

Han narrowed his eyes at the confection. ‘This ain’t no cheese.’

‘It’s not. It’s a sweet paste, made of the pulp of the membrill fruit.’ Hesitantly, Leia reached out and touched the package with delicate fingers, as if she was afraid it’d break or vanish at the contact. ‘The tree it comes from grew on Alderaan, but it was spread to other planets, whenever our people settled.’

‘Like on Espirion,’ Han said.

‘Right. We use it to prepare a lot of desserts and snacks, you see—we even eat it just with a slice of actual milk cheese.’

‘Yeah? You like it, then?’

‘I really do.’ She lifted her eyes from the membrill to give him the kind of look she got whenever she had an idea. ‘You’ve never had it before, have you?’

Han shook his head and Leia beamed.

‘Then try it! Wait—I don’t have a knife here…’

‘That’s okay, Princess, this is for you. You don’t have to share it, you know.’

Leia crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back on her chair.

‘This isn’t like the coodler-roe,’ she said, referring to the revolting dish she’d dared him to eat about two years earlier. ‘You can trust me.’

He did; he just didn’t want her to have to give up even a small part of something she clearly enjoyed and had missed. It seemed that what Leia wanted was for him to try this alleged delicacy from her home planet, though.

Drawing the membrill to him, he pulled apart the wrapping and pinched a corner of the pasty block, which he then ate.

‘So?’ Leia asked eagerly as he licked her fingers. It was good but a little too sugary for Han’s taste, and he told her so. ‘I suppose that’s fair. Oh, but you should try them on star fritters!’

‘What’re those?’ he asked.

‘They’re fried pastries, and they only have a small bite of membrill at the center, so the sweetness is balanced out.’ Her eyes were almost glazed over with craving. ‘They’re wonderful.’

‘Well, do you know how to make ‘em?’ Han prompted, an idea forming in his mind.

‘I do.’

Han raised an eyebrow. ‘Do you know how to make ‘em edible?’

Leia glared at him. ‘I also know how to poison food so that nobody will ever know how you died.’

‘Alright then—think I’ve fed you enough for free over the years, you could pay me back by making those star fritters you like so much and sharin’ ‘em,’ Han said, poking a finger into the square of membrill, forgetting that it was unwrapped, and subsequently licking the paste off his index finger.

Leia bit her lip, considering his proposal. The idea seemed to have taken her by surprise, as well as too enticing to say no to, since she had neglected to conceal the way her eyes had followed his membrill-smeared finger into his mouth.

‘I… maybe I could use the mess’s kitchen after-hours.’ She grabbed her datapad again. ‘I’ll check my schedule and see if… Anyway, I’ll just make a few samples and bring them over to the Falcon so Chewie and Luke can try them too—’

‘Nuh-huh,’ Han said, wagging a finger at her. ‘Whaddya mean, you’ll make ‘em? You’re teaching me! You can’t say no, Princess, I reckon you’ll enjoy bossin’ me around.’

‘That I will,’ Leia agreed with a smirk.

Han didn’t care one way or another if he never ate a star fritter, except that Leia liked them and they came from her homeworld, so it was like getting to know another little part of her past life—a part that she was actually willing to share with him. She’d looked so eager, so youthful as she talked about it, the hardships of war seemingly put aside for a few minutes, that what he was really going for with his plan was to get her to feel like that again, distract her from Espirion, from the whole fucking war, even for two hours.

And maybe he was looking forward to spending some time alone with her, too.

#scoundressaturdays #hanleia #han x leia #han solo #leia organa #star wars fanfiction #verse: hungry hearts #2019 #one-shot #series #rated G #period: pre esb

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