#anyway just a silly post. but i will be back. once i get back all of my strenhgt again............... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rosachae · 10 hours ago

Text

salvation | megan skiendiel x reader P2

PART TWO click for previous part ⁍ song: ghost - mary in the junkyard ⁍ genre: Star Wars AU! fluff, angst, slowburn. honestly everything. ⁍ a/n: hello all! if you didn't already know, i hit the 1000 block on my initial post of this here and as such needed to cut a few scenes. so, to get everything out, i'll be splitting the original version into parts. this is part two of the 'saur cut'. please read part one first. ⁍ wc: 14.7k ⁍ warnings: mentions of death, violent depictions. ⁍ synopsis:

megan skiendiel never meant to fall for the most disciplined padawan in the temple—it just sort of happened. caught between duty and feeling, two jedi have to decide what they’re really willing to risk.

22 BBY

the war had changed everything.

since geonosis, since the sand had settled around the petranaki arena and the galaxy realized what it meant to bleed, nothing had been the same. the jedi, once peacekeepers, were now commanders. generals. quiet figures caught in the center of a growing storm.

megan skiendiel had changed, too.

there had been slight alterations to her robes since polaris minor. deeper shades. heavier fabric. not quite what she was used to, but she wore them anyway. they felt closer to who she was now. not so much the girl who dove headfirst into chaos, but someone who thought before she moved. someone who had learned what it meant to lose.

but in the middle of it all, there was love. something steady. something that hadn’t faltered.

she and y/n had been together since geonosis. not in the way the jedi council would ever acknowledge. not in public. but in the quiet places, when the war hadn’t reached them yet. a shared glance in the temple halls. laughter muffled under temple sheets. megan brushing her fingers against y/n’s wrist as they passed in the archives. moments stolen, held tightly, never taken for granted.

and in those spaces, megan had come alive. not in the loud, reckless way she always had, but in something softer. more sure of itself. more her. no grand confessions. no oaths. just presence. closeness. they became each other’s still point in a world that kept turning.

and for megan, it was like something had unlocked inside her. she let herself be clumsy. silly. honest. the war might have forced her to grow, but love had allowed her to stay soft.

there were memories tucked into the months like pressed flowers.

she made y/n laugh whenever she could. terrible impressions during medbay check-ins, dramatic reenactments of council briefings that never failed to pull a smile. she once spent an entire week memorizing three forms of serenno dialect just to impersonate a particularly rude senator they’d encountered. she didn’t even regret it when it got her temporarily banned from the archives.

in the training rooms, she always pushed y/n harder than she pushed herself. soresu first, then djem so. not for competition, but rather for preparation. blades humming, sweat beading along her brow as she laughed through every sparring match.

“if we ever get split up,” she said once, flicking y/n’s saber away with a grin, “i want to know you’ll be okay without me. not that you ever will be.”

then there was the droid.

it happened after a long session at the senate tower, during one of their quieter assignments. y/n had lingered beside an astromech near the platform gates, kneeling to check a misaligned circuit. she didn’t say much, but megan could see it. the soft smile. the way she rested her hand on the droid’s dome like it was already hers.

when they left, she looked back once. just for a second. that was all megan needed.

senator avanzini had always been easy to talk to, especially after their conversation in the medbay on polaris. megan had come to appreciate those quiet moments with the soft-spoken senator. her warmth, her patience, the way she never pressed too hard. later, when megan told y/n about it while she was still recovering, y/n’s reaction was immediate. shock, then fear. she was terrified the senator might tell their master’s, that the secret of their arrangement would be exposed. low and behold, those fears vanished two days after y/n’s run in with the astromech when there was a soft knock at her chamber door.

megan didn’t even have to explain the full situation to senator avanzini. she simply said that it was “for her”, that it would “make her happy.” daniela didn’t need to hear anything more. by the end of it, daniela was beaming on the other side of the holocommunicator. she had the droid delivered to temple the very next morning.

it wasn’t quite the same droid, but it was close enough. r3-d4– arthree for short– showed up just after sunrise. a class two astromech, painted in soft greens and silvers, with an oddly polite chirp that almost sounded shy. megan handed him over with a grin, standing besides the little astromech on the other side of the door.

“his name’s arthree,” she said. “you looked like you missed the other one.”

“megan—”

“daniela insisted,” she shrugged, half truthful. there was zero chance she would admit to y/n how nervous she was when she made the call to their senator friend. how long she stood outside y/n’s door that moment then, trying to build up the courage to knock and gift her the droid. after a beat, she grinned. “besides, i thought we could use a new friend. anything to see that smile of yours.”

y/n looked left and right before grabbing megan by the collar and tugging her in immediately, pressing a long, meaningful kiss against the taller girls lips. arthree whirred besides them in surprise (the poor little droid needed a debriefing not five minutes later that it was imperative he kept their secret, to which he blipped and beeped in excited agreement).

when their masters asked about the droid, they said arthree was a thank-you gift for protecting the senator during the polaris minor incident. no one questioned it. it was almost too easy.

megan knew, though. deep down, pushed into the furthest reaches of her being, that it wouldn’t last forever. she just didn’t expect this reality to become numbingly clear so soon.

the soft beep of megan’s holocommunicator broke the silence, pulling her from sleep. the chamber around her was still and warm, dimly lit by the first hints of morning. like most jedi quarters, it was spare, simple, functional, and intentionally unadorned. no decorations, no keepsakes. they were taught not to cling to material things. but one object stood out. set neatly on the corner desk, a small carved stone rested in quiet defiance of the jedi code. smooth, pale, shaped into the likeness of a bird mid-flight. megan had found it in a vendor’s stall deep in the lower levels of coruscant and pocketed it without hesitation. she said it reminded her of y/n. she’d given it to her just a week ago.

morning light slanted across the stone floor of y/n’s chamber, soft and golden, filtering in through the narrow window and casting long shadows across the walls. her breath was warm against megan’s bare shoulder, slow and even, the steady rhythm of sleep not yet disturbed. for a long moment, megan didn’t move. didn’t blink. just watched her.

there was something sacred in the quiet. the way y/n’s brow stayed smooth in sleep, how the edge of her hand rested against megan’s ribs like it had always belonged there. it was rare, this stillness, this peace. and megan let herself soak in every second of it. her heart ached with it, full in a way she didn’t have words for.

she loved her so much it hurt. not in the loud, desperate way love was often written about, but in the quiet, unshakable kind. the kind that lived in mornings like this.

megan finally tore her gaze away, eyes drifting to the ceiling as the shape of reality began to settle around her, slow and heavy.

she should’ve slipped out hours ago. but she hadn’t. not this time.

not when y/n was still curled so close, lost in sleep, holding onto her like she never wanted to let go.

eventually, the insistent beeping of her holocommunicator refused to be ignored. megan let out a soft sigh, careful as she eased herself from y/n’s arms. her grip was firm even in sleep, and it took effort not to wake her.

she moved quietly, pulling on her robes with practiced ease, smoothing down her dark brown hair with quick, habitual sweeps. the communicator lit up in her hand, casting a faint blue glow as she angled it away from the bed, shielding y/n from view.

when the channel opened, her master’s face flickered into form. stern, tired, and not in the mood for conversation. master gun di gave a curt nod, skipping any pleasantries. his voice was calm but carried enough weight to make her shoulders square.

“padawan. y/n is needed in the hangar bay. gather her and come immediately.”

megan hesitated. her voice caught slightly as she tried, and failed, to sound casual.

“y/n...? she’s probably asleep in her quarters. have you tried calling her?”

gun di didn’t respond right away. his expression didn’t change, but the silence said enough. he knew. or at the very least, he suspected. the kind of quiet intuition a seasoned jedi couldn’t ignore. his gaze lingered, unreadable, and then he sighed.

“five minutes.”

the transmission ended with a soft warble, his image vanishing into static.

megan let the communicator drop to her side, slipping it into the front pocket of her robes. she turned, eyes falling back on y/n’s sleeping form, still curled beneath the sheets. part of her wanted to stay. to climb back in, tuck herself beneath the covers and forget the galaxy existed. just for a little longer.

but she knew better.

she leaned over, hands finding y/n’s shoulders with familiar gentleness. her grip was soft, careful not to startle.

“hey,” she whispered, just above a breath, as she gave the smallest shake.

y/n stirred slowly, lashes fluttering as her eyes blinked open. hazy, confused, still wrapped in the last threads of sleep. megan couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her mouth. it was quiet and warm, the kind that slipped in without permission.

“good morning,” she murmured, brushing a strand of hair from y/n’s cheek. “i let you sleep as long as i could.”

y/n hummed, voice raspy with sleep. “what time is it?”

“too late,” megan said. “gun di’s looking for us. something about the hangar bay.”

y/n groaned, rolling onto her back and draping an arm over her eyes. megan laughed, soft under her breath.

“come on,” she said, pulling back the covers with a dramatic sweep. “we’ve got five minutes.”

megan stepped back to give her space, but her gaze lingered, soft and steady, like it always did. only when y/n stood and reached for her robes did megan finally turn away, hands fidgeting, shoulders tense in that familiar, awkward way of hers.

y/n laughed quietly under her breath. it was one of the things she loved most about megan skiendiel. for all her fire and boldness, she never overstepped. always respectful. always gentle. always hers.

once they were both ready– robes straightened, boots laced, lightsabers clipped to their belts– they shared one last glance. a silent kiss passed between them. then they moved.

the corridor buzzed with the quiet churn of the temple’s early stirrings. somewhere along the walk, a small metallic blur zipped around the corner. arthree. the little droid let out a cheerful trill, servos whirring as he spun toward them, bumping lightly against y/n’s leg like an overeager pet.

“morning, buddy,” y/n murmured, giving him a fond pat.

megan grinned beside her. “he missed you.”

by the time the three of them reached the hangar bay, the space was already humming with activity. clones assembling in quiet formation, transport ships powering up, and mechanics shouting over the noise. the war never slept, and neither did its soldiers.

and then they saw him. master– no, general gun di stood before a group of clones. their armor was pale gray with soft blue accents, clean and lightweight with various tech-enhancements. he stood in conversation with one of them, a tall clone whose presence stood out even among his brothers. a dark kama draped from his belt, a crossbody pauldron slung over one shoulder, both markers of command. his posture was easy, but sharp-eyed. alert. he had to be the troops commander.

the very second gun di felt his padawan approaching, he turned. and for the first time since the war began, he smiled. so faint it might’ve gone unnoticed to anyone else. but megan saw it. she always did.

gun di had changed in the months since geonosis. the calm, introspective man who once quoted the code by heart now carried himself with the stillness of someone who had seen too much, too quickly. his robes were the same cut, but his wrists bore clone-style bracers, the durasteel lined with mesh, a large republic insignia etched into the left one. his blue eyes, once bright with patience, had dimmed to something steadier. more burdened. his mouth wore a permanent, unreadable line. war had hardened him, but not erased him. there was no mistaking his silent delight in seeing the girl he’s known since she was twelve.

general di stood with his arms behind his back, expression unreadable. whatever ghost of a smile had flickered there vanished as quickly as it had come. duty came first.

“knight y/n,” he greeted, his tone even, clipped. his gaze flicked to megan beside her, but his words were meant only for one. “your unit awaits.”

megan’s jaw tensed, just slightly. the word sat heavy in the air– knight.

she glanced sideways at y/n, who stood a little straighter under the title, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. pride, maybe. or nerves. maybe both. megan didn’t blame her.

she was proud. truly. she remembered the moment y/n told her, quietly, in the gardens outside the temple how the council had voted. how her knighthood came not at the end of a formal trial, but out of necessity. sinube would remain at the temple, overseeing younglings and archives. there were too few generals. too many battles. too much loss.

y/n, steady and capable, had been chosen.

megan had smiled when she heard. hugged her. kissed her, even. but that smile had a weight behind it.

because she was still a padawan. still reporting to gun di. still waiting.

in some twisted way, it felt almost unfair. megan was a skilled saber duelist. perhaps one of the best in the order, even. and for all the pride she felt, all the love she had for the girl beside her– it still stung.

gun di turned toward the tall clone commander, motioning to y/n with a short nod. “commander trace, this is your general.”

trace stepped forward. “sir,” he said, offering a sharp salute. his voice was calm, thoughtful. his eyes studied y/n for a moment, not judgmental– just observant. measuring. respectful. “we’re honored to serve under you.”

megan’s fingers tightened slightly within her sleeves, but she didn’t move, her gaze flicking between y/n and the clones. she could sense the weight of the moment, the subtle shift that was happening all around them. y/n was now a leader, a general, and she would have to guide them through the battles ahead. it was what she wanted. what she had earned. but megan couldn’t shake the feeling that, in some ways, this moment had been stolen from her.

gun di, seeing the moment had passed and knowing the need to press forward, motioned for the legion to fall into formation.

“your unit, general y/n. the 227th legion. congratulations.”

for a moment megan stood. y/n met her gaze, a silent understanding passing between them. megan’s lips tugged into a soft smile, one that didn't reach the corners of her eyes. as gun di’s call echoed in the air, megan could feel the smile fade, the ache rising in her chest once again.

she was proud, yes, but it didn’t stop the sting from creeping in, a quiet resentment she couldn’t shake. she couldn’t help it. not for y/n, no. never for her. but for her master. for the council. she’d been waiting too, hadn’t she?

“general y/n,” she eventually said instead, stepping beside her with a crooked smile. “should i salute now, or wait until you start ordering me around?”

y/n glanced at her sideways, lips twitching. “now’s fine.”

“you’re not gonna make me call you that all day, are you?”

y/n tilted her head, amused. “depends. are you going to start listening to me?”

“absolutely not.”

y/n’s laugh echoed off the durasteel walls. and for a moment, despite everything, it felt easy again.

with a final, sharp nod to the legion, gun di turned on his heel, his cloak brushing the floor as he left them. only before he left, he finally turned his attention to megan, motioning for her to follow.

her gaze flicked back to y/n one last time before she turned, her footsteps light but lacking the enthusiasm she wished she could fake. it was wrong, she knew. she should be cheering, not feeling this knot twist tighter in her stomach.

but jealousy had a way of sinking into your bones, like a quiet whisper you couldn’t shake. and for all the love she had for y/n, it was there, present and undeniable.

as she followed gun di, her step was less than peppy, a stark contrast to the hopeful confidence that was supposed to be there. she hated how it felt, but the truth was clear. for now, all she could do was stand by her, even if her own heart twisted in places she couldn’t explain.

she loved y/n. that would never change. but sometimes, love wasn’t enough to silence the quiet ache of wanting more.

she didn’t want ‘more’ to happen at the expense of someone she cared for, however. only it was too late. the force had a funny way of responding, megan realized. it had its own sense of timing. cruel, deliberate.

it wasn’t even a month later that news had reached her. the message came without warning. one encrypted report, buried beneath dispatches and logistical updates.

master gun di, confirmed dead. killed in action on ryloth. no survivors.

it didn’t feel real. not at first. not even when she read the full transmission. not even when she saw his name listed beside captain keeli’s, among the dozens of others lost.

the rain on coruscant didn’t fall like it did on the rim worlds. it didn’t carve through dust or flood broken homes. it was filtered, processed, condensed and redistributed through repulsorlift towers that shimmered in the skyline. still, it found the temple. soft against the windows. quiet in the way grief often was. it was the kind of rain that didn’t cleanse anything. just filled the silence.

and megan had never felt so hollow.

megan stood just outside the council chambers.

knighted, they said. in the absence of her master. in honor of his sacrifice. the ceremony had been brief, formal. a few quiet words. a nod from masters she’d never trained under. no time for questions. no room for grief. just the hum of the temple continuing without pause, as if the war had simply absorbed one more name.

they gave her a title. a command. a clone troop waiting for her and whatever came next.

the ninety-second assault battalion.

they wore dark gray and faded crimson armor. scratched, worn. stripped of anything ceremonial. they were built for function, not for show. veterans of geonosis, of christophis, of campaigns she hadn’t even read the reports for. they didn’t salute when she walked in. they just looked at her. assessed. nodded like they’d seen too many new commanders already and knew better than to get attached.

commander jex had been the first to speak.

same scar on his chin. same deep voice. but different now. more hollow. megan remembered him from the shuttle ride home after geonosis, back when he’d cracked jokes and hummed low tunes over the comms. he’d looked her in the eye then. now he just glanced past her, quiet and watchful.

but still, he remembered her.

she wasn’t ready. not for the armor. not for the weight of command. not for the silence that came after being told to move on.

it was too much. all of it. too fast. knighted, reassigned, re-armed.

her master was dead. she hadn’t cried. not when they told her. not during the hollow ceremony. not when the title was given and the braid was cut.

she cried now. not loud. not broken. just silent. the kind of grief that lived in the chest and never made it to the throat. she leaned her head against the smooth stone wall and let the tears fall where no one would see.

she hadn’t been there. she hadn’t even known. not until the temple was already flying the flags at half-mast and her master’s quarters had been sealed for debrief. they called it honorable. they called it necessary. but they didn’t call it what it was.

a loss. a theft. a wound that wouldn’t stop bleeding. and she was angry.

megan didn’t remember walking back to her chambers. her feet carried her on instinct, down long stone corridors washed in temple light, past other jedi who bowed gently or said nothing at all. she barely saw them. couldn’t bring herself to look.

it wasn’t until the door slid open and she stepped inside that she realized where she was.

her own quarters.

hers, now. not the shared padawan dormitories. not y/n’s room, where she’d curled into borrowed sheets more nights than she could count. just her own. a small, circular space with clean floors, a narrow sleeping pallet, and a meditation mat that still looked untouched.

the door closed behind her. the silence pressed in.

for a moment, she just stood there. the hum of the temple walls was steady, unchanging. and yet, everything felt unfamiliar. this place hadn’t changed. she had.

megan crossed to the small shelf by the bed, fingers trailing across the simple objects still left from before. her old training saber hilt, scorched and cracked from a bad duel when she was twelve. a holocube from gun di, a gift given to her on her seventeenth birthday. she didn’t activate it. she couldn’t.

instead, she sank onto the edge of the bed and let her hands fall to her lap.

they had knighted her. told her it was a testament to her master’s sacrifice. a recognition of the growth he had fostered. a reward for resilience. they spoke in quiet, even tones. told her that loss was part of the path. that to love a teacher was natural, but attachment led to fear, and fear led to suffering– darkness. she’d nodded.

because what else was she supposed to do? but deep inside, the questions wouldn’t stop.

why didn’t he wait for her? why did he go alone? why didn’t anyone warn her? and why—why did they expect her to just move on?

was this what it meant to be a jedi? to stand tall in the face of unbearable silence and pretend that letting go didn’t hurt like hell?

she bowed her head and clenched her jaw.

there was no room to grieve. only duty. no time to process. only progress. and somewhere beneath the weight of it all, something inside her shifted. it was quiet. small. a crack, not a break. but she felt it. the start of something else. something colder.

she had thought she understood the code. she had recited it every day since she was a child. peace. serenity. no attachments.

but now? now it felt like a lie. like a rule meant to bind, not protect. like a reason to keep her heart locked away until it stopped beating for anything at all.

megan swallowed hard. she looked around the room– her room– and felt nothing but the echo of absence.

gun di would have hated this. he would have seen right through it. he would have told her to trust the force. to breathe. to wait.

but he was gone.

the door behind her slid open with a gentle woosh, but she didn’t flinch. she felt her before she even entered, her force signature practically engraved into her mind and heart. a familiar hum in the force– warm and grounding, wrapped in calm. soft footsteps. careful, quiet. not temple protocol. not someone on assignment. just someone who knew. someone who didn’t need to knock, someone who didn’t need a key.

the girl who already held her heart in the palm of her hands, tender.

y/n stepped into the room without waiting for permission. her robes were still neat, untouched by the day. not a single crease out of place. but her hands… megan caught the way her fingers twisted at her sides. the way she paused just long enough to breathe before moving forward.

“you should be resting.”

her voice was quiet. steady. megan didn’t turn. she didn’t have to.

“i couldn’t,” megan said quietly. her voice was rough, barely holding together. “i feel like if i stop moving, i’ll fall apart.”

footsteps padded closer across the floor. no hesitation. no pretense.

y/n came to her side and didn’t say a word. just stood close. shoulder brushing shoulder. the way she always did when words weren’t enough.

megan’s eyes stung. she looked down at her hands, like they might offer answers. like they could still hold something that wasn’t already slipping through her fingers.

“he didn’t even say goodbye.”

a moment of silenced passed before y/n gently shook her head.

“if he’d had the chance, he would’ve.” y/n’s voice was barely above a whisper. “you know that. he believed in the cause. in duty. but that doesn’t mean he didn’t love you.”

megan let out a sharp breath, the edges fraying. “then why didn’t he stay? why wasn’t i enough?”

the room fell into silence. thick. heavy. y/n didn’t flinch from it. didn’t look away.

“he loved you,” she said again, quieter this time. “anyone could see it. and none of this—none of what happened—was your fault.”

“i was twelve,” megan murmured. “when he took me on. i thought he was invincible. like he couldn’t be touched by anything, like none of it could ever reach him.”

y/n turned to face her. close enough now that megan could feel the heat of her body, steady and grounding.

“he didn’t want it to reach you.”

megan laughed once, dry and empty. “it did.”

her voice cracked on the last word. she pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes, like she could push the grief back in. like she could pretend it hadn’t rooted itself deep inside her.

then she dropped her hands, curling them into fists against her thighs.

“they knighted me. no time to breathe. no time to feel. just gave me my orders and sent me out. said i was ready.” she swallowed hard. “i don’t feel ready. i don’t feel anything but hollow.”

y/n reached out. slow. deliberate. her hand brushed megan’s fingers, soft and searching. when megan didn’t pull away, y/n laced them together.

“you don’t have to feel okay,” she said.

“i don’t feel like a knight. i feel like a kid who lost everything.”

“you didn’t lose everything,” y/n whispered. “you still have me.”

megan turned toward her fully now, like she couldn’t hold herself upright without the contact. she leaned in. not because she wanted to. because she needed to. her forehead found y/n’s shoulder. her breath trembled.

y/n’s arms slid around her without question. without pause. she held her tightly, one hand at the back of her neck, the other curled around her waist. firm. safe.

“the order says we’re not supposed to grow attached,” megan said, voice muffled by y/n’s robes. “but how could i not? he was my family.”

y/n didn’t answer right away. just pressed her lips gently against megan’s temple.

“he was mine too,” she said. “not like he was yours, but… he looked after me when sinube couldn’t. i felt it too. just not like this.”

megan closed her eyes. let herself breathe into the shape of y/n’s hold.

“i met my new unit,” she said after a while. “the ninety-second. commander jex. i knew him, from geonosis. he used to joke. used to be warm. now he barely speaks. just watches everything. like he's waiting for the next thing to go wrong.”

“he’s not the only one who feels like that,” y/n murmured.

“the war has only just started and it’s already eating us,” megan whispered. “i don’t want to lose who i am.”

y/n didn’t answer right away. instead, she reached up and gently cupped megan’s face in her hands, thumbs brushing softly beneath tired eyes. she leaned in until their foreheads touched, the space between them folding into nothing. their breaths mingled, slow and uneven.

“then don’t let it,” y/n said, voice steady. “hold on to what’s still yours.”

“i don’t know what is anymore.”

outside, the rain tapped softly against the window. the lights of coruscant blurred through the mist, a city too bright to ever feel quiet, and yet the silence in the room was complete.

y/n tilted her head just slightly, brushing her nose against megan’s. grounding her.

“you’re not alone,” she said. “you never were.”

megan’s chest tightened. her next breath hitched. she blinked hard, but the tears still came, silent and slow.

“stay,” she whispered. “please. just… stay.”

y/n didn’t hesitate.

they moved toward the bed without speaking. megan crawled under the covers and y/n followed without hesitation, settling in close behind her. arms around her. hands gentle and grounding. the warmth of another body, solid and real and present, was the only thing that kept her from splintering. her eyes were open. the ceiling above blurred through tears she refused to let fall again.

“i won’t let it happen to you,” megan said into the dark. her voice was quiet, but full of iron.

y/n’s answer came after a pause.

“that’s not a promise you can keep.”

“maybe not. but i’ll die trying.”

“megan…”

“no. listen to me. i can’t lose you. i won’t.”

y/n didn’t argue. she just moved her hand until their fingers laced again, slow and certain. the words hung there. not romantic. but heavy. sacred. a truth born from grief and the ache of holding too much pain in too small a body.

megan closed her eyes. for the first time in days, she let herself breathe. somewhere outside the temple walls, the war moved on.

but in that moment, in that room, they stayed still.

19 BBY

y/n thought it all would’ve been over by now.

they were now three years into the war. three. at some point, time had almost started blurring together. she was tired. exhausted. the war was long and grating, and if she were being honest, some part of her doubted it would ever be over.

for three long years, she watched clones and fellow jedi fall around her—one by one. clones from her own battalion, clones from megan’s… it was never-ending. a cycle that held them in an iron grip.

she never meant to grow so attached to them. they were supposed to be soldiers. assets. lab-born on kamino and bred for war. but somewhere along the line, they became more than that. she tried not to dwell on the first time she met them, when their armor still gleamed and their eyes burned with purpose. time had weathered them all.

only one clone had made it this far with her. commander trace. maybe it was luck, or maybe sheer force of will. either way, the galaxy never stopped reminding her that clones were meant to be disposable. replaceable. but y/n knew that was a lie. deep down, she understood it was never that simple. and more than anything, she hoped trace would never be the next to fall. he was a reminder of everything they’d fought for, and everything they’d lost.

trace was more than a designation—more than cc-527. he was her brother. the one who dragged her out from under blaster fire on felucia, when a droideka had her pinned and she was seconds from death. he didn’t hesitate. just charged in, blaster drawn, like he always did.

he was her friend. a person she could count on when everything else was falling apart.

of course, second only to her.

so maybe it shouldn’t have surprised her as much as it did the day he approached her, footsteps careful, kama swaying with each hesitant step, helmet tucked under his arm like he didn’t quite know what to do with it.

“you love her, don’t you?” he asked.

she didn’t need him to say her name. she already knew.

every passing day made it harder to keep her relationship with megan hidden. and every moment they stole between missions, behind shadows, in quiet quarters when the galaxy wasn’t looking— it only deepened what was already there. it showed itself in the small things. like the time megan ‘accidentally’ grabbed y/n’s saber instead of her own, igniting that familiar green blade in the middle of a firefight on cato nemoidia. after the battle, when y/n asked, megan just smirked. called it a mistake. but they both knew better.

megan wanted the freedom to claim her. openly. boldly. in any way the war would allow.

it was only a matter of time before someone noticed. y/n was just glad it was trace.

she didn’t deny it. didn’t try to laugh it off or deflect. when he looked at her— gentle, understanding, and entirely unjudging—she answered honestly.

“i do.”

that was enough. he nodded. and for the first time in years, he smiled. a real one. the kind that softened his eyes and said everything he didn’t out loud. that even in the middle of so much ruin, she’d found something worth holding onto.

it was another joint operation, one of many since the war began. y/n’s 227th legion and megan’s 92nd assault battalion had been deployed to chandrila, a mission that felt too calm to be real. the dropship skimmed low through clouds heavy with rain, its engines a steady hum against the stillness. below, the fields of chandrila stretched wide and golden, rows of wheat swaying beneath the gray sky like they hadn’t yet heard the rest of the galaxy was on fire. everything was too quiet. too neat. like war had no business here.

megan sat near the back of the transport, gloved hands folded loosely at her belt. beside her, commander jex tugged at the straps of his chest plate, his crimson-striped pauldron dulled with dust and wear. he spoke in low tones, something about landing zones, strategy, fallback points.

megan nodded, listening. composed. focused.

but even then, she didn’t look away from y/n.

and y/n didn’t look away from her.

despite the armor, the war, the weight of command—their eyes always found each other. in every quiet moment between chaos, in every half-smile or lingering glance. unspoken words passed like breath between them. megan was utterly, painfully captivated.

and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

“locals’ve got strong opinions about the republic,” commander jex muttered, voice gravel-thick with exhaustion. “too quiet out here. too clean.”

“i know,” megan replied, steady.

and she did. she’d read the intel alongside y/n, late into the night, datapads casting pale light across their faces in a dim field tent.

this wasn’t just another mission. this was a political fault line. chandrila had been a loyal republic world for generations, but even loyalty had its limits. as the war dragged on, fear spread like smoke. resentment festered. trust began to crack.

a rising political faction rooted in isolationist, nationalist rhetoric had started gaining traction among the local population. anti-republic sentiment was brewing in hushed meetings and public protests alike. and then the insurgency struck.

a high-profile kidnapping. the daughter of a prominent political leader, taken during what was supposed to be a goodwill tour through rural chandrila. according to a trusted diplomat—an old friend of the girl’s family—it was planned. targeted. a move meant to fracture what little faith remained in the republic’s reach.

now, they were en route to meet that same diplomat. an informant brave enough to speak up. she claimed the girl was being held in a secluded commune, far from the eyes of the capital.

“we need to be careful,” megan said under her breath, just loud enough for jex, trace, and y/n to hear. “we’re basically painting a target on our backs flying in on this dropship.”

her fingers tightened slightly at her belt. tension thrummed beneath the surface, but she kept her voice even. always sure. always calm.

only y/n could see the flicker of worry in her eyes. and only y/n could ease it.

jex looked at her—really looked at her—and she felt it. she felt the way his gaze followed hers, tracked that unwavering focus she had on y/n. the way his brow barely twitched, like he was putting the pieces together without needing to ask. it wasn’t judgment. wasn’t suspicion. just quiet understanding, with a question that stayed unspoken.

like trace, he knew.

not the whole of it. not the stolen nights, not the soft words exchanged in the silence between battles. but he saw enough. the way megan’s eyes lingered a little too long when y/n walked into a room. the subtle shift in her voice when she said her name. the way she froze during debriefs if y/n’s name came up in the file debriefings, ust enough to notice if you were looking.

jex gave her a single nod. firm, wordless, steady. then he stood as the dropship ramp began to lower, rain slicing sideways through the opening.

dust and wind whipped into the cabin as the ramp dropped, carrying with it the sharp, storm-laced scent of rain-soaked wheat. chandrilan air was rich and earthy, heavy with the promise of more rain.

the boots of the 92nd and 227th hit the ground in near-perfect unison.

kareth hollow didn’t look like a battlefield.

modest homes stood quiet, built from weatherworn permacrete and salvaged steel. irrigation towers loomed along the edges, their blades spinning slow under the weight of the overcast sky. wind turbines hummed steadily beside sleek water collectors. everything about the settlement was clean, efficient. sustainable. a town built to endure.

the main square was small, more of a shared space than a center people could conjugate at. a circular co-op building sat at its heart, part market, part administration. locals drifted through in quiet patterns. polite nods. brief glances. smiles that didn’t quite reach their eyes. greetings clipped just short of warmth.

too polite.

megan felt it the moment they stepped off the main road.

they were being watched. not by one person, not by snipers on rooftops or scouts in the trees, but by everyone. by the town itself.

she could sense their wariness, the kind born from secrets. the kind that said we know what this is but we’re not going to say it out loud.

and megan knew that kind of silence well. it was the kind that always came before something went wrong.

y/n moved quietly beside her, cloak drawn tight against the wind. her face was calm, composed, but megan saw the tightness in her jaw, the faint crease between her brows.

they hadn’t touched since arriving planetside. barely spoke, aside from mission parameters. but when their shoulders brushed in passing, megan felt it like lightning.

sure enough, there she was. a diplomat stood at the base of the co-op steps, flanked by two guards. young, no more than twenty-five, with the composed stillness of someone raised around politics. her silks were layered and fine, dyed the soft green of chandrilan governance. a diplomatic crest gleamed on her shoulder, catching the light as the wind shifted through the square.

“thank you for coming,” she said, voice low and steady. “we don’t have much time.”

without another word, she turned and led them inside.

the war hadn’t reached kareth hollow in fire or flame, but it had settled into the town in other ways. slow. quiet. ideological. like mold that crept into walls and stayed there, unnoticed until it was too late.

in the central chamber, she activated a display table. a flickering map filled the space—grainy, hastily rendered. outlines of farmland, irrigation lines, and scattered structures formed the shape of the commune. three red heat signatures pulsed near the edge of the map, close to an old water treatment plant.

it was in that room they learned her name. it was there that the plan took shape. the intel was broken down. roles assigned. their next steps made clear.

in hindsight, maybe it had been a mistake when megan suggested they split into teams. that she take her battalion and scout the west side of the commune, while y/n and trace took the east. maybe they should have stayed together. trusted their instincts. recognized how wrong the town felt the moment they landed.

maybe, too, she should’ve asked more questions. like how the diplomat even got her hands on that intel in the first place.

but she didn’t.

the wind picked up as they moved along the outer edge of the commune. tall grain stalks brushed against armor and boots, swaying in restless waves, just high enough to shroud movement from a distance. overhead, thick clouds rolled in, turning the sky a heavy, unbroken grey. everything looked washed out. muted. still.

the comms stayed quiet.

too quiet.

an hour passed. maybe longer. time blurred when nothing happened, when all you could hear was the wind. then the signal dropped.

megan felt it before she heard the static. her chest tightened.

“trace, report,” she said into her commlink, voice sharp with command.

nothing.

“y/n, do you copy?”

silence.

not the kind that meant interference. not the kind that meant distance.

the kind that meant something was wrong.

that silence lodged itself deep in her ribs, familiar in the worst way. it felt like ryloth. like geonosis. like the reports that came too late or never came at all.

she didn’t remember barking orders. didn’t remember how her saber found her hand, or how she covered half the distance between the commune and the field in seconds. only the sharp ache in her legs told her she was moving too fast, that the wind was cutting past her like a blade.

jex was already shouting commands behind her, calling for backup, for medics, for scouts to sweep the perimeter. the rest of the 92nd moved fast and clean through the commune’s edge, boots kicking up dirt, armor cutting through the swaying grain.

then—blaster fire. a spray of red light cut through the haze, and megan’s body moved before thought could catch up. she ducked low, slid across damp soil, came up behind the rusted shell of an irrigation valve. she counted the shots. heard the modulated whir of a droid’s servo. too smooth. too controlled. not local militia.

separatists.

she bit down hard on the rising dread.

it was a trap, and they’d walked straight into it.

then she saw it. wreckage. the remains of a signal repeater station, its outer panel blasted open and sparking faintly. a scorch mark carved across the ground. impact craters. the kind droids made when they rained down fast and hard.

then trace. he was the first thing she saw. he lay slumped half-covered by the body of a deactivated droid. like he’d taken it down with him. his blaster was still gripped in one hand, fingers frozen mid-trigger.

megan dropped to her knees beside him.

his helmet was cracked. scorched black across one side. blood pooled beneath his torso, dark and already drying into the soil. no pulse. no breath. nothing.

she didn’t speak.

she just pressed a hand to his chest plate. then the side of his neck. as if maybe, just maybe, something would come back.

megan stood, slowly, mechanically. her limbs felt too far from her body.

y/n.

she scanned the field, eyes catching movement—droids, collapsing under blaster fire from her men. and then she saw her. half-hidden beneath a section of torn tarp. bound. slumped. her cloak gone, robes battered. blood down one side of her face.

the world narrowed to a point.

megan crossed the distance in seconds, dropped beside her, hands moving without hesitation. she tore the bindings free, checked for broken ribs, a concussion, anything that would stop her from being moved.

“y/n,” she whispered, “i’m here. you’re safe.”

y/n stirred weakly, a sound escaping her throat. half a breath, half a warning. her eyes fluttered open, bleary. “trace…?”

megan’s breath hitched. she looked away.

“i’m sorry.”

that was the only answer she gave. she gathered her close, pressing her forehead gently to y/n’s. let the rain hit her back, let the wind howl through the grain. she could still smell fire in the air. smoke and scorched metal. it was always the same.

“med team inbound,” jex said quietly from behind her. “they’ll take her. she’ll live.”

megan nodded, but didn’t let go.

the area was secured within the hour. the field was clear. the remaining insurgents either fled or dropped their weapons and surrendered. the droids were scrap.

but it didn’t feel like a victory.

it felt like an ending .

trace. gone.

y/n. almost.

megan exhaled, long and low. there was a storm coming in behind her. wind twisting through the wheat. clouds dark with thunder.

she was speechless.

how could she let this happen?

the days after chandrila blurred into one long stretch of heavy silence. time seemed to shift around y/n, a constant pull between the past and the present. it had been weeks since trace had fallen, but the weight of it still hung between them, thick in the air. she had expected to fall apart, to break under the strain of losing someone she’d been so close to for so long. but instead, she found herself strangely composed. she grieved, yes—grieved for trace, for everything they’d lost—but she was steady. she moved forward, quietly, silently, as if trying to protect something fragile within herself.

megan, on the other hand, was falling apart in slow, agonizing pieces.

megan tried to move through the motions, to maintain that fierce, unshakable resolve she’d developed since the start of the war. but it was as if the battlefields of the galaxy had taken something from her, something irreplaceable. she wasn’t the same. y/n could feel it in the way megan’s gaze lingered on her longer than it should, like she was constantly watching, waiting. maybe it was because they had been through so much together, maybe it was because they were all each other had left, but there was something new in the way megan looked at her. something different.

y/n had noticed the shift in her immediately. the way megan’s once carefree smile had become a shadow of itself, how even in the quiet moments, she would always seem to be on edge, like she was waiting for something to happen. and maybe she was. after all, they’d lost so much. the scars of chandrila ran deeper than the ones that marked their bodies.

but it wasn’t just the loss of comrades. it wasn’t just the war or the constant threat of death hanging over them. megan was afraid, and it was a fear y/n had never seen before.

it started with the nightmares. megan would wake in the middle of the night, gasping for breath, her body slick with sweat. the first few times, y/n had thought it was just a bad dream, a lingering trace of the chaos they’d lived through. but then it kept happening, over and over, and megan’s reactions grew more frantic, more panicked.

one night, y/n woke to the sound of megan’s desperate breaths. she was sitting up in bed, her hands clenched at her sides, her eyes wide open, staring into the darkness as if seeing something beyond it. y/n moved toward her, her heart pounding, unsure of what to do or say.

“megan?” y/n’s voice was soft, hesitant. she reached out, placing a hand on megan’s shoulder. it was warm to the touch, but her body was rigid, her muscles trembling with barely contained fear. megan flinched at the contact, and y/n’s chest tightened.

“hey… it’s okay,” y/n said, trying to ground her, but megan’s eyes were far away, lost in a memory or a vision that only she could see.

“no,” megan gasped, her voice strained, almost pleading. “no, y/n, please. i saw it again… i saw you—” she stopped herself, taking a sharp breath, shaking her head as if trying to rid herself of the image. “you died. i couldn’t… i couldn’t save you.”

y/n’s heart cracked at the words, the vulnerability in megan’s voice. it was like a wound that had been hidden, festering beneath the surface. she had never seen megan so… broken.

“megan…” y/n whispered, her hand gently cupping her cheek, guiding her to look at her. “you’re not going to lose me. i’m right here.”

but megan’s eyes were distant, unfocused, as if the words weren’t enough to chase away the terror that gripped her. the fear was deep, primal—rooted in something that y/n couldn’t fully understand. it was like megan was seeing a future that she couldn’t escape, a future where y/n wasn’t there.

“i couldn’t protect you,” megan said again, her voice shaking. “i couldn’t save you. it’s always the ones i care about. i—I failed you, y/n. i failed you just like i failed everyone else. i—”

y/n cut her off, pulling her into a tight embrace, her arms wrapping around her like a shield, holding her as if she could somehow erase the fear, the guilt, that had taken root in megan’s chest.

“stop,” y/n murmured, her voice thick with emotion. “stop thinking that. you didn’t fail me. you’re not going to lose me. not like that.”

but even as she said it, y/n could feel the cracks in her own resolve, the weight of megan’s words pressing down on her chest. she had never seen her like this before—never seen megan so terrified of losing the people she loved. and it was becoming clearer with each passing day: this war was breaking them, piece by piece.

megan’s hands trembled against y/n’s back, her breath still coming in shallow bursts as she tried to steady herself. “i don’t know what to do anymore,” she confessed quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “i’m so scared, y/n. i’m scared that one day, i won’t be able to save you. that i’ll lose you, like i lost… like i lost everything else.”

the words cut through y/n like a knife, a reminder of just how fragile everything was, how fragile they both were.

“you’re not alone, megan,” y/n said softly, brushing a strand of hair away from megan’s face, trying to offer some small comfort. “you don’t have to carry this alone.”

but the truth hung heavy between them, an unspoken reality neither of them could ignore.

megan’s fear wasn’t something that could be easily soothed. it wasn’t just about the war, about the battles they fought or the losses they suffered.

it was about the possibility that, no matter how hard she fought, she couldn’t protect the one person who mattered most to her.

the nights came more frequently, and megan’s nightmares grew worse. y/n could see it in her face. see the exhaustion in her eyes, the way she flinched when y/n got too close, like she was afraid of the inevitable, afraid that someday, the nightmare would be real.

megan had once sworn to y/n that she would never let what happened to master gun di happen to her. that she would never allow herself to be weak, to be broken. but the fear had eroded her confidence. it had made her question everything she believed in, and y/n wasn’t sure how to fix it.

one night, after another nightmare that left megan trembling in her arms, y/n finally whispered the only thing that made sense, the only thing she could say to remind them both of the strength that was still there.

“i’m not going anywhere, megan. not today. not tomorrow. i’m not going anywhere.”

megan’s grip on her tightened, and for the briefest moment, y/n felt the warmth of a fragile hope—a hope that maybe, just maybe, she could keep them both from breaking.

but it didn’t.

the nightmares didn’t stop. the fear didn’t fade. and no matter how many times y/n held her through the night, whispering reassurances into her hair, the darkness always came back.

megan began to withdraw. not from y/n—never from y/n—but from everything else. her laughter became rare, her presence more solemn. and when she wasn’t on assignment, she found herself drifting toward the jedi archives, somewhere she had barely spared a glance in the past. they had always felt too sterile, too quiet, too vast. she was never the studious type. everything she’d learned, she learned in motion. in the field, in training, in war. but now, the archives became something else entirely. a place to search.

she didn’t even know what for, not really. ancient records, prophetic scrolls, restricted transcripts. anything that might explain why her dreams felt like memories of something that hadn’t yet happened. she scanned records of force premonitions, of jedi who had foreseen loss. she read about padawan bondings, trauma bonds, the rare and painful consequences of attachments. she kept reading, even when her eyes blurred with exhaustion. even when the words stopped making sense.

megan sat curled in the dim corner of one of the lower archive rooms more often than not, her elbows on her knees, datapads stacked around her. she wasn’t supposed to be in this section—not without clearance—but she knew how to override the doors. master jocasta nu, the primary archive keeper, had stopped asking questions after the third week. she was always polite. always quiet. and always alone.

she had no one to go to. her master had died in the early stages of the war, and master sinube—y/n’s old teacher—was wise, yes, but distant. their paths had never crossed beyond a few formal exchanges. besides, how could she explain it? how could she look a council member in the eye and say: “i’m dreaming of the woman i love dying over and over again, and i think the force is trying to warn me.”

no one would understand. they’d remind her of the code. they’d warn her about attachments, about fear, about what came from holding on too tightly. but they didn’t see y/n’s blood on the duracrete floor. they didn’t wake to the echo of her scream in the back of their mind. they didn’t love her the way megan did.

so she searched.

she searched because it was the only thing that made the dreams feel bearable, like maybe she could outpace them, maybe she could find something that would help her stop them from becoming real.

she’d stopped meditating. every time she tried, all she saw was y/n’s eyes, wide and empty, her body cold in megan’s arms.

megan had always been brave. reckless, even. she’d faced droid battalions and warlords and death without flinching. but this fear was different. it was quiet, persistent, suffocating.

and it was winning.

one afternoon, long past the time she should have been resting, she sat with a heavy archive tablet on her lap, scanning a corrupted translation of a high republic-era text about shared force bonds. her mind was barely processing the words. her vision swam. her fingers trembled. y/n lied asleep behind her, her chest rising and falling withh every breath she took.

then, a soft beep cut through the silence.

her holocommunicator pulsed on the floor beside her. blue light flickered across the durasteel tiles, casting pale shadows against the stacks.

she blinked. frowned.

the signal was encrypted—official. high clearance.

when she picked it up and activated it, a hologram flickered into view. megan’s stomach turned to ice.

the last person she expected to hear from. and yet, there it was.

incoming transmission. priority level: elevated. sender: office of sheev palpatine.

megan’s stomach turned to ice. her hands went still against the surface of the archive tablet, fingertips barely brushing the blinking holocommunicator. the blue light pulsed steadily, casting a cold glow across her knees, the datapads, the walls around her that suddenly felt too close.

the office of the chancellor.

she blinked once. then again. maybe it was a mistake. maybe someone had entered the wrong identifier code, misrouted a message meant for a council member—someone who actually mattered.

she’d never even met the chancellor before. not even once.

she’d seen him, of course, from a distance. holograms flickering in the temple briefing halls, or on the steps of the senate building, flanked by guards and advisors, speaking in careful tones about unity and sacrifice and the burden of war.

but her?

the last time his name had even crossed her thoughts, it had been a passing mention in a mission debrief. the chancellor had been rescued. kenobi and skywalker had stormed grievous’s flagship and pulled him from separatist captivity, still alive. barely.

he was too important to lose. too important to be captured in the first place. and now—now his office was contacting her?

her throat tightened.

if anyone asked the masters who remembered her early days in the order, they would all say the same thing. she was stubborn, wild, full of fire. not the kind of jedi the chancellor would waste a moment of his time on.

the holocomm blinked again. awaiting response.

then, the message began to play.

the hologram flickered to life with a soft buzz, its form coalescing into the pale blue projection of a man she didn’t recognize. a chagrian male. his robes were rich, but understated. senatorial. he stood with the measured poise of someone used to being listened to, hands folded neatly in front of him, expression unreadable.

“jedi knight skiendiel,” he began, voice crisp and formal. “i speak on behalf of chancellor palpatine. he requests your presence at your earliest convenience.”

megan said nothing. didn’t breathe. her gaze remained fixed on the flickering edges of the hologram, her mind scrambling to keep up.

“a matter of strategic insight,” the advisor continued, “and of personal interest to the chancellor. he would prefer to speak with you in private.”

that did it. her stomach twisted hard.

“why?” she asked, her voice quieter than she meant it to be. “what does he want with me?”

the projection offered the ghost of a smile. not warm. not cold. just… practiced.

“his reasons will be made clear when you arrive.”

then, just like that, the hologram dissipated. the silence that followed was deafening.

megan sat there for a moment, her hands curled into fists at her knees, heart hammering. she could feel it now, a subtle tremor in the force. something unspoken, unsettled. a thread being pulled that she didn’t know she was tied to.

she’d spent so many nights buried in the archives, chasing shadows, trying to find meaning in dreams that didn’t fade when the sun rose. dreams where y/n died in her arms, where she was always a second too late. she’d pored over every case file, every ancient prophecy she could dig up that even hinted at premonition or fate. the council would’ve disapproved. they already disapproved of how far she let her feelings reach.

but this… this was something else.

no master to guide her. no council member to lean on. no one left who would understand how terrified she truly was.

only y/n.

but for the first time in her life, megan realized.

it wasnt enough.

megan stood in the doorway for a long moment before she left.

the room was dim, shadows stretched long across the floor of their quarters, soft moonlight slipping through the shutters and casting pale stripes across y/n’s sleeping form. she hadn’t stirred once. the healers said she was healing fine, and megan believed them, but still… she watched. just for a moment longer. listened to the steady rhythm of her breath.

“stay with her,” she murmured as she crouched beside the small astromech at the foot of the bed.

arthree chirped softly in response, swiveling his dome toward her. his photoreceptor blinked once in affirmation, then again, brighter—almost like a nod.

“if anything changes,” megan added, pressing her palm gently to the droid’s dome, “call me. don’t wait. don’t let her out of your sight.”

the droid warbled, a reassuring sequence of tones that filled the silence like a promise.

megan didn’t allow herself to linger any longer. the longer she stayed, the more the weight in her chest grew. like she was leaving something behind that she wasn’t sure she’d get back.

the halls outside were still and hushed, lit only by the occasional glowpanel and the quiet hum of nighttime maintenance droids gliding past on silent repulsors. she moved quickly, cloak drawn tight against her shoulders, hood pulled low. not to hide, but to brace. everything felt too quiet. like the galaxy had taken a breath and hadn’t let it out.

the senate district was never truly asleep, even at this hour. the senate tower rose like a monolith against the starlit sky, its spires gleaming pale silver in the artificial twilight that wrapped the upper levels of coruscant in a perpetual half-light. megan approached on foot from the speeder drop, cutting a straight path past the solemn statues of former chancellors and lawmakers that lined the main promenade.

for a moment, it felt like she didn’t belong here.

not because of her robes, or the saber at her hip. but because it’d been so long since she stepped foot in this place. that time, she was there with y/n. they’d ran into senator avanzini along the way, who practically beamed from ear to ear when she saw them. daniela didn’t even hesitate before walking over, leaving a forever composed senator bail organa behind her. she nodded, smiled, bowed her head. but it was in her eyes she could see everything she couldn’t say aloud.

“i’m happy for you. both of you.”

since that day, she’d never been called to its heart. never even exchanged words with the man who held more power than any other living being in the republic.

yet here she was, walking beneath banners that rippled in the sterile wind, flanked by the glinting eyes of robed senate guards who tracked her movements with silent precision.

when she stepped inside the grand atrium, it swallowed her whole. marble columns stretched up into shadowed vaults above, their surfaces veined with gold and polished so smooth they reflected the soft glimmer of chandeliers. a quiet hum echoed through the air. the sound of machines, ventilation, distant voices carried on secure lines.

a protocol droid approached, bowing at the waist. “knight skiendiel. the chancellor is expecting you.”

she gave a slow nod and followed.

they led her past security checkpoints, through narrow halls marked with runes of old republic governance, deeper into the inner sanctums where decisions were made and sealed and sent spiraling out into systems far beyond her reach.

the further they walked, the colder it felt.

finally, they stopped before a heavy durasteel door engraved with the seal of the chancellor. the droid turned, gestured toward it, and without another word, stepped away.

megan stared at the door, her breath shallow.

behind it waited a man she had never met. a man with too many titles. a man who somehow knew her name.

she swallowed hard, and stepped inside.

the door slid open with a hiss, revealing a chamber unlike any megan had ever seen. it was dark—not ominously so, but deliberately. the lights were low, the walls curved, designed to cocoon rather than command. soft amber glowed from sconces inset into the walls, casting everything in warm shadow. it was quiet, thick with a kind of stillness that made the air feel heavier.

and there, seated at the far end of the room behind a polished desk of dark wood and gleaming metals, was chancellor palpatine.

he didn’t look powerful. if anything he looked… tired. his eyes, sharp but sunken, lifted as she stepped forward. a small, almost weary smile curled across his lips.

“ah,” he said softly, his voice as smooth and unassuming as silk. “knight skiendiel. thank you for coming on such short notice.”

megan bowed, pulse thrumming in her ears. “chancellor. i—of course.”

he gestured to a chair with one hand, slow and deliberate. “please. sit. you’ve been through quite a lot, haven’t you?”

she hesitated only a second before sitting. the chair was too soft.

palpatine folded his hands on the desk, his gaze never leaving hers. “i’ve been following the reports from chandrila. most troubling. the loss of cc-527… it’s simply a tragedy. i understand you were close.”

her jaw tensed. “we all were.”

“yes,” he said gently. “and y/n. such a promising young jedi. i’m relieved to hear she’s recovering well.”

her throat tightened. “she is.”

he nodded, as if he could see more in her face than she was saying. maybe he could.

“i asked you here because i’ve heard your name before, megan,” he continued, almost absently. “not often. but always with interest. your master, gun di—an honorable jedi. i respected him deeply.”

her breath caught, just for a moment.

palpatine’s eyes narrowed, kindly. “i imagine his loss still weighs heavily on you.”

she said nothing.

he leaned forward slightly. “you’ve experienced more than most your age. more loss, more burden. and yet here you are—still serving, still strong.”

“i don’t feel strong,” megan murmured.

“of course not,” he said. “strength is not the absence of fear or pain. it’s what we do with them. how we endure.”

his voice wrapped around her like a blanket, warm and soft, even as the words pulled at something deep in her chest.

“the jedi ask so much of you. sacrifice, silence, restraint.” he paused. “but they rarely ask how you’re truly coping, do they?”

her gaze faltered.

and yet he smiled again. gentle, understanding. “i asked you here not to reprimand, or to burden you further. but because i see potential in you. and because i believe you deserve to be heard.”

“heard?” her voice was quiet.

“your instincts. your fears. your dreams.” palpatine tilted his head ever so slightly, his voice smooth, measured. “you’ve been visiting the archives. searching for answers. about visions. about loss.”

megan went still.

her blood turned to ice.

he shouldn’t know that. she hadn’t told anyone. not about the hours buried in restricted texts. not about the ancient prophecy fragments or the scrolls that whispered warnings she didn’t understand. certainly not about her dreams. how could he know?

“it’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he said gently, as though sensing her pulse spike. “it’s only natural to want to protect those we care for. especially when the force grants us glimpses of what may come.”

her stomach churned. her fingers curled into the soft fabric of her robes, knuckles white.

he couldn’t know. he shouldn’t know. the council hadn’t even asked. she hadn’t even told jex, or y/n herself. and yet palpatine—the chancellor, the most distant, unreachable man in the galaxy—spoke as if he’d been inside her mind. watching. waiting.

he leaned forward, gaze softening as if to disarm her. “you’ve seen her die, haven’t you?”

her heart stopped.

“y/n,” he whispered, with such quiet certainty that it made her breath catch.

she blinked hard, but it didn’t stop the burn at the corners of her eyes. she hated how easily he saw through her. how he peeled her open with a few words and a smile.

he stood, unhurried, composed, and walked around the desk with the grace of someone who had never once been told no. when he reached her, his hand settled gently on her shoulder. it was warm. steady.

and it made every nerve in her body scream.

“you are not alone in this, my dear,” he said softly. “not if you don’t wish to be.”

megan looked up at him, lips parted but no words came. she couldn’t speak. couldn’t move. every instinct in her screamed danger, run, get out—but she stayed frozen. the weight of his gaze held her in place.

“i can help you,” palpatine murmured, low and coaxing. “but only if you’ll let me.”

she didn’t answer. not with words. just sat there, heart pounding, mind spiraling, her silence pulled tight as a tripwire.

megan’s voice barely rose above a whisper.

“how?”

her own question startled her. she hadn’t meant to speak. hadn’t meant to let him hear the desperation clawing its way out of her chest. but it slipped past her defenses, raw and trembling.

palpatine’s hand gave the slightest squeeze to her shoulder. reassuring. calculated.

“there are ways the force does not reveal to all,” he said, almost wistfully. “pathways… forgotten by the jedi. closed off to them by dogma. fear.”

megan’s throat tightened. she hated the way his words made sense. hated how easily they burrowed into the questions she’d been too afraid to ask herself.

what if the council was wrong? what if there was more? what if her visions were a warning—and no one would listen?

“you love her,” palpatine said simply.

she flinched.

he studied her face with something like sympathy. “attachment. it is forbidden, yes. but what is the point of power, of all this sacrifice… if we cannot use it to protect the ones we love?”

she looked away, but it didn’t matter. he already knew.

she did love y/n. so much it frightened her. enough that she woke every night gasping for air, seeing her crumpled body in the dust. enough that she hadn’t slept for more than a few hours since chandrila.

“tell me what to do,” she said, finally. the words felt like surrender.

palpatine offered a thin, quiet smile. the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“not yet.”

megan’s brow furrowed.

“the force moves at its own pace,” he continued, stepping back toward his desk. “for now, you must return to the temple. continue as you have. wait.”

“wait for what?” she asked, standing slowly.

his eyes found hers. dark, knowing, ancient.

“you’ll know,” he said. “when the time comes.”

and that was all he gave her. no answers. just a promise laced in shadow.

it all happened not long after megan left the senate tower. she hadn’t spoken a word since stepping out of the chancellor’s office, her mind spiraling too fast for speech. the corridor felt colder than she remembered. shadows stretched unnaturally long across the floor. she barely registered the senators and aides sweeping past her. something was wrong. the force whispered it—no, it screamed.

as she approached the wide staircase leading down toward the plaza, a figure passed her, headed the opposite direction. tall. purposeful stride. familiar. she recognized the fall of his shaggy hair, the deep hood of his dark robes left carelessly down. his face was unreadable, jaw tight, eyes distant. but there was something else—something roiling beneath the surface. he didn’t acknowledge her. he didn’t even glance her way.

but for a moment, megan felt it. that same wrongness. like a storm gathering behind his eyes. she watched him go, heart thudding as he disappeared into the lift bound for the chancellor’s private offices. everything in her tensed, as if the force itself was holding its breath.

nothing felt right. not the air. not the light. not the quiet voice in her mind repeating don’t trust him.

she made it back to the temple, but it didn’t bring her any peace. her thoughts chased themselves in circles. she paced her quarters for hours, sleepless, y/n’s name on the tip of her tongue.

should she go to the council? tell them what palpatine said?

but if she did… what then? they’d exile her. strip her of her rank. accuse her of weakness. they’d take her away from y/n.

palpatine said he could help her. and stars, she was desperate enough to believe him.

that would be her greatest mistake.

when the galaxy collapsed around her, it began with a whisper. a single transmission hailing from the office of the chancellor.

“execute order 66.”

megan didn’t need to hear the words in her own ears to know. the force told her first.

it hit like a shockwave, silent and shattering. threads that once hummed with life snapped all at once. across the galaxy, the presence of the jedi—so familiar, so constant—was torn away. they didn't just vanish. they were extinguished. each loss sent out a cry, not in words, but in pain. the force screamed with it, raw and endless.

some jedi fell in confusion, not understanding why. others resisted, bright and furious to the end. all of them were part of her, and all of them were dying.

grief surged before thought could form. it wasn’t sadness. it was drowning. the kind of sorrow that bends the spine and hollows the chest. the kind that changes you.

and then a familiar astromech droid came flailing into her quarters. arthee screeched and bleeped, his dome spinning in frantic circles, servos whirring at full tilt. he didn’t need to say anything coherent. the panic in his tone said enough.

he had promised her, not even a day ago, that if anything ever happened to y/n he would come find her. and now, he was here. megan felt her blood run cold.

she didn’t hesitate. she ran.

arthee raced ahead, weaving through the temple’s corridors, but megan didn’t need his guidance. she already knew where to go. the force wasn’t just nudging her forward. it was dragging her, heart first, through the chaos.

the temple was a blur. emergency lights flickered through the smoke, casting everything in flashes of red and shadow. bodies fell around her. blasterfire screamed through the halls, slicing the air with its heat. blood stained the stone, pooling beneath scorched robes. the scent of burning hair, fabric, skin… it clung to everything.

she didn’t stop. she couldn’t. even as her mind screamed in confusion. even as questions ran rampant through her mind. when she finally reached the courtyard, she froze.

the first thing she saw was jex.

he stood near the center of the courtyard, framed by smoke curling through the shattered archways. firelight flickered over his armor, white with blood red accents, scuffed and blackened by battle. the kama at his waist swayed gently with each breath. a satchel was slung across his chest, worn and streaked with ash. one shoulder bore a black pauldron, marked with soot and grime, the other bare but tense. he looked like he did any other day. the armor that had identified him as the commander of the 92nd assault battalion since day one.

except, megan couldn’t recognize him. even with his face covered by his clone helmet, she could feel the resentment that seeped out of him. cold, unfamiliar, gruelling. the dark visor on his face was painted with what looked like splatters of crimson blood. his blaster was raised. steady. unshaking. he was aiming at someone.

just a few feet away, there she was.

y/n.

she was hurt. blood stained her robes, dark and slick, and her stance wavered like she was barely holding herself upright. no weapon, no shield– only raw defiance in the squared set of her shoulders and something deeper, unspoken, burning in her eyes.

but she wasn’t looking at jex.

her gaze was fixed on megan.

through the chaos, through the ruins of everything they once knew, y/n’s eyes found her. and in that moment, the noise faded. the blaster fire, the alarms, the screams. it all disappeared. there was nothing but the two of them. the bond between them, frayed and ragged, but still alive.

megan’s mouth opened, desperate to call out, to reach her, to do anything— but before a word could form, the shot rang out. a single bolt, clean and merciless.

it struck y/n in the center of her chest.

megan felt her world cave in. the force still screamed and ravaged her body from the aftereffects of thousands of jedi voices crying out in fear as they were struck down by clone troopers. but, the grief that pronged through her in that moment rung harder than anything she’d felt before.

y/n jolted, eyes still on megan, and then her knees buckled. she crumpled forward, a soft exhale escaping her lips. her body hit the stone with a sickening finality.

her heart stopped. her mind raced, flashing through every moment she had been too late. the assassin’s shot on polaris minor, barely deflected in time. the stun grenade that left y/n unconscious. the night at kareth’s hollow on chandrila, when megan found y/n’s battered body beneath a tarp, with trace’s lifeless form only feet away.

trace had fought to protect her until his last breath. but the clones surrounding them now showed none of that warmth or mercy.

these clones… megan was furious.

she lunged forward, fury and desperation crashing over her. but she only made it a few steps before a new sound split the air behind her. the sharp, coordinated rhythm of synchronized boots. the hiss of blasters powering up.

blasterfire erupted again, only this time from behind.

clone troopers stepped into the open, surrounding her in a half-circle. their armor was familiar. marked with the colors of the 92nd assault battalion. her battalion. they didn’t hesitate.

she lit her saber.

the force surged through her. not calm, not steady, but violent and raw. she struck the first two troopers down before they could reload, leapt over another and sent him crashing to the floor. they kept coming. disciplined, coordinated. she kept fighting.

there was no time to think. only movement. only rage.

she briefly registered the sound of arthree’s beeping not far away, the small droid visibly scared as he pushed himself into a darker corner, shrouded by the flashing lights of the temple corridor. he whined, a deep, pained, guttural noise that megan had never heard emanate from a droid before. he was grieving. heartbroken. his processes replaying the image of y/n, his person, dying before his opticals.

megan didn’t hold back. didn’t calculate. every strike was faster, heavier, more brutal than the last. even as her muscles screamed, even as her heart shattered.

then a bolt hit her left arm. the pain was instant, sharp and searing. something tore inside, and her fingers went numb. the saber almost slipped from her grasp. nerves below the elbow were gone. just heat and blood and fire. she forced herself to keep going. she had to.

she turned, just in time to see jex lifting y/n’s body.

but he didn’t look at her. didn’t flinch. just walked away into the smoke, y/n in his arms.

megan screamed. tried to run after him, but her legs faltered. her vision blurred. her body wasn’t listening anymore.

and so she ran. not toward them, but away. the only direction left.

by the time reinforcements arrived, the courtyard was littered with the dead. the girl who had fought for peace, who believed in light, was gone.

something else had taken her place.

18 BBY

pain had a way of settling beneath the skin. not the kind that bled or bruised, but the quiet kind, the kind that rooted itself in the bones and stayed there. it lived in the spaces between heartbeats, in the breath that caught for no reason, in the silence after the storm.

grief didn’t howl forever. eventually, it grew quiet. but it never disappeared. it became part of her—woven into muscle and memory, stitched into every corner of her being.

heartbreak was not a single moment. it was a series of aftershocks. waking up and reaching for someone who was no longer there. hearing their voice in a dream and forgetting, for a heartbeat, that they were gone. walking familiar halls and feeling the air shift, heavy with absence.

her heart hadn’t just broken. it had fractured into pieces so sharp that trying to hold them only made her bleed. and every attempt to put them back together brought new wounds.

some pain heals. some pain hardens. and some pain simply becomes a part of who you are.

megan— no, that name belonged to someone else now. someone who had died in a courtyard soaked with ash and blood. someone who had once believed in light, in purpose, in the strength of the force. all that remained was the hiss of a lightsaber and the ruin it carved through anyone who stood in her path.

now, she was one of vader’s inquisitors.

every day since y/n fell, all she felt was pain. not just the ache of loss, but the kind that hollowed out the soul. the kind that never let her forget. every time she closed her eyes, the memories returned, vivid and relentless.

y/n’s smile. her laugh. the way she would fuss over every detail until it was perfect, while megan pretended to be exasperated, secretly in awe. her stubborn brilliance. her heart. the way she found goodness even in a galaxy unraveling around them.

and then, that final moment.

the look in y/n’s eyes as the bolt struck her chest. the sorrow. the silent goodbye. i love you, her eyes said. and then the world went dark.

megan remembered the corridors of the jedi temple. the way her arm hung useless, nerves shredded from a blaster bolt that tore through flesh and bone beneath her left elbow. remembered the blood, thick and hot, dripping onto the floor. remembered calling out, reaching—only to realize arthee was gone. she must have lost him somewhere in the chaos.

maybe it was for the best. even the droid’s presence made her soul ache.

then came the memory of the chamber, cold and sterile. lied down, restrained to a medical table before chancellor– emperor palpatine. not the chancellor anymore. not the kind-eyed manipulator. his face was different now. twisted. drawn and scarred, his features a mask of rot left behind by the battle with master windu.

he watched her closely as medical probes extended toward her ruined arm. no kindness in his expression. no sympathy.

the metal graft was cruel. it drilled into what remained of her bone with a shriek of durasteel, piercing into flesh without sedation. she didn’t scream. didn’t even flinch. pain had become familiar by then.

she barely noticed when the sedatives never came. they had taken everything from her—her name, her past, her light. but they could not take her grief. in its place, she built something colder. sharper. something that couldn’t break.

now, she was nothing more than the thirteenth sister.

it took a year before her search bore fruit.

a year since the prosthetic had been grafted to the ruins of her left arm. it wasn’t made for comfort. every movement sent sparks of pain through her nerves, a deliberate cruelty meant to remind her who she served.

a year since the dark jedi robes had been stripped from her, replaced by the black armor of the inquisitorius. the emblem of the empire sat heavy on her right shoulder, etched into the fabric like a brand.

a year since she was given a helmet—sleek, black, voice-modulated. it erased what little was left of megan and replaced her with something colder.

moff calder didn’t even bat an eyelash when megan took her tie fighter down from the obsidian star destroyer and set course for tatooine. the wretched hive of scum and villainy.

tatooine was cold that night. unnaturally so. the kind of cold that settled deep in the bones, cutting through the usual blistering heat of the twin suns that scorched the dunes by day. the desert, for once, was still.

she moved like smoke. silent. relentless.

they hadn’t recognized her at first.

she found them in mos isla, tucked into the shadowed corner of a cantina that reeked of oil and sweat. a familiar woman, dressed in scavenger gear, sipping something cheap and bitter. her face was the same. older, maybe. harder. but still recognizable. she had no idea what was coming.

none of them did.

they were the ones who had orchestrated the ambush on chandrila. the ones who had shifted the course of everything in a single, brutal moment. they hadn’t known. not then, not when they gave the order—that killing cc-527 and leaving a particular jedi knight broken and bleeding in a decaying signal repeater station would plant the seed of their own destruction.

they had killed trace. but worse— they had beaten her.

and megan, whoever she had once been, could no longer speak her name. couldn’t even summon the memory of her face without something inside twisting to ash. it was too much. too sacred. too painful.

yet despite everything, despite the armor she now wore, despite the fury that lived where her heart used to be, one truth remained, unshakable.

she still loved her.

even now, as she stepped into the cantina, clad in black inquisitor armor that swallowed all light. even as she unclipped the saber from her belt, once blue but now a searing crimson. even as her gloved hand stretched toward the booth, and with a subtle clench of her fingers, four bodies lifted into the air. the woman’s guards. the same ones who’d stood with her that day.

they scrambled, flailed, choked.

the woman stared at her. wide-eyed. terrified.

and still, none of them recognized the figure standing before them. not this shadow in black. not this weapon with nothing left behind her eyes. not the thirteenth sister—vader’s blade. she’d even gone out of her way to kill them herself without her helmet. she wanted to see them with her own eyes. wanted them to look back at her and recognize the jedi knight they’d manipulated at kareth’s hallow so long ago.

one tried to plead. one tried to run. none succeeded. she didn’t speak. didn’t ask. didn’t hesitate. there was no mercy. only the low, hungry hum of her saber, and the sharp crack of terror in their last breaths.

and even as she painted that corner of the mos isla cantina in red and ruin, even as silence reclaimed the room and the woman’s body slumped lifeless at her feet—

she knew. she would always love y/n.

even if that love was the very thing that destroyed her.

they could’ve had it all. they could have gotten married on polaris minor, just like they said they would. y/n once promised that if megan gave her a little more time, she would say yes. they could have invited senator avanzini, because force knows how much she loved the two jedi as if they were family. arthree would’ve been there, chirping about happily. perhaps in a perfect world with no war and no restriction, tera sinube and gun di could have been there, too.

but life wasn’t perfect. war was inevitable.

she’d lost everything.

PART TWO click for previous part

28 notes · View notes

caligulawritesfanfiction · 5 months ago

Text

heart to heart

pairing ; rodrick heffley x f!reader

summary ; there’s a first time for everything — rejection, heartbreak, kissing, humping your friend…you know, the usual.

warnings ; SMUT,, p in v, virginity loss, reader has lady parts, dry humping, swearing, rodrick’s the loser we all know he (not so) secretly is, sorta sub!virgin!rodrick, virgin!reader

a/n ; never posted smut on anything before so…🔥🔥 i like to imagine reader is plus sized and gothic but yk whatever u wanna imagine her as idgaf, anyway hope y’all like (also experimenting in which perspective i like more so this one’s in first person)

first time we fucked, we were both heartbroken— him over heather, and me over some stupid poser punk boy from school. we laid in his bed together, both sulking and talking to each other about how things could’ve went with our crushes.

we take turn taking hits from rodrick’s sloppily rolled joint. we both decide we shouldn’t get too high, just in case susan arrives home early. we’re not crazy high, but high enough to get those risky, crazy ideas and laugh at stupid things we say to each other. eventually, we end up rolled on our sides facing each other. we don’t say anything, just staring with hooded eyes and silly smiles.

“you know…” i begin to say, scanning my eyes over rodrick’s face, taking in every little detail i see, “you’re pretty cute, i guess. i’ve never noticed before until now…” he chuckles, “yeah, i guess you’re pretty cute too, y/n…”

i lick my bottom lip, deep in a certain thought. roderick mimics my action, watching me. i take a deep breath before uttering out, “maybe…”

“maybe, what?” he asks curiously. i hesitate, but continue nonetheless, “maybe, we don’t have to be, um, lonely…in that way…like, i mean…” “what do you mean?” his questioning is innocent, almost like he wouldn’t dare jump to perverted thoughts like he’d usually do because we’re such close friends…

“well, you know…i’m a girl, you’re a boy…” i trail off. my once avoiding eyes are now back on his, staring right into his dark irises. i hear him swallow, he seems to understand what i’m implying this time. he bites him lip, and now i’m the one mimicking him. he nods in slow motion, it seems like. he whispers a borderline silent, “okay.”

i, very, very, slowly push myself up onto my elbow. i gauge his reaction with every small movement.

in all my time of knowing rodrick, he’s never really been with a girl. he’s never kissed a girl, or even held hands with a girl in a romantic fashion. i, on the other hand, has been with two guys. none were very serious, just casual flings— sharing nothing more than a few kisses. he likes to talk big game, especially to greg, and act all confident and flirtatious. in reality, when me and him are alone and hanging out as friends he wasn’t so cocky. he was actually quite ‘dorky’, similar to his brother, and desperate to impress his peers.

now, i’m hovering over him propped up on my elbow as he lays flat on his back. his lips are parted, and his gaze occasionally wanders down to my own lips. i, slowly and gently, lower my face to his. i hesitate for a brief moment before lightly grazing my lips with his, both of our eyes screwed shut. just for a second, our mouths are just barely touching. he closes the gap completely, pressing his lips against mine with no further movement. i let out a breath i didn’t know i was holding in. i part my lips, kissing him properly and bringing my other hand up to rest on his cheek.

he suddenly gains enough confidence to grab my waist, carefully pulling me closer and closer until i’m pressed up again his warm, lanky body. the kiss is sloppy, but slow and gentle. it’s almost as if we’re trying to be careful with each other, both fearing if we make one wrong move, we’ll mess it all up.

i smile into our open mouthed, breathy kisses. i feel his warmth radiating off of him, it’s addictive. with every touch of his calloused hands to my waist, every breath of his i feel on my face, and graze of his pretty lips against mine, the butterflies slam in my stomach. it gets me hot, doing this with roderick.

when i said i’ve shared a few kisses with a couple guys, i meant awkward, tight lipped, quick ‘let’s get this over with’ kisses; nothing like this.

i lap my tongue into his open mouth. he moans oh so quietly at that simple action, but my tummy does flips and my face heats up like it’s been lit on fire. i lose the little self control i tried to keep. my hands move without a second thought, one to tangle in his dark, messy hair and the other to rest along his jawline. my leg whips around to straddle his hips, pressing down on the poor unexpecting boy. he gasps, which fades into a strained groan. the gentle kissing becomes feverish and needy, lapping my tongue against his desperately. he wraps his long arms around me, forcing my back into an arch; rib cage to rib cage, heart to heart. his hands wander would you expect anything else from rodrick from down to rub my hips, to up to grip my shoulders. our tongues wrestle and invade past the others lips. we share whines and little moans, reveling in each others warmth and need for intimacy. we breath heavily between each kiss, taste buds and mouth covered in each others saliva.

finally, i pull away, but not without roderick attempting to chase my lips. i lick my lips clean of our mixed spit. my chest is heaving and my heart is thumping as i speak, “rodrick?” he hums in acknowledgment. his eyes hooded and gazing at me full of lustful infatuation. i feel his heartbeat drum against mine, his chest pushing against mine with every labored inhale. i let my hands wander down to his chest, balancing myself as i lay meeting his stare. “was that okay?” i whisper. he hums first, nodding his head in shallow shakes. “why wouldn’t it be?” his confused tone makes me smile. i laugh, shaking my head, “i- i don’t know…”

he lifts his head to bring his lips back to mine in a sweet kiss. i trail my kisses to his jaw, then down his neck. i suck and bite softly on the column of his throat, bragging my tongue over each tender bite. he moans lowly, his hands caressing my crop top exposed lower back. his touch leaves a fiery path in its wake. i tug at his black loded diper tee. he gets the memo and i sit up a little in my spot on his hips to allow him to tug it off. as soon as the fabric is thrown to the floor, i let my fingertips feel his smooth chest. they run down past his bellybutton to his little happy trail of dark hair. my thighs clench at the feeling, my hips unintentionally wiggling against him. his eyes snap open and he groans, that’s when i notice his dick is firm under me. i snap my head up to look at his face, his eyes are now screwed shut and his lips are slightly parted.

“oh, shit…” he mumbles under his breath. i have to make a decision now. even though our friendship might be ruined after this little make out we just had, am i willing to ruin it for good by fucking him?

yeah, i think i am.

i can’t ignore the pit of fire nestling between my abdomen and the slightly uncomfortable wetness pooling in my panties. caught up in my thoughts, i didn’t notice rodrick had opened his eyes again and he’s staring right down at where our hips are connected. i decide ‘whatever, fuck it’ and lift my shirt above my head to throw it as fast as i can. my lacy bra exposed to his view. his eyebrows are raised, his cheeks dusted with a pretty pink.

“you can touch me, i want you to.” he nods, i gently grab his wrist bringing to my breast. he inhales sharply, softly kneading it. i whine at the feeling. the look on his face could make me cum alone. his hard on pokes at my thigh. i roll my hips down, my core grazing his through my jeans. he chokes on a moan, “y/n!” i smile down at him and giggle, “what?”, i repeat the action.

“that!”

“do you want me to stop?”

“no! it’s just- oh, fuck-“

“just what?”

now, i’m just taunting him. how could i not? he’s cute when he’s flustered. i plant my hands firmly on his chest, and repeatedly grind my core down on his. he grips my hips tightly, moaning at this new feeling. our moans and groans blend together. i speed up, my head hung as my face is contorted in focus and pleasure. he bucks his hips up, and uses his hold on mine to move me back and forth. i feel like we’re two wild animals, humping each other with such desperation and fervor.

“good- feels so good..” he whines out. yeah, this feels good, but i crave more. i abruptly stop, and he groans in frustration. “y/n?-“ “wait.”

i hurry and roll off him to remove my pants, kicking them off my feet. he sees what i’m doing, and is quick to follow. i stand on my knees next to him on the bed, he observes me ready to mimic whatever action i’m to do next. i hold his gaze and slowing pull my matching lace panties down my legs. a thin string of arousal connects my cunt with my panties as they slide down my thighs. he lays watching me, basically drooling as he sees a part of a girl he’s over ever seen in porno magazines. i hear him utter a holy fuck and a i can’t believe this is happening under his breath.

i remove my bra next, the slightly chilly air from his attic bedroom making my nipples harden. too mesmerized by the sight of my completely naked body, he doesn’t notice me reach over to slip my fingertip under the band of his briefs. he feels my warm hands on his skin, and snaps out of his trance. “oh! yeah, yeah, i’ll-“ he pulls down his black underwear and kicks them off his feet, his hard cock springing out. it’s bright pink tip leaks with pre-cum. i practically drool at the sight. i reach out to graze my fingers over his shaft. he softly moans at the small touch. i lean and kiss up his chest while i run my gentle fingertips over him.

i smile down at him, my face heating up at the fact that this is rodrick. that this isn’t a dream and it’s actually happening. the buzz of our shared high has basically worn off, and the reality of it all hits me. it causes a wave of shyness, my cheeks dusted with the same pink roderick has been collecting on his pretty face.

i push my shyness down, forcing myself to not let my nerves ruin this. i pull roderick to move ontop of me as i lay down on my back. “i want you to lead the way, is that okay?” i question, watching him adjust to hover over me. he nods and gives me a toothy grin, “yeah, totally.”

he takes this time to scan over my body sprawled out underneath him, “you’re really cute, y/n, really pretty…” he leans in to kiss me sweetly as i wrap my legs loosely around his waist. he takes that as a sign to look down and grab his cock, taking a deep breath and lining it up with my entrance. a low groan escaped him as he pushes in. i grip his shoulders tightly, feeling a burning pain. “are you okay?” he asks when he sees the grimace on my face.

“yes, i’m okay, i’m okay. please- please, keep going,” i stutter out. he continues to push his length into me, after a moment he bottoms out. “i-,” he chokes on his words, “im all- all the way in.” he moves from his position from hovering over me, holding his weight with his arms, to completely laying over me. his arms snake around to hold me close to him, and i do the same. slowly, he starts shallowing thrusting into my weeping cunt. the pain is quickly swept away with spikes of pleasure shooting up my body.

“rod- rodrick!” i gasp out, my nails clawing at his back. he speeds up, starting from shallow thrusts to quick slams on his hips into mine. he mumbles out praises and whimpers of my name into the nape of my neck. he fucks into me with fervor, “you’re so fucking tight, ohh my god…”

unwrapping himself from my body, he raises up to watch his cock slam into my hole. drools falls from his open lips. he grips with my hips tight, digging his nails into the plush skin. pressure builds in my lower belly. “i- i think im close, rodrick, please- more, more!”

i reach my hand down the rub my bundle of nerves between us. but before i could start, he pushes my hand out the way to press his thumb against it, moving in small circles. “right there?”

“yes! oh god-“

his breathing becomes labored and the rhythm he had stutters. the pressure building in me snaps and my back arches off the mattress. my lips form an O, a silent scream rips through me along with my orgasm. with two final thrusts he freezes up, joining me in euphoric relief, and his head hangs low with a low drawn out moan. i feel his hot seed paint my inner walls. his chest is glittering with a layer of sweat, his hair clinging to his forehead. after a second or two, he drags his softening cock out of my clamping walls. he watches his cum drip out of my hole, seeing it clamping around nothing but the white liquid escaping.

his gaze takes in my spent body from bottom to top. my breasts rising and falling from the intensity of my orgasm, struggling to catch my breath.

rodrick swears he can see her glowing, like an angel sent from heaven just for him, surrounded by light. how could he not see it before? he feels stupid, what did he see in heather? him and y/n have almost everything in common; our taste in music, our style, among so many other things he couldn’t even think of in this moment.

he falls down onto the bed, making my body bounce a little of the bed. i giggle, and turn my head to look at him. he was one step ahead of me, already looking right at me. he pulls me closer, hugging me tightly. “y/n, i-“

the front door slams. “kids! i’m home!”

it’s susan.

we’re completely naked, there’s a half smoked joint resting on his nightstand, and we have no idea where we threw our clothes.

“…fuck.”

#rodrick heffley smut #rodrick heffley x reader #loded diper #smut #diary of a wimpy kid fanfic #doawk rodrick #rodrick heffley #rodrick x y/n

3K notes · View notes