#definitely didn’t trace the gun. definitely not.

[rosachae]

salvation | megan skiendiel x reader

⁍ song: ghost - mary in the junkyard ⁍ requested: yes! thank you anon ⁍ genre: Star Wars AU! fluff, angst, slowburn. honestly everything. ⁍ a/n: okay so... i definitely went overboard. this fic occurs over the period of Episode 2: Attack of the clones, the animated Clone Wars tv show, and Episode 3: Revenge of the Sith. ⁍ wc: 28.3k ⁍ 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.

28 BBY it was a time of peace in the galaxy. coruscant, the gleaming capital at the heart of the republic, thrived in harmony and precision. senators flowed through the grand halls of the galactic senate, their robes rustling like whispers of diplomacy. above the endless urban sprawl, airspeeders traced luminous trails between towering spires, carrying citizens from one bustling sector to the next. and high above it all, quiet and watchful, stood the jedi temple. but it wasn’t the temple’s architectural majesty that held importance that day, no. the galaxy’s quiet pulse beat a little louder somewhere less dignified. a single, fidgeting thirteen-year-old padawan lingered in a training room on sublevel five.

it was far too quiet for what megan skiendiel had in mind.

pale overhead lights hummed above her, casting long, sterile reflections on the polished floor. metal benches lined the walls, their surfaces gleaming from a fresh polish, and a single training droid stood powered down in the center of the sparring circle, its limbs folded neatly into standby. it wasn’t meant for solo sparring. it definitely wasn’t meant for unsupervised padawans. and it especially wasn’t meant for what megan was about to do.

she’d told herself it was harmless. five minutes. that’s all she had before master gun di came back from checking in with one of the temple instructors. he’d asked her–- specifically told her– to wait and do breathwork until he returned. focus your senses, megan. stay present. five minutes.

but five minutes felt like forever when you were thirteen and impatient and full of static in your bones.

megan bounced lightly on the balls of her feet, lightsaber hilt already warm in her palm. her beige robes, the standard-issue padawan kind with the sleeves rolled up just past her elbows, were creased from earlier drills and stained faintly at the knees. her boots were scuffed, and her padawan braid (always slightly crooked) slipped over one shoulder as she paced. her hair, freshly dyed orange despite her master's complaints, bounced slightly when she dropped into shii cho stance.

“alright,” she murmured to herself, thumb grazing the ignition. “just one round. quick match. no one has to know.”

with a sharp hiss of the sabers ignition, a bright blade flared to life. her saber, much like her master’s, homed a blue kyber crystal. the blue beam lit up the room and shrouded half of megan’s young face in its light. it hummed softly in the stillness, almost akin to that of a speeder's engine. across the room, the training droid lifted its head, sensors activating. it straightened into combat mode with a mechanical whir and stepped into the circle.

megan grinned, but she couldn’t shake the heavy feeling that cemented itself on her chest. like she just knew everything was destined to go south before she could even bat her eyes. afterall, she didn’t have the greatest of track records. nonetheless, she bit back her doubts. she already came this far, so why stop now?

 “this is too easy,” she said, rolling her neck. “i could do this with my eyes closed.”

she wasn’t supposed to mess with the settings. but the override console was right there. she glanced back and forth between the training room's door and the placid droid before caving to her own impulses. she stepped to the panel and punched in a quick string of commands, fingers moving faster than they should. the console blinked red. training override: safety protocols disabled.

her grin widened. “let’s make it interesting.”

the droid lunged and megan reacted on instinct. her lightsaber snapped up in a clean arc, intercepting the first strike with a satisfying crack of plasma against metal. she twisted away from the follow-up, breath echoing off the walls. sharp, bright, and unbothered, her laughter ricocheted around the empty room. it was predictable. every movement telegraphed, every feint stiff and mechanical. she danced around its attacks with growing confidence, her form loosening, steps quick and daring.  easy, she thought. i could do this all day.

if there was one thing to know about megan skiendiel, it was that she was reckless. impulsive. when she had her mind set on something, she would do everything in her power to get it done.  she preferred fighting to talking, action to meaningless words. perhaps that would be her greatest downfall.  she was an excellent saber duellist for her age, trained by perhaps the most skilled practitioners of the order. but, she was also clumsy. prone to mishap, however accidental.

in the fastest of seconds, everything changed. without warning, the droid shifted out of its standard training sequence. its head snapped toward her with eerie precision, servos whining, and before she could recalibrate her stance, it dropped low and drove a carbon-fiber fist straight into her chest. the impact was brutal. air exploded from her lungs in a shocked wheeze. pain bloomed across her ribs as she flew backward, limbs flailing in open air for the briefest second before she hit the mat with a solid thud. her lightsaber slipped from her grip and skidded across the floor, disappearing beneath one of the benches in a flickering hiss of light.

for a second, all she could do was lie there. stunned, breathless, blinking up at the harsh glow of the overhead lights.

“okay! okay! too interesting!”

she scrambled up, robes tangled, padawan braid whipping in her face. a stun bolt singed the air an inch from her shoulder. the droid advanced again, heavy and fast. she dove for her saber, frantically trying to channel the force into summoning her hilt back into her hands. instead she sent her own saber flinging across the room, even further away. panic started to rise in her throat, bitter and hot. she barely had enough time to roll out of the way of a deafening stomp before she reached again. this time when her hand outreached, her saber flew in her direction. her fingers brushed the hilt, just a second away from fully grasping it back in her hand. only she was too late. the droid grabbed it before she could and crushed it in its metal grip.

megan winced. that was her third saber this month alone.

without thinking, she turned and sprinted.

the door hissed open as she barreled into the hallway, heart pounding, boots echoing wildly against the stone.

“this is fine,” she panted, ducking around a column. “this is so fine.”

somewhere behind her, the droid followed. megan tore through the temple corridors like a comet, boots slapping the stone, braid half-undone.

“nope. nope nope nope,” she panted, whipping around a corner. “this is fine. this is fine!”

the droid clanked after her, relentless, firing low-powered stun bolts that sizzled against walls and statues alike. a bust of an ancient jedi, unknown to megan, exploded behind her in a shower of plaster.

“not my fault! that was not my fault!”

_

the jedi temple breathed in silence. 

sunlight spilled gently through the high windows, casting soft bands of gold across the stone corridors. this wing, the archives, was always hushed, even by temple standards. every step taken here felt like a whisper. the marble floors, worn smooth by centuries of robed feet, reflected the past more clearly than the present.

in a quiet alcove tucked between rows of towering data stacks, y/n sat cross-legged at a wide circular table, surrounded by datapads. five in total, each one activated, bookmarked, and carefully arranged in a meticulous arc that mirrored her focus. one hovered slightly above the others, its projection glowing faintly with lines of dense, formal high galactic.

she didn’t fidget. she didn’t shift. she just read, hands folded neatly in her lap.

the soft beige folds of her padawan robes pooled around her, crisp and precisely layered. the darker tabard beneath framed her small, composed figure like an anchor. her boots, immaculately clean, were tucked beneath the hem in perfect parallel. nothing was out of place. not in posture, not in breath.

her lightsaber sat at her belt, silent and untouched. the hilt was a masterwork of simplicity: silver and matte-black alloy, with a subtle curve to the emitter and a grip designed for balance, not flash. she’d crafted it herself last year, under the steady guidance of her master, tera sinube.

he wasn’t far.

somewhere deeper in the archives, sinube wandered the rows with his cane in hand, pausing now and then to examine a scroll or insert a quiet correction into the stacks. he didn’t hover. he never needed to. his presence, like his teaching, was felt in stillness.

he had once told her in that slow, deliberate tone of his, “knowledge guards even those who cannot guard themselves.” and she had taken it to heart, she truly did. the archives were her favorite place in the entire temple. here, there were no drills. no sparring. no noise. nothing to defend against, and nothing to prove. just the soft pulse of history and the gentle weight of thought. the kind of stillness that made it feel like the force itself was listening.

until the silence was broken. a loud bang! her head lifted. one of the datapads flickered. somewhere beyond the sealed archive doors, a loud metallic thunk broke through the silence. then another. and another. faster this time. louder. crash.

y/n blinked slowly, fingers resting lightly against her lap. she waited, anticipating whatever storm was awaiting them on the other side. soon enough her questions were answered.

the archive doors burst open with a hiss and a crash, echoing off the stone walls like a blaster going off. a blur of beige robes shot into the chamber, much like her own, as a short feminine figure stumbled into a skid. her boots shrieked against the marble as she nearly lost her footing.

“nonononono--”

the girl spun around and threw her full weight into the doors, slamming them shut. she stood panting, shoulders rising and falling, half-hidden behind a scorched sleeve.

y/n blinked in quiet disbelief.

the girl in front of her was also a padawan, about the same age. her robes were standard-issue, but looked like they’d been through a battlefield. one sleeve was half-burned, her tunic askew, the wide belt twisted. a thick scorch mark stretched across the front of her outer tunic. her braid, regulation-length but fraying at the ends, clung to her cheek.

she was flushed, breathless, and very clearly in deep trouble.

“…what did you do?”

megan looked up at y/n through her frazzled state and stopped breathing altogether. for a second, the world simply... muted. the pounding of her heart, the shouting down the corridor, the sparking hiss of a very angry training droid trying to override a door lock behind her. it vanished. all of it. just gone.

she almost wanted to slap herself. to open the door then and there and be consumed by the training droids fury. the emotions she felt in that moment were all too confusing. things she had never felt before over her thirteen years in this galaxy. y/n looked at her, and megan couldn’t help but stare back dumbly. 

where most people saw megan as a blur of motion, of noise and half-formed excuses, y/n’s gaze held steady. datapad lowered, brow lifted ever so slightly in calm, unreadable curiosity. no judgment. no immediate reprimand. just quiet, composed awareness. the kind that made megan feel seen in a way she wasn’t used to.

and force, she was beautiful.

the archive room was lit in soft, filtered panels overhead, dim by comparison to the training halls. but somehow, that only made her glow. shadows curved gently beneath her cheekbones, caught the faint sheen of light in her eyes. megan didn’t even know what color they were. just that they were the most incredible thing she’d ever seen.

her stomach flipped. then dropped. then did something complicated and probably against the jedi code.

because no one had warned her about this.

not in meditation, not in lectures. not in those long, meandering lessons about mindfulness. master gun di talked about being present, about listening to the force. but not about the way it could roar to life in your chest. not about the way it could stop time. not about the sudden, overwhelming certainty that something important--fated, maybe--was happening right now.

she was thirteen. filthy, bruised, still breathing hard from sprinting through four levels of the temple. her braid was half-undone, her sleeve singed, her saber broken and reduced to a heap of components behind her. and y/n? y/n looked like peace made real. steady. centered. like the quiet that came just after the chaos. and megan--megan was undone by her.

too late, she realized she was staring. wide-eyed. completely silent. and for the first time that day, it wasn’t because she didn’t know what to say. it was because she didn’t trust herself to say anything at all.

nonetheless, her voice fell from her lips in an almost pained whimper.

"uh," she croaked, blinking. "i... might've... started something?"

a distant bang rattled the door behind her. megan flinched, but her eyes stayed locked on y/n’s. even through the smoke, even through the panic, one thing was suddenly, blindingly clear.

she was never going to forget this moment. not in a hundred years. not in a galaxy full of stars.

“technically,” the girl added after a beat, “nothing illegal.”

a low, mechanical clang echoed behind the doors. followed by another.

“you didn’t,” y/n said, eyes narrowing.

“it was an accident!”

a stun bolt blasted through the metal seam, striking the wall just centimeters from a rack of holopads. sparks flew. y/n flinched.

“you brought a live training droid into the archives?!”

“okay, chased, not brought, let’s not assign blame unfairly--”

the doors hissed open behind her. the droid stepped inside, towering and charred, red optics locked squarely on its target. servos clicked as it raised its arm. megan jumped in fright and created a large distance between herself and the door. she practically dove for a table, hiding herself behind it with a sheepish grin.

“uh--hey, you’ve got a lightsaber, right?” 

y/n hesitated for just a breath. just long enough to process the entire disaster unfolding in front of her. smoke curling under the doors. scorch marks on the archives’ usually pristine floor. a war-class training droid standing in the entrance like it owned the place. and crouched behind a table--grinning, hiding, looking entirely too pleased with herself--was megan skiendiel.

y/n knew who she was, of course. everyone did. she was the padawan with a reputation. chaos in a braid. the one who sparred too hard, talked too fast, asked too many questions, and broke things--constantly. she wasn’t bad, not really. just… a lot. and right now, she was very much a problem.

a problem who also happened to be--force help her--kind of stunning.

y/n hated that that was the first word that came to mind. but there it was, bubbling up against her better judgment. even with her robes scorched and twisted, hair frizzed and braid falling apart, megan practically glowed with adrenaline and mischief and something wild and bright that made her hard to look away from.

and now y/n was staring too.

only for a second, though. because the droid was still advancing. and this--this--was exactly the kind of thing she had not signed up for today. master sinube had left her with a stack of holopads, three hours of high republic archive review, and very specific instructions not to let herself get distracted.

and here came megan, all wide eyes and singed sleeves, crashing into her quiet corner of the temple like a walking, talking bombshell.

force, y/n thought, dragging in a breath, she’s going to get me in so much trouble.

but still--dammit--she stood. calmly. smoothly. as if she hadn’t just been handed a catastrophe wrapped in frayed robes and a crooked smile. she reached for the curved hilt at her belt and flicked it loose in one practiced motion. the green blade burst to life. she advanced with clean precision. the droid was far too distracted trying to hunt down the orange haired padawan. whatever string of code megan had entered into its computer, she made herself it’s only agenda.

three steps, then an upward arc of energy that sheared through the droid’s core. metal clattered to the ground as the droid sparked, stilling. y/n’s green blade dismembered it in one quick fluid motion. 

y/n deactivated her saber and clipped it back to her belt. just like that, it was over. she turned to megan, the other padawn peering out behind the table like a child. y/n couldn’t help but scowl.

“what were you thinking?” she asked sharply. “that droid could’ve hurt someone!”

“it wasn’t supposed to be that strong,” megan muttered, scratching the back of her neck as she brought herself out of hiding. “i might’ve turned off the safety settings. just for a second.”

y/n stared at her, stunned. “are you--”

a cough sounded from deeper within the archive. measured. ancient.

they both turned.

y/n felt herself pale. she completely forgot her master was still in the archives, loitering among the shelves. she immediately straightened her posture, shooting megan a very pointed, very displeased glance when the orange haired girl stood stupidly.

master tera sinube was seated in the shadows behind a low data terminal, his walking stick propped beside him, hands folded in his lap. his pale, wrinkled face regarded them with cool calm.

“a jedi,” he said softly, “does not act without reflection.”

y/n knew exactly what he was talking about. her master was a peacekeeper: a well read, wise, and old man of cosian descent. so much of their training together thus far had been him teaching her the importance of negotiation and diplomacy. y/n bowed her head.

 “my apologies, master. i should have attempted a nonviolent solution.”

“indeed,” sinube said, voice slow but firm. “while your action was swift, you could have tried a shutdown command, or--perhaps--addressed the matter before your blade was drawn.”

y/n nodded, chastened.

the doors behind them opened again, and in walked another figure. tall, broad-shouldered, with warm brown skin and sharp eyes. the iridonian’s horns was the first thing anyone saw, sharp.  megan turned, and her stomach flipped sideways. master gun di stepped into the archive like a shadow cast by order itself--tall, composed, his blue eyes scanning the wreckage with a quiet precision that made megan want to disappear behind the nearest bookshelf. his presence was solid, always had been. not loud, not dramatic--just there. steady.

his gaze found her.

“…megan.”

she winced like she’d been physically struck. “master,” she said quickly, half-attempting to brush ash off her sleeve, failing miserably. “i was just--”

“testing your limits,” he finished, his voice level. not sharp. not angry. but not gentle, either. it was the tone he used when he was disappointed. which, somehow, was worse.

she hesitated. swallowed. “yes.”

gun di stepped closer, surveying the scorch mark on the floor, the still-smoking wall panel, the disabled training droid slumped in the corner.

then--he sighed.

it wasn’t a frustrated sigh. not exasperated, either. it was the kind of sigh megan had come to recognize over years of mistakes and sparring matches and long walks back to the temple infirmary. a sigh that meant he understood, even when he didn’t approve.

“i asked you for five minutes,” he said, finally looking down at her.

“i know,” she whispered.

“you lasted two.”

“i know,” she said again, voice smaller.

gun di studied her for a beat longer, then reached out and gently adjusted the fold of her scorched sleeve--his touch steady, grounding.

“you have potential, megan,” he said, soft but unwavering. “but you won’t find the edge of your limits by sprinting past every boundary.”

her throat tightened. “i just wanted to see if i could do it.”

“i know,” he said again--so calm, it made her chest ache. “but the force isn’t a thing to prove yourself to. it’s something you listen to. trust. that takes time.”

she nodded, staring down at the floor. her voice was barely audible. “sorry.”

he gave her shoulder a brief squeeze. “we’ll talk more later.”

and somehow, despite the wreckage, despite everything, megan felt a little less like she’d failed. not completely.

gun di turned to sinube and offered a respectful bow. “master sinube. i regret the disturbance.”

sinube inclined his head. “a lesson was learned. though perhaps not the one either of them intended.”

“i’ll ensure it’s remembered,” gun di said. then his voice softened slightly. “she’s still learning.”

“as they all are,” sinube murmured.

when gun di turned toward the doors, sharing a brief bow with the man who was once his mentor, megan fell into step behind him at his very pointed stare. she stole one last glance over her shoulder.

y/n stood in the soft library light, saber clipped back at her belt, datapad tucked under one arm. she wasn’t saying anything. just watching. in that brief moment, their eyes met. just a moment. just long enough for the breath to catch in megan’s throat again, for her steps to falter.

y/n’s expression was unreadable. still and composed, like always. but something had shifted in the way she looked at her. a curiosity, maybe. or a question not yet asked.

megan didn’t look away. not this time.

she followed her master out of the archive, heart thudding unevenly in her chest--and every step echoed with the same thought, over and over again. force help her, she was in trouble. the real kind. the kind with pretty eyes and a calm voice and the ability to throw her completely off balance without lifting a finger.

and megan had never wanted anything more.

silence reclaimed the archives like a long exhale after chaos. the datapads flickered softly. the air still carried the faint scent of scorched metal. master sinube shifted only slightly where he sat--his long robes unmoving, his cane resting beside him like a third limb. his ancient, pale eyes remained half-closed, his breath slow and even.

“impulse,” he said, as if to the air itself, “is the first hurdle every padawan must learn to weigh. to leap before reflection… is to fall.”

y/n bowed her head slightly in acknowledgment. her hands settled over the datapad in her lap, but she didn’t look at it yet. not right away.

she let the silence settle fully this time. let the hum of the archive systems smooth the edges of her pulse. and still--somewhere in the back of her mind, the sound of skidding boots and wild breath echoed on repeat. that girl had been chaos in its purest form. loud. reckless. impossible to ignore. and she had left a mark.

y/n didn’t think she’d ever forget her.

not anytime soon.

22 BBY megan skiendiel was not great at meditating. she could stand on one hand for an hour. she could break apart and rebuild a lightsaber blindfolded. she could land a stun bolt on a moving target from fifty meters out. but ask her to sit still in a quiet room and “reach for inner stillness,” and her brain went sideways faster than a speeder in a rainstorm. today, it was especially hopeless.

she was lying flat on her back in the sublevel seven sparring chamber, staring at the ceiling like it had answers. it didn’t. it just buzzed softly overhead, humming its low, mechanical hymn under rows of white panels. familiar. quiet. annoyingly peaceful--unlike her. her heart had been pounding for thirty-two minutes.

six years had passed since the archives. six years since a training droid nearly flattened her, and a girl with impossibly steady hands and an even steadier voice deflected it like it was nothing. six years since that same girl levelled her with frazzled eyes, as if megan was the real hazard in the room. eyes that lived in megan's mind everyday, the only thing she saw when she tried to sleep at night.

and somehow, she still hadn’t shut up about it. not out loud. that would’ve been embarrassing, no. she knew better than to be open with her confusing emotions, especially as a jedi. she kept it all up here: spinning circles in her brain like a malfunctioning astromech. 

y/n this. y/n that. y/n, the picture-perfect padawan. calm, brilliant, controlled. she hadn’t seen her since they were thirteen, but the memory had only grown sharper with time. her saber technique. her clipped, unimpressed tone. the way her robes sat just so as if the Force had ironed them for her.

megan groaned into the silence and covered her face with both hands.

she didn’t even know what it was that got to her. maybe it was the reputation. the way people talked about y/n like she was everything a padawan should be. always composed. always polite. good with younglings. a favorite of the council. the kind of jedi who probably meditated voluntarily.

and then there was megan: late to morning lessons. always moving too fast. laughed too loud. probably had crumbs in her robes. a walking ball of kinetic energy and half-formed thoughts. gun di liked to say her mind burned brighter than most. sometimes she wondered if that was just a kind way of saying chaotic.

part of her was jealous of y/n. the other part--traitorous, ridiculous--just wanted to see her again.

would she still be that calm? would her voice still make megan feel five inches tall? would she still be as pretty?

megan’s ears burned.

“this is not the jedi way,” she muttered to herself.

“correct.”

megan yelped, scrambling upright. master gun di stood a few feet away, hands behind his back, expression unreadable. he’d been there long enough to hear more than she wanted.

“master,” she said, trying to sound calm. it came out somewhere between sheepish and strangled.

“you’re fortunate i didn’t attack. lying in the middle of a training room is a poor defensive posture.”

“i was--uh--meditating.”

he raised one dark brow. “with commentary?”

“it’s a… new method.”

gun di stepped closer, his voice quiet. “you’ve read the briefing.”

she nodded, trying not to fidget. she’d read the file debrief her master sent her at least ten times over the very minute it chimed on her datapad. 

“we’re being assigned to senator avanzini. we will be stationed on her homeworld, polaris minor, for extended protection detail.”

“and?”

“and we won’t be alone.” 

gun di tilted his head slightly. at this point he could read his padawan like a book, even without her voicing whatever was on her mind. he levelled her a knowing look, probing. 

megan exhaled. she knew what he was after. she rocked on the balls of her feet, pointedly avoiding his gaze. “and… y/n’s coming.”

silence stretched. she kept her eyes on the floor.

“do you feel ready?” he asked.

“of course,” she said, too fast. then again, quieter. “i mean… i don’t know.”

she finally looked back at her master with a sigh. she continued after a beat. 

 “i haven’t seen her since we were thirteen. but i’ve heard about her. a lot. she’s… perfect. basically. and i guess--maybe--i’ve been thinking about her too much. which is dumb. i know it’s dumb.”

gun di’s voice was low and steady. “attachment is not a crime. but it is dangerous.”

megan winced.

“you are not in trouble,” he continued. “but i must remind you, megan. we do not serve our feelings. we serve the Force.”

she nodded, ashamed.

“emotions are natural,” he added. “but you must observe them. understand them. not let them dictate your path. whatever thoughts you are having about this girl--”

“i’m not--” she tried.

“--must be examined carefully,” he finished. “because if left unchecked, they will grow into something else. and that path leads to fear. to obsession. to loss.”

she looked down. “i didn’t mean for it to happen.”

“few ever do.”

he paused, then gentled his tone. “you are strong in the Force. you are reckless, yes--but your heart is good. which is why you must guard it fiercely. especially now.”

“…yes, master.”

“this mission will test you. it will test your discipline. your composure. and i expect you to meet that test with clarity.”

“even if she’s still pretty?” megan muttered before she could stop herself.

gun di sighed. “especially if she is.”

megan groaned into her hands. “i hate everything.”

“good,” he said, turning for the exit. “it means you know right from wrong.”

and she followed him, footsteps heavy, heart somehow heavier still.

she was going to see y/n again.

if she wasn’t careful, she’d come apart. she knew it already. 

_

the very moment their t-6 shuttle emerged from hyperspace above the system of polaris major, megan felt her mouth open slightly ajar. even as the shuttle descended towards one of it’s two moons, polaris minor, she was taken aback by the sheer beauty of the moon above orbit. 

from orbit, polaris minor shimmered in cool tones. deep slate-blue oceans curling around pale green highlands, with long ribbons of mist trailing over the mountain spines. the clouds never fully cleared, shifting in soft layers of silver and gray, veiling the surface in a constant, gentle motion. it was a quiet looking world. private. self contained. like it had no interest in being watched. it almost reminded megan of alderaan, a planet she had only visited once before. 

the air on polaris minor was crisp, touched by the scent of damp stone and pale wildflowers that grew between flagstones. rain fell often on this moon, master gun di had told her on the journey over. it was never harsh, but steady. the city itself was carved into the highlands, all sweeping arches and glass-covered walkways, gleaming softly beneath the low clouds. from the landing platform, the peaks beyond looked blurred at the edges, softened by mist and the gentle hush of falling water.

megan descended the transport ramp slowly, hood pulled halfway up. her padawan braid clung to her cheek, still damp from the shuttle, and her fingers tightened around the strap of her gear bag like it was the only thing tethering her to the ground. her new robes, deep navy with a dark maroon tabbard, clung heavier than she was used to. different weight, different cut. nothing like the light, standard-issue tan she used to wear as a child. back when her hair had been bright orange and she hadn’t thought twice before jumping headfirst into chaos.

now her hair was brown. her natural color. like her master had once said--you’re allowed to change your mind. it’s how you know you’re growing.

but force, the second she saw her, every ounce of that grown-up composure unraveled.

y/n stood at the far end of the platform beside senator avanzini, back straight, chin lifted, calm as ever. the same beige robes as always, but they fit her differently now. tailored, refined, like the force had smoothed every line until it all settled just right. her sleeves curved neatly at her wrists, the hem resting perfectly against the wind. the kind of quiet elegance that didn’t ask for attention, just commanded it.

her presence hadn’t changed. still centered. still unshakable. but something about her was sharper now. older. as if time had been kind to her in ways it rarely was to anyone else.

y/n turned, and their eyes met.

megan’s breath caught, too fast and too high in her chest. she felt the old jolt--sharp and immediate, like a saber brush against bare skin. all at once, her body remembered everything her mind had tried to forget. the archives. the droid. the way y/n had looked at her back then; cool, unreadable, and somehow still the only person in the entire temple who ever really saw her.

and now? she looked at megan the same way.

megan gritted her teeth, tried to stand taller, straighter. she was still a padawan, and admittedly just as (if not even more) reckless. but she was different now. she’d grown. she’d changed. her robes were darker, her steps quieter, her saber steadier. but standing there, staring at y/n across the platform, she still felt like a girl with soot on her sleeves and her heart beating too fast in her throat.

because the truth was, she never really stood a chance. not then. not now. y/n was everything megan had never been able to touch without setting herself on fire. on one hand, y/n made her feel small. inferior. like everything she did was half-formed chaos next to her well-measured calm. on the other hand, megan wasn’t sure she’d ever seen someone so pretty in her life.

and gods, she’d never stopped loving her.

“you’re thinking too loudly,” master gun di murmured beside her.

megan startled, yanking her gaze away. “what?”

he gave her a look. the kind that said i’ve known you since you were twelve. don’t lie to me.

“whatever that expression is,” he said quietly, “you might want to lose it before you approach the senator.”

megan huffed, tugging her cloak tighter around herself. “it’s not an expression.”

“no?” his voice was light, teasing. “looked like a crisis of identity to me.”

“i’m fine,” she muttered. “i’m… just surprised to see her.”

gun di raised a brow. “surprised?”

“not like--okay, not surprised. i knew she’d be here, obviously. it’s just--she looks--”

“focused,” he offered. “disciplined. well-prepared.”

megan frowned. “smug.”

gun di didn’t laugh. he didn’t smile, either. instead, he touched her elbow gently and spoke with quiet weight. 

“padawan. remember what we talked about.”

megan’s heart sank.

“i know.”

“attachments lead to fear. fear leads to impulse. you can respect her. you can even admire her. but you must not allow those feelings to cloud your duty.”

megan stared down at her boots, rainwater pooling around the soles.

“i won’t,” she said. but it sounded like a lie.

gun di, mercifully, said nothing more. he gave her a nod, and together they stepped forward to meet the senator and the girl megan had spent six years trying--and failing--not to think about.

senator daniela avanzini was far younger than megan expected.

she couldn’t have been much older than herself. she stood with practiced poise, her skin soft and luminous beneath the clouded polaris sky. her robes shimmered in the light, thin silk layered in sweeping tones of violet, edged in silver. a golden circlet crowned her head, half hidden beneath a fall of dark brown curly hair. her eyes, a beautiful shade of hazel brown, watched them approach patiently. despite her youth, there was a quiet steel in her eyes, the kind that came from surviving too many senate sessions. if megan wasn’t far too enamoured by the jedi flanking her, maybe she would’ve combusted on the spot. daniela avanzini had no business being so pretty for a senator, megan decided. 

she greeted gun di first, nodding with the ease of someone used to jedi company.

“master gun di,” she said graciously. “your presence is most appreciated. the threats we’ve received are credible and unsettling. i’m relieved the council responded so swiftly.”

“the honor is ours, senator,” gun di replied, bowing at the waist. “we are at your service.”

then her gaze shifted to megan. megan straightened. bowed. tried to remember how arms were supposed to hang.

“padawan megan skiendiel,” gun di said, with a hand on her shoulder. “she will assist me on this mission.”

daniela’s smile was kind. a little tired. “well met, padawan skiendiel.”

 then she turned to y/n.

“and of course,” she said warmly, “padawan y/n has already proven invaluable. i have felt much safer since she arrived.”

megan’s stomach twisted. right. y/n was here without master sinube.

no chaperone. no guiding hand. no quiet, hovering presence to correct her form or recite temple scripture or nudge her back on track when she got distracted by a butterfly or a cute girl.

megan tried not to sulk. she really did.

but y/n stood there with that perfect stillness, like she’d always belonged on important missions with important people. and megan--well, megan still had her master hovering three paces behind, just in case she said something embarrassing or accidentally force-tripped on a staircase.

and worse--worse than the jealousy, worse than the sudden jolt of inadequacy--was the fact that y/n still hadn’t said anything.

not a ‘hi, a nice to see you again’, not even a ‘wow, didn’t think they’d send you, of all people.’

just that cool, unreadable gaze. arms tucked into her sleeves. serene. unimpressed. megan wanted to punch a wall. or maybe throw herself off one of the spaceport bridges.

gun di, ever the diplomat, stepped in again.

“shall we escort you to the capitol, senator?”

“of course,” daniela said. “we’ve arranged accommodations for your stay. and i believe my staff has a full briefing prepared once we arrive.”

she turned toward the waiting transport, and everyone followed. y/n falling into step beside the senator, megan a little too close behind, and gun di trailing silently at her back like a shadow.

rain slicked the cobblestones. the clouds above swirled low and heavy.

_

the first week was… rough. megan had thought maybe y/n would ease into things. maybe the ice would crack. maybe they’d fall into that easy banter she always imagined in the quiet hours of temple dormitories, when she couldn’t sleep and her brain wandered places it probably shouldn’t.

but y/n was distant. polite. professional. maddeningly calm.

megan, in comparison, was a tornado. a fidgeting, quipping, restless storm of limbs and noise and too much energy that had nowhere to go. she poked and teased and made dumb jokes when no one laughed. she tripped over her words, her robes, her own feet. she tried to impress daniela’s guards by juggling datapads and got scolded when one cracked on the floor. gun di cleared his throat behind her at least three times a day.

“maybe don’t throw things in government buildings, padawan.”“maybe speak when you have something to say, not just anything.”“maybe just… breathe.”

he didn’t sound angry. never did. just patient. always patient. endlessly, frustratingly calm in the way only a jedi master could be after years of watching his disaster of a padawan try to sneak sugar cubes out of the mess hall or hide tooka kittens in the dormitories.

still, megan caught the way he sighed behind her back. the way he pinched the bridge of his nose during her third attempt at distracting y/n with an unsolicited force-powered pebble duel during a senate security briefing. y/n, of course, didn’t even blink. just kept taking notes on her datapad like she didn’t notice the pebble ricochet off her shoulder and straight into her tea.

megan almost screamed.

she didn’t want to be mad at her. she didn’t even know why she was mad at her. well. that wasn’t entirely true.

maybe it was the way y/n never cracked. never stumbled. never got yelled at or fidgeted in meetings or said the wrong thing at the wrong time. maybe it was how effortlessly she moved through rooms full of important people, how she listened without interrupting and bowed without tripping and made being a padawan look like something noble instead of… whatever mess megan was.

or maybe it was the way y/n’s eyes lingered on her for a second too long when she thought megan wouldn’t notice. megan always did. 

one particular night near the end of the first week, megan found herself wandering the halls of the polaris palace. the last thing she expected was to run into the very girl who had consumed her thoughts relentlessly.

the courtyard was quiet, save for the low hum of distant traffic weaving through polaris minor’s capital. high above, the second moon orbiting polaris major cast silver light over the polished stone floor, still damp from the day’s earlier rain. vines clung to the outer pillars, and small droplets clung to their leaves, catching the moonlight like glass.

y/n stepped into the open space with her hands clasped behind her back, her boots clicking softly against the tile. she took a long breath in. held it. let it go.

it was late. senator avanzini had retired for the evening, and the guard rotation was stable. megan was off patrol for once, probably off being… whatever she always was. loud. kinetic. a little too much. which was fine. y/n didn’t need distractions. not that night.

she reached for the hilt at her belt and ignited her saber with a quiet hiss. the green blade hummed to life, throwing soft light across her robes. she began to move. carefully. deliberately.

form iii: soresu.

the movements were circular. tight. inward-focused. she traced the patterns master sinube had shown her from holorecordings. deflect, retreat, reposition. let the enemy wear themselves down. he’d offered to find her an instructor. someone who could guide her through the form properly, step by step. but y/n had declined, perhaps too quickly. she didn’t need help. she just needed time. practice. discipline.

she turned, lifted her saber again, parried an invisible blow from the side, just to falter. again. too wide. too slow. y/n exhaled through her nose, shoulders tense. she reset her stance, gripping the hilt tighter than she should.

she wasn’t a bad student. she was precise, focused, diligent. she excelled in strategy, in ethics, in diplomacy. but this? this she had to work at. the only problem was that there wasn’t time anymore. rumor had reached them that morning--quiet, unconfirmed, passed between guards on break--that there’d been another attack. this time, a senator from naboo. details were thin. y/n didn’t know the name, and she didn’t ask. it wasn’t her assignment. her mission was daniela.

concentrate, she told herself.

the saber hissed through the air again. another parry. another falter. she bit the inside of her cheek.

“tighten your elbow.”

y/n turned sharply, saber still raised. the sound of the familiar voice had her internally rolling her eyes. the familiar voice belonged to the very chinese girl who seemed to make it her personal goal of annoying y/n at any possible chance she got. she was insufferable. loud. cocky, despite all of her clumsy mishaps.

megan stood in the archway, arms crossed, shoulder leaning casually against the stone. her expression was unreadable, somewhere between amusement and challenge.

“you’re dropping your left arm too much in the second sweep,” she added. “you’re exposing your entire side.”

y/n frowned. “i didn’t ask for commentary.”

“you didn’t have to,” megan said, stepping into the courtyard. “the form did the talking.”

y/n extinguished her saber with a tight flick. “shouldn’t you be on rest rotation?”

“i was.” megan’s boots tapped lightly on the stone as she approached. “couldn’t sleep.”

of course she couldn’t.

megan never stayed still for long. even now, y/n could feel the energy radiating off her--barely contained, like lightning in a bottle. her new robes, darker than the ones she’d worn as a padawan, gave her a sharper silhouette. the navy-blue tunic fit close across her frame, offset by the deep maroon tabbard hanging loose down the front. grown-up armor. she looked older. calmer. but she was still very much herself.

“you’re trying soresu?” megan asked, gesturing toward the saber hilt in y/n’s hand.

y/n nodded stiffly. “master sinube recommended it.”

“and you didn’t ask for help?”

“i don’t need it,” y/n replied, a touch too fast.

megan tilted her head. “mm. maybe. but it’s a lot to teach yourself from holos. i could help you, you know.”

“i learn better alone.”

“clearly,” megan said, glancing at the puddle where y/n had almost slipped two minutes ago.

y/n narrowed her eyes. “what are you trying to say?”

“just offering a duel,” megan said with an easy shrug. “practice, if you’re serious about improving.”

“you use djem so. that’s not comparable.”

“sure it is. you want to learn to defend? learn what you’re defending against.”

y/n hesitated. that was all the confirmation megan needed.

this was her chance. the first real opportunity she had to spend time alone with the girl. it made her feel giddy. megan took a step closer, questioning.

“come on. one round. you might even like it.”

y/n stared at her. at the glint in her eye. the cocky tilt of her mouth. everything about her was the opposite of restraint. and yet, there was something honest in the offer. something warm beneath the bravado. something that had her heart fluttering in her chest despite all of the warning signals which blared within her, telling her to relax and let go.

but then y/n sighed.

she turned the hilt once in her hand, thumb brushing the ignition. the green blade hummed to life, casting a soft glow across the damp courtyard floor.

"fine," she said, not quite meeting megan's eyes. "one round."

one turned into two. then three.

their sabers moved like light and shadow through the courtyard, green and blue clashing in sharp arcs. the mist from earlier rains still clung to the stone, gathering in the dips between tiles. megan’s strikes came strong and sure, each one deliberate, clean. she wasn’t rushing, but she didn’t hesitate either. it was a rhythm y/n couldn’t quite match. y/n tried to keep her footing, tried to remember everything she’d studied. keep the blade close. circle. deflect. conserve.

but megan never gave her the room. every time y/n tried to reset her stance, the next blow was already coming. her wrist twisted back to parry, arms shaking from the pressure.

"you’re clenching again," megan said, breath even. "you’re locking your wrist."

"i’m aware."

"you sure? because you keep doing it."

y/n parried hard, their sabers sparking between them. “djem so isn’t the answer to everything.”

"it’s better than standing around waiting to get hit."

"djem so is brute force."

"no, it’s control. just not the slow kind like soresu."

y/n stepped back to breathe, saber raised. her chest rose and fell, sweat starting to gather at her temples. she felt the ache already forming in her shoulders. she hated that megan made it look easy. hated the way her feet barely seemed to touch the stone when she moved. hated, most of all, how beautiful she looked in motion.

not that she hadn't wondered before.

since they were kids, megan had carried that edge of chaos like it was part of her uniform. there were stories, passed from padawan to padawan in quiet corners of the temple--half-whispers, muffled laughter, always a little incredulous. one in particular that always stuck with y/n was rumors of a duel with grandmaster yoda that left her and another padawan, manon, in the medbay for a week. 

people didn’t mock her for it. they told the stories with awe. with admiration. megan didn’t ask for permission--she just was. bold. relentless. unapologetically herself.

y/n had never admitted how much she admired that. not aloud. not even to herself. but she remembered the way those stories stuck in her mind long after the laughter faded. she remembered thinking it took a different kind of strength to burn that brightly and not be afraid of who saw it.

she hadn’t seen megan since that day in the archives when they were children. not in person. but the stories had always found her. and she’d never doubted them, not for a second. because some part of her already knew they were true.

and now that presence, fierce, unyielding, real, was no longer just a story. it was here. in front of her. and it was aimed directly at her.

megan feinted left, then pivoted sharply. y/n caught the motion too late, stumbled over a slick patch near the edge of the garden tiles. her foot slipped and she lost balance.

megan lunged forward on instinct, reaching to catch her, but y/n’s momentum pulled her down too. they hit the stone in a tangle of limbs, breath knocked from both their chests. megan’s hands landed on either side of y/n’s shoulders, pinning her in place.

they froze.

the moonlight made y/n’s face glow. her braid was mussed from the fall, lips parted just slightly. her saber had rolled out of reach. her eyes locked on megan’s, surprised. breathless.

megan didn’t move. didn’t speak. just looked at her, heart thudding hard against her ribs.

“you’re beautiful,” she said quietly. without irony. without defense.

y/n blinked. once.

for a moment, the courtyard might as well have disappeared. there was only the space between them, charged and thin. megan wasn’t laughing. she wasn’t trying to win anything. she just meant it.

y/n's fingers curled slightly against the tile. her eyes flicked away. she nudged megan off of her and sat up slowly, brushing her palms on her robes.

"don’t say that," she said, barely above a whisper.

"why not?"

"because we are jedi."

megan didn’t answer. she knew what she meant instantly. the jedi code lived in their minds like a mantra that confined them. y/n didn’t wait for her to respond. she stood, collected her saber, and turned away. her shoulders were square. her steps steady. but something in her chest felt pulled taut.

behind her, megan stayed on the ground, watching her walk into the night. the air felt colder without her in it. she let her head fall back and groaned.

_

the second week was even worse. they didn’t talk about what happened in the courtyard.

megan hadn’t expected anything to change. if anything, she was afraid she’d said too much. afraid that her words had cracked something too fragile to fix. maybe she’d ruined the awkward, unspoken friendship they were just starting to build. maybe she’d imagined it was even that much.

truthfully, y/n didn’t know what to expect either. when she walked away from megan that night, her chest was so tight it felt like her ribs might snap. sinube’s teachings echoed in her head with every step. 

still, nothing had happened. no attempts on senator avanzini’s life, no signs of escalation. just long patrols, security briefings, and shared silence. enough quiet to pretend nothing had shifted between them.

but y/n still felt it.

the council chamber wasn’t grand, not by coruscant standards. but it held a particular polaris elegance. tall windows, soft indigo light, a long table of polished stone that caught the glow of the overcast sky. rain tapped gently against the glass panes. it was all very calm. very quiet. y/n stood near the head of the room, just behind master gun di, who was mid-briefing via holocall. master sinube’s translucent form flickered steadily atop the console beside them, nodding slowly as updates rolled in.

“--security rotation has doubled,” gun di said, voice measured. “no direct threats since the transmission intercept. but we’re not taking chances.”

y/n stood still, hands folded behind her back. she tried to focus, she truly did. but she couldn’t. she felt so unlike herself. she felt so alien in her own mind and body, and it all started the very moment megan waltzed back into her life. 

her gaze kept drifting.

at the far end of the chamber, megan was laughing. senator avanzini stood close, her hand lightly resting on the back of megan’s chair as they looked over a shared datapad. something about a travel schedule. megan said something quick and half-mocking, and daniela threw her head back in laughter. her hand brushed megan’s shoulder on the way down, lingered for half a second longer than it needed to.

y/n’s chest went tight. her jaw clenched before she could stop it.

it was stupid. it was nothing. just a senator appreciating her guard. megan was charismatic, impulsive, ridiculous--and people liked her for it. of course they did. but still, y/n couldn’t help but taste bile rising in her throat as she watched them.

she wanted to pinch herself. to slap herself silly, and wake herself from whatever resentment she felt in that moment. but she just couldn’t help it. afterall, it wasn’t even two days ago that megan had called her beautiful. her heart was beating at a million miles per minute. all of sinube's teachings echoed through her mind. she felt dirty. wrong. all she had done, everything she had learned as his padawan, she could feel it slipping the more time she spent  in megan's orbit. 

they had a code to abide by. and yet, megan calling her beautiful made her vision foggy. the way megan looked at her, those brown eyes deep and sensitive, as if she was at the center of her world in that very moment– it made y/n swallow. she was confused. completely and utterly perplexed. these were unfamiliar emotions. each one just as dangerous as the next.

and now she was here, watching as megan laughed like nothing had happened. she knew it was silly. she was the one who walked away, afterall. left megan by herself in the courtyard to pick up whatever pieces of her dignity she’d left broken. but it bothered her nonetheless.

 how could she pretend like the courtyard hadn’t shifted anything between them? like y/n hadn’t lain awake two nights in a row trying not to think about the look in her eyes?

she felt as if she was thirteen all over again, staring at a reckless, infuriating girl who made her feel like the floor was moving.

“you’re distracted,” master sinube said softly, his voice gravelly through the holodevice. y/n knew he was talking to her almost immediately. sinube always had a way of knowing when something was amiss, even when they were many moons apart.

y/n flinched. her eyes snapped back to the holocall. “apologies, master.”

“hm,” sinube murmured. he didn’t sound upset. just observant. “the force is loud today.”

gun di gave y/n a brief glance in the corner of his eye but said nothing.

the briefing wound down soon after. daniela thanked the jedi for their vigilance, gun di bowed, the holocall faded. the others dispersed in quiet pairs, datapads tucked under arms.

but y/n stayed rooted in place. she wasn't even entirely sure why she felt so bothered. senator  avanzini was a lovely, intelligent, well meaning woman. and yet her smile didn’t reach her eyes when the senator passed, a friendly expression etched across her young face. 

y/n thought her smile was believable. nothing out of the ordinary. nothing worth batting an eyelash about. 

but of course, megan noticed. she always did. 

megan doubled back as the room emptied, feet light against the tile, expression unreadable. she stayed silent for a moment as gun di motioned for them to follow him, and she didn’t miss the way y/n seemed to stiffen at her mere presense. she didn’t bother hiding the look of confusion fighting its way across her face. 

they hadn’t truly spoken since their duel. if anything, they almost seemed to avoid eachother. y/n, in her emotionally guarded way. and megan in a way meant to respect her wishes. and yet, here they found themselves now: megan trying desperately to decipher the aura surrounding the other girl. 

“you good?” she finally asked, tone deliberately casual. low but loud enough for only the two of them to hear. 

y/n didn’t answer. she simply let her feet carry her as they followed gun di, his strides purposeful. she wasn’t too sure where they were heading, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. megan’s words hung through the silence. it’s not like she pointedly meant to ignore her. truthfully, she just didn’t know what to say. some part of her almost felt petty. 

megan squinted at her after a beat. “you’ve been weird all week. is it because of the courtya-?.”

“i haven’t.” y/n cut her off before she could even mention it, voice a little sharper than intended. 

of course it’s about the courtyard, she so desperately wanted to say. but she didn’t. she couldn’t. 

megan sighed. she folded her arms as she walked alongside y/n. “you have. don’t make me list examples.”

y/n finally looked at her. that familiar padawan braid, the smirk that always danced around her mouth like it lived there. the same look she’d worn in the archives years ago. the same one she wore in the courtyard. but softer, now. less teasing. more curious.

but perhaps that was her undoing. 

in the split second her eyes met megan’s, megan was able to detect every minute emotion she felt in that very moment. it was almost scary how easily she could do it. how within the short amount of time they’ve been around each other, megan somehow just knew how to read her. a flash of recognition crossed her face, then confusion, and then something unrecognisable. 

megan’s hand reached out to gently grasp y/n’s elbow, effectively pulling them both to a stop in the long hallway. she pulled her to the side, waiting for gun di’s figure to disappear behind a corner (unaware they were no longer trailing him). and then she spoke. her voice was quiet, tentative, gentle. 

“you’re jealous.” she deadpanned, not quite a question.

y/n felt her ears burn. she instinctively yanked her elbow out of megan’s grip, crossing her arms over her chest.  

“i’m not.”

“you are.”

y/n stood stiffly, weighing her thoughts in her head. she opened and closed her mouth, searching for the right words. and then she settled on the few she wished she could take back immediately. a confirmation of megan’s suspicions. 

“it’s unprofessional. we’re here to protect the senator, not flirt with her.”

“i wasn’t flirting,” megan said. “we were going over her travel logs.”

“you were touching.”

“she touched me.” megan leaned in, voice dropping slightly. “do you always get this jealous, or am i special?”

y/n turned sharply, but megan frowned. 

“look,” she said, voice quieter now if possible. “if you want to pretend the courtyard didn’t happen, fine. i’ll follow your lead. but don’t get mad at me for doing my job.”

y/n stared at her. her mouth opened. then closed again.

megan didn’t press. just tilted her head and added, “why are you so bothered anyway? i thought being a jedi meant more than that to you.”

“did you mean it?” yn found herself asking. her insecurity was laid bare. 

megan didn’t need to ask her what she meant. she just knew. 

megan looked at her. truly looked at her. as if it was the silliest question known to man, like the answer was as simple as asking for the time. second nature. a fact. 

“i will always mean it.”

she turned and walked away before y/n could respond.

and force, y/n hated how much her heart stuttered.

neither of them had said a word in the following days. by the end of the second week, their tension had started to grate on everyone. the senator’s guards were eyeing them with thinly veiled suspicion. daniela herself had gently suggested they “perhaps find a moment to align their strategies.” gun di had started making megan meditate twice a day just to get her to sit still.

megan lasted three minutes before falling asleep in lotus pose. but then something shifted.

it happened on a rainy afternoon, high above the city in one of daniela’s quieter chambers, when megan found herself alone with y/n once again. no masters. no senator. no guards. just the hum of distant thunder and the two of them, seated on opposite ends of a narrow bench, pretending to read through patrol rotations.

megan tapped her stylus. then her knee. then the bench.

“are you always like this?” she blurted.

y/n didn’t look up. “like what?”

“all stiff and perfect and… and cold.”

there was a pause. then y/n slowly lowered her datapad. “are you always this loud?”

megan’s jaw dropped. “excuse me?”

“you heard me.”

“okay, wow.” she folded her arms. “i see you’ve been spending time with the senator’s security detail. they’re rubbing off on you.”

“they’re professionals.”

“they’re boring.”

“you’re insufferable.”

“you’re--!”

silence. they stared at each other. megan could hear her heart thudding behind her ribs, quick and loud and embarrassing.

“you always do that,” she muttered.

y/n raised an eyebrow. “do what?”

“make me feel inferior. do you get some kind of kick out of it while you’re sitting on that high horse of yours?”

y/n, for the first time in probably forever, felt her composed facade crack. her eyebrows knitted together, a deep furrow cementing itself across her face. she shook her head and peered at megan with incredulous eyes. 

“you’re impossible, did you know that? so uncivilised, and rough, and meandering.” she trailed off for a second, clicking her tongue against her cheek. 

megan wanted to jump in, to defend herself, anything. however y/n’s next words stop her. 

y/n scoffed an empty laugh, humorless. the fire in her eyes was replaced by something tired. “do you even realize how lucky you are?”

this time it was megan’s turn to frown. she tilted her head. “lucky?”

“yeah. lucky.” y/n’s shoulders visibly deflate. “you come in with all your noise and your laughter and your questions and your… your everything. and suddenly everything feels louder. harder to ignore. but i don’t get these same luxuries that you do, megan. i don’t get to fool around.” she pauses, gathering her thoughts, before settling on a defeated sigh. “do you think i want to be pressured into being the ‘perfect padawan’? is that why you hate me? you call me beautiful one second, and then basically call me stuck up the next? god, you’re confusing.”

something cracked in megan’s chest. she shook her head frantically, mind running at a million miles per minute as she digested y/n’s words. 

“i’m confusing?? you walk away from me like i’ve split your world in two, then get jealous when you think i’ve found interest in someone else. i thought you hated me! you can’t be serious,” megan stammered. “you walk around all perfect, and pretty, and mature, and you smell nice, and--“

she cut herself off, embarrassed. nonetheless, her next words fall from her lips before she can stop them. 

“and i’ve thought about you every single day since we’ve met.”

y/n opened and closed her mouth repeatedly, not sure how to respond. this was the second time megan had said something in the heat of the moment. y/n wasn’t sure whether to believe her. she knew though, deep down, that a large part of her wanted nothing more than to take her word. in some way it almost felt vindicating to know that megan had thought about her as much, if not more, than she’d thought of her. 

the silence stretched between them, filled only by the soft patter of rain against the window and the low rumble of thunder in the distance. y/n looked like she wanted to say something. anything. her mouth moved, then stopped. her fingers curled slightly around the edge of the datapad she was no longer pretending to read.

megan waited, pulse hammering in her throat.

when y/n finally spoke, her voice was quiet. uncertain in a way megan had never heard before.

"why are you saying this now?"

megan blinked. "because it's true."

"but why now?"

"because if i don't say it, i'm going to explode," megan said, almost helplessly. “because you keep pretending there’s nothing here. and i--i can’t do that.”

y/n’s gaze dropped. her hands folded carefully in her lap.

"megan..." her voice trailed off, caught on something that wasn’t quite breath.

"do you feel it too?" megan asked. not pushing. not demanding. just asking, like she needed to know. like the question had been burning inside her for years and she finally had a moment to speak it aloud. "even a little?"

y/n inhaled slowly. her throat bobbed with the effort of it. she didn’t answer right away. and then, she sighed.

"yes."

megan felt the breath knock out of her.

y/n wasn’t looking at her. she stared ahead, eyes fixed on the far wall like it held her together.

"i’ve felt it for a long time," she admitted. "but feelings don’t matter when you’re a jedi. not like this."

"that’s unfair.” megan’s retorted firmly. she wasn’t quite sure when she moved, inching closer to y/n on the bench. one second the gap between them was large enough to fit a hutt, and the next she leaned in so close that y/n could see the utter sincerity in her brown eyes. megan continued after a moment with a shake of her head. 

“y/n, i don’t know how else to spell this out for you, but i think i’ve longed for you from the moment i met you.” her voice in that moment was so tender. cautious. her eyes darted back and forth between y/n’s own, desperate for some kind of inclination that what she was feeling wasn’t one sided. “ever since we were thirteen, i’ve lied awake at night waiting for the day i’d get to see you again. you’re always in my dreams. haunting me. and now that you’re here, real right in front of me… it breaks me. torments me. please, tell me what i’m supposed to do.”

y/n’s mind raced. megan’s words settled on her like a heavy blanket, weighing down on her in the most cathartic-- and bittersweet-- way possible. she sat there in that moment, looking back in megan’s eyes and seeing only want. need. still, the guilt that pronged at her was stronger. she pursed her lips. 

"we’re not allowed to want it," y/n said, shaking her head. "you know that."

"yeah, i know the code," megan muttered half heartedly, fleetingly dismissive. "i’ve had it quoted at me my whole life."

"then don’t ask me to break it with you."

"i’m not asking you to break it," megan said, voice low, steady now. "i’m asking if you feel the same way."

that was the moment. that fragile, splinter-thin beat between truth and denial. between what was safe and what was real. y/n stared at her for a long time. her eyes were glassy. unreadable. her face still carried that perfect composure, but it was faltering around the edges now.

"i do," she whispered.

megan’s heart surged. but then y/n looked away.

"and that’s why this has to stop."

"y/n--"

"don’t." her voice was firmer now. not harsh. just final. "please don’t make this harder than it already is. jedi aren’t supposed to marry. to love. we swore an oath to the order. even if there was something more to this-- to us. we could be expelled. is that truly something you want?”

megan’s jaw tightened. she looked down at her hands, at the datapad still useless in her lap. the bench felt too narrow all of a sudden.

“we could keep it a secret.”

“then we would be living a lie. could you truly do that?”

a pause, and then megan sighed. 

“no. it would destroy us.”

outside, the rain kept falling, soft and endless.

neither of them spoke. and megan thought, quietly, that no war could ever feel as painful as being this close to the thing you want most in the galaxy, and not being allowed to reach for it.

the jedi code, a mantra engraved into their minds since day one, had never felt so distant. 

_

the third week on polaris minor was when everything came to a standstill. 

megan had finally learned how to stay still during meetings. gun di’s patience was wearing thin, but the senator was busy enough with security and her advisers that she didn’t notice the quiet tug-of no-war happening between the two padawans.

there was a subtle difference between them. megan noticed it first. not just in how y/n’s posture had changed or how much more tense she seemed-- if even humanly possibly. but also the small things. the way y/n didn’t seem so focused on her datapad when they were in a room together. the brief moments when their eyes would meet, and neither would look away immediately. but they always did eventually. megan had laid her heart out bare and y/n had fearfully refused to take it. 

it was confusing. maddening.

megan wasn’t used to this kind of tension. she was used to feeling like she had to fill the air with jokes or ridiculousness just to break the silence. but with y/n, the quiet felt different now. suffocating. 

whatever moment of peace they had didn’t last when the alarm finally blared. 

it was only a matter of time before it happened. if she were being honest, megan was surprised it hadn’t happened sooner. she’d just stepped out of a strategy briefing with gun di when the comm crackled. urgent. panic laced the voice. 

“assassin has been sighted. senator avanzini has been targeted--main courtyard.”

megan didn’t think. she ran.

by the time she reached the courtyard, the air was thick with tension. guards were shouting, crowd dispersing. smoke rising from a thermal charge. and in the middle of it all, she saw the one thing that had her eyes blowing wide. she tried desperately to force herself through the crowd, her hand already reaching for her saber hilt. in the moments she struggled to reach the center, all she could do was watch. 

y/n stood in the middle, blade drawn, the green beam lighting her up in its earthly hue. her saber deflected blaster bolts from a shady figure perched on a nearby rooftop, just narrowly missing senator avanzini as she and her guard ducked behind a wall. the guard raised his blaster, peering out behind the wall and zeroing his sights on the sniper. but he fell just as quickly. the assassin’s bullet pierced through him, a loud plasma bolt that left smoke rising off his body. still, despite it all, y/n stood steady. calm. even as the assassin scaled down the building, as they unsheathed a vibroblade from where it was strapped to their back, y/n waited. 

across from her now, cloaked in shadow, stood the assassin.

they were fast. blaster in one hand, vibroblade in the other. they moved like water, slipping through guards, aiming straight for daniela. but y/n was faster.

she intercepted the strike, her saber crackling as it met the blade. their duel was a blur--light and shadow, hiss of metal and hum of plasma. megan stood frozen for a second too long, heart lodged in her throat.

when the assassin narrowly avoided a strike and rolled away just out of view to seek cover, it happened clear as day. they threw a stun grenade. perhaps y/n didn’t see it. perhaps there was too much happening all at once, too much to keep up with. the spherical grenade rolled right under y/n’s feet. 

megan shouted a warning, but it was too late.

the blast caught y/n off guard. she stumbled backward, vision disoriented, arms scrambling for balance. the grenade exploded with a burst of electricity. not strong enough to kill, but enough to have her falling unconscious. her body went limp, her saber beam retracting as her hilt dropped from her hands and rolled across the floor. the assassin raised their blaster then, straight for the limp jedi. even as the senators guards and gun di closed in behind megan, even as the assassin was soon to be outnumbered-- they aimed for the fatal blow mercilessly. 

megan moved before she could think. she pushed through the last of the dispersing crowd, fear and frustration pronging through her. 

her own blade ignited mid-sprint, and she threw herself into the path of the shot. a large jump infused by the force that had her standing between the blaster and y/n within a split second. the bolt grazed y/n’s cheek as megan deflected it, just briefly scraping the surface and instead ricocheting to the floor beside her head. too late to stop it completely, too fast for it to do any real damage. 

for a moment they stood, megan’s eyes trained hard on the assassin with a mixture of foreign emotions coursing throughout her. the knowledge that y/n lied unconscious on the floor besides her had her chest aching, her grip on her saber tightening. the assassin stared back at her. at some point during the fight, their helmet had been knocked clean off their head. it was a changeling, its upturned nose flaring as it stared back at her with vehement disgust. the assassin looked like it wanted to move, to land it’s next blow– but it stopped itself. the very second master gun di entered the fray, blue saber drawn and commanding in his stature, the assassin cursed. throwing one last smoke-like grenade, it vanished. escaping from the courtyard while it was still possible.

part of megan wanted to chase. to take off into a sprint after the changeling assassin, to get answers. but when she was reminded of the girl beside her, her attention shifted. she sheathed her blade and dropped beside y/n, gently nudging her shoulder. y/n murmured incoherently, an unintelligible sentence stringed together. but it was enough for megan to release the breath of air she didn’t realize she’d been holding.

she barely registered her master kneeling down just slightly to check on y/n before he stood back up. he barked orders, said something about following the assassin, about taking y/n back to the medbay. but all megan could see was the blood on y/n’s face, the scar slowly forming just under her eye. megan had seen it as clear as day. the way the bolt had nearly struck her temple. if she’d been just a second slower, if she hadn’t ricochet the plasma shot in time... perhaps it would be a different story.

all she could feel was her own heartbeat. and fear.

the medbay was sterile in a way that made megan’s skin itch. light pooled in too-white sheets across the walls, soft and clinical, casting long shadows beneath the edges of the diagnostic panels. it smelled like disinfectant and recycled air. too bright. too clean. too quiet.

she sat curled in the corner of the room, elbows braced against her knees, fingers knotted so tightly her joints ached. the medical droid moved with practiced efficiency, gliding between consoles and the bedside, running quiet scans, smoothing bacta strips into place, adjusting vitals with soft, mechanical chirps. everything was stable. everything was under control. it said nothing concerning.

but megan couldn’t take her eyes off the bed.

y/n hadn’t stirred since they carried her in.

her saber hilt rested on the side table, untouched and silent, the metal catching the medbay lights in dull glints. her hair, normally so neat, was a tangle-- gently brushed back from her face where the droid had treated the wound. megan could still smell the faint singe of ozone and burned cloth clinging to her robes. a sharp, metallic echo of the blast.

just beneath her eye, where the bolt had grazed her, there it was. a thin, raw line. pink and swollen, not deep but angry. a reminder. too close.

megan stared at it like it might vanish if she willed hard enough. like she hadn’t seen the whole thing unfold. like she hadn’t watched the shot line up, hadn’t felt the force scream in her chest until she moved without thinking. until she threw herself in front of it.

she rubbed her hands together once, slow and aimless, as if friction alone could bring sensation back to her skin. but her fingers stayed cold. distant. unfeeling.

it had been hours--at least she thought it had--since gun di told her to bring y/n to the medbay. time had gone strange since then. at some point, a palace guard had slipped in with news. the assassin had fled, chased off-world by gun di and the senator’s patrol ships. a temporary solution, nothing final. the danger wasn’t over, not really. but the senator was safe. the immediate threat had passed.

she was supposed to feel relief. she was supposed to be happy, overjoyed that she could leave the planet and head back home to coruscant. but she wasn’t. it was a two pronged assault on her mind. not only would going home mean that she would be away from y/n again, but it would mean she couldn’t track down the assassin that almost ripped the very world from underneath her.

she should’ve chased them. she could’ve. she’d seen the path through the smoke, had felt the force stirring at the edge of her senses, pulling her forward. it wouldn’t have taken much. just a step, a leap, a push of will--and she would’ve done it. cornered them. ended it.

but she didn’t. she stayed, and now that choice sat heavy in her chest. the truth was simple. she hadn’t stopped it. she’d hesitated.

part of her hated herself for even thinking it. for letting the idea take shape, sharp and unspoken, behind her teeth. she was a jedi. she wasn’t supposed to crave retribution. wasn’t supposed to mourn the absence of a final blow. she knew better.

but the thought lingered anyway--heavy, unshakable. a quiet hunger for resolution that left a bitter taste in her mouth.

and she was almost certain gun di had felt it.

she could still picture the look he gave her--brief, wordless, when he knelt beside y/n in the courtyard. it was a look she ignored at the time, but one she now couldn’t shake. not scolding, not cruel. just steady. a quiet warning in his eyes that said: stand down. let it go. she hadn’t needed a lecture. that one look was enough.

still, shame curled in her gut like smoke. shame for the thought, for the still-burning impulse. for the fact that, even now, a small, dark part of her wished she’d followed through. not out of duty. not to protect the senator.

but because it hurt to see y/n like that. limp. silent. fragile in a way megan had never imagined possible.

the fear hadn’t left her since. no amount of jedi training could quiet the way it gripped her now.

the door hissed open behind her, tearing her from her thoughts.

senator avanzini stepped in, arms wrapped neatly in her long shawl. her pace was quiet, deliberate, eyes scanning the room until they landed on megan.

“how is she?” she asked softly, nodding toward the bed.

megan stood halfway, clearing her throat. “stable,” she said. “just… stunned. the blast wasn’t lethal.”

daniela crossed to the bed, her expression shifting as she took in the sight of y/n--still, quiet, her padawan braid slightly undone from the scuffle. her gaze lingered for a moment before drifting back to megan.

“you stayed behind for her,” she said gently. “when you could’ve chased the assassin.”

megan didn’t answer at first. her eyes flicked to the floor, jaw tense. “i made a choice.”

“not the one your code would’ve dictated,” daniela said, final. 

megan’s posture stiffened. her mouth opened, then closed again. her eyes snapped up towards daniela in silent disbelief. daniela simply stared back at her, calm but perceptive. 

“you don’t have to say it. i already know.”

megan swallowed hard. “you don’t,” she said, quiet and tight. “and even if you did… you shouldn’t.”

daniela tilted her head. “you’re afraid I’ll tell someone.”

“if you did, it would mean consequences,” megan said. “real ones.”

the silence hung between them like a drawn curtain, and then daniela stepped closer. not looming. not confrontational. simply present.

“no one will hear it from me,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “i know what it means to carry something the system says you shouldn’t. and i know what it is to keep something sacred out of reach.”

megan didn’t move. didn’t breathe.

daniela’s gaze softened. “i’ve come to care about both of you, over these past few weeks. perhapsnmore than i probably should. but i’ve seen the way you look at her. and i’ve seen the way she looks at you when she thinks no one is watching.”

megan’s shoulders dropped slightly, but she didn’t respond. daniela glanced back at y/n, her expression unreadable for a long, quiet beat.

megan sat back down, gaze dropping to her hands as she finally caved to the truth. something about the senator had her resolve crumbling. the words slipped out before she could stop them.

 “i told her. before. how i felt.” she let out a humorless breath. “she’s better at pretending it doesn’t matter.”

“because of the jedi code?”

megan nodded.

daniela sat down in the chair opposite her. the silence lingered for a beat before she hummed. 

 “i’ve spent half my life trusting in institutions. codes. rules. the systems meant to protect us. and today, all it took was one assassin and one moment of hesitation for everything to almost fall apart.” her voice softened. “life isn’t always fair, megan. and it certainly isn’t always long.”

megan didn’t respond. her throat felt too tight.

daniela glanced at y/n once more. “i don’t presume to know what’s right for the jedi. but i know what i saw today. you didn’t hesitate when it mattered. you chose to stay. and sometimes, that choice... it means everything.”

she stood. “thank you, megan. for saving my life.”

and then she left, as quietly as she’d come.

the door hissed shut behind the senator, and the room fell back into stillness.

megan leaned forward, bracing her elbows on her knees again. the words daniela had said echoed in her chest, loud where her thoughts had gone quiet.

she looked at y/n.

she should’ve chased the assassin. should’ve done her duty, followed through, ended the threat properly. but she hadn’t. not because she was afraid. not because she was weak.

because she couldn’t bear the thought of leaving her behind.

her eyes burned, but she blinked hard against it.

“you scared the hell out of me,” she whispered.

y/n didn’t stir. didn’t answer. but her breathing was steady now. real. alive.

megan let out a slow breath.

“i swear,” she said softly, fingers brushing the edge of the blanket near y/n’s hand, “i won’t let it come that close again.”

_

the assassin had been chased off-world. the danger, at least for now, had passed. and with the immediate threat neutralized, it was time for them to move on.

y/n had woken sometime before dawn, her brow furrowed with pain as she stirred. she didn’t say much--just a quiet, strained sound when she tried to sit up, her body still reeling from the lingering shock of the grenade. megan had been at her side in an instant, hand hovering just above her arm, unsure whether to touch her. unsure what was allowed.

“don’t move,” she murmured, barely above a breath.

y/n didn’t argue. she just blinked slowly, the exhaustion carved deep into her features.

that was all. no dramatic reunion. no words of comfort. just quiet, shared breath and the space between them filled with everything unspoken.

and then, too quickly, they were gone.

one moment they were on the palace steps bidding senator avanzini farewell beneath a gray sky. the senator stood with her hands folded, a slight smile hidden beneath tired eyes. her goodbye to megan had been brief, but meaningful--an unspoken nod that said remember what i said. to y/n, it had been gentler. familiar. fond.

the next, megan had barely stepped back aboard the t-6 shuttle before the holoterminal lit up. an urgent transmission, flagged by the council. they were needed. immediately. she hadn’t even taken her cloak off.

as the stars began to blur beyond the viewport, the polaris system shrinking into the vastness behind them, megan sat motionless in the co-pilot’s seat, her thoughts still caught somewhere on the marble floors of the palace courtyard. and yet, beneath the dull hum of hyperspace and the weight of everything left unresolved, a small part of her felt… relieved. they weren’t going home. not yet.

she still had time. 

as master gun di input the coordinates into the navicomputer, his fingers moving with calm precision over the control panel.  megan sat besides him, still and silent, trying not to let her thoughts spiral. the soft chime of hyperspace calculations echoed around the cockpit, and somewhere beneath the mechanical hum, her heart was pounding.

geonosis.

the name alone made something twist in her chest. whatever waited for them down there--whatever the council had deemed urgent enough to summon them directly from polaris--it wasn’t going to be simple. it wouldn’t be clean.

she could already feel it in her bones.

her palms had gone clammy. her breathing uneven. she tried to center herself, to reach for that internal stillness that master gun di had spent years trying to instill in her. but it slipped through her fingers like water. the force echoed with her nerves, loud and raw, thrumming in the air around her like a struck chord.

she didn’t miss the glance he cast her through his peripheral. a silent check-in. not invasive, not reprimanding. but she felt the message all the same: breathe, padawan.

she dipped her head in acknowledgment and stood from the copilot seat, turning on her heel before he could say anything aloud.

the shuttle's corridor was narrow and dimly lit, the quiet hum of hyperspace folding around the space like a blanket. megan moved down the aisle with soft steps, her boots barely whispering against the floor. at the back of the ship, in the co-passenger bay tucked just out of sight of the cockpit, she found her. y/n sat cross-legged on one of the cushioned benches, back straight, hands resting lightly in her lap. her eyes were closed, face calm– at least on the surface. but megan could sense it in the air between them, thin and electric. meditation didn’t quiet emotions. not entirely. it just held them in check.

her padawan braid had been freshly re-tied, neat again. her robes had been pressed, the creases sharp in the low light. but the scar remained. a thin, vivid line beneath her eye, still healing but settled now. permanent.

megan stood in the doorway for a moment, not speaking. just looking.

it would never fade, that mark. no matter how many healing sessions she sat through, no matter how many years passed, it would stay--a reminder of how close things had come. of what could’ve happened. what almost did. and still she was beautiful. not despite the scar. rather, because of it.

megan stepped into the room, slow and measured, careful not to startle her. they were alone. gun di was piloting, and he couldn’t see them from where he sat. just the two of them now. a pocket of privacy.

“hey,” she said quietly.

y/n opened her eyes, drawn back from meditation by the weight of a gaze she knew too well.

megan stood nearby, not speaking, just watching her with a quiet intensity that made y/n's chest tighten. there was nothing judgmental in her expression--just a soft, searching focus. and yet, it was enough to stir every old insecurity buried just beneath the surface.

self-consciousness crept in before she could stop it. her fingers twitched, and then slowly, instinctively, she raised a hand to her face, as if to shield the angry mark that lived there now.

but she didn’t get far.

megan moved before she could flinch away, her own hand catching y/n’s gently, carefully. not forceful, just certain. she guided it down and held it there, warm and steady between them. then, slowly, her other hand reached up. fingertips brushed just below the scar, feather-light. a reverent touch, as if she were tracing a constellation across fragile skin. careful. intentional. like the scar was something worth memorizing.

y/n’s breath caught in her throat. she didn’t move. didn’t blink.

megan’s voice came quiet--low and certain, a truth she’d already decided long before she spoke it.

“it suits you.”

y/n blinked, startled by the softness of it. “what does?”

megan’s thumb barely grazed the edge of the scar.

“the scar.”

y/n didn’t respond at first. her expression stayed still. unreadable. but her eyes searched megan’s face, like she was trying to figure out if she meant it.

she did.

megan shrugged, eyes still lingering on y/n’s face. “it makes you look… real.”

y/n tilted her head, brow faintly furrowed. “i was real before.”

“yeah,” megan said, a small, crooked smile tugging at the corner of her mouth--soft, but weighted. “but now the galaxy sees it too.”

outside the shuttle’s viewport, the stars blurred on in silence, streaks of light bending toward the horizon. geonosis loomed ahead, just beyond reach. but in here, the world felt momentarily still. megan’s hand lingered by y/n’s cheek, gentle and unmoving.

“you’re beautiful,” she said quietly, like it was a fact, not a risk. “always.”

the words landed like a blow softened by velvet. familiar, but no less piercing. the same words she’d spoken in the senate hallway a week ago. and still, somehow, they hit just as hard. she uttered them as if she was still just as sure. as if it was fact, still just as true.

y/n didn’t respond right away. she couldn’t. something in her chest ached with the weight of it. of all the things she’d kept buried under duty, under silence. the look in megan’s eyes unraveled every wall she’d spent years building. and yet, the only thing louder than her heartbeat was the truth pressing at the edges of her ribs. 

she still felt it. she always had. perhaps, she always would.

it felt fragile. whatever existed between them in that sliver of privacy, somewhere between confession and restraint.  outside, the stars streaked past in pale blue ribbons. megan had only just started to breathe again when the shuttle lurched out of hyperspace.

they were finally over geonosis.

“prepare for descent,” gun di called from the cockpit. his voice was tense, clipped--sharper than usual. “we’re being diverted straight to the surface. no time to brief. something’s happening.”

megan and y/n exchanged a quick glance. they didn’t ask questions. there wasn’t time.

the shuttle broke atmosphere, rattling as the turbulence kicked in. sand blew in waves beneath them, red dust curling like smoke over jagged rock formations. then the arena came into view. massive, ancient, crumbling. and full. megan stepped to the edge of the ramp as it opened mid-hover. her boots hit stone before the ship even settled, and for a moment, she just… stared.

hundreds of beings filled the towering balconies. geonosians. thousands of them. their wings fluttering with agitation. the air was thick with tension, and beneath them, on the arena floor, a spectacle had already begun. dozens of jedi. lightsabers ignited. clashing against lines of battle droids.

megan froze in place. they were standing in a warzone.

megan’s chest tightened as her eyes swept the arena again. figures she recognized, jedi she'd trained beside at the temple. all fighting, bleeding, shouting orders over the chaos. they hadn’t been briefed. hadn’t even been told what to expect. but this wasn’t just a mission.

this was something else.

and then--up near the high podium, framed by geonosian guards--was a man with a red saber, his blade clashing against purple. the color alone made megan's stomach turn.

they’d only been on polaris minor for three weeks. twenty-one days. and somehow, the galaxy had fractured. a blaster bolt snapped overhead, breaking their daze.

gun di was already on the ground, saber ignited, calling out to them. “move!”

instinct took over. megan leapt into the fray, blade flaring to life in her grip. y/n moved with her, fluid and fierce. together, they carved through the battle droids with a rhythm honed over years of training. megan, reckless but precise--flipping over collapsing debris, driving her saber into circuits. y/n, calm and tactical, covering her blind spots, intercepting fire with clean, perfect deflections. they were two halves of the same strike. seamless. brutal. unstoppable.

and then the sky cracked open. ships roared overhead, laat gunships that pierced through the haze. lines of soldiers descended from them. white-armored, faceless, organized in ways the republic had never been. they landed in formation and opened fire on the droids.

for a heartbeat, megan thought she was dreaming.

“who are they?” she shouted, panting.

y/n ducked behind a pillar, deflecting incoming fire. “i don’t know--they’re not jedi. but they’re on our side!”

republic insignias gleamed across their chestplates.

megan didn’t have time to process it. didn’t have time to ask how or why or what had changed. because in the periphery of her vision, cutting through the chaos like a dark flame-- she saw it. a cloak. black. fast. a glint of a vibroblade, and a long barreled sniper rifle.

the assassin.

megan’s heart seized. before she knew it, she was already moving. she broke from formation without thinking, legs moving before her mind could catch up. y/n turned sharply behind her, confusion flickering across her face.

“megan!”

but megan was already chasing the figure, weaving through crumbling archways and shattered debris at a dead sprint. her heart thundered in her ears. the assassin moved ahead of her like a shadow cut loose from the battlefield--silent, fast, slipping between the bones of the arena with terrifying ease. but not fast enough. not this time.

not again.

y/n was just behind her, breath coming sharp, her boots slamming against the ancient stone floor as they dove deeper into the arena’s underbelly. it was quieter here. no war cries, no blaster fire. just the echo of their footsteps and the scent of dust, rust, and something older. something dry and dead. here, there were no guards. no senator. no backup. just the two of them and the thing that had almost killed her.

they rounded a collapsed archway, and that’s when megan saw them. the cloak. the glint of the blade. the assassin had slowed, thinking they’d lost their tail, pausing to slip into the shadows of a narrow corridor. only megan didn’t slow. she leapt.

her saber came down in a blur of blue, crashing into stone as the assassin twisted away just in time, sparks flying from the wall where her blade struck. the figure hissed and spun, backing away with inhuman grace.

a curse rang out in huttese, low and guttural, though megan caught the words.

“should’ve stayed on polaris.”

the assassin’s mask turned toward her, vibroblade sliding into a ready position with a resonant hum.

“you don’t give up, do you?” the voice said now in basic--distorted, modulated, but undeniably mocking. “or is it the girl you’re really chasing after?”

megan’s saber snapped back into a guard position. “you’re not getting away this time.”

the assassin lunged.

metal clashed with light, blades screaming against each other in a flurry of motion. megan struck fast and hard, her anger fueling every move. but the assassin was relentless--slipping under her swings, deflecting with practiced flicks of their blade, countering with bone-shaking kicks and sweeps that kept her off balance.

y/n joined the fray, saber flashing into the space between them. her timing was clean. but even with both of them pressing in, the assassin held their ground. megan gritted her teeth. she was faster. stronger. trained. but nothing landed. every time her saber carved through the air, the assassin was already gone, turning, ducking, slashing back. one blade caught her shoulder, too close. she barely blocked the second.

“you’re supposed to be better than this,” the assassin growled, twisting around y/n to drive a blade toward megan’s side. “jedi are supposed to be better.”

the words stung more than the blow. megan blocked it just in time, but her footing slipped. the frustration burned hot in her chest.

y/n lunged to intercept, but the assassin pivoted, spinning low, and kicked her square in the chest. y/n, still rather new to soresu and definitely not as adept as she should have been, had no time to react. she hit the wall with a sharp grunt, saber clattering from her grip. she crumpled to the floor, dazed, one arm curling protectively around her ribs.

megan’s heart snapped. everything inside her surged. there was no thought. no discipline. no training.

only fear.

her hand lifted before she even realized what she was doing, and immediately the force answered.  violent and raw. it surged through her like a storm breaking loose.

the assassin froze mid-lunge, their body snapping upright, limbs trembling as an invisible grip closed around their throat. their boots scraped helplessly against the stone floor, trying to dig in, to breathe, to move--but megan held them suspended, her arm extended, fingers curled tight like a vice. her breath came hard. her muscles shook. her thoughts--her training--had vanished, replaced by one singular, pulsing need. 

make it stop.

her saber buzzed low beside her. her other hand rose, slow and deliberate, as she stepped forward.

“you don’t get to hurt her again,” she whispered, voice low and shaking.

the assassin clawed at their throat. their mask turned toward her. eyes wide. the vibroblade slipped from their hands, clattering uselessly to the floor.

megan didn’t release them.

the grip she had--it felt good. for a split second, it filled the hollow in her chest with heat. with power. the way their body convulsed, helpless, suspended midair--there was a part of her, small and buried, that reveled in it.

a cruel part. a frightened part. and it terrified her.

but she didn’t stop.

with a breath that trembled like rage, she tightened her hold then drove her saber forward. the blade burned through armor and flesh.

the assassin's body jerked violently, the grip breaking as they collapsed in a heap. the mask slipped from their face and rolled across the floor, coming to a stop in the flickering light. the changeling’s mouth hung open, eyes still wide. still staring.

and they were dead.

because of her.

megan stood over the body, frozen. the hum of her saber still echoed through the chamber, but her hands wouldn’t stop shaking. the power she’d just wielded still clung to her skin like a second layer--wrong, heavy, dark. she staggered back a step. looked down at what she’d done. she felt her stomach drop.

the hum of her saber faded as she deactivated it. the light was gone. so was the noise. only silence remained.

megan stood there, trembling. the force still churned in her like a storm barely held back. her breath came in short, shallow bursts. her hand--still outstretched--slowly lowered.

behind her, y/n stirred. she pushed herself to her knees, wincing. blood trickled from her brow.

megan didn’t move.

“megan,” y/n said gently, voice rough, “you did what you had to do.”

megan shook her head.

“no,” she whispered, backing away from the body. “i-i panicked. i saw your face. i saw the scar. i saw you unconscious in the meday. and i thought--you’d die. i thought--”

her voice cracked, and she sank to the ground beside the body, hands trembling in her lap.

“i should’ve ended it then. i had the chance. i could’ve. but i didn’t. and now--”

y/n crawled toward her through the dust and blood, each movement labored. pain rippled down her side, her ribs aching, her limbs sluggish--but she didn’t stop. not when megan looked like she was about to shatter.

not when she needed her.

she reached her slowly, knees scraping against the stone, and lifted both hands to cup megan’s face--dirt and ash smudging between her fingers. her thumbs brushed gently over tear-streaked skin, grounding her.

“you saved me,” she whispered.

megan flinched like the words hurt. her gaze stayed low, locked on the space between them.

“i wasn’t supposed to feel like this,” she choked out, barely audible. “i wasn’t supposed to care. we’re not supposed to--” the sentence caught on the edge of something sharp. something ancient and sacred and breaking.

“but i can’t,” she said, and this time her voice cracked. “i can’t see you die. not now. not ever.”

her eyes burned, breath catching in her throat. the weight of it--the grief, the fear, the truth--finally crushed through her chest.

she sobbed.

“i love you, y/n.”

the words came out broken, raw and unguarded, a truth dragged up from the deepest place in her soul.

y/n stared at her.

her heart thundered against her ribs. this wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. not here. not like this. not after blood and death and war. and especially not with megan--silly, infuriating, soft-hearted megan, whose laughter filled every quiet space and whose loyalty ran deeper than anyone she’d ever known.

but none of that mattered now.

because this was real.

and y/n had spent so long pretending it wasn’t.

so she did the one thing she’d forbidden herself from doing.

she leaned in--and kissed her.

it was soft at first, uncertain. her lips barely brushed megan’s, like she was afraid they’d both break from the touch alone. but megan breathed in sharply and reached up, hands trembling as she caught y/n’s face like she was something precious, like the only solid thing left in the galaxy.

the kiss deepened, slow and desperate and reverent. pain and fear and love poured into it, until neither of them could tell where one ended and the other began.

it was raw. it was wrong. but it was real.

when y/n felt megan kiss her back, her hands warm and shaking against her skin, she didn’t think about the code. or the council. or what would come next. she only thought of her. everything else--jedi, droids, blood in the sand--faded away. maybe it was dangerous. maybe it would destroy them.

but here, in the burning heart of a dying arena, it was the only thing that made sense.

_ the clones had names.  that was what stayed with her, long after the battle ended, long after the shuttle lifted off the blood-red sands of geonosis.  they weren’t just serial numbers printed on armor or shouted across comms--though they answered to those, too. ct-8214. cc-2224. ct-6507.

 but they had names. names they’d given themselves. some sharp, some ridiculous. a quiet rebellion against the order they were born into.

megan remembered one in particular: jex.  he had a scar down his chin that looked almost deliberate, a crooked grin that didn’t match the bruises across his jaw, and a way of sitting like he’d been through this all before--even though, by every definition, this was the first time any of them had stepped into war.  he offered her a ration bar and called her “ma’am” with a kind of teasing lilt, like he already knew she hated it. like he knew she didn’t feel any older than him, any more in control.

he talked with the guards like they were old friends. laughed too easily. and when he looked at y/n, he gave her the kind of nod soldiers give each other after surviving something terrible.

y/n didn’t nod back. she just watched them, silent and still, as rows of identical faces filed off the gunship. they all looked the same, but somehow, none of them did. white armor gleaming under the hangar lights. polished boots. unreadable expressions. every one of them carried a blaster. every one of them carried a fate that had been decided for them.

“they’re clones,” master gun di had said earlier, voice calm and grave. “grown for combat. commissioned by the republic. we’ll be commanding them.”

“commanding,” y/n had repeated under her breath, the word sour in her mouth, like it didn’t belong to her.

they hadn’t said much since. not on the shuttle ride back to coruscant, not while the bruises on megan’s shoulder still ached from the last skirmish, not while the hum of the hyperdrive filled the space between rows of quiet, waiting soldiers. gun di sat near the front of the transport, arms folded, eyes closed in meditation--or something close to it. the clones took up the back, their helmets tucked beneath their arms, or clipped to their belts, heads bowed in a way that didn’t feel like rest.

it felt like ritual. it felt like they were waiting to be used again.

megan didn’t look at her master. she didn’t look at the clones, either. she looked at y/n.

she watched the way y/n kept her hands folded in her lap, perfectly still. the way her posture remained rigid, even seated. the way her gaze never rested for long. she looked like a statue built to withstand the storm, only megan could feel the cracks beneath the surface.

they never told anyone what happened with the assassin. officially, the senator was targeted. a padawan neutralized the threat. some reports named y/n. some named megan. no one clarified. no one needed to. they didn’t lie. they just… didn’t correct anyone. they were already hiding one thing. what was one more?

she wanted to say something. anything.  but nothing felt right. not until the shuttle began to descend, until the familiar spires of coruscant broke through the clouds, rising like jagged silver towers in the dusk.

the city pulsed beneath them. the temple’s lights blinked on, one by one.  and before megan could think better of it--before she could stop herself--she pulled y/n aside the very second they were alone.

“marry me.”

it slipped out like breath. like truth. like it had been sitting on her tongue for hours, days, years. not planned. not dramatic. just real.

y/n’s head snapped toward her, eyes wide, mouth slightly open. “what?”

megan didn’t flinch. she just shrugged, like she hadn’t just shattered the fragile balance between them. like this wasn’t the biggest thing she’d ever said in her life.

 “i’m serious.”

they stood side by side on the landing platform now, robes catching the edge of the night breeze. the shuttle’s doors had opened, the others already filing off. clones. jedi. gun di, walking ahead with calm, purposeful strides. no one noticed them lingering.

“megan,” y/n said, her voice low, tired. the kind of tired that lived in the bones. “don’t.”

“why not?”

“because we don’t have time for this,” she said, and there was no anger in it--just exhaustion. “not now. not with all of this.”

megan didn’t step closer. didn’t reach for her. just stood still, watching her.

“that’s exactly why i’m asking,” she said, softer now. “because we don’t have time. we never did.”

and that–- that-- was what made y/n pause. for a moment, the city felt distant. the whine of starfighters overhead. the distant glow of senate rotunda windows. the murmur of guards and mechanics and transport crews. all of it blurred.

megan said nothing more. she waited, like she always did when it mattered. y/n looked down at her hands, fingers curled at her sides. then she looked back at megan.

and finally, up--toward the sky, where a heavy cruiser passed low over the cityscape, its shadow sweeping across the platform like a stormfront rolling in.

“not now,” she said, quiet but certain. “but if we wait just a little longer--my answer would be yes.”

megan’s chest tightened.

“you’d marry me?” she asked, almost like she couldn’t believe it.

y/n nodded slowly. “yes. i would. but not while the whole galaxy’s still falling apart. not while there’s so much we don’t know. not with war on our heels and the council breathing down our necks. just… give it a little more time. please.”

megan’s breath left her in a slow exhale, like she’d been holding it for days.

“okay,” she said, and the word felt warm in her mouth. “i can wait.”

y/n stepped in just close enough that their sleeves brushed, a single fold of fabric grazing another. not quite touching. not quite safe. but real.

“just don’t ask me again,” she whispered, “unless you really mean it.”

megan huffed a quiet laugh, more breath than sound. “i always mean it.”

“i know,” y/n said, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she smiled. small. fleeting. but there.  “that’s what scares me.”

above them, the cruiser’s shadow passed over the hangar. and beneath it, two girls stood shoulder to shoulder at the edge of everything, armed with nothing but a ‘maybe’, a promise, and the quiet understanding that no one was coming to save them from what they were already feeling.

at the end of the day, they both knew. the worst was yet to come. but at least now they’d face it together.

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 keel’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. 

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. the daughter of a prominent political leader had been 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.”

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

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.

“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. they were separatists. she bit down hard on the rising dread. it was a trap, and they’d walked straight into it. 

all she was 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.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.”

and 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.

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. she noticed it in the way she had arthree keep a closer eye on her. the way the droid warbled happily. in 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. and 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. the librarians 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.

when the galaxy collapsed around her, it began with a whisper. a single transmission came through—garbled, panicked, laced with static and fear. execute order 66.

megan didn’t need the words to know. she felt it in the force first, like a sharp intake of breath across the galaxy. something vast and bright was dying. a thousand threads snapped at once. grief rushed in before understanding did, thick and suffocating. and then she heard the scream. she ran.

the temple was a blur of flickering lights and falling bodies. blasterfire lit the smoke-choked corridors as red stained stone and robes alike. alarms howled. the scent of burning was everywhere—robes, hair, skin. megan didn’t stop. couldn’t. she knew where to go. the force didn’t guide her; it dragged her forward. when she reached the courtyard she stopped cold.

jex stood near the center, framed by the smoke and fire curling through the broken archways. his blaster was raised, steady in his grip, aimed directly at the figure standing just a few feet away.

y/n.

she was hurt—megan could see the blood, the way her stance wavered—but she was still on her feet. no weapon. no defense. just raw defiance in the set of her shoulders, and something unspoken in her eyes.

only she wasn’t looking at jex. she was looking at her. across the chaos, across the ruin of everything, y/n’s gaze found megan’s. and in that instant, the noise seemed to fall away. there was only the two of them. only the bond still burning between them—tattered but not yet broken.

megan’s mouth opened. she tried to call out, to move, to do something— but the shot came first.a single bolt. clean. merciless. it hit y/n center mass. she 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. megan's heart stopped.

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. 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 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

it took a year for her search to bear fruit. 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. megan—no, not megan. that name belonged to someone else. someone who had died long ago in a courtyard soaked with ash and blood. what remained now left behind only the hum of a lightsaber and the ruin it carved in its wake.

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, that they planted the seed of their own destruction.

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. the thought of all that could have been lingered in her mind everytime she closed her eyes.

once upon a time, they talked about getting married. they could have. but the more time that passed at war, the longer they kept fighting-- the more distant the idea of marriage became. they could have married on polaris minor, megan often thought. she could see it as clear as day, a memory of something that never happened.

she would have invited senator avanzini, arthree, and whoever else they wanted. she would have reached her hand out and traced the scar on y/n's cheek, the one the assassin gave her early before she slaughtered the changeling on geonosis.

she would have left the order. for her. on their own terms they could have settled down, together. walked away from it all while they could.

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

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. 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 her.

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

[writingunderneathawillow]

tight spaces (bucky barnes x fem!reader)

content warnings: fluff, a pinch of angst, bucky gets anxious because of tight spaces, suggestive, bucky gets a boner hehehe, lowkey manhandling I guess, also accidentally inspired by teen wolf word count: 930

The door of the supply room fell shut, sending you tumbling towards Bucky.

You had meant to keep it open, your foot propped against it while Bucky searched for the gun cleaning supplies. But it had rested heavily on you, leaving you straining and telling Bucky to get a move on.

Supply room was a generous term. It was basically a small closet made out of metal, barely big enough to accommodate one person, definitely not two.

You were pressed against Bucky’s chest after your stumble, feeling his hands at your waist to stabilise you.

“Sorry,” you muttered as you tried to get yourself in a more upright position.

“It’s fine,” he mumbled and let go of your sides. The warmth of his skin, that had seeped through your shirt, was gone so quickly, it felt as if the room’s temperature had dropped.

You went to reach for the door, stemming your weight against it as you pressed down on the door handle, but it didn’t move an inch.

At the same time, you were equally aware of Bucky’s gaze on you and the proximity of his lap and your ass. You tried pushing yourself more at the door, but it didn’t give in and didn’t allow for any more space between the two of you, either.

“Buck? We have a problem,” you said and twisted as much as possible to look at him. “The door won’t open.”

His eyebrows knitted together as his gaze flicked between you and the door.

“Can’t be, you just gotta try again,” he instructed and nodded encouragingly.

You sighed and repeatedly tried to force the door open, but it didn’t budge.

“I think it’s shut,” You replied, teeth gritted as you pushed again.

“Let me,” he said and tried to move past you. It didn’t seem intentional to you but the way he grabbed your shoulders, gently attempting to force himself towards the door by moving you out of the way, made your stomach flutter.

However, he wasn’t successful, stuck between you and the door with no way of positioning himself closer the exit.

He sighed and apologised as he simply reached over you, accidentally pushing you into his chest while his large hands fumbled with the door.

In the dim lighting you could still make it out the way his biceps flexed under his shirt and with the way you were sandwiched between him and the door, you could take in his scent effortlessly, practically drowning you in leather and a hint of citrus.

You tried to hold your breath, embarrassed by how lightheaded you became as his smell encircled you.

With a soft groan Bucky took a tiny step back, as much as the room allowed.

“God, we’re really stuck,” he murmured, and all your giddiness disappeared as you picked up on the trace of anxiety on his words.

Bucky and closed spaces did not go well together, especially ones made out of metal. Being entombed in a cold, tight room was sending shivers down his spine, and he was barely able to conceal them. You heard how his breath quickened and saw his eyes darting in between the walls of the room, searching for a way out.

“It’s okay,” you whispered; your hands rested on his forearms and you began to softly stroke up and downwards. “The others are gonna realise soon that we’re in here, we’re okay.”

His eyes met yours, the blue nearly hidden with his enlarged pupils. He nodded slowly, his gaze fixated on you as you continued your soothing motions.

“We’re okay,” he repeated as he watched you, almost entranced by your voice. After a few seconds his eyes began to wander again but instead of taking in his surroundings, they lingered on you.

The soft curve of your mouth, the gradual slope of your nose and the gentleness of your eyes captivated him, pulling him out of his state of panic.

“You have a scar there,” he mumbled, nodding towards your eyebrow. “I’ve never noticed it before.”

The words had stumbled out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

Only when he shifted slightly, he seemed to realise where you were. How you were glued to him, skin on skin with no room between the two of you.

All the blood that had pounded in his ears and head just seconds ago now rushed south.

You became aware of your situation again as well and desperately tried to find a place in the supply room that wasn’t taken up by him.

“Doll, you gotta-,” he groaned softly as he tried to adjust himself and get a little distance between both of you.

“You gotta turn around or something ‘cause, uh-“ he searched for words that wouldn’t make it so awkward but none came.

Your eyebrows scrunched up, confused by this, and tried to twist your body to face towards the door but then you felt it.

Warmth radiated from his lap along with an unmistakable hard sensation, straining against his pants right against you.

“Oh, uh, I’m sorry,” you stuttered, trying even harder to increase the proximity between the two of you.

He muttered something unintelligible and then said: “No, don’t be. I’m the one who’s sorry, sweetheart.”

A soft hiss escaped his mouth when you finally had managed to turn around, now facing the door with warmed cheeks.

A few seconds passed, your backside now pressed into him, until he broke the silence.

“Doll?” “Yeah?” “This is worse.”

You chuckled, pressing your hand against your lips and you could hear his faint laughter. --- part 2 now out

[callsigns-haze]

Family Business

Summary: Hangman finally goes back to top gun and the daggers....well they want the tea

Warning: Contains alcohol, cursing, teasing, mentions of labour, postpartum.

Word count: 2636 words

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x reader

English is not my first language so I apologies for mistakes

Could be read alone or as part three of Little Life and Silly little life

Three weeks had passed since Jake had set foot on the Top Gun base, and as he walked into the hangar, he could feel all eyes on him. The usual hum of the hangar, the sounds of jets being prepped, filled the air, but this time it felt like he was walking into an ambush. He had been out of the game long enough for them to notice—and that meant one thing: relentless teasing.

As soon as he crossed the threshold, Phoenix spotted him and was on him like a hawk. “Well, look who finally decided to show his face,” she said with a grin, crossing her arms. “I was beginning to think you forgot how to fly, Hangman.”

Jake smirked, unbothered as he swaggered toward them. “I don’t forget anything, Trace.”

“Yeah, except how to show up,” Rooster chimed in, leaning against one of the jets. His aviators glinted in the sunlight as he shot Jake a smirk. “Where’ve you been, man? Can’t imagine someone like you being tied up with ‘family business.’ Sounds like an excuse to me.”

Jake rolled his eyes, leaning against a nearby crate. “Family business, Bradshaw. Not an excuse. It’s called responsibility, but I wouldn’t expect you to know much about that.”

Rooster raised an eyebrow, a cocky smile spreading across his face. “Responsibility? You? What, did you have to help your mom put up Christmas lights or something?”

Phoenix snorted, nudging Bob in the ribs. “Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin, family man. Didn’t think I’d see the day.”

Payback and Fanboy joined in, shaking their heads as they exchanged looks. “Hangman with family business? Did the world end while you were gone?” Payback teased. “Or is this some weird alternate universe we’re living in?”

Fanboy laughed, throwing up his hands. “Seriously, what kind of family business does someone like Hangman even have? I thought your whole life was flying and flirting.”

Jake shrugged, keeping his expression neutral despite the barrage of questions. “Family business is just that—family business. Nothing for you all to worry about.”

“Come on, man,” Bob finally spoke up, his quiet curiosity breaking through. “You’ve been gone for weeks. That’s not like you. We’re just trying to figure out what’s up.”

Jake could feel their eyes all on him, waiting for some sort of juicy explanation, but he wasn’t about to give them anything. Not yet. Not about Y/N, and definitely not about their daughter Ellie-Mae. The last thing he needed was the whole squad knowing about the tiny bundle of joy waiting for him back in Texas.

“I told you,” Jake said smoothly, his hands in his pockets as he kept his tone casual. “Just family stuff. Nothing to lose sleep over.”

Phoenix raised an eyebrow, her arms still crossed as she studied him. “You sure you didn’t get married while you were gone? Or maybe you’re secretly a CIA agent and just can’t tell us.”

Rooster laughed, shaking his head. “Nah, if Hangman was in the CIA, he wouldn’t be able to keep his mouth shut. He’d be bragging about it every chance he got.”

Jake shot Rooster a look, but before he could respond, Phoenix waved a hand. “Whatever. It’s not like you’re gonna tell us anything, so I’m not wasting any more of my time.”

The others murmured in agreement, their curiosity still piqued but knowing better than to press Jake any further. The teasing eased up, and they turned back to their tasks, still throwing the occasional glance his way. But Coyote—standing back, watching with his arms crossed—had remained quiet the entire time, a smirk tugging at his lips.

He was the only one who knew the truth, after all. Coyote had been there from the beginning, the one person Jake trusted with everything. He knew about Y/N, about the love that had blindsided Jake and changed his life in ways he never expected. And now, he knew about Ellie-Mae—their beautiful little girl with Jake’s eyes and Y/N’s fierce spirit. Coyote had kept Jake’s secret this whole time, and the amusement on his face showed just how much he was enjoying watching Jake dodge all the questions.

Once the teasing finally died down, Jake excused himself from the group, heading toward the locker room to grab his gear. He could still feel the weight of their eyes on his back, but it didn’t bother him. He was used to the squad’s prying, but he wasn’t ready to let them in on his new life just yet.

As he rounded the corner, making sure he was out of earshot, he heard footsteps behind him. Before he could turn around, Coyote’s hand landed on his shoulder, and he started shaking him playfully.

“Hangman,” Coyote laughed, gripping Jake’s shoulders as he gave him a few good shakes. “You lucky son of a bitch! Walking around here like nothing happened, when you’ve got a damn baby at home!”

Jake chuckled, turning around to face him, though he glanced over his shoulder to make sure the others weren’t following. “Keep your voice down, Javy. You trying to let the whole base know?”

Coyote let out another laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “Man, I still can’t believe it. Ellie-Mae, huh? I knew you were going soft when you started talking about Y/N, but a baby? That’s next-level.”

Jake grinned, unable to help himself as the thought of Ellie-Mae filled his mind. “Yeah, well, didn’t exactly plan on it, but… here we are.”

Coyote clapped him on the back, his eyes shining with genuine excitement. “You’re a dad now, bro. That’s wild. How’s it feel?”

Jake paused for a moment, letting the question sink in. He thought about Y/N, the late nights with Ellie in his arms, and the way his heart practically burst every time he looked at her. “It’s… crazy,” he admitted, his voice softening. “Hard to believe I could love someone that much. It’s terrifying, but in the best way.”

Coyote chuckled, shaking his head. “I bet. You better start getting used to diapers and spit-up, man. You’re in for a wild ride.”

Jake rolled his eyes, though the grin never left his face. “Yeah, well, it’s worth it. Y/N and Ellie—they’re everything.”

Coyote’s expression softened as he gave Jake another firm clap on the shoulder. “You’re a lucky guy, Hangman. You know that, right?”

Jake nodded, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, Javy. I know.”

With that, they stood there for a moment in silence, the weight of everything unsaid hanging between them. Coyote was right—Jake was lucky. Luckier than he ever thought possible. And as much as he loved flying, he knew that his real world was waiting for him back home.

That evening, the Dagger squad made it their mission to squeeze answers out of Jake—answers they knew he wasn’t going to give up willingly. But their tactics had shifted from teasing to something more strategic: drinks. They’d dragged him to the bar near the base, determined to make him pay for disappearing for three weeks without so much as a solid explanation.

Phoenix nudged him as they settled around a table. “Alright, Hangman, since you won’t tell us where you’ve been, the least you can do is buy the first round.”

Jake rolled his eyes, but his grin never faltered. “Oh, I see how it is. You think a few drinks are gonna loosen my tongue?”

Rooster smirked from across the table. “You never know. Maybe after a couple of shots, you’ll be singing like a bird.”

The whole squad chuckled at that, and even Jake had to laugh, though he wasn’t planning on revealing anything. “Fine, fine,” he said, standing up. “But don’t expect any stories. This is just because I’m a generous guy.”

Payback clapped him on the back as he headed toward the bar. “We’ll take what we can get, man. You owe us.”

Jake made his way through the crowd, ordered the drinks, and carried the tray back to the table where the squad was already lining up a game of pool. The atmosphere was lively, the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses filling the air. He handed out the drinks, then leaned against the pool table, chalking up a cue as Rooster took the first shot.

But just as Jake was about to join in, his phone started buzzing in his pocket. He glanced down at the screen, and his heart did a little flip when he saw Y/N’s name pop up, along with the FaceTime icon.

“Of course,” Phoenix muttered when she saw him glance at his phone. “Let me guess—more ‘family business’?”

Jake smirked, putting the cue down. “Yeah, something like that. I gotta take this.”

A collective groan rose from the squad. “Come on, man!” Rooster protested, lining up his next shot. “Can’t it wait?”

Jake shook his head. “Not this time, Bradshaw. You guys keep playing. I’ll be back.”

He slipped outside the bar, leaving the noise behind as he stepped into the cool evening air. The streetlights cast a soft glow on the sidewalk, and he found a quiet spot away from the crowds before answering the call. As the screen connected, the familiar sight of Y/N’s desk came into view. She was sitting there, her hair tied back in a messy bun, wearing one of Jake’s old t-shirts. But what really caught his attention was the tiny bundle wrapped against her chest—Ellie, snug in her baby wrap, sound asleep.

Jake’s heart swelled at the sight of them, and his usual cocky grin softened into something more genuine. “Hey, darlin’,” he said, his voice low. “How’re my girls doing?”

Y/N smiled, her eyes tired but full of love. “We’re good. She just went down after her evening fuss. Thought I’d call you before it gets too late.”

Jake leaned against the wall, his smile widening as he watched Ellie’s little chest rise and fall with each soft breath. “She’s getting bigger every day,” he said, his voice filled with wonder. “I swear she looks different already.”

Y/N chuckled softly. “That’s because she is. You’re missing out on all her growth spurts while you’re out there playing pool and buying your squad drinks.”

Jake winced playfully. “Busted. Yeah, they dragged me out tonight, trying to get me to spill where I’ve been. They don’t know about you or Ellie yet.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Still keeping us a secret, huh?”

“For now,” Jake said, his tone softer. “I just want to keep this between us a little longer, you know?”

She nodded, her hand gently resting on Ellie’s back. “I get it. We’re your secret weapon.”

Jake’s smile softened even more, his heart swelling with how perfect this moment felt. “Exactly. How’s Ellie been today? No more colic?”

“She’s been a little angel today,” Y/N said, glancing down at the sleeping baby. “I think the baby wrap helps. She loves being close like this.”

Jake’s gaze lingered on them, a quiet longing in his eyes. “I miss you both so much,” he murmured. “Wish I could be there.”

“We miss you too,” Y/N said, her voice filled with warmth. “But we’ll be here when you get back. And maybe next time, you can tell the squad the real reason why you’ve been missing.”

Jake chuckled softly, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, maybe. One day. But not yet. For now, I’m keeping you two all to myself.”

Y/N smiled, her eyes soft as they locked onto his through the screen. “We wouldn’t have it any other way.”

They stayed like that for a moment, just watching each other through the screen, neither wanting to hang up. Finally, Jake sighed. “Alright, darlin’. I should let you get some rest. I’ll call you again tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay,” she said, her voice soft. “We’ll be waiting. Love you, Jake.”

“Love you too,” he said, his voice warm as he ended the call. He lingered for a moment, staring at the blank screen, already missing them more than he thought possible.

With a deep breath, he tucked his phone back into his pocket and headed back inside, ready to face the squad again, but this time with a little more peace in his heart.

The moment he crossed the threshold, Rooster spotted him, leaning on his pool cue with a cocky grin. “Oh great, he’s back. And look at him—moping around like a lovesick puppy.”

Phoenix, already lining up her next shot, glanced up and smirked. “I thought you were supposed to be Hangman, not Hang-up-the-phone-and-sulk man.”

The rest of the squad laughed, and even Bob, always the quiet one, chuckled under his breath. “What was that, your mom calling to check up on you?”

Jake rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t quite muster his usual bravado. “Ha, ha. Very funny, Baby on board.”

Payback, who had been eyeing him from the bar, raised his glass in Jake’s direction. “No, seriously, man. Who’s got you all down and out? You were fine before you left to take that call, now you look like someone kicked your dog.”

Fanboy leaned back in his chair, grinning wide. “I’ll bet it’s a girl. That’s the only thing that ever makes a guy like Jake Seresin go all soft.”

Jake shot him a look, but there was no real bite to it. “You all have way too much time on your hands, you know that?”

“Come on, Hangman, spill it,” Rooster pressed, the competitive glint in his eyes still there even after the teasing. “You’re not this distracted unless it’s something big. Or someone.”

Jake shook his head, not ready to let them in on the truth. He leaned on the pool table, picking up a cue as if nothing had changed. “It’s just family stuff, like I said. Nothing you need to worry about.”

“Yeah, we’ll believe that when you stop looking like you’re about to write a country song,” Phoenix said, taking her shot and sinking a ball into the corner pocket.

The whole squad chuckled, and Jake couldn’t help but smirk at that one. “Real original, Trace.”

But despite the banter, it was clear that Jake’s head wasn’t entirely in the game. He took a lazy shot, missing a pocket he would normally nail without even thinking. Rooster raised an eyebrow at the miss, exchanging a look with Phoenix.

“Wow, you really are off your game tonight,” Rooster teased. “First you disappear for three weeks, now you can’t even make a simple shot? Whoever’s on the other end of that phone call must be something special.”

Jake leaned on the table, sighing a little as he looked at the group. “Maybe I’m just tired of carrying you guys all the time.”

“Oh, so now we’re back to old Hangman,” Payback said with a grin. “Nice to see some things don’t change.”

But even as Jake tried to join back in the banter, his heart wasn’t in it. His thoughts kept drifting back to Y/N and Ellie, to the soft rise and fall of Ellie’s chest, the way Y/N had smiled at him through the screen. It was a different kind of responsibility weighing on him now, one that made everything else seem a little less important.

Phoenix narrowed her eyes at him, clearly not buying the act. “You’re seriously going to keep us in the dark, aren’t you?”

Jake shrugged, still playing it off. “Family business, Trace. That’s all it is.”

The squad groaned in unison, but the teasing softened, and the game went on. Yet as the night wore on, Jake couldn’t quite shake that faraway look in his eyes, no matter how many jokes the others threw his way. And though they kept up the ribbing, no one pressed him for more, leaving the mystery of his absence hanging in the air, unanswered.

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged

[kxsagi]

“𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐦 𝐢𝐧 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐥 𝐬𝐨 𝐰𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐡”

a/n: for @levisgoonerr 

ALL I NEED IS ONE MORE DAY WITH HER 😫 GAWDDDD 

i actually wrote a chase atlantic inspired fic with rin and their song friends which is here if anyone wants to check it out 😗

(art credits go to immmso_ko on twitter)

suggestive content inside! 

he meets you in madrid, draped in versace and violet dusk. 

you smell like ysl and trouble, leaning against the bar like you own the city, like your daddy didn’t abandon you at fifteen and leave behind a mansion full of ghosts. the kind of girl who lights a cigarette just to watch it burn out between her fingers. 

sae knows girls like you. 

he’s spent his whole life avoiding them. 

and now he’s five minutes into knowing you and already offering you a drink. 

“you speak japanese?” you ask him, lips curled around the rim of your glass. 

he shrugs. “it was my first language.” 

you arch a brow. “and english?” 

“just enough to get what i want.” 

you laugh, and it’s a sharp thing, like broken champagne flutes. “that so?” 

you tell him you’re just visiting. something about needing a change, needing to breathe. you mention new york in the past tense, paris like it was a phase, LA like it tried to swallow you whole. you wear gucci, but talk like you clawed your way into it. 

“what about you?” you ask. “what’s a guy like you doing alone in a place like this?” 

sae doesn't answer. he never does when the truth is ugly. 

he doesn’t say he’s exhausted by fame, by expectations, by the echo of his own last name. doesn’t say he’s only ever been good at one thing and now that one thing is starting to feel like a cage. doesn’t say that love, real love, always seemed like a scam until you tilted your head and looked at him like he wasn’t some national treasure, but a person. a person with hands in his pockets and insomnia in his bloodstream. 

he just says, “i liked the view.” 

but he’s not looking at the skyline. he’s looking at you. 

so don’t be surprised when two weeks later, you’re wearing his shirt. 

balenciaga on the floor. sex on the walls. he’s brushing your hair back, and you’re telling him things no one else gets to know. 

you talk about your mother’s pills. your father’s mistress. the time you stopped eating just to feel something, anything. you talk like love is a loaded gun, and yet, there you are, pressing the barrel to his chest, waiting for him to pull the trigger. 

“i’ve never met a man who looks this good in silence,” you whisper, tracing his jaw. 

sae’s hand finds your thigh. “i’ve never met a woman who makes it worth breaking it.” 

you smirk. “so break it.” 

and so he does. 

even when you’re a hurricane in a hermès scarf. 

you pout when you don’t get your way, kiss him like you own his breath, leave lipstick on his collar and bruises on his ego. you fight, gosh, you fight. sometimes over nothing. sometimes over the way he forgets to say he misses you. sometimes over the way you disappear for hours with a louis vuitton tote and come back smelling like bergamot and danger. 

but you always come back. 

and he always lets you. 

his friends ask questions. sae doesn’t answer them either. not when they say you’re reckless. not when they say you’ll break his heart. 

he already knows. 

but when you drag him out of his head and into yours, into stolen nights and rooftop laughter and dancing barefoot to the 3 AM sound of chase atlantic pouring from the penthouse speakers, he doesn’t care. 

he’s never known peace like this kind of chaos. 

it’s all proven one morning, when you’re sprawled across his sheets, legs tangled, gucci slides on the carpet, saying, “do you think we’re bad for each other?” 

“definitely.” 

you smile. “good.” 

he brushes a knuckle over your cheek. “you want bad?” 

“no,” you say. “i want you.” 

and it’s terrifying. the way you say it like a confession. like he’s the only place you’ve ever felt safe in, even if you both know he’s anything but. 

even if there’s a photo on your phone. 

him in sweats, coffee in hand, barely awake. you in his hoodie, lips on his cheek. he doesn’t smile often, but in that one, he almost does. it’s soft. too soft for a man who’s spent his life hiding behind goals and gold medals. 

you keep the photo hidden. you only look at it when you’re drunk or lonely or both. and he never asks why, but he sees it once when your phone lights up at night. says nothing. just pulls you closer. 

but one night, you break down. mascara smeared, voice shaking, talking about how every man before him only loved the idea of you. the designer-wrapped, glass-skinned, thousand-dollar lie. 

“what if that’s all i am?” you whisper. 

sae tilts your chin up. 

“you’re a fucking disaster,” he tells you. “but you’re mine.” 

you kiss him like that’s the only truth you’ve ever wanted to hear. 

and months pass. you move in. kind of. your toothbrush ends up next to his. your coat in his closet. your perfume in his sheets. 

people still talk. 

about how you’re too much. 

about how he doesn’t do love. 

about how this won’t last. 

but when you catch his eye across a room, and he walks over without a word, cups your face like you’re something to be worshipped, you don’t care what they say. 

you never needed a fairytale. just a man who could meet you in the ruins and still choose to stay. 

and sae? 

he stays. 

© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢

[luveline]

hihihihi! 💕 if you’re willing, can you write a little something with shy!r being the one to initiate the first kiss with hotch but her glasses get in the way? tytyty! 🙏🏼

—Hotch almost dies and you can’t take it anymore. He’s not expecting a kiss. fem, 1.7k

The thing is that you don’t mean to panic. Hotch is marching out of the building with handcuffs cut open on his wrists, Emily and Morgan just in front of him, and you’d been stuck out here with JJ because they never let you do the touch and go stuff. An UnSub held a shotgun to the back of Hotch’s head and you just had to watch. 

You hold yourself in place with all your strength as they come down the path of the house to the blockade of cars and emergency vehicles. “I’m fine,” he says, before any of you can ask him. “Not a scratch on me.” 

You can see the skin of his wrists has cut from tugging, so he’s lying, but that’s not surprising. You shift with your hands clenched together. He’s closer now, you could touch him, nearly speechless as he says, “Honestly, I’m surprised it happened to me, and not Reid.” 

Everyone else laughs. 

You can’t take it. He looks at you, and you, despite the last year of pushing down feelings of nervousness and affection, of pretending you don’t notice how his fingers feel when they brush the backs of your hands or the way his suit stretches across broad shoulders, despite practice, you can’t stay still any longer. 

You weave around JJ, past Spencer, in between Rossi and Hotch himself to press yourself to his chest. You hug him tightly, worried he might disappear if you don’t hold on. Safe, your brain says, even as your hands tremble. He’s safe. 

“I’m alright,” he says quietly, clasping your back carefully. The handcuff stuck to his wrists jabs through your vest. You can feel it on the bone. 

“I–” Your eyes are still open, too shocked to let them close. 

“I’m fine.” 

You take that for a polite ‘unhand me’ and step back. His hand lingers on your shoulder as though checking you for injury, like you’re the one who just had a gun to their head. “You’re sure you're okay?” you ask. 

“I’m not hurt.” 

You look pointedly at his wrists. 

“Mm,” he says, turning on the spot. “I suppose I am. But there’s nothing to worry about.” 

You’re egregiously worried regardless. In an attempt to keep from making the situation about you, you turn away from him and take a walk, pretending you need something from the car you came in. You open the passenger door, sweeping your hands across the leather seat for your phone, but you don’t want it, so you hold it in two hands and try to calm down. You’re shaking like crazy. He must have felt it when you hugged him. 

If you thought he cared enough about his life to prioritise it you might not have panicked as hard, but an advantage to being quiet is getting the opportunity to really listen to people. You don’t talk much, but Hotch does, he’s always telling someone what to do, or reassuring them, and he’s constantly on the phone trying to coordinate. You’ve heard his voice for hours on end. So when Rossi told him through the wire that they were gonna get him out of there, you heard the fake confidence in Hotch’s voice as he said, “I know.” 

He didn’t know. He was scared, so you were terrified. 

You check the time. It’s almost two in the morning but the cars give enough light to see inside the car. You trace the stitching on the seat, your eyes sore and blurry at once. Admitting defeat, you climb into the seat and dig around for your glasses. You’d thought you might need them —if Hotch was injured you’d need to go to the hospital and your contacts are dailies, so you knew you’d have to take them out. 

You pull the sun guard down and flip the cover on the mirror to take your contacts out, dropping them in the glasses case to throw away later. Your eyes sting. You rub them hard. 

“Y/N,” a familiar voice says. 

Hotch is a blob. You slide your glasses open and up your nose, blinking as he comes back into definition. “Hotch.” They’ve cut his handcuffs off and wrapped light bandaging around his wrists. “Okay?” you ask. 

“Are you?” 

“I’m fine, sorry.” You clear your throat. “My eyes are tired, that’s all.” 

He stares at you for too long. Desperate to be out of his scrutiny, you get out of the car and shut the door. “Can we go home soon?” you ask. 

“I believe so.” 

“Oh,” you say, looking down at his hand, “good.” 

There’s another gap of silence, and then simultaneously:

“Are you–”

“Can I–”

Hotch smiles. “You first.”

“Are you sure you’re okay? That must’ve been so scary.”

Hotch gives his head a slow shake. “I’m fine. I was more scared at the time than I would’ve liked to admit to, but I’m okay now. I’ve felt worse.” 

“Really? Worse than that?” you ask, trying but failing to smile. Your wrist is too hot in your own hand. 

He seems to measure his response. “When you and JJ got stuck in the middle of New York a few months ago, when we couldn’t contact you, that was the most scared I’ve ever been on the job.” 

New York. He’d just separated from Haley, and everyone kept telling you how much chemistry he had with Kate, and you were already hopeless for him. It sucked. He almost died and you had to act like everything meant nothing to you, he was just your boss. 

But you’re friends now. Maybe you can be a little more honest. 

“I was scared too,” you say. You can’t help pouting. You must look like a petulant kid. “You wouldn’t believe it, Hotch, I watched you on the camera twenty different times. And now today, I had to see it again, I can’t keep watching this stuff happen to you.” 

“That’s the job.” 

“But why does it have to be you?” you ask.  

His eyes track over your entire face, his brow ever so slightly furrowed. “Because it does, and it always will,” he says, eyes softening, voice like silk. He’s talking to you like you’ve hung the moon even as he lays down an unfortunate truth. “You shouldn’t worry about me. I know exactly what it is that I’m doing. I don’t want you to worry about me.” 

“I can’t help it.” 

He smiles just a touch. “I know. I can’t help it either.” 

You look at him and you know he’s not gonna kiss you. He might want to —it’s insanity, it doesn’t feel real, he almost died tonight and you never would’ve known how this feels. 

You step into his chest. You’re frowning at him, the edge of tears without any of the heat. “I don’t know what I’d do if something really happened to you,” you confess. 

The scratch in your voice perturbs him. Careful, his hand comes to rest against the small of your back, drawing you in. 

“I’m sorry,” you say. 

“Don’t be. Please. God knows I’d lose my mind if it had been you in there tonight.” 

He doesn’t move as you touch his cheek. Doesn’t step away as you steel your nerves. He must know what you’re about to do, but he doesn’t stop you. For a moment you can’t let yourself have it. But then he lets out a breath, and closes his eyes, and he angles his head down to meet you. You tip your head to the side and lean in. 

For a few seconds, your chest is uncomfortably hot, and you’re so scared he’s not gonna kiss you back and that you’re ruining everything you can’t think right. And Hotch —Hotch must know exactly how he likes to be kissed, and you’re probably not doing it right. But you’ve wanted it for long enough to try twice. You kiss him with lips parting, your hand unsteady on his cheek. 

He makes a sound at the back of his throat and curls you in. 

You’re hungry for it, there’s no other word —the second he responds you bear up. You kiss him hard enough to make your lips sting.

“Ah,” he says with a laugh, tilting his head to the side. “I think you blinded me.” 

“What?” 

“Your glasses, sweetheart. They’re at risk of giving me a concussion.” 

Sweetheart. You touch your glasses, remember the problem and touch his face, just under his eye. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

He pushes them up against your forehead. “Okay?”

“I can’t see you.” 

“Well, I don’t think that’s a necessity unless you do,” he says. 

You’re not sure what he means until he’s brought his hands to your neck, holding you by either side. 

“It’s been a long time since someone surprised me,” he says softly. Before you can make sense of it, he’s leaning down to kiss you chastely. He’s much sweeter about it than you’d been and what an embarrassment that is, you’d thrown yourself at him and he’s kissing you like a prince. 

He kisses you. His thumb runs along your cheek. When he pulls away he smiles, settling your glasses tenderly back on the bridge of your nose. 

“I’m really alright,” he says. He’ll be lucky if you ever speak again. Knowing, he cups your face with his thumbs, his fingers slipped behind your neck. 

You duck your head. He takes it as a sign to hug you, ushering your face into his neck, your glasses smushed to your eyes. If he can feel the heat coming off of you, he’s kind enough not to mention it. 

“Don’t go shy on me now,” he murmurs. 

“Do you think I can give you back?” you ask. 

You’re glad when he laughs, a surprised chuckle that vibrates from his chest to yours. “That’s harsh, agent.” 

You were obviously kidding, but the teasing has to stop. You won’t survive it. 

“Will you kiss me again?” you ask under your breath. 

He’s too busy doing as you’ve asked to tease you. You’re too busy being kissed to remember you were scared.

[oneforthemunny]

made with love, my valentine |janitor!eddie munson x teacher!reader|

prompt: you recruit eddie's help to make valentines for your class.

contains: fluff. just lovey dovey, lovesick fluff. early in their relationship, but super sweet <3

“There?” 

Eddie grunted as lightly as he could, one hand holding the bouts of frilly, lace paper hearts, the other balancing the loaded staple gun that he should definitely not be holding so carelessly on a ladder. 

“Yes, that looks perfect.” You gave a quick nod from below, holding his ladder steady. 

Eddie caught a glimpse of the tiny smile you gave when your eyes met, beaming from the inside out the way you always did. His knees felt weak, heart skipping with an adrenaline rush of adoration and heat that poured out of his chest, crept all the way up to his cheeks. He hoped you couldn’t see, that his hair hid his blushing grin. 

“Perfect.” You grinned, stepping back when Eddie stepped down, work boots wedged into the old, creaky ladder. “That looks amazing. So much better than I could’ve done.”  

“I don’t think that’s true,” Eddie shook his head, looking around the fully decorated classroom. You’d gone all out. You always did, trying to make the holidays the very best for your kids. Decorating to the nines, even with the little supplies and budget you had. You were crafty, that was for sure, a talent that always left Eddie in complete and utter awe. 

“You did a helluva job without me. This place looks sick.” Eddie’s finger jammed against a paper heart that was dangling from the ceiling. 

“Sick is good right? Sick in a good way?” You giggled, light and airy. Eddie knew his heart was stopping. 

“Yeah, o-oh yeah, sorry, no, I didn’t- I didn’t mean it like sick, bad. No, sick-sick means good. Sick in a good way, like a cool way, ya know? Or that’s what I meant. When I use it, it means good and cool, n-not ew sick as in ill-” Eddie’s cheeks flamed, stammering around fumbled words. The last thing he wanted was to insult you, he would never.

“I’m joking with you, Ed.” You grinned, bumping your hip playfully against his. “I’m glad you like it. It took me hours.” 

“Right, yeah,” Eddie swallowed the lump in his throat. “Hours?” 

“Yeah, I mean, I had some of it from the years before, but most of the glue started coming undone, or they got all crinkled, so I had to start over.” You shook your head lightly. “My hands are completely torn apart. I have so many paper cuts.” You giggled, holding up your hands for Eddie to see. He had to fight the urge to hold them, intertwine your fingers in his like you had the weekend before. 

“Looks pretty gnarly, sweetheart.” Eddie sucked in a breath, pointer finger tracing over the cut on your knuckle, leaving you shuddering. “Should’ve asked me to help. Could’ve at least brought you some gloves to wear.” 

“It was fine. I did it during my planning period mostly.” Not a total lie. You had done most of it on your planning, and the other at home, until nearly two in the morning, when you were slumped over piles of shredded construction paper and glue sticks. 

“But, if you’re offering,” The sing-song in your voice had Eddie’s heart lurching with hope, trying to still himself, remain cool at your soft smile. “I do need to finish up making Valentine’s for the class.” 

You paused, giving him a tiny grin, lip tucked between your teeth. “And by finish, I mean I haven’t actually started.” Your lashes batted at him so sweetly, like you needed to sway him. Like he was on the fence of saying no, rejecting spending time with you? As if.   

“Yeah, yeah, of course.” Eddie tried to play it cool, shoving his hands in his utility pants pockets. “Whatever you need me for. I’ve finished for the night, so y’know… ‘M all yours.” 

“Well,” You hummed, neck craning to look at the clock. “If you’re done, I thought maybe we could go back to my place?” Eddie was sure he was going to pass out, head reeling at your words. 

“I just think that would be a little more comfy just to not… be here, ya know? I can order us a pizza and we can knock these out.” You paused for a moment, really scanning Eddie’s features. “Maybe you could stay the night if you want? If it gets too late.” 

“Yes,” Eddie blurted before his mind could rationalize him stopping, eyes wide and words dripping with eagerness. “I mean, yeah, that would be… great.”  

“Great,” You repeated, your own heart thumping with excitement that spilled all the way to your face, lips curling in a wide grin. “I just, um, let me grab a few things, and- You remember where it is, right?” 

How could he forget? Eddie had been beyond nervous, palms too sweaty every time he came to pick you up. The handful of dates you’d been on were slowly becoming more and more frequent. 

“Yeah, I do.” Eddie’s lips twitched, swallowing down his excitement, maybe his nerves. “I just gotta put this up and lock up, and I’ll meet you there?” 

“See you in a few.” The words squeezed out of your chest, clutching your planner close to your body, slinging your purse over your shoulder. 

“Oh, is pepperoni okay with you?” You stopped, turning the lock to your classroom, your voice echoing down the dim lit hallway towards Eddie. Damn, he had moved fast with that ladder, practically sprinted down the hall. 

“Perfect for me.” Eddie called back, curls bobbing when he nodded. He’d nearly flung the ladder into the small hole of a janitor’s closet, snatching his lunch pail and keys before sprinting to the front, locking up and sailing down the cement stairs at the front of the school. 

Every second that went by was a second too long, tires flying over the snow dusted roads that led to your small home. The porch light was on when he arrived, bright and warm and welcoming. 

Eddie hesitated for a moment, whether he should ring the bell or just walk in. You knew he was coming, what would be the harm in going in? Still, it felt rude just to barge right in. Just to walk in felt arrogant, and what if you were naked? What if you were naked? Eddie’s cheeks began to heat, squirming at the thought. 

“Hey,” The door opened before Eddie could decide, leaving him standing there, wide eyed and blinking in your presence. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” You giggled, leaning against the doorframe lightly. 

“I couldn’t remember if I left it unlocked or not, and then I saw you standing here, so…” You trailed off, a little unsure of what to say, what not to say. It was all still so new. 

“Yeah, s-sorry, I, uh, I was just trying to see if I-I left my wallet in the van.” Eddie stuttered out a lie, patting his pocket for emphasis, heart slightly dropping when he didn’t feel it there. Shit, did he leave it in the van? 

“No worries, um, come on in.” You stepped back, opening the door for him. 

Eddie immediately was wrapped in a warmth, a soft, sweet aroma that smelt entirely yours. He loved it, the few times he’d come over, every time it left him just as light and airy. 

“Thanks so much for coming to help me.” You hummed, watching Eddie carefully from your place in the door frame as he shed his winter jacket, hanging it on the hook. “I thought I was going to be up all night again trying to make these.” 

“Again?” Eddie lifted a brow, his tone teasing. “Sweetheart, you just call me whenever, alright? I’ll come over any time and help you out. Even if it’s the middle of the night.” 

Your giggle was music to his ears, heart bursting at your smile. “That’s sweet, thank you.” Your smile warmed over him, left him spinning with desire. “I just need to finish these. I have six done, I think?” 

Eddie followed you into your kitchen, stacks of construction paper laid out with scissors and hot glue guns, a list of names propped on the middle. “It was easier last year. I only had twenty-two kids, but with the zoning and all these new kids coming in…” You shook your head lightly, thirty-three kids listed on the attendance sheet. Eddie remembered Steve bitching about it at the beginning of the school year. He still wasn’t sure how either one of you handled it, but you both made it work, despite the district uncaring. 

“Yeah, I bet it’s… rough.” Eddie nodded, pulling out a seat. “You just tell me what to do, and I’ll do it. I’m yours for the night.” 

Your smile spread, sitting next to Eddie. You showed him how to cut the hearts out, hot glue the paper lace on the edges, then press the other heart on the back to hide it. Eddie made them, setting them to the side so you could address them. 

The better part of two hours was spent in your kitchen, giggling and chatting over pizza and beer, wiping your greasy fingers off on napkins so it didn’t stain the cards. You both wanted them to be pristine, perfect. 

“So, uh, what-” Eddie cleared his throat gently, trying to shake the rattle in his voice from his nerves. “What are you doin’ on Valentine’s Day?” 

He felt your eyes on him, but he couldn’t bring himself to meet your gaze. “A-Any big plans?” Eddie cringed at the tweaking crack in his voice. He felt like he was in junior high again, asking Lisa Caltrelli out to the Sweethearts Dance. He hoped you wouldn’t reject him like she did. 

“No,” Your voice squeaked in response, creasing the paper between your fingers from your tight grip. You don’t know why you were so nervous, I mean, Eddie and you had been out before. It shouldn’t have shocked you so much when he asked you, but still, you were filled with an excited thrill. 

“No, I-I didn’t really plan to do anything. I mean, I would like to, but I just… I haven’t made plans.” You winced at your babbled answer, anything but cool. 

There was a pause, one that left your heart dropping with fear, your hands shook when you cut out the heart on red construction paper. “Um, well, I-I was just wondering if, if you’re not busy- shit, well, I know you just said you’re not busy. I just- I was wondering if you’d want to maybe go and get dinner?” Eddie’s wide eyes met yours, rounded with complete and utter fear and hope, like a deer in headlights. 

“With me?” His mouth was dry, heart beating so fast he could feel it in his eyeballs, sweat starting to bead at his hairline.

You tried to swallow down your own excitement, heart soaring with adrenaline, biting back a wide grin and a squeal. “Yeah,” You nodded, lips curling and eyes shining. “Yeah, I would. I would love to go out with you again.” 

“Really?” Eddie blinked, the words falling from his mouth before he could stop them. “I mean, really? Uh, great, that sounds… great.” Eddie ducked his own head down, gluing the paper lace to the heart, hoping his curls hid his pink cheeks and dimpled grin. 

“I was thinking we could go to Dino’s- Do you like Italian food?” 

“Yeah, I do. Love Dino’s.” You nodded. 

“Great. Um, my buddy, Jeff is the manager there now, and they do this Valentine’s Day special. It’s- It’s not anything crazy, they just put like candles and rose petals and shit on the tables, but he said he could get us in.” Eddie’s knee bounced, buzzing with excitement. 

“That sounds amazing,” You tapped the pen against the table, lips twitching with a smile you tried to hide. “It’s a date.” 

Eddie laughed, grinning so wide you thought your heart might burst. “I’ll pick you up at seven? Is that enough time?” 

“That’s perfect. I’ll have to clean up after the Valentine’s Day party, but-” 

“-I’ll help you.” Eddie nodded eagerly. “I’ll swing by after I get done in the cafeteria. I’ll help you clean up.” 

“Thank you.” You smiled sheepishly, ducking back to your craft. 

Eddie’s hands were clammy when he leaned in to kiss you later that night, at your doorway, under the glow of the street lamp outside. He was even more surprised when you wrapped your arms around him, pulled him closer and deeper into the kiss, one that left you both swooning and heads swirling with adoration. 

The next morning, Eddie was beyond pumped, eager for the day, knowing he had a date tonight. He nearly missed the small red heart that was waiting on his desk- a Valentine, from you. 

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Eddie. I can’t wait to see you tonight.” 

[bothoutsiders]

Lately, Tim had been thinking about relationships in particular. He didn’t feel any loneliness or a need for somebody else. He didn’t seem very into kissing, having a special someone or doing something intimate with them. His mind never went there, and because of that, he believed relationships were not his thing. 

He was, definitely, not interested in any of that.

“You have to cover this area so you don’t leave any trace.” Jason said in a deep, warm voice, and with both hands completely open, covered the area with a black plastic bag. His hands were big, and moved in a confident way, as if he had been doing this all his life.

And for some strange reason, Tim felt something funny in his stomach.

When Jason walked away, a smell of gun powder, leather and something else, something delicious, almost drowned him. It was so good, that he almost followed the other man, only to keep breathing him.

Jason came back, and Tim glanced at his body. It was easy to notice how strong, tall, manly, and good he looked. Just to imagine Jason’s body hovering over him, his strong arms wrapped around his body, and his voice purring his name…

Tim looked away, something warm and needy woke up inside him. Something that he didn’t know it existed and spread through his body with ease.

“Hey, are you okay?” Jason’s voice made him look up and, oh. Was Jason’s face this handsome before? “Your face is red. Do you have a fever? Maybe it’s time to call it a night.” And Jason’s strong, warm, big hand is on his cheek, cupping his face– and alright. Alright. Maybe Tim is interested in relationships. 

Maybe he is interested in Jason.

--

i'm drunk, i'm not sure what was the point of this. maybe some yearning, maybe some horniness, maybe tim teenage horniness just stared, maybe he's in heat, idk. you make the rules, my friend.

[brunchable]

To the Windowww, To the Wall | Bucky Barnes x f!reader.

Pairings: Stay-at-home Bucky Barnes x f!Reader. Themes: funny? Bucky being a sad puppy that you had to leave him. Summary: You had to leave for a few days, leaving Bucky alone by himself. See, Bucky doesn't know what to do without you around and he finds a way to keep himself entertained. A/N: Totally not inspired by Sebastian's singing clips.

Bucky leaned against the doorframe, blue eyes tracing the car that slowly backed out of the driveway. He tried to keep his expression neutral—really, he did—but the moment you waved at him through the window with a sheepish smile, his mouth curved down into the most pitiful pout.

“Call me as soon as you get there,” he called out, voice loud enough to carry over the crunch of gravel. “And text me when you’re at the hotel, okay? I wanna know you’re safe.”

“I will, I will,” you promised, shaking your head at his intensity. “It’s only two days, Bucky. I’ll be back before you know it.”

He gave you a half-hearted wave as the car pulled away, standing there long after the taillights disappeared down the street. With a defeated sigh, Bucky trudged back into the house, the place already feeling too empty without you. He stared at the closed door, then sighed dramatically.

“Hey, Google,” he called, slumping onto the couch, staring at the ceiling with a forlorn expression. “Play something… uplifting.”

The house assistant processed the request before responding cheerfully, “Sure. Playing ‘Take On Me’ by a-ha.” The iconic 80s tune burst through the speakers, and Bucky groaned, already reaching for the bottle of red wine you’d left on the counter.

“Take on me, huh?” he muttered to himself, rolling his eyes as he unscrewed the cap. He poured a dangerously generous glass, filled it nearly to the rim, and took a long gulp. “Whatever, let’s do this.”

The song picked up tempo, and before Bucky knew it, his foot was tapping against the hardwood floor. He took another sip—more like a gulp—and suddenly, it wasn’t so bad. He could be alone for two days. He was fine. Totally fine.

“Take on meeeee!” he belted, raising his glass in salute to the empty room, swaying with the music. He spun on his heel, shuffling over to the kitchen, letting his voice warble with mock sincerity, “Take me onnnnn!”

Feeling the buzz of wine, the song swapped to “Hungry Eyes” next, holding his glass like a delicate flower. He glanced at his reflection in the kitchen window, grinning at how absolutely ridiculous he looked.

“Hungry eyes…” He set the glass on the coffee table, swaying his hips with exaggerated movements that definitely didn’t match the beat. 

“One look at you and I can’t disguise…” His voice faltered as he noticed just how lonely the living room seemed without you. He grabbed the bottle again and poured himself another glass. 

Screw it, he thought. If he couldn’t be with you, he could at least dance away the emptiness.

He threw himself onto the couch, raising his glass high above his head as the final chords faded. 

“Google,” he shouted, half-expecting the AI to be annoyed by his demands, “play ‘Get Low’ by Lil Jon & The East Side Boyz.’”

The house assistant complied, and the second the familiar booming beat and crunk vocals hit, Bucky perked up, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“To the windowwww to the wall!” he sang, throwing his hands up and letting his hips sway. The buzz of the wine, coupled with the absurdity of dancing alone in their living room, made him throw caution—and dignity—to the wind.

He got up, spinning in place like he was at a crowded club instead of a silent, empty house. Bucky shimmied to the center of the living room, red wine sloshing dangerously close to the rim as he started to get into the groove.

“Til the sweat drop down my balls! Til all you bitches crawl!” he bellowed, bounced to the beat. Pretending to taunt an invisible person with gun fingers.

He leaned forward, a playful grin stretching across his face as he started lowering himself closer to the ground, hips rolling in tight circles. “Ahh skeet skeet motherfuckuhhh” he growled, then laughed at how ridiculous he sounded.

He jumped back up, still swaying his hips in rhythm to the chorus, then decided—because why the hell not?—to try his best attempt at Lil Jon’s vocal growl. “Ahh skeet skeet goddamn!”

Feeling a surge of confidence, Bucky planted his feet, rolling his shoulders back. “Get low, get low, get low, get low!” he sang, then reached out to slap the air like he was hitting someone’s backside.

He burst out laughing at his own antics but kept moving, thrusting his hips forward and back with exaggerated flair. 

“To the windowww, to the wall!” he shouted, holding the final word until his voice cracked.

Glancing over his shoulder, his hips swinging from side to side. He brought his hands to his hips, then began moving in small, tight circles, thrusting forward with more energy than was probably necessary. He was completely lost in the rhythm, the absurdity of it all driving away the loneliness—at least temporarily.

“Drop that ass, aye, shake it fast, aye,

pop that ass to the left and the right, aye!” 

“Now back, back, back it up!” he sang, doing a quick little shuffle steps backward, “Now, stop! Then wiggle with it.” He reached out with one hand, smacking the air as if it were someone’s backside again, then immediately snapped his hips forward with a grin.

He didn’t even notice when the front door creaked open.

“What the hell… are you doing?” Your voice cut through the blaring music, startling Bucky so badly that he nearly dropped the glass. He whipped around, his face flushing a deep shade of crimson.

You stood at the doorway, arms crossed, eyebrows raised in a look of pure amusement. He blinked once, then twice, his stance frozen in mid-thrust as if he’d been caught in the middle of a crime.

“I… I thought you left,” he stammered, wide eyes darting to the door and back to you. He stared at you for a second longer, then glanced down at himself—knees bent, hands hovering in the air like he was about to grab something. “This… this isn’t what it looks like.”

You blinked, glancing from his face to his ridiculous dance stance and then back up. “It looks like you’re dancing to ‘Get Low’ and smacking an invisible ass.”

Bucky opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. Instead, he straightened up with as much dignity as he could muster and cleared his throat, smoothing his shirt like it would somehow erase the last few minutes of embarrassing dancing.

“Um…” He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. “Yeah, I… missed you.”

“I was gone for ten minutes,” you pointed out, stifling a laugh as you stepped closer.

Bucky shrugged, eyes darting around the room like he could somehow come up with a reasonable excuse for what you just walked in on. 

“Yeah, but… it felt longer.”

You shook your head, a fond smile tugging at your lips as you reached up to cup his cheek. 

“Well, I’m here for a little while longer… I guess we can share a drink.” Your grin widened as you glanced around the mess of the living room. “And maybe, if you’re nice enough, I’ll join you for one last dance before I go.”

His face lit up immediately, his grin matching yours. “You don’t have to ask me twice.”

He pulled you into his arms, the ridiculous music still blaring as he spun you around the room, your laughter blending perfectly with the beat.

When the song changed to a new beat, you pulled away, raising a brow as you glanced at him. “How about I show you some real moves?”

Bucky’s grin widened as he stepped back, giving you space. “Prove it.”

With that, you took a deep breath and started moving, your body flowing smoothly with the rhythm. You rolled your hips, your arms swaying in sync, and when the beat dropped, you dipped low, popping back up in a fluid wave that left Bucky staring, mouth slightly agape.

“Damn,” he muttered, shaking his head with a disbelieving laugh. “I had no idea.”

You laughed softly, giving him a playful shrug. “I’ve got some tricks up my sleeve.”

Bucky’s gaze softened as he took a step forward, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” you replied, stepping back before he could pull you close again. “But, I really do need to go.”

His face fell slightly, but he nodded, understanding. “Alright.”

“Don’t worry,” you said, giving him a warm smile. “I’ll be back.”

Before he could respond, you backed up a few steps and—making sure his eyes were still glued to you—you dropped low again, this time adding a playful shake as you swayed back up, your movements teasing.

Bucky choked on a laugh, his hand flying to his mouth as he watched you with an almost comically wide-eyed stare. “That’s just unfair.”

You blew him a kiss. “See you later, Bucky.”

And with a quick, last little shimmy, you were out the door, leaving him standing there, a goofy grin plastered on his face as he shook his head, wondering how the hell he got so lucky.

[crowdedimagines]

Tailspin - Part II (Bradley Bradshaw)

PART ONE MASTERLIST

summary: Bradley Bradshaw was happy to retire to the small town of Southport with his two children after their mother had passed. He traded in training pilots at Top Gun in San Diego to being a fire chief for a small town of 3,000.  What he doesn't expect in his small town is a new neighbor who captures his attention. She's making the cross country move from New York promising never to fall for a man quickly ever again and then she meets the hot single dad next door. Yeah right. Between the two of them and everything they have going on in their lives on they going to fall out in a Tailspin? warnings: blood, stalking, death, domestic violence 4.8K ☀️

“Will you be my girlfriend?”

She leans back, still sitting in his lap but putting her weight on her ass instead of her knees straddling him. Bradley can’t quite get a read on her and what she’s thinking. 

“After a story like that you want to be my boyfriend?” 

His response is slow and calculated. Bradley’s eyes never leave hers, she’s certain. His hands keep her dress bunched up, but his thumb traces the tops of her thighs back and forth. 

“Of course I do.” Bradley sighs, “If you’re ready. You are the first person I’ve wanted to know since Anna passed. The connection we have is undeniable, and I have no doubt that we’re headed in the right direction. Why wait? Plus I think Sadie would never forgive me if I blew this” 

She finally cracks a smile at the mention of Sadie. 

“You’re crazy.” She admits with a laugh, “You don’t think we’re rushing?” 

“I don’t, but I’ll also be okay if you want to slow down. I know that it’s only been a couple weeks, but I never even thought I could feel like this again. You’ve brightened up my whole life.” 

She can’t help herself but lean in and press her lips to his again at that. How could she not kiss him after saying that?

“Yes.” She mumbles, lips still pressed against his, but she knows he heard when his lips shift into a grin. He pulls his head back, his eyes wild. He definitely heard her. 

“Seriously?” 

“Only because I would hate to disappoint Sadie.” She teases. 

“Oh really?” He rolls his eyes, but his smile hasn’t dimmed for a second. 

“Okay, you’re alright too.” 

✿

It took some serious self control to walk the short distance back to her own house, but she managed after several more kisses. She never imagined she would find someone she could trust again, let alone so rapidly after moving here. Southport has only been her home for a month, but she’s known the Bradshaws nearly every second since. He makes her feel safe. She didn’t know if it was the small town that brought her comfort, but the more time she spends with him she knows he’s the real reason.

Bradley has to work a couple of long days which gives Y/n the time to finish some of the small projects. Bradley even loans her some of his more serious tools. She got an educated lesson in all of them before he was willing to leave them to her digression.

She ends up watching the kids for an hour for him when one of his shifts goes long covering for someone else. Y/n was nervous to have Nick under her supervision, but he was surprisingly tame. She can’t tell if he’s warming to her, or if he's just exhausted from being annoyed by everyone. They simply made dinner together with all of them, but she caught him smiling to himself a few times. She gave them each a job and Bradley was able to come home to his house to a warm meal and all of his favorite people under one roof. What did they do before she came into their lives?

Bradley gets his sitter Hannah to wrangle the kids for a night when he finally gets done early so he can have redemption for the time he had to bring the kids with him. He knows that she still loved that date, but he knows that they really do need time just the two of them. 

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing with that?” Y/n asks, together they stand in her dated bathroom. She watches while he takes a wrench to the showerhead. They’ve already managed to tear down the old tile off the walls. 

“I was a naval aviator, I’ve flown multimillion dollar jets. I can handle your plumbing from the 60s.” He lets out a huff while pulling hard to loosen the old pipes. He gives it a few hard pulls before a loud shriek of metal gives, leaving water spraying in every direction without the sealed pipe in place. 

“Bradley!” She yells, water spraying out in every direction. 

“Didn’t you turn the water off?” He calls back, taking the brunt of the water while trying to seal it off again and stop the downpour. 

“No, you didn’t say anything about that!” 

“I thought it was a given!” 

He can’t help but laugh and Y/n joins in after a second. She races out of the room to turn off the water, seeing as whatever Bradley did to the pipes can’t be undone as easily. By the time she makes her way back to the bathroom the water has stopped spraying and Bradley is totally drenched. 

“I’m so sorry.” She can’t help but giggle, she’s definitely wet too, but he looks like he walked through a car wash. 

“What was that again about handling my 60s plumbing?” She teases. Bradley looks up from wiping the water from his face to cut her a look. 

“Am I at least pulling off the drenched hero look?” He asks, pulling at the bottom of his tee shirt to wipe his face off with it. In the process, revealing his golden tan and the stack of abs while he’s at it. 

“Do that again and I’ll start drooling.” She admits, his cheeks dust pink and he throws his head back in a laugh. He’ll happily be ogled by her any day of the week. 

A drop of water falls from her hair down her neck before disappearing into her chest, Bradley watching it with trained eyes. 

“I can grab us some towels.” Her voice quiet. The atmosphere in the bathroom has changed and it’s a lot more intense than giggling over home renovations. 

“Why bother?” He asks, reaching a hand out to cup her cheek. His thumb brushes away a droplet that had been resting on her cheekbone. 

She pulls him in closer by the neckline of his wet tee shirt and connects their lips. She’s just as wet as he was now that she’s pressing herself against him. It doesn’t take long for the kiss to turn urgent and breathless. 

Soaked to the bone, he wraps an arm around the back of her waist holding her there. He lifts her slightly while walking her back into the counter. One of the only things left in the room that they hadn’t demolished. They stumble a bit on the wet floor but their chemistry keeps them in sync. 

Now that she’s sitting, she wraps her legs around him, her turn to hold him hostage although she’s sure he has no complaints. He doesn’t have any complaints when she reaches to pull his wet tee off while she’s at it. It peels off like a second skin and she drops it to the ground barely breaking their kiss. 

“Sounds like we’re taking a little break from the reno.” Bradley teases, she makes her way down his neck leaving a trail of kisses.

“We are absolutely taking a break.” She continues her assault on his chest now and he pulls up on her chin to reconnect their lips. The sound of water dripping is replaced with soft moans and gasps from both parties while they explore each other's bodies. 

“Do we wanna take this somewhere that isn’t soaking wet?” 

“Good luck with that.” She grins mischievously. 

“Yeah, I’ve gotta get you to a bedroom.” He chuckles, picking her up right from the counter. She tightens her grip with her legs around his bare torso. 

“Are you sure you don’t wanna finish the bathroom?” She cards her fingers through his hair while he carries her towards her bedroom. 

“Nope. The shower can wait. You and I can’t.” 

✿

They barely made it to her bed, the pillows launched all over the room with the blankets as well. Her hair is still wet, but Bradley’s has dried with the most volume she’s ever seen. Probably due to her hands filtering through it on end. It’s still early afternoon so the room is bright with light from the windows, her bed facing the ocean.

“One of my old Navy buddies is coming to town tomorrow. She’s Nick’s godmother so she’s gonna take the kids out for the day.” She’s leaning against his chest while he lays on his back. His hand absentmindedly tracing along her bare back while they talk. 

“What are you gonna do with yourself? A whole day off with no kids?” 

“I’m looking at it.” He looks down at her and she rolls her eyes before looking up at him. 

“You’re slowing me down.” She teases, “I’m never gonna finish the house at this rate.” 

“I thought you liked it slow.” He flips them over so her back is pressed against the mattress, again, and leans his weight down against her. His knee resting between her legs.

“I do. Trust me.” She laughs, patting his chest, “At this rate I’m going to be working on this place for a whole year. The goal is to finish by the end of the summer, remember.” 

He presses kisses all over her face while she talks, causing her to laugh and interrupt herself. She can tell he’s listening, but the focus is not on the reno and her timeline for it. 

“Bradley.” She laughs, shoving him off so she can sit up. 

“You know, as far as home renovations go, that one was my favorite.” He tucks his arms behind his head leaning back into her bed. It smells like her and he’s the comfiest he’s ever been. She might have to drag him out of it. 

“Not bad for our first plumbing disaster.” She teases. 

“Disaster?” His brows raise.

“Get your mind out of the gutter, I was talking about actual plumbing.” She reminds and simply shakes her head. 

“Yeah whatever, coming from Miss “Good luck with that”, uh huh.” He teases right back. Okay, fair point. He pulls her right back against his chest again, his arms wrapped around her holding her there. She traces along his chest again without thought. 

“You okay? Not too much too fast?” He asks, waiting for any reaction from her. He knows that they jumped the gun a little, but it felt so right. He knows there’s no set rules of what order you have to do things in, but everything they’ve done has felt right. He’s waited years for someone like this and he didn’t think it was possible. He’s also aware of the fact that she isn’t coming from the same place he is. He likes their pace, but could do slower if she wanted it.

“No, I’m good. More than that actually.” She looks up into his eyes so he would know she means it, “I’m just surprised. I didn’t think I would find something so good so quickly.” 

“Yeah?”

“No, I didn’t think when I moved here I would end up in bed with my neighbor boyfriend.” She laughs.

“I really like hearing that.” He grins. 

“Neighbor boyfriend?” 

“Just boyfriend.” He corrects, “Neighbor boyfriend makes it sound like you have a dozen.” 

“Maybe I do.” She pokes his side.

“You say the sweetest things, babe.” He squeezes her tighter. “But seriously this feels good. Being here with you. You’re the best to be around. Even when I’m soaked and bruised.” 

“Bruised?” 

“You climbed me like a tree earlier, there’s gotta be bruises.” His laugh booms, “Scratches too.” 

“Okay, I’m putting you back to work.” She gets up, slowly slipping out of his grasp. 

“You’re right, we have other rooms to defile.” 

✿

They manage to get it together enough to finish the tear down of that bathroom. Even with the water turned off. Bradley tells Y/n more about Natasha aka Phoenix who is the friend who will be arriving. She’s one of his closest friends from the Navy and the Godmother to Nick. Bradley has the whole day off and already promised to take Y/n to Hanks to pick up the new tile and work on that today while Nat gets time with the kids. 

Bradley has to leave once they’ve finished the tile to pick up Sadie from dance and be home in time for Nick. He invited Y/n over for breakfast the next day with Nat right when she arrives so they can meet before she steals the kids for the day. 

“Good morning!” Y/n voice calls as she lets herself in the front door. 

“Y/n!” Sadie calls back from the kitchen running to greet her with a big hug. Y/n scoops her up onto her hip and continues walking to the kitchen. She follows her nose, the smell of bacon in the air. 

“Hey, Nick.” She greets as she walks past the counter he’s sitting at. 

“Hey.” He mumbles back. He doesn’t look like he wants to set the house on fire because she’s there, so she’ll take it. Progress?

“Hi, you.” She turns to Bradley who is standing in front of the stove cooking. He turns to look at his girl only to find both his girls together. That is a sight he’s dreamed of.  

“Hey. How’s it going?” 

“You’re cooking.” She skips past his question, instead she’s trying not to drool at the sight of him in a “kiss the cook” apron in front of his kids. 

“Don’t sound so shocked.” 

“It’s just… bold of you to trust yourself with open flames after the plumbing fiasco.” She reminds, he can see the knowing smirk she’s trying to hide over his shoulder. 

“Fiasco, huh?” 

“Something like that.” 

There are kids in the room. There are kids in the room. She continues to tell herself that over and over. 

“Company will be here any minute, I gotta have food ready for when she gets here. She left Coronado about an hour ago, so it could be any time now.” 

Y/n nods to Bradley and turns her attention to the other side of the kitchen where Nick is still glued to a stool, Sadie still on her hip.

“So Nick, when are we going fishing?” Y/n turns her attention to the younger man of the pair. She knows Bradley told him she used to go with her dad, but she’ll try anything to get him to warm up. Things have been getting better, but she wants to keep things headed in the right direction. In all honesty, it would just be nice to fish again. She hasn’t done it since she was a kid, probably younger than Nick and it feels nostalgic. 

“I don’t know.” He shrugs, his eyes darting between hers and Bradley in the background.

“Well-“ 

A sharp knock at the front door interrupts her before she can finish her sentence. 

“Saved by the bell.” 

“Auntie Nat!” Sadie cheers, excited for her arrival. Y/n puts her down on the ground again so she can take off for the front door. Nick gets off his stool and makes his way to the front door. 

“That’ll be her.” Bradley throws a kitchen towel over his shoulder and makes his way over to press a kiss to Y/n’s lips. 

“Thank you.” He mutters, pressing another kiss to her lips, she raises her brows in confusion.

“Fishing?” He reminds, clarifying what he was thankful for. 

She simply shakes her head, to her there’s no need for a thank you. Instead it's her turn to press a kiss to his lips before pulling him towards his front door. 

Nat is giving big hugs to both kids when they make their way into view. 

“Well aren’t we looking all domestic.” Nat grins. 

“Phoenix.” Bradley rolls his eyes, nonetheless takes a few steps forward to give her a hug, “Don’t scare her off in the first thirty seconds.”

“Rooster, you’re wearing an apron.” She continues and now it’s Y/n’s turn to laugh. 

Bradley’s cheeks turn redder than she’s ever seen at this. It takes Y/n a half second to remember his call sign and then actually process what was said. 

“Nat, this is my girlfriend Y/n.” Bradley introduces. 

“You’ve even put a title on it?” She says with faux shock. “All it’s been the past few weeks “Nat, she’s hilarious,” “Nat, she makes fun of my playlist but still kisses me,” “Nat, she lives right next door.”

“Wow, I am loving this intel.” Y/n laughs proudly. 

“Oh I am a wealth of knowledge on this man.” Nat slaps a hand on his shoulder. 

“You two are gonna be dangerous together.” Bradley comments. 

“That’s the hope.” Nat agrees. A timer beeps from the kitchen causing them to break up the conversation. Y/n and the kids go to the kitchen to investigate what was done. 

“You’re in deep my friend.” Phoenix pats a hand to his back while they both watch her and the kids make their way back to the kitchen. They can both hear Sadie tell Y/n quite loudly about how she likes blueberries in her pancakes, which all three seem to agree on. Y/n tells her she can see what she can do about it.

“I know.” He nods, looking fondly towards the kitchen but still glued to his spot next to the door. 

“I like her, you did good.” 

“I know.” 

They manage to finish everything up and get the table set up with all of the food that was prepared. Phoenix fills them in on her most recent mission and everything new down in San Diego. Her and her girlfriend are packing up their longtime apartment as they close on a house.

“So, how long have you guys been officially dating?” Phoenix asks, taking a bite of strawberry off her fork after asking. 

The two of them look at each other without an answer. The kids know, but they only just found out. They’ve only had the official title for a week. Nick took it better than either of them thought he would, but it hasn’t exactly been something to celebrate about. Unless you’re Sadie, she was a cheerleader in the living room at the news. 

“Long enough to know he has a thing about sharing the radio with someone in the car.” Y/n jabs, taking a sip of orange juice. 

“Hey!” He laughs, 

“Trust me, I know.” Nat shakes her head, “The amount of times I’ve heard him sing Hall and Oates.” 

“Phoenix, stop-”

“And the dance routines? He used to-”

“Nat!”

“Dance routine?” Y/n brows raise, she turns to face Bradley and he shakes his head in denial. 

“No comment.” He rests his arm around the back of Y/n’s chair and Nat snorts over her coffee. 

“Why haven’t I seen this dance routine?”

“Because I like you.” Bradley admits, “I don’t want to scare you off.” 

“Daddy, you can dance!” Sadie defends, “The Spice Girls are his-”

“Wow, all the women in my life are not to be trusted with anything!” Bradley interrupts and then reaches out to fistbump his son, “Nicky it’s you and be against the rest of them.” 

Nat delves into a few more stories about the ’glory days’ and some of their badass missions.

“Wait, you haven’t met Hangman yet?” Natasha gasps, setting down her fork on her plate. They’ve all long finished eating, but they remain seated being too investing in catching up. 

“You think I’ve let her meet Hangman?” Bradley scoff, dramatically shaking his head. 

“I’ve heard a few stories.” Y/n chuckles, “He’s your assistant chief, right?”

“A sentence I never thought could be uttered.” Phoenix interrupts. 

“Yeah, that’s him. We’re good now, but we definitely had to overcome a lot of differences.” Bradley admits.”

“They were enemies in flight school.” Nat shakes her head, “They could barely be in the same room.”

“Uncle Jake?” Nick questions, looking between the two aviators. 

“Yeah, Mom was actually the one that got us to get along.” Bradley admits with a swallow, “Anna was from Texas and it made the two of them thick as thieves.” 

Nat nods along with a reminiscent look in her eye. Anna was a big part of softening Hangman up. She has no doubt in her mind that without her he never would’ve moved to Southport after he retired last year without Anna in mind. 

“Alright!” Nat turns in her chair to the two kids, “Time to get swimsuits on, we’re having a beach day!”

The kids race away from the table and up the stairs. Nat grabs her duffle from the ground and makes her way upstairs to change and Y/n starts picking up plates. 

“Hey, you don’t need to clean up.” Bradley jumps to his feet. 

“Yeah, it’ll make me feel better about putting you to work later.” She throws an evil grin over her shoulder. 

“Is that so?” He asks, stepping behind her. He reaches an arm around each side of her to put the plates in the sink in front of her. He leans in a little closer and she backs up slightly into his touch. 

“Tile, remember?” She leans to arch her ass back a little further, rubbing against his front. She’s tempted to turn in his grasp. His head brushes against the side of hers, his breath hot against her ear. 

“I think I could come just from your mouth over my ear” Y/n whispers, the desperation in her voice and the tightness at the front of his jeans exposing them both. 

“We’re testing that theory at some point.” Bradley moans back, pressing her harder into the sink. This is far too dirty for a house full of three potential witnesses. 

“Dad!”

Bubble broken. Bradley takes a step back and lets out a deep exhale. The yell came from upstairs and he turns around in the kitchen. Still just them.

“Yeah, bud?” Bradley calls back. 

“I can’t find my trunks!”

“I’m coming buddy.” He gives himself another second to regain control. He mutters a simple ‘Jesus’ turning to see Y/n’s state. Her face is flushed red and it would seem he’s pushed down the strap of her shirt down her shoulder. He shakes his head simply causing Y/n to chuckle and he makes his way to help his son find swim trunks. 

After helping Nat pack a beach bag and snacks for the day, Bradley and Y/n make their way to Hank’s to pick up the tile and start that project. After getting everything they need and setting it all up, they get started. 80s rock plays softly in the back, it’s Bradley’s old radio from his garage sitting in the corner of the bathroom. 

She wears simple overalls that already have paint, grout, and stain stuck to them and he knows he’s seen her wear them frequently for messy projects. Yellow paint splattered in certain spots. The same yellow from her kitchen.

“Have you ever done this before, or are you trying to impress me?” She watches him mix the grout, checking the instructions on the back of the bag a few times. 

Bradley doesn’t even pick up his eyes from the bag, a smirk appearing. 

“Is it working?”

“If this isn’t crooked at the end of the day, yes.” 

He finally looks up and she has a kind knowing smile resting on her face. Her love for teasing him never fading, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

They manage to tile two whole walls while working together while using the same batch of grout. It took a few adjustments to get it thick enough not to be runny, but the two of them work well to quickly finish things up. They get distracted a few times with each other but still manage to finish the room before the others make their way up from the beach. 

The kids seem exhausted from their day, and Y/n takes Nat through the house showing her the place. She tells her the plans she has and the projects they’ve already completed. Nat is listening eagerly, loving her vision for the space. By the end of the tour Phoenix wrangles the two kids and get them back to the Bradshaw house for showers before dinner.

“No, you should head over there. You don’t get to see Phoenix often either.” Y/n insists. 

“You want to join?” 

“Maybe later.” She slides her hands around his back to pull him in for a hug. “I have a few more things I want to work on. I feel like I’m in a groove right now! And it would probably be good for you and the kids to spend time with her.” 

He presses his lips to hers in a quick peck, followed by two more before he makes his way to her front door. He knows that she’s probably right, it would be good for him to spend some time with just Nat and the kids.

He makes his way over to the house and they decide to have a seafood boil down on the beach. They manage to stay out down by the water until it’s dark out before they make their way up the trail to the house. It’s movie night, Sadie insists Phoenix chooses the movie since she’s the guest for the weekend. She did whine a few times about the lack of Y/n, but Bradley tells her that she might come later. Bradley plans to run next door to see if she wants to come over for some ice cream with them after the movie. She did say maybe later. Over an hour after they settled in on the couches, the credits roll on the movie and Sadie and Nick both leap up from the couch. 

“Ice cream time!” They make their way to the kitchen counter. 

“Alright, I’m gonna see if I can tempt Y/n to join.” Bradley puts on his shoes and makes his way to the front door. Nat makes her way into the kitchen to get out all of the ice cream fixins for everyone. Bradley hops the short fence between their property, saving himself the few seconds of walking down all the way to the sidewalk. He’s feeling impatient to see her. He takes her front steps in one stride and his heart drops at the sight of her front door open wide. 

“Y/n?” His voice calls loudly as he cautiously walks through the open door. The light in the kitchen is on, casting a faint glow in the living room. He reaches to turn on a light and when it comes on, that’s when his pulse really jumps. 

A pool of red blood stretching across the floor, splattered on the wall. No sign of Y/n. He shouts her name again, and one more time as he makes a lap through the first floor looking for any sign of her. He checks the whole house, nothing. He makes his way downstairs when he hears a noise. Nick is waiting at the front door, shaking in place. His gaze focused on the red that takes over the floor. 

Bradley flies down the stairs and picks up Nick on his way out, not slowing for a second. He doesn’t know what happened, but Nick can’t be seeing this. 

“Bradley! Bradley!” A frantic voice calls. Bradley turns, Nick still in his arms. Iris is standing on her porch, her face stuck in a frown obviously upset. 

“What happened? What’s going on?” 

“It’s Y/n. Something happened with a nail gun, it recoiled and went into her leg. They were worried about it hitting an artery. EMTs picked her up a couple hours ago.” 

“Hours ago!” He shouts, how did he not know about this? How has there been no call? No sirens?

Iris simply nods while Bradley takes off in a sprint for his house. He tries to leave the kids at the house with Nat so he can go to the hospital himself, but it seems it would take longer to convince everyone to stay. They all climb into the bronco and Bradley puts the pedal to the metal. 

✿

The hospital has a chill in the air that doesn’t pair well with the summer heat. The air conditioning is working overtime to keep everyone cool. A little too cool for Y/n’s liking. The only source of warmth is a hand wrapped around her own. Her eyes open before rapidly shutting at the bright light overhead.

“Shh, take it easy.” A familiar voice calls out. Y/n struggles to get her eyes to focus while rapidly blinking. It smells sterile in the air and she can hear the sound of the EKG machine reflecting her pulse in steady beeps. 

“Hi darling.” The voice calls out again.

She stills at the pet name, suddenly making it her mission to focus her vision. Her head is pounding.

“Matt?”

y'all i'm sorry for that cliffhanger... but i'm really not LMAOOOO!! let me know what you guys think below plz! 💛

[glossykissies]

can’t decide if shane is the type to leave you at the campsite bc he has multiple people watching over you or does he think the safest place is right with him?

he definitely wanted to leave you behind for your own good, deciding that he was no good for a younger girl like you — but you heard him telling someone he was thinking of disappearing without a trace, and he couldn’t bear it when he turned around and saw you stood there, having overheard the whole thing, looking absolutely heartbroken.

“you’re… you’re leaving?”

“look that conversation ain’t nothin’ for you to worry about alright we was just talkin’ about—”

“shane i don’t want you to go.” your voice gets higher, brows pinched and he knows you’re close to a full breakdown. with tensions being so high, and sophia being missing still he knew he needed to keep this under wraps.

“not goin’ anywhere right now, can we talk about this later?” he hushes his harsh tone, ducking his head down to your level as if to warn you not to make a scene.

“no, no you— i’m coming with you.” you put your foot down, holding your chin up defiantly. he’s mid way through walking away when you say it, and he stops in his tracks — shoulders dropping slightly as he realises there’s no point in trying to act like you didn’t hear him correctly.

“come with me… you just don’t get it do you? nah you… you’re too young. ‘course you wouldn’t.” he mutters angrily, still facing away from you. shane yanks the police cap off his head and rakes a hand through sweaty hair, the other hand coming up to rest on his hip defeatedly.

“what are you talking about? i thought you liked me, you — you said —”

“it ain’t about—” the man spins around quickly, before stopping briefly to lower his voice, not wanting to attract the attention of the rest of the group. in a quieter tone, he continues, coming near to you again. “it aint about what i like. alright? i’m no good for you, don’t you see it? i am no good to anyone here. better off on my own, not fuckin’ up someone else’s life. you got a better fightin’ chance listenin’ to rick.” your lip wobbles as he speaks, shaking your head disagreeably. shane softens, cupping your cheek with that rugged kindness you’d grown so fond of. “hey. i ain’t someone to look up to. yeah? better off with someone else. you’ll come across more people—good— good people. young guy, someone right for you.” you can’t shake the pain in his expression as he speaks.

you slip your smaller hand over his, attempting to control your emotions. “i don’t want anyone else. i don’t want someone younger i want you. i want you, shane — just, please.” you mewl, leaning into his hand as he wipes your tears guiltily. he watches you closely, licking his lips unsurely. after a pensive silence he speaks.

“you’d… you’d throw all this away, all this safety and community away just for— what, to be with me?” he clarifies and you nod so hard he thinks your head might just fall off.

“i am safe with you shane. don’t need anyone else. just you n’me.” you whisper, feeling hopeful. he presses his lips together, stepping back when the group round the corner once more, gathering to discuss their next move.

“we’ll… talk more. about this… later, alright?” he raises his eyebrows expectantly and you nod, sniffling as you wipe the remains of your tears on the back of your hands. he softens some more at just how obedient you were for him. “you keep this between us alright girl?” he gives you a soft pat on the back to urge you in the direction of the rest of the group, following closely behind you with his hand resting comfortably on his gun.

[sorchathered]

Guilty Eyes and Little White Lies

Pairing-Bob Floyd x reader, Bob Floyd x Natasha Trace, Jake Seresin x reader

Warnings-talk of sexual activity, language, drinking, adultery, angst

Summary- you’d thought you had the perfect marriage, what happens when you’re betrayed by the one you love most, and how do you piece yourself back together? Sometimes a little revenge isn’t a bad thing.

A/N- This one has been sitting in the vault for a while! Not my usual at all, but I’m feeling the angsty vibe lately and rolling with it!

———————————————————————————-

He truly hadn’t meant to let it get this far. The bird strike incident a few weeks ago had them both on edge, feeling their mortality and in a moment of weakness he’d let her kiss him. He’d blamed it on nerves, claimed it didn’t mean anything and continued to push down the gnawing feeling that it might be something more. Then the mission had happened, they’d nearly lost Maverick and then Bradley, and when everyone came back safely everyone had gotten a little too drunk on the carrier that night and he’d somehow found his way to her bunk. They’d fit together in a way that scared him, and when he woke up the next morning he looked down at her sleeping form and didn’t think of you once. But reality hit when they got home, and the wedding ring on his left hand felt like a 1,000 lb weight.

Bob Floyd had royally fucked up, he’d broken protocol by sleeping with his front seater, and the worst part of it all? He’d cheated on his wife. His sweet, beautiful, faithful wife who was waiting for him back in Lemoore. The one he’d sworn to love until he died, and it brought on another wave of nausea as he paced the floor of his barracks room just thinking about how far he’d let things go. He’d fallen for Natasha Trace in the weeks he’d been at Top Gun, he hadn’t meant to truly but she got under his skin in a way that he couldn’t shake. She knew he was married, knew what they were doing was wrong and had agreed to stay apart until he could figure out what to do, but seeing her every day made it more and more difficult to do the right thing. The right thing…the right thing would have been to end it immediately and tell you the truth right when it happened. The right thing would have been to request an immediate transfer back home after the mission ended, but he didn’t do that either. He’d been dodging your calls for days, making up excuses while he tried to find the right things to say, but he knew you were too smart to believe him. You knew something was wrong, and it wouldn’t be long before it all came toppling down.

——————————————————————

When you’d both been stationed at Lemoore two years ago it had been like a dream, finally in the stationed in the same place after years of long distance. You’d soaked up all the quality time, getting to work together every day and go home together every night had always been the goal and it had been everything you’d hoped for. Nothing is ever perfect though, and Jake Seresin was the very definition of throwing a wrench in the machine. He lived to rile Bob up, and nothing ruffled his feathers more than when Jake flirted with you. He always joked that you were far too good for Bob, that you needed someone wild to balance you out and keep you on your toes, you’d constantly shut his flirting down and asked him to be nicer to your husband and for a while Jake did back off. That is until he and Bob got called back to Top Gun for this mission, and most especially when his jabs had been confirmed, opening an empty conference room door one evening to find your husband pressed against Phoenix with her hand down his pants. After they’d been caught he had ended it, he hated himself for what he’d done but couldn’t bring himself to find the words to tell you the truth.

Bob knew there was no point in begging Jake to keep his mouth shut, so he simply asked to be able to explain to you himself. You’d been devastated, but not surprised. He’d been avoiding you for weeks, every time you’d discussed coming down for the weekend he’d claimed he had things to do and didn’t want to drag you down to San Diego just to sit in a barracks room. You’d held it together as best you could but you were furious, you’d never given him any reason to stray and to watch him throw 5 years down the drain for a woman he barely knew set a fire in you. So one Friday you packed an overnight bag and drove down to North Island, pulling into the unfamiliar apartment complex late in the afternoon. The ridiculous jacked up truck in front of the building told you he was home from work, and you made your way to his door still shaking with nerves despite feeling so confident all day. Jake Seresin in nothing but sweatpants was a sight to see, and the shock on his face was even better. He had texted you a few days before to make sure you were ok, offered you a place to crash if you decided to come down and discuss things with Bob in person, he certainly didn’t expect you to show up and had to say he was glad he got to reap the benefits of Bob’s shitty lapse in judgement.

“As happy as I am to see you Sweetheart, are you sure you’re up for all this? You don’t have to do this yet if you aren’t.”

“It needs to be done Jake, I need closure and I want to move on. So take me out to this bar you guys keep talking about, and let’s burn the rest of my marriage to the ground.”

——————————————————————

Just a few hours later you and Jake were perched at the bar, nice and tipsy and feeling lighter than you had in days. You knew Bob and Phoenix would be there soon and the thought suddenly had you white knuckling the bar stool, maybe you’d been too bold in thinking you could handle catching him in some other woman’s arms, maybe you weren’t as brave as you thought you’d been after all. Jake seemed to notice the shift in you, knocking his knee into yours to pull you out of your head. He gave you a wink and peeled your hands from the stool, taking them both in his.

“You sure you still want this? I am totally fine with us heading home with some ice cream and letting you cry it out, but I’m also down to kick his ass if you need me to. Whatever you want to do we’ll do it, just say the word and we’re out of here.”

You heard him before you saw him, the group of aviators from his squad calling his name and you knew it was too late to run. You shook your head, plucking Jake’s tequila shot from his hand and downed it, revenge was all you had left and you’d be damned if he took that from you too. Standing up and smoothing the material of the dress that was your husband’s favorite you backed yourself up against the bar, settling yourself between Jake’s legs and wrapped your arms around his neck.

“Put your money where your mouth is Seresin, show me what I’ve been missing.”

——————————————————————

Meanwhile on the opposite side of the bar everyone is saying their hellos, none of the squad know what’s been going on behind the scenes and as far as they can tell it’s just a normal Friday night meetup. Phoenix is the first to notice that Hangman is missing from the crew, Rooster nodding towards the bar letting them know he’s on a date with some girl from out of town.

“Hangman has a girlfriend?! Since when?”

“Beats me, he just said she’d come down to visit for the weekend and he’d bring her over when she was up for it.”

Bob is clueless to it all, and offers to grab the next round as everyone sets the table up for a new game.

He’s settling into a bar seat with Phoenix to wait for their beers as she nods in your general direction.

“Well they look cozy, but I swear I’ve seen that girl before, she looks so familiar. Bob, have you seen her before? I feel like we know her.

He looks up towards the direction she’s pointed and it feels as if his world has been upturned. Because just across the bar from him is Lieutenant Jake Seresin with his tongue down his wife’s throat, bodies pressed together with a handful of your ass.

“I know exactly where you know her from Phoenix, that’s y/n. That’s my fucking wife.”

——————————————————————

Jake is having the time of his life if he’s honest, he’d always been fond of you but he had enough respect for the sanctity of marriage to keep his hands to himself. You’d always belonged to someone else, that is until Baby on Board had done exactly what he expected and fumbled the bag. He knew you were hurt and that his chances would be slim for a while, but he’d bide his time if that meant he got to hold you like this tonight. And if it helps satisfy your need for revenge? He certainly wouldn’t mind helping you out with that. He was just a philanthropic kind of guy after all. You were a little tipsy now, giggling while he kissed you and he decided to play up the game a little and slide a hand down to grope your ass. You yelped but leaned into his touch, and he had to keep reminding himself this was just a game, that you weren’t his and that he still had to win you over.

“Jakeeee, you’re gonna get us in trouble if you keep this up, I don’t want us catching an indecent exposure charge” you said a little breathlessly into his mouth, maybe this hadn’t been the best idea; you could definitely see the appeal, and as it turned out Hangman wasn’t just all talk- he was very good.

“Sweets if I had it my way we’d already be halfway to my bedroom, but I’ll save that for another night. ‘Sides it looks like we’ve struck that nerve you were looking for, your husband’s looking our way and I think he’s getting a taste of his own medicine.” Jake cocked his head in the direction of Bob and Phoenix, winking at them as he continued to press kisses into your neck.

“Oh-oh shit, maybe we should go outside before we start a bar brawl.” You were wide eyed as you pushed him back a little, but he could see you were still comfortable with him continuing the plan so he looped an arm around your waist and tossed a 50 on the bar as he led you towards the back exit.

——————————————————————

“What do you mean that’s your wife?! What is she doing here, and what is she doing with Seresin?”

Natasha is spiraling, meanwhile Bob can barely hear her. He can only hear the rush of blood in his ears and his heart thumping out of his chest, nausea rising up in his throat as he catches Jake’s eye. The motherfucking gall of Jake Seresin, he’d spent months jabbing at Bob about how you were too good for him and while it had stung he’d been confident that you’d never be interested in him, but now to see your body pressed to his, kissing someone else? It confirmed every fear he’d had, he absolutely deserves this; you’d given him everything and he’d burnt it down but damn if it didn’t hurt to watch you walk away in the arms of someone else.

“Nat- I can’t do this right now. Can you find a ride home? I need to talk to her, see if she’ll let me apologize in person.”

She looks hurt, but she knows damn well she has no reason to be, this is on the both of them and she has to respect whatever choices he makes.

Bob follows the path you and Jake took towards the back exit, no idea what he’s going to say or if you’ll even listen but his feet carry him anyways, into the balmy night air and across the lot where he can see the two of you talking.

—————————————————————————

“Alright pretty girl, had enough revenge for tonight? Think it’s about time we get you home.” Jake said with a grin as he ushered you towards the truck at the back of the parking lot, you were a little unsteady in your wedge sandals but it had felt good to let loose tonight. You didn’t give a shit what Robert Floyd thought of your behavior, you’d tried to be his everything for so long and knowing that he could throw it out the window so quickly just solidified that it had never had anything to do with you. Something in him was broken, he could have had a long lasting love and he took it for granted. You wrapped both arms around Jake’s bicep and leaned into him with a sigh; you didn’t know what this was with him but you definitely knew you weren’t ready to get your heart broken by another handsome face anytime soon. All you could hope was that he’d settle for friends in the meantime, but you couldn’t dwell on it now, because through the buzz of the alcohol you suddenly heard a voice you knew all too well calling your name above the crash of the waves. Of course he was, he couldn’t just let you have this one night to have the upper hand, he’d actively avoided you for weeks and the second someone else paid you attention he suddenly had something to say.

You went ramrod straight and froze, Jake turning slightly to see what had you so tense and scoffed as he watched Bob make his way towards you both. He tugged a little to shield you from Bob but you looked up at him and shook your head, you could handle this; there was no need to delay it like he had and you had plenty to say.

“Y/n, can I just have a minute-“

“You don’t deserve a second of her time Floyd and you know it.” Jake snapped, but the gentle touch of your hand on his arm gave him pause; it wasn’t his job to be the white knight and he knew damn well you could handle yourself, but he couldn’t help but want to shield you from anymore pain.

“I’ve got this Jake, give me some time ok? I’ll be back.” You squeezed his arm and stepped away, and you thought you saw pain flash over Bob’s features at the familiarity between you two, but he had no right and he knew it. You followed him down the rickety wooden ramp to the beach, the sound of the crashing waves filling the awkward silence.

“I’m sorry.” He said, so quietly you could barely even hear it, tears pricking the corners of his eyes as he looked down at you, and all it did was make you see red.

“You're… Sorry? After shutting me out for weeks and then telling me what happened in an e-mail, you’re sorry? Well I’ll be, that’s gotta be the biggest pile of horse shit I’ve ever heard Bob.” You laughed, but it was harsh, it had him wincing from the coldness in your tone.

“You’ve got to be shitting me, I get an adrenaline rush, I get feeling your mortality, hell I’d even get it if you just kissed her. But you slept with her, you gave pieces of yourself to her that were only ever supposed to belong to me, and then to make it worse you hid it from me…for weeks! You have always been someone I considered to be honorable, and this? This betrayal? This is slimy. This is cowardly, and you fucking know it.”

You didn’t cry, you didn’t scream, you simply said your peace and when you looked back at him his eyes were full of tears and regret.

“I broke us, I know that. I’ve always known you deserved better, tried to be better, and I don’t have an excuse for any of it. I don’t know how I got here, I just know that I’m sorry. I ended it, we are just friends now, and I know that means shit to you but I’m trying. I just didn’t know if you’d even listen if I called, and then you came in tonight, with him and I realized just how much it hurt. God, seeing you with him- it makes me sick. I get it now, I get how much it must’ve hurt you. I know that’s why you did it, and I deserve it, I deserve it all. I don’t know where we go from here, but I don’t want you out of my life, I know it’s unfair to ask.” He couldn’t even look at you, it was infuriating to think that the man you loved had become this shell, a person you couldn’t even recognize.

“I wish you well Robert, I would never wish harm on you, but no. You clearly need to work on yourself, and so do I. Wherever that journey takes us, it’s not us against the world anymore. I don’t think I could ever look at you the same, and it’s not fair to ask me to try. I’ll speak with our lawyer, see if we can wrap this up as smoothly as possible, but there is no more us. I hope you find what you’re looking for.” You say with a sigh and a small tear rolls down your face before you can swipe it away, one last tear shed for the end of a life you’d always dreamed of. As you walked away from him and made your way back to the lot, you could hear his broken sobs, and you prayed whatever higher power existed would help him move past this, because you couldn’t stay.

Jake helped you get in the truck and the two of you drove in silence on the short trip back to his home, he could see you lost in thought so he let you drown in it for a few minutes until he pulled into the parking area. You swiped more stray tears, and then with a deep breath let your body sag into the plush leather of his f-150.

“You know why I was always on him about not being good enough for you?” Jake said quietly, causing you to turn and face him. You had always wondered, and begged him to stop more than once, he’d always said it was just fucking around but you had a suspicion it was something more.

“It wasn’t because I was trying to put a wedge between you two, well…maybe some of it was, but really it was because he never really saw you. It was always about him and you seemed sad, like you were ornamental, a box to be checked off on his list (and he did love to make lists), but never like he truly saw what he had. It drove me nuts, I’d kill for that, and I knew it was wrong, but I wanted it with you. And then when he fucked it all up I knew it would hurt you, but I couldn’t help but think that I could be the one to show you how much better you deserved to be treated. I can love you better, maybe not today, maybe not for a while, but I’ll wait y/n. You’re worth the wait.”

He looked wrung out from his confession, you knew he’d had some kind of schoolboy crush but it had never occurred to you that his feelings were genuine. He was the Hangman for gods sake, he’d always seemed like this larger than life flirt, why on earth would he be into some mousy little jag lawyer who was already married to one of his teammates? Maybe he was right, you did have a habit of putting yourself in small boxes to let Bob shine, he’d never asked you to but you’d done it anyway; you’d always put him first but he’d never thought to do the same.

“I’m not ready yet Jake, and I can’t promise I’ll be ready anytime soon. I’ve got to find me again, I don’t even know how I got here. But someday…someday I think I might like to know what it’s like to be loved by you. If you can wait for me, I’d really love that.”

He grinned at you and you couldn’t help but smile back, there was just something about him that lit you up in a way you’d never felt before. Friends would have to be enough for now, but someday you’d let yourself really appreciate just what it could be like to be truly loved.

——————————————————————————-

🏷️ Tagging- @attapullman @mynameismckenziemae @bobgasm @sebsxphia @roosterforme @seitmai @sailor-aviator

[takumiraine]

Once upon a time chapter 14

To celebrate my writing a lot over spring break, here is another chapter. I love all the likes, appreciate the fuck out of reblogs and do a little happy dance wiggle with every positive comment. Even if it’s simple like “love this” or an emoji. Makes it waaaay easier to keep writing when I get that sort of thing in my notifs. Especially because they come in separately.

<first> <prev> <next>

Danny wished he could say having his hands in someone’s chest was a novel experience, but for the most part it wasn’t. He rarely was rooting around for something in it though. He hadn’t ever seen a core properly, much less felt one. How would he—

“Ow.” Danny had brushed, hard, against something sharp. “Found it.” Carefully he moved his hands around the core, acutely aware that it should not be sharp. He hadn’t gotten many good looks at them but…. They were supposed to be smooth and round. This one felt more like he had grabbed a durian made of broken glass. Before he fully pulled it out, he paused and looked up into Jason’s eyes, fully serious. “If you start feeling anything abnormal, tell me immediately. Emotional, physical, mental. Any of it. Even if it’s vague.”

“Scout’s honor.” Jason’s voice sounded drier and raspier than usual, which would be more concerning if Danny didn't have his hands in the man’s chest. Danny knew that any time he ghosted through or into someone else’s body, it left them short of breath with a queasy feeling and a bone deep chill. It had to be worse for Jason, considering the man gave off heat like his job was the sun and Danny had been rooting around his chest.

Slowly, Danny brought it out into the open, fingers curled around the base of it like a small creature. It was… rough. Reds and oranges denoted the fire element, but it had looked…. Smashed. Then like a small child tried to glue the fragments back together with sickly green super glue. “Huh…” was all Danny could manage to say. He wanted to bring Jason into the zone and introduce him to Frostbite, because if anyone could fix it, the yeti could. But that would mean ripping a new hole and that would alert the assholes in white and…. Nope. Not a chance unless it was life or death. And this… wasn’t? At least Danny didn’t think so.

“That bad?” Jason asked, his face far more impassive than Danny was sure his own was.

“I….don’t think so? I’m not exactly an expert. But… it’s definitely not supposed to be sharp.” Danny turned it in his hands “or this kind of multicolored.” Near the base of it, where it was smoother, the ‘glue’ seemed to be less gross green and more of a familiar blueish white. If he closed his eyes and concentrated, he could feel traces of his own ecto there. “I…. Somehow seem to be helping fix it I think?” He turned the core to show Jason, the scientist in him wanting to make notes. He wished he had a recorder to take dictation. “See how it’s smoother and the…. Spiritual glue is more blue and white? Those are my powers’ main colors. If I had more energy to share I would see if I could speed it up some. But there isn’t a whole lot of ambient ecto and what is here is…. Gross.” Danny realized he was rambling and shut himself up before he said something incriminating or embarrassing.

Jason opened his mouth to say something when the door slammed open. “Little Wing! We’re dragging you to-“ Danny didn’t know what was more startling. The fact that someone supposedly kicked in Jason’s door, or the fact that Jason had a gun in hand and aimed past him less than a second later.

“Todd, put down the gun. You know father would be most disappointed if you shot us.” This voice sounded much younger. “Are you courting someone?” Danny wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or offended at the accusation. He carefully put Jason’s core back into his chest and slowly turned around.

“Uh, no. Not dating. But Jason? I would really appreciate not having my ears ringing for the next week or two.”

“So sexual relations only. Understood. Grayson, come. We shall leave them to their….” The boy sneered, “activities.” Jason groaned and rubbed his face with the hand holding the gun.

“Get in here assholes. Sit. Danny, my asshole brothers. Assholes, Danny.” The two entered, and Danny took in their appearances carefully. The first one was taller, and had almost a devil-may-care smile. Handsome and he knew it. He dropped into the chair Danny had spent most of the day in, grace oozing through every movement. The second…. Fuck, he looked like he was barely out of elementary school.

“Dick Grayson. Glad to see the little bird has made some friends at last.”

“I’m gonna make it look like an accident. Then B can’t hate me over it.”

“Tch.” The younger one clicked his tongue and moved a wooden chair to sit primly on it. “You are not that cunning Todd. I could be far more successful at draping murder as an accident than you could hope.”

“Uh hi. I’m Danny.” He knew he had already been introduced, but he needed something to say. “Nice to….” A glance at Jason, then Dick and the other boy, “meet you?”

“Demon spawn. Dick.” The way Jason said Dick’s name gave Danny the impression that he would have been called that even if it wasn’t his actual name. “Why are you here?”

“Grayson was going to take me out for supper and Father suggested we invite you. Drake was also invited but he had other plans.” The kid said.

“Something about getting Babs and ‘avenging their honor’.” Dick waved a hand as if such nonsense was common, but Jason made a small noise and Danny met his eyes with a questioning look. Jason gave a small shake of the head and Danny wisely kept his mouth shut. “So we came to you. But it looks like you’re…. Busy.” Dick gave another charming grin and an unsubtle wink at his brother.

“Richard.” Jason grit out. “Nothing is happening, was happening, or was going to happen before you got here you walking traffic light.”

“Right and I left all of my weapons at home.” The child added, deadpan. “You share father’s tendencies towards having what could be called a type.”

“Dami, why are you bringing weapons to dinner?” Dick asked, sitting up and looking at the child, Dami, with an expression Danny had seen on Jazz’s face many times over the years. Oldest siblings must have to take some sort of class.

“We live in Gotham. Besides, it is hardly my fault that you did not check. Now is it?”

“At the risk of poking my nose into another family’s business…. I have been mugged…..” Danny paused a minute to count on his fingers. “Seven? Times since I started college this semester.”

Dami looked pleased. “See? Daniel gets it.”

Danny tried to hide the flinch. “Just Danny, please. Nothing good has ever come out of my being called Daniel.”

“Hm. That goes against many things I have been taught but fine. Upon your insistence, Just Danny, I shall not call you Daniel again.” Beside him Jason snickered then hid it behind a cough. “If there was nothing going on before we got here, what were you doing Todd? I know you do not have many friends.”

Jason looked up again. “Tutoring. He helps me with math, I help him with analyzing literature.”

“Really?” Dick asked, raising an eyebrow. He could feel the ecto in Jason tighten. Time to pull out the Fenton Yammer (Patent Pending).

“I wanted to be an astronaut when I was a kid and so I practiced a lot of math early on. But you can’t really see the stars here in Gotham. You should really get on your dad about the smog in this town. I can get my friends to put together an ecological study if you want. Her big interest is ecology. I can’t really have her come visit though because if she meets Ms. Ivy then I’ve got a way bigger problem on my hands than ‘Danny did you hear about the water usage in this company’s Metropolis branch alone?’ or ‘Danny, we cannot let the fast fashion conglomerate set up outside of town. There is a rare moth that could become endangered that has a habitat there.’” Danny paused to take a breath and Dick stood up.

“I’ll let B know about your concerns Danny. Come on Baby D, we have to make it to dinner before they get busy.”

“I do wish to hear more about the moths, but I suppose sustenance should come first.” Dami stood up and brushed nonexistent lint off of his clothing. “It was pleasant to meet a friend of Todd’s that is not overly concerned with violence or a vapid oxygen converter.”

“Night Little Wing. See you at family dinner, right?”

“Of course. A would kill me if I skipped again.” Jason stood and showed them out, leaning against the door once it shut.

“So, siblings, am I right?” Danny attempted a joking tone, though it just earned a groan from Jason.

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“Anytime.” A pause. “So. Uh. Where did that gun come from?”

Jason just laughed.

[yuriisclumsy]

Greetings. I'm happy to see Cale x reader's request.. 💯

Can I request Cale x reader.. Where the reader is kidnapped, so Cale and the others try to help search her but Alberu, the reader's best friend already knows.. He be like : Yup, they didn't kidnap her but she kidnapped them.. Fluff and chaos .🤣🤣🤣

Thanks for reading.🫂🫂❤️❤️❤️

The Kidnapped Wife

[Authors Note]: Look! I updated again! Not my main muse, but I finally got a good idea for this one. Hope you all like this one! This request in back from June. PS. As you can see I don't have my iconic title. that's because of the limit in characters you can have per post. I hate it :D.

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 1084

»»►Getting kidnapped is something that would definitely happen to us, because, you know…we’re the wife of the most powerful man in existence.

»»►How did we get kidnapped? Oh, I don’t know…maybe it was because of the temptation of FOOD?

»»►Seriously, out of all the things they could have bribed you with, it had to be food? So uncouth.

…

“What do you mean [Name]’s been kidnapped?”

That was the first question Cale asked when he was informed his wife had been kidnapped.

Yes, you read correctly. You have been kidnapped.

And no, you did not take a nap. You’re no kid. I mean that bad people abducted you to an unknown place, far away from any village–hell, far away from any living soul.

“I received a letter from the letter’s boy under your name, Master Cale. When I grabbed it, I smelled the faint traces of poison coming from within it,” Ron explained.

There’s poison in this…?! Cale yelled in his mind, and let go of the paper instantly.

The butler smiled sinisterly, amused at Cale's actions of dropping the letter at the mention of poison. “So, to secure your wellbeing, I decided to open it and see if it was life threatening. But you needn’t worry, Master Cale. The letter only had a small amount of poison in it. It would only take effect if you were to hold it for a longer period of time.”

Bullsh-t. You knew it had poison, and didn’t bother warning me about it, you creepy old man.

“Right… Well, thank you for taking my health and well-being into consideration, Ron.”

“You are very welcomed, young master.” Bastard.

Cale turned his body to look outside the window. “Anything else regarding her?”

“Unfortunately, these foxes were more cunning than this old fool could have anticipated. They left no trace of their presence behind for us to possibly find.”

“...” Cale looked out where the children were playing, unaware of their ‘mother’s’ disappearance. “Call for Rosalyn and Raon. We need their magic for this, also…” he looked back at Ron, “get the crystal.” Ron’s smile widened. “We’re calling the imperial family. This could very well be an attack on the kingdom.”

…

Grunts and pants are the only sounds heard in a room turned upside-down from battling.

“You B-tch!” a man yelled.

“You’re calling me unpleasant?” The man went flying to the wall behind him at full speed. “Me?”

“Ah!” Another goon charged at you from the opposite side. You blocked it by grabbing his hand, going underneath, you punched him in the stomach. “Agh..!”

“Screaming your attack is very ineffective. Weren't you lot professionals?” You saw a small glimpse of the shining of a gun's metal. With quick reflexes, you throw one of the limited pieces of furniture from the palace you had been held hostage and threw it at him, rendering him immobile. “Cute try, but not good enough.”

You stood in the middle of the room full of bodies of men laying there in the ground either whining or crying out of pain. All this would have been avoided if they just decided to negotiate with you.

“Poor souls…”

…

“HAHAHAHAHA!” static cackling came from a ball on a table. It belongs to none other than the crown prince.

Cale looked at the prince like he had lost his mind. “...Why are you laughing?” Alberu looked up and stared at him through the crystal ball. Cale did not like that.

“Isn't it obvious?” He smirked, “clearly I think all of this is hilarious.”

Well no sh-t. Cale’s expression began to sour.

“Now, now, master Cale. Don’t look so distraught, [Name] is completely fine. In fact, I think she’s doing better than even I could have imagined,” he picture you beating the crap out of the kidnappers, much to his pleasure.

“Is that so…” Cale wanted to punch Alberu in the face. He just wanted to wipe that smirk off his mouth, even if it is a crime to do so. 

“Master Cale, if you would allow me?” Ron approached his master from the other side of the table.

“What is it, Ron?” Cale was as irked as he could be.

“I agree with the crowned prince,” Cale looked betrayed at Ron’s agreement on the situation. “Master Cale, [Name] is a talented individual. Surely, you should put some trust in her abilities.

“I’m also in support of this, [Name]’s prowess is no joke. She’ll make it home safe on her own,” Rosalyn commented.

“What the humans are saying is true,” Raon landed on Cale’s lap. “You can trust the Great Raon Miru’s judgment!”

“...” Cale closed his eyes. With all of this faith in you, he can’t ignore it.

“Fine.” He glared at Alberu. “But if she isn’t here by sunset, I'm sending Choi Han and Raon to get her.”

“That’s fine by me!”

With that, the call ended, and Alberu couldn’t stop from giggling at Cale’s worriedness for you.

“Ah… [Name], you’ve gotten yourself a worrywart as a husband.”

…

The sun had gone down a while ago, the birds went to rest, and the children had all gone to sleep on your shared bed. Yet, there was still no sign of you anywhere in sight.

Cale paced back and forth in the balcony, he did not enjoy worrying about someone's safety, much less yours.

“Master Cale.”

“Huh? Oh...Choi Han. Has there been any news?” He looked down and shook his head slowly. “I see… It’s getting late, you should head to sleep.”

“But, master Cale, who will–”

“I will.”

“...” Choi Han wanted to protest, yet he remained silent. He knew better than to argue with a stubborn man. “Yes, sir…” He left Cale with himself. 

Hearing a click from the door, Cale let out a frustrated sigh and scratched his head, annoyed at the situation at hand.

“...Where are you [Name]?” he whispered.

“I was gone for a day, and you missed me that much?”

“!” Cale twisted his body and faced the person that had spoken to him.

And it was none other than his lovely wife.

“Hi, Bo,” You smiled sweetly. “How are you?”

Cale sighted for what seemed like the 100th time this day. Only this time, it was out of relief. “I’m fine…” he said with a small smile.

“I’m glad…” You leaned and gave him a kiss on the check.

“Only there..?”

“Well, yes. I’m extremely hungry right now, and I want to eat,” with perfect timing, your stomach growled loudly.

“...” Cale’s eyebrow twitched at your response. He motioned his hand to look like a knife, and karate-chopped you in the head.

“OW–”

“I’ll go get Beacrox to prepare something for you. Wait here,” opening the door, he pointed at you. “And don’t. Move.” You giggled.

“Eye, eye, captain.”

With an approving nod he left in search of your meal.

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Master-List

[slyfpy-head]

Lachesis

part 2 - part 3

Chishiya × f!reader

Lachesis (n.) the inescapable tether of fate that weaves lives together through threads of choices both made and endured.

This was not in his plan. He thought he would just go looting, who would have thought he would meet her again? Although he had thought about the reunion, it was not in this place, this fucked up place.

a/n: updates will definitely be delayed, I only write when I'm in the mood, so it will take me a while to update each chapter. English is NOT my first language!

"This hardly qualifies as robbery." 

The houses around here are already deserted, and there are no more laws in this place. What he needs most right now is something functional to create his weapons.

Chishiya crouched down, one knee pressing against the cold floor, his fingers rifling through the scattered contents of the repair kit. The objects clattered softly under his touch—wires, screws, drills, hammer, ratchet, and—

click

—that sound.

Right, he forgot to be aware of his surroundings...

Before he could react, a voice sliced through the stillness behind him. Sounded steady, no sign of panicking, but a trace of nerves seeped through.

Keeping it together, perhaps. Just barely. 

"Cleaning up a corpse right in my house wasn’t on my to-do list today. Hands where I can see ‘em."

A woman.

No—worse than any woman.

... At least she's giving him a chance to back away. Not a total maniac.

Running wasn’t his first option. Gradually, he lifted his hands and straightened up. He could sense the gun pointing at his back, even though she wasn't pressing it against him.

He remained calm, speaking in a manner that matched her level of composure, but he was genuinely calm, and she? Even if her tone didn’t betray any fear, there was still a trace of unease.

"Didn’t think anyone would stick around their home in a hellhole like this. Guess I was wrong?"

Silence.

He smirked. Exactly as he’d expected—the hitch in her breath when recognition struck.

"What’s wrong?" he teased, tone dripping with smug amusement. "No warm welcome for an old friend? Not even a hello?" 

He lowered his hands, turning just enough to glance over his shoulder. "A little rude, don’t you think?"

Then he faced her fully, a composed look on his face.

“Y/N.”

And then, there was you.

Of course, it's you.

Fuck, it's truly you.

Why here? Why now?

In this shattered, forsaken place, of all places.

You, an old friend—no—his first love.

The girl he'd once called his own—his childhood sweetheart. The one whose smiles he’d cherished, whose challenges he’d helped her overcome, whose innocence he’d vowed to protect.

And yet, he was the one who had betrayed you, turning your life upside down, and leaving you in a standstill.

Your voice cracked—softer now, stripped of its earlier edge.

“Shuntaro…?" 

His chest tightened.

You were taken aback by the sight of the man standing before you, confused, angry with a tangled mess of emotions.

Why was he here?

Why now, after all this time?

...

Why did the universe keep throwing you back together when all you wanted was to forget?

Your eyes traced the changes in him: the sharper angles of his face, the leaner frame, the way time had hardened him. But some things never changed: those eyes, that smirk, the way he looked at you like he already knew every thought in your head.

Everything feels like a dream.

Or a nightmare.

"Have you forgotten what I look like," he mused, his tone light yet probing, "or are you just staring?"

The question hung in the air, a challenge, a tease, a fragile bridge spanning the chasm between you.

An unseen force seemed to draw Chishiya nearer to you, compelling him to reach out, to seek your presence, to feel your warmth, to reassure himself that you were truly standing in front of him. Yet, he refrained from doing so, at least for the moment.

He took a step, then another, each movement deliberate, measured, diminishing the space between you, slowly rekindling the connection that had somewhat faded.

The gun gradually lowered in your grasp, watching as he drew nearer.

Your thoughts, sharp with hostility just moments before, now wavered, clouded by the realization that the intruder in your home was not any stranger. The hood of the white jacket that covered his hair had hidden his identity, but the voice—that voice—had given him away.

"I... no..." you murmured, the words trailing into silence.

Your gaze held a mixture of shock and guarded wariness, but you didn't step back, your body relaxing ever so slightly as the tension shifted. There was something in his voice, something familiar, that tugged at you, drawing you back to a time when the world had been simpler, and the love had been pure.

But that was before everything fell apart.

Before he turned you down.

Before he left.

Now, here you were, standing in the ruins of a world that had moved on without the two of you.

And yet, the connection between you two remained, a thread frayed but unbroken.

The silence between you felt heavy, like a physical weight pressing against your chest. Chishiya’s eyes locked onto yours, a mix of defiance and vulnerability swirling in their depths. The air seemed to thicken with unspoken words, the past and present colliding in a way that left you breathless.

He shifted his focus from you, scanning the house that you claimed as yours.

"So... your home, you said?"

“You were literally about to swipe something two seconds ago,” you snapped, a bit sharper than you meant to, brushing off his question. “Spill it.”

“Technically, yes, but I doubt anyone would stay here..." he conceded with a shrug, all mock innocence. "My apologies...?"

"If you hadn't spoken up, I might have pulled the trigger."

"But you didn't, correct? Should I consider myself lucky?"

He tilted his head, watching you.

"Or is it because you recognized my voice?" A pause, deliberate. "You still remember it, don’t you?"

Your jaw clenched.

God, you wanted to punch him.

That smug, nothing-touches-me look—like the past between you was nothing, like he hadn’t shattered you.

The bastard.

The one you swore you’d never forgive.

...And the one you still, stupidly, couldn’t stop thinking about.

Fuck this.

Fuck him.

Silence stretched between you, thick with memories.

You remembered the last time you'd seen him. The way he'd looked at you then—not with regret, but with that same damn calm acceptance like your pain was just another variable in whatever equation he was solving in that brilliant, twisted mind of his.

"You came back to this city without telling me? That's a bit sad.”

"I don't need to inform you about anything."

Chishiya tilted his head, considering you with that same old, familiar scrutiny. "Do you own this house here, or were you just claiming a whole house as if it were your own?"

"It's mine."

"Is it?" Another step forward. Your pulse jumped. "Funny. Last I checked, you hated being alone."

A low blow.

Your fingers tightened around the gun. "People change."

"Do they?" His eyes flickered over you.

Enough for small talk.

"You look good," he said suddenly, his voice softer now.

The words hit you like a physical blow.

"Don't," you warned.

"Don't what?"

"Don't pretend you care."

Something flickered in his eyes—too fast to name—before his mask slid back into place. "Who says I'm pretending?"

You barked out a laugh. "You left us on our own, Chishiya. You made your choice."

His last name.

You changed the way you address him.

"And you're still angry about it."

"I'm not—" You cut yourself off, teeth gritted. He was doing it again. Distracting you. Playing you. Getting under your skin like no one else ever could.

The gun in your hand felt suddenly heavy. You should have shot him. Should have put a bullet between those mocking eyes the second you recognized him. But your finger hadn't moved.

Pathetic.

And god, those eyes were the same.

Dark, calculating, with that infuriating glint of amusement that always made you want to slap him or kiss him, depending on the day.

Right now, you were leaning toward the former.

Right now, he’s too close to you, close enough that if you reached out, you could—

No.

You stepped back, putting space between you. "Get out, or I'll-"

He didn't move. "Or what? You'll shoot me?" A challenge.

You raised the gun. "Try me."

He stepped closer. "You won't."

"You don't know that."

"I do." with another step, the barrel pressed against his sternum. Your breath hitched. "Because if you were going to shoot me, you'd have done it the moment I turned around."

You swallowed hard. The moment hung suspended, fragile as a spiderweb.

Then you lowered the gun.

"Take what you need and go," you said, turning away before he could see the crack in your armor.

Chishiya watched you as you backed away from him. The space between the two of you yawned suddenly, vast and uncrossable.

Silence settled like ash.

Chishiya watched you for a long moment before crouching again, retrieving the few items he’d come for, shoving it into his jacket.

At the doorway, he paused.

"Be seeing you."

"Don't count on it."

A smirk. A shrug. Then he was gone.

The door clicks shut behind him, and the silence that follows is deafening.

You exhale sharply, fingers tightening around the gun before you finally let it drop to your side. Your pulse thrums in your throat, a relentless drumbeat of frustration and something else—something you refuse to name.

Alone again, you ran your trembling hand over your hair.

Chishiya Shuntaro.

Even now, just the thought of his name sends a jolt through you.

You didn't watch him leave.

Didn't need to.

You'd always been able to feel his absence like a phantom limb.

And the worst part?

1. Some part of you was already counting the minutes until he'd find his way back, letting fate bring you both back together again.

2. You hoped he’d stay.

＿＿＿

© 27/03/2025 [ @slyfpy-head ]

[pixeltwix]

{The Disconnect & The Spiral}

(I realize this isn’t my usual content, but hear me out, the rekindled GF fixation is going hard rn)

- -As an avid fan of Gravity Falls and an even bigger fan of the tragic old man lore packed into the mystery trio, I honestly gotta say..

I refuse to believe this is the full story towards WHY Fiddleford and his wife had a whole blasted argument over…him forgetting to get her a Christmas present?? Upon reading this section, I can frankly say I had a similar reaction to Ford. The immediate sense of, ‘really? That’s it? Your family reunion was torn up over that?’

I mean- your husbands been gone for lord knows how long, your young son also hasn’t seen him in ages, and let’s be honest- with how much trauma the ole hillbilly is stacking up on a day to day through his adventuring with Ford, how often is he actually able to call home or write a letter with a sound mind?

It just doesn’t feel feasible that a man who started this journey so troubled and in yearning to return home to family would be so forgetful as to not scrimmage up not even a souvenir or postcard from Gravity Falls for his family. So what is it then? Perhaps he’s become so averse to everything in the small town he wouldn’t dare bring a trace of it home with him, or rather, he truly had forgotten some small one off promise he made. Perhaps he’s forgotten a lot by this point-

Because of lack of dates on a majority of his entries it’s a little difficult to put together a timeline of when Fiddleford finished his memory wipe gun and when he started using it. By all means he racked up a lot of memories he wished to forget in the beginning being as quote ‘weak minded’ as he is. But then of course we all know he becomes addicted to quite literally erasing every little inconvenience until of course the end result. The freedom of a clear mind outweighing all consequences for him.

Instead however I choose to believe these were the first persisting side effects of his machine. We know enough about it now to get the fair suggestion that even one use of the memory wipe gun can be more damaging than can truly be discerned, so seeing as he quite possibly has used it at least twice by now- both events he used them for being extensive (the shifty incident and the gremloblin incident cited in journal 3) I believe it only fair to assume this quoted argument he got into with Emma-May was hardly over one measly little present. True, we have no frame of this woman much less the rest of the family (minus what we get of Tate once he’s grown), but I am TRULY giving her the benefit of the doubt in believing her husbands mind has begun to scatter in ways he didn’t even realize. So much to the point that a fight possibly fueled by ‘it’s not just about the Christmas present, it’s about ————“ would truly confuse him

I say that in the kindest way, I love Fiddleford, truly he’s the most tragic character in my mind regarding this story, but the man’s self destruction and drift from his family had to have started somewhere. And just like any addiction that can tear a family apart, this one was definitely packing punches. I realize I don’t have much backing, and I’m really just rambling some nonsense, but Alex Hirsch just doesn’t feel like one to write a one off ‘oh by the way this silly reason is why Fidds is alone from his family for the holidays, something he clearly holds a deep fondness for’. Nah, that man is too cryptic for him to write something like that and for me to not overthink it <3

(But with all that said and done- dear god the snow globe cabin and the knitted six fingered gloves literally killed me- that hillbilly is such a damn sweetheart, it can almost make me ignore the doom that will befall him and the town <3!!)

[bengals-barnesbabe]

Date Night

Pairing: Avenger!Bucky Barnes x Black!Nurse Reader

Warnings: mdni, mentions of sex, jokes about age.

Main Masterlist

WC: 1.3k

✧༺♥༻∞

Being at the Avengers Compound on your day off used to be weird. Avengers are cool and all, and you’re very appreciative for the chance to be considered ‘part of the team’ even if you only worked in the Medbay. No one wants to hang around their place of work when they don’t need to be. Then you started seeing a certain blue-eyed brunette super soldier.

So here you are walking through the main hallways to the the gym and passing a good amount of agents and techs enjoying their breaks. Then you hear your name being called. You look up from your phone and see Aaliyah, a friend of yours that works in the special equipment department (aka Avengers Weapons Only). You walk up to the cafe where her and some other work mates like to frequent.

“Hey Liyah, I didn’t know you were working today.”

She brings you in for a side hug. “I know, I’m not supposed to be, but Mr. Wilson just had to call me on my day off about fixing redwing.” Her cool demeanor shudders as the Falcon’s name coasts out of her lips.

You smirk. “I think he would prefer if you just called him Sam or your boyfriend. Your pick.”

She covers her face and shakes her head. “How about we talk about why you’re here on your day off? The Medbay is about 6 floors up and on the other side of campus.”

“Hey, I’m completely fine with saying I’m here for my man.” 

The light cockiness in your voice paints a mischievous grin on her lips. “Oh speaking of your boyfriend, does Barnes know how to use a pc- no a toaster- nope a smartphone?”

“Oh fuck off, is that what yall actually think?” You scoff as a people 10ft away from you shake their heads. “No fucking way, you can’t be serious!”

“Girl half of these people have never even seen him in person and they work in the same building he lives in.” Kyla, another nurse, says from the end of the table.

You roll your eyes and look at Aaliyah. “For real?” She nods her head.

“You know he wasn’t frozen for 70 years straight right? He couldn’t be a spy if he didn’t know how to blend in.” 

“How does he work a phone with the metal arm though?” She asks as someone comes up behind her.

“He has a flip phone, gotta remember he’s an old man.” Sam chuckles as she jolts out of her skin.

“You asshole! I told you to wait downstairs.” He shrugs and throws an arm around her. 

“You said you’d be back by 2:30, now I’m a punctual man baby. I waited a whole 5 minutes before tracking you down.” She buries her face in his chest to hide how he flustered her with the pet name. So cute.

���You should be going too, the old man has not stopped talking about you since we got here. I swear I’m gonna ask for a new mission partner.” You smile then hug them goodbye.

The walk from the break center/ cafeteria to the weapons testing arena and gym is a 5 minute straight shot. It also where you’d more times than not find your boyfriend. In the miniscule chance that he isn’t, you could probably find him in a conference room, with Captain Rogers outside lapping civilians or his suite. The kitchen exactly because those soldiers can eat. 

But the second those sliding doors open to his personal gun range, you see him just like you knew you would. He sat on a stool at a table with his muscular back adorned in a form fitting black henley and black jeans that emphasized his ridiculously thick thighs. His neck length brown hair is tied up in an adorable blue silk scrunchie as he dissembles his favorite rifle to clean it. You lean against the door frame just admiring the man’s beauty for a while more. He most definitely knows your behind him thanks to his enhances senses and experience as a spy, but that would not stop you from-

“Enjoying the view pretty girl?” Exactly, he gets it.

You smile and walk up to him, “absolutely.” You hum hugging his back and tracing your short almond acrylics across his abdomen.

A strong warm hand covers yours as he chuckles, a deep almost gravely laugh that electrifies every cell in your body. “I’ll be done in a couple minutes, then we can go.” 

You watch from over his shoulder the way his hands work in tandem to polish each nook and cranny of the gun. His vibraninum fingers curling around the body of it cause a shiver down your spine as you think about the nights you spend withering in his bed thanks to them. You shake those thoughts away and lay your head on his shoulder.

He brings one of your hands up and places his soft lips to your knuckles. “Fuck you smell so good. I knew you were coming before you hit the door.” He groans extending the kiss to your wrist before placing your hand back on his stomach.

“It’s your favorite, and you haven’t even seen the whole outfit yet.” 

He lets out another one of those heavenly chuckles. “Aw baby, did you get all dressed up for me?” The gun clicks shut and you feel yourself spinning around to face him.

“You like?” He takes your hand and you beam as he spins your once more. 

Since you were just going to a drive in movie, you paired a simple black top with your his favorite pair of dark gray baggy jeans that hug your waist and accentuate your ass just the way he likes. You couldn’t go wrong with some gold jewelry that shines beautifully on your brown skin. The whole look complimented itself.

Your 4c hair on the other hand didn’t want to cooperate this morning, the week old braid out was at its wits end and desperately needs all the mousse and gel washed out of it. So you did what you had to, found a giant hair tie, slicked your edges back and finger coiled a few strands in the front to give the look back some of it’s life. 

He nods biting his lip and looking you up and down. “You look just how you smell: decadent, like one of those death by chocolate cakes you love. And like you want to spend the rest of this weekend in my bed naked.” He smirks.

You hook your arms around his neck, step into the spot between his strong legs. “Well Mr. Barnes, we can’t have that. You promised me dinner and movie and the look’s not complete yet.” 

He raises a brow and dips his face to yours. “Oh yea,” he says huskily. “What could possibly be missing? You already have the body glitter.” The takes an imaginary bite out of your glazed arm. You nod at the leather jacket hanging on the hook by the door and he grins instantly.

“Go walkin’ around in that and everyone will know you’re mine.” He growls, his crystal blues deepening in hue flickering from your eyes to your lips.

“Maybe that’s exactly what I want.” You whisper against his lips tilting your head to connect them to yours.

His soft lips melted into yours perfectly, your hands pull on the hair tie locking away his silky locks and gently pull at them. He groans languidly licking into your mouth and swiftly lifting you into his lap, his hands holding firmly on your ass. Just like that it feels like the first time. Your heart beating heavily against your chest while you learn each other mouths. Tugging at his roots a bit more you nip his bottom lip and smile.

“You love playing with fire love.” 

You cheekily chuckle pulling back, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

He squeezes your cheeks then playfully smacks one inciting a gasp from you. “A dangerous, dangerous game that could cost you your night.”

“Aw but my favorite movie is playing.” Your fake pout morphs itself into a smirk. “Or maybe I wanted to makeout with my hot Brooklyn boyfriend in public without anyone knowing.” He bites his lip as you look at him with siren eyes.

“And people wonder why I can’t stop talking about you, my girl is a damn minx. Fuck it, lets go.” He sighs as you jump off his lap and grab his leather jacket.

While he’s securely putting away his rifle, you look over at him and smirk putting on the jacket. “Thanks daddy.”

His eyes go wide as you walk out the door giggling.

Gotta love date night.

♥*♡∞:｡.｡

AN: I was missing the character that brought me back to my passion, so this was really for me but yall can enjoy it too xox

as always likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated