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7-wonders · 1 month ago

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All the Debts I Owe

Sith!Anakin Skywalker x Reader

Summary: A routine Rebellion meeting goes horribly wrong when the Empire discovers the coordinates, but the Force has other plans for you besides death and chaos. Enter none other than the Sith Lord who's become a perennial thorn in your side.

Word count: 3.8k

A note from the author: Hello there! It's been a while since I've actually written anything (like, six months), so I hope this is good! This fic is a part of my Rebel-verse, where reader is a Rebel and Anakin is Darth Vader, just without the crispiness and chopped-off limbs.

(Also, there are a couple of little Easter eggs in here that you'll hopefully pick up on if you've read my other works in this AU. Let me know when you find them!)

I sincerely hope you enjoy, and if you do, I'd love to hear from you! Likes, comments, reblogs, and asks make my world go round :)

“...and the cost of fighter fuel will be supplemented by our trade alliance with Endor,” General Kessyk finishes reading from the tablet in front of her, and you have to hold in a sigh of relief when you realize that she’s reached the end of her prepared remarks.

The clock ticking loudly on the wall in the meeting room of the Rebel base on Mandalore has been the only thing keeping you from zoning out during the last half hour of the special session called by General Kessyk. When you joined the Rebel Alliance, you pictured your life to be nonstop action, fighting battles and gathering intelligence in the fight against the Galactic Empire. And sure, that’s been a good chunk of your time as a Rebel. But as you’ve climbed the ranks and slowly earned your way into a leadership position, you’ve come to the unfortunate realization that being in charge of the Rebellion involves a lot more administrative duties than you anticipated.

Including sitting through a boring budget meeting, of all things, to discuss how the Rebellion will be funded for the next half rotation.

Oona, your friend and second in command when your crew is out on a mission, nudges your side and slips a piece of paper into your hand. When you open it and look down to read the message, you have to hold in a burst of laughter. “Should I bring up the General’s shiny new robes and ask where the budget for that came from?” it reads.

“I don’t know what would be the worse reaction, her getting upset at your insubordination or her pulling out a detailed expenditure report,” you scribble quickly and hand it back to her.

Oona shoots you a cheeky grin and starts to write her own response, only for you both to be startled out of your merriment by the general calling your name.

“Yes, General?” you ask, pretending like you’ve been listening the entire time and definitely not forcing yourself to count each tick of the clock to keep from dozing off.

“I was inquiring about the status of your requested budget for the Jedi recruitment mission in the Outer Rim, Commander.” Though the Togruta tries to look stern, you can see the way that her lips just barely twitch as she tries to hide the soft spot she has for your antics. Kessyk has a tough exterior, indeed, but she fiercely loves those under her command, and has to often remind herself that she’s in charge.

“Of course.” You begin to pull up your (hastily completed last night) budget request when your heart seizes in your chest.

The Force screams danger! at you a split second before the unmistakable sounds of TIE fighters overhead ring in your ears. Red sirens alerting the base of adversaries start screeching, and everybody scrambles to well-rehearsed places to try and decipher what’s going on. You unclip your lightsaber and ignite it, as do a couple of other assembled Force users. It’s second nature at this point to assume command of a crisis situation, so you look to your trusted right-hand woman, already at a blaster cannon.

“Oona, set blasters to fire and send out a distress signal to the fleet!” She nods, and you focus on the next order of business: getting out there and fighting whatever it is that’s come to attack.

Unfortunately, bombs drop before you can even take a step, giving way to screaming and smoke and, eventually, silence.

•••

In the years since he eschewed the Jedi Order and turned to the Dark Side, Darth Vader has gotten very good at compartmentalizing. Restoring peace throughout the galaxy and carrying out the Emperor’s wishes could often be brutal and bloody, so he had to make sure that he wouldn’t crack under the strain of the horrors he both witnessed and carried out. It was a little like turning a switch on and off. Before a mission, the humanity that he held within him, that wish for no more death and destruction, was hidden away, instead replaced entirely by Sith values. He was then able to do what must be done without any hesitation.

(The aftermath of turning that switch back on and being faced with what he had done was horrific, but he secretly felt as though he deserved it—that it was his penance for all of the pain that he caused.)

There were times when compartmentalizing was easier said than done—killing the younglings all those years ago at the Jedi Temple, for example, had truly tested his newfound ability to do so. But there are other times, such as when intelligence points the Galactic Empire to a meeting of the top forces of the Rebel Alliance, that make it easy to shut a more humane part of him down and focus on the victory ahead. And now, as he stands aboard his destroyer and stares down at the smoldering carnage of the Rebellion’s Mandalore base, victory tastes sweet.

“Lord Vader, I have good news.” Admiral Batch, one of the few admirals not petrified of him, sidles up next to him. “The Rebels were caught completely off-guard, and as a result, we can confirm there have been over 20 casualties of high-ranking members of the Rebel Alliance.”

“Good news indeed,” Vader speaks through the modulator of his mask. “Are there any confirmed names that we can take back to the Emperor?”

“None for certain, until we can get down there and see identities for ourselves. We do know that General Kessyk was in the building, as well as a number of Force-sensitive Rebels.”

The moment that last fact actually registers with Darth Vader is the moment that his carefully constructed cruel facade collapses, allowing the Force to finally come screaming at him and tell him of the major mistake he’s made. How could he have not thought of the possibility that you, his Rebel, would be involved in this meeting? Through both Empire intelligence gatherings and the begrudging revelations from you that your responsibilities had been increasing due to your importance in the Rebellion, he should have made the connection that you were now one of those high-ranking members.

Instead, he allowed his anger and his passion to cloud his thinking until the only thing he could focus on was winning. It’s a move that has brought him pain countless times in the past, and now, it seeks to do so again. Vader has to force himself to remain calm, lest he lose control of his emotions and allow his connection to the Force to wreak havoc on his surroundings.

He takes a couple of deep breaths before feeling like he can speak in a level tone. “Thank you, Admiral Batch.”

The admiral bows his head in respect. “My lord,” he says, turning and heading back to the command center on the destroyer.

There’s not a moment to spare once the panel to the observation deck seals and leaves him alone. He needs to get down to the surface of Mandalore before any Stormtrooper teams can beat him there and start confirming the dead and injured. Darth Vader hurries back to his chambers, where he sheds his bulky uniform and switches into a set of unassuming robes. Clipping his lightsaber to his belt, he pulls his hood up over his head and proceeds to sneak out of the destroyer and into a cruiser—an easy feat when one has the Force on their side.

The Rebel base, once so well hidden in one of the capital’s abandoned industrial districts, is now completely exposed after the barrage of Empire bombs shelled through its defenses. Rubble and detritus are strewn in every direction, making his path to the coordinates of the meeting room that much more difficult to maneuver. Vader takes great care to stay hidden under any outcroppings of the ceiling still standing, hyperaware of the fact that he could be spotted at any moment.

When he finally reaches the room where the Rebellion’s best and brightest were meeting, he pauses as he takes in the carnage in front of him. It’s nowhere near the first time that he’s stood in a room full of bodies, their injuries and deaths partially (sometimes fully) attributed to him. But it is the first time that he’s been so concerned for the welfare of one of the potential bodies. Vader’s frantic eyes scan the faces of the dead and wounded, both hoping and not to see you among them. If he doesn’t see you, it either means that you’re somewhere safe and far away from here or that you’re buried so far under the wreckage that he’ll never be able to find you. Likewise, if he does see you, he’ll have concrete proof that you’re either alive…

…Or dead.

A pit opens up in his stomach at the mental image he’s unconsciously created, and he forces his eyes to work faster, to take in more and more information until there’s no doubt left for his mind to play with. Finally, in the corner of the room, he sees your face peeking out from behind a crumbling column. He has the briefest moment of deliberation, a ghost whispering in his ear that he’s gotten too wrapped up in this whole situation, persuading him to turn back now, cut his losses, and find something else to focus his attention on. Then there’s a pop and a sizzle, a chunk of ceiling breaking off and hitting a pile of embers across the room, and the ghost disappears.

It feels like Vader teleports with how fast he makes it to you, though that is not a skill that the Force grants. Falling to his knees at your side, his hand shakes as he places two fingers on your neck, terrified of the potential outcome when he tries to find a pulse. After a stressful few moments, he’s relieved to feel your pulse beating steadily under your skin. With the knowledge that you’re firmly alive in mind, he takes a moment to actually look you over.

You’re covered in blood and soot, making it difficult for him to determine where you’re injured. Your right arm is definitely broken, and it looks like your right ankle is, too. The extent of your injuries can be determined later by a medical droid. What matters now is that you’re alive, and that you’re stable.

Everything else is secondary.

•••

The first thing you realize upon waking up is that you have no memory of how you came to be in a position where you would need to wake up. The last thing you remember, you were trading notes with Oona to pass the time during a budget meeting. Now you’re here…if only you knew where ‘here’ was.

It’s more difficult for you to open your eyes than it normally is, and when you do finally pry them open, your blurry vision prevents you from discerning where you are. Picking a light source in the distance, you focus on that until the room finally comes into focus and you see that you’re surrounded by white. White walls, white floors, white counters. The logical part of your brain says that it could mean you’re in a medbay. But the logical part of your brain feels…fuzzy, almost. Like there’s a blanket of clouds settled over your consciousness and making silly notions like logic and reason fly somewhere far away

“Am I dead?” you ask yourself.

Somebody laughs at you from across the room, and you look to see none other than Darth Vader, sans mask and cape and all other vestments that he wears as a Sith Lord, strolling towards you. “No, thankfully.”

Blinking rapidly doesn’t get him to disappear in a mirage, but it does serve to dry out your already-unreliable eyes. “Well, now I really think that I might be dead.”

“Not if I had anything to say about it. Which, I did, and it’s why you’re not dead.”

A puff of air leaves your nose—it’s meant to come out as a laugh, but parts of your body seem to not want to cooperate today, so a puff of air is all you manage. The action makes your nose begin to itch fiercely, and as you jerkily lift your hand to alleviate the sensation, you’re stopped at the sight of the blue bacta cast that covers your arm from wrist to elbow.

“Oh.”

“The med droids did it,” he explains sheepishly, as though you might be mad at somebody attempting to heal what must be a significant injury. “Your right ankle is in a cast, too, as are your ribs. The report from the droid earlier said that your injuries are healing at the expected rate, so you should only need to be in them for a few more cycles.”

“What happened?” you mumble.

“What do you remember?” Vader asks.

“There was a meeting, and I was getting called out by Kessyk for not paying attention. Then…” you try to think, but the blanket of clouds presses down on you further and makes everything scatter. “Ugh, I feel funny.”

“Pretty sure you’re on some heavy painkillers right now.” He grabs a tablet from the end of your bed and looks at it. “You’re definitely on some heavy painkillers right now,” he amends.

“How did I get injured enough to need enough drugs to take down a bantha?”

“The Empire received intelligence that some high-ranking members of the Rebellion would be meeting on Mandalore, and the decision was made to carry out a bombing mission. I didn’t even begin to think that you were one of those high-ranking members until after the bombs had been dropped.”

“Wow, you don’t think I’m good enough at my job to be a high-ranking Rebel?” If you had full control over yourself right now, you would be slapping a horrified hand over your mouth and begging yourself to shut up. Instead, you giggle (oh, the horror) at Vader’s panicked expression and bat at his hands with your own uninjured one. “I’m just messing with you. We both know that I’m really good at my job.”

“We do,” he agrees before continuing. “I couldn’t just leave without knowing if you were there, so I commandeered a fighter and went down myself. When I saw you laying there, injured…I wouldn't leave you to whatever your fate might have been if I hadn’t interfered. So I brought you here, to my fortress on Mustafar, to recover.”

A med droid interrupts your conversation when it begins to do a routine round through the medbay and sees that you’re awake. You allow it to poke and prod you, checking your vitals and doing whatever scans it needs, aware the whole time of Vader watching you. His stare is unwavering, closely supervising the droid as though it might rebel against its circuitry and try to harm you instead of heal you. When the droid chirps at him, he glares.

“I am letting you do your job, 21-B,” he huffs.

More chirping, followed by a whistle.

“That’s uncalled for.”

“You can understand it?” you ask, watching the scene in front of you with amusement.

“I’ve been able to understand droids since I was a young boy. For better or for worse.”

When 21-B beeps, even you can tell it's displeased. Vader rolls his eyes and proceeds to argue with the droid a bit longer before turning to you.

“Your temperature is starting to rise a little, and 21-B’s worried it’s an early sign of infection. He wants to give you some medicine to combat that. Is that alright?” You’re a little surprised that Vader is both taking the time to explain the droid’s requests to you and making sure that you consent to the care plan.

You nod, and 21-B begins to fiddle with the IV in your hand before injecting what you assume is the needed medicine into your line. There must be a sedative effect to this medication as well, because your body quickly begins to feel like gravity is no longer going to be able to hold you down anymore. You try to fight the way that your eyes flutter, willing yourself to keep focused on Vader. There are still so many questions you have that need answered!

“Do you know who died?” you ask quietly, using the stores of strength you still have within you to speak.

“Not for certain. There was…a lot of carnage when I came to find you. I couldn’t see who was alive and who wasn’t.”

“Oh.” Although such a revelation certainly warrants a better reaction, one syllable is all that you can muster.

Vader smiles just slightly at your struggle. “Focus on resting, and I’ll see if I can find answers for you, okay?”

You think you mutter an affirmative answer, but unconsciousness pulls at you before you can be sure.

Though it feels like you merely blink, when you open your eyes once more, the shadows in the medbay are much longer than they were when you last saw them. One glance around the room reveals Darth Vader sitting in a chair at the foot of your bed, watching something on a holocron. When he notices you struggle into a sitting position, he powers it off and tosses it on a counter behind him.

“How are you feeling?” he asks softly.

“Better,” you respond truthfully. You feel a little stronger than you did earlier; your mind is markedly clearer, too.

“Good. The droid said that your temperature returned to normal about an hour ago.”

“That’s good.”

Even though you should be focused on yourself, asking more questions about your own prognosis, your mind is with your team and your fellow Rebels—or, you fear, what’s left of them.

“Did you…learn any of the names of the injured and dead?” you ask.

Vader nods and takes a deep breath (Does his face lose a little color? you wonder as you watch his expression for any clues). “I did. General Kessyk is dead.”

You’re almost expecting that answer, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. And in a normal circumstance, you would hide that hurt until you could break down away from anybody. But this isn’t a normal circumstance. You’re hurt and thankful to be alive and probably still a little high on pain meds, which is why you have to stare intensely down at the cast on your arm to keep the stray tears that hit your blanket from turning into full-on crying in Darth Vader’s presence. To his credit, he is incredibly patient with you, remaining silent and giving you the space to feel your feelings.

You manage to get yourself under control quicker than expected, sniffling a couple of times before you can meet his eyes again.

“My second in command—my best friend—was there with me.” It’s hard to get the words out, as a selfish part of you wants to not ask, but instead live in this gray area where she’s both alive and not. “Did you hear anything about someone named Oona?”

The control that you had been so proud of yourself for exercising crumbles the moment that you hear him say that Oona’s injured, but alive. Tears that were vanquished mere moments ago return in full force until you’re sobbing.

Not just crying, no. Sobbing. Like, gross, heaving sobs. The type of sobbing that will most definitely leave you feeling embarrassed later for having such an emotional reaction. At the moment, though, sobbing seems like the only way to properly express your feelings. Relief, at Oona being alive. Grief, for your general and likely a number of others who have lost their lives. And something bittersweet—some emotion you can’t truly place—for yourself and the position you’ve found yourself in.

After a few moments of indecision, Vader rises awkwardly from his chair and hovers inches away from you, unsure of what to do.

“I’m so sorry, Anakin,” you try to apologize in between sobs. “Really, I’m just—”

“Please don’t apologize,” he insists uncomfortably as your breath gets caught in your throat, causing you to almost hyperventilate as you try to remember how to breathe.

Darth Vader is a Sith Lord, and you’re a Force-sensitive Rebel; enemies, that much is true. But first and foremost, you’re both human beings who possess human traits and tendencies. Vader can’t help but sympathize with you, putting a comforting hand on your shoulder before he’s even fully aware of the action. Likewise, when your body recognizes another human who’s willing to provide you comfort in a time of need, it acts by taking his hand in your own and beginning to pull him down onto the bed before logic can say otherwise.

“You don’t want me to hold you,” Vader tries to convince you while he’s climbing onto the bed with you and carefully avoiding your various bacta casts to slide his arms around you, somehow unaware that he’s the one taking the comfort further than just the simple hand-holding and proximity that you initiated. “I–I’m the reason for this. You should be sending me away.”

“Shut up,” you mumble into his chest through hiccuping sobs.

Already, your breath seems to come a little easier, your tears a little lighter. And the Force, which is always humming around you with something to say, has gone contentedly silent.

When you find yourself calm enough to dry your eyes and lift your head off of Vader’s chest, you have to fight a sudden bout of shyness to be able to actually look at him. “Sorry for crying on you so much,” you mumble bashfully.

“I promise you, there’s nothing to be sorry for,” Vader assures. “If anything, I’m surprised that you aren’t angry at me.”

“How can I be, when I would have done the exact same thing?”

He doesn’t bother to hide his shock. “Really?”

“Yes,” you admit with a laugh. “I absolutely would have bombed a meeting of Empire officials, and then belatedly realized you were probably there and tried to get you out safely against my better judgment.”

“Judgment seems to not be either of our strong suits right now. None of what’s happening to us follows any rationale,” Vader says.

“No,” you agree. “We should be mortal enemies.”

“Absolutely.” Vader tightens his grip around you. “Once we figure out why the Force keeps doing this to us, we’re right back to trying to kill each other without any qualms.”

“So glad we’re on the same page.”

You’re so on the same page, in fact, that neither you nor Vader let go of the other. Better to keep the Force happy, right?

#anakin skywalker x reader #anakin skywalker imagine #anakin skywalker x you #sith!anakin #sith!anakin skywalker #sith!anakin skywalker x reader #star wars imagine #rebel-verse au #rebel!reader

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rosachae · 23 days ago

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salvation | megan skiendiel x reader P1

PART ONE click for next part ⁍ song: ghost - mary in the junkyard ⁍ genre: Star Wars AU! fluff, angst, slowburn. honestly everything. ⁍ a/n: hello all! if you didn't already know, i hit the 1000 block on my initial post of this here and as such needed to cut a few scenes. so, to get everything out, i'll be splitting the original version into parts. this is part one of the 'saur cut'. ⁍ wc: 18.3k ⁍ 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, air speeders 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.

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. six years 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. perhaps more 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.

PART ONE click for next part

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toaarcan · 1 year ago

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Hi, hey there, did you know that the whole "Jedi can deflect blasters so Mandalorians used solid-shot weapons to kill them because blocking a bullet with a lightsaber just results in molten metal spraying the Jedi" meme is actually bullshit?

Like, first thing you have to know about that lore is that it was written by Karen Traviss. Traviss is fairly infamous for writing a shitton of military wank and really hating the Jedi, portraying them as cruel, cold, fascist idiots, who are much, much lamer than the cool Mandalorians, who are badass military types and definitely haven't carried out multiple genocides in the past (they have). She was also known for not exactly playing ball with other writers, and ultimately ragequit the franchise when TCW started to include Mandalorians and portrayed them differently. This was not a detail that basically any other writer in anything Star Wars ever actually backs up.

And like, here's the thing... this exists.

That's a Jedi using the Force to deflect bullets with her bare hand.

This is Tutaminis. And/or Force Deflection, it's not really clear whether they're the same thing or not. It's a pretty standard Force ability that a bunch of characters have demonstrated. Obi-Wan blocks both bullets and a flamethrower with it in the 03 Clone Wars microseries. It's how Yoda catches and redirects Force Lightning during his duels with Dooku in Attack of the Clones and Palpatine in Revenge of the Sith. It's how Vader absorbs Han's shots with his hand in The Empire Strikes Back.

It's also evident from the amount of times that the Mandalorians fight the Jedi with normal blasters instead of breaking out their "anti-Jedi" weapons for their ancient enemies. And the fact that the Mandalorians lost their wars against the Jedi.

If solid-shot guns/slugthrowers were the amazing anti-Jedi weapons that totally always worked against Jedi, then we'd see a lot more slugthrowers and a lot fewer Jedi. We see the CIS' Droid armies fight against the Jedi for three years, we see the Clones being designed from the get-go to kill the Jedi at the end of the war and being highly successful at it, we see the Empire hunting Jedi for the next 19 years and the rest of the Galactic Civil War after that, and y'know what they have in common? None of them use slugthrowers. They all just keep using blasters.

The answer to "How to kill a Jedi" equation has traditionally been depicted as "Use more blasters than they can actually physically deflect."

There's also the detail that Jedi are precognitive space wizards who can move with superhuman speed. If you're actually in range to shoot one with a gun, they'll sense you, evade or block with the Force, close the gap before you can chamber the next round, and revoke your Hand Privileges.

Even the "You'll kill them with a spray of molten metal from the melted bullet!" thing doesn't actually track with what we see on-screen. At the climax of Revenge of the Sith, we see Obi-Wan and Vader fight in the middle of an active volcano. They get splashed with showers of lava a couple of times, and at the end of the fight, both of their clothes are scorched and burned from the embers. Obi-Wan continues to wear his charred robes throughout the rest of the movie. And he's fine. No lava burns. Neither of them actually gets hurt by the lava until Obi-Wan cuts Vader's limbs off and he can no longer move or protect himself, and even then, Vader survives getting burned to a crisp by being really fucking mad about it.

So yeah, it's nonsense. A dumb "Hurr, Jedi are so lame and my unproblematic genocidal warrior race could totally kill them super-easy" take written by Star Wars' own version of Ken Penders.

#Star Wars #Jedi #Meta #Yeah sorry the Legends Mandos were pretty much straight-up villains most of the time

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angelseraphines · 21 days ago

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on the aesthetics of asian erasure in star wars: obi-wan kenobi and the planet of naboo

when we talk about representation in star wars, the conversation often stops at what’s visible or credited. star wars has a long-standing problem with the lack of asian leads or asian-coded worlds, but sometimes what’s more insidious is the erasure of asian influence where it once existed, or where it was clearly intended to be.

take obi-wan kenobi. before alec guinness was cast, george lucas had reportedly wanted a japanese actor to play the role, toshirō mifune, most famously known for his work with akira kurosawa. lucas has never strayed away from citing the hidden fortress as a direct inspiration for a new hope, and the jedi, in their original conception, from eastern philosophies, particularly bushido and zen buddhism. this was not accidental. it’s embedded into the language, “obi” (the sash of a kimono), “wan” (a name component common in chinese and southeast asian names), and “kenobi,” which emulates the structure of japanese surnames. it is an asian-inspired name, heavily so.

but when mifune declined, lucas pivoted. and instead of keeping that vision intact, the jedi master archetype, the wise elder, steeped in tradition, was lifted from its asian origins and handed to a white british actor. and then later, to ewan mcgregor, whose performance, while incredible, westernized the role further. we are told obi-wan is from “stewjon,” a planet born out of a joke, a merging of jon stewart’s name, after he asked lucas where obi-wan was from. then “space scotland” became the shorthand. that change from asian inspiration to european performance was never really questioned.

it’s not about demanding obi-wan look asian. it’s that the character was rooted in an asian framework, and that framework was abandoned the moment it became inconvenient to uphold. and that sets the tone for much of star wars, aesthetic borrowing without meaningful credit.

naboo is another case where this shows up. the common narrative is that naboo was inspired by renaissance europe, with its lush italian architecture, baroque dresses, and romanticized monarchy. those elements are there. but there’s a consistent thread of asian influence that is almost never acknowledged.

the names of the monarchs are a starting point. padmé, from the sanskrit “padma,” meaning lotus. sabé and saché, echoing asian and hindi name constructions. queen jamillia, whose name stems from arabic roots, suggests influence from islamic culture. even the name “naboo” itself sounds curiously close to nebo, a mesopotamian god, or nabu, the sumerian deity of wisdom. the planets closest to naboo in the galactic grid, like sereno and ord mantell, also carry vague echoes of eurasian tone.

but most significantly, look at the costume design in the phantom menace. trisha biggar drew from a range of global influences, but some of queen amidala’s most iconic gowns were directly modeled after traditional mongolian royal attire, specifically the headdress and layered robes worn by mongolian empresses. the high collars, rich brocades, and facial makeup are unmistakable. yet, in the lore, naboo is labeled as european. not central asian. not global. and certainly not asian.

this is not to say star wars owes its worldbuilding to any one culture. it doesn’t. part of its power comes from its ability to merge and reimagine cultures. but there is a problem when the contributions of asian cultures are stripped of credit, while european aesthetics are exalted as canonical. when a jedi’s name can be asian, his values drawn from eastern philosophies, his robes loosely modeled on samurai garb, and yet his face, voice, and homeworld are made definitively western.

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thegingerwrites · 2 months ago

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Marry Me

An obikin wedding ficlet during the Clone Wars based on this post:

Anidala's secret marriage is not a secret anymore. It comes out and despite Anakin and Padme's worst fears everyone is… okay with it? Obviously it isn't ideal that it happened in the first place but since it happened Anakin and Padme have been extremely professional. Anakin has grown and matured as a Jedi and a general. Padme has not let it interfere with her responsibilities in the Senate. There are a few technicalities to take care of in order to make sure that Anakin is no longer assigned to protect her on missions but otherwise, things are remarkably fine.

Ahsoka is actually the one to bring it up first (just like the comic) saying, "I can't believe you had a wedding on Naboo and didn't invite me."

"It was a secret! And I didn't even know you then."

"Yeah, but like, how much of wedding was it then? Was Padme's family there?"

"No, like I said: secret."

"And you didn't have anyone there."

"Just the officiant and the witness."

"You didn't even have Obi-Wan there."

"No, he definitely didn't make the invite list."

The Jedi don't do marriage but that doesn't mean they don't know about it. The topic comes up in galactic cultures courses. Younglings sometimes play at it in the creche. Way back in the archives there are some similar ceremonies in the Jedi tradition. So Ahsoka knows about weddings. They're kind of a childish fascination for some of the Jedi. The fact that she came so close to experiencing one first hand was cheated out of it by the war and her master is a pretty big deal.

"So it wasn't much of a wedding. You and Padme are both pretty dramatic, I'm surprised you were both so okay with not making a big deal out of it."

"Hey--"

"Especially when there was no reason to make it so secretive. Honestly, you two should do it again, the whole thing but actually celebrate it this time."

"Well, we're kind of in the middle of something here."

And that should be it but then Ahsoka mentions it to Rex. And then someone brings the idea up in front of Obi-Wan. Before long the idea comes before the Council and to everyone's surprise, they take it seriously. What if they could use a vow renewal to increase the Jedi's profile with the Republic at large. Symbolically uniting themselves with the Senate. Proving wrong the stereotype that they are dispassionate and unfeeling.

So they're doing this, the Jedi are planning a wedding.

They're doing it in the midst of fighting a war. Between missions, Anakin is shipped off to fittings and cake tastings and planning sessions that have the same level of solemnity as a strategy meeting. If they're doing this, going to all of this trouble, making a huge production, wasting time and resources, they're going to do it right.

Obi-Wan gets caught up in it too. Because he and Anakin are The Team, or they are well on their way to becoming it. They lead missions with the Open Circle Fleet. Their names are becoming known throughout the galaxy as they fight more battles, push back the Separatists, and bring what peace they can to planets everywhere. If this wedding is a matter of public image, and it is, people are going to expect, just as Ahsoka did, for Obi-Wan to be there at Anakin's side when it happens.

So when Anakin goes for his formal robes fitting, Obi-Wan goes too. Obi-Wan is there during the planning sessions or is commed in. He's basically Anakin's best man and so he is involved every step of the way.

And he hates it, at least at first. Not only is he incredibly hurt by the fact that Anakin got married in secret in the first place, now he gets to have it rubbed in his face in front of the entire galaxy. This is an insult and an embarrassment and Obi-Wan doesn't get to say that to anyone so he keeps it bottled up inside. The fact that Anakin is happy with Padme and gets to keep what he has with her is…a lot.

The wedding planning takes months and slowly, Obi-Wan warms up to the idea. When he does, it is that aspect that convinces him. Anakin is happy. Padme makes him happy. And after being at war for over a year, surely anything that makes Anakin happy it a good thing. Part of him wishes he could have been the one to make Anakin feel that way (happy that is. Padme makes Anakin happy in ways Obi-Wan could never. They are not--they could not--no. If this is what Anakin needs, Obi-wan should count himself lucky that Anakin never asked that of him.) but this is what Anakin has chosen and like it or not, Obi-Wan needs to get on board.

So then Obi-Wan gets into it. He is at every wedding planning meeting. He has opinions on everything. He is more organized than their official wedding planner. He talks Anakin's ear off about the details, the guest list, the colors, the order of ceremony.

And eventually Anakin has had enough. He shuts down whenever Obi-Wan tries to bring it up. He stops answering Obi-Wan's comm calls when he can be sure that Obi-Wan isn't in danger. He shows up late to his own rehearsal dinner.

Anakin should be happy. He knows this. He is on the brink of getting everything he wanted: the woman of his dreams, the promise of a family, and he gets to keep his place with the Jedi.

But he can't ignore the growing feeling that something is wrong. It feels perverse, that the more that everyone else looks forward to his wedding, the less he wants to go through with it. The first time that thought occurs to him, Anakin freezes. He goes completely still, utterly silent in the midst of a conversation with Padme and Obi-Wan, Mace Windu and their wedding planner. Anakin doesn't have to go through with this. He doesn't have to walk down the aisle or stand their at the head of the Senate Chamber. He could simply not do it.

Obi-Wan finds Anakin in the hangar bar at the Jedi temple, fiddling with something inconsequential on his starship. He is ostensibly working on his ship but really, he is playing around with the idea of getting in his ship and leaving the planet.

"Anakin, they're waiting for you," Obi-Wan says, as though Anakin doesn't know.

Anakin manages to look at him but he can't find the words he needs to explain himself. "I made a mistake."

"What do you mean?"

"I can't do this."

Obi-Wan stands there in front of him, his hands folded in the sleeves of his robes, utterly calm. He doesn't panic, he doesn't over-react. In the face of Anakin's on-coming breakdown, he only seems to become more composed. "You're certain?"

"Of course, I'm not certain!" Anakin says. "All I know is I can't go out there again. I can't stand there in front of everyone and smile. I can't do it."

"Alright then."

"Alright?" Anakin feels like he is losing his mind. He has no idea what he wants from Obi-Wan. A lecture? Reassurance? Anger? Frustration? Comfort? But he is getting nothing from him.

"Well, the decision to get married in the first place was made in haste. It goes against conventional wisdom but I'm sure you can regret in haste as well."

Is that what Anakin is feeling? Regret? He doesn't regret falling in love with Padme. He doesn't regret the days he spent by the lakeside on Naboo. He doesn't regret the comfort his relationship has given him, the idea of someone to come home to.

But the idea of standing up in front of everyone and binding himself to Padme? The idea of Senate and the Jedi and the Galaxy at large watching as Anakin makes this decision even as he is making it for the second time? That makes Anakin's skin crawl.

Something about it feels wrong. And even if Anakin can't quite bring himself to call one of the tangled threads of emotion he is currently experiencing regret, that isn't a reason to go through with it.

Obi-Wan interrupts his thoughts by placing a hand on Anakin's shoulder. Anakin meant to snap back at him or banter with him, something, but he got caught up in the same thought spiral that has been dragging him down for weeks. "I agreed to stand beside you, Anakin. Not just for the wedding, though I will be there for you as well if you choose to let it take place. The fact is, I have been at your side for years now and I'm not sure there is anywhere else I would rather be. Choose to renew your vows or choose to run, I will stand by you." He closes his mouth and almost stops himself from continuing but then the thought forces its way out regardless. "I will have faith in whatever decision you choose to make."

Anakin is stricken. He almost would have preferred a lecture. This…this understanding from Obi-Wan is more moving than anything they have ever shared with each other. More honest and true. And on the cusp of making what feels in the Force like a life-altering decision-- although again, the marriage is already legal--it is overwhelming.

The force with which Anakin grabs Obi-Wan, wraps his arms around him and buries his face into is shoulder, makes Obi-Wan take a step back upon impact. But he holds him, takes Anakin into his arms too, and takes some of his weight as Anakin collapses into him.

"Thank you," Anakin says. It doesn't matter what, specifically, his gratitude is for. It is big and vast and Obi-Wan-shaped. Thank you for being at my side, thank you for not hating me, thank you for letting me make mistakes, thank you for helping me through them. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

"Of course, dear one."

Because Obi-Wan's love for him has always been an 'of course'. Even when neither of them could say it. Even when neither of them could locate the emotion in themselves and point at it. The love was there. Of course it was.

Anakin kisses Obi-Wan first. He pulls back enough to look Obi-Wan in the eye, steels himself and takes the plunge. Obi-Wan stiffens in surprise for the smallest moment before softening, accepting Anakin's kiss and returning it with his own affection. They push and pull and they do it together. And after so many weeks of a growing sense of wrongness this, finally, feels right.

"I should be marrying you tomorrow," Anakin says when they part. When he thinks about it, it feels like the two of them, far more than him and Padme, have been married for over a year now. "I wish I could."

Obi-Wan is quiet for a moment. The corners of his mouth lifted in a gentle smile, content enough in the Force that his presence there makes no ripples. "Well, we did go to all this trouble…"

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying you have several difficult conversations ahead of you but if it helps all of us save face--"

"You would marry me?"

"Darling, I think we've just established that for all intents and purposes, we already are."

#obikin #obikin fic #obi wan x anakin #anakin x obi wan #aniobi #my fic #imagine the best man wedding planning shenanigans #maybe a bachelor party?#fixing the edges of each other's lapels #the silent yearning

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goosewriting · 4 months ago

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Our New Empire

summary: reader and Cal dress up for a costume party and share a moment alone.

relationship: college!AU Cal Kestis x gn!reader

warnings: fluff, maybe second-hand embarrassment lol, kissing

word count: 1.5k

A/N: inspiration struck just in time for valentine’s day! this one’s for @soka-writes-things <3 thank you for your support always and for your patience, this took a while :’) <3 this is technically a spin-off to class is now in session. i hope you’ll enjoy all the meta references xD

[all masterlists] 🪶 [star wars masterlist] 🪶 [ao3]

(english is not my first language. constructive criticism and grammar corrections are very appreciated!)

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Every year, the university would host a handful of events, mainly for the freshmen to meet new people and explore the campus. Many of the older students still like to attend, though; the university does know how to throw a party, after all. You’ve been looking forward to it for months, and even pitched an idea to your faculty to make it a costume party. To your delight, everyone was immediately on board.

Luckily, the organisation went without a hitch, and everyone even pitched in for food and decor. Since the event would become more of a party than anything else, the university would allow for it to still be held in one of the bigger halls, with the condition that there’d be an assigned group of people who’d stay and clean up afterwards. So the faculty held two raffles: one for prizes and one for the clean-up crew. The latter was announced before the event, and you and Cal both got drawn. But neither of you minded, as some of your friends got drawn too, so at least you know you’d have a good time with them.

As for the party, you decided to dress up as Jedi Knights from that one movie, ‘Galactic Conflicts’. When you found out that Cal is also a fan, you were delighted, and you easily settled on matching costumes. Others also wore costumes from the franchise, and you’d go up to them with your plastic sword and challenge them to a duel, quoting some lines here and there, happy when they’d play along.

An hour or so into the party, you start to feel your shenanigans catching up to you. The air in the main hall, which has been converted into a dance floor, is pretty stuffy, and the bass thrums in your ears. The several layers of robes you’re wearing are starting to cling to your skin since you’ve been running around, taking your Jedi role very seriously. So you decide to step outside for a while, and look for Cal while you’re at it. You lost your companion a while ago in the colourful mass of people.

You navigate through the crowd, careful not to hit anyone with your sword, and head for one of the exits that leads onto an elevated patio. The evening air is pretty cool, and you breathe in deeply, welcoming the sensation. With your hands on your hips, you stand by the railing, looking down at the cobblestone path that snakes around a small pond. You wonder if there’s any fish in there, and if so, if you could get the chance to feed them.

“Hello there!”

You recognise the voice, and turn around with a chuckle, shaking your head. Standing on one of the nearby benches is Cal, his arm extended, sword aimed at you. The lamp post shines a halo-like light over him, his copper hair glistening with specks of red and gold, contrasting his dark robes.

“General Kestis,” you respond, playing along.

”I have the high ground,” he continues, striking a silly heroic pose from where he looms over you.

”That’s not how the lines go!” you laugh, and he shrugs, giving you a lopsided smile.

“I was looking for you,” he says.

”Yeah?” You lift your sword, shifting into a battle pose. “You want me to kick your butt again?”

”I’m afraid it won’t be so easy this time,” he says, flicking the switch on his sword to elicit a whirring sound effect, and the blue colour changes to red. “I’ve turned to the dark side. It’s Darth Kestis, now.”

You hum, not bothering to cover the fact that you’re checking him out.

“I have to say, for a Sith Lord, you look really good,” you say, and Cal breaks character for a split second when he can’t hold back the smile spreading on his face. But he’s quick to return to his serious expression, jumping down from his bench and coaxing you to approach with his free hand.

”En garde!” you exclaim, holding your sword up, and he mirrors you so that your weapons form an X.

”That’s not-“ he breaks again with a chuckle, shaking his head. “Ah, never mind. Let’s go!”

You two play fight for a while, adding your own sound effects when your swords clash, throwing banter back and forth, switching to slow motion for particularly cool moves. It doesn’t take long for you to break out in laughter at the silly antics, unable to hold back any longer. This means you let your guard down, and in one swift move he swipes your sword from your hands, caging you against the railing.

“Gotcha,” he says, panting softly; you two really took this seriously and are slightly out of breath.

”Oh no, whatever shall I do,” you say in mock distress, bringing the back of your hand to your forehead in an exaggerated manner. But the grin on your face betrays you. “So tell me, Darth Kestis. Did you perchance grow very powerful now that you’ve turned? Brought peace to the Republic?”

“Indeed,” Cal responds, turning both swords off and clipping them to his belt. He places his hands on the railing on either side of you.

“What about the younglings?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at him.

”All safely evacuated, of course,” he retorts, looking like he might add something else, but he decides against it. Instead, he continues, “I’ve brought peace, justice, freedom and security to our new Empire. I’ll overthrow the Chancellor. We can rule the galaxy together. You know how it goes.”

His tone is so matter-of-fact, you raise a brow at him with a chuckle.

”So, will you join me? To rule together?” he asks, his tone surprisingly earnest, and it kind of makes your heart flutter a bit.

Cal pushes himself off the metal bar, standing in front of you with an extended hand. In your mind, you can perfectly imagine your surroundings on the lava planet, everything bathed in reds and oranges. You give him a knowing smile, sighing dramatically.

”You know I always say the Queen should have gone with Vader.” Taking a step closer, you place your hand in his, and he brings it up to his lips to place a kiss on your knuckles. Without letting go, he lets his arm fall back down again.

“So, what should our first official decree be?” he asks, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand as he comes even closer. You hum, as if musing it over, deep in thought. His face is so close to yours, you can feel his breath fanning over your cheeks.

”Free healthcare for everyone,” you start, and he hums in agreement. “Retirement plans for the Clones. Guaranteed food and housing for all inhabitants.”

“Anything else?” he asks in a whisper, his lips brushing over your ear, sending tingles all over your skin.

“And once the government stabilises a bit, I’ll bring you back to the light.”

Cal stops his ministrations, pulling back to look at you in surprise.

“Emperor or not,” you continue, bringing your free hand to cup his face. “I’d never let you lose yourself.” At this point, the line between reality and role-play is blurred. You swallow, feeling the heat rush to your face as you add, “You mean too much to me. I’d never give you up.”

Cal’s brows furrow for a moment, then an unreadable expression washes over his face, and you fear you’ve ruined the moment. You open your mouth to say something, but your words get swallowed by his lips capturing yours. A squeak of surprise escapes you as he kisses you with urgency, but you reciprocate, bringing your arms around him to pull him closer. Cal’s hands sneak around your waist, slipping underneath the outermost layer of robes which aren’t cinched by the belt, hugging you to him.

After breaking for air momentarily, he tilts his head slightly and kisses you again, this time much calmer. He pushes against you and you take a couple steps back until your backside hits the railing, where the kisses shift into a slow make-out.

“Hey lovebirds!” a voice calls out to you suddenly, and you both flinch in surprise. Cal takes a step back to give you some space, holding onto your hand as he turns to the patio door. Sabine and Ezra wave at you from there and call you inside, several more heads peeking out as well to see the spectacle, and you hear a whistle or two accompanied by cheering.

You groan in embarrassment, burying your face into Cal’s shoulder, who laughs heartily, and you feel it vibrate through your whole body, heart still racing.

”We’ll be right there!” Cal calls to the group, then turns back to you. He places one last kiss on your temple as he unclips your sword from his belt, offering it to you.

“Ready to go recruit more people for our cause?” he asks with his boyish smile that you love so much.

You bring your hand up to run through his hair, smoothing it down a bit after messing it up, then take the weapon from his hand.

“And take down anyone who stands in our way,” you reply, placing a quick kiss on the tip of his nose as you take off. “Race you!”

”Hey, no fair!” he calls after you with a laugh, already spotting another Jedi in the crowd. Truth is, he didn’t care if he turned to the dark or light, as long as he was with you.

○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○ ○

🐥 taglist: [link to join in my pinned post!] @dybynyght @galaxtic-writings @kalea-bane @padawancat97 @riddikulus-obsessions @optimisticprime3 @starilicious @ivelostmyabilitytoeven @alternatescififandomelover @lovelyygirl8 @cathyket @wildefire @ghostkestis @reckoning-star @wyvernthekriger @padawan-solimar @batboysandgirls @toelady @hardkiddonut @theblazes-world @bluesprings18 @call-me-a-fool @braveangel780 @mmcringelordmcgee

#goose feathers #cal kestis x reader #star wars cal x reader #jedi fallen order x reader #jedi survivor x reader #star wars x reader

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sw5w · 3 months ago

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I Trust Him, but the Systems Don't Show on the Archive Maps

STAR WARS EPISODE II: Attack of the Clones 00:36:39

#Star Wars #Episode II #Attack of the Clones #Coruscant #Galactic City #Temple Precinct #Jedi Temple #unidentified training room #Obi-Wan Kenobi #unidentified human #unidentified Jedi #Jedi robe #Jedi tunic #under-tunic #Jedi Temple Veranda

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221bshrlocked · 1 year ago

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Keep Your Religion

Pairing: Commander Wolffe x Jedi AFAB!Reader

Words: 7630

Warnings: 18+ only. Starts off angsty then gets to the smut. Softer than usual Wolffe because that man would be madly in love when he finds his special someone. Lots of Kissing. Possessive Behavior/Words. Dirty/Sweet Talk..but mostly Sweet. Exhibitionism Kink if you like squint! Oral Sex (female receiving). Penetrative, Unprotected Sex (wrap the shlong before you king kong my dudes). Slight Breeding Kink. Wolffe is insatiable yall!

Summary: You try to end things with Wolffe because you fear your relationship will end badly due to the rules set in place for the Jedi and the Clones. Wolffe convinces you otherwise.

A/N: Can you believe I finished another fic? Neither can I. It was about time for another Wolffe fic so here you go my lovely humans. I hope you enjoy. Comments are always always always appreciated so let me know how I'm doing please and thank you. I do apologize that I'm not tagging, it hasn't been working for some reason since post editor changed permanently to this new looking editor. I'll try to figure it out I swear! P.S. this is the second of hopefully many more submissions for @clonexreaderbingo

Something about seeing him so relaxed and loose tugged at the strings of your heart. It was a rare sight, one you thought he would only grace you with when the two of you are alone together. But here he was, throwing back whatever shit drink the bar offered him and his brothers, all the while smiling at Cody’s remark about the new shinies embarrassing themselves in front of Anakin and Obi-Wan. You’re nursing your own drink in the corner, trying to find the best possible way to approach the booth without making a scene. He’d told you before that almost everyone close to him knew of your relationship, but you felt weird about dropping the pretenses. You were his boss, after all. Well, not completely his boss, but a commanding officer regardless. If you started acting extra friendly, you’re not sure how the rest of the Wolfpack would take it.

As you swirl the spotchka around, you suddenly feel like someone is watching you, hunting you even. There’s only one man who’s ever made you feel so heated and just as you look up from the glass in your hand towards the group of Clones you were previously studying, you notice Wolffe staring you down, the slightest hint of a smirk flashing at you in an attempt to get you to react to his attention.

Normally, you’d enjoy the subtle flirtatious expressions, even tease him a little to get a rise out of him before escaping to the nearest room to lure him for a private moment. Or, as private a moment as 79’s can offer a Jedi Master and a Commander of the Grand Republic Army.

But tonight was different. Tonight, you came out to the Clone bar to decide the best way to end things with Wolffe. It was the last thing you wanted to do, but you didn’t want to push your luck any further. Things were getting worse by the hour, and you couldn’t afford losing Wolffe all because some assholes in the Senate didn’t think he deserved to love or to be loved by someone. Then there was the matter of the Jedi Council, and how strict they were becoming. It was already frowned upon before the war, and it only took a few months into this galactic conflict for them to push their ideologies even harder on everyone at the Temple.

You would never forgive yourself if they punished him simply because you couldn’t stand being far away from him any longer. You narrow your eyes at Wolffe and down the rest of your drink, disappointed in yourself for not having the guts to tell him earlier.

And for knowing that you probably wouldn’t be able to do it tonight.

The smile on his face drops instantly when he notices you avoiding his gaze, and you curse yourself for ruining his night. It was going so well, and one look at you made the worry return to his mind again.

Clutching your robes tightly, you pay the bartender quickly before excusing yourself and heading towards the bathrooms in the back. You could feel the tears threaten to spill down your cheeks and the last thing you wished for is for someone to see you and make a huge fuss about it. As you push through the crowd, you feel those same pair of eyes hold you down harshly, as if they were refusing you permission to leave without confronting them.

Quickly wiping your eyes, you push open the doors and turn around to lock them behind you, only to nearly bump into the chest of the man you were hoping to avoid tonight. You gulp nervously, and before you can say anything, Wolffe tilts his head to the side and studies you closely, his eyes roaming down your body to see if anything needs his immediate attention.

When he finds nothing out of the ordinary, he takes a step closer to you and shuts the door behind him, not bothering to lock it as he continues to back you up until you hit the wall.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re trying to avoid me.” His gaze is direct, unfaltering in the haze of lust he was sending you under. You furrow your eyebrows and try to look anywhere else but him, but as always, he doesn’t give you the easy way out. Grabbing the bottom of your chin, he turns you until you have no choice but to look straight into his eyes and respond.

“What if I was?” You’re not sure what pushes you to say something so defensive, but the chuckle it gets out of him makes you realize you had already lost whatever game he was playing with you.

“I’d say you should have gone to another bar.” He’s right. You know this, and he definitely knows this too. The ease with which he continues to have an effect on you would normally be welcomed, but you’re pissed at him. Pissed for being so weak for him. For not bothering to put up a fight.

“But here you are…at the one place you knew I was coming to tonight.” Wolffe leans down and nudges your temple with his nose, breathing in the scent of your sweat and perfume, and forcing you to reach for him so you don’t topple over from the sheer amount of control he has on you.

“So tell me mesh’la, what have I done to deserve the cold shoulder?” He whispers the question in your ear, slowly sliding his hands down your body until they reach your waist. You’re having a difficult time breathing, and you moan his name as you throw your head back when he squeezes your hips and pushes his chest impossibly closer into your own.

“I- you didn’t…it,” you can’t form a coherent sentence, let alone a sensical thought, when you’re so overwhelmed by his presence alone. You thought he would laugh at you, but when his breathing becomes nearly as erratic as your own, you understand that he was genuinely trying to figure out if he’s done something wrong. His methods seldom changed, and you weren’t surprised that he was trying to get you to talk by touching you as intimately as possible without tearing your clothes off.

“Don’t tell me I did nothing wrong…sir. Something must have happened, or else you would be begging me to have my way with you right now. So what is it? What have I done?” Wolffe repeats again, making you feel guilty for your behavior and for what you’ve been thinking of doing since the last time you were together. You remind yourself that he deserves someone better, someone who wouldn’t compromise his position in the GAR all because of their messed-up religion. He deserved so much more than you.

And the mere mention of your rank made it worse.

“W-Wolffe, I umm, I can’t do this anymore.” You know this was the last thing he expected you to say because in the blink of an eye, he’s removing himself from you completely and putting space between your shaking body and his own wound up chest. When you muster up the courage to look into his eyes, a shiver courses down your spine.

It has been so long since he’s given you such a look, one that was filled with nothing but suspicion and guardedness. He’s quiet for longer than you like, and when you reach for him in an attempt to console him, his frown deepens and he twitches away from you. You hadn’t expected such a reaction to hurt this much, but it does, and like before, you have no control over the stream of tears rolling down your chin. Again, it’s not what he expects to witness from you, certainly not after what you just declared to him, and when you sniffle to get yourself under control, he closes the space between you more aggressively than before, slamming his hands on both sides of your face and clenching his jaws tightly when he sees you pouting at him.

“I don’t know what I’ve done, I don’t. But I’m sorry regardless. I am so very sorry. Whatever it is, we can talk it out. It’s not worth throwing away all that we have. Please. Just- krifff…tell me what it is I have done, and I will get down on my knees right now and beg for your forgiveness. But don’t do this, don’t give up on us.” In all your time knowing Wolffe, you’ve never once heard him speak with such a tone. He was always assertive, confident and unwavering in his commanding presence.

But the only thing you could feel now is his fear.

“You did nothing wrong, it’s me…it’s all me Wolffe.” You know this won’t be enough for him, but you try to convince him regardless. Then he drops his head against your shoulder and you know you won’t be able to hold out much longer.

“I wasn’t born yesterday sweetheart. If you’ve ever held an ounce of respect for me, you’ll tell me what I did wrong. You owe me that much. I- I deserve to know.” If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was close to breaking down as well.

“I do Wolffe, I respect you…more than anyone. You have to know that.” You hope he doesn’t turn away when you reach for him again, and as you cup his cheeks in the palms of your hands to raise his attention to you, you’re met with an expression you never thought you’d see on his features.

“You haven’t done anything baby, it’s me. It’s…all me.” If you were a better person, you would have been consistent in your tone with him, but seeing him so torn down broke you, and you couldn’t not soothe him the way you always did whenever he comes back from a particularly difficult mission.

“You deserve someone better Wolffe, someone who would never compromise your safety. Being with me is- it’s getting dangerous. The Council is becoming more strict…the Senate even worse. If they court martial you because you’re with me, I- I don’t know what I would do.” There’s something so gut-wrenching about the way he refuses to look away from your moving lips, and when you stop talking, he doesn’t blink once, his cybernetic eye focusing in and out before slowly blinking along with the other.

“Someone better?” It’s clear that he’s still hurt by the word vomit you threw at him, but whereas his voice showed it earlier, the shakiness and reluctance is gone now, replaced with a menacing, almost angry tone that you were too familiar with, one that you’ve witnessed during battle when his orders weren’t obeyed immediately.

“I can’t give you what you want Wolffe, not without hurting you eventually…unintentionally. My- my religion, it’s becoming a threat to your well-being. It’s not worth the hassle. I am not worth the hassle. You could do so much better than-” Whatever you’re about to say gets lost in the damp air of the room as soon as Wolffe decides he’s heard enough of what was on your mind. He grips your neck tightly, winding his other arm around your back and violently pulling you into his embrace as he swallows your surprised shrieks. Your frown deepens for another moment before you surrender yourself to the possessive kiss, and Wolffe must feel you melting into his arms because he growls against your lips and claims your tongue without remorse.

His hold on you only grows stronger when he feels your arms move to wrap around his neck, and when he’s sure you’re trying to get closer to him and not push him away, he tilts his head to the side and deepens the kiss, not caring for how messy or aggressive he’s being with you as he shoves his tongue past your lips and reminds you of what you could be missing if you got what you wanted and left him.

As the need for air becomes difficult to ignore, Wolffe breaks the kiss and gives the two of you a moment of respite. When he opens his eyes and finds your orbs glistening with unshed tears, he swears beneath his breath and lunges for you again, the hand around your throat loosening for a fraction of a second before tightening around your jugular and forcing you to accept his rejection of your wishes. You moan into the kiss, allowing him to take whatever he wants from you, knowing that he wasn’t going to allow you to go through with whatever it is you thought you could get away with tonight. When he’s content with the reactions of your mind and body to his touch,

“You nearly broke my heart, ner runi. Don’t ever say that to me again!” Wolffe refuses to let go of you, afraid you’d leave the room thinking that he agreed to the sentiment you dropped on him a second ago. When you say nothing in return, he shakes his head and crushes you into his arms, nuzzling into your neck and breathing you in to attempt and calm his nerves. He prays that you give him some form of an answer that confirms your understanding of what he just said, but when you don’t, Wolffe sighs heavily and pulls back enough to take a better look at you.

“Wolffe, we need to talk ab-” Again, he doesn’t care for what you have to say and cuts you off, letting you know that this was definitely the end of the conversation.

“No, we’re done talking. You can keep your religion sweetheart, I couldn’t care less for its consequences…but don’t you fucking dare and ask me to abandon mine.” His voice is firm, the familiar unyielding articulation confirming to you that he’s already made up his mind on the matter. There would be no more on the matter.

As much as you hate to admit it, it feels like a bantha has lifted one of its feet off your chest. You look into his eyes and find them filled with a more familiar emotion, one that kept you going ever since you confessed your feelings to him. You thought it would be difficult to get him to accept your proposition, but you realize then and there that it was definitely harder for you to come to terms with your initial thoughts.

You slowly smile at him, and it must be what Wolffe needs to hear to forget the last few minutes because his touches become less crazed and more soothing, a level of intimacy you’re always yearning for when the two of you are away from each other for too long.

“And what...what is your religion?” You barely find the attention span to ask, the familiarity of his touch and his voice sending you down a spiral of lust-filled thoughts that only increased the longer Wolffe remained in your presence.

“Your body is my religion cyar’ika, and I’m not planning on losing my faith any time soon.” The confession is lewd, mostly because he’s using your weakness to drive the message home. But as dirty as the admission sounded on his lips, you couldn’t help but sink into his embrace, wanting to hear more of him so you could forget about why you were here in the first place.

“Is that s-so?” You’re practically shaking in his arms, and Wolffe uses your momentary distraction to tug your robes apart and leave a trail of kisses down your neck to where he wanted to bite you most.

“Yeah,” he licks at your skin, wishing with all his heart he could have you right then and there. It’s not as if the two of you haven’t fucked at 79’s before. He just knew that you both needed something more, something that he can only accomplish in the privacy of his rooms.

“Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to excuse myself for the night, tell the boys I have to finish reports for the General.” He slips a hand underneath the edge of your shirt, drawing circles on your waist until you slowly begin to roll your hips into him.

“Ahuh,” you’re not really paying attention to what he’s saying, your body already frozen with anticipation now that it felt his hands and his tongue leaving marks across it again.

“Focus,” he squeezes your ass, shaking it twice to get you to open your eyes and look past the haze to obey his next commands.

“Yes sir.” You bite into your lip and giggle when he narrows his eyes at you and mumbles something about punishing you for being a tease.

“You’re going to leave shortly after, something about being needed back at the Temple.” Your stomach twists in knots when you realize he’s using his ‘Commander’ voice on you, and you can’t help but wrap your arms around his neck and mold your lips with his own when you remember the last time he used that same tone on you.

What a night it was.

“And where w-will I actually be going?” You ask as soon as Wolffe pulls you away and breaks the kiss.

“My room baby, where you’ll stay for the rest of the night.” He says matter of factly, as if you shouldn’t even be asking his such a question.

“Pray tell, Commander. What will we be doing that- oh kriff, that will require me to spend the night in your quarters?” You throw your head back when his hand slithers up your body and cups your breast through your Jedi robes. You can almost feel the heat radiating off the palm of his hand, and the harder he gropes you through your clothes, the more you wish he would just push you down on all fours and fuck you into oblivion.

“Well, I don’t know about you sweetheart, but I’ll be practicing my faith...and worshiping every inch of your body until the only thing you can feel is me.” The smirk on his face would be menacing if you weren’t so used to it by now, and you gasp lightly when he leans down and bites the skin of your shoulder peeking from beneath your cloak.

“Oh gods-”

“That’s it, moan for me cyar’ika. I want the whole fucking bar to know who makes you feel good.” Wolffe shoves your thighs apart and pushes his leg in between, slowly moving you back and forth on him to give you a preview of what’s to come tonight.

“Wolffe, please. I need you.” You fall forward against his chest, whining for him as he continues to move you across his thigh and dares you to come from such a simple touch.

“Oh, now you need me?” You know he’s joking without looking at him, but the question throws you off guard and you snap your gaze up to see if he was hurt by what you said previously.

“I- I didn’t…I’m sorry.”

“None of that.” Wolffe shakes his head, not wanting to ruin the moment by something so trivial. He slows down his touches but keeps you moving on him, hoping to distract you long enough to make this night a little better for the both of you.

“Wolffe,�� you call for him again, not in warning but in desperation, hoping that he can see how sorry you are for ever doubting what the two of you had.

“That was cruel of me, forgive me sweetheart.” His voice is soft, so much sweeter than before, and you’re reminded by how quickly his mood changes whenever he senses you’re upset or angry.

“How could you ask that when I am the one who hurt you?” You should drop it, everything that he’s done is proof that you should let this go and get back to more important matters, but you can’t stop yourself from asking him, wanting to know why he’s always so patient and caring with you when he was the one who deserved better.

“You didn’t hurt me, cyare.”

“I did, I- I almost…”

“You could never hurt me, little one. Never.” Like before, he doesn’t care for whatever you have to say, not because he doesn’t value your words, but because he knows how difficult your relationship with him probably weighs on your mind.

Even from the beginning.

You study him for what feels like hours but is probably only seconds. And you wonder how anyone could ever think him cruel and rude when he was so loving and unbelievably long-suffering. Without warning, you throw yourself at him, mirroring his actions from before and shoving your mouth against his own to feel grounded. He doesn’t waste a second, pushing you harder against the wall and sucking on your tongue until you were a moaning mess in his embrace.

“F-fuck, if you keep that up, I won’t- kriff, I won’t hold back.” Wolffe rests his forehead against yours, trying to keep himself in check so he doesn’t end up embarrassing the two of you by what his body is willing to do.

“Then don’t!”

“You want me to fuck you right here, where anyone can walk in and see you getting filled with my cock?” He shouldn’t be surprised by how wanton you are, and although he knows he should step away and put some space between you and him, he can’t help but retort with his own teasing comment.

“Please Commander.” You lean up and kiss his jugular, nipping at the skin just above his armor and soothing it with another kiss before laying your head back and meeting his intense gaze.

“Always playing dirty. Just for that, you’ll have to wait.” Wolffe clears his throat and eyes you up and down before taking a few steps back. He barely manages to hold back from laughing when you stumble forward and nearly lose your footing. You’re about to complain when he raises a hand and silences you, furrowing his eyebrows at you in an attempt to look intimidating.

“Another word, and I won’t give you my cock tonight.” He warns calmly, smirking immediately when you shake your head and tell him you’ll be good.

“No please, I’ll stop. I’ll behave, I swear.”

“You’ll behave-?” The question trails until the room is silent again and you know instantly what you said wrong.

“Commander.” You whisper to him as you try to fix your clothes and hair so you don’t look like you were fucked against a wall by the Commander of the 104th Battalion. You don’t dare smile at him, afraid he’d misunderstand the gesture for another one of your teasing expressions and completely throw the night away.

“Good girl, now do as you’re told and I promise to reward you.” He watches you saunter past him and before you unlock the door, he smacks your ass quite harshly, watching you closely to see if you were going to behave or retort like you usually do.

“Yes, sir.” You don’t dare give into his tricks, hoping to get through the next hour or so without getting distracted, or worse…caught.

“Off you go.” He gestures for you to leave before him, and when you’re no longer in sight, he shuts his eyes and sighs in relief. Wolffe is not sure how the two of you got to where you are now, but considering the fact that he expected something like this to happen since you got together, he’s relieved that it was for reasons different from what his mind conjured up all those nights he spent alone in his bed.

You walk out and move towards the bar again, your eyes roaming across the busy bar and waiting until Wolffe walks out before you make sure that no one noticed the two of you together. He follows you soon after, finding you almost instantly and winking at you before he heads towards his men. You watch as he tells Sinker to give him his helmet, and you assume they all roll their eyes not a second later because he told them he needed to get some paperwork done.

But as soon as Cody looks at you, he knows what Wolffe is planning on doing, and before you can turn away from him, he raises his glass and smiles at you before downing the rest of his drink. You should be embarrassed at being seen, but something about the way the Commander gestures at you makes you smile, as if he was telling you that he hoped the two of you are okay. You shake your head at him and throw your hood up, walking to the Commander of the 21st Nova Corps to let him know you’ll be leaving earlier tonight.

“Ah General, I was wondering when you’ll be joining us.” You smile at Commander Bacara and the boys, giving them a few credits to let them know the next two rounds were on you.

“Sorry Bacara, I’m calling it early tonight. Needed back at the Temple!” You feel bad for lying to him, but as always, he doesn’t ask for an elaboration, telling you that he hopes you don’t have to do too much paperwork while you’re still on break.

“See you later,” you nod at him and the others when they salute you, and just as you walk out of the bar, you vaguely hear them yell for the droid making its rounds to get them a round of quanya.

“Hmm, didn’t peg them for the type.” You mutter to yourself as you step out into the chilly Coruscant air, looking around to see if Wolffe was anywhere to be seen or if he has already left. When you don’t sense his Force signature nearby, you make your way towards the speeder bike Anakin lent you and bring it to life, trying your best to contain yourself so you wouldn’t be caught by another Jedi nearby.

You make your way through the streets as quickly as possible, and when you make it to the Temple, you park the bike nearby and think of the best way to make it through the barracks without being seen by any of the Masters…or Commanders.

It’s not the first time you entered the barracks, and under normal circumstances, it wouldn’t be strange to see a Jedi making their way through the hallways. But it was nearly midnight, and you weren’t sure you could lie your way through a question if you were caught before you made it to Wolffe’s quarters. You’re about to reach out to the Force to see if anyone is awake when you hear footsteps approaching you from behind. The familiarity of its warmness sets your mind at ease, and you take a deep breath before you turn to face him.

“Commander.”

“General, is there something I can help you with?” He’s putting on a show for the surveillance cameras, and you clear your throat before you tell him something about wanting to review the plans for the next mission.

“Very well,” he’s curt in his response, and you get the sense that he may be avoidant because he has about as much control around you as you do whenever you so much as hear the mention of his name.

“Thank you, Commander Wolffe.” He nearly falters in his steps at hearing you call his name, and he swears beneath his breath as a way of warning. You nearly smile at his reaction, but you remember how closely the guards watch the cameras and you choose to switch your attention to the ground. Not another word passes between the two of you, and as you reach his room, you feel your heart threaten to leap out of your chest at the prospect of finally spending a night with him.

Up until now, the two of you had to make do with stolen moments and short breaks, whether on missions or back here. Neither of you have ever spent the night alone, and you find it fitting that tonight would be it. It’s comforting and nerve-wrecking all at once, and as soon as you step into his quarters, you allow yourself to take in the calm before the storm.

Before the door slides completely shut, Wolffe is on you like a moth to a flame, nearly ripping your clothes off of your body as he pushes you down onto his bed.

“W-Wolffe, I-” You try to ask him why he’s so frantic and crazed all of a sudden but he lets go of you and stands to his height, making quick work of his armor in record time all the while keeping you still with the mere look in his eyes.

“I can’t do slow tonight, can’t wait another fucking second without having you.” You always admired how much care he puts into his armor whenever he’s taking it off or putting it back on, so seeing him drop each pass to the ground sends a zap of lightning down your spine.

You mirror his actions without another word, throwing your boots and socks away before struggling to take your pants off. Moments later, you feel the bed dip once Wolffe crawls towards you, his muscles flexing in such a menacing way that makes you fall back into the sheets and wait for him to tell you what to do next.

But then he says nothing, and you’re torn between asking him what he needs from you and letting you do whatever the fuck he wants. He reaches for the edge of your pants and tugs them right down your legs, not once blinking as he violently takes your sweater off and throws it somewhere behind him. You’re left in nothing but your undergarments, and as you twist your arms to take your bra off, Wolffe shoves your thighs apart and makes space for himself in between.

“I need you, now.” His voice should terrify you, it should be enough of a warning for what he has in store for you. But you find it exhilarating, knowing that only you could get him to lose this much control. You try to reach for him, wanting to feel his skin beneath the tips of your fingers, but Wolffe shakes his head and grabs both of your wrists in one hand, slamming them above your head and tightening the hold he has on them while he slithers his other hand down your nude body.

“If it were up to me mesh’la, I’d tie you to this fucking bed and have my way with you whenever I want. I’d- kriff, I’d fill you with my cum every minute of every fucking day…so everyone would know you’re mine…so they know that I’m yours.” He teases you through your panties, rubbing lazy circles across the damp spot quickly becoming larger.

“Wolffe, please…take me.” You whine his name in desperation, hoping he’d finally give you his cock and end your misery.

“I swear to the maker sweet girl, I’m going to fuck you all night long…kiss every inch of you, mark you with my teeth and hands until you’re my very own altar. I’m going to worship you baby, but only if you promise me one thing.” Wolffe slips his fingers beneath the flimsy material of your panties, rubbing at your clit furiously to get you to focus on him and him only.

“A-anything…anything Commander.” You turn to the side and kiss his forearm, hoping he’d see how willing you are to do whatever he asks of you.

“Pray for me.” As you look bite into his skin, Wolffe pushes his hard dick into your cunt, not bothering to give you a moment to get used to being so full before he starts fucking into you with sharp thrusts. You’re screaming his name instantly, arching your back from the sheer amount of pain and pleasure he was bringing upon you so quickly.

“FUck, there we go…such a good fucking girl for me, screaming my name so sweetly. Go on ner Jetii’ika, tell everyone who fucks you like the perfect cockdumb whore you are.” He leans down and bites the top of your breasts, letting go of your wrists for a brief second so he can rip the last bit of clothing shielding you from his hungry eyes.

“Wolffe…f-ffuck, oh gods…Wolffe!” You twist your fingers into his bed sheets, crossing your legs behind his back and whining for him when he descends down on you and sucks on your nipple. His hand seeks out your own, and when he intertwines his fingers with yours, he grunts and growls against your skin, reaching for the other breast and groping you harshly until the only thing you can feel is his tongue, and his hands, and his cock wreaking havoc on you.

Wolffe knows he should slow down, perhaps be a little less demanding with you. But something about seeing you in his bed when everyone else is asleep makes him more possessive, more needy with your body. And it didn’t help how you were reacting to his advances, how completely you surrendered your body to him without so much as a question. He opens his eyes and roams them over your already bruising skin, and when he finds you wanting for more, he increases his pace and fucks you until you couldn’t even breathe out his name.

You sense his gaze on you, and as you look through heavy-lidded eyes, you find him completely focused on your dazed expression.

“Wolffe, I- I love you.” You’re not sure what makes you say those words now, but a voice in your heart told you this was the right moment. You’ve spoken before about what this thing between the two of you was, and you knew, as well as he, that this would be it. There would be no one else, not for him, and definitely not for you.

But you’ve never actually said those words out loud. You’ve said it in the way you kissed him, in the way you gave yourself to him…and Wolffe had pretty much conveyed them to you with every stolen glance and every quick touch he managed to sneak when the two of you passed each other on the General’s ship.

Like before, Wolffe hasn’t expected to hear you part with such a confession, now of all times. He falters in his pace for a brief moment before he sinks his cock into you and stills completely, wanting to be as close and connected with you as possible when he finally said what he’s felt for you since you introduced yourself to him.

“Ni kar’tayli gar darasuum…cyare.” You let out a quiet sob at the intimacy of the moment, and Wolffe wraps his arms around your neck and your waist to feel you against every bit of his skin. His thrusts are shallow, barely leaving you empty out of fear of losing this moment. You throw your arms around his neck and bring him flush against you, crying for him one last time as he seals your lips with his own and sinks into your wet cunt.

The world comes to a halt around you, and all you can feel is Wolffe’s lips claiming your mouth just as he fills you with his seed. You come with him, shaking softly in his arms as his hot cum shoots into you and coats your walls with proof of his need to mark every fucking inch of you. It’s too much and not enough, and you push your heels into his ass in an attempt to bring him even closer to you. It’s not possible, you know that, but you want nothing more than to have him sink into your body until you weren’t sure where he ended and you began.

Wolffe is fighting for his life, torn between giving you a second to breathe and quite literally stealing your breath to fill his lungs with your essence. He parts for a brief moment and looks at you, kissing your eyes softly before shoving his lips against yours again. You don’t dare ask him to give you a moment of respite, mostly because you’re sure you would miss him if he were to put space between your skin and his lips.

Suddenly, the world turns around and you break the kiss unintentionally, gasping in surprise when he turns the two of you around until he’s laying on his back and you on top of him. You smile against his jaw when you feel his hands slide down your back and grab at your ass. As he starts moving your hips back and forth, you nuzzle into his neck and breathe in his scent, licking and kissing his skin the more he fucks his cum deep into your cunt.

“W-Wolffe…”

“I’m not done with you yet, ner kar’ta.” The promise is both teasing and terrifying, but you can’t find it in yourself to hesitate, not when he was promising you the stars all night long.

And he does, he brings you the heavens until you can no longer breathe without tasting the cosmos on your tongue. With every touch of his fingers, you beg him for more…more of his sweet words, more of his sinful kisses, more of his needy cock.

He fucks you until you lose your voice, and when he’s sure he’s rung your body of every ounce of pleasure it can offer him, he fucks you some more, filling your pussy until you were nothing but a mess, a mixture of his seed and your juices.

And then he pushes you down and parts your thighs to pull you apart with his tongue, and you feel that familiar heat rise in your chest all over again. You tug on his hair, torn between urging him to make you cum again and pleading for him to stop because you could no longer stand the pleasure. You were so sensitive, and Wolffe knew very well how painful the ecstasy was becoming, but some twisted part of him wanted to mark your cunt with his teeth and tongue as well. He wanted to devour you, body and soul. Your release comes in the form of a silent cry, and Wolffe laps up your mixed cum until you can’t take it anymore, softly pushing his shoulders away so he can slow down.

There is a lazy smile on your features, one that deepens further when you see Wolffe crawling on top of you and leaving a trail of wet kisses across your sweaty skin.

“Satisfied?” He dares to ask, lightly pinching your nipples when you don’t respond right away. You giggle at the touch, pulling him closer to you so he can kiss you some more. He melts into your body, roaming his hands across the tired muscles until he has no choice but to fall beside you.

You hum in response, studying his relaxed expression and laying the softest of kisses on his forehead before pulling him into your neck. Neither of you say anything, and only when your breathing steadies does Wolffe pull away to make sure you’re comfortable and asleep.

He sits up on his elbows and takes in his handiwork, biting his lower lip when he sees the bruises already forming all over your body. The contentment falters for a split second, but his worries evaporate when you sleepily reach for him and bring him back into your arms. He mutters his love for you one last time before surrendering to the comfort of your embrace, falling into a deep sleep almost as soon as he rests his cheek on your shoulder.

It’s hours later when you wake, and you groan tiredly when the sunbeams hit your eyes and make it difficult to escape them. You turn to the other side and peek through your lashes, only to find Wolffe already wide awake, softly touching the length of your arm with his lips and nose, as if he was tracing every little mark he left on your body from last night. He looks up when he notices your breaths coming in erratically, winking at you and smirking at the sudden spirit of shyness falling over your tired form.

“I can taste the sunlight on your skin.” He moans against your clavicle, lightly nipping at the skin over the bone when you turn away from him and hide beneath the sheets.

“Hmm…such a smooth talker.” You groan from underneath the shield you’ve created, giggling like a little girl when Wolffe tugs them away and attacks your face with playful nips and kisses.

“Only for you cyar’ika.” He whispers into your ear before biting at the space just below it, his touches becoming less playful and more needy as he takes in the way your body is reacting to his advances.

“Wolffe, your lips feel so good.” You throw your head back and sink your nails into the muscles on his back, gasping for air the longer Wolffe continues to mark you up. It’s almost as if he was looking for spots on your skin he hasn’t left his bite marks or fingerprints on. Not that you were complaining.

“Just my lips, General?” You can hear the smile on his handsome face, and you nearly push back to edge him on, but you realize it would serve you better to give into him and tell him what he wants to hear.

“N-no, it’s everything you do to me Wolffe. It’s in your touch…your- your voice…your cock.”

“My little Jedi can’t get enough of me.” He shifts you in his arms until you’re laying on your stomach, and when you try to look back to see what he has in mind, he combs his finger into your hair and pushes you into the pillows until he has access to your back. When he hears whine his name, he descends down on you like a crazed man, sinking his teeth into the skin he wasn’t able to reach last night while pulling on your hair to remind you who was in charge.

“Oh gods…never, Wolffe. Never. I want you all the kriffing time, even now…I just want you to- to,” you forget what you want to say, the need to commit this moment to memory outweighing whatever information your mind wanted to part with. It must be the reaction Wolffe was wanting for because he chuckles against your heated skin and finishes your thought for you.

“Claim you?”

“Please.” You try to push the sheets away from you so you can feel him against your back, and Wolffe lets go of you for a split second to let you do whatever you wish, returning flush against you once you’re completely nude to his eyes. He’s on you in the blink of an eye, teasing you with the head of his hard cock while keeping a firm hold on your hips so you don’t move against him.

“Can’t really do that now, can I mesh’la?” He struggles through his words, his hungry eyes picturing all the things he still wants to do to you as you lay there beneath him, willingly submitting your entire self to him without a second thought.

“You’re already mine, little Jedi. You’re mine, have been since you came here all those months ago and told me you wanted me.” He massages your back with his calloused hands, trying to come to terms with the fact that he will never be close enough to you. He’ll never get tired of this. He’ll never not want to touch you with everything he’s got.

“But since you plead so sweetly,” you moan into the sheets as you feel him part your thighs and slowly sink his cock into your swollen cunt, keeping you filled to the brim and refusing to move until you begged some more.

“Wolffe...” You reach back and tug on his hair to bring him closer to you, the need to hear what you do to him igniting a flame in your chest, one that only he could put out by showing you how much he craves you.

“F-ffuck, you’ve ruined the mornings for me cyare. Now I- I won’t stop thinking of your wet, tight pussy when I…kriff, when I wake up.” Wolffe bites into your shoulder as he rolls his hips into you, no longer able to control his desires from you. He wanted you to know the effect you have on him, the hold you had on his very soul ever since you walked onto his ship and offered your aid all those months ago.

“I’m yours Commander, always. Y-you can have me whenever you want.” You sigh heavily when he growls against your skin and continues to fuck into you without caring for how rough he’s being.

“E-even at sunrise, General?” Wolffe chuckles as soon as your cunt clenches tightly around him at the mention of the honorific, letting you know that he enjoys calling you by your rank as much as he does when you moan his.

“Especially at sunrise-” You barely manage to breathe out, smiling through the assault he was bringing on your body as you surrender yourself completely to him.

“My little tracinya,” Wolffe nuzzles into the crook of your neck, content with the way you seem to melt the harder he fills you with his cock. A part of him knows he should maybe discuss the incident from last night, but he finds it difficult to pay any mind to your words when he already has you so willing and wanting beneath him.

Later, he would consider the little issue of your religion later.

But for now, he was adamant on showing you his own.

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