#patience is the Jedi way

[codycodybobody]

late night/early morning thought is that there are many things i dislike about fanon obi wan, but the biggest thing people seem to miss is that uh. he's a kind of a jerk.

[mcrdvcks]

love on the brain

summary: Anakin fucks you. word count: 1.9k+ pairing: anakin skywalker x fem!reader notes: since i'm seeing revenge of the sith in theaters for the first time (i wasn't even a year old when it first came out, lol) i thought i'd treat myself and everyone else with a pure smutty oneshot. enjoy! (also, sorry for the bad summary. but in reality it is the most apt one😭) warnings/tags: porn no plot, soft dom!anakin, but also needy!anakin?, oral (f!receiving), fingering, overstimulation, light choking, belly bulge, unprotected piv, creampie, no beta we die like the clones

It didn’t take until Anakin’s hands were on you, roaming anywhere and everywhere. The door shut with a click, the apartment quiet other than the sound of speeders roaming around Coruscant. He quickly shrugged off his Jedi robe before taking off yours.

His mouth was on you the second the fabric hit the floor, hot breath searing paths along your skin, marking you with lips that bit and kissed and licked with a worshipful kind of violence. His hand tilted your chin up higher, while his gloved, mechanical hand pressed against your lower back, bringing you closer to him until there was no space between you.

He didn't speak. Just breathed—ragged, shallow—as if your presence alone was burning the air out of him. And then he dropped to his knees.

Your boots stayed on, your tunic still hanging off one shoulder, pants snug against your thighs. It didn’t matter. He was already mouthing at your clothed cunt through the fabric, heat seeping into you, that gloved hand sliding down to press between your legs, pushing hard enough to make you gasp. "Anakin—"

"Shut up," he muttered, voice hoarse, reverent, like a man crawling toward salvation. "I need this. I need to taste you."

He tugged your pants down just far enough, hands greedy, trembling with restraint that cracked the second he got you bare. His mouth was on you before the fabric even hit your knees, tongue fucking into you with a hunger that had nothing to do with patience. Like he was starving. Like he'd forgotten how to breathe any other way.

Your knees buckled. His arms wrapped around your thighs, holding you up, dragging you forward, grinding your cunt against his mouth like he wanted to drown in you. And fuck, he moaned into you—loud, broken, like the taste of you was pulling confessions straight out of his soul.

"You like this?" he growled against your clit, voice soaked in lust and heat. "You gonna fall apart for me, sweetheart? On my tongue, like you were made to?"

You could barely nod, hands buried in his curls, hips rocking into the rhythm he set—filthy, wet, relentless. His tongue curled, dragged up and down, lips sucking your clit into his mouth until you choked on your breath, legs shaking. Every sound he made, every desperate hum and groan, buzzed through you like a live wire.

His fingers joined in, two of them pressing inside you, scissoring, curling until you gasped his name like it was a curse and a prayer all at once.

"That’s it," he whispered, licking up the slick mess he was making of you, drunk on it, wild-eyed. "You gonna come for me? Come on. Give it to me. Give me everything."

And when you did, it hit hard. Your body locked, your cry sharp and high, thighs clenching around his head. He didn’t stop. Didn’t even slow. He held you there, forcing you to ride it out, his mouth dragging every last tremble out of you until you were slumped against the wall, twitching, wrecked.

He pulled back, chin slick, eyes fucking molten. "I’m not done," he muttered, voice almost broken with need. Then he stood, yanked your tunic over your head, tossed it aside like it had personally offended him.

Anakin’s hands landed on your waist, dragging you roughly, half-carrying you toward the couch like you weighed nothing. His body was still humming with it—the desperation, the hunger he hadn’t even tried to hide. The second the backs of your knees hit the cushions, he shoved you down, mouth crashing onto yours, swallowing your gasp.

Your tunic bunched uselessly around your waist, pants still tangled around your knees, boots scuffed against the floor. He didn't waste time. Hands grabbed your boots, yanking them off one by one with sharp tugs that left you breathless. The mechanical whir of his hand echoed through the room as he grabbed your pants next, dragging them down, tossing them somewhere without looking. His breath hitched when he finally saw you—bare, flushed, already wrecked from the first orgasm he'd torn out of you.

"Fuck," he muttered, like a prayer he didn’t know he was saying. His flesh hand cupped your pussy, warm and greedy, fingers dragging through the slick mess he'd made of you. "You’re so wet for me, sweetheart."

Your head dropped back against the couch, hips bucking up into his hand without meaning to. Anakin growled, low and ragged, and grabbed your thighs, dragging you closer to the edge until your ass nearly hung off. He settled between your legs, spreading them wide with rough hands. His gloved fingers squeezed, hard enough to leave bruises.

"Keep 'em open," he said, voice dark and broken. His metal hand slipped up your body, grabbing your wrists and pinning them together above your head with a single, unyielding grip. You whimpered, and he grinned, feral.

"You gonna behave for me?" he asked, leaning down, nose brushing yours. "Gonna let me fucking ruin you like you deserve?"

"Yes—" The word barely made it out before his mouth was on yours again, teeth clashing, tongue forcing its way in. He tasted like desperation, like you were his last goddamn chance at breathing.

Without warning, he pulled back just enough to spit—a sharp, filthy motion—right onto your pussy. The wetness dripped down over your already messy folds, and you keened, hips twitching. Anakin let out a harsh laugh, rough and wrecked.

"Messy girl," he rasped, dragging two fingers through the spit and your slick, pressing them into you without warning. You cried out, thighs trembling, wrists straining against his iron hold.

"Eyes on me," he growled, snapping your chin up with a brutal, loving tilt of his gloved fingers. "Wanna see you fall apart. Don't you dare look away."

He fucked you slow with his fingers, obscene wet sounds filling the apartment, every thrust making you jolt against him. His thumb pressed against your clit, not moving, just holding, teasing, until you whimpered and twisted in his grasp.

"That's it," Anakin muttered, watching your face with a hunger that bordered on violent. His mouth dropped to your throat, biting hard enough to mark, to bruise, sucking a dark bloom into your skin while his fingers curled deep inside you.

You were close again, the second orgasm building brutal and fast, tightening like a noose. Anakin could feel it. You knew he could—the way his mechanical hand tightened around your wrists, how his thumb started circling your clit in tight, punishing little strokes.

"Come for me," he demanded, voice wrecked, forehead pressed to yours.

And you did—your whole body clenching, thighs snapping shut around his shoulders as you screamed his name, raw and broken. He didn't let up. He held you there, trapped in it, dragging the orgasm out until you were sobbing, breathless, trembling against him.

Finally, he pulled his fingers out, bringing them to his mouth without hesitation. He sucked them clean, groaning low in his throat like he was losing his mind on just the taste of you.

His hands were already tugging you into place, dragging your bare, shivering body onto his lap like he couldn’t stand another second without you. You straddled him backwards, your ass grinding into his hips, feeling his cock heavy and throbbing against the base of your spine through his pants. Anakin groaned, low and guttural, the sound scraping through the back of his throat.

"Fuck, just look at you," he muttered, his gloved hand sliding up from your thigh, over your waist, palming your breast roughly, thumb flicking over your nipple until you whimpered. His other hand, warm and flesh, snaked between your legs, fingers dragging slow and sticky through your slit.

"So fucking wet," he gritted out, grinding you down against him, letting you feel every hard inch he was still holding back. His mouth was at your jaw, biting, kissing, sucking marks onto your skin like he needed to brand you as his. His mechanical hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your breath catch, your whole body clenching around nothing.

"Anakin…" You were shaking, voice barely more than a whimper, hips rocking against his hand, desperate for more.

"I know, sweetheart, I know," he rasped, soothing you with a kiss to your temple even as his fingers found your clit and started circling it in slow, filthy little strokes that made your thighs quiver. "You’re gonna take me so good, aren’t you? Gonna let me fuck you just like this."

He barely got his pants down far enough before he was lining up, the blunt head of his cock pressing against your soaked entrance. No teasing, no patience left in him. He bottomed out in one brutal, perfect thrust that knocked the breath from your lungs, made your head fall back onto his shoulder with a ragged cry.

"Shit—" he growled, mechanical hand tightening at your throat, holding you still as he started moving, slow at first, dragging himself out and slamming back in so deep you could feel him punching against your cervix, see the bulge of him in your lower belly.

"Feel that?" he panted into your ear, thrusting up hard, grinding against your sweet spot until your vision blurred. "That’s me, baby. Stuffed so fucking full."

You could barely nod, brain short-circuiting from the way he filled you, stretched you, ruined you. His hand on your throat shifted, slipping up to push two gloved fingers into your open mouth, gagging you lightly on them as you cried around the intrusion.

"Good girl," he murmured, voice wrecked with love and filth. "Take it. Take everything."

Your body moved helplessly against him, every thrust, every rough circle of his fingers on your clit dragging you closer to the edge again. He could feel it—fuck, he knew it—and he didn’t let up. His mouth found your shoulder, biting hard enough to leave teeth marks as you started shaking in his lap, moaning around his fingers.

"Come for me," he demanded against your skin, voice breaking, desperate. "Fucking come, now."

You shattered, a high, choked sob bursting out of you as your cunt clenched around him, gushing over his cock, soaking his pants, your whole body seizing up in his iron grip. Anakin groaned, loud and guttural, fucking you through it, not giving you a second to breathe.

He pulled his fingers from your mouth, shoved you forward over the couch, face down, your ass high in the air as he stayed buried inside you. His hand pressed between your shoulder blades, pinning you down like you might try to run—like you could.

"Not done," he rasped again, losing his fucking mind as he snapped his hips forward, fucking you raw, rough, reckless. His mechanical hand slid up, wrapped back around your throat from behind, hauling you up slightly so he could pound into you even deeper, his cock slamming against your sweet spot over and over until you were sobbing into the cushions.

"Gonna give me another," he growled, biting at your neck, his other hand reaching around to rub your clit again, brutal and fast. "Gonna fucking milk me, baby, come on—"

You couldn't fight it, couldn't even think. Another orgasm tore through you like a lightning strike, your pussy clenching down hard around him, dragging a wrecked, broken cry from his throat. Anakin cursed, stuttering through a few more thrusts before he buried himself to the hilt, cock pulsing as he finally came, filling you up with thick, hot spurts that made you whimper through the aftershocks.

He collapsed against your back, trembling, panting, his hands still clamped around you like he couldn’t let go if he tried. His lips brushed your shoulder, your neck, soft now, frantic in a different way.

honestly, i'm shocked this wasn't longer. it felt long writing it, lol

[siempre-bucky]

what am i to you?

Qimir x Reader

Summary: You decide to leave Qimir, thinking your feelings are one-sided till an encounter with the Jedi Order proves otherwise.

WC: 1.3k

Warnings: she/her pronouns, mentions of blood

A/N: I hope you like it Anon <3! Requests are still open for Qimir!

“What am I to you, Qimir?” You asked him as you placed your hood over your head, your small bag placed at the side of you, “Whore? Helper? Companion? What other names do you use to describe me to your Acolytes?” 

“This is new for you, my dear,” he chuckled, amused as if you were a child trying to use big words. You were never the one to bite back, you would normally happily accept your role as his right hand. Not now, the years of trying to convince yourself he loved you had your patience growing thin.

“You don’t get to call me that, you seethed. “I’m leaving, Qimir. I can’t be here, knowing you don’t feel the same. I’ll never be more than whatever this is.” 

The Sith stayed silent after that, he merely watched as you accepted your defeat and picked up your things to disappear in the night. 

Tears fell as you walked through the forest, trying to expel memories of late night tangled in sheets and days of trips to the beaches of his favorite planet. He showed you all those wonderful things and touched you in a way you could only imagine, only for it to mean nothing. You wasted years on him. 

Something suddenly felt off, the hair on the back of your neck began to rise and the forest grew silent. Someone was there with you in the forest. A small smile tugged at your lips, he came back for you! You turned around and smiled at the figure that stood in the trees. About to tease him, the figure reached for his belt, a lightsaber igniting. Yellow? 

Before you had the chance to run, the Force knocked you to the ground roughtly. The figure grabbed you by the hair and pulled you to your feet. The man frowned “You’re the Force wielder?” he questioned. 

“N-no!” You cried, punching at his arm. 

“The Order keeps sending you to die,” a third voice entered the space, and you could recognize that distorted tone from anywhere. 

The Jedi swiftly turned the two of you to face the Sith standing a few feet away. Dressed in his helmet and cloak, Qimir watched as the Jedi released your hair and placed you in a chokehold with his free arm. The other turned off the saber and placed it on your temple, the heat of the metal making you cry out. 

This Jedi wasn’t like the rest of the ones the Order sent after Qimir, there was something in his eye that screamed rogue. “You either surrender,” the Jedi panted, tightening his grip on your throat and his saber pressing harder to your temple, “or I kill your… Acolyte? Is that what she is to you?” 

“Those are words of a Sith, Jedi, are you sure you’re not on the wrong side?” The Stranger spoke calmly, his voice distorted by his mask. He couldn’t see the fear in your eyes or how the Jedi was starting to bleed from you digging your nails into his forearms. 

You wish you could read him, be able to get inside his head, and know what he’s thinking one last time. Maybe he had some compassion for you because love was out of the question. He was here to kill you before you could get away. The Jedi pressed harder, the metal cutting into your skin. You screamed in pain and he laughed? Amused at what was going on. 

This was it. You heard his finger slide to the trigger. 

Qimir. 

I love you. 

I love you. 

If there’s an afterlife I wish for something kinder. 

You heard the ignition of a lightsaber, and in an instant the grip on your throat released. Then there was a thud, the crunch of leaves and snapping of twigs followed after. You fell to the floor and curled into a ball, heaving for air. Were you dead? Was this the afterlife you were just praying to the Maker for? “Get up,” the distorted voice commanded. You crawled a couple of inches and sat up, pushing your hair out of your face and looking behind you. 

Lying on the ground was the Jedi, a red lightsaber right through the center of his head. Your eyes widened and the last of the tears flowed from your eyes. You watched as Qimir called his saber back to his hand, a perfect circle left in its wake. He pulled you up by the shoulder and hurried you back towards the hideout. 

You walked hurriedly in silence, looking back at the deep forest every now and then to make sure you weren’t followed by anyone else. The Jedi Order had been desperate to capture him since the murder of that one Jedi on Udea. Qimir kept a tight grip on your wrist, you didn’t dare to pull away since he was the only thing keeping you alive. 

That silence remained when you got to the small cabin. He whipped off the mask and threw it violently into the corner. Your body stilled, wondering if you were in for a worse fate than with the Jedi. Qimir killed violently, he’d kill anyone. You were nothing special. Not to him.

He turned to you with fire raging in his eyes, they only softened slightly when he saw the blood trickling from your head, a few drops of crimson landing on your chest. He extended his hand, a small wooden box rushing towards him. He caught it effortlessly and sat on the makeshift bed. “Sit.” 

You did as you were told and took a seat by his side. He went to work bandaging your wound, but you noticed something. Why didn’t he just heal it using the Force? Why was he taking the time for something so futile for a Sith? You also noticed his fingers trembling as he picked up the small scissors among the supplies. He made it halfway to your head before he shakily dropped them into your lap, the fabric of your cloak delicately breaking the fall. Your hands connected as you both reached out to collect them. 

Qimir let go of the scissors and held your hand. “Are you ok?” he asked, all bite vacant in his tone.

“I think so,” you nodded. 

Silence filled the air, and you could feel his stare burn into your skin. He just went back to work, dabbing at the blood and cleaning your skin of dirt and blood. You nearly begged him to say something, anything to release you from the choking silence. 

After the job was done, Qimir stood and collected his supplies, putting everything away silently. Your gaze followed him, you had always wondered how he could act so calm in these situations, you almost admired it. Then he stood in the center of the room, his shoulders hunched and his gaze lingered on the ground, analyzing the cracks in the wood. 

“I didn’t know they we—”

“—I love you.” 

I love you. Those words sounded so foreign to him, he had spoken them once, before the Order and before they took him away. It had been so long—too long. He was embarrassed that it took that long to say to you. Qimir had learned his lesson.

You stood up, the wood creaking below you as you closed some distance between you. “Why tell me now? When I’m about to die at the hands of the Jedi.” 

“I should have told you a long time ago,” he jumped in, his hands flexing, “I heard your thoughts, your pleas. I’m sorry.”

You lifted your chin, “What am I to you, Qimir?” You asked him the same question as earlier, this time you had no fight left. 

The Sith raised his hand and connected it to the side of your face, “I think they would have called it a soulmate?” He pulled you in closer, “I should have never let you feel differently.” 

“Never do that again,” you said bitterly, jabbing your finger into his chest. 

He pressed his lips to your forehead, letting his eyes flutter closed, “Never.”

[softlymellow]

The Order Forgot Me First - Chapter 8

☆⁠ PAIRING : Anakin Skywalker x Reader

☆⁠ word count: 3.2k

☆⁠ story themes: lovers to enemies to eventually lovers

☆⁠ warnings: spoilers to swtcw, angstttt

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

"You knew nothing."

Obi-wan sat across a seemingly asleep Dev. His eyes carefully watched the way his chest would rise and fall, rise and fall. 

He couldn’t help but feel for the poor boy. A path led astray because of despair. Agony. Pain from losing loved ones. Dev felt the things that Jedi shouldn’t be feeling. He could pretend he was okay but those feelings would never go away. Not really. 

Dev’s hair fell across his face, his blonde hair appearing much darker than it is. Dev’s hands remained cuffed but under his head. 

Obi-wan didn’t believe in surface level peace. Not anymore. 

Obi-wan stared at Dev for longer than he should, his eyes studying his behaviour until it crept towards the corner where a bag was. The force was quiet but he still felt it poke him. 

Getting up, he crept to the corner of the room where Dev’s satchel was tossed when he was brought in. He crouched, his fingers brushing against the leather fabric.

It felt heavier than it looked.

Carefully, he unzipped the main flap. A cloth wrapped around a cylinder. 

Obi-wan paused. He unwrapped it.

And inside was just as he suspected. 

A lightsaber. 

It was worn. Dark. It was scarred. Not like how a Jedi would maintain their lightsaber. Obi-wan’s hands moved to ignite the lightsaber— A flicker. 

The force had shifted and there was a clatter on the ground. 

The saber flew from Obi-wan’s grasp with a fast whiiiiip. Obi-wan’s eyes widened as he spun his body around only to see the saber in Dev’s cuffed hands. No longer cuffed as he speedily cut down his restraints. 

With no time to waste, Obi-wan immediately reached for his own saber but Obi-wan’s lack of anticipation was no match for Dev’s patience. Dev’s foot slammed onto chest, sending him flying back against the wall. 

Smirking, Dev spun his saber with his left arm. Having not spun his saber for a while, his wrists twisting felt more relieving than it did when it was cuffed. The room illuminated in an old blue as Dev menacingly walked up to a groaning Obi-wan on the ground. Ready to strike. 

–-------

You felt the force stir you awake. Your vision was groggy and your muscles were aching. 

The sound of a loud crash jolted you completely awake and you sat up immediately. 

What the hell is going on?

Another crash. 

You scrambled to your feet, your heart thumping and your hand hovering over your blaster pistol. 

Anakin came running in, his own electrifying blue lightsaber on and ready for battle. 

“Stay here!” He snapped, without looking at you and already making his way into Dev and Obi-wan’s room. 

You followed anyway, your heart thumping against your chest and sweat beading off your forehead. You weren’t expecting to see Obi-wan pinned to the floor but his lightsaber out just in time to block against Dev. 

Blue on blue. 

The two lightsabers clashed and sparks of light burst everywhere. The sabers continuingly made a cracking sound as Obi-wan tried his hardest to push back Dev’s lightsaber — Dev being above him made this extremely difficult. 

Dev was snarling and Obi-wan gritted his teeth as both men pushed against each other. 

“DEV!” You shrieked, your eyes widened at the sight across you. 

For a split second, your voice was enough to distract Dev. Obi-wan took the advantage and shoved his hand out, the force pushing him away. Dev stumbled back before regaining control of himself. 

It was then, his face transformed. His lowered eyebrows and his squinting blue eyes directed towards a now standing Obi-wan were instead pointed to you, but his tightlipped mouth changed to a mocking smile. 

“You really are just a dumb little Jedi,” He chuckled without any humour. 

“Dev?” You watched as he took small, but carefully planned steps towards you. “What are you doing?”

Your eyes moved towards the lightsaber, the way he gripped it with familiarity. The way his wrists twirled the lightsaber once —lazily and effortlessly— like he had done it a million times before. 

“You really thought I would help you Jedi scum?” His eyes narrowed in flames. “Like I gave a shit about you in Jakku?” 

“What?”

“The Jedi betrayed me!” He snarled, causing you to flinch. His lightsaber waved around like a crazed man, pointing between all three of you. “I lost the ones I loved because of them!”

“-And you led me straight to them.” He menacingly said. 

“Dev, stop. What are you talking about?”

“I was once just like you.” He admitted. 

“Dev…” You shook your head ‘no’, making steady steps backwards as Dev continued to make steps towards you. 

“Now I’ll finish off what I started.” He tilted his head, his eyes sharp. 

“Get behind me.” Anakin instructed, his much larger and more built figure stepped in front of you, his lightsaber ignited and ready for battle. 

The air felt sharp and tension bounced off the walls. 

Dev pulled his arms back high, ready to strike. 

And you?

You just stood there. Useless. His words hit you like a brick wall. How had you not noticed? Those moments where he would say something with hidden meaning. When he recognised almost immediately that you were a jedi. Calling the Republic corrupt. Saying that he knew more than you. You were so trapped in yourself that all those moments flew past you. And now you were paying the consequences. 

Dev brought his lightsaber down to Anakin, and with no time wasted they began to battle. 

It was strike after strike. He kept pushing Anakin with fury that it almost felt mechanical. Their lightsabers screamed and their boots scuffed against the floor. Energy crackled at every collision. Anakin held himself back slightly, he is a Jedi, but Dev did not. Yet still, they were even. 

“You’re only making this worse for yourself!” Anakin yelled, gritting his teeth as he fought back. 

Anakin ducked below as Dev let out a deep frustrated growl and his saber came swinging above his head before he brought it down by his side.

Without hesitation, Obi-wan joined him, catching the blow that would’ve split Anakin in half. Dev grinned as both Jedi began to make their advances towards himself.

The three bodies moved like lightning. Anakin was aggressive. Obi-wan composed. But Dev was angry. 

This wasn’t the same Dev you knew and grew to trust. The Dev you knew was the Dev that celebrated your one year working together a couple nights ago. It was the Dev who took her in and covered her with his jacket on a cold night in Jakku. But here, he was snarling and ignited a blade that was meant for her. 

Dev spun low, aiming for Obi-wan’s legs. He needed either one of them. At least one of them alive so he aimed for the non vital organs. Obi-wan lept, twisting up above and landing behind Dev. Dev barely brought his blade up in time. It was then that Anakin lunged in a heartbeat. 

And Dev…

Dev struggled, catching both blades at once. An electrifying hum rattled the room. Both Jedi’s sabers forced Dev’s own saber down. Inch by inch.

You just stood there. 

Not cumbled and not crying. Just frozen.None of this was real. You could fight and you knew it. You could pull out your lightsaber clipped onto your belt, leap in and draw it. But you couldn’t fight him. And that was worse. 

“You were going to kill her,” Obi-wan said, breathless. 

“I was going to use her,” He seethed. 

Anakin moved before the words could even leave his mouth. He deliberately slammed his boot against Dev’s limp knee and watched as he staggered back on the floor. His lightsaber fell from his grip and without a second thought, Anakin snarled and his heel connected with the hilt of the saber. The saber skidded away before Dev could grab it and rolled across the floor by your feet. 

“You think this is funny?” Anakin growled. “You think this is a game?”

Dev was panting, the palm of his hands scratched and scraped with blood. “I was going to let her live, you know,” he coughed, “after I got my bounty.”

Anakin stood over Dev, his chest heaving and the tip of his lightsaber inches away from his face. Dev’s face illuminated with blue, yet it made the shadows of face darker. 

Obi-wan gently pulled Anakin back, his lightsaber off. “We need him alive. This is not the Jedi way.” 

Anakin gritted his teeth as he fought himself back from delivering blows to his face with his own fist. Instead he kept his lightsaber drawed near him, afraid that he would take advantage of this moment. 

Looking down by your feet was Dev’s lightsaber. Kneeling down, you picked it up. Your fingers caressed the scars left on the hilt. Both physical and mental. 

Your eyes met with Dev, his gaze on you. It was direct. Almost apologetic. But you didn’t know anymore. There was nothing you knew. 

You knew nothing. 

You turned your back on him and into the hallway. You weren’t going to cry. Or ask why. You were done doing that. 

You didn’t owe him anything. 

You just buried another part of yourself, that’s all. 

You’ve done that before. 

The constant humming of an alive and healthy engine was soothing. It felt much calmer and peaceful than the ships Dev and you would take, it was almost nostalgic in a way. The Republic’s tax money was being put into good use. 

You sat by the view port at the back of the ship, your knees brought to your chest and your arms resting on top. Your eyes were fixed on the blur of stars outside. 

Dev was two corridors back. 

The Jedi cruiser had a red-lit forcefield cell, perfect for prisoners. 

The walk to the cruiser was silent. Dev was fully restrained and patted down by Obi-wan. Making sure he had no other tricks up his sleeves. Anakin still won’t talk to you, not that you wanted to anyway. Obi-wan also didn’t talk to you, but for different reasons. It was rather to give you your own space, understanding that the shock of Dev’s betrayal would have hit you hard. The protests had died down. Padme had contacted both Anakin and Obi-wan that the Senate was making a statement about Corellia and were now putting forward plans for a speech and aid relief.

Thankfully, Obi-wan made the decision to fly after the protests died down. If he hadn’t, the hyperspace travel would have been over eight hours to reach Coruscant with congested lanes and tight security. The trip now had an estimated time of arrival of 2 hours. It was a regular military exit after a mission and not at all a priority jump. Yet still, Obi-wan and Anakin’s military and Jedi status did give them a hot ticket to the top of the line. 

You were okay though, really. Just numb. You handed Dev’s lightsaber to Obi-wan without a word, just wanting to get it away from you as fast as possible. He wasn’t who you thought he was. If anything, you almost felt embarrassed that the one person you had trusted with your life would pull a stunt like that in front of Obi-wan and Anakin. It felt belittling. 

Obi-wan and Anakin were in the cockpit, the complete opposite end of the ship from you. But it was a small cruiser, so it was much closer than you thought. Obi-wan played with the control panel, rerouting through Jedi clearance codes. Anakin sat beside him, he was the better pilot but this was a quiet trip back home. He stretched his arms above him, his muscles and his mind aching. 

Anakin had made the decision to no longer acknowledge you or your presence. You were here —yes— but a different person. He did feel conflicted though. He felt almost protective of you still, especially with the way Dev approached and spoke about you. 

You played with the hem of your shirt absentmindedly, in front of you were additional security hologram displays; one at the front of the ship and one at the back. The hologram illuminated the room with a dull blue and on it were many different viewpoints. 

The entrance. The exit. Corridors. Dev’s holding cell where he was slumped against the wall. And the cockpit. Where Obi-wan and Anakin sat. 

You weren’t supposed to be watching at all, but the console was still logged in with Obi-wan’s credentials. And it was transmitting live. Tapping on the screen, you enlarged the view. 

Onscreen was the cockpit, but away from the control panel was a circular table. And on the table was another hologram. But what piqued your interest was Obi-wan and Anakin moving away from the panels and towards said hologram. As if on queue, a projection of the Jedi council was brought to life. 

Mace Windu. Plo Koon. Master Yoda. Ki-Adi-Mundi. Saesee Tiin.

The human sized projections of them came to life as they all individually surrounded said table, but instead they were transparent blue. 

You watched as Obi-wan and Anakin mouth moved as they spoke to the council. The video was mute, you could turn it up but part of you still had morals, so you decided against it. 

Mace Windu crossed his arms, his own mouth moving with Yoda nodding to whatever he was saying. And then, with a flick of the wrist by Obi-wan, an image of you came to life. Your portrait taken when you first joined the Order as only a padawan. 

Fuck that. 

You twisted a small knob on the bottom right of your own screen, the sound filtering in. 

“-She has clearly strayed,” Mace said. “Whether or not she was manipulated is irrelevant.” 

Scoffing, you knelt in closer, your teeth gnawing at your lips nervously. You didn’t really like Mace so this didn’t hurt you much, it just felt offending. 

“She never returned, she is not a Jedi anymore.” Ki-Adi-Mundi added, his fingers stroking his beard, deep in thought. 

“We aren’t sure what her motives are now,” Mace Windu added. 

The image of you flickering, like a memory nobody wanted to claim. And then, Obi-wan spoke.

Obi-wan furrowed his eyebrows, he glances at Anakin before speaking. But he spoke calmly. Controlled. “She’s not a threat.”

“She was working with one,” Mace Windu said flatly. 

“With all due respect, she is a Jedi.” Obi-wan said, but concern etched onto his face. “This is not some stranger.”

“Too much time among criminals may blurr her loyalties.” Saesee Tiin added, arms folded. “The Jedi code isn’t something you can abandon and return to at will.”

The room was turning and you were being picked apart. Judged and dissected. Yes– it wasn’t an official meeting for judgement yet it felt like it. 

Your own face stared back at you. Younger, softer, a small smile projected. Hopeful. You couldn’t recognise her. 

Obi-wan didn’t speak again. Instead his eyes lingered on the image of you longer than the others. Trying to find a lie. But it wasn’t there. He kept replaying the moment when he walked alongside you captured, how you didn’t protest or fight back. The way you flinched when Dev yelled at you. How you willingly gave back his lightsaber. 

Obi-wan had checked on you more than he needed to. Because he didn’t believe you were a threat. Part of him didn’t know what to do anymore as the masters beside him spoke like they had already sealed your fate. Funnily enough, no one had mentioned Dev once. It was because his outcome was predetermined -being a known fugitive- while yours was unexpected.

And then, Plo Koon who has been silent —his arms folded and his eyes weighing with memory — steps forward. 

“We failed Ahsoka by letting her walk alone. We will not do the same here,” He inhaled deeply. The thought of Ahsoka aching him, the same girl who he helped raise. “Y/n, was a child of the Order. She was raised in our halls, she fought alongside us, she followed our teachings.”

His voice lowered. “We lost her. We owe her a path home.” No one interrupted him. Not even Mace. 

Plo’s words hung heavy in the room. They were carrying a sense of redemption, but not only for Y/n, Ahsoka too.

Deep down, Obi-wan wondered. If they had allowed Ahsoka to leave so easily and turned on you just as fast…how long until they turned on everyone?

There was a beat of silence. And Anakin’s gaze flicked to the hologram of you. The same girl who he grew up with and fell in love with. It was just a flick. Then away. 

And then—

Anakin spoke. 

“You’re wasting time defending someone who wouldn’t hesitate to leave again.”

It was like a stab in the gut. 

Anakin’s chest burned. He could feel all eyes on him, heavy, questioning. He forced his chin up, trying his hardest to look composed. When Anakin spoke it was like his voice had been pulled from somewhere far colder. 

“Let her answer for her own actions,” he clenched his jaw. 

Your breath hitched as you watched the way Anakin spoke about you like you were a nobody. Like you were a traitor. Like he didn’t know you. 

“Conflicted, she is…But lost…perhaps not.” 

Yoda said, breaking the tension. 

You leaned back into your seat, your eyes wide and your throat tightening. 

You turned off the transmission, not wanting to hear anymore. Rubbing your eyes with the palms of your hands, you groaned. He didn’t even defend you. He didn’t say you were innocent. It sounded like he didn’t even want you back. 

There was nothing more you could do. You would just let the council decide your fate. It seemed fifty-fifty as of now. But you at the back of the cruiser instead of a cell locked away told you enough. 

But now you would just rest. Rest until you reached ‘home’. 

-----------

Anakin rested in the small compact sleeping quarters, one arm under his head and the other across his chest. It wouldn’t be more than an hour until they reached Coruscant but his mind was racing nonstop. 

He could feel your presence in the next room over. He would be lying if he said it didn’t feel awkward or strange. The one person he was longing for was finally here and he wasn’t able to reach out to you in the same way. 

He could still see your face when he closed his eyes. 

He remembered how you used to talk in your sleep. Shift under the covers and mumble his name. The way his fingers would caress the sides of your face as he would look at you lovingly. 

But now?

He didn’t know if you still dreamt about him.

He hated how much he wanted you to. 

And worse–

He wanted you to feel the same pain he went through. He wanted you to feel what he felt. When you had just abandoned him. When he tried his best to search and search for you everyday, when he would speak to comms at the late of night expressing his love for you. He would yearn for the moment the device would blink orange and he could hear your voice through the machine.

He wanted you to know that while you were out doing dirty work he was using every free second to search for you. 

And what confused him the most was that he wasn’t sure if you still would want him back. 

Not after what he has said to you. 

Not after her. 

Not after everything. 

A/N: i hope u guys like it !!!!!!! also lowk love obiwan so much hes always looking out for y/n anakin is such an angsty teenage brat LMK WHAT U GUYS THINKKKK!!!!

Taglist: @endairachristensen26 @hayden-christensen-verse @ducks118 @seventeen-x @movingalongthekiwi @ssnapsaurus @caramelfondu @dayrin085 @devilslittlehelper @f1wh0recom @green-lxght @bettysgardenswift @heyitsbeeeb @user-3113s-blog @fandomhoe101 @veronaspencil @zudooms

if u want to be added or removed lmk!

[dazaih]

sweet - luke skywalker x reader

luke skywalker is living on tatooine as he prepares to rescue han solo from jabba’s palace. you’re one of many bounty hunters sent to capture him. your mission complicates, however, when the lonely jedi is far too enthusiastic about your company.

bounty hunter! gender neutral reader x pre-rotj! luke

chapter warnings: light drinking, canon-typical violence

a/n: this is just an au where luke is supposed to be keeping a low profile as he hides out on tatooine after esb but he misses his friends and is way too social with strangers as a result. that is all

Luke Skywalker wasn’t easy to find. You weren’t sure if he was evading capture with his Jedi powers, if the Rebels were keeping him well hidden, or both, but your search had spanned two months now and your patience was growing incredibly thin.

You’d heard that the kid had blown up the Death Star, but you weren’t sure why Vader’s orders were to take him alive, or why so much effort was being spent on finding a single pilot. You didn’t normally take large bounties like this, as it was just so much more of a hassle, but under the collapsing economy of the Empire, you were running out of options. This pilot was going to singlehandedly put food on your table. You had a job to do, and more competition than you could handle, but what other option was there?

In your building frustration, you had started getting a bit sloppy. Your ship’s fuel tank being nearly on empty was a clear indictor of that. So, with no other option, you had to stop for fuel on the worst possible planet: Tatooine.

On top of that, you would have to dock at Mos Eisley. Your luck was growing worse by the minute.

Begrudgingly, you landed your ship, haggled with the station crew, and still paid more to fuel up than you should have. By the end of the interaction, you were about to blow a fuse, your anger reaching its limit. You hadn’t been this pissed in a long time, your growling stomach not doing much to ease your stress. So, with very little credits and a sour attitude, you made the trek over to the cantina.

What a shithole, you thought as you walked inside. The cantina wasn’t incredibly crowded tonight, but it was still relatively lively. The band was playing something a bit more relaxing, and you could see the setting suns from the seat you had taken at the bar. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad.

The bartender appeared in front of you, staring at you expectantly as your eyes roamed his selection. He didn’t bother with a greeting, but that was fine. You didn’t need one.

“Just beer is fine,” you mumbled, watching as he pulled one out and popped the cap off, “Thanks.”

“You wanna start a tab?” he asked, tired eyes boring into you.

“Yeah, why not.”

You supposed you’d dock at Tatooine for the night. It wasn’t like your bounty would be on this dead end planet anyway. If anything, he was more likely to be tucked away in a secret base, not allowed to leave in fear of being attacked. His status as a wanted man was quite well known, and there’s no way the Rebels would risk letting such a talented pilot slip out of their hands.

“You got anything to eat around here?” you asked, feeling your stomach growl once more.

The bartender must’ve heard it too, because he looked at you with a deeper grimace.

“I can make you a sandwich out of Haroun bread and Worrt meat,” he offered.

Gross, but you’d take what you could get.

“That’s fine, thanks,” you murmured.

He was nice enough to make the sandwich warm for you, and he did his best to make it look appetizing, even adding a little seasoning. You weren’t used to experiencing the kindness of strangers, so you weren’t quite sure how to respond, but you hoped that your gratitude was clear to him.

You studied the patrons as you ate, finally taking in your surroundings in full. A few men were playing some sort of card game you’d never seen before in the far corner, a prostitute sat talking to a potential client in a table to your right, and a few people were sitting close to the band. Prostitutes, gamblers, drunkards—this was all what you’d expected out of a Mos Eisley cantina.

“Ah, so you’ve made it another day.”

You momentarily thought that the bartender was speaking to you, but that hardly made sense. You looked up to see a new customer had entered, sliding into a barstool on your left, leaving an empty seat between you. You couldn’t see the person’s face, as the hood of their cloak concealed their features. From where you sat, you could only make out the outline of their side profile, the dim lighting and setting suns not doing you any favors.

“Seems like it,” the person replied.

The voice was much softer than what you’d expected out of a mysterious cloaked figure on Tatooine, but that was hardly as surprising as their drink order.

“Blue milk?” the bartender asked.

“Please.”

“Not dark blue?”

“I won’t be drinking tonight.”

Who comes to a bar and orders milk? you wanted to ask, but you bit your tongue for now. You still didn’t know whose identity that fabric was concealing, but judging by how friendly they appeared to be with a bartender in Mos Eisley, you were certain they were trouble.

“Suit yourself, kid. Anything else I can get ya?”

The figure seemed to contemplate this for a moment, gloved fingers drumming against the countertop thoughtfully.

“Got anything to eat?”

“That one right there is eating a Worrt sandwich,” he said, pointing at you, “That’s all we really have tonight. Sorry.”

“That’s dreadful,” they said quietly, not bothering to look at your plate, “I don’t need anything nutritious.”

“You’re asking if I have dustcrepes.”

“Sorry,” the voice was sheepish now, and you were willing to bet that the person under the hood was blushing, “Haven’t had anything sweet to eat in a while. I was just curious.”

“They’re not actually sweet, kid.”

“Nothing sweet ever came from Tatooine.”

The bartender laughed before disappearing for a moment, bringing back a plate with a singular dustcrepe on it. You were surprised to find that it didn’t look that bad.

“I hope this isn’t your only one,” the figure said softly, not yet sticking their fork into the treat, “I don’t want to take it from someone else—“

“Just eat the damn thing, kid. You’ve done enough for me. Least I can do is let you have the last dustcrepe.”

Hesitantly, the gloved hand cut a small piece of the crepe off, and you watched as the person’s shoulders relaxed when they finally took a bite. You had finished your sandwich now, but it wasn’t enough after several days of eating dried fruit and nuts, so you really couldn’t be blamed when another growl sounded from it.

The bartender turned to you, but the figure did not, now just sitting perfectly still.

“I know Worrt meat ain’t much. I’m sorry,” he apologized, wiping some sweat from his brow with a towel.

“It’s fine,” you murmured, embarrassed by your appetite, “I just haven’t been eating a lot lately. It’s my own fault. Thanks for the sandwich.”

You jumped in your seat when you saw the gloved hand extending in your direction, but the reflex to grab your blaster was tamed when you saw that half of the stranger’s dessert was being presented to you.

“What?” you asked, bewildered.

“Take half,” they insisted, nudging the food in your direction, only tilting their head slightly. You could make out their nose and a small part of their lips, but the dark shadows the hood was casting still made discerning any details difficult.

“No,” you replied, still confused, “I just ate. You haven’t eaten yet.”

“You’re hungry,” they said simply.

“It’s yours. You bought it.”

“Have you ever had a dustcrepe?”

“What? No?”

“Then at least try it.”

“He’s not gonna give up,” the bartender interrupted, a small smile on his lips, “He’d give you the shirt off his back if you asked for it. Just the type of guy he is.”

“Don’t ask me to take off my clothes,” the stranger mumbled, and you nearly laughed in spite of yourself, “But he’s right. I’ve decided that you’re going to share this with me, and it seems like you want to, so take it.”

Reluctantly, you took the crepe from his hand, your fingers brushing his as you did so. You felt no heat from his palm, and you made a mental note that he must have had some type of prosthetic. Interesting, but not nearly as important as the treat you had just bitten into, which was probably the best thing you’d tasted in a long time.

“Good, right?”

“It is,” you admitted, “Thank you.”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s one of my favorites, and I think everyone—“

He was cut off by someone tapping his shoulder, and he reflexively spun around in his seat to see who was trying to get his attention, consequently turning his back to you.

“I haven’t seen eyes like that around here in forever,” the culprit—one of the prostitutes you’d seen earlier, you realized—said, and you were suddenly envious that this woman had seen the kind stranger’s face and you had not.

“Oh,” the man said, seemingly dumbfounded, “But I was here yesterday?”

“It’s a shame you’re hiding such a handsome face,” she continued, ignoring his comment and taking a seat in his lap, “It’s a crime, really.”

“Thanks?” he all but squeaked, his hands flying up in an attempt to put some space between the two of them.

“Leave him alone, Pella,” the bartender huffed, sounding tired.

She sighed and climbed off of him, instead standing behind him and spinning him around to face the counter again.

“But just look,” she said, one hand on his shoulder and the other on top of his hood, “At those eyes.”

Before he realized what she was doing, she yanked down his hood, exposing his face to the entirety of Mos Eisley. The bartender rolled his eyes and no one else seemed to be particularly interested in the interaction, but you were floored.

Yes, he was beautiful. He had wispy blond locks that curled around his ears and a jaw that was strong but cheeks that were soft. You weren’t facing him directly, and yet you could still understand what she had meant about his eyes. They were a light blue, like the crystal waters of a much kinder planet than Tatooine, and shone even in the dim lighting of the cantina. His looks, however, were only a secondary thought to you at the moment, because there, in a tiny bar in the Outer Rim, sat Luke Skywalker.

“Son of a bitch.”

His eyes flickered to you in an instant, and he seemed to realize that your hand was hovering above your holster before you did.

“Don’t try it,” he pleaded, looking back up at you, “I don’t wanna hurt you.”

You weighed your options for a moment, and ultimately decided on unsheathing your blaster anyway, lunging out and grabbing the woman, pressing the barrel of your weapon to her temple. She screamed and kicked your shin, which hurt quite a bit, but you weren’t about to let anything stand in the way of you and this bounty.

“Hey!” the bartender shouted, coming out from behind the counter to confront you, “I make you a sandwich and you start pointing blasters at women in my bar? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“My business is with him,” you replied coldly, staring at Luke, “Drop any weapons you have.”

He was standing now, and with a sigh, he unclipped a blaster from his utility belt. You eyed him skeptically, but he just shook his head.

“Lost the saber when I lost the hand,” he told you, wiggling his gloved fingers at you in a way that almost felt sarcastic, “What now?”

His attitude wasn’t as annoying to you as it should’ve been, but you still glared. Keeping your blaster pointed at the woman, you quickly reached into your pocket, tossing a pair of handcuffs at the bartender.

“Cuff him. And if they don’t look tight enough, I’ll shoot her. Understand?”

When the bartender hesitated, you shoved your blaster harder into her temple, making her cry out in pain.

“I’ll be fine,” Luke told him, giving him a soft smile, “You don’t need to worry.”

The bartender still frowned, but he reluctantly reached forward, grabbing the cuffs.

“Behind his back,” you ordered.

Luke rolled his eyes and turned around, offering his hands to the bartender. He didn’t react as the cuffs were fitted tightly around his wrists, but you could see that they had to be painful.

“Okay,” you breathed out, shoving the woman forward and taking hold of Luke instead, “We’ll be out of your hair now. Apologies to the lady, and thanks for the food.”

“I’ll be fine,” Luke called out over his shoulder, apparently unbothered by your blaster pressing into his side as you guided him to the door, “Thank you for the crepe!”

When you exited the cantina, you roughly shoved him forward, now keeping your blaster level with his back.

“Walk that way,” you demanded, pushing him towards the direction of your ship.

“You shouldn’t have scared that woman like that,” he said quietly, though he obeyed your orders and began walking.

“She’ll be fine. She’s alive, isn’t she?” you countered.

“You didn’t have to threaten her.”

“She’s a prostitute at Mos Eisley. I’m sure she’s seen scarier people than me.”

“So? She’s still a person. And she has nothing to do with this.”

“Are you scolding me?” you finally asked in disbelief.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, looking ahead as he continued to walk, “I’m not trying to scold you. I just meant that other people didn’t need to get involved.”

In the span of thirty minutes, Luke Skywalker—the pilot who blew up the Death Star and wielded a lightsaber—had shared his crepe with you, scolded you for scaring a woman while trying to take him as a hostage, and then apologized for it. You briefly wondered if you had passed out from exhaustion and were having some sort of lucid dream.

“Why are you on Tatooine?”

“I’m from here. Why are you?” he countered, though it was without venom.

“Why are you here now? And because I almost ran out of fuel looking for you. I had no idea you’d be drinking blue milk in Mos Eisley, of all places. What’s up with that?”

He shrugged, silently continuing his trek. You walked a little faster and shoved your blaster into his spine as hard as you could, making him falter slightly.

“What?” he snapped, turning to look at you.

You tried not to lose your breath at the sight of his golden hair gleaming in the sunset, the sky’s soft orange hues making his blue eyes seem even more striking. You failed, exhaling deeply as you stared at him, bewildered by his beauty.

“What?” he asked again, this time with furrowed brows and genuine confusion.

“Nothing,” you grumbled, “Answer my questions.”

“None of it really matters,” he replied, turning and walking again, “Just stuff that doesn’t really concern you or your mission, I guess.”

“You don’t even know what my mission is. Why are you on Tatooine?”

He was silent for a moment, but eventually decided to humor you.

“You were expecting me to have another weapon. Was the lightsaber mentioned in my profile when you took the commission?”

“Yes,” you admitted, “It stands out. Not many people have those these days.”

“I suppose not,” he hummed, “Well, like I said, it’s gone. And I need another one. So here I am.”

“That doesn’t explain anything. Why are you here?”

“Looking through a dead guy’s stuff for some information on building a lightsaber myself. Among other things.”

“Among other things,” you mocked, rolling your eyes, “Why do you need a lightsaber anyway? Nothing beats a long range blaster.”

“You sound like my friend,” he said, chuckling quietly, “I’m a Jedi, so I need a lightsaber.”

“You’re not a Jedi,” you scoffed, not believing him for a second, “They’re extinct, but even if they weren’t, you wouldn’t be one. You haven’t even tried to fight me once. You’re weak.”

“I don’t need to fight you,” he said simply, “Because you won’t hand me over.”

The statement surprised you, and you felt the dam holding back the pent up frustration from the day snap. You finally made it to your ship, and you roughly shoved him inside, dragging him to the front of the small vessel and pushing him down into the co-captain’s chair. You loomed above him, pointing your blaster at the center of his forehead now, glaring at him.

“I will,” you seethed, your other hand falling to his shoulder to keep him in place, “I wish I could just kill you now and save myself the trouble of having to hear your voice all the way to the rendezvous point.”

“Where’s the rendezvous point?” he asked, cocking his head at you as if you weren’t holding a loaded weapon to it.

“I’m not—What the fuck is wrong with you? You should at least humor me a little and act like your life is in danger. This is bad for my self esteem.”

He laughed at that, showing off his stupidly perfect white teeth.

“My life’s not in danger,” he said, bringing his hands out from behind his back and holding them up to show you that his handcuffs were gone, “See? I’m all good.”

You stared at him in disbelief for a second, his freed hands mocking you and all you’d worked for.

“I’m gonna kill that bartender,” you announced calmly, turning to exit your ship again. You pushed the button to open the cockpit’s door, but it only parted halfway before slamming shut again. Puzzled, you smashed the button again, much harder this time, only for the exact same thing to happen. Finally, you turned to Luke, whose hand was outstretched, open palm facing you and the door.

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly, letting it fall back to his side, “But I can’t let you kill the bartender. He’s a nice guy. Also, he was true to his promise. He really had those cuffs on tight.”

“What did you just do?” you asked, dumbfounded.

“The Force,” he explained, still seated, “I’m a Jedi. I told you that. You should tell the Guild to update their records.”

You circled him slowly, now even more suspicious of him than before, and you raised your blaster again.

“I think Vader would understand if I killed you now. You’re freaking me out a little.”

“You’re funny,” he said sincerely, waving his hand again and sending your blaster flying across the room, “You seem to have a pretty good sense of humor. We could’ve had a nice conversation at the bar instead of doing all of this.”

You stared at your weapon in the corner, once again at a loss for what to do. You were a pretty talented bounty hunter, and you were confident that you could put up a decent fight against Luke, but you had no experience fighting Jedi.

“I’ve had a really long day,” you confessed, eyes darting between Luke and your blaster, “I’m pretty emotionally exhausted. I’m too tired to even be that pissed at you right now, and I really wish I wasn’t, because I really want to beat the hell out of you for giving me such a hard time, but unfortunately, I’m broke, and this job was supposed to be my ticket to financial security, so if you could just stop fucking things up and—“

“And what? Go and die quietly?” he interjected, quirking an eyebrow at you, “I’ve got things to do too, y’know. Can’t get myself killed just yet.”

“He wants you alive.”

“And then when I won’t do what he wants, he’ll kill me. I don’t have time for that right now.”

“Darth Vader put a bounty out on you and you’re worried about it getting in the way of your work schedule?”

“It’s important work,” he offered, shrugging again.

“Funny,” you huffed, feeling quite defeated, “Well, fuck me I guess. Why didn’t you take the handcuffs off sooner? Actually, why did you even come with me in the first place?”

“I haven’t spoken to someone my own age in two months. And you seemed nice.”

You had never been called nice a single time in your life. You were stunned, swallowing hard for a moment before speaking again.

“Well, sorry to have disappointed you.”

“You didn’t disappoint me. This is the most fun I’ve had in a long time. I never get to talk to anyone these days. Being stuck here for two months has been draining, and—“

“You’ve been here for two months?” you asked, backtracking slightly.

“Yeah, around that long. Why?”

You had gone to eight different planets looking for this guy, and the entire time, he had been here, drinking blue milk and making friends with bartenders.

“Ah,” he said then, as if he understood your frustration, “Sorry to have caused you so much trouble. I’m sure it’s not nearly as much as whatever my bounty is, but since I can’t let you take me in, I can at least give you some of the credits I have—“

“What’s wrong with you? Why are you offering to compensate me when I just kidnapped you?”

“You didn’t kidnap me,” he corrected you, “I came willingly. And it’s fine. You were never going to actually turn me in anyway, so it doesn’t matter.”

“Why do you keep saying that? I fully intended on bringing you in before you started moving shit around with your mind.”

“I can just tell,” he said simply, shrugging again.

You sighed, collapsing into the pilot’s chair and crossing your legs.

“Well, since I can’t shoot and kill you, and now I also can’t kidnap you, I guess you’re free to go.”

Just as the words left your mouth, your ship made a horrible creaking noise, causing you to shoot up out of your chair. To your surprise, Luke followed suit, gently placing a comforting hand on your arm. You wanted to slap him away, but you found yourself liking the light touch more than you anticipated, your cheeks flushing. He really was beautiful, but he was still supposed to be your bounty.

“It’s just the wind,” he reassured you, offering you a small smile, “But I wouldn’t go out in that right now. It could mean that a storm is approaching.”

“A storm? It doesn’t rain here, does it?”

“Not that kind of storm,” he replied, “A dust storm. It could be nothing, but when the wind picks up like that at night—“

He was interrupted by another strong gust rocking the ship forward, and he winced. He leaned forward to look through your windshield, and sure enough, considerable amounts of sand had started blowing through the air, and the suns had now nearly fully set. Even if you wanted to get Luke off of Tatooine, there was no way you could travel in this.

“If you want me to leave, I should probably do that now,” he said awkwardly, staring through your windshield.

“Is letting you out gonna blow a ton of sand into my ship?” you asked tiredly.

“Um, probably. Sorry.”

“How long will this last?”

“I’m not sure. Could be an hour, could be more. They usually get worse at night and settle by morning.”

“I just want one stroke of good luck,” you groaned, running your hand through your hair, “Whatever. Just stay until it’s over.”

He gave you a curious look at that, which would’ve been cute on anyone else; however, seeing as he had just extinguished your dream of financial stability, you were still a bit resentful.

“Okay,” he replied, smiling a little, “Thanks. I appreciate that.”

“I’m not doing it for you. My ship is already falling apart, and exposing the inside to a dust storm is just gonna be another nail in the coffin.”

“If you say so,” he hummed, sitting back down, “So, you’re a bounty hunter?”

“We don’t need to make small talk.”

“Yes, we do. It’ll be awkward if we don’t. And I’m genuinely interested. Like I said, I haven’t seen someone my own age in two months. You can humor me a little.”

You sighed, long and drawn out to make your misery clear to him.

“Fine,” you hissed, “Yeah, that’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?”

“Not really. You’re pretty laidback for a bounty hunter.”

“And now you’re insulting me. You’re the gift that keeps on giving, huh?”

He had the audacity to giggle at that, and you could’ve sworn that your heart stopped beating for a moment. There was no way that this was the same person who blew up the Death Star. There had to be some sort of mistake.

“I didn’t mean it as an insult. Just that you’re not wound so tight that you start killing everyone in your path. Most bounty hunters are like that, in my experience at least. Not to generalize or anything.”

“You have a lot of experience with bounty hunters?”

“Well, yeah. I’m a bounty, after all.”

“Right,” you huffed, crossing your arms and relaxing a little, “And what? Others have found you before?”

“You’re the sixth this month.”

You sputtered for a moment, unable to conceal your surprise. You’d known that you probably weren’t the first person to run into Luke, but five others? This month?

“You’re full of shit,” you argued, narrowing your eyes at him, “Those are hunters from the Guild. You would have been captured by now. I don’t believe you.”

“Sorry?” he replied, looking a little uncomfortable, “You don’t have to believe me, but I don’t really have any reason to lie to you.”

“Yes, you do,” you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. Your ship made another horrible noise then, and your stomach churned when another gust of wind forced itself against your only mode of transport.

“It’ll be okay,” he said, standing and walking towards the entrance to your ship, “But if you’re really worried about sand, we should stuff some fabric in these cracks. You should really have this resealed, actually. Do you not get cold from the air seeping in?”

“What, you’re making renovations now?” you scoffed, standing and following him as he walked down the corridor, “Hey! Where are you going?”

“To get fabric,” he called back, and he was gone.

You jogged to catch up with him, only to be floored when you saw him wave the door to your quarters open with his hand. That should’ve been impossible, but you supposed he was full of surprises.

“You can’t just barge into my room,” you snapped, putting an arm in front of him and slamming the button to shut the door.

“Don’t complain when your loading ramp is covered in sand tomorrow morning.”

You stared at him for a second before begrudgingly relenting, slamming the button once more. He smiled at you as he stepped into your quarters. You were hoping that he wouldn’t try to read you by studying your room, but your hopes were shattered when he made his way to a small desk in the corner.

“Is this an N-1 Starfighter?” he asked, staring at a model ship you had sitting on the desk, “I used to collect model ships. I never had this one though.”

“Yes,” you snapped, stepping between him and the desk, “I killed a guy for that. Don’t touch it.”

“Can I touch it?”

“I just said—“

“I won’t break it. I swear. I can be delicate.”

“Fine,” you hissed, reluctantly placing the model in his hands, “But if you break it, you have to let me take you to Vader.”

“Sounds fair,” he agreed, even though trading his life and freedom for the chance to hold an N-1 model hardly seemed fair to you at all.

You tried not to look at him at all as he admired the ship in his hands. You tried not to notice how his eyes lit up and his entire body visibly relaxed. You hadn’t even realized he’d been tense until now. His gloved thumb gently traced the doors, and with all the care he could muster, he tapped the tiny droid you had placed inside.

“It even has an astromech,” he mused happily, and for whatever reason, he felt compelled to meet your eyes then.

His beauty was truly unfair. Even in the dim lighting of your ship, his eyes still sparkled, and you couldn’t help but wonder what he’d look like in broad daylight. Divine, surely.

“Um, yeah,” you replied, voice strained, “I found that separately.”

“It’s a good addition,” he praised, smiling at you, “I have an astromech myself. Flying isn’t the same without him.”

“The R2 unit,” you said, recalling its mention in his commission profile.

“His reputation precedes him then,” he chuckled, shaking his head fondly, “Makes sense. Big personality for a little droid.”

“I wasn’t aware that droids had personalities.”

“I’ve met droids more personable than some people.“

“Seems more likely that you’re just projecting your big personality onto them,” you scoffed.

He smiled at you again and gently placed the model back into your hands.

“Thanks for letting me look at it. That’s probably the nicest model ship I’ve ever seen.”

“Whatever,” you murmured.

Your ship made another creaking sound then, and tilted more than it should have at the next gust of wind. To your horror, you were knocked off kilter, N-1 model flying out of your hands as you fell towards the floor.

Luke caught you before you collided with the ground, but you hardly cared. You shoved him off of you as you scanned the ground for the model ship, and you began to panic when you couldn’t find it.

“It’s fine,” he assured you, and your head snapped up to see the tiny N-1 Starfighter hovering level to where you’d been holding it. You looked to see that his other hand was outstretched; he appeared to have used his powers to keep both you and your prized possession from hitting the floor.

Relieved as he gently moved the model back into your hands, you sighed and placed it in your desk drawer. You’d keep it there until your ship stopped swaying in the violent winds of Tatooine. You didn’t bother thanking him.

“Do you have any extra sheets or blankets? We can use those to seal the gaps for now,” he said, reminding you of why you’d both come into your quarters in the first place.

“A few, yeah,” you mumbled, pulling some extra sheets from the drawers under your bed. You tossed a couple into his hands, and the two of you exited your quarters and made your way back to the entrance.

He got to work immediately, stuffing the sheets into the cracks that ran along your door. You didn’t offer assistance, instead standing with your arms crossed in front of your chest as you watched him. He was out of sheets, but a small portion of the seal still remained unattended.

“Do you have any more?” he asked, turning back to look at you.

“No,” you snapped, glaring at him, “Can’t you use your cloak?”

He cocked his head at you then, and pursed his lips together in what may have been annoyance. Seeing his expression venture anywhere near irritation was surprising to you at this point, and you wondered if you should continue giving him a hard time just so you could see him lose his composure a little. Maybe then you could finally gain some insight into why the Empire regarded him as such a great threat.

“I told you not to ask me to take my clothes off,” he joked weakly, though he looked a little uncomfortable.

“It’s the perfect size. Why not?”

“I just don’t want to,” he huffed, seeming torn between honoring your request and keeping his robe on.

“Not very noble of you, Jedi.”

“Don’t do that,” he said, eyes narrowing at you, “You’re trying to get under my skin. If I’m stuck here until the storm blows over, shouldn’t we at least be civil?”

“Your stoicism is annoying me. I can’t be civil if I’m annoyed.”

He stared at you for a second before sighing, his shoulders slumping a little.

“Sorry?” he replied, brows furrowed, “I’m not sure how I’m supposed to be acting, but I can be quiet for the rest of the night if that helps.”

For some reason, you were beginning to regret trying to annoy him. He wasn’t actually growing irritated with you; he just seemed hurt.

“I’m going to bed,” you said then, deciding this was a bandaid fix to your growing uncertainty surrounding your bounty, “I guess you can leave when the storm calms down, since I’m apparently not going to turn you in. Don’t break anything.”

“Oh,” he mumbled, seemingly surprised by your response, “Okay. Well, it was nice meeting you.”

“Wish I could say the same,” you murmured, and with that, you stormed off towards your quarters, managing not to look back at him a single time.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Sleep didn’t come easily to you. Perhaps it was because you had left a supposed Jedi unattended in your cockpit, or maybe it was because of the harsh wind blowing against the side of your ship, which was already in worrisome condition. Regardless of the reasoning, you were struggling to rest.

After a few hours of trying in vain to sleep, you finally decided to give up. In your night robes, you ventured back into the cockpit, half expecting Luke to have vanished into the night.

How wrong you were.

There, having leaned the co-pilot’s chair as far back as it would go (which wasn’t very far, admittedly), sat Luke Skywalker. His knees were pulled to his chest, and his head rested against the back of the chair, his eyes closed. A shiver passed through him, and only then did you realize that he wasn’t wearing his cloak. You walked back towards the entrance door then, only to see that he had, in fact, shoved his robe into the remaining gaps. You sighed, a degree of guilt you hadn’t felt in years creeping up on you and gripping your conscience.

Reluctantly, you returned to the cockpit and roughly shook him by his shoulders. He jolted awake, eyes wide as he momentarily panicked. Much to your dismay, he immediately relaxed upon realizing it was you. This was an insult to your career.

“Is the storm over?” he asked, voice strained and raspy from sleep. You hated how attractive you found it.

“No,” you mumbled, unable to stop yourself from staring into his soft, tired eyes, “Come on.”

Confused, but willing to follow you anyway, he stood, trailing behind you as you led him back towards your quarters.

“Get your cloak,” you snapped when you passed the entryway, and he quickly complied.

“Some sand might get through—“

“I don’t care. Just take your shit.”

“Okay,” he replied, stifling a giggle. You rolled your eyes.

When you entered your quarters, you climbed back into bed. He stood, looking a little uncomfortable, but he didn’t say anything. Begrudgingly, you tossed a pillow down onto the rug next to your bed.

“Not being able to see you is stressing me out,” you said then, trying to sound as menacing as you could. Apparently, your efforts were in vain.

“Aw,” he hummed, taking a seat on your rug, “That’s sweet. Thank you.”

“I meant—“ you began, but you sighed in defeat when you caught sight of his sleepy smile, “Okay, whatever. I’m going back to sleep. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied, still grinning at you, “Goodnight. Thanks for the pillow.”

You didn’t reply, instead turning on your side so you wouldn’t have to look at him.

This was the most troublesome bounty you’d ever agreed to.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

You weren’t sure why, but you awoke with a start, unable to breathe. You gasped and reached for your weapon, your fight or flight response immediately kicking in. When you were able to fully open your eyes, you realized in terror that you were face to face with a Trandoshan, his hands around your throat and his claws digging into your skin. Eyes widening, you managed to clutch the small knife you kept under your pillow, and shoved the blade into the side of the creature’s neck. He howled out in pain just long enough to allow you to roll out of your bed. You hit the floor hard, but managed to recover as you finally made it to your feet. Your blaster sat on your desk, and you made a beeline for it as you continued to cough from the assailant’s attack on your throat.

As your fingers wrapped around the handle of your blaster, you suddenly felt claws digging into your ankle, pulling you backwards and making you hit the ground again. You gasped, the air having been knocked out of your lungs, but didn’t release your hold on your blaster. The Trandoshan lifted you by your ankle and slammed your body onto the floor, your head making a horrible sound as it collided with the steel below. Grunting, you held onto your blaster for dear life, trying to think clearly enough to fend off the attack on your life.

You feigned unconsciousness if only to stave off another collision with the floor. The Trandoshan moved to kick your blaster from your hand then, but in a panicked effort to save yourself, you rolled to the side. You caught your attacker off guard enough to fire a shot to his knee, but knowing Trandoshans and their cockroach-esque abilities, it wouldn’t be enough. You fired off another shot into the creature’s neck, near where you’d shoved the blade, and you finally managed to bring him to the ground. Heart beating fast, you pointed your blaster at his head and kept your finger on the trigger until you were sure he was no longer breathing.

Hearing a commotion elsewhere on your ship, your adrenaline motivated you to race down the corridor and into the cockpit. To your horror, you saw that three more Trandoshans had infiltrated. You were confused by the corpse of one sitting on the floor next to a defeated assassin droid, but your confusion was quickly resolved when you caught sight of Luke standing on top of the co-pilot’s chair. He was unarmed, and yet a Trandoshan and assassin droid lay dead on the ground. You couldn’t wrap your head around it.

“You are outnumbered,” one of the Trandoshans hissed, blaster pointed at Luke.

Luke caught sight of you then, and before you knew what was happening, your blaster was flying through the air and into his hand.

“Hey!” you shouted, but he ignored you as he quickly fired a round into the two Trandoshans standing in front of him. You weren’t able to warn him about the lack of ammunition in your blaster before it was too late, and he frowned as he realized that he no longer had a weapon. The last Trandoshan charged at him then, but he dodged the attack by jumping off of the chair and landing gracefully on his feet.

The attacker shot at him as he skillfully evaded the bullets. You were impressed, but you couldn’t help but frown as your floors were maimed. Luke kept him firing until the Trandoshan was out of ammunition as well, leaving him with no choice but to engage the Jedi in close combat. Luke had no problem with this, practically dancing around the Trandoshan as he fended off his attacks. The creature did finally land a hit on him, however, and you winced as blood trickled down his nose.

You ran towards your arsenal then, deciding that Luke no longer had the situation under control. You picked up two more blasters and then scurried back into the cockpit, ready to shoot down the intruder. When you arrived, however, the Trandoshan’s feet were no longer touching the ground. You followed his panicked gaze until your eyes landed on Luke, whose outstretched hand appeared to be the culprit behind the floating creature in your cockpit. His expression was sharp as he clutched his hand into a fist, and with a final gasp, the Trandoshan fell to the ground, dead.

Luke panted, walking backwards until the back of his knees hit the co-pilot’s chair. He collapsed onto it then, trying to catch his breath as he sat with his head in his hand.

Only then did you finally begin to realize the danger he posed. You had struggled to take out one Trandoshan, and he had managed to kill four and an assassin droid in the same amount of time. He was only armed for two of those kills, and you felt a little sick at the realization that you had been sleeping in the same room as a man who could choke people with his mind.

Blood trickled from his nose and down his chin, but he seemed rather indifferent to it. Sighing, you approached him cautiously, blaster still in your hand as you neared the man in your cockpit. He must have sensed you growing near, because his eyes flew open and he looked up at you.

“Hey,” he greeted you softly, his voice strained, “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

You stared at him for a second, bewildered by the implication that he’d intended to fight off all of the attackers on his own while letting you sleep.

“One of them made it into my quarters,” you replied, unsure of what else to say. His face fell, and he stood to survey your body for an indication that you were hurt. You weren’t sure how, but he managed to find one, and you froze when his gloved hand caressed your cheek.

“You’re injured,” he said in between his ragged breaths, hand moving to touch your forehead, “Where’s your ‘fresher?”

You blinked at him and pointed down the hallway, unable to protest as he grabbed your hand and dragged you to your own restroom. Blood still dripping down his face, he made you sit on the lid of the toilet as he searched for a first aid kit. He really must have had some unnatural ability to find what he was looking for, because he returned with it in his hand.

“You’re bleeding,” he told you then, kneeling in front of you as he put a cloth under your nose, “Blow.”

You obeyed, a little dazed, but he stopped you.

“Not that hard,” he chuckled, and you rolled your eyes and blew your nose a bit more gently. He folded the cloth then and made you lean forward a bit, placing it in your hand and making you hold it. He then guided your other hand to pinch your nose.

“Sit like that for a few minutes. Don’t blow your nose again unless I tell you to.”

“You’re bleeding,” you told him, your own voice coming out as nasally. You cringed at the sound, but he giggled.

“Yeah, but you’re the one with a likely concussion. I’m alright.”

He leaned over your sink as he tended to his own nose, and you frowned when he spit a bit of blood into it, quickly rinsing it down by turning on the faucet.

“Who were they?” you finally asked, beginning to sort through the haze in your brain.

“Trandoshans. Dangerous, known for hunting Wookiees—“

“I know what Trandoshans are,” you snorted.

“Sorry, right. You’re a bounty hunter. I didn’t know what they were until a few months ago when they started trying to kill me, but then again, I’m from the middle of nowhere. Anyway, yeah. They broke in—you really need to get your doors fixed—because they saw us leave the cantina together. They were after me. I’m sorry that you got hurt.”

He sounded so sad towards the end that you could hardly stand it, and you couldn’t get over how ridiculous he was for apologizing for attracting additional bounty hunters when you were the one who had kidnapped him in the first place.

“I made you come here against your will. Don’t apologize for my mistakes,” you murmured.

Perhaps it was the mental fog resulting from your possible concussion, but you felt a little more relaxed around him than before. Considering how you’d just seen him decimate an entire group of bounty hunters, it was certainly a little ironic. Still, he was tending to your wounds and profusely apologizing when it wasn’t even his fault to begin with, and you couldn’t help how fascinated you were by his actions. You’d never met anyone like him.

“I could’ve left. I’m from Tatooine, you know. I could’ve handled the storm,” he mumbled, spitting some more blood into your sink.

“I told you not to. Because of the sand,” you reminded him.

“But I should’ve known that staying was risky. I put you in danger because I was being selfish. I’m sorry,” he said seriously, meeting your eyes with an expression so sad that you wanted to throw up.

“It was my poor judgment. Not yours,” you replied, voice quite stern despite the nasally pitch that pinching your nose made inevitable.

“No,” he mumbled quietly, cheeks a little red, “I wanted to stay. I was looking for a reason to. It’s my fault you got hurt.”

“What?” you asked, confused by his admission, “Why? I was trying to kidnap you.”

“I mean, I could’ve gotten out of that,” he replied, gesturing towards the bodies in your cockpit, “I just didn’t want to. You’re really interesting, and like I said, I haven’t spoken to anyone my own age in two months now, and you’re really funny—“

“You’re insane,” you mused in disbelief, “You’re so lonely that you’d befriend someone who’s actively trying to get you killed?”

“You make it sound embarrassing,” he grumbled, frowning. It was cute.

“It is embarrassing,” you teased, staring at him as he tried to stop his nose from bleeding, “You should be more careful. What if I had hurt you while you were sleeping?”

“I would’ve woken up,” he argued, “Look, I’m not trying to sound arrogant or anything, but I really think I could’ve held my own against you. And besides, you weren’t gonna turn me in.”

“How would you know?”

“I sensed it,” he replied, grinning. A little bit of blood had pooled around his teeth. Sighing, you tore off some toilet paper and stood, shoving it into his mouth. He squawked in surprise, hitting his head against the wall as he walked backwards. After you wiped the blood from his teeth, you threw the tissue into the garbage alongside the cloth you’d been holding under your nose. He continued to stare at you in utter disbelief, as if wiping the blood from his mouth was the craziest part of this night.

“You can’t be serious,” you said, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“You just put paper in my mouth,” he replied, “Warn me next time.”

This was the most emotive you’d seen him all night. You couldn’t conceal your amusement.

“So I can do it again if I warn you?” you asked, wondering if the punches he’d endured had given him a concussion as well.

“Sure? But I almost bit you, like, reflexively. So just let me know before you do something like that.”

Of course he was only so stressed because he was worried that he might’ve hurt you. You rolled your eyes and laughed in spite of yourself. Only when his expression softened did you realize what you’d done.

“You have a beautiful laugh,” he said sincerely, smiling at you with blood still trickling down his face. You rolled your eyes at him.

“I think you have a concussion,” you huffed, crossing your arms and watching him in the mirror as he tended to his injuries.

“Probably,” he laughed, pinching his nose, “I need to stop getting hit in the face. It’s fine every now and then, but this has happened quite a few times this month.”

“You’re gonna get a permanent brain injury or something. Why not just leave Tatooine if so many bounty hunters are tracing you back to here?”

“Jedi stuff,” he replied, grinning as he made eye contact with you through the bathroom mirror.

“Sounds like a load of shit. Nothing is worth risking your life every few days.”

“Rich, coming from a bounty hunter.”

“Except for money,” you clarified, and hearing him giggle as a result felt like a small victory to you for reasons you didn’t really want to think critically about.

“I value knowledge more than money,” he said, “But if you must know, I do have other business on Tatooine.”

“So you’ve said. You never elaborated.”

“My friend is stuck here. I’m working on getting him out,” he told you simply, tossing his bloodied tissue into the trashcan and shrugging.

“Sounds like your friend might be more trouble than he’s worth if you’ve had to put up with a bunch of bloody noses while coming up with a plan.”

“He’s trouble,” he agreed, smiling, “But he’s certainly worth it. He’d do the same for me.”

You weren’t sure if you’d ever had a relationship like that—one where you’d risk your life to save the other person. You weren’t surprised that someone like Luke would have plenty of deeply meaningful friendships, though. You could see how his friends would treasure him, and how he’d do the same. That seemed to be the kind of person he was.

“I’m sure he would,” you replied, somewhat absentmindedly as you admired him.

“Do you hear that?” he asked suddenly, turning to face you with wide eyes.

“No?”

“The storm is over,” he declared, and he practically raced out of your bathroom and into the cockpit to see for himself. He paid no mind to the bodies of the bounty hunters he stepped over, his demeanor greatly contrasting the rather morbid scene.

He was right. The twin suns were beginning to rise, the air now appearing somewhat clear.

“Have you ever seen a sunrise on Tatooine?” he asked then, watching you as you stared out at the pink sky. You shook your head.

“Then we should go see it,” he decided, grabbing your hand and pulling you towards the entrance ramp.

“If I’m not turning you in, I need to pick up another commission. I should go—“

“You should get checked out by a medical droid before you fly this thing. You definitely have a concussion.”

“You’re not a doctor,” you argued as he pulled your sheets from the cracks in the door, folding them before placing them on the ground, because of course he would.

“Which is why we should get you to someone who can confirm what I already sense,” he replied somewhat teasingly, “Let me show you the sunrise first. Your head will probably hurt afterwards because of how bright it’ll be, and then I’ll feel vindicated and we’ll find a medical droid. Sound good?”

“I have a job,” you protested, but he was already pulling you outside.

“You can’t do your job with a head injury,” he said, and before you could put up any further complaints, he was dragging you outside.

Following your bounty to go watch the sunrise was not how you had expected this job to go; however, in spite of yourself, you felt the smallest ember of joy begin to burn within you.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

He was right about three things.

The first was that the Tatooine sunrise was truly something to behold. He had climbed onto the roof of the tallest building in Mos Eisley, and you begrudgingly followed him. As the twin suns began to make their debut, however, you were glad that he’d made you do this. You didn’t think that Tatooine had any beauty to offer, but you were quickly proven wrong by the scene unfolding before you.

The second was that you had a concussion. He found a medical droid for you after you had, in fact, complained about the brightness of the suns once they had fully emerged, and you were told that you had a very mild head injury. You’d be fine, but the droid advised against flying for the next few days. Luke seemed all too pleased by this news, and offered to let you stay with him for a bit. He was likely just lonely as a consequence of being on Tatooine by himself for so long, but someone wanting you around was still a foreign and strangely pleasant feeling. In spite of yourself, you relished in it.

The third was that you were not, as he’d said from the very beginning, going to turn him over to the Empire. How could you? Anyone who spent more than a few minutes in his presence would struggle to put him in harm’s way. In fact, he was probably using some sort of mind trick on you. That was the only explanation for the sudden softening of your calloused heart. He must have this effect on everyone, and that’s what made him so dangerous.

Even with your skepticisms, you were injured and trapped on a dangerous planet with no one else to rely on. So, when your stomach rumbled that evening and he reluctantly told you that he only knew of one place for food in Mos Eisley, you finally agreed to follow him back into the cantina.

The prostitute from before scowled at you as soon as you entered, but to your surprise, the bartender just shook his head, as if he had been expecting this result all along.

“Evening, Luke,” he greeted him, sliding a glass of blue milk onto the counter as the Jedi took a seat, “I see you’ve made another friend.”

“Something like that,” he replied, and you knew he was grinning even though his hood covered his face, “Could we maybe do another sandwich, if it isn’t too much trouble?”

“Two?” he asked, and when Luke nodded, he disappeared into the kitchen.

“Think he’ll still serve me beer after I almost shot his customers?” you whispered, and Luke, of course, giggled.

“You need water. You shouldn’t drink with a concussion,” he chided, hand patting your knee like it was the most natural thing in the world. Your stomach flipped at the contact, and you almost fell out of the barstool when he kept his hand there, clutching his blue milk with the other.

The bartender emerged then, carrying two sandwiches. Luke thanked him and ordered you a water, much to your annoyance, and happily ate his sandwich with one hand. When the bartender returned, he brought out another dustcrepe. Luke perked up immediately.

“Thank you. You have no idea how much better these make me feel,” he said sincerely, cutting the dessert in half and sliding the plate over so you could reach it more easily.

“Don’t worry about it, kid,” he replied, “I appreciate your help around here.”

You weren’t sure what he was referring to, but it wasn’t really your place to ask questions, seeing as you’d pulled a gun on two of his patrons yesterday. You also didn’t have a hard time believing that Luke would go out of his way to do something nice for the owner of a Mos Eisley cantina. It was incredibly on brand for him.

At some point, the bartender caught sight of Luke’s hand on your knee, and you were somehow even more embarrassed by this than the fact that you had threatened to kill his customers the day prior. You blushed furiously as the man raised a knowing eyebrow at you.

“He won you over,” he mused, a small grin playing at his lips, “Did he give you the shirt off his back?”

“His cloak,” you murmured, scowling and looking away. The bartender laughed, and Luke looked up from his dustcrepe to smile at you.

Although he had been right about everything else, there was one thing he’d gotten wrong.

“Nothing sweet ever came from Tatooine.”

It’s what he’d said the day prior while sheepishly asking for a dustcrepe. You’d thought the same until yesterday, but now, as he sat in front of you, you knew he was wrong.

After all, Luke himself had come from Tatooine. And what was he if not sweet?

Needless to say, you lingered on the planet long after your headache had subsided.

[phantomcomet]

I have this idea where padawan Anakin gets assigned to creche duty after fucking up a mission. Obi-Wan thinks the kids will help calm him down and teach him a bit of responsibility. Taking care of younglings is a difficult task and requires patience and a calm mind.

And, like, Anakin starts off awful at it. He's too short with the kids, still pouting that babysitting is his punishment for charging ahead. But the kids think he's so cool- he's a padawan to Obi-Wan, he's so strong in the force, and he lets them swear without reprimand. He sneaks them out of the creche to get snacks and reprograms the droid to let them watch R rated holonet vids and teaches them the cool moves they're way too young to be pulling off. The kids love Anakin because he's fun and lets them be choatic kids for a little while. He's their bad influence older brother and these kids aren't about to rat him out.

Having the unreserved love of a bunch of younglings does help settle Anakin. It grounds him within the Jedi, in the sense that he does have family here. Sorry, Palpatine, he doesn't have time for lunch, he promised to teach the kids how to use the force to make popcorn. Next week isn't good either, the kids want to sneak out and watch him podrace. And the week after that, they're raiding the archives for embrassing stories about the master jedi as padawans. They need blackmail material for when they get caught swimming in the fountains.

It doesn't change everythimg but it changes enough- Anakin cuts down several Tusken raiders and when he turns, ready to slaughter the whole village, he sees a youngling- and stops. They're animals, they deserve this- but how can he cut down a child? One that could have easily been one of his responsibilities, his duty to protect.

After, instead of marrying Padme, he goes home, back to the kids. And everyone knows something has happened, especially the kids and Obi-Wan. There's a distance there that wasn't before, that can't be closed, because Anakin is holding everyone at arm's length.

The war starts, Anakin is knighted, and the council unanimous decide that a padawan will totally fix everything. Anakin defintely has words about sending kids into a warzone. Everytime he's home, they throw younglings at him. Anakin is deserperate to end the war before the younglings age into it.

To jump ahead- order 66 happens and instead of killing the younglings, Anakin protects them. Mace kills Palpatine, Yoda and Obi-Wan find the temple sacked but the younglings safe. Anakin is hurt and exhausted but alive.

Anyway Anakin ends up becoming creche master after the war ends and raises a couple generations of jedi that are chaos gremlins.

[saphronethaleph]

The Deal

“Only through me can you achieve a power greater than any Jedi,” Palpatine said. “Learn to know the dark side of the Force, Anakin, and you will be able to save your wife from certain death.”

“What did you say?” Anakin asked.

“Use my knowledge, I beg you…” Palpatine pleaded.

“You’re a Sith Lord!” Anakin said.

He reached for his lightsaber, then paused.

“That story you told, about Darth Plagueis,” he said. “You mean – that was true? He really did discover a way to save people from death?”

“Yes, Anakin,” Palpatine agreed. “And I will-”

“So,” Anakin interrupted, frowning. “How do you know it? You said his apprentice murdered him in his sleep.”

“Because he taught everything to… his apprentice… before dying,” Palpatine explained.

“Again,” Anakin said, patiently. “How do you know it?”

“I was that apprentice!” Palpatine explained.

“So you killed your master in his sleep, and you ordered me to kill your apprentice, Dooku,” Anakin said. “You know, Chancellor, this isn’t a great job offer.”

“But think of what you have to gain, Anakin,” Palpatine said. “I can save your wife. Isn’t that what matters?”

“...yeah,” Anakin agreed, still frowning. “So when did Plagueis die?”

“About… fifteen years ago, now?” Palpatine said. “Maybe sixteen? Something like that. Why does that matter?”

“Just wanting to make sure I’ve got all the information, Chancellor,” Anakin replied. “Who have you been healing? Because I don’t actually think you’ve got any loved ones.”

He made a face. “Obi-Wan once took me aside and told me about what to look out for when an older man was going to try and touch me in the wrong way.”

“You see?” Palpatine asked. “He doesn’t trust you!”

“I see his point, though,” Anakin said. “Because you don’t have any loved ones that I can think of, like I say… so who have you been healing?”

Palpatine frowned.

“...why does that matter, Anakin?” he asked.

“Because it sounds like you learned how to do this at least fifteen years ago and you’ve never actually tried it,” Anakin clarified. “Which really sounds like you can’t do it, or even if you could before your medical license has expired.”

“I most certainly can!” Palpatine said, his patience fraying slightly. “Anakin, I am trying to help you!”

“Okay, then,” Anakin replied. “Teach me now.”

Palpatine made a face.

“If I do that, then how will I know you won’t betray me?” he said.

“...you’re saying that the only thing that would keep me from betraying you is if you don’t teach me the healing technique,” Anakin said, nodding. “So you’ve got no reason to get around to teaching me. I know how to lure an Eopie, Chancellor.”

“It will take too long to teach you, anyway,” Palpatine declared. “We can’t do it tonight. It won’t fit.”

“You’re really trying to help me, huh?” Anakin said. “Because all the visions I’ve been having about my wife dying are about it happening soon…”

He stopped.

“Actually, how do you know about that? I don’t think I ever told you.”

“Oh, please, it’s obvious that you’re married-” Palpatine said, rolling his eyes.

“I mean about the certain death bit,” Anakin explained. “It’s a bit of a guess.”

He frowned, visibly thinking. “And, uh… okay, so what you’re saying is that… you’re a Sith, you want to take direct control of the Jedi, and that’s because of the war against the Separatists, who were led by Count Dooku. Who was your apprentice… and then for me, personally, you want me to turn to the Dark Side so you can teach me a healing technique you’ve never actually used yourself, while you’ve killed the last two people who worked directly with you the moment they were no longer useful to you.”

Palpatine looked pained.

“That’s a very negative attitude, Anakin,” he said.

“I want to make sure I’ve got all this straight, is all,” Anakin replied.

Mace Windu’s commlink beeped, in a specific pattern that indicated it was a member of the Council.

“Windu here,” he said, raising the device to his ear.

“Master, I quit,” Anakin told him. “Also I married Senator Amidala at the start of the war, Palpatine was the Sith Lord, and I’d quite like to sleep for a week at some point. I’ve had a very long day.”

“...what?” Mace asked, a bit overloaded himself.

“Like, I’m pretty sure my day has had the sun go down three times so far,” Anakin went on. “Also the Chancellor exploded when I killed him. It’s okay, he was shooting lightning at me, that makes it fair.”

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

✧Night Moths

✦ Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader ✦ Summary: Arthur has a simple task to do, searching for any lead possible at the Mayor's party. Only problem? You also have a job of your own. Based on “The Gilded Cage” ✦ Warnings/tags: guns, strangers to…sinners?, SMUT 18+, reader is part of a St Denis gang, cover names used at first, smoking, Arthur is extremely horny and a little rough with you (you pushed his limits), cursing, outdoor sex, fingering, tits play, multiple orgasms, unprotected p in v ✦ Words: 9,8k ✦ a/n: YES. I KNOW. This is super long. I have absolutely zero excuse. I feel like this is my best piece yet, but I'm so nervous about posting it! Once again, a big thank you to the incredible @zae-heeyyy, my jedi master, my confidence-booster and patience Queen, who beta-read this big baby and helped me so much with so many things, as always. (Go check her blog I'm begging you)

Glasses are twinkling and clinking all around you. Words are spoken, laughs are let out, champagne drank.

You're leaning against one of the stoned garden walls, fancy decor of the Mayor's house, the perfectly cut bushes looking just as fresh and neat as every guest at this party. You can hear the distinguished music coming from a quartet playing under a gazebo a few meters away from you, and smell the fresh air of the night blending with aromas of flowers, expensive alcohol, hint of vanilla and sweet scents hiding a stronger note of sweat and cologne. Around you, all the richest, wealthiest, and noteworthiest of people in St Denis. You can hear them talk; their conversation as dull and superficial as an empty chrysalid, an abandoned cocoon emptied from all substance, from all interest and life.

You hated those kinds of discussions. Hated those kinds of people, the ones that have the easiest and simplest life one could ever have; being fed, being cared for, even being told what to think and do. You almost envied them in a way, they didn't have to worry about a single thing apart from losing their power. It seemed comfortable somehow, worry-free. The exact opposite of what you had always known.

And yet, you had to bear with them. A very specific task had been assigned to you by your gang. A simple job, one you were often sent off to as you had grown by the years into a great thief and a terribly efficient shapeshifter; blending into any type of party, or gathering, always making a good impression, putting people at ease. You were now an expert at this little game, especially with rich men. They were all the same, always wanting more, demanding the same thing from you. You had learned how to play with their greediness and lust to turn it into your advantage, saloons becoming your jungle as you sneaked easily between your prey to rob them, a deadly and redoubtable leopard in a world of apes.

You needed to steal some important documents from the mayor's office. The main informer of your gang had specified it was a pretty strong lead, and that you could gain a lot from it; something to do with Leviticus Cornwall's dirty deeds with the mayor, a blackmail opportunity. 

Your boss had decided to send you, knowing you would easily integrate the party, and even more easily steal the documents. So here you were, feline eyes looking all around you, scanning, observing, evaluating. You couldn't just come, steal the papers, and go; it would have been too suspicious. All the contrary, you needed to be seen and leave a good impression like you always did, maybe stay for a couple of hours, and then smoothly retrieve your goal before disappearing in the secrecy of the dark night. A flamboyant, harmless butterfly… on the surface.

You sighed, trying to pay attention to what was being said to you. Right in front of you, a middle-aged man was talking, explaining something about how he had acquired his incredible wealth. His speech was sadly boring, his eyes glum, his clothes basic, his face awfully bland.

The empty chrysalis in all its gloomy glory.

You forced yourself to nod and give the man a charming smile. This was your job. You had to at least do it properly. Why was tonight a lot harder than the others? Were you frightened to be right under the Mayor's nose, fooling him into his own home? Were you tired, or sick? 

In a way, you were. Sick of this life, of this constant pretending, of being here listening to the literal hollow vessel bragging about himself, sick of needing to appear actually interested, charmed even. 

Suddenly, the music coming from the quartet is too loud, sharp violin blending with his words, making you even less focused. You were here for too long already, you needed a break and to finish your mission.

You politely interrupted the stranger, placing a gentle hand on his forearm, a gesture that you had noticed was prompt to soften most men. Along with your most charming smile, you excused yourself from him and quickly walked to a less crowded area, praying that no one would interrupt you.

You made your way up to the exterior stairs of the luxurious mansion just before the patio door and windows, and stopped on top of them, placing your hands on the central low wall, between two Greek columns. Another fancy facade, the house itself was just an imitation from another culture. Did any of these fools have any personal identity at all?

From here, you had a good view of the whole party. Countless fake smiles, masks, a literal scene of a play that could have its place at the Théâtre Râleur. A play of pale phantom shells.

You reached for your purse, taking a cigarette out, mindlessly putting it between your lips. Maybe smoking would help. You searched for a match, silently cursing realizing you hadn't any left.

"Ya need some fire, Ma’am?"

A deep voice said behind you, making you turn, surprised. It was unusual for people to startle you, your ears had been trained to notice the faintest of footsteps in order to survive.

You got even more surprised considering who had talked. A man was standing before you. He was taller, and largely wider than you, his black suit struggling to contain what looked like a well-built body; which made you wonder how could he have been so quiet. His shoulders especially looked way broader than the men you had the habit of running into at those sorts of gatherings. A very classical white bow looked like it was strangling him. His black tailcoat and white jacket looked larger too, making you wonder how much did he had to pay for the tailor to sew them custom-made.

His hair had a soft indescribable color, somewhere between a light brown and a sandy blond. His face, the work of a brutal draftsman, rough edges and strong squared jaw gratified with some scars. One on his chin, another on his nose, nose that seemed broken now that you were thinking about it. It looked like the artist that had drawn this man had sharpened his pencils too much and traced lines in a hurry, piercing through the canvas, his features ending up rugged and scared, some trace of graphite shrapnel that would have damaged the portrait.

What disturbed you the most were his eyes. They looked out of place considering how robust his features were. One could have expected them to be dark, black even. But they were the exact opposite, their bright and soft indigo color leaving you disarmed, two sapphires locked on your own pupils.

He was handing you a match, and you slowly took it, your fingers slightly discovering how his palm felt under them. Firm, calloused.  Another stone-like feature of him.

He looked like those Greek statues carved by artists. His beauty so singular and yet enticing. So different.

"Why, thank you, kind sir." You showed your gratitude to him with a grin, lighting the match by simply rubbing it against the cold stone of the fence, a little flame appearing instantly. You brought it to your mouth, the cigarette finally catching fire, and you breathed in.

"Ya don't smoke much?" He questioned, voice deep. You hadn't noticed how deep it was the first time, nor how pronounced his accent was, dragging and drawling every word, a slow melody of his own.

"Not too often, indeed." You informed him. It was the truth, you were basically just smoking during jobs to blend in more easily, most people doing it. It was an easy way to start a conversation with anyone. Just like he had done with you, you noted.

"Needed a break from high society?" He inquired, a sarcastic tone in his voice.

"I guess you could say that." You answered, exhaling a long drag of smoke. 

You were now completely turned to face him, your cigarette making back and forth from your mouth to the air where you tossed the burned ashes with a little movement from your thumb to the cigarette’s end. Your motions were elegant, distinguished but looked natural. It caught his interest.

"What's your name, sir?" You spoke again, curious about this uncommon newcomer.

"Tacitus Kilgore. What is yours, Ma'am?" He asked you back before placing himself on your left, both of you leaning on the low fence of the patio. 

You contained a chuckle. There was no way in the World this man was named like this. You knew something was odd about him. The scars, his knuckles redden and subtly wounded as if had fought recently.  His strong stature, miles away from a lazy bourgeois being served, his wild hair longer than the actual trendy haircut, his stubble fitting more a countryman than an actual St Denis gentleman. 

Years of playing with people and observing them had made your eyes alert and expert, and you could see when someone was pretending.

When someone was playing a role just like you were, not belonging into this World.

"Rose Schultz." Of course, it wasn't your real name either. You had to be a really poor thief to give him your actual one. He didn't react to it though, his face impassible just like the start of your whole conversation.

Apart from this vague feeling you had about him not being a rich gentleman, you found trouble in reading his emotions. His facial features were closed, impenetrable, mysterious. This also disturbed you as you had the habits of figuring men out right away; he on the other hand was a whole challenge by himself, his intentions hidden behind an emotionless face. This man probably was a champion at poker.

"Nice t' meet ya, Missus Schultz. Are you, erm, hidin' from someone here? Or jus' judgin' everyone from your perch?" He went on with a more amused voice.

"Just know that I'm not the type to hide from someone, Mister." You replied, a little grin curling up your lips.

"Yeah, you sure don't look like it..."

"You wanna know what I think you look like, Mister?"

"Go ahead."

"A wild horse who's trapped, and can't wait to be freed again."

Silence. His eyes stared deeply into yours, stabbing you in sharp blue flashes of Apatite, as keen as the blade of a knife. After just a few seconds, you finally see his mouth moving, his cold expression changing as a slight grin made his way between the stillness of his features.

"You sort of a witch or somethin' ?" He asked you, amused once again. His little smile is even more evident in his eyes, his lower eyelids crinkling slightly in amusement.

"Maybe." You answered cockily, feeling more at ease with him now that he was slightly more open. 

Still, there was something that was making you feel weak in the knees; maybe it was his tall stature, his strong build, or the palpable tension you could feel beaming out from him, as if he was ready to jump on someone who would have crossed him at any second.

In a way, you liked it. It was almost exciting.

"I better not mess wi’chu then. Don't wanna end up cursed or somethin'." He joked, features relaxing, body leaning slightly more against the low wall in a more comfortable position.

"Oh, I wouldn't dare. You also look like the type of man you don't wanna mess with..."

"I'm surprised how well you already know me, darlin'." He admitted, internally enjoying your conversation more and more.

Your heart swelled at the surname. It felt so good in your ears, it sounded better than from any person who ever said it to you. You wanted to hear it again. You wanted to hear him say it just to you.

"I'm kinda talented at figuring people out." You simply replied, before taking another drag at your cigarette.

"I too. And I also think you're not here to jus' play nice with everyone and enjoy yourself." He suddenly confessed to you with a knowing gaze, eyebrows raising as if he was trying to make you understand something.

He knew too. You both knew you weren't from this world, like two predators from the same species, recognizing themselves, circling, judging, from one individual to another. Your breath stopped for a very short time, nobody could have noticed it, but somehow you were sure he did.

"Don't ya worry little "rose", I won't tell no one..." 

You didn't miss how he was playing with your false name. On top of being astonishingly handsome, he had some spirit…

He's still looking intensely into your eyes. "In return, I expect you to do the same...", he added in a low voice, his tone firmer and even more resonant than earlier.

A threat. His presence only intimidates you, and it's working so well that you're almost sure he must be an expert in terrorizing too. He must be one hell of a weapon all by himself.

You slowly nodded your head, trying to swallow as naturally as possible to look unphased. 

"Guess we have a deal here, "Tacitus"." You emphasized his name, making it clear you're more than doubtful about it being real too.

It made him laugh, and you almost lost it at the sound of it. It was as deep, raw, and genuine as his entire being seemed to be. You loved it. You loved it too much.

Exhaling some smoke, you noticed he had pulled out a cigarette too and had joined your smoking, holding it between his thumb and index finger. You had mixed feelings for this man. He was just as intimidating as he was enticing, and you let your curiosity win the best of you as you carried on your conversation with him.

"I hate it here." You suddenly confessed.

 There was no point in playing anymore, and even if you didn’t really know why you had told him that, a part of you felt like maybe, just maybe, he could have understood you.

"Yeah, I get what ya mean. Sometimes I think that those people are jus'… reptiles in fancy clothin'."

You had seen right. Your chest felt light, as if he had lifted a weight in you with just those simple words.

"I just want to be anywhere else but here. Somewhere nicer, more authentic. Like in Big Valley..." You went on with your regrets.

"You too know about this place uh? Yeah, I can picture ya picking flowers in Lil’ Creek..."

This time it was your turn to chuckle, your laugh creating a little puff of smoke in the air. Was he being serious or just teasing you? You didn’t really care. Now, you felt like something special was linking you both as you knew exactly where this spot was, a happy memory brought back in your mind thanks to his words. The wild and fresh river, the meadows covered in thousands of violet flowers, the snowy mountains in the background.

Your cristal-clear laugh made him smile back at you.

"So... What does a woman like you is actually doing here, then?" He asked you, his eyes roaming all along your body while he did. 

You were glad you had put on the prettiest dress you had, its dark burgundy color matching perfectly the tone of your skin, and its generous cleavage showing a delicious amount of your chest, underlined by a black translucent shawl covering your shoulders and twirling around your arms. You were offering a tempting sight for every man. You knew he had looked at it, his eyes lingering there had almost burned your skin, sent a warm feeling between your tights, and made your hand hold your cigarette tighter.

"You really thought it would be that easy, Mister?" You answered with another cheeky grin, looking at him with a sensual gaze, your words let out in a languorous whisper, knowing damn well he was trying to gain information, probably to probe if he could get something out of it for himself. "You really thought I would just confess everything to you about myself and what I'm doing here, just because you've got a firm tone and pretty face?"

He let out a dry single chuckle, his cigarette hanging in the air, smirking some more. This damn smirk, it was making you have more and more inappropriate thoughts about this man. The wildness, the dangerousness he was emitting should have made every girl flee, but you, all the contrary, were attracted by it like a moth to a flame.

Or maybe he was the Moth. Maybe he was the beautiful, singular, and ephemeral Moth in the world of chrysalides you were searching for all along.

"Oh trust me, I could make you spit out everythin' I want, Miss." He replied to your taunting words with the serious threatening tone he had used before. "Could make this pretty mouth behave..." He added, looking right into your soul, bending slightly towards you.

You felt like the tension was about to make your whole body burst. There was something between you two, you were sure he could feel it too. A sinuous, dark creature swimming and circling incessantly under the surface of a frozen lake; waiting, craving to be unleashed, to break the thin layer of ice that was keeping it caged.

He was inviting you to measure yourself to him. Bent towards you, wanting you to close the other half of the space between you both. A challenge, or a mark of respect, the case you didn’t want to venture into this territory.

But truth was, you wanted to. You wanted to break the ice yourself, you wanted to just kiss him, right here, right now.

Of course, it was a bad idea. And you were a professional, on a mission.

Instead, you put your hand on his bicep and brought your head inches away from his, not closing the space between your mouths. You’re accepting this silent fight, excited to show him what you’re capable of. You’re enveloped by his strong scent; your lips so close to his. You can see by his widening smirk how delighted he is you didn’t change your mind nor lost your guts. Responding to your bold move, he slowly snaked an arm around your waist. His hand landed on your lower back, just on the verge of being offensive.

Both of you stayed like this for a moment, your breath mixing, merging in a dangerous and exciting cocktail, but neither of you actually crossing the limit.

He could sense just how close he was to though, his muscles were tensed under your fingers, his forehead almost resting on yours with a light frown on it. You could see in his impassive handsome face a whole new emotion. 

Pure, raw lust.

"You're such a temptatious, thorny rose..." He mumbled in a hot whisper against your lips, the warmth between your legs now burning like a wildfire. Your pussy was aching for him, and you couldn't hold it anymore.

You felt his body twitching as he was going to finally do it, finally break the ice of the frozen lake, finally let his impulses and needs break free, his unholy, deep, atrociously torturous desires-

"Ah, Arthur !" A relieved voice interrupted both of you and he immediately let go of you, his head snapping to look at the man who had talked, eyes widening.

A tall gentleman with a perfectly cut mustache as black as his long curly hair and hat was looking at your companion with a contained,  amused smile.

"Will you excuse us, Miss?" He said unctuously to you, his voice polite and charming.

It was more of a statement than a question. He quickly took one of your hands and put a polite kiss on it before bending slightly towards you, as a gentleman would, and looked at your opponent with an insistent gaze.

Arthur was fulminating. He wasn't actually showing it, his face had come back to its usual cold, emotionless expression. But you could feel from where you were the unbearable tension and frustration that was dripping from his body language, almost as a halo of warmth you could physically touch with your hands. He took a last look at you, eyes expressing a mix of regret and bitterness.

"Goodnight, Miss." He coldly greeted you, walking next to you to follow his friend and go down the stairs, his shoulder brushing against yours while doing it.

"Goodnight, Arthur..." You answered him emphasizing his name once again, making it really clear that you remembered it was not the one he had given you and that you were pretty proud you had seen right. A playful, teasing grin on your face, you look one last time at him before he vanished in the ocean of guests.

Your Butterfly had disappeared just as quickly as he had materialized; leaving you alone with the empty cocoons once more. It was more than time for you to do your job and get out of here. Your cigarette finished, now feeling cold between your fingers, you tossed it away and headed into the mansion, feeling just as frustrated as so-called Arthur.

Arthur was pissed. He had never felt so frustrated in ages, and it was making his thoughts even less easy to discipline. His cigarette was on the verge of being smoked all at once from how intense he was getting and how heavy his breath had turned, the end of it constantly burning in a red shining little point as he was walking. 

This whole year he had felt like he didn't have any control over anything anymore and he hated it.

He was already feeling embittered in his everyday life, Dutch listening less and less to his opinion, Micah sneaking around him more and more, Mary coming back to him just to ask him to help her goddamn father who had always treated him like shit. 

On top of that, Dutch had made him look like an idiot using his actual name in front of you, making him wonder what was even the whole point of having a cover if he wasn't capable of sticking to it; which he had bitterly pointed out to him, but his superior had shrugged it off, seemingly happy to be here amongst the important people, looking as careless as ever.

Yes, Arthur was feeling frustrated, frustrated and tired of this. Tonight, instead of giving of himself, he wanted to take, for once. He needed to, even. He was about to before being interrupted, and this thought was gnawing at him from the inside. 

He was barely paying attention to what Dutch was saying to him and the others once Hosea and Bill had joined them. All he could see was your insanely beautiful face, your inviting lips, the perfect outline of your breasts from your cleavage, like engraved into his pupils.

The way you were talking, charming and teasing, the way you were smoking, all of this dreadfully turning him on during all your conversation. He had made an enormous amount of effort in order not to just kiss you.

He had joked about you being a witch, but it was the only explanation: you had bewitched him, threw your darkest, most sinful curse on him. Never in his life he had felt so attracted to someone after having talked with them for only such a short amount of time. What an insane fool he was.

On top of it, he was raging about the fact he probably wouldn't have the occasion to see you ever again. He had understood you clearly weren't just another rich man's wife, and he was certain you had given him a false name. His cock was throbbing terribly hurtfully in his pants, making his jaw clench, his brows frowning even more than usual. It was begging to be buried in you, between your legs, in your mouth, or your hands, even your breasts or your ass, anything but the cold feeling of nothingness he was feeling right now around it.

The sudden explosive sound and colorful lighting of fireworks had pulled him out of his blasphemous thoughts. 

He understood Dutch was ordering him something about following one of the Mayor's domestic, and gladly obliged, relieved to have another thing to focus on. Something about Cornwall sending an important letter to Lemieux, which he had to steal. Nothing difficult, he had done those sorts of things countless times. 

Nothing new. 

Nothing puzzling, like you had been.

As he followed the man, eyes locked on his white suit from afar, he quickly took a glance at the patio to see if you were still there. You weren't. His dick ached as he let out a deep exhale. Damn it.

Arthur rapidly found himself inside the Mayor's house. His servant had entered what looked like an office. He waited a few seconds after the room had felt silent, behind the corner of the walls, just to be sure, and entered it.

The room was indeed an office, a little desk with an armchair on his left, bookcases covering every wall, simply illuminated by a flickering orange lamp. Everything looked normal, except for the dark figure of a person in the middle of the place.

You.

He recognized your sensual dress immediately and witnessed you shoving some papers in what looked like a leathered little pocket held around your right thigh by leathered straps, just like a holster would be. His mind raced, a million reflections flying under his eyes. 

You were some sort of professional thief. And he didn’t have to be a genius to understand you had just taken the precise thing he was there for.

"That's why you were here, lil' rose?!" He asked you almost in disbelief, closing the door behind him.

You looked at him with a bold grin, looking almost amused by the situation. He, on the other hand, felt nothing but amusement. Anger, to have been fooled so easily, and that you had got ahead of him, losing the quiet game that had been played out between you. Envy, as you were now possessing two things he wanted to take away from you. Arousal, as his eyes were glued to the thigh that was now visible to his greedy eyes as you had pulled up your dress to put the sheets in your hidden pocket. Need, as his member felt hard again just by the sight of you doing it.

"Yeah, and you can only dream for me to give them to you if those papers were your target too, Arthur."

Damn, that teasing, cheeky mouth of yours. His fantasies came back in full force, and his gaze darkened. As temptatious as you were, he needed those documents. And he would do anything he had to to have them back.

"Give ‘em to me." He lowly ordered you, voice so severe you could have melted right into the carpeted floor of this damn office. But you didn't.

"Hell no."

"Give ‘em t’me, woman. I won't ask nicely a third time."

"If you want them, you'll have to catch me, pretty boy."

Lord, why was everyone so prompt to call him this way lately? He almost grunted at the way you had said it, and he would have lied if this time he didn't like it when it fell from your lips. He wanted to reply with something witty and even more threatening, but in a flash, you had opened the window, and easily jumped outside.

This Goddamn woman. What was she exactly? Some sort of feline? Yeah, probably a panther, agile, impressive, dangerous like one.

He instantly ran after you, jumping through the window too, landing in a loud thud. He quickly spotted your dress running away, escaping by the entry’s portal, then in the nearest street, disappearing behind St Denis's myriad of flashing lights. 

How could he had missed it? His mind was filled with images of it.

He had the common decency of grabbing back his gun from the butler at the party's entry, making him almost fall on the ground as he hadn't slowed but had grabbed them while running, the poor man wondering what the Hell made both of these people in such a hurry.

He was now flying at full speed around the luxurious streets, following the faint glimpse of your dress's color at the corner of every turn. He felt like he could follow your scent like a hunting dog, your sweet and peachy perfume confirming him you had passed there before.

He had enough, feeling his restrain and manners crackling more and more into little pieces. You were making him feel like a damn animal, reducing his whole being to primal needs and functions. He should have been disgusted with himself for that. But all he could do right now was thinking about the damn documents hidden against your damn alluring thigh.

"Stop now, you Goddamn... Evil woman!" He tried to call you out, but you just wouldn't stop. He started firing at you, getting angrier and more fed up by the second, a bullet exploding a piece of the bricked wall right next to your head, some splinters cutting slightly the top of your ear.

You bent over to dodge his bullets one more time and you heard him cursing again loudly behind you. On top of being big, strong and clever, he was fast. In a quick movement of your feet, shaking them, you removed your shoes, unable to run at your fastest speed with heels. You continued your frenzied course, way more at ease.

Arthur rushed in where you were just mere seconds after you, noticing the shoes abandoned on the floor. What the Hell was even this woman, he asked himself for the second time this evening. Some sort of temptatious, dark retelling of Cinderella?

He almost made himself laugh at the thought, understanding your move because his own polished shoes were frankly a pain to run with, making him slip with every shift as if he was walking on soap and regret his good old boots, before acknowledging he had lost your trace.

Shit!

He looked all around him, his eyes scanning every inch, his breath rapid and sharp, his forehead and neck a pool of sweat. No signs of you, unless... 

Something fell right on his face, but gently, as a caress from a fresh breeze. Your perfume filled up his nostrils and lungs and it made his heart race. He took it in his hands, the sensations pleasant under his fingerprints. 

It was your black shawl.

Tilting his head up, he found you.

You were making your way up to the roof of the town by climbing on a thin ladder.

Arthur exhaled deeply through his nose like a buffalo. He was used to this kind of high-speed chase, but this was a whole new thing, which made him regret his lasso too, his hand searching for it on his belt out of habit but closing on nothing. 

Damned party, damned suit, damned you. 

He climbed after you, refusing to give up, enraged like a wild beast. 

He would catch you, dead or alive.

In a way, this was making him even more aroused than any work-girl show he had ever seen.

"I'm going to kill ya, that's a promise!"

You could hear just how furious his voice was now, and you were starting to pray you would flee successfully from him, cause you knew he would eat you alive if he could get his hands on you.

Arriving on top of the building, you caught your breath for a microsecond, before searching for a way out, gaze frantic, heart beating out of your chest. You were considering climbing to another roof, but the deep, breathless sounds of your pursuer prevented you from doing more thinking.

Arthur had reached the top of the roof too, and was already aiming his gun at you. This time he didn't even bother to say anything, shooting at you again while getting up. He was so seething you wouldn’t have been surprised to see saliva bubbling from his mouth.

By divine intervention, you dodged again, and without any thinking, you ran all the way to the edge of the roof, and jumped.

You stayed in the air for a few seconds.

You felt like time had stopped, the air brushing against your skin, your heart hanging somewhere between the sky and the total void.

You landed on a fancy and illuminated balcony a few meters away. You hurt your feet and legs with the shock, but smiled proudly to yourself. You were out of reach, he was way bigger and way heavier than you, there was no way he coul-

A gigantic mass fell on you, as Arthur had proved you wrong and jumped from the roof you had just left and was crashing directly into you. 

Both of you fell on the ground and struggled for a few seconds; you tried to resist him but it was a fight already lost, this literal force of nature easily handling you like he wanted. 

You ended up lying on your back, Arthur sitting on you, towering over you with all his might, quickly grabbing your wrists to prevent you from fighting, his legs parted around your hips stopping you from escaping. You were trapped.

"You're a pain in the ass girl, you know that?!" He shouted at you, breathless, raging mad. You were both panting, sweating heavily. His face was entirely red, and your cheeks even more crimson.

You both looked at each other, eyes locked, and you stayed silent. The dark creature prowling under the thin floe had returned and it was getting bigger, stronger, out of control with each passing second. There was something extremely erotic in the way he was almost lying on top of you, both of you out of breath, sweaty, and burning red, both your hearts beating at full speed in the same erratic rhythm.

Just like before at the reception, you knew he could feel it too. You knew it from the dark gaze he was looking at you with, the shady swirls of the murky leviathan reflecting in the depths of his pupils, from the deepest well of his urges, forbidden territory to which no man ever had access.

A simple touch of his hand, that's all it took.

He put both of your hands into a single one of his, using his other one to pull up your dress, fingers roaming on your thigh.

You couldn't hold it anymore, you bent toward him and slammed your lips against his in the most powerful and decadent kiss you had ever shared with someone, almost biting him.

The moment you did, Arthur's mind exploded, and every poor drop of restrain he had evaporated as quickly as if it was on the Sun's surface. The beast had won, finally shattering the weak layer of ice into a million pieces; your two souls blending in what could have felt like a fevered dream.

The grunt he let out onto your kiss was animalistic, and the tension in his body just as powerful as a waterfall with a brutal, unstoppable current. The hand that was holding your wrist let go of it and slipped under your head, fingers in your hair, as his tongue licked against your lips, searching for a way in. You let him in, eagerly, wondering if he would have forced the way if you didn’t. 

He tasted strong, as if to match his whole being, a powerful flavor of tobacco, merged with a faint trace of sweetness and bitterness from the champagne he had drank. Like if you were smoking the finest and strongest of cigars. It made you love it even more.

Abandoning all your restraints too, your hands wrapped around his neck and your hips started pushing up against his, even if you couldn't move much, his two muscular thighs keeping you grounded to the balcony's paved floor. It felt so cold against your back, contrasting with the heat Arthur was burning with, consuming, devastating, raging.

He growled again when he felt your movement under him. He needed more of you, right now. This whole seduction game, the adrenaline rose by the chase, your bold charming attitude, your insanely insolent beauty, it was making him insane. He roughly ripped off his bowtie with one hand, needing some air; it felt like you two were under the desert’s scorching sun, stifling, dazing. 

The right hand he had on your thigh traveled even higher under your dress, devouring every inch of flesh it could, and his appetite was only getting worse the more he discovered you. He smoothly moved his legs from around yours to put himself between them, and you instantly, almost from instinct, hooked them around his hips.

The sudden contact of your blazing core against his equally hot bulge made you sigh in pleasure, and he loved it. Breaking your kiss for the first time since you had initiated it, he pulled back to look at you, his deep gaze devouring you, undressing you just by its stare. 

“What’s your real name?” He asked you, voice hoarser than ever, demanding it from you.

You told him your name, limbs feeling like mush under his intense eyes. He repeated it quietly, like a prayer he would recite on his own. You felt less and less like the panther you thought you were, and more and more like he was the predator alone. In a shaking tone, you questioned back to know his full, real name, needing to know what words you’d have to whisper in gratitude when he would finally take what he wanted from you. To whisper, or shout to the Heavens.

“Arthur Morgan.” He let out, his lips quickly returning to their current addiction, your skin. The way they were attacking your neck didn’t have an ounce of control now, his mouth opening widely to almost take a whole bite of your flesh there, letting kisses everywhere it could.

“Tell me if you don’t want this.” He added against your skin, between two greedy open-mouth kisses.

A way to escape. The predator stilling, letting a way out. But you didn't wanted it. Not at all. Not now that he had surrendered to you, trusting you with the intimacy of his real name, that would be stuck in your mind for God knows how long.

“I want it.” You asserted, voice almost cracking with the weight of your need.

He moaned a relieved sound in answer, his nose exhaling some air that tickled your neck.

You weren’t even sure he could stop himself if you had said no. He was consuming you, and he felt completely drunk, as if you were coated with a powerful whiskey. Strong alcohol that his tongue was now licking all the way from your shoulder, up to your ear.

You moaned, the feeling of his hungriness so good and perfect on you.

"Gonna take care of ya now." He growled in a rumbling whisper, making your legs feel weak. Another one of his promises, but this one was going to give you salvation, and you were thanking him for keeping it. 

The bold hand he had under your dress took another step towards insanity by landing on your undergarments, his thick fingers searching for a way in. You were trembling with anticipation. You couldn't even register the fact that you were really doing this, right now, with a complete stranger you had met only a few hours ago, and who wanted to kill you minutes before, on the balcony of what looked like a habited place.

The obscenity, the depravation, the boldness of it was only matched by his relentless thirst for you.

His fingers had finally pulled your underwear to the side, and you sighed seeing him on top of you, eyes drawn to your bare pussy, carnal features empathized by the obscurity of the night. The tip of his fingers traveled amongst your folds, wolves into the forest, a territory they were now claiming as theirs.

You almost begged for him, for the wolves to eat you up all and let nothing behind them, please Arthur, and he offered you this damnation, the desperate call of his name igniting another fire in his already infernal mind. A single, calloused finger pushed into your folds, making you spread your legs even more to grant it better access. It was stretching you pleasantly, his skin rough and firm inside. You started letting out sweet, quiet moans, showing him just how much you were enjoying this.

Your two hands now gripping his back, holding on for something, anything, his dark jacket suddenly feeling way too smooth to grab onto; you were wondering how touching his naked back could feel.

Arthur was doing everything in his power not to burst once more, grunting in response to your loving sound. Slowly, he pushed another one, thriving in how wet and hot your cunt felt around his fingers, craving for the moment he would finally be able to feel this downright perfection around his cock. He felt like he was ruining you, throwing you to these wolves, and you were thanking him for it.

For now, he focused on you, blue eyes glued on your face when he started curling his digits inside of you, searching for this so special, so delightful spot within your walls. He was observant, noticing every sound you were making, every muscle tensing, to know if it was the place you liked that he was brushing right now. Wanting it to be the place you liked most.

By adding his thumb on your clit and pushing a little deeper his index and middle finger in your desperate pussy, he realized he finally had found the Graill as your back arched against the ground, your own hands gripping harder on him, eyes shutting in pure pleasure.

"Oh, God! Yes, right there..." You rewarded him, voice high-pitched and filled with delight, a tingling sensation spreading on your legs and shoulders.

He exhaled deeply, your words making his own member gorging, pressing against the fabric of his suit that felt too small to contain him. He started pushing in and out, pulling a whine out of your throat with every movement, as the thick tip of his fingers rubbed against your sweet spot every time, wolves once again in a world of sweetness and honey, lapping your delight, feasting on your pleasure.

“Told ya I would make this pretty mouth behave…” He said cockily after one of your moans. He was enjoying this all too much, finally feeling in control again, being the one and only responsible for your ecstasy. 

The distance between his mouth and you seemed to be unacceptable for him as he had succumbed once more to his needs, his lips finding your skin again, tongue tasting, teasing your chest this time, everywhere he could on the cleavage he had desired since the first time he had laid eyes on you tonight. Bent over to you, looking like a curved beast feasting on its prey.

You were feeling your pleasure building, Arthur’s face hungrily searching for one of your nipples under the neckline of your dress, and sucking it once he had finally found it. His teeth and nose had pulled your dress, freeing your entire left breast, bare, defenseless in front of him. 

Maybe he was the wolf himself. He sure looked like it, his face a maw fed by your soft flesh.

Every nerve of your pussy screamed for deliverance, this familiar sensation taking form in your lower stomach. Your moans were becoming even more high-pitched, breathless, almost obscene, much to the outlaw's delight.

You had thought of him before being a terribly efficient and multi-functional weapon. You couldn’t have known just how right you had been, your hardening nipple still chewed by his mouth while his right hand was sending you to your edge, thumb skillfully circling on your clit faster and faster, the two other fingers tearing apart your sweet spot, in and out, in and out, again and again, until…

“A-Arthur, don’t stop, please!” Your voice slit the night open, tone pleading as if you were begging for your life.

“I won’t girl, it’s all okay… Give it t’me…” He encouraged you, even his breath feeling rough against the skin of your chest before he sucked hard on the skin of one of your breasts, accompanying you to your salvation.

It was enough to send you over your limit, your pussy clenching, throbbing, entirely consumed. You moaned so loudly it could have turned into a scream, hips jerking against his palm, his other hand quickly grabbing your hip to steady you and carry you through it as his fingers were dragging every last drop of your pleasure out of you. 

“Yeahhh, that’s it gorgeous, just like that…”

He was frowning, the sinful sensations of your wet cunt coating his fingers in a warm slick and tensing around them making his eyebrow and jaw just as tensed, his face just a hint of how fucking riled up he was because of it.

Your head was still spinning and your breath uneven when he finally pulled his digits out of your walls, the fresh air replacing them. Lost in your haze, you weren't capable of doing anything else but looking at him through lidded, heavy eyes.

He was absolutely beautiful, even more than at the start of the night. His true nature out at last, his white fancy shirt disheveled now that he had removed his bowtie and soaked from efforts. Cheeks and throat as red as a sanguine sunset. Pearls of sweat sparkling on his burning skin with the Ocean of street lights of St Denis, reminding you of a night sky, making his sandy hair stick to his forehead in the hottest way possible. 

You didn't knew how could all this had escalated so quickly, but at that moment, you felt like this man before you was your whole universe, his deep ultramarine eyes completing the stellar work of art he was, shining, shimmering, more than any star in the sky, as if the Gods had capture the entire Milky Way and imprisoned it in his being.

Arthur had ultimately pulled his cock out of his black suit pants, only piece of flesh out of his clothes, and your thoughts were immediately contradicted; there was no way any virtuous God could have made a man so depraved. He was the work of the Other Side, Lust and Temptation personified. King of the wolves, he could have had all the Hounds of Hell kneeling before him.

He pumped himself a few times, unable to resist the call his member had been screaming for hours, reinforced by the way his fingers had tasted your wet cavern. Some precum had already leaked from his big pinkish head when he was fingering you and was now glistening in the night, making you think about the stars again. Your breath got caught at this sight and you couldn't stop yourself from letting out a praise.

"Perfect..." You simply stated in a whisper, eyes glued to his throbbing, veiny member, relieved he had already pulled an orgasm out of you because there was no way he could have fit in you otherwise. Your eyes followed the dark path of his hair, from the glimpse you had on his chest between the open collar of his shirt, all the way down to his pelvis and at the base of his shaft. 

You could only imagine what it looked like without any clothes on, and you were dying to know.

"Trust me, you're the perfect one, darlin'." He asserted, firm tone leaving little to contradiction. 

He positioned himself in front of your entrance.

You weren't even completely back from the world your first relief had brought you to, and he was already at your door again. But this time, Arthur couldn’t stop himself.

He had given once again, just like always. Now he wanted to take. He needed to take. The starving, depraved wolf. Slowly pushing, teasing himself, making his cock’s head sink into your dripping territory, creating wet and soggy sounds, a hardened spear into honey. 

He couldn't hold back a baritone moan, the feeling was even better than what he remembered. He hadn't taken the time or allowed himself to lay with a woman in ages, and God, what a return to this primal bliss.

He slowly moved some more, his hands spreading your legs a bit wider from around his waist to allow him to penetrate you more easily. Once you had entirely enveloped him, his tip deep inside, he let out another deep throaty grunt, the feeling making it hard for him to keep his thoughts clear. 

"Ahh... Shit, darlin’... So tight…"

Considering how his length was stretching you, you bet he felt your pussy tight. The first word that came into your mind was “complete”. So complete with his huge cock inside of you; you felt like you could have died happily like this. One of your hands slipped from the top of his back to the lower part of it, just above his ass, pressing there, showing him just how much you wanted him to move, to let go. 

Arthur didn't need much more as he pulled back slowly only to snap his hips back against yours, his cock pushing again all the way through your cunt in one hard single time, giving you another wave of pleasure as you both moaned together, unable to resist the intense sensation he was creating for both of you.

Hearing you whine, finally feeling your perfectly tight and warm pussy around him, it was making him lose all sense of restraint, and as your other hand ran through his hair, your angelic voice whispering his name as if he was your Lord and savior, he lost it. 

He started to pull in and out of you faster, harder, your bodies colliding in a delicious way, obscene noises echoing through the silence of the darkness. His increase in pace made your body scream in pleasure and you buried your face into the crook of his neck under the collar of his shirt, biting his skin there.

It made him grunt loudly, and one of his hands roamed from your hips to your rear, grabbing a fistful of your ass in an instinctive response. His other hand was on the ground next to you, keeping him from crushing you against it. It made your head blank with pleasure.

"Shit, Arthur! M-more!" You begged, feeling like you could die if he stopped, your voice turning into high squeals.

"Anhh- God... More? Don’t worry girl, I'll g-give you more...-Mmh!" 

His voice was heavy with pleasure, words cut off by moans and grunts you were delighted to hear, the most unholy and arousing music you had ever had the honor to listen to.

True to his words, he obliged, hips thrusting endlessly, member empaling you with each move. You could feel the flesh of his pelvis against yours with how deep he dived into you, and around it the stiffness of his suit, rubbing again the breast he had pulled out of your dress before, nipple sensitive after his previous treatment. 

If what was between you was once a frozen lake, it had now turned into an Ocean of lava, magma exploding, engulfing both of you in the most burning and devastating passion you'd ever experienced, a volcanic explosion of desires.

The hand he had on your asscheek reluctantly let go of it, but you ended up thanking him for it, cause he was now using it to put your left leg above his shoulder, grabbing under your knee, allowing him to fuck you in an even better angle than before. He was ruining you once again, but this time felt like the pack of starving enraged wolves had taken him with you to consume him entirely.

You leaned against the floor, back of your head feeling the paved coldness, only hint that everything was actually real. Arthur's eyes locked with yours as he kept on fucking you hard and fast, this intimate contact making his member twitch.

You felt so goddamn good around him, and looked so goddamn gorgeous like this, your cheeky grin long gone, replaced by a delightful frown of pleasure, mouth open in a quiet scream. Arthur felt his peak coming dangerously close, but his pace hadn't slowed, his fat cock thrusting in and out of you. In and out, like a furious, sacred metronome. In an out, like a blessed psalm you'd both be reciting together.

“Come on girl, I know you have another, -Damn it!-, another one in ya. Give it to me, come on, jus’ for me…”

Words and voice drowned in a flood of pleasure and curses, of deep grunts and growls, his possessiveness sending you over the edge once again, your inside closing its trap around him, squeezing just how he needed to.

His eyes shut close, eyebrows furrowing in utter pleasure as he sank so hard and deeply you could have felt him splitting your guts in half, his dick throbbing and harder than ever. It reached a spot so deep and good inside of you, burning it, your pleasure bursting as you felt your orgasm coming for the second time.

"A-Arthur!" You cried out as you came around him, creaming him, walls clenching in a delicious sensation that made him reach the stars.

"God, damn it!" He shouted, voice deeper and rougher on the curse word before quickly removing himself from you in a flash of lucidity, finishing messily, cum spilling from his red sensitive member in white spurts that ended up right on your belly as a feral, powerful growl escaped his chest and his head tilted backward, letting you see his throat covered in sweat and veins.

For a moment, both of you had turned into beasts, shattered all the limits, broke all the shackles, diminishing you into your more primitive instincts. The Wolves of Lust had devoured your being into the very last delicious bone.

And that’s how you felt. Boneless.

Now, stillness. A cold breeze enveloped the pair of you, the only sounds now being the distant agitation of the city and your pantless breaths. He slowly brought his chin back down and opened his eyes, mesmerized by the sight of you returning from the realm of pure pleasure he had provided for you for the second time.

He felt powerful. He felt good. Better than he had for months, finally satisfied. Like a God, a King. King of all the Wolves, Cerberus, the only guardian of your unholy realm.

He wanted to do this again with you, as soon as possible.

He carefully put his softening dick back in its clothed cage, fingers fumbling with the buttons of his pants as he felt completely spent, his hands shaking slightly. He wanted to help you get cleaned up, but you had already brushed what you could of his release off your dress. 

It would probably leave stains on your clothing nevertheless. 

A twisted, dark part of him, the part that came from the same pit as the dark creature and the Wolves, felt almost aroused and proud at the thought you would keep an imprint of him on it. This part was relishing noticing the big ruby mark it had left on your breast as you were putting it back under your neckline; he grinned to himself knowing it would make your memories of him more difficult to forget. 

He didn't want you to forget.

He slowly got up, offering you his hand to help you stand. You quickly put back your dress in its usual state, and wiped the sweat off your forehead. A silence settled between you two, thousands of questions floating in the air, but none of you ready to ask them out loud yet.

Finally, as you started shivering, only realizing now how cold this night was without Arthur's burning hot body on top of you, he spoke, voice even hoarser from having pushed on it too much, accent making every world sound heavy when they fell from his mouth.

"When can I see you again?" More than a demand, a promise. An order even. Cerberus needs his territory.

You already knew he kept them; his promises. Except for the one he had made to kill you. But in a way, he did, because you felt like you wouldn’t be able to ever feel so alive again without him. 

Like a condemnation.

"You won't." 

Certainty in your voice. But he didn't mind it. He had already broken you before.

"Oh, but I think I will, darlin'." Was all he said before stepping over the fence of the balcony, ready to jump off it. Before doing it, he pulled something out of his jacket and waved it at you.

The fucking papers.

A lightning of understanding and panic struck you; what you had thought was a lustful touch on your thigh, the one that had set everything on fire between the both of you, that had unleashed the Wolves, was in reality his sneaky hand retrieving the document from your hidden pocket.

Shit!

He gave you his cocky grin, blue gaze sparkling with mischief, greeting you with a two finger’s salute then jumped, disappearing in the night, away from you once again. You could have gone after him, as much as your weak and spent body would have allowed you to, but somehow, after all that he had done to you tonight, you felt like he had well deserved those damned letters.

tagging: @a-court-of-valkyries credits: Arthur's pic is not mine, belongs to fv8tt on Pinterest. Dividers and little moths doodle by me.

I reall hope you liked this one! I'm thinking about writing another part where the reader could confront Arthur again... Tell me if you'd like that! -Pine 🌱

[gffa]

I love your blog but I can't remember whether or not you're an author BUT I do remember that you know how characters are Supposed To Be.

So-

Do you have any tips on how to write Mace Windu?

Hi! I've written a few Star Wars fics, but probably not ones you've read. 😂 But here is what I would say about writing Mace Windu (or even just if you want to have fun discussing him, I'd love to know what others would say are the best ways to write him!): Mace is someone who is severe with an undercurrent of deep care, this is someone who is serious but whole-heartedly believes in helping others and doing the right thing as best he can. He is a Jedi to his core, which means he holds compassion as the highest value and there's a subtle warmth to him if you care to look. He will place his life on the line to help people, if others have done their best, he will acknowledge it, if they have something of value to add, he will turn to them and ask them to say what they have to say, he will make sure his clones get through a battle if there's any way he can help them, he will gently touch the Zillo beast's face to comfort it, he will jump down into a ravine and smile at a child who needs help, he will stop to ask baby Anakin if his chip removal scar is healing, he will patiently explain Jedi beliefs to him if he's not quite getting it, he will grump at Yoda that their campaign isn't going the way he'd like, but will still easily sit down and meditate with him and find comfort in that. He's not someone who is a big ray of sunshine, he's too serious for that, he has far too much responsibility on his shoulders and holds them with gravitas, he'll tell someone to take a seat if they're getting out of line (he has more patience with children, but adults he'll treat as adults), he's not going to coddle someone who isn't trying their best, but at the heart of him, he is someone who genuinely wants the best for people, who will wrestle with his anger over injustice and win over it because he has spent a lifetime wrangling his anger into compassion, because he truly believes in the Jedi path, and always do what he believes is right. He takes administrative politics seriously, because he knows that he can't just defy them without consequences that would hurt people in the long run, which may appear cold to others who don't really know him but fundamentally, Mace Windu is a deeply caring man who is trying to help as many people as he can, he has dedicated his life to helping all people, even those who would spit on him, he still does his best to understand their circumstances and find sympathy for them. (Like when Prosset Dibs fell to the dark side, tried to kill Mace and said that he would dance on the Jedi's graves, Mace's response was to say that it was their duty to help him back to the light and put him on archive duty, rather than any serious punishment.) Mace can occasionally crack a very dry joke, he does have a sense of humor, but it's fairly rare. He'll be curt if he's having a bad day, especially if someone is getting out of their lane at him, but not unfairly and never with cruelty. He's a phenomenal athlete even among the Jedi, he's brilliant at what he does, there's a reason he helps lead the Jedi, this is someone who embodies the very best of them. Admittedly, I'm biased because Mace is one of my favorite characters, so I'm less aware of his flaws (even if I'll defend why he's sometimes short with people, it's true that he can sometimes come off as abrasive and not as patient as he might in better times, but I think Mace should be allowed to have frayed nerves sometimes, too), but I do genuinely believe that Mace should be written as someone who is a very serious faced person but loves the galaxy so deeply that it's woven into his bones, who loves his culture and his people, who loves the people of the galaxy, who would give all of himself to help them.

[moonlit-imagines]

Headcanons for being a Skywalker triplet and being raised in the Empire

Skywalkers x sibling!reader

warnings: death and destruction. reader lowkey evil in the first half

a/n: yeah,,,its based on an oc. timeline is slightly out of order/weird bc im doing it from memory

prompt:

when you were born, you and your other two siblings were separated

your brother was sent to live with an uncle on tattooine

your sister was raised by alderaan nobility

and you, you never made it to your destination

the ship that carried you and the jedi that would care for you was intercepted, you were taken and brought to your father, anakin—now known as darth vader

as far as he knew, you were the only child and he had killed your mother, padmé

the emperor saw use for you and decided you’d be kept within the empire, vader could be close and you’d know your father, but you were not to reveal your true identities

“father, you used to be a jedi?” -you

“i was once, but that was a long time ago” -vader

“what happened?” -you

“the order betrayed me, sent my master to kill me. they could not be trusted, which is why we must kill all jedi” -vader

“yes, father” -you

your training to be an inquisitor was overseen by vader, who grew more and more angry at your spar partner every time you were hit

“patience, vader. you must not show weakness—or else i will kill y/n myself” -palpatine

you had a lot of weight on your shoulders. hiding the fact you were anakin skywalker and padmé amidala’s child. vader’s child. palpatine always had his eye on you. he wanted you to be one of his soldiers

you were very young when you were appointed an inquisitor role. about 13

and you had been given a new last name as not to tip off anyone in the empire

you often reported to vader—a petty complaint or a real crime

“another inquisitor compared me to a bantha” -you

“it will be dealt with” -vader

that inquisitor was dead by the end of the day

you were tasked with a lot of special missions, trusted with sensitive information—the other inquisitors noticed and were very jealous

but palpatine was impressed by the way you handled yourself

“y/n, you remind me of your father when he was young. powerful, strong, passionate. one day you may have a place by my side” -palpatine

you were shaken by that offer as you knew the rule of twos

rebels feared you, an inquisitor who swiftly wiped them from the galaxy without a second thought

the clone wars fascinated you, and as much as you wanted to pry for information from your father, you conceded

but you always heard whispers of anakin skywalker’s famed 501st legion and his padawan, ahsoka

you always wondered if he compared the two of you

sometime, when away from palpatine—often on mustafar—you’d be vader’s child and not another inquisitor. you’d be able to spar and speak a bit more freely.

“your mother. she was a politician. formerly the queen of naboo when she was your age. i…loved her dearly. but the jedi forbid it, we had to keep it a secret” -vader

“would the emperor have allowed it?” -you

“he was one of few who knew” -vader

some days he wished he were just anakin and the three of you lived peacefully on naboo. he wished you were not a soldier like him. but he was truly proud of what you’d amounted to

your faith in the empire started to falter around the time the ghost crew began to wreak havoc

as capable as you were, you hesitated to use your full potential to take them out

and it was noticed

“you will not show these criminals mercy, y/n! you take them out, or i will find someone more deserving of power!” -palpatine

it was around age 16 you questioned the cause

analyzed it without the influence of palpatine or vader or any soldiers

unfortunately, it wasn’t that simple

some years later, you were assigned to the death star—an honor, it was

one day you and vader had captured princess leia of alderaan and you felt…different. some sort of connection

“not often you see an inquisitor these days” -leia

“nor a princess committing treason against the empire” -you, putting her in her cell

before you knew it, there was a whole crew of rebels on board trying to save her

some more familiar than others

kenobi?

“i know that name” -you

“silence, child. i will finish what i started” -vader

obi-wan recognized you right away, the child he failed to bring to safety

but what didn’t sit right with you was when you’d hunted the other rebels going to save the princess, you heard

“i’m luke skywalker, i’m here to rescue you”

skywalker

your true name was shared by another

were you a twin?

there wasn’t enough time to figure out the details, you were a servant to the empire—to palpatine. you had a mission

but before long you’d have to escape the destruction of the death star

“father. that boy. his name is skywalker” -you

“the force is strong in him” -vader

“what do we do?” -you

“you will receive instruction when necessary” -vader

lots to ponder, lots to unpack

a brother. a brother even vader didn’t know about. he had to be. theres no other explanation

and with obi-wan kenobi? your father’s master. this was no coincidence

some time passed and you met the rebels again in bespin—cloud city

it was here your father confronted luke about his parentage.

“luke, i am your father” -vader

but as vader was distracted, you fled to help the rest of the millennium falcon crew escape

“how can we trust you?” -lando

“please, understand, i have been raised in the empire my entire life. forced to hide my true identity. my real name is y/n skywalker. my parents are padmé amidala and anakin skywalker. i believe luke is my twin brother” -you

“oh, please, you’ll say anything to get the chance to kill us—” -lando

“i believe they’re telling the truth. come with us, y/n” -leia

you’d saved luke and fled bespin with the remainder of the crew, apologizing for han’s fate in the carbonite

and luke was thrilled to see you face to face all things considered

“so it’s true? vader is my—our father?” -luke

“i was found in a ship with a jedi—presumably on a mission to hide me from the empire. vader had no idea you existed. until you met on the death star” -you

“you spent your whole life in the empire?” -luke

“i did. but to preserve vader’s anonymity, i was not permitted to be his ‘child,’ although—vader has a hard time following rules. they trained me as soon as my power began to show and inducted me into the inquisitors early on. i just…it never felt right. i’ve killed…so many people. done so many unforgivable things and yet i could never break free until now” -you

luke hugged you. it was the first time anyone ever had

“y/n. i know we’re strangers, but i understand regret. you left of your own free will, knowing there could be consequences. you came with us. there is good in you” -luke

you felt bad luke was comforting you when your dad had just had his hand chopped off

he asked what you knew of your father’s history, your mother’s history, and you told him all you could

your freedom from the empire felt refreshing

being y/n skywalker was refreshing

and although building trust took time, luke advocated for you every chance he could

“y/n knows the empire inside and out. they have training as a pilot, a soldier, a leader. you can’t go wrong with them” -luke

“y/n was complicit in the destruction of alderaan and countless other planets. millions murdered without so much as a warning. gone. like that” -mon mothma

“if i may, considering it is my people’s demise you are invoking—y/n has made their choice to join the rebellion. shed their imperial image and train as a jedi with luke. we are lucky to have someone so well-versed in the ways of the empire” -leia

“and you’re comfortable with y/n, the sith raised by darth vader and the empire, to command rebel troops? what if they lead them into a trap?” -mon mothma

“y/n has done nothing since their departure from the empire to invoke such suspicion. i’ve seen nothing but acts or remorse and kindness as they rebuild their image” -leia

you couldn’t figure out why leia was so kind to you. you felt guilty about the destruction of her planet

but she blamed vader. she didn’t blame you as you were just a pawn in a sick game

the battle of endor was fought while you and luke handled vader and palpatine

“are you ready, brother?” -you, grabbing his hand

“i am glad to have you by my side” -luke

palpatine laughed in your face

“six months away from the empire and you’re already claiming to be a jedi? hah! you have years of darkness inside of you, i was ready to make you my new protégé. it is a shame, you’d be a good one” -palpatine

you, luke, and vader fought together to vanquish him, and as you watched your father die, you knew he did everything he could to protect you in this life

“y/n. seeing you as a jedi…has been the most fulfilling part of my life. luke, thank you for guiding them where they should have always been” -anakin

as the rebels won the war, you went back to the forest moon of endor, where luke informed you of something he had been waiting to tell you for some time

“obi-wan told me something, it feels like a miracle, really” -luke

“well, spit it out, already!” -you

“we’re triplets” -luke

“we have another sibling?” -you

“leia is our sister” -luke

it felt like everything clicked at that very moment. a sister. you three were connected from the beginning

you soon hugged leia and delivered the news with luke

a family reunion years in the making

after the events of the war died down and the galaxy began to rebuild, you decided you needed to atone for your sins

do some good on your own

“don’t hesitate to call. we’re just a hologram away” -leia

“thank you for being there for me. and believing in me. i wouldn’t be here you without you guys” -you

taglist: @locke-writes // @captainshazamerica // @gabile18 // @sweetjedi // @summersimmerus // @lady-violet // @simp-legend //

[rosachae]

salvation | megan skiendiel x reader P2

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

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

22 BBY

the war had changed everything.

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

megan skiendiel had changed, too.

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

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

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

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

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

there were memories tucked into the months like pressed flowers.

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

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

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

then there was the droid.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“megan—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“five minutes.”

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

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

but she knew better.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

megan grinned beside her. “he missed you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“absolutely not.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and megan had never felt so hollow.

megan stood just outside the council chambers.

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

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

the ninety-second assault battalion.

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

commander jex had been the first to speak.

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

but still, he remembered her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

her own quarters.

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

the door closed behind her. the silence pressed in.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

she bowed her head and clenched her jaw.

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

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

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

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

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

but he was gone.

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

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

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

“you should be resting.”

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

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

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

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

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

“he didn’t even say goodbye.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“he didn’t want it to reach you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i don’t know what is anymore.”

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

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

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

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

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

y/n didn’t hesitate.

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

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

y/n’s answer came after a pause.

“that’s not a promise you can keep.”

“maybe not. but i’ll die trying.”

“megan…”

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

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

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

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

__

19 BBY

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

of course, second only to her. 

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

“you love her, don’t you?” he asked.

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

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

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

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

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

“i do.”

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

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

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

megan nodded, listening. composed. focused.

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

and y/n didn’t look away from her.

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

and she wouldn’t have it any other way.

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

“i know,” megan replied, steady.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

like trace, he knew.

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

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

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

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

kareth hollow didn’t look like a battlefield.

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

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

too polite.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

without another word, she turned and led them inside.

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

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

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

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

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

but she didn’t.

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

the comms stayed quiet.

too quiet.

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

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

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

nothing.

“y/n, do you copy?”

silence.

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

the kind that meant something was wrong.

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

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

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

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

separatists.

she bit down hard on the rising dread.

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

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

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

megan dropped to her knees beside him.

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

she didn’t speak.

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

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

y/n.

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

the world narrowed to a point.

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

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

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

megan’s breath hitched. she looked away.

“i’m sorry.”

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

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

megan nodded, but didn’t let go.

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

but it didn’t feel like a victory.

it felt like an ending .

trace. gone.

y/n. almost.

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

she was speechless. 

how could she let this happen?

__

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

but it didn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

so she searched.

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

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

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

and it was winning.

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

then, a soft beep cut through the silence.

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

she blinked. frowned.

the signal was encrypted—official. high clearance.

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

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

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

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

the office of the chancellor.

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

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

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

but her?

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

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

her throat tightened.

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

the holocomm blinked again. awaiting response.

then, the message began to play.

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

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

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

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

that did it. her stomach twisted hard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

but this… this was something else.

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

only y/n. 

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

it wasnt enough. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i’m happy for you. both of you.”

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

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

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

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

she gave a slow nod and followed.

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

the further they walked, the colder it felt.

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

megan stared at the door, her breath shallow.

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

she swallowed hard, and stepped inside.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

her jaw tensed. “we all were.”

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

her throat tightened. “she is.”

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

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

her breath caught, just for a moment.

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

she said nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

her gaze faltered.

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

“heard?” her voice was quiet.

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

megan went still.

her blood turned to ice.

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

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

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

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

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

her heart stopped.

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

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

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

and it made every nerve in her body scream.

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

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

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

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

megan’s voice barely rose above a whisper.

“how?”

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

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

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

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

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

“you love her,” palpatine said simply.

she flinched.

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

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

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

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

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

“not yet.”

megan’s brow furrowed.

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

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

his eyes found hers. dark, knowing, ancient.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

that would be her greatest mistake.

__

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

 “execute order 66.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

she didn’t hesitate. she ran.

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

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

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

the first thing she saw was jex.

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

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

just a few feet away, there she was.

y/n.

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

but she wasn’t looking at jex.

her gaze was fixed on megan.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

these clones… megan was furious.

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

blasterfire erupted again, only this time from behind.

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

she lit her saber.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

something else had taken her place.

__

18 BBY

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

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

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

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

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

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

now, she was one of vader’s inquisitors.

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

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

and then, that final moment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

now, she was nothing more than the thirteenth sister.

it took a year before her search bore fruit.

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

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

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

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

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

she moved like smoke. silent. relentless.

they hadn’t recognized her at first.

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

none of them did.

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

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

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

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

she still loved her.

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

they scrambled, flailed, choked.

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

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

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

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

she knew. she would always love y/n.

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

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

but life wasn’t perfect. war was inevitable.

she’d lost everything.

PART TWO click for previous part

[bird-prince-art]

Idk if you read fic but do you have any Obikin fic recs? Your art makes me want to read some 🙏

I absolutely have fics for you anon and I am honored my art makes you want some.

Some of my favorite fics, in absolutely no order:

Patience by Why_is_my_nose_a_carrot: I think probably the fic that got me into obikin specifically. AU where Qui-Gon is Anakin's master, but Obi-Wan stays his best friend. Very slowburn, but my god. Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon's relationship, the way they write Obi and Ani as friends, UGH! Apparently the author got a lot of flack for this fic for some reason so if you do read it give them love, or at the very least don't harrass them jfc.

Something Blue by @darthwillies : Really love this fic and its concept. Obi-Wan marries uncrispy Vader in order to secure galaxy wide peace, now we witness their domestic "bliss". I think this fic is probably my favorite depiction of Vaderkin, someone who is still desperate to be forgiven, but only by the ones who matter. Desperate enough for love to keep it prisoner but still resentful of the reminder. And poor Obi-Wan, proud but insecure. The dynamic is very intriguing to me.

Amarilli by @darthwillies : Since I'm already talking about Graciously's work, I have to recommend this one as well. Obi-Wan realizes he has feelings for Anakin, panics, confesses, panics again. It's great. I love this fic not only because it's so beautifully written, but because the entire time I was reading it I just kept thinking how real it was. Everyone's reaction to The Feelings, the confession conversation, the aftermath conversation. All of it is so in character and believable. The end is great, and it left me wanting more.

Conceal Me What I Am by @himboskywalker : Cat's out of the bag, I LOVE arranged marriage AUs. And this one is so good. Senator Obi-Wan marries Jedi Anakin in order to help the Jedi/Republic's image during the war. But Anakin's an Omega posing as an Alpha! And Obi-Wan's an Alpha posing as a Beta! What will they do??? Fall in love about it obviously. The slow-burn and build-up is so good, I had to read it all in one sitting because I was desperate for them to finally be together.

An Unlikely Duo by @grapenehifics : Modern setting where total opposites Anakin and Obi-Wan fall in love with each other. Super sappy sweet fic that explores their relationship as it grows. There're so many little details in this fic that I just adore, and everytime I re-read they make me go awwwwww all over again. It also inspired me to make Ani and Obi in Animal Crossing.

Across the Stars by @unfortunate17 : Yes, I love this fic. Yes, it makes me bite my nails worrying about their future. Anakin is a time traveler who always travels to Obi-Wan. It's so sweet and the concept is so interesting. Without spoiling, the way the story unfolds is super interesting narratively speaking and is fleshed out enough to give you some ideas about why the traveling happens. Idk man just read it you won't be disappointed.

be careful not to choke on your admirations by @tennessoui : Thank you to this fic for making me google Who Is Korkie Star Wars. (I'm trying to finish TCW don't RUSH me Katie) Anakin babysits for hot dilf divorcee Obi-Wan, who he is desperately in love with. Honestly I love all of tennessoui's work so you should read all of them, but this fic is my go to. I love the flow of their conversations, the way that Obi-Wan is so obviously crazy about Anakin and Anakin is of course oblivious. Your honor, they're a little family. I love them.

Heartbeat Drives You Mad by @renlyslittlerose : Everything about this fic is entirely excellent. Depressed alcoholic Obi-Wan falls in love with his hot young neighbor in the 80's. What more could you want. Come for Anakin in short-shorts and stay for Obi-Wan's complex journey to healing. I really love the translation of Anakin's character in this fic, and the way that Obi-Wan describes him. 10/10 read it now.

the root of peony by @tideswept : Anakin and Obi-Wan served in the Napoleonic Wars, now they deal with the aftermath. I love doctor Obi-Wan and I LOVE their relationship in this fic. This fic is simultaneously very cozy, angsty, and sweet. I love the way that their relationship develops, and I love the world building.

are you mine tomorrow by @jedibongrip : I just read this fic again and I forgot how sweet it was. Obi-Wan finds Anakin on Tatooine during the war, and marries him in a green-card marriage so that Anakin can stay on Coruscant. Even though this is an Obi-Wan centric fic, I love how you can constantly feel Anakin's presence and his love throughout the fic. Obi-Wan is so silly, your husband loves you, idiot.

Lux Æterna by @obiwanobi : Hey do you want to be sad? Read this. It's a surprise :) Beautiful. I can't believe you've done this.

Obi-Two by @virahaus : I love this concept and I love the way it's written. Post-Prequel Obi-Wan is sent to the council meeting where Anakin is denied the rank of master. I love a sassy huffy Obi-Wan and this fic has TWO sassy Obi-Wans. I also love the idea of Obi-Wan becoming significantly less Jedi as time goes on, and I love how this fic depicts that.

OKAY this got a bit out of hand so I'm going to stop here. If you'd like more I'd be happy to supply some, and if you have any recommendations for me please send them!

[gatorbites-imagines]

Cockwarming with (mandalorian) m reader x anakin please?👉🏻👈🏻

Anakin Skywalker x Mandalorian Male reader

Drabble

I miss Anakin so much… I’m so exhausted from classes, send help. This takes place somewhere during the clone wars. Reader is a part of a covert of some kind, cuz I’m not making the reader Death Watch.

On the short side, but I enjoyed writing it. This became kinda lovey-dovey, even though i didnt mean too lmao.

Anakin sighed breathlessly as he sat in your lap, his front against yours as his legs were hooked around your middle. It was very difficult, if not outright impossible for you two to spend any time together ever since the war started. With Anakin leading his own group of clones and being well known across the galaxy as the hero with no fear, to you being a Mandalorian member of a covert, meaning you didn’t want any attention on you, or said covert.

But there were times you two could find little pockets in your busy convoluted schedules to spend some time together, even if that meant Anakin having to sit in your lap as you were seating in the pilot seat of your ship, the galaxy outside rushing by thanks to hyperspace. Normally you two would have used this little time you had together to get a quick fuck in, to get as much out of one another as possible and to wring the other dry. But something must have happened on Anakin’s last mission, as he had situated himself in your lap, seating himself on your cock and just feeling you.

Anakin was never one for patience, so it left worry niggling in the back of your head as your jedi lover slowly rolling his hips. There wasn’t any exact purpose to his movements, there was no hurry to get either of you over the edge, there was simply a search for closeness and love.

You could feel him kissing at the little piece of skin exposed between your helmet and the flight suit you wore, Anakin’s hands loosely gripping your biceps as he sucked a hickey the one area he was able. It was a shame you couldn’t take your helmet off around him, not without you two getting married, but you hoped the day would come soon. Instead, Anakin had to settle with kissing your chin, or the few times you would pull your helmet up high enough for him to kiss you on the lips.

Soft praise in mandoa passed from your lips as his insides squeezed slightly around your shaft, making you groan softly in appreciation. You were nowhere near close, but that didn’t seem to matter to either of you. All that seemed to have any importance right now was the fact that you were inside him, and Anakin was warming you, creating a connection that could only be shared between lovers.

It was the closest you two could get in some cases. You weren’t force sensitive, and even if you were, the beskar of your armor wouldn’t have allow any type of mind connection, so warming your cock was another way to feel that type of closeness. That’s what Anakin said at least.

With a kiss to the top of his head through your helmet, you settled your hands on his hips, lazily rocking him along to the pace he had set himself, satisfaction filling your veins when he sighed softly in warm pleasure and devotion, a deep burning feeling that was returned just as strongly in yourself.

As the stars rushed by outside the windows of your ship, you reached up to push your helmet up just enough to expose your lips, the lips that rarely saw the light of day, and were so rarely seen by another person. Anakin peeks an eye open and cracks that handsome smile of his that always has your heart fluttering, and with a soft pull at his hips, he leans in and carefully kisses you. His insides squeeze around you, making you huff against his lips, but Anakin just laughs.

You may not have the force, and you may have to live a life in secret, hidden away from the very republic that Anakin fights for, but your love for him burns bright, and you wouldn’t change it for anything.

[stardi]

𝟎𝟎𝟏, PLAYING CUPID

pairing! anakin skywalker x fem!reader

synopsis! r2-d2 can't stand seeing anakin and you fight, so he decides to play his favorite game: being cupid!

warnings! verbal fight, fluff, artoo being such a cutie little droid :c

word count! 4.6k

note! this is the longest shit i've ever written in my whole life 😨 IT'S ALSO INSPIRED BY A DREAM I HAD WITH ANAKIN HEHEHHEHE so it's special, i hope you like it as much as i do <33.

my mother tongue is spanish, so i ask for your patience and a lot of kindness in case you want to make an observation about my narration, grammar or spelling. thank you!

© stardi - all rights reserved. do not repost, translate or modify without permission and credits!

The time had long surpassed the stroke of midnight, yet fate had conspired to hold you, Anakin and R2-D2 captive in the war room, surrounded by maps and holographic projections of the enemy's forces. As one of the highest-ranking Generals, the weighty responsibility had fallen upon you and Anakin to devise a strategic plan, one that would orchestrate the downfall of a fortified Separatist stronghold nestled upon a remote planet.

Your eyes felt heavy, your head pounded, and every inch of your body was begging for some rest. All you yearned for was respite, a sanctuary within the confines of your bunk, where you could surrender to slumber's embrace for an entire week. Looking over at Anakin, you could tell that he wasn't feeling any different from you, his body language betraying his exhaustion, letting you know that you weren't alone in your misery. You couldn't help but wonder how much longer you and your best friend could keep going like this.

You hated war.

It was a brutal business, and you hated every moment of it. Its destructive nature, the lives it claimed, the endless planning and executing was taking its toll on you.

Yet, you soldiered on, fueled by the hope that your efforts would make a difference.

With bleary eyes, you rubbed at the fatigue-induced haze, striving to maintain focus amidst the flickering glow emanating from the tactical map. In that moment, Anakin turned to you. A adorable yawn, one he tried to suppress but failed, escaped his lips with a slight suspire. It was a stark contrast to his imposing figure; strong, broad, and towering. It was in these small, vulnerable moments that his true essence shone through, captivating your soul like nothing else.

You wondered if he knew how cute he looked when he was tired, or how every little gesture of his was beautiful in its own way.

"I think we should launch a frontal assault," suddenly, his confident and resolute voice broke through your thoughts about him. His index finger moved at a specific area and your gaze followed his hand. An undeniable knot of worry coiled in the pit of your stomach. The location he had singled out was no ordinary point on the map; it was a fortified entrance, a bastion of enemy resistance that had withstood countless assaults. "We'll hit them hard and fast, overwhelm their defenses, and take the base in a matter of hours."

"That's a risky move," you interjected, unsure about the feasibility of his plan. His illogical proposal took your sleep away in less than a second. "The Separatists have had time to fortify their position and they'll be expecting us. We could lose a lot of men if we charge in blindly."

"We're Jedi, not cowards. We can handle whatever they throw at us."

"But what if they have some kind of surprise waiting for us?" you countered, your own frustration growing as you watched Anakin's tired eyes roll in exasperation at your objections. His pretty, oh, so pretty eyes. "A trap? A minefield? A hidden weapon? We need to approach this mission with caution."

The General let out a long, drawn-out sigh, his brows furrowing deeply in annoyance. He leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms in front of his chest in a clear demonstration of displeasure. The weariness in his eyes was overshadowed by an unmistakable expression of disdain as he peered at you, a seemingly conviction that you, in that moment, were the dumbest living form in the entire vastness of the galaxy.

"Caution?" he exclaimed, the word escaping his lips like a bitter scoff. "We need to seize the initiative and strike while the iron is hot. Our troops are ready, and the time is right."

Exhaustion was mounting, and you could feel a dull ache pulsing through your temples. Instinctively, you rubbed your forehead in a futile attempt to alleviate the fatigue that threatened to cloud your judgment. A silent plea to the gods or the Force itself crossed your mind, a pray to grant you the patience and wisdom necessary to navigate the turbulent sea of Anakin's unwavering determination.

He's so stubborn.

It was legendary, he could be as immovable as a mountain. His obstinacy resembled a deep-rooted tree, firmly entrenched in his convictions, rendering it nearly impossible to sway or alter. You had long known this about the man you loved the most, and you were aware of how difficult it could be to change his mind once he was set on something. This quality of his, simultaneously admirable and frustrating, had been witnessed by everyone on numerous occasions.

And now it was putting the mission at risk.

A pang of guilt struck you as you thought back on the many times you had given in to his plans or ideas to avoid a conflict that wears out your mind and heart. You knew deep down that it wasn't worth it, that sometimes it was easier to concede than to argue. But today, now, this case was different. This time, the stakes were higher, you couldn't let him put your troops in unnecessary danger just because you wanted to avoid an argument. Your decisions could make or break the success of the mission.

"I'm not saying we should be cowards, Anakin. I'm saying we should be smart. We need to think about the bigger picture here," you stated calmly, trying to reason with him, leaning forward in your seat to trace your finger along the terrain as you spoke. "We can send in a smaller team to gather intel. Then, based on what they find, we can make the best decision about how to proceed. We need to minimize our losses and maximize our chances of success."

Anakin's intense gaze held yours, and you felt a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, he was genuinely considering your suggestion. His eyes seemed to search yours for a moment, as if weighing the options and possibilities. But, as quickly as that flicker of possibility had arisen, it was snuffed out by the curve of his lips, which seemed to twist into a disapproving sneer.

"I appreciate your input, Y/N," he replied, polite but tinged with a dismissive tone. Running a hand through his tousled hair, he caused a few strands to fall gracefully back into place. That gesture would have normally made your heart flutter, however, the gravity of the situation kept you firmly grounded. "But I know what needs to be done. We're going with my plan," he concluded like a definitive statement, standing up from his seat with a data-pad in his hands, approaching the droid that was holding other maps for you. "R2, come here. Help me with something."

Unacceptable.

You sat there for a moment, stunned and speechless, trying to process what had just happened. Had he truly made the final call without giving a second thought to your perspective? Just like that? Was he so convinced of his own rightness that he was willing to dismiss your opinions entirely? The audacity! The heat of your rage begin to rise in your chest as you watched him compare maps with the droid without any worry or disturb at his behavior. How dare he? You wanted to scream, to lash out, to tell him exactly what you thought of him and his I'm-always-right attitude. But at the same time, you knew that wouldn't solve anything.

Summoning all your willpower, you took a deep breath, clenching your teeth with fervor and mentally counted to ten, harnessing your emotions as you rose from your seat walked purposefully toward him.

You closed the distance, your gaze weighed heavily upon the back of his neck. It pierced through his consciousness, momentarily causing a flicker of confusion to ripple across his features, drawing his attention to your presence. However, after a fleeting moment of acknowledgment, he redirected his focus back to the droid, continuing with his task, seemingly dismissing the impact of your unspoken message.

"You're not even willing to consider other options?" you questioned. The words hung in the air, suspended between you and Anakin. Yet, he stood unmoved. "You're just going to charge in blindly and hope for the best?"

"It's not blind," Anakin emitted a chuckle, dripping with sarcasm. He didn't even bother to face you, his voice carrying a hint of condescension. "It's a calculated risk."

"Anakin, we're supposed to be a team," you crossed your arms, your voice firm but tinged with a touch of pleading. "We should be working together on this."

"I am working with you. I just don't agree with your strategy," his annoyance was palpable as he finally set aside his data-pad, pivoting his well-built frame to face you, his gaze piercing with impatience. "You're too cautious, too hesitant. Your plan will only hold us back. I know what I'm doing."

A slap in the face. That's how it felt. You had always been willing to put yourself in harm's way for the greater good, but you knew that there was a difference between bravery and foolishness, a thin line you weren't willing to cross. Anakin, on the other hand, seemed to have a hard time distinguishing between the two.

"I'm holding us back?" you shot, incredulous. You didn't notice the way your voice was slowly rising. "You're the one who's being reckless and impulsive. As always," Anakin's narrowed eyes burned with indignant fury, his initial annoyance transforming into a smoldering anger that threatened to consume the room. You knew that your words had struck a nerve, even though they held a semblance of truth.

As the tension in the room thickened, the air heavy with unyielding wills, R2-D2 beeped urgently, his mechanical voice punctuating the air seeking to intervene. The astromech droid, more than just a resourceful companion, was a friend, his loyalty extended beyond mere service; he cared deeply for both of you, aware of the underlying, unspoken feelings that bound you together. Every subtle interaction was etched into his memory circuits, everything. From the stolen glances and telltale blushes provoked by compliments, from the extended hugs that lingered longer than necessary after arduous missions and the occasional brushes of hands. He longed for nothing more than to see you both happy and united, free from the burdens of conflict.

And he was determined to fulfill his longing, he was going to put an end to the argument, and maybe take advantage of the situation a little. A mischievous thought flitted through his mechanical mind: Did the two of you know about his favorite game?

"Not now, R2," Anakin snapped, caught up in the heat of the moment, waving the droid away. "I am the problem now? You're the one who's being selfish, thinking only of your own safety and not the mission at hand."

"That's not true. I care about the mission, and I care about our troops. I just don't want to see them die needlessly because of a hasty decision," a mocking and arrogant smile stretched across his face.

"You don't have the guts to make the tough calls, do you?"

The way you gasped.

Even R2 seemed taken aback, emitting an surprised beep that mirrored the incredulity you felt. For a moment, you struggled to find your voice, your jaw hanging open in a mix of astonishment and anger. Then, your throat let out a bubbling laughter of disbelief.

"Oh, you don't want to do this," you managed to choke, a sense of warning in your laughs. Anakin's expression shifted, his defiance growing even stronger as he raised his chin, a challenging sparkle in his eyes. His audacious stance seemed to say that he was ready to engage in this verbal duel, if you weren't fighting already, unafraid of the consequences. It was a side of him you had seen before. That stubborn, headstrong Jedi Knight loved pushing boundaries.

"Maybe I do."

Fearing the situation could deteriorate further, R2-D2 acted with a subtle nudge against Anakin's legs, a gentle insistence in his movements as he sought to capture the Jedi's attention, his beeps growing more insistent. Anakin, vexed by the interruption, cast a frustrated glance downward, emitting a groan of annoyance in response.

"R2! Can't you see we are talking? Wait a minute," he scolded.

"No, this is not a talk," you shocked your head angrily. Even as you felt your frustration rising, you feel a twinge of gratitude towards R2 for his attempts to defuse the situation.

"You started this," he accused. "You're always looking for an easy way out, a safe option. But that's not how wars are won. Sometimes you have to take risks, make sacrifices, and do what needs to be done."

"You think I was born yesterday? I perfectly know that. But I'm also not willing to throw away lives for the sake of a bold move," you gritted your teeth, unable to hold your tongue any longer. "If you can't see that, then maybe you're not the leader I thought you were."

Anakin's gaze met yours, and within his eyes, a flicker of surprise mingled with a tinge of remorse, shattering the facade of his unwavering confidence. You knew that your outburst had caught him off guard, but you also knew that it was necessary. You had stood up for yourself and demanded to be heard, and you were not going to allow anyone to dismiss your contributions again.

"What?" he spat, low and dangerous. You stood your ground, refusing to back down.

"You heard me."

"You're questioning my leadership now?"

"I'm questioning your judgment," you declared. "And I won't stand by and let you put our troops in unnecessary danger. I'm not being coward, I'm just following the Jedi Code. You should try it sometime."

Before Anakin could formulate a response, a sudden force propelled him forward, jostling him from behind. R2-D2 had maneuvered into position, pushing Anakin until he stood mere inches from you, nose-to-nose. The unexpected proximity caused Anakin to stumble, a sharp intake of breath escaping his lips and a flush of pink embarrassment danced across his cheeks. The notion of an almost-kiss left him and you momentarily breathless, his eyes evading your gaze as they instead fell upon his mechanical confidant. The droid's incessant beeping were playful now, and lively tiny jumps from side to side seemed to exude an air of amusement.

"Hey, watch it, you little scrap pile!" Anakin scolded the droid, his tone tinged with shame. The close proximity had nearly led to a secretly wanted but inadvertent intimacy. "What are you doing?!"

"Don't talk to him like that!" you chastised him. R2 had been trying to diffuse the situation, to ease the tension that had been building between you and Anakin. He just wanted to help.

Or at least that's what you thought.

"He's pushing me!"

"He's trying to say something!"

"No! He's just being annoying, just like you!"

"Annoying?! Anakin!"

"What?! Nothing of this would have happened if you have just agreed with my plan in first place!" R2-D2 persisted in his efforts, he pushed Anakin from behind once again, yet this time the Jedi anticipated the droid's intentions, bracing himself against the opposing force. Turning his gaze toward his diminutive companion, his expression hardened with resolve. "R2, I swear to the Force, I am going to deactivate you if you don't stop this!"

"I did it because you're being arrogant and stubborn! You think you're better than everyone else, but you're not!"

"Oh! Yeah?!"

"Yeah! You're just a hothead who can't see past his own ego!"

"Don't you dare talk to me about ego!" he yelled back, his voice dripping with venom. "You're the one who can't stand not being in control! You're so afraid of failure that you're willing to sacrifice our chances of success just to cover your own ass!"

Despite Anakin's threats, R2-D2 remained undeterred in his mischievous intervention. With an assertive nudge, the droid propelled Anakin forward once again, causing him to lose his balance and cascade towards you. In a split second, Anakin's reflexes kicked in, his hands reaching out instinctively to catch you, his muscular and warm arms enveloping you protectively. With an agile twist of his body, he positioned himself in such a way that he took the brunt of the fall, ensuring your safety as you both tumbled to the ground.

With your head pressed against his chest, the rhythm of Anakin's rapid heartbeat reverberated in your ears, its intensity mirroring the emotions exploding within him, evident in the way his grip tightened around you even after the fall. In the midst of the unexpected entanglement of limbs and bodies, you found yourselves drawn together in a way that surpassed the boundaries of mere friendship. There was a tenderness to the way your bodies intertwined, as if they were seeking solace and connection by themselves.

You two were close. So close.

The proximity allowed you to intimately perceive the essence of his physical presence, catching the distinct scent of his masculinity that lingered in the air. It was an alluring fragrance, an intoxicating essence that elicited a subtle flush of color upon your cheeks, betraying the effect he had on you.

Looking up into Anakin's eyes, you saw a mixture of concern and anger, his gaze fixed on you as he assessed your well-being. His cheeks flushed with a shade of crimson that only heightened his attractiveness, intensifying your own blush. Yet his focus remained on your safety. Only after confirming that you were unharmed, he shifted his attention to the mischievous droid, his features contorted with frustration and irritation.

"You— Stupid droid!"

"R2," you whispered shyly, a hint of complaint in your voice as you attempted to extricate yourself from Anakin's anatomy. However, as you made your initial move to stand up, an unexpected force pulled you down, causing you to crash back onto his chest. With a perplexed glance downwards, you discovered that both of your zip belts had become entangled, linking your bodies together in a awkward predicament.

You tried to suppress a nervous laugh, but it escaped you, and Anakin joined in. Fingers fumbled and intertwined, attempting to untangle the fabric that held you captive, but the more you struggled, the tighter the clip seemed to become. You could feel his muscles tense under your weight, and you were sure he could feel your trembling hands.

"I-I— Let me—"

"No, stay still. Let's— U-Uh—"

"No— Look, I can— E-Em—"

Just when you thought the moment couldn't become any more mortifying, R2-D2 intervened with a sudden burst of loud beeps, followed by the unmistakable melody of a romantic tune, causing both you and Anakin to freeze. The notes of the music filled the room, creating a whimsical backdrop that seemed to amplify the fluttering shared between you and Anakin. Eyes widening in surprise, you turned to look at Anakin, his expression reflecting a mixture of horror, embarrassment, and a desire to vanish from sight.

"What the- R2, stop that!" Anakin's voice rang out, filled with flustered exasperation. The poor guy looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole and die. "Stop it! N-Now!"

But R2-D2 seemed impervious to Anakin's distress, emitting an innocent beep while unabashedly continuing to serenade you both with melody, pleased with the romantic atmosphere he had created.

Unable to contain yourself any longer, you burst into laughter, escaping in a series of happy chuckles that echoed through the room as you watched R2 dancing with the music. Amidst your amusement, you glanced at Anakin, a playful glimmer in your eyes as you sought an explanation.

"What is he doing?" you asked, the giggles still in your voice, your innocent curiosity blending seamlessly with the light-hearted mirth that sparkled in your eyes.

"I-I don't know!" his attempt at feigning ignorance crumbling as a genuine warmth began to radiate in his eyes. Deep down, he couldn't deny that R2-D2's intervention seemed too intentional to be mere chance. Anakin knew that the droid was aware of his hidden affections for you. "I- I swear, I don't know what's got into him. Maybe he's malfunctioning or s-something," Anakin's stammered words failed to conceal the knowing glimmer in his eyes, hinting at a secret he was not yet ready to reveal.

"It's funny," you confessed, a soft smile adorning your lips as your laughter subsided. "Are... you okay?"

"Am I okay?" he repeated, genuine surprise mingling with tenderness in his voice. He paused in his attempts to untangle the belts, his gaze locked with yours. "I am not the one who almost got crushed. Are you okay?"

"But you got crushed! What are you talking about?" you playfully retorted, your laughter mingling with the harmonious melody surrounding you. With a gentle tilt of your head, you regarded him, your smile radiating warmth. "I'm okay," you assured him.

For a suspended moment, the room transformed into a sanctuary of shared vulnerability. As your gaze remained in his, an rare language flowed between you, conveying a depth of understanding that transcended words. In that silent exchange, you detected a subtle shift in Anakin, a softness that belied his earlier brashness. His eyes held a tender gleam, and his touch carried a gentleness you hadn't witnessed until now. Could it be that he felt the same way about you that you did about him? Somehow?

"I'm sorry," his voice murmured, the words almost lost amidst the tender notes of the music. "I didn't mean anything I said earlier, I didn't mean to insult you. I'm just under a lot of pressure. We both are."

"I know, Ani, I know," you nodded, your voice filled with sincerity and compassion. "I'm sorry, too. I also didn't mean to insult you."

R2 emitted a contented series of beeps, seemingly delighted with the outcome of his meddling. Sensing the need for privacy, the droid swiftly departed, leaving the two of you alone. Anakin's brow furrowed in confusion, his attention momentarily diverted by the departing droid.

"Hey! Hey! Where are you going?!" he called out, a trace of annoyance lingering in his voice. Evidently, the source of the current situation was still fresh in his mind. "Come back here!"

And in that instant, you knew it was now or never.

When would an opportunity like this present itself again? When would your hearts be so unguarded, the connection so palpable? The urgency within you propelled you forward, overriding any fears or doubts. You realized that regardless of his response, you had to seize the moment, to convey your feelings through a single, fleeting act.

Unburdened by the need for reciprocation, overriding any fears of rejection or potential consequences, before Anakin managed to separate your belts, you leaned in impulsively and pressed a loving kiss upon his cheek.

His impulsivity can be contagious, you had discovered, and the galaxy reduced to the electrifying touch of your lips against his skin.

Though the contact had been briet, you sensed his unconscious inclination, the way he instinctively leaned his cheek closer to your lips as if seeking a lingering connection. As you gingerly pulled away to witness his reaction, you almost screamed like a schoolgirl caught in the throes of a blossoming romance.

There he was.

His face, already flushed from earlier events, now sported a hue even deeper pink, near to red. His cheeks seemed to puff up slightly, a result of the endearing and slightly bewildered smile he struggled to conceal. His eyes blinked, almost in slow motion, as if he had just awakened from the most enchanting dream imaginable.

And it was only because you kissed his cheek.

"What was that for?" he managed to utter, his voice barely rising above a whisper, as if grappling to find words to articulate his whirlwind of emotions.

"Just because."

That was all he needed to hear.

Anakin's hands gently cradled your face, his touch sending tingles of anticipation through your body. You felt a rush of warmth spreading from your cheeks to the rest of your being, his thumbs caressed your skin tenderly as he drew you closer, closing the distance between your lips.

The moment your mouths met, time seemed to stand still. The world around faded away, leaving only the soft press of his lips against yours. It was a sweet sensation, filled with a blend of longing, desire, and a hint of uncertainty, as if he wanted to convey all his feelings through this single form of love.

As you melted into the kiss, surrendering to the magic of the moment, you could feel Anakin's grip on your cheeks tightening ever so slightly, his fingers intertwining with the strands of your hair. It was a gesture of both longing and possessiveness, a silent declaration of the emotions that had been building between you for so long, a confirmation that he was here, in this moment, fully present and committed to the love that bloomed between you.

It was better than you imagined. It was much better than he had imagined. It was just... perfect. Right. True.

But as with all things, the kiss eventually came to an end. Reluctantly, you and Anakin parted, breathless and dizzy, with lips tingling, both gasping for air.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, his voice filled with awe. "I shouldn't have done that."

"I shouldn't have done that, either," you whispered. His eyes searched yours, seeking a hint of regret, remorse. But he didn t find it. Instead, he felt a pull towards you, a desire for more.

Anakin's stared at you, a silent beg in his eyelids for permission. Driven by an insatiable longing, you leaned in once again, your lips seeking his with urgency and surrender. Time seemed to stand still as your souls intertwined, and just as the kiss was taking the path you wanted, you remembered how it was that you ended up in this precise moment.

The mission.

You kindly pulled away, breathless and exhilarated, your foreheads gently met. The world slowly seeped back into focus, but the imprint of that stolen kiss remained etched upon your very being.

"We should get back to planning," you said, trying to sound practical and composed. Anakin let out a childish complaint, his touch lingering on your cheek for a short moment before reluctantly withdrawing.

"Yeah, we should," he sighed. As much as he wanted to continue kissing you, he knew that you had a mission to focus on. "I'll give you this one. We'll send in a small team to gather intel tomorrow. But I'm telling you, we're going to need to be aggressive if we want to win this."

"Aggressive, yes. Reckless, no."

Anakin's expression softened, and he nodded in agreement. You offered a warm smile in response, wanting to rise from your position on the ground. But before you could, you were pushed back down by the entangled belts, causing your body to collide once again with Anakin's chest. You groaned in frustration, feeling a bit embarrassed for forgetting about the belts in the heat of the moment. Anakin, however, laughed heartily at your clumsy attempt and pulled you close to him, taking the opportunity to wrap his arms around you.

"I don't think I mind being stuck like this for a little longer."

꒰°˖ ✧ any spelling mistakes will be corrected soon !ㅤׄ  ₊ ᵎᵎ 

✃ graphics made by: me

ᶜᵒᵐᵐᵉⁿᵗ ˢʰᵃʳᵉ ˢᵃᵛᵉ

━━M𝓐STERLIST !

[skywalkoverme]

"𝐂𝐞𝐫𝐮𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐧" 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 7

a/n: Even though I'm the one that wrote the plot, this kind of startled me.

Series Masterlist

𐙚 Anakin Skywalker x Fem! Reader 𐙚 18+ MDNI

Summary: You and Anakin get separated from the group.

Warnings/contains: dom! male, dom! fem, Enemies to lovers, sexual tension, forced proximity, near death experience, explosions etc, anakin does not like you, more to come as the series goes on etc, proof read-- but english is not my first language!

Word Count: 2k // More on my Master list! + follow & reblog pls

You had ordered Anakin to protect the foremost edge. For the first time, he led the group as you walked closely to Obi-wan, “May I ask you a question, your highness?” Obi-wan broke the silence you so carefully maintained.

“Yes, General?”

“Forgive me if I may offend you.” You squinted, “If Anakin hadn’t protested against us leaving, might I ask, what would you have done?”

“The exact same thing.” You said, keeping your gun close to your breasts. “You disagree?”

“I believe that our worry once lied with the possibilities.”

“Does Anakin believe I will betray the Jedi, the republic, still?”

He shrugged, “He can be hard to read.” Obi-wan said softly as you both watched Anakin climb up the cliff ahead.

“And stubborn, and impatient.”

“I might be reaching here but with your patience, and his action, you clash.”

You chuckled and took Quinns hand as he helped you up the next ledge, “You are very wise, General Kenobi.” He pushed himself up and walked beside you once more. “Hopefully, this will be over soon. That way, I won’t need to think of new ways to tell him the same thing.”

“Ahh, I’ve known him since he was, yee high,” Obi-wan held a hand to his mid-thigh. “ It’s like trying to give a feline a bath.” You smirked as the man ran a hand down his beard. “He isn’t impossible, just difficult.”

“I heard that.” Anakin yelled behind him as he walked the trail.

“I’m glad you know that’s about you.” You said loud enough for him to hear. Anakin waved a hand behind him. “Quite the ladies man.” Obi-wan let out a loud laugh, “I’m starting to believe that he doesn’t care about me being Queen; he wants to lead this mission.”

“Typically, monarchs give us the authority. In turn, I entrust it to Anakin.” You nodded. “He can be reckless, at times but he hasn’t failed me.” Anakin looked over his shoulder for a moment before turning the corner of the cliff. “He expressed his displeasure with the idea of you not being kept safe in your Palace. I must say, I do agree. This isn’t the safest grounds to walk, your highness.”

“I feel my safest when I am with you, Jedi. Besides, I didn’t want to split you and him up. You’re important.”

“Him more than me.” Obi-wan said softly. The man helped you onto the top of the cliff and you watched from under the shade of the massive trees. Your heart raced upon seeing the many rows of droids. “Why didn’t we bring in more men, again?”

“I want to spare as many lives as possible.” You whispered as you three snuck around through the trees. You were watched over by Quinn as he glared through the scope of his rifle. The droid base rest in the middle of a clearing. “…they destroyed the trees…” Your eyes fell on the sawed trees, stumps left astray.

Anakin squinted, “A few tanks…a few hundred droids…?” He turned to his Master. “They can’t take over the city nor the palace with this. Where are the rest of them?”

“The rest?” You quietly watched as many droids left the main building. “Let’s focus.” Anakin folds his arms.

“Your highness…this was a distraction.” He said simply. Anakin stomped away from you and Obi-wan, pressing on his comms. “R2? R2, I need visuals on the atmosphere. Can you hear me?”

“What does he mean?” You asked.

“This isn’t the main mission. We need to get out of here.” Obi-wan said over the comms.

“General? Do we fall back?” Quinn asked from over the comms.

“Call it off, head back to base.” Obi-wan said sternly, pulling you with him as Anakin ran through the trees towards the base.

“We can’t.” You shook your head and stopped. The few turned back to you, “I gave them a time.”

Obi-wan continued to walk, “That’s fine, we can just set off a flare or smoke here.” You turned to Anakin.

“Do you have it?” Anakin’s lips pressed, his head fell forward shyly, “From the bag by the gate! Do you have the flare?!”

“I don’t have it.” He said softly.

“How could you forget the signal?!” You began to panic harder under the silence. “What time is it?”

“12:14.” You fingers froze around the clutch of your gun. The rainforest was silent, frozen like lake water. Your eyes were on Anakin as he yelled into his comms to call off the drops. Quinn and the other soldier ran as Obi-wan attempted to pull you with him. A piercing sound met your ears long before you registered the explosion. One after the other, they dropped from over the trees. You held your hands over your ears tightly and watched as a bomb dropped from the trees above your head. Anakin pulled you onto his shoulder, his heart slamming against the flesh of his chest. Red soil, dyed by the earth’s oxidation, flew up into the air, creating clouds of maroon. He nearly ran into the trees ahead of him as he carried you, the sounds of droid blaster fire began, rapid as they spread out through the forest. “Obi-wan!” The man screamed, “Obi-wan! Where are you?!” He could only see but a few feet in front of him, the smoke thick and air, humid.

“Let me down!” You yelled and the man pushed you off his shoulders. You groaned and climbed to your feet before prepping your gun. Anakin pressed his back against the same tree as you while you set up a good aim. You couldn’t see the droids; however, you could see the blaster fire that cut through the smoke and into tree barks. Anakin held an arm over his nose and mouth while coughing. You pulled the trigger, and the gum shot an electromagnetic wave through the trees. Such pulse shook leaves off the trees and killed the droids in the nearby quadrant.

“We need to move!” Anakin pulled you with him in the direction of the base. For a moment, you were still, and it all went black.

Water ran over your hips and legs, soaking your body and the left side of your face. A bundle of dark clothes lay beside you, unmoving. Your hand weakly reached for the robes, “Anakin…” Your muscles faltered on the fabric.

From behind, you were pulled up onto your feet, your arm thrown behind him as he carried you to the shore. Anakin weakly lay beside you and caught his breath. The lake water ran loudly, gushing beyond your boots. Surrounding you in this open space, a few croaking amphibians and the repetitive chirps of perched birds. “It’s getting dark.” Anakin whispered. Your body as well as your hair was covered in grains of sand, and soil. The water continued to roughly run up your boots.

Anakin groaned, holding his side as he rose on his knees. The man huffed and kept a hand tight on his left hip. “Are you ok?”

He looked up at the ledge you two were blown off of and down at himself. “I’ll be fine. Our comms are destroyed…and I can’t find Obi-wan.” He said softly and struggled to rise on his feet. You slowly stood; your head dizzy from impact. “What are we going to do?” He asked and leaned on a tree bark.

“I…I don’t know.” You said softly and lowered your head in shame. “I don’t know where we are.” He nodded silently as you thought of all the wrong that led to this moment.

He spoke strained yet collected, “I told you we needed your soldiers up in the atmosphere. That’s where the real fight is right now. I told you we could handle this base on our own.” He said with his fist closed.

“I refuse to send my people past the atmosphere during this war.”

“You’re impossible, you know that?” He groaned. “What’s the point of all this? You’ve got a full army! It’s larger than the population of your citizens! Tens of fighter jets and ships prepped with everything they need for war!” You shook your head and stood back from him. “You’re a decorated General! The head of defense! What are you defending?”

“My people! My planet!”

The man scoffed, and continued to hold himself, “We are in war times. And you refuse to sacrifice a few to save the many?”

“I will sacrifice myself before anyone else!”

“That thinking likely killed my master! I don’t want another one of your plans! I don’t want to hear your beliefs either! I came here to fight your war; I told you that from the start.” He cornered you against two tree barks, “I’ve had it up to here with you. You will give me the authority I need to save Erden, or I will leave, and you can watch your planet burn from the atmosphere to the palace.” You bit back a protest and nodded. “Now, get out of my way.” You moved to the side and watched as he referenced a distorted hologram map.

He looked behind himself to ensure you were following him. You walked closely behind, and he let out a breath. He began to feel it, that wave of euphoria. Your submission did not go unnoticed, nor unappreciated.

Before long, you were at the second base once again. “Did Obi-wan come through here? Jedi with a beard and lightsaber?” The medical staff shook their heads, tending to his wound.

You sat beside Oliver outside of the medical bay, your hands clasped. “…we’ve never gone past the atmosphere for war.” You said softly.

“I will ensure we won’t.”

“About that, Oli: I gave General Skywalker authority instead.” The admiral switched his gaze to the man who leaned back on the nurses’ counter because he refused to let you out of his sight. Anakin watched you as a nurse held up his top, another wrapped his waist. “He’s fought many battles beyond a planet’s surface. We are foreign to that.”

The admiral stood, “He’s not even from our system!” He said with a chuckle, “You must be joking.” When you said nothing, his smile faltered. “You must’ve hit your head fairly hard.”

“I am in good health, Admiral.”

You stood in the man’s face, “I refuse to believe so. I cannot support this decision.”

“Then it is treason.” You stared into the eyes of the man you’d known your whole life as he shook his head.

“You wouldn’t do that.”

“I would. If you believe I am unfit to make this decision, you can bring your plea to the courts.”

Anakin stood behind you with his arms folded. A rather disgusted and angry look on his face. (This was usually how he appeared.) Anakin would never say it out loud to you since he figured you’d yell at him, but he had a bad feeling about the guy from the start. That snake-look…it was easy to spot. “I wish you…and you,” Admiral Grenne cleared his throat, “the best of luck.” He dismissed himself and didn’t look back.

“I learned it.” Anakin said, his voice somewhat perky. You turned around and in his hand, a thick book. “Your atmosphere.”

“There is no way you read all of that in the hour we’ve been here.”

He shrugged and took a few painkillers, “I read enough.” He swallowed them with a glass of water. “Enough to know that there are gaps with no crystals.”

“And no ice?”

“And no ice.” He reassured.

a/n: I have a LOT to write for the next chapter so bare with me lol

Taglist from Series Masterlist: Interact with Series Masterlist to be added <3

@luxylya @kaggelagge @larapipa @woow-ies @90wasthebesttimeever @vvsdiamond28 @thescxrpio @thequenue @stanyuqisworld @ruggerosbaeeee @santinstar @cherrylvrsworld @biancaa03 @blniight @lunacurlclaw @citrinebeez @joanagaray08 @soffthours @devlovesbooks @angie2274 @suckitandsee4 @cerise151cherie @adorable-introvert @nitesnchocolate @pisces-triple @starr60 @silkandcologne @shebreathedherlast @malinadbbdh @literalbabydoll @boydepartment @xhino3 @bbbbbbxxghj @clairethecloowny @mattandchrissgirl @brokenbellz @brokenbellz @txriss @rebelatbay @multifandom456 @fawninthesnow @lortheswiftie @col1eenlyn @blazingmiraclecipher @heyy-lei @bettysgardenswift @soldierheart @isa942572

[gars-weaponeer]

Let's talk about he unwarranted Fox hate.

I often see that a lot of people tend to hate on Commander Fox, often portraying him as a villainous kind of character or very cold and selfish compared to the more heroic and beloved Commander Thorn.

I see these two characters portrayed as "the good commander" and "the bad commander" of the Coruscant guard, when in reality they are both pretty much the same character.

But just for the fact that Fox killed Fives, the public decided to label him as a "bad guy".

But that's not the case, in fact if we changed characters and placed Thorn hunting after Fives and Fox on the diplomatic mission, chances are both situations would have ended the same way: with Fives dead at the hands of Thorn and Fox dying heroically for the republic.

Why is this?

Well for starters we need to understand what a Coruscant guard is.

These were clones that were raised and trained differently from common clone troopers as their assignment was to act as a security police force for Coruscant. As a result, they dealt with different threats than normal troopers.

Clone troopers knew what their enemies looked like, the separatist forces were easy to recognize in the battlefield. But for the Coruscant guard the enemy could take many forms. They would not see battle droids on the streets attempting on the lives of the senate. They would have to deal with terrorists, dressed as common folk or unconscious work droids. They had to be more alert and more skeptic of their surroundings 24/7 as the fate of the republic laid in their hands.

One false move could cost the lives of the chancellor and the senate and with them the Republic would fall. That is the weight these clones carry on their shoulders. This is the responsibility that both Fox and Thorn carry along with the other commanders in red.

Both Fox and Thorn are very similar in canon.

Fox appears more than Thorn and we can see from his canon(and legends) appearances that he is a fiercely loyal clone to the republic, hard working and honorable like many of his brothers. He is the first to charge into battle, leading his troops with bravery and has little patience for criminals.

Thorn seems to have a similar sense of duty, loyalty and bravery that Fox has, as he also stands his ground during battle, refusing to surrender til the very last second. We sadly don't see more of Thorn beyond his one and only appearance.

So why do people hate Fox so much, when he and Thorn are not that different?

Well, he killed Fives.

But I don't think he should be hated for it.

To explain this, join me to see things through the fox's eye, and learn the other side of the story.

We as the audience know Fives since he is a Shiny, and we see him grow up, level up, become an ARC trooper and survive many perils. We see him discover that one plot that we know causes so much death and destruction and even tho we know the ending of the story, we want to root for him and we get frustrated when we see no-one hears him out. We also, as the audience, know that Palpatine is the bad guy, he is playing chess against himself and ruining the lives of countless people for his own sick pleasure in his path to rule the Galaxy.

But Fox doesn't know any of this.

He doesn't know Palpatine is secretly Dath Sidious. He doesn't know there is a secret plot to destroy the Jedi and that he and his brothers are just pawns in a greater scheme.

As far as he is concerned, the Chancellor is the head of the Republic, and if anything happens to him it might mean the end of the Republic and the death of not only him but all his brothers. It's his duty to protect Palpatine from harm. And there are a lot of people trying to hurt him.

He also doesn't know Fives.

He might have heard of him as Fives is a respected ARC trooper from the 501st. But he doesn't know him personally like we do, like Rex does. He has no real connection to him other than Fives being another Clone like him.

So when he hears that there is this erratic clone that tried to kill Palpatine and is now on the run, of course he would see Fives as a threat.

Remember that the Kaminoans covered the whole inhibitor chip thing by saying it was a behavioral regulator, that kept Clones from becoming aggressive and erratic. The Kaminoan even took the example of Tup's chip malfunction as proof that without the chip the clones turn irrational and unpredictable. This is the information the characters have. The ONLY ONES that know the truth are Palpatine, the Kaminoans and Fives.

So in Fox's eyes, Fives turned erratic because he also has a chip malfunction. He became irrational, unpredictable, erratic and has attempted to kill someone before. He might try to do so again and is now on the run. It's his duty as head of the Coruscant guard to find him and stop him before he hurts someone.

When he finds Fives, he has Anakin and Rex as hostages and is talking nonsense, acting erratic and paranoic. He could hurt Anakin or Rex, two very important and prominent figures in the GAR and their deaths could result in disadvantage against the Separatist forces. Fox cannot afford that. And yet he doesn't enter shooting, he points his gun at Fives and orders him to raise his hands and surrender. He gives Fives a chance to go peacefully, to de-escalate the situation. And when he sees that Fives looks at the blaster on his side he even yells at him to stop, he asks him not to do it, not to take the gun and make things worse. But Fives doesn't listen, he takes the gun yelling and Fox has to make a split-second decision.

In a moment like that, when you are a second away of a disaster, when you, your brothers or the hostages could get killed by the shot of a unhinged person. You don't get enough time to think.

Fox reacts and shoots Fives to stop him from harming others.

Sure, we could argue that Fox could have used stun instead, or that he could have shot Five's hand, anything to not kill him.

But we need to understand that in situations like that, when tensions are high, then it's life or death and you have to take a split-second decision, you don't usually have time to be rational.

Even the most trained people can't always take the most rational option, and often choose the best option they can.

Fox took the best option he could in that situation.

And I don't think that Thorn, Thire, Stone or any of the other Shock trooper Commanders would have done any different, any better.

They all would have been faced with the same dire situation, and they all would have had to take the split-second decision.

One could argue that the fact that Fox was not present in the circle of Coruscant guards taking off their helmets as they mourn Fives, could imply that he was indifferent to his death.

And maybe? However I don't think that's the case.

Remember that Fox tried to stop Fives, he tried to give him a chance to surrender and in the end he couldn't stop. He had to shoot a fellow clone. A clone whose face he sees in all his brothers, the companions he trained with, fought with, work with everyday. He did not wanted to kill Fives.

That has to be very haunting.

I like to believe that Fox is not the mourning circle, because he had to take a step back to come to terms to what he has done.

Fox has been proven to be an honorable man. How can he stand a join the mourning of a man he just killed? How can he see into Rex's eyes as he cries for the close brother he has lost? Maybe he felt like he had no right to be there.

Then again this is just my speculation, considering what little canon we have of Fox.

In general I don't think we should hate on Fox for Fives' death. Sure, Fives is easily my second favorite clone, way above Fox in my raitings, and I suffered a lot when he died. But I do think that the situation was way to out of hand and Fox did as best as he could to keep everyone safe.

Fives was not at fault either. Remember he was drugged, and he was feeling frustrated, paranoic, confused, he was panicking and not thinking clearly.

The only one at fault here is Palpatine and his schemes.

That said...

I'm not saying that you should stop portraying Fox as a cold and ruthless character.

Hell, I myself like to represent him as a more stoic and sarcastic person compared to his brothers and I've seen many different portrayals of this character, with many different personalities that I love!

You are free to a enjoy the fandom as you wish after all!

Just keep this post in mind and please don't hate on people who like Fox as a character.

We all deserve to enjoy Star Wars and it's wonderful characters that inspire us.

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Well, this has been my Rant! If you reached all the way down here thank you for reading ♥

And may the force be with you.