#the flash from the blaster bolts looks weird

[varpusvaras]

Fox is being punished. 

That has to be it. He had been a bad Commander, a bad soldier, a bad brother. All he had ever done had been mistakes, one after the other, leading up to his miserable end. 

But even after that, even after his body had been broken, even after he had had to lay there, in pain and numb, slowly choking out because no matter how much he had wanted to, his lungs would not draw in another breath. The only mercy he had been granted there had been the fact that he had lost consciousness before the end had actually arrived, so he had not had to actually see it. 

Fox had known when the end had come, though. There had been a flash of something, a landscape of rivers and lights he had fallen through, all the way back towards the hard ground beneath him. 

Then, he had stood there, watching himself laying on that hard ground, unmoving and cold. 

Fox had watched as his men had gathered around him, how they tried to find a pulse, even though Fox himself could tell it had been too late just by looking at himself. He had looked like a doll that had been played too harshly with, and then left behind, once his owner had grown bored with him. 

Fox had watched as his men had gathered his body and covered it, despite the fact that he had still had his entire armor on. He had watched them carry it away. 

Fox had not followed them. 

He knows what happens to all the bodies already. 

He did…he did not want to see himself go through it. 

It is selfish of him, he knows. He should’ve followed them, should’ve watched himself burn, like all of his brothers before him, who had been fortunate enough to make it back. It shouldn’t have mattered. 

He is already dead, after all. 

Still, he had not followed them. Instead, he just continues to stand there, at the foot of the Temple, where he had taken his last breath. 

He had thought he would see his brothers again. 

He had thought that he would finally get to apologise to Thorn. He had thought that Thorn would throw his arm around his shoulders and call him stupid for thinking that he had something to apologise for. 

He had thought that he would get to run to Ponds’s arms again. He had thought he would get to be held, and his older brother, always forgiving, would tell him that he still loved him, no matter what. 

Fox stares at the ground, where his body had fallen. 

It seems that once again, he had thought he deserved more than he was ever meant to. 

— — — 

Fox is being punished. 

That has to be it. He is being punished for all his failures, by having him witness the same things happen over and over again, but this time, he is even more helpless than ever before. 

He watches as his brothers continue to die. He watches as bolts that he could’ve warned them about hit them over and over again, because his voice doesn’t carry anymore.

He watches as his brothers continue to lose themselves, pulling the triggers of their blasters over and over again, because his hands are as much nothing as the air around them is. 

He watches as the Galaxy continues to fall deeper and deeper into the darkness. 

He watches it all, and he knows it is his fault. 

— — — 

Fox thinks about visiting Alderaan, sometimes. 

He misses it. It’s weird. He misses a place that he has never been to. He misses a place that was never his home, and never would be. 

He misses- 

Fox pushes the thought away from his mind, frightened of the possibility of what will happen if he thinks about it, thinks about them too much. He is not tied to the laws of regular travelling of the Universe anymore, and he is afraid that if he thinks too much, the next thing he knows, he will be standing there, looking right at them. 

He can’t do that. 

— — — 

Fox watches Bly die. 

His screams don’t reach him before he is gone, and they don’t reach him after. 

— — — 

Fox watches Stone die. 

He screams, again, even though he knows it’s pointless. He screams at him, orders him to get up, orders him not to leave Thire alone to this place. 

Stone doesn’t hear him. He dies, bleeding out in front of Fox, his blood flowing through Fox’s hands, no matter how hard Fox tries to hold it all in. 

— — — 

Fox watches his brothers die. 

He still tries, for some reason. Tries to hold them, tries to keep them from falling apart, tries to tell them they aren’t alone as they fade. 

He tries, because he has to. Because he didn’t try hard enough when he still had the chance. 

— — — 

He thinks of Rex a lot, whenever he sits by one of his brothers during their last moments. 

He thinks of Rex and the ARC Trooper in Rex’s arms and with a hole in his chest, and he sees himself holding the weapon. 

Fox is being punished. 

— — — 

Fox watches his brothers die. 

He stays with them until the end. 

All of them leave Fox after. 

— — — 

Fox surrounds himself with his brothers. 

He sits there, among them, the living and the dead. He listens to their voices, he watches their faces, he searches their eyes for recognition as they look towards him. 

It never comes. They can only look towards Fox, but not at him. 

Fox doesn’t know if he even wants them to see him. 

He doesn’t want them to leave him. 

He closes his eyes and listens to his brothers’ voices.

— — — 

Fox watches Wolffe. 

He follows him around as he goes across the Galaxy, and closes his eyes whenever he pulls the trigger. 

Fox watches Cody. 

He follows him around as he goes across the Galaxy, and holds his hand whenever he pulls the trigger. 

Fox watches them destroy themselves, and all he can do is cry silent, invisible tears. 

— — — 

Fox watches his brothers die. 

As he sits there, in a pool of blood that cannot stain him any further, he knows that he is being punished. 

He can’t take it anymore. 

Fox is being punished, and there is no place left for him that won’t hurt him further. 

He still goes, wishing for the reprieve of a different kind of pain. 

— — — 

The sun is setting when Fox arrives to Alderaan. 

He stands there, at the gates to the Palace, and watches the sun disappear behind the mountains and paint the sky with the colors of the warmth he can not feel anymore. 

He only has enough courage to enter through the gates once the sky has begun to turn dark. 

He remembers the stories Bail and Breha had told him. He remembers the terraces Bail had told him about, the ones where he would sit with Breha whenever he was back home. He remembers the halls Bail had described to him, the ones where he and Breha would dance in when they had the time, when they had a moment just for themselves to enjoy. 

He remembers the corridors and hallways Breha had told him about, the ones she had grown up running through, her shoes forgotten in the haste of seeing the ships leave in the morning. 

With the stories playing in his mind, he wanders through the Palace, all the way to the living rooms of the Queen and her Consort. 

Fox can hear them, through the door. He recognises the low, gentle sway of Bail’s voice, and he knows the melody of Breha’s voice as she speaks. 

He stands there, outside their door, and listens to them speak words he cannot make out. 

Bail says something. Breha laughs. 

Fox smiles. His tears don’t burn his eyes anymore. 

He sits on the floor and leans against their door, and he listens. 

— — — 

When the morning comes, Fox hides. 

He’s not hiding because he fears they will see him. He knows painfully well by now that he is invisible to the Galaxy as it is now. 

No, he hides, so that he can’t see them. 

So it goes. Fox hides in the halls and rooms of the Palace, living as a shadow in the house that was never his home, and he listens to the voices of the people he had once hoped would be his home. 

He knows the sound of Bail’s footsteps already, and he quickly learns Breha’s as well. Sometimes, he catches a glimpse of them, and he averts his eyes, no matter how much he wants to do nothing else than just look at them. 

There’s pain waiting for him in their faces, and there is pain here, where he doesn’t see them. 

Fox is being punished, after all. 

When the night falls, he sits by their door and listens to them talk. 

Bail says something. Breha laughs. 

There is silence. 

Breha cries. 

It’s an awful sound. 

Fox thinks that it’s his fault.

— — — 

Breha is not back to the Palace yet. 

Fox still sits in front of their door, even though there is no conversation going on on the other side. 

It’s silent, for a long while, but then there is noise. 

Bail is crying. 

It’s an awful sound. 

Fox thinks it’s his fault, too. 

After all, had he not ruined everything that Bail had worked so long for?

— — — 

They have a child, now. 

It’s impossible for Fox to not know that. Everyone around him is talking about her. 

The little Princess of Alderaan. 

Fox knows that they always wanted children. They talked about it often. So often, that sometimes, when Fox had been foolish enough for a moment, he had imagined a little girl himself, a little girl with dark eyes and dark hair, with a toothy smile and bright laugh. 

A little girl, just for them. 

He’s happy for them. He really is. He knows how much they wanted to have a child. A little girl, just for them. 

Fox had always known that he had been nothing more than a pawn on the board of war. 

Somehow, there is still a new pain to be found, from the realisation that the Galaxy and the lives in it would continue to move forward even without him. 

They have a child, now. A little girl, just for them, like it had been before Fox, and how it is now without him. 

— — — 

The little Princess has not been sleeping properly, lately. 

Fox doesn’t know a lot about babies, but he has heard some say that it is quite normal for them to sometimes go through periods where they seem to be doing nothing more than cry, day and night. 

The little Princess has certainly been doing that for the past week. 

Her cries always start the same. First as a few hiccups, that will eventually grow to sobs, and then to loud, demanding and shrill screams, that will go and and on, before she grows tired, and her little voice becomes hoarse, until she has the energy to just whimper. 

Fox hates the sound. He hates every second of every part of it. 

There is a need inside of him. A need that tells him that he must stand up, that he must walk through the door, that he must take the child and soothe her until she stops crying, that he must do so until she is happy again. 

He wonders if this was what the Prime felt like when he had been given his son. 

The little Princess cries. Fox listens to it, his teeth drawing blood that will not flow from his lip as he bites down on it, in order to keep himself composed. Breha and Bail sound both exhausted, as far as Fox can hear through the door, but still, they carry on, trying their best to soothe their daughter, as she continues to cry. 

Eventually, a silence falls. 

It draws on, far longer than it has in many days. 

Fox listens to it for a while, until it becomes simply too much. For a week, he has been holding himself together, and now, during a moment of peace, he has run out of any patience he had still had left.

He stands, and moves into the rooms on the other side of the door. 

He moves slowly and quietly through the dark living room. It feels appropriate, still, even though he makes no sound anymore for anyone to hear. He glances at the marks of a long life together, a life that he was just a small, brief moment in, and makes his way to the bedroom. 

Fox does hesitate for a long moment before he actually steps in. It feels like he is intruding, no matter how many times there had been promises, promises of this place, promises for his place exactly here. After all, those promises had never been able to come through, all because of Fox himself. There is no place for him here, anymore. 

Bail and Breha are both asleep. Fox can see them lay on the bed, turned towards each other in their slumber. Breha is curled against Bail, and Bail is curled around her, his back to Fox, like he is protecting her. 

Fox finally looks at them properly, now that they have their eyes closed. 

He feels like a stranger, stumbling upon a picture of a perfect life. It has been a while since he has wished for anything else than the final mercy of true death be granted upon him, but now, there is a longing for a life inside of him, burning him cold. 

He stands there and he longs, longs for two things he cannot have at the same time. 

Fox is being punished. 

There is a small, dim light on at the nightstand on the other side of the bed, and next to it, is a small cot. 

Fox tiptoes around the bed, and he slowly, so slowly and carefully, makes his way to the cot and looks in. 

She is sleeping there, the little Princess of Alderaan. She has a round face and small body, and tiny arms and legs with even tinier hands and feet. 

There is a tuft of brown hair on top of her head. 

Fox has a feeling that if her eyes were open, he would see that they were also dark. 

A little girl, with dark eyes and brown hair. 

A little girl, just for them. 

There she is, just like Fox had imagined her. 

There she is, now that Fox is not. 

She makes little sounds when she sleeps. Tiny gasps and soft sniffles, and even tinier whines every now and then as she shifts around a bit, her eyelids fluttering for a second before she settles back down. 

Fox cannot look away. 

He stands there, looking at her, at her round cheeks and tiny nose, at the tiny shadows her little eyelashes are casting on her skin, at the way her hair is longer at her forehead and curls ever so slightly towards the left side of her head. 

She whines a little, then again, a little louder. Breha shifts a little on the bed behind Fox. 

She needs her rest. 

Fox knows it doesn’t matter, but he hums. 

There hadn’t been any songs for them when Fox had been little. No lullabies or nursery rhymes. The only songs that had been sung to them had been the endless melodies of the ocean and its waves, and the songs of war, of bravery and brotherhood. 

None of them are suitable to be sung to a little Princess in the dead of the night, to lull her back to sleep. 

It’s a good thing, then, that she cannot hear him. 

Still, despite all of this, Fox hums the song to her, the song of his brothers and their hearts. He hums the song over and over again, with his voice that cannot tire anymore, as it is as soundless as it was eternal. 

The whines stop. She squirms around a bit, before she settles again, and stays there for the rest of the night. 

Fox flees when the morning comes and he hears Bail awaken. 

— — — 

Now that Fox has given a part of himself, he cannot take it back anymore. 

He goes in the next night, stands there next to the cot and looks at the little Princess, and he hums the song for her. She sleeps through night after night. 

Fox knows he is only deluding himself in thinking he is actually helping in any way. 

He still leaves every morning. 

— — — 

Babies grow fast. 

Fox notices it all by himself without anyone having to tell him. She seems to get bigger after every week. 

Leia. The little Princess. A little girl, just for them. 

She is five months now, Fox had heard Breha mention it the day before. 

Fox realises that she must’ve been born right after the Rise of the Empire. 

It feels like it has been a lot longer than that. 

— — — 

Fox hums. Leia had fallen asleep an hour ago, so it was still early into the night. Bail and Breha were also in the bed already, trying to catch as much sleep as they could. 

Fox had really thought they were asleep. 

Until he hears a quiet, choked sob. 

Bail pushes himself up instantly at the sound. Even though Fox could disappear instantly from where he stood, his mind had stopped working for a moment right then, and it’s already too late when the thought to do so finally crosses him.

“Breha?” Bail murmurs. 

Breha doesn’t answer instantly. Fox hears her draw in a deep breath that comes out accompanied by another sob. 

“I-” She says, and tries to breathe in deep again, but her voice just wavers more when she speaks after it. “I miss him. I miss him so much. He was supposed to be here.”

“I know”, Bail says. “I know. I miss him too.” 

Breha buries her face into Bail’s chest and cries.

“He was supposed to be here”, she sobs, digging a hot, burning blade of pain deeper into Fox’s chest with every noise. “He was supposed to be here, with us.” 

It takes Fox a moment to realise that they are talking about him.

He looks Bail in the eyes properly for the first time since before his death. 

They are full of tears, already making their way down his face, steadily and quietly as he holds Breha through her cries, steadfast and strong as always. 

Fox remembers how much he loves them again. 

He wants so badly to reach for them in that moment, he wants so badly for them to see him, to hear him, like he is still there. 

But he is not there.

He continues humming, through his own, quiet and weightless tears, and Leia sleeps through the night. 

— — — 

Fox stays when the morning comes. 

He cannot look away from them anymore, either. So he watches as they dress themselves and then dress Leia, and he follows them when they walk out of the Palace and through the gardens, down the hill and to a smaller garden, away from the main one at the central courtyard. 

Fox didn’t remember either of them ever mentioning it to him. They had both talked so much about all the plants and flowers of the Palace in detail when Fox had asked, in wonder of having living things in such abundance all around, even indoors. 

The little garden looks new, as Fox takes a better look at it. The stones around the flowerbeds have no weather to them yet, and the ground on which the flowers themselves stand is dark and loose and looks like it has just been placed there. 

There are young trees at the center of the garden, their blooming branches arching over white stones in the middle. 

It takes a Fox a moment to realise that it’s a grave. 

There are some petals that have fallen on the stone in the middle. Bail sweeps them away, before resting his hand on top of the stone. 

“Good morning, our love”, he says, and with air that he doesn’t need to breathe stuck inside his throat, Fox reads the writing on the stone. 

Where he lives now is in our hearts

Eternal, everlasting

Like love

Fox Organa

Remembered and lived by his wife, husband and daughter

Oh. 

Fox had thought- he had thought- 

Breha takes Leia’s little hand to hers, and she presses both it and her own hand on top of the stone as well. 

“Good morning, love”, she says. “Say good morning, Buir.”

Leia is five months old. Fox knows that she is too young to know how to speak yet. 

Still, she babbles happily, her little fingers curling against the stone, and Fox-

Fox stands beside his own grave and cries. 

— — — 

He looks at Leia that night as she sleeps. He looks at her round cheeks and tiny nose, her dark hair and tiny hands and feet, the way her chin is shaped and the way her mouth curves. 

He looks at her, and hums a song for her, to their little Princess. To their little girl, a little girl who is just for them. 

Fox sits on the edge of the bed once Bail and Breha are both asleep, and he feels like he somehow belongs, even though he is not there. 

— — — 

Leia is six months old. 

She is still rather small, as far as Fox has understood, but Bail and Breha are not worried by that. Fox trusts that they have a good reason. 

He is sitting on his spot on the edge of the bed, humming the song, as Leia suddenly scrunches her face, looking very much like she is about to cry. 

Fox stands up in a hurry and leans over the cot. 

“Shhh”, he hushes. “Shhh, it’s alright, it’s alright.” 

He only realises that he is trying for nothing, like all the times before, after he has already said the words. 

Indeed, Leia does open her eyes, her face still scrunched up and her mouth drawn tightly, and she blinks rapidly, and- 

She looks up, her dark eyes locking in on Fox’s. 

Fox freezes. 

No. No, she is not looking at him, he reminds himself. She cannot see him, since he is not actually there-

Leia’s face relaxes as she continues staring at him. Her mouth goes lax for a moment, and then it curls into a toothy smile, and she reaches her hands towards him. 

Fox cannot help it. Readying himself for inevitable disappointment, he reaches his hand into the cot. 

Leia’s hands reach for his. First they don’t seem to be able to grasp on anything, but then, all of a sudden, they curl around Fox’s thumb. It feels like there is static between them, as a layer on Fox’s skin, but he can still feel the pressure and a hint of warmth through it. 

Leia looks at him, and smiles. 

Fox smiles back, wavering and on the edge of tears yet again, but he smiles back at her. 

“That’s right”, he says. “It’s alright. Buir is here.” 

Leia falls back asleep that night holding onto Fox’s hand. 

— — — 

There are limits to what Fox can do. 

He cannot lift Leia up properly. He can put his hands under her and lift her maybe half an inch for a second or maybe two, at max. The static feeling is always there whenever she touches him, but Fox can let her hold onto him, and he can lightly brush her head to soothe her. Leia giggles every time Fox runs his finger down the bridge of her nose. 

Fox has no other option than to exist with the fact that there is one person in the whole Galaxy who can see him. 

He cannot touch her as much when she is being held by someone else. He cannot pry her away from Breha or Bail, not that Fox even wants to. 

Breha is holding her on her shoulder as she mixes her a bottle. Leia is a little fussy, hunger making her impatient. 

Fox calls to her, and when Leia looks up at him, he sticks his tongue out at her. 

The fussiness and the hunger are completely forgotten. Leia laughs and clumsily claps her hands together. She shrieks out a louder laugh as Fox does it again. 

Breha turns, and looks around the room. There is still a bang of loss in Fox’s chest as her eyes pass right by him. 

“Something caught your eye?” Breha asks. She is smiling as she looks at Leia, and Fox loves her immensely. 

— — —

Bail stands next to Fox at Leia’s cot. 

Fox had always leaned against him whenever they had stood this close to each other. It had been a habit, born from the fact that Fox had always run cold while Bail had always run warm. 

Fox misses that warmth. 

Bail looks at Leia, who stares right back at him. 

“The last time I checked”, Bail says slowly. “It was way past the bedtime for little Princesses.” 

Leia only grins at Bail, who looks extremely dejected. Fox cannot help but laugh a little. 

Leia’s eyes move to Fox, and she laughs back at him. 

Bail frowns, and turns to look. For a moment, it feels like he is looking straight at Fox, but his eyes never stop searching. 

Fox wants to just lean forward and fall against him. 

He stays put, until Bail’s eyes turn away. 

— — — 

Leia stands up against the couch. 

Carefully, she lets go of it. She looks at Breha, who is sitting just a few meters away from them, and then she looks at Fox, who is sitting on the couch. 

Fox smiles at her. 

“Go on”, he says. “Go on, Leili’ika, you can do it.” 

“Come on”, Breha says, extending her arms towards Leia. “Come on, you can do it!” 

Leia takes one, hesitant step away from the couch. Then another, and another, until she has made it to Breha, who catches her in a hug. 

“There you go!” Breha laughs, and kisses Leia’s cheeks. “There you go, I knew you could do it!” 

Leia giggles, and then looks over at Fox. 

Fox claps his hands. 

“Good job!” He says. Breha puts Leia back down, and Leia turns around, and makes her way towards him with small, wavering steps. She grabs at the couch right in front of Fox, and looks up at him, with a wide, toothy smile. 

Fox glances at Breha.

Breha is looking at Leia, but slowly, her eyes move up, following Leia’s gaze. 

She doesn’t see him, but she keeps looking, almost like she is expecting to see something there. 

She is not smiling anymore. Fox swallows, and turns to look back at Leia. 

Leia is still smiling, and Fox quickly smiles back at her. 

“Good job”, he says again, and runs his thumb over her cheek. “Good job, Leia.” 

Leia giggles again. Breha is still looking when Fox looks back at her. 

— — — 

“Sometimes, it just…” Breha trails off. “....it just seems like she’s really seeing something we’re not.” 

“I know”, Bail says. “But…she always looks happy, correct?” 

Breha nods. 

“Yes”, she answers, and then pauses. “...do you think it’s because of…” 

Bail takes her hand into his. 

“Maybe”, he says, almost whispering. “Maybe. Though I…I cannot imagine what she is seeing. I’ve never heard of anything like this. Obi-Wan or Master Yoda could know, perhaps, but…” 

He cuts himself off, and shakes his head. 

“It’s too dangerous”, he says. 

Fox stares at his hands as he listens to them speak, his mind trying to catch up with what had just been said. 

They aren't all gone. The Jedi are not all gone. 

Obi-Wan Kenobi is alive.

— — — 

Fox goes to see Kenobi that night, after Leia has fallen asleep. 

It’s the middle of the day there, with two suns blaring down on the desert. Fox finds Kenobi easily enough. 

He looks like he has aged several years in just a span of one.

Fox cannot blame him. 

He watches Kenobi for a while, looking for any sign that he can see Fox. 

When none come, Fox steps closer. 

“General?” He calls. “General Kenobi?” 

Nothing. 

Fox tries not to feel disappointed. 

There’s a strange feeling then, like he is being watched. Fox turns around. 

No one around him is looking at him. 

— — — 

Fox goes to visit Cody after. 

He watches as Cody cleans his blaster, just like he always does. He looks like he usually does as well, with his helmet off, and his brows creased in a gentle, concentrated frown. 

Fox wonders what Cody would do, if Fox could tell him that Kenobi is alive. 

Perhaps it’s for the best that he can’t.

Fox returns to Alderaan, and sits on the edge of the bed. Leia makes a sound, and he hums her song to her to settle her back to sleep.

— — — 

Kids are fast. 

Much faster than they have any right to be. Leia especially, because she is still tiny.

“Leia!” Bail calls after her, as she speeds off. “Leia, slow down!” 

Fox can move a lot faster than anyone else. In less than a blink of an eye, he is in front of her, and she hastily slows herself down to a stop. 

“You heard your papa”, Fox says. “Slow down.” 

Leia has the gall to pout at him. 

Bail has now caught up to her as well, and he scoops her up. 

“What are you pouting at?” He asks her, tickling her stomach lightly. 

Leia laughs.

“Buir!” She giggles, which makes Bail stop immediately. 

He looks at Leia, looking a bit confused for a moment, and then glances towards the small garden. 

“Do you want to go see Buir?” He asks her. 

Leia turns to look back at Fox. 

“Buir”, she says. 

Bail doesn’t notice her looking, because he just nods, and starts to make his way towards the garden. Fox decides it’s for the best if he follows them. 

Bail puts her back down on the ground in front of the grave. 

“There we go”, he murmurs. “Say hello to Buir.” 

Leia frowns at the stone, and then looks at Fox. 

“Buir”, she says. She sounds rather confused now. 

Bail looks at her, and then up, straight at Fox but straight past him.

Fox makes himself smile at Leia. 

“It’s okay”, he says. He brushes his hand across the top of her head. “It’s okay, Leili’ika. Buir is right here.” 

Leia looks at him, and then reaches her hand.

“Buir”, she says. 

Fox lets her grab onto his hand. He watches as Bail looks at him, still straight past him, with a lost look full of grief in his eyes. 

Once again, Fox wishes nothing more than to be able to speak to him, make him see, make him hear him, so Fox could tell him that he is right there. 

But he cannot. 

Because even when Fox has found his place, even when Fox has found happiness, even when Fox has found a home, even when he has been granted a reason to be here. 

Even then, Fox is being punished.

[midnight-sun-01]

The Price of Truth Chapter 12

Rating: 18+ minors, this ain’t it for you, get out of here

Pairing: OC x Crosshair

Warnings: these apply to the entire work and will not appear in each chapter: alcohol use, unprotected sex, violence, canon-typical gore, swearing, let me know if I missed anything

Note: In this chapter, specifically, there is alcohol use, swearing, mentions of gore and violence, possible trauma (?) and suggestive material. It's not smut (yet. This is a slow burn.)

Wordcount: 4255

Summary: What does the batch do to unwind after a tough mission? Will Poppy be a part of that? How will their interactions change with lower inhibitions? Read on to find out.

Sorry if the formatting is weird, my computer is old so I had to get creative with posting this.

<-Previous Chapter Next Chapter ->

 “Time’s up, Wrecker!”

            “Just 5 more minutes!”

            “All the hot water is going to be gone if you stay in there for 5 more minutes! You’ve had 10 extra minutes already,” Poppy called back through the refresher door.

            “I just got in here!”

            “And now it’s time to get out,” she replied, banging her fist on the door again.

            “It’s not my fault you drew the short straw,” he answered.

            Poppy leaned her forehead against the door, sighing, and accepted defeat. She supposed she might as well try to review some footage and check in with Coltway back on Coruscant while she had the chance. Peeling herself away from the door, she headed down the hall.

            Once she was safely ensconced back in her bunk, with the lights of hyperspace travel flashing past her window, she booted up her holo and pulled up the footage she had captured.

            As the scenes she had witnessed on Geonosis flashed up on her screen, her breathing sped up. She was pleased to see that the adjustment in camera lens meant that the footage was much clearer now, but it also looked even more brutal from this angle. She could see every second of being stuck under the baking hot sun, sprinting to their ship while the insects closed in flying toward them in a solid wall in crystal clear detail. She could see the Geonosian grabbing her arm and face, Crosshair pulling it off her, and the squeeze of a trigger. Panic, fear, heat, dust, and blood all swirled through the frames, almost making her feel like she was back in that desert.

            She shook her head and rewound the frames of the footage, going back over that moment where the Geonosian had collapsed under the fatal blaster bolt. Mechanically, it was such a simple thing. Point and squeeze. Psychologically, it was anything but simple.

What did this make her now? Surely not a soldier, she wasn’t anywhere close to the level of the Batchers. A civilian? She didn’t quite feel like that either. She didn’t regret her actions, she would do it again if she had to, but she did wonder how that blaster bolt would leave its mark upon her soul in turn.

            She shot the footage over to Coltway along with a short summary of what had been happening, and was just standing up to go pound on the door of the bathroom again when her holo buzzed. Looking down, she saw it was her editor videoing her.

            “Hi Coltway,” she said in greeting, sliding up the answer button.

            “Poppy, how-“ he was partway through his sentence when he stopped dead, staring at her. “Blast, Poppy, what happened?” he demanded.

            “What do you mean?” she asked.

            “I mean I’ve just looked at the footage you sent me. Have you seen yourself since then? You look like you’ve just gone through a battle.”             “I actually haven’t seen myself yet,” she admitted. “One of my squad members likes to take his time in the shower, and it isn’t my turn yet.” She leaned back against the wall her bunk backed up to. “And, as a matter of fact, Coltway, I did just go through a battle.”

            “I can tell,” he replied dryly. They both remained silent for a moment longer before he continued in a gentler voice, “it looked terrible out there in the footage you sent. Was that Geonosis?”

            She nodded.

            “Was it as bad as it looked?” he asked quietly.

            She nodded again, tears pricking the inner corners of her eyes. She wasn’t even sure why she felt them coming as she didn’t feel particularly sad. Fighting against the pressure growing behind her eyes she said, “it was every bit as bad as it looked. The Geonosians, Coltway,” she shook her head, resting a hand on her forehead, but before she could stop them, she felt the tears fall hot and fast. “The stories about them are real. Some of them don’t think at all, they operate purely off instinct, and their instincts were screaming at them to rip us limb from limb.” She wiped her eyes and sniffed, looking back into the holo, where she saw him gazing back at her in concern.

            “Did you all make it back safely?”

            “Yeah, we all made it out of there in one piece. We almost lost one guy, but we were able to grab him and pull him onto our ship.” She cleared her throat and took a deep breath.

            Coltway nodded solemnly, watching her, then abruptly said, “I want you to come back.”

            “What?”

            “Come back to Coruscant,” he continued. “This assignment is too dangerous. I never should have sent you out there. We can send someone else.”

            “Are you kidding me?” she snapped back. “Come back? And do what, exactly? Sit around in the office all day waiting for someone to send me reports from the field? And what do you think Chancellor Palpatine and Mas Amedda would have to say about me coming back early? Or having new people assigned to this project? They asked for me, specifically.”

            “We could tell Mas Amedda that the field work was too dangerous for someone of your experience level,” Coltway argued, running a hand through his crimson hair.

            “Mas Amedda knows what my field experience is and we both know damn well he won’t accept that excuse. Plus, you want me to just abandon this? What about Ric? What about my squad?”

            “Mas Amedda will get over it eventually, it would just be a rough few months for us. Ric would understand, and you don’t owe anything to this squad,” he said heatedly.

            “No. Absolutely not. I’m not doing it,” she said stubbornly, crossing her arms. “I’ve worked my ass off to get where I am. I’m not going back just to cower behind my desk with my tail between my legs and wait for the strong menfolk to send me reports,” she said acidly. “Ric would understand, and I owe it to him. I also owe it to this squad to tell their story.”

            Coltway’s brown eyes softened, and he gave her a thoughtful look, but said nothing. Finally, he let a long breath out through his nose and said, “fine. But promise me,” he looked very hard at her, “that you will get every kind of training you can, when you can.”

            She nodded in agreement. That was more than fair, and smart.

            “I would also recommend backing up your data somewhere safe. Don’t trust just one source of encryption, and write everything down.”

            “Okay,” she agreed.

            “And replace that tiny blaster of yours.”

            The warm water cascaded down her back, washing away the dirt and grit and sweat that clung to her skin. Wrecker had finally gotten out of the refresher after an extra half hour in there, and Poppy had ducked gratefully inside, having to peel the clothes off her skin that were caked to her, the dried insect guts creating a glue. She’d decided to just throw them away, rather than trying to salvage them.

            As she rinsed soap out of her hair and ran her hands over her back, her fingers lightly grazed the scar stretching across it. Such a strange thing, to be changed so much, inside and out, in such a short time.

            She flipped off the water and toweled off, enjoying the steam that kept the room from sinking into the cold clutches of space. As she examined the cut on her cheek in the mirror that the Geonosian’s pincer had left, she thought she heard voices nearby.

            She peeked her head slightly out of the door, a cloud of steam billowing out, and her wet hair swinging with her movements. She could definitely hear Wrecker’s voice down the hall.

            “Aw, come on, it’s been long enough!” he whined.

            “If it is a matter of her longevity or grit, I would say that today certainly reinforces both,” came Tech’s voice. “I agree with Wrecker.”

            “Look,” Hunter’s even, commanding voice replied, “we don’t even know her stance on stuff like this. I don’t want to make her feel obligated, and she’s still a civilian.”

            “You didn’t see it, but she didn’t fire that blaster like a civilian today when I tackled that bug off her,” came Crosshair’s deep, even tone.

            She crept further down the hallway, stealthily coming closer.              “The worst that happens is we ask her and she says no,” Crosshair continued.

            “I can hardly believe I’m saying this, but I also agree with Crosshair,” said Tech’s voice again. “It is time the squad loosened up a bit. Let’s offer her some.”

            “Offer me some what?” said Poppy, stepping into the cockpit where they were all gathered, her wet hair clinging to her back.

            All four of her squad members jumped as she said those words. Tech stood frozen and stiff, staring at her through his goggles. Wrecker laughed nervously and looked at Hunter. Hunter scratched the back of his head and replied, “nothing, it’s just a bit of a tradition we have after some tough missions, but I’m not sure today counts.”

            “Today doesn’t count as a tough mission?” she asked incredulously. “If today isn’t a tough mission, what is?”

            “Well, it was a tough mission, but I’m just not sure it’s a good idea,” he rambled on.

            Poppy cut her eyes to Crosshair who was watching her closely. “What’s the tradition, Crosshair?”

            He leaned his Firepuncher against the wall, smirked slightly, then replied “Tech, it’s time for us to go on a little field trip.”

            10 minutes later they were all gathered at the furthest end of the ship, crammed in a small access tunnel mainly used for maintenance. Wrecker was so big he had to wait in a larger hallway.

            “Alright, you’ve all been super secretive. What’s this tradition?” she asked, leaning against a wall and eyeing them each in turn.

            In response, Tech looked at Hunter, who nodded. Crosshair squeezed past her, his back brushing her front in the close space, and her heart jumped. She ignored Hunter’s sharp gaze. Crosshair pulled a loose wall panel off, and behind it-

            “Is that what I think it is, Tech?” she asked sharply, pulling herself forward off the wall she was leaning against.

            “If you mean, is this a modified alcohol still, retrofitted to work with the cooling units condensing constantly as the ship flies, then, yes, it is what you think it is,” he replied simply.

            “Oh Maker,” she laughed, “You’re making hooch!”

            She leaned in closely to look at it. The boiler was surrounded with a large container, and had an arm attached to the top, leading to the cooling unit that came up through a distilling column, and at the bottom of the system were several large jars of clear liquid, packed carefully away. She laughed; leaning in to grab one, uncorked it, and took a whiff. It had almost no scent, except for a lingering bite of citrus, cinnamon, and pine. She groaned lightly, enjoying the simple home comfort of the smell of a drink, and turned to find the three of them watching her almost anxiously.

            “Well what are you waiting for, let’s crack these open!” she exclaimed, leading the way back to the cockpit. “Wrecker, grab the glasses!”

            “Aha yes! I knew she’d want to have a drink after all that!” his loud voice echoed back through the hallway.

            Back in the cockpit Wrecker and Poppy were already halfway through their first drinks when the other three caught up to them, bottles of liquor in their arms.

            “I can’t believe you guys thought I wouldn’t want to drink with you,” she said, grinning over at Crosshair, who grinned back at her.

            “I never had any doubt you would say yes,” he replied, taking the seat next to hers.

            “I also did not think there was much doubt,” said Tech.

            “Look, we just didn’t want you to feel obligated or uncomfortable,” said Hunter.

            “Jeez, if you didn’t want me to join in, you could’ve just said so, Hunter,” Poppy teased easily.

            “No, that’s not what I, we just, I just, look, if we had,” he spluttered incoherently while Poppy just laughed harder, Wrecker and Tech joining in her laughter. Even Crosshair gave a chuckle next to her, leaning back in his seat, perfectly relaxed. Finally, Hunter grinned reluctantly back at her. “What I’m trying to say is, I’m glad you’re part of our squad. We’re all glad.”

He filled each of their glasses with the sharp liquid, raised his own, and said “to Poppy joining us. Today was a hard day, but it’s always a good day when we all come back.”

Wrecker, Tech, and Crosshair each raised their glasses and joined Hunter in draining them. Poppy felt her throat tighten a bit, but cleared it and spoke to the table, “Thank you, truly. It means a lot for me to be here with you all.” In spite of herself she glanced sideways at Crosshair, and saw him watching her closely, a slight grin on his face.

“So are you gonna interview us next?” asked Wrecker.

“If you all would let me, yes, I’d like to hear your stories,” she responded.

“I’m up for it,” said Crosshair, surprising her.

“As am I,” Tech seconded. “I expect you to be as skilled as Ric. Though you already quite surpass him in the looks department.”

Poppy looked at him, eyes wide with shock, a slight smile on her mouth.

“Shut up, Tech,” growled Crosshair, chunking a toothpick in his direction across the table.

“It was an objective statement,” Tech replied with a sly smile in Crosshair’s direction.

“Well, thank you, Tech,” she replied, laughing again.

“That’s settled then. We’ll all do interviews,” said Hunter. “Who’s dealing first on Sabacc?”

Five rounds of Sabacc and several drinks later, and Poppy was feeling quite giggly. Crosshair had long since stretched his arm to rest across the back of her chair, and Tech had won the last three rounds of cards in a row, resulting in the current disagreement she was watching with entertainment across the table.

“You’re a cheater!” Wrecker was howling at Tech. “There’s no way you have luck that good!”

“Well, considering Sabacc is not a game of luck, but a game of skill, you are correct, I don’t have luck that good” Tech replied, pushing his goggles further up the bridge of his nose.

“You’ve won the last three hands!”

“And Crosshair won the two hands before that. Now accept the fact that I am superior at this pattern-recognition based game.”

“Deal again.”

The cards were dealt, the hands were shown, and to Poppy’s shock, she realized she had the winning hand.

“Haha, it’s me!” she said with glee, throwing down her cards triumphantly.

“This is not fair,” Wrecker muttered quietly. “I’m going to bed,” and he lumbered off down the hallway, one hand against the wall, steadying himself as he went.

“I also am going to sleep, as I should have won that hand, so I must be fairly intoxicated to have not noticed that pattern,” added Tech.

“I’m crashing too, I’m tired. I’ll see you guys in the morning,” said Hunter, and the two of them walked down the hall laughing and joking.

She looked sideways at Crosshair, suddenly aware of how alone the two of them were. She hadn’t expected this. She could see his high cheekbones up close, the thin lines of his tattoo etched around his eye. His shoulders were far broader than she had first realized, and his tall frame stretched out next to hers. If he’d wanted to, he could have easily pulled her onto his lap.

“Tech makes good liquor,” she said, to try and break the silence.

“Mmm, it is good,” Crosshair agreed, swirling some around his glass and throwing it back. “Although, I haven’t had a chance to try very many other kinds.”

“I remember this bar back on Coruscant that Ric and I used to go to,” she said. “When he got back from assignments, or you all came to Coruscant and he stopped to check in and work on our report together. The bar itself was pretty standard, except they had this one drink that they would bring to the table while it was on fire, and the flames were completely green. Ric was so brave. He would order it sometimes and he never seemed scared at all of getting burned when he drank it.” She let out a small smile and sighed deeply.

“I remember that,” said Crosshair.

“What?”

“I remember Ric telling me about those drinks, and about going to meet with you,” he said. “He always looked forward to it.”

“I felt like he was always looking forward to going off with you guys,” Poppy said, smiling at him. He met her eyes, smiling too, but there was a touch of sadness in it.

“What happened, with, you know, him,” she asked, hesitantly.

Crosshair took a deep sigh and looked away across the table, but did not withdraw his arm from where it still rested against the back of her chair.

“I, never mind, forget it, I’m sorry,” she muttered.

“We got a call to go out to the Pykes,” he said, still looking at the wall. She swiveled around in her chair to face him fully. “It wasn’t a normal mission. Normally, we get distress calls, like we did from General Kenobi. Pleas for help, requests for extraction, stealth missions, stuff like that. This was different. This came from very high up, a formal order.” He looked back at her, and she hardly dared to breathe as he continued. “I’m not positive who gave the order, but the mission directive was clear: go to the Pykes, eliminate their leaders, and extract a high value target.”

“Who could be that valuable?” she asked. “The Pykes are vicious. They’re ruthless. There’s a reason they’ve controlled the underworld for as long as they have.”

“I know, and that’s what we wondered too, but we went to Oba Diah like we were ordered.” He let out a deep sigh, and Poppy could feel his shoulders tense next to her. “Everything went according to plan when we got there. It almost went too smoothly. We got in without detection, made our way through to the Pykes prisoner block, and had almost made it to the cell door when they attacked. They came out from everywhere, we were outnumbered at least fifteen to one. It was almost like they knew we were coming and waited until they could corner us. All hell broke loose. We were getting shot at, both sides throwing grenades and yelling, smoke and fire everywhere. The Pykes weren’t going to let their prisoner go without a fight.” He glanced down, running a fingernail along the edge of the table.

 “I made my way up to a balcony so that I could have a decent vantage point to fire from, and Hunter, Wrecker, and Tech held our position. We had a chance, their line was breaking, and Ric ran for the cell door.” His voice shook slightly, and he took a steadying breath, gripping the table hard. “None of us told him to stop. We’d been in worse scrapes before, and we all thought he could make it. I was shooting down everyone in his path. He was almost to the door when one of them stepped out from behind cover. It was a stupid move for him to make, almost like he didn’t care if he died, but he aimed right at Ric and I aimed at him.” Poppy was holding her breath, not moving, watching the pain in his face show itself for the first time.

“He made his shot, and I missed.” He blew out a breath, looking up at the ceiling. “Ric got hit right in the middle of his back, and he was bleeding fast. I’ve never missed a shot in battle until that moment. My second shot got him, but it was too late.” He wiped his nose on the back of his hand.

“Wrecker grabbed Ric, another wave of reinforcements came in for the Pykes, and we had no choice but to get out of there. We were overwhelmed. We made it back to the ship, but barely, and we had to run. Hunter piloted so that Tech could work on him, but Ric died on the floor of the cargo hold. None of us could save him.”

At that moment Poppy became aware that there were tears running down her cheeks, not just at the loss of her friend, but at the pain and guilt the man sitting across from her was feeling. Hadn’t he told her before, on Kamino, that it was the sniper’s job to watch the entire squad from above and make sure no harm could come to them? Isn’t that what he had done their very first mission on Felucia, when he had fired a shot so close to her she’d smelled her burned hair? Hadn’t he mentioned to her that he had the highest accuracy rate of any known sniper in the galaxy?

Suddenly it all made sense to her. It was his job to protect the rest of the squad, when he could see the entire battle, and eliminate harm before it could ever reach them. No wonder that shot on Felucia had been so close-he had been worried about that droid getting to her, and her being unable to get away from it in time. And if he’d only missed that once, and had the highest accuracy in the galaxy, of course he felt such a personal responsibility for Ric’s death. He had failed in his responsibilities, just for a moment, and it had cost him one of the few friends he had. She wondered just how much he had suffered over this loss.

She put her hand in his, his large fingers closing around hers with a steady weight, and pulled his face to look at her with her other hand.

“It wasn’t your fault, Crosshair,” she whispered.

“How do you know?” he asked. “If I could have just made that shot. I should have made that shot.”

“It was the Pykes’ fault. Ric knew the risks. I know the risks. We’ve both accepted them. If it wasn’t one of the Pykes it could have been a Geonosian just as easily.”

He looked up at her.

“It wasn’t. Your. Fault.” She said again.

Slowly, he raised his free hand to gently stroke her cheek, careful not to scrape against her cut. She suddenly became aware of how close they were sitting to each other, nearly knee to knee, and her breath caught in her throat as her stomach swooped.

His hand moved around to the back of her head to tangle in her now-dry hair, and he slowly leaned forward, eyes on hers, almost testing to see if she was alright with this.

Just as slowly, hardly daring to breathe, she let him pull her closer, until their lips gently brushed.

It started unhurried, then, after a few seconds, she felt the kiss deepen as he pulled her more firmly toward him. It was like whiskey, like fire, it ignited her and lit her from the inside. She could feel his strong hands gripping her. She let him pull her closer, and pressed herself against him, her hands grasping his shoulders and pulling him nearer to deepen the kiss. They broke apart for a moment, his eyes searching hers, then crashed back together, a new urgency in both of them. Their lips parted, and he traced his tongue lightly across her bottom lip making her groan and pull him still closer.

As his tongue flicked over her lip again, she found herself sitting across his broad lap, both her legs straddling his, without realizing she had moved. He was so tall her feet no longer reached the floor while she was sitting on him. Her arms encircled his shoulders and she let her lips part, his tongue sweeping greedily in, the two of them locked together in a dance.

After several seconds they broke apart, both panting slightly. His fingers brushed her cheek again.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for days,” he murmured against her mouth.

She blushed deeply, but remained silent, enjoying his words and the feeling of his lips on hers. Finally, he stood and pulled her to her feet, leading her down the hallway to where their bunks were. She leaned back against her door, looking up at him, and he rested his tall frame on his forearm against the door, caging her in with his presence. She had to stop herself from pressing against him again, wanting to feel what it would be like for her to be pinned between him and the wall. He smirked down at her as if he knew exactly what she wanted.

“Thank you for pulling the Geonosian off me,” she said.

“Thank you for not letting it strangle me,” he replied.

For a moment, they said nothing, just looked at one another. Then, his hand gripped her side, and he leaned in for another long, deep kiss. When they broke apart his hand lingered, a strong, warm weight, before he finally said, “goodnight, sweetheart. See you in the morning.” Then he stepped slowly back into his room, not taking his eyes off her until she had ducked into her own bunk.

Taglist: @fangirl-goes-nova

[jediintraining]

top: Star Wars Battlefront II screencap bottom: same frames with my edits in GIMP

in other news I have been practicing gif edits and I am very proud of myself!

[jangofctts]

Are You in Or Out?

Rated: Explicit 

Word count: 11.5K yall I am SORRY

Warnings: good lord y'all here we GO-- smut, explicit language, violence and mentions of blood and gore, injuries, unprotected sex (don't be a dick, wrap that stick!), oral (m&f receiving), blindfolding, vaginal and anal fingering, vaginal and anal sex, double penetration, spit is used as lube but for the love of GOD doNT DO THAT, there are some dom vibes on Paz’s end    

Summary: The job you’re on takes a turn for the worst--Paz comes to your rescue and you're brought to the Covert. There you meet Din Djarin. though during a good natured sparring session, you’re suddenly stuck between an age old rivalry that spirals out of hand. Hopefully an agreement can be met. 

a/n: hey...how y’all doin....SO lemme explain you smthn. I said helmets must be OfF--giv me them LIPS BABEY so this is a slight AU in which mandos can see other mandos’ faces. ya get me? I also tHot that it would be nice and fun to set the timeline 5-6 years BEFORE the plot of the Mandalorian so we gots a younger din here. anyway, as always enjoy and I hope you like!!

Mistakes, mistakes, mistakes—

Some as little as burning your finger on the nozzle of a smoking blaster or tripping over your own shoelaces. Simple things. Mindless things. 

Nothing that could ever compare to the catastrophic decision of picking up bounty hunting as a reliable source of income. 

The little ones were easy—tax evaders and deserters of the Empire—most who’d yield and gladly follow without complaint just at the sight of your blaster pointed between their eyes. And the gag of it is—most of the time you never bothered to load the damn thing. 

Reckless.

An invitation for disaster. 

But skirting that precarious edge, one little slip up away from plunging head first into inevitable trouble is better than Bracca. Stars—anything is better than Bracca. There’s no glory in bounty hunting but there’s even less in ship scrapping. Abysmal pay in exchange for risking your life on rain slicked metal with only the Ibdis Maw to break your fall.  

The guild you work for is considerate—scratch that. Greef Karga is considerate. Sure the flirting is a touch unbearable but it saves your ass in the long run. All easy money bounties set aside for you in exchange for a cheap drink, hollow laughs and sugar sweet smiles. 

It’s enough credits to get by—more than plenty to rent a room and charter a ship. 

But there’s only so many bounties to capture within the limits of the guild and oh so many people the empty blaster trick works on. And so the credits begin to thin; it gets too expensive to buy off a pilot and the debate over buying food or being able to pay for your room becomes more frequent than the scraprats that skitter inside the walls.  

It’s suicide to snag a higher paying bounty because....well—these bounties shoot back. 

Whatever.

 Might as well die trying. Who knows, maybe you could score big time if you manage to pull this off. 

Maybe. 

                                                       -=-=-=-

You’re not sure who’s more surprised—Karga when you asked for the bounty or yourself when he actually gave it to you. 

“Are you sure, kid? This could—“

“End in a fiery shitshow? Yeah—I figured that,” you sigh, swirling your drink with a little complimentary toothpick. “But I need the money.” 

“Hah! You’ve got guts, girl.” He flashes you a smile and smooths down his mustache with his thumb and forefinger. “Tell you what. The last assignment was just taken but I’m sure if you run you could catch him. Work somethin’ out.”

Jumping from your seat, you throw on your coat and toss a couple credits onto the table to cover the drink. “What’s he look like?” 

“Big fellow—Mandalorian. You’ll know when you see him.”

You shout your thanks over your shoulder and hightail outta there. The landing docks aren’t far, you can see them from here. It’s finding the guy that could pose a problem.

If he hasn’t already left, you bitterly think. 

However, it seems the universe is on your side today. Karga was right. He is big. Stands out like a sore thumb against his ship that glitters dully in the overcast sky. Kinda like an oversized blueberry. A yellow and blue blueberry….not important—

“Hey! Hey, you!” You’re so close, just a couple yards away. You swear and hurry up your pace as he steps onto the loading ramp. “Big guy! Large...blue man?”

You trip over your own feet as he turns his head. Fuck—

No way are you gonna be able to bargain with this guy. Built like a fucking AT-AT and probably just as stubborn. After all, no one would ever be dumb enough to come between a Mandalorian and their quarry. You grimace, and suck in a breath—

Before a word even leaves your mouth he interrupts with a steady, unwavering;

“No.”

Your brows furrow. “I didn’t even say anything!”

“I know what you were going to ask,” he huffs, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “I work alone.”

Ok, then. You didn’t want to resort to begging, but you’re kinda running out of options here. You take a steadying breath and plant yourself at the bottom of the ramp. “C’mon man. Look—I’ll let you take seventy percent of the cut and I can—“

“You’ll let me?” He repeats, the staticky tone of his voice dropping into an edge more cutting than broken transparisteel. The metal platting on the ramp vibrates from the weight of his step to move closer; Stars it takes every fucking inch of willpower to hold your ground. “You’re lucky if I let you leave with your life. Get lost.” 

Fuckfuckfuck—you should listen. You wanna fucking run for the hills and never look back in case he comes looking to purge your name from the kriffing galaxy. You clench your jaw and steel your nerves. Too bad—you’ve dug your heels so far into this empire of dirt and false bravado that your only way out is continuing to poke the sleeping bear until he snaps your spine or caves.

You have to crane your neck to glare into that dark strip of his vizor, seeing as he’s invited himself into your personal space. “No.”  

“No?” He mocks, now toe to toe with your scuffed up boots. 

Your teeth clench, a scalding flush burning through your cheeks and all the way down to your chest. He’s toying with you—finding amusement in your stubbornness and apparent lack of braincells for challenging him. “You don’t scare me.” 

The man hums, a deep purr that rumbles through his entire ribcage as he raises his gloved hand. You curse yourself for flinching because surely he’s about to crush your skull like a fucking grape, but no. All he does is fix your rumbled collar then pat your cheek.     

“I don’t need the extra baggage.”

“I’m not baggage,” you sneer, slapping his hand away. “I can handle myself.” 

“With an empty blaster?” He points out, tipping his head to the side. “Your parlor tricks won’t do you any good on this job.”

“I’m a good shot!” You sputter, placing your hands over you hips and mustering up your best glare. “W-when I have ammo…” 

“Right.”

Meeting Paz Vizsla, could have gone far better, to put it into the most simplest of words. Jagged and hard to settle into a routine around each other for the journey to Nar Shaddaa in a tiny, old, and cramped freighter ship. Most cycles you have to wedge yourself beside a cargo crate to sleep. In addition to that, how it’s able to break through the atmosphere let alone fly is beyond you—an entire mystery on its own.       

At least you’re able to sit in the spare seat inside the cockpit—one of the only places available to stretch your legs. The only problem is that it’s also where Paz Vizsla likes to lurk (well, not lurk—it’s his ship and it’s where he can comfortably fit but—to each their own). 

There’s a net of tension still woven between you—each interaction like tiptoeing over eggshells. Though, like all things, it becomes simpler. There’s not exactly any ongoing conversations—you don’t want to pry into a life you know nothing about—it’s not your business despite the cumulation of questions that linger in the back of your mind. You know when to take a hint—not every person is willing to indulge you about their livelihood, and surely not something as secretive and well guarded as the Mandalore.  

Familiarity is what you want to call it. Comfortable with each other’s presence with small talk speckled in throughout the never-ending vastness of hyperspace. Compared to the infinite turmoil in your life, slippery footholds and uncertainty—Paz Vizsla is steady. In a way— predictable and safe in the confines of this ship.       

You’d even go as far as to label him kind, a friend maybe—if you look past the grumpiness and rather poor taste in corny jokes. You know it’s stupid, no doubt stemming from the deep ache of loneliness that comes hand in hand with staking it out on your own in the galaxy; but you can’t help but wish that this could be a new normal. Not some once in a lifetime thing where you both part ways, fade into the recesses of memory and leave it at that. 

If things go well—and rarely do they on a job—maybe you’d pluck up enough courage to ask him if you could stay. There’s no harm in it…right?

                                                 -=-=-=-

Well—the cynical part of you was right.

It did end up in a fiery shit show. 

Turns out the stupid quarry you’d been tracking excelled in long range weaponry. A former marksman for the Empire to be exact. Guess that tidbit of information wasn’t pertinent. A need to know sorta thing, if you will. 

You feel the molten bolt of plasma connect with your side before your ears pick up the sound of a weapon firing, like a crack of lighting in the empty alleyway. And before your body even connects with the duracrete, Paz is returning fire. A brilliant neon red against the hazy blur of shadowy buildings.  

Kinda weird how knocking the back of your head hurts worse than the literal blaster wound burned into your side. Shock maybe. Or the heat from the plasma cauterized each veins and artery it tore through and ate away at flesh and nerves. Hm…          

You’re sprawled in a wet pool of something—either your own blood or a puddle of stagnant gutter water and damn—you’re wearing your favorite shirt.

It doesn’t matter at this point…

You’re choking on your own air from the big ass hole blasted into your diaphragm, so to say things are looking grim is an understatement.  

Nar Shaddaa isn’t your first choice to kick the can on, but hey—not everyone gets the luxury of dying on Naboo. And just as you’re ready to slip away into that sweet, sweet abyss, it seems your fellow armored friend has other plans. 

The beskar is freezing against your cheek after he deadlifts you off the duracrete—you remember that plain as day. That and the hushed rumble of Paz’s voice insisting you save your dwindling supply of air instead of apologizing to him—or ordering you to stay alive for kriff’s sake. It’s impossible to argue with Paz—like trying to bite through durasteel, and while those beckoning tendrils of eternal slumber are mighty tempting, you cling to your life with all the strength you have left. After all, inconveniencing someone with a corpse is such a party foul to the highest degree.    

The rest is muddled—like dredging up silt and clay in a murky river that just leaves you with a pounding headache between your eyes. It’s a terrible mess of pain and bouts of temporary consciousness, mistaken with fever dreams and yup—more pain. The only consistent is Paz—hovering nearby or settled beside you—through thick and thin as you heal. 

There’s no solid reason your brain can conjure as to why he brought you to the Covert—it’d have been easier to just dump you at the nearest hospital and be done with it. You’re not his responsibility and you’re too afraid to ask what it means. Too many possibilities—too many answers you aren’t in the mood to face or untwist.     

And so you leave it be, set aside for another time—which brings you to the present day…        

You’re splayed over your little makeshift cot, feet propped up on a spare pillow as you scour through a cheesy Coruscanti gossip magazine. It’s years old—the only piece of entertainment you could find other than a weapon in the Covert. And seeing as a massive hole had been blasted through your ribcage, picking up the clever art of throwing vibroblades or shooting targets to pass the time was out of the question.   

Even if you’d rather fall into a Sarlaac pit than stare at the wall for hours on end yet again—it hasn’t been all that bad. It’d taken weeks before you regained enough strength to sit up on your own, let alone walk—and walking is putting it lightly. It was more of a stiff legged shuffle better suited on a two hundred year old woman seconds from disintegrating into dust at the mere hint of a breeze.  

Not to mention—your right lung was all but shredded. Ripped apart from the plasma bolt and miraculously reconstructed by a more than questionable bacta tank, hopeful thoughts and well wishes. To this very day you still sound like a broken air filter. 

Eh.    

Could be worse. 

At least you aren’t dead. 

Just another setback that adds on the growing pile of reasons why never to leave the Covert. Free food, free board and mild entertainment to top it off. Paz had stayed at your bedside for the most part while you recovered—stuck with babysitting your sorry ass until you regained a bit of mobility. The times Paz hadn’t been at your side to stave off the boredom, it was up to you to find your own fun. 

Snooping is what Paz had labeled it—but you saw it more as an adventure. You met Din Djarin exploring (lost is what you actually were) in the dimly lit underbelly of Nevarro, after all. Yes, you may have scared the ever loving shit out of the poor guy and yes, he may have singed off your brows with a five foot jet of fucking fire—but hey. No one got hurt.        

And you made a new friend. Sorta…Din is difficult to read, subtler in his soft spoken words and quiet demeanor. A bit like a skittish loth-cat at the start, but nowadays it’s not uncommon to find him lounging in the same space as you or hovering over your shoulder, awfully curious in whatever it is you choose to do. Like Paz, Din isn’t overly fond of sharing much information about himself but he never complains after you regale tales of your own vastly fascinating past. He seems interested enough—tilts his head a tick to the right when you speak to indicate that yes, he’s listening despite the unforgiving dark line of his visor.      

There are others in the Covert too—some so elusive you have a hard time believing they exist. Shadows of what they once were before the rise of the Empire. And so, you count yourself lucky that you’d been introduced to two others—Aeris Fenn, a young man nearly as tall as a Wookie, and a woman named Ives Arrey; her armor a flashy green—damn near florescent in the light. 

They’re nice enough company. Aeris is a chatterbox, his wit sharper than a blade but lacking in any forethought before he speaks. Ives is the far opposite—rolls each sentence in her mouth before she voices it, but in no way is she angelic. Maker—you’d bet your entire left asscheek she’s behind each bad decision and silly shenanigans Aeris sticks his nose into. He never learns—not after a harsh chiding or cuff around the helmet from Paz or the Armorer could dampen is childlike enthusiasm or steer him away from repeating the same mistake over and over.  

Though if you read one more kriffing sentence of this garbage magazine you’re about to invite chaos himself to entertain you. Good thing too because just as you sit up to find the red armored Mandalorian—Paz rounds the corner and steps into your little broom closet that hardly passes for a room. 

“Paz!” You greet, tossing the magazine over your shoulder. “Please tell me we’ll be doing something interesting or else I might start ripping my hair out. Or maybe commit a heinous crime—haven't decided yet.”      

Paz grunts and shakes his head. “You’ll be doing neither. But today we’ll be sparing—hopefully that will curve your boredom.”

You scrunch up your face. “Sparring? Er, no thanks—I choose life.” 

“You breathe funny since your injury,” he says, jabbing a finger between your ribs. “And all you’ve been doing lately is laying around.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you sneer, tucking your arms over your chest. “Didn’t realize I was supposed to be running laps with half a lung.”

“It’s like stretching a muscle, you need to gain your strength back.” He retorts. “This will be good for you.” 

You groan and flop back into bed. “I don’t wanna. I was pretty much dead like three cycles ago—cut me some slack, man.”

There’s a brief silence as if he’s mulling over your words, but he’s stubborn. You crane your head to look at him as he says your name with a deep sigh attached to it.   

“Truthfully, I’m surprised you’ve survived this long.” He says it quietly, fragile even, like he’s still expecting you to tip over and die on the spot. You very well might.  

You huff. “Wow. Thanks, Paz.” 

You feel his heavy stare through the helmet. “What happened to you that night was a mistake. It wasn’t preventable but the least I can do is teach you basic selfdefense.”  

You gripe out your complaints but you know you’ve been beat—and well, a bit of your agreement is based on guilt. 

Damn it.  

                                                     -=-=-=-

It’s weird to see Paz without his heavy duty gear—like seeing him naked or a crab without a shell. The only piece he continues to wear is his helmet and padded gloves and under clothes, but it’s still weird. Strange enough that it shocks you tongue into remaining still instead of bitching about this. 

He leads you to a wing of the Covert you’ve yet to discover and ushers you through the doorway. The floor is padded, a bit smaller than you expected and already occupied by none other than Aeris Fenn. 

It’s a whole other kriffing shock to the head seeing him without the plates and layers of fabric and beskar too. The armor makes him bulkier—fuller and much more intimidating. Now, with only his black underclothes on, Aeris could be the spitting image of a sentient tree. Willowy limbs that stick out like branches as he stretches on the padded mat. He lazily swings his head around as you greet him, his face still covered by the black beskar painted with streaks of red. 

“So you choose sparring over knife throwing?” Aeris snorts. “And to think I thought of you as a friend.” 

“You think I chose to be here?” You say, grumpy and still upset at the choice of activity. Really, a brisk walk around the Covert would’ve been fine.

Aeris shrugs. “Ah, and I see you’ve roped in my favorite vod. Tch, he uses his fists instead of his words to teach. I wish you luck—you’ll need it.”      

You open your mouth to retort but Paz beats you to it. 

“Leave.” 

“I’ve just arrived, actually,” Aeris scoffs, folding his torso over his other leg to stretch. “Perhaps you could reschedule. After all—our guest is quite free most days.” 

Welp—you’re perfectly fine with that. Problem solved. 

You spin on your heel and make a break for it but Paz snatches your wrist and pulls you back to his side. “Aeris.”  

“Paz,” Aeris mocks, tipping his helmet to the side. 

Paz exhales, a long, tired sound and grovels out another plea in clipped Mando’a. Aeris languidly stands and brushes off imaginary dust from the front of his pants. “Sorry, what was that? I don’t understand your accent.” 

“Boy—“

“No, no, it’s alright.” Aeris sighs, waving his hand in a mopey display as if he were told that his birthday party were canceled for the fifth year in a row. “I’d have trouble speaking too if my enormously thick head were cooped up in that little bucket of yours all day.”  

You wince. 

In the time you’ve known Paz Vizsla, he’s never been one to launch into rash decisions fueled by anger—he lets it simmer and build like an oncoming storm over the ocean. Devastating once it reaches land.

Aeris bobs his head and inspects his black leather glove, picking at a loose thread on the inseam over the thumb. He clicks his tongue. “Or'dinii—you’re going to kill her.”  

Your offended scoff is ignored as Paz steps forward; jutting his chin up to even out the few inches Aeris holds over the man. “You still haven’t learned to shut your mouth, boy.” 

The tension surges and crackles like a volt of electricity through the air—unresolved and ready to ignite with the sparking embers of Paz’s growing irritation. It’s not a fight Aeris Fenn will win. He’s volatile and hotheaded—but his expertise is in long range weaponry. Precise, deadly and swift—not whatever this little pissing match is heading towards.    

Aeris clicks his tongue as Paz digs a fist into the black fabric of his shirt. Paz yanks him forward, the metallic clink of their helmets colliding an unpleasant scrape that pierces your eardrums. Aeris snarls out sharpened words in Mando’a as his willowy fingers shoot up to curl beneath the lip of Paz’s helmet. 

In the blink of an eye, Paz lifts Aeris up by his collar and launches him across the room like he weighs nothing more than a couple of down pillows. His helmet meets the wall with a resounding clank, chipping some of the red paint outlining the visor. Ouch. 

Like a kicked dog, Aeris clambers to his feet, still dazed and swaying and for a fearful second you think he’ll retaliate. But with whatever braincells he happens to possess today—he instead spits out a venomous curse that even yourself would hesitate to repeat. He leaves without another word, bristling with rage. 

Your flash Paz a questioning stare. “The hell was that about?” 

Paz waves it away with an irritated grunt. “His heart is in the right place but he is young. Aeris doesn’t understand his place in the Covert yet and I doubt he will for years to come.” 

You frown. “Poor guy…” 

Paz mutters something under his breath. “Enough distractions. We’ve wasted enough time already.”

“Y’know…I think that’s enough excitement for today. I think I’ll be going now—“ Your last ditch attempt at weaseling out of this is quickly thwarted the moment you turn your back.  

You wheeze as the heel of Paz’s palm shoves into your shoulder blade, the force of it sending you stumbling to the ground. “Paz—“

“Go on. Hit me,” he orders. You squeak, narrowly avoiding the well aimed kick that skims the top of your scalp. 

You scramble to your feet, skirting out of range of the oncoming right hook. “So you attack me instead?” 

“How do you expect to catch quarries who are bigger than you?” He presses. You hiss as the points of his knuckles dig into the meat of your shoulder. 

You dance out of reach and rub your arm, a dull throb flaring up in the muscle. “I dunno—electrocute them?”

“Not if they take you by surprise.” 

You screech as his knuckles skim your cheek. Adrenaline pierces you veins and you wildly throw a flaky punch that wouldn’t even impress a toddler. He catches your fist with ease, his entire hand dwarfing your clenched fingers. “You can do better than that.” 

You snarl and struggle to rip your hand back. “I’m a scrapper. I don’t fight.”

“No,” he retorts. You fall onto your ass as he abruptly lets go of your hand. “You’re a bounty hunter.” 

You roll your eyes. “Hardly—why can’t I just stay here?”

Although there’s nothing to see with that swatch of black covering his eyes, you can certainly feel the look he’s giving you. A deep sigh hisses through the vocoder. “You can stay here—“

A triumphant smile splits across your face—

“—but not without contributing where it’s due.”

You puff up your cheeks and let out a dismayed stream of air. “Booo—lame.”

He sighs again and helps you off the floor. “Even if you leave the Guild, what I’m teaching you is helpful.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say. “I’ll give you a call after I use your invaluable skills to beat up some thug.”

Paz ignores your comment and turns on his heel. “Let’s go through it again. This time use your front two knuckles instead of your whole fist.”

As your eyes land over the stretch of tight fighting fabric over his back an idea pops into your head. It’s a petty move but getting a punch in is fruitless—like trying to beat up a brick wall. You don’t fancy a broken hand and your knuckles are already bruised and swollen to the point where it’s hard to bend them. 

And so, without any forethought and with a running head start, you launch yourself onto him, your arms coiling around his neck. It does the job—takes him by surprise and makes him tip to the right. 

Aha! Yes!

Your reign of victory is short lived, however—

He latches onto your forearms strung around his neck and yanks. And much in the same way he threw Aeris like a sack of potatoes—you’re no different. For a short stretch of time that feels kriffing endless; you soar through the air, your directional whereabouts violently ripped out beneath you and equally nauseating in the same breath. 

Why you ever agreed to this—you don’t know.   

Your shoulder blade connects with the mat first, leaving behind a dull sting as you roll and tumble with uncontrollable momentum. Oh, yeah—you’ll feel that in the morning. 

Groaning, you thank the Maker that your body eventually settles into a miserable little pile of limbs and pain. But, it seems whatever higher power that lingers in the edges of the galaxy hasn’t decided to put you out of your misery just yet. 

A bulky shadow blocks out the dim lighting overhead, and for a brief anxiety ridden moment you’re afraid it’s Paz. You roll onto your back with a pathetic groan, a beg for mercy on the tip of your tongue—but as your eyes flutter open they’re met with an entirely different man. 

Din Djarin looms over you, his head cocked to the side as you blink in dumbfounded bewilderment. Ah, hell— 

You swallow, a furious heat bitting at your cheeks. “Uh…fine weather we’re having…”

“We’re inside,” he states with a brief glance up to the ceiling. 

You purse your lips. “Huh.”

With a pensive hum he offers his hand, you sigh and roll over, accepting his gloved hand. He hoists you up easily and adjusts your rumpled collar. “You ok?”

“Pfft, yeah,” you groan, rubbing your throbbing shoulder. “Never better.”

The low grumble of your name is a cross between disbelief and irritation. Din jerks his head, his attention zeroing in on Paz. “Are you trying to kill her?” 

“She isn’t made of glass.” 

“She is still recovering—“

Normally you’d intervene, but their bickering is tiring and it gives you the excuse to lie down. By the time one of them caves you’ve counted exactly one hundred and twelve weird ceiling stains. They should get that checked out.  

“Very well,” Paz snarls, cutting through your wandering thoughts. “You teach her.” 

Din scoffs, his shoulders drawn tight as he stomps over to your splayed out self. “Get up.”

“Geez, fine,” you grumble, not in the mood to test his patience further. “Since you asked so nicely.”

Later he’ll no doubt apologize but right now? He has to prove a point. Din cuts right to it, moves in close to place your clenched fists in the right stance and nudges at your feet until they’re a bit wider than hip distance. 

“You have to get in close with a bigger opponent,” he says, stepping into your space until your fists are close enough to touch his chest. “We don’t have much range here—easier to break our guard too.” 

“Right. And how would you suggest I do that?”

“You’re always beating me at cards.” Din says, tipping his head to the side. “You have a clever mind. Use it.” 

“But I always cheat.” You point out, dropping your guard to swat at a stray hair.   

He catches your wrists and returns them to where they ought to be. “Quick enough to get away with it.” 

You make a noise of uncertainty but do as you're told. Din takes a couple steps back and with a rough order you begin. 

He’s faster than Paz—bats at your guard in quick bursts and steps away when you attempt to hit back. It’s a dance almost—somehow elegant in its brutality of bruises and flashes of pain as you move around one another. Compared to Din, Paz is almost clumsy but unpredictable. Din—despite the rapidness of his attacks and evasiveness, becomes predictable.

He steps to to left—you follow. He rocks onto his toes to jab his fist forward and that’s where you find a break. Punching Din’s helmet won’t do you any good but catching the juncture of his shoulder with your elbow is completely feasible. Too bad that you’re not the only one with a clever mind.        

Din uses the momentum of your attack to catapult you to the ground—his own body rolling with you in order to capture you in a headlock of sorts. This sucks. After this you’ll never be setting foot in this Maker forsaken room again. 

Din tightens his elbow that’s looped around your throat as you squirm and flail, trapped against his chest. He grunts as your elbow digs into his ribs but holds steady and snakes his free arm across your front, pinning your limbs to your body in an unbreakable vice. All mobility is cut off as his knee pushes between your thighs, locking your leg out into an uncomfortable and frankly quite awkward angle. 

Inhaling a shaky breath, you arch as the crown of his helmet skims along the curve of your throat; the bite of beskar frigid and startling against your flushed skin. You can see his visor out of the corner of your eye; glittering and dark like the polished obsidian on Black Spire and endless like the greedy maw of a black hole. 

Your breath hitches as he shifts and curls his head closer to your ear. His voice rumbles low and deep through his chest and vibrates against the delicate cartilage. “Yield.” 

However much your pride wrestles with the sensible part of your brain, it’s all for naught as you jerk your head in defeat.  

In retrospect you should’ve said something—used your voice or made some kinda sound because suddenly Din’s forearm digs alarmingly hard into your windpipe. He read the stuttered jerk of your head as another pitiful act of defiance but no. Nope. 

Here you are—asphyxiating.   

Not exactly what you had in mind, being strangled by a Mandalorian and all—but a chokehold where you could very well die was not it. 

Fuzzy darkness begins to shade the corners of your vision, lightheadedness and a curious warmth that prickles down your spine settling low in your belly. A raspy gasp manages to slip through your blocked off airway, and stars why does this feel good?   

“Din—”

Paz’s sharp bark is distant above the ringing in your ears and it all stops.

You gulp in air that burns your throat like refined fire whiskey—hunched over the mat as a large palm rubs soothing circles over your upper back. You cough and roll over, sounding like a dying animal run over by a speeder then hit with a spiked club to polish it off. 

You’re quickly herded into Paz’s arms and pulled into his lap. Still wheezing and attempting to recover lost oxygen, whatever Din is trying to say translates into an indiscernible hum against the ringing in your ears.  

“I’m fine,” you mutter, though neither of them care to listen. Like bristling wolves, snapping at each other’s heels.  

“Apologize to her,” there’s not so much as a centimeter of room to argue. “Now.”           

It’s nice of Paz you suppose—defending your honor and what not, but you’re not a vengeful person. It was an honest mistake and you want to explain that so Din quits looking like a kicked puppy, yet the sudden touch over your ankle stops you. All the times Din has initiated contact it’d been a friendly pat to your shoulder or ruffling you hair, and while touching your ankle isn’t exactly scandalous it’s certainly an odd place to put your hand on. 

Your fingers clutch Paz’s shirt as you eye the man lingering at the bottom of your feet, his gloved thumb unconsciously rubbing patterns into the exposed skin between your boot and your pant leg. “Cyare—I’m sorry.” 

You blink and lick your lips. Interesting. “I-I don’t know what that word means.”

His hand inches higher, resting on the swell of your calf. “Sweetheart…darling…loved one—“ 

There’s a shift—a dark undercurrent that none of you should be dipping your toes into. There’s a million and one things to say or do to sever this at the root, but are you going to? Nah. 

Din’s thumb now rests over your knee, goosebumps following in his wake. “Should I keep going?” 

It too hot—stuffy with both of their heavy stares locked on your flushed face. You squirm and glance up at Paz who only offers an impassive stare. Great.   

“I can make it up to you,” Din continues, his hand stationary—a warm weight even through the fabric of your pants. “If you let me.” 

Your mouth feels drier than the desert on Jakku. This…nothing good could come out of what Din is hinting at. This is uncharted territory—launching yourself into the great unknown without any idea of what’ll fester and grow if you agree. 

It’s not like it hasn’t crossed your mind—it’s just…it’s never been both of them at the same time. These men are short-tempered, an open flame to jet fuel with deeply seated ire woven into the very fabric of their beings. You’ve barely scratched the surface on the inner workings of their mutual hostility, but you’re bright enough to question if this will make it worse. Tinder and brittle twigs feeding and enabling the hungry flames of rivalry to spiral and consume with chaotic brilliance of a dying star—

But, oh—

Isn’t it worth taking the risk? 

You suck in a grounding breath and slowly extend your leg that Din touches, gingerly skimming the toe of your shoe along the inseam of his inner thigh. “H-how would you…make it up to me?”

Din preens at your answer and shuffles closer, lifting your legs so that they rest in his lap. Devotion drips off his words like a fine liquor as he toys with the laces on your boots. “Anything—say it and it’s yours.”    

Sparks of molten heat race down your spine and metastasize in your lower belly, spreading through each vein and artery like a some sort of invasive ivy. You spare a look up at Paz as he shifts.      

“Go ahead, girl,” Paz assures. “Answer him.” 

It’s an unspoken, buzzing sort of thing like the static air before a storm, crackling and surging with pent up energy. You all know the implications of what’s to come—but it’s your words, quiet and steady that irons that nail into your coffin.

“Take me like you mean it.” 

The next few moments pass in a dizzying blur, a mess of anticipation as your shoes are yanked off, your pants following soon after and tossed into some unknown corner of the room. Paz helps you out of your shirt, a shiver wracking through your body from the chill, leaving you bare save for your underthings. Yet the warmth that seeps through his shirt and his hands that linger over your ribcage do a lovely job at making up for the cold.

Din shuffles closer and brings his fingers up to cup the side of your face, lowering his head to rest the crown of his helmet on your forehead. “Wanna touch you.” 

Your breath hitches as Paz’s hands sweep up your torso, cupping and kneading your breasts. “Y-you already are touching me, Din." 

Paz snorts as the rough leather of his gloves scrape over your skin and unhook your bindings. You hardly hear Din over your own whine as Paz rolls your hardened nipples between a forefinger and thumb. 

“I want to feel you—without the gloves,” Din clarifies, fighting to keep your attention on him. “Will you let me?”  

Maker that shouldn’t even be a question. You moan out your approval, delighted that both of them decide to slip off the padded fabric. Din touches your bare thigh the same moment Paz returns his hands to your tits and it’s exhilarating. The rasp of their bare palms against your flesh is addicting—something so foreign and warm compared to their usual armor and thick layered clothing. 

You arch into Paz’s hand as it curls around the base of your throat, a tentative pressure but still heavy. “You’d let us do anything, wouldn’t you? Needy little thing.”

“Yes,” you croak, already debauched and falling apart at the seams. “Anything.”

You’re all too happy to fade away in the embrace of the larger man but the other participant is far from letting that slide. Din grabs your hand, guiding it towards the front of his trousers, the drawstrings already loose and easy to pull aside. He groans and twitches as your fingertips flirt along his navel, then curl over the waistband, tugging his pants the rest of the way down to pool around his knees. 

You reach for the already impressive outline of his cock pressing against his boxers, but Paz cupping your cunt through your underwear just before you touch Din is distracting. You gasp and arch as Paz digs the heel of his palm against your clit, electrifying ecstasy zipping down your spine with each touch. 

There’s a twinge of guilt after Din huffs and drags your limp wrist back to his cock, this time encouraging you to palm him by guiding your actions with his own hand until you lazily oblige. Din’s quiet grunts, gravely against the vocoder do nothing but throw more jet fuel to the fire inside your belly. The growing urge to actually touch him gnaws and corrodes the forefront of your brain. With a firm yank his boxers are quick to join his trousers and Maker—

Fuck—

Will he even fit?

Din is thick, rosy brown and flushed at the tip and beginning to curl towards his bellybutton. A bead of liquid shines at the tip, dribbling down the underside as he wraps his fist around the base of his length. He gives himself a languid stroke before he, once again, reminds your hand of what it’s supposed to be doing. Din is searing in your palm, molten and stiffening to hardened steel in your grip.   

“You look so fuckin’ pretty like this,” Din hisses as his head rolls back onto his shoulders. “S-so pretty holding my cock.”

Your desperation tears at your insides, insatiable and Maker— you wanna taste him. You want to hear every little stuttered moan and feel each twitch of his hips as he claims your mouth as his own.    

But before you’re able to ask Din if he’d be willing to fuck your throat, Paz grips your knee and slings your leg over his thigh, murmuring praise as he peels off your underwear. Paz’s hand snakes down to your pussy and runs two thick fingers through your already slick cunt, then delicately parts your folds. 

It’s like a fucking bomb going off as his thumb grazes over your swollen clit. His forearm locks tight around your waist, keeping you in place as you arch and tremble. Paz is feather light and teasing, as he strokes over the little bundle of nerves in a painstakingly slow rhythm. 

“Paz—“ 

He nudges your cheek with his helmet and chuckles. “You’re so sensitive, vaar’ika. Such lovely noises too.”  

Paz trades in his light touches for using his two fingers instead. They form a relaxed ‘v’ shape, trapping your clit in between the digits as he massages in a steady up and down motion. You cry out, every nerve shocked and flooded with saccharine pleasure, shoving you so treacherously close to that precarious edge of release.      

You have no fucking chance as a different set of fingers, leaner in length but just as bulky, carefully prod at your entrance. Din’s pointer finger slides into your cunt, quickly adding a second as your core clenches and stretches for him. The dual sensations over your clit and Din’s fingers steadily pumping and curling inside you send you hurling into that dazzling white-hot pleasure.     

Throwing your head back, you cry out—a jumbled mess of their names or just nonsense— pleasure crackling out from your core and all the way down your legs. Your cunt tightens like a vice around Din’s digits, your legs twitching as your high dips into prickly overstimulation. You whine, and swat at Paz’s hand, Din pulling out his own fingers a moment later and wiping your wetness on the inside of your thigh. 

Your head rests in the crook of Paz’s shoulder as your breath fans across the side of his helmet, fogging up the metal where the blue paint is chipped and scraped away. The shirt he wears smells a bit like sweat but the underlying scent of him is comforting—worn leather and something crisp, like fresh laundry. You don’t mean for the words to slip out—

You know better than that, but everything feels muddled and silly and, and, and—

“I wish I could kiss you.”  

It’s like dousing ice cold water on a pile of smoldering coals. A silence, petrifying and like the inhale before jumping off a cliff and into a rocky sea, ensues. Stupid, stupid, stupid—  

Paz shatters the fragile suspense with a rich laugh that burns away all the icy worry making itself a home in your ribcage. He moves his arm up, his fingers gripping your jaw to fix your gaze onto the other Mandalorian. “You want his mouth on you too?”  

You whimper and nod, but it isn’t enough. 

“Use your voice vaar’ika,” Paz hums, pressing the crown of his helmet against your cheek. “Tell us want you want.” 

“I-fuck—” Paz’s fingertips sneak up your torso, rough callous catching deliciously on your skin. “I wan’t your mouth on me. B-both of you.” 

Paz chuckles and releases his hold on your chin. “You’ll have to be blindfolded, sweet girl.”

Din scoffs, a harsh crackle through the vocoder. “Like she’d want to see your face anyway.”

“Please,” you mewl, turning your head to curl into Paz’s neck. It’s not ideal, but it’s a sacrifice you’re willing to make. “I don’t care. I need—“

“Patience, little one,” Paz purrs, rubbing up and down your bare sides in a soothing manner. All it does is stoke the flames. “You’ll get what you want.” 

Paz shifts, reaching for your abandoned shirt and stars—

You can feel his cock, firmer then tempered durasteel and poking into your lower back. Oh, hell—these men are going to ruin you. 

You’re nudged forward, your vision going dark once your shirt is securely tied around your head. The knot traps a few hairs that pull sharp against your scalp but the measly pain is worth it. Oh so worth it.  

“Is it too tight?” You hear Din ask, concern lacing his gravely vocals. 

You wave your hand in dismissal. “S’fine.”

“Cant see anything either, right?” 

You squirm, your patience spreading thin. “Din, please.”

“Fine.” There’s no bite to his tone and under different circumstances you’d have more composure. Acknowledge that they’re putting their religion, their whole being into your hands—a fragile trust that could so easily be shattered. 

Your ears pick up their subtle movements, their helmets landing onto the thin mat with soft thunks. With bated breath you wait for them to jump into action, seize every spare moment to taste your skin and breathe the same air. But—

“You need a haircut, vod.”

“And you need to shave.” Retorts Din with bitter indignation. 

“It’s hardly even stubble.” He chortles. You giggle and twist away as he scrapes his prickly cheek up and down your neck. “Besides—she likes it.” 

There’s another lull, and with the blindfold everything is amplified—the quick and quiet breathing of Din on your right and the slide of fabric against skin as Paz shifts. Your attention is captured by Din’s bare palm, warm and calloused like weathered leather left out in the afternoon sun. He caresses the outside of your thigh in smooth, longing strokes, enraptured by the softness of your skin. You whimper and let your leg fall open, exposing more of your thigh for his curious exploration. 

The sudden touch on your cheek is jarring. You know Paz is there—it’s not an easy thing to forget the solid chest you’re leaning against but it’s hard to focus. Difficult to settle on one thought before it slips away like grains of sand between a clenched fist. Paz’s touch is heavier than Din’s, ambitious and greedy but…mindful. Even as his fingers spread along your jaw and drag you into a deep, mouthwatering kiss. It’s…stars—   

There’s nothing that can describe this. No word that could ever hold a candle up to the way his lips, plush and soft, move against yours. His nose brushes against your cheek as he tilts his head and deepens the kiss, his warm tongue sliding against the seam of your bottom lip. 

You whine and bury your hand into his hair as Paz groans, a low rumble in his throat. You wonder what color it is, but carding your fingers through the curls atop his head suffices for now.

Your curiosity is abruptly ended as Din’s hand snakes around your forearm. You’re forcibly yanked away, only to be met with another pair of lips. Din murmurs an apology at the sting of his teeth bumping into your upper lip, but the pain is hardly the first thing on your mind. 

Din’s kiss is devouring—  

Scalding and bright—the galaxy, a thousand suns, all there ever will be and all that ever was. The way his lips move against yours is a devastatingly sharp contrast to the steady, syrupy sweet kiss Paz offers. Desperate and eager to surround you in his own arms—steal away any lingering thought and replace it with him. Din Djarin—  

You gasp as Din’s teeth nibble and pull on your bottom lip, only a moment before he surges closer, wrapping his hand around your jaw to hold it open as he licks deep into your mouth. Breaking for air, Din tangles his fingers into your hair at the base of your neck and yanks, baring the column of your throat. His travels down, the tender kisses morphing into teasing nips and lingering sucks that’ll turn into tender bruises in the morning. 

Din hovers over your breasts, his heated breath and cooling saliva the catalyst to the goosebumps that rush over your skin. He lightly tugs on your nipple using his teeth, then plants a sweet kiss over your sternum.   

“Can I taste you?” Din murmurs, his lips ghosting over your flesh. “Maker—wanna put my mouth on you.” 

“Din—“ A different set of lips latching onto the juncture of your neck and hijacks your train of thought. Wipes your mind clean until Paz is the sole thing you can consciously focus on. 

Paz laves his tongue over the shell of your ear and urges you to lean back against him once more. Your nose scrapes against his stubble as you tuck your head into the crook of his neck, his hips lazily rolling his hardened cock into your backside. 

“Or…” Paz rumbles, capturing your hand and interlacing your fingers with his. You marvel at the sheer size of his palm—astounded still when he leads his and your hands to palm his cock. “I could give you this. Fuck your pretty little cunt until you’re screaming for me.”

It’s a punch to the gut. Why the fuck do you have to choose? You squirm as Din points his tongue over your nipple then sucks it into his mouth. 

Working through the fog in your head, the answer is clearer than fucking crystal. Because who in their right mind would turn down a Mandalorian’s request to eat you out? Not you, that’s for sure. “Din—want your mouth.”

Din huffs in triumph and slips between your legs that part to accommodate his broad shoulders, leaving no patch of bare skin untouched and worshiped. You shiver as his tongue circles around your bellybutton then retreats. Din settles his head beside your knee and mouths a kiss there.  

You whine his name and buck your hips, heart beating wildly in your ears. The teasing is unbearable and, stars—if he doesn’t start now— 

He nibbles on the inside of your thigh, laving his warm tongue over each mark he leaves behind, buffering the sting of his teeth. Din snake his hands under your ass, hooking your knees over his shoulders as he heaves your cunt closer to his mouth. Din’s thumbs part your soaking pussy, his breath hot fanning over your cunt. His tongue his scalding—like liquid velvet as he dips the tip of his tongue from the base of your slit all the way up to your clit. 

Din sucks on the little bundle of nerves, rolling his tongue until you’re crying out, molten pleasure zipping through you. He grunts as your fingers tangle into his hair—fuck. Fuck, you need more.   

Arching into his mouth, all thoughts are obliterated; nothing but the warmth of his tongue, and his lips, devouring you as if he were a man seconds from death and you’re his saving grace. That frenzied desperation lingers on the edges of his movements like he’s afraid you’ll fade into smoke—but you’re not going anywhere. Not even a million credits could convince you to push Din’s head away. 

He sinks two fingers into your clenching hole and curls his fingers, stroking and curling his fingertips to make you sing. Zeros in on that little spot that causes the involuntary twitches of your leg and wrenches embarrassing, high pitched mewls that fill the room. You’re careening towards your high, the sensitivity of your last orgasm amping up the influx of pleasure. 

“Shit—Din. Close—I’m so close,” you gasp, pulling his hair tight enough that you know it must hurt. He makes no sign that it does, just groans and buries his tongue into your dripping hole, licking alongside his fingers that shovel more of your wetness into his mouth. 

Your release unfurls through your body like sticky molasses—smoldering embers that seep into each limb until they’re heavier than lead. Fuck—it’s so hard to think and at this rate your brain is as good as gone.   

You pay only a fraction of attention to Din as he kisses his way back up your body and lands a final one over your lips. His thumb grazes over your chin, his gravelly words of praise cutting through some of that foggy haze, how good you were, how fucking delicious you tasted when you came on his tongue. You taste your own arousal on his mouth as he noses your cheek and captures your lips in another kiss.           

“Are you done?” Paz asks dryly, much too barbed to be thrown your way. You groan when Paz jostles your limp body as he hoists you back into his lap.

“Just starting, actually,” Din quips. “Why don’t you hand her back over? I’ve got some more things I wanna try.” 

Paz scoffs and secures a heavy arm around your middle. “Greed will get you nowhere.” 

“Neither will your arrogance.” 

“Shut up—both of you,” you interrupt. Your voice is raw and choppy but it does the job. “Just fuck me already.”

For now their little spat is sidelined—it’s not worth ripping off that bandage of a temporary truce. There’s a chaste moment of quiet, like they’re considering tearing into each other’s throats instead, but with a touch to Paz’s thigh the standoff fizzles out. 

“We need to work on your manners,” Paz suggests, curling his large, calloused hand around your neck in a loose hold. “I believe it’s please fuck me.” 

Maybe if you weren’t practically a pile of brainless goo, you’d argue. See how far you can push—though this time you fold. “Please fuck me. P-please—I need it.” 

Seemingly satisfied with your answer; Paz wedges a hand between your bodies to grip his cock and run the tip through your folds, soaked from you own wetness and Din’s saliva. The head of his member nudges at your entrance, and wether it’s his size or the fact you can’t see anything—you panic. 

Your hand shoots out, nails harpooning into the meat of his forearm. “W-wait—you’re too b-big.”  

Paz freezes and moves you up his lap and presses a kiss over you hairline. “We can stop. Just say—“

“N-no, I’m fine,” you assure, planting an apologetic peck on his stubbled jaw. Stopping is the last thing you want to do—it was just…overwhelming. A sensory overload testing the very fringes of your being. “Go slow?”

You feel his head bob in compliance as he moves you back to where you’re hovering over his cock. You relax this time, not as many alarm bells clanging through your head as your cunt flutters around the fat tip and then that glorious, first thick inch. Paz’s thumb bumps over your throbbing clit, coaxing your pussy to take him further. 

“Yeah, that’s it vaar’ika,” he grunts, his breath fanning over your neck in quick pants. “Taking my cock so fucking well. So nice and pretty.”

Your pussy flutters, fresh waves of arousal hot and burning.You nearly keel over when Paz starts shallowly rocking his hips, easing your body the rest of the way down his length until the back of your thighs touch his. Maker—how the hell is he all the way inside? You can feel him in your fucking guts—         

“See?” Paz purrs. He sucks a bruise into the meat of your shoulder and pushes his palm against your lower stomach, making the fit even tighter. “Fits fucking perfect.”

The noise your cunt makes pulling out and the debauched moan that filters through his vocal chords is obscene. If anyone where to walk by, well—it’s certainly not training that’s going on, for the better lack of words. 

Paz holds true to his word—keeps his pace limited to deep, languid thrusts that brush up against something that makes your whole body shake—like strumming a golden chord molded to a musician’s fingers. Fuck—he’s doing all the work too. Lifting you by the swell of your hips and pulling you down onto his cock with a rough buck of his hips. 

Abruptly, he slows to a gentle rocking—quick to lock you in place as you thrash and roll your hips. “Paz—n-no. Keep going. You n-need to—“

Paz silences your please with a wet, open mouthed kiss. “Our friend looks lonely. Why don’t you use that pretty mouth and suck his cock?” 

Din. 

You hear the man curse in Mando’a, probably some stab at Paz—

But with a pat to your outer thigh, you don’t need any more prompting—you’d give up your left hand to get a chance to suck him off. With the help of Paz, you’re eased onto your hands and knees, shocks of white-hot pleasure zipping through your core at the change of angle. Like this Paz is seated deeper inside, stabbing into each spot that makes you sing.    

Fuck—your arms are shaking—only able to hold yourself up for half a click and then you’re sinking face first into the floor, ass in the air as he fucks into you. Paz clicks his tongue and wraps his arm around your front, pulling you back up from your slumped position. 

“I told you to suck his cock, girl. Not take a nap.” Paz accentuates his words with heavy, well measured thrusts—the kind of force you know will leave your whole lower half throbbing and sore in the aftermath. 

You whine as Paz grabs a hold of your jaw, digging into the tender joints until your mouth falls open. “Good. Keep it like that.” 

Paz’s hand falls away, replaced by a softer touch. The pads of Din’s fingers hook under your chin, guiding and tempting you nearer to what rests between his legs, hot and heavy and large.       

You feel the tip of his cock, flushed and pulsing, rest on your bottom lip. You lap up the beads of sticky precum with kitten licks that morph into suckling the entire head. Din grunts out your name and tangles his hand into your hair as you tongue at the ridged frenulum. He never forces you to swallow down more of him—lets you cradle the first few inches in the wet warmth of your mouth and languidly roll the pad of your tongue around him. 

You want to take him deeper, let Din fuck your throat raw, but your jaw already aches. Your lips are pulled tight around his shaft, drool dribbling down your chin and landing on the mat below. You’re not sure if you could take more of him without the danger of your teeth catching or dislocating your jaw. So you manage like this—hollowing out your cheeks and and using the momentum of Paz’s thrusts to pleasure Din.          

It’s frustrating—it must be each time you let his cock slip out of your mouth to breathe or the fact Din isn’t able to fucking fit his cock into your mouth. Annoying that you aren’t able to think properly to help him out a bit ore when that said brain is being fucked straight outta you, put through the wringer and then body slammed onto duracrete. 

Din cups your cheek, strokes over your skin with his thumb and maneuvers himself out of your mouth. You whine and lean into his palm, his touch addictive like smoldering coals in the dead of winter.    

“You want me there instead of him?” Din purrs, using the tips of his index and middle fingers to tilt your chin and drag you into an open mouthed kiss. “Fuck you like you deserve.” 

The profane imagery of Din between your legs instead makes you clench tight. It only takes a couple seconds and a few more feverish kisses before you’re nodding to his request. Paz mutters a swear, hesitates, and reluctantly pulls out, leaving your cunt empty and aching with need. 

Din, however, is speedy—quick to hoard you to himself and yank your legs over his hips so that you’re draped on his lap. He jumps straight to the point, no fancy maneuver or drawn out teasing—just grabs the base of his cock, slides the flushed tip between your folds and sinks into your cunt. Even after your pussy had been stretched and molded around Paz’s length, you struggle to take Din’s entire cock into your aching center. It’s easier than Paz but, Maker—not by much. 

You whine, harpooning your fingernails into his shoulder once he bottoms out. Din snarls a curse and latches his teeth onto the juncture between your neck and shoulder, prickly pain shooting directly to your belly. “Fucking tight. H-how—fuck.”

There’s no time to adjust before Din sets a pace, harsh and desperate—his hands digging into the flesh of your ass for better leverage. Each roll of his hips borders erratic, taking his pleasure without thought—intent on reaching his own end before it could be yanked out from under him. Din’s staggered exhales below your ear are interlaced with subdued moans that start low in his ribcage then dip into a higher, airy pitch. A delicate sound you’ll guard closer to your chest than any secret you possess for the rest of your life—precious and yours. 

Din turns his head to steal a kiss. “You feel fuck—fucking good. Wanna feel you cum around me. S-squeezed so fucking hard around my fingers—“

You choke out a groan and feel your arousal begin to drip down your thighs—hear the thrusts of his cock into your cunt become shamefully wetter. Heat sizzles down each vertebrae in your spine, burning up each and every cell with the brilliance of a wildfire. Stars, this is gonna destroy you.      

Din’s hand sneaks between your bodies and rubs tight, little circles over you swollen clit. There’s no build up to your orgasm—just a blinding surge of blistering warmth that knocks you off your feet and steals away all the air left in your lungs. Your nails dig into Din’s back as you shake and grapple for a foothold in your own consciousness—the steady warmth of his body a much needed anchor for the madness that threatens to drown you.  

“Good girl,” Din praises, pace faltering from just how tight your pussy squeezes and flutters around his cock. “S-such a fucking good girl for me.”     

Regaining some semblance of control, you realize he’s still fucking going—still rock solid and throbbing, fucking you through the aftershocks of your release. Your arousal turns sharp, like rough cotton over a fresh sunburn as it dips into overstimulation. It’s not unpleasant but Din has to slow his hips to a delicate roll for you to recover.            

In the time it takes to inhale, a different calloused hand kneads into your lower back then smoothes up your spine. A second later you feel the scrape of Paz’s stubble prick along your exposed shoulder as his tongue drags along your sweat dampened skin—all the way up the curve of your neck and ending at the shell of your ear. 

You’re not sure if it’s intentional, but as Paz crowds closer the tip of his cock pokes at your other hole. With a surprised mewl, you tense and shy away—but he follows, molds his chest against your back to sandwhich you in. The hand gripping your bicep jumps to your neck and pulls your head against his shoulder. 

Two of Paz’s fingers dip down the curve of your ass and brush along the puckered skin—far less jarring this time. “Do you want to be fucked here too?” 

Maker—

You’re gonna fucking explode.  

Stuffed to the brim already, it’s hard to imagine Paz cramming himself in along with Din. A little red light blares in some corner of your mind but it’s quickly soothed as Paz plants soft kisses over your cheek and jaw. You trust him—there’s no reason to think he’ll hurt you or push you to the point of pain.

You catch his mouth with a kiss and rock your hips back. “Y-yeah, ok. I trust you.” 

You feel his smile curl against your cheek. “Don’t worry vaar’ika—I’ll take care of you.”

Paz strokes your bottom lip with his thumb and kisses the crown of your hairline as you sink into him. With his ring and middle finger, he pushes past the seam of your lips. “Suck.”

You obey, sealing your lips around his two digits and coating them in your saliva. Paz pulls them out with a pop and moves them between your legs, and with the added wetness dripping from your cunt, the first finger is easy enough. The second and third have you gasping as he scissors them and stretches your tight hole wider. You claw your nails into Din’s shirt—and he’s no better—Din’s own hands are clamping around your hips, struggling to keep still and biting back moans each time your cunt constricts. 

Your hips begins to meet the thrusts of Paz’s fingers as your body familiarizes the feel of him there. It’s a deep thrill that rushes up through your spinal cord—much different from anything you’ve felt before. 

“You like this, don’t you?” Paz goads, chuckling when you whine as he extracts his fingers. “I think you’re ready to take my cock, yeah?”

You shudder and nod, your voice no more than a squeak as it pilfers out. Paz strokes the top of your head and tips you forward into Din’s eager arms as Paz slicks up his length in a mix of precum and your dripping arousal. He touches the swell of you ass in warning, lines himself up with your hole and wedges the tip of his cock inside of you.     

Involuntary tears dampen your makeshift blindfold as Paz buries himself deeper, his rumbling tone urging you to relax—relax even though your mind is drowning in an ocean of arousal and swirling emotions you have no hope to pin down and analyze. It’s for the best—thankful as Paz bottoms out that it wrenches you back to a feasible reality you’re able to manage.

“Shit—I-I’m gonna die—“ You sob, writhing at just how full you are. But there’s nowhere to fucking go—     

“Easy,” Din breathes, and you wonder if he’s said it to keep his own head on his shoulders. “Easy.”

Din’s gravelly rasp cuts through the fog in your head, and stars—you sound like you’re fucking dying. Your wheezy breaths and lightheadedness would certainly suggest that—but no…no, you’re fine. Better than fine.     

A rush so acute and devastating launches up your spine as Din’s patience cracks. He experimentally rolls his hips and that’s the end of it. You’re swallowed up in that riptide you fought so hard to avoid—fuck. You won’t be the same after this. How can you?  

You can feel them both, separated by a thin wall as they sprint towards their own highs. You’re never once left empty—Din reaches the end of you as Paz pulls out and while there’s not exactly any finesse involves it’s the best fucking thing you’ve felt in your entire life. There’s no bickering—no teasing and you’re struck with an idea that makes you clench tight around both of them. You wouldn’t mind if this was the way they decided to settle scores or finally see eye to eye.   

This time you can’t discern your high—just a constant overflow of ecstasy and dazzling arousal like an imploding supernova. You cry their names—sob and shake in their hold with such fervor that Paz traps you tighter between them to keep you still.  

“Fuck—you get so fucking tight,” Paz growls, blunt nails digging into your hips. “And so fucking wet.”

His fingers touch the inside of your thigh and stars—he’s right. “I get to fuck your cunt next time—see how much you’ll drip for me.” 

Even if the blindfold were off—there’d be nothing to see but a white wash of nothing. Blinded by pleasure and bursting at the seems. 

Jealous, Din steals your breath away with a kiss, licking and nipping at your swollen lips until you whine his name. His jagged pants fan across your chin—chapped lips and patchy facial hair tickling across your bottom lip as you breath the same air. 

Din whispers your name like a prayer, his fingers clutching tight around your thighs as his pace starts to flounder to choppy jerks. “Shit. I-I’m close—“

Your fingers twist into his hair. “Yeah—ok baby. Let go.”

Din’s teeth sink into the base of your throat and cums. His seed coats your insides—hot and copious and fucking shit—if there’s a next time you want him to cum in your mouth.      

You don’t get time to relish Din’s stuttered gasps of your name, laced with praise and a show of a tender and bleeding heart before Paz is gathering up your hair in a tight fist and jerking your head up. “You—you want me to cum too? Say it.” 

Without a breath of hesitation you beg for it, cry and arch into him. It does the trick—

Paz is loud—shouts a thunderous roar and buries his cock deep into your hole. Din is still recovering from the aftershocks of his release when Paz pulls out after what seems like ages pumping you full. His cock no longer there to plug you up, his cum begins to dribble out and mix with the mess between your legs. Your legs shake and you wobble--crying out as Din slips out, your body dreadfully empty and aching.     

You're lowered to the mat by Din and if you weren't still trying to formulate words, you'd thank them. Lips dart over your cheeks and hairline, and for once nothing needs to be said. It’s nice...the radiating warmth from their bodies and the simmering flush through you body is something you could get used to. But you’re no stranger to the shifting tides of the future. 

You shrug it off.    

Your eyes are heavy and with one of them stroking your hair and the other your thigh, you drift to sleep. Later—later all unspoken things and disastrous words can be dealt with tomorrow. You must be dreaming when it’s said--careless and bold, but the words nestle into your heart and sprouts with fear. 

“You love her, don't you?” 

translation:

vaar’ika--pipsqueak 

or’dinni--dumbass idiot 

vod--brother/comrade 

tag list: 

@bobafctts​ @djxrxn​ @teaofpeach​ @corrupt-fvcker​ @nelba​ @datmando​ @ben-is-a-hoe​ @dreams-like-clockwork​ @aerynwrites​ @auty-ren​ @huliabitch​ @anxiety-riddled-mando​ @phoenixhalliwell​ @trippedmetaldetector​ 

[blackkatmagic]

Hey Kat, did you end up starting anything for the lotr sw crossover?

No pressure, just curious! 😅

Of course I did. :’)

“Come for the droids, get eaten by the karking wildlife,” Fives complains loudly, and promptly yelps as the creature he’s fighting slams bodily into him, toppling him backwards towards the ground.

“Fives!” Rex shouts, and spares half a second to aim and fire before he has to duck the huge, rusty blade that tries to take off his head. Two quick shots put it down, and Rex spins to find Fives just climbing to his feet, grabbing for his blaster. Relief is a wash of shaky warmth in his chest, and Rex says, “Less bitching, more fighting.”

“Sir, yes sir,” Fives says, always mouthy, and flips a charge up, then flings it hard at another knot of the creatures coming over the rise. They scatter, and Fives grimaces, taking three long steps back to run right up against Echo as he retreats as well. “Captain, I hate to say it, but I think this was a bad idea.”

Rex grimaces, turning to put his back to the huddle, and they're in the bottom of a ring of hills, with the local menaces on all sides and no way out. “I hate to agree with you even more, but now would be a good time for the general to show up.”

If Anakin is waiting for his moment to appear, though, he doesn’t take the invitation. The rolling green hills spit out more creatures, covered in war paint and howling, and Rex has a really, really bad feeling about their odds here. What was supposed to be a scouting mission to see how far they are from civilization—because this planet has weird ideas about keeping their spaceports deep in the mountains instead of somewhere convenient—is rapidly turning into a suicide run. And while that’s maybe not as unfamiliar as it should be for Torrent, this is getting worse by the minute.

“Kriff,” Rex hisses, and shoots the first creature trying to start down the hill. It falls, but like a damn breaking, the rest surge forward­—

A horn sounds, high and clear and carrying, and the in an instant the organized charge tumbles headlong into chaos. Half the creatures spin, facing whatever threat is beyond the crest of the hill, and one of them—a leader, apparently—surges forward, shouting in that strange, hair-raising possibly-language. Rex can't quite tell if it’s just noises, but it has the ranks advancing, hurling themselves forward as a low, growing rumble sounds. The horn comes again, and the half of the creatures that were holding back turn and bolt, right towards Rex and his men.

Rex shouts a warning, and it’s echoed by a cry from two dozen throats. Over the crest of the hill, like a wave of metal and cloth and muscle, horses charge, armored people on their backs. They crash into the creatures, driving them back with spears and swords, and from behind them there’s a horn-blast. More riders split around the fighting soldiers, galloping past Rex and Echo and Fives like a tide with their banners trailing. They follow the fleeing creatures over the next hill, but Rex doesn’t turn to look. He steps forward, trying to pick out what’s happening, and catches a flash of rusty metal in the setting sun.

One of the riders is alone in a knot of the creatures, laying around himself with a sword, but he’s outnumbered, none of his companions close enough to help. His grey horse is kicking out, surging up on its hind legs as the creatures try to grab it, and the man is snarling, the long golden tail coming from the top of his helmet caught in a creature’s fist. He jerks, stabs backwards, but another grabs the haft of his spear, a third lunges up to grab his leg, and he struggles, swings—

Instantly, with the speed of sheer reflex, Rex raises a pistol, fires. The creature that was just about to swing at the rider falls, tumbling away, and Rex hits the one holding the spear but doesn’t kill it.

With a cry, another figure in armor, this one on a brown horse, leaps a fallen creature and gallops down the hill towards the other rider. The rider of the brown horse crashes bodily into the knot of creatures surrounding the other soldier, and he spins his mount, laying around himself as the other riders spill down the slope. They drive the remaining creatures back, and as the last one falls, there’s a loud horn-call in the distance. Without hesitation, the riders keep going, streaming past Rex, Echo, and Fives and up over the next hill, after the other riders.

Slowly, deliberately, Rex lowers his blaster, jerks his head at Echo and Fives to make them do the same. The two riders on the brown and grey horses are left, speaking to each other in low voices as they lean across the gap between their mounts, and they look entirely unconcerned to have armed clones standing a few meters away. As Rex watches, the grey’s rider reaches out, and the brown’s rider clasps his forearm before they lean in and rest their helmets together.

The almost-familiar gesture feels jarring to see, Rex thinks, and swallows. They're not Mandalorian, and this planet doesn’t have the Keldabe kiss, but—clearly this is something roughly equivalent.

Then, slow, the two riders turn their horses, and Rex pulls himself up to his full height as they make their way up the valley. Walking, not galloping, so clearly they're in no hurry to go after the other riders, but Rex can't help a flicker of wariness. Ennorath is an isolationist planet, infamous for keeping its own culture and requiring visitors to keep outside technology to a minimum, and any authority likely won't take news of a clone company landing in their mountains well.

Anakin is supposed to be the one to greet any locals, seeing as he’s the Jedi, and they respect the Jedi. Rex doesn’t know nearly enough about anything happening here to manage. Not that Anakin is probably much better, but. At least Ahsoka can usually fake it decently.

“Captain,” Echo says, low and sharp, clearly concerned.

Before Rex can tell him to keep his mouth shut, the rider on the grey horse pulls his mount to a halt. “Captain,” he repeats, and there's a rolling accent to his Galactic Standard, but it’s clear. “You are the leader?”

“Yes,” Rex says, and pauses. Ennorath’s been entirely out of galactic politics the last few years and not accepting outside comms, according to Anakin. He isn't even sure they know about the war, given the planet’s distance from most hyperlanes. “Captain Rex of the Grand Army of the Republic.”

The two riders trade looks, and the one on the brown horse reaches up. Grips metal, pulls—

Rex can hear the way Fives's breath hitches, can feel how still Echo goes, but it’s not like he blames them. The woman’s beautiful, waves of white-gold hair spilling over her armor, face smeared with dirt but still almost unnervingly lovely.

“Army,” she repeats. “The Republic has no army.”

Kriff. Rex could really use a Jedi right about now. “It does now,” he says. “There’s a civil war going on. The Confederacy of Independent Systems is trying to destroy the Republic, and we’re trying to stop them.”

The grey’s rider takes a breath, then pulls off his own helmet, and—

Well. Maybe Rex kind of loses his breath, because the other rider is a man with the same golden hair as the woman, but a shade darker, with dark eyes and a worried frown. He’s beautiful, too, in a rougher way, and—Rex has never really taken time to think about what sorts of faces he likes, but. Now he’s got a template, apparently.

“Éowyn,” the man says, and the woman’s mouth tightens even as she nods.

“We must return to Edoras at once,” she says, and the man nods, then casts a glance at Rex.

“I am Éomer,” he says. “You came alone?”

It takes Rex a long moment to decide to answer, but—if they don’t know about the Seps, it’s probably not a trap. “We were scouting,” he says. “The rest of the company got held up in the mountains. There was a thunderstorm, and—”

“Stone giants,” Éomer says, grim. “You took shelter in the caves, I assume?”

It would have been nice to know about the handy caves before their general and commander tried to fight creatures made out of stone with plasma swords, Rex things, and grimaces. “Eventually.”

Éomer snorts at that, and just a flicker of humor lights his face, softening the lines of it for an instant. Éowyn isn't nearly so reserved; a smile breaks over her features, warming them completely, and she hides a chuckle behind one hand.

“There are warnings,” she says. “Outside the spaceport. Our lands are not kind to visitors.”

“So we’re learning,” Rex says, maybe a little sour, and then sighs. “Our general is Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker. He’s with the rest of the company, waiting out the storm. Fives, Echo, and I were on the other side of the pass when the…stone giants started fighting.”

“Playing,” Éomer corrects, and urges his horse closer, leaning down to offer Rex his hand. “The stone giants play when there are storms. But between the giants and the orcs, I can imagine your day has been unpleasant.”

Orcs are probably the creatures that surrounded them, then. Rex eyes Éomer’s hand, then glances up at his face, and asks, “This because you want me to shake it?”

Éomer snorts, unimpressed. “I offer a ride. It’s a long way to Edoras, and we must move quickly. Our king must know of this war beyond our borders.”

Rex has never been on a horse before, and has never really wanted to be. He eyes the huge grey beast warily, then asks without much hope, “Got a speeder?”

Éowyn smiles, pulling the horn from her saddle. “There are no speeders used on Ennorath. We will send the Riders of the Mark to find your company, Captain, but you must speak with our king while they travel.”

“Don’t you have senators?” Fives asks, sounding skeptical. “How do they get anywhere if you don’t have speeders?”

Éowyn outright laughs at that, and even Éomer smiles. As Éowyn raises the horn to her lips, armor shining in the sun, he grabs the hand Rex reluctantly offers, clasping their forearms.

“Our senators travel like anyone else,” he says. “As you can see. My sister is Éowyn, daughter of Éomund, the White Lady and Shieldmaiden of Rohan. She is our second senator.”

The horn rings out across the hills, high and sweet and carrying, and Rex looks from Éowyn to Éomer with something like disbelief bubbling up in his chest.

“She’s the senator, and so what are you?” he asks.

Éomer smirks, a quick, wicked curl of his mouth beneath his short beard. “Third Marshal of the Riddermark,” he says, “and Rohan’s prince.”

Rex is entirely caught off guard, and far too bewildered to even think of protesting when Éomer hauls him up off the ground and into the saddle behind him.

[hansoulo]

thread count

Pairing: The Mandalorian/Reader (gender neutral, no Y/N)

Warnings: liek… cursing? mentions of nightmares. bed sharing. the works.

Word Count: 1.7k

A/N: posting this at noon bc im tired of staring at it in my drafts 🤡also i recognize that star wars decided glass is called transparisteel but given that it’s a stupid ass decision i’ve elected to ignore it. enjoyyyyy :)

“No.”

“Mando-”

“No.”

You let out a frustrated groan, your rucksack dropping to the floor with a heavy thud as you flopped back onto the bed. The one, single bed.

“It’s too late to go anywhere else, alright? We’re basically stuck here. Let’s just make the best of it, okay?” He grunted at this, still standing at the doorway gripping his disintegrator rifle. “Drop the ‘tude, tin can. Could be worse,” you mumbled as you reached to wipe a hand over your face, sinking into the soft sheets.

It was kinda nice, actually. You couldn’t remember the last time you slept on a real mattress, with real pillows and blankets that didn’t feel like sandpaper. The inn owner was sweet, a wizened old woman who’d only smiled when you asked if there were any rooms available. Just the one, she had said. Down the hall.

This was ridiculous.

The Mandalorian stepped forward, closing the door with a large hand on the rusted knob. The room was small and sparsely furnished, but it was a far cry from your usual, less than ideal sleeping arrangements, so you relished in the feeling of the pillows beneath your back before propping yourself up on one elbow, eyelids already drooping as you watched him. He looked… awkward. If you had any more energy, you’d probably laugh. “I could- ” he cleared his throat, setting the rifle against the wall, “I could sleep on the floor.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you scoffed as you reached down to pull off your boots, throwing them haphazardly into a corner. You’d helped him with the occasional bounty for years, and known him for longer than that. You could share a fucking bed. Besides, it’s not like anyone else was around to see. Minus the baby of course, but it (he? she?) didn’t really count, right? It was already sleeping. “It’ll be fine.”

“No, I’m going to just-”

“Mando,” you glared, standing up. “If you sleep on the floor, you’re gonna be even more of an ass tomorrow morning. Just do us all a favor,” you waved a hand towards the baby in its pod, “and get over yourself, alright?” You reached down to the hem of your top, tugging it above your head before you heard him make a low, distorted sound - probably a cough, but the modulator made those kinds of things hard to tell. Left in your undershirt, you crouched down to stuff the fabric - dusty and soiled from a day of travel - back in your bag. “What?”

He shifted on his feet, his helmet ducking slightly at the sight of your exposed skin. “Oh c’mon,” you groaned, your expression teasing. “You stabbed a guy with a serving fork yesterday, Mando. I don’t think this could be any worse.” If you could see underneath his helmet, you’d be willing to bet he was blushing. Funny, how that worked. How he worked.

The bedsprings creaked underneath your weight as you laid down again, pulling the blankets out from their tucked corners. The window on the other side of the room lay open, bringing in a chill that had you drawing the covers tighter around your shoulders. “Could you close the window?” you whispered, tracking the glint of beskar through half-closed eyes as he complied with your request. His armor reflected orange light - dim and flickering from a small lamp hung beside the door - before it was snuffed out by a gloved hand. You let out a quiet thanks, not bothering to fight the exhaustion dragging at your mind as he stood above you. “I’m going to sleep,” you mumbled, turning on your side to face the wall. “Do what you want.”

⫸ ——-– ⫷

Flat, white light crackled across your vision and you opened your eyes with a groan. You could hear rain beating against the windowpane, glass rattling with every new roar of thunder in a way that had goosebumps erupting across your arms. It was dark outside, inky and fogged over save for the few flashes of lightning that cast the room in sharp relief. You didn’t really mind the storm - you usually liked them - but something about the way it sounded had you on edge. It was a bitter kind of rain, unrelenting and loud and really, really cold. Bracing yourself on your hands, you lifted your head, only to knock it against the edge of something metal. “Ow what the fu-” Oh. Oh.

He hadn’t been next to you before - no, you would’ve remembered if he had - but now... now he was. Next to you. And he… had a hand on your hip and- and you were still facing away from him but you squirmed, feeling the weight of his arm on your waist, heavy and slack. No gloves. No vambrace. No pauldron. Just… the helmet. No shit, bantha-brains. The Mandalorian let out a breath, the sound low and seeping syrup in your bones. Was he still asleep? Maybe you should- “Stop moving,” he rasped, his voice hoarse.

“Sorry,” you whispered, your words thick with sleep. “M’just cold.” It was a half-truth. You were cold, but the fact that you were pressed up against one of the most feared bounty hunters in the galaxy probably didn’t help either. Neither did the fingers digging into your hip. Or the arm tucked underneath your neck. Or the hand attached to said arm that was skimming across your collarbone, seemingly unaware that it was touching anything at all. He drew you in closer and you could feel his legs slotted into yours, your toes brushing the bare skin of an ankle (that didn’t belong to you) before your scattered thoughts were forced elsewhere.

“Then why’d you take off your shirt?” he mumbled. The rain pounded a rhythm in your head, lulling you down and allowing yourself to sink back into his arms. You didn’t really want to think about tomorrow morning. If things would be weird. There was a chance neither of you would remember this when you woke up, though, so it’s not like it mattered. Even if you did - if he did - you knew it was all business.

“Hm?” you said, tucking your chin and scooting back slightly. Your back met the hard planes of his chest, his skin hot and thrumming even underneath the thick material of his shirt. The man was like a fucking space heater. Ha. Space heater. Funny. You were funny. And tired. And- wait did he ask you something?

“Why take off your shirt if you’re cold?” he repeated. The last word trailed off as a palm moved across the expanse of your stomach, his thumb rubbing circles across the raised seam of your undershirt and burning the skin beneath.

“I wasn’t cold then,” you huffed, reaching a hand over his and guiding it below the thin fabric until it rested still on your sternum. A better version of you, more awake and with more critical thinking skills - with the power of thought in general - would probably kick you for using the Mandalorian like a fucking hot water bottle, but that didn’t really matter. You were cold - and exhausted and laying on a bed that was very, very comfortable - and he was warm. You couldn’t really be expected to take any responsibility for this. “Plus, the shirt was dirty,” you added, only dimly registering how your fingers laced with his, tracing battered, scar-shiny knuckles in your half-sleep. He hummed and leaned forward, the metal of his helmet rounding smooth against your hair.

“You’re thinking too loud,” he said, his breathing falling back into tandem with yours as you felt your eyes fluttering shut. “Go to sleep.”

⫸ ——-– ⫷

“Mando, wake up. Wake up, please.” Your voice was tremulous as you shook his shoulder, stretched over tight with desperation and knocking against the walls of the room. Your plea bounced back hollow, a high, unrelenting tone that made your ears ring. Everything was caving in on itself, crumbling slow and then all at once in a way that had the sweat on your temples icing over. You weren’t a child anymore. You shouldn’t have nightmares. “Please.”

He sat up quickly, a hand bolting out to the blaster tucked underneath his pillow and aiming steady at the enemy that had yet to show itself. “Is someone there?” he asked, graveled over but still frighteningly alert. A light sleeper, you supposed.

You shook your head, wet tracks crackling on your cheeks as you spoke. “No, no one. It’s fine.” He relaxed at this, setting the blaster down at his side. His palms were dry when they came up to your face, slightly calloused but still soft as they traced over the rolling tears.

“I’m sorry I woke you up,” you whispered, meeting the dark slit of his visor before ducking your head. “It’s nothing, I-” you sniffed, swallowing the air that was caught in your throat. “I shouldn’t have bothered you.”

“Hey,” he called out, hesitant and a bit unsure. “You okay?” You nodded, closing your eyes in an attempt to clear your vision before opening them a few moments later. The Mandalorian only stared, his helmet tilting with a cock of his head.

“Just nightmares,” you said when he remained quiet. “But they aren’t normally this bad.” The remains of a sob fragmented beneath your ribs, bubbling up in a wet cough that burned your throat. His hands came to rest at your back, flat and steady against your spine until your breathing evened. “I’m sorry,” you repeated after a few minutes.

The Mandalorian let out a quiet noise, gruff and a bit pained-sounding. “It’s okay,” he said, his fingertips pressing softly into your shoulder blades. You could only just hear him through the storm outside. “I get them too.”

You faced the beskar, gaze searching for the eyes you knew were looking at you and finding nothing but darkness. It was enough, though. To know he was looking. “You do?”

“Every night.” A beat passed before you hiccuped again, swiping at your eyes with the back of your hand. “It’s still late,” the Mandalorian whispered, his hands gentle as they reached around your shoulders. You let him pull the covers over you, feeling his words soak into your back. “Let’s just go to bed.”

permanent: @ah-callie @itzagoodthing @spookypym @opheliaelysia @watsonwise @damndamer0n @amarvelousmandalorian @bunnyart-blog @agirllovespasta @pascalispedro @pascalplease @coffeencontemplation @chelsfic @lesqui @javierpenaspinkshirt​ @symbiont13 @glowingpena @squidlywiddly87 @1zashreena1 @hiscyarika @lostingoogletranslate @keeper0fthestars @bobafvtt @halfwaythereroyal @starwarsiscooliguess @huliabitch​ 

[ironhoshi]

5. “This is not who you are. I know you better than that.” for the ship of your choice? Go wild!

But...what if I didn’t a do a ship? What if I put extra hurt and comfort on this?

I present some of our boys from the 13th Battalion!!! Striker & Dice. Hurt...and, uh, comfort below the cut. 

Prompt list here.

...I am so sorry? Also, if the formatting is weird- blame tumblr.

It was like a morbid heartbeat. It raised in tempo, it crashed into a reverberating bass-like sound. Each wailing blast echoed through his entire body. Every pulse of noise let him know he had messed up. There was no coming back from this unless he tried everything possible. The flashing lights made the whole experience worse. Red slashed through coiling smoke. 

Failed.

Mission failed.

The siren taunted him. 

With a shaking arm, he raised his weapon to mirror the person across from him. 

He knew the face across from him, he knew each burn mark etched into that flesh, but he felt like he didn’t know just who was standing in front of him.

There was a wrongness. 

“Stand down,” the almost foreign voice bit out. Where was the voice of the brother he knew? Where were the normal cheerful undercurrents? What happened to the lilt that promised laughter? All he heard was mechanical. Lackluster. No empathy left inside. 

“I can’t do that, vod.” 

Could he do this? 

Could he pull the trigger? He had already watched so many of his vode cut down with a weapon that had used to protect them. They had turned on the General and the General had turned on them. 

Could he be the reason he lost one more vod?

Dice was between him and the only way off this doomed vessel. His Commander was already below, hopefully safe, but if he didn’t hurry…

“Traitors will be executed.” 

They were cadets, huddled under a table. Bent cards with badly drawn symbols spread between them.

“I swear this is how they play it,” Dice whispered loudly. Striker felt his lips twitch into a smile before he picked up a card. 

“I don’t know, looks like you just made up another game to cheat at.” 

A sound of mock horror escaped his batchmate and the card was snatched from his fingers. “How could you say that?” There was no real anger behind that voice. Only laughter. “I swear I learned this from one of the Commanders-”

“Yeah, like they talk to us,” Striker said a bit sourer than he meant. Dice winced. “I mean, sure. I am glad they taught you.”

“This is not who you are. I know you better than that.” Dice’s eyes seemed to widen just a fraction before that uncaring look locked into place. “Vod-”

There was a hesitation, a shift in the gaze fixed on him. Striker threw himself to the left just as the blaster went off. The bolt sailed past him, clipping the top of his right ear. It was like a white fire had erupted on the side of his head. He didn’t falter as he lunged, springing up from the ground with one goal in mind. He brought his blaster up wide. Dice started to turn, aim his blaster for a second shot, and then the only sound that filled his ears was that of his weapon slamming into his vod’s head. 

He caught Dice awkwardly as he crumbled like a house of sabacc cards.

“Sorry, sorry. We have to hurry.” Already he could hear more footsteps echoing down the hallway. Striker didn’t think, he just shoved Dice straight into the escape pod, following after him. He spun and slammed the butt of his blaster against the controls. The door slammed shut just as more of his vode poured into the room. 

He could only save one. 

”Look at this, kid,” Dice cried as he smacked a package down on the crate they were using as a table. The Little Commander looked up in confusion from the fruit he was eating. They were sharing a piece, or rather he was cutting off chunks and making sure the kid ate for once. Striker raised an eyebrow but didn’t make a move to interfere quite yet with whatever Dice was planning. He merely ate his own slice of fruit from the tip of his knife. 

“Uh, what is it?” Cal licked some juice off the side of his hand before reaching a hand out towards the package. Striker moved quickly, grabbing his wrist gently. A sheepish look took up residence on Cal’s face. “I wasn’t-”

“Nice try, Sir.”

“Hey, it’s fine!” Dice yanked the package open with such force that it exploded. Glittering squares with designs etched into them. Shiny. “I learned a new game. Now, why don’t we all sit down and learn together?”

“Oh, so you can cheat again?” Cal asked and froze. Striker snorted in an attempt to stop the laugh that wanted to escape him.

“Sir,” Dice cried out like he was actually scandalized. “You’ve been spending too much time with Commander Striker!”

Their pod landed with what felt like an extra impact. Striker was pretty sure he could feel his brain actually bouncing inside his skull. The body strapped into the seat across from him groaned a deep sound that made him feel sympathy. 

“Washappening?” Eyelids spasmed hard before Dice fully opened his eyes. They were slightly unfocused, and yet, there was actually a sign of the vod he knew. “How did I much drink?”

He had saved one. 

“We’re okay, vod,” he promised. “I’m going to make this right.” With jerky motions, he freed himself from his own safety harness. Once free he worked at freeing Dice from his. The buckle took an extra yank and then his brother was crashing into his arms. A weight around his neck before he felt his vod trembling against him.

“I was going to shoot,” came the anguished words.

“I know, but I cheated. You taught me well.”

Dice let out a strangled laugh that shifted into a sob. “Yeah, vod, you finally got that stick out of your- I mean you finally learned to cheat. Took you long enough.”

[venusandromedadjarin]

Nevarro City

Ch. 2, A Glint of Beskar

18+ for eventual smut, gore, 1.8k words

Somewhere to your left you hear weird babbling sounds, and if you didn’t know better you’d think it was a baby. Weird, there’s never been children in the cellar before… Your left eye opens easily, but pain shoots through the right and you lift a hand up to feel the jagged, split skin on your cheekbone. Tenderly, you poke around and feel how swollen the skin is. You hiss at the stinging. Attempting to move your head to look around gives you two things: a clear idea that this is definitely not the cellar, and a brain splitting flash of pain through your head. Slowly, you try to complete a checklist of your body, hoping that everything will function, even through the pain. At this point, you can’t remember much and have no clue who you’re with or where you’re at.

Taking a deep breath proves too hard, as heat floods through your core and burns at your swollen sides and, albeit, broken ribs. One of your shoulders feels like it was recently dislocated and popped back into place, and you can’t flex your left hand. A quick memory floods your vision, giving you insight to why your hand is currently unusable. Thank the Maker I saved my head with my non-dominant hand, who knows if I’ll need to fight my way out of here.

A loud thumping sound echoes from the back of the hull behind your head and you hear two sets of footsteps ascend up the ramp. One is heavy, fleetingly similar to ones you remember from somewhere else - but you aren’t entirely sure where - and the other is slightly panicked by the sound of it. Whoever it is starts to mouth off but you hear a grunt followed by a loud hissing sound. You can smell the vague scent of tibanna gas as someone gets locked into a carbonite block.

Against your will, you cough and even though you try to cover up the groan of pain from the sudden use of your throbbing chest, you know whoever is behind you can hear it.

“You’re awake.” The voice is definitely male, but deeply modulated through what you can only guess is that Beskar helmet you vaguely remember seeing. By this point, you have enough bits and pieces of your memory that you remember being distracted by the glint of it. You try to respond to the figure you still can’t see, but all that comes out is a strangled groan. He comes towards you and you can hear that weird babbling again, but still don’t see anything. Finally, he’s to the side of you, just enough so that you can look over at him.

From where you’re laying, you’re parallel with his stomach which is slung with a weapons belt stuffed with ammo and blasters. His chest is covered in shiny Beskar, and you vaguely remember the armor on his lower arms biting into your legs and back when he picked you up. Even though you can’t see his eyes behind the helmet he’s wearing, you somehow know he’s looking you over too, probably fully taking in your wounds.

Suddenly, a flush creeps up your neck into your cheeks. Silly, really, considering you know you look like death. You try to talk again, but he slowly shakes his head, “Don’t. Kolto will have to do, I’m out of Bacta.” He doesn’t explain anything else before reaching above you to remove a black bag from a cupboard. Clunking it down on the right side of your head, you hear him dig through it before pulling out bandages and a small syringe. Your heart rate increases as he starts wrapping your left hand, and you bite your lip against the grunt of pain you almost let out. That helmet looks up at your face, lingering a little too long before looking away.

“This will hurt,”  he tells you before stabbing your vein with the needle, an instant burn creeping through your bloodstream before everything goes black again.

The airspeeder lurched beneath you as you took off, blasts echoing around you in the middle of the night. The pitch black lit up in increments with the bursts. The shop and the hut were both blazing hot with fire, and the smoke lingered in your lungs as you tried to speed away. Just as you were both bolting, you heard Teckla scream behind you, her clothes sizzling as she went down from a blaster shot. Somehow you made it out, rising up and out of the bandit attack, almost in the clear to escape to Navarro City. It’s not far, you could have made it.

A single, deadly blaster beam hit the right engine.

You weren’t far off the ground, unlucky considering you knew you’d live through the crash. Hurtling down, you braced for the impact of the hard ground. The Quarren below you chuckled as you hit the dirt, sprinting toward you in the dark. The surrounding blaster shots in the small village, plus the increasing flames, started to give a clear picture of the creature as he grabbed you by the hair.

Fuck, you knew what was coming next and still didn’t know how to prepare.

The squid-faced bandit threw you up against the side of one of the currently untouched huts, tearing your shirt from your shoulders. The impact of the wall, plus the previous crash makes your vision falter, but not before you see the guy reach his hand down to undo his belt and-

You thrash, finally able to produce a shrilling scream that echoes through the hull. Within seconds, the man who you can only guess is a Mandalorian drops down from above and calmly, but quickly, comes to your side. Half awake and half terrified, you jerk away from his outstretched and gloved hand, hitting the metal behind you before realizing it was just a dream. Breathing heavy, you realize his hand is on your cheek, a gloved thumb lightly rubbing circles near your temple.

He must realize it too, since he quickly jerks his hand away, but continues to look at you through the helmet.

“Sit up.” He commands, and you obey with only a little bit of pain. The Kolto must’ve worked, but who knows how long you’ve been out. The man in front of you starts to lift the edge of your shirt before you bat him away, panicking slightly. A modulated scoff escapes from the helmet, “Let me look.”

He tries again, this time catching your hand as you respond the same way. “Stop it,” he commands. “Let me check your ribs, they were broken.”

All you can do is breathe out a small, “Oh.” You lift the torn overshirt over your head, grunting a little at the stiffness in your shoulder. If you didn’t know any better, you would think the slight tilt of his helmet means he feels just as awkward as you do seeing you in the dirty sports bra you’re now wearing.

He crouches over a bit to get a good look at the yellow and green bruises splayed up and down your sides.

“Maker, how long was I out?”

Before answering you, he reaches out and lightly lays one palm against your right side before reaching for your bandaged hand with his other hand. You grimace at the light pressure, but it doesn’t hurt enough to ask him to stop. Before you can think about it anymore, he removes his palm and unwraps your hand, still holding it in the other glove. Maker, his hands are huge compared to mine.

“A couple days.”

You jerk your eyes away from your bloody and bruised hand, “What?”

“I have business on Nevarro. We just landed, you need clothes.”

Before you have the ability to ask more questions, or process being back on your home planet after so long, he drops your hand and gives you a large black shirt. You stare at him until he shakes it at you, “Put it on.”

Doing as he says, you stand up, feeling unbalanced on your feet, your boots uncomfortable underneath you. He hands you a bag of, what you can only assume are, credits and motions towards a floating capsule at the back of the hull. The capsule comes forward when he flicks two fingers.

You suddenly feel warm, warmer than you should in the dim and cold space.

“Let’s go. I’ll meet you in half an hour.” Without another word, he steps onto the ramp and heads toward the building in front you.

Navarro City.

It looks oddly the same, but so different at the same time. Slowly, you follow after this mysterious man, questions reeling in your head. Is this actually a Mandalorian? How did he get the armor if he’s not? Where’d he get so much Beskar? What does he want with me? What’s in that capsule?

Who is he?

The obvious questions, like how will he know where to meet you, don’t cross your mind as you enter the walls of the city. Ahead of you, in the crowds, you can see the glint of his helmet as he walks into a cantina. You decide to actually shop for clothes and such before worrying anymore about him. The city is full of so many people, that only a few cast odd glances your way. You don’t stick out much even though all you have on are boots, torn leggings and a huge black shirt. It’s hot though, the sun beating down on the black fabric and making you feel feverish.

A small hut with a Kubaz sitting outside looks like a good place to start. It takes your eyes a second to adjust inside, but you’re soon stunned by the selection. After years of wearing the same filthy clothes, or at least the same types of clothes, this makes you feel like a giddy child. You’re suddenly stricken by a memory of Teckla taking you shopping as a teenager, but you sniffle quickly to keep the prick of tears at bay.

The Kubaz follows you inside, obviously the shop owner, but allows you to freely look around without bothering you. Finally, you settle on the basics (a few shirts, a few pairs of pants, undergarments, and a jacket) before looking at other things you may or may not need. You decide to get a new pair of heavy leather boots, contently sighing at the fact you can burn the old things you’re wearing. The credits you spend on the duffel bag and clothes don’t even make a dent in the amount of credits you were given.

When you exit the shop, you immediately notice the man leaning against a building across from you, his helmet glinting in the sunlight. You don’t realize he’s looking directly at you until he starts briskly walking towards you when a drunk from the cantina next door whistles at you and attempts to get your attention.

[wanderinginksplot]

Clone Trooper Rambles

Part journal, part creative writing, fully weird. Also, this one is really long. Other rambles can be found here.

Bad Dream

“Hey, are you okay?” Echo asked gently, stepping a bit faster to walk beside me.

“Yeah, of course,” I told him with a smile. “Why do you ask?”

“You haven’t spoken in an hour and a half,” Trapper answered for Echo, walking on his other side. 

“Oh.” I thought about it for a moment. “I think I’m just tired. I didn’t sleep very well last night.”

“You don’t say,” Crosshair said sourly. “I thought you made a habit of waking up gasping at three in the morning.”

“It was an unusually vivid dream,” I admitted, embarrassed for a reason I couldn’t quite pin down.

“Do you remember any of it?” Echo asked, stepping over a rough section of ground.

“Not much, but there was one thing…” I shivered, but cut myself off with a laugh. “It’s probably nothing.”

“What is?” Crosshair sounded less than thrilled to be asking, but all of the troopers eyed me expectantly. 

I frowned, scrubbing tiredly at my face. “Uh… I remember someone laughing.”

“Laughing?” Trapper repeated. “That doesn’t sound so bad.”

“You wouldn’t think so,” I agreed slowly. “And then this guy told me, ‘He’s looking for you. He’s going to find you. You can’t hide from him.’ That sort of thing.”

“Who can’t you hide from?” Echo’s posture had straightened slightly. 

I shook my head. “Probably no one. I was reading something mysterious before I went to sleep and that probably caused it.”

“You look… scared,” Trapper observed hesitantly. “Are you sure you have no idea who the guy was talking about? Or who the guy was?”

“It could be- Well, not really, though. The guy talking was…” I thought back, trying to capture the wispy strands of the dream even as it was slipping away as half-remembered dreams tend to do. Like a camera flash, I could see the face of the man who had been warning me. 

I didn’t know him, not that I could remember, but he was certainly dead. Not only that, but his mouth had been strange, almost like it had been cut.

“Miss me, sweets?” a voice whispered in my ear.

I jumped, hard. I couldn’t help it. 

“What is it?” Echo asked urgently.

I was already absorbed in studying the immediate area. “Hang on, I need to concentrate,” I muttered absently.

Metaphysics are hard to explain. In this particular case, it was like scanning everything around me, but not visually. I was looking for a general sense of something, a trace rather than a person. It took quite a bit of focus, but the adrenaline was working in my favor.

“We need to call Captain Rex,” Trapper said decisively.

“I’ll do it,” Crosshair instantly agreed, lifting his comlink to his mouth even as he eyed the area with suspicion.

Dimly, I recognized that the three troopers had all put their helmets on, and both Echo and Crosshair had lowered their rangefinders. Each man held at least one blaster, scanning the area with their eyes at least as hard as I was doing with whatever metaphysical nonsense I could manage.

When Rex joined us, he did so at a brisk walk, dual blasters drawn and rangefinder down. Clearly, Crosshair had managed to brief him on the situation. What he knew of it, anyway.

“What’s going on?” Rex asked, clearly tense.

“We were talking about the dream she had last night,” Echo told him. “She jumped like she had been shot and she hasn’t said much or moved at all since.”

Rex was standing directly in front of me a moment later. “Can you hear me?”

“Yeah, I can,” I told him distantly. “Hang on…”

“We need to move somewhere more protected than this,” Rex told the troopers, seeming to recognize that I was absorbed in something else. “Send out an all-call, put all troopers on alert.”

“For what?” Crosshair asked.

“There’s a threat,” Rex answered grimly. “I don’t know what it is yet, but I can feel it.”

I finished scanning the area and nodded. “Let’s get somewhere a little more private. There are some things I probably should tell you.”

Rex had already started moving by the time I finished speaking, the contingent of guards traveling with us as we walked. “I’m going to have Cody, Wolffe, Fox, Boss, and Hunter meet us. They’ll need to be briefed on the situation as well.”

In a very short amount of time, we were all hidden away in a semi-secluded area. Everyone wore their helmets, but I could feel the expectant looks and took a deep breath before I got started. 

“I’ve told you guys that you aren’t the first group of characters who shows up for me. Almost every story I’ve written has been with a character talking in my ear. Well, there was one… he wasn’t… uh, he wasn���t good for me, I guess you’d say. He’s called the Joker.”

No one moved, so I kept talking. “I was writing a one-shot about him and it went pretty smoothly. He’s insane, but he can be charming when he wants to be. When it gives him an advantage. Well, I wrote it and posted it and there was a good response. People wanted more and he agreed to help me write more of the story.”

“That’s where things went bad,” I said, dropping my gaze to the ground. It was easier than looking anyone in the face when I admitted my own stupidity. “He was always around, saying and doing the most twisted things. The more I wrote for him, the more I started to think like him. I don’t have much experience with insanity - other than the whole character thing - but I think I was getting close to something bad happening to my mind.”

“The worst part is, I can’t even blame him,” I laughed as I said it, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “I knew who he was and that he thinks it’s fun to make people go as crazy as he is. I knew better, but I got caught up in writing a good story. It was more my fault than his.”

“When I figured out what was happening, I ended the story,” I finished. “There were supposed to be five more chapters or so, but I couldn’t keep writing for him. I was scared of losing myself. I ended the story and shut him out. It was hard, probably the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but the worst part is that it didn’t entirely… work. He still pops up every now and then.”

“Pops up,” Rex repeated tonelessly.

“Yeah,”I agreed. “He just comes in, torments me for a while, tries to break my mind, and leaves when I can force him away. It has happened three or four times in the past few years. I just need to know when he’s coming so I can be ready. The dream may have been a sign that he’ll be here soon. Don’t worry, though - I’ll handle him. You guys just lay low for a week or two and I’ll get him out as soon as I can.”

“We aren’t going to do that,” Cody said slowly, glancing around at the other commanding officers. “We’re here. We may be able to put a stop to this guy once and for all.”

“You can’t do that,” I told him flatly. “I don’t think any of you guys can be killed in your current state. If I do something that harms someone badly enough that they die - not that I do that on purpose - they just forget what they’ve done here and come back with no memory. They just start over.”

“We can give him something else to focus on, then,” Boss offered.

“Blaster bolts can be pretty distracting,” Wolffe agreed menacingly.

“He’ll try to kill you,” I warned them. “I can’t take the risk that anyone will get hurt.”

“You just said we can’t be hurt,” Hunter reminded.

I had to stop for a moment. That was an excellent point and a flaw in my logic that I hadn’t previously considered. “Maybe you guys can hurt each other since you’re in a different plane? If he’s on the same plane, he could hurt you.”

“But then we’d be able to hurt him,” Rex said. “And there are a lot more of us than there are of him.”

“Let us help you,” Cody requested gently. I shot him a look, reminded that he had served with Obi-Wan Kenobi for most of the war. “Please.”

“I… I can’t ask all of you to take this risk,” I said eventually.

“What if we made it a volunteer effort?” Fox asked. “Only men who understand the risks and agree to continue guard duty will watch for him.”

“That might work,” I agreed, disgruntled by the neat way that had worked out.

“Good,” Rex said. “Tell me everything about the Joker, I’ll brief the men about him, and build a list of volunteers. For now, I’m assigning at least one man from each battalion to guard you. Today is considered high-risk. If you see anything suspicious, tell them and we’ll send backup to your location.”

Less than two hours later, Rex cheerfully reported that every trooper had volunteered to stay on guard duty, even fully understanding the risks. My arguments that they couldn’t fully understand fell on deaf ears and I resigned myself to having extra guards for the foreseeable future. 

The only question was: who would end up guarding who?

---

A/N - So fun fact: this is a true story. I wrote a Joker/OC story called Safety Dance and ended up having to rush an ending because I was uncomfortable with the way it was making me think. I still get deeply uncomfortable when I see pictures of Jared Leto’s Joker and Safety Dance is, to date, the only story I will never consider writing a sequel for. 

Previous | Next | Masterlist 

[spectraspecs-writes]

Korriban - Chapter 98

Link to the masterpost. Chapter 97. Chapter 99.

@averruncusho @ceruleanrainblues @chubbsmomma @strangepostmiracle thank you for reading, you get a tag. @skelelexiunderlord thank you for support, you get a tag.

———--

The archaeologists in the valley don’t do anything, don't even acknowledge me. I’d like to think I’ll get lucky and no one will bother me, but I can’t deny the Force. I have a very, very bad feeling about this. I reach out to Jolee. “Where are you guys? Are you somewhere safe?”

It takes a moment before he responds. “Are you all right? Out of nowhere the entire Academy started brawling, attacking anyone that moves. Carth’s son and a few of his friends are helping us fight off the horde, but we’re pinned down at the dormitories.”

Shit, I’ll be walking into that. How did they all know? Did they feel it when Uthar died, feel it when Yuthura changed? “What started it?”

“I can’t be sure, but ten minutes ago, I felt something shift in the Force, so I assume Yuthura’s plan for a change in leadership was successful. Is she dead?”

“No, but she’s left the Sith.”

“Well, that would do it.”

“If you can, try to make your way to the door to the Valley. Or at least the main chamber. I’ll meet you there. The sooner we leave the Academy, the better.”

“You won’t get any arguments from me. Come back to us alive, okay?”

“I’ll do my best.”

Standing at the door to the Academy are three Sith. And they look mad. “You there!” the one in the middle calls to me, “How is it that you are leaving Naga Sadow's tomb by yourself? You went for your final test, didn't you? Where is Master Uthar?”

If I thought I had a chance, I’d lie, talk them down, fool them, charm them, use my body - whatever I could do to avoid a fight. But there’s nothing I can do to get out of a fight here. They want one. “Master Uthar is dead,” I say, “I killed him.”

He balks. “What? You… but you aren't even a Sith, yet! Surely you jest!”

“Look,” I say, “I’m more than willing to let you guys go. I don’t need any trouble here, okay?”

“Well, you’ve found it!” So much for that. “If you've done anything to Master Uthar, you're going to pay for it!”

“But…” one of the others says, “…what if Master Uthar is really dead? How can we hope to stand up against someone who could kill him?”

“Don't be a sniveling coward!” the first one says, “I will prove this one a spy… and if Uthar is dead, I shall become the new master!!”

Oh, for God’s sake. I Force push all three of them down, surprising them before they can grab their lightsabers. In a flash, my lightsaber runs through two of them. The third, no longer emboldened by numbers, simply runs away. And I’m not particularly inclined to follow him.

It’s pure pandemonium inside the Academy, just as Jolee said. I barely dodge a deflected blaster bolt. And now I’m seen. Fantastic. No sign of Carth, Jolee, or Dustil. They must still be stuck at the dormitories or in the main chamber. My second lightsaber is just going to get in my way, so I stick with my blue one. An apprentice comes for me first. His form is sloppy, and he isn’t even very good at playing dirty. I cut through. The teachers are thankfully fighting amongst themselves for supremacy - they would take a lot longer to fight and I just want to get out of here. The students are too much pride, not enough skill.

But as I soon realize, that’s only the training room. Those Sith were still learning saber combat. As I get into the main chamber, the skill level jumps up, and so does the crazy. I don’t get a chance to finish one opponent before I get another, and then the previous one will switch to another, like a goddamn square dance. Pushing through the horde is long and slow, just trying to get to the dorms for Carth and Jolee. I don’t think they’ve pushed through yet. I’ve got to get through. My bad feeling just got worse.

“RENA!” I hear Jolee shout. I look over the horde. Carth is leaning against his shoulder, still conscious and shooting. But it’s almost like he’s not even aware, he’s just shooting out of pure impulse. I push past everyone in my way to get to him. “Damned fool doesn’t know enough to fall down.”

“Can you keep him up?”

“Not for much longer - I’m not exactly in peak condition either, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“Where’s Dustil?”

“Stayed behind, got us out.”

So it’s up to me. It’s not much farther to the door. Time to pull out my second lightsaber. “Stay behind me, I’ll get us to the door.”

I don’t even worry about winning fights now - I’m focused beyond that. It’s only a short way to the door. I just need to get from here to there. I take a deep breath, and just like I did outside, I use the Force to push away anyone between me and the door. Anyone left standing either moves out of my way or I push them back with both lightsabers. I don’t give a damn about their power struggles - my boyfriend has been hit and that’s all I care about. The last problem - loosely applied - is the Sith trooper at the door. I run him through before he can pull his blaster. The Academy door closes behind us. Not a sound.

Carth laughs dryly. “You’re beautiful when you’re angry.”

I take him from Jolee and smile. “You’re lucky you’re hurt, otherwise you wouldn’t get away with that so easy.”

“This old thing?” he says, “I’ve been hurt worse.”

“Ah,” Jolee says sarcastically, “so all that screaming was for intimidation purposes, was it?”

“Exactly.”

I walk him back to the Hawk and sit him down in the medbay. “Take your shirt off,” I say to him.

“With the door open?” he jokes.

“No, no, we’re not doing anything until I get a look at your shoulder, strip.” He grins at me, but then he does what I ask, takes off his jacket and his shirt.

The hole in his clothes isn’t evident, but the bolt obviously did some serious damage. “Just so you know,” he says, “not all of that was caused by the blaster bolt. The scarring, I mean.”

“Oh yeah?” I say, “Some battle in the Mandalorian Wars?”

“After that, actually,” he says, “That was Taris.”

Taris? “You didn’t get hit this bad on Taris.”

“No, not that you were aware of. That happened when the escape pod crashed.”

I gently peel off the wrappings of a kolto patch. “I thought you said you weren’t hurt all that badly.”

He smiles. “Despite Jolee’s screaming comment, I have been hurt worse. I was banged up, sure, but I was in decent enough shape to get you to the apartment, and I did have three days to patch myself up.”

I stop. “I was out for three days?” It didn’t feel like that long.

He shrugs a little bit (and winces some.) “Give or take - you sort of woke up a couple times, but for the most part you were out cold.”

Carefully and precisely, I place the kolto patch on his shoulder. “If I woke up, why don’t I remember? What happened?”

“I don’t know, really,” he says, “The first time you didn’t remember anything. The second, it was… strange. You didn’t know your name, but you did. I said ‘Visz’ and you objected, but ‘Rena’ was fine.” That’s weird. I mean, normal, I’ve always gone by Rena even when people call me by my last name, but it’s not that I have a problem with it, I just like Rena better. “The third time, there were Sith troops storming the apartment, looking for Republic fugitives. I didn’t think we were going to get out of it, but you… must have used the Force or something because a Sith trooper walked right by us. And the last - I don’t know, maybe you were sleepwalking.”

“I’ve never sleep-walked,” I tell him. And I’d know if I had - there’s almost no such thing as privacy on a scouting team, and if I’d started walking around in my sleep, someone would have told me.

Carth looks shocked. “Then, the last time you woke up, you stood over me with a sword, you thought I was Sith.” Good thing I snapped out of it. “I think it was just an instinct thing, I didn’t hold it against you, especially since you collapsed before you could do anything.”

I don’t remember having any dreams from then. And since I dream so rarely, it’s an event when I do. Hell, I’ve dreamt more since we started off on this escapade than I have my entire life. Ever since Trask woke me up on the Endar Spire, it’s just been one dream after another. Most of them having to do with Bastila, which is weird. I don’t have any idea what was going through my head then before I woke up on Taris.

“Can I ask you something?” Carth says, “What’s with the kolto patch? You can’t heal me with the Force?”

Subject change. Excellent. I shrug. “Yeah, I can, I just didn’t think you’d want me using the Force on you.”

“If it was anyone else, you’d be right, but I trust you,” he says. Hearing him actually say those words - “I trust you” - is such a huge thing for him, I like to hear it. “Come on, gorgeous, show me what you’ve got.”

I pull off the kolto patch and toss it, and take a deep breath. Feeling his cells, guiding them back together, closing over the bolt hole with new, unblemished skin. And I can feel the scars, too. They can’t heal naturally, but I think I can… “Hey.” I think I can just… “Rena.”

“I’m concentrating.”

“Leave the scars.”

I pull out. “You sure?”

“Positive,” he says. So I let it go. They’re just a shade lighter, but still there. He smiles at me lovingly as he pulls his shirt back on. “What was it like in that tomb? It looks like it’s still on your mind.”

I love how he can tell that. It might not be in the front of my mind but it is there. “I’m sure they meant it to be a challenge for Sith initiates but for the most part I didn’t have a problem,” I say with a shrug, “There were animals in there that would have attacked me if I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“Like how you dealt with that tuk’ata matriarch yesterday?” he says, “Whatever you were doing with her, she didn’t look like she was going to attack us until Lashowe came in.”

“Exactly,” I say, “I told the tuk’ata matriarch exactly what I was there for, and it had nothing to do with her or her pack. I told the hulak in Naga Sadow’s tomb the same thing, and they were more than willing to help me once we understood each other. They gave me the whole layout of the tomb, that’s how I was in and out so fast.”

“Cool. So if it was that simple, what are you still thinking about?”

I sigh and sit next to him. “You know the terentatek we found in the shyrack caves?” He nods. “There were two of them in the tomb.” Shock in his eyes. “I know, but that’s not what I’m thinking about. When we found the terentatek on Kashyyyk, I saw a datapad that belonged to Gunn Han Saresh. I didn’t get much about the terentatek from the Jedi archives, but I did read something about a terentatek hunt. After the war with Exar Kun, the Council sent three Jedi to kill terentatek.”

“Given that we’ve found terentatek I’m guessing they didn’t make it.”

“You guess right,” I say, “I found a second datapad in the shyrack caves, Duron Qel-Droma, and a third in the tomb, Shaela Nur’s. Duron’s girlfriend. I guess I’ve been thinking about them lately. Their lives, their deaths. Why. How.” After a moment I give my head a quick shake. Got a bit lost there for a second. ”That and I found a lightsaber crystal near Shaela Nur’s corpse, I wanted to ask Jolee about it.”

“You sure you’re all right?” he asks.

God, I love him. “Yeah, I’m fine,” I say, “I think I’m gonna go find Jolee, I really want to know about this crystal.”

“If we don’t have any more business here, I’m going to set course for Manaan, get started on pre-flight.”

“Sounds good to me,” I say, “See you tonight?”

“Looking forward to it,” he says with a smile, “Although I’m not looking forward to sleeping in the cargo hold again.”

“I’ve been thinking about that, myself,” I say, “Haven’t gotten anywhere with it. I’ll let you know.” Now. Jolee.

[primasveraas-writing]

The Privilege of Love

Request: "about the finnpoe prompts... Could you write a fic about how after a very dangerous mission and Poe almost losing Finn, he (poe) asks Finn on a date and can't believe his ears when finn says yes and he flies him to some very pretty planet and have a fun, heartwarming date? Ps. I love your fics" -@buckysentbycyberlife

Thank you for the request ❤ This ended up being much angstier and much longer than anticipated, but I hope you enjoy!

NO tros spoilers included

Word count: 2075

XXX

Finn cried out in pain, and Poe fell apart.

At the least opportune moment, he lost all composure, in the middle of a firefight, a desperate, barely successful mission to pick up new allies for the Resistance. Responses to Leia’s call for help had trickled in slowly, but she seized every opportunity available to rebuild their forces. Or rather, Poe, Finn, and Rey did, at her behest.

However, these new recruits needed extraction. They were untrained and in the middle of a First Order-occupied planet, but the risk was determined to be worth it.

(“We’re sending in the calvary,” Leia had said grimly, referring to their trio. “We need everyone we can get to win this war.”)

At first, the mission had gone relatively well; they had gone undetected until their group was making its way back to the cargo ship they were using for incognito transport, and they were rapidly overcome by First Order troopers. Rey led the new forces, a scraggly group of about ten people, to safely, while Finn, Poe, and a few other ground fighters held off the endless waves of stormtroopers chasing them.

It was then when a blaster bolt struck Finn in the leg, and Poe forgot a lifetime of training.

He heard Finn’s yell, a terribly familiar thing after a decade with the Resistance- how many pilots’ dying screams had he listened to through his x-wing’s comms, how many friends had died just feet away from him- and his heart thudded to a stop in his chest. Poe’s instincts told him to keep fighting, don’t look. He had to stay alive, and that meant, sometimes, shooting first and examining the carnage later.

Finn, it seemed, was the exception.

With his blaster in one hand, Poe grabbed Finn’s arm with the other, half-carrying, half-dragging him behind the meager shelter of an abandoned speeder littering the street they had turned into a battlefield. He was trembling, he realized, as he held Finn’s face in his hands. The other man’s eyes were half shut, breaths coming in shudders. 

“Finn! Finn-” Poe pleaded, shaking his shoulders slightly. “Come on, buddy.”

Finn's eyes opened suddenly, bright with pain. They focused on his companion's, flashing with fear. “Poe- my leg. I can’t walk.”

“I’ll help you. Look, it’s gonna be alright, just stay with me and it’ll all be fine.”

But Finn shook his head, his voice growing steadier. “I’ll be too slow. You go while you still can.”

Poe stared at Finn, suddenly overtaken by the imagine of Chewbacca descending from the ramp of the Millennium Falcon, Finn limp in his arms. For the briefest of seconds, the glory of destroying Starkiller Base had been squashed entirely. If Finn was dead, then it wouldn’t have been a true victory, and he knew it then, ever after meeting Finn just two days prior. Instinctually and instantly, he understood that Finn was an instrumental part of his existence, one that would be all the lesser without him in it.

The thought had become a recent subject of his nightmares, the more and more he spent his nights falling asleep thinking about Finn.

“No. You’re coming with me.”

And before Finn could protest, Poe stood, hauling their combined weight to stand. He slung Finn’s arm around his neck, raised his blaster, and shouted for his men to cover their retreat. 

As they moved, slow and encumbered, Finn was silent, concentrating on his feet. Their journey was not gentle, bounding over rubble, almost endlessly, lengthening the frantic flee back to the safety of their ship.

They made it after an eternity, the last ones up the ramp, collapsing on the ground in an exhausted mess of limbs. Finn grunted in pain, more blaster bolts struck the side of their hull, one of his companions shouted “go, go, go!” towards the general vicinity of the cockpit, and the cargo hauler lurched into motion.

Poe untangled himself delicately from Finn, cautiously minding his wound.

“You’re gonna be okay, Finn.” The commander glanced up at his forces. “Lin, go get the medkit.”

With deliberate motion, Finn sat up, pressing his hand against his thigh. Poe, drenched in both his and Finn’s sweat, still shivered at the smell of charred flesh mingling in the air.

“Thank you,” he said. “For saving me.”

“Of course,” Poe replied instantly, with a brief smile that failed entirely to meet his eyes. “I wasn’t leaving you behind.”

The casual tone of his words sharply contrasted the intensity of his stare, an unusual seriousness tainted with something deeper that Finn couldn’t quite place. His mouth opened, question on his lips, but Lin returned with bacta patches and bandages, and the moment was lost. He was treated quickly enough, but before they could regain any semblance of privacy, Rey rushed in from the cockpit to Finn’s side, and after the latter had been made comfortable on a makeshift bed of emergency blankets, he was left to rest.

Poe watched him from across the cargo bay and wondered why he would never be able to let Finn go.

This was war. Poe had seen more death than he cared to think about, had learned to carefully navigate the line of personal investment and the very real possibility that they could all be dead tomorrow. He loved his friends, his fellow Resistance members, and unfailingly dedicated himself to the cause, but concurrently braced himself for the worst. Their own mortality confronted them in every waking second, and he was no stranger to accepting the loss of others.

Yet, despite the adaptive skill to endure endless casualties, Poe knew that if Finn of all people died, he would never recover. Maybe to the point of losing the ability to pretend that it was okay, to get out of bed and resume his responsibilities without acknowledging his own pain.

He released a long sigh, and turned away.

xxx

By the time they landed, Poe managed to justify his feelings. He would have saved any other of his friends like he did Finn, and it was only natural that he was afraid of losing someone he cared about. There was no difference between his feelings about Finn and his feelings about his other companions.

Aside, of course, from the feelings that caused him to watch Finn sleep peacefully from across the hull, studying the lines of his face, trying to memorize his every perfection in the span of their two-hour hyperspace journey.

The next afternoon, after a sleepless night and a busy morning, Poe accepted an invitation to play sabacc cards with Finn and Rey in the medbay, spending his lunch break to entertain his friend while he recovered, still constricted to bed.

“Poe. Are you okay?” Finn asked him for the second time, and Poe snapped back to reality, focusing on the cards in his hand. He supposed that this was better, to be caught lost in thought about his sabacc hand rather than anything else; just five minutes earlier, he had realized that he was staring at Finn and heat had rushed to his cheeks before he could rationalize why he was studying the corners of Finn’s mouth and the way they slyly turned up whenever he was about to smile.

No difference in feelings indeed.

“Uh- yeah. Just a long day.” He lied quickly, avoiding Finn’s eyes and flashing a tired smile, which, at the very least, was genuine. He had replayed the day before over and over again in his head, conducting fantasies both torturous and blissful. The paranoia of losing Finn made him ache, yet concurrently, he imagined a universe where he could have swept Finn off of his feet, away from danger, and kissed him senseless.

He was face-to-face with his affection now. Dismissing the truth was easier when he could turn away, ignore the thundering in his chest and put off his emotions for a day of calm that likely wouldn’t come until the war was over, whatever that meant for him.

Last night, as he tossed and turned, he realized that he had almost faced the horror of losing Finn, and barely prevented the sobs from escaping.

Both Finn and Rey were watching him carefully, mirror expressions of each other. Uncanny at times, they frequently possessed the ability to know exactly what the other was thinking, and would either act in tandem or finish each other’s thoughts accordingly.

“I’m fine, guys,” He told them, but the strain in his voice said otherwise. The pair accredited him enough to not question his words, although Finn fixed him with another concerned glance that he ignored, despite the pang that pierced his heart in doing so.

Poe tossed his losing cards on the borrowed medbay table, “I’m bombing out,” he announced in distracted defeat at the same time that Rey’s commlink buzzed and she cursed quietly under her breath. The men turned to her, and she sighed.

“The General needs me.” She stood from her chair next to the bed, then leaned down to kiss Finn’s cheek. “I’ll see you later!”

The Jedi smiled at them both, wide and earnest as always. Poe felt a pang of jealousy- not for the nature of the two’s relationship, because he did believe Finn’s assurances that they were indeed just friends- but for the ease with which Rey was able to demonstrate her bond with Finn. Force, how he wished that he could do the same, or even define their bond to begin with.

“You aren’t acting weird because of yesterday, are you? I know I shouldn’t have gotten injured, but I was covering for someone and-”

Holding up his hand, Poe cut him off. “No, no, that’s not it. I’m fine, really, buddy. Just glad you’re okay.”

“You know I don’t believe you, right?” Finn demanded, and Poe barely choked back a stranged laugh at his persistence. 

“I do. I do trust that you don’t believe me, but this doesn’t really change much for me.”

“Why not?” He pestered. “Look, I don’t know what’s happened in the last day, but you can tell me.” He sat up straight in bed, pushing himself up with his arms. “Things went wrong yesterday. I’m sorry you had to worry about rescuing me too.”

The words hadn’t fully left his lips before Poe was shaking his head. “Don’t blame yourself, Finn. There was a lot going on in that battle.”

Nonetheless, Finn’s eyes met his, relentless. "Thank you for saving my life," he told him somberly.

Poe melted in his brown eyes instantly, worries of staidness aside. "Of course. It's what we do around here."

The steady gaze between them lingered far too long to be considered casual. For a split second, Poe broke his stare, eyes flitting to Finn's lips.

"Actually I- I really care about you Finn. I don't ever want something bad to happen to you."

The other man recoiled slightly, surprised. "That's hard to guarantee in this line of work, isn't it?"

The deep, forbidden longing arose in Poe, like an uncontrollable wave, washing over every fiber of his being. Finn was right: it was too dangerous to care, too dangerous to promise any semblance of safety, and most of all, too dangerous to love without being hurt.

It was too late for some of those things now. Poe's love expanded beyond him, into the darkest confines of the universe, pushing out his fear and inhibitions and will to stay stoic. He could die tomorrow, and it would never matter to the First Order or anyone else in the galaxy if he loved Finn openly and freely. Their bond was theirs, their love and affection and burden all the same.

He answered Finn carefully, "You know, it is. But some things are beyond my control."

Nodding silently, Finn seemed to understand. Then, a hand slid into his own and squeezed. Poe's heart skipped a beat and out of his chest.

"There's a place I know," he began, deliberately slowing his words. He felt that his happiness, if unchecked, could lead to a mess of rushed words and sentiments that he would never be able to fathom into sense. "just over the hill on the side of the base. If you're interested, I'd like to show you sometime. It's-" he was breathless suddenly and inexplicabably. Perhaps it was Finn, subconsciously leaning towards him or the glimmer of understanding that flashed across his face, "-it's lovely."

Another squeeze. "That sounds perfect."

[swhurtcomfort]

MEGA Fic Rec Friday!

I’d really like to do these every month, so they can be a nice 4-5 fic affair. But grad school happened, so I’ve got a lot of lovely reads from the past several months to share!!

As always, alphabetical by author ft. me yelling under the cut!

Not There Yet by BigFatBumblebee - Obi-Wan & Qui-Gon, Gen, 10k Summary:  We all know Obi-Wan Kenobi as the one of the strongest, wisest and bravest Jedi in the Jedi Order. But before he was High General Kenobi, The Negotiator, Council Member and Master of the Chosen One, he was an awkward 16-year-old Padawan who needed a bit of TLC.

The Queen, The Cavalier, and The Dragon by FireflyFish - Fem!Obi-Wan & Padme & Vader, 3.8k Summary:  A Queen and her Jedi Knight flee across the galaxy, relentlessly chased by the Dragon they both loved.

Problem Patient by JellyJog - AU Obi-Wan/Qui-Gon, 1.2k Summary:  From a tumblr prompt requesting quiobi where Obi-Wan chose to become a healer instead of following the path to become a jedi knight

Six Times Ahsoka Thought Her Grandmaster Was Dead, and the One Time He Actually Was by LazarusII & Pandora151 - 1.4k, wip Summary: A heavy silence fell over the lower levels of Coruscant’s undercity. Then, a quiet shuffling sound, almost like footsteps, sounded from above.A single blaster bolt rang out—followed by a pained cry. Things were happening too fast; Ahsoka’s heartbeat thundered in her ears, drowning out her surroundings.Her mind barely registered the flash of cream-white careening into the crates directly in front of her. A sickening crunch filled the air as the lifeless form of Obi-Wan Kenobi crashed to the ground. Ahsoka’s heart stopped.

Perception by LuvEwan - Obi-Wan & Qui-Gon & Dooku, Gen, 7.5k Summary:  Master and apprentice are held captive. Obi-Wan is drugged, and unable to differentiate the past, present and future. Qui-Gon is a little shocked when rescue comes in the form of a figure from his own past: Dooku. The trip back to Coruscant is full of unexpected moments and emotions.

Candles Against the Sea by maychorian - Obi-Wan & Qui-Gon, Gen, 41k Summary: It is several months after Melida/Daan, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon have been working to re-establish their bond. It's been going well. Qui-Gon seems perfectly satisfied. But Obi-Wan is not.

The Sun Shall Not Smite Thee by maychorian - Obi-Wan & Qui-Gon, Gen,  Summary:  It had taken the Jedi far too long to effect a rescue—over a week. By that time Obi-Wan was nearly delirious, on the edge of madness from loneliness and fear caused by his inability to touch the Force.

The Past Remains by otherhawk - Obi-Wan-centric, Gen, 15k Summary:  The war drags on leaving trauma and destruction in its wake. After a bereaved Master is accused of harming his padawan, Obi-Wan is sent to talk to her, dredging up memories of his own past.

The Orchards by Raven_Knight - Qui-Gon & Obi-Wan, Gen, 3.6k Summary: When young Obi-Wan Kenobi is injured on a previous mission, Qui-Gon Jinn refuses to accept further off-planet missions until his Padawan's recovery. Yoda assigns the pair an in-Temple mission of utmost importance while Obi-Wan heals. Master and Padawan welcome the change of pace.

Protect and Nurture by Ren - Obi-Wan & 212th, Gen, 7k Summary: “What do you mean he was taken by slavers!?” Rex winced, looking over his shoulder to make sure no-one had heard. He was hiding in a dark alleyway, and the last thing he needed was for this hiding spot to be blown by an outraged Commander.When their General is taken by slavers, the 212th is half-way across the galaxy. They must wait and pray that their brothers can get to him in time.

Not There Yet by BigFatBumblebee: This is straight-up sickfic, featuring all the best classic tropes. Looking now it seems like there might be some formatting issues in the desktop version, but I read this on mobile without difficulty. Poor Obi-Wan gets frustrated with the motherhenning of Qui-Gon and Tahl. “Meg, did you find this fic because you were searching through the Tahl tag again?” Sure did. Tahl is the best! I loved her interactions with grumpy, feverish Obi-Wan, and how she and Qui-Gon team up to make sure he takes his medicine and rests up. Very cute, worth the read! <3

The Queen, The Cavalier, and The Dragon by FireflyFish: This is so cool! I’m in love with the fairytale motif. This is a post-mustafar fix-it (sort of) with a focus on Obi and Padme parenting the twins and keeping them safe and trying to teach them their family’s history in a way that they can comprehend. I loved Obi and Padme kicking ass together, Leia was great, and Luke was so freakin’ precious omg <3

Problem Patient by JellyJog: I guess you could say that this one is less about the h/c, and more humor with the halls of healing as a backdrop, but I loved it so I wanted to include it nonetheless! Qui-Gon is such an ass and Obi-Wan is so confident and OVER his shit, it’s just peak QuiObi and I got a lot of laughs out of it. I liked Obi-Wan in the healer role, especially when it’s Qui-Gon he’s patching up. <3

Six Times Ahsoka Thought Her Grandmaster Was Dead, and the One Time He Actually Was by LazarusII & Pandora151: Ouch! Just ouch! I loved the narrative style that really drove home the horror of this scene, I always expect great things from these authors and I am never ever disappointed!! I’m so excited to see where this goes next! I am NOT ready for it, because I assume they will get sadder and sadder as we move forward in the timeline and Ahsoka gets closer and closer to Obi-Wan. But fine, I didn’t need my heart anyways, go ahead and break it </3

Perception by LuvEwan: This is wonderfully unique! I love the tension between Qui-Gon and Dooku, and how weird it is for everyone involved to see Dooku being soft and caring with Obi-Wan - especially poor Qui-Gon doesn’t know what to make of it. I melted for how worried Qui-Gon got, even though he was trying not to motherhen too much in front of Dooku because he assumed Dooku would disapprove. What a good Jedi Dad. <3

Candles Against the Sea by maychorian: I implore you to check the tags on this one! But if you’re like me, and some of the themes warned for are a “maybe” for you, know that they’re dealt with here very tactfully and, I thought, very believable for Obi-Wan’s character. What I love most about this fic is how it deals with grief, and how it shows Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon and their different approaches to dealing with their pasts. And of course, I’m a sucker for fics that reference the Jedi Apprentice series! <3

The Sun Shall Not Smite Thee by maychorian: Ouch! This is a dark one! Just like the other fic by this author, it takes me back to my livejournal days and the Jedi Apprentice series. I loved how desperate and protective and fatherly Qui-Gon was, and it definitely scratched the itch for straight-up Obi-Wan whump. <3

The Past Remains by otherhawk: Please please please read the tags on this one before diving in! That said, I thought this was a really well-written and touching story, my favorite bit was probably Obi-Wan and Mace’s interactions, and just Obi-Wan with the Council in general because despite being one of them, it’s hard to escape the fact that most of them knew him when he was young too and the past still follows him. What I liked about this was also how messy it is - it’s not a black-and-white situation, and the different characters’ perspectives and conflicting memories are laid out to give the reader sort of an omniscient view of the story. <3

The Orchards by Raven_Knight: I died of cuteness! This is so domestic and fluffy, they’re freakin’ baking together, what more could anyone possibly want from a h/c fic? This one is for those of us who are 100% here for the comfort, not just the hurt. I really loved reading these two getting some downtime, and with all the asshole!Qui-Gon fics in this list, I’m really happy to include one that features Qui being sweet and protective and softly joking with his convalescent Padawan while they bond over apples! <3

Protect and Nurture by Ren: OUCH! This one doesn’t pull any punches when it comes to Obi-Wan and the aftermath of Zygerria. I loved seeing Cody, Rex, and Wolffe and their different reactions to the traumatic scenario. Motherhen!Cody cracks me up! For all that this story has a lot of “hurt”, there’s a lot of the “comfort” part too which is something I really appreciate. <3

[dearlazerbunny]

The Light in You

Pairings: Kylo Ren x Reader

Genre/Warnings: Birthday!Fic

Words: 2,200

Summary: HAPPYYYYYY BIRTHDAYYYYYY to one of my bestest followers on the whole of the great wide web, @scheherazades-horcrux!!! You have supported me and my work for so long with such kindness, and if I was rich and famous I’d give you an all-expense paid trip to Galaxy’s Edge- but for now, this will have to do :D I love you darling!!! Enjoy!!

“He’s going to see us.”

“He’s not going to see us.”

“Kylo Ren, you are a six-foot-something dark monstrosity with a cape, there is no way he’s not going to-!” You quickly cut yourself off as the He in question comes stalking down the corridor, the heels of his boots stomping just a little more threateningly than usual. Hux is clearly peeved- his face is almost the color of his hair- but rather than immediately honing in on the two of you standing on the opposite side of the hallway, he zeroes in on the nearest unfortunate mechanic.

“Ren. Where is he. People said he came this way.”

The rookie’s eyes widen, confused, and his gaze darts over to where you and Kylo are watching the scene- Kylo in vague amusement, you in absolute fascination. When Kylo puts a gloved finger up to his lips in the universal signal for don’t you dare say a word, you have to press a hand over your lips to keep giggles from spilling out.

The engineer tries and fairly spectacularly to look the general in the eye as he answers. “I’m, um, not sure? Sir? Have you checked the- um- the flight deck?” His voice is wobbling and looks as though he’s about to burst into tears.

Hux releases an extremely controlled breath before continuing on his march to find Kylo, whom he’s been summoning all day and yet can’t seem to find.

You hold your breath when Hux’s head doesn’t even turn as he passes you, mumbling to himself all sorts of colorful curse words that would make even the most seasoned stormtrooper blush.

Once he’s out of sight around the corner, plus a few extra seconds for good measure, you slowly lower your hand from your mouth. “Holy. Shit.”

Kylo is smirking. “Such little faith.”

“You just- we just- were we just fucking invisible? You can do that?!”

“Mm, no. It’s more like… redirection. I heavily suggest to his subconscious that there’s nothing to see here, and so his waking mind doesn’t notice us. Everyone else knows we’re here.” He inclines his head towards the newbie, frozen in place like he’s seeing his life flash before his eyes. “Hux’s mental fortitudes are astonishingly pathetic for someone who spends his time around a Force user.”

“Stars.” You’re still reeling from the encounter. “Why aren’t you, like, a master thief or something? You could do anything! The Black Phantom strikes again, millions of credits worth of jewels stolen without a trace-”

“It doesn’t fool cameras. Or droids.”

“Oh.” Your noir fantasy comes crashing to a halt. “I guess that means no diamonds for me.”

He quirks an eyebrow. “I thought you said diamonds were, and I quote, ‘worthless hunks of carbon artificially inflated in price for the sole purpose of trying to show off how much you think you love someone.’”  

You shrug. “I mean, they are, but they’re shiny.”

“Typical woman.”

“You have zero room to talk, the way you moon over that special snowflake sword of yours. I have half a mind to just let the two of you get married and have a long peaceful life together.”

Kylo is glaring at you with that look on his face, the one that says he’s going to either kill you and himself,  up he’s not quite sure in which order. To temper his aggravation, you grab his hand and tug him along. “Okay, What’s next?”

Despite his annoyance, his fingers entwine with yours and he allows you to pull him down the hallway, in the opposite direction Hux went. “Haven’t you seen enough yet?”

“Are you kidding me? You haven’t even thrown things across the room yet!” There’s an exasperated sigh from behind you, but you gleefully ignore it as you head for Kylo’s quarters in the south wing of Starkiller Base.

Technically, this entire day came to pass because of a bet. Well, a lost bet. On Kylo’s part. One one lazy afternoon where you both had some free time, you happened to find an old Dejarik board tucked away in a spare room filled with a few packs of cards and creased books. Competitive as you are, you immediately challenged him to a game- winner gets to do whatever they want with the other person for an entire day, no objections from their partner.

You knew Kylo had grown up playing- he’d mentioned it before, a rare insight into his past- and just as you predicted, was enormously cocky about the whole thing. He’d smirked, tried to talk you out of it, and said he’d go easy on you.

What Kylo didn’t know was that you too had grown up playing Dejarik- the orphanage had one measly board, and it shorted out most of the time, but you’d spend hours upon hours playing with the other kids in to-the-death tournaments where you wagered blankets, food rations, chore duties, and everything inbetween.

And so, when Kylo promptly got his ass handed to him (oh man, the look on his face- you never wanted to forget it) you immediately set out planning a day where he had to show you absolutely everything he can do with his crazy Force powers. You’ve never really gotten a chance to see them up close, and you’ve always been so curious- who wouldn’t want to be a space wizard??- so they day has been filled with you tossing objects at Kylo and watching him expertly slice them in two with his lightsaber, stopping blaster bolts in thin air, and of course becoming “invisible” to avoid General Horrible. 

Now, sitting cross legged on your bed, you watch Kylo remove a few of his layers- gloves, cape, coat. It always makes you happy when he does this. It means he’s comfortable enough around you to take off bits and pieces of his mask, small as they may be. Some day, you’re going to see all of him, even the parts he keeps hidden. He deserves to know he’s not the monster he thinks he is.

“Alright. What next?”

You grin. “Flying.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me! I want to soooooooooar!” You fling your arms out exaggeratedly. “If you can throw a stormtrooper clear across the room, I’m sure you can let me hover in the air for a few seconds, yes?”

“I-”

“I’m not hearing a no.” You bounce yourself on the mattress a few times like a toddler waiting to be picked up. “Come on, just don’t let me fall on my face and it’ll be great!”

Another long suffering sigh, and he turns his palms right side up where they’re resting on his thighs. Nothing happens for a few moments. Your heart stutters in anticipation. Then, ever so slowly, you begin to lift off the bed- one inch. Two. Another four. It’s an extremely weird sensation- completely foreign and yet somehow incredibly comfortable. It’s like you’re suspended in a warm pool of water, buoyant and cradled, and the notion of falling is so remote you don’t even feel like it’s a possibility. You can’t help the laugh of glee that escapes from your chest as you wave your hands around midair, touching nothing but feeling overly sensitive nonetheless. Kylo is looking up at you with a faint smile, half focused on his work and half focused on the light in your eyes that could rival any star he sees from his TIE fighter.

After a few minutes of messing around- swimming in midair, sticking your hair up into spikes- you let him lower you gently back to ground, guiding you to sit next to him as he comes into reach. When you settle back onto the mattress, all your air leaves you in a whoosh.

“Holy crap,” you mutter, trying to make your lungs work. “Why do you not just fly everywhere?”

“A bit dramatic, don’t you think?”

You scoff and scoot closer so you can stick your arm through his and let your head rest on his shoulder. “Kylo Ren, being dramatic? I’ve never seen such a thing.”

You can feel his huff rumble through his chest, and you smile into his shirt. “Any magical miracles you want to impart?”

“It’s not magic.”

“Coulda fooled me.” You pause. “Oh! I know!” You scoot away a bit and look at him. “Read my mind.”

“What?”

“You can do that, can’t you? I’ve heard rumors but I’ve never seen you do it.”

“There’s a reason for that.”

“It’s fine,  you won’t hurt me, I promise.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do know that.”

Your statement makes him stop for a moment and turn to look at you- really look at you, his brown eyes taking you in like he’s just seeing you for the first time. “You trust me that much.”

“Of course I do.” There’s not a trace of insincerity in your voice, and Kylo doesn’t even have to read your mind to know that.  

“Okay. Just- here.” He sits opposite of you, cross-legged, so that your knees are just barely touching, and lets your fingers rest in his still open palms. You’re fixed with a look- “you have to tell me to stop, if it hurts, or if there’s something you don’t want me to see, or-”

You stop him with a kiss, light on his lips. “I get the picture, Black Phantom. Go for it.”

Another sensation, even more curious then the last. There’s a slight pressure at your temples, and a single moment of fear- it’s just Kylo, relax, it’s okay- and then a ‘Hello.’

‘Whoa. I can talk to you just by thinking?’

‘Clearly.’

‘What number am I thinking of?’

‘Forty-two.’

‘Uuuum how many toes am I holding up?’

‘How many- toes?’

‘Well, you can see my fingers.’

A pause. ‘Three. Your toes are frighteningly dexterous.’

You giggle. ‘Thank you. I think.’

There’s more talking- well, not talking, but you know- but honestly you aren’t really paying any attention to it. The sensation of Kylo floating through your head, touching a few memories here and there delicately, like they might break, is enough to think about. You let yourself float with him, not really thinking of anything in particular, just letting things come as they please.

‘Today is my birthday.”

“Wait, really?” Kylo is so startled the mental connection breaks, and you blink at the sudden loss of warmth. “I thought you didn’t know when your birthday was?”

“Well. I don’t.” The closest thing you have is the day you were dropped on the porch of the orphanage, and that doesn’t quite have the same ring to it- like, ‘happy abandoned-by-your-parents day!’ “But that just means I get to pick my own, right? And from what I can tell birthdays are supposed to be happy. Spent with people you love, doing things that make you laugh- a day that you play over and over again in your head before you go to sleep for the warm feeling it gives you in your chest.” You study the man across from you. “And that’s what today has been like. So, today’s my birthday. I’ve decided.”

“Do you even know what today’s date is?”

You crack a smile. “No. Is that important?”

“If you want it to happen again next year, it is.” Kylo looks thoughtful for a moment, then shifts to get up off the bed and rummage through his bedside table drawer. Something emerges, but he hides it in the palm of his hand when he sits back down across from you. “Close your eyes.” You do so. Something is draped into your palm- you can feel the reverence with which he does it. “Happy birthday.”

A white Kyber Crystal, glowing faintly, is nestled in your hands. Soft black material that feels identical to Kylo’s cloak is threaded through a crack in the gem, turning it into a wearable declaration of- something. Love? Could you say love? “I didn’t know when I was going to give this to you. But a birthday begets birthday presents.”

“Kylo. How did-?” It hums softly as you turn it between your fingers, feeling it vibrate slightly as you admire its fractured surface.

“That’s not important. It’s yours now.” He watches as you tie it around your neck and let it fall, where it dangles just above your heart.

“Why not red? I would’ve thought you’d want us to match.”

He shakes his head. A hand reaches for your gift, as if drawn to it, but ends up tucking a rogue piece for hair behind your ear and settling behind your neck. “I see light in you,” he whispers. “So much of it. This… isn’t enough, but it will have to do for now.”

You smile as you lean into his touch. “There’s plenty of light in you too, Kylo Ren.”

“There’s not.”

“There is. It sparks every time I kiss you.” And just to prove your point, you do so, white light glowing from between the both of you.

[jcmorrigan]

Little Coincidences

The F/O? Giovanni Potage from Epithet Erased. The S/I? Rachel Scribere - mundie, writer of much fanfiction, independent contractor supervillainous minion who has also given up on adulting. (Most of those things apply to me IRL!) This is the one where I’m REALLY banking on no one who went to high school with me following me on Tumblr right now, because I get into some personal-ish stuff here that was very specific to my graduating class. I just...wanted my current f/o to show up a ghost from my past. And what are f/o’s for, if not that?

***

         It started when Giovanni ran past me, pressed a marker into my hand, and yelled, “MARKER FIGHT!”

           Yes, there is context. I wanted to simulate the exact sense of confusion for you that I felt when he did that.

           To be clear, it was during down time in the “evil lair” that our sector of Blasters had taken over – a public library that had been defunded by the city but never torn down, so really, it was a bunch of empty bookshelves (where you could occasionally find an old and really weird book they’d missed on the clear-out) where no one would think to look for us because this entire building was basically a health hazard. We were only about ninety-five percent sure there wasn’t asbestos in the walls.

           Also, if I’ve talked before about the mall incident, or the kiss before the skyline – this was before that. A lot before that. Back when I knew I liked Giovanni in the romantic sense, but he wasn’t exactly aware of that, nor did he really like me in that way. No, this was when I was a pining idiot and we were just friends.

           At which point he shoved a marker into my hand.

           “What the fuck?” I asked.

           “MARKER FIGHT,” he repeated, as though that explained everything.

           The worst part was that it actually did.

           See, I hadn’t wanted to say it at that time, but it frightened me. I’d seen this done before, in one very specific place. How had he known? “Just to be clear,” I said deliberately, “this is that game where each of us wields a marker of a different color, we LARP it out, drawing on someone is a ‘wound,’ and we tally the winner by who has the most of their color on everyone else?”

           “Good. I was worried I’d have to explain the whole thing to you. Now we can skip the tutorial phase and go right to the EVERY-BOY-FOR-HIMSELF RIVALRY!” He let out a raucous and malicious-sounding cackle for about thirty solid seconds before telling me, “You get a ten-second head start.”

           I wasted no time bolting away from him, darting at random zigzags through the shelves to avoid any other Blasters who were playing. Then I heard the triumphant scream of “TIME IS UP, COMPOSER!”

           At which point I almost ran into Ben.

           “Oh, SWEET!” he cried, raising a red marker high. “Maybe this is how I finally get the nickname ‘Stabby’!”

           I screamed as he put a red mark across my forehead. I then retaliated, drawing a line of cobalt-blue down his ear as though lopping it off.

           “MY EAR!” Ben screeched. “SHE VAN-GOGHED ME!”

           I used his cries to dart away around the shelves…right into the same area as Crusher.

           “So,” he growled, raising his lime-green marker. “It’s come to this…ROMANTIC RIVAL.”

           “Don’t try me right now,” I warned, showing him my deep-blue pseudo-dagger. “I’m armed and dangerous.”

           “I think the only way to settle our mutual affections for the Boss is to duel to the death.”

           “So you have chosen death, then.”

           It was rather obvious why Crusher and I didn’t really get along most days. However, for a few minutes, we kind of forgot that we were supposed to hate each other. I managed to leave several long blue lines up Crusher’s arms, screaming “SUBMIT! SUBMIT!”, until suddenly I was pinned down, getting green scribbled down my entire face as Crusher roared, “SURRENDERRRRRR!”

           From a row away, Ben groaning, “Come onnnnn, you know I have dibs on ‘Stabby’! Don’t ruin this for me!”

           Suddenly, Crusher’s eyes widened; “I’VE BEEN HIT!” He rolled over onto his back, making exaggerated, dramatic death noises.

           “COMPOSER!” Spike, the one who’d perpetrated the fatal silver blow, extended a hand to me. “TEMPORARY ALLIANCE!”

           I let her help me up just in time for Flamethrower to skid into the area, striking several cheerleader-precision poses with flair as he brandished his fire-orange marker.

           “AVENGE MEEEEEE!” Crusher yelled.

           Flamethrower’s cheerleading practice was put to good use. Spike and I combined couldn’t stymie him; he danced circles around us, and our skin displayed orange marks of his prowess. Meanwhile, Crusher changed “death” positions five times, making louder groans each time to try and get attention.

           “CRUSHERRRRR!” this from Darkstar, who’d just skidded onto the scene. “NOOOOOO! WHO DID THIS TO YOU?”

           “THEY DID IT!” Flamethrower jabbed his marker at Spike and myself.

           “HE DID IT!” we yelled, pointing back at him.

           “FLAMETHROWER!” Darkstar accused. “HOW COULD YOU?”

           “ME? BUT – “

           “THIS MEANS WAAAAAAR!”

           As Team Composer finally got the upper hand on Flamethrower, Darkstar paused to whisper to me, “I know one of you two got him, but I’ve been waiting for WEEKS to get Flamethrower back for eating my pudding out of the staff lounge.”

           We didn’t argue.

           Behind the shelf, Ben yelled, “Oh, where was this when you found ME stabbed?”

           We all froze when the sound of a running motor alerted us to the impending horror.

           “…Please tell me Boss decided to bring his Vespa into this to spice it up,” I said, voicing what we were all thinking. “Please, please, please tell me it was NOT hijacked by – “

           Our worst fears were confirmed when Car Crash came driving Giovanni’s scooter around the corner at top speed, his marker taped to the handlebars; “BEEP BEEP, FUCKERS!”

           All of our rivalries were gone. We screamed and ran as one herd of panicked cattle, trying to get as far away as possible from Car Crash on a stolen motorized vehicle. At some point, Ben ended up in our crowd. I didn’t bother asking.

           As it turned out, we were all playing right into the hands of the enemy. We hurried to the circular area around the children’s info desk only to find the area quickly filling up with a thick mist. Mist that smelled…suspiciously delicious.

           “NO!” I screeched. “MISSION ABORT! MISSION – “

           It was too late. We were trapped in the Fog of Lost Souls.

           “BOSS, NO!” Crusher dropped to his knees. “SPARE ME! PLEASE! I LOVE YOU!”

           “I LOVE YOU MORE!” Spike screeched. “SPARE ME INSTEAD!”

           I couldn’t even see either of them. Somehow, we’d all gotten horribly separated. The distinct sound of Car Crash running the Vespa into the info desk and groaning, “Aw, man!” resounded.

           The maniacal laughter I’d heard earlier when gifted my weapon sounded again, but louder, and from on high – he was standing on top of one of the bookshelves. “YOU POOR, SIMPLE FOOLS! …WhoIloveverymuchandhateinsultingbutthisisaroleplay. YOU WALKED RIGHT INTO YOUR OWN DOOM! Alliances and loyalty mean nothing in this bloodthirsty war! NONE OF YOU SHALL BE SPARED! TELEPORTS RAPIDLY BEHIND EVERYONE!”

           I’m half convinced he actually did teleport this time, because the screams sounded from everyone right in order of one another; somehow, Giovanni was able to locate each of us within his fog and strike out, drawing glitter-gold wounds on each of us in strategic locations. I could feel the cool ink swipe hard across the back of my neck.

           I did the only thing one could do, which was to drop to my knees and scream in faux anguish. Then slump to the floor as if well and truly decapitated.

           When the fog cleared, it turned out all of us had had the same idea, lying strewn about like a murder scene. Even the Vespa had been drawn on in metallic gold ink in the confusion and was lying toppled.

           Atop the info desk, Giovanni laughed triumphantly, hoisting his marker to the ceiling. “YOU ARE DEALING WITH NO MERE MORTAL! THIS WAR WAS LOST THE MOMENT IT WAS BEGUN!”

           “Would it be foul play to act like we were all just playing dead and then rush him at once?” I muttered.

           To my surprise, it was Crusher of all people who answered back, “No, it wouldn’t.”

           We all knew what we had to do.

           “Hey – “ Giovanni nearly fell back off the desk. “Boys – no – YOU’RE ALL DEAD – “

           I yelled “FAKEOUT!” at the same time that Spike yelled “MUTINY!” and Ben yelled “ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE!”

           We charged, climbing up onto the desk. It was your standard library info desk – at least standard to all the ones I’d seen – meaning it was semicircular in design. Giovanni fell back onto the floor right in the middle of the circlular area. After a brief pause in which he assured us, “I’m fine; please continue,” we vaulted over the desk en masse and drew on every bit of exposed skin to the sounds of his tortured screams.

           It was the most fun I’d had on the Blasters since becoming a Blaster-adjacent independent contractor villain. However, I still couldn’t shake how haunting it was that I had already known the rules of marker war. There was no way – I hadn’t gone to school with any of the Blasters, and my family hadn’t even started out in Sweet Jazz City. And I wasn’t sure at all how to address this.

 ***

           The second incident was also in the library, a few days later. I was heading into the employee lounge (which had originally, when it was a functioning library, been…an employee lounge) with my phone so I could make a highly sensitive business call about appraising a hijacked load of game consoles, followed up by a dentist appointment I’d been putting off.

           One minute, I was strolling into the lounge, strutting like any villain would, phone in hand. And the next, I was sitting on the floor, heart racing with adrenaline, someone’s scream ringing in the air.

           It took me a moment to realize that scream was mine.

           It was followed up by laughter – a slowly building wheeze into an outright chortle. “Composerrrrrr! I knew you’d freak, but not like THAT!”

           I replayed the events in my mind. What had happened in that missing flash was that someone who’d been hiding behind the door frame had leapt at me and jumpscared me while I had been on my way into the lounge.

           Not just any someone. No, one very specific fanged, pink-haired ball of energy.

           “GIOVANNI…POTAGE,” I growled, slowly turning my head to regard him.

           He had tears in his eyes now from laughing so hard. “You should’ve seen your face,” he squeaked. “It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in my life!”

           Well, I’d always wanted to hear that from him, but not in that context.

           “I…am going…to kill you,” I growled.

           With an “Eek!”, Giovanni realized he needed to run, and he did so.

           I needed a weapon. The fridge was the first thing I saw. Throwing open the door, I saw a pack of pudding cups labeled “DARKSTAR’S (don’t touch, Flamethrower!!!”). And nothing else.

           I did not feel sorry for Darkstar one bit.

           Armed with chocolate pudding, I barreled through the rows of shelves, looking for my wayward boss. Oh, don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t entirely angry. I wasn’t that angry at all. But when your crush jumpscares you, that is just not something you let go without having some fun.

           I happened upon him behind the first-floor stairway, where I backed him up against the underside of the stairs. “NOT THE FACE!” he screeched as he put up both arms.

           And I lost resolve.

           When a few seconds had passed and Giovanni found himself not pelted with pudding, he asked, “Hey, what gives?” as though legitimately frustrated with me. “You caught me! Now you gotta dish out what I gave to you! Geez, did you forget everything I told you about villainy and revenge?”

           “This isn’t right,” I muttered. “Sorry for wasting your time. I’ll go now.”

           I hadn’t meant it to sound that melodramatic. Anyway, I turned on a heel to return the pudding to its home.

           “Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa!” Giovanni seized my wrist as I turned away, and I felt my heart flutter. “Composer, this isn’t like you! Where’s the vicious femme fatale I mentored into villainous perfection?”

           I froze. “Actually doing anything about the jumpscare is more effective at scaring people off than the scare itself, believe it or not.”

           “What the hell? What even is that crap? Just get me back already! Stop being weird!”

           Maybe, just maybe, I’d gotten this all wrong.

           So I started slowly and deliberately unwrapping the lid of the first pudding cup right there in front of him.

           “Now RIGHT IN THE FACE!” Giovanni encouraged.

           I gave him a quizzical look.

           “Come onnn, Composer! I don’t have all day!”

           So I slopped the pudding onto his face halfheartedly.

           “Seriously?” he sighed. “You can do way better than that.”

           “You’re right,” I realized. “I can.”

           So I smacked the second one onto his nose, full stop.

           “Now THAT’S what I call some DELICIOUS VENGEANCE!” Giovanni laughed. “But seriously. I have things to do. Important, evil things.”

           “Okay. I still have to make those calls.”

           “In the lounge?”

           “Yeah.”

           “…Could you do me a favor and get me a soda from the gas station across the street first? I’m thirsty and decaffeinated.”

           I shrugged, rather confused but not about to be rude about it. “Sure. Be right back.”

           “I’ll come pick it up from you in the lounge.”

           It wasn’t until I was repeating my steps that I realized the ruse. “Oh, no fuckin’ way,” I muttered as I approached the lounge.

           I shook the plastic soda up good and hard. Then chucked it into the lounge.

           “HYEEEAH!” Giovanni yelled as he revealed himself to scare an inanimate bottle of soda. “…Wait.”

           “REALLY?” I groaned, rolling my eyes.

           “It was hilarious!” Giovanni argued. “You’re the best person to scare!”

           “I do need to actually get some work done today, you know.”

           “Fiiiiine,” Giovanni sighed. “I’ll leave you alone. Just – “ His eyes widened as he thought of something. “Hey, you don’t mind me hanging out in here while you make your calls, do you?”

           Just me and the object of my affections hanging out alone in a room? What was he playing at?

           “See,” he went on mischievously, “if you’re in here making a call like nothing’s wrong, and another Blaster sees you from the outside of the door…”

           “They’re going to assume there is absolutely no one waiting to scare them behind it,” I realized. “You’re a fucking genius, Boss.”

           “I know.”

           “Deal.”

           As I took my seat, bringing out my phone, Giovanni had retrieved the soda bottle. “I am pretty thirsty, though – “

           “BOSS, DON’T – “

           The minute he opened the cap, it exploded into a geyser that soaked him.

           I couldn’t make my call for a solid fifteen minutes due to laughing too goddamn hard.

 ***

           The camel’s back broke when we were alone together at the strategy table, going over some reconnaissance notes I’d brought back from a surveillance mission.

           “So anyway, I think we have the best chance from one of these three windows,” I explained, cycling through flash cards I’d taped photos to. “We could test for alarms by chucking a good old-fashioned brick through the glass.”

           “Or a bottle of soda that was shaken up,” Giovanni teased.

           I laughed. And also flushed. I hated that he was so goddamn oblivious, sometimes.

           “I mean, it’s practically your specialty!” he argued, leaning back in his chair and setting his ankles on the table, crossing them, one over the other.

           The problem was that it was Casual Friday. Which was not an official Blaster protocol, but rather something that Giovanni himself had developed for this specific faction. He’d thought it would improve morale, and he was right. I myself had resorted to a pair of sweatpants and a band T-shirt that didn’t match. He was wearing a pair of battered jeans and a favorite gray sweater of his, edged in white faux fur. That much I had known.

           I hadn’t seen his shoes yet.

           And right before my eyes, one over the other, he crossed a pair of red Converse high-tops.

           The strategy meeting was abandoned. I slammed my flash cards on the table, rising up and yelling, “WHO TOLD YOU?”

           “OKAY, I ADMIT IT!” he screamed, looking like I’d gotten him with his hands in the cookie jar. “BEN RATTED HIM OUT BECAUSE BEN’S A SNITCH!”

           “HOW. DID BEN. KNOW ABOUT HIM?”

           “BECAUSE HE WAS IN THE LOUNGE THAT DAY AND SAW HIM TAKING IT!”

           I flinched. “We’re not on the same page, are we?”

           “You’re…not asking me about how Ben ratted on Flamethrower for taking Darkstar’s pudding, and I told Darkstar because I thought it would be funny to start shit?”

           I wasn’t really sure where to take that. “…No.”

           “Thennnnnn what are we talking abouuuuut?” His voice rose a little bit on every word to express his utter confusion.

           I sighed heavily. “So you didn’t hear anything about my high school?”

           “No.”

           “Nothing. Not a thing.”

           “Composer, I have no idea where this is going.”

           I sat back down. “This is a complicated story. You don’t wanna – “

           Instantly, Giovanni had repositioned, leaning across the table excitedly. “IS THIS WHERE I GET TO FINALLY HEAR ABOUT THE DARK AND TRAGIC PART OF YOUR BACKSTORY THAT DROVE YOU TO A LIFE OF CRIME?”

           I found myself smiling. “I mean, my parents aren’t dead ghosts. I gotta have some raison d’etre, right?”

           “Tell me. Tellmetellmetellme.”

           I couldn’t look him in the eye. “So…when I was in high school, there was this…guy.”

           “Ooh. This sounds promising.”

           “And I really wanted…”

           Oh, God. I couldn’t tell Giovanni that I was acting this way because of someone I’d had an obsessive crush on. Then he might make the connection that I had a similar one on him. (I had greatly overestimated how canny Giovanni could be about such things. This was back in the day when you could tell him upfront you loved him more than life itself and he wouldn’t get it.)

           “…to be his friend.” And sadly, that was probably the heart of it, more than the romance aspect itself. “He was very loud and weird. But in a good way. Or so I thought, anyway. Not like I was alone, either. Everyone in my school wanted to be near him. EVERYONE. When he changed school districts our last year, there was literally a CROWD of girls around him at his locker begging him to tell them contact info. While I sat several feet away, pretending to read my book, hoping that he’d notice me for NOT being part of the crowd. What a load of bullshit. Then, of course, there are so many guys who claimed to be straight and hung around him just a little too closely…he was that pretty. He was REALLY pretty. And he was smart and he was charismatic and he was fun and…he just…he never wanted to interact with me. He’d throw me just enough of a bone to keep the flame alive, and then act like I wasn’t even real. Probably because I was super dumb and immature back then. Like, way super dumb. I would try to play along with his stunts and he’d blow me off. I finally became disillusioned when he…broke a rule, later on. It doesn’t matter. It was dumb. But I told myself he’d crossed a moral event horizon. I let myself believe it was that one incident for years. …It was never about that. It was about how I wanted to be close to him for years, and he wouldn’t let me in, and he wouldn’t completely shut me out, either. Though maybe that’s my fault for not just…walking up to him and asking him to be my friend. I’ve always been chickenshit.”

           “So…what makes you think I know about him?”

           Giovanni’s tone struck me as strangely sympathetic. I chanced looking into his eyes –

           Oh, God. Wrong move. How had I never noticed they were that brilliantly pink before? I mean, I had known they were pink, but this was like having a rose-colored spotlight turned on me. And were those little gold flecks in the iris? Or was my crush-filter just seeing things?

           But once I stopped seeing the trees, I got a good look at the forest. I couldn’t remember having seen Giovanni so pensive. So concerned, yet in a way that wasn’t over an injury sustained by a teammate or the impending arrival of the police. He was genuinely getting sad off this story.

           “…Because the little quirks I fell for him for are just weirdly similar to the stuff you’ve been doing this week,” I admitted. “He and his posse did marker war all the time. I think his was red? I always wanted to play in the marker war. It looked like they were having so much fun, and I wanted to face off against him. And then the jumpscare. He did that to me, once. Almost exactly the same way you did. That’s where I learned the tactic of throwing an inanimate object through the door. He got me good, and I got mad, and then we never talked about it, if he thought it was funny or what. I thought maybe he thought I was ACTUALLY mad, and that scared him off.”

           “So THAT’S why you didn’t exact your chocolatey revenge.”

           “Bingo. I was just terrible at talking about my feelings, so I just insulted him a lot instead of being honest. It was probably all my fault. And the shoes. He had a pair like that. Exactly like that. I used to try and get his attention by…” I let out a long, deep sigh. “Telling him they looked like they were run over by a ketchup truck.”

           “That’s not a bad one-liner.”

           “‘KETCHUP TRUCK’ ISN’T A BAD ONE-LINER?” I shook my head. “Anyway. I dunno. I can never figure out if he was just an ass or if I was just…” I sighed. “These are just coincidences, aren’t they?”

           “Yeah,” Giovanni confirmed. “They are. I thought I invented marker war. If you ever see this guy again, tell him I gotta sue him for the rights. And I wear these shoes ‘cause they’re devil-may-care and hot-rod red, keeping my aesthetic suitably edgy even when out of uniform. …They’re also comfy.”

           “So I just told you all that for no reason. Like a dumbass. It isn’t even that great of a tragic backstory, is it?” I was laughing then, to try and cover up how absolutely sheepish I felt. “You didn’t need to know any of that, and nowwwww it’s all awkward.”

           “Not awkward. Just…really confusing.”

           “How so?”

           Giovanni gave me a dramatic shrug; “Why didn’t he wanna hang out with you? You’re GREAT at marker war! You fit right in! And you’re honestly the most fun person I’ve ever scared! You think any of the boys freak out that hard? That was hilarious! You’d better watch your back now, because you’ve given me an incentive to try and do it SO much more.”

           I wanted to make some kind of snappy retort about throwing soda bottles. However, it felt like I was receiving a catharsis long overdue. Maybe it didn’t matter who was wrong and who was right, back then. Because now, I had someone who did want to have fun with me.

           Just as a friend, I thought. But maybe that was all that mattered, and the crush could be dealt with later.

           “I was so much worse back then,” I tried to argue. “I was hyper.”

           “So you mean you were even MORE fun?”

           I almost wanted to cry.

           “Whoa, hey, hey, hey!” Seeing the perturbation on my face, Giovanni rushed around the table, lightly putting his hands on my shoulders as he knelt beside my chair. “You’re plenty fun to hang with, Composer! Every day, I’m really glad I helped you get started in the villain biz and invited you into the lair! I mean…back when I was in high school and I tried to do stuff like that for fun, nobody really paid attention to me, either, and I would’ve KILLED for someone to actually think I was cool instead of just…some weirdo who wore capes to school and drew original supervillain characters for all my art projects.”

           “You wore a cape?” I asked. “That is so cool!”

           “Yeah, well, no one said that THEN.”

           “But it was! Now I’m kinda wishing we could’ve gone in the same graduating class.” And also wishing that he would never take those hands off of me, ever.

           “NOYOUDON’T,” he said hurriedly. “Because I was…ummmm…I was a juvenile delinquent, and you were obsessed with rules! Yeah! And I just…wasn’t the person you’d want me to be.”

           I wouldn’t figure out until a later discussion what that meant, truly, and it had nothing to do with breaking or following rules. But that doesn’t have to be tread upon now. “Actually, you’re right. Better things happened the way they did.”

           “So what else did that loser not do with you for fun?”

           “He was the most popular kid in our entire school,” I muttered. “No one thought he was a loser except me.”

           “Yeah, because you actually have a BRAIN in there! And I say he was a LOSER!”

           I smiled at him. “I guess…I dunno, I always heard he was great at dancing. And I always wished we could dance. Probably just because of societal and cultural expectations. But I’m a shit dancer. Like, there was this whole movement dedicated to making fun of – where are you going?”

           Giovanni beckoned for me to follow him; “Come on!”

           “Wasn’t this originally a strategy meeting?”

           “Don’t care! We’re breaking the rules, baby!”

           I followed him back to the staff lounge, where I watched him struggle to push the table off to the side. He got it out of the way before I could offer my help, then flitted to the radio sitting on the counter by the sink. “Let’s see here…”

           I could feel my face filling with heat. “Boss, I don’t think this is a great idea.”

           “Shut up. It’s my idea, so it’s a great one.” He was cycling through the stations. “No, no, no, no, no, no – PERFECT!”

           What he’d found was an anti-authoritarian anthem currently on the rock top 40. Not exactly what you’d think of as a dance number, but it had enough of a beat that I could work with it if pressed.

           Which he would have to do a lot of if he wanted to see me make an idiot out of myself like that.

           “Come on!” he encouraged. “Show me some moves!”

           “I’ll look stupid!” I hissed.

           “SO? You don’t see that stopping me from doing literally anything!”

           “…Did you even hear how that sounded coming out of your mouth? Also, this isn’t a dance song!”

           “Um, it’s a song, so you can dance to it.” He gave a long, drawn-out sigh. “Are you really gonna make me start this?”

           “Oh, no, you don’t n – “

           “Cut in whenever.”

           I wasn’t sure how him starting to dance was supposed to encourage me at all. Because I’ll be honest: he was probably only an average dancer. But I was below average, and looking at him through the crush-filter. He looked like the most graceful living being I’d ever beheld with my two eyes, spinning and rocking in time with the heavy guitar.

           I was not going to look good next to that.

           Of course, this was not any ordinary man I was dealing with. It was Giovanni Potage. Meaning he had a contingency plan. Without any warning whatsoever, he seized my hand and pulled me into a spin with him, and then, well, I was already in motion, so I had to keep going.

           By the third song, it didn’t even feel awkward anymore. I just felt alive. I know I looked like an absolute dork, but I had stopped caring, throwing out arms and leaping about to the hard tempo of every dark anthem. The fourth song was a personal fave of mine – with an incredibly complex guitar riff that just begged a person to go double-time. As I attempted to execute a series of spins to match, I simply lost balance and fell over, hitting the table on my way down.

           Stupid. Idiot. Why was I doing this? I’d just made an ass of myself in front of –

           Without even really pausing, Giovanni dipped before me, offering his hand. I took it on instinct, then rose, letting him reel me right back in, so glad he’d just hit resume where I’d slammed into pause mode.

           At last, I collapsed into the pushed-aside chair, panting heavily. “No more,” I heaved. “I need…to catch…my breath.”

           He hopped up to sit on the tabletop beside me. “Now THAT was some fun,” he remarked. “We gotta do that more often.”

           This was the same pitfall I’d dropped into so many times back in the day, with the ghost of my past. Making up excuses to get near him. Taking casual opportunities to interact with him without making my real intentions clear. Maybe this whole time, I was afraid that would drive him away.

           Maybe this whole time, I’d been thinking of him as a jerkass without actually acknowledging how hard he really blew me off for three fucking years. So what if I wanted to get closer to Giovanni? We were friends. And I liked him. Maybe that would go somewhere. Maybe it wouldn’t. And most importantly, he wanted to dance with me.

           “Yeah,” I agreed. “We should.”

[itsthesinbin]

Always Watching (Yandere!Soundwave/OC SFW)

Thank you to @jinxkatkazama (won’t let me tag you) for your business!

If you like this fic, consider commissioning me!

Warning For: Stalking, kidnapping, obsessive behavior

Nienna still remembered when she first met the Autobots.

“Stupid fucking gps,” she grumbled, resisting the urge to throw her phone out of frustration. Of course, even following a fuckin’ COMPUTER, she still got lost. Of COURSE she did. This SUCKS.

She was simply mumbling to herself when she heard… commotion. Something big slamming into something bigger. Yelling and fighting. What the hell was going on?

Something told Nia to run, but she was a hard-headed girl. She ran, but not away from the fighting like she SHOULD have done. An absolute idiot, she is, it seemed.

What she saw crash into the street was… incredible. Terrifying.

Alien.

A giant, robotic creature had been slammed into the ground. A larger creature shot at her with some kind of blaster, and she had to roll out of the way. Nia had no idea what happening, but…

Girls gotta stick together, right?

She thinks the blue one is a girl, anyway- she sounded feminine. That was good enough for Nia.

She fished a large textbook out of her bag, whistling loudly to catch the bigger creature’s attention. It turned to face her, bright red visor shining down at her dangerously.

“Don’t you know you can’t hit a girl, jackass,” she screamed, chucking the book at the creature’s face.

It bounced off harmlessly. Nia didn’t really know what else she expected, but it wasn’t the creature coming at her with a giant gun.

“Oh shit,” Nia yelled, scrambling backwards. Before the creature could attack, the female had gotten up and slammed herself into the other bot’s back. While they fought, Nia hurried to a safer spot.

She heard yelling, shots fired, and then finally tires screeching as someone drove away. Nia felt her heart hammering in her chest, hearing clunking as one of the creatures approached. She was gonna die today. Of course she was.

The blue bot appeared, peeking around the corner she was hiding behind. She had her hands up, trying to convey that she wasn’t going to harm the human in front of her. Nia stepped back a little, but didn’t run.

“... Ugh, great,” she muttered, crouching down to Nia’s level.

“I know you have a lot of questions, and I can answer them, but you gotta come with me- you’d be in danger if I just left you alone. Got it?” Too stunned, Nia simply nodded, eyes widening as the bot transformed into a… fucking motorcycle. Great. Fantastic. Nia’s going to the looney bin.

She didn’t want to argue with a weird giant robot, so… she was going to be kidnapped by one instead, it seemed.

Reaching the base, meeting the others, was… something else. Seeing the other humans with them put Nia at ease, as well, after they explained their own situations.

So, now she’s stuck with alien robots and their human adoptees. Ratchet denied THAT association with the kids, but Nia can tell Ratchet is the MOTHERIEST of mother hens. It was cute.

Nia had time to kill, some days, and would idly watch Raf mess around with programs on his computer. Already having a bit of knowledge on coding and programming, she asked if she could help with anything.

“No, that’s fine-”. An alarm blared, cutting him off. He turned back to the screen, ignoring her as she looked over his shoulder.

“Scrap,” he huffed. “Someone’s found a signal? I thought everything was secure”. Nia saw the big computer flash something, and moved to let Raf work on his laptop.

Climbing up to the main console, she wondered if she should mess with it. Ratchet would KILL her, and, honestly, she had no idea what she was doing.

As she heard Raf getting frustrated and scared, however, she knew she had to try. She had to do SOMETHING.

Herr fingers flew across the holographic keyboard, the keys automatically switching to her native language. Thank GOD it did, Nia thought, or else she’d be FUCKED.

Nia looked up when the alarm ended, seeing the alert system had stopped. Raf ran a hand through his hair, glancing at her with surprise.

“Thanks for… the help- I didn’t expect you to be able to do that,” he said, eyes wide. Nia gave him a thumbs up, hopping down from the console.

“... How about I teach you how to keep up with the alert system,” Raf said, motioning for her to come over. Nia couldn’t help but feel proud as she sat next to the young boy.

Nia spent months with the Autobots, helping Raf with his security, and Miko with her music. Not helping Jack babysit, though, as he ended up babysitting HER as well. She was not a good influence on anyone.

She really shouldn’t have been surprised when she thought she was being followed, due to her… recent activities.

Another late night, another hour of being lost on the way home. Stupid GPS never worked like it should.

Nia felt like something was… off, however. The air felt heavy, and she constantly felt like something was staring holes into her back. Her chest felt tight with nerves and anxiety.

When she looked over her shoulder, she caught something dark gliding into an alleyway. It was big and birdlike, but definitely not organic. Nia swallowed thickly, turning back around and hurrying down the street.

Now that she was paying attention, she could hear a faint whirring noise from… whatever it was following her. God, it was terrifying.

She picked up speed, brisk walk turning into an all-out sprint. She recognized where she was, now. Nia knew how to get home from here. She’d get home, and call the Autobots. Everything’s gonna be alright.

When she found her home, she all but booked it into the house. The door slammed shut, she braced herself against it to try and stay upright. Her legs shook with adrenaline, and her hands were too unsteady to grab her phone.

She heard it outside for the longest time, zipping around the house. Seeing its’ lights shine through the windows. She didn’t know how long she stayed there until it finally left. Nia didn’t DARE move until she was sure it was gone.

The call with Optimus was shaky, and he had Bumblebee stationed outside her house for the night with the order to comm if anything suspicious happened.

Over the course of the next few weeks, Nia would feel like something was severely off. She felt watched. She felt like she wasn’t alone in her own home. It was horrible, not able to feel safe in the comfort of her house.

She had various Bots outside her home, keeping watch outside. That small comfort allowed her to be calm enough to continue with her normal routine, instead of turning into an anxiety-filled hermit. It just took a little longer to be comfortable enough to sleep at night.

Unbeknownst to Nia, though, someone was keeping a very close optic on her.

The Decepticons’ recon bot, Soundwave himself, had taken an interest in the foolish little human the vehicon complained about. Even if he wasn’t harmed, there was still a small crack in his optic that he wouldn’t shut up about. At least, until Knockout finally fixed it.

Soundwave was a little intrigued- he was interested in all of the Autobots’ little pets, but this one… this one was more annoying than the child.

After he tapped into Nia’s computer, he found the programs Raf had put on it. The ones she modified. He recognized the code, and a flame of curiosity lit in his spark.

So, this was the one that enhanced the child’s primitive coding, too? Fascinating. He’d have to keep tabs on her for a while. Make sure she isn’t planning to do anything that could be… detrimental to the Decepticon cause.

He’s sure Lord Megatron wouldn’t mind this little side project. It’d be to ensure the safety of the Decepticons, of course.

He kept a feed of her up constantly, alongside his usual duties. By the end of the first week, he knew her schedule. Knew what she liked to eat, what she sang while she cooked, how she liked her showers.

By the end of the month, he knew what she was going to do before she even did it.

He began to notice small changes about her, after a day. He had been sending Laserbeak to keep watch on her when she was out of her home, and she must have taken note of the Con’s coloring. She stopped wearing the blues and purples Soundwave had come to enjoy. Gaudy pinks and reds replaced her normal clothing, reminding him of Knockout.

He didn’t quite know why, but it made him angry, thinking she was matching another Con.

Soundwave found himself entertaining the idea of putting her back in clothes that matched his paint. Keeping her here, out of the reach of those weak Autobots.

Hm… He may be more involved with this project than he initially thought. Well… he has been loyal- perhaps Lord Megatron will allow him… a small privilege.

By the next week, he found himself waiting for Laserbeak. His little friend went to pick up his… new guest. Megatron had been pleasant about the idea, if confused. When told that this human was a friend of the Autobots, Megatron was proud of the idea.

Soundwave was fine using you as leverage. As long as he had the human.

The sound of screaming caught his attention, angry cursing filling the halls of the Nemesis as Laserbeak entered his quarters. Nia was dangling from the flying Con’s hold, kicking her legs and cussing furiously.

She fell quiet as she was brought towards Soundwave, anger replaced with terror as she was dropped into his palm. Laserbeak returned to his spot in Soundwave’s dock, slipping into recharge. As she stared up at him, Soundwave began a recording.

Megatron’s face appeared on Soundwave’s screen, startling the tiny, fleshy creature in his hand. One simple squeeze, and it’d be over. The idea of having this much power was… interesting.

“Welcome, human,” the recording began. “You are being given to my reconnaissance professional, and he has full control over your wellbeing- I suggest you behave yourself.” Nia’s face contorted, returning back to being livid.

“Fuck you, you bucket of bolts!” The recording, of course, paid her no mind. Soundwave thought it was amusing.

“You are here as collateral, but do not think you are above being killed, should you prove to be too much trouble.” Megatron grinned, making a wave of nausea wash over the human.

“Let’s hope your Autobots really do care about you.” The recording ended there as Soundwave entered his private room, adjacent from his work space.

Nia was placed into a small hole in the wall- well, small for Soundwave. It was VERY large for her. It had basic bedding, a bucket, and some food and water in the corner. There was a pile of clothing near the entrance, which sealed shut with a forcefield.

Instead of saying anything, Soundwave simply sat down. Silently, he observed her. Seeing her grow disgusted and enraged, realizing these were clothes from her home.

“You took these- what the hell is wrong with you? Are you some kind of sick freak?!” Soundwave smiled, under his mask.

Humans were so emotional, and so… lively. It was amusing.

“Sick freak,” he repeated, using Nia’s voice against her. She swallowed the lump in her throat, torn between screaming, crying, or vomiting. Considering the small space, and just a bucket, she figured throwing up was the worst thing to do, at the moment.

“This is more than using me as a bargaining chip. What do you want from me, you giant bastard,” Nia yelled, standing as close as she could to the forcefield. Soundwave stood, stepping over to her cell. Despite not wanting to show how terrified she was, she took a few steps back as his face appeared at her level.

Soundwave decided to give her a bit of a treat, since she’s finally here. Instead of using a recording…

“Want you,” came his own, mechanical response. She flinched a little bit, not expecting it to be so loud- or as robotic as it was. Ironic, considering she’s talking to a huge robot.

“What… do you mean?” The forcefield lowered, and Nia was grabbed before she could react. She struggled, growing more panicked as she was lifted into his hold.

“Watch you. Know you. Want you.” She stilled for a moment. Watching her…

“For fuck’s sake- did you bug my entire house?! Is that how you knew when I’d be home alone-!” He cut her off, placing a digit over her mouth.

“Yes.” He sat down again, letting her move his digit from her face. Her eyes- a lovely, bright blue that reminded him too much of the Autobots- shined with fury.

“Optimus is going to kick your aft, you stalking monster! And I’m gonna rip out your spark with my bare hands!” A silent laugh left him.

“Cute.” The mockery only infuriated her more. She tried to struggle as he reached up to run a digit along her hair.

“Stay here. With me. Whether Autobots come or not.” Nia tried to argue, but Soundwave was being hailed to the bridge. Reluctantly, he moved to put her back in her cell.

“Let me go! Let me out of here!” Soundwave paid the human no mind, leaving the room.

“Change clothes. Hate the red,” was all he said, before he left the room. She cussed at him as the door shut, sitting in the bedding angrily.

A screen appeared in her cell, showing a feed from Soundwave’s point of view. She knew it was him, because he made sure to start it up while staring into a monitor’s reflection.

“Always watching,” he all but purred, beginning his trek to the bridge. Nia glanced up, seeing cameras in all corners of her cell. He really could see her from all directions. She felt sick. He couldn’t help but smile, not that anyone could see. Even as she began to cry out of frustration, he felt as giddy as he did when he was a sparkling.

“Always watching.”

[chiclet-go-boom]

fracture: dust

The sky is an unsettling shade of rust and the air here is way too thin; it scrapes in her lungs like fingers, difficult to hold on to, barely on the edge of tolerance. Crouched on her heels Rey falls back into as much calm as she can, tells herself that no, she isn’t going to suffocate as much as it feels like she going to. Just breathe deeper, draw in slower. This is the easy part.

Yes. Absolutely. This is the easy part.

Launching herself out of cover in a dead sprint, she blocks a flurry of blaster fire, sending the energy bolts pinging off into the high walls. She has no idea where it’s coming from at this point other than above which isn’t helping her regulate her breathing at all. They’ve been over this ground more than once in the last hour, both sides surging back and forth in the claustrophobic streets and she’s in as much danger of twisting her ankle on broken masonry at this point as she is at being taken out between the shoulder blades by a shot she doesn’t feel coming.

She barrels for the cluster of Resistance fighters taking cover behind a tangle of overturned vendor carts in the intersection ahead, aiming for Finn a few meters back. He’s actually trying to tuck his long frame into a recessed doorway like he knows what he’s doing and managing to do a terrible job of it. Stormtroopers really don’t seem to have been drilled in avoidance techniques and it’s not like Poe’s been much of a good influence that way. Quite frankly neither has she.

She nearly trips over a hunk of debris and in trying to save herself, manages to drag her foot through a pile of shredded cloth that wraps around her boots. Stupid. Karking. She kicks at it, hopping awkwardly. More blaster fire flashes over her head and she yelps, rolling forward and tearing herself free more by panic than intent.

She scrambles to Finn and manages to somehow jam herself behind him in the alcove, crouching by his knees to make the smallest target possible.

“Rey! Where’s the rest of the squad?” he yells at her.

“Uh,” she replies intelligently. “Coming? They’re coming! Got separated… somewhere.” She starts scanning all the rooftops she can see from this angle. C’mon. Where are the kriffing bastards. She knows they’re up there, they were just shooting at her. “They went right, I went left trying to pull fire and it definitely, definitely worked. They should be right behind me.”

Her friend wheezes and her own chest spasms in sympathy. His hair is smeared with the gray dust that’s everywhere and his thick jacket is scraped in more than a few places, shredded along the shoulder patch which is barely holding on at this point. Poe will no doubt have some pointed words for both of them after this.

“I thought Jedi were supposed to be all about the battle plan!”  He sticks his blaster out without looking and squeezes off a few shots further down the street.

Something deep whumps nearby. They both duck. Nothing comes down on top of their heads this time which is good progress but they both gain another layer of dust.

“Next Jedi I see, I’ll definitely ask how the battle plan is coming along.”

“We have to be getting close. Is he here yet?”

She gulps and the stingy air in her chest squeezes even tighter. No need to ask who he is. She hates that even that much makes her flinch. No. No, she’s got this, she can do this. It’s the whole reason she’s here after all, running up and down these streets in a weird game of touch-me-not with a side dish of try-and-find-me.

“Yes. He’s on the ground at least.”

She’d made the mistake of opening her eyes to the force currents awhile ago. She’d slammed her shields shut a heartbeat later and hasn’t dared crack them since.

There’s a clatter further down the street in entirely the wrong direction and she and Finn both whirl but this time it’s actually more Resistance fighters and two squads at that. Absolutely the best thing she’s seen today. They have to be getting close to the end of this if Leia has ordered that many to start pushing forward, making it look like there’s an actual offensive going on in this area.

“Took you guys long enough,” Finn yells as they go by to take up covering positions for the next push. “Okay. Okay. We ready, Rey?”

She nods and takes a slow, deep breath. She is not going to run out of air. She is not going to choke.  

“Absolutely. Completely ready.”

Finn grins down at her, fierce and scared at the same time and it’s, so, well, Finn with his smile so white in his grimy face that she can’t help but grin back. They can do this. They can totally do this.

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

The thing they never tell you, she decides, is that playing the rabbit to the wolf is utterly nerve wracking on the rabbit.

She can see Ren now, a black figure striding across what probably counts as the town square just going by the fact there’s a central fountain in it even if its not currently working, with his saber engaged but lax in his hand. He’s so casually arrogant that even fifty feet away and with blaster fire howling everywhere he’s doing nothing to protect himself that she can see. That frightens her more than anything else. He just keeps walking, his long legs flashing across the distance, kicking up so much grey dust so that it almost looks like he’s moving through a fog.

In a minute he’s going to disappear through the smashed archway on the other side and she’ll lose him to the twisted, narrow streets and no matter what, she absolutely does not want to have to take him on there.

She takes a deep breath and triggers her comm. “I have him in sight. Are you ready?” Please tell me you’re ready, she breathes.

Maybe somewhere she’s hoping for a reprieve. It doesn’t happen. “Affirmative. We’re nearly through the door. Engage at will and may the Force be with you.”

She blows out a breath, sucking it back in slowly. She can do this. She is not going to suffocate. She just has to keep him occupied and distracted until she gets the comm that they’ve gotten through and they can all beat a hasty and well deserved retreat. She’s done way more than that before with a whole lot less to work with.

She shakes herself, grips her saber, and drops her shields.

It hasn’t gotten any better. Ren is in a mood and it howls over her like a banshee, red and furious. She ducks from reaction alone even as she sees him jolt to a black shadowed stop, turning unerringly in her direction.

“Kylo Ren!” she yells, just to make it formal. “Your mother misses you!”

It’s extremely unlikely he heard her from that far away but it definitely helps kick start her heart. She slips from one wall to the next, making sure that she’s visible while she does it and the game of try-and-find-me officially collapses into phase two which is don’t-think-just-chase.

Fortunately and unfortunately it turns out Kylo is absolutely on board with the Resistance distraction plan, bringing to the table a vengeance entirely his own.

She always forgets how fast he is. In less than a minute she’s running, desperately hauling in handfuls of anything she can reach through the Force just to keep out of his way, leaping to the top of the half broken walls to slash down, spinning behind obstacles and doing her absolute utmost to stay on her feet and ahead of him.

He Force grabs for her legs, her clothing, even her hand to wrench her saber out of alignment. Once she thinks she feels his fingers tug gently on her hair from meters away and that is both frightening and heart stoppingly distracting and if she had more time and actual oxygen she’d hyperventilate about it but that just isn’t going to happen. She thought she’d have to taunt him into this but she barely has breath for the fight itself in this attenuated air.  If he’s labouring too, she can’t tell. Maybe his mask does more than just conceal his face - not like she’d know and it’s not like she can stop and ask.

She loses him behind a half wall, dodges around a pedestal higher than her shoulder that probably held a massive statue at some point and suddenly her saber is up and locked with his as he rounds the other corner, having somehow anticipated her. She sobs with strain and starts backpedaling.

“Ready to give up yet?” he asks. He’s so strong, driving her back with the power of his body alone this time, his saber shrieking in her ear.

“Never!” she spits out.

She ducks down, disengaging and slashing for his legs. He leaps over it with ease and they’re back on again.

“Finn,” she shouts, hoping her comm is still on. “Finn, I could use some help here!”

“Trying!” she hears in a crackle of static.

“Ah. Calling for the traitor? You do realize that if he’s abandoned his post once, he’ll do it again?” Kylo spins and the saber arcs down in a blaze that she just barely dodges. She lunges and forces him back a few feet, slicing off a few inches of a fluttering sleeve which is moderately satisfying. There’s stairs nearby leading up to a mostly intact pathway and she races up them, trying to get to higher ground.

“Finn is my friend! He wouldn’t do that!”

Blaster energy streaks towards Kylo Ren and he half turns to meet it, thrusting out a hand. She slashes and manages to actually score a hit on his forearm in his moment of split attention and he hisses at her, his mask distorting it into an animal sound.

“Yes, he would. He’s a coward.”

“You don’t know anything about him!”

Blaster fire rings out again and this time she’s not sure if it’s meant for Kylo or for her and they both break apart to dodge the incoming bolts.

“I know what you’re trying to do, Rey,” he growls at her, obviously shifting tactics. She hammers down at him as he closes back in and he blocks and blocks again, surging up. Kriff, he’s relentless. He slides behind a mostly intact column and blaster fire that she hopes is coming from her backup squad this time pings off it, clipping more pieces of masonry onto the ground. She’s going to twist an ankle for sure.

“Do you?” she pants.

“I pay attention to the briefings,” he remarks cryptically. “Hux is very good at them. And he has a very good grasp of what other people are likely to do.”

“I remember him. Your rabid attack dog.”

“Snoke’s actually. And the word was cur but still, he’s remarkably effective once you get him pointed in the right direction.” Rey yips as she spins out from a heavy strike aimed at taking her out at the ribcage.  “He operates best on a short leash.”

The unrelenting attacks are taking their toll on her lungs and she’s gasping harder and harder for breath. Ren spins his saber and deflects more blaster fire, starting to push her backwards once more, father away from the central area.

“Well, if he’s so all knowing, what am I doing?” she throws back, gulping air. “Other than working on carving up your mask to get to the other side of your ugly face.”

“Oh, Rey,” and she hates that tone in his voice, modulated as it is. Half purr, all prickle. “You don’t think my face is ugly. That’s not what you think at all. You stare at it much too much when you see me.”

“Well, you like to stare at me too!” she fires back. She goes low again and this time he’s the one who has to leap up onto a tumble of blocks to get out of the way. That’s something at least and she mentally scores one for herself.

He laughs and she hates that they’ve fallen back into it again, this half caress, half anger, half again something else again exchange of words. She should be concentrating on what she’s doing, not on how his voice keeps digging at her under her skin, half touching her heart. Their sabers are heating up what little air there is and everything is starting to smell like scorch and ozone.

He launches himself at her and she spins and spins again to get out of the way, sabers clashing.

“I do like looking at you,” he agrees. “And I always will. But this has gone on long enough. I told you, I know what you’re doing. Hux said you’d search me out, try and keep me occupied while the rest of your friends did the important work. And here I am, following orders for once and pleasing both of you.”

Her heart freezes with cold in her chest and then beats twice as hard. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“But the timeline has shifted and I have to go now.”

“What? Kylo?”

His mask rumbles. “You have no idea how much I love it when you say my name. But enough. You have it so wrong, Rey. We lured the Resistance here, you know. Fed your contact the information on this old Rebel cache and bribed them not to check too closely on the accuracy of the information. There’s nothing here for you and your people are walking into a trap. And you? You think you’re keeping me here but what’s really happening is that you’re not there.”

“Wh… what?”

She stutters to a near stop, and she shouldn’t but of all things she was not expecting that. His saber flashes out and then back again in a reverse grip and she ducks instinctively and only then realizes she’s fallen for the feint as his hand lashes out.

She feels the comm tucked behind her ear ripped away and she cries out in anger and fear.

“Let me make this even worse for you.”

She has no idea how he does it but he’s suddenly just there, the line of his body jammed hard against hers, pushing her completely off balance. She cries out as she starts to fall. His fingers impact her upper arm, yanking her roughly upright and he spins her into his embrace, her back hard and bruising against his front.

His saber cuts out and the sudden silence is deafening. His mask nuzzles just behind her ear. The unyielding metal is cold and his body is flaring hot even through the armor and she will hate herself forever for this, but she arrests somewhere between both sensations.

“Is this where where I bite you?” he whispers. “Or you bite me?”

She kicks backwards, her boot impacting hard on his shin and he laughs even as he shoves her away with a hand between her shoulder blades. She whirls back with her heart in her throat, raising her saber to wipe the smirk off the face she can’t see but he’s stepped back out of range and he’s not even looking at her now, his gloved hand outstretched.

She hears the high pitched yelp a heartbeat later and horrified understanding kicks in. She twists hard on one heel to look back down the stairs he’s chased her up. Away from the rest of the fight. Away from everyone else.

Finn. Somehow he’s grabbed Finn from wherever her friend was shooting from, pulled him out of cover and Forced him stumbling into open ground. Ren waves his hand again abruptly and Finn jerks forward, this time completely losing balance to skid on his knees and he’s unprotected, vulnerable. She sees him try to scramble up and away, clutching his blaster and Ren just crooks his finger and knocks him onto his back farther into the courtyard.

“Let him go, let him go!” she yells. There’s sudden tears in her eyes, making it hard to see and there’s a clawing in her lungs that has nothing to do with the thin air. Any second now somebody is going to put a bolt through his abused jacket, right through his generous heart and Finn will be dead and what will she tell Poe? “Ren, no, please.”

“As you wish,” he says calmly and she hates him so fiercely in this moment it’s like her skin is on fire with it. Her mouth is dust and ashes. “You can save your friend. You can run to warn your comrades, hoping you’re still in time to keep them alive. Or you can keep me here, but you can only do one of those things. Choose, Rey. Choose who dies.”

“I hate you,” she whispers because they both already know what she’s going to do, as if there was any choice in this at all. Her heart cries out for the ones who were cracking the door, who walked into whatever terrible thing was waiting for them because somebody, somewhere sold them out and here she is, played for a fool by a man in a mask with a voice she hears in her dreams. “I hate you so much, Kylo Ren.”

“Good,” he says and he steps back once more, turning to walk away with his back unprotected again because he’s just that sure and void take him into the deep dark, he’s not wrong. “It will make everything so much easier when I finally bring you to heel.”

She raises her saber and charges back down the stairs, yelling at Finn to keep his head down.