zz0mbi3

[zz0mbi3]

me 🤝 reusing the same four phrases in every fic

[zz0mbi3]

dawg shot a fire-blazing, fart-level destruction, nuke at his brother and decided to serve face after like he ain’t done nothing wrong 😭

our end is always self made.

so it seems.

prints + merch + commission info pinned to profile :)

[zz0mbi3]

𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢 𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚕

𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝚊 𝚗𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚊𝚕 𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚞𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚠𝚒𝚗 𝚋𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛. 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚙𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 ��𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚛 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚑𝚒𝚖?

𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐, 𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏, 𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚙 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚋𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚢, 𝚙𝚒𝚎𝚝𝚛𝚘 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚓𝚎𝚛𝚔 (not really), 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝚙𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚜

𝚊/𝚗: 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖 '𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚢 𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚕' 𝚋𝚢 𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚘 𝙿𝙻𝙴𝙰𝚂𝙴

'And I could be a pretty girl, won't ever make you blue

And I could be a pretty girl, I'll lose myself in you'

The blue polish spread across your nails as you guided the brush with concentration. You were humming nothing in particular, but you were happy to be spending some time with your best friend after the past few months exhausted you. 

“I keep telling him to use the door,” Wanda’s voice broke you from your focus from your half-painted nails. “I swear, you’d think he’d remember.” She was talking about Vision, as she was almost always doing so. You were so close to pushing them into a room together and not letting them out.

She set the smoothie Nat made her down on the nightstand, tucking her leg under the other as she rested beside you once again.

Your lips quirked up in a soft smile as you chuckled, meeting eyes with her. “Maybe he just wants to see you that badly,” you bump her with your shoulder and go back to fixing the nail polish that dripped onto your skin.

You her ‘tsk’, an old habit she picked up from her mother years ago. She had dropped the Sokovian accent, but her mannerisms and habits were still with her, a subtle way to keep her culture alive now that the area was destroyed. 

You held your fingers up to your face, blowing soft air out of your mouth to dry the polish as the strong scent stung your nose. The color was a calming blue, light, but not quite the kind of blue one would find in the sky.

Perhaps you liked the calming color, perhaps it reminded you of the color the sea turned when storm clouds reflected on its surface. 

Or perhaps it reminded you of someone in particular. 

“Wanda!” 

You lifted your head up at the familiar voice, attention once again taken from your nails. Wanda lowered her head towards you, a soft smirk pulling at her lips. 

Of course he had to come in now. 

“Here comes your favorite person,” she joked, earning a telekinetic shove from you that left her tumbling over onto her burgundy rug. She giggled and sat herself back up, flicking her wrist and sending your hair flying in front of your face with a flash of red. “Don’t be so rude.”

“Wanda?!” The voice rang out again, and as you pushed your hair out of your eyes you saw the person you both dreaded and wanted to see, Wanda’s twin.

“Yes, Pietro?” She asked, fighting the urge to mess with you again and instead looking up at him. 

He leaned against the doorway, his eyes glancing at you for a split second before turning back to his twin. “I didn’t know you had a guest over,” He smiled, looking back at you. Unlike his sister, his Sokovian accent was still strong, and he hadn’t made any effort to change it.

“We all live in the same compound,” She replied, screwing the lids back onto the polish bottles and placing them on her nightstand. “And you’re barging in here.”

“You left the door wide open,” he spoke to her, but kept staring at you. You stared back, a smile spread across your features despite your best efforts. 

You couldn’t help it when you fell for Pietro. In fact, it was entirely an accident. You remembered meeting him in the middle of the issue with Ultron, right when the stakes were climbing to their highest. You didn’t know him well then, you barely knew anyone well then. You were new. Naturally, though, you used your abilities to help clear out as many people from the doomed country as possible. 

'You were helping a family of five onto the hovercraft when Pietro sped past you, rushing to cover Clint, who was holding a young boy to his chest. That’s when you felt the wind of jet engines above you, and when you looked up to see Ultron controlling the jet, you knew what his objective was. The guns started to click on the side of the jet and all you remembered doing was holding your hands out and stopping the bullets before they could hit either Clint or Pietro.'

That was nearly a year ago. And you were sure he hadn’t forgotten the situation.

Who would? You had saved his life.

“I’m hungry,” his voice broke you from your thoughts and you peeled your eyes away from where they had been stuck staring. His face. You could swear you saw him smirking at you. 

Wanda caught the shared glances between you two and hummed, settling herself in a comfortable position, her back sitting against the side of her bed. “Go cook something.”

He whined. “But you make better food.”

“You’re the older one.”

“Oh, yes, because I learned how to cook well in the twelve minutes it took for you to be born after me-”

“I’m just saying-!”

You laughed quietly at their exchange. Despite everything, the two still acted like the siblings they were. Despite the loss of their parents, the torture HYDRA put them through, the experiments, the ruination of their home country, they were still each other’s safety. You were happy the both of them still had that. 

Wanda rolled her eyes at her brother and looked at you, the gears turning in her brain. “How about you go help Pietro?”

Your head shot over towards her, your eyes widening a bit. Pink spread across your cheeks and you shook your head at her, giving her a warning look. 

‘Don’t make me.’

‘I will,’ her voice rang in your mind, sending chills down your spine. You almost always forgot she was able to speak to you without having to actually talk. 

She waved you off anyway, an oh-so-genuine smile still on her face. “Please? I’m…busy,” she picked up her red-bound journal and waved it in front of her.

You could hear Pietro mock her in a high-pitched voice from the door. “'I’m too busy writing in my little diary to help my poor brother cook'. Soră enervantă.” 

You watched as she chucked a book at him with her magic and he yelped. 

“Oh, you’re busy?” You said accusingly, standing up and crossing your arms. “What came up that made you so busy?” 

She thought for a moment, shyly holding up the journal while also trying to come up with another excuse for herself. 

Of course, she didn’t really need one, you knew she was spewing bullshit. 

However, on cue, Vision faded through her wall, looking around with a slight mechanical whir to his movements.

Pietro’s jaw clenched as he saw him and he crossed his arms over his chest. “Hey, no, no, no. What did I tell you about coming into my baby sister’s room like that?”

You snorted.

“Twelve minutes older~” Wanda said in a sing-song voice, smiling down at her lap at Vision’s company.

The robotic man looked between all of you, his features blank as they almost always were. He looked between you and Pietro, then back at Wanda. He picked at the gray sweater he was wearing for a moment. 

He took a moment to analyze everyone, trying to comprehend the situation and the tension in the air. “Let us go for a walk,” he said to Wanda. 

She lifted her head up and smiled at him. You stood up by the door, arms crossed, both upset at her plan to get you and Pietro to hang out, but also happy that Vision was there to keep her company. 

“A walk?”

“Yes, a walk,” He nodded, his robotic voice ringing with an English accent, Jarvis’ voice. “The fresh air would feel nice, I believe.”

“No, no, no,” Pietro started shaking his head and stepped towards him, making you put your hand on his chest to push him back out into the hall. “What fresh air do you know of?”

“Okay, Pietro, let’s just go-” You said and pushed him out of the room and into the hall while he was having his fit. “You two enjoy the…fresh air?” You made eye contact with Wanda, who shrugged.

Once you were out in the hallway, Pietro continued to mumble and complain, even after the door was shut. “The fresh air?! What does he know about fresh air, honestly!”

You huffed out a laugh and shook your head, grabbing the sleeve of his blue jogger and pulling him towards the kitchen. “I don’t know, probably everything? He has everything ever studied in his database, you know.”

“Psh,” he rolled his eyes at that, glancing down at your face.

“Mhm, I think you’re just overprotective.”

He scoffed at you slightly, pulling at the hand you had on his sleeve. He stayed quiet for a moment, the only sound being your combined footsteps hitting the metal floors. “Sure, prințesă.”

Your face turned bright pink at the nickname. Of course, it did, you loved when he called you that. 

His eyes were trained on the nail polish you had on, the same blue color of his training suit. The corner of his lips pulled up, and you swore you saw his ego inflate just a little bit at the sight. 

‘Shit.’

After a bit, he pulled his arm away from you and walked into the empty kitchen, stretching his arms over his head, which you had to dart your eyes away from in order to avoid shamelessly staring. 

Despite the amount of Avengers that lived in Tony’s compound, the rooms--excluding everyone’s bedrooms--felt empty and lifeless. If they could all agree on anything, it was that Tony could not decorate to save his life. That’s why you were thankful to spend so much time in either your room or Wanda’s, except for Steve’s weekly ‘Sunday family dinners’, which were always hectic. 

“What do you want to eat?” You asked, opening up the cabinets, which were almost always stocked with random spices and ingredients. At least you knew you’d probably never go hungry. 

“Food, maybe,” he smirked, leaning his elbows on the table and watching you. He used the table to stretch out his back, probably from a long run. 

“Food, maybe,” you mocked, trying to mimic his accent under your breath.

You heard him chuckle behind you, the back of your neck burning hot to match the blush on your face. 

“Do I annoy you, prințesă?” He leaned over the sink, washing his hands under warm water. 

You swallowed, taking out items to cook a nice salmon. “Sometimes,” you said as you closed the cabinets above your head. 

“Ah,” You heard him straighten up, drying his hands on a hand-towel and walking behind you, watching you over your shoulder as you poured the oil into the pan. “You’re doing it wrong, you know.”

Your jaw clenched a bit, fighting back an insult. You exhaled, putting the bottle back onto the counter by the stove as you clicked the burner on. “All I did was pour the oil.”

“Yes, but…” He took the packaged fish from beside you and moved past you to work at the kitchen island. “You will burn it if you leave it sitting there while we work on the salmon.” He peeled the plastic covering off the top, crumpling it in his hands and playfully tossing it at your face.

You stopped it mid-air with your powers, staring at him with an unimpressed face. He only smiled at you before turning back to the fish as he placed it down on the cutting board. 

You watched him as he prepared the fish to cook. “I thought you didn’t know how to cook.”

“I never said I didn’t,” he corrected you as he sliced the skin off the fish, placing the knife back down on the counter and grabbing the seasoning. “I said that I like Wanda’s cooking more.”

“Hm.”

“Hm,” he mocked. 

You stepped away from the stove, letting the oil sit in the pan as it heated up and grabbed the asparagus from the fridge, as well as some onion.

The two of you worked on the food separately, standing right next to each other at the kitchen counter. You swore he was watching you out of the corner of his eye.

You both worked in silence for a little while, the only sounds being the chopping off vegetables and Pietro’s quiet humming.

Once you were done, you moved over to dump the chopped food into the stove, failing to realize just how long the oil had been sitting there and how close it was to catching flame. 

Before you even had the chance to dump everything into the pan, Pietro had sped over and pulled you back right as the oil caught on fire and lit up on the stove. Thankfully, you were able to telekinetically catch the food before it hit the ground, placing it back on the counter while also trying to catch your breath.

Pietro reached over quickly and turned the stove off, the smell of burning oil burning at your noses. After a couple more seconds of recovering from the shock, both of you started laughing.

He held a hand to his chest and looked at you. “This is why you should start listening to me, fată drăguţă.”

You started calming down from the laughter, a smile still on your face. “What’s that?”

He froze, but a smirk stayed on his face. “What’s what?” He began to play dumb, picking up the pan after putting the fire out and placing it in the sink to wash off the oil residue. “That I said you should start listening to me?”

“No…” you said, putting your hands on your hips. “The other thing.”

He chuckled under his breath, scraping the oil off with a spatula before placing it back on the stove and generously dousing it in oil once again. “Don’t worry about it.”

You just stared at him in confusion for a second and then tried to scoot past him to get to the fridge to put the rest of the vegetables away.

"Oh-ho-ho, see," he points the spatula at you. "I knew you would be difficult, I know you."

"Oh, am I being difficult? Huh?"

"Yes, you are," he said in a soothing voice. "That's what I love you for."

You might've possibly been the stupidest person for skipping over that.

~~~

“I’m sorry,” Wanda said, sitting crisscrossed on your bed later that night. “He called you what?” She dropped the braid she was working on in her own hair, draping it gently over her shoulder

You bit into the brownies you and Pietro had made after dinner, crumbs spilling onto the plate sitting on your lap. The two of you were watching ‘Golden Girls’ on the TV, enjoying another slow night. You licked the icing off your lips and spoke. 

“Fată drăguţă, I think. That’s what it sounded like at least.”

The dim lighting made it difficult for you to see how she was staring at you, her mouth dropped open slightly as if she was looking at the stupidest person in the world. And at the moment, she swore yshe was. 

“Fată drăguţă,” she repeated, shrugging her shoulders. A sarcastic look spread across her face. “Oh, yeah, fată drăguţă, that means nothing at all!” You felt a gust of magic smack you upside the head.

“Ow!” You said, nearly dropping your plate onto the green comforter covering your legs. “What-”

“That means ‘pretty girl’,” she said, making your eyes widen at the information.

Pietro called you pretty girl, out of nowhere, while you two were simply cooking?

Of course, you decided to play dumb. “What, the smack upside the head?” You laughed, looking back at the TV with an egregious amount of blush spreading across your face. “Thank you, Wanda, you’re pretty too.”

She glared at you after that, staring at you with a perplexed look. After a moment she just rolled her eyes and put her plate on your nightstand, before rolling over onto her side and laying her head on your pillow. “Vei fi moartea mea,” she mumbled.

“What was that?” You asked, turning to look at her, eyebrows raised up in confusion.

“I said ‘love you, sleep well, friend,'” she lied and closed her eyes.

You shut the lights off and set your plate beside the bed, rolling over and pulling the covers over yourself as well. You closed your eyes for a second before they snapped back open.

'Pietro said he loved me'.

"Wanda," you reached over and shook the woman's shoulder, earning a shove from her. "Pietro said he loved me."

"I know," she said, staying with her back turned to you. "I heard."

You sat there thinking for a moment before smacking her side. "I hate that you can read my mind."

She giggled. "I hate that I can read everyone's too, now sleep."

[zz0mbi3]

𝒂𝒏𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒊𝒔𝒉

𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: 𝒐𝒃𝒊-𝒘𝒂𝒏 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒈𝒖𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒔 𝒂 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅𝒏'𝒕 𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒑 𝒊𝒕 𝒊𝒇 𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒌 𝒋𝒆𝒅𝒊 𝒓𝒖𝒍𝒆𝒔. 𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅𝒏'𝒕 𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒑 𝒊𝒕 𝒊𝒇 𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒆 𝒂 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒏𝒆𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒚𝒐𝒖

𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: 𝒇𝒍𝒖𝒇𝒇, 𝒐𝒃𝒊-𝒘𝒂𝒏 𝒊𝒔 𝒚𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑯𝑨𝑹𝑫

Obi-Wan never wanted to find you pretty.

Obi-Wan never wanted to think of you as someone more than a mere mission. He never wanted to think of you as someone more than a political figure.

Yet, Obi-Wan wanted to think of you as someone just for him. 

The Jedi were strict on their rules. No falling in love. No connections other than the one to the Force and the duty they were pushed into from birth. 

Obi-Wan tried to remind himself of this, he forced himself to see reason, but reason didn’t agree with him. Reason argued.

'Is it truly so wrong to love someone? Is it truly so wrong to have connections? That was the danger of it, wasn’t it? That’s what the Jedi were keeping me from, falling in love?'

But Obi-Wan couldn’t help it.

Even as he stood at the doors of your throne room, he was reminded of how he was just a young boy, and you were just a young queen.

This distant planet he had found himself on, this vessel of new life he had never been acquainted with before, blessed by the paradise of your company. 

His fingers rested on the hilt of his saber, the metal warm from his skin. He kept his eyes on the ground beneath his boots. He was sure Qui-Gon would be back soon to excuse him for the night…but Obi-Wan didn’t want to leave. Not when you were sitting so peacefully in the throne room, someone for him to adore.

He lifted his blue eyes from the floor to once again look at you, his movements urged by helpless desire. 

You were a sight. He swore it on the grounds of his oath, he had never laid eyes on a beauty like you.

You were so mundane, just sitting on your throne, your legs crossed beneath your stunning silver gown. The fabric draped itself down the seat, the white of the tiles shimmering with the reflection of the fabric. It was as if you were swimming in a sea of glitter, and it brought out the lively shine in your eyes. 

His eyes raked over you, how your hair was pulled into a dramatic hairstyle, fitting around the crown on your head. His eyes lit at the moonlight dancing off your skin, a sight he had gotten used to when he realized that the sun never rose on your planet. 

When you turned your gaze away from the window, meeting his, he lowered his head again. His face turned bright red, burning with the shame of his disrespect to the Force and the fear that you would hate him for shamelessly staring. 

His chest nearly exploded when he heard you laugh softly instead. What a beautiful sound to him. He had always enjoyed soft sounds, ones that could war against the clashing of sabers during the war, the shooting of blasters that kept his thoughts occupied so often her barely rested. He could rest on the sound of your joy.

“You don’t need to keep your head bent like that, you know?” Your voice slightly echoed across the nearly empty room. “Unless you want to hurt yourself.”

He exhaled a laugh through his nose, his lips curled up in a smile. He brushed the padawan braid out of his face as he straightened up, still unable to meet your gaze.

“Perhaps I was trying to,” he jests, shrugging his shoulders as if he wasn't sure. “Maybe I wanted to try something new.”

Once again the soft sound of your laugh ran through his ears and straight to his already racing heart. He smiled softly without trying to fight it.

“Perhaps you were…” You stood up in your seat, the skirt of your gown straightening with your legs, still flowing around you like a sea of stars. 

The closer you stepped to him, the more antsy he got. There may have been a chance that you were just preparing to leave the room. Though he wasn’t used to telling time on this planet, especially with the lack of sunlight, he was sure it was usually around the time you would retire for the night.

Instead, you walked over to the table at the side of the room, carefully pouring him a glass of Dorian Quill. 

His breath hitched when you held the cup out for him. 

“I shouldn’t-” He started, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, sweating. “I’m still on duty.”

You looked over at him with a calming smile, your head tilted to the side as if to ask if he truly believed that mattered to you. “One small drink won’t hurt you. Besides, I’m about to retire for the night. You won’t be on duty much longer.”

He wanted to be firm and insistent with you. He wanted to tell you no. But he didn’t. He walked over to you and took the glass from your hand, brushing his skin against the silver glove on your hand. 

“Thank you, Your Grace,” he smiled at you and bowed his head in respect, taking a careful sip of the alcoholic drink. 

“Oh, please, none of that,” you waved your covered hand at him in dismissal, sipping from a cup you poured for yourself. Somehow he had missed that. “No need to be so respectful, we’re equals.”

He coughed on his drink, swiftly swallowing the burning liquid down his throat. His eyes watered a bit, and he was reminded then that he had never drank before.

Qui-Gon would laugh at him, surely. 

“I beg to differ…” his voice comes out amongst wheezes. He tried to maintain composure, eager to not embarrass himself in your presence.

He was sure doing so would make him drive his own saber through his chest to save him from the pain of your judgment.

“I am the one guarding you, not the other way around.”

You simply hummed in response, and his heart spiked at the thought that he had offended you somehow. However, when your lips quirked into a grin once again, he calmed down once again. 

“I wasn’t the one who called for that order,” you shook your head at the thought. “I don’t need protection. Everyone else likes to think so. It’s idiotic. A true waste of Jedi talent to have them stand at attention all day and wait for the near-impossible chance someone wants to kill me."

He merely nodded. He wasn’t sure what to think. Maybe you didn’t want him there with you, maybe you wished he would leave. Perhaps his presence was making you feel as if no one trusted you to take care of yourself. 

'No, no, that's not true. She wouldn’t have given me a drink if you disliked his company.'

“I do, however, appreciate that they sent you.”

His face went pink with that statement. Did you appreciate him? His company?

“You flatter me, Your Gr-”

“On the contrary,” you cut him off, and he immediately shuts his mouth. He’d go quiet just to listen to you speak any day. “I’ve never met a Jedi like you. You’re so…calm, yet wise. I can look at you and see infinite knowledge behind your eyes and still feel as if you aren’t trying to best me.”

Oh, you were truly flattering him now. Building up his low ego, one he didn’t even know he wanted to be built up. Your words made a blush spread to his ears and he felt the back of his neck grow hot. He cleared his throat and placed his now-empty cup down on the table. 

“I am simply just well-trained,” he insisted, looking into your eyes. He tried to hide how difficult it was to pull his gaze away from you. It was as if you were a gravity pull that wouldn’t let go of him. “Truly, I owe everything to the other Jedi around me.”

“And so humble,” you praised. “I did get lucky when they gave me you.”

His heartbeat sped up once again.

You thought you were lucky to have him. You, the young Queen of a distant planet, thought you were lucky to have a lowly Padawan there to watch you.

He could almost hear the Jedi scolding him for his delight at that.

He was starting to not care about them.

“Well, I-” he stumbled on his words, absolutely flustered. “I’m not-”

You continued to smile at him, a sight that would occupy his dreams for days to follow. “You are. You’re not proud, you’re happy where you are. You don’t want more from your title…”

The words of praise from you were just stacking up in his mind, he was so overly happy that you were so observant of him, that you genuinely cared that he was there. 

Unfortunately, his heart sank in disappointment when your handmaiden stuck her head into the room, calling you to your chambers to prepare for bed. He lowered his gaze back to the floor, tapping his foot against the tile. 

“Your Grace-”

He was cut off when your lips pressed against his cheek, your gloved hand pressing against his opposite cheek to hold him steady. Your thumb brushed against his skin for a moment, and he smiled, showing some teeth.

When you pulled back, he gazed into your eyes for a while. His own were wide in shock and awe, his heart was so close to exploding. 

“Have a good night, Obi-Wan,” you said with one last kiss to his cheek and stepped away, the heels of your shoes clicking against the tile floor. “I hope to see you at breakfast in the morning?”

He nodded meekly, in a daze. He shook it off after a moment. “Anything you wish.”

You smiled softly and bowed your head to him, and he returned the gesture, hand over his chest. 

Thank the Force Qui-Gon wasn’t there to see how red his face was at the moment.

[zz0mbi3]

𝐫𝐮𝐧 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐱𝐡𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐠𝐠𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐚𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞. 𝐚 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐝𝐨. 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐝, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐰𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐣𝐨𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐨𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭 (𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐚 𝐢𝐠), 𝐢 𝐜𝐚𝐧'𝐭 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐥𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞

𝐚/𝐧: 𝐢 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐬𝐨 𝐢𝐟 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐚 𝐎𝐎𝐂 𝐢'𝐦 𝐬𝐨 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐚 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰

You hated him so much.

You hated him even as you watched him swirl that purple liquid in his cup. Two cups. He was walking up to you with them now. You especially hated him then. 

You had joined the rest of the Rebel pilots for their victorious celebration. You would be foolish not to. You were happy to put the helmet away for the foreseeable future, and that itching feeling of hope burrowed itself into your chest. 'Maybe I’ll never need to wear it again.'

You didn’t remember seeing Poe disappearing from the room when the party started. You didn’t know when you started caring where he went. You didn’t care where he went. You were as sure of that as you were sure that Tatooine had two suns. And yet, you felt your face turn angrily hot when he approached you with that drink. How dare he, after all the trouble he had put you through. You had half a mind to get up and leave him there, leave him sitting in his sorrow, and let him drown himself in both of those glasses of Phattro.

You began to dig your nails into the fabric of your pants and huffed air out of your nose. You didn’t care. You didn’t care. But the closer he got to you, the closer you were to him, you weren’t so sure that you didn’t care anymore. Even when hazy one could mistake the two suns on Tatooine for three.

“You look sober,” he said as he pulled the stool next to you towards him with his boot. He swung his leg over the side and pushed the glass of alcohol in your direction, leaning his elbow onto the counter. “You’re doing better than half the people in there,” He pointed towards the other room, where loud cheers and an abundance of laughter could be heard. 

You had made yourself comfortable in this room for the sake of being alone. If people saw you at the party, even for just one second, they would be satisfied that you had joined in to celebrate with them. That’s all you wanted, to let people know you cared. 

You also wanted to slap that smug smile off of Poe’s stupid face. You hated his face, you hated looking at it. How could he go through so many battles, so much fighting, and torture, and still look so put together? You were pissed. You always were when you saw him nowadays. 

Naturally, he had cleaned the X-wing grease off of his face before the party, but you remembered a time when you used to do that for him. You remembered how it felt to sit in front of him and listen to him ramble about how tired he was from working all day, all while you cleaned the dirt and grime off his face with a smile. 

You hated him so much. You missed him so much and you hated him for it. 

But of course, you still took the drink he offered you, avoiding his brown gaze and sipping from the cold glass. 

“I was hoping you would just leave without a goodbye,” you said flatly, staring down at your glass as you swirled the purple liquid around with the ice. “I wouldn’t have to actually care about you then,” It took everything in you not to shout at him, not to hold his face between your hands and scream at him for how stupid he was to leave you.

You could’ve sworn you saw him flinch out of the corner of your eye. 

“Oh, I’m sure you would’ve slept so well without one of my goodbyes,” he winked at you, not taking his eyes off of the side of your face for one moment as he downed a sip of his drink. You wanted to punch him, hold him, hit him... “I wouldn’t just leave like that. I have class.”

You felt your jaw clench at that, but you were determined to hide how easily he got under your skin. How much he bothered you, he loved it. You know he did. 

“I know how much you’ll miss me once we all leave…” 

“Stop talking,” the words left your mouth in a grumble. “Just shut your mouth. You know why I don’t want to talk to you.”

“And you know why I do,” he said, leaning in closer to you. His annoying smile had fallen off his face, replaced by something more insistent. An almost pleading look. “There used to be a time when you wanted to run away with me after all this-”

“And that time is long gone.”

You let him sit with that for a few seconds, your glass clinking on the countertop as you placed it back down. The condensation was already dripping onto the surface in front of you, and you noticed it was all Poe was looking at now. His eyebrows furrowed together in deep thought.

He looked back up at you, his eyes searching desperately for yours. “Would you just look at me? For one second?” He pleaded, insisted even. His eyes were darting all over your face, waiting for you to just turn your head for one second and acknowledge him with more than empty words. “Please just look at me.”

You sighed in slight annoyance, but you felt a pang of anguish hit your chest, and you turned your head back to him. Your face was pulled into a scowl, jaw set, your eyes glaring into his with a fervor that would’ve sent any of the other pilots away.

But he stayed. He stared right back at you, with his dark eyebrows pulled up into a slight pout.

“Don’t give me that look.”

He looked away again at your harsh tone, squeezing the cup in his hand again as if he was trying to find something to look at instead of staring at you again.

“I just wish-” He stopped himself from continuing that sentence. 

And damn it all, you wanted to know what he was going to say.

“I have this place in Endor for us,” he swallowed, coating his words with a sip of alcohol. “By that river you like…” His breath shook. “Surrounded by trees…It’s nice, it’s hidden…”

Your hand tightened around the cold glass in your hand. You were shaking. You pulled your hand away when the cup began to vibrate against the table from the nerves you were trying to hide. 

“Why would you do that?” Your words came out in a mix of anger and longing. “Only Ewoks live there.”

“Some other pilots are moving out there. It’s easier to plant a home there than most other planets right now,” he answered, eyes staring forward at the liquor shelf. “And it’s beautiful…I know you find it beautiful…” His eyes darted over to yours for only a second before he lowered his head again, his hair tumbling into his face. “You still do, I hope.”

Your anger was almost at a boiling point, your heart hammering in your chest. The audacity he had to speak to you like you were still in love, like he hadn’t broken you and left you to pick up the pieces while he continued on. 

He broke it all off when he said it was for your safety, that if the Empire got their hands on him again, he would rather not take the risk of them finding you too. You thought he was lying when he told you that, you fully believed it was a grade-A excuse to run off with another pilot. 

But he never did. He never ran off with anyone else. He never looked at anyone else like you. You hated him so much for that. 

“What is this?” You finally looked at him, and when your eyes met his, he nearly choked. “What is it that you want from me? Forgiveness? You want me to come back to you and run off to another planet like nothing ever happened?”

“I just want to know that you still love me…”

The crack and shake of his voice took you off guard. Your breath left your lungs for a moment as you looked at the pleading and desperate expression on his face. His eyes were watering, those big brown eyes that you remember never wanting to forget.

“You-” He tried to grab your hands as you spoke, but you yanked them back, leaving him with the fleeting touch of your glove. He pulled his own hands back to his lap and sighed. “This was a stupid idea.”

“Yes, it was,” Is all you could say, but you found yourself wanting to say more. You wanted to tell him how much you hated him for what he did, how much you wanted him to come back for you, how much you wanted to leave him behind as he had you, how much you wanted to live out a new life with him…

He pushed himself up and placed his drink on the counter, the ice in his cup had nearly completely melted. He ran a shaking hand through his brown hair. Oh, how much you missed running your hands through his hair after a long training day. He would do the same for you when you were stressed, and after you left you found yourself craving that more than anything. 

He looked back at you, the tears in his eyes nearly falling. “I’m sorry. Okay? Is that what you wanted to hear? That I missed you so much and I was an idiot to think you would forgive me?!”

You didn’t answer. You could barely even breathe at that point. You didn’t know what to say, how do you even respond to that. You watched him as he began to leave the room, about to head back out in the hustle and bustle of the celebration. You wanted to watch him go, but you didn’t know if your heart could take that sight again.

“Poe,” the word spilled from your mouth before you realized it. It didn’t even sound like you. Your ears were ringing, they had been since he asked you to love him again.

He turned back around, his sad eyes widening with the slightest bit of hope. Hope that you didn’t want to give him, but you knew you would anyway. And you wouldn’t take it back again. You’d let him keep it, only if he kept your own hope safe this time. 

You took in a shaky breath and met his eyes again, letting go of your cup fully to climb down from your stool. “I need to know…that you didn’t leave just to get away from me.”

He looked shocked at those words, almost offended. This is the least confident you had ever seen him. “I-no. Of course not,” His lips twitch a bit, as if he’s fighting a smile just at the sight of you approaching him. “It killed me to leave you like that…”

You took in those words and exhaled again, stepping closer to him. You looked up to meet his gaze, his hopeful, yet worried gaze. He wanted you to say you’d stay, you knew he did. You wanted to stay too. 

Your lips pulled up into a slight smile. “You said our place is by the river?” And you watched as his eyes lit up at the question itself.