#pilot to letting curly run in instead of stopping him like

[dykedvonte]

I think it says something that you got to see everyone’s dead body and were forced to be a participant to Curly’s torture at the hands of Jimmy but we don’t get to see him dead.

You don’t get to see the satisfaction of seeing the true cause of all the pain everyone went through get a single consequence and it’s so hollow. You don’t get a panning shot of his body, you don’t get splatter to show you it was messy. It just happens and then you’re just left there with all the remnants of what happened and unable to do anything because it’s over. It’s done and you don’t get to do anything about. It’s how Curly feels about what he didn’t do. It’s how you feel as you pilot Jimmy and can do nothing to stop him.

It’s how those affected by people like Jimmy feel after it’s all done. Seen some sort of due process or justice after every painful little thing. It doesn’t feel like enough after every, cause maybe it wasn’t enough. Or rather, it wasn’t done soon enough.

[dameronology]

cold coffee in the morning {poe dameron}

summary: aka the one where you and poe can't seem to work out your commitment issues, and also the one where c3po is the unsung hero (based loosely on the song by ed sheeran)

warnings: language, brief innuendos

enjoy! idk why i'm writing this at 3am but we mooooove

- jazz xx

Poe Dameron had never needed another person before - then he met you, and the idea of ever existing as an independent being for the rest of his living years had suddenly seemed like the most unappealing thing since Luke Skywalker's blue-milk cheesecake. The way you'd whirlwhinded into his life with your gorgeous smile and contagious laugh had knocked the usually-suave pilot completely and utterly onto the floor. Bruised ass aside, he wasn't mad about it. He was happy to have you in his life in whatever way you'd let him.

And what way that was exactly, he didn't know.

You were friends; close, close friends. Bonded for life through your shared goofy humour and seemingly-endless banter. Then you did things that friends didn't normally do - at least not in Poe's experience - and you would act like it was nothing. As if your nights spent together and the whispers you lost between the sheets meant as much to you as the things you did for your other friends, like stopping Finn from tripping on his shoe laces or picking up R2-D2 when he toppled over. It was as though every-time you crossed that line, you immediately regretted it; then, a few days later, you'd decide that you missed Poe, and you'd repeat the same mistake again and again, like you were trapped in a time loop of love and pain.

The feeling would stay with Poe for days; your hands tangled in his hair, his skin against yours, laughter rippling through clashing teeth and soft lips. The way you fell beside each other, sharing highs and secrets and inside jokes; the way you would reference one of your late night talks in shared conversations with friends, and his brown eyes would flick to the ground, cheeks burning red at the fact you'd remembered. It made his heart-rate pick up and palms sweaty.

And sometimes, just sometimes, it would make up for the way you'd leave in the morning; the way he'd arise to find a you-size hole in his bed and heart, and a cup of half-finished caff on the side. With his brain tinged with the remains of a hangover from the previous night, he'd pour the cold beverage down the sink and go about his day.

Poe did manage to catch you one morning; he'd purposely set his alarm so that he would stir earlier than you and rest assured, you were still dead to the world when he came around. The sun outside was still rising, the sky a dull pink-and-blue, the day fresh with hope and brimming with potential for heartbreak. It felt unnatural to see you quiet and peaceful, and not running your mouth and poking fun at anyone who would listen. There was a reason that C3PO avoided you like the plague - it wasn't his fault he was an easy target.

"You watching me sleep, creep?" You murmured.

"Just enjoying the view." Poe replied. He rolled over, crossing his arms behind his head. "You're usually gone by the time I'm awake."

You peeled one eye open, your one-eyed glare enough to send a shiver down his spine. "Don't be passive aggressive, Poe. Just say it."

"Isn't it a little early to be so feisty?"

"Isn't it a little early to make back-handed comments?" You shot back.

"Sorry. I was trying to find a way to bring up such a touchy subject."

You reached across to squeeze his check. "And you did a great job, curly."

"Alright, that's enough of that." He swatted your hand away. "I did want to talk to you about it, though."

"What is there to talk about?" You sat up, brow furrowing.

"You're confusing." Poe began. "During the day, we're friends. At night, you can't keep your hands off of me."

"It's kind of sexy and mysterious." You tried to joke.

"Sexy and mysterious is tiring."

"Sexy and mysterious is also late for work." You quipped.

You rolled out of bed, reaching for your strewn clothes. Without thinking, you pulled one of Poe's shirts over your head, grabbing your boots and socks. So many of his clothes had just snuck their way into your wardrobe - all of your friends had noticed it, but none of them commented on it. Everybody knew that there was something going on between you, but they were wise enough than to point it out. There had been one new guy who tried to ask, but he'd quickly been shut down.

"I'll see you tonight?" You asked, tugging on Poe's your jacket.

His brown eyes lingered on the floor for a moment, before flicking towards you, holding your gaze in a chokehold. "I don't think we should do this again."

You wavered for a moment, a wave of guilt clouding your judgement for a moment. This had never been about feelings - at least not for you. It had just a bit of fun; a bit of fooling around with a hot pilot. You hadn't meant to get in so deep, or get to a point where you were dismissing his feelings in favour of your own. It was more of a survival instinct than anything - breaking his heart to save your own.

That was it: lack of trust, presence of fear. All things that stopped you taking the full plunge, simply for the worry of letting him hurt you - or worst, you hurting him. Maybe it was a little late to start worrying about the latter. That ship had sailed a long time ago. Maybe it had sunk too.

"Poe-" you began, before pausing. "I have a lot going on in my life. I just don't have room for anything real right now."

"I thought the same." He was still staring right at you. "So I made room."

"It's not that simple." You reminded him. "It's not like...decluttering a room. I can't just Marie Kondo that shit and declare my love for you."

Poe froze at the mention of the L-word. It had been an elephant in the room for a long, long time - but it was outdone by the presence of bigger elephants. Like the ongoing war, and the fact that mortality had never seemed so fucking relevant. It was something you wanted to put a pin in for later, but later wasn't something that was guaranteed these days.

"Fine." He shrugged. "Good talk."

--

The guilt weighed on your brain for days, like a lead hat made of bullshit and regret.

You hadn't realised how much of a hole Poe Dameron left in your life until he was gone -- it was massive, like someone had broken into your home and ripped out two of the walls during a harsh winter storm. Everything felt a little colder and more confusing, and the amount of times you'd had to resist temptation to find him and beg for forgiveness was astounding.

The only reason you hadn't done so was because you knew what you would have to do. Give into your feelings, and let yourself become fully and entirely his. Let him into your life and into your heart. All the bullshit you'd spewed about not having room had been just that: bullshit. You didn't need to make room for him in your heart when he, entirely and wholly, was your heart. And he'd taken a little bit of it with him when he walked away - well, when you'd walked away.

Is this how it felt to be the villain?

"Is everything okay, master?" The sound of your favourite droid brought you back to the present. "You're being uncharacteristically quiet. On average, you've usually said 356 words by 9AM."

"You keep count?" You glanced up from your paperwork, eyebrow quirked. "I'm fine. Just tired."

"Eight of ten times that you've said that, you haven't been fine-"

"- just give it a rest, Threepio." You cut him off. "Please?"

"If there's anything I can help with, let me know." He replied. "A droid's logic can be surprisingly helpful."

"I'm fine but thank-" you stopped in your tracks, pondering for a moment.

Logic. That was certainly something you lacked - the part of your brain that was supposed to be rational was too busy thinking about hot pilots.

"Master?"

"Sorry." You blinked. "Maybe I'll have your input on something."

"Please, go on."

"I love someone and he loves me." You said. "It's just very complicated."

"If a problem can be reduced down to seven words, I would not class that as a problem." Threepio said. "I would say a problem is at least thirty words or more."

You thinned your eyes at him. "What are you saying, goldilocks?"

"Perhaps, your problem is only a problem because you think it is." He replied. "When you lay things out and look at them logically, it can make more sense."

"Logic isn't my strong-point. You know that better than anyone."

"You love Master Dameron and he loves you-"

"- I never mentioned names."

"My apologies." Threepio said. "I was simply reading the room."

"Right."

"Remove your emotions, and those are the facts." He continued.

It was bad enough when Poe was right, but it was even worse when C3PO was. But, for all his theatrics and whining, he was right. Decisions made with logic rather than emotion always had a better outcome. It was plain and simple: you and Poe loved one another. Everything else - your fear and his dismissiveness and your collective confusion - only existed because you let it. But your feelings for each other? That was something you couldn't help.

"Right - thanks." You murmured. "I'll be right back."

You quickly stood up, tossing aside your datapad and immediately exiting the room. The base was small, and Poe was never that far away, even when the room was on the furthest side of the base. It was also your favourite place in the entire camp; it was covered in photos of you and him and your friends, and it was always warm. The mixture of sentimental clutter and little knick-knacks, paired with the gentle smell of his aftershave clinging to the sheets and clothes scattered around, made it feel like an actual home.

You didn't bother knocking - that formality had gone out the window long ago. Instead, you took a deep breath and gently opened the door. There was no certainty that he would even be in - you could only hope. The chances of him being anywhere else were pretty slim.

They'd worked in your favour today, because Poe was stood by his coffee machine, a towel wrapped around his waist. His hair was wild and curly and there were still drops of water on his back.

He turned around when he saw you, brow furrowing. Mostly because he had never seen you so breathless and sweaty, but also because he hadn't expected you to ever talk to him again. He'd always known you to stick by your decisions - he normally admired your stubbornness, but as of recent, it had been fucking exhausting.

"Hi-"

"- I love you." You suddenly blurted. "Hi."

"I-" Poe paused, putting down his coffee. "What?"

"I love you. More than anything in the world, ever." You shrugged. "That terrifies me, but I can deal with fear."

"You can. You're pretty bad-ass." He casually nodded.

"Right." You smiled. "I'm sorry it took me so long to say that."

"Hey, it's okay." He gently smiled. "Come here."

You met half way across the room, bodies colliding in a tight hug. His warm, post-shower skin felt like heaven against yours, large hands dragging up and down your back. He consumed everyone one of your senses at once, but mostly, he consumed your ability to think. Your brain was so over-loaded with feelings that the rest of it completely broke down and malfunctioned - kind of like the time you spilt coffee on BB-8.

"I love you too, by the way." Poe gently murmured. You let out a small chuckle.

"I know." You smiled.

"What made you say it now?"

"Threepio said something about logic." You muttered. "The only logical thing for two people who love each other to do is be together, right?"

"I mean, I can think of other things-"

"- Poe!" You whacked his shoulder.

It was though you had untangled your feelings, and the only thing left was a line that went straight from him to you.

"You're right." Poe said. "Thank you for realising it."

You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "Thank you for being patient."

"It's worth it." He couldn't help but grin. "Do you want some caff? It's still warm."

tags: @anetteaneta @poestardust @marvelinsanity

[qlala]

Is it cheating to submit a fic request for the pride post you just made? I neeeed the whole thing (I'm on my laptop, but insert the big gay eyes emoji)

fjskdgjslg "big gay eyes emoji" you know what? just for you. just for you i have written this. i'll clean it up and upload to ao3 later but for now: have 2.7k of len dragging a sunburnt, tipsy, and glitter-covered barry back to his apartment, and happy pride!

Len wasn’t the type to begrudge anyone a good time, especially when the good time involved loud music, leather harnesses, and throwing water bottles at cops. Central City’s annual pride parade came as close as it got to challenging that attitude; families, fellow queers, and queens descended on the city waving more flags than the United Nations after a hurricane, all decked out in color combinations that Len hadn’t been able to keep straight since the ‘80s. 

The end result was the kind of crowds that could make a grown man feel claustrophobic in the middle of a city block, and that was without the visible haze of alcohol wafting off the whole event. 

But what the parade lacked in personal space, it made up for with one very important commodity: unattended wallets. 

The flock of sunburnt twinks in denim cut-offs made Len’s job almost too easy—a hand on a sweat-slicked lower back, a flash of blue eyes, and most of them wouldn’t have noticed their wallets going missing if Len had dangled their IDs in front of their faces afterwards. (While there were plenty of women dressed in just as little clothing whom Len certainly wouldn’t have minded getting within robbing distance of, he’d found queer women as a group to be less enthusiastic about uninvited touching and more enthusiastic about wallet chains, even when three sheets to the wind off of canned rosé.)   

He’d taught a dozen visiting suburbanites the importance of not keeping valuables in their back pockets by the time he spotted a familiar profile in the crowd. 

His usual red getup wasn’t much more modest than some of the outfits Len had already seen, but even knowing the shape of that body didn’t prepare Len for seeing Barry Allen stripped to the waist, bright-eyed and flushed and shimmering all over with a fine dusting of glitter. Len noted, on auto-pilot, that it didn’t seem like he’d put any of the glitter there himself; he was standing dangerously close to a drag queen throwing handfuls of the stuff on anyone who got within arm’s reach of her. It set the sun refracting off every dip and plane of muscle across Barry’s chest and stomach. Barry’s hair, already wild and dark at the roots with sweat, was full of it.   

Len’s feet were carrying him closer before he gave himself permission to move. Barry managed to drag Len into his orbit at the best of times; visibly tipsy and dripping sweat, Len would’ve had better luck resisting the turning of the earth. 

Up close, Len could take that Barry had lost his shirt somewhat recently; the slight touch of pink spanning his shoulders and chest had nothing on the serious flush across his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. He had a spray of new freckles as well. They were barely distinguishable under the haze of glitter stuck to his skin, but Len noticed them at once, the change unmistakable on an otherwise unchanging face (not a scar to be seen, even after three years of running into burning buildings and jumping in front of bullets; Len was equal parts frustrated and relieved).   

It looked like someone had painted a few strokes of color across one of his cheeks at some point, but it was smudged to hell and back. The back of one of Barry’s hands was stained a tell-tale matching purple, and Len could only guess at what it had been at the start of the day. 

He stepped into Barry’s space as easily as he had the rest, taking care to keep Barry between him and the source of the glitter, and hesitated for the briefest moment with his hand above Barry’s spine. He’d never touched Barry like this, skin to skin; the gloves had never come off between them, metaphorically or literally. Kept things neat. 

Nothing about Barry was neat right now. He turned even before Len touched him, and the movement brought Len’s hand into contact with his side instead. It took everything in Len not to pull it back in a flinch, and he met Barry’s curious glance with a tightly-controlled smirk. 

He’d expected Barry to step back, maybe add a bit of blush to those already-pink cheeks. Instead, Barry’s eyes took a belated second to focus, and then he gave Len a face-splitting grin. 

“Snart!” 

That time, Len did have to pull backwards to avoid Barry dragging him in for a hug. To think he’d been concerned about a hand. 

Barry didn’t seem the least bit put out, smiling loose and easy like Len hadn’t iced him to the door of a bank vault the last time they’d seen each other. He hadn’t taken Barry for such a cheerful drunk—he seemed inclined toward melodrama on a good day—but Len would take it over any of the alternatives. 

“Barry. Fancy seeing you here. And so much of you, at that.” He let his gaze slide down his bare chest and stomach, pulse ticking up at the warm brown of his nipples and the sharp vee of his hipbones that invited his gaze further down. 

“You’re overdressed,” Barry disagreed. He wasn’t quite slurring, but there was a careful deliberation in his tone that told Len it was a near thing. He took a step closer and peered at Len, suspicion evident in those pale green eyes.   “And… sober.”

“I’m not here to score. Perks include keeping my shirt on.” 

For the briefest second, Barry looked almost disappointed. But it was gone in a blink, confusion taking over. He glanced down at himself, puzzled. Then his expression cleared, and he looked up with another easy-going smile.  “I got hot.” His gaze dropped again, to Len this time, and he licked his lips. “Aren’t you… you gotta be hot in all that.” 

Len was wearing a long-sleeved shirt and thin jacket, and it hadn’t hit eighty degrees all week. But he wasn’t in the mood to argue with drunk logic. And besides, another scan of the nearby revelers had made something unpleasant begin to scratch insistently at the inside of Len’s chest, and he tapped Barry under the chin with one knuckle to bring his attention back up. 

The contact startled both of them—Len’s control had slipped, something he could not afford to happen around Barry Allen—but Len recovered first. “Where’s the rest of your team of do-gooders?” 

“Lost ‘em.” Judging by the return of Barry’s crooked grin, it was an accomplishment, not a concern. “Cisco said the shot was too strong, but I didn’t wanna go. He’s the d…” He faltered, brows pulling together as he frowned. “S’the designed. Designinated, superhero, anyway. Shh!” 

He shot a pointer finger toward Len in a movement that Len clocked, alarmingly, as intending to be pressed to his lips, as if he were the one who’d been chatting about Vibe’s secret identity. Len had three years of dealing with the Flash to thank for being able to catch Barry’s wrist in time to stop him, and he glared at him for the attempt. 

But Barry only gave him a crinkle-eyed smile and twisted his hand in Len’s grip to clasp his wrist back. “S’so good to see you here. I didn’t think…” 

“Don’t tell me you had me pegged for straight.” 

Barry made a frankly insulting noise halfway between a scoff and a hiccup and tilted Len a condescending look. 

“Speedster, remember?” he asked, far too loudly, even for a crowd currently screaming along to a pop song that’d been bad enough the first time Len’d heard it in 2000. “I see it when you...” He let go of Len’s wrist to make a gesture with two fingers, parting them in a V and sweeping them up and down Len’s body, the muscles in his forearm shifting distractingly under Len’s hand. God, the kid had to be a hundred degrees. “When you check me out. In the suit.” 

Len smirked. “It’s cute you thought I was being subtle.” 

“You’re cute,” Barry muttered, childish and sulky, and Len took it for the compliment it wasn’t. 

“You had a point, Barry.” 

Barry still looked displeased with him, but his brow was furrowed again when he met his gaze. This close, it was impossible to ignore that Barry had an inch or so on him. “About what?” 

“You didn’t think…?” Len prompted him. 

Barry stared at him blankly, and Len rolled his eyes and let go of his wrist. 

“Get out of the sun, Barry,” he said. “Find a park bench. Wait for your little friends to come find you. Shouldn’t be hard—you’re as red as your suit.” 

Barry either ignored his last comment or didn’t hear it. “Iris is here somewhere,” he said, possibly to himself. “She’s…” He twirled his finger absently beside his head. “Curly, today. And… bikini.” 

Len strongly considered abandoning Barry to his sunburn to go find out for himself. But Barry was beginning to sway a bit, and a man closer to Len’s age than Barry’s was giving Barry’s toned back a speculative look from a few feet away, and Len gave in to the unsettled feeling gnawing at his ribcage. He refused to call it worry. It was annoyance—or, at the very least, the feeling was annoying him, which was close enough.   

“As much a sight for sore eyes as that would be,” he said, allowing a magnanimousness he didn’t feel to color his tone, “I doubt Miss West ran away from her group and got heatstroke. Unlike some people” 

Barry didn’t look the least bit chastened, lips curving up mischievously in a way that drew another couple interested looks. Len needed to get them both out of the crowd before he started breaking noses.

“Tell you what. Give Cisco a call, tell him you went home. My bike’s on Kingsbridge, away from the parade route.” 

Barry’s smirk sharpened. “Trying to get me out of here, Snart? I thought you weren’t here to score.” 

Len gave him a flat look, ignoring the decidedly interested way his body was reacting to Barry’s tone. 

“You can barely stand.” 

Barry’s eyes glittered at the challenge, and Len realized his mistake. 

“Barry—” 

He hadn’t even finished biting out the second syllable when the world spun out from under him, the noise and the heat and the press of the crowd swallowed up in a hair-raising charge of yellow lightning. Exactly two and a half seconds passed in a blur of movement, just long enough for Len to realize Barry was supporting the back of his head with one too-warm hand. Then the world came skidding to a stop around them. Barry’s momentum carried them both forward several feet even after their new surroundings materialized, and they very nearly went straight through a window again before Barry seemed to remember how to stop. 

Len considered pushing him out the window anyway for the stunt. True, he’d been itching to get another taste of that feeling, the ozone snap-drag of Barry’s power like a live wire under his hands, but he’d rather have waited until Barry could pass a breathalizer. 

He realized Barry still had an arm around him and shoved him off. It did nothing to dim Barry’s self-satisfied grin, and Len had to look away or risk giving into the interested once-over Barry was skimming over his body again. 

“Pretty sure the point of a designated driver is not doing that.” 

Barry followed him when he took a step back. Len made a calculated decision, decided the risk of touching Barry again was worth it, and pressed his fingers to the middle of Barry’s chest—right where the Flash insignia would be on his suit, his brain offered unhelpfully—and pushed him backwards, hard. 

Barry unbalanced and wheeled back a step. Then the backs of his knees hit the edge of the couch, and he toppled, satisfyingly, back onto the dark leather cushions. 

It was a nice couch. The whole apartment was nice, actually. Len could’ve drawn a perimeter of possible locations based on Barry’s speed and how long it had taken them to reach it if he hadn’t already known the address. 

“Sit,” he said. And then, with a smirk: “Stay.” 

Barry rolled his eyes. “Gonna have to ask nicer than that if you wanna boss me around in bed.”

The way he threw it out there, easy as anything, almost made Len miss a step as he turned away. He wasn’t going to lay a hand on Barry, not when he was drunk on sunlight and skin and whatever concoction Cisco had apparently cooked up for him. But hearing him say it, like they’d already gotten all of the messy parts out of the way—it set off warning bells in Len’s head, flashing past all the possible off-ramps he would’ve taken if Barry had ever tried to have the conversation in a more linear fashion. 

“You’re drunk,” Len said, which was a coward’s answer, and behind him, Barry made a vague noise of agreement. 

“Probably,” he acknowledged. “You could stick around ‘til I’m not.” 

Christ. Len didn’t trust himself to look at Barry again, not when he knew he’d find him sprawled out and shedding glitter all over what had looked like a very expensive couch. “Stay,” he repeated, and went off to find the kitchen. 

By the time he got back with two glasses of water, the problem had solved itself; Barry was out cold on the couch, his painting cheek pressed to the throw pillow he’d curled himself half-around. He was shivering faintly in the air conditioning, all cooled sweat and goosebumps, and Len resigned himself to the now-familiar impulse to help him that stirred in his chest. He put one of the glasses down on the table and, not trusting his hands, knocked his knee into one of Barry’s where it was bent close to the edge of the couch. 

Barry buried his face into the pillow with a noise of displeasure, and Len said his name again. 

“Last warning,” Len said. “Ten seconds, you find out if I put on steel-toed boots today.” 

Barry groaned, and if the sound hadn’t made Len’s pulse skip, the easy shift of muscles in Barry’s arm as he pushed himself up to sitting again would’ve done the trick. 

“Water,” Len said, unnecessarily, as he passed him the glass. 

Barry took it with the tips of his fingers, as if it were something personally offensive to him, and took a single, polite sip before putting it down beside the other with no small amount of distaste. Then he glanced between the glasses, and up at Len, a dirty spark already lighting behind his eyes again. 

“Don’t get your hopes up. They’re both for you.” 

Barry let out a breath with audible annoyance and dropped back against the couch cushions to glare at him. 

Len felt a modicum of sanity return to him. This, at least, was familiar ground: Barry, frustrated, asking for too much, too soon. True, it had always been about the hero business until now, but Len knew a pattern when he saw one. Give Barry an inch, and he always took a mile. 

Len gave Barry one last, appraising look. He looked ridiculous, all self-righteousness and bare skin. There was only one break in the otherwise even coat of glitter, there on Barry’s side: faint, but unmistakable, the outline of Len’s hand on his waist. The feeling in Len’s chest coalesced into something pleased and possessive. He met Barry’s glare with a slow curl of his lips, then gave him an inch.  

“Call me when you’re sober, Barry,” he said, letting his voice slip into the Cold drawl just to watch Barry’s eyes go dark. “And you can show me how well you sit up and beg.” 

He could see the impatience radiating off of Barry’s frame, the effort it was taking him to stay on the couch instead of closing the space between them. 

“Call your friends,” he reminded him. “Enough people got a look at your face today without the CCPD splashing it on every milk carton, too.”

In the elevator, Len reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the thin black wallet he’d liberated from Barry during their sprint across the city. Two and a half seconds: child’s play. A little extra incentive for Barry to track him down in the morning, not that Len thought he needed it. He flipped it open, noted the deer-in-the-headlights picture of Barry on his driver’s license with amusement, and then thumbed open the bill compartment. 

Len smirked. Barry wouldn’t miss a few dollars; he owed him for the dry-cleaning it was gonna take to get the glitter out of his jacket, anyway. 

[mylifeisactuallyamess]

Epilogue

General Hux x Female Reader/Kylo Ren x Female Reader

A/N: This is it. The last time I will post about this story (unless I visit them in a one shot.) I am so sad but so grateful at the same time, this fic got a lovely following and I appreacite anyone who took the time to comment/like/reblog any or all chapters. This fic spawned from a Writer Wednesday prompt months ago, so thank you @autumnleaves1991-blog for posting that picture of the brick arch and pond all those weeks ago! Here we go!

Warnings: PTSD mentions, war mentions, none of them are ok.

Word Count: 2284

Read the Epilogue here on AO3

Masterlist

The air was crisp, carrying the tang of the salty sea and wrapping it around you, ruffling your dress. You shielded your eyes against the dipping sun, seeing the light refract off the water as it heaved below you, the sounds of the waves crashing into the cliffs boomed up to you creating a sound like thunder. The tide was high and that meant they’d be back any moment. You looked back at the cottage behind you, the white walls and the pretty flowers were picture perfect, it was everything you’d ever dreamed, the makeshift hangar sat to the side and it housed the X-Wing you had from your time with the Resistance. Next to it was another larger more recognisable ship, you had some visitors and you needed to prepare Armitage before he saw them.

A giggle carried on the breeze that swirled around you and your face softened into a smile, first you could only see your daughter's head on the path as they came up the steep hill, her long bright red hair caught in the wind, the long tresses flowing around her and glowing with the bright light of the sun. She was giggling, looking down as she plastered her hands all over your poor husband's face. You stifled a laugh as he pretended to stumble, or maybe he really did because she kept shoving her fingers in his eyes.

“Phasma! I can’t see!” You heard him cry followed by more peals of laughter as she continued her assault. “Oh look! It’s Mummy. Hold on!” She squealed as he began to run, holding her legs in place on his shoulders, so she bounced happily full of laughter and smiles until he came to a stop before you. His chest heaved and he let out a loud huff. “You’re getting a bit heavy, little one!”

“Shush Daddy, I am not.” You cocked an eyebrow making a mental note of how much she sounded like her father. Armitage leaned in and gave you a kiss on the lips.

“Who’s here?” He asked quietly.

“Well, it’s Poe, Finn, Rose, Mitaka and….” You paused, not sure if he wanted to hear his name or not.

“And?” He pressed.

“And Ben.” You saw the blank expression fall over his face and you inwardly sighed. “Look they’re not here to cause trouble, the war is over, it has been for a few years now.” You ran a hand through your daughter's hair as she clutched your leg. “We barely see anyone. It's nice for them to drop by.” He moved away, putting a hand in his pocket while using the other to run through his hair. Even after all this time he kept it in the same style, just a habit you guessed or maybe he’d just never experienced another style.

“There’s a reason we don’t see anyone,” he said stiffly. You dragged Phasma with you, coming to stand next to him.

“Armitage, do you forget how I was the one who discovered Finn and Rose. I brought them to you.”

“And I ordered them to be executed and Finn…” he glanced down at his daughter. His hand resting on top of yours in her hair as she gazed at him with big green eyes. You knew he wanted to say Finn killed Phasma, but you felt like pointing out the war was responsible for everything that had happened. All these people had been puppets for someone else, made to believe in something that ultimately influenced their actions and choices.

“It’s over now.” You needed him to acknowledge that, the war was over. You supposed it would have been harder for him than the rest, being brought up and beaten into a person who should always strive for glory and control. Finn managed to break free, even Ben but then he had a loving family for the first few years of his life. He had a taste of normality, as did Poe, Rose had her sister until the evacuation of D’Qar. But Hux had no one, except Phasma and Mitaka and even then he was their General, their leader. He was alone for so long you didn’t know how to get him to see they were all just people now. What they had all been through was horrific, you just knew for Armitage, it was harder to adjust. He didn’t say anything else and you crouched down to Phasma’s level.

“There are some very special people in our house to meet you including Uncle Mitaka.”

“Me kaka?” She screamed in glee, fisting her hands under her chin in joy before tearing off to the house. Hux watched her go, a strange expression on his face. You stood, taking his hand and holding it tight. You made him look at you, feeling the stubble on his cheeks which he let grow now. The red dusting covered his chin and cheeks making him look rugged and even more handsome.

“They wouldn’t have come if they were going to be rude or start a fight or accuse you of things that happened years ago. They are here to see us, as a family. If they can forgive Ben they can forgive you.”

“But Ben is clearly a new man now…” he started and you cut him off by putting a hand over his mouth.

“And look at you. No uniform, no hat, you have a daughter, Armitage, you live in a bloody cottage.” He sighed against your hand and you knew you had won this round.

You stepped away from the cliff edge tugging on his hand and he reluctantly came with you, dragging his feet slightly. You went through the back door Phasma had left open and shut out the dusk that was settling on the cliffs around the cottage. Voices plus your daughter's laughter came from the main living area and you squeezed Hux’s hand reassuringly before walking in. A chorus of greetings met you both and even though you’d said hello before you went round and hugged them all again, pleased to see Hux shaking hands with Poe and Finn. You held your breath when it came to Ben who was sitting in your biggest armchair with Phasma perched on his lap.

“Armitage,” Ben said and held out his hand. The moment stretched for longer than you liked but eventually your husband reached out and shook it. Everybody sighed with relief and you asked if anyone wanted a drink, taking Hux with you into the kitchen. He helped you prepare some drinks in silence, listening to laughter and banter from the others mingled with your daughter's cries of joy as someone was clearly tickling her. Hux carried the drinks and you handed them out, a pleased feeling began to fill your chest as Poe engaged him in conversation. Mitaka stoked the fire and a flare of heat blazed into the room making it more cosy.

“How has he been?” Dopheld asked you quietly.

“The nightmares seem to have eased, it helps that he has Phasma with him nearly all of the time,” you looked over seeing Armitage still in conversation with Poe, your daughter now nestled in his arms sucking her thumb as she gazed at the curly haired pilot. “She seems to know what he needs when he needs it.” You felt a hand on your shoulder and threw a smile at Finn. “Hey you, how’s the Trooper Rehoming going?” He shrugged.

“There were a few we managed to trace back to their families but the majority have made their own settlement out on Yavin 4. You should come visit sometime.” He offered.

“I’d like that but…” your gaze flickered to Armitage. “Maybe it will be just me and Phasma….” You trailed off making a face. “Maybe not,” you chuckled.

“You would all be welcome,” he reassured you before heading over to sit with Rose. Your gaze drifted to Ben who seemed captivated by the fire, but you recognised the signs. The clenching of his fists, the tightness in his jaw, the vase on your mantelpiece fell and shattered drawing everyone’s attention. The fire flared behind you and you looked up to see Hux clutching Phasma to him and backing away slowly. Poe went to approach Ben as the very walls of your house began to shake matching the quivering of your insides but you threw out a silent hand to stop the pilot. You didn’t say Ben’s name, not wanting to startle him instead you crouched before him, placing a calming hand over his forearm and his hazel gaze swung to you.

“Come on, I need you to look at my X-Wing. I think it has a faulty fuel line, Armitage says the circuit breakers are burnt out but we aren’t mechanics.” You could hear the house settling as you pulled his attention away from his thoughts. You didn’t wait for an answer, taking Ben’s hand and shooting a look at Hux. He wasn’t happy, you could see it in his face and the set of his shoulders but you’d rather Ben put his mind to good use than accidentally destroying your house. He had to duck slightly through the low doorways as he followed you outside. Your feet didn’t falter, you’d travelled this path so many times in the dark when you couldn’t sleep. Every time you’d calmed Armitage from a nightmare you had come in here, just to tinker to take your mind off everything. Sometimes it worked, other times you came in here and cried, releasing your pent up emotion alone.

“Here,” you gestured to the hangar and stepped aside. “Wreck it, tinker with it, just don’t ruin the inside of my house, please.” He nodded, moving to touch your tools on the bench gently with his finger tips.

“You come in here often.” It wasn’t a question.

“It is my place to spend time on my own and process everything that happened,” you confessed knowing you couldn’t hide anything from him. “I am coping better than Armitage.”

“Are you though?” He asked bluntly and you blinked. You thought you were, dealing with Phasma kept you occupied during the day, you stayed up late most nights keeping an eye on Armitage so you didn’t have much thought space until you knew he was ok.

“Yes, I am keeping myself busy.” Ben smirked at your reply.

“Looking after two other people does not mean you are coping.”

“Yeah well, someone’s got to do it.” You turned and walked back to the cottage. The conversation was still flowing in the living area but you walked past to go to the kitchen and maybe prepare some food. Armitage appeared within moments, he tried to hide his displeasure but you could read him like a book.

“How’s Phasma?” You asked.

“Asleep on Mitaka.” He replied and you nodded, opening the cupboards trying to find your guests something to eat but you didn’t realise your hands were shaking until Hux gently slid his over yours. “It’s ok,” he whispered, coming up behind you. “He will be gone soon.”

“I really wanted to be ok with him, I just want to be ok.” You looked up as Mitaka appeared at the kitchen door and you smiled at the way Phasma’s arms hung over his shoulder, her little face buried in his neck and he pointed to the stairs. “Just take her straight up, she’ll stay asleep when you lay her down.” He nodded and slowly made his way up the wooden steps. You quickly wiped your damp cheek but Poe then appeared and you felt Hux’s increasing frustration that he couldn’t comfort you in private.

“We’re going to head off in a bit, we need to drop Finn off at the settlement. Do you guys need anything? I need to swing this way on the back so I can grab some supplies?” You nodded enthusiastically, already rattling off a list, since the X-Wing refused to start, you were stuck with what you could find here and in the small local market.

“Ok wow, maybe I’ll get you some spare parts for that ship of yours, if you want I can bring BB8 next time?”

“No need.” Rumbled Ben as he stood in the doorway. “I fixed it, loose connection so it couldn’t connect to the engines.”

“Thank you Ben. Alright out go, too many massive men near my tiny kitchen,” you ushered them out, including Mitaka when he chose that moment to come down the stairs. Finn and Rose were already outside looking up at the stars as everyone filed out and the goodbyes started. Ben was last, enveloping you in a big hug with a quick knowing squeeze before he headed to the Falcon. Poe clapped Armitage on the shoulder promising he’d visit more often, Mitaka echoing his sentiment.

“Just be careful, all of you,” you called. They all waved as they disappeared up the ramp and you felt Armitage put his arm around your shoulders.

“As much as I disliked them all at one time, I’m glad they visited,” he said in a soft tone.

“I’m sorry, but seeing Ben slip like that….” You put a hand to your throat feeling the familiar constriction in your chest. “Just brought back memories,” you whispered.

“We’re all broken, one way or another.” You looked up at your husband. “But I wouldn’t want to try and repair myself with anyone else.”

“I love you Armitage.”

“And I love you and our quiet life and our daughter.” You leaned into him accepting the kiss before letting him lead you back inside the warmth of your cottage.

After all, war does not determine who is right. Only who is left.

[wiypt-writes]

Too Loose And You’ll Lose It

Ch7: Old Habits Die Hard

Part 2

Co-written with @icanfeelastormbrewing​

Summary: It’s the day of Pooch’s wedding, emotions are running high and it all comes to a dramatic conclusion.

Pairing: Jake Jensen x OFC Stella Stevenson

Warnings: Bad language and a whole heap of angst. Smut (NSFW, 18+)

A/N: So here is part 2 of Chapter 7…and it’s explosive! Translation: Chinga tu madre, Cabrón = Go fuck your mother, asshole.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. We do not own any characters in this series bar Stella Stevenson and the other OCs. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

TLAYLI Masterlist // Main Masterlist

Chapter 7 Part 1

Lay your demons at the door, this is what we're fighting for, trying to clear the air but nobody's talking. We've been breathing this disease, trying to find a way to see, but the end is in your eyes, let's finish this tonight.

“What I don’t get,” Jensen looked at the bridesmaid who watched him with rapt attention, twisting a strand of hair round her finger, “is why come to Mexico and not get married on the beach?”

“Well they thought about it, but then Jolene decided she didn’t want to get covered in sand.” The red-head shot back. “So they chose this terrace, it’s kinda on the beach, I mean, you can see the ocean.”

“But if you don’t want to get sandy, why come here in the first place?”

“Because it’s cheaper.” She shrugged.

“So you’re saying Pooch is a cheapskate.” Jensen raised his eyebrow and she hesitated before she shook her head.

“No, that’s…” she began to talk, protesting that wasn’t what she was saying when he heard Roque shout out Stella’s nickname.

“Hey, Arty!”

Jake instantly glanced over his shoulder to look for her, and when he saw her, the air was completely knocked from his lungs.

Her dress was a gorgeous watercolor-like ombre blue. The deepest of sky blue shade covering her shoulders with wide straps and a deep v-neck line that wrapped at her breasts and it lightened just at the lower ribs to a cotton blue, before trailing down at the hemline in a pale blue almost white shade. The cut exposed her leg to mid-thigh, giving just a peek of the petunia inked into her skin. Her hair was pulled back off her face in an elegant, sleek pony tail and her lips popped a deep, burnt red. Her blue eyes stood out under thick lashes and perfectly lined eyebrows, the rest of her make up remaining neutral. She'd only been in the sun a day, but just as it always did, it had kissed her body in a way that made each little freckle pop and her entire frame glow.

The salty sea air and sunshine always looked good on Stella Stevenson and today, the overall effect made Jensen's mouth water.

“Holy shit.” He muttered, turning away from the girl and conversation without so much as a goodbye, leaving her stood there shooting daggers at his back.

Stella smiled as Roque kissed her cheek, then Cougs and finally Clay before she stepped back and smiled as their Colonel’s arm curled around the slim, petite brunette to his right.

“Stel, this is Emma, Emma this is Stella.”

“It’s nice to meet you.” Emma smiled, “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Why doesn’t that fill me full of confidence?” Stella laughed and Emma shook her head, smiling.

“Oh, no, I assure you, it’s all been good!”

As the two women continued to chat and laugh, Jake stood there, waiting for his turn, hands jammed into the pockets of his dress slacks. Eventually, Stella nodded and turned to him and he flashed her a smile.

“You know, that’s the second day in a row I’ve seen you looking like a grown up!” She quickly scanned him up and down, taking in his well-fitted, steel grey suit. The top button of his jacket fastened, nipping in at his slim waist and spanning over his broad chest and shoulders. The crisp white dress shirt underneath stood out against the suit, and matched his white pocket swatch, the entire ensemble pulled together by the steel grey tie which matched his jacket and slacks.

As she was looking, Jake leaned forward, her perfume sending him lightheaded as always. He placed a gentle peck to her cheek, his chin brushing her ear slightly. “You look stunning.” He whispered, and he didn’t miss the goose-bumps that appeared on her skin as she swallowed and pulled away.

“Thanks.” She stood still, simply looking at him, and the two of them were locked in a gaze before Stella cleared her throat, breaking the spell. “You guys know where we’re supposed to be seated?”

“Yeah, we’re on the right,” Clay gestured, “Grooms side or whatever.”

The gang moved to find their seats, Jensen stepping forward ready to offer Stel his arm but Roque beat him to it.

“Always the gentleman, huh?” She smiled at him and he chuckled, a deep, low timbre rumbling from his chest.

“You know me, Arty.”

Jake watched them go, before he gave a yelp and clutched at his side, glaring at Cougar.

“Stop drooling, Jensen.” Cougar peered at him from underneath his hat, smirking as Jake rubbed at the place on his ribs where he had dug him with his elbow.

“I’m not drooling, shut up Cougs.”

Thankfully, Cougar left it there and they moved to take their seats along the row that Clay, Emma, Roque and Stella had already occupied. Cougar, whether on purpose or not, reached the end of the row first and slid in next to Stella, separating her from Jensen. Jensen rolled his eyes, but before he could get too pissed about it, Pooch arrived, in a simple black pinstripe three piece with an ivory and red striped tie, and made his way down the aisle, greeting everyone. He stopped at the row that contained the Losers and smiled, Jensen pulling him into a hug, clapping his shoulder as he pulled away.

The thing with weddings, is that no one can actually tell you were the day goes. They seem to pass in a whirl and Pooch’s was no exception. What felt like mere seconds after The Groom had arrived, but was in fact more near to twenty minutes, the music started and Jolene appeared at the large arch at the back of the terrace, walking slowly with her dad down the aisle, in a gorgeous knee-length fitted lace dress, which set off her curves and legs perfectly, her curly ebony hair pinned up elegantly at the back of her head. As she reached Pooch, she reached up and straightened his tie and Stella heard a “Pay up, Captain” to her right. She turned to see Roque reaching over Emma, handing Clay a twenty, not even looking at him, and she let out a soft snort, shaking her head.

The Bride and Groom exchanged simple vows and Pooch head tears in his eyes as he made his declaration. At that point, Jake couldn’t help but take a glance at Stel to find her looking down at her hands, the fingers of her left twisting the white gold and ruby solitaire ring that sat on her right ring finger, a gift from him for her twenty-first. He swallowed a little, as he hadn’t seen her wear it in a while before she glanced up, and he took the opportunity to study her pretty profile for a second before he turned his attention back to the front for the ring exchange.  Before long the new Mr and Mrs Pooch headed down the red carpet in the middle of the aisle to cheers and the guests filed their way back inside for drinks whilst the staff set up the outside terraced area for the reception.

To Jake’s delight, there was no huge stuffy sit down meal, it was just a large buffet which meant he could eat what he wanted and how much he wanted, which suited him perfectly. What didn’t suit him, however, was that he didn’t see that much of Stella, at all. Post eating and listening to the speeches, whether intentionally or not, she avoided him, spending most of the time sipping champagne and cocktails chatting to Emma and few of Jolene’s friends. Jake was left to mooch around, mainly with Cougar who was absolutely trying to get into the blonde bridesmaid’s panties. Unfortunately, she was stuck like glue to the red headed one that Jake wasn’t interested in.

“You make a shit wingman.” Cougar gave a jab to Jensen’s rib with his elbow as the two girls wandered off.

“Good job I’m not a pilot then.” Jensen shrugged, taking a pull from his beer as his eyes scanned the room for Stella.

At that point they both got strong slaps on their shoulders as Pooch drew up behind them both, leaning between them a little.

“Your momma was a pilot.”

Cougar and Jensen both looked at one another before they slowly turned to glance at Pooch.

“Did you just drop a momma joke on your wedding day?” Jensen snorted

“A shit one at that.” Cougar added, tipping his hat slightly with the neck of his bottle.

“Come on guys! As you have just said it’s my wedding day so let’s have a drink together before Jolene’s, sorry my wife’s,” at that he grinned, “bridesmaids hunt you down again.”

“What if I want to be hunted?” Cougar shrugged

“Hence why I said before. Pay attention Cougs.”

“Chinga tu madre, Cabrón.” Cougar smirked, causing both Pooch and Jensen to snort as they knew that insult very well having heard it a few times.

“I dare you to say it to her face.” Pooch looked at him as Cougar merely smirked, giving him a wink.

Pooch rolled his eyes, “what about you, Jensen?”

“I don’t wanna fuck Momma Pooch!”

“Why? What’s wrong with her?”  Pooch looked at him.

“What? Nothing, that’s just gross!” Jensen pulled a face.

“He’s considering a trip down memory lane instead.” Cougar teased and Pooch groaned.

“Dude! Seriously, you need to get over it!”

At that Jake turned to look at Cougar. “No I’m not, stop making shit up!” Cougar shrugged, smirking slightly and simply held his gaze as Jensen groaned. “Whatever, man.”

Cougar merely shrugged, as chilled as ever whilst Pooch laughed and handed them a drink from a passing tray. “Well, I think that deserves a toast. To the first married Loser…oh, wait, that would be me! And to Jensen who seriously needs to stop flogging a dead horse!”

Jensen took a deep breath, once upon a time he’d fully expected to be married by now, full disclosure, to Stella. Maybe a kid on the way if there wasn’t one around already. And that thought gave him a perfect way out of this current train of conversation.

“How long till Baby Pooch comes along?”

“Dude, if it was up to me he’d be on the way already!” Pooch grinned.

“He?” Jensen shook his head. “Nah man, you want a girl.”

“What? No! I want a little Pooch. Why would I want a girl?”

“A girl always loves her daddy.” Jensen shrugged. “Like Gracie, man, she’s awesome. There’s just something about seeing her with Robert. It’s cute.” He paused and grinned. “I want a girl. Imma call her Daisy.”

At that Cougar let out a snort as Pooch began to howl with laughter.

“Who’s Daisy?” Clay asked as he appeared with Roque, the pair of them smirking at something.

“Jensen’s first born. Apparently.” Pooch wiped his eyes.

“Wait, what?” Roque frowned and turned to Jensen. “You have a kid?”

“No, it’s a hypothetical one.” Jensen shook his head.

“Good.” Roque blew out a breath. “Do me a favour and never reproduce, Jensen.”

“Fuck you Roque,” Jake snapped back. “I’d make a great dad.”

“Yeah, well, you might wanna start ‘daddying’ that chick in the red dress over there, because she’s eye-fucking you shamelessly.” Roque nodded over his shoulder and Jake turned around. He gave the girl a once over, she was pretty but…his trail of thought died as he spotted Stella was stood alone at the bar. He necked his drink and holding up his glass he stated, “need a refill.” before he turned and headed over the room.

“Yeah, sure.” Pooch rolled his eyes as Cougar gave a low chuckle.

“Told ya.”

“Man he just can’t help himself, can he?” Roque shook his head as the three of them watched Jensen who approached Stella, his hand dropping to the small of her back as he leaned over to talk to her.

“Nope” Clay let out a sigh as Stell laughed at something Jake said. “Ahh, leave him to it, we can always do damage control, as usual where he is concerned.”

“How do you damage control a suicide bomb?” Pooch looked at Clay and Roque snorted.

“Pooch is right, dude is basically a hand grenade right now.”

“Don’t get involved guys.” Clay shook his head and Cougar nodded.

“I agree with boss. If Jensen’s gonna pull the pin, he can dive on it.”

“The problem will come when he tries to ‘pull her pin’ and she kicks his ass. But, fortunately I will be enjoying my wedding night.” Pooch shrugged. “See ya, Losers. Don’t have too much fun!”

The three of them watched him wander off over the room, shouting to someone, and Clay’s eyes fell on his date, Emma, who was smiling at him and waving from her spot at a table.

“I will also be enjoying Pooch’s wedding evening.” Clay winked and walked off.

Roque turned to look at Cougar. “Don’t even think of it…”

Cougar merely chuckled, tipped his hat and also wandered off, hands in his pockets as he sauntered over to a group of girls.

“That’s okay, just leave me here, I’m good!” Roque called after them before he let out a sigh. “Assholes.”

****

As the hours passed they drank, a lot. And naturally, where alcohol is involved inhibitions start to lower. There was a lot of fun being had, a lot of jokes being shared and other stupid activities being partaken in, such as a raucous drinking game Stella and Jake played against  Pooch’s uncle and his brother.

Which they lost, spectacularly.

Stella was feeling fairly light headed thanks to the mix of champagne, beer and cocktails running through her system, along with a few shots of tequila and somehow, she had no idea how, the two of them ended up on the dance floor, dancing to some really random shit when ‘La Bamba’ started playing. Jake grabbed Stella’s hand with a whoop of joy and started twirling her round, her face creasing in laughter as they let loose, Jake showing off his pretty neat footwork

“I thought you said he wasn’t taken?” The red headed bridesmaid gestured to Jake as she stood next to Pooch and he snorted.

“He’s not”

“Could have fooled me.”

“It’s complicated.” Pooch shrugged. “Long story short, she’s taken, he’s not. He wishes she wasn’t as it’s his fault she is.” He turned to the woman besides him. “If that makes any sense.”

From the look on her face, it made no sense at all, which wasn’t surprising to Pooch as he struggled to make sense of Jensen and Stella’s fucked up dynamic, but before she could reply there was a slap on his shoulder.

“Ten bucks says they end up in bed together,” Roque slurred.

“No way man.” Pooch shook his head, “she won’t cheat on Evan.”

“Fuck that guy,” Roque snorted. “Look, she’s hammered, here alone, I’m calling it.”

Pooch was about to tell Roque that Evan present or not, Stella would cut Jensen’s balls off if he tried anything when the familiar opening bars of ‘Don’t Stop Believing’ cut across the dance floor.

Both Stella and Jake paused a little, Jake running his hand through his hair as he gestured to the tables, clearly asking Stella if she wanted to quit dancing when she shook her head, giving him a smile, which Jensen returned as she took his hand, the pair of them beginning to sing and dance along.

“Twenty bucks,” Roque hiccupped, upping his stake.

“You’re on.” Pooch shook his hand as the bridesmaid snorted.

“And you’re losing.”

Pooch watched her go and then turned back to the dancefloor to see Jake and Stella now dancing pretty close...

This had always been their song. That was why Jensen had asked if she wanted to sit it out when it had come on, but she’d refused, and as such he’d been twirling her round to the music just like he always had. After one spin, they end up facing one another, singing very loudly as Jake threw his arms up and around, Stella snorting and laughing at his antics.

“Do you remember dancing to this at prom?” Jensen grinned as he continued to throw his arms around wildly, Stella shaking her head. He smiled, his mind straying back to that night, how amazing the entire evening had been, not least for the fact it had been the first time they’d fully given themselves to one another. He remembered laying there, after, as they both giggled and kissed and cuddled, thinking there and then that was it for him, there’d never be another girl who came close.

And then he’d pulled a Jensen, and ruined it.

“Of course I do.” Stella smiled. “Life was simpler back then, huh?”

“Isn’t it always?” Jensen asked as he spun her back round, pulling her in so her back was to his chest, hands dropping to her hips as the electric guitar solo struck up signalling the song was almost at and end. He felt Stella take a deep breath.

“Well we were kids.”

“But it was easy.” Jensen dropped his chin to her shoulder, his cheek brushing hers. “It was just you and me and the rest of our lives ahead.”

Stella tilted her head to look at him as the song faded into ‘I’ve Had The Time Of My Life’ and she pulled away, turning to face him with a shrug.

“Didn’t quite work out the way we thought though did it.” She asked, her hands sliding round his neck.

Jensen sighed, his fingers flexing against her hips. “I know. I fucked up.” He swallowed, the lump thick in his throat and Stella shook her head.

“Don’t.” She warned. “Not now.”

But Jensen wasn’t listening. He had to get it off his chest, he couldn’t stand the sick, hot feeling he got every time he thought about her and Evan. He needed to tell her, even if she told him there was no chance for them ever again, at least he’d know.

“No, just listen to me, Stelly, please.” His eyes locked onto hers. “There’s not a day goes by I don’t regret it. You know that, right? And no matter what happens I’ll always-“

He was cut off as Stella landed a harsh, stinging slap to his left cheek, his head whipping to the right. He took a deep breath, stunned, before he turned his head to face her, shocked splashed across his handsome features.

A few people around them stopped dancing, and Stella could hear a few hushed whispers, along with a louder shout of ouch, from who she had no idea. She opened her mouth to say something, the tears spilling from her eyes before she realised she needed to get out of there, and fast. So she did.

She hurried out of the room towards the hotel lobby and elevator, wiping the tears that were falling down her face. She knew she shouldn’t have done that, and maybe it was a little harsh, but the anger she felt towards Jake at that moment in time was insurmountable. He had left her, twice basically, and continued to fuck with her head, and then had the audacity to try and ...well, she didn't even know what he was trying to do. Her head was a mess, a fuckery of conflicting feelings, and she was as drunk as she could remember being in a long time, which wasn't helping.

She was also well aware that she'd just made a complete scene at Pooch's wedding, potentially seen by his entire family and friends, and that not only embarrassed her, it also made her feel like crap for being that asshole guest that everyone would be talking about for months to come.

*****

Jensen ignored both Roque and Clay who had crowded round to ask him what the hell he'd done to deserve a slap, but he simply pushed them out of the way, only one thing on his mind, getting to Stella and making her listen. He hurried out of the room, skidding to a slightly unsteady halt in the corridor before he jogged down the hallway and into the lobby where he spotted her at the elevator.

“Stel!" He yelled her name in an attempt to stop her, drawing intrigued and surprised looks from the guests and staff alike in the atrium. "Stella, wait!"

She didn't turn around, but he could tell she'd heard him, well, everyone in the lobby had heard him, but if that wasn't evidence enough to show that his calls across the foyer had reached her, the fact that she began angrily slamming her hand against the elevator call button certainly was. Jensen hurried across the shiny tiled surface, the heels of his dress shoes clicking as he went, expertly side stepping a couple who were walking through with cases, cursing as he saw Stella stepping into the elevator. He continued running, but just as he skidded to a halt he caught a glimpse of her angry tear stained face as the doors shut.

"Fuck!" He shouted, banging his hand on the wall just above the call panel. Spinning, he almost collided with a young couple who were looking at him, and the man shot him a filthy glare as he pushed between them, running to the stairs. He took them two, sometimes three at a time as he raced to the fourth floor in an attempt to catch her, and he burst into the corridor in time to see her stalking to her room.

He paused to take a breath, relief flooding his system at the fact he'd manage to catch her before she got to her room, before he realised he still had to stop her.

“Stel!” His shout was a desperate plea, and she spun to face him, her face surprised clearly at how he'd managed to get there so quick, and whilst she was still he took his chance. “Look, I’m sorry I made you upset but-“

With that she gave an angry growl almost as she turned around and carried on, the heel of her shoe catching a little as she did, causing her to stumble and Jensen felt his anger boiling over, this was fucking ridiculous, and here he was shouting down a hotel corridor, to her fucking back.

"For fucks sake, Estella, will you a stop being a bitch and just listen to me?"

At that she stopped dead and wheeled round, sheer venomous disdain etched across her face. "I am SICK of listening to you Jacob." She spat his full name back at him, in response to him using hers. "It’s always the fucking same. You know if anything I should have listened to you years ago when you dumped me and stayed the fuck away from you and your stupid-"

"You just slapped me, Stella!" Jensen exclaimed "In front of everyone in the fucking room! The least you can do is hear me out, I deserve that surely?"

"You don’t deserve shit." She snorted. "Now take a hint and leave me the fuck alone!"

"What, like your boyfriend?"

The words flew out of Jensen's mouth before he had even registered them, and from the look on Stella’s face she was as shocked as he was that he'd gone there. She took a deep breath, looked at the floor before she raised her head and stared at him, fresh tears in her eyes and Jensen sighed in frustration at himself.

"You know, just when I think you can’t go any lower." Her voice was soft and sad now, and Jensen stayed silent as he knew that had been a low blow. She took another shaky breath, shaking her head. "I’ve never come so close to hating you as I have right now. You are an asshole."

"Stell, look, I’m sorry. I shouldn't have said that..."

"Go to hell." She stated, her voice flat as she turned and carried on walking towards her room.

"Cougar told me what Evan said." Jensen blurted out, more words he hadn't planned on saying, and once more she stopped dead.

"Fucking-"

"Did you say it back?"

There was no answer.

"You didn't, did you?" Jensen continued to press as she started walking towards her again. "That's why he isn't here, aint it? Because you couldn't say it, and you fell out, and-"

"You tell me," she stopped at the door to her room, foraging in her purse for her key, "I mean, clearly you have all the answers and know everything about how I feel and-"

"Damnit Stella, just-"

"You know what?" She spun to face him as he stopped besides her. "Evan might not be perfect but he’s never dumped me for no fucking reason, then used me as and when he wanted. But, I suppose that’s on me because I was never strong enough to tell you to fuck off and now that I am, you don’t like it." She raised her hand and jabbed him in the chest. "You don’t like the fact I’m not there when you want to fuck something because I’ve got someone else in my life-" another jab "-someone who… who loves me and I-."

"And you what Stel?" Jensen interrupted her rant with a snort and she fell silent, her eyes flashing. "See you can’t even say it, can you?"

Stella glared at him, a look that would make anyone else quiver in their shoes but not him, not now. He was too far gone trying to make his point, trying to make her see his point, to care how angry he was making her.

“Just admit it Stella," he arched his eyebrow, stepping forward. He planted one hand by her head, palm flat on the surface of the door as he leaned closer to her, his voice level and even as he stated, “you don’t love him, you never will.”

“Fuck you.” Stella stumbled over her words a little, before her hands planted on his chest and she shoved him. Jake stepped back, slightly off balance more to the alcohol in his system than the force of her push, but he steadied himself, moving forwards again. She made to shove him once more but this time he was ready, and his hands caught her wrists, fingers curling round them as her room key fell to the floor.

“Fuck me yourself.” He shot. At that she shook her head and scoffed. “What’s the matter, Stel?” Jake’s voice dropped a little as his grip around her wrists tightened, and he pressed her further into the door, his head dropping, face inches from hers. “Scared you might like it, still?”

“Asshole.” Her voice was nothing more than a whisper and she pulled her arms violently to the side, Jake letting go. Once more she pushed him, this time he stepped away so she could bend and retrieve her room key from the floor, which took her a few attempts, her hand and eye coordination impaired from the drink. Eventually, she grabbed it and stood, a little unsteadily, turning her back to him.

As she slid the card into the slot, Jake was once more in her space behind her, his hands softly on her waist and he leaned towards her, his breath hot on her ear.

“Don’t be a chicken, Stel.” His voice was gravelly and he braced, waiting for another blow, but it never came. She swallowed a little, her chest heaving, and she made no attempt to stop his advances. She'd let go of what she had to say, and now she was physically proving him right in his assumptions and her denials

Emboldened by this, Jensen placed a soft kiss to her neck as she pushed the door to her room open, causing her breath to catch in her throat. She turned to him, her eyes locking into his and Jensen could see the conflict behind them. There was a war going on between her head and her heart and, had he been sober, Jensen probably would have walked away, knowing what he was doing was pretty shitty and unfair. But he wasn’t sober. He was drunk, and not just on alcohol but sheer desire for the woman stood in front of him. His Stelly. The girl he still loved.

As her large, clear blue eyes bounced across each of his whilst she grappled with her internal turmoil, Jake stood stock still waiting for her to make her move. He took a deep breath, expecting her to shove him away for that final time, and he would have taken it then, having already proven his point to both her and him, but then he saw it, that familiar darkening of her eyes.

The spark Stell still carried for him, that small flicker of a flame that for so long had been starved of oxygen, suddenly exploded and she reached out, grabbing his loose tie, bringing his lips crashing down to hers. Jake surged forward, pushing her backwards as he continued to kiss her, kicking the door to her room shut with his foot before he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close,  pouring every single bit of emotion and frustration he’d felt over the past few months into the kiss.

It was urgent, it was desperate, and the pair of them stumbled around the hotel room, Stella pushing his jacket off and tossing it to the floor somewhere before she yanked off his tie, her fingers moving to undo his shirt. Jake's hands fumbled with the floaty tulle skirt of her dress as he pulled it up around her waist, trailing hot kisses down the side of her neck whilst Stella pushed his shirt down his arms where he shrugged it off. Her hands planted on his chest as she smoothed her delicate palms over the solid planes of muscle, sliding them down over his defined abs and he gave a soft hiss as he felt her nimble fingers undoing the buckle of his belt. In a quick move that made her squeak slightly, he reached down and grabbed her ass, hauling her off the floor, her legs wrapping around his waist as he backed her up against the large sliding doors which led out to the balcony. His lips pressed back to hers whilst her back hit the thick glass a little harder than he had intended, drawing a soft grunt from her mouth as it rattled in the frame.

“Ow.” she mumbled against his mouth, grabbing a fist full of his hair and tugging harshly so he looked at her. He gave an apologetic grin she looked at him for a moment before her hands moved and plucked off his glasses, in a movement that really shouldn’t be hot but for some reason it always was. He took them from her, depositing them in his pocket as his lips gently latched onto her neck, sucking at the pulse point. A barely there whimper sounded in his ear as he nipped at her skin and his attention moved downwards, hot, open mouthed kisses traced down her sternum which was exposed between the deep V neckline of her dress. A low moan left her mouth and her hips pushed down against the bulge in his trousers and he pressed into her, giving her the friction she was asking for. Her hands skimmed down his spine, her fingers making his skin burn and prickle as they danced over his back, coming to rest on his broad shoulders , digging into his muscles as Jake pushed his hips up again, grinding against her.

Neither of them were thinking straight, it was way past that point. This was a pure, carnal desire between two, once-upon-a-time long term lovers, both desperate to scratch that deep itch that they still had for one another. But still Jake paused, pulling back so he could take a moment to look at her. She was slightly dishevelled, strands of her hair had fallen loose from her up-do, framing her heart shaped face. Her cheeks were flushed, lips swollen from his kisses, but it was her eyes which caught him. He'd always loved her eyes and now they were staring at him with a wild, lust filled look that he knew so well. He swallowed a little, before she moved her hands to his cheeks, pulling his face back to hers. Jake moaned into this kiss and his hands moved round her back, her feet landed on the floor as her back slipped slightly against the smooth surface she had been pressed against. Their mouths remained open, pressed together, sharing air as Jensen slid the zipper of her dress down, causing it to gape a little at the front and he reached up, thumbs gently running on the underside of the straps before he slid them down her arms, placing a soft kiss to each of her shoulders in turn. As he pushed the soft, blue chiffon of her dress down to her waist he couldn’t help the carnal growl that rumbled in his throat as he saw she wasn't wearing a bra.

"Fuck, Stel. You're beautiful. You’ve always been beautiful." He muttered, his lips back on hers as his hands cradled her face. She stepped out of her dress, his hands moving down to grip her hips, fingers curling over the softness of her flesh as he pushed her back against the cold surface of the window. His lips claimed hers again before he moved his mouth, nibbling his way down the column of her throat, tongue dipping into the hollow at the base of her neck, teeth grazing her collar bone as he mapped his way down her body in a way he had done so many times before.

Stella felt Jensen's hands sliding down her bare thighs as he sunk to the floor and her brain had barely registered the fact he was on his knees, when he hooked one leg over his shoulder, shifting her soaked panties to one side. At the first touch his mouth made to her inner thigh she sighed in pleasure, the raw scratch of his short beard a contrast to the warm, softness of his mouth as he moved upwards before he finally gave one long lick over her sex, dipping his tongue into her a little, causing her to cry out in pleasure, one hand falling to his head, the other palm slapping against the glass surface behind her. He repeated his action, his tongue flicking up through her sensitive outer lips and this time he sucked on her clit, causing her back to arch, her had dropping back in sheer pleasure as her shoulders pressed further onto the glass in an attempt to keep herself up-right, all the time writhing at his actions.

His tongue and lips worked in tandem, un-doing her lap by lap, all the time she was vaguely aware of the fact she was begging him not to stop, her words punctuated by gasps and pants, manicured nails digging into his scalp as her hand curled over his head, fingers tangling into his short hair. It wasn’t long before Stella felt that familiar tightening across her stomach and her leg trembled slightly as she fought to keep herself upright.

“Fuck, JJ,” she stuttered, as he let out a groan, the vibration so pleasurable it was almost painful as his tongue dipped in and out of her entrance, continuing to fuck her the way he had always been able to do. The burning in her stomach suddenly took over her entire body and she gave a loud cry as she came, her head falling forward before it rolled back again against the window with a hard thud as the world around her went silent. She grasped Jensen’s shoulder as her leg gave way and he quickly stood up, catching her easily, a grin on his face as she opened her eyes and looked at him, her pupils blown with lust, her thighs once more locked round his waist. He kissed her again, the kiss absolutely filthy as he stepped back and turned them, crossing the room where he dropped her gently onto the bed.

She knelt up on the soft mattress, her now almost completely loose hair falling over her face as she hooked her fingers into the belt loops of his dress slacks and pulled him to her. In one smooth, fluid movement of her hands she’d undone his flies before she slid his pants and boxers down in one swoop. She dropped her head and took him in her mouth without so much as a warning, her eyes locked onto his.

“Shit, Stel” he mumbled, his hands tangling into her hair, guiding her softly as she moved, her head bobbing back and forth before she pulled away to lick along the base of his shaft, tracing the vein in the underneath, and Jensen knew then if she carried on he was going to blow his load before he’d even gotten to the main event.

“Get up here.” His voice was low as he cupped her face and guided her back up, kissing her again. With a gentle shove, Jensen pushed her back on the bed, stepping out of his remaining clothes before he crawled over her, sliding her lace underwear down her long, smooth legs. He didn’t give her a chance to say anything before he gave her ankles a soft tug, pulling her down further on the bed, crawling between her thighs, his mouth tracing its way up from her belly to her breasts which were heaving, nipples pebbled in excitement. Knowing exactly what would leave her nothing short of a wreck underneath him, he turned his attention to her right breast, lapping and sucking, grazing with his teeth whilst his hand palmed at her left. She let out a soft, breathy moan, which was music to Jensen's ears as his mouth and hand traded places. He worked her over, till she was begging to feel him where she needed him, her knees clenching around his slim waist, desperate for something to help the burning that was between her legs. He shifted his position a little, propping himself up so he could kiss her deeply again, hands on either side of her face as he buried himself inside of her, with a loud groan.

“God you feel so good, Stel.” His mouth moved over her jaw to her ear as he praised her, nipping at the lobe. At his words Stella gave a loud groan as he thrust up into her again, deeply, burying himself to the hilt before he rotated his hips in a dirty grind, a move he knew drove her wild. She cried out, clawing at his back and he groaned as she tipped her hips up to meet his.

"You know,” another thrust, "he’ll never be able,” another thrust, “to fuck you the way I can," he rotated his hips for another grind which caused her once more to cry out, nails biting at his back as he drove a little deeper, "because he doesn’t know you like I do."

To prove his point, one hand moved and gently wrapped round the front of her throat, giving the gentlest of squeezes but he knew that would send her feral. It was something he had discovered a long time ago, being so in control the rest of the time, Stella loved when he would take over like this, dominate her a touch and whisper cheeky, dirty little things into ear. It had always driven her crazy and tonight was no exception. He’d succeeded in throwing fuel onto the fire that was already raging, and a sharp, strangled wail of his name stuttered from her lips as he felt her fluttering around him.

"You were made for me, Baby Girl." Jensen’s own voice was a low growl as his hips picked up their pace, Stella's head falling back onto the pillows as Jake's mouth claimed hers again, the kiss sloppy and desperate matching the rhythm of his thrusts.

Because he was. He was desperate for this woman. Desperate like he’d never been desperate before.

“Jakey.” She keened underneath him, hands still clawing the muscles of his back which were flexing under her touch, equally as needy for him as he was her. He reached down to hook a leg over his shoulder causing her to mewl loudly at the change of angle and depth as he continued to drive into her like his life depended on it. He bent over, mouth swallowing another loud moan as he did, feeling her sweat soaked skin slick against his.

“Fuck, baby I’m close,” he stuttered, his hips snapping back and forth, “see what you do to me?”

Her beautiful eyes were wide, her mouth pressed to his as she let out a broken lament as her walls fluttered around him again, causing him to almost purr in delight as she did. She was close, so fucking close. And it felt good. As his cock dragged in and out of her, the feel of him sliding up against her spot had her worked into a complete frenzy, and she was teetering right on that edge.

“Don’t stop,” she panted, her head falling back further onto the pillow as she grasped his arms whilst he continued to fuck her into the mattress. And then, her stomach tightened and she felt the rush of pleasure that she knew was the end, beginning to wash over her. "Oh, God, Jake...I'm..."

"Come on, Stel." Jake growled, his hips still pumping in and out of her "Cum for me, Baby, just like you always do."

At his words, she gave a low, sultry whimper and her eyes fluttered shut, nails digging into his biceps as she shuddered underneath him, her back arching as her walls clamped down on him, milking his cock and that was it. He was done for, just like he always was when it came to this woman.

“Shit, Stel," he groaned as he felt his abs tighten as he came with a force he hadn't felt in a long time. His hips faltered as he cried out, shooting his load straight into her, before after one final, deep thrust he collapsed on top of her, his face buried into her neck.

The room was silent bar the sounds of their deep, heavy breathing as they both came down, fighting for control. Jake felt her hands gently move round to tangle in his hair, nails scratching his scalp and he raised his head, eyes still closed, enjoying her touch.

“Jake,” she finally whispered, still slightly out of breath but he didn't miss the tremble in her voice and he raised his head, opening his eyes to see her looking back at him. Her cheeks were flushed, hair all over the place and fuck, he’d never see anything so damned beautiful in his life as her undone underneath him. But her eyes, they were misting over with tears and he swallowed, shaking his head.

"Stel… " he began, and she turned her head away from his, screwing her eyes shut as her face crumpled.

"Fuck, what did we just do?" She whispered, opening her eyes and she looked at the wall to her right for a moment before Jensen tipped her face back round to him.

"Don't." He shook his head, pressing a kiss to the bridge of her nose. "Don't do this, not now." He pressed their foreheads together, his nose bumping hers and she gave a quiet sniff as he pressed his lips to hers softly.

“Do you want me to go?” He didn’t really want to ask the question, for fear of her answer but she shook her head, her eyes a little lost as she looked at him.

“No, I don’t. And that��s the problem.” She whispered.

He wanted to try and assure her that it was all okay and that they hadn’t done anything wrong but his words died in his throat, because he knew technically they had. Whatever was going on with her and Agent Shitname, she was still with him, meaning she’d cheated and he knew that would be cutting her up inside.

And now Jensen felt like shit for putting her in that position.

He gently pecked her lips again and with a soft movement he pulled out from her and lay on his back, his hand rubbing his chest. After a little pause he felt Stella turn into him and her head lay on his chest, his arm curling round her shoulder as she sniffed a little, turning her face into his sternum.

“It’s gonna be okay, Stelly.” He pressed a kiss to her head.

It was lame, but it was all he could thing to say. He wasn’t surprised when she didn’t reply, and there wasn’t another word spoken between the two of them before they both fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.

****

Stella woke the next morning, her bare back pressed into a hard, muscled chest and didn't even need to turn round to know whose arm was thrown round her waist. As the memories of what had happened the night before flooded her brain she squeezed her eyes closed, taking a deep, shuddering breath, fighting the urge to snuggle further back into the arms of the man she knew so well. Instead, she gently untangled herself from Jensen and without a glance back headed quietly into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. She glanced in the mirror and grimaced as she saw the previous day’s make up was streaked all over her face. Grabbing her cleanser from her toiletries bag she wiped it away, tossing the cotton pads into the trash before she turned on the shower and stepped into the stream. She stood there for a while, her face titled to meet the water as it beat down on her, washing away the silent tears that were pouring down her cheeks.

Ten minutes or so later she stepped out, almost working on auto pilot and dried herself off, before grabbing one of the hotel provided towel robes. Once wrapped in it, she squeezed the water out of her hair, dragged a brush through it and then opened the door.

Just as expected, Jensen was still flat out in the bed, although he'd now turned onto his back. It had always been a joke between the two of them that he could sleep through a damned earthquake after a heavy drinking session, yet never failed to hear his alarm. Stella took a moment to study his face, a face she knew by heart, every freckle and line, the curve of his nose and angle of his jaw. Biting her lip, she moved towards the back of the room, made herself a coffee as quietly as she could before she retrieved her phone from her purse that had been tossed down carelessly the night before and headed out onto the balcony, closing the doors behind her.

She sank into one of the chairs, tucking her legs under her and glanced at the screen. There wasn't much battery left but she had a couple of missed calls. One from Clay and another form Cougar, both probably wondering where she had bailed to, and one from Evan. She swallowed as she also spotted she had a message from him too.

Ev- Hey, Pumpkin. Look, I'm so sorry about how things went down the other night. I overreacted, and that's on me. I really hope you're having a good time. Please call me when you can, and we can talk when you're home xx

Stella felt the guilt twist in her gut even more and she gave a sigh, tossing her phone onto the table.

"He’ll never be able to fuck you the way I can, because he doesn’t know you like I do."

Jakes voice rattled around her head and she took a dep breath, looking over the balcony down at the pool area below. Try as she might, she couldn't even deny he was right. The sex with Evan wasn't bad, in fact she would go as far as saying it was pretty damned good, likely to be earth shattering to most women. But, to her, there had always been something that held her back.

And now she was forced to admit head on what she'd been trying to deny for months. It was because he wasn't Jake.

Jake Jensen had worked her way into his heart from the day they had met when they were merely eleven years old, and try as she might she couldn't shake him. That year they had been apart, she'd tried so hard, and had been sure she'd managed, and then she'd seen him and they'd fucked, and fallen back into that awful cycle of being together but not being together.

She couldn't stay with Evan. She'd known that even before last night had happened but the fact she'd basically opened her legs so easily for Jensen went to prove that she didn't love Evan, and she wasn't sure she ever would.

She took a shuddering breath and then her attention jerked upwards as Jake opened the balcony door, his hair mussed, top half bare as he rubbed his eyes, his glasses in his hand.

"Hey." he offered, almost shyly and Stella gave him a nod.

"Hi."

There was an awkward silence as he sat down on the chair opposite her, slipping his glasses onto his nose. He watched as she avoided his gaze, glancing over the balcony, occasionally looking at her hands which were worrying one another. Eventually, he could stand it no more and he reached over to take her hands in his.

"Stel, look, last night..."

"Last night was a mistake." She spoke, her eyes locking onto his. Jensen felt his gut churn, her words an icy blade digging into his heart.

"So, you’re just gonna pretend like it didn't happen and go back to that prick?" Jensen looked at her, his voice measured and Stella shook her head.

"No, I can't do that. Not now. Me and Evan are over, I'm gonna tell him when we get back. I don't love him, you're right. Because if I did I would never have given in and slept with you." She licked her lips.

Jake swallowed and looked down at his hands which were clasped around hers before he raised his head to stare her straight in the eye. "I'm sorry." he said eventually. "I'm sorry if you felt like, well, like I pushed you..."

"No, that's not what I'm saying." She squeezed his fingers. "I just, me and you, we can't keep doing this. We go round and round in circles and…" She took a shuddering breath as she trailed off, unable to articulate what she was trying to say.

"No, I get it." Jake gave her a small smile. He let go of her hands and stood up. "I should probably erm, go,” he gestured to the door, “I need to shower before breakfast and the taxi to the airport arrives."

"Okay." She nodded.

She watched him open the door to head inside, before he paused and turned to face her.

"I know you said what happened last night was a mistake, but I just want you to know that I wouldn’t change it for the world."

With that he gave her a final smile and headed back into the hotel room. Stella could see him through the glass doors as he hastily dressed, before without so much as another word he left, and as she heard the door to her room close, the tears once more began to fall.

**** Chapter 7 Part 3

[ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa]

Addicted to You

Part 1: The Chain

Summary/Author's Note: As the sister of veteran turned freelance for hire Santiago "Pope" Garcia, you grew up close to his friends and ex-military squad. Frankie Morales always had your heart, in the same way you always had his--the two of you just never seemed to get the timing right. Trying to escape the violence of a military career based family, you turned to journalism and humanitarian work in war torn countries. But three days ago your crew was ambushed and after three days without any contact, Pope is getting the guys back together for a rescue mission. (Follows Canon events very closely with added character and liberties) Thank you to @winters-buck for headcanoning with me about Frankie and getting me pumped up enough to write this.

Pairing: Frankie "Catfish" Morales x Pope's sister!Reader Word Count: 4.6k (idk what happened...) Warnings/rating: (NC-17)/18+ Language, smoking, implied drug use, PTSD, sex/smut, kidnapping, blood, violence, threats, fluff and feelings

MASTERLIST

Present Day Somewhere in Texas, USA

Santiago "Pope" Garcia had always had a talent when it came to lying, but never had that talent been used so willingly on his closest friends. He was a good bluffer. It had helped his career in the military with his superiors, it had helped him on their weekly poker nights, but he had never planned on getting the five of them back together to boldly lie directly to their faces. He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall of the locker room as Will looked him over skeptically.

"What did he say?" Will asked, straddling the wooden bench and crossing his arms to mirror his friend.

"He's taking a look at it," Pope sighed, taking off his hat and running a hand through his salt and pepper hair. "He may not be up for this."

Of course he was talking about their friend Tom. Tom, code name 'Redfly' had been their captain back in the day, their leader, and his brutality and no bull shit attitude made him a good one. Pope knew if he wasn't on board with this, then Will would be out, and the rest of them would drop like flies before this even began.

"You know he's the best with something this complex, and he needs this right now," Will said and Pope agreed with a silent nod.

Beyond the concrete walls of the locker room a cheering crowd could be heard albeit muffled. Both men turned and looked in the direction of the noise before Will shook his head and leaned forward on the bench.

"This shit is fuckin depressing," he said.

"Come on let your brother have some fun. Support him." Pope offered with a wave of his hand like Will's brother getting the shit kicked out of him for a couple hundred bucks wasn't a big deal.

"I've been supporting him since the day he was born." Will pointed to the wall that stood between them and the mixed martial arts arena. "That kid's a one in a million talent, going out there playing the fucking clown to a bunch of hillbillies."

Pope started to respond but the door opened and a man dressed in nothing but loose fitting shorts and the med tape wrapped around his hands entered.

"Where are my boys at?!" He yelled in a deep voice like an announcer and threw his hands in the air.

"Benny! There he is!" Pope embraced him before patting him on the back and passing him off to his brother who stood up from the bench.

"Hey, shithead," a familiar voice said in Spanish and Pope turned around to see Frankie, a wide grin on his face.

Frankie "Catfish" Morales, known mostly by 'cat' or 'fish' to his friends, was probably the closest thing Pope had to a best friend. Even though it had been two years since they had last seen one another, Frankie looked exactly like he always did. His dark curly hair stuck out under his trademark, ratted, ball cap. His lips held a full mustache while the rest of his face had what was probably week old scruff and the brightest smile of the group. It didn't hit him until they were embraced in a tight hug just how much he had missed the man.

"How' you doing?" Pope asked, patting him on the shoulder.

"Hanging in there, I guess." Frankie nodded, finally letting go and moving to sit on the bench opposite of Will. "Is Tom coming?"

"Yeah, he said he would be here," Pope nodded looking at all of them in front of him. "You assholes get my texts?"

All of them looked in various stages of guilt, rubbing the back of their neck, adjusting their ball cap, not meeting Pope's eyes. Of course they had gotten his texts and by the tension in the room none of them had responded.

"Yeah," Frankie finally broke the silence. "Yeah I got your texts."

"And? I need a pilot." Pope looked at his best friend.

"I don't do that anymore, man." Frankie shook his head and sighed. "Besides, I lost my license."

"I don't need a pilot with a license, I need a pilot I can trust. And that's you." Pope pointed at his chest and held his gaze.

Frankie rubbed his hand over his face and stood up, leaning back against the lockers and looking up at the ceiling. "Will, you in?"

"I told Pope, if Redfly was in, then so was I." Will turned his sights to his friend and shrugged.

"And what about you, Benny?" Pope said, asking the man who had been quiet the longest.

"Of course I'm in."

Pope ruffled his short, dirty blond hair roughly with a smile and a word of praise and Benny shoved him away with a grin.

"Fuck," Frankie sighed and shook his head. "So, what's the job?"

"Can we talk details later? It's fight night--I got other shit to think about." Benny pleaded, looking around to the other three as the crowd cheered again through the concrete walls.

"Sure, wouldn't want you to be late," Will scoffed and stood, offering a hand to his brother and helping him up off the bench. The three men left the locker room and started down the concrete tunnel that led out to the arena. Benny was in front, holding his fists out in front of him like a true heavyweight and mumbling what sounded like a well rehearsed pep-talk to hype himself up.

Frankie and Pope hung back a few steps beside the other two, falling into step with one another like they shared the same brain. The other boys often joked that they did. Frankie put his hand on Pope's shoulder and rubbed his own beard in thought before he broke the silence.

"So, I got busted. That's why my license lapsed. It's not a big deal." He let the sentence hang in the air before he shook his head and sighed. "Okay, so it is a big deal."

Pope turned and looked at him. "Coke?" When Frankie nodded in agreement Pope rolled his eyes. "Jesus, Cat."

"It's still pending. But I'm clean now--I swear."

Pope nodded as they kept walking. He believed him. Frankie was a man of his word, and he knew he didn't have to prove anything to him. If he said he was clean, then he was clean. And cocaine or not, Frankie was the best damn pilot he had seen in his entire career, he wanted him for this job. No one else was going to cut it. Not when the objective was this important.

"Hey," Frankie said, trying to act casual but sounding anything but. "Have you talked to (y/n) lately? How--uh, how's she doing?"

There it was. He had to hand it to him, it took him longer to ask than he would have thought, but where it was normally endearing how much Fankie was still in love with you, this time it made Pope sick to his stomach. Did he tell him? He should tell him--even if it was just him. It was the right thing to do. Instead, as they approached the arena, the lie fell from his mouth.

"She's uh--she's good. Took a job down south, but I haven't heard from her this week." It wasn't a total lie. Pope didn't look at him and he could feel his friend staring intently at him.

Frankie let it go, even though his expression said he didn't want to. "So, what is this job really? What aren't you telling me?"

Pope looked over his shoulder, "It is what I said. Simple recon. We can talk details after the fight."

"Sure, whatever you say, man," he shook his head as they walked into the crowd and Benny greeted Tom with a cheer and a hug as the taller man started passing out beers he had just gotten from the concession stand. "I'm in." Frankie said flatly and walked passed Pope, taking a beer from Tom and giving him a clap on the shoulder.

Pope stopped short and watched the other man smile and interact with the rest of his friends. Frankie was his oldest friend, and lying to him hurt worse than that time he was shot down in Peru. Frankie had been in love with you for as long as he could remember, and if Pope was being honest with himself, he was the only man that deserved you and that he trusted to take care of you. He thought you guys would really make it work, and the day you called it quits hurt him too. Why wouldn't he want his best friend to take care of his sister? Protect you when he couldn't? Make sure you spend the rest of your life happy.

The four of them sat in the front row as Benny walked up the steps to the raised fighting platform, ducking under one of the ropes and bouncing around like there were springs on his feet. Pope looked back at Frankie and when the other man smiled, Pope returned it but it was a lie. He knew he was going to be crushed when he found out why the gang was really back together. When Frankie found out you were missing, nothing was going to stop him from getting you back--that's the real reason Frankie was the most important part of this crew. Because just like Pope, Frankie would get you back...or burn the whole country down trying.

--

Two years earlier

It was just supposed to be drinks and pool, maybe some darts if he talked you into it--you were a terrible shot and it made him laugh until his eyes watered. Frankie had asked you to go to the bar while he was in town and you had happily said yes. You missed him. And by the look on his face you knew he missed you too.

It was never awkward when you were with Frankie. No matter how much time had passed, as soon as the two of you were back together it was like picking up right where you left off. Gentle touches, knowing each other's drink order, holding hands, it was all so natural. He opened every door for you, bought every seven and seven you ordered, and paid for every round of pool, shoving more quarters into the metal slot and racking up the balls the second the previous game ended.

The first part of the date ended when Frankie tried to teach you how to do a trick shot in the corner pocket. He leaned his pool cue against the table and stood behind you, wrapping his arms around yours and putting his large hands over yours on your own pool stick. He smelled like fresh air, like the woodsy smell of recently cut grass, clean earth, and just a hint of campfire smoke--musky and comfortable and safe. He spoke in your ear telling you where to aim, and even though he had to speak over the other patrons and the juke box it felt like he was whispering just for you. When he pressed himself against your ass, your body erupted in goosebumps. He must have felt it too because he asked, "Wanna get out of here?" And all you could do was nod.

The both of you fumbled into your apartment, he barely got the door closed by kicking it, as you dropped your purse and keys on the floor and started unbuttoning his shirt. Of course all of this would have been easier if either of you could pull away from each other's lips, but that wasn't happening.

"Bedroom or couch?" You said as you shoved his shirt off of his shoulders.

He grabbed the hem of your own shirt and pulled it over your head in one smooth motion. "Both." The two of you laughed and kept kissing as he walked you backwards towards the hallway. "Kitchen. Floor. Shower." He kissed you after each word and you blushed, laughing again at his suggestion. This was the Frankie you remembered. This was the Frankie you fell in love with.

"Got big plans for this weekend, do ya?"

"Yup," he bent slightly and gripped the backs of your thighs, hoisting you up to wrap your legs around his waist. "And they all involve you."

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and kissed him hard on the lips. His tongue slid into your mouth like it had so many times before, exploring, tasting, moaning softly into you. He knew where your bedroom was, walking down the hall like he lived there and nudging the door open with his hip. Some summers, back when both of your lives were simpler, it was almost like he did live there. He had his own drawers, his own side of the bed, and you made sure his favorite coffee was always in the cabinet.

"Frankie," you breathed against his mouth and his grip tightened on you. You slid your fingers into his hair, removing his ball cap and tossing it behind you.

"Tell me, baby," he mumbled back, putting you down on the bed and crawling over your body.

"I missed you," you said and he froze, looking down at you with those enchanting brown eyes.

He swallowed hard and tried to slow his breathing. "I missed you, too."

The both of you took a moment just staring at one another. He leaned down and gave you another soft kiss before moving to trail his lips down your jaw, moving to your breasts and unclipping the snap in the front. He took each of your breasts in his hands, squeezing and kneading them as you closed your eyes and carded your fingers through his hair again. When he took one of your nipples between his teeth you gasped, arching your back off of the bed and holding him against you.

"You still like that?" He mumbled, moving to the other nipple and repeating the motion, sucking it into his mouth along with as much of your breast as he could. The feel of his teeth against your skin was exquisite and you could have let him do what he was doing all night.

"What do you think?" You laughed as he moved from your breasts down your stomach, biting and kissing his way to the edge of your jeans. "You always were a boob man."

"For your perfect tits? Absolutely." He undid the button and zipper, grabbing opposite sides of your pants and underwear, shimmying them off of your hips.

"Charming." You scoffed, raising your hips to help him as he stood and did the same to his own.

"You always thought so."

He knelt on the bed, stroking his half hard cock before he fell on top of you, making the mattress bounce gently. You gripped his shoulder and rolled him over onto his back, enjoying the surprise on his face and the absolute adoration as your breasts hung directly in front of his face. He started to raise up to put them in his mouth again but you pressed his shoulders back into the bed.

"My turn," you grinned and he nodded, letting you move down his body, kneeling off to the side.

As soon as you wrapped your hand around his dick, his eyes fluttered closed. You worked him slowly before bowing your head and letting some saliva pool in the front of your mouth and letting it drop slowly onto the head and down the shaft. Your hand worked the liquid down, making it slide easier as you pumped him.

"Fuck, (y/n)," he sighed as he watched you. "You're killing me."

"You still like that?" You asked, playfully, mocking his earlier question and he chuckled.

"Smart ass."

You smiled again before taking him in your mouth and you revelled in the way he moaned softly and slid his hand into your hair at the back of your head. You bobbed in tandem with your hand, working the entire shaft as you sucked the head of his cock and his grip on your hair tightened. You took as much of him into your mouth as you could, your lips meeting your fist and a small sound escaped you as he hit the back of your throat. He thrusted up involuntarily and when you gagged slightly, he opened his eyes and looked at you worriedly.

"I'm sorry," he breathed and you shook your head, continuing to suck him off, running your tongue along the large vein that ran the length of him. There was no apology needed, you were just as desperate to remember his body as he was yours. He held out for a few more pumps, rock hard in your hands before he sat up and grabbed you by the arm. "Come here. Come here, baby."

You let him pull you to him as he leaned his back against the headboard and pulled you into his lap. He reached his hand between the two of you and ran two thick fingers along the slit of your pussy.

"Shit," he cursed quietly as he felt how wet you already were. He loved how quickly you were ready for him, it had always been like that. He could have you dripping for him before he even got you undressed and he loved reaching up your skirt or your dress and feeling you against the lace of your thong. "You're so wet."

"You love it," you said as he continued to stroke you and you straddled his hips, putting his arms around his shoulders.

"Always have," he said and it was in a voice tender enough that you weren't sure if you were talking about the same thing any more.

You leaned up on your knees as he took his cock in his hand and lined it up between your thighs. You lowered yourself on to him, sinking down slowly and letting your body adjust to his length. He throbbed inside of you as you paused, letting yourself adjust to his girth. The stretch was intense and you wanted it to last forever, feeling every inch of him as the bottom of your thighs touched the top of his and you settled in his lap. Your fingers found their way into his dark, soft hair. It was a little longer at the ends and you liked the way it curled around his hat, but that hat was currently on the floor with the rest of your clothes so you could touch the soft locks as much as you wanted.

"You ready, baby?"

You nod and hold him close, your breasts pressing against his chest, your foreheads coming together as he wrapped his arms around your waist. "Fuck me, Frankie. Please, please." You whisper the last few words over his lips as he started to thrust up inside of you.

You both released a contented sigh at the same time and it made you smile. Even in your worst days, it always felt like you and Frankie were in sync, two halves of a whole. How your body had missed him, missed the soft way he said your name and the way he held you close to him like he wouldn't be satisfied no matter how close you were.

"I missed you," he said, closing his eyes as he guided your hips up and down, rocking against him as your stomachs brushed together.

"You said that already," you smiled, moaning softly as he hit a particularly sweet spot deep inside of you.

"And I'll say it again," he grinned, pressing his nose against your cheek and kissing your lips.

"Charmer," you kissed him back, soft and slowly.

He dipped his head and kissed your neck, sucking along the soft skin of your throat. You wanted him to leave marks like you both were in grade school, making out in the back of the movie theater, kissing in the bed of his truck, back when things were simpler. His arms tightened around your back as you nosed his hair, breathing him in and kissing the top of his head.

"Fuck," he cursed quietly as you ground your hips down on his lap. "You feel so good, baby."

"Don't stop," you moaned softly in his ear as he picked up the pace. "Harder, Cat, harder, please."

He held you tightly as he looked up and put his hand on the back of your neck. "Look at me." You opened your eyes and leaned back slightly to look down at him with heavy eyes. "God damn, you're so beautiful," he whispered and it made you blush. You kissed him hard and slid a hand between the two of you, frantically searching out your clit as his thrusts started to get sporadic and uneven.

"I'm gonna cum, Cat-" you watched as he looked at you and nodded encouragingly.

"Come on, baby. Give it to me. I got you," he panted close to your face as his cock hit the end of you, pumping up inside of you.

Your orgasm took you suddenly and completely. Your mouth opened but no sound came out as you clenched around his cock and squeezed your thighs around his lap. You felt the heat rise up from your core to the rest of your body in a way that made you curl your toes against the bedspread. You threw your head back and groaned out your pleasure to the ceiling, his name falling from your lips with sweet ecstasy as you clung to his shoulders.

He followed right behind you, spilling himself inside your cunt, the feeling of him hot and wet around his cock and starting down your thighs. He thrust hard, and spaced out, a few more times, grunting a mixture of his pleasure and your name with each movement.

"Jesus Christ," he breathed, leaning back against the headboard and pulling you against him.

You pressed your cheek against his chest, breathing hard as you ran your hand up his neck and played your fingers against the scruff along his jaw. He was still inside you and you clenched your thighs again, an afterthought of a muscle twitch left over from your orgasm. It made him groan again and tighten his grip on your hips.

"Sorry," you laughed softly and he chuckled.

"We still got it, don't we?" He asked, looking down at you with a boyish grin.

"I never had any doubts." You crossed your arms on his chest and laid your head on top of them, looking up into his eyes. You shivered as he lifted your hips slightly and his softening cock slid out of you and you both got more comfortable. It was definitely quicker than the two of your normally liked it to be, but after being apart for so long, you had a feeling anything that happened tonight would be desperate and fast.

He dipped his head and kissed you softly, each kiss punctuated but a soft pop in the silence of your bedroom. He brushed your hair away from your face and smiled.

"You want me to head out soon?" He asked, trying to hide the fear in his face of the possibility that you would make him leave.

"No," you said quickly, shaking your head and staying firmly planted on top of his lap. "No, stay the night. Please." You added the last word sweetly and his face relaxed.

"Sure thing, sweetheart." He nosed your hairline and kissed your forehead.

You knew this couldn't last. You knew he was leaving tomorrow for another mission, another pilot seminar, and you were headed upstate for your job as well. You loved Frankie Morales with all of your heart and he felt the same way--life just always seemed to have other plans. And yet, life was just as cruel as it was sweet because somehow, someway, it always brought you two back together.

---

Present Day Some where in the jungles of Columbia

You weren't sure how long you had been traveling. In fact, when you thought about it, you didn't know much of anything. You twisted your wrists in a desperate attempt to relieve the pressure the zip ties were leaving on your skin.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," you whispered, leaning your head back against the side of the van. The bumps and potholes in whatever shitty road you were on caused the back of your skull to bump against the metal. How had this happened?

The last few days had been a blur. You and a group of journalists were having dinner in a local village. You had teamed up with a group of doctors and, in between travel, were lending a hand providing basic medical care to anyone who needed it in the surrounding towns. You cut bandages, gathered clean water, played soccer with the children, and took photos to add to your collection and publish when you got back to the States. It had been a pretty uneventful trip, enjoyable actually, until Lorea's men had shown up. No one seemed to know what the dangers narcos drug lord would be doing in a place like this.

Before you knew what was even happening, there were guns pointed at your crew, men yelling in Spanish that you only vaguely understood, and you raised your hands above your head shouting back, pleading them to calm down. Did they want money? No, that would have been too easy, and as a traveling journalist that dabbled in humanitarian efforts, money was not something you had a lot of anyway.

A rather large man grabbed you by the wrists and even though you struggled, even though you screamed, it didn't make any difference. A hand on your head made you duck as you were shoved into a van along with a few of the others on your crew and the door slammed shut behind you.

"Stop, stop," you tried as the van revved and pulled away down the street. "You don't have to do this--" The man who grabbed you ignored your words, if it was because he didn't understand English or because he didn't care, you weren't sure.

He jerked your wrists in front of your body and wrapped the zip tie around them, pulling it tight. Your heart was beating way too fast and you could feel the blood rushing in your ears and on instinct you pulled your hands away from him and screamed again, turning towards the door. He yelled something in Spanish and pulled his arm back before punching you in the side of the face. Your world exploded into flashes of white as you hit the floor of the van. With the wind knocked from your lungs, you gasped for air and coughed, your eyes burning with hot tears.

The man driving turned and yelled something over his shoulder, obviously upset at his partner for roughing up the merchandise. Your stomach felt nauseous and the last thing you remember was some kind of scratchy material being put over your eyes and the rest of the world went black.

Tag List: @stevieharrrr​ @zeldasayer​ @winters-buck​ @seawhisperer​ If you wanna be tagged, lemmie know!

[cl-01-kestis]

Anything for you - Din Djarin x Dying!Reader

Summary: A shot to the middle of your chest leaves you on your death bed, and your last wish is to see Din’s face.

(Set after the events of Episode 8)

Warnings: Reader death, injury description, angst

No one saw it coming, not even Din was quick enough to stop the blaster shot heading straight in your direction. You weren’t quick enough to dodge in time and it felt like everything came to a stand still when the shot pierced through your chest and caused you to collapse on the ground.

The most he could possibly do was drag you back to the Razor Crest once he defeated Moff Gideon. You were unresponsive for hours, even the child was worried for you and cuddled up in your arm for hours. Din’s guilt was immeasurable beyond anything he’d ever felt before, he could’ve stopped it, he could’ve taken the shot for you. He would’ve taken it for you. The only treatment available was bacta spray and some bandages. Din was growing desperate as the moments flew by, he left Nevarro with you in order to continue his mission, but at the same time he was trying to find some place he could take you to and give you the time to recover.

But time was running out, you lay down in the copilot seat wrapped up in messy bandages and you felt your own heartbeat slowing down. Din was flying his ship, the child was in your lap, holding onto the hem of your shirt with a sad look in its eye. You weakly stroked the top of its head and reassured it with a small smile, seeing it look up and make a small inaudible noise of concern.

“It’s okay little guy” Your voice was hoarse, gravelly and run down as you continued stroking the top of the baby’s head and looked over to Mando who’s hands were gripping the steers tightly.

“We’ll get you to Coruscant, they have the best medical care” Mando sounded determined but you knew a part of him was starting to lose hope. Your smile shifted into something sad, your eyes slowly welling with tears as you held the child securely in your arms.

“Mando” You called out to him but he didn’t respond, only gripping his steers tighter and tensing his shoulders. The child looked between the two of you, gurgling some dialogue you couldn’t understand and lowering his ears after realising Mando ignored you.

“Din” You repeated, this time in a more stern voice. You were about to say something else but raising your voice caused you to go into a small coughing fit, covering your mouth quickly with your hand. It didn’t take long for Din’s attention to advert completely to you, his hands quickly adjusting your position and helping you lean forward so he could pay your back firmly. You were careful not to crush the child as your hands picked it up and placed it between your feet.

“I told you not to speak” Din said in a calm tone but you knew deep down he was panicking. Your coughing died down but your hand felt wet, pulling it away from your mouth you realised you were coughing up blood.

“Let me go, Din, I’m not going to make it” You leaned back in your chair, wiping your hand on your cargo pants carelessly, the blood smearing messily over the ashy toned material.

“Don’t say that, I’m gonna get you to Coruscant-“

“Din! Stop it, please” You raised your voice again but thankfully this time you didn’t immediately start coughing. Din jolted at your voice and went silent, head lowering and his hands moving to hold yours. Din crouched down in front of you, looking down at the child and picking it up so it wasn’t going to be crushed. You smiled when you saw the child looking up at Din with a worried expression, eyes adverting back to you when its little green hand pointed at you.

“You’ve done all you could” You raised your hand, placing it flat on Din’s helmet, if it wasn’t in the way you would be cupping his cheek. Din leaned into your touch, even though he was unable to feel it he still closed his eyes underneath the helmet and let out a shaky sigh.

He was terrified. He felt so scared for the first time since his parents were killed. His heart was hammering inside his chest and he felt like he was going to faint, he hated the way you looked so injured and damaged in his copilot seat. And the worst thing was there was nothing he could do about it. He gave you as much bacta spray and bandages to stop infection but nothing was working. He felt the way your arm shook weakly as your hand pressed against his beskar helmet. He noticed the way your fingers trembled uncontrollably, not out of fear but how weak you really were. Your life was draining from you and Mando could see it in your face and the way you were perfectly still, as if you were avoiding moving as much as you could to preserve the life that was still within you.

“I don’t have long Din, I- I want to make one last wish before I go” You called out to him, dropping your hand from his helmet and back to your lap.

“Don’t say it like that” He whimpered, voice audibly cracking through the modulator of his helmet. You smiled at his statement but it fell quickly when you realised how upset he was getting.

“What’s your wish? I’ll do anything you ask” He sniffed, holding the child in one hand whilst squeezing yours with the other. You blinked away the tears and nodded.

“Can I see your face?” Your voice trembled, hands becoming more shaky and numb as the minutes flew by, you were losing time.

Din looked up at you for a few silent seconds, letting out a silent sigh as he processed your words. Din thought hard about the decision he was about to make, yes he would be breaking the creed but you were his love, his whole life, and now that was being taken away from him. Deep down, he didn’t want you to die without knowing what he looked like, he’s always wanted to show you his face but he’s never been confident enough. Din swallowed the lump in his throat and stood up, carrying the child over to the pilots chair and sitting it down before he made his way back to you.

Without a single word exchanged, Din reluctantly reached for his beskar helmet with trembling hands. Your heart thumped with weak excitement in your chest as Din’s helmet decompressed and a whistle sound rung through the air. You watched with wide open eyes, clinging to your bandages as Din finally removed his helmet.

You stared, completely starstruck as your eyes connected to a pair of warm brown ones. Feeling like the breath was knocked out of you, you started feeling tears well up in your eyes and in no time they were flying down your face.

He was absolutely beautiful, dark curly hair and tanned olive skin, a strong face structure, and the most astonishing eyes you’d ever seen.

Din smiled, causing your heart to flutter. He took off his glove and raised his hand to cup your cheek, the rough pads of his fingertips touching your skin felt unreal. For so long you had been used to Din’s leather gloves and kissing his Beskar helmet. The two of you never got physical so you never saw Din out of his armour. But this, this was everything you hoped for and so much more.

“You’re beautiful” You said in a broken, emotional voice. Din’s own eyes started producing tears of a mixture of fear and adoration, who could blame him? The love of his life was dying right in front of him and he was unable to stop it. You seemed to notice Din’s facial expression and you could see right through him, he was guilty.

“This isn’t your fault, Cyare” You assured him, nuzzling weakly into his hand as his thumb stroked your cheek. You closed your eyes, feeling tired. Din pulled off his other glove and held your face with both of his hands, bringing you close and pressing his lips softly against yours.

You smiled into his lips and raised your own hands to rest on his shoulders. Din pulled away, a smile on his face as tears fell down his cheeks. You were cupping each other’s faces at this point, crying and purely enjoying the moment. There was a comfortable aura in the air, but you could feel yourself slipping as you pressed your head against Din’s.

Your heart dropped, you didn’t want this moment to end under such depressing circumstances but you weren’t getting any better, only worse, much much worse. You leaned back and opened your eyes, your hands slipping from Din’s face before you leaned back into the copilot seat.

Din looked down at your chest, his eyes inspecting the bandages the blaster was responsible for. He kept one hand on your face and the other pressed as soft as he possibly could against your chest. Din didn’t want you to go, it was too soon.

“I love you, Cyare” You smiled as the words left your mouth, bringing the ghost of a smile on Din’s face before it was replaced once again with the saddest expression you’d ever seen.

“I love you-” Din whimpered, feeling his heart stop when he watched your eyes slowly go out of focus. Your head rolled slowly to the side and your face no longer held any expression. Din sobbed hard when he realised what he’d just seen, he wrapped his arms around you and held your dead body whilst letting out pained wails.

Little did Din know, the child was waddling over to your side, not looking up at Din and instead looking right at you as if it knew what had just happened. Din quickly grabbed his helmet and covered his head, he couldn’t break the creed again, only for you he’d do that.

[clanoffetts]

Like Real People Do, Part 3

series summary: Kyra Esson, a pilot trying to forget her past, takes Jango Fett up on an offer. It's supposed to be her last hurrah before she settles down, but she can't seem to leave the bounty hunter, no matter how hard they both try.

word count: 2k

warnings: 18+, NSFW. Fluff; Eventual Smut maybe; Slow Burn; uh oh jango catches feelings; Yearning; Dirty Thoughts; ; severe misunderstanding of Slave I’s layout; (M) masturbation

The ship’s hum lulled Kyra to sleep that night and gently brought her out of it the next morning. When she sat up in the cot, her neck was stiff and her back desperately needed to be popped. How the actual fuck did this man sleep here every night? Maybe that’s why he was eager to sleep in the pilot’s seat.

“You awake?” He calls up the ladder. 

“Barely,” Kyra calls back, standing and stretching her limbs. 

Jango hadn’t been awake long, it seemed, as his voice was gruff and his curly hair was a mess atop his head. “You want one?” He asks as Kyra makes her way down into the main hole. He’s holding up some kind of bread in his hand, and it’s half eaten.

“What is it?” 

“Bread.”

Kyra nods. “Sure.” 

Jango grabs a pack of something from a crate and a bowl that he fills with water. He rips the packet open with his teeth, and Kyra sucks in a breath, the action hitting her straight in her stomach. She exhales shakily, watching Jango dump the contents of the packet into the bowl. 

“Like magic,” he says, watching the powder soak the water until it forms a roll of bread, just like his own. “There you go.” 

Kyra bites into it, instantly regretting the size of her bite. “It tastes like nothing.”

“Rather it tastes like nothing than taste like bantha shit,” Jango shrugs. 

-

The rest of the day is boring. Jango isn’t much of a talker, Kyra realizes, and their banter is an exception not a rule for the Mandalorian. Jango had sat silently across the room in his armor, sans helmet, tinkering with something on his workbench. 

Jango grunts every time he tightens a bolt, putting all his force into it, making the bolt almost impossible to loosen. And his grunts pry into Kyra’s mind, through the novel she’s trying to read on her ‘pad. 

Jango watches her in his peripheral, shifting in her seat while her eyes keep steady on the words in front of her. Her hair isn’t up today, he notices, instead it’s in long black waves down her back, almost reaching the swell of her- 

Stop , he brings his attention back to the weapon he’s working on. The damned thing doesn’t even need to be fixed, but he’s never met someone that makes it hard to talk. Usually, it’s a choice for Jango to withdraw, but this woman has him unable . It’s not that she matches him in his banter, at least not in a way he can understand, but it’s her nonchalance. He’s a kriffing Mandalorian, and she didn’t care. It’s the Pamarthe in her, he thinks. That’s what it is. It has to be. 

-

Dinner goes the same. Jango’s teeth rip open two packets at once, and Kyra gulps. Her roll comes out wonky, slightly soggy. 

“Here,” Jango says, holding out his. “Have mine, that one looks awful.”

“I’m sure it’s fine-“

“Kyra,” Jango says her name for the first time. “Take mine, it’s the least I can do.”

“You’re letting me stay on your ship and use your bed, the least I can do is eat soggy bread,” she replies, but he still sits across from her, hand out. “Fine.” Their hands brush slightly with the exchange, and both finish their dinner fairly quickly. 

-

The evening is boring, as hyperspace often is, but Jango doesn’t help. He answers questions with short answers, and he doesn’t ask any in return. Finally, Kyra excuses herself.

“Goodnight, Jango,” she says, her voice coasting over his name like no one else’s. 

All he can muster is a curt nod. 

When Jango steps into the ‘fresher a few hours later, he stares at himself in the small mirror. He examines his skin, where the scars cut deep and where a little bit of bacta could’ve prevented scarring, if he hadn’t been stubborn. 

Jango grabs his shirt by the collar, pulling it over his head. His chest is littered with small scratches, too, and his arms, where there aren’t tattoos. The middle of his chest has a bacta bandage on it, right between his pectorals. He’d applied it that morning, hoping it would ease the ache left behind there. He was wrong. 

Jango pulls it off quickly, depositing it in a wastebasket. The scar is still pronounced, he knew it would be, he’s never taken care of wounds very well. 

The water of the shower is hot, numbing the pain on Jango’s sternum. The water runs down his body, over the curve of his muscles and through the curls of his hair. 

Jango’s mind wanders to the woman sleeping in his bunk. She seems to only have the one scar across her left brow, and her porcelain skin was covered in scratches from the sand, but no scars of Jango’s caliber. 

He thinks back to her long hair, it looked so soft , reaching the soft curve of her ass while she read. Stop , he scolds himself. But it’s too late, his cock is hardening under the stream of water. 

He pushes any thought of Kyra out of his head, You fucking creep, he thinks, and instead pulls disembodied images of women and men from various holoporn videos he’s seen over his years. Jango’s rough hand grasps his cock, tugging fast and hard, trying to get this over with. 

Jango hopes his stray groans and swears are covered by the stream of water from the showerhead. “Kriffing hells,” he groans as he comes, the final image that flashes in his head is Kyra, sitting reading in the hold of his ship with that hair of hers down.

“Fucking creep,” Jango tells himself as he washes his release from his hand. 

When he steps out of the shower, wrapping his towel around his waist he steps back in front of the mirror. Jango wipes the fog from the mirror, and stares at himself again. He then reaches to a cabinet, pulling another bacta patch and unwrapping it. He lays it across his sternum, pushing gently to get it to stick. Kriffing things aren’t working, he thinks. They said they’ll work and I’ll be able to hunt-

There’s a thud from the front of the ship, and Jango rushes from the ‘fresher. “Are you ok?” He calls up to the bunk.

“Yeah, yeah sorry,” Kyra replies. “Dropped my datapad, sorry.”

She’s in her pajamas, her hair is in a loose braid from the nape of her neck. She’s reaching to the floor from the bunk, grabbing the ���pad from the floor. “Oh,” Jango says. “Ok.”

Kyra watches him watching her, her eyes wander to the dark hair at his navel, the towel dangerously low. And then she notices the bacta patch. “Are you ok?”

“Hmm?”

“The bacta patch, are you ok?”

He lays a hand over his chest. “Yeah, yeah, I’m good.” Kyra stares at his large hand, covering his toned chest, and tries her hardest to mask it as concern for the bacta patch. 

“Good,” she says. “I’m glad.” 

It’s awkward for a moment, the two just looking at each other. “Well,” Jango says, turning back. “Good night, then.”

“Good night, Jango.” 

Why’d she have to say my kriffing name again, he thinks as he makes his way back to the ‘fresher. Many people don’t say his first name, and if they do, it’s because they’re pleading. Otherwise, he’s just “Fett”. But not to her . 

Jango steps into sweatpants and then pulls a matching black t-shirt over his head. He climbs into the cockpit, hissing at the pain in his chest. The chair isn’t comfortable, not to sleep in, and he almost wishes he had taken Kyra up on her offer to sleep in the pilot’s seat instead. Almost. 

-

The next day is much of the same, ration packets distributed and made, small talk avoided by Jango. 

“Are you sure you’re alright? If you’re injured you should be sleeping in your own bed,” Kyra says, taking their bowls from breakfast to wash in the kitchenette. 

Jango nods. “I’m fine, Kyra, I promise.” Jango is taken by surprise by saying her name, and he can’t see it, but she is too. Her name feels foreign on his tongue, but he likes it. Almost like the first time he tasted a foreign whiskey, but this was better.  

“Well then, Jango,” Kyra says, her voice breathier than normal, hoping Jango can’t pick up on it. And in his own frenzy, he doesn’t. “If you change your mind just tell me. No hard feelings.” 

Jango says nothing, instead he just watches her. “Why do you do lekku braids everyday?”

“Lekku braids?” “Isn’t that what those are called?” He gestures to the two braids on her head, starting at her forehead and weaving all the way down to the nape of her neck and then some. “Or do you call them something different on Pamarthe?”

“I think I’ve heard them called that before,” she replies, shocked that Jango has entered a talkative mood again. “I’ve never really called them anything. They make my long hair easier to manage, that’s why I like them.”

“Why don’t you just cut it, then?” Jango knew many women who cut their hair short, making life under a helmet easier. It was part of many Mandalorians’ show of discipline. 

Kyra shrugs. “Because I don’t want to.” 

“Sometimes we have to do many things we don’t want to.”

Kyra looks at him. Was he trying to be profound? “Yes,” she agrees. “But I don’t have to. Are you trying to say I’d look better with short hair?”

Jango shakes his head. Kriffing hells, you’ve fumbled it. “No, no, not at all,” he says. “I- I quite like your hair, really. I was just curious, that's all.”

“Mm,” Kyra hums, drying the breakfast bowls trying to make sense of the man sitting behind her. 

Jango watches her, her braids swishing with every movement. He tries his hardest to keep his gaze from her thighs in her leggings, and when he can’t he stands, clearing his throat. “I’ll be in the cockpit.”

“Are you sure? We could always hang out a little, you know, and watch a holo. It won’t kill you.” 

With you, it might, he thinks. So he pushes himself away. A talent of his, really. “Quite sure.” 

He’s back with the short sentences, the curt nods, and the quick turns. Kyra watches him climb up to the cockpit, her brows furrowed. Odd man, she thinks as she makes her way back to a chair, setting up her ‘pad to watch a show.

-

The whole day is just that, Kyra in the hold watching a holodrama and Jango in the cockpit listening to the holodrama. He wants to go down there, he wants to see the story between the Twi’leki man and the Pantoran woman unfold, their fighting families keeping them apart for the sake of their businesses- Jango feels quite stupid for being so invested, but he is. He’s put his helmet on to listen better, so he can hear every dramatic gasp leave every character’s mouth. 

-

“We’ll land tomorrow at…” he checks a screen, “2100 hours, Pamarthe time.” 

“We won’t be landing at 2100 hours,” Kyra says. “I’m not flying into Pamarthe in the dark. Not on a foreign ship.”

“Why?”

“You should do more research,” she tells him. “Pamarthens are very particular on who can land. There are stories of ancient warriors that will come back to attack. And, well, Pamarthe is always ready for their return. It’ll be easier in the daylight.” 

“That’s stupid,” Jango says. 

Kyra’s face contorts with offense. “Amaxine warriors were very real on Pamarthe. It’s no more stupid than Mandalore exiling Mandalorian-”

“Do not speak about Mandalore,” Jango snaps, his finger pointing at her as she sits in the co-pilot’s seat. “Do not speak about something you do not know.” He stands, retreating down from the cockpit and into the hold.

“Then don’t be a hypocrite and do the same, Fett.”

[waatermelon-sugaar]

Under My Skin: Chapter 2

Series Masterlist

Words = 4.3k

Chapter warnings = swearing, bad words, let me know if I missed anything!

Summary = Despite the explosive argument that resulted on your last mission with Poe, Leia decides another is in order

A/N = I made up the planet that they go to, as far as I’m aware it doesn’t exist in the Star Wars canon, but when I wrote the first draft I had no wifi to research a planet and then I couldn’t be bothered to change it. Also I know nothing about flying, nor about physics, I have based this on my (limited) experience of driving and therefore taken a lot of artistic license - I am sure what I have made these characters do is not actually possible. 

Edit = Cross posted to AO3

Chapter 1

***

Poe Dameron was irritating on a normal day. A grounded Poe Dameron was worse. Like a caged fathier with no outlet for his excessive levels of energy it felt like he was pacing the length of the base multiple times a day, making it almost impossible to avoid him.

Not that that stopped you from trying. To complicate matters, you were doing your best to not think about him at all. So far, it was going well. You hadn’t even talked to him since the debrief, making a special effort to not even look at him when he was in the same room as you.

The debrief had taken place a couple of days after you’d shouted at Dameron, and had been unbelievably awkward. Leia and General Holden had been polite, running through any spare details of information gathered in the compound, what type of books there were, what they were about, what languages they’d been in.

After you’d talked, it was Dameron’s turn, answering questions about the objects in their cases, what planets they were from, how old they were, if they formed a collection. It felt like it went on forever, finally making it onto questions about your shooter, was it the suspected owner, how many droids appeared, was the security system as expected?

You were sure Dameron would be sneering at you, so you avoided looking at him, and didn’t dare directly address him. Keeping your hands clasped in your lap had helped prevent visible shaking.

Saying as little as possible, you’d escaped at the first opportunity, ignoring how Poe stood up, and desperately pretending that you couldn’t hear how he immediately started to talk, more animated than he’d been the entire time you’d been there.  

Both of you had been in trouble; Dameron for hiding his injuries, and you for shouting at him. And while he’d been the one officially grounded, it was of little comfort, knowing that it was no doubt due to him failing his physical. And now Dameron had been able to defend himself and probably slag you off in the same sentence while you had left, feeling like a child sent to their room.  

But unable to fly it felt like he was all over base, just where and when you didn’t want him to be.

Like now. You were working on a mission report with a bar of chocolate to keep you going, lying nearly horizontal on a couch. Background music was playing in your headphones and your datapad was open with a number of tabs and the mission report was there, right in front of you, half written - and yet your eyes kept flicking over to Dameron sat by the center table.

You weren’t sure he’d seen you when he walked in, hidden as you were behind the shelves in the corner. You liked this nook, it always made you feel protected and the idea of Dameron finding this corner and no doubt ruining your sense of security vaguely irritated you. Looking through the gaps you could see his legs resting on the chair opposite him, and if you sat up a bit, you saw that his back was to you, facing the door, his shoulders tight.

Ignoring him, you tried to get back to work, and you would never have admitted it, but the noises as he worked was...nice enough, in it’s own way. Little growls of frustration that you could barely hear over your music, the occasional sentence read aloud, BB-8’s reassuring little beeps. They made you feel less alone.

Finally, finally, you finished. Dameron didn’t look like he was any closer to getting up and leaving, and you took your time shutting down your pad. You’d have to pass him. It had to be done, you wanted to have a shower and go to bed, but...still.

You intended on ignoring him, but it felt excessive to leave without even a - “Goodnight, Dameron.” It was short as you passed and you resisted the weird urges inside of you that wanted to insult him and make sure he was ok at the same time.

He didn’t say anything at first, and you exhaled heavily in relief, and...something else which you didn’t want to unpack.

Until he said your name. Your first name.

You stopped walking, jaw clicking in annoyance as your back tensed. “I’m sorry.” His voice floated from out behind you, strong but quiet. You looked at the door in front of you. It was probably about 4 steps away - you couldn’t have walked a little faster?

“In the medbay, what I said… it was out of order. It was too harsh and I’m sorry.” He paused and you still didn’t move, frozen to the spot. “I didn’t mean it. Any of it, sweetheart. I-” he paused again and changed his mind. “I’m sorry.”

Finally you turned around, a strange trembling rising from your stomach to your chest. Your eyes narrowed, mouth turning up in distaste.

“You’re sorry?” you spat, taking care not to look at his face. “You were only too happy to badmouth me to Leia and General Holden afterwards though!” You took a step backwards, conscious of how far the door was. Your eyes rose from the floor to his face, ignoring the slight signs of tiredness around his eyes, the first time you’d looked directly at him since the medbay.

Shaking your head, you glanced away, the reminder sending hot embarrassment through you, still.

Dameron’s head has dropped into his hands and he’s pulling slightly at his curls. Your breath quickens in annoyance as you start talking again. “Whatever, I-” The slamming of his hands on the table interrupts what you’d been about to say. His hands are clenched into fists, knuckles white, and the look on his face scares you.

“You don’t have a clue! You’re determined to think badly of me aren’t you?”

For the first time, words escape you. Dameron walks towards you, quick paced and you back away until you reach the wall. There’s something poking into the small of your back, but the physical discomfort is less than the discomfort you feel radiating off Dameron.

He’s close to you now, close enough that you can smell him, a deep rich smell, one that smells like a man, and why do you like it? His hands are clenching and unclenching at his sides, like he wants to reach forwards and shake you.

You match his glare, finally finding your words, “I’m determined to think of you based on your actions, Commander.” He stiffens at the use of his title, but you continue. “I know you’re a better pilot than I am, but you need to learn not to look down on people who are a lower rank than you!”

Dameron’s mouth opens...and then shuts without comment. As you continue glaring at him, you realise this is the first time he’s been speechless around you. And it’s now, his body so close he’s nearly pressing you into the wall and what the hell is poking you? You can feel your heart beating quickly and you hope he doesn’t notice it in your neck.

“Well, maybe I do, but you need to learn not to judge others. Not everything’s as simple as it seems!” He’s not shouting anymore, but his voice still feels dangerous.

Whatever. You don’t want to be a part of this anymore. You push roughly past him, hitting his shoulder as you do and mumbling a “Fuck off” under your breath as you finally make your escape.

***

No sooner had you rejected Poe’s apology than you wished you had accepted. It had been an automatic reaction, snapping back at him in your hurt. You’d never been close to Poe, the snub he’d given you when you met preventing you from ever seeing him in a favourable light.

And Poe’s apology was causing an annoying thought to run through your mind. One you had absolutely no business thinking about, and you didn’t know what had brought it about.

But still. What had you missed out on by not being Poe’s friend?

The answer was, of course, absolutely nothing.

Especially now.

It would no longer be enough to bicker like siblings with a rivalry. Regret made you clench your jaw and your heart around Poe Dameron, a physical remainder of the damage you’d done.

This was a new feeling. This was proper anger, real hurt. It was unfamiliar and you weren’t quite sure what to do with it.

You didn’t walk around the base unless you had too now, preferring the isolation of your room to the fear that would shoot through you every time you saw someone with curly hair.

Instead, you found people came to you. Rose was a frequent visitor and you were always happy to see her, even if she didn’t quite understand your reluctance to leave. Members of your squadron came to catch you up on what you missed and after a couple of days you began to think maybe you were being ridiculous. Would it really be so bad if you saw him again?

The decision was taken out of your hands when Kare knocked on your door. She was holding her helmet, with her orange flight suit zipped up. She had a pretty bad case of helmet hair, blonde strands flopping into her face contrasting brilliantly with her brown skin. Dameron stood behind her, determinedly not looking into your room, looking slightly at odds in a normal shirt.  

Great. You couldn’t even avoid him by not going anywhere.

“Hi!” she started, pausing, “Are you alright?”

You hum gently at her, tiredness scratching at your eyes, despite the amount of sleeping you’ve been doing. “What’s going on? Where are you off to?”

“I just got back from a recon mission,” she tells you, and sleep is still pulling at you. “General Organa asked me to tell both of you that she wants to see you for a briefing tomorrow.”

You look again at Poe, as he nods stiffly.

“Is that everything?” He’s not even looking at Kare, and you shoot her a questioning glance.

“It’s at 8 in her office,” Kare says, shaking her head, silently telling you not now. You bit back an irrational laugh as Dameron nods again, leaving as fast as he can. “You’ve pissed him off!”

You’ve not managed to shut the door as she says this, and you shush her desperately as the two of you dissolve into giggles. “So it’s true?” Kare’s taken Rose’s usual seat at your desk, spinning round with the soles of her feet scraping on the floor. “You shouted at him?”

You sigh. That.

“I - yes. He did something stupid,” you tell her and she lets out a chuckle.

“When doesn’t he?” And maybe it’s something about her expression, and the contrast with her dry tone, but it makes you laugh again as she continues, “Don’t worry, everyone thinks he deserved it.”

“Really?” you ask, surprised. “They do?”

She nods, “Yeah. You’ll have to work with him on this mission though.” She’s picking up objects on your desk, and haphazardly returning them to the wrong place. You huff a little at the idea but change the topic.

***

Walking into Leia’s office the next day, you immediately rolled your eyes when you saw Dameron pulling a face as he made eye contact with you.

“Ok this stops right now.” Leia’s voice is sharp and to the point as she glares at the two of you. “This is ridiculous. The two of you are on the same side, fighting the same fight and you can’t even be in the same room?”

“With all due respect General, the enemy of my enemy is not my friend,” you say, not looking away from Dameron. He looks better than usual, wearing a black t-shirt that somehow makes his hair look darker, his arms stronger, his face fresher.

Leia huffs, and gestures to the seat next to Dameron which you take ungraciously, as she continues. “Perhaps not, but you are on the same side. I would like to ask for at least civility towards each other.” Dameron’s wearing tac gear, you realise, scanning up and down his body. Knee pads blend into the black of his trousers, which are tucked into a hefty pair of boots. Your eyes keep catching on the smoothness of his jaw and throat, he must have just had a shave. “Shake hands.”

Your mouth drops open, finally looking away. “What?!” Both of you speak at the same time. You look back at him to see him smiling gently at you. You frown, but stick your hand out, breaching the gap.

“Truce?”

You’re acting annoyed, but there’s a thrumming excitement rising again in you. A mission is a mission, even if it means working with someone you don’t really want to.

You ignore the very small part of you that does want to be friends with him.

Dameron’s hand is warm when it grasps yours, strong in his conviction, and there’s something unreadable in face as he replies. “Truce.”

Leia smiles at you when you turn back to face her, and you have to squash down your own, wanting to remain annoyed at Dameron. Clicking a button on her desk, she starts playing a hologram. It’s a video replay of a number of ships - 2 distinctly First Order TIE fighters, and 3 Resistance X-wings. The TIE fighters are moving in a way you’ve never seen before, unprecedented skill allowing them to miss Resistance shots that should have been hits.

Leia allows the video to play a number of times before waving her hand to freeze the image. You can only gape at her, not quite sure what she wants you and Poe to do about it. Dameron’s hands are already twitching in your peripheral vision, like he’s imagining how he would manipulate the controls to achieve the same effect.

“This was supposed to be a simple recon mission, which was not supposed to have any engagement,” Leia starts, “but the First Order showed up, and our pilots decided to shoot first, but couldn’t make a hit. I want the two of you to work out how they managed to do this. And I’ve arranged for the two of you to practice on Greplimin, which is a largely empty planet two parsecs from here.” Sighing, she leaned on the desk, giving Dameron the holo stick. “Can I trust you not to kill each other?”

Dameron leaves as fast as he can, muttering something about finding BB-8, but you hang back, waiting by the door to ask Leia something.

“Why have you asked me?” You still feel too vulnerable when you look at her, and in the back of your mind you wonder if you’ll ever get over this.

Leia only raises an eyebrow, asking you to elaborate.

“I’m not the best pilot.” You start desperately. “I know I’m not. I would never tell him-,” you throw your arm at the door, “-that, but it’s true. I’m not the best person to ask and if you want someone who gets on with Dameron, I don’t - why, why did you choose me?”

Leia sits down and you stand there, feeling weirdly lanky.

“You’re right.” How is she so confident? “You’re not the best pilot. But you have an unconventional way of flying and the First Order didn’t manage to pull that stunt by being conventional.”

“Figure it out, Lieutenant,” she dismisses you, attention already on some papers on her desk.

***

Dameron had begun to make dinner by the time you’d finished setting up the tent. You’d grumbled under your breath as you worked to construct the two camp beds, sure that the Resistance could afford two tents. Outside, Dameron’s quiet conversation with BB-8 was muffled, indistinct words floating to you under the chirping sounds of the birds and insects.

Even in your grumpy mood as you’d flown out, you could appreciate the beauty of Greplimin. Green had stretched out as far as you could see, circling until you’d found a good place to make camp. A large clearing surrounded by trees, a lake not too far of a walk for water, which was now set alight with the glow of the three suns as they began to set.

The food, cooked by Dameron over an open fire, was nice enough, but something had risen to the back of your throat, making it hard to swallow. You don’t talk much, saying the bare minimum in order to resist snapping at Dameron unnecessarily. As much as you don’t want to admit it, Leia is right - you are on the same side of the war. Conversation is stilted and unnatural, so you take the cowards way out, feigning tiredness to escape.

But that doesn’t mean Dameron has any business being as attractive as he is on this mission. It’s as though ever since your argument in the common room, his attractiveness has increased dramatically and you hate it.  

By the next morning, a slight stubble had started to grow, darkening his jaw and making your heart beat a little faster as the two of you eat in silence, lit by the glow of the sun rise. Out of annoyance, you told yourself, after all, it’s unprofessional to have stubble. And anyway, who can grow facial hair that fast? From the look of him yesterday, he’d freshly shaved.

And he’d started to look at you differently too. You’re just not sure what the difference is.

The next day is spent flying. Both you and Dameron are a little rusty, having both been grounded for a month now. You have to focus on breathing calmly when you first sit back in the cockpit, the image of Poe near to collapse in the seat behind you sending you back to your last mission. You have to turn around to convince yourself that he’s sat in the other X-wing.

Turning on your comm link, the two of you run through pre-flight checks together, methodical and reassuring, before running through the normal exercises, switching between who is acting as First Order and who is Resistance.

It’s nice. Comforting, even, the familiar routines you could do in your sleep, muscle memory taking over when your brain stumbles.

And even though neither you or Poe say a whole lot, it’s a nice safety net, knowing that there’s someone on the other end of the line. It’s the odd little phrases that he uses, praising you or himself, with the occasional swear word or whoop of delight thrown in. He’s playing music, because of course he is, but you can only catch the odd bar, not enough to recognise any songs.  

Not for the first time, you recognise the intimacy of comm’s, how talking directly to the other’s ears feels...more personal, somehow. So you bite back any quick replies you think of, pushing down any breathless laughter at his comments.

You love flying too. There’s nothing quite like the feeling of floating in the sky, taking turns at a ridiculous pace, and feeling adrenaline burn you up on the inside.

The usual exercises end up taking over the whole day, you and Dameron blasting them until they’re perfect. Briefly you wonder if this is what it would be like to be in Black Squadron, perfection expected rather than a nice added bonus. He doesn’t seem surprised though, when you manage them. You frown, you’d expected some kind of taunt about how you’d done better than he’d thought...but the comms were silent to your expectations, just the odd, respectful, “Well done.”

On the third day, you give the First Order’s new moves a go. Neither you nor Dameron are quite brave enough to fully twist the way they did, and you’re not sure what his worry is, but the idea of overheating your engine mid-flight is enough to stop you.

Lunch is spent with the two of you eating together and poring over the video, stopping and starting it at different moments to talk over the best ways to fall out of the spin. Having a goal, a problem to solve makes conversation flow much easier and you’re grateful for it. It’s something else to concentrate on and you can ignore sparks of irritation as he scratches his stubble, the noise swooping low in your chest.

After lunch, Dameron acts as First Order, and it’s a surprise when his voice crackles through the comm links.

“I’m going for it.”

He’s determined, and you know there’s not much you can say to stop him, especially because you’re out here to solve this, but you still yelp out a “What!”

“If I can get enough height I reckon I could do it.” Comes the reply and you can only sigh and watch as Dameron’s ship starts to climb. Switching gears, you start to follow, circling round to imitate how the Resistance would catch up.

Poe starts to twirl as he descends, copying the way the First Order pilots had gained speed and unpredictability, and you struggle to hold your ship steady in his airstream.

He starts to spin faster and faster, cutting his engine and throwing the X-wing to the left. You’re miles behind now, having been unable to reach the same speed and you can only listen to his steady swearing as he struggles to start the engines back up again.

As he reaches closer to the tree line you start shouting. “Deploy! Deploy now!” Desperation laces your voice, “Poe deploy your parachute NOW!”

And he does.

A plume of fabric billows out from the back of his X-wing, slowing him down enough that you can see the exact moment when Poe restarts the engines. It doesn’t last for long though, and all Poe can do is control his landing, skidding through the trees.

You careen after him, bruising your landing and scrambling to get out of the cockpit to go and help clear the door to get Poe out. “Are you alright?” You ask, looking into his eyes to check for signs of a concussion. He was wearing his helmet, but that was a rough landing.

And his eyes are a really pretty shade of brown, swoons a voice inside of you, which you try and squash with a few choice swear words. Now is definitely not the time. There is never a good time for noticing Dameron’s eyes.

Poe seems alright though, accepting your hand of help to jump out. “I never knew you cared, sweetheart” he grins, and then groans. “Could do with some water though.”

So you help him back to your campsite, giving him a glass and sitting next to him in silence. Except, for the second time that day, it’s comfortable.

“The spinning was good,” you offer after a moment.

You’re not looking at him, the water glimmering as a distraction. He only hmphs in return.

“It was!” And are you trying to convince Poe Dameron of all people that he did a good job? You take a quick glance at him out of the corner of your eye.

He’s looking in the same direction as you and you note that the colour has returned to his cheeks again.

“You got good speed up,” you continue, “faster than I could and we just need to figure out how to cool our engines down - especially when we’re in hyperspace.”

“I want to know how they didn’t crash into each other.” You look at him again, his voice thoughtful. “There’s just so little control, once you cut the engine after spinning like that, you’re subject to airflow but they knew where the other would be.”

“Do you think it’s possible they’re better than us?” If you hadn’t watched Poe talk, you’d have thought you hallucinated.

Grinning, you shove your shoulder against his. “Better than you and me? You’re having a laugh.”

“Yeah that’s not it.”

There’s not much to say after that, the occasional huff of laughter bubbling out.

***

You do eventually have to go back to the X-wings, both of which need patching up. The hull of yours is damaged where you hit some trees when landing, while Poe has to start with packing up his chute before even thinking about the wiring and his engines.

Once you’ve done all you can for yours, you clamber into Poe’s cockpit. Thankfully he doesn't notice at first, allowing you a moment to compose yourself. His sleeves are rolled up, exposing his forearms as he grips together some wiring. BB-8 is sat in the pilot's chair, beeping some instructions at him.

Meanwhile there’s a tool sticking out of his mouth, and something about that is insanely sexy, but you clear your throat before your mind can go anywhere. Poe looks up and oh maker this man is going to destroy me.

You scowl at him as you speak, as though scowling can undo your traitorous thoughts. “Do you need a hand?” Poe looks like he’s going to say no, but then something sparks out, hitting his hand, and he drops the wires, mouthing a swear in pain, although he keeps his teeth clenched around the screwdriver.

Oh shit. Oh shit, shit, shitshitshitshit.

You can’t look away from his mouth and you need to reset, to go back to square one, base level, because your heart has stopped in your chest and you know what this means. Instead you whack Poe over the head as you push your way into his space, stepping over the wires on the floor.

“Do you want my help or not?” you ask again, and maker you’re rude. Your parents would be disappointed. But Poe looks surprised that you’re offering again.

His eyes meet yours when he replies, steady and unwavering. “Yeah that would be nice.” The tension gradually dissipates as the two of you work together, rewiring and melding your way through the underneath of the control panel.

You do your best to ignore the touches, telling yourself that it’s inevitable in such a small space as your hands brush together as you lean over him, or how close he is when he peers over your shoulder to instruct you which piece to hold while he adjusts them back to their proper place.

***

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Chapter 1<----->Chapter 3

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[darkisrising]

Five Times, by DarkIsRising pt3(pt1)

What’s that you say? That’s confusing? Lol, you are absolutely right, but in my defense, this section is getting looooong. So I’ve split part 3 into two parts. If you need to catch up with the story thus far: part one | part two Five Times Din and Luke Met (and one time they never parted)

3.  

The third time he sees him, Luke actually gets the drop on the Mandalorian for a change.

He’s working on his X-Wing in a hanger on Mos Eisley, back for round two with this artifact he now has confirmation is definitely, for sure, absolutely, possibly, perhaps still here. Which is the best lead he’s had in weeks, so here he is. Docked in a hangar, repairing the worst of some damage his ship had sustained flying through an asteroid belt.

Be it the Force that Luke has been learning to listen to these past few years or the sheer dumb luck his childhood friend Biggs used to say followed him around like slime off a Hutt, either way it just so happens that Luke is glancing up at the sky right as a very distinctive pre-Empire gunship cuts through the atmo.

“Keep working on the ‘fighter, Artoo,” he says, sounding reasonably calm though his heart has kicked into hyperdrive. “I need to go see someone about something.”

He hasn’t gone two steps when he’s accosted by the hangar’s once-mechanic now-manager, who’s so pissed her dark, curly hair has reached truly epic proportions around her head. And maybe her moods and her hair aren’t actually connected, but it has always seemed that way to Luke.

“You can’t leave that here.”

“Oh, come on, Peli.” Luke is sure that Jedi aren’t supposed to whine, but since no one is really supposed to know he’s a Jedi—Leia’s orders—he tries to only do Jedi things when his face is covered in a hood. So instead right now he’s just Luke Skywalker: back on Tatooine for a visit. Which means he’s Luke Skywalker: hapless farm boy about to get a scolding.

“Nuh uh. Don’t give me those big, blue eyes, Skywalker. Two weeks. Two weeks you left me with that thing taking up space in my hangar. Costing me a perfectly good berth while you were out galavantin’ around—”

“I told you I got picked up by a bounty hunter—”

Her nostrils flare as her eyes narrow, but Luke knows from experience that her moods tend to blow over quickly. He just has to stand there and weather it first. Which would normally be fine except there’s a Mandalorian somewhere nearby and if his plan is going to work he’s going to need to get out from bay three-five a lot faster than it’s currently happening.

Luke sighs, posture sinking down until he’s less of the poised, blade-sharpened Jedi he’s been working on becoming and more the boy he’d once been.

“Yeah and whose fault is that?” Peli Motto’s stance widens, her fists find her hips, and she settles in for the long haul. “Skywalker, you have been a pain in my ass since the day the Darklighter boy pulled you in here to gawk at the ships and it never stopped, not once, in all those years you spent bugging all the pilots with your kriffing karking questions. Now you seem to think all this time later you can show up here with that New Republic stink all over you and with bounties on your moisture farmer head and I’m supposed to let you do whatever you want for old time’s sake? Boy, I know you must be space-addled if you think for one click I’m just going to roll over and let you cost me pay on top of whatever else you’re getting me mixed up in.”

The years he’s spent away from Tatooine dissolve and he’s feeling almost sure that at any minute Aunt Beru is going to be commed to come get her nephew out from underfoot at the hangar again.

“I’m really sorry, Ms. Motto,” he says, like he used to be made to say by his aunt, her hand biting into his bicep where she held him as she whispered be polite. “I never meant to cause you any trouble.”

“You never do, kid,” she grouses, pulling down the towel that had been thrown over her shoulder to swipe the grease off her hands. “I agreed to let you fix your ship, nothing else.”

“I know, it’s just that there’s someone I’ve gotta go talk to. He isn’t far, just somewhere in the hangar. I won’t be long, promise,” Luke lies easily. “I’ll be back so fast you won’t even know I was ever gone.”

She relents with a scowl and a flap of her greased up towel.

Luke bends over the cockpit to grab his poncho, whispering to Artoo before he leaves: “It’s not going to be that fast, but I’ll be back for you as soon as I can make it.”

Artoo gives a series of concerned clicks and whirs while Luke is throwing his poncho on, running out while behind him he can hear Peli Motto yelling: “Wait. What did he say to you? Don’t roll away from me, droid, I know you understand me.”

He’s not worried about Artoo giving him up. He knows how to keep a secret.

*

Luke sprints through the hangar, dodging the pilots and mechanics and service droids as he goes. There’s a corridor between a few of the docking bays that he remembers and Luke slips into it, emerging out the other side to the bright suns beating down from their perch high in the sky.

His eyes quickly scan the crowd for a glint of beskar and a sharply hewed helmet. He spots it, and can’t help but grin when he realizes that he’s really done it. For once he’s the one that will be catching the Mandalorian off guard. Luke draws the shadows around him as he steps near, careful not to tip his hand before he’s ready.

The Mandalorian is looking over a speeder as the owner haggles over the rental price. He watches, amused, and when he’s ready he drops his Force cloaking so that as far as the Mandalorian is concerned, he’s appeared out of nowhere.

If there is a way for a man in a helmet to look surprised, well then that’s how the Mandalorian looks when he notices Luke standing there, grinning like the idiot everyone in Tatooine knows him to be.

“Don’t say anything,” Luke says raising his hand and he doesn’t mean to but there might be the slightest push of Force persuasion in his words. He shakes his head, and lets how much he wants this to happen leave his voice. Luke’s not looking to compel anyone into sleeping with him here, not even by accident. “I just think you should know that right now I'm not in your custody.”

“But you’re going to be,” comes the response after a long, assessing moment. His voice through the modulator doesn’t sound threatening, just matter of fact.

“Okay, well, maybe. But right now I’m not.”

“Okay?”

“Right,” Luke agrees, talking fast, his nerves making the skin around his mouth tingle faintly. “So since I’m not currently in your custody I was thinking that it, you know, wouldn't be unethical if we. You know.”

The Chagrian with the speeder quickly cuts his eyes to the side as he realizes with a darkening of his blue skin what kind of conversation he’s suddenly found himself in the middle of. “I’ll just…” he says before clearing his throat and wandering off.

After that it’s just the two of them, alone in a crowd. Luke can feel the weight of the Mandalorian’s gaze as it studies him through the blacked out visor of his helmet. It’s a long silence, and the longer it drags on Luke gets the sinking suspicion that he’s just going to be dragged back to the gunship in cuffs and thrown into carbonite. Again.

“Yeah, okay,” the Mandalorian says at last.

What? “Wait. What?” Wait. “Really?”

“Yeah. Come on,” he doesn’t sound particularly eager, but he also doesn’t sound particularly uneager, either.

Luke’s shoulder is grabbed by a gloved hand and he finds himself dragged toward an alley that takes them further from the hangar.

“But the helmet stays on,” he’s warned sternly and Luke nods quickly as he struggles to get his feet underneath himself so he can follow the Mandalorian’s brisk pace.

“I can work with that.”

(tbc)

[crqstalite]

Letters Home.

I made a mistake because this was originally meant to answer a prompt fill and then I forgot about it until now. So I tweaked it, but it still works I think.

I would rather not think about the fact the current majority of writing I've done for Lali and Joker is very angsty. That'll change, eventually, but it was begging to be written so here we are. It's a little shaky since I've written Joker himself maybe a grand total of three times but I'm happy enough with it.

Post-Thessia, minor (major?) character death mentioned. Lali/Joker.

"There's a new Blasto movie coming out, it doesn't look a lot better than the last one, but it'd be great to see with you when you're home again."

Her green eyes are still bright, her grin wide while she falls back on the collection of pillows decorating her bed. Her concerns then must've extended about as far as what was for dinner that evening, or tomorrow's assignment. Blasto wasn't one of her favorites, he knew that every time they'd watched one together, but she'd sat through every single one because it made him happy. Not that she didn't complain the entire time though.

It'd been a while since he'd been fifteen himself, but those concerns shouldn't have included Reapers in them.

"You must know about all the inaccuracies in the movies, huh? With the Council and stuff this has to be hilarious to you."

Joker isn't sure what feeling to name the one that's threatening to consume him while Hilary continues talking, rattling off that week's events. Teachers, classmates, her chores around the house.

The vidmail just seemed so normal. Everything had seemed perfectly fine when he'd checked in on them after they'd left Earth. Maybe that was an overstatement, nothing would've been fine but it was still manageable then. His father and his younger sister had intended to bunker down for as long as they had to, as long as they could while he'd promised them to try and get them off Tiptree. Nothing had seemed off. Nothing had seemed wrong. He thought they'd have time.

Six months later and he'd proved himself wrong. Time was in shorter and shorter supply. By the time he could turn his attention fully back to finding them nearly a week ago to do anything more about their situation, it'd been too late. He'd heard it over the extranet, part the long list of colony worlds flashing red every other hour. His blood had run cold while he'd hoped, prayed he wouldn't find his homeworld among the lost.

The galaxy felt like it stopped spinning when he did. In big, bright red letters, it'd said Tiptree, and he...it'd all felt like a bad dream then. That he'd look back and see it was some other colony out in the Traverse. Not his. It couldn't. It shouldn't have. It was so far outside of normal trade routes that it didn't make sense for the Reapers to seize it.

Yet they'd done so anyway. The last communications had gone out the day prior, and had stretched into silence since then. Where he'd be expecting a call today, instead his missed messages have remained dark. His 'tool won't connect to his father's, or Hilary's.

He almost misses when the door behind him opens, his hand missing the pause button on the video while he scrambles for it. He doesn't get a great glance over his shoulder, but it's enough for him to try and get his emotions back in check long enough to hold a conversation, "Shepard? Look, I'm sorry for what I said earlier."

"You've got the wrong Shepard, actually. I think." If the voice isn't enough to convince him, then the absence of anger in it does when he turns his chair to look at her. Smaller, softer, more concerned when Citlali pauses in the doorway compared to her elder sister. His girlfriend a sight for sore eyes, at least compared to her counterpart, "Sorry for scaring you, if I did.

"You didn't. Just, thought she was making the rounds again. And holding a grudge against your commander doesn't really bode well for you, as I've found." He can't find the energy to add a genuine laugh with the quip, and while Citlali smiles, it's one of the ones that's strained, "What? I feel like Alenko's walking proof of that."

"I guess, depending on how you look at it." She furrows her brow, maybe in thought, maybe in disbelief. He still can't read her very well, though it's not as if she makes it easy. Shaking off the expression, "Do you mind if I come in? You seemed...busy."

While Hilary's vid has gone quiet, he doesn't meet her eyes. The distraction might be better than nothing, even though he'd rather spend his time alone, most likely watching the last handful of mails from the month prior, "If you want to, sure. Did you need anything?"

"No. It's just...quiet around here. Thessia's on everyone's mind and it honestly feels too constricting." The door closes behind her, "If you're worried, Kodelyn's with Liara right now. I don't think she's going to come back up here for a while."

"Oh good. That'll probably give her time to cool off." Refocus her frustration with Thessia back towards comforting, always seemed like it fixed something in her. He might've been out of line, but he hadn't been expecting for her to explode at him like that. It seemed too out of character, and he hadn't been able to accurately predict it. The longer she spent doing anything else was probably extending his lifespan. Shepard wasn't predictable, but she rarely played the stereotype of the short-fuse Commander.

"Cool off?" Citlali quirks an eyebrow, "Was she mad at...you?"

"Surprising, I know."

"Weird. What'd you do?"

"Nothing." He says habitually, then sighs, "I don't know. Rough day for obvious reasons, she wasn't doing so well and I probably didn't make it any better."

"Oh." Citlali cringes, "She wasn't too upset with you, was she?"

"Probably not with me specifically. I just ended up as collateral damage."

"Collateral -- Never mind. She'll probably apologize when she's feeling more like herself. If she ever does." Her tone wavers at that, uncertainty on the other end of it, "Are you okay, though?"

His silence answers it for her. What does he say to that? Fine, only that I found out my home might be ashes and the only family I have left might be gone?

Well, he probably could.

"Sure. Fine."

Her smile's shaky, "Are you really fine, or are you just trying to get rid of me?"

"Never, I love spending time with you. You know that."

"Uh-huh. I'll suspend my disbelief, but only because you're sweet," She frowns at that, padding over to sit in the empty co-pilot's chair, turning it to face him, "If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine. You don't have to lie to me though."

"I'm not. Just dealing with...everything. All of us have our off days." The screen blinks when he turns back to it, Hilary's expression still frozen in one of amusement. His chest grows heavy again, this one was dated a day before the Reapers came through. This vidmail, the one like so many others that'd come before it, was one of the last ones he'd ever have of her.

And when he received it, he hadn't thought anything of it. He wouldn't go as far as to say he'd taken the ritual for granted, but he'd thought he'd receive another one. And another after that. He was careful to watch every one, and send back another as soon as he was able. His had gone unread.

"Fair enough." Citlali leans back, blissfully oblivious, "Long day. Maybe way too many things happened all at once."

"You could probably say that again."

"I'll refrain from repeating myself." She chuckles, "Can't wait to get back to the Citadel. The rest this crew needs is probably ticking up towards absurd."

"That bad in your professional opinion?" He asks, "I'd thought we were doing just peachy. Y'know, with the Council trying to absolve themselves of guilt and the galaxy crumbling around us."

"Thank God for night clubs." She responds, leaning back, "It just feels tenser than ever. Can't shake the feeling we're getting towards the end of whatever this is, and it's making everyone jumpy."

"Probably, yeah. Hopefully it'll be longer than a day or two when Shepard's done with Horizon. It'd be nice not running from Reaper forces day in and day out."

"Too exciting for you?"

"Everyone has their limits. just seems like there are more of them than ever lately, and they all want a piece of us." That much is true. The other half is that he wants a chance to search. Search the Citadel, search the surrounding systems. Maybe Hilary would be with the refugees, and he just hadn't found her yet. Maybe she'd lost her 'tool. They'd never been great at remembering each other's codes.

One hell of a time to forget, if she was out there, all alone and surrounded by the unknown.

Citlali turns her gaze towards the front window, then to one of the screens in front of him from what she can see, "Thessia-related matters aside, if you're willing to share, who's that?"

He hesitates, trying to find an answer while his throat tightens around his words. All he can do is send a picture of Hilary over to her screen. She halfway smiles when she receives it, one of her out in the yard during his last leave. Yellow sundress, celebrating the first day of summer, "Friend? Family? She looks just like you. Same grin and everything."

"Family. Younger sister, actually."

"Aw. Looks just like you." Citlali smiles, "What's she like?"

"Like any little sister, I guess." What was there to say? Why is he looking for adjectives to encapsulate the sister he loved, and why is it so difficult, "Smart, kind, practical joker sometimes. Occasionally gets on your nerves, but you love her too much to stay mad."

"As all siblings do. Feel like she'd be fun to have around. Guess you missed out on the curly hair gene, huh?"

"Had it when I was younger."

"Is she looking to follow in your footsteps? A pilot just like her brother?"

The lump in his throat almost doesn't let him answer her, and he plays with the bill of his hat, "Maybe. I don't think she ever really said anything about it."

"Big shoes to fill, I get it." The smile fades slightly when he doesn't follow up on it, "Where is she now?"

His voice is raspy when he tries to talk again, "I don't...really know. I don't know if she even still is."

Her face falls, furrowing her brows once she realizes, "I- Jeff..."

"Evac orders were sent out to Tiptree a couple of days ago. No news since, only that a handful made it...somewhere. Liara didn't say where." The orange lights in front of him start to swim in the water collecting in the corners of his eyes, "I don't even know if she made it offworld."

There's a flood threatening to burst behind his eyes, delicately held back for the last few days just by sheer will. Just the thought of the planet being turned into Earth, Palaven, Tuchanka...hell even what he saw of Thessia turns his stomach.

They didn't live that close to any major city, but they still would've been at risk if they sent any husks out that way. Any of the other grotesque monsters they'd seen lately.

Had she been looking for him? When it'd all happened, had he missed her call while they were in FTL? Just by a split second.

The thought of one them getting their hands on her, one of the sweetest girls in the galaxy who'd done nothing but act as a ray of sunshine in his life, it kills him to think about.

His hands are wet, he doesn't even realize until he hears Citlali's boots against the ground behind him. Her eyes are searching his face when she kneels down next to his chair, holding out her arms halfway in a silent question.

He accepts a moment later, wrapping his arms around her. She hugs him back, a quiet whisper on her lips when she returns the gesture, "I'm so sorry."

The dam breaks.

Big jade eyes that match his, a grin she lamented about every other day. The figurine he'd brought back for her, the Normandy, on her nightstand just in view.

What he'd give to see her again. Hear her voice again.

The galaxy crumbles away, tears streaming down his face.

"I love you, Jeff. I miss you."

[sharkface-daydreams]

i started thinking about what if locus buzzed his hair on Chorus but then he stops cutting it after leaving chorus and when it starts growing out it's kinda curly... and I about gave myself a heart attack lol

anyway I have no idea how to draw curly hair... or facial hair 😤 but I was working on this to see how different he'd look... for disguise purposes ofc

snippet of Locus disguising himself to go visit Wash at the hospital under the cut

~

As 'Sam' he's able to visit the hospital. He acquired different armor (and helmet of course; tan like the rebels with deep green accents) and forged identification documents. He alters the way he walks, dropping his shoulders in approximation of exhaustion that isn't 100% fake, softens his voice, his steps. Tries to shake up his gait into something less severe and sturdy, more the rushed clip of a transport pilot who has timetables and places to be. Adopts mannerisms that feel uncomfortable to him, but may set others at ease and won't give off the "I murder people for money" vibes he's trying to smother. He's a little rusty but this isn't the first time he's had to pretend to be someone else entirely.

Before leaving the Reds and Blues, he'd let Donut help him put concealer over his major facial scar. He refused the eyeliner though. Donut thought it'd make his eyes "pop" but it won't fit the persona he'd been crafting. "Maybe another time," he told the crestfallen soldier. 

He was a damn fool getting so careless as to let anyone see his face while he'd been with the Feds. Even if it had been to spend more time with Wash, face to face. His love for the man had already made him make several careless mistakes, he supposed. He'd just have to adjust to work around them. His once-buzzed hair had grown out, curling slightly from the humidity, and a short beard disguised the shape of his jaw. Hopefully, it would be enough, and no one would look too hard during the short time he intended to be here. He swallowed nervously. As long as he didn't run into Emily, perhaps, he'd be fine. He didn't trust her hawk-sharp eyes to pass over his face without a second glance. 

He walked quickly down the hall towards the brightly lit nurses' station, thankful that 'anxious' was what he was supposed to be projecting. Anxious to see that his love was safe and healing and in good hands, that is.

"I'm here to visit David Washington?" Didn't use the rank signifier. (If they were dating, Major Washington would only be 'David' to him if his mind was consumed with worry of his condition.) Lilted his voice at the end to soften the statement into a question instead of a demand.The nurse looked skeptically at him, standing awkwardly in armor he wasn't used to wearing, pilot's helmet firmly on his head.

"Helmet off. You family? I'll need your ID and you'll need to sign in."

He sighed faintly, silently thanking Donut for his quick thinking with the foundation as he pulled off his helmet. He'd forgotten he'd used to do that to hide his scars. Hadn't needed to do so in a long while. He pulled out his falsified credentials and signed the visitor's log.

"Samuel, huh?" the nurse asked, smirking and glancing up at him. "You the boyfriend, then? We were wondering when you'd show up."

"Excuse me?"

She seemed almost giggly now. "He was completely loopy when he came in but kept asking where 'Sam' was, saying all sorts of sweet stuff about you. We thought you'd show up sooner."

Sam frowned, guilt furrowing his brows. "I came by as soon as I could," he said quietly. "Was on a long haul when I heard."

"Well don't let me keep you, then. He's in 509, just down this hall." She pointed down the hall behind the nurse's station and Sam thanked her with a nod and hurried off.

She summoned another nurse and they watched him leave, appraising his behind as he walked down the hall. It was usually a little hard to tell in armor, but there was no question that this man was hiding some top-tier cakes in there. She grinned, and the other nurse high-fived her. That's one piece of the betting pool they were definitely winning.

(The nurses absolutely had a betting pool on what Sam actually looked like and if he'd show up/was real and how long it would take him to visit… with a few other tiny things. Wash had only kept saying that he's ridiculously handsome and looked so pretty in the moonlight and had wonderful, steady hands and an ass that wouldn't quit… he'd be mortified beyond belief to find out he'd said these things out loud. Not that they aren't true but it's embarrassing and Sam will be embarrassed if he finds out he said those things.)

[spicymayo1983]

Hiya. This is an existential crisis themed smut fest that I came up with because my insomnia hit me hard again. Lol.

You are an X wing pilot whose twin sister has recently given birth to her first child.

Instead of feeling happy for her you just feel empty inside.

You've always wanted a family of your own but your childbearing years are coming to an end. You are single, sad and frustrated.

As you compile a mental list of male friends and colleagues who could potentially help you conceive a child and possibly co-parent together one name springs to mind.

Poe Dameron.

Warnings, breeding kink stuff, unprotected sex, female receiving oral sex, just plenty of gratuitous, raw sex. Lmao.

Seed Part 1

You can't sleep. You find yourself wide awake at 3 AM having an existential crisis.

Your married identical twin sister (any name) has recently given birth to her first child.

You feel guilty and ashamed because instead of feeling joyful for her instead you feel empty and numb.

You don't feel happy or sad. You feel absolutely nothing except for a slight twinge of envy.

You are an X wing pilot for the rebellion and have been since your late teens. You have survived being shot down, being captured and torture at the hands of the first order.

During your adventures you always tried to find time for romance. Being a bleeding heart romantic you always dreamed of returning to your home planet, Yavin 4, with your husband to put down roots and start a family.

But fate had other plans. After a number of disastrous relationships you find yourself approaching 40 and single.

Even in the future your fertility is on the decline and not much can be done to help. You desperately ache to experience being pregnant and the joy of motherhood. You chart your ovulation religiously hoping that someday you might find someone who could help you out.

Every month this happens. You feel the familiar twinge in your uterus and then the depression hits you like a tsunami.

After spending about an hour rolling around in bed you decide to stop fighting it and sit up.

You stare blankly at the wall of your bedroom. And then all of a sudden the tears start.

Your sobbing must have been fairly loud because you are soon interrupted by a soft knock at your door.

You get up and open it, it's your old friend and fellow pilot Poe Dameron.

"Poe, what are you doing here?" You ask as you rub your bloodshot eyes.

"I was walking by when I heard you crying". Poe replies, smiling softly. "I was just leaving...."

"Someone's quarters". You tease, smiling a little. "I've known you most of your life, I know how you like to have a good time."

The two of you grew up together on Yavin 4 but lost contact when he ran off to join the spice runners. Poe has always seen you as a sister, your relationship strictly platonic.

Your paths crossed when you both became pilots at roughly the same age. Your friendship resumed without skipping a beat. In your early 20's the two of you experimented with and kicked around the idea of being more than friends but the two of you decided not to pursue a romantic relationship.

Your relationship is as close as you can be without being married.

You've been intimate with him on several occasions.

The smoothness of his skin, his absolutely perfect body and cock are still fresh in your memory even though it's been years.

"You've been crying again". Poe says with a deep sigh, his smile fading. "Tell me what's wrong".

"It's nothing, really, you wouldn't want to hear it". You reply, sitting down at a small table in your kitchen.

"You're ovulating, aren't you?" Poe replies quickly as gets behind you, leans down and wraps his strong arms around you in an extremely intimate bear hug.

"You always get like this when you're fertile".

"Time's running out and I haven't met anyone". You reply, fighting back tears. "I never imagined I'd be here, at this stage in my life, nearly 40 with no children".

"This might sound crass, or perverted, or both". Poe tells you as he leans down to nuzzle your neck a little.

"But I think I could help you, I could put a baby inside of you if you wanted".

"You've been drinking". You snap back with a nervous laugh. "I'm depressed and your drunk, yeah, this is getting weird".

Poe immediately pulls away, respecting your wishes.

"I said it was getting weird, but I didn't tell you to stop". You reply with a slight smile.

"So do you want me to help you with your situation?" He asks, gently massaging your shoulders.

"Shouldn't there be a little romance?" You tell him with an awkward laugh. "I don't want this to be mechanical, I want it to be a little special".

Poe leans in and kisses you passionately, taking you by surprise a little. With lust burning in his dark eyes he whispers in your ear,

"Of course not, I planned on warming you up a little".

You both decide to start off with a nice shower together.

He begins by lathering up your breasts, and then his hands trail down further.

You can see that Poe is already physically aroused, his strong hands are all over your body, exploring every inch of your soft curves and gently caressing you.

You begin to soap up his thick cock, you can feel him getting harder and harder, you sigh a little as you crave Poe inside of your throbbing pussy.

"I'm going crazy right now". Poe pants, unable to hide his desire. "Let's wrap this up and head to the bedroom".

Both of you quickly towel off and head for your bed, your entire body is warm and tingling from desire.

The two of you hold each other and enjoy a steamy makeout session, Poe slides two fingers inside of you, you are wet, swollen and sensitive, you shudder in delight.

"Mmmmm I want to taste you". Poe whispers into your ear.

His head quickly slides between your legs, you moan and thrash around in delight as he sucks on your swollen clit.

You cum for him, several times, before you wrap your legs around his waist and Poe slides his thick cock inside of you.

This isn't the first time you've hooked up with him. You were once friends with benefits years earlier. But you both decided to end things.

This felt different, though. Like Poe was trying to impregnate you. Which makes you wonder his own secret desires and motivation. Why would a notorious playboy like him be off of his birth control? Were your yearnings and desires his as well?

Poe cums deep inside of you with his head resting on your shoulder. His soft, curly hair in a dissaray. Afterwards you stay relaxed on your back, careful not to move around and lose even a drop of his precious seed.

"I wonder if it worked?" Poe asks with a slight smile, gently placing a hand on your lower belly, where your uterus is.

"Why were you so willing to help me out? If you don't mind me asking". You inquire, placing your hand over his.

"You're one of my best friends". Poe tells you softly.

"You're brave, beautiful, tough, one of the best pilots in the resistance besides me. Why wouldn't I want you to carry my child?"

"Oh Poe". You reply, fighting back tears at the beauty and honesty of his words. "What you just said means everything to me, it really does."

[komahinasecretexchange]

Fools

Author: @izurusfattiddies/fxckthisfxckthat

For: @hadrian-pendragons

Pairings/Characters: Komaeda/Hinata, Nagito Komaeda, Hajime Hinata, and a splash of Izuru Kamukura and a few mentions

Rating/Warnings: Self Doubt, Hurt and Comfort

Prompt:  Hurt/comfort Hinata and Kamakura and trying to figure out Komaeda.

Author’s notes: This is actually my first ever Danganronpa fic! If the characters seem a bit off I apologize.  I had a lot of fun writing this however and I hope you like reading it!

Komaeda was certainly a man of… puzzling standing. While a seemingly normal person, the moment he opened his mouth made anyone jerk to a halt. He was needlessly self deprecating, and his mindset was far too complicated for most people to decipher. Even Kamukura had difficulty understanding him, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to. Then Komaeda would likely become boring. But Hinata wanted that. So they’d work together to figure him out. It couldn’t be that hard, right?

“I’m surprised you wanted to spend time with me.” Komaeda spoke as Hinata held out a trip ticket for him. Hinata sighs. “Of course I want to. You are one of my classmates.”

   “I’m not sure I’m worth wasting the-”

   “Where do you want to go?”

Komaeda paused then. Hinata could see the gears turning in his head, as if trying to figure out where Hinata wanted to go. A hand under his chin as he debated their options. “I suppose we could go to the beach…” And then they went off, changing into their bathing suits in their rooms. Though for a while, Hinata just stared into the mirror.

You know this won’t help, right?

“I just want to know him better, that’s all.”

You get attached too easily. It would be easier if I did this.

“You’re too cold. He’ll notice. He’s not an idiot.”

The little trip went well, though for the most part Komaeda stayed out of the water. They made a sand castle together, but a coconut fell on top of it as soon as they finished to Komaeda’s displeasure. He apologized for his luck ruining the event with the sweetest smile that almost made Hinata’s heart jump out his throat. Why was that smile so appealing? Hinata couldn’t tell you why but he just returned one of his own and reassured the other that it was fine.

But that smile kept him up that night. He couldn't wrap his head around why he felt the way he did. Hinata seemed to just be missing a piece of the puzzle. Izuru had other ideas however.

You l-

"No, I don't. I'm just curious about him."

...If you insist.

"I do insist."

Izuru seemed to have had their Hinata's feelings in order, much to Hinata's disappointment. The mystery of his own feelings had been solved by someone who couldn't feel in the first place. It was frustrating, to say the least.

The rest of the night is spent trying to figure out his own feelings and Komaeda. Trying to find out how he ticks. It didn't seem to click with him. All of those gentle smiles with such harsh words about himself. Holding everyone on such a pedestal due to their talent. His near obsession with hope. It was all just confusing.

The next day something suprising happened.

"Would you like to spend time with me? I know I'm not worthy of your time, but-"

"Sure, I don't mind." Hinata is quick to nip the self deprocation quickly. He has to admit, he's never liked when Komaeda goes on one of those tangents. "Any place in mind?"

Again, Komaeda seems to put just as much thought into his suggestion like the time before. "How about the library?" The curly haired male spoke up after putting far too much tought into his answer.

It didn't take long for them to arrive at the building due to the nature of the island's set up. Pushing open the large door, the two enter. Komaeda seems to be on auto pilot then, maneuvering over to a certain section, Hinata just seems to mirror his pattern, following behind. "Know what your looking for?"

Komaeda nods with a small hum, crouching in front of the shelve, running his finger along the spines of the books. He seemed so focused, to the point where Hinata didn't want to break his trance. Soon enough, he plucks a book from the shelf, standing and reading the back for a moment before nodding to himself. "I've been looking for this for a while," Komaeda spoke up then. "It just always seemes to disappear when I came to get it. Just my luck really." He let's out a small laugh and that leaping feeling came back, a faint blush threatening to creep up on Hinata.

Komaeda's laugh seemed to have this way of lighting up the room. He wanted to know why.

"Is there anything you want to read?" Green eyes blink curiously at him. To be honest, he wasn't very big on reading. He mainly came just to spend more time with him.

"Not really, but what's your book about?"

Those same green eyes widen slightly, blinking a few times. Was... Was he not expecting to be asked that?

"Ah, I'm not very good at describing things, however-" He hands over the book, attempting to give a rough summary. The book was supposed to be a romance novel, and it seemed intresting enough even though he had no clue of what was happening, since he was jumping into the middle of the series. "If you want to, we could read it together...?" Komaeda offered.  

Well a little reading wouldn't kill him.

Apparently Komaeda read much faster than him, having to wait for Hinata to catch up before turning the page. Though it didn't help that instead of reading he couldn't help but to let his eyes wander over to Komaeda, focused on reading with his head propped up on his hand.

Like the little frown on his face when Komaeda was focused on something. Or his little reactions as he read something, from having his eyes widen a bit to that frown deepening, to a ghost of a smile.

At some point during Hinata's reading. He feels something hit his shoulder. He's quick to glance over and what he saw caught him off guard. Komaeda had fallen asleep and fell against his arm.

Had his eyelashes always been white? Hinata never noticed before now. And he swore he saw faint freckles across his face. A part of him wanted to wake him up but it felt like doing that was a crime. For now, he just draped an arm over him so he wouldn't fall.

You should tell him.

Kamukura spoke up, as Hinata lie awake in bed once again.

"Tell him what?"

That you like him.

"Of course I do. He's my friend." He laid an arm over his head, staring up at the ceiling. At this point he had the pattern memories. He wondered if the other rooms had the same pattern.

Don't lie to yourself. I see how you look at him. You're infatuated with him.

"Whatever."

Days turned to weeks, the two kept spending more and more time together much to their classmates' dismay. Stolen glances had been frequent among each other. It had been a wonder how neither had been caught, though Hinata swore he'd seen a blush creep up on Komaeda more than once.

But now it was the night before the end of their trip. Everyone had been celebrating how close they'd gotten, and they were enjoying their last night together in this strange predicament regardless of the storm outside.

Hinata didn't mind sticking to the wall, occasionally chatting with his fellow classmates. However there was something missing. Well, someone to be more specific.

He hadn't seen Komaeda in the past couple of hours which was strange. Komaeda might not have always spoken up much in the group, but he always lingered near by. Hell even Nanami had been chatting, playing video games with some of the others.

He decided to go find him and drag him back if need be. The rain had picked up significantly since the party had started, Hinata being drenched with minutes of being outside. He looked around the hotel, even going to check Nagito's room and having no luck finding the male. He keeps looking however and it pays off, finding Komaeda sitting on the beach.

He's soaked to the bone, curls clung to his face as he stares out into the ocean. He looked like a wet dog, to put it nicely. Hinata makes his way over, standing next to the other.

"You're going to get sick out here, you know that right?"

Komaeda flinched hearing a voice he hadn't expected, though he looked up with a smile. "I'd get sick regardless Hinata. You of all people should know that."

He sits down next to the other then. "Gonna tell me what's got you out here?"

The response he gets is a shrug as he returns to staring out at sea. "I know I should be happy, that we all get to leave but... I'm not."

"Want to tell me why?"

"It's pointless."

"I'm not so sure about that."

A few moments pass in silence, though it never feels uncomfortable, like when a conversation falls between two close friends, enjoying the silence and each other's company.

"Do you think we'll keep talking?" Komaeda finally spoke, breaking their mutal silence.

"What do you mean? Of course we will. I mean, we did spent time together as a class-"

"That's not what I mean."

"Then what do you mean?"

"My luck gets people taken from me, Hinata. People die, or abandon me, or worse. I'm a hazard. Being around me is dangerous." Komaeda seems to curl in on himself then, pulling his knees closer.

"Maybe I like danger-"

"Don't say that!" Komaeda snapped, taking Hinata aback. He's not sure he's ever heard him yell before. "This isn't a joke! People have died because of my luck! I don't want to lose more peopl because of it! Not when I care so much for you!"

"Komaeda..."

"I've lost so much because of my luck!I can't lose you too! I've been trying so hard to hold you and every one here at arms length! Yet you just came back over and over!" It was hard to tell, but he knew some of the water on Komaeda's face wasn't just rain.

"Because I care about you Komaeda. I wanted to understand you, fuck I still don't fully.  You're an amazing person,  I just wish you'd see that." He tries to keep his voice calm, reassuring even. Though Komaeda's distraught look made that hard.

"You don't understand! My luck hurts everyone I love! I can't let you get hurt too because I love you too much!" The words blurt out before Komaeda can stop them. He's quick to try and get up and flee before Hinata grabbed his wrist.

"Komaeda I know the risks involved. I know you think you're dangerous but I know better. I know you have barely there freckles. I know your eyebrows furrow when you read. I know you have a soft spot for animals. And I know how I feel about you."

Slowly, Komaeda turns to face Hinata again. "You do?"

For once, Hinata reacted on impulse, pressing his lips against Komaeda's.   He felt him tense at the contact before melting into the kiss. Saying it felt like two puzzle pieces clicking together felt like something from that cheesy romance novel, but it felt right.

Slowly, they pull away staring at each other. "Hinata-"

Suddenly a loud cheering is heard and Hinata's face burns a bright read as he recongized the sound.

"They finally did it!" Mioda cheered loudly. It seemed at some point the class had gone after the two as well. He also sees Souda forking over some money to Kuzuryu. He looks back to Nagito, who had a big smile worn like a medal.

Yeah, he was okay with this.

[damn-stark]

All That’s Left Ch.7

Star Wars au

A/N-I love love how this turned out!! Hope you all like it too! Let me know your thoughts?! And take care :)

Warning- ANGST, violence, talks of death and blood, swearing, a little angry Poe (very light), fluff if you squint. Long chapter.

Pairing- Poe Dameron x reader

(Let me if you want to be tagged)

————

“How many dead have you killed?”

“I’m afraid I’ve lost count of that.”

You draw in a deep shaky breath and lift the lightsaber off the ground, tears slowly rolling down your cheeks.

“How about living, breathing people?”

“You had a chance to bring me the girl, had a chance to join the darkness and join the greatest. But you failed.” Ren coldly said with a characteristically nonchalant mannerism, contradicting his violent intentions, “the girl is the key and now you’ll die not seeing success.”

The hold around Rens victims throat tightened, making you firmly grip onto the lightsaber hilt, your thumb trembling above the activation button. The sounds of your light steps crunching on the snow under your boot, each step that’s supposed to be a warning going to deaf ears as Rens lightsaber activated, the red dangerous hue, basking the snow and the man in his hold. The sound of your heart wildly beating in your chest thumping in your ears, a little voice sounding in the back of your head advising you not to do what you needed to do; with your heart advising you otherwise, telling you that it needed to be done before he got killed. Even if it pulled at your heart at the mere thought.

“None….”

Carefully you crept behind Ren and lifted your shaking hands with the lightsaber held within your death grip, the thumb you had on the cold metal button refusing to press down. The action only becomes more difficult the more you see what you need to do...but you also need to save him, so instead, you shut your eyes. The task not easy, but allows your finger to finally press down on the button, the sound of the blue vibrating blade now buzzing in your ear with the follow of another frightening sound that causes your breath to halt.

“...I don’t think I could ever do it.”

——

The ground was gently and beautifully coated in a blanket of white snow, only a few spots of greenery left open in the scenery of a light icy white coat beyond what the eye could see. The only noises that traveled along the winter forest was the soothing singing of birds in the distance, the crunching noises your boots would make as they broke the blanket of snow, as Poe, Zorii and you walked toward the determined path. With Poe’s assurance that everyone from your group was doing the same and you’d all meet anytime now.

But Zorii believed he was just saying that to convince himself, so the worry he felt for his droid and friends wasn’t as aching as you felt it. However that wasn’t the only thing Zorii was right about Poe, that man you so deeply adored talked non stop to distract himself from worrying too much. Yes, you liked the sound of his voice, it was soothing and to say the least damn attractive the way he talked, but there came a point where his voice was becoming annoying, and the sun had just fully risen about an hour ago. It was not only going to get worse from here.

“...but I tell him...trust me, I’m the best pilot in the galaxy, I can fly anything…” Poe’s story travels to the back of your head as Zorii begins to mockingly mouth word by word what he was saying, like they had practiced hundreds of times beforehand. It made you giggle, quickly having to react by covering your mouth with your hand before Poe had a chance to hear….only he had heard and turned his head over his shoulder to shoot Zorii and you a curious glance.

“Was something I said funny?”

You press your lips together and offer him an innocent smile, “nope.”

He stops in his tracks and waits for Zorii and you to catch up, his eyes bouncing from his ex and you, a slightly narrowed look shared before he spoke again. “What's so funny then?”

“Just girl stuff, flyboy.” Zorii lied, causing you to hold back your laughter and nod in agreement.

Poe places his hands on his hips and keeps his eyes trained on you, the feeling making you feel flustered….something he knew would happen.

“Anyway,” he shrugged as he continued with his story, “I hopped onto the broken speeder and sped away with three or four speeders filled with this band of bounty hunters riding my ass, I—”

“Look,” Zorii interrupted as she shoved past him, pointing to what seemed to be an abandoned neighborhood past the tree lines “seems like we’re coming across the town.”

“Fine,” Poe deadpanned, “I’ll finish my story later.”

You offer him a small smile, a reaction he only shakes his head to before he follows after Zorii towards the pointed out destination, her pace quick and determined, seeming as if the neighborhood was just going to run off if she didn’t get there in time. She only stops when she notices the not even half built wall that was supposed to surround the green filled overgrown neighborhood, the wall standing a few feet off the ground, whatever was dreamed to happen here, left half done, like something had come over this town and caused everything to be left unfinished.

Poe was about to comment on scanning the area from higher ground, but Zorii jumped over the half built wall and landed on the ground with a wobbly landing, a pained groan leaving her lips, only not for the actions she just did.

Poe reacted with a disapproving shake of his head before choosing to glance at you. “Come on, I guess people here just don’t listen to me.”

You rolled your eyes, “I listen to you, now stop whining and hop off that wall you big baby.”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.” He remarks with a feigned smile, his landing on the grey and green concrete much more smoothly than Zorii’s or yours was. A teasing smile pulling at the corner of his lips after such a small achievement, neither of you noticing right away to Zoriis lost gaze as she leaned against the broken car and waited for Poe and you, her hand unknowingly to you rubbing at her aching wrist.

“You okay?” Poe whispered his concern, one hand grabbing you by your arm to help you to your feet, while his other went to your back and slowly traveled down below your waist and hips, making your eyes instantly snap to him at the feeling of his hand on parts of your body he should know were off limits when around other people.

“Stop it.” You hissed, a smirk now teasing on his lips before he removed his hand from your ass. His intention to keep what you had a secret exciting him too much, while also threatening to be unraveled if Zorii were to turn around—Luckily for him she didn’t and kept her eyes glued ahead.

Also lucky Ben wasn’t here either…..wherever that man might be.

“Look,” Zorii pointed out, pushing her back off the car to walk a couple steps ahead, “all the doors are marked.”

Poe pulled his eyes away from you and looked to what Zorii pointed out, his gaze narrowing as he saw what she had discovered, all ‘x’ markings on each door in big red paint. “The town must’ve been evacuated at the beginning. We might be clear from corpses then.” That was wishful thinking.

“Doesn’t mean we should just walk around like if nothing. The walls were being built for a reason.” You explain before the three of you begin to walk through the ghost town. With a shiver traveling down your spine, for reasons that didn’t involve your curly headed boyfriend like other times, no this time it was at the sight of all the marked doors, cars half packed and the sight of the wall still half done the more you walked down the street was what got you nervous. “I don’t have a good feeling about this.”

Poe shook his head and had his hand ready on his blaster, “yeah, I’m starting to get that feeling….it’s too lonely.” He looked from house to house, his jaw clenched and gaze narrowed, unfazed by the way Zorii began to fall behind. “Seems that the town square is up ahead.” He obviously pointed out thanks to the signs and bright orange arrows decorating every lamppost.

Finally getting to notice Zoriis odd and out of character behavior, you look over your shoulder to see her a couple feet behind, slowly trudging forward, like if her feet were dragging against wet cement, whilst every step she took seemed to be pained. “Zorii, are you okay?”

Zorii swallowed thickly and was quick to assure you, “y-yeah.” She nodded her head and tried to offer you an assuring smile, but that seemed like it was too much effort—you shot her a puzzled look, but didn’t comment on anything as the sight of multiple white tents lined up around the town square. Seems there's more to the small towns evacuation than met the eye.

Neither of you spoke up at the sight, just shocked expressions passed around the further you begin to examine the scenery. Blood decorated some tents, staining them with what will be an untold story, everything just left for your mind to come up with. Something that didn’t take a genius to think of the tragedy that marked the ghost town. “Stay close.” Poe ordered, his blaster now secured in his hand—Not needing to be told again, or actually told, you had already stayed close to him, hearing your heart hammer in your chest the quieter it had gotten, and the more you continued walking with anxiety rising by the passing of each medical tent.

Before you could comment on the strange displays the sound of shuffling inside one of the tents caused you to jump and spin in that direction, your blaster not failing to be aimed. You gulped and had your hand tightly gripping onto Poe’s bicep at the sound of a loud crash; Perhaps the smart choice was to run, but as the sound echoed around the square it got hard to just ignore, especially since the town was supposed to be alone—your gaze shifted to Zoriis to see her blaster shaking in her hand, your unspoken advice going on unheard forever as something came hurdling out of the tent. A wolf.

The grey wolf froze at the sight of the three you pointing your blasters at it, it’s body heaving so damn fast you might’ve thought it would’ve died from pure exhaustion or...fear; Neither of you knew how to really react at first, only minutes later lowering your blaster before having to raise them again as it ran past you, half its body bleeding and torn, showing the ribs that were meant to be hidden.

“What the hell?” You breathed, watching the wolf run away and disappear further into the ghost town.

Poe blinked before looking away and continuing down your path. “We should—” the sudden sound of growling hit your ears as a single corpse ran towards all three of you, in a blink of an eye managing to catch Zorii off guard and tackling her to the ground, it’s teeth snapping to attempt to bite the flesh under her skin. She tried to fight it off, but her efforts were deemed unsuccessful as the black veined corpse barely managed to miss biting her. The sound of Poe’s blaster ringing in your ears before your eyes caught sight of the red colored blast hit the back of the corpses head.

Zorii mumbled a thank you seconds before a violent cough cut off whatever she was going to say next. When the coughing stopped, her eyes lifted to see your concerned and perplexed gaze, the movement of your lips parting, causing her to assure you with a shake of her head. Zorii followed to wobble up, your hand catching her body before she fell back down—what was going?

Poe shared the same concern, but before he could communicate it, the sudden loud sound of the tents ripping and crashing down by a huge horde of infected interrupted him. His jaw going agape before he quickly grabbed your hand and Zoriis to pull you both away, running at a pace that was too hard for Zorii to follow.

“Zorii, what’s going on?!” You prodded, “are you—are...holy.....” Your eyes widened in horror as another crowd of infected appeared a few feet ahead in your intended area, causing Poe to skid to a stop. His eyes wildly looking for ways out until, something more alerting caught his attention.

“There’s too many of them, you’ll never make it...you’re going to have to leave me.” Zorii urged as she began to walk back.

You shook your head and grabbed her wrists, “no-no I can’t—we can’t. What are you talking about? We’re leaving together.” Your eyes drifted beyond her shoulder to see the infected corpses getting closer.

“Zorii, we can make it. You know that. You’re acting as if we don’t have a chance. We do.” Poe pleaded urgently at increasing sound of the infected approached.

Zorii ripped her hand away from yours and pulled down her sleeve to show the new bite mark on her wrists. “No-I’m not making it out of this one. I’m sorry Poe.”

You gasp and slowly shake your head as if not believing this was real. Even if the signs were there moments ago. “No, their-theirs got to be something we can do to save you. I-I.”

She shakes her head and offers you an assuring smile, her eyes snapping to the infected corpses appearing in the distance behind Poe.

“Zorii,” he muttered, tears pooling his eyes.

“Get out of here, flyboy. Take your girl with you too.”

Your bottom lip began to tremble, while tears clouded your eyes, the sight of black veins fading in her face letting this all sink in. Bringing back memories of how painful your sister's death was, how difficult it was to see the blood stream down her cheeks like how it was happening with Zorii now. “No-no..” you cry, “please come on.”

Zorii swallowed back her own tears and tried to keep the assuring smile on her lips, “there's nothing you can do now, but live…” her smile began to falter at the sound of snapping and growling getting dangerously closer. “You take yourself and your immunity to base and kill all these fuckers, okay?” A soft sob escapes your lips and you want to inch towards her, but she makes sure to step away, slowly with her trembling hands taking out her blasters. The green of her eyes gleamed with tears she so hard tried to keep in. “Poe, always remember no matter what. There's more of us.”

Tears slipped down Poe’s cheeks, before he sucked in a sharp and shaky deep breath, his hand sliding from your wrists down to your palm to interlace it with it his, to be ready pull you with him at moments notice now that the infected got closer; He couldn’t manage many words, without having the need to cry even more than he was already. Managing a slow nod, and a repetition of her words in a broken voice, “There’s more of us.”

Her eyes looked away from him to look at you one last time, “you got fire in you kid, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise,” the faint smile remained on her lips as she lifted one hand to wipe the blood off her cheeks. “Take care of him. Take care of each other, okay?”

“Okay.” You cried, beginning to feel Poe pull you away, “I’m sorry.” Your lips are left parted the more you rush away, the smaller she gets and the more the infected begin to surround her as she bravely begins to shoot any that would get too close.

Poe's eyes widened when he saw a path between a half bult building and what used to be a pharmacy, not daring to look at the scene happening behind him in fear that he would want to turn back and try to save her—but that was all you could do, the sound of the loud blasts rang in your eyes, mixing in with the gruesome sounds of the infected, growling and snapping their jaw, their feet dragging on the floor as they rushed towards the noise and the smell of her blood.

When they began to get too close, when it was starting to get hard to keep shooting them away, you saw as her green eyes looked up to the white sky, the bright white view above seeming to reflect off the thick red liquid that ran down her face. Zorii swallowed thickly and shut her eyes, the sound of her shots soon trailing off until there was nothing heard but the wild sounds of the infected to distracted by her to go after Poe or you. Only a few stragglers swinging their arms but failing to catch either of Poe or you at the speed he was running. Leaving behind nothing but a slight flash of the girl you had to leave.

One second you saw her standing in the middle of the crowd, the next, the image of her was nothing but a memory as Poe pulled you away into the open path that led away from the cursed town. The sound of infected slowly tuning out the more you got away, until it was all just simply out of ear-shot and view. Zorii along with it.

——

“I just. I Just don’t get why she didn’t tell us.” Poe seethed as he angrily paced back and forth, his eyes focused on the footprints his boots kept making on the snow, his hands formed into tight fists. While you had no choice, but to watch him. He didn’t want you to comfort him or really do anything. All he did was vent.

That’s all he could do after the two of you had put some good distance between where you had left her and you. A heavy regret weighed your heart down for having to leave without her, but she sacrificed what little time she had left to save the both of you. You needed to remember that.

“We have to go back,” Poe suddenly suggested, “she can still be alive.”

Your eyebrows knotted and your lips parted, before words could come out, Poe was walking past you to head towards the path you had just walked from, wanting to head towards the danger you barely managed to escape.

“No, Poe.” With a quick pace you caught up behind him, grabbing his hand to pull him back, “I’m sorry, but there's no possible way she’s still alive. Even if by some miracle she managed to escape the horde, the virus got to her. She—”

“No,” he cut off sharply, “she’s not. Don’t you dare say it!” He ripped your hand away from his wrist and continued to head towards his path.

He was angry, in denial. He was angry.

“Poe, blood was coming out of her eyes and black veins were already showing. Zorii is—”

Poe instantly stopped in his tracks, letting out a loud huff before he turned to look at you with a glare, his eyes filled with pure anger. A look that was unfamiliar to you, one that made your breath hitch.

“You don’t know that!” he snapped, “you don’t! How could you? You don’t know anything, so just leave me alone, I’ll go without you!” He turned on his heels and began to storm away.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry. He’s Just angry.

You blink. “Poe, please, listen to me.” You began to follow him regardless of how he had raised his voice and how he was showing his anger. “I know what you’re going through, I do. You’re angry. You can’t accept it. Trust me I know how it feels.” Tears finally begin to roll down your cheeks, watching him continue to walk away only makes it worse. “You think that everything is made up because you’re afraid to face the reality of the truth, but I promise you it will get better with time.”

Poe stops beside a tree and sighs again, his back still turned to you. Allowing you to continue, “I promise it will.”

He lets in a shaky deep breath and shakes his head before he raises his fist and punches the tree with all the strength he could muster. The snow that covered the tree, slowly trickling down on his back as he stayed frozen in place with his head hung low. Carefully letting you walk up behind him, expressing a soft inhale before slowly breathing out and hugging him from behind. The action catching him off guard slightly since you noticed his shoulders jump.

Poe didn’t say anything, only swallowing thickly and holding your hands that wrapped around his body, letting moments of utter silence pass before he quietly talked; “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, baby, I didn’t mean to take out on you, I just….” he paused and thought for a moment, “it was my fault, if I would have never told you to sneak out with me, I could’ve been there to help her, she would be alive.”

“It’s no one's fault, it isn’t.” You tried to assure him, “I promise you she wouldn’t blame you...blame either of us, so don’t blame yourself, okay?”

He simply nodded before pulling you around to be able to face him, noticing how red his eyes were from the tears that couldn’t stop rolling down his cheeks. He looked at you in the softest way you had ever seen him look, like if everything he now cared about was with you, that nothing else mattered...like if even the slightest thought of you leaving now was another heartbreak. His lips only slightly parted to say something, but no words came, just a simple gasp of air.

“I know,” you whispered as you gently reached to cup his cheek, “I know, baby.” The only person from his past that he knew beside Ben was gone. Given he didn’t really care for Ben in any sort of affectionate way. He was just someone he knew as a kid and nothing else. But Zorii, she meant more than anything. Even if they weren’t together, she was always going to be special.

And now. She was gone.

Poe swallowed thickly and let his forehead rest on yours, his hand grabbing yours that was already on his cheek to give it a soft squeeze. “Can,” he paused, blinking to meet your gaze, “can you—”

He didn’t even need to finish his sentence, you knew exactly what he meant—quickly and carefully you moved your hand away from his cheek to wrap him in a hug. Feeling his whole body shake at the sound of him drawing in and breathing out a deep and relieved breath of air, his hands slowly wrapping around you and balling material of your jacket under his hands before he pulled you closer, letting his head sink into the crook of your neck.

Without you realizing, he whispered something into the premises of your skin, words you couldn’t understand and didn’t question. The only thing you did was rest your head on top of his, your fingers gently caressing the back of his neck. Receiving a dooming feeling in your heart that you couldn’t entertain. At least not yet.

Yet it lingered. Could you really put him through this when your own...end would come?

No.

But you also didn’t want this amazing, fluttering, warm feeling that you got with him to go away.

But you also—

The feeling of him pulling away broke you from your train of thought, feeling a gentle kiss pressed on your cheek before his face was left inches before yours, his arms still firmly holding on to you. Only moving one hand away so he could stroke your cheek with his thumb. His words expressed in a soft whisper.

“We should get going to try to find the others before it gets darker and colder.”

Easing into his touch you nod, “okay.”

Poe offered you the smallest smile before he pressed a light kiss on your lips and fully pulled away and began to head down the correct path. Before either of you could fully leave the area, you crouched down by the empty grave you had marked, the snow slowly beginning to dance down and cover the stones that were carefully placed around to identify the spot.

A small sad smile managed to tug at your lips as you looked away from the falling snow and to the grave, “until we meet again.”

——

The sky was much darker now, the air colder than before and the forest pitch black with only a single light illuminating the way you walked. The warmth of Poe’s body close to you the only source of heat you could depend on without having the need to cocoon yourself within the material of your jacket. Words that sometimes were too much to speak left to entertain the silence that lingered around.

“How’s that hand doing, Dameron?” You teased as you stayed close to his side.

Poe shook his head and a faint smile pulled at the corner of his lips for a second. “Hurts like hell.”

You smirked, “I can give it a kiss to make it feel a little better.”

“Will you?” He teased back, grabbing onto his chest dramatically, “all the pain will go away if you do. I swear.”

“Okay,” you rolled your eyes, “stop lying. I’m not some miracle worker either.”

Poe let out an amused huff of air and interlaced his non-injured hand with yours, “Iast night proved otherwise.”

There's that smile. As smug and momentarily as it was, it was there.

You scoff and shake your head, “shut up.”

Silence once again filled the bitter air, the single light Poe had lighting the way annoyingly seeming to summon all the insects that were attracted to the stupid single source of light.

“I’m getting tired, can you, like drag me to wherever we’re stopping? Or going?”

Poe scoffed, “You’re walking your pretty ass all the way down with me, or else you’re going to have to drag me too and that means we’re going to get nowhere.”

“You’re the worst.” You huffed as you let yourself fall behind, making sure Poe heard your feet dragging on the snow. A bright light flashing in the distance causing you to stand up straight and walk back to Poe’s side. “You see that? The lights?”

Poe nodded and hid you both behind a tree, peeking one eye out to look through his blasters scope, “I can’t see...it’s too bright.” He took your hand and pulled you forward with him. Exactly what he was thinking? Who knew? It could be a camp for all you knew. A camp that could shoot people at sight to be specific. And what did he do? Get closer!

“Poe—”

“Shh.” He pressed a finger to his lips before he snapped his head towards the lights again, searching through his scope for any other sign. Until suddenly some tall figure passed and blocked the light, creating a tall single shadow that made Poe gasp. “It’s-its Ren.” Poe took another step forward and then suddenly let the blaster drop to his side, his gaze turning to you with grown concern. “And Ben.”

What?

“Ren has him on his knees.” Poe continued, unknowingly answering your inner thoughts. “I think he’s going to kill him.”

A gasp left your lips, your gaze looking past Poe’s shoulder, but seeing nothing thanks to the lights that blinded your eyesight. As much as Ben wasn’t your favorite person at the moment, you knew he couldn’t die, you couldn’t let him. Not only because he had saved you and this was some sort of way to pay him back, but because even if you never agreed on many things, he was still part of your group, he was in some ways special. Plus your own guilt wouldn’t let you sleep ever if he died when you could do something.

“Okay, I’ll go.” You spoke up, not waiting for a response to start sneaking away, Poe’s hand quick to stop you.

Poe’s eyebrows furrowed, “are you crazy? No.” He pulled you to him and put both of his hands on your shoulders to turn you away from the path that led to Ben and Ren. “I’ll go. You stay and keep watch.”

“No, Ren will—”

“No,” Poe cut off your sharp whispers, “I’ll be fine, Ben’s got my back if Ren tries anything, whatever he might say, I’m his best friend.”

You shook your head and glared at Poe for his attempts at joking, your lips parting to protest his stupid intentions, but leaving your words at the tip of your tongue as you barely caught sight of a truck in between the shadows of the woods. Some dark knight that almost camouflaged with the night slightly outlined, the sight of who was in his arms alerting you more than anything else. “Rey.” You breathed, instinctively getting out of Poe’s grasp and taking few steps forward.

“What?” Poe questioned, his brown eyes looking behind to not see anything, “where’s Rey?”

Pulling your eyes away, you looked back to Poe in front of you, your hands cupping his cheeks. “A knight of Ren has Rey, it seems like they’re going to take her. I have to go save her.”

Poe swallowed thickly and his eyes went from where Ren and Ben were supposed to be, to then look at you, a softened and concerned gaze shown upon his soft brown eyes. “No...I’ll go get Rey, and you try and save Ben. I trust you, I know you can do it. And I know your fear of killing someone else, but if it comes down to it, do it, okay baby? Because I'd rather have you alive and by my side, then taken.”

Oh yeah, that—you cocked your head to the side and shook your head, “but what if…” you cut yourself off and looked down, another concern lighting up in your head. One you wouldn’t share yet. “Ok-okay.”

You managed to show him a small assuring smile, his own smile quickly mirroring yours before he pulled you in for a short deep kiss. His thumb stroking your cheek as he pulled away, his lips parting but not saying anything for a moment, hesitating, until he remembered he didn’t have a lot of time. “Be careful.”

You nodded, “you too.”

Poe shared a short nod as a response, his gaze lingering on yours as he walked back, forcing himself to look away while he turned around to sneak off to save Rey. You on the other hand were more hesitant to sneak forward, even as you did, every step was forced and pained...wishing with every careful step that Zorii was here.

The closer you got, the more the voices….or voice of a single man was audible. Talking shit about the maker knows what—Ren was just full of it. Regardless your mind also wondered to the other knights...where were they?

“Oh…” your gaze flickered to what seemed to be the unconscious knights splayed on the snow covered ground. Mostly thanks to Rey and Ben...who else?...regardless of their actions and how cool it would’ve been to see them fight, you kept your mind on check and focused on the task in hand. Saving Ben from Ren. Who luckily hasn’t heard or seen you. Taking that as an advantage you keep stalking forward, the sound of your heart heard in your chest, the feeling of your nerves picking at your stomach with the threat to throw up or have some untimely panic attack. But...with a deep breath you temporarily brushed that off.

Save Ben. Save Ben—needing to repeat those words in your own mind you stalked forward, the sight of Ren’s hand around Ben’s throat keeping you firmly on task now. The past conversation you had with Poe playing in your head. The intention of what you needed to do now clear as ever, every movement and word by Ren, confirming that. It hurt you, but Ben was in danger. The tighter the hold around his throat got, the faster you walked. Gulping as your past talk with Poe came to mind, the sight of Ben’s lightsaber coming to frame.

“How many dead have you killed?”

“I’m afraid I’ve lost count of that.”

You draw in a deep shaky breath and lift the lightsaber off the ground, tears slowly rolling down your cheeks.

“How about living, breathing people?”

“You had a chance to bring me the girl, had a chance to join the darkness and join the greatest. But you failed.” Ren coldly says with a characteristically nonchalant mannerism, contradicting his violent intentions, “the girl is the key and now you’ll die not seeing success.”

The hold around Rens victims throat tightened, making you firmly grip onto the lightsaber hilt, your thumb trembling above the activation button. The sounds of your light steps crunching on the snow under your boot, each step that’s supposed to be a warning going to deaf ears as Rens lightsaber activated, the red dangerous hue, basking the snow and the man in his hold. The sound of your heart wildly beating in your chest thumping in your ears, a little voice sounding in the back of your head advising you not to do what you needed to do; with your heart advising you otherwise, telling you that it needed to be done before he got killed. Even if it pulled at your heart at the mere thought.

“None….”

Carefully you crept behind Ren and lifted your shaking hands with the lightsaber held within your death grip, the thumb you had on the cold metal button refusing to press down. The action becomes more difficult the more you see what you need to do...but you need to save him, so instead, you shut your eyes. The task is not easy but it allows your finger to finally press down on the button, the sound of the blue vibrating blade now buzzing in your ear with the follow of another frightening sound that causes your breath to halt.

“...I don’t think I could ever do it.”

When the blue blade makes impact with Rens almost exposed torso, he immediately let’s Ben go and halts, his hands going to the blade impaled within him. He staggered back and Ben breathed in air that was missing, turning on his knees to let his bruised face tilt up to see you hidden within the shadows of the night, his eyes widening at what you did. Not from fear, but surprise you were here and most importantly saving him.

But you on the other hand, you blinked to see your hands still holding the lightsaber in Ren, finally letting out a shaking breath of air after the horrifying sound of the blade impacting Ren. The sight keeping you frozen in place, the knowledge of something you never thought you would do now parading around in your mind. Staring at Ren’s now lifeless body with a wide eyed expression before retracting the blue blade and dropping the lightsaber to the ground.

Quietly you looked down at your trembling hands with a numb expression, your eyes meeting Ben’s from across from you and gasping out in a shaking voice, “Ben...I-I just...oh god.”

.

.

.

.

A/N- I don’t know why, but reader going against her morals of killing someone to save Ben, is more important than if she would have done it for Poe. I mean yeah, reader doesn’t like Ben in the way she likes Poe, but still her actions to kill someone for Ben, even after he called her a burden are important.

Tagged- @thescarletknight2014​​​​​​​​ , @lanatheawesome​​​​​​​​ , @yodaboo​​​​​​​​ , @geo-winchester​​​​​​​​ , @ginger-swag-rapunzel​​​​​​​​ , @mamanoota5​​​​​​​​ , @peachdameron​​​​​​ , @roserrys​​​​​​ , @too-lit-for-fanfic​​​​​ , @jimpyknees​​​​​ , @softly-sad​​​

Permanent taglist- @ms-dont-care​ , @commondazy​, @paintballkid711​

[evabellasworld]

Storm of the Republic

Chapter 1

AO3 Link | 1

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Summary:  When Tup murdered General Tiplar during a battle, Anakin Skywalker and Captain Rex dispatched Ahsoka, Fives, and Yara to solve the mystery that was plaguing the Clone Army. Meanwhile, Senator Padme Amidala contacted Commander Fox, Commander Tori, Riyo Chuchi, and Dipper to help her continue investigating the death of Palpatine, suspecting that Dooku was behind the evil plot. But when Dooku send an ISB agent to stop them, the team had to race against time to search for the truth, which could alter the course of the galaxy.

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With a rain of blaster bolts drenched from both sides of the battlefield, ARC Trooper Fives fired towards the Imperial battle droids together with his comrades, Yara and Tup, at the Ringo Vinda space station. The station once belonged to the Galactic Republic, but with their downfall, the Separatist Alliance, which transitioned into the Galactic Empire, managed to capture it. Ever since they outnumbered their forces on Coruscant, the planet fell into the hands of Dooku, who proclaimed himself as Emperor.

Despite that, the trio sticks together as they fight side-by-side on the battleground, looking out for one another. Both ARC Troopers’ bond went all the way back to Kamino, where they were part of the Domino Squad, along with Echo, Hevy, Cutup, and Droidbait, whom they lost along the way. Tup, on the other hand, became closer to them after the events on Umbara.

The battle happened a year ago, when the late Chancellor Palpatine had General Pong Krell took over the 501st Legion temporarily. None of them, including Captain Rex, enjoyed his presence. At one point, Fives and Yara, along with Jesse, were almost executed by the rogue Jedi General until he was shot to death by a rookie, Dogma.

There were days when Fives wondered what had happened to Dogma, though he felt it was best not to question it. The ARC Trooper in blue continued to attack the droids from behind as his real Jedi general, Anakin Skywalker and Padawan Ahsoka Tano, deflected their shots with their lightsaber.

He was aware that Anakin was popular with the ladies, especially Yara. He found it amusing, and when given the chance, Fives would tease her about how she loved him very much, making her cheeks flush. Taking a brief glimpse of his sister, Yara tilted her head towards the droids, leaving him to suppress his laughter.

“Push forward,” Fives heard Anakin’s orders, as they advanced towards their enemies.

“Yes, general,” Yara replied, continuing to bring down the battle droids in her surroundings.

“Stay to my left,” Tup barked towards his siblings-in-arms, when he noticed a fallen but intact battle droid aiming its blaster towards the ARC Trooper, prompting him to warn his brother. “Fives, watch out!”

Before he could answer him, he let out a grunt as Tup pushed him aside towards the wall and popped the droid with his weapon. Sighing in relief, Fives glanced at his younger brother, grateful that he had saved his life. “Thanks, brother. I owe you one.”

“You owe me a lot more than one,” joked Tup, pulling him back on his two feet. Fives nodded as he got back into action, much to Yara’s disapproval.

“You know, we should be focusing on not getting ourselves killed instead of slacking around, am I right?”

“My apologies, ma’am,” Fives snarked, wiggling his fingers. “I’ll do my best in my duty and take responsibility as an ARC Trooper next time.”

Yara held her tongue in annoyance as she inhaled, calming herself like how a Jedi would. One of these days, I feel like smoldering him with a pillow.

On the other side of the station, Jedi Masters Tiplee and Tiplar, who were fraternal twins, defended their men when commando droids were dispatched in the battlefield, killing their men as if they were flies. Forced to take evasive action, Tiplar, the yellow-skinned Mikkian, had no other choice but to give an order to her confidant, Commander Doom. “Tighten our flank!”

Commander Doom, who was clad in green armour from top to bottom, bobbed his head with acknowledgment as they began firing at the commando droids one-by-one, turning them into scraps. Before they were able to catch up with General Skywalker and Padawan Tano, however, he spotted droidekas rolling in their position from the right side of the station, grabbing his generals’ attention as well.

“Shields up!” Tiplar told her men, as she had done this a million times.

“Yes, sir,” her troops obeyed in unison, as they formed a straight line and shielded their soldiers from blaster fires. Reaching through the Force, she lifted the droids in the air, allowing her troops to roll out the droid poppers.

Releasing them from her grasps, it continued to blast towards them when the droid poppers crackled, rendering them into deactivation. Their soldiers lowered their shields as they paced forward and proceeded with the fight.

As the cavalry arrived at the command centre, all four Jedi took down the last Imperial droids as they laid down their weapons, signalling to their troops that the coast was clear, for now. “Don’t get too comfortable,” the brown-haired Jedi instructed, placing his hand on his Padawan’s shoulder. “This battle hasn’t been won yet.”

“Yes, master,” Ahsoka acknowledged. “We’ll discuss our next plan.”

The Republic remnant’s army gathered around as Captain Rex showed the hologram of their battle plan while the rest of them removed their helmets, revealing identical faces. The male clones have tan skin and black, curly hair, while the female clones have dark skin and frizzy hair.

“Master Skywalker, we must get to the command post,” Tiplee pointed out. “Admiral Trench has sent for reinforcements. We must take this post before they arrive.”

“I agree,” the Togruta Padawan crossed her arms. “They would overwhelm us soon enough if we don’t act now.”

Stroking his chin, Anakin contemplated his strategy for a short moment, before fixing his gaze on his troops. “It’s time for Phase 2,” he informed them, marking their location. “We’re at this position. Tiplar, you'll take your men down this passageway, Tiplee, you'll move along here, and Ahsoka, you’re with me.”

“As usual,” she muttered underneath her breath, rolling her eyes.

“They'll have to divide their forces to counter us, and when they do, Rex, Ahsoka, and I will press through the middle. If we time it right, we'll all converge on this spot at the same time, and the droids won't know what hit them.”

“Sounds like a good plan. Any objections?”

“If we're making a run, we'll need backup,” Commander Doom established. “My men are severely depleted.”

Anakin and Ahsoka turned to Fives, Yara, and Tup, ready to receive new commands from the general. “Fives, you, Yara and Tup take ten of your best men and support Master Tiplar.”

“We’re on it, sir,” Fives agreed as the debriefing ended, leaving the three of them alone in the dim room. As he put on his helmet, he noticed Tup’s eyes were twitching and his fingers rubbing between his temples, prodding him to ask. “Hey, you all right?”

“Yeah, I... I just…”

“Come on, this is a textbook battle,” interrupted Fives, slapping Tup’s shoulders lightly. “We've run through this a million times before in training.”

“Yeah, I know…” understood Tup, his head drumming. “I just...I don't feel like myself.”

“What do you mean?” Fives inquired, his tone tightened.

“Are you okay, Tup?” Yara expressed her concerns. “Do you want to see a medic or something? I could accompany you there if you want to.”

He gaped blankly at Master Tiplar, who directed some of her troops to follow her. “Jedi,” Tup uttered in a menacing voice.

“Tup? What's the matter with you?” Fives shook him back to reality. “Do you need to see the medic or something?”

“Uh, no... nothing, I'm fine,” he denied, as he readied his blaster. “Come on, guys. Don't want to be left behind.”

“If you insist,” Yara exhaled as she and Fives tailed him from behind, marching into the next battle. I hope nothing bad happens to Tup.

Meanwhile, Anakin and Ahsoka sliced their way through the droids as Captain Rex and the rest of the 501st blasted them into pieces, while Doom and his troops soon joined the party, along with Master Tiplar.

They continued to clash with the droids as they entered an enormous space, which was swarmed with battle droids. There was a huge glass pane that overlooked the battle outside the station, where Republic pilots were wrangling against the Imperial vulture droids.

At the Imperial command centre, stood Admiral Trench. With spider-like features and cybernetic parts, the admiral watched as his forces were battling against the Republic clone troopers and their Jedi Generals. “Increase our defenses,” he chittered to his tactical droid. “We must hold them here.”

As he observed the battle from above, Tiplar dodged their gunfire with her green lightsaber as Fives and Yara shot down a couple of droids, before turning to their remaining siblings behind them. “Don't fall back!” he shouted. “Push forward!”

He continued to bombard the enemies when he saw Tup standing there in the middle of the fight, rubbing his helmet.

“Tup, hey!” Fives caught his attention. “This is not the time to freeze up! Pull it together, we're almost to the finish line! Come on!”

He heard his brother and knocked himself as he sneaked behind a pole and pointed his blaster towards a spider droid, when he saw Tiplar stabbing it in the eye, causing him to lower his weapon. Spying from afar, Tup took off his helmet as he watched her evade the droids, making his brows furrowed. “Jedi…”

Realizing that she was distracted by the Imperials, the clone trooper with a teardrop tattoo took this opportunity and approached her silently. “Good soldiers follow orders,” he stated in an ominous tone.

Yara and Fives witnessed Tup walking towards the Jedi and called his name profusely, but to no avail. Tiplar warned her fellow soldiers about the droids from their right when she heard the gun cocking behind her.

Thinking that it was an Imperial droid, she peeked behind and faced him, her eyes narrowed. Before she could ask, Fives and Yara sprinted towards their brother to stop him, but it was too late.