f1a1w1n

[f1a1w1n]

Connor dbh x (f!)reader

Authors note: hey hey hey, this took me ages to write. if you have requests please-uh request them

Summary: You work for the FBI, the sworn enemy of the Detroit Police. But one day fate throws you into the path of a very handsome cop, but can you two stand each other? Or do your careers stand in the way?

Word count: 2k

no warnings

enjoyyy

~

CONNOR watched you from afar, holding his lighter steady as Hank breathed his cigar into it. Connor's fingers twitched slightly, an odd humane trait that Connor had noted, he couldn’t stop it, but he doubted he would even stop himself if wanted to. 

“Stare all you want Connor,” Hank puffed out thick wafts of smoke. “She won’t come over here.” Hank flicks the end of his cigar against his ashtray, swirling the amber liquid encased in crystal in his other hand. Connor had no idea why you were here, let alone why he was here. He supposed on a surface level it was to spend time with Hank but the nagging feeling of something else tickled his circuits. 

It was quite a bold move for you to be here. Little Harry's Speakeasy was the kind of bar that wore its allegiances on its walls. Old photos with bar keepers and policemen, Detroit Police funded events, and even the familiar stale scent of the police favoured cigar smoke clung to every surface. Although tonight, no laughter rose from the corner booths, and all the rough voices and inside jokes, the kind bred in locker rooms and old academy days, weren’t said aloud.

The mood killer? The Federal Bureau of Intelligence. You didn’t belong here, not really. Your kind didn’t drink here. The Bureau had its own places - cleaner, quieter, the places that only served dirty martinis with breadsticks, and nothing stronger. 

For Connor had nothing else to do but stare at you from across the bar, or stare at Hank – he preferred the latter. The other pretty young things who'd wandered up, all fluttering lashes and casual brushes against his shoulder, were dismissed quickly. A flat “I’m an android” usually did the trick. For the few who seemed intrigued by the novelty of thirium instead of repulsed by it, he’d offer the fallback: “I don’t go for human girls.”

“Ha!” Hank chuckled, a real belly laugh. He turns back to the game, the suspended holoscreen emanating the familiar green light of a football field. Hank swishes back another shot of bourbon and follows it quickly with another bourbon chaser. “Don't dig humans. Big fuckin’ pile of horse shit.”

Connor watches as you lean back and stretch your hands. The FBI jacket thrown lazily over the back of your chair, marking your territory. The hound dogs you sit next to hoot loudly as they down bottle after bottle. Your composure, though comfortable, is quieter. One hand folded in your lap while the other one grasps a beer. For someone that had just taken down one of the largest red ice supplier rings in detroit, you seemed rather… mild, withdrawn. Your coworkers couldn’t be happier. 

“Bunch of thevin’ pencil pushers if you ask me,” Hank says. He takes another big swig of his whiskey and draws a slow breath of smoke. “We do all the hard work then they swoop in and claim they did all the work.” He taps the ash off the end of his cigar, with more force then required. “Fuckin’ feds.”

“Why don’t we go to Jimmy’s?” Connor asks pointedly.

Hank reaches up to his collar and undoes another button. “No.” Hank grabs the whiskey bottle and pours himself another drink. The undone sleeve cuffs drag along the smooth bar surface as Hank medicates himself. Bottle to glass to lips. Repeat. “Would hate to interrupt your ogle fest.” 

Connor pauses mid sentence and shifts his body. “I’m not ogling.” He remains quiet for a beat, and flicks his lighter open and shut.

“Then what are ya’ doin? Cause it's getting hard to watch Connor.”

“Just looking? And who says I’m looking at her, it's the whole lot of them. They’re not exactly being quiet.” Just as Connor says this, a drunk Fed climbs up onto the table and starts hip thrusting to the beat of the song that plays over the bar. Another wave of hoots and loud whistling follows this, as they cackle loudly. 

“That’s my que.” You say under your breath as you stand, grabbing your jacket and tossing it over your shoulders, and tightening your scarf. You turn to leave when someone grabs your arm firmly. 

“What? No! Where are you going?” The firm grasp of your coworker drags you back onto your seat. Her slightly flushed face and glossy eyes shows how much she's had to drink. You turn your gaze upwards to your other coworker who has now started ‘sexy dancing’ to some Brittany Spears song.

“Can’t believe you like that guy,” You half tease half say in disbelief as you pull your hands into your lap. You look at the four empty beer bottles that sit in front of your coworker. “Please tell me you have a ride home, Shirley.” 

“Well it was going to be Steve…” Shirley trails off, she glances up at him with teenage yearning in her eyes. “Guess not anymore - oh please stay, celebrate! I barely know these people. What else do you have going on anyway? And don’t say work cause we both know that’s a lie.” 

You think for a moment. “I dunno. This whole thing feels wrong, I mean the DPD did most of the work, I just had a couple of lucky connections. This seems like more of their victory than ours.”

“Those street dogs? Puh-lease, they couldn’t tell you a monkey from a zebra. Don’t sell yourself short, and besides it probably doesn’t make you feel any better that they’re over there licking their wounds.”

You glance over to the group of Detroit Police Detectives. Mild mannered, sipping drinks looking mellow while chatting amongst themselves. God you’d rather be over there than dealing with this group of teenagers. One catches your eye, brown haired with doe eyes, seeming to be deep in conversation with his older partener. As if reading your thoughts his head turns and looks you dead in the eye. You drop your head immediately. Oh fuck he probably thought I was staring. 

“Shirley I’m gonna go okay? You have fun.” you say, but it falls on deaf ears as Shirley goes back to gazing up at ‘pole-dancer’ Steve. 

You weave your way through the crowd, murrmering soft ‘sorrys’ and ‘excuse me’s’, as you push yourself through the drunks. You pull your scarf tighter around your neck in shame as you walk past the group of cops who stare you down. Suddenly your shoes become very interesting. 

The older cop who you recognise as the head of the Red-Ice Task Force, mutters a curse under his breath as you pass. You don’t blame him. Next to him sits a disturbingly handsome cop. Ah. You think. So I’m right, he is his partner. He looks at you plainly. I must be known as the ‘case stealer’. The look he gives you could make you shiver, if it weren’t for the stuffy heat of the bar. 

You finally make it outside, the cold air freshening your senses after the endless warm air of the bar. You can’t wait to go home and strip off your work clothes. You wave your arm out to the traffic, trying to grab the attention of the robot cabs, then suddenly you feel a tap on your shoulder.

“You dropped this.” The voice is calm and steady. 

You turn, only to be met with sharp brown eyes, softened only slightly by the features framing them. It’s the same man who stared you down. He holds out your scarf like an offering, his fingers curled gently around the fabric. Recognition flickers behind his calculated eyes.

“Oh thank you,” You say, as you reach out and grab the scarf that has seemed to make its way into the man's hands. The end of your scarf slips out of his grasp as you messily gather the wool into your arms.

The man looks at you with a twisted expression, almost deciding what to say. He stares at you a fleeting moment longer, almost scanning your features for an answer that lays just out of reach. “You’re with the FBI.”

“Yeah, I am. Special Agent y/l/n.” You introduce yourself. “I saw you at the station the other day. You’re Anderson’s partener aren't you?” 

“Yes, I am.” He swivels on his heel and turns towards the bar, making a haste exit.

Wow, am I that bad? 

“Wait!” You call out. The man pauses in his stride, a sharp exhale drops his sculpted shoulders as he turns his head, his feet still pointing in the direction of the bar.  “I never got your name.” You lamely spurt. 

He studies your features for a moment. “You always ask the names of the detectives you steal cases from Agent?” 

“What?- uh, I mean, no - and no… I guess?” 

He nods curtly, shoving his hands in his suit pockets and making his way again, back into the bar. The glow from the bar catches the sharp angles of his face.

“Look,” You shout over the traffic noise. “I just wanted to say I don’t think it’s right we got the credit for this case.” 

This stops the man in his tracks. “... Well you still did, didn’t you?” he says.

You take a step forward, raising your voice just slightly. “That’s not fair - look man, I was just doing my job okay? I didn’t ask for a parade. I just did my job.”

Connor half-turns, face unreadable. “Twelve months, two weeks and three days. That’s how long I worked at it. What's fair now? Special Agent?”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Yes, your highness.”

“I wasn’t trying to step on anyone’s toes, alright?” you say, more defensive than you meant to sound. “I followed the leads I had. I put it together. That’s my job. Sorry I had connections.” 

That makes him turn fully, finally facing you head on. “Thank you, for your sympathies, agent.” Sarcasm drips from his voice, but it's calm - too calm, but there’s an edge there now, sharp as the winter wind that cuts between you, freezing the tips of your fingers and ears.

You go to open your mouth but the low hum and sharp brake whir signals the arrival of your cab. Headlights cut through the frost as the car glides to a halt at the curb. You take a breath – inhale, exhale, slow and deliberate. You glance at it, then back at him. “Yeah… you're welcome,” you say dryly, reaching for the door handle, “asshat.” You mutter under your breath, too quiet for him to catch. 

“I didn’t know name calling was a hallmark for federal agents.” 

You scoff. How the hell did he hear that? One foot already inside the cab. “And I wasn’t aware cops could be such pricks, but here we are.”

He walks forward and leans on the open cab door, arms thrown over the top, stopping you from closing it. He peers down at you. “Great talk, agent.”

“Don’t call me that–”

He slams the car door on your face, drowning out your yelling as the cab zips off. You see him walk back into the bar as your cab whirls you around the street corner. 

Little asshole. You think to yourself as the glowing holoscreens of Detroit flick by, a whirl of glowing blues and whites, the city's trademark electric colours painted over its vast landscape. The acrylic dashboard of the driverless car glints faintly, reflecting little beads of light. The tailored man remains in your thoughts. All I did was try to apologise. Can’t do shit nowadays. A bitter feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. What was it? Shame? No it can’t be shameful. Why should it be? You destroyed the largest red-ice ring in Detroit - you should be proud! 

Kicking off your shoes you slink onto the couch of your lonely apartment. The cold artificial moonlight seeps through the blinds, spilling onto the floor like a milky fog. The stiff liquor in the top cupboard of your kitchen calls to you - but the lull of heavy eyes pulls you deeper into the couch as you give into the night.  

~

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[f1a1w1n]

guess who's incompetent with technology?

its me guys. I privated one of my longer fics, the poe dameron one. if you guys want me to repost it vote here. also with the tag list, if you are one of the amazing, beautiful humans that requested to be tagged, is that for all my works or just starwars related ones?

[f1a1w1n]

sitting here… mute as fuck..

[f1a1w1n]

guys.. im starting to pick up a pattern...

[f1a1w1n]

hiii💕 i was wondering if you could write headcannons about what you think dina’s wardrobe would look like?? I love all your work esp the tlou tattoo one you just did and i would love to see your take on what she would wear🫶

ofc I'd love too! and this is such a good idea thank you! if you guys have anymore ideas like this I'd love to hear it!

tlou wardrobe headcannons!

Dina

Dina would wear almost exclusively wear autumn colours. I feel like she would wear practical, but feminine outfits that differ depending on how she's feeling that day or what she has going on. And she always has her nails painted.

Ellie

I don't think Ellie would pay much attention to her fashion, really whatever she feels is most comfortable and practical. I can see her being an outfit repeater, probably just wearing jeans and a hoodie.

Jesse

I can see Jesse trying to pull of polo shirts, and when Dina or Ellie bully him about it he'll tell them that they don't get the concept. I think he would try to incorporate knitwear into his outfits as well, but ultimately going back to flannels.

Abby

Hear me out. She's a Lululemon slave. She would dress like a P.E. teacher, let's be fr. I can see her only wearing sweatpants with the Lululemon bbl jacket and on special occasions her Abercrombie camo hoodie.

hope you guys liked this, if you have any more ideas just send me some ;))

If you want to be tagged, or recommend anything, fill this out.

[f1a1w1n]

tattoos I think tlou characters would have

Dina

I feel like Dina would get a floral feminine piece, with maybe her sisters birth flower incorporated.

Ellie

Ellie would have patchwork tattoos that she spontaneously gets, and a bunch of dinosaur tattoos.

Abby

Abby would get Lev's bday on her arm and maybe Yara's with a simple black band.

[f1a1w1n]

Hey, helloou! I saw you write for Cal and I was wondering if you could write something abt him with a reader who doesn't like to cry, but she's actually kind of sensitive, so she cries easily?

Just think he'd be sweet to someone that tries to be strong for him and stuff.

hello! sorry its taken so long! I think this is such sweet idea.

Cal x f!reader

summary: sensitive reader x cal

basically two lovesick fools confess to eachother

word count: 1.8k

warnings: none except for kissing oooo!

an: request stuff or ill claw my eyes out

love ya!

~

“Bingo.” 

Cal rolls his eyes and crosses his arms. “I told you so.” You say smugly. You and Cal stare up at the face of the canyon, deep flowy lines etched into the red rock. It had taken you roughly the whole day to walk here, in the early morning having had to ditch your speeders when you encountered thick jungle that you’d have to cut through. By hour six Cal had started to doubt your navigating skills, but you were sure of your surroundings. 

You and Cal had drifted these past few months, with Cal always going off and exploring some part of an abandoned temple, fighting stormtroopers, and you hunting some bail skipper. It was lonely work but you pretend to enjoy it when Cal asked. The only time you managed to spend with Cal was late night dinners together on the Mantis, but you could tell he was too tired, so you eventually just went to bed when you got to the ship, sparing Cal the trouble you thought. 

“Yep. Right as always.” Cal smiles.

A thick silence settles between the two of you. You felt a glob of burning pain creep up your throat. You smile half-heartedly and take a swig of water, hoping the tightness of your chest will loosen. “Uh, shall we?” Cal gestures towards the small crack in the rockface. 

You nod and make your way towards it. You wish you could talk to Cal, openly chat like you used to. But something stops you, a new unspoken boundary drawn between the two of you. You almost think you see Cal go to say something but he walks ahead. If only it was a year ago, when both of you talked with no hesitation, no concern of what the other thought. Complete and open communication. Now you couldn’t help but wonder what was going on inside his head.

You try to make small talk. “So what are we exactly looking for?”. Cal opens his bag and kneels at the base of the cave opening and fishes out his lightsaber.  

“Well, uh. I’m not exactly sure yet.” Cal pulls a flashlight out and tosses it to you. 

“What?” I say.

“Well I’d have to be near it to know.”. We walked for an entire day just for Cal to be unsure? You don’t say that though, a mangled ‘oh’ sounds parts your lips, unsure what to say next. Cal takes your silence as a cue to keep talking. That burning in your throat threatens to rise again.

He stands and steps back. “It’s a force thing.”. You nod again and walk behind Cal as you trek deeper into the cave. Cal’s lightsaber buzzes to life, bright blue light painting the cave walls. Your flashlight begins to glow a soft white the darker the rock hallway gets, puny compared to Cal’s light. Outlined by the light of his lightsaber, you can see the back of Cal’s head, clearly deep in thought. He leads you in and out of twisting hallways, one hand on the cool rock as he traces the swirling patterns. 

The deeper you go, the more constrictive the quiet becomes, broken only by the soft hum of Cal’s lightsaber and your own steady footsteps behind him. You train your eyes on the dusty floor, resisting the urge to stare into the back of Cal’s head, he’d probably notice, another freaky jedi thing you despised. 

That burning in your throat found its way sneaking into your mouth. You’re supposed to be used to this distance, the space that had grown between you two. You’d both chosen it, right? You clear your throat, though you keep your voice low. “Why do you need me here? Seems like you have it figured out.”

Cal glances back, his eyes bright, reflecting the blue of his lightsaber. For a second, you catch a flicker of something in Cal’s eyes. Hurt? Confusion? His gaze shifts quickly, back to the shadowed path ahead.

“Uh it’s kind of complicated….” He looks at you briefly, then away again, his brow furrowing as if he’s searching for the right words. 

“Complicated.” you repeat, not a question, an open ended statement. 

Cal shrugs. “It’s nice having your company, and uh, Cere wanted me to talk to you.”

Your chest tightens at that, though you hide it by turning your flashlight down, angling it at the uneven floor. “Talk to me about what?” you murmur, hoping the strain in your voice is masked by the dimness.

Cal shifts uncomfortably, his fingers flexing on the hilt of his lightsaber. He hesitates, glancing down at the ground. “I’m… not sure, exactly.” He lets out a quiet, almost sheepish laugh, and rubs the back of his neck. “You know how Cere is. She notices things.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, drawing blood. The metallic taste flooding your mouth, at least it distracts you from the burning that’s migrated down to your chest. “Right.”. You remain silent, waiting for Cal to continue. 

“Yeah. Well…” He trails off. “She just… she mentioned that maybe I’ve been too focused on other things lately. Missions. My training. I guess she’s noticed the same distance we have.” He frowns as if the realisation itself hurts, like he hadn’t allowed himself to fully think it through until now.

“Do you think we’re distant?,” you test.

Cal’s gaze flickers to you, eyes shadowed in the dim glow of his sabre, his face unreadable. “I don’t know,” he says softly. 

The words land heavier than you expect. You look away, blinking back the heat gathering in your eyes, refusing to let yourself break here, in front of him. Not now. But Cal notices anyway, he wants to say more, to reach out, but he hesitates, unsure.

“Look,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper, “I know things have been... tense. Different. We’re both busy people - and I didn’t want to push you if - if you needed space.”

The admission makes something clench inside you, the ache you’d buried threatening to spill over. But you force yourself to respond with a casual shrug. “Space is good, I guess,” you say, though it sounds empty even to your own ears. “Priorities and all that.”

The silence stretches out, thick and stifling, until finally, Cal turns and begins walking deeper into the cave, leaving you to follow. And for the rest of the trek, neither of you say anything more.

~

Later, back on the Mantis, the quiet surrounding you settle into the small corner bunk that has become your refuge, pressing the small of your back into the ship's cold walls. You’re alone, listening to the gentle hum of the ship as it drifts through hyperspace. You’d expected to feel relieved, finally back in the comfort of the Mantis. But instead, you feel raw, grated over like a freshly scraped knee that keeps getting reopened, every emotion you’d tried so hard to contain is now dangerously close to the surface.

Footsteps sound from the hall, Cal appears in the doorway. His expression softens when he sees you, but he hesitates, glancing away as if he’s still unsure of his place. It's ironic really, seeing as he usually sleeps in the bunk opposite yours, but as of late he’s taken to sleeping in the co-pilot's chair. 

“We were gonna get food at one of the outer rim planets if you wanted to join us,” he says tentatively. 

You try to force a smile, but it falters, and before you can stop yourself, you look down, your voice tight. “I’m fine. Not really hungry.”

He nods slowly, but there’s a look in his eyes that tells you he doesn’t believe you. He goes to leave but something boils over. “Look, if there’s something you need to tell me just tell me alright? I’m sick of this weird back and forth we’re having.” You feel the tears prick at your eyes, a dull ache in your chest as you struggle to keep it together. “I miss you, and I don’t know what I did but just talk to me.”

But the weight of it all, the loneliness, the unspoken feelings, finally breaks through. “You don’t talk to me,” you whisper, the words barely audible. 

Cal’s face falls, and he steps further into the room, looking at you with something between frustration and guilt. “I do talk to you,” he insists, voice tense. “But every time, it’s just… it’s like you’re not there.”

You fling yourself up. “I barely say anything? All you ever say to me is—‘hi,’ ‘bye,’ and ‘goodnight.’ That’s it. That’s all I get now!”

Cal steps forward, his jaw clenching. “That’s not fair, and you know it. I’ve been busy, but I just thought… I thought you just needed space!”

“I didn’t need space, Cal; I needed you,” you shoot back, your voice cracking. The tears are hot and sticky staining your cheek, you look away, unable to bear the way he’s looking at you—like a beautiful puppy. “I’m just—just here, waiting for scraps of your attention.”

“You think I don’t feel this too? That I don’t notice the distance?” His voice raises, rawer. “You think I don’t notice you slipping off and going to bed whenever I come home? Or - or you smiling and talking to everyone else on this goddamn ship except for me? You think I   like feeling like I’m losing you?”

His words hit you like a blow, raw and passionate, the pure emotion in his eyes, and for a moment, you can’t find anything to say. You swallow hard, turning away, you wipe at your cheeks, hating that you’re crying, hating that you can’t seem to hold it together in front of him. “You do that too.” Your voice trembles. “You do that too.” You repeat. 

Cal’s face twists with an emotion you can’t read, and he looks away, like he’s trying to gather himself. “I can’t lose you,” he says, so quietly you almost don’t hear him. His gaze flicks back to you, and in his eyes, you see the same hurt, the same longing that’s been eating away at you. “It’ll kill me.”

Before you can respond, he steps forward and pulls you into him, his arms wrapping around you in a fierce, almost desperate embrace. The distance between you vanishes, and you feel his warmth, the steady rise and fall of his chest against yours, the solid, grounding presence of him surrounding you. 

His lips find yours, first a tentative kiss, then filled with a desperate kind of need, and you melt into it, your hands gripping his arms as if you’re afraid he might let go. When he pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breath warm against your skin.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. He strokes your hair. He pulls away and wipes the tears from your face. “I’m so sorry.”

“Just kiss me.” you say.

Masterlist

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[f1a1w1n]

Ha!- me when-

Oh yes! Pennies and dimes you drawers are mine 🙂‍↕️😏

[f1a1w1n]

No, you don't

Part 7

Summary: Drunk confessions.

Warnings: none

Authors note:

Heyyy... hey... how ya'll doin?

omg guess who's back? I has someone request for some more angst like ages ago and I never got around to it (so sorry) and I couldn't find their request so whoever you are this is for you *gives you a sloppy forehead kiss* BUT I will eventually get around to whatever u request so...

Enjoy

~

‘Kreeds kavern for kanacious kanacoids and other members of the galaxy’

That's what the sign for the pub said. So so so many ‘k’s.  

The loud rumbling of chatter, glasses clinking, and music pumping from the speakers cast an ambience over the bar. I nurse a short drink of some amber liquid - whatever it is, it drowns the sound of droid fighting out. I wave the bartender over, a sour look comes over his face as he grumbles over.

“Hey, could I get another-” Before I can finish my sentence, the bartender slams down a whole bottle on the counter. “Okay thanks…” 

We decided to stay in the bar longer - we, as in mainly Poe. I swirl the liquid around in my glass as I glance over at Poe. He’s decided to take the most socially conversational seat in the house, i.e. the furthest seat from me. On the other side of the bar. Alone. 

I place down my drink. “Ready to go?” I semi yell over the chatter of the room. His eyes barely flick towards me, he smirks and says, “Why? Can’t handle drinking sweetheart?” He shakes his head and down another shot of some hard liquor. 

It's sad really. 

“Okay that’s enough.” I hop off my bar stool and meander over to Poe’s side of the bar, bottle in hand. “Drunk enough to tell me what’s going on?”

“Not nearly enough.” Poe half laughs as he snatches the bottle out of my hand and pours himself a shot. 

“Okay buddy.” I pry the bottle from Poe’s warm fingers. He peers up at me with big brown glossy eyes. His hair sticks to his forehead, he smiles half heartedly. 

“What are you doing? You’re messing up our whole dynamic. We’re supposed to hate each other enthusiastically, remember? How am I supposed to hate you when you’re drunk? That gives you an advantage.” I say.

“It gives me an advantage.” Poe repeats, hiccuping on the last word. 

“Yes.” I say.

“Who said I hate you?” Poe straightens and stands up, looking down on me. He crosses his arms, flexing his forearm muscles. 

“Seriously? Your whole vibe,” I laugh. “From day one you’ve quite literally treated me like the gum on the bottom of your shoe. You wouldn’t let me save Rey, you wouldn’t even talk to me, you didn’t even want to go on this mission!”

Poe frowns, but lets me talk.

“You’d rather run cargo than escort me to a desert planet,” I sit on the bar stool, taking a swig of my drink. “And you’ve made yourself very very drunk - to drown my presence out I imagine.” 

Poe sits back down. “I don’t hate you.”

I scoff. “Yeah right.” I grin through the rim of my drink. “In case you forgot, you called me ‘sith equivalent’.”

Poe groans and slumps forward on the table. “I didn’t mean that.” 

He’s a horrible liar.

“Oh, I think you did.” I say, fighting back the anger rising in my voice. I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks, and suddenly the bar was too stuffy.

Suddenly, Poe grabs me by the elbow and drags me to a dark corner of the pub, behind two sandy pillars plastered in posters. “What?-” I protest. 

He angles his body in front of me. Inescapable. His dark eyes lower to mine and I can feel the heat radiating from him. A thin layer of sweat sticks to his forehead, as his glassy eyes stick to mine. “I don’t hate you.” His eyes bore into mine and he refuses to release his grip on my elbow. I can’t escape him, but I can escape his piercing gaze. I turn my eyes anywhere, everywhere except for his face. Poe murmurs my name quietly. “I don’t hate you.” 

I look down. “Let go please.”. My voice cracks softly, threatening to express emotion. Not here I think, not in front of him!

Poe’s face crumples into some expression - whatever it is I can’t read it, or more likely I don’t want to. I can’t look at him, I can’t stand him.

I tear my elbow from his grip and run up the stairs. I run up the stairs and burst open the doors. Warm fresh air hits my face. The night sky of Jakku, a rich shade of dark blue.

Maybe I should just stay here. 

I’m caught up in my thoughts. 

I hate Poe. 

No, you don’t. 

I hate him, I hate him so much. I hate his wandering eyes, I hate how confident he is. I hate the way I feel around him. I hate that he hates me, and I hate that I hate him. And now he’s telling me he doesn’t hate me?

I’m just gonna get through this mission and I’ll steal a starfighter or something. Leave Rey, leave Finn, leave the rebellion alone, and most importantly leave Poe. I don’t care, it's not my fight in the first place. My fight was before my time and I’ve already paid for it, with something that wasn’t my choice. 

I tighten my scarf around my head and make for the exit of the markets, then suddenly, a cold strong hand grips my arm. 

Poe? I think foolishly.

I look up. White armour. The armour that makes your skin crawl. The armour that makes you cower. Before I can react, more hands grasp me and I can’t move. 

The force you idiot.

But before I can do that, a sharp pain sticks me in the side of the neck. I see a stormtrooper pull away with a long thin needle. My head goes foggy, thoughts swirling like sticky honey, and the one person I can think about as my eyelids droop?

Poe. 

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[f1a1w1n]

Centre of it all (Cal Kestis x (f!) reader)

Part one

Summary: You, a jedi hides on the most remote plant in the galaxy. No one can find you, or so you think. Enemies to lovers, Friends to lovers etc.

Word count: 1k

Warnings: none

Authors note: I'm writing a new fic. if you have any ideas pls tell me, comment or tel me in the google form at the bottom. love ya pls enjoy

~

Rain. 

A stupid amount of rain. Not that it bothered you particularly or anything, its just your speeder was rusted at this point and left at home, and you were so used to the dry weather and walking everywhere that it had become a habit to walk to the market whenever you needed anything. 

It was a small town that you lived on the outskirts of, on a small planet, in a small system on the outer rim of the galaxy. The town you live in was mainly made of wet grey bricks -now covered in blooming green moss. You stand on the steps of a small grocer, a small shel of wet rock your only cover. The grocer - if you can even call it that, it's just old Syue with her imports and exports of the week, sometimes it's fresh produce and sometimes it's best to stick to the non-perishables. 

As you wait foolishly for the rain to stop you think back to two weeks ago - a strange disturbance in the force, something bright, energetic… terrifying. The small planet was your only refuge, growing tired of moving around - this small gem was your lifeline in a never ending cesspool of politics. That presence in the force was alluring to you, your mind constantly flicking back to it. What was it? 

“Fuck it.” You say. You bolt down the street, groceries clutched in hand. You turn the corner ducking under cover whenever you can. Eventually you reached your small house, on the very edge of town. Surrounded by foliage and dense grass your house stood defiantly against the rain, brave little thing. 

You kick off your shoes and dump the groceries on the counter. You squeeze out as much water from your hair as you can. You glance at the clock. 

“Ugh.” It was time for work. I mean as bad as jobs go, this wasn’t the worst. You can’t really find jobs as a jedi can you? No - you can’t, and working as a waitress isn’t horrible?

Your blanket and pillows still remain on the floor from when you had fallen out of bed this morning, a vivid dream burned into your eyes. A bright red energy in a field of dull grey reaching out to you. “No” you say in your dream. The red energy creeps forward. “Who are you?” No reply. Suddenly the energy takes a vague form, it's a man. You can barely hear him say something. “Pardon?” you say. 

“...who are you…” you barely catch the man say - then all of a sudden you flung from your dream and you wake up on your floor. 

Dreams like this have been clouding your mind for months now. You're barely getting any quality sleep.

~

Jido Kara’s Tavern

For the most part, this evening was the busiest shift you had seen in a long time. Practically the whole town was there. You speculate its cause of the most recent import of alcohol, courtesy of Old Syue.

Wring the rag between your hands as you sit down your boss sits next to you.

“Why don’t you call off early? Rica is coming in to cover your shift.”

“Okay, sure. I’ll just get a drink first.”

He gives you a pat on the back and waddles off to the back. A game of sport is playing on the tiny tv at one side of the bar - close to the door where everyone is huddled. Cries of yay’s and boo’s chorus through the bar as the town's favourite team play. Obviously, you choose the opposite end of the bar to sit. The bartender, Deonor, pours you a drink and winks.

“On the house.” 

You smile gratefully, unable to make small talk. He doesn’t chide you for it. What seems like an hour goes by when you occasionally look at the game and sipping at your drink. Deonor refills it. Then suddenly you see a head of red hair poke through the crowd which surrounds the small tv. He boo’s and cheers with the rest of the group. You wave Deonor over. 

“Do you know that guy?” You carefully point to him. 

Deonor thinks for a second. “Hm yeah, he’s new. He’s been coming in for the last two weeks getting drinks if I remember correctly.”

“Oh right.” You say as nonchalantly as possible.

“Why?”

“Oh, no reason, just curious.” You say lost in thought. Why does he feel familiar? You can’t help but stare at the back of his head. Maybe if you stare long enough you’ll know. 

“I think he was looking for someone.” Deonor says. But you barely hear him, too intent on this man’s familiarity. 

“Uh huh.” you say, taking another sip of your drink. You can barely make out his face, only his hair is visible over the small ground of sports enthusiasts. 

“I think he was looking for you.” Deonor says. 

You almost spit out your drink. “I’m sorry what?” just as you say this you lock eyes with the man. You can almost feel your face flush as his bright eyes scan your face. But just as quickly as he looked at you, you turned around and high-tail for the back exit. 

“Wait” the man says over the crowd. 

You ignore him speed walking back home. Why did he feel so familiar? Just to be sure you reach out with the force scanning the crowd and sure enough, a bright red presence at the centre of it all.

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