No no because I love your depiction of Jet??? Oh my god?? Like hell yeah hes a fearless leader of a freedom fighting rebellion group he built from the ground up but he’s also?? JUST A TEEN!! JUST A BOY!! Teenage boys get butterflies too!!??
🌾 ・ POCKETFUL OF BUTTERFLIES
summ. Operation: Creeping Cricket was a botch. It looks like you and Jet aren’t gonna be headed home anytime soon.
pairing. Jet x f!medic!reader
w.count. 1.1k
a/n. ANON YOURE SO RIGHT. Sometimes we forget Jet is really just a teenage boy grappling with hormones and feelings and everything inbetween! Enjoy this short continuation to Hand in Loving Hand!
You take a mental note to thank Longshot and his squirrel-like tendencies to hide emergency stashes up in trees for times like these.
“Here,” Jet says softly, “Y’might catch a cold soon.”
The change of clothes he offers you is weathered, but a warm welcome respite from the frigid chill that’s settled into your bones.
Operation Creeping Cricket had been a complete bust. Your narrow escape is a stroke of luck with all things considered, and at least the rain has finally stopped. It doesn’t help that both you and Jet are soaked head to toe, however, and the fact that the temperatures in the forests by Omashu can drop critically.
Your cheeks are raw; your fingers ache— but you manage to begin peeling off the layers of your clothes one by one to dry by the campfire. From across, Jet’s already managed to change out. He frowns in concern from where he’s sitting by the fire, watching you tip over a boot of water.
“You’re shaking.”
“Shivering,” you correct, trying to stop the chatter of your teeth. You wonder if biting on a wheat straw like how Jet is doing right now would help. “But, yes. Same thing I suppose.”
Then you’re untying the strings of your tunic, and pulling it swiftly over your head.
Jet barely has time to react.
He practically snaps his neck turning away, eyes wide.
The whiplash, the innocent attempt at privacy, has you biting back a laugh.
Ever the gentleman.
“You can look now,” you finally say, after a quick minute, and Jet is careful to turn.
The garments that Longshot had stashed practically drowns your figure, sleeves bundling at the wrists; collar wide and dipping low enough to reveal the corded necklace you never remove. And then there’s the glow of the fire, honeying you in amber light as you run your fingers through your damp hair.
You’re… effortlessly beautiful. He’s not quite sure there’s any other way to describe you.
“That bad, huh?” you ask, pinned under his gaze.
Jet startles. “Sorry, I— No, you just, look cold, still.”
He clears his throat as the tips of his ears burn. He hopes to the Spirits beyond you hadn’t noticed them go red. (You did.)
“Well, so do you.” You reach back into Longshot’s knapsack and tug out a blanket from inside, before making your way across to the log Jet’s settled on. The material is tanned and threadbare, but it would do for the night.
Your hands brush as you wrap the cloth around the both of you.
It’s difficult not to focus on just how warm Jet is. Even more difficult not to lean against him.
It hadn’t mattered much in the end, though; Jet shifts closer, and presses his shoulder against yours.
“Y’okay?” You ask, gentle.
Under the dim firelight, his hard edges seem to soften. The fearless leader of the Freedom Fighters can be surprisingly endearing. Suddenly, Jet is simply another survivor; another casualty of war.
He shrugs lightly, careful not to jostle you, and makes a face. “Eh. We’ve faced worse, haven’t we?”
You laugh, ducking into his shoulder. Jet wonders if you can physically feel the butterflies taking flight in his chest.
There’s a spill of flowers behind you— budding Moonflowers, he recognises; native to Earth Kingdom wildlife— and has half the mind to pluck one and hand it to you.
He chews harder on the straw in his mouth instead.
( He knows you don’t see him that way, anyway. You’d made that clear before. ‘We’re family,’ is what you’d told him; Him and the rest of the Freedom Fighters. ‘Found family.’ And while he isn’t complaining, he’d be lying to himself if he didn’t imagine atleast once what it’d be like to be something more with you.
Even if you did, he’s not quite sure he’d act on it. He’s not quite sure he can allow himself to be that vulnerable to someone. Not when he's a wanted man; not when subjecting someone into his dangerous lifestyle is the last thing he wants— even if said someone had signed up for it. )
“I’ll take first watch.” he says, after a moment.
“Y’sure? I don’t mind doing it. I promise I’ll wake you up this time.”
He laughs at the old memory. The smile, however, doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ll be fine. You need rest.”
Quietly, you read him. Measure the micro-expressions that pass his face. Having fought alongside Jet throughout the years of survival made it easier. Whenever night falls, and the weight of his duties could settle if only for a little while, you could finally see all of him. Just a teenager who’s fighting for what he believed in; a kid who had to take on the world too early.
That illusion of 24/7 confidence falls around you often, though never around the younger rebels. You’ve kept the privilege close to your heart.
“You’re worried.”
He picks on the hearth for a moment, listens to the crackle of the fire.
Jet doesn’t doubt the Freedom Fighters’ capabilities. Longshot’s probably camping out somewhere in the trees with Smellerbee and The Duke, and Pipsqueak and Sneers can navigate these forests even better than him. They’ve all probably made it home already, knowing them.
And yet. And yet—
“Yeah,” he says. He didn’t like admitting it, because it implied they couldn’t protect themselves. It’d have meant he isn’t confident in them; that he, to some degree, didn’t trust them. It’s a twisted mindset, he recognises, but he can’t quite help his way of thinking these days. He didn’t like admitting he cared more than he really should— it’d be a concession. An admission.
An admission that he might truly snap if he lost any of the Freedom Fighters; that he might truly break if, Spirits forbid, he’d lose you.
The thought sends a frisson up his spine.
That shouldn’t scare him. It shouldn’t.
He blinks, shakes his head. “That obvious?”
“No. But I’ve known you for years now,” you nudge. “It’s okay to worry, y’know? You can care. You do care. There’s nothing wrong with that. You don’t have to act like you don’t for the sake of appearing calm and collected and… cool.”
He cocks his head at that, musters a playful smile. “Ah. So you think I’m cool?”
It’s meant to derail the conversation. Fortunately for him, it’s successful. Jet watches you bow your head and laugh; the bright one, the kind that makes his heart sing.
Camaraderie, he reminds himself, swallowing thickly as he reluctantly turns away from you. Nothing more, nothing less.
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WRIOTHESLEY WANK BANK LMAOOOO
no bc he is exactly who i was thinking about. that smirk of his when you squeal as he wraps his arms around your waist and rubs his sweaty head against yours, but you’re a little warm to the touch and have a bashfulness to you as he chuckles and noses at your jaw…..oh he is literally so stinky but HHHHHHHH much to thirst over 😩
AWFUL DUKE. BRUTE. HEATHEN.
Scoops you up and IGNORES your rants and complaints at how filthy he is. Has the AUDACITY to smirk at your plight - chuckles even! Your halfhearted swats at his broad shoulders do NOTHING to dissuade him. In fact, it only encourages him to jostle you just a bit higher in his arms. Just enough so that he can hook an arm right beneath your ass and force your thighs around his waist. Such a familiar lead into other activities that you can feel yourself clench around nothing in anticipation. And you know he would never drop you, but you use involuntary squeeze of your thighs around his waist as an excuse to hide your own arousal. And he can't help but chuckle at that as well. Fucker.
You tell him he's dirty and needs to wash up and he hums - as if he's actually contemplating it - then shrugs. Your cunt clenches; drools. You tell him he stinks as though that'll stop his trek to the next room - the bedroom. You bemoan the fact that now he's going to make you stink. But you don't get to finish that ramble before he's dropping you unceremoniously onto the bed - breath knocked out of you enough where your complaints ceases while you eye him.
Broad chest covered in wiry hair. Thick arms. A sheen of sweat still visible on parts of him. Lazy gaze with an underlying mischievousness. And even lazier unwrapping of those leather bandages. Awful, awful man. Sheds those wraps onto the floor and climbs over you, pleased at the way his added weight around you makes you sink into the mattress.
He stinks. And you tell him as much. Black tea and iron and sweat and leather and him -
You don't tell him how intoxicating it is to you. You don't need to. The needy whimper he pulls out of you simply by pressing a thumb against your clothed cunt is all he needs. The messy slip of your slick when he thumbs your panties to the side is an added bonus. For him.
Brute of a Duke. He's doing the laundry this time.
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I’ve contemplated a lot about why Luke was the sort of person that Anakin felt inspired enough to turn his back on Sidious and the dark side for, while Padme, Obi-Wan, and Ahsoka weren’t.
While Anakin does become a hypocrite who no one was obligated to forgive after he turned dark, regardless of his tragic circumstances and compromised agency, I think Luke was the one who finally inspired him to turn back because, in spite of as “above it all” as Obi-Wan, Padme, and even Ahsoka wanted to believe they were, they still had many of the same issues Anakin developed of feeling pressured to be people pleasers to corrupt authority figures, expectations, and rules that they knew were wrong out of fear of the unknown under compromised agency, moral hypocrisy, pride, manipulative tactics, selfishness, and/or an exceedingly vengeful side in their anger that they were not willing to pull back on when they dueled him or other enemies that piss him off.
Padme, Obi-Wan, and Ahsoka loved Anakin, but they were also prideful, self-centered, and terrified people who were too afraid to admit that their methods flawed, too afraid to take a stand against the standards of these broken systems they were born into, too afraid to admit they were wrong, too afraid to take risks to do better, and too afraid to admit that they weren’t as “above it all” as they pretended to be.
Luke Skywalker being Anakin’s son is definitely one of the influencing factors that inspires him to turn back to the light. However, it’s also because Luke is self-accepting of his bad decisions, flaws, and mistakes. He’s aware that the old Jedi Order was deeply flawed, hypocritical, and misguided, in spite of their good intentions. He’s unwilling to stoop to the same level as his enemies. He won’t let himself get carried away with baiting his father into a fight when he gets angry, and start making justifications of how he’s “right” just because he has good intentions, just because he was fucked with first, just because he’s not a Sith, or just because it’s “too dangerous” to take a risk to be honest, kind, and offer one of his enemies (his father) a better opportunity when he sees that he really is also a victim of Sidious who is still struggling against his darker instincts and searching for freedom and love from family. He refuses to enable Anakin’s slave mentality and ultimately refuses to let his father believe that “Anakin Skywalker is dead.”
This isn’t saying that Anakin is an innocent, that Luke was obligated to forgive him, or that his victims didn’t have valid reasons to fear him and resent him. Of course, they did. The point is that in those little moments where he tries to reach out to Ahsoka, Padme, and Obi-Wan about being unhappy with the Jedi and keeping secrets of his marriage before going dark, backs off, says “Don’t make me destroy you,” or lets them go, they all had an opportunity to refuse to further perpetuate the cycle of abuse by acting in anger and vengeance. They could have refused to encourage his sense of compromised agency. They could have broken the cycle of system sting abuse, crime, and oppression with Anakin in those instances by being the bigger person.
Instead Padme and Obi-Wan encouraged him to continue to stay with the Jedi and/or keep his marriage secret when they knew their systems were corrupt, and knew he was becoming increasingly emotionally/mentally unstable and unhappy in ways that made him a danger to himself and those around him out of fear of the unknown by pretending that he would just get better if they told him he would when he tried to say otherwise.
Instead, Ahsoka ended up declaring that she’d “avenge her master” when he refused to join her right away and told her “Anakin Skywalker is dead because he destroyed him.”
Instead, Obi-Wan egged him on into a duel on Mustafar by using Padme as bait, and refused to back off after getting him to let go of Padme from his reckless blind rage/paranoia force choke before killing her when he thought she brought Obi-Wan to kill him and even got him to a point where he could tell Obi-Wan “Don’t make me kill you.” When Anakin cornered him again 10 years later for revenge that he clearly didn’t want as much as he had convinced himself he did because he still cared about Obi-Wan deep down, tells Obi-Wan “I destroyed Anakin Skywalker, not you,” and even gives Obi-Wan a chance to run away, Obi-Wan allows Anakin to continue to believe that Anakin is dead, convinces himself that he is, and he runs away to compartmentalize his own guilt over how he mistreated Anakin.
Instead, another ten years later, Obi-Wan more or less encourages Anakin/Vader to kill him by just standing there after confronting him in A New Hope, and saying “I’ll become more powerful than you can ever imagine.”
So the reason as to why Anakin can’t be inspired to atone or do better by Ahsoka, Padme, or Obi-Wan isn’t just because he’s a deeply flawed person. It’s because they are too, they live in denial of it, and let him live in denial of it, too.
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