#pirate!kix

[kaminocasey]

Sacred Woman (Part One)

Summary: You're the First Mate on the Meson Martinet, the ship that Sidon Ithano captains. A few years ago, you all accidentally found Kix, thinking he was the lost treasure of Count Dooku. Instead, you found an even better treasure. Now, you’re searching far and wide in the galaxy for the scientist who could possibly undo the progressive aging gene in Kix's DNA. You'll stop at nothing.

Pairing: Pirate!Kix x (fem) Pirate!Rader

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI; Violence, Attempted SA, Blood, Angst, eventual Smut

WC: 3.3K

A/N: I've been working on this since APRIL. I'm so freaking excited about this story! Parts of this were inspired/used from "The Crimson Corsair and the Lost Treasure of Count Dooku" by Landry Q. Walker (Free on Kindle Unlimited). Photos found from Pinterest!

Sacred Woman Masterlist │ TAGLIST FORM │ Sacred Woman Playlist

“Look at this, Blitz… A pretty little thing… walking all alone down this dark alley.” A slimy voice purrs and you automatically start to grab your knife out of your boot. 

One of the guys chuckles, obviously underestimating you. His mistake. It’s been a while since you’ve fought someone, but only because you’ve been doing your best to keep out of trouble. 

“She thinks that’s going to do something.” The other guy smirks, glancing at your knife. 

Normally, you’d give a guy a warning. But with these guys… this could’ve been some other poor woman walking down this back alley, so you won’t feel too bad when you inevitably have to slit their throats. 

You wait for one of them to touch you. You wait for them to make the move… 

“Come on, sweetheart.” The first guy starts to touch your jacket.

That’s all you need. You strike first, grabbing his wrist and bending it back, making him gasp in pain. His buddy is taken aback and stumbles back, startled. Good. 

“You bitch.” The one in front of you, growls and you smirk, pulling your knife up under his chin, trailing it down to his Adam’s apple. 

His snarl quickly turns into trembling fear and he automatically starts begging for his life. They always do… Except his buddy starts to grab for a blaster tucked in his jacket and you quickly throw your knife into his wrist, making him cry out in pain. Sending your fist into the first guy’s right jaw, you knock him right out. He drops with a satisfying ‘thud’ and you quickly slide over to the other guy, grabbing your knife out of his wrist and he starts to run away, leaving his buddy behind with no problem. 

A set of footsteps brings your attention back the other way as you raise your knife, prepared for another fight. You’re met with a tall Delphidian holding one of his hands up in a surrendering manner, the other hand holding a red Kaleesh helmet. 

“What do you want?” You ask him, not tucking away your knife. 

He smiles, softly. “I’m Sidon Ithano, the Crimson Corsair.”

“Is that supposed to mean something?” You lean down and wipe the blade on the shirt of the guy who’s still out cold and then tuck it into your boot again before standing up. 

“I’m a pirate.”

“Okay. And?” You ask him, still staring at him.

“I saw those guys starting to attack you and then tried to come help. But you clearly had no problem on your own, there.” 

You shrug. “Did you need something?” 

“I could use some muscle like that on my crew.” He smiles. 

You let out a huff of a laugh, tilting your head. “You want me to join your pirate crew?” 

He nods. “You’re a Mandalorian, are you not?” 

You stare at him, harder. You’ve not called yourself that for a few years now. There weren’t many of you left. 

“Used to be… How could you tell?” You ask, placing your hands on your hips.

“From your fighting. It was a Mandalorian style I’ve not seen in a long time…” 

“Right…” 

“So, what do you say?” He asks. 

You walk past him. “No thanks.” 

Who the hell is this guy? The Crimson Corsair… why does that name sound so familiar? 

“Do you have another purpose here?” He asks you.

You stop, staring ahead. How could he see through you so well? You’ve been on this planet for a few months, temporarily living in a cheap hostel, doing bounty work on the side. Quite a life, you’ve made for yourself, right? Your family would be so proud… 

It wouldn’t kill you to start a new adventure. Or maybe it would. But either way, you can’t help but be curious. 

You turn around, staring at the tall pirate. “When do we leave?” 

Five Years Later… 

“What do you think?” Sidon’s modulated asks you as you both stand over a dead Trandoshan.

The crew is still up in the ship and as Sidon’s first mate, you’re next to him at all times. He doesn’t speak a lot, except to you. He trusts you to do most of the speaking on his behalf.

“Well, it doesn’t look good.” You joke. 

The planet you’re on isn’t necessarily First Order run… but there is a presence here. You’re supposed to be picking this guy up so he could take you to a scientist who you’ve been searching for for two years.

“Should we leave him, Captain?” You ask.

“Do you think someone is leaving us a message?” He wonders, aloud, ignoring your question. 

“Could be…” You shrug in agreement. 

“But from whom?” Sidon murmurs, kicking the guy over onto his back. “There are very few people who know who we’re looking for.”

His eyes are missing, leaving burnt crispy edges behind. Ew. 

The truth is there could be any number of people trying to “leave you a message”. You have a lot of friends, and you have a lot of enemies. So to narrow it down is next to impossible. 

��Tell me what you think.” Sidon tells you, turning back to face you. 

He glances past you at some of the crew peeking out the hatch. When they see him looking at them, they quickly make themselves busy. 

“I think we should leave him.” You answer. “We’ll find another way…” 

He nods, considering it for a moment… calculating… “We’ll leave him.” 

You start to head back up toward the hatch, Sidon only a step behind you. But you feel him pause, so you turn to look at him as he still stares at the body, deep in thought. After knowing the Captain for the last five years, you’re pretty well able to anticipate his moves and thoughts. It feels like you’ve known him your whole life. 

“What-” You start to ask, but all of a sudden, violent blaster fire is raining down on you.

You and your captain run toward the hatch, with you yelling into your comm to start the ship. Only seconds later, you hear the familiar sounds of boosters and engines starting up. Sidon pauses at the closing hatch toward the culprit of the blaster fire and more than likely also the dead Trandoshan. 

It’s always a trap, isn’t it?

“All hands to stations.” Your voice carries throughout the ship. “I repeat, all hands to stations. We are under attack.”

As you make your way through the Meson Martinet, up to the bridge, you run directly into your medic, Kix. Kix is a clone who once fought in the Clone Wars and got kidnapped by Separatists and held in cryo for 50 years. You and Sidon, and the rest of the crew found him a few years ago, thinking it was the lost treasure of Count Dooku. Turned out to be even better than treasure. Though you’d never admit that to anyone. You have a soft spot for the man. He’s also who you were doing all of this for. That Trandoshan was supposed to take you to a scientist who’s supposedly able to undo the progressive aging gene in Kix’s DNA, which once affected all clones.

“You alright?” He smirks. 

You nod. “Yep.” 

“You find the guy?” He asks, falling into step with you as you head toward the bridge again. 

“Yeah, but someone else got to him first apparently.” 

“Dead?”

“Yep.” You reply, popping the ‘p’ sound. 

He considers this as you get into the lift up to the bridge. “Well, we’ll figure it out.” 

“Always so positive.”

“Only because I believe in you.” He grins.

You ignore the warmth spreading through your veins and to your cheeks. 

Get it together, you’re under attack right now, you chide yourself internally. 

When the lift doors slide open, you nod to the medic and approach Sidon. 

“Get us out of here.” Sidon commands Parth. 

“Yes, sir.” He replies. 

The Meson Martinet lurches upwards toward the atmosphere, shaking slightly from taking fire. Yours and Sidon’s eyes remain forward out the windows, until you see the vast blackness of space.

“Hyperdrive. Now.” Sidon commands.

The ship pauses ever so slightly before shooting forwards into the dancing bright blues of hyperspace. You can feel everyone visibly relax once Sidon sits down in the captain’s seat. You stand next to him, looking down at him.

“Where to now?” You ask him.

He gently waves you off, to let him think. With a nod, you walk away to the deck command. 

“Reset the coordinates.” You tell the pilot, Parth, a young Rodian, but also one of the best pilots you’ve ever seen.

“Where for, ma’am?” He asks, quietly.

You glance back at the pondering captain, who still seems to be deep in thought, before giving Parth the new coordinates. It’s a quick split decision that you make. If Sidon decides that it was a waste of fuel, then fine. But for now, you know it’ll be a safe place to go. 

As you walk through the ship, you do your duties of inspecting things, checking the cargo, making sure people are doing what they’re supposed to be doing, helping out when you’re needed. You’ve been Sidon’s first mate for the last four years. It was a hard job at first, but now it all seems to come natural to you.

Kix smiles and says your name from the open door of the incredibly small makeshift medbay when you start to pass by. Stopping to lean in the doorway, you cross your arms with your own soft smile.

You’ll never forget the first time you and Kix locked eyes when he woke up from that cryo-cycle stasis pod. He looked so scared and confused. It made your heart hurt right away, even though you did your best to hide that fact. 

“You don’t understand!” He yelled, his voice breaking as he shoved Reveth, a red twi’lek. “I’m a medic, and I learned something… something horrible… Fives knew. He’s the one who figured it all out after Tup… and it got him killed. But I kept investigating. They said it was a virus…” 

You see out of the corner of your eye Sidon gesturing subtly to Squeaky, a large Gamorrean, who’s surprisingly kind and funny, and Pendewquell, a tall Ishi Tib man who’s been on the crew probably longer than you’ve been alive. The two guys start circling to either side of the poor clone. 

“A chip in our heads. In all the clones’ heads! And an order. A command to betray… kill… and it comes from the Chancellor!” 

Kix had grabbed Squeaky’s outstretched hand and flung him into Pendewquell. The effort is obviously too much for him though and makes him stagger a bit but he keeps talking, quicker this time. 

“The Seppies… captured me. Interrogated me to find out who else knew.” He seems to be sweating and shaking. He looks so sad, your heart is urging you to go to him. 

Finally his eyes land on you and he starts to slow down. 

“I… I never had a chance to tell anyone else what I learned. I didn’t know who I could trust… But I wouldn’t tell them anyway.”

You nod. You’re sure your face is mirroring the heartbreak in this man’s voice. His eyes never leave yours as he continues. 

“So they said… they said they were sending me to someone I couldn’t keep secrets from… To the Sith… the cold… the freezing, burning cold…” He slumps immediately to the ground, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. 

You rush to him, holding him up. His body still freezing cold, you take off your jacket and put it over him.

“Stasis poisoning,” Reveth tells you quietly. “He was trapped in there for too long.” 

“No…! I can still save them. Skywalker…” The clone mumbles intently. “Get me General Skywalker! He’ll help. We can save… save the Jedi… save the Republic!”

“What’s your ID, trooper?” Quiggold, a large nervous Gabdorin, asks him.

“CT-6116.” He coughs. “Kix. They call me… Kix… sir…” 

And with that, he slips into unconsciousness. Reveth hands you a breather to place over his face. 

Kix. You can already tell you’re going to do anything to help this man. No matter what. 

You’d barely made it out of that cruiser alive. A bunch of old super battle droids had powered up and then the ship had started to sink. You’d gone to escape in the escape pods but there had only been one and Sidon pushed everyone into it and then pushed the activation switch, which had launched the crew at a high velocity through the Sea of Sand back on Ponemah Terminal, away from the burning and sinking cruiser. 

You’d stayed nearby for three weeks, camping out, scared to leave Sidon behind if he’d somehow made it. You weren’t ready to be a captain yet. You’d only been a first mate for a year. But supplies had started to run low and a desert planet was a really bad place to be without food and water. 

Kix had recovered, physically. He was of course in deep shock over all the history lessons you’d gently given him. 

You hear your name behind you and find Kix, who was after two weeks out of cryo finally looking a lot better. 

At least, physically. He still woke up every night with nightmares, so you stayed nearby him at all times in case he needed you. Everyone would cast you knowing glances and Q even made the mistake of making a comment, but you threatened his life and he apologized and promised to mind his own damn business. 

“Are you alright?” You ask Kix. 

He smiles that heartbreaking smile and nods. He’s incredibly handsome. Probably the most handsome man you’ve ever laid eyes on. And since you aren’t the type to sleep around or fall in love, this revelation of how Kix is making you feel makes you nervous.

Reveth and Quiggold walk over to you, intent clear on their faces. Well, mostly on Reveth’s. Q just looks nervous as always. 

“What?” You cross your arms.

“He’s gone.” Reveth tells you. You know she means Sidon. “And we might as well have sunk with him. We’ve lost everything. We’re ruined.” 

“I know… I just…” You look at the massive indent of where the cruiser was three weeks ago. “One more week. I mean maybe-”

“Maybe what?” She demands, clearly agitated. “Maybe the captain somehow tamed the giant worm and rode it through an explosive desert of sand and lava? Is that what you’re hoping for?” 

You shrug. Theoretically, if anyone could do all of that, Sidon could. But… you know deep down there’s more than likely no chance and that it’d be best for the crew if you were to pack it in and start to head back to the Meson Martinet.

Except right as you start to tell everyone to pack it in, yours and everyone’s jaw drops. In the doorway, stands the Crimson Corsair. Sidon Ithano. His cloak is in tatters and his red helmet is in desperate need of a polish. But here he is right now in front of you… alive.

“H-how?” Quiggold asks, clearly at a loss of words.

Hell, so are you. You’re so happy, you could cry. 

Sidon waves away the questions and instead tosses a metal cube to Kix. 

“What is it?” You ask him.

He looks from you to the cube. “It’s… it’s a Separatist cruiser’s memory core.” Kix tells you. “These were designed to self-destruct. But this one… it must have malfunctioned.” 

He looks up at you. “This cube carries a complete map to every hidden droid factory ever built by the Separatists. Secret bases. Weapons warehouses. Everything.”

Reveth passes by and takes the cube, whistling appreciatively at it. “This would’ve been impossible to decode fifty years ago. Now? Easy. We track down those installations… that’s our ancient buried treasure! We’ll be rich!”Quiggold whistles. “And we just happen to have an expert in Clone Wars-era military installations and their security systems on hand. Welcome aboard, Kix.” 

Kix turns back to you and smiles, making your chest tighten at the sight. You smile softly back at him. If he wants to join the crew, you’d be happy to let him. But if he’d rather go on his own, then you’d have to be okay with that, too.

“Would you like to join the Meson Martinet, Kix?” You ask him, trying to keep the hopeful tone down.

He looks around at the rest of the crew before settling his back on your own. “I’d like that very much.”

You try to ignore the excitement stirring in your stomach and instead cast your smile toward the alive captain.

“How did you survive? The fire… the sand… the giant worm?” You ask him, unable to help the curiousness.

“You know better than that, love. I’m Sidon Ithano… I don’t die so easily.” 

“You busy?” Kix asks you. 

You glance down the empty durasteel hall and then back at Kix, going inside the medbay, shutting the door behind you and leaning against the door, crossing your arms again. 

“I’m sorry someone got to that Trandoshan guy before we could.” You murmur. 

Kix was already showing some slight aging. Maybe that of a man in his mid 30s. The lines in his forehead form a little more each year, and his beard makes him look a bit older. In a good way. Distinguished. Rugged. Handsome. 

The thought of finding this scientist when it could be too late… 

“I’m not upset.” Kix’s voice is softer than it should be. 

He should be upset.

“I am, though.” You look up from the floor, staring at him, coldly. 

He opens his mouth to say something, but is interrupted by Parth comm-ing you to come to the bridge. 

“On my way.” You keep eye contact with Kix as you speak into the small device. 

You and Kix stare at each other for another moment as his brown eyes bare into yours. With a sigh, you turn to go. 

“If…” He starts, making you pause. “If we don’t find this scientist… it won’t be the end of the world.” 

You turn to glare at him. Maybe not the end of the world… but it would be the end of yours… 

“You’ll need to move on-” He tells you, but you don’t let him finish because you walk away, back up to the bridge. 

How could he say such things? Although, it’s not like he knows how you feel. He doesn’t know how you’d tear apart the entire galaxy to find this scientist. He doesn’t know the things you’d do to give him a good, long, happy life. But you can show him. 

When you reach the bridge, Sidon beckons you forward to him. 

“Concordia?” His modulated voice asks, his head tilted ever so slightly. 

You don’t have to be able to see that he’s quirking an eyebrow at you, curiously. He’s basically been prepping you to be captain since you joined the crew. He always tells you what a great leader you’re going to make one day. So, he’s not questioning your choice per se. But he is curious as to why. You know that.

You shrug. “There’s someone that I think could help us.”

“Incoming aircraft, identify yourselves.” A familiar voice says, and you raise your eyebrows at Sidon, waiting for his final okay. 

He thinks for only a few seconds before nodding. You nod once to him before turning back toward Parth and his command deck. 

“Vil,” You say your brother’s name, letting them know you’re not a threat. “It’s me. I need help.” 

It’s quiet for a long moment. Too quiet for too long. When finally…

“Free to dock. Wait to be boarded.” 

“Copy.” You sigh, then look at your crew. “On your best behavior, everyone.” 

You can feel Sidon’s curious smirk as Parth lands the Meson Martinet. 

“Don’t give me that, right now.” You shake your head, amused. 

“Aye, Captain.” He murmurs, teasingly.

TAGS: @twistedstitcher27 @rebel-finn @rexandechosandwich @madameminor @dumfanting @rain-on-kamino @corona-one @tecker @ladykatakuri @brynhildrmimi @the-sith-in-the-sky-with-diamond @zoeykallus @maulslittlemeowmeow @littlemousedroid @arctrooper69 @rexxdjarin @padawancat97 @hated-by-me @sleepingsun501 @idledreams @redheadgirl @themcuwriter @ashotofspotchka @sunshinesdaydream @crosshairsimp73 @ariadnes-red-thread @rosmariner @heyitsaloy @starstofillmydream @high-ct5555 @echos-girlfriend @sleepywych @nekotaetae @justanothersadperson93 @aconstructofamind @book-of-baba-fett @chopper-base @palliateclaw @501st-rexster @dead-poolz @nahoney22 @where-is-my-mind-tho @jediknightjana @erishimoon @witching3 @queen-of-many-fandoms @wizardofrozz  @burningfieldof-clover @rebelsriley

[paperback-rascal]

(...) He used to have million of brothers. Now, he’s the last. But he still hears them. They whisper to him(...)

Star Wars Adventures #7 

===

STAR WARS: The Clone Wars/The Bad Batch © George Lucas/ Dave Filoni/ LucasFilm/ Disney

[wizardofrozz]

He's so angry and he's so sad. He used to have millions of brothers...now he's the last. But he still hears them. They whisper to him. - Quiggold

I haven't been able to stop thinking about Kix for days 😭 (especially the voices of his brothers haunting him 🫣) I now have the intense urge to write pirate Kix 😂

Taglist: @sleepingsun501

Etsy shop (will be added later today)

[starqueensthings]

Colder Weather: Part One

Summary: a two-chapter (nice try, Holly! It’s three) ficlet that follows Post-Stassis/Pirate Kix as he navigates the see-saw of an unexpected love that he doesn't think he deserves, and the trauma of his past.

Pairing: Kix x Fem!Reader

POV/WC/Rating: 2nd, 4570, Teen + up

Warnings: extensive references of survivors guilt, grief, and mentions of previous character death. Seggsy time is implied but not described. This is emotional (it needs to be, so I'm not sorry)

A/N: the context of this ficlet won’t make much sense unless you’re decently familiar with the legends version of Kix’s life post-war (it might even be canon now? Not sure…). If you haven't listened to the song that inspired this little ficlet, I highly recommend you give it a listen; it's truly a lyrical masterpiece.

Chapter One | Chapter 1.5 | Chapter Two | ao3

“I want to see you again, but I’m stuck in colder weather. Maybe tomorrow will be better. Can I call you then? [...] Well, it’s a winding road when you’re in the lost-and-found. You’re a lover, I’m a runner, and we go round and round. I love you, but I leave you. I don’t want to, but I need you.” Colder Weather by Zac Brown Band

You’d long since memorized his movements; long since perfected this dance, having performed the passionate choreography of this duet with him countless times.

It always began with the sound of his speeder bike nearing your quiet cottage; the roaring of the engine muffled only partially by the towering hedges surrounding your acre of secluded paradise. That rumble so artificial amongst the constant tittering of nature that it took a mere fraction of a second to recognize it, and even less time to send a fervor coursing through your veins so rigorously that your hands simply abandoned whatever task that had been keeping them occupied.

Triggered by the sound of his approach, your feet took you earnestly through the front door and out into the gravel drive. A small smile, often concealed by the expanse of a thick, dark beard, tugged his handsome features upwards as he swung a leg over the seat of his bike, helmet clutched absently in one hand and arms stretched wide in a motion so welcoming, even the sheer power of the Force couldn’t have kept you from leaping into them.

He never failed to match your enthusiasm, scooping you clean off your slippered feet and into the familiar tight embrace that you’d spent weeks longing to be secured in. Hushed coos of “Mesh’la” amongst other breathy salutations were words that never needed voicing; the way his eyes danced reverently across your features spoke more volumes than any muttered term of endearment, any hushed apology for his absence. Watching the crease between his brows soften at the soft brush of your thumb against his cheek was a feeling that could have sustained life for all eternity; every caress of your fingers atop his skin powered by an ineffable desire to remind yourself of him, to remind him of you.  

But there was nothing that consumed you as entirely as the dance itself… nothing that quite melted your mind like the way he laid you down on the soft cotton of that old patchwork quilt; the way that he stripped himself of his rigid encasement; the way his eyes locked on yours, twinkling with an unspoken promise that he was about to make up for his repeated extended absences… all the transmissions that he’d failed to respond to… the commitment that he continuously denied you.  

And while even the ghost of his touch still set your very nerves alight, time had seen the unpredictability of his visits robbed of their spontaneity; lust replaced with a devastating love; passion diminished by the anticipation of his impending departure. The dance had become less of a dance, and more of a contemptuous game: how many seconds would lapse in the forlorn quiet between when the heat of his skin departed yours, and the door swung closed behind him? How many shaky breaths would leave your lungs in the too-short span of time that it took for the shadow of the unseen monster, forever-perched atop his shoulders, to rob his eyes of the twinkle only freshly illuminated by the return of your embrace?

The answer: always too few.

He would only ever grant himself a dozen-or-so deep breaths to dwell in the lingering serenity once the cresting waves of pleasure had subsided, the heaving of his chest eventually stilling to match the motionlessness of the incipient dawn.

Unable to withstand the suffocating languor, a poignant sigh would trigger the initiation of his exodus, body following the command from his anguished mind to climb from the bed and methodically redress himself in that disguising, blue plastoid kit. A tender, whiskery kiss was always your parting gift. Lips void of the passion that had seen them so ravenously devour yours only minutes prior, now gently atop your forehead in a wordless goodbye-for-now; the roar of the engine echoing amongst the whispering pines the perfect soundtrack to the disappointment that pulled shameful tears from your eyes.    

Yet… sometimes… on nights like tonight, an inexplicable force inside of him would demand that he dawdle, and if the urge to flee stalled on its way from brain to body for long enough, he’d roll toward you, fold his arm underneath his head, and trail a gentle fingertip along all his favourite parts of your body: the fleshy space between neck and shoulder where he often sought the comforting fragrance of your skin; the shallow dimples on your lower back, perched just above the rolling swells of muscle that he could barely keep his hands off of; the gaps between your fingers that so-perfectly housed his, as if they were ten adjacent pieces of a puzzle crafted by divine artistry.

Time had yet to reveal any explanation for the mystifying tenderness of his touch… it didn’t seem possible that such rough hands could trail so gently against your skin, yet his calloused fingers could have been draped in velvet for how softly they graced your most sensitive areas. And his pillow talk? It was poetry. His honeyed voice would utter whispered stories of glorious mountain ranges on far away planets while the delicate strokes of his fingertips ghosted atop the swells of your hips. He’d speak of the freckles smattered across your cheeks, and how they almost perfectly mirrored the night sky in Wild Space where the stars were so many, that astronomy had become an obsolete science, the citizens opting to merely look upon them for their unrivalled celestial magnificence. And when he would speak of the vibrant array of wild flowers that adorned the meadows of Felucia, he’d scoop your hand into his and kiss each individual knuckle, as if the immense power to blossom such beauty dwelled inside the fingers interlaced with his.  

But they were rare, those quiet moments, their emergence so ephemeral that even the span of a somnolent blink would have seen them escape your awareness and vanish into the past, and they were as devastating as they were infrequent. Laced not with the dread of his imminent departure, those near silent moments of deep connection were saturated in a hope so ensnaring that its warmth momentarily overshadowed the pain of his repeated abandonment, and you became enraptured by the could-be’s… the if-only’s… the maybe’s.   

Maybe… maybe tonight would be the night that the orange glow emerging atop the horizon did not trigger his departure. Perhaps this would be the time that he’d stay and spend the morning with you, his muscular arms locked around your chest as you ceased to fight the blissful drowsiness engulfing your bodies, dozing together in the first rays of the ambient light. Perhaps he’d be so comfortable, there in your arms, that the ever-present impulse to run, forever-clenched like an iron fist around his soul, would be finally suffocated by the sheer power of your love for him.

Those optimistic moments often saw you rambling, thoughts slipping easily from mind to mouth in a desperate attempt to keep him connected to you; resolute in keeping him both physically and mentally present; urgently trying to protect him from the monster on his shoulders long enough for him to realize that everything he could ever want was lying peacefully beside him. Periodically, if your chosen topic was one he found particularly amusing, his eyes would crinkle under the embrace of a smile, and — if the universe deemed you worthy that night — a hoarse chuckle would pour from his lips. Despite your continued pleas to the stars, it was a sound that graced your ears with a tragic infrequence, yet the way its radiance illuminated your soul had you shamelessly begging the universe that it continue to spill from his lips for all eternity.

But despite the prophetic bond that kept him returning to your side, only once had the bliss of your union softened his guard enough to let something… slip. Only once had he mentioned a brother: Jesse, a man spoken of thoughtlessly as Kix snickered through the recollection of a frantic speeder ride across the plains of Saleucami. But the music of his laughter utterly vanished upon voicing the name that he never meant to speak, the silence that filled its wake so polluted in unexpressed grief, that even the hushed sounds of your breath felt inappropriate, and despite having watched the light leave his eyes so often in the past, you’d never seen it replaced with a darkness as deep and as sorrowful as then.

“Tell me about him,” you probed instantly, hopeful that the delicate touch of your hand on his shoulder would be enough to ground him there in the bed with you; hopeful that the soft caress of your fingers would prevent him from conceding to his anguish, tossing the sheet aside and leaving you with nothing but the familiar sight of his retreating back and the bittersweet smell of him lingering on your pillow.

A ringing silence encompassed the room, broken only by the occasional chirp of an uninterested cricket nestled in the tall tufts of grass just outside the window, and the soft brush of dry leaves twirling amongst themselves in the warm gusts of midsummer’s breeze.

Speaking his brother’s name had rendered Kix momentarily muted and seemingly paralyzed, his eyes wide and affixed on an image that cruel memory had imprinted upon the ceiling above him. His breaths quickened, shoulder rising and falling rhythmically against your palm while his nostrils flared against the same onslaught of turmoil also knitting his brows together.

“Kix?” you probed in a soft whisper, fingers raising from the swell of his shoulder to gently stroke his hair. Those waves of black, sparsely peppered with the beginnings of grey, almost entirely concealed the remnants of a tattoo… letters… pieces of a phrase that he’d consistently evaded divulging. The ink, seemingly unblemished by time, looked as if it had only recently been embedded into his olive skin, yet his repeated, vague explanation of ‘I was a dumb kid’, suggested it was a choice made long ago; a decision made deep in a past he refused to speak of.

“Tell me about Jesse, my love…” you implored to his continued silence, watching with bated breath as the muscles in his jaw contracted in near perfect cadence with the bounding pulse in his neck.

“My brother…” Kix muttered, wrenching his eyes away from the ghost hovering over top of him, his solemn gaze dancing around the room in every direction but yours. “He… he died a long time ago. They all did.”

Your fingers faltered in their gentle strokes only for a breath, the impact of his words sending a crippling wave of aghast sadness throughout your body. “Who did?” It left your lips in barely more than a whisper, the unexpressed heartbreak lingering in the air robbing your tone of the intense curiosity that he so often shirked from and dissuaded, but despite the feigned composure precariously wrapped around your words, he offered no response. “Babe?” you pressed, your fingers abandoning their soothing dance along his temple to trail under his chin and weave themselves into the dark bristles of his beard. Hyperaware of the fragility of that moment, you gently cupped his jaw and turned his hagridden face toward you. “Who is ‘they’?”

His eyes finally met yours, darkened by apprehension and a deep sorrow that had yet to be explained. “My family.” 

It was like nothing you’d ever heard before, the tension in his voice. Those two choked words constricted by a heavy lump in his throat, immediately transformed the gruff and callous pirate that you knew into a man so momentarily fragile that even the soft cotton sheets draped atop your bodies felt too abrasive. Even more unexpected was the mist gathering earnestly in his eyes, reflecting the moonlight beaming in the window as if suddenly encased in a dome of sparkling crystal.

Whatever was left of the feeble breath housed in your lungs escaped your parted lips in a devastated huff, your stomach torquing uncomfortably as your thoughts began to whirr frantically around your mind. Resisting the transcendent urge to lock him in an embrace, you merely swallowed the lump forming in your own throat and hastily blinked the wetness from your eyes. Like the quiet moment that he’d gifted you tonight, you were all-too aware that his vulnerability was fleeting; at risk of dismantling completely should you misstep. But this was the knowledge that you’d be aching to know your months… years; this was the monster on his shoulders that tore him from your bed… from your home so devastatingly often. You were desperate to know it all… desperate to know him.

“Your… your family?” Two stammering words were all that you could force from your parted lips as he wrenched his jaw from your grasp and turned his gaze back toward the ceiling, grinding his knuckles aggressively into his eyes.

A heavy sigh was his only response, teeth clicking from how tightly he ground them as he seemingly tried to rub the image of his dead family from his sight. You swallowed heavily again and perched yourself up on an elbow, leaning in to him with every intention of planting a protective kiss to his temple.  

It might have been the shift of your posture that triggered it, or more likely, his patience diminished by your continued probes for information that he wasn’t willing to share, but a sudden banishment of lassitude saw him instantly tossing the sheet from his naked form and swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

Horrified and disappointed, you hurried to mirror his movements, kicking away the bunched cotton from your knees and pushing yourself to a kneeling position on the mattress directly behind him. Your lids narrowed to near-closed against the sudden ignition of the lamp on the nightstand, but neither the pain nor the spots now floating in your vision were enough to stop you from firmly wrapping your arms around his waist and holding him firmly against your chest. It wasn’t until you pressed your lips softly against his back, did he seem to notice your touch, and even then, his only acknowledgement was to peer, frowning, over his shoulder in your direction.

“Please, love,” you breathed against his skin. “Don’t run. Just talk to me.”

A soft sigh forced his shoulders into a defeated slump, and the tender drape of his hand atop his navel where yours were tightly clasped, lacked much of the warmth and intention that typically swaddled his touch.

“They were… tortured.” His head drooped sadly toward his chest, the previously urgent mission of collecting his clothes from their scattered placement on the floor, momentarily deferred.  

It was the initial shock that he’d even answered you that forced your lips to still against his skin, forgoing the ever-present urge to pepper him with chaste kisses for the sake of listening to the response that he’d previously deemed you unworthy of getting, but it was the horrifying implications of his explanation that forced your eyes open and the pain that drenched his words as they left his scowling lips that sent an all-consuming chill down your spine.

“All of them,” he continued quietly to his lap, absently drumming his fingers against the back of your hand. “Just— just stripped of their will, their identities… and made to carry out the commands of a sick, sick man. They never stood a chance. No one could survive that.”

He permitted himself one last, poignant sigh, the emptying of his lungs pulling his posture away from your still poised kiss, and it wasn’t until his palm departed yours, fracturing the wreath of your arms around his waist, that you returned to some semblance of awareness. You could feel your heart hammering in your chest, beating against his back where the diffused glow of the lamp failed to soften the appearance of several misshapen scars along his shoulder; scars that you’d seen countless times previously, and had paid only little attention to.

Robbed of coherent thought by the repulsion surging through your veins, and rendered utterly speechless by the knowledge that you’d so desperately craved, you dropped your gaze to your knees, unmoving eyes watching them thrown intermittently into shadow as Kix moved about beside the bed, redressing himself in a suit of black compression, and the rigid, scuffed armament.

It was the soft scrape of plastoid against wood that broke you from your revolted torpor, his lean frame now completely encompassed in the blue suit that you despised, his helmet retrieved from the nightstand and hanging slackly from a gloved hand at his side. The sight of his impending departure returned you to a jarring cognizance and sent you frantically scrambling from the bed, bare feet ignoring the bite of the cold floor as you dashed toward the chair beside the window and collected the robe that you’d unceremoniously tossed onto it hours previously.

“Wait, Kix!”

You clumsily thrust your fists into the arms of the silk garment, your entire body laced with an exigent need to reach the doorway before he did. He couldn’t leave this time, not now… not now that he was finally opening up, finally sharing something other than trivial grievances about his crew members. He needed to know what you thought… how you felt. You had to tell him that none of it mattered to you… none of it made any difference. Except it did. It made all the difference. You thought you loved him then. That was nothing compared to now. And there was nothing that would stop you from loving him; not a past full of trauma, not tears leaking from his eyes, not the whispers that he denied hearing when the room got too quiet. None of it made a difference to you except that it did, and you would willingly spend the rest of your life banishing the ghosts that haunted his every move if he would just let you.

 “Can’t— can’t you stay this time?” you pleaded from your perch in the doorway, hastily tying a knot in the sash of your robe. “Even just a little longer?”

The snort that left his nose at the sight of your position, arms wide and clutching each side of the door frame in some pitiful semblance of a barricade, was anything but genuine, betrayed by the failure of the smile on his lips to crinkle his eyes. “Come on, Mesh’la,” he cooed, absently shifting the armoured belt around his waist. “You know I can’t.”

“Yes you can,” you argued, refusing to let the softness of his gaze weaken any of your resolve. “You just don’t. There’s a difference and you know that.”

The desperate sadness that encompassed your words surprised both sets of ears; you hadn’t intended for the sentiment to leave your lips drenched in such disappointment, yet his departure tonight felt more like a robbery than it ever had; stealing a fractured piece of you and leaving nothing but a shadow behind to replace it.

That small smile slipped from his features and he froze, upturned helmet held slackly at his side as he hung his head to his chest again. Your heart drummed heavily in your ears, the lump in your throat threatening to all but suffocate you as he stepped slowly forward, the old wood floor beneath you creaking and shifting under the weight of his heavy boots.

“Please don’t start this again, Mesh’la,” he begged in a whisper, tenderly tucking a displaced lock of hair behind your ear as his eyes flickered back and forth between yours. “We’ve been over this. I… I don’t want this for you. You deserve a better life than what I ca—”  

“I want this life,” you choked, chin threatening to quiver under the intense duress of your welling disappointment. “I promise— no, listen!—  I promise, Kix. I love you more than everything that you’ve been through. In spite of it all… because of it all. Just trust me. Stay with me this time. Let me— let me prove it to you. Let me sho—”  

“I know you love me, Mesh’la,” he interrupted, gently cupping your trembling chin and guiding your jaw upwards to look directly into your eyes. “I have never doubted it for a second. In another time… another life, I’d be able to give you back the love you deserve, but… I’m too sad of a man, now. I’m too angry… too volatile… too restless. No matter where I go or what I do, I can’t stomach my past, and I love you enough to not let you suf—”

 “I’ll suffer if I choose to!” you blurted, voice thickening in earnest. “I’ll suffer with you. It’s my choice, and I choose you, so just choose m—”

“Why?” he interjected, releasing your jaw and perching his hand on his hip. “Hmm? Why am I your choice? Why do you waste your time with a pirate like me when there are decent men lining up around the planet for your hand? Men that will shower you with gifts and affection? Men that won’t selfishly come and go as they please, like I do?”

“My time with you isn’t wasted, Kix,” you spluttered, eyelids unable to contain the flood of tears blurring your vision, banishing them to the heat of your flushed cheeks. “You don’t listen. I want every minute to be a minute with you. Every hour, every day. Stop running away from what happened to you; stop running from me. We— we can have a real life together.”

The aversion of his gaze to the floor did not stop you. You were too resolute in your convictions; too certain that if he just listened to you, he would finally understand. “I’ll make you caf every morning,” you continued, pulling your hands from the doorframe to hold his.  “And… we can shower together every day if we want to. You can make the water as hot as you want, and I won’t complain… I promise. We— we can grow berries in the field out back, on the other side of the tree line. You know, in that clearing where the flowers grow? The spot that gets all the afternoon sun? And… and we can brew our own wine. We—”

“Please stop.”

He was pleading with you in more ways than just the despondent words that left his lips; his dark eyes watching in something near agony as the tears abandoned your cheeks for the draped silk of your robe, but you were deaf to the desperation in his voice and blind to the anguish in his eyes as vivid images of what could-be erupted like a tragic film in your mind. 

“We can climb onto the roof and look at the stars on clear nights,” you persisted, releasing his palm and guiding your trembling hands onto the rough and worn plastoid of his shoulder bells. “And when it’s not, we’ll snuggle on the couch and listen to music. We’ll get drunk… and giggle about stupid shit… and make love in every room… an—”

“Please, Mesh’la.” He clamped his eyes closed, cowering beneath your watery gaze and gently tugging your hands from his shoulders, pausing to hold them weakly in his own for a breath before dropping them completely. “You have to sto—”

“No, Kix!” you refused, stomping your cold, bare foot on the floor below you. “You stop! Stop saying you don’t want this life for us, because you do!”

“OF COURSE I DO!”  

Your hands flew back to brace yourself in the doorway, shoulders jerking with fright, choked breaths freezing in your lungs. He’d never shouted like that before… and if he had, it certainly hadn’t been in your presence. Never once had you seen his eyes shrink behind lids so narrowed that the even the bridge of his nose scrunched to assist in their efforts. You’d never seen his thick, expressive brows contract so tightly and shoot toward the messy curls of his hairline in such earnest, and you’d never seen a look quite like that in his eyes… the frenzied look of a man desperate to be understood.

“Of— of course I want all of that,” he continued, his tone softening slightly as the ghost of his outburst rang back at him from the quiet corners. “But it’s not that simple. You don’t understand. I want it, Mesh’la, but I shouldn’t have it. I can’t have it. Why… why do I deserve the promise of a quiet life, when they never even had a chance at one? Why should I be the only one gifted with a happy ending, when they were robbed of theirs? If they can’t have it, then I ca—”

His voice cracked… fractured under the duress of the emotion simmering too near the surface, and it echoed more poignantly around the room than the hoarse shout which preceded it. That quiet moment, as you watched his shoulders sag in complete and utter dejection, with his head slowly shaking against a myriad of thoughts that he refused to speak, you would have withstood nearly anything to ensure the music of his voice never cracked like that again. You would have agreed to stand near-naked in the doorway for all eternity, willing to shoulder any amount of shouting, any verbal reprovement… anything if it promised him true peace from the sorrow that robbed him of his voice… of his life.

The threat of a sob forced your face into your clammy palms, pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes until tiny, glimmering phosphenes erupted in your vision. Why couldn’t it all be as beautiful as those silly little dancing lights, brought to life with just a slight pressure from a small hand? Why could people not be free to dance about in darkness, as they are? Why must our darkness diminish our light? Why are those pretty dancing lights, free from the plague of guilt and sorrow, forever permitted to slumber until external pressure brings them to life, an occasion in which they shine so marvelously?  

The thunk of his boots and the creak of the floor signaled his slow approach. “I have to go, Cyare,” he mumbled into the space beside your ear, his free hand dusting soft strokes up and down your forearm.

You exposed your tear-streaked face and stared blankly across the room, unwilling to nod and acknowledge the disappointment. So this wasn’t going to be the time that he stayed.

“You know I love you,” he muttered into your hairline before planting a soft kiss on your temple, but the disillusionment had numbed you almost entirely, and you felt nothing of his lips on your skin, nor the brush of his body slipping past you through the door… you heard none of his footsteps fading down the hallway… nothing of the door closing behind him as he disappeared into the diminishing darkness outside… nor did you hear the roar of his speeder engine reverberating around the corners of your secluded paradise, all too eager and willing to rob you of him again.  

tags: @anxiouspineapple99 @sinfulsalutations @dystopicjumpsuit @523rdrebel

[totally-correct-star-wars]

Rex: What vexes all men? Anakin: What indeed... Kix: The sea! Jesse: Sums. Hardcase: The dichotomy of good and evil?

[dystopicjumpsuit]

Martyrs and Kings AND ZOMBIES!!!

A/N: I'm so excited to share this spooky, sexy one-shot sequel to Martyrs and Kings! I've been planning this fic for months, and I hope y'all love it. Quick note: obviously, this fic contains spoilers for M&K; however, it was beta-read by my partner who has not (yet) read the original fic, and they said it worked as a stand-alone story, so if you haven't read M&K yet and don't mind spoilers, read on!

This fic is dedicated to the amazing @clonemedickix in gratitude for all the love and support that you've shown me and so many others in the fandom. Thank you so much for everything you do, and particularly thank you for your feedback on the field medicine. You are a rock star!

One final caveat: I am a horror wimp, but I did my best. Please don't expect Stephen King 💜

Pairing: Post-stasis Kix x OFC Dr. Maree Finnall

Rating: M (minors DNI)

Wordcount: 5k (this just made M&K 10% longer lol)

Warnings and tags: peril; suspense; violence; blood and injury; gore; medical procedures; adult language; SMUT; oral sex; face-sitting; Kix activating my competence kink like no other. IMPORTANT: an additional content warning is listed at the end of the fic due to spoilers. If you have triggers, please check the end of the fic for the BOLD PINK TEXT before reading.

Summary: The crew of the Meson Martinet goes after the score of a lifetime and discover that they may have bitten off more than they can chew.

Suggested listening:

Martyrs and Kings chapter 1 | Masterlist | Sign up for my tag list

“B1.5-series battle droids are a myth,” Kix said firmly. “You’re wasting your time.”

“The good doctor doesn’t share your opinion,” Quiggold argued.

Sidon Ithano, as usual, said nothing, his crimson helmet swiveling slowly toward Maree. Kix turned to her as well, his jaw set, his eyes full of confidence that she would back him up. Kriff it. She absolutely hated being caught in the middle of this argument.

She cleared her throat. “There’s… some debate in the academic community about their existence, actually. If they ever were created, they were never deployed at any recorded battle—and it’s a good thing, too.”

“Why is that, exactly?” Reeg Brosna asked.

He was sprawled on the bench of the dinette, his arm draped around Orys Brenko as the research assistant perked up immediately.

“Is it true that they used nanodroids to retrofit original B1-series droids?” Brenko asked, his face flushing dark green with excitement.

“That is one theory,” Maree said circumspectly, keenly aware of Kix’s scrutiny. “According to contemporary sources—and noting that those sources are unreliable at best—the B1.5s had significantly upgraded blaster resistance. There was another rumor as well, even less credible.”

“What rumor?” Reveth interrupted, leaning forward over the table, drawing Ithano’s attention subtly.

“They said the B1.5s could keep going even if you blasted their processors,” Kix cut in before Maree could reply. “It was a stupid story the commandos made up to scare the shinies.”

“But what if it wasn’t?” Brosna asked. “Indestructible battle droids? They’d be worth a fortune.”

“Even if they don’t exist, the haul from a Techno Union stronghold could set us up for life,” Reveth pointed out. “I say we go after it.”

Squeaky grunted his agreement, predictably. The Gamorrean was always guaranteed to follow the pretty Twi’lek’s lead. Reveth could have suggested a nude spacewalk, and Squeaky would have thought it was a grand idea. Brosna and Brenko voted in favor as well. Kix voted against, and Maree did as well, purely out of solidarity. Privately, she was consumed with curiosity about the B1.5s, and she couldn’t deny that the possibility of such a groundbreaking discovery was alluring in the extreme.

Quiggold voted in favor, and Ithano abstained, and so it was decided: the crew would send a team to scout the Techno Union stronghold, and if they found anything worthwhile, the rest of Ithano’s small fleet would join them.

“We’re gonna need your expertise, Doc,” Reveth said to Maree. 

“Absolutely not,” Kix snapped.

Maree glanced at him in surprise. It was unlike him to try to overrule her choice, and she didn’t care for it. “Reveth is right, Kix. I’ll be able to identify the highest-value items, and I have a good idea of what’s in demand.”

Kix looked away, clearly unhappy, but recognizing that he’d overstepped. “Fine. But if you’re going, I’m going, too.”

“We’ll need you to stay and command the fleet from the Scorpion while the captain is away,” Quiggold interjected.

“Fuck that,” Kix growled. “Brosna is my first mate—he can take command from the Scorpion. When it comes to Maree’s safety, I outrank everyone on this ship.”

“Brosna doesn’t have the experience—” Quiggold began.

“Agreed,” Ithano said, his deep voice cutting through the buzz of conversation and debate in the Martinet’s galley. “Quiggold, command the fleet from the Martinet. Brosna, take the Scorpion. Reveth, Squeaky, you’re with us.”

The captain’s decision was final, and within a few hours, Kix, Maree, Reveth, Squeaky, and Ithano had boarded the Scorpion’s shuttle Stinger and departed for the desolate moon where the Techno Union base had sat untouched for over fifty years.

“Fifty credits says we find nothing,” Kix said.

“I’ll take that bet,” Reveth replied.

Squeaky grunted his agreement. Ithano said nothing.

“Maree, you want in on this action?” Reveth asked.

“Kix and I have a private bet on the side,” Maree said with a mischievous twinkle as Kix shot her an inscrutable look.

Reveth smirked. “Sounds like fun.”

“Oh, it will be,” Maree replied. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of crimson as Ithano moved through the shuttle. On impulse, she leaned in and whispered in Reveth’s ear cone.

Reveth’s eyes widened as her mechanical hand instinctively settled on Maree’s waist. “Damn. You and Kix want a third for that?”

Ithano’s helmet whipped to the side as he suddenly became very interested in the conversation. Maree suppressed a laugh.

“What do you think, Kix?” Maree asked with faux innocence. “Can Reveth play with us?”

Kix eyed her with a perfectly neutral expression that warned Maree he knew exactly what she was up to. “You gotta win that bet if you want to call the shots.”

“You’re on,” Maree replied immediately.

Ithano’s helmet swiveled from Maree, to Reveth, to Kix, and back to Reveth, but he said nothing. Kix merely turned back to the navigation controls and continued to pilot the shuttle toward their destination.

The old Techno Union stronghold was on a remote, swampy moon, and the dense vegetation had grown thickly over the past five decades. Kix was forced to set the shuttle down several klicks from the decrepit base. He didn’t like it. He didn’t kriffing like any of this. It was too far; they’d be too exposed; their progress would be too slow in the mud. He glanced at Maree and felt his anxiety spike.

How the kark am I supposed to protect her out there?

He double-checked her gear as she suited up, adjusting the fit of her holster for a quicker draw. He quickly inspected her blaster before handing it to her.

“What’s going on?” she asked quietly. “You’re on edge.”

He shook his head. “I don’t have a good feeling about this mission.”

“It’s not the first time we’ve gone into one of these old strongholds,” she pointed out. “We’ll be okay.”

He nodded. “Yeah. Yeah. You’re right. Just… Keep your eyes open.”

“I will,” she promised. “And I know you’ll watch my back. Just like I’ll watch yours.”

He traced his fingertips along her jaw as he pulled her closer to himself. He couldn’t feel her soft warmth through his armor, but her nearness felt comforting regardless. He kissed her gently, threading his fingers through the hair that she wore in loose braids. 

She looked so different now than she had the first time he’d met her two years earlier; her elegant wardrobe replaced with sturdy, practical clothing meant to withstand rough field work and the occasional blaster fight. But underneath, she still smelled like tea and honey and home. She was still the same—still his Maree.

“If you’re finished sucking the lips off her face, can we get going?” Reveth teased. “Droids aren’t gonna find themselves.”

Despite Kix’s misgivings, the trek to the derelict base was uneventful. Squeaky stayed with the shuttle in case they needed a quick extraction, while Ithano, Reveth, and Maree hacked their way through the underbrush along with Kix. It was slow going, and the swamp was creepy as hell, but eventually they made it to the plastcrete and durasteel structure.

There was no power to the base, so they cut their way through the sealed exterior blast doors. Once inside, the group fell silent as they made their way through the dusty, cobwebbed hallways. The base was pitch black inside, illuminated only by their own torches, and once again, Kix felt the simmering anxiety in his gut begin to roil.

“Something’s been living in here,” Reveth muttered, training the beam of her flashlight on a tangle of debris that was unmistakably a nest for something… large.

Kix didn’t respond, but he reached out and pulled Maree closer to himself, then drew one of his DC-17s. Ithano brought up the rear, his blaster rifle ready.

“Control center should be just ahead,” Maree whispered. “Reveth might be able to restore power from there.”

“We’ll be karked if she can’t,” Kix replied quietly.

“Happy thoughts, Kix,” Maree murmured.

Right. Happy thoughts. Spiced biscuits. Unlimited bacta. Maree’s tits. More credits than I’ve ever seen in my life. The Scorpion. Weapons caches. Maree’s thighs. Maree’s thighs on my shoulders. Maree’s thighs framing my face while she rides—uh, weapons caches.

“Control center,” Reveth called under her breath as she reached a sealed doorway.

They pried it open enough to squeeze through. Kix went first, sweeping his light across the room as he scanned for threats. Reveth followed, then Maree and Ithano. Reveth headed straight for the control console and plugged in her small power unit and began to fiddle with the controls.

“Happy thoughts,” Kix mumbled, returning to the doorway to keep watch over the pitch-dark corridor.

Within a few moments, Reveth let out a quiet, triumphant huff as the control console flickered to life, dimly illuminating the room. She went to work immediately, interfacing her datapad with the ancient console.

“Damn. Main power cells are depleted,” she said. “I’ll try to at least get emergency lighting turned on.”

“Why would the power be depleted if the base has been abandoned for decades?” Maree asked. “The Techno Union had extraordinarily advanced power cells that were capable of storing energy far longer.”

“Unless something used it,” Reveth said.

Kix swiveled his head to stare at the Twi’lek.

“Like what?” he bit out.

She shrugged. “Dunno. But we might find out as soon as I get the data decrypted.”

A distant, deep hum sounded, and red light flickered on throughout the base.

“Nicely done,” Maree told Reveth.

“Let’s get the data and get the kriff out of here,” Kix growled, hating every minute of their time in the farking spooky base.

“Working on it,” Reveth snapped. “Think you can do it faster?”

Ithano glanced between Kix and Reveth, then moved to join Kix at the doorway, blaster rifle raised. “What is it?”

“Not sure,” Kix replied quietly. “Something doesn’t feel right.”

Ever reticent, Ithano merely nodded and took up position across from him. Kix nodded in silent gratitude that the pirate captain didn’t question his instincts. Then again, the Crimson Corsair hadn’t survived this long by ignoring his gut. 

Kix’s eyes darted to Maree again. She leaned over the console, scrolling rapidly through the data files, searching for any hint of the information they sought. He turned back toward the hallway, his eyes scanning it watchfully.

“No kriffin’ way,” Maree gasped.

“What?” Kix and Reveth demanded in unison.

“You just lost a bet, my love,” Maree told Kix.

“Wait, really?” Reveth asked. “It’s real?”

“‘Project Ophio,’” Maree read, her voice low and hurried. “Principal investigator Vamb Tebrem. Project number T327H1138X99. Primary focus of study is to develop experimental NM-K reconstitutors with the purpose of enhancing the durability and combat acumen of extant B-1 series assets…” Her voice trailed off as she leaned closer to the console, flicking through the data hurriedly. “Project director reported a 62% success rate in the initial efficacy trial; however the experimental reconstitutors were prohibitively expensive to manufacture, and the unpredictability observed in field tests was not adequately resolved—what field tests?”

“You catch any of that?” Reveth asked Kix.

He shrugged. Maree’s voice had dropped to an inaudible murmur as she scrolled through the data, then opened another data file. A quiet chime sounded from the console, drawing Reveth’s attention.

A glowing hologram appeared over the console: wave after wave of battle droids locked in combat a group of clone commandos who should have been able to easily defeat the B-1s. But the droids just kept going. Nothing could stop their advance as they overwhelmed the commandos’ positions and tore them to pieces. Kix swallowed hard, hearing the screams of the dying commandos, unable to take his eyes off the hologram. Maree slapped a button on the console and the sound paused abruptly as the holo froze.

“Holy kark,” she breathed.

“What?” Reveth asked. “Is that not normal?”

“No,” Kix said grimly. “We need to get out of here.”

“Uh, about that…” Reveth said.

Ithano swiveled his head toward the Twi’lek. “What?”

“Opening that holofile triggered an alert in the system,” Reveth said. “Hopefully it’s nothing?”

“Time to go,” Kix growled.

“Yeah,” Maree said, her voice shaky. “Yeah, I think you’re right.”

“At least let me download the records,” Reveth argued, jamming a data spike into the console.

They all froze as a distant but unmistakable crash echoed through the base, followed by a rhythmic thumping.

“What is that?” Maree whispered.

“Clankers,” Kix said grimly, drawing his second blaster. “Seal the blast doors.”

“We’ll be trapped in here!” Reveth objected.

Maree stared at Kix. “Can’t we make it out before—”

A light flashed, and her body jerked as a blaster bolt smashed into her. She went down hard, and Kix barely had time to register what was happening before a firestorm of blaster bolts exploded into the room. He whirled back to the entrance and returned fire at the wave of battle droids that was advancing at high speed toward his position. Ithano was firing as fast as he could, but the droids weren’t dropping.

“Get those kriffing doors sealed!” Ithano bellowed.

Reveth had ducked down behind the console for cover as Maree scrambled to join her out of the line of fire. Reveth frantically worked the controls from her position on the floor, but she wasn’t fast enough. A single droid made it through before the doors slammed shut. The clanking and pounding of the army of droids battering against the blast doors was deafening. The lone battle droid charged across the command center.

“Kill it!” Kix shouted. “Fuckin’ kill it!”

Reveth, Ithano, and Kix unleashed a torrent of blaster bolts, but the karking thing wouldn’t go down, even as its components began to fail and fly off its body. It was headed for the console. It was headed toward Maree. Desperately, Kix launched himself at its mangled, skeletal form, tackling it as he locked his arms around and tore its head off with a sickening screech of twisting metal.

But the fucking thing kept moving, shambling toward the console. Kix growled and yanked out his vibroblade, slashing through the droid’s joints until nothing remained but a pile of scrap, and then he sprinted toward Maree, launching himself over the control console. 

“Maree!” Kix yelled hoarsely.

Her face was sweaty and contorted with pain as she clutched her hand around her upper arm, but she gave him a tight smile. “I’m all right.”

The blaster hole in her jacket sleeve was still smoking, and Kix felt sick as he saw blood covering her hand, oozing from a wound that should have been cauterized by the plasma bolt. 

“Let me see,” he ordered. 

She moved her hand, and he cut the sleeve away quickly, adrenaline coursing through his veins. Oh, fuck, it’s bad. It’s bad, and I don’t have my kit.

“We have to get out of here,” Reveth rasped.

Kix dug frantically through his pouches, finding only a few small bacta patches and a vial of spray bandage. He didn’t have a choice. It would have to do, at least until they could make it back to the Stinger. 

He shoved the jacket sleeve and vibroblade toward Reveth. “Cut that into strips. Wide ones.”

He drenched the blaster wound with spray bandage, then grabbed the first strip Reveth cut from the jacket sleeve and quickly tied it around Maree’s arm near her shoulder. “Do you have a stylus on you?”

“Always,” Maree said, her voice tense with pain. She pulled the stylus out of her pocket and handed it to him, carefully avoiding looking at the charred, bloody wound. “Why is it bleeding so much?”

Kix tied the ends of the cloth strip around the stylus and twisted to tighten the makeshift tourniquet, securing it as he replied in an artificially calm tone. “Sometimes it happens. Move just wrong—the cauterized scab opens—blood.”

He ripped open the bacta patches and arranged them carefully over the injury, covering it as well as he could before wrapping the rest of the fabric strips around them to secure them in place. Finally, he looked up into her eyes, inadvertently smearing her own blood on her cheek as he cupped her face.

“I’m not losing you today.” His words were firm, but tremor in his hands was undeniable, and his pulse thundered in his ears.

She smiled at him through dry, ashen lips, and he kissed her forehead, then helped her carefully to her feet. Reveth had pulled up a schematic of the base, and Ithano joined them at the console, pausing to squeeze Kix’s shoulder briefly.

“We don’t die so easily,” the captain said in his deep, rasping voice.

“Not today, anyway,” Reveth cut in. “I found an escape route.”

“Please tell me it’s not the ventilation shaft,” Maree said unsteadily.

“It’s always the ventilation shaft,” Reveth replied.

Maree’s shoulder screamed with agony as she crawled through the ventilation shaft. She gritted her teeth to hold back the whimper of pain that hovered at the base of her throat. The ventilation shaft was filthy and cramped, and their progress was torturously slow as they navigated as silently as possible to their destination. The conduit wouldn’t take them all the way out of the base, so they would have to make a run for the main entrance when they got close. The only way they stood a chance of escaping was to not draw the attention of the battle droids.

She followed Kix through the labyrinthine ductwork, crawling laboriously on her knees and one hand. Her injured arm had burned like fire when Kix first applied the tourniquet, but now her arm was completely numb—and equally useless. At last, they found the access hatch to the main corridor. Kix dropped down first, and then Maree realized exactly how difficult this was going to be with only one functional arm. 

“Just drop,” he whispered. “I’ll catch you.”

She took a deep breath and slid out of the maintenance hatch, feet first. Panic flashed in her mind briefly as she plummeted through the air, but Kix was true to his word, catching her before she could hit the ground. He set her down quickly and checked to make sure her bandage was still in place as first Reveth and then Ithano dropped down into the corridor.

They sprinted for the exit. Maree’s lungs burned and her vision blurred around the edges as she gasped for breath. Kix looked back at her sharply and reached for her hand, dragging her along behind him. By some miracle, the droids hadn’t detected them yet, and she could see the main entrance of the base. She forced herself to keep running, even as she stumbled and nearly went down, kept upright only by Kix’s strong grasp.

He tugged her arm over his shoulder and wrapped his arm around her waist to support her, but he didn’t slow his pace. “We have to keep going, love. We can’t stop now.”

“I know,” she wheezed. “So close…”

She could hear the clanking of droids behind them, and she pushed herself as hard as she ever had in her life to keep running. They cleared the entrance, and Reveth tossed a few magnetized thermal detonators onto the ceiling of the base. 

Keep running, don’t stop, keep going.

The explosion knocked them off their feet, but the rubble of the collapsed ceiling blocked the main entrance. It wouldn’t hold back the droids for long, but it bought them time—so long as they kept moving. Kix was up first, pulling Maree with him as Reveth and Ithano scrambled to their feet.

They ran for the trees as Reveth commed Squeaky. “We need a pickup, now!”

“He can’t get to us in the jungle!” Kix said. “We have to find a clearing where the shuttle can land.”

They dodged through the trees, trying to avoid the worst of the swampy ground, but the dense underbrush slowed their progress and steered them on a circuitous route. Out of the corner of her eye, Maree saw movement in the earth. The ground shifted and began to swell.

“What the kriff is that?” she demanded.

“Keep running, don’t look back,” Kix urged.

“No, what is that?” she repeated.

She saw a flash of pale, bonelike metal alloy, and then a battle droid erupted from the earth.

“Fuck!” she screamed.

All around them, the skeletal forms of B1.5 droids began to emerge from the swampy ground, punching their way to the surface and dragging themselves up from the mud. Kix released Maree and drew both of his blasters, opening fire without hesitation. Maree, Reveth, and Ithano followed suit, for all the good it did them. The droids simply wouldn’t go down; even if they took so many hits that they started to fall apart, they still somehow shambled on in a grotesque parody of their normal precise movement.

They had no choice but to keep running and hope that they could at least slow some of the droids down. She could hear the roar of the shuttle overhead, but the vegetation was too dense for Squeaky to pick them up. The Gamorrean’s indistinct, frantic squealing sounded from Reveth’s comlink.

“He said there’s a clearing about a klick southwest!” Reveth yelled.

It might as well be on the other side of the planet, Maree thought hopelessly. There were simply too many droids; they were advancing relentlessly, and the terrain was too hostile to cross it with any speed. Holy shit, we’re all going to die here.

Her mind darted to the holorecord of the field test—a kriffing gruesome euphemism for such carnage. It had been a complete massacre. The terrified screams of the commandos as the droids tore them to pieces; the spray of blood and viscera: the images were branded irrevocably in her memory. It was a horrific way to die, and they were about to find out firsthand. 

Panic clawed at her, closing her throat and making her shots go wild. Her legs felt sluggish, and her feet became unsteady, but Kix never let her fall, even as he fired ceaselessly at the pursuing droids.

“We’re almost there,” he grunted. “Keep running, sweetheart, you can do it.”

“Kix, go,” Ithano ordered. “Get her to the Stinger.”

“No!” Maree exclaimed. “We’re not leaving you!”

Kix ignored her protests, bending over and tossing her over his shoulder as he ran. His plastoid armor cut into her thighs and belly, and she squirmed to try to get away.

“Put me down! Go back!”

Kix ignored her and raced for the clearing where the shuttle hovered just above the ground, ready to take off as soon as the crew were safely aboard. He dropped Maree in the copilot seat and turned to Squeaky.

“Don’t let her follow me.”

He sprinted to the back of the shuttle and jumped out, making for the treeline.

“Kix!” she screamed, lurching out of her seat.

Squeaky didn’t hesitate. He thrust her back into the chair with a stern grunt, then secured the safety harness to make sure she didn’t try to run again. She could hear blaster fire and shouting outside the ship, and she tugged desperately at the harness. Squeaky grunted again to order her to take control of the ship, and he lumbered toward the rear hatch, blaster ready.

Her heart hammered as she took the controls. Please, please, please. The distraught prayer echoed in her mind, silently beseeching the Force. I can’t lose him. Not like this. She felt utterly helpless as the deafening roar of Squeaky’s blaster fire pounded through the ship. Mercifully, she soon heard the pounding of boots on durasteel, and then Ithano launched into the pilot’s seat and punched the controls, hurtling the shuttle away from the planet.

“Kix?” she asked frantically.

“I’m here,” he said, dropping to his knees next to Maree’s chair and wrapping his arms around her. “I’m here.”

“I’m here, too, thanks for askin’,” Reveth said as she flopped into her seat.

Kix stood and quickly released the safety harness, tugging Maree out of the chair and burying his face against her neck.

“Holy kark, I can’t believe we all made it out,” Reveth said. “I was sure Maree was toast.”

Maree laughed, and Kix glared at the Twi’lek. “Not kriffin’ funny.”

“It’s kinda funny,” Reveth insisted.

Kix shook his head and drew Maree out of the cockpit and back to the tiny med bay at the rear of the shuttle. “Med bay” was putting it generously; it was really just a bunk and a large emergency medkit, but it had everything he needed to treat her shoulder. He administered a stim shot, cleaned and redressed her wound, and removed the tourniquet. He worked efficiently, and she didn’t see any of the distress that had clouded his eyes back at the base—of course, they weren’t fending off a horde of unkillable zombie droids this time, either.

“What’s the verdict, doctor?” she asked with a tiny smile.

He stroked his fingers over her forearm gently. “You’ll live. Gonna have a kickass scar, too.”

“Will you kiss it better?” she asked, fluttering her eyelashes.

He smiled wryly as he leaned in and pressed his lips softly against hers. “Don’t ever do that to me again.”

“I’ll do my best. At least I’m finally going to have an exciting story to tell Baba and Eema.”

His eyes widened. “Oh, kriff, your mothers are going to kill me!”

The Stinger docked with the Meson Martinet first, and Squeaky, Reveth, and Ithano disembarked, then Kix piloted the shuttle to his own ship, the Scorpion. Brenko and Brosna were waiting next to the airlock when Kix and Maree emerged from the shuttle.

“Well, did you find the B1.5s?” Brosna asked.

“Yeah,” Kix replied grimly.

“Ha!” Brosna laughed triumphantly. “Pay up, Captain!”

“You’re still acting captain,” Kix retorted. “Now get your ass back up to the bridge until I relieve you.”

“Wait, you’re not taking command right now?” Brosna asked.

“Nope,” Kix replied, dragging Maree to their quarters.

The door hissed shut behind them, and Kix slapped the control panel to lock it. He was on Maree instantly, devouring her in a searing kiss as he unzipped and pulled off her jacket, carefully avoiding the large bandage on her shoulder. Once he had her top removed, he dropped his mouth to her throat and kissed a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses down her body as he knelt in front of her. 

His hands roved over her urgently, clutching her body close to him. She tangled her fingers in his hair as he tugged down her trousers, and then he plunged his tongue into her ravenously. Her body jerked, and she cried out, losing her balance. He caught her with ease, then pulled her toward the bed.

“Kix,” she panted. “Don’t you at least want to get naked?”

“I can’t wait,” he groaned. “Sit on my face.”

“Oh, fuck,” she gasped.

“I’m planning to,” he said, lying on his back. “On my face. Now.”

She knelt, hovering over his mouth, staring down into his eyes. He gazed back up at her, sliding his hands up her waist to cup her breasts, before dropping them to her thighs and yanking her body downward.

“Kriff!” she exclaimed as his tongue slid deeply into her cunt, then his lips closed around her clit.

He held her in place as he feasted on her, his groans vibrating against her sensitive flesh. The sensation was overwhelming. She writhed, nearly toppling over, then leaned back to brace her hands on his ribcage. He ate her like he was starving, like she was the last thing he would ever taste, and he fully intended to savor every drop.

“Kix—fuck—gods—” she moaned, her hips finding a subtle rhythm even as his strong hands gripped her, preventing her from moving more than a few centimeters.

He murmured quietly against her in between the kisses and licks and nibbles—soft, nearly inaudible whispers of fear and adoration and lust. “... taste so fucking good… love you so much… thought I was going to lose you… never letting go… so kriffin’ scared… want you so bad…”

He released her thigh and reached his hand around to massage her clit. All the muscles in her core began to tense as pleasure spooled tightly in her body, but her orgasm remained tantalizingly just out of reach. She leaned back, groping blindly for his cock. She fumbled with his belt and eventually just slid her hand beneath the waistband until she wrapped her fingers around his rigid shaft.

He grunted at the contact, his hips thrusting up off the mattress. His hand strayed away from her clit to press his palm flat against her lower belly, and pressure was exactly what she needed. She convulsed with a sob, and he redoubled his efforts, tongue-fucking her through her orgasm. Distantly, she felt the thrusting of his cock against her hand, and then a rush of hot, sticky cum on her fingers.

She crumpled to the bed, and he pulled her tightly against him, kissing the backs of her thighs as she slowly came back to herself. After a few moments, he shifted, curling up behind her, tucking his thighs behind her legs as he drew her body close to his and buried his face in her hair.

“I love you,” she murmured.

He kissed the side of her neck, just behind her ear, dragging his tongue slowly across her skin as he slid his hand up to play with her breast. “Love you. Never scare me like that again.”

She laughed quietly. “Aye, aye, Cap’n. What’s gotten into you, anyway? You were acting protective before we even left the Martinet.”

He lay silently for a moment, breathing in the scent of her hair, before he replied. “You’re late.”

She blinked. “What?”

“You’re… your cycle, it’s like clockwork. And—you’re late,” he said hoarsely.

She swallowed. “Oh.”

The original comic panel that inspired this story! This was from Star Wars Adventures Ashcan. Alas, this comic was never published, so I am once again filling in the gaps in canon.

ADDITIONAL CONTENT WARNING: mention of possible pregnancy.

[lightwise]

Okay, okay. I don’t really have the bandwidth or knowledge right now to write a story around this, but wanted to see if anyone has come across someone who has:

Captain Rex as either a pirate or a ship’s captain.

Could be still in the Star Wars universe, an AU, Earth’s 16th-18th century seafaring history…but it seems like a natural fit for him.

Wanted to throw that idea out there and see if someone has already done it and if not throw free inspiration into the fic winds.

[212th-legion]

I haven’t drawn in forever 😭 Here’s a sketch request I did a while back of Kix and Wolffe. Is anyone excited about The Bad Batch season 2??? 😁

[chaoticvampirejedi]

"The Mandalorian" and "Ahsoka" this.

"Andor" that.

Cool, cool. Very cool.

Now, where is my pirate!Kix show you cowards?

[arenjix]

OMG I just learned about Kix and him being the last Clone Trooper.

As far as I have understood, there is a comic that is about that. He investigated after the stuff with Tup and Fives and then discovered the truth for himself. But before he could tell the Jedi, he was kidnapped by the Separatists and put in stasis to be brought to Dooku. But on the way the ship was ambushed by the Republic and in a last attempt to keep Kix from telling the Jedi, a droid jumped through hyperspace to a random sector in the galaxy. There they crashed on Ponemah and lost their power. Kix stayed in stasis for the next 50 years till he was found by a pirate crew and joined them.

Like if that is not good material for a fanfiction , idk what is omg ndnakkq The angst, the grief, the crack! Aaaah, I can see it infront of me but I can't write T_T

That's was a brief summarization and everything is from Kix' Wookiepedia page:

[sinisterexaggerator]

So, I’ve never been interested in clones much, but get this…

More about the Book of Hondo and its influence on others:

“Considered to be Ohnaka's most infamous contribution, the Book of Hondo was rumored to have inspired other well-known criminals, such as the "Crimson Corsair.’”

Now, the Crimson Corsair was a pirate captain.

“He and his crew discovered the remains of the downed Obrexta III, a ship which had been in service to the Confederacy of Independent Systems exactly 50 standard years prior during the Clone Wars, and raided it under the assumption that they would find valuable kyber crystals that once belonged to Count Dooku. Instead they found a Galactic Republic clone trooper named Kix, who had been frozen in stasis, and the locations of former Separatist bases.”

What?!?? WHAT!?! And get this:

“Having awoken in a time long after the fall of the Galactic Republic and the Jedi Order, Kix joined the crew of the Crimson Corsair.”

KIX BECOMES A PIRATE???

OMG. SOMEONE NEEDS TO WRITE THIS.

maybe me.

[bagheera82]

One Piece 1072

[its-captain-sir]

Hondo is still around apparently by the time of tfa so consider: he runs into Kix

[thefact0rygirl]

Space Pirate Kix. I need it.

Bearded Space Pirate Kix.

Okay but imagine being a merchant who Sidon would often sell goods to. You meet Kix and develop a situationship with ifykyk 👀

[starqueensthings]

Colder Weather: Part 1.5

Summary: the next installment to Colder Weather. This was supposed to be lumped into Part II but it’s too long, and it deserves its own moment. Please ensure you read Part I first, and heed the warnings below before reading.

Rating: Teen 16+ (for suggestive content and continued angst)

Warnings: mentions of unexpected pregnancy, abandonment.

POV/WC: 2nd (Fem!Reader x Post Stassis Kix), 2360 words.

AN: Kix how fkn dare you, dude. Mad at you.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | ao3

He simply had no right to devour you the way that he was; the initial, gentle grazes of his teeth atop the delicate skin of your neck quickly intensifying to a series of assertive nibbles that brought you just to the cusp of discomfort before the soft pucker of his lips stripped the shallow indentations of their sting.

He had even less of a right to render you so euphorically delirious, his calloused hands kneading you like putty as if those same palms hadn’t left you untouched and craving their caress for two and a half months. And how dare he undress you with those same dark, twinkling eyes that had last danced across your features crinkled with anguish and shadowed by the turmoil triggered by your choked plea for commitment? How dare he melt you with the same hot breath that fractured his voice as he refused to accede to your teary demand, his lungs offering nothing but a pitiful goodbye before, once again, disappearing into the night?

No… he had no right to stand there so upright and proudly, strong form keeping you lifted and pinned against the wall of the same hallway that had been audience to both the chorus of your pleasured moans, and the barely repressed sniffles triggered by his repeated abandonment.

Yet, here you were, blissfully ignorant to the budding protest of your inner thighs as the rigidity of his armoured belt saw them nearly bruising under the periodic, thoughtless thrusts knocking your tailbone heavily against the wall.

“You never answered the transmission I sent you last month.”

A surge of resentment sent your eyes rolling before you’d even finished uttering the words, though it wasn’t the disapproving reminder that had you cursing yourself, but the breathy way in which they’d left your parted lips; the sensation of his hands fervently working their way from your hips to the swells of your chest having entirely robbed you of the need to reprimand him for the manner in which he’d departed last time, and the intolerable silence he’d upheld since.

“You’re right,” he conceded, the admission of guilt muffled to near incoherence by the crevice of your neck; clearly uninterested in suspending the devourment of your skin, he offered little more than a few hurried, disjointed words between the ruts of his hips and the passionate, open-mouthed kisses leaving slick trails underneath your jaw. “I meant to… honest… but I didn’t… In my defense… Ithano got us trapped on Florrum for a while… and I didn’t have…”

Exactly what he “didn’t have” was rendered a mystery, the remainder of his barely comprehensible excuse seemingly banished by the fervent desire to crash his lips to yours again, filling the corners of your mouth with a sensual growl that had you intensifying the wreath of your arms around his neck.

But you knew these steps… you knew this choreography. It would be mere minutes until he kicked the bedroom door closed behind him and tossed you to the bed, and every soft moan that left your lips as you failed to abey this familiar dance was a breath wasted. There were things that needed voicing before the fragility of your resolve saw it usurped by the craving for his touch. There was a confession demanding to be spoken; one that you’d wearily recited aloud to your reflection until the sentiment no longer triggered your hands to tremble and your vision to blur behind a wall of tears.

“Kix,” you sighed, as his lips departed yours for the solace of your other shoulder; the feeble plea slipping past your lips continued to contradict the potent anxiety simmering in your veins, and smothered every inkling of exigence from your tone. “You… you should have answered. I have to tell y–”

“I know, Mesh’la,” he breathed back. “There’s no excuse. I’m sorry. Was it urgent?”

Yes.

Your lips pursed against the moan threatening to escape your lungs as another thoughtless yet sinful rut of his hips saw his codpiece jutting into the aching space between your legs. “Well… not exactly,” you conceded. “But it was important. It still is.”

You fractured the loop of your arms around his neck, instead guiding your hands to encircle each of the scuffed rerebraces concealing the thick swells of muscle below them, but your shift in posture went unnoticed by the dark eyes still blown with lust, and he eagerly chased your depleting touch by hoisting you more securely around his waist.

“Can’t it wait until we’re done?” he mumbled against your lips.

Yes.

“No.”

In a move of unprecedented willpower, a subtle shove from each of your hands saw his lips detach from yours, his heavy brow contracting in confusion as his eyes fell upon the unease rapidly banishing the desire from your features. “I– I’ve waited long enough.”

Amid the sudden absence of a surging, primal lust, every inch of your skin began to prickle with nerves; the fine hairs atop your arms and across the back of your neck standing alert and ready for whatever precarious situation your mind deemed imminent. Yet his eyes softened to something near an adoring gaze as they danced across your shadowed face, a coy smirk emerging on the corners of his lips as he redirected his hands from the tender swells of your chest to the undersides of the thighs still locked around his hips.

“Alright, lay it on me,” he spoke, only partially able to repress the hoarse chuckle that, in any other circumstance, would have sent your heart cartwheeling around your chest.

A heavy swallow did nothing to eradicate the tension in your throat. Despite having recited the words to your reflection with every possible inflection, with every variation of diction, they simply refused to leave you under the oppression of his expectant gaze, and attempting to force them from a tongue too apprehensive to curl around them had you nearly suffocating. Eager to avoid witnessing those mildly swollen lips curl even further into the unintentionally patronizing smirk, your eyes darted away from his, instead following the distracted movements of your fingertips as they traced the many abstract blemishes carelessly embossed into his chest plate.

“What is it, Cyar’ika?” he probed quietly, trailing a softly curled finger down your flushed cheek.

Just tell him, damnit.

A deep, chest-expanding inhale. An uncomfortable twist in your gut. A surge of fear that nearly saw your eyes begin to blur. A slow and steady exhale through pursed lips.

“I’m pregnant.”

The sharp pain of a hangnail ripped from your ring finger went entirely unnoticed, and the assertive pinch that you instantly applied to prevent the tiny droplet of blood from escaping, was a motion as thoughtless as the act of detaching the broken skin. Your thighs had ceased their protest; his hips had stalled their pulses; there was nothing but a dense, smothering silence hanging between your intertwined forms; the only discernible motion in the dim hallway was the remnants of impassioned breathing still heaving his chest.

“You’re– you’re pregnant?”

Lust’s tight clutches had yet to free his voice of the typically enamoring gruffness, yet it lacked all of the intensity that regularly weakened your knees, the words weakly escaping his now slack lips as if it were a phrase too inappropriate to speak in anything above a whisper.

Innumerous rehearsals of your confession had seemingly failed to callous you against the disbelief— no, the disappointment swaddling his words, and despite having vowed to maintain your composure in the face of any potential reaction, watching his eyes unfocus and widen with horror quickly threatened to dismantle your resolve.

“Yes.” It only wavered slightly as it escaped your mouth, and you met his eyes with resilient intention. “I— I sent you that message when I found out. I’ve been waiting to hear from you, but…”

Its ghost stole the rest of the thought from your mind; the monster on his shoulders suddenly appeared in every rapidly deepening crease across his forehead, in every lagging blink over his glassy eyes, every shallow breath that spilled from his parted lips, and the fear that you’d spent weeks desperately praying would not consume him suddenly enveloped him so entirely that his hands simply fell away from you.

You hurried to unhook your legs from his waist, staggering slightly as you found your footing before earnestly reaching upwards to weave your fingers into his beard. “Don’t… don’t panic,” you pleaded, forcing the lump in your throat back down to slumber in your gut. You would not permit yourself the reprieve of emotion in this moment, as the days of tearing up over the pain of lost love and unrequited commitment needed to be in the past; there was a strength demanded of you now that tears would simply rob you of. “It’s still early,” you breathed, trying to recapture his gaze by tugging gently on his jaw. “The baby isn’t due until the last week of the year. There’s… there’s lots of time to– to figure things out.”

But his eyes were only attuned to you for the span of a shallow breath before they disappeared behind lids clamping tightly closed, his feet instantly mirroring the fervent need to disassociate from the situation by taking several, abandoning steps away from you.

“Pregnant…” he mumbled, his hands forming a defensive barrier in front of his chest, a palpable disconnect wedging it way between your bodies with every micro shake of the head, every small step that he took backward.

“Kix, hun,” you begged, reaching for his hand in a desperate attempt to keep his mind from spiraling and triggering the departure that you knew was only one wrong word away. “It’ll be okay, I promise. There’s more than enough space in this house for all three of us, and whatever we can’t buy, we’ll make… or we’ll do without. And– and Ithano will understand! You tell me all the time that he’s always harping on you to settle down— wait, where are you going?!”

“I… I have to go…”

He tugged his hand from yours, the motion itself arguably less aggressive than the impassioned pressure that his belt had impressed upon your thighs only minutes earlier, yet it erupted a pain so deep in your chest that even attempting to fill your lungs with trembling, shallow breaths was a feat near impossible.

“You’re going to leave?” you choked at his retreating figure, your feet taking you thoughtlessly down the hallway after him. “You’re— you’re not even going to say anything?”

“I… I don’t know what to say…” he mumbled, snatching his helmet from its perch on the newel post as he reached the half dozen stairs leading downward to the front door.

“Well… how about anything, Kix,” you scoffed, but he was either deaf or dumb to your despair; either unwilling or unable to send you even a fleeting glance before descending down the stairs and reaching for the door handle that would permit his escape.

And just how your heart could beat so savagely against your chest, while simultaneously laying fragmented in the darkest depths of your gut was a mystery to which you could spare no attention right now… Kix was mere seconds from leaving; he was only inches from the darkness of the night that would swallow him entirely and shelter him from the pressing obligation that he owed you.

Say something. Say something.

Were you requesting it of him, or of yourself? Did the strength to beg that he stay still reside amongst the shattered remains of your heart? Could you swallow what was left of your pride one last time for the sake of the child growing innocently in the place where the man you loved had last left remnants of himself? Was there anything you could say to stop his exodus from ultimately fracturing the pitiful optimism that saw you repeatedly leaping into his open arms?

“For Maker’s sake, Kix,” you hissed at him, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m just as scared as you are.”

He froze, fingers still poised around the tauntingly glimmering gold handle. “Mesh’la.” It only took one, whispered word to expose his desolation, and he stood like nothing more than a ghost of a man; shoulders slumped, head hung, helmet held slackly at his side. “I… I can’t—”

“Well you’re going to have to. You don’t just get to run out anymo—”

“I’m sorry—”

“Don’t you dare leave!—”

“—and I love you.”

“—KIX!”

In his haste to vanish, the front door failed to full latch behind him, and a waft of warm summer air danced across the moisture welling in your eyes as if the universe itself was attempting to wipe your tears. “I’m sorry… and I love you.” It echoed like a gong in your ears. Lies. He wasn’t sorry, and he sure as hell didn’t love you.

How dare he put you in this position? There wasn’t a freckle on your body foolish enough to have expected a reaction that even remotely resembled joy or excitement, but this? To barely cast you a glance before hurrying to escape? To offer nothing but stammered, ingenuine apologies over his shoulder as he stepped into the reprieve of darkness? It was bitter. Bitter like the bile that had spent the last two months coating the back of your tongue as your body fought to establish a safe home for the child you’d never expected to carry.

And with a face obtusely contorted into a grimace of pure rage, you stomped down the stairs after him as noisily as your socked feet could permit, desperate to muffle the sounds of his abandonment as you pulled the door open just wide enough to slam it closed again.

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[meerlichts]

Put me in the star wars head office i’m making a show about Kix