#if he fucking grips his kyber crystal in the end it might as well be the same exact thing

[jynjackets]

[Andor season 2 final scene]

Cassian, broken and bloodied on the ship headed to Ring of Kafrene to learn about Project Stardust: *looks up to the camera*

Cassian: This is a love story.

#has this been done already #if he fucking grips his kyber crystal in the end it might as well be the same exact thing #the parallelism will continue to destroy me #rebelcaptain #rogue one #andor #star wars

[kylorengarbagedump]

Not a Scratch (NSFW)

Read on AO3.

Summary: You knew he would come back. You knew. So you kept the crystal around your neck. A pendant. A reminder. It was why you weren’t surprised when the call came in over the transceiver--garbled and urgent, but intelligible:

“This is Rey. I have Ben. We’re on our way back--need medics on ready!”

It hadn’t mattered, the 8 years of distance, of longing, of memory. Ben Solo was back.

Words: 6800 (fucking... why)

Warnings: Just a lot of feelings.

Characters: Ben Solo/Kylo RenxReader 

A/N: A long overdue gift for one of my closest, enduring friends, @faestae​. There are few words I can say that illustrate what our friendship has meant to me, so I hope that this, a try-hard attempt at a love letter, says enough.

That being said, I desperately needed to save Ben Solo, as I've needed to do since 2015. So, here's the actual canon ending to TROS--isn't it weird how that works?

I hope that y'all enjoyed this. I really enjoyed writing Ben's conflict and confusion. I love him, no matter his name. And I love y'all, too. Thank you! <3

“Promise me.”

Ben Solo’s hands cover the kyber crystal in yours as a plea, his eyes clouded with restrained terror. His bottom lip, pillowy and pink, quivers, and he shakes his head, anxiety rolling from him in waves. Weaving your fingers through his own, you tug him close, seeking out his gaze. He avoids you, jaw straining.

“It’s going to be okay, Ben.”

“How do you know that?” he replies. “You don’t understand. I’ve heard what they say.” Tension builds again in his shoulders, and like a dog, he wags it away. “Promise me you won’t wait for me.”

“Your family loves you,” you say, and he stands, ripping his grip from yours. You follow, reaching for his arm. “Nothing is going to happen. It’s going to be okay!”

“Stop saying that!” he snaps, fire flickering in his pupils. He’s heaving, his sight glossy. You always forget how massive he is. He holds you in his stare, chest filling with air. There’s a pause--you think he might apologize--but he turns away, releasing a sigh. “Go. Go home. Forget about me.”

Heart cracking, you fold your arms. Your throat is tight. “You know I could never do that.”

“Well,” he says, “start trying.” He stands there a moment, mind churning with something you’re not sure you want to know. “Go.”

“Ben--”

Ben murmurs your name. It’s disarming. “Please.”

Chewing your lip to keep it from trembling, you leave, gripping the crystal. You don’t look back.

The memory was worn from use, now, muddled in places, exact details blurred to approximations, sentences rounded to paraphrases. Sleepless nights, you would caress its frayed edges, holding it like gauze over the wound in your heart, waiting for the ache to cease--yet each morning, like stitches popping, the wound would bleed anew, redder with each reminder of his presence.

If you had been smart, you would have made that promise and kept it. If you had been smart, you would have stayed away from the Resistance and Leia Organa. If you had been smart, you would have done as he had asked--banished his existence to a corner of your brain where recollections went to rot, let it wither into decay.

But you’d done none of those things. Desperate to keep a connection, you’d maintained a relationship with his mother, in the hopes that one day, he’d come back to you, that you’d prove to him that you hadn’t been foolish to wait for him as he’d believed.

Then came the news of the Jedi Academy.

Then came the news of Kylo Ren.

You followed Leia Organa into war. You became a part of the Resistance. You were one of the few breathing members left. And even as you witnessed him crumble the movement to its knees, you shielded that memory from bitterness, clutching at its most poignant wrinkles, coiled around the strongest, clearest tether to that night.

The kyber crystal.

No matter how desperate with hatred Ben had become, that tether grounded you to what you knew of Ben Solo--a boy on the precipice of his manhood, a boy consumed with expectations and swallowed like sunlight by the black, wretched shadow of fear. It had chased him, you knew, for years. Even after it had snagged him with its claws, drawn him deep into the mire of resignation, you nurtured a seedling of hope, sustained almost entirely on the nourishment of the feeling of the crystal in your hands.

You knew he would come back. You knew. So you kept the crystal around your neck. A pendant. A reminder.

It was why you weren’t surprised when the call came in over the transceiver--garbled and urgent, but intelligible:

“This is Rey. I have Ben. We’re on our way back--need medics on ready!”

Scrambling, you charged into action, shouting out to your comrades, “Hey! Rey’s coming back! Injured parties on board!” You careened through the base, calling out to whoever would listen, leaping over supplies, tripping over wires, tumbling into groups trying to sneak a meal. “Injured parties en route! All medics on deck! Rey’s coming!”

Your blood flew through your veins at lightspeed, the possibilities spinning like roulette in your mind. Ben was coming back--Ben. Not Kylo Ren, but Ben Solo, your Ben, and you would be able to see him, touch him, hold him again after 8 long, awful years. Your hidden memory burbled to life with renewed color--you could see the line of his nose, the waves of his hair, the breadth of his shoulders as if they were in front of you, now.

The excitement was tempered by the realization of Rey’s request--medics. Fear and joy fought for dominance when you pictured his body torn with wounds, soaked with blood, heavy with pain. Breath shuddering in your lungs, you searched for a place to sit, to wait. Your desire was to be the first to see him off the ship, to leap into his arms, to grasp at his face and smother it with your affection. But you knew that this was his mother’s place, not yours. If Ben was gravely injured, then to try to be with him would only complicate the issue. This was to say nothing about the impact of his choices--what everyone else on the base might think.

An interesting man you’d chosen to love.

Despite your resolve to sequester yourself in your tent during his arrival, the noise of Rey’s ship landing was too difficult to resist. You poked out your head, watching a swarm of Resistance fighters surround the vessel. The reality of his arrival sent your heart into your throat, hands fidgeting as you scanned every new movement for evidence of his presence, willing your eyes to believe what they were about to see. The hatch opened, and out stepped Rey--bloody, dirty, but still bearing a gleaming grin. She fell into the arms of her cheering friends, and you grew more impatient, craning your neck to see him appear behind her.

Silence cast over the celebratory din before you saw him, as if his presence destroyed the idea of joy on base--his hair was long and dark, curls blown out from sweat. He looked even larger than you had remembered, his wide frame padded with the muscle of an experienced warrior, and his face… It was just as beautiful as you remembered--full lips under hazel eyes, a long nose--but so tired. And nervous.

The urge rose to call out to him.

“Ben…”

You clamped your hand over your mouth, horrified--until you realized it hadn’t been you who had spoken.

The crowd parted for Leia Organa as she strode to the front, meeting her son at the threshold, where he stood transfixed, an effigy crafted from terror. Your tongue dried when you observed Ben take one step forward, and another, before crumbling to his knees, face buried in his fists, shoulders swelling with emotion you were too far to hear. Leia crossed to her son, pressing his head to her chest, stroking his hair. Quiet words passed her lips, and his body wracked, trembling in her embrace.

Pulse pounding, you retreated to your tent. Quakes rumbled through you, your palms slick with perspiration, breath rattling as if your ribs had come loose. Thoughts raced through your mind faster than you could identify them, tears welling and slipping over your cheeks. You laughed, despite yourself, grinding the heels of your palms into your eyes. The moment you’d spent the past 8 years preparing for had arrived--and you couldn’t even bring yourself to see him. Being a spectator to his icy reception, his collapse into his mother’s arms, had been more sobering than you’d anticipated. You realized that after all he’d been through, who was to say he’d even still care about you?

Who was to say he even remembered your name?

The mask you’d so carefully carved over the past near-decade shattered, and you sobbed, a long, broken gasp of air pulled into your lungs. It was cold in your throat, pins poking you from the inside as you wept, years of denial wilting, parting for torrents of doubt. Your last conversation with Ben had ended with him begging for you to forget him--he’d gone on to renounce his name, become Supreme Leader of the First Order. He’d murdered his own father. How, after any of this, could you think his mind hadn’t oh-so-ceremoniously murdered you, too?

Whining, you fell into your bed and tugged a blanket over your shoulders, concealing your necklace with a fist, as if you could will it to disappear. You’d been stupid, so stupid. You’d loved Ben, but the man that exited that ship was not the same Ben you’d loved. And he might not ever be. A chill settled over your stomach while you pulled the cover tighter, like it was a barrier protecting you from reality, like you could stave off falling into a canyon of despair.

You remained there, the crushing awakening of foolishness ceding to an empty rot, eyes boring through the far flap of your tent. Outside, restless chattering bloomed as time moved forward, groups of your relieved comrades downing spirits for the first time in what seemed like millenia. Raucous peals of laughter erupted from positions near and far, a group in the distance taking to singing after a few hours of drinks had passed. You heard it all, trapped in your fetal position, cursing yourself for your ignorance.

At least you had the manners not to invite anyone to your pity party.

Daylight dimmed, and your legs grew restless, your chest bubbling with anxiety. You sighed, rolling out of your bed, dragging your fingers over your face. It felt swollen, tight, your cheeks sticky with the remnants of your tears. As much as you wanted it, to remain like a statue in the tent, an observer to the victory of the Resistance, would be impossible. You’d fought for this, too--to hide out of, what, embarrassment? Shame? It didn’t seem right. At some point, you would have to face him. Might as well get it over with now.

It was likely Ben had been taken to the medic tent, but you couldn’t imagine where he’d gone after that, if he had been all right. Maybe he’d gone to stay with his mother. Quelling the tremor in your lungs with a deep breath, you trudged out into the camp, wandering along to Leia Organa’s tent. Gaggles of Resistance members cheered with raised spirits when you passed, but your brain was numb to their joy, still shackled to the memory of Ben Solo. Freedom hadn’t been awarded to you, yet.

Celebration on base had reached a loud, rolling plateau, and as you moved deeper into base, you spotted unfamiliar ships littered across the landscape, the doors open, the lights on. News was spreading, apparently, and everyone was invited to the party. Another claw of anxiety tugged at your heart--perhaps Leia and Ben would be too flocked with visitors to entertain you. Perhaps you’d arrive and appear even more foolish than you’d felt when you’d seen him walk off the ship. Perhaps there were dozens of people he’d wanted to see, names foreign and unknown to you, and perhaps you should’ve just stayed in your tent like you’d had the inclination to do instead of getting up and walking through this fucking crowd to get to another fucking crowd and--

Leia’s tent was marked by two lanterns outside the entrance--but not a soul in sight outside its boundaries. In fact, it looked as if there’d been a deliberate effort to leave a radius of empty space around her encampment, like an invisible barricade of solitude had been erected. In the cacophony, Leia Organa’s space was unblemished refuge, an oasis of peace that you desperately craved. Yet it stalled you--to break this unofficial blessing seemed wrong. You didn’t want to be the weird girl hanging outside the General’s tent. But the crystal was heavy around your neck. Weirdness be damned.

You crept through the encroaching shadows, hoping to avoid curious eyes while you drew closer to the entrance flap. Before you could push it open, your ears caught the rumbled hush of speech, and your pulse quickened. It was wrong to eavesdrop. And yet…

“It will take time. You knew that when you stepped off that ship.”

That was Leia’s voice--soft, warm. A long pause hung in the air.

“I don’t know why I did. They’re right to hate me.” The next words were pushed between teeth. “I am a monster.”

Your stomach constricted, a punch to your gut. Ben. Hearing him speak had you doubled over, sweat staining your neck, muscles locked in shock. Now, even if you’d wanted to move, you couldn’t.

“I know my son,” Leia said. “And he is no monster.”

“Your son murdered his own father.”

“I know.”

“Your husband.”

“I know.”

“Then how can you…” A hitch of breath, a crackle of noise, like a cry caught in his throat. “How can I…”

Rustling inside the tent, the sound of stifled sobs. Shushing. “This won’t be easy, Ben. It won’t. But you’ve made it this far.” More rustling. “And you’re not alone.”

A snort of dismissal. “Aren’t I?”

“You’re not,” Leia said. “And I won’t let you think you are. You have me. Rey.” She didn’t say your name. Your heart thumped. “The first steps of any journey are the most difficult.”

There was a long, resigned sigh. A stuttered breath. Another pause.  “Yes,” Ben croaked. “You’re right.” He sniffed, clearing his throat. “You’re right.”

“Aren’t I always?” said Leia. “Now come on. I haven’t seen you eat a thing.”

Shuffling inside the tent, and you choked on your own spit as your insides flipped. Leia hadn’t mentioned you. Maybe she already knew he didn’t remember you. Relief and horror flooded you at once, your fingers twisting around your necklace. More than anything, you wanted to rush into the tent, throw your arms around him, show him he truly wasn’t alone--but instead you stood there, a shell, paralyzed by what you’d heard.

It was true that he was not the same man you had loved. Before, when Ben had spoken, you’d felt his dread, his unease, it had gripped you with its claws. Now, even through his pain, you sensed resolve, a tide of confidence splashing in his mind.

“Do you…” It was Ben again, voice like a quiet ocean. “There was a girl. Before I left.” He sniffled again, and your lids widened. A girl. “I gave her a kyber crystal. Do you...” He sighed. Your breathing stopped, fist sheathing the crystal. “Do you know what happened to her?”

Leia spat out your name, incredulous. “Of course I know what happened to her. She’s here.”

Heat flashed through you. Your neck was drenched, for sure. You hoped against hope your armpits had been spared. Ben remembered you. He remembered.

“Here?”

“On base,” she said. “She joined the Resistance.”

You could hear the smile in her voice. Meanwhile, your throat was drier than the sands of Jakku. Given a few more minutes of this, your body might turn to sand, too--just disintegrate right there, a pile of dust at the perimeter of Leia’s tent. Silence settled for a moment.

“She’s here.” It was a statement of disbelief.

She chuckled. “Did you really think she would just forget you?”

“Mom…” Noise inside the tent again. “I…”

The tent flap opened, and you yelped, leaping back. There, light shimmering like an aura around his massive silhouette, stood Ben Solo.

Up close, he was even more beautiful. His dark, amber eyes were still wet, already full mouth swollen from weeping. He met your stare, jaw dropped. Air had been stolen from both of you, if the lack of breathing on either side was an indicator. Inside your ribs, something fluttered, and you hoped it wasn’t an oncoming heart attack--but if it was, you’d die happy. Ben’s gaze searched you, drawing over every centimeter of your figure, mapping you to the image in his memory, that, seeing him now, you’d known he’d kept. Just like you’d kept yours.

“Uhm…” Finally, you inhaled. “Hey.”

A long, slow breath spread in Ben’s chest. His eyes refused to leave yours. “Tell me where you’re staying.”

You swallowed. “What?”

He blinked, clearing his throat. “I--... No, sorry.” Looking over his shoulder, he shrugged, gesturing to you. “I’m going to--”

“Just get out of here, already!” Leia chided. You could hear the mirth in her tone.

Ben nodded, and you turned, leading him with quick strides to your own tent. He stayed on your heels, perhaps hoping that his attachment to you would serve as camouflage. It worked, mostly--between the waxing excitement in the camp, the setting of the sun, and the effort to hide your faces, only few lingering stares caught you escaping through the crowds with the former Kylo Ren.

It hadn’t mattered, the 8 years of distance, of longing, of memory. You felt Ben behind you now as if he’d never left, his presence fitting into the ache you’d dug your fingers into, wrenched open, kept gaping. In this moment of rediscovery, wordlessness filled the space between you, not out of emptiness, but out of fullness--too much, too many words; they coalesced into a fog that surrounded you, dizzied you, excited you. Ben Solo was back.

Ben Solo was back.

Lips pinched together, you peeled back the entrance to your tent, and he ducked in. Heat branded you, like he was fire, scorching you when you drew too near. Ben sat on your bed--afraid to burn, you took the chair across from him, feeling ten times tinier when you sank into the seat, shoulders curling over your torso, hands hiding between your knees. Both of you stared in silence.

His gaze was more intense than you remembered--there was an urgency within the depths of his irises, like a panther, crouched in the darkness, ready to pounce. His body was wound with that same urgency, coiled within him, even as he sat on your bed, looking entirely familiar. It was as if Ben was trapped beyond water’s surface, the death throes of Kylo Ren echoing across his skin, shattering his image with each ripple. Fingers biting your knees, you remembered to breathe.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” he said. “You…” His lips twitched. “It’s good. To see you.”

A sniffle escaped, the tears already welling. Internally, you cursed. Shouldn’t you be a little harder to impress? “I just…” You smiled, despite yourself. “I’m so glad you’re back, Ben.”

“Yeah,” he said. “It’s…” He met your stare, glanced away. “Yeah.”

You watched his attention wander across the floor of your room, drawn to the ceiling by the hosts of doodles, notes, Resistance memorabilia you’d pinned in artistic menageries, a feeble attempt to make it feel like home. You’d never been successful in that venture. No matter how many trinkets you’d collected over the years, nothing had done the trick to make your bed feel more familiar. Ben’s eyes rested on you again.

Nothing until now, anyway.

“You came to the Resistance.” His head tilted. “When?”

“Well…” Your expression tightened. “Not long after you, uh, told me to go home and forget about you.”

Ben huffed. “You were never very good at listening to me.”

You offered him a little shrug. “Isn’t that what you liked about me, Solo?”

He peered at you, a hint of intrigue at the corners of his eyes. “It is.” A pause while he considered you. “What do you know about what I’ve--”

“Everything,” you replied quickly. You knew it all, and wanted to discuss none of it. Not now. He was here, he was within your reach. You wanted to relish this moment. “I know all of it.”

A sigh left him. “All right,” he said. “You know all of it.”

“I do.” You raised your hands in submission. “And none of it scares me.”

“None of it.”

You shook your head. “Nope.”

His brow twitched. He looked to his feet, quiet.

For years, you’d imagined his return, pictured this moment in varied shades. In your daydreams, you’d always wrapped him up in an embrace, pulled him into a deep kiss, ran your fingers through his hair, like years hadn’t elapsed between the last time you’d even linked hands. That seemed wrong, now--but you didn’t want it to be. How bold you could be in your mind. You nearly slapped yourself in frustration. Almost a decade of pretending, and you were just going to sit and watch him guess how to talk to you? No. Hell no.

“Ben,” you said, “I’ve missed you. I’ve missed you so, so much.”

He tensed, then relaxed in another long sigh. He whispered your name. “You’ve… To see you here…” A tiny smile twisted the corners of his mouth. “I’ve missed you, too.”

You smiled, wiping away more unbidden tears. Warmth glowed between you, now, cutting through like shears to the well-worn path that time had overgrown. Shifting, you inched forward in your chair.

“Are you okay?” You gestured toward him, waving your hand around. “I know they called for medics when you arrived.”

He cocked his head again, and sat up, wagging his shirt, as if to demonstrate he was free of serious injury. “I seem to be in one piece.”

You spied a hole in his shirt, and you frowned. “What’s that?”

Ben glanced at you, thoughtful. Then he dropped the shirt, and it fell against his body, framing a peep of his naked torso. “You’ve never seen a lightsaber wound before?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Rey stabbed me,” he said matter-of-factly, like this was what you’d expected him to blurt out. “It’s fine, though. She healed it.”

You blinked. “I’m sorry…” You shook your head. “What?”

“It still burns. It’s eating me from the inside.” A pause, Ben’s gaze leveling you with violent severity, your stomach sinking into your gut--and then he grinned. “I’m kidding.” He poked himself through the hole. “You never know what the Force is truly capable of until your own lightsaber is sticking out of your stomach.”

“Stars, Ben!” You smirked against your will, fighting the laugh that wanted to burst through. “You’re such an ass.”

He shrugged, a sly look still pulling at his face. “Really, it’s fine,” he said. “See for yourself.”

Raising a brow, you went to stand, anxiety strapping your limbs to the seat. “Oh, um, I don’t know,” you replied. “I mean, I don’t want to be rude.”

“It’s fine.” His voice was lower, harsher. “You could never be rude to me.”

Blush eked over your cheeks. “If you say so, Solo.”

You stood and crossed to him, breath shallow, and sat gingerly next to him, scanning his figure. Never had you imagined Ben could be even bigger than he’d been in your memories--yet here he was, looming over you without standing, crowding your bed and your clarity with equal effectiveness. You looked between his face and the hole in his top, and he nodded. Jaw clenched, you reached out and poked it.

Two thoughts flashed through your mind when your flesh connected. The first was surprise--he was right, the alleged wound was completely healed; there wasn’t even a scar. The second, almost immediately after, came paired with a rabid streak of desire. Holy--he’s… firm. Swallowing, you met his eyes. They were dark.

“Ben,” you breathed. “That’s… incredible.”

Your finger hadn’t left his torso. Staying linked to his stare, you shifted closer, pressing your entire hand against his abdomen, palm splaying over the wall of tight muscle, skimming it like water over rocks. When you met the hem of his top, your digits crept underneath, brushing across his skin. His stomach twitched, but his eyes remained trained on yours--breathing now optional. Electricity sparked at your fingertips, stealing your rationality, and you caressed him, tumbling into the warmth, the solid strength of his body, your blood racing, urging you to discover more. Your hand snaked up to his chest, grazing the smooth expanse of flesh, catching the hammering of his heart beneath his sternum, his hardened nipples, and back down, resting on his lean belly. He stiffened when your digits kissed the trail of hair that led lower. He was hot. Or you were hot. You couldn’t tell, anymore.

Ben’s chin quivered. “Not a scratch on me.”

“No…” You couldn’t stop staring at his fucking mouth. “Not a single one…”

Trapped in hesitation, both of your eyes locked again--and you saw it there, misty in his gaze, his ache, his desire, his agony--and you both snapped, crashing like gravity into the other.

Ben seized your face, his plush lips working over yours, forcing a groan from you when his fingers threaded through your hair. He cradled you, binding you to him, tugging your closer as his tongue slipped into your mouth, a moan following. You melted like wax in his grip, molding to him as if you’d been carved from his memory, one hand traveling along the lines of his abdomen, the other plunging into his own hair. The waves whispered like silk over your skin, and you shivered, mewling into him, your tongue swirling around his. Bolder, now, your hand skated across his frame to feel his powerful shoulders, and he tensed again, another moan leaving him.

Scraping your nails over his scalp, you eased closer, until your thighs touched, and in the motion, your palm drifted low, sweeping over the insistent, hard bulge in his pants. Ben gasped, folding over, lids wide with shock, cheeks flushed. You blinked, frozen, and he glanced at his erection, then at you. The knot in his throat bobbed.

“Ben...”

Exhaling, he nodded.

You reached down, working at his pants, monitoring the anticipation rising in his face. After a moment of rustling, it sprang free--long, thick, and heavy, just as you’d remembered. Lust flooded you, your thighs pressing together, your cunt throbbing while you stared. It had been years since you’d done this, and judging by his anxious lip-bite, it had been just as long for Ben, too. Throat tight, you held his gaze, ghosting the tips of your digits along his shaft.

He choked, cock bobbing with yearning--his lid twitched while he observed you observing him, his hands curling in and out of fists. A shaky breath exited your lungs, and you teased him again, toying your fingers along the head, smearing drops of his pre-cum, and back down, memorizing the tiny veins. Ben’s own breath quaked, lids fluttering, and your core thrummed again. You wrapped your hand around his dick, feeling how hard, how needy he was, and stroked him.

Like molasses, he collapsed, sinking into his seat, body yielding to the pleasure pulsating through his nerves. He watched you, jaw slack, as you pumped his cock, thumb collecting pre-cum and glazing his length with it. Breath rolled through him, steady, his legs spreading, fists finally unwinding, hands resting at his sides. Ben was hot--his heat ached in your fist, his pulse jumped through your digits, the heartbeat of his cock echoing to your pussy.

You jerked him faster, squeezing his shaft, and he shuddered with a moan, hips bucking to fuck into your grip. More pre-cum leaked from his tip, coating your hand, and you worked it along his dick, earning another moan, another tremble of pleasure. His eyes fought to stay on you. You twisted your wrist, changing pace, heart leaping when his head fell back, hair tumbling onto his brow.

“Fuck,” he murmured, “fuck…”

He was throbbing hard, now, writhing, breath coming faster, sweat glistening on his cheeks. Despite how badly you wanted to fuck him, you just as badly wanted to watch him cum, wanted to see him cover himself with his seed, wanted to watch him lose himself in the ecstasy only you could provide him.

Your name spilled from his mouth in a gasp, and he spasmed, snatching your wrist. His cock twitched in fury, ripped like thread from its release, and he sucked in a deep breath, pushing up on his palms and pulling you into another kiss. Humming in delight, you kissed him back, returning your hands to his hair--but he pulled them away, pinning them to your sides, growling as he dragged his teeth along your jaw.

Ben then busied himself with your clothes, nibbling lower, to your neck, while he peeled your jacket from your shoulders and tore your shirt toward your head. His touch was a match, embers exploding over your skin, stoking your appetite to strip for him. You wriggled free of your top, and Ben went to kiss you again, pausing when he saw the pendant around your neck, exposed now. Wonder glittered in his gaze, large fingers tilting it in fascination.

“You still have this.” He studied it, appraising each facet.

You nodded. “It’s never left my neck.”

He said nothing, rotating it between his thumb and forefinger. His level of focus brought fresh blood to your cheeks; you thought to move, but didn’t, suspended under his scrutiny. Longing, need, fervor, all paused as Ben wrestled with the concept of your devotion.

“I…” His stare fell, over your breasts, to your stomach, raking over your legs, and back up, greed growling behind his pupils. “I want you.”

You grinned. “You have me.” Your hand covered his as it fiddled with your crystal. “I... I want to keep this on.”

“Of course you do,” he replied, smirking. “No reason to break your streak, now.”

Giggling, you kissed him again--his hands slid behind your back, fussing with your bra before tossing it aside. He pawed at your exposed breasts, kneading the soft flesh, mouth falling to suckle at your throat. When you whimpered in pleasure, he groaned, easing you onto your back, thumbs flicking at your nipples before smoothing over your stomach and grappling with your bottoms. His hair tickled your jaw while he nipped at your neck, and you wrestled with his top, hands gliding over the strong planes of his back as you yanked it toward you. Ben grumbled, reluctant to release you, but seemed to agree that his clothing was impeding your mutual goal. His shirt came free, tossed aside, followed by your shoes and panties. The vulnerability made you squirm--not just yours, but his, too.

Ben’s body was even more perfect than you’d pictured when you’d traced it with your fingers. Every part of him was weaponized, down to the bits of exposed thigh you caught from his half-shucked pants. You swallowed, realizing the extent, the breadth of his power--how easily he could crush you, how effortlessly he’d done it to others--the vestiges of Kylo Ren evident in the taut landscape of his torso, the veins in his forearms, the cobwebs of white scars on his flesh.

But in his eyes, you saw only Ben Solo, a man possessed by your naked figure flushed with passion for him. Your pussy clenched--you became aware of how wet you were, and your face burned.

Silent, he guided a large hand up the side of your hip, his tender touch earning another throb of your cunt. Digits sketched around your nipples before he squeezed your tits again, reveling in your gratified response.

“You like that,” he murmured.

Nodding, your thighs ground together, the longing between your legs becoming too furious to silence. Ben smirked. Without a word, five fingers skimmed over your belly, brushing over your mound, and you cracked, moaning. In response, his dick pulsed, almost hitting his stomach with its demand. As if to invite him, you spread your legs, allowing him a full view of your wet, swollen pussy--and Ben’s breath hitched, hand gripping his length and jerking it slowly.

Being so close to him again was simultaneously familiar and bizarre, like you were getting intimate with a stranger who just happened to know all the quirks and triggers of your body, like a person you’d known only from your dreams had rolled into your bed, ready to enact your fantasies. But Ben Solo was not only real, he wasn’t a stranger. He was yours.

“Ben,” you breathed. “Please…”

Shushing you, he lowered himself on top of you, skin swathing skin, warmth encompassing you, and he guided his cock between your folds, slicking it on your juices before positioning himself at your core. You circled your arms around him, holding back tears when he pushed in, breaking you open with slow, gentle thrusts, his face falling into the crook of your neck, air sucking through his teeth. Muscles from your toes to your head vibrated with ecstasy, nerves singing with joy.

Ben groaned into you when he slipped fully into you, then pulling back out, relishing the drag of your walls on his throbbing length. Grunting, he wrapped you in an embrace, tugging you against him while he slid in again, a choked moan of disbelief caught in his throat. He kissed your neck once, then twice, hips pumping out and in, his pace powerful and gradual, as if he couldn’t help basking in the tight heat of your cunt. Tremors still quaked in your bones, and you wrapped your legs around him, needing him nearer, your lids closing, allowing the tears to slide down your hot cheeks.

He whispered your name in your ear, kissing your throat again, plunging steadily into you. “You feel so good,” he said, “so wet for me…”

If he was intent on liquifying you, it was working. Your limbs were gelatin, without motion, no purpose except to stay curled around this man. Ben’s cock fucked you open, sank deep into your pussy, his tempo quickening. You sniffled, nuzzling against him, content to stay like this forever, maybe die like this, if need be--you couldn’t ever remember feeling this whole, this safe. And as you thought it, another sniffle. But not from you. From Ben.

Whimpering, he rammed into you, speed erratic, like he was trying to drive his entire body into yours, pulling you into his chest, the kyber crystal cutting into your sternum. Your nails rasped across his back, clinging to him when he slid out. Another frantic thrust, and you squeaked, cunt clamping down on his dick, more tears spilling. He echoed you, silencing a sob in your neck, shuddering as he fucked you harder, faster.

“I’m sorry,” he groaned, “I’m so sorry…”

You hushed him, hands diving into his hair, fruitlessly trying to turn his face toward you. He was unyielding, wound around you like wire.

“I’m sorry I left,” he said, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry for all of it--”

“Ben, it’s okay--”

“It’s not!” He gasped, catching his breath, littering your throat and cheek with kisses. “I don’t deserve you, I don’t deserve this--”

You squealed when he speared a spot deep inside you. “I forgive you,” you said, “it’s okay--”

“Stop saying that…” he mumbled. “You don’t--you don’t understand…”

“Shh…”

He had slowed by this point, long, languid thrusts pushing into you. “You don’t understand what I want,” he whispered. “I’m a monster.”

Your heart skipped. “You can tell me, Ben…”

Ben hid his nose in the crook of your neck, face wet, breath like smoke. He hadn’t stopped fucking you through his cries, only clutched you tighter, keeping you real in his hands.

“I want...” He sniffled. And then, into your ear, barely escaping his throat: “Let me choke you.”

It was so abrupt, you laughed. “What?” you said, more as a statement than a question. “Is that all?”

He trembled in your arms. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

You rolled your eyes, kissing his temple. “I know that, Ben,” you said. “I know you would never hurt me.”  

He paused, seated inside of you, and pried himself from your shoulder, examining you in doubt. His chin still quivered.

“I mean it,” you said, pushing a lock of hair from his forehead. “I want all of you. Then, and now.” You kissed his nose. “I know Ben Solo. He is not a monster.”

The doubt fell from his face, followed by the anguish, the shame--and filtering in its place was pure, voracious hunger.

“You mean it.”

“I do,” you said. “I want it.”

He pushed up on his palms, hovering over you like a predator. Heart thrashing, you bit your lip, resisting the urge to clench around him. Before his fall, Ben had been passionate, desperate, even rough--but never like this. Never feral. Never animalistic. Never…  

Leaning forward, he brushed his mouth over your ear.

“We’ll see how you feel when I’m done with you, princess.”

Never so hot.

Fire flooded your veins, and you whined, the noise cut by his hand pressing down on your throat, squeezing with enough pressure to make you gasp. He smirked, rocking his hips to remind you of the thick length still inside you.

“I’m going to make you cum hard on this cock,” he purred. “Is that what you want?”

You nodded, grasping at his wrist.

“Good…”

Ben growled, and slammed into you, forcing a wail from your lungs, silenced by the grip on your neck. He rammed you with his dick again, and again, jolting your bones, until he was pounding you, hips smacking into yours, a snarl of pleasure escaping him.

“You feel incredible,” he said. “There hasn’t been a day where I haven’t thought about fucking your little pussy…” He moved faster, throwing his head back in bliss. “Fuck, I’ve dreamed about cumming inside you…”

“Ben,” you wheezed, overwhelmed with lust. “Ben, please…”

He returned to your ear, nipping it. “You need to cum, princess?”

A deluge of lust, now, drenching you, drowning you. “Yes,” you squeaked out, “yes, please!”

Both hands crushed your throat, Ben’s eyes wild, his hair mussed, and he kept his pace, pumping deep into your slick, hot cunt with ease. His digits twitched--there it was, whirling around your clit, the Force, how you’d missed it--and you were flying, euphoria engulfing you, so fucking close, limbs jerking with pleasure, ready to cinch around his cock.

“Ben…” The pressure on your neck was snug. “Ben, fuck--”

“Fuck yes,” he hissed, spitting out your name, “fuck, yes--” He growled, the Force spinning like a buzzer around your nub, and you snapped, falling apart under him. “That’s right, cum--cum for me, princess…”

White rapture blinded you when you came, straining against the choke, pulsing and milking his cock. Ben squeezed your throat with his climax, keening as his orgasm ravaged him, his hips stuttering, dick spilling jets of cum inside your cunt. He fucked you through it, frenzied in his release, until it slowed, the only sounds left the sloppy noise of his final thrusts.

A low, long groan left him, and he released you, toppling at your side, chasing his breath. You rolled over, staring at him, trying to catch up with your lungs, too. A sheen of sweat encased you both, sticking your skin together, grazing like raw nerves--but you cared little. Next to you was the man you’d loved for almost a decade, the man for whom you’d waited through war, the man who had held your heart and kept it safe, even in the depths of his darkness.

“I love you, Ben,” you said, cupping his cheek. “All of you.”

Ben stared at the ceiling of your tent, chest still heaving. He said nothing, then glanced at your kyber crystal, fogged with sex. “I know.”

You chuckled, snuggling closer to him, and he wrapped an arm around you, pressing you flush against his frame. Lethargy hung on your lids, and you struggled to stay conscious, the murky noises of the Resistance’s victory celebration leaking into your tent. Seconds lingered into minutes, his eyes still fixed on the crystal, memorizing its reflections of your flesh. A wriggle of his fingers, and it rose from your neck, twisting in the air.

He laid there with your head nestled into his shoulder, twirling it with the Force. Back and forth, back and forth, a twinkling lullaby. Back and forth, back and forth, until, finally, you fell asleep.

#kylo ren smut #ben solo smut #kylo ren x reader #ben solo x reader #kylo ren imagine #ben solo imagine #kylo ren #ben solo #not a scratch #nerd whinings #fanfiction problems #another fix-it fic #because I'll never stop salting #EVER

[noodlecupcakes]

Friendly Advice (Kylo RenxOC Smut)

Another quick smutty one shot featuring Kylo and my OC Cora (face claim is Elizabeth Olsen). 

Warnings: NON-CON ELEMENTS (DONT LIKE, DONT READ), Manipulation, Kylo is not nice, Kylo is a manipulative shit, Loss of virginity, Virginity kink, Sex against a wall, Sex, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Language 

Cora’s P.O.V

After what felt like a lifetime we had finally won the war. The First Order had finally been defeated and eradicated all except one. Ben. He'd been captured and was due to go on trial for his crimes within the week. We all knew what the outcome would be. He'd be executed because he'd be too stubborn to plead guilty. Leia and I had pleaded with the jury and if he pleaded guilty to his crimes then he would be exiled. Leia had already visited him, but he hadn't said a word to her. Now it was my turn. Saying I was nervous was an understatement.

Ben and I had been childhood friends, both trained to become Jedi by Luke. I would have done anything for Ben at that point and I probably would now. I loved him when we were growing up and somehow, I still loved him through everything. I was scared to enter that room, scared to confront my childhood friend, scared that maybe there was nothing I could do to save him. I had to remain hopeful, I would not give up on him. I still believed that Ben was still in there somewhere.

I unlocked his cell and stepped inside, making sure the door closed behind me. Ben was sat on the makeshift bed, looking down at the floor so that his hair hung in front of his face. I swallowed thickly, wanting to run my fingers through his soft looking hair. I had only seen him once through all this back when this war really started, when Rey came to help us. “Ben?” I spoke softly. “It’s Kylo,” he corrected, “or Supreme Leader.” “Unfortunately, not anymore.”

I could feel his anger radiate off him in waves. He could kill me with no more than a thought if he wanted. “I hope they weren't too rough with you,” I continued. Ben looked t me this time, revealing his face to me. They'd given him a black eye and a split lip. The scar running across his face had healed as well as it could do. “I’m sorry, your mother and I asked them not to hurt you,” I apologized. “She's not my mother anymore. She gave up that title when she gave me away to Luke.” Ok that was not an argument I wanted to get in with him at a time like this, we'd just be running around in circles about whether or not his parents loved him. They did and he should be grateful he had parents unlike me.

“Why did you come here?” Ben asked. “To offer you some friendly advice. When it comes to the trial you need to plead guilty. They'll let you live if you do.” “But they'll exile me to some rock on the outer rim where I can live out the rest of my days alone?” “You'd have an island all to yourself with nobody to bother you.” “I’d rather not copy Skywalker in becoming a hermit.” I sighed, here comes the stubbornness.

“So, you'd rather die?” I asked. “Why do you care what happens to me?” “Because I still believe that my best friend is still in there.” He rolled his eyes, “Ben Solo is gone. Your friend is gone.” I smiled softly, shrugging, “you can tell me that as much as you want, I’m still not giving up on you.” “I’m a murderer Cora, I killed all of your fellow padawans and I enjoyed every second of it,” he snarled. “You’re going to need to do more than that to get me to give up on you. I’m not scared of you like the others.”

His expression darkened, “you should be.” “Why? Because you’ll kill me too?” Kylo chuckled darkly, “no, something much worse for you.” Silence fell between us. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. Kylo resumed looking at the floor instead of me. “Do you remember the day that we first met? How scared you were of everyone else? You sat in the corner and cried because you thought you’d never see you parents again. I was the only one who could actually calm you down-“ I started. “Don’t,” his voice sounded softer.

“Or what about when we found the Kyber crystal cave together? Our crystals were in there together, if that isn’t a sign that-“ “I said don’t,” his voice wavered a little. I felt my heart sink, I didn’t want to upset him but I had to get through to him. I heard him emit a barely audible sob. “Did he tell you what he tried to do to me? The night the Jedi temple fell?” He sobbed. I felt myself taking a few steps towards him. I wanted to comfort him, hold him close and tell him that everything was going to be ok. I wouldn’t let another person hurt him.

“He tried to kill me Cora, my own uncle tried to murder me in my sleep. What was I supposed to do after that? I couldn’t stay part of the Jedi order, there was no place for me anymore,” he continued. Luke had told me what he had tried to do, years later. I couldn’t forgive him for that. “I can’t sleep at night because I’m afraid that someone else will try to do the same thing,” Ben managed. I kneeled in front of him, placing my hands on his shoulders hoping he would look at me. “That’s not going to happen. I’m not going to let anybody hurt you Ben,” I reassured him.

His sobbing slowly came to a stop and he looked up at me, his eyes completely dry. I frowned as he smirked, this had been a trick. He grabbed my wrists, his leather clad fingers digging into my flesh almost painfully. “You thought you could get me to change by reminding me of my childhood? Your pathetic,” he spat. I tried to pull free from his grasp but he only continued to dig his fingers in, pulling me closer towards him. “I’ve seen what’s in your mind Cora. All the dirty little thoughts a Jedi shouldn’t have. Especially for someone like me. Do the others know? No of course they don’t, they would have cast you out a long time ago if they did,” he taunted.

“Ben stop, let me go,” I spoke, my voice sounding small. His eyes searched mine and then I felt him inside my mind, looking through my thoughts like the pages of a book. I tried to force him out but we both knew I wasn’t strong enough. “You stayed pure for me. All these years. I really am going to enjoy this,” he grinned wickedly. I managed to break free of his grip and crossed the room in a few quick steps. He followed, slamming me into the nearest wall. I made a small sound of pain and he turned me round to face him, trapping me between him and the wall. I felt so small compared to him as he loomed over me.

“Why fight it? We both know it’s what you want.” He taunted. “Not like this, Ben I came here to help you.” “Then help me,” he rested his hands on the wall beside my head before coming closer and pressing his lips to my neck, making his way up to my ear, “give me a reason to live,” the last part came out as a threat. If giving myself over to him made him plead guilty when it came to the trial…fine. I’d do it. He tilted my chin to make me meet his gaze. He had me right where he wanted me. Ben leaned down and kissed me, his hand moving down to my neck.

I shivered at the feel of the cold leather against my skin, kissing him back with inexperience. He took the lead, claiming my lips with his. Ben nipped at my bottom lip, earning a soft whine from me. He pulled away, that intense gaze meeting mine once more. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for you. Funny how the threat of me being executed makes you confess your feelings,” he spoke. Not wanting to waste any more time, he began tugging at my robes. I mirrored his actions, removing his own clothes.

Once we were fully undressed he reached between my legs, finding my clit. I moaned, one hand fisting in his dark locks and the other gripping his forearm. He slipped two thick digits into me, starting a fast pace. My eyes closed instinctively as I let out a series of moans. Kylo clamped his free hand down over my mouth to keep me quiet. Anybody could walk past outside and hear us. He continued working me open with his fingers for a few minutes as I continued to cling to him and moan against the palm of his hand.

Ben removed his fingers and sucked them clean before picking me up and wrapping my legs around his waist. I wrapped my arms around him, clinging to him with the worry that he might drop me. He pressed my back against the wall, using it as leverage to hold me up. I glanced down at his cock, wondering how the hell something that size was going to fit inside me. I didn’t have long to think about it however as he slowly pushed himself into me. My nails dug into his shoulders as I moaned at the feeling of him stretching me to accommodate him. Ben’s grip on my hips became hard enough to bruise as he bit down on his bottom lip, groaning as he bottomed out.

He kissed me hard, groaning against my lips. He started rocking his hips against mine, placing open mouthed kisses across my neck and shoulders. I grabbed a fistful of his hair, clinging to him as if my life depended on it. Ben’s pace started to pick up, getting faster and harder until eventually he was practically fucking me into the wall. He pulled my hips down to meet him each thrust, the sound of skin on skin filling the small space. My nails ran down his back, earning a loud groan from him.

This is far from how I imagined my first time would be and it was going to be over sooner than I would have liked too. Ben sucked a purple mark into my neck, high enough that it would be on show for everyone to see. Everyone would know that I had fucked a war criminal. They’d probably exile me too. Ben brought me out of my thoughts as he sucked another purple mark into my breast. I arched and bucked against him, desperate for the torturous pleasure to never end.

I moaned his name, forcing that intense gaze on me once more. I half expected him to scold me for not using his preferred term but instead he just kissed me again. I felt an unfamiliar tightness begin to build in my stomach as Ben continued the pace, his speed not faltering once. He reached between us and found my clit again, rubbing it in quick circles. I felt my eyes roll back in their sockets and I let out a loud gasp. I had no idea he could make me feel this good. A few more strokes and I reached my first climax, crying out his name as my legs shook from the intense feeling.

Ben cursed as my orgasm triggered his own. He buried his face in my neck as he came down from his high. Eventually he let me down and we both redressed ourselves in silence. Not only had I fucked a war criminal, I’d just fucked the general’s son. I could feel the embarrassment already on my cheeks. Ben sat back down on the makeshift bed and I turned, heading to the door. “If I’m too be exiled, will you come with me?” He asked. Throw everything I had away just to spend the rest of my days with him? “Yes.”

Taglist: @genevievedarcygranger, @warriorqueen1991, @jeffreydeanneganstrash, @thegentlemanpigeon, @paeton-nygmobblepot, @paetonnn, @srj1990, @hannah-leighhh, @littlefreakingfangirl, @helloitsmepeanutbuter, @btrombley13, @greeneyedthief, @wandering-rosebud, @purplemuse, @bugalouie, @gobemywonderwall, @sherrybaby14, @xxwarhawk, @pyxie27, @mistersprincess1116, @papinegan, @livybaby115, @maddekat, @itsallintheeyeofthebeholder, @clear-skiez, @pearlescentnirvana, @prncesskte, @maddekat

#kylo ren #kylo #ben solo #adam driver #kylo ren smut #kylo smut #ben solo smut #kyloxoc #kylo renxoc #ben soloxoc #star wars #kylo ren angst #kylo ren feels #kylo ren fluff #star wars smut #star wars the force awakens #star wars the last jedi #the force awakens #the last jedi #tlj #tfa

[anghraine]

“per ardua ad astra” - chapter fourteen

...wherein my profound ambivalence about EU material continues unabated.

I really hoped to finish 14 and 15 this month (they go together, and I’ll be very busy after... tomorrow, pretty much), but alas, no. Here’s Ch 14, anyway!

last chapter:

Without warning, without explanation, green light lashed towards the planet. The same horrifying light she’d seen as they fled Scarif, but brighter and more poisonously vivid—Jyn and Cassian’s hands did fumble together now, dread choking her—and with a blinding flash, Alderaan exploded into fire.

this chapter:

Worse, again. By impulse, she pressed a hand to the pocket in her trousers, where the kyber crystal was secreted away. All is as the Force wills it. All is as the Force wills it. All is as the Force wills it.

It couldn’t be, could it? Not this.

chapters: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen

Cassian gasped.

Nothing from him, Jyn had thought, could be worse than his scream in the shuttle. But this was. A catch of his breath, barely audible, but out in the open with Imperials clustered all around—

Her own breaths burned, dozens of hot needles stabbing from her lungs to her throat. And though she’d squeezed her eyes shut, Alderaan kept burning, too, the explosion seared against her eyelids.

Papa. Cassian. Papa … the plans, we’ve got to … Force, Cassian.

Did Bodhi know yet? He’d played his tiny part in the construction of this thing, and he was what he was; he would suffer. But not, Jyn hoped, like them.

Perhaps it was a kindness, in a way, that the rest of their team had died. They would never see this, the very thing they’d fought to prevent. They’d hoped to stop it from happening to any planet at all—far less Alderaan, home to so much.

A million languages, she remembered; it had only been a few days ago that she absently scrolled through the databank entry. Some of the languages would survive: the standard Alderaanian that Cassian’s dialect came from, and other tongues preserved by off-planet Alderaanians. But not most, surely. It was nothing to the slaughter of billions, and yet—she thought of the picture she’d seen of the Anduçelos Mountains, of the wreckage of Vaesda, of Aldera. All of it gone, just like that.

Jyn and Cassian had considered the eradication of Aldera a catastrophe. If, by some miracle, she opened her eyes now to only the capital razed, she’d count it a relief. Scarif was nothing to this. Even Jedha was nothing to this.

Not since Saw abandoned her had Jyn felt so desperately alone, swallowed up in a vast, silent isolation. Nothing to compel her to action, no action to take, just a miasma heavy enough to crush her under its mass. The voices around her might as well have been animals or holograms. Even the plating under her feet seemed an illusion, part of this elaborate pretense that she stood firm and upright, unchanged from what she’d been two minutes ago.

Yet she did stand there. She wasn’t alone.

Hesitant, Jyn stilled at the clutch of their gloved fingers—Lyr wouldn’t risk it, would she? Even if she and Willix were lovers, they’d be more careful. But Willix was Alderaanian too, and Cassian’s hand readily curved into hers.

Fuck Lyr, Jyn decided, too tired to make sense of the thought. In the horror of the moment, she could only be Jyn Erso, standing with Cassian Andor.

His comlink buzzed.

It was the long-range com, secured in his jacket, not the short-range one at his wrist. Bodhi wouldn’t need the handheld to contact them.

But he couldn’t know they were so near. Could guess, but in this moment, maybe he hadn’t put it together.

Please let it be Bodhi.

As slowly as before, Cassian withdrew his hand from hers and extracted the comlink.

“Willix,” he said, his vacant tone at odds with the ground roughness of his voice.

“Captain Cassein Willix,” chirped a droid. “Is that your identity? Please confirm.”

For a long, dragging moment, he said nothing. Jyn dared a glance up at him; Cassian was colourless. Even his mouth was, beyond a few streaks of blood drawn by the teeth digging into his lip.

“Yes,” he grated out.

“Your presence is required at a meeting in Quadrant G North, Floor 18, Council Room 11872.”

And worse, again. By impulse, she pressed a hand to the pocket in her trousers, where the kyber crystal was secreted away. All is as the Force wills it. All is as the Force wills it. All is as the Force wills it.

It couldn’t be, could it? Not this.

“According to whom?” said Cassian, in a pale approximation of Willix’s usual arrogance. “I am a captain in his Imperial Majesty’s forces. I cannot be summoned by droid. Who is presumptuous enough to try?”

“Governor Tarkin,” the droid replied, with a distinct note of satisfaction. “The meeting begins in two hours. I suggest you start finding your way, captain.”

It clicked off before Cassian or Jyn could reply. Not that it mattered; they only stared at each other in horrified silence as the seconds ticked past.

“You’re not going to,” she whispered. “You can’t.”

He looked down, and then up again, strained but determined. “I have to obey orders from my superiors. And from Governor Tarkin himself—” Cassian’s voice broke off. After a deep breath, he continued, “You must understand that, for your own sake at least.”

Her own sake. If Willix defied an order from Tarkin himself, it would mean imprisonment at best. Certainly a closer scrutiny of his records, of Jyn herself, perhaps even of Bodhi if they confiscated the comlinks and managed to decode them. It would ruin all hope, instead of merely thinning it.

Jyn swallowed. “I understand, sir.”

“You can retire to our quarters,” added Cassian. “I’ll return when the meeting ends, and … oh, I almost forgot. Your datapad, Lyr.”

He handed over the datapad. His, not hers, full of their memorized notes and codes. If anything happened, and she somehow survived, she would be able to pass the information on.

Of course he would think of that. Her hands trembled under its light weight—but so did his. Despite Willix’s condescendingly pragmatic tone, Cassian looked frightened before all expression closed away.

Gazing back, Jyn could feel the wideness of her eyes, the hot sting behind them. This might well be the last time she ever saw him. And she couldn’t offer any comfort, to him or to herself—couldn’t be seen grasping onto him, kissing him as she’d often wanted to do, embracing him one last time.

It might not be the last. It might … she didn’t know what it might be. No one knew. There was no need to turn alarm into despair just yet.

Jyn mouthed, Be careful.

Solemnly, Cassian nodded.

May the Force be with you.

“Captain Willix?”

Both of them started, turning around to face an ensign, hardly more than a boy. His own comlink hung from a limp hand, his skin ashen and covered in a layer of sweat. After one muddled moment, Jyn managed to recognize the vaguely familiar face. Fiander Zelin, one of the youngest of the Alderaanians moved into the prisons.

“Ensign,” returned Cassian. He straightened into full military posture, hands locking behind his back. Jyn, now standing behind him, eyed the clasped hands. Between one instant and the next, an idea seized her. An impulse, rather. Discreetly, she dropped a hand to her right thigh.

Zelin babbled, “I … do you know about some sort of urgent meeting? For the lower ranks, maybe—a droid just commed me about it, and I’m not sure …”

“It’s real,” Cassian assured him, snapping into full spy mode. “I’ve been invited myself. Governor Tarkin himself ordered it.���

Zelin looked even more sickly. “Governor Tarkin …? But we haven’t—I haven’t done anything!” His voice had gone shrill.

“Mind your tone, ensign,” Cassian said sharply. Then he gentled, a very little. “I imagine it’s to commend us for our loyalty to the Empire. You may accompany me.”

Jyn stepped forward, as close to his back as she could manage without drawing attention. She jostled his hands.

Understanding the hint, his fingers opened. Jyn glanced around; nobody appeared to be paying the slightest attention to them. But she didn’t trust anything. Instead, she stumbled into him and, under the cover of the sudden imbalance, pressed her mother’s crystal into his hand.

Jyn didn’t know what Cassian thought of that, what he believed. If it would mean anything to him at all. But his fingers instantly closed around the crystal, his grip tight enough that the sharp edges must be digging painfully into his palms, his torso expanding with a deep breath. Good enough. She could do nothing else.

Protect him, Mama.

She knew the Force didn’t work that way.

Please.

Few people, in this moment, could appear more suspicious than a known Alderaanian spy walking through the Death Star with kyber in his hands.

Cassian didn’t care. If kyber crystals meant little to him personally, Lyra Erso’s meant a great deal. Jyn had held onto it through all the turmoil of her life, from Saw Gerrera’s prize soldier to the Imperial prisoner who somehow managed to smuggle it into Wobani. She prayed with it on the way to Scarif, and only yesterday, she twitched at the foreign brush of his fingers over the crystal’s edges. Now, it lay within his hand.

He doubted that Jyn cherished any possession more than this one. Yet she gave it to him—a comfort while he lived, irrevocably lost if he died. Had he some relic of Rana’s, would he have gambled with it like this?

For Jyn, perhaps. If he thought it useful. By now, Cassian knew he would balk at very little when it came to helping Jyn. But in all probability, he wouldn’t have thought it helpful, thought that far at all, any more than he would have imagined gaining anything from Jyn’s crystal. In any case, there was nothing left of Rana. Nothing but a child’s bones in a mass grave. No, that was gone, too.

Cassian’s vision blurred. He hadn’t seen it since he was a child himself, perhaps ten or eleven. There’d been little enough to see: cold earth, a wide memorial plaque. It took him a good fifteen minutes to find Llora and Renalia Andor on the long list of names. At the time, he felt little beyond confused repulsion, and he never returned. His mother and sister existed in his memories, not bodies under the ground; the grave meant nothing. Yet something in him shuddered from the truth that it really was nothing, now.

He tightened his grasp on the crystal; through his gloves, it warmed his cool hands. Maybe the lingering warmth of Jyn’s body—even on this march to possible death, he shepherded his thoughts away from that—or maybe something else. He didn’t know. At that, Cassian didn’t know what he believed about the Force at all, beyond the reality of its existence. He reserved his faith for the cause. The dream of liberation, given shape by the Rebellion. And by Jyn. A Jedi could appear before him, and it would matter less than this chunk of rock.

He believed in Jyn. In a way, that mattered more than loving her.

As if from a distant transmission, he could hear the boy beside him chattering on, Willix replying with something of his usual smooth confidence. Cassian couldn’t have reported the conversation for the life of him. Not anything, except that he disliked Willix more than ever. He always had, but in this moment, he seemed less a disagreeable role Cassian was forced to play, and more a person in his own right, stealing Cassian’s skin.

Of course, it was really the other way around.

“Do you—do you know why it happened, sir? Did the queen do something?”

Something? He almost laughed. Breha Organa would have been executed long ago if the Empire had a fraction of Cassian’s knowledge. Yet in the end, it hadn’t been Queen Breha who drew Imperial vengeance to Alderaan, or even Senator Organa. This was retribution against their daughter.

He supposed he could take a scrap of relief from that. The odds of Princess Leia betraying the Rebellion, never high, now hovered about infinitesimal.

“I haven’t heard that she did,” said Cassian. “Calm yourself, ensign. I’m sure the governor will explain everything.”

So far, his feet had carried him with little attention on his part. He forced himself to focus on their surroundings, make sure they headed in the right direction. Yes, remarkably enough.

At the sight of a fresher, he seized opportunity.

“Ah, one moment.”

It was thankfully empty. Cassian slid Jyn’s crystal into one of the pockets hidden in his trousers. He could still feel it, but the chance of failing Jyn and the Rebellion no longer lay in the hands of casual observers. He cared about that, at least.

In the mirror, he checked that the kyber was concealed in the folds of the uniform, then drew near to splash water over his clammy face. Tor was right, he thought distantly. He did look Alderaanian.

He might not have, given an unlucky roll of the genetic dice. His father, he gathered, was some sort of offworlder poverty tourist. But Cassian and Renalia both favoured their mother, Cassian in particular. Everyone said so; one of his uncles (ably aided by Renalia) half-convinced him that he’d come from a cloning factory instead of the hospital, and his grandmother affectionately called him Lloran. He looked what he was: a son of his mother, of Alderaan.

However much he disliked hearing about it over and over—Alderaanian or exotic or interesting-looking or whatever else—he’d never felt anything but pride in that. Now he felt a good deal more than pride. For the first time in a while, his face did him no favours, but … well.

A creak of the door had him washing his face again. And a sniffling moan had him turning about.

“Ensign,” he said tiredly. “Don’t make me report you for unprofessional conduct.”

Cassian had no intention of reporting him, of course. But the ensign might as well paint a target on his back if anyone else saw this. All the more from someone as quiet and obedient as Cassian had found him, until now, and too obscure for any real fallout.

Zelin, Fiander. Ensign. Alderaanian of Vila. Nineteen standard years old.

A boy, he thought once more. Nineteen—but that was Leia’s age. Just a few years younger than Jyn, a few more than Cassian. Old enough to rebel, and old enough to choose the Empire instead.

“I—I—I’m sorry, sir. But I can’t … I don’t understand.” Zelin scrubbed his wet eyes. “We didn’t do anything!”

“We’ll just have to wait for the governor’s explanation,” said Cassian.

Elsewhere, he’d have tried a different tack; Zelin might as well have a giant RECRUIT ME sign hanging about his neck. But if the Rebellion had its way, he would never leave the Death Star. None of them would—Esten, Efrah, the whole lot. Did Jyn realize? She must know, intellectually, but … Force, he hoped so.

Anyway, Zelin might be a spy.

“Alderaan doesn’t have any weapons. Didn’t,” he said. “I don’t understand.”

“You have enlisted in his Imperial Majesty’s fleet,” replied Cassian. “That’s all you need to understand.”

He turned on his heel and walked out, certain his sniffling shadow would follow. He’d met hundreds like him. Sure enough, Zelin hurried to catch up, and remained blessedly silent the rest of the way. Maybe he’d caught the warning; maybe he’d given up fishing for treason.

It didn’t matter. In that hour, nothing much did.

In the elevator, Jyn’s heart stopped racing. It had to, eventually. She no longer heard the rapid patter of her pulse in her ears, or sensed it in her neck or wrists. She sensed only her heart, itself—which sounded saccharine and melodramatic, but was entirely true. It felt like metal walls closed in on the literal organ in her chest, slowly warping and crushing it into a gnarled, leaden lump of dead flesh. Over and over, she forced herself to breathe through the seething pain, through the chokehold of her own circulation. More than once, she had to press her closed fist to her mouth, swallow down bile.

Just once, she reached for her mother’s crystal. But no, she’d given it to Cassian. One more thing the Jyn of a few months ago would never have imagined. The crystal lost not by some mischance, nor—at long last—by force, but freely given away, to a Rebel spy. Perhaps a doomed Rebel spy.

No, Jyn thought fiercely. She would give up hope when her fears became certainty, and not a moment earlier. Cassian was alive, down there. Or up, or … or somewhere. After everything they’d been through together, were together, she’d know. Wouldn’t she?

Jyn was pretty sure the Force did work that way, or could. But she wasn’t Chirrut, or even her mother. In the Citadel, after Cassian fell, she hadn’t known that he lived. Rationally speaking, it was just as possible that she wouldn’t know if he died.

Damn rationality. She would.

Her comlink buzzed.

With a jolt of pure fire in her chest, Jyn fumbled to accept the call. “Lyr speaking.”

“It’s me,” said Bodhi, voice breaking over the two words.

For the first time, she felt a wave of raw disappointment at hearing from him. She swallowed it; Bodhi mattered, too.

“Trooper,” she managed to say.

For a few seconds he didn’t speak. Then, breathless and unsteady, he stammered out, “I … I don’t … I’m not sure how …”

“I know about Alderaan,” said Jyn.

“Oh, thank the stars.” Then he gasped. “I didn’t mean—”

She slumped into the corner of the elevator. “I know.”

“You must have heard right away,” Bodhi said, with the sort of hoarse, desperate rapidity she remembered from those first days after the escape from Jedha. “It just happened, didn’t it? I only found out a few minutes ago.”

Jyn thought of trying to shield him, but she was too tired. Tilting her head back, against the wall, she said,

“I didn’t need to. We saw it happen.”

“Saw?” Without seeing him, she could perfectly envision his blur of shock and horrified sympathy. “Both of you? The captain, too?”

“Yes.” There was nothing else to say.

After a long pause, Bodhi muttered, “Fuck.”

Jyn almost—well, she was nowhere near to a laugh, but her face twitched. “Language, trooper.”

“Uh, Force.”

Her brows rose, though nobody could see it. “Blasphemy, trooper.”

“Right, right. Stars. Star. I don’t know. The captain, is he …” Bodhi faltered. “How’s he taking it?”

Against her will, Jyn’s mind cast back to Cassian’s gasp, the grasp of his fingers on hers, in the middle of a crowd of Imperials. Cassian, who had dared no more than the merest brush of her crystal, clutching it as he left to whatever awaited him.

“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “He—he’s not here.”

It was lucky, in a way, that they’d chosen the stormtrooper disguise for Bodhi. Given the tremor in his voice, Jyn could only imagine how transparent his face must be in this moment. Not that hers was much better. “He’s not? Why? Where is he?”

“He got called to a meeting,” she said, forcing her own tone to something even and controlled. “With Governor Tarkin himself.”

“What?”

She slogged on. “I think all the Alderaanians did. There was an ensign who got the same order.”

For a good twenty seconds, Jyn heard nothing but his occasional ragged breaths, and then nothing. “Trooper? Are you there?”

“Yes,” he choked out. “I’m … yes. What sort of meeting?”

“We don’t know. But the captain thought—he knew open insubordination would be worse for everyone.” Especially me.

“Right,” said Bodhi faintly. “Do you know—”

“I don’t know anything.” She sounded flat, not harsh, but she felt a flicker of guilt nonetheless. Cassian was one thing, Bodhi quite another. “Neither of us do, beyond that. Or we didn’t. I suppose Captain Willix might know what it’s all about at this point.”

After another long hesitation, he said, “I hope so.”

Jyn envied him. She didn’t know what to hope.

Council Room 11872 (Floor 18, Quadrant G-N) was in chaos. The moment that he entered, Cassian met with a cacophony of at least eight languages, only four of which he remotely understood. Apart from three stormtroopers clustered in a corner, helmets in their arms and faces drawn, Alderaanians mingled with little regard to rank or division. Not far away, a corporal demanded answers of a major. On the other side of the room, a private who couldn’t be much more than eighteen had broken into sobs. So had a colonel. Others wandered together without appearing to much notice it, or anything, their eyes dazed and unfocused. Those Cassian could sympathize with, more easily than the furious or grief-stricken.

Or—no. He couldn’t. They were Alderaanians, fellow mourners, but Alderaanians who had joined the Empire. So few did. These ones were traitors who betrayed everything their planet stood for. They grieved not because a world had been destroyed, but because it was their world. Their homes, their memories—

Theirs more than his. Cassian’s head swam. Not just their homes, the places where their memories lived, but their families. He had no family, hadn’t seen his homeworld in years, hadn’t called it home in much longer.—Hadn’t called anything home, except the Rebellion in an ideological way, and Jyn in a much more visceral one. Alderaan was more a legacy than a place he belonged to in any meaningful sense. The horror of seeing the planet of his birth ripped into fire could only be a fraction of what Leia felt, and even these idiots, too.

Didn’t they realize? The Empire had shattered their world before their eyes and herded its people into one chamber and they thought—what? They’d been brought together out of the kindness of the admiralty’s hearts? Given space to breathe and grieve for no other purpose than that? Absurd. There must be another reason. Someone must be watching, somewhere. Waiting for one or all to betray themselves, most likely.

Surreptitiously, Cassian took in the room again, even as waves of anger still washed through him. Just as absurd as theirs, if less dangerous. They were all going to die, regardless of what happened here. Hopefully.

Not like this, he thought. Not like animals going to slaughter.

He supposed some of the mourners might be plants, but he didn’t think so. Even the general seated at one of the tables, the only person who outranked the weeping colonel, had yet to break his blank stare from the wall beside him. By looks, he might or might not be Alderaanian; provisionally, Cassian assumed he was.

Two majors. Both babbling. And—those four seemed his only superiors here. It made a certain amount of sense, actually. Alderaanians had the lowest enlistment rate of any Core planet, and sooner or later, those few generally found ways to get themselves thrown out. Or defected outright. At the best of times, they tended to be amenable to subversion. It didn’t make for long Imperial careers.

And after this, Draven would have him recruiting up one side of the galaxy and down the other. If they ever got out. Perhaps even Jyn, too—

Selfishly, Cassian wished she were here. Not really here, in danger of her life, but with him in some way.

He flattened a hand against his pocket, the rough edges of the crystal tangible even through his trousers and gloves. She’d done her best.

—People were still crying. Force, did they want to die? It was possible.

They were Imperials, he reminded himself. Servants of the Empire, enemies of the Rebellion. They’d kill him without a thought if they knew what he was. Or send him off to be tortured, more probably. If they had the presence of mind for that much.

Perhaps they thought that would protect them, minutes after the Empire wiped out a planet of Imperial subjects. Perhaps they didn’t think at all. They supported tyranny and cruelty on a vast, careless scale, the subjugation of countless peoples on countless worlds, and never imagined that it might be turned against them. This was their world.

They were his people.

No. That was the Rebellion. His surveys of the room finally took in what he’d been looking for. Expecting, at least: a recess high in the wall, no more than a foot on any side, and something black and blocky within. Cassian kept his gaze moving, and his feet, too, searching for a better angle, and let his glance drift past the recess again. Sure enough, he could see a faint gleam from here. A camera.

He knew it.

Voices still clamoured around him.

“—hundreds of years, and—”

“Who cares about your fucking house? My daughters—”

“I can’t believe it. I can’t. It must be a … a trick, or a test, or … it’s not real. It’s not.”

“Someone’s going to pay for this. Whoever it was. We’ll make—”

Thoughts, emotions, suspicions: they all slipped into alignment, the junction as smooth and exact as the pieces of an engine or a droid clicking into place. For the first time in a long, long while, Cassian set the Rebellion aside.

“Diçelà!”

He’d been thrust into leadership before, if never like this. He knew how to make his voice heard.

The room didn’t go entirely silent, as he’d ordered, but fell quiet enough. Withdrawing to the habits of command, he demanded,

“Are we or are we not soldiers of the Empire?” His own language felt strange on his tongue, almost foreign. “Is this how we conduct ourselves?”

“Conduct ourselves?” a lieutenant repeated incredulously. “The Empire has—”

Cassian interrupted before anyone could incriminate themselves further. “The Empire does not tolerate this sort of display, this ... impropriety. If the admiralty were to see you all like this, at this moment, you’d be lucky to end up in the brig. Remember who you are, men. Remember where you are.”

Nobody said anything, which he considered an improvement. Every eye seemed to be fixed on him.

“Governor Tarkin should be arriving soon,” he went on. “We’ll get an explanation then.”

If he doesn’t have us all killed.

“What could possibly explain this?” demanded the colonel.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

“I don’t know,” Cassian said. “I don’t know more than any of you. None of us had warning. But many of you are coming very near to open insubordination. How do you imagine the governor, or the admirals, or the Emperor will look upon that? After our people provoked such a response?”

The room was truly silent, now. When the general drew a breath and rose from his chair, the sounds jarred. 

“You heard the captain,” he snapped. “Find some self-control or you’re going to end up in the airlock.”

He made a dismissive gesture, and as the others drifted into more decorous grief, walked straight over to Cassian. Not a scheming type, evidently.

“You’re quite the loyal soldier, captain.”

“Thank you, sir.” Willix, Cassian decided, would be gratified but uneasy. Not something he found difficult to manufacture, given that he felt that exact combination every time he interacted with Draven.

“Who are you?”

“Captain Cassein Willix,” said Cassian. “Sir.”

The general gave a difficult-to-interpret snort. “That so?”

He wouldn’t have thought that his muscles could wind tighter or his brain go on higher alert, but—apparently he’d underestimated himself. Every nerve in his body seemed to fire at the same time, lighting each one into shrieking alarm. His hands were icy under his gloves, his head hot, his feet tingling.

Jyn, he thought desperately, imagining the safety of their quarters. Only safe as long as he lived. For her, and the codes, there was nothing to do but brazen it out.

“Yes, sir.”

The man held out a hand. “General Cassio Tagge.”

Oh.

Allowing himself a cautious smile, Cassian shook the hand and ran through his store of Alderaanian languages. “General. You’re from … Pheled?”

“Xàvilun,” said General Tagge. Cassian had been off by a province. “Serèp for you, Willix?”

“Yes, sir. A small district there—Sereia,” he lied. It was Jyn who had the truth from him: he not only had never seen Serèp, he’d never set foot on its entire continent. Intelligence hadn’t wanted to compromise Willix’s identity, however, so Sereia it was. Cassian dug up as many facts as he could find, and hoped nobody asked for more. Since Willix rarely interacted with any Alderaanians at all, except Leia, he had yet to encounter any particular problems. But now?

Xàvilun, he thought. Not all that close to Serèp, but well out of the mountains. Tagge might know enough to pick up on the discrepancies.

“I haven’t lived there since I was a child, however,” he said. “I barely understand Serepta any more.”

“Well,” said General Tagge, “it’s not likely that you’ll need it, will you?”

As realization struck all over again, they both went pale.

“No,” Cassian said tightly. “I imagine not.”

#anghraine's fic #per ardua ad astra #rebelcaptain #jyn erso #cassian andor #bodhi rook #otp: welcome home #star wars #death star au #back to your regularly scheduled 'ran well over standard length and yet didn't cover half the planned material' #ngl i included alderaanian!tagge purely because 'cassio' amused me #well. also because i like him #insofar as i like imperials at all #general tagge #i guess i can tag #fiander zelin #who doesn't appear again but /shrug

[vanderlinde-moved]

i’ve got guns in my head (and they won’t go)

summary: After surviving Scarif, Jyn struggles with life in the Rebellion.

10k, mostly hurt/comfort

read it on ao3!

A faint buzzing sound brings her out of the darkness.

“Your father would be proud of you,” Cassian says -- and god damn it, she has tears in her eyes and her hands are shaking so she clenches them into fists on her thighs in an attempt to control herself. Cassian’s breathing heavily beside her, his leg at an impossible angle and an arm holding his side and every time he takes a shallow breath she thinks that it’s going to be his last, that he’s going to leave her alone on this beach to die.

She comes back to consciousness in bits and pieces. She hears the buzzing before she can move her fingers, moves her fingers before she can crack open her eyes. Still, she keeps them closed, trying to figure out where she is before alerting anyone that she’s awake.

It's a trick she learned from Saw. If she's caught in a bad situation, it's always better to seem as complacent as possible.

She can hear beeping on her left side. Her body feels heavy and her mind’s still a bit fuzzy. Jyn can only imagine the amount of medication running through her veins. Even with it, it feels as if her body's been torn apart and stitched back together.

If this is what it feels like to be alive, then she'd much rather be dead.

When she hears footsteps against the tiles, her heart clenches. For a moment, she thinks she’s in prison again, drugged and left to fend for herself after a particularly nasty fight . For a moment, she thinks that her roommate finally got the jump on her, finally decided to try and kill her.

But it’s only for a moment. After the small wave of panic passes, she forces herself to open her eyes.

There’s a bright light, momentarily blinding her, but she adjusts quickly . Her eyes are still crusty from sleep and out of pure reflex, she raises her arm to wipe them away. Well, tries to, anyway. Her right arm lays on the bed beside her, aching and heavy with bandages.

“What -- ?” she croaks, trying to sit up in her cot. Stars dance before her eyes, and she swallows a wave of nausea. Her body protests for a second but Jyn pushes through the pain and props herself up.

The medbay she’s in is pristine and blindingly white. There’s curtains surrounding her bed, cutting her off from the rest of the room. While she can hear the sounds of the other patients, she feels horribly and terribly alone.

Just like on Wobani.

She glances down. There’s bandages running up and down her right side, which feels as if it's been on fire. Her left side, though still throbbing, feels better. She assumes that she has more wounds underneath the thin blanket; she can feel the weight of the bandages on her skin. Despite probably using half the bandages in the medbay, this is hardly the worst injury she’s ever had.

But it’s definitely up there. Top three, maybe.

But he doesn’t. He doesn’t die, not before her, doesn’t leave her alone, and instead gathers her in his arms with what seems like the last of his strength. She holds him just as tightly, hooking her arms around his back, mindful of his injuries. Cassian tucks his head into her shoulder, nose in her hair, and if she thinks she feels wetness on her bare neck, she ignores it.

"We did it,” she says softly, both to soothe and to convince. The plans are off to the Alliance and there’s hope. There’s hope because of them, because of what they all did here on Scarif. So she doesn’t bury her head in Cassian’s arms, even though she desperately wants to, to find comfort in him.

If she's going to die, then she's going to look Death in the eye on her way out.

“Miss Erso,” a robotic and formal voice breaks her out of her thoughts. She closes her eyes and opens them again, trying to calm her breathing. There’s a medical droid looking at the computers next to her bed. “You are awake approximately twelve hours ahead of schedule.”

“The others,” she rasps, ignoring the droid. She needs to make sure they’re alright. Throwing the covers away from her bed, she struggles to rise before the droid intercepts her. “Where. . .where are the others?”

“You are not fit to leave your bed, Miss Erso,” the droid responds, tucking her back in and checking her vitals.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

She pushes back against the droid just as hard. “Where are they?” she asks a bit more forcefully, struggling to get out of bed. Black spots dance briefly in front of her eyes and her head is spinning, but she doesn’t care, forces past it, blindly lashes out against the droid. The curtains around her cot seem to be closing in and she can barely breathe, but it doesn’t matter, all that matters is that her friends are okay and alive, she doesn’t care about herself --

“Please do not struggle. You need to rest in order to recover.”

“Just kriffing tell me! Are they. . .are. . .they. . .alive. . .?”

Something cool rushes through her veins. She feels sluggish, even more tired than she was when she woke up. She thinks she’s being drugged again, but she slips into unconsciousness before she can question it further.

She doesn’t want to die.

The thought hits her so abruptly that she doesn’t know where it comes from. All her life she’s been living on a day to day basis, waiting for the inevitable. But now? There’s a pang in her chest when she realizes that she wants to live.

She wants to see this war through to the end, wants to avenge her family and her friends. She has to be able to help somehow --

At the last second, she buries her face in Cassian’s neck, trying to breathe. To hold onto life.

The wave of fire hits them full on, swiftly and mercilessly. She shifts, trying to shield Cassian from the worst of it, tries to cover his body with her own, tries to save him like he saved her on top of the tower -- but then she’s

burning

and can’t focus on anything except the white hot agony that’s currently coursing through her body. She’s been burned before, of course, but this is different. This is as if her flesh is melting off of her bones, as if she’s going to turn to ash right on this beach.

But then it stops just as suddenly as it started.

Her ears are ringing and her right side is on fire. She’s been knocked back by the force of the fire and Cassian is no longer in her arms. Faintly, she thinks she can hear screaming. It might be coming from her. But the sea breeze feels cool on her skin and she can feel sand underneath her hands and she’s alive.

Somehow, she’s alive.

Blindly, she reaches out next to her. It takes her a few tries but she finds him, gripping the front of his shirt as tightly as she can with her good hand. She doesn’t know if he’s alive, (hell, she doesn’t think she’ll be alive much longer) but she wants to make sure she’s not alone.

The kyber crystal around her neck burns her chest almost as hot as the explosion did, but she finds reassurance in it as she drifts off into blackness.

The second time she wakes up is a lot like the first, slowly coming back into consciousness. But it’s a lot easier this time around -- her mind’s not as foggy and the panic from earlier isn’t there anymore. Her right side aches, but it doesn't concern her.

“Jyn! You’re -- you’re awake!”

She cracks a grin before she manages to open her eyes, pushing herself up in bed when she sees him. “Bodhi!” she exclaims, reaching out to grab his arm. “You made it. You’re alive.”

He grips her left hand as tightly as she’s holding him. “Yeah, I, uh, woke up yesterday. You feeling okay?”

“I’m fine,” she lies, throwing back the covers. This time, there’s no droid to stop her. Bandages still cover a lot of her body, but there’s less of them. She runs her fingers over them, pushing gently against her wounds to judge their severity.

Bodhi notices. “You got burned pretty bad,” he says, wiping his free palm on his pant leg. He’s no longer wearing his Imperial flightsuit. “You got out of bacta this morning. Your last round, I think .”

Ah. That would explain the smell. She wrinkles her nose, wishing desperately for a shower.

“Uh, I think you might have dislocated your hip too. But I -- I can’t remember.”

“That would make sense,” she grunts, rubbing the palm of her hand against her leg. “It feels a little stiff.” She looks over at him, noticing the scarring running up his arms. “What about you? Are you all right?”

“Grenade,” he responds, not looking at her. He fidgets, picking at the scars. “They tossed it in the shuttle. I tossed it out but it still. . .”

She reaches up to grab his arm, careful around his burns. “Bodhi. Hey,” she waits until their eyes meet hers to continue. “Hey. We’re alive, okay? We made it. We’re alive.”

“Yeah,” he manages a small smile at that, which she returns. He freezes for a second, then lets out a breath. “I almost forgot but -- the others, they’re here too.”

Her heart clenches and Jyn shoots straight up in her bed. Even though her body’s protesting every move, she rips out the IV in her hand and the monitors off of her chest. Pulling back the covers, she nearly jumps out of her cot. “I need to see them.”

Of course, that’s the moment the medic decides to walk in. What a sight the two of them must look -- Jyn, haggard and pale, barely standing on her own and Bodhi, who stands up at the sight of the doctor with a small squeak of alarm.

To her credit, the doctor just raises her brows. “Looks like you’re awake, Miss Erso,” she nods to Bodhi. “Mr. Rook. I’m Mena Dane. Want to explain why you’re out of bed?”

Jyn juts out her chin stubbornly. Her legs wobble underneath her. “I’m going to see my friends.” She leaves no room for argument.

Mena glances at Bodhi. He raises his arms in surrender, and she sighs. “Miss Erso, you were severely injured during the battle at Scarif. You suffered burns that cover the majority of your right side and back, a dislocated hip, and two fractured ribs.”

Jyn grips Bodhi’s shoulder tighter with each injury that’s listed. “I’ve been hurt worse,” she retorts, then wavers.

Pinching the bridge of her nose, the doctor responds, “Please, just sit down. Let me look you over.”

Jyn complies. It’s a relief to get off her leg for a couple of seconds, even though she’d never admit that to Mena. “If I let you do this, will you let me leave?”

"If you’re healed enough to move around,” the doctor replies firmly , unwrapping the bandages around her arm. Her skin’s pink and covered in burn scars, though they’re healed more than she imagined. When Mena presses on a particularly sensitive spot, Jyn swears colorfully, trying to get her arm out of the other woman’s grasp.

The rest of her examination takes longer than Jyn would have liked (especially when the doctor tries to put the IV back in her arm), but soon enough, the medic is rewrapping her burns with significantly less bandages.

“Can I leave now?” This has taken far too much time. She’s itching to make sure everyone else is all right. Especially Cassian. But she shoves that thought away as soon as it enters her mind.

“The burns on your side are healing remarkably quickly. Your hip might give you trouble for a couple of days, but should be fine in about a week. The burning on your face is more severe than we originally thought, even with the treatments,” the doctor shrugs, “But I don’t believe we’ll need to do another submersion.”

“Great,” Jyn replies easily, standing up from her bed. She doesn't really care what state she's in. Bodhi reaches out to steady her. “I’m going to go.”

Bodhi glances at her, then at the doctor. Jyn’s already heading toward the door. “I don’t think she’s going to take no for an answer, ma’am.”

“Damn right I’m not,” Jyn says, tugging Bodhi behind her. “Take me to them.”

The doctor stops them before the two of them can push back the curtains. “You have five minutes, Miss Erso. Then I want you back in here for another night.”

Jyn doesn’t respond, tearing open the curtains and leading Bodhi into the rest of the medbay, ignoring his apologies to the doctor. She scans the beds around her, pulse racing when she doesn’t recognize anyone lying there.

“C’mon,” Bodhi says gently. “Chirrut’s still in bacta and Baze is still with him. The Captain’s this way. He’s in another room.”

“What do you mean, another room?” There’s panic in her voice that she can’t reign in, her mask cracking from its usual state of carefree indifference into something more frightened. “Is he okay? Is he alive?”

Bodhi stops, gripping her shoulders and meeting her eyes. “Hey, breathe with me, okay? He’s okay. He’s alive. He's hurt worse than you, so they put him in intensive care. But he’s okay.”

“Right -- “ she replies, pulling herself out of Bodhi’s arms and ignoring the flash of hurt that passes through his eyes. She clenches her eyes shut and pressed her hand to her chest. Breathe. He’s alive. You’re alive. You all made it.

Once she can breathe normally again, she nods. “Sorry -- I just -- “

“It’s okay,” he says with a small smile. “Don’t worry about it. He’s, uh, down this way.”

For a moment, she wonders what she did to deserve such good friends. With everything she’s done, with every crime she’s committed or every person she’s killed, she shouldn’t be treated this kindly. A selfish part of her wants her to stick around and enjoy this kind of friendship while it lasts.

But then she remembers that she’s only known them for a little over a week, and despite everything they've done for her, she isn’t sure that staying with the Rebellion would be better than being out on her own.

(even though they had all had chances to leave her behind, but none of them ever took it. jedha, eadu, scarif. hell, even wobani -- especially after she attacked them with a shovel. and yet here she is.)

Jyn puts her walls back up. It’s easier this way. It’s all she knows.

Cassian’s room is quiet except for the beeping of a heart rate monitor in the corner of the room. If it wasn’t for that, she would have assumed that he’s dead. He’s so pale that his skin has taken on a greyish tint. His leg is propped up and wrapped from the hip in bandages and there’s dark shadows underneath his eyes. Captain Cassian Andor, who has at least seven inches on her, has never seemed so small.

beep. beep. beep. beep.

There’s a plastic chair next to his bed and Jyn collapses in it. One of Cassian’s hands is outside of his blankets. She leans forward, as if to grab it, but hesitates at the last second.

“What happened?” she rasps, turning to Bodhi. He’s standing in the doorway looking as alarmed as feels. “How did they find us?”

“It was Chirrut, actually,” he says quietly , coming closer to stand by her. His eyes never left Cassian’s prone form, watching the other man’s chest rise and fall. “After -- after the grenade, I found him and Baze. By that point, it was a mess and. . .and the comm tower. . .the blast was coming. . .”

She nods, more to herself than anyone else. “You left.”

He wrings his hands, eyes darting around the room, now looking anywhere except at her and Cassian. “I’m sorry, Jyn. I shouldn’t have left you two down there -- if only I had been faster, better -- “

“Bodhi,” she says gently, swallowing a wave of nausea. She touches his arm lightly, though removes her hand when he flinches away. “It’s all right. You couldn’t have stayed or else you would have died in the explosion. I would have done the same thing.”

"Right -- I just -- “ he shakes his head and tries to regain focus. “Once we were in atmo, I set the course for Yavin 4, but Chirrut -- he stopped me. He was bleeding out, barely conscious in Baze’s arms, but he said he had a feeling. That I should go back once it was safe and look for you two. So I turned around.”

“And then you found us on the beach.”

“Yeah. I don’t know how you survived. . .both of you were covered in burns and. . .Stars,” Bodhi drags his hand over his face, “I thought you were dead. We all did. But then you weren’t and. . .it’s a kriffing miracle, is what it is.”

Her kyber crystal sears bright against her chest, hotter than she’s ever felt it before. Even though her whole body is on fire, she can still feel it’s steady heat against her heart.

“It was luck,” Jyn says softly , reaching for her necklace. It’s not there -- it must be with the rest of her belongings. She drops her hand to her lap, looking down at it. “Pure, dumb luck.”

Thank you, mama.

“Chirrut would say it was the Force that saved you two,” Bodhi offers. “I’m sure he would have when we found you, but he was unconscious too.”

“It was luck,” she repeats. “Luck, and your piloting. Thank you. I mean it.”

Bodhi flushes, scratching the back of his neck with his good arm. “I, uh -- you’re welcome.” Jyn turns her gaze back to Cassian. Bodhi notices the intensity in her gaze, stepping away from the bed. “I’m going to -- speaking of Chirrut, I’m going to go check on him and Baze. I’ll come back in a few minutes.”

She doesn’t say anything, only nods. Once the door closes behind him, she exhales softly and reaches out a hand, her fingers hovering over his.

beep. beep. beep. beep.

She takes his hand in her own. It’s colder than it should be.

“We’re alive, Cassian,” she whispers. “We made it. Against everything, we made it.”

She leans forward in her chair, ignoring the way her body protests the movement. Tears gather in her eyes but she doesn’t move to wipe them away. “Bodhi, Chirrut, Baze. We all made it out alive. We should have died back on that beach. . .I thought we were going to.”

With a small, wet laugh, she grips his hand tighter. “I didn’t want to. I’ve been ready to die my whole life, but on that beach, I just wanted to live.”

Because of you. Because of everything you've done for me in the short time we've known each other. 

She wonders if he’s going to remember the kiss they shared in the elevator when he wakes up. He had kissed her -- or maybe she had kissed him. But she thought they were going to die and so did he.

She steels herself. It meant nothing. She knows that.

She bows her head silently, squeezing her eyes shut to keep the tears at bay. The door creaks open and someone walks in. For a moment, neither of them say anything.

Then -- “He’s going to be fine, Miss Erso.”

Jyn lifts her head up to meet the eyes of Mena Dane. There’s sympathy in the other woman’s dark eyes. Jyn clenches her jaw. She doesn't want her pity.

With one last look at Cassian, Jyn stands but doesn’t wipe away the tear streaks on her face. “I know,” she says simply, as the doctor moves to help her. “I know.”

“Come on,” Mena says, voice gentler than before. “Let’s get you back in bed.”

Jyn doesn't resist, too tired out from the whole ordeal, but manages to say, “I’m coming back tomorrow.”

The doctor sighs. “If you stay in bed for the rest of the night and let me examine you again tomorrow morning, you can have ten minutes.”

Jyn makes a face as they hobble toward the main room. Bodhi’s waiting outside the door and shoots her a thumbs up in response to her questioning look. They're okay. She nods back, relief clear on her face.

“Give me fifteen minutes and I'll cooperate,” Jyn shoots back once she’s settled in bed, working up the strength to argue. The doctor crosses her arms across her chest.

“You can have ten minutes, Miss Erso.”

“Fine. Deal. As long as you don’t sedate me this time.”

“All right,” Mena laughs at Jyn's scowl, then pauses, concern written across her face. “Try to get some rest, all right?”

It isn't difficult. Minutes after the doctor leaves and Bodhi wanders back in to sit at her side, she drifts back into sleep.

  She finds out later that her necklace had shattered on Scarif.

  Jyn’s never been particularly vain. Her scars have always been something she’s had pride in. They’re good icebreakers too -- nothing gets a conversation going like lifting up the hem of her shirt and showing a vibroblade scar across her ribs that she got when she was fourteen.

Somehow this is different.

Mena Dane had given her ointment for her scars, to ease the pain and make them fade. Jyn had been using it ever since she had been discharged from the medbay a couple days ago. Even though they've healed tremendously since Scarif, they still hurt when poked and prodded.

Which is exactly what she’s doing now, standing in the dim lighting of the communal bathroom on her floor, examining her face in the mirror.

The side of her face took the worst of it, she thinks, touching what used to be smooth skin. Her ear is a mess -- it’s a wonder she can still hear anything out of it. The burns stop just before her eye and snakes down the rest of her cheek and neck. It’s still red and angry looking, but it doesn’t hurt as much as it used to.

Her back is destroyed as well. Almost all it is covered by scarring, which is hard for her to reach with the ointment. But Jyn’s always been stubborn. There’s no way in hell she’s going to go crawling back to medical to get someone to rub cream on her back.

So she deals with the discomfort. She's alive, after all, and has carried worse burdens than this.

With Saw, scars were something to be proud of, to show how tough of a fighter you were. In prison, everyone had scars. It had been more unusual to have unblemished skin than to be covered in them.

Now, with the Rebellion after Scarif? Her scars are a reminder. Every morning when she gets up to use the refresher, she has to look in the mirror and see them. See everyone who followed her because of a half-assed speech she gave to the Council and see everyone who didn’t make it off Scarif because of it.

It’s enough to make her want to break every mirror in this goddamn base.

Instead, she pulls her jacket tighter around her shoulders and turns around, leaning up against the sink. Jyn lets out a heavy breath and runs her fingers through her messy hair.

Someone walks in -- another sergeant. Jyn doesn’t make eye contact when she leaves.

Mon Mothma had approached her after she had been discharged from the medbay and offered her a rank in the Alliace, if she'd like. While Jyn still has her reservations about being a rebel, at the time, there was no where else to go. After everything she's been through, she didn't want to go back to living without looking up.

So she had decided to join. And here she is. A sergeant.

She doesn’t deserve it, not when better soldiers than her died on that beach when she had survived.

She stifles a yawn as she walks through the quiet hallway, heading toward the hangar bay. She’s not the only one still awake, but she doesn't recognize anyone who passes her. Despite how tired she is, she doesn’t go back to her room, instead finding a quiet place to sit.

Mothma had put her with another sergeant who seemed kind enough, certainly nicer than the other roommates she’s had. But Jyn doesn’t spend much time in her room, especially not after the first night, where she had almost attacked the other woman during a nightmare.

After Scarif, they've gotten worse. She sees Baze and Chirrut getting shot down by Stormtroopers, Bodhi not throwing the grenade out in time, K2 sacrificing his life for theirs. And Cassian -- Cassian’s always falling and he never climbs back up, instead leaving her alone on top of the tower.

To stop the nightmares, Jyn doesn’t sleep. And if anyone finds her in the morning, dozing against a crate or a wall, they don’t say anything.

Really, the Rebellion is too good to her.

  When the Death Star destroys Alderaan, Jyn grieves alone.

She lashes out, fists flying, the pain consuming her until she can’t think of anything else. Then she slides down the nearest wall, broken and bloody knuckles cradled against her chest, and she cries.

A voice in her head that sounds suspiciously like Cassian tells her that she doesn’t have to bear this burden alone. That the entire base is in mourning, and that it would hurt less to share the weight with others feeling the same thing.

She almost does, but doesn’t.

  “You look like hell,” Cassian remarks one morning at breakfast, sliding into the seat next to her.

Jyn scowls into her plate, knowing exactly how bad she looks. With bloodshot eyes, dark circles, and a frown etched in her face, she hadn’t been surprised at the amount of recruits that had jumped out of her way on her way to the mess. “I’m fine,” she deflects, jabbing in his direction with her fork. “Shouldn’t you still be on crutches?”

He lifts one shoulder in a shrug, waving her off. “My leg barely hurts.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

Under her scrutiny, he sighs and mutters, “Don’t tell the medics.”

Jyn snorts, turning back to her food. “No promises, captain.”

“Really though, Jyn,” Cassian says after a pause, apparently not letting her off the hook that easy. “You look as if you’re not sleeping.”

Chirrut butts in, “Even I can see it.”

“You can’t see anything, you old fool,” Baze retorts fondly, stabbing something that looks like eggs off of Chirrut’s plate with his fork.

“Maybe not,” Chirrut amends, turning to Baze. “But the Force is telling me that you’re trying to deprive an old man of his breakfast.”

“The Force,“ Baze scoffs. “The Force wouldn’t tell you something like that -- “

“Does your roommate snore, Jyn?” Bodhi cuts in, letting Chirrut and Baze banter between each other. “Mine does. Well, one of them does. It’s not so bad if you put your head underneath your pillow though.”

Jyn groans, putting her head in her hands. “I’m fine!” she cries out. “Honestly, I am!”

Someone places a hand on her shoulder; when she looks up, Cassian eye’s are concerned. “You’re not,” he says evenly, holding up a hand when she tries to protest. “You’re not sleeping. If your roommates a problem, well. . .” he scratches the back of his neck awkwardly, a flush rising up his cheeks. “My room is bigger than yours because I’m a captain. So -- if you wanted to crash there for a night or something -- “

Her chest tightens and she’s sure her eyes are comically wide. Her mouth opens then closes, and for a second, she almost agrees.

But he’s still healing and it would be unfair to deprive him of a good night's sleep just because she can’t deal with her demons. So she smirks instead, raising her brows. Makes a joke out of it when all she wants to do accept. “Why, captain, are you trying to invite me to bed?”

Now it’s Cassian’s turn to groan, turning away from her in his embarrassment. She feels bad -- he’s only trying to help, after all, but doesn't change her answer. “Force, Jyn, you know that’s not what I meant.”

“You can never be too sure,” she says lightly, faking confidence that she doesn't feel, standing up from the table and grabbing her tray. “I’ve got to report to training. Apparently, training under Saw for most of my life isn’t good enough for the Rebellion.” She pauses, bites her lip. “I’ll see you all later.”

Jyn turns away with strained smile. She ignores the concerned glances shot her way when she leaves. She’s been tired before and it hasn’t affected how she’s worked. Saw’s people certainly didn’t care. So why is it such a big deal now?

That night she doesn’t go to her room. Between her and her roommate, at least one of them should get some rest. And if she walks through Cassian's hallway on her way to hangar and stops at his door, she doesn’t linger. He needs his rest to heal -- she’ll be fine.

And maybe if she keeps repeating it, it’ll become true.

After offering help to a couple of pilots still up, she finds herself in Bodhi’s ship. Her bad leg’s propped up against the dashboard and she leans back in the pilot’s chair, eyes drifting closed. It’s not very comfortable, but it’ll do for tonight.

She’s almost asleep when someone boards the ship. As soon as the metal creaks with footsteps she’s instantly awake, her body tense and ready for a fight. But nothing happens -- at least, not until someone sinks into the copilot's chair next to her. She braces herself for a fight, muscles tensing.

“I waited up,” Cassian says softly. Jyn’s eyes fly open in surprise, her leg almost falling in shock. “You know, just in case you decided to come by. But when you didn’t. . .I thought I would come to you.”

“I’m sorry,” she blurts out. “For keeping you up. And making you find me. You should be resting, I know you’re not healed yet.”

He shrugs, fingers drumming against his good leg. “This is the first place I checked. Some of the pilots said you come down here every once in awhile and help with repairs.”

“Yeah,” she replies, uncomfortable with the idea of people talking behind her back. “I'm not much help, though. Saw only bothered to teach me basic repairs.”

“I can teach you, if you’d like. Show you a couple of things,” he offers.

She doesn’t see the harm in that. Since neither of them have much to do until they’re cleared for active duty, she can think of worse activities to pass the time. “All right.”

They sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes, gazing out the window. Cassian’s the one who breaks the silence. “Why are you here, Jyn?”

She doesn’t turn to face him, instead letting out a heavy sigh before she replies. “In Bodhi’s ship or with the Alliance?”

“Both.”

“I’m in this ship because I can’t sleep,” she responds honestly . “And I’m with the Alliance because I have nowhere else to go.”

“Nightmares?” he asks.

“Something like that,” she mutters, squeezing her eyes shut as images flash in her brain. Her parents dying, Saw dying, Bodhi dying, Baze dying, Chirrut dying, Cassian falling, Cassian dying --

“It might help to talk about it,” Cassian says slowly. “I’m here if you need to.”

She doesn’t say anything for a long moment. “Thanks.”

But they both know she's not going take him up on it.

“Mothma offered you your freedom. The Council would have cleared your name,” he leans toward her, scrutinizing her in the dim lighting. “Why’d you stay? You could have gone anywhere in the galaxy as a free woman.” There’s no judgement in his voice; she can tell he’s merely curious.

There’s a lot of things she could say in response to his question. That she decided to pick a side, that she wants to fight for what’s right. Or that she’s sick of running.

But Jyn doesn’t say any of that. “Maybe I just found someone worth sticking around for.”

  When Luke Skywalker destroys the Death Star, Cassian finds her.

He pulls her to his chest even when she fights him, and when the anxiety has left her a shaking mess, he holds her as tightly as he did on Scarif.

“It’s over,” he whispers into her hair. “We did it. It’s over, Jyn.”

She doesn’t pull away. Instead, she fists her hands on the front of his shirt and struggles to breathe.

Cheers go up around them, but neither move away from each other’s embrace.

  Jyn’s cleared for active duty almost as soon as they land on Hoth. She goes on a couple of missions with the Pathfinders, and finds that she works quite well with Han Solo (especially since he lets her do a lot of damage). Despite that, most of her time is spent back on base, making it habitable for the Rebellion.

Which is kriffing boring. The last thing she wants to do is work on fixing light fixtures when she could be fighting the Empire. And it’s cold -- freezing, actually. She’s almost positive that one of these days, all her fingers and toes are going to fall off from it.

That’ll show the Council for choosing this planet of all places.

So when Cassian is approved to start going out on missions again, she tells him very firmly that he needs to take her on his next mission .

He decides to take pity on her. She’s not sure how he does it, but he manages to convince Draven that she’d be the ideal partner for a mission in Coruscant since she grew up there.

“You know,” she’d said, after he had informed her. “I don’t actually remember much of the city. We were only there for a couple of months.”

“I know,” he’d replied, handing her the datapad with the mission brief. “But you wanted to get off world, didn’t you?”

Somehow, he’d even managed to get Bodhi assigned as their pilot. For the first half of the mission, everything went smoothly. The two of them had dodged the stormtroopers patrolling the city without any trouble and Cassian made contact with his informant.

Of course, Jyn’s never been on a mission that hasn’t gone wrong. This is no exception.

“I left you for two minutes!” Cassian exclaims, firing blindly. A blaster bolt hits the wall of the building closest to them, sending brick and plaster raining down. "Two minutes, Jyn!"

Jyn shoots behind her, taking out one of the stormtroopers in pursuit. Her hip jostles uncomfortably as she runs; she can only imagine what kind of pain Cassian is in right now. “He tried to grab my ass! What the hell was I supposed to do, let him?”

“Of course not!” He retorts indignantly. “But did you -- this way, come on -- did you have to start a bar fight?”

“I threw one punch, Cassian!” she holds up one finger, waving it in his face. He bats it away with a growl. “I restrained myself! If I was really trying to start a bar fight, I’d do a lot more damage than that. Give me some credit, here.”

“Well if you hadn’t, we wouldn’t have drawn any attention!”

A shot comes dangerously close to her shoulder, singeing through the fabric of her coat. Jyn swears colorfully. “Are we almost to the kriffing ship? One of them just ruined my jacket!”

“If we get out of this alive, you can have mine!” he grunts, grabbing her wrist. “We’re almost -- “ he cuts off with a curse in Festian. “The checkpoint. At the docks.”

“We’re going to have to fight our way through it,” she says grimly, ignoring the burning in her lungs as they sprint toward it. “No other way.”

“Get to the ship as quickly as possible,” he orders. “Don’t wait for me. I’ll be right behind you.”

“Cassian -- “

“Just do it, Jyn!”

That leaves a sour taste in her mouth, but she nods anyway, biting her lip. Cassian’s orders be damned -- she’s not leaving him behind.

The stormtroopers at the checkpoint already have their rifles raised and ready. There’s only a few -- just the four that who had checked them in before -- and Jyn can see their ship in the distance. As she runs toward them, she holsters her blaster and grabs her truncheons. “Cover me!” she yells as Cassian, dodging a stray bullet.

When she slams into the first stormtrooper, she laughs, hitting them in the ribs with the tail end of a truncheon. At the same time, the one coming up behind her goes down from a blaster bolt in the chest.

“Was a bar fight worth all this trouble?” he calls as she takes down the remaining two ‘troopers, smacking one in the head hard enough to take their helmet off.

Once they're on the ground, she retorts, “I didn’t even get to fight at the bar. You dragged me away!”

They make the sprint to the ship together, Cassian grabbing her arm once he gets close enough. They're hollering for Bodhi to start the engines and trying to shoot the remaining stormtroopers behind them at the same time.

Bodhi appears in the doorway of the ship, providing cover fire as they make their way toward him. “Can’t you two run any faster?”

“You threw a punch!” he shouts back at her, ignoring Bodhi to get the last word. “You definitely -- “

"Cassian! Behind you!”

At Bodhi’s yell, Jyn whips her head toward Cassian to see a stormtrooper pause fire a round directly at him. She doesn’t even think before jumping to knock him on ground, cutting off his sentence and taking the bolt meant for his chest in her side. White hot agony laces through the injury and she can feel hot blood starting to seep through her clothes, but her only concern is Cassian, who’s currently groaning underneath her.

“My leg -- “ he says as she hoists him back up, ignoring how her side protests the movement. “Think I -- “ he falters and she catches him, propping him back up. Clenching his teeth, he grits out, “Same one from. . .Scarif -- ”

Jyn bites her lip hard, steering him in the direction of the ship. “Come on, just a little bit farther,” she murmurs, dragging him along beside her. If only she had been a bit more careful -- Force, she shouldn't have barrelled into him like that, not with his leg “Bodhi!” she yells, her voice cracking. “Help me!”

“Get to the ship, Jyn. I can make it on my own.”

She ignores him, tightening her grip around his middle. There’s no way he could outrun the stormtroopers with a twice injured leg and she's not letting him sacrifice himself for her.

Bodhi runs off the ship to help her support Cassian’s weight. They hobble together slowly, dodging shots and swearing viciously . Once they’re inside, he leaves her for the cockpit and she sets Cassian down against the wall, making sure she doesn’t move his leg. The doors close behind them, but that doesn’t deter the stormtroopers, who seem determined to keep them on Coruscant. “Get us out of here, Bodhi!”

“On it!” he says, flipping switches and pressing buttons to prepare for takeoff. With a hand pressed to her side to stop the blood flow, she works her way up to the cockpit. With each blaster bolt that hits the ship, they come closer and closer to getting shot out of the sky. “Almost there. . .”

“Come on, come on,” Jyn mutters, leaning heavily against the copilot seat. Just a few more feet -- “Come on, Bodhi.”

"Give it a few more seconds -- “ Another shot. Something rattles in the ship and Cassian swears in Festian. “Got it! We’re good. We’re out of range.”

Jyn lets out a heavy breath, dizzy with relief. Her body feels shaky as the adrenaline rush fades. She claps Bodhi on the shoulder. “Nice work. You know where the medkit is in this thing?”

“Should be somewhere in the back,” he says, calculating the jump into hyperspace. “Probably in the cargo bay. Hey, Jyn?”

“Yeah?” she asks, not looking behind her as she works her way below deck.

“You think next time we can, you know, not have stormtroopers shooting at us on the way out?”

Cassian snorts. “With Jyn’s luck, it’s doubtful.”

“Oh stuff it, both of you,” she grumbles, opening up cabinets at random until she finds the medkit. When she reaches to get it, she stumbles back, suddenly dizzy. When she presses her hand against her side, it comes away sticky with blood.

Not good, she thinks as she swallows a wave of nausea. Just wait until you deal with Cassian. Then you can pass out.

She makes her way back up the ladder, her side throbbing with every movement. At the top, she has to stop and steady herself against the wall, breathing out through her nose.

Cassian notices -- of course he does, he’s a damn spy. It’s his job to notice these things, but that doesn’t mean Jyn has to like it. “What’s wrong?” he asks, struggling to get up. “Are you hurt? Your hands are covered in blood.”

“I’m fine,” she snaps, grateful that she’s wearing dark clothing to hide it. “It’s just a graze. Sit down and let me take care of you first.”

He slumps back to the ground with a wince and she kneels down next to him, head spinning. She’s grateful to be off her feet, but what she really wants to do right now is lay down and take a quick nap. Her vision goes blurry -- suddenly, she's exhausted.

It’s the blood loss. Focus, Jyn.

“My knee,” Cassian says as she rummages through the medkit for a bacta patch. “I twisted it when you knocked me over. And my ankle -- feels broken.”

She focuses on his ankle, prodding it gently. He flinches away from her, trying to pull it out of her grip. It doesn’t feel broken, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t. Using her rudimentary medical skills she learned from Saw, she splints it to the best of her ability. It looks terrible, but it’ll hold until they get back to Hoth.

Next she moves upward to look at his knee, pulling up his pant leg as gently as she can. His knee is already purple and swollen. She winces in sympathy as she puts the bacta patch on it, smoothing down the edges. “Sorry. I acted on instinct.”

He laughs weakly. “Sorry? Jyn, you saved my life. If it wasn’t for you, I’d have a hole in my chest right now. I should be thanking you.”

Her fingers linger for a second too long against his leg and when she realizes it, she lurches back away and hits the wall next to him. The abrupt movement causes her side to tear and she can’t help but cry out, crumbling in on herself.

“Jyn?” Cassian says, but she can barely hear him with the blood pounding in her ears. “Jyn!”

“‘m fine,” she says, or least tries to. Stars dance before her eyes. She clenches her fists so tight that her fingernails dig half-moon crescents into her palms. It takes two deep breaths before she can pull herself back up. “I’m fine.”

Cassian’s hand is hovering over her when she tries to sit back up. “Why didn’t you say anything?” He accuses, reaching for the hem of her shirt. She tries to bat him away weakly but at his sharp intake of breath, she knows he’s seen it.

“That bad, huh?” she jokes weakly .

Cassian doesn’t find it as funny as she does. “How far away are we from Hoth, Bodhi?” He shouts, leaning forward to grab the medkit she abandoned at his side.

“We’re still a couple hours out,” he says, popping his head out from the cockpit. “What’s -- oh shit, Jyn!”

“I know,” Cassian says grimly, trying to wipe away the extra blood from her side. When he pulls her shirt up higher, he swears again. His fingers ghost over the burn scars littered there. She can only imagine how bad they look. “Stars -- your back -- Jyn -- “

“‘S not that bad,” she mumbles, her head lolling against the wall. “I'm fine.”

As soon as her eyes close, Cassian’s hands are cupping her face. “You need to stay awake,” he orders, rubbing her cheekbones with his thumbs. When her eyes flutter back open, she notices how much closer he is to her -- their legs are practically touching. This brings a smile to her face and she leans forward, fully intending to sleep on his shoulder. “Jyn! Goddamn it, you need to keep your eyes open! That is an order!”

“You know I’ve never been good. . .at following orders, Cass,” she slurs. She feels something sting as it presses to her side. She cries out blindly, but the pain is slowly fading. Her breathing begins to slow and her head droops out of its own accord.

It’s not long until she slips into unconscious.

  Like Scarif, she wakes up in the medbay. Unlike Scarif, she wakes up in the middle of a nightmare, shooting up in bed, her lungs constricting.

The heart rate monitor at her side is beeping faster and faster but all Jyn can do is grasp at her throat and try to catch her breath. The image of Cassian being shot in the chest at Coruscant plays over and over in her head. She jumps too late, when they’re on the ground she feels the blood leaking out of his chest and sees the light leaving his eyes, she’s too late to save him, has to leave him behind --

Hands grab her arms to keep her from flailing out. “Jyn! It’s me, it’s Cassian. It’s okay, you’re safe. We’re back on Hoth. You’re going to be okay. But you need to breathe, okay? Just focus on breathing.”

It takes a couple of seconds for her to calm down. When her breathing is normal and her vision cleared, she sees Cassian standing above her, looking exhausted. Once he sees that she’s okay, he collapses into the chair next to her.

Jyn falls back against her pillows, rubbing her eyes. Her side twinges unpleasantly. “How’s your leg?”

“How’s my -- “ He runs his fingers through his hair, clearly exasperated. There’s dark circles under his eyes and she wonders how long he's been up. He looks exhausted. “Jyn, you almost bled out in my lap and you’re asking me how my leg is?”

Jyn pauses, fiddling with the IV in her arm. “Yes?”

He sighs. “It’s fine. You did a good job patching me up. Don’t -- “ he pulls her hand away from the needle. “That needs to stay in until you’re feeling better. Stars, you are the worst patient.”

She doesn’t know what to say to that. “Cassian, I -- “

“No, don’t even get started,” he interrupts. He pauses for a second to collect his thoughts. “You can’t pull something like that ever again, Jyn. You have to tell someone when you’re hurt! I don’t care what the rules were with Gerrera or when you were on your own, but the Alliance does it differently, okay?”

She opens her mouth to correct him. Even though she had lied about its severity, she had said something. Cassian holds up a hand. “You almost died. Can you imagine what that’s like, watching you fall unconscious and then being able to do nothing about it? What were you thinking?”

“I saved your life!” she snaps, her voice growing louder with each word. “If you’re looking for an apology for that, you’re not getting one!”

“You almost died taking a shot meant for me!” He shouts, standing up to pace the floor next to her bed. “You don't get to sacrifice yourself to keep me safe! I have so much blood on my hands already -- I won't have your's there too!”

“It doesn’t work like that, Cassian! You don’t get decide what I do. I would take a thousand kriffing blaster bolts if it meant that I was saving your life!”

There’s a heavy silence that hangs in the air after she shouts at him. Jyn’s panting, all her energy used up in her argument. Once she’s breathing normally , she adds in a quieter voice, “You saved me on Jedha, and on Eadu, and on Scarif. Let me save you for once.”

A pained look flashes across his face and then it goes blank. She can see him shutting himself off from her, and she desperately wishes she could take her words back. “You don’t owe me anything, Jyn. If this is what has been keeping you here with the Alliance, then leave. You paid your debt back on Coruscant.”

“Cassian, no, that’s not what I -- wait!”

But he’s already turned on his heel and left, leaving her alone in the medbay.

She finds his jacket tucked beneath her chin when she wakes up the next morning, covering the parts of her skin that her blanket doesn’t reach. It smells like him and she burrows deeper underneath it.

“Are we almost to the kriffing ship? One of them just ruined my jacket!”

“If we get out of this alive, you can have mine!”

She takes it as a peace offering. 

 The day after Jyn’s released from the medical and three days after the incident in Coruscant, she goes looking for Cassian.

It takes her awhile to find him. She’s moving slowly, the wound on her side just barely healed. He’s not in his room, or the mess, or the hangar bay. She even checks with Draven -- he hasn’t see Cassian all day either.

She tugs his jacket tighter around her body, inhaling deeply. She’s worn it ever since she found it on her in the medbay. If he won’t let her explain herself, she can at the very least return his coat

It’s midday when she finally barges in on him. It’s purely on accident -- she hadn’t really thought he’d be hiding out in repairs. When she sees what he’s doing, however, it registers.

He drops his screwdriver when she walks in, head whipping toward the door. He looks defensive, ready to explain his actions until he realizes that it’s Jyn standing in the doorway.

“Hey,” she says. Her voice echoes in the empty room. “Want some company?”

“I would,” he admits after a beat, standing up to hustle her to his seat. “Here -- you should sit. I don’t think that you should be standing.”

“Don’t tell the medics,” she quips, sitting down. That gets a smile out of him. As he drags over another chair, she looks at his progress. There’s broken droid parts all over -- joints and fingers and a single arm. A head sits propped up against the wall. She wonders where he managed to find that.

“Kay made a backup before Scarif,” Cassian says in response to her unspoken question. “I thought I could try to fix him a new body. If it doesn’t work. . .” he shrugs. “I guess I could always put him in an astromech.”

“I could always hijack a medical droid for you,” she offers with a smile. “There’s one in particular who has something against me, I swear.”

“Or maybe it’s because you’re terrible when you’re hurt.”

“I am not,” she huffs, though there's a grin on his face. They sit in silence after that. Jyn watches him work. There’s a certain grace to mechanics that she’s never quite figured out. Saw had deemed her too impatient for detail-orientated work like repairs, and had sent her off to go shoot something. She hadn’t objected.

She wishes that she had. Still, she offers up her meager services. “I could help. Not much though. Never been good with, you know, repairing things.” She bites her lip. “I’ve always been better at destroying than building.”

They both know she’s not just talking about mechanics anymore.

“You’re wearing my jacket,” he says slowly, as if that’s the first thing that pops in his mind and he’s still trying to figure out what he exactly wants to tell her 

“I came to return it,” she says, unzipping the front and starting to shrug it off.

“No -- no. Keep it. It -- “ The tips of his ears turn bright red. “It suits you.”

“Oh,” she replies awkwardly, pulling it back on and zipping it up. The conversation pauses, both of them shifting uncomfortably, before she dives back in. “I didn’t just come to give you back your coat.”

“Oh?”

“I wanted to talk,” she finishes lamely. “About what happened in Coruscant. And after.”

“You want to talk? About Coruscant?”

“That’s what I just said,” she fires back hotly , then apologizes. “Sorry. Yeah. I just wanted to say that I shouldn’t have hidden the blaster wound. I should have told you that it was bad. But I was so worried about you, with your leg and almost dying and all. . .” she shrugs. “It won’t happen again.”

“No, Jyn,” he reaches out to her, as if going to grab her hand, but pulls away at the last second. Jyn finds herself strangely disappointed. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that. Not after you saved me. I mean, yes, don’t hide your wounds but. . .Force, Jyn. I thought I had lost you.”

This time, she doesn’t hesitate. She grabs his hand and holds it tightly. “You didn't, though. I’m here. I’m alive.”

“Yeah,” he says quietly, squeezing her fingers. “Yeah, me too. We made it.”

They both know he’s not just talking about Coruscant anymore.

“I meant what I said on Bodhi’s ship back oh Yavin,” she says quietly. “I joined because you’re here. I mean, all of you -- Chirrut, Baze, Bodhi -- them too. But mostly because I wanted to stay with you. Not because I feel like I owe you for coming back for me, but because I want to.”

“I was afraid you’d run,” Cassian admits quietly , not looking at her. “You were like a ghost after Scarif. And when you got injured, I panicked, thinking that was the last straw. That'd you leave as soon as you got discharged. So I snapped. Cut myself off from you. I thought it would be easier when you left.”

He turns to look at her, genuine relief shining in his eyes. "I'm glad you decided to stay."

“Me too,” she agrees. He dips his head in response. “Cassian?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.” For everything.

He squeezes her hand tighter, smiling.

  That night, Jyn goes to his room for the first time since they’ve landed on Hoth. It’s bitterly cold in the hallway, even with his jacket and two of her blankets piled up on her shoulders. She hesitates a second before knocking, telling herself to stop being so ridiculous. She needs help, he offered it, that’s all this is. Nothing more.

When Cassian opens the door, he looks surprised to see her. There’s a datapad in his hand and he’s still in his parka, the one with the fluffy hood. For a moment, she’s lost for words. “Back on Yavin, you said if I needed to -- it’s kriffing cold out here. Can I come in?”

When he doesn’t reply, she thinks that he’s going to turn her away. She braces herself, ready to walk back to her room when Cassian steps aside. “Stars, Jyn -- of course.”

His room is a lot bigger than hers. While she doesn’t have to share with another sergeant here on Hoth, her room is about the size of a closet. There’s a bed pushed up against the wall, with a desk in the corner. On the other side of the room, a door leads to --

“You have your own private ‘fresher?”

“Uh, yeah,” Cassian says, peering over her shoulder as she goes to investigate it. It’s small, but it’s a lot nicer than the communal one she has to use. “Most of the higher ranking officials have one.”

“Remind me to ask Mothma for a promotion,” she grumbles, leaving the tiny refresher with a jealous sigh. She stands awkwardly in the center of the room before speaking. A flush creeps up her cheeks and she finds it hard to look at him. “Can I stay here? For the night?”

He softens. “I meant what I said on Yavin, Jyn.”

“Okay,” she nods, sitting down on the corner of his bed. Her fingers curl around the container of ointment she brought with her. Taking a deep breath, she says in a small voice, “And do you think you could help me with my back? I. . .can’t reach it on my own.”

She hates how her voice sounds, how weak she feels while she waits for his reply. She can’t remember a time where she hasn’t been so closed-off. With Saw, the tougher you were, the longer you’d stay alive.

And now Jyn can’t believe how incredibly hard it is for her to ask for help.

Cassian doesn’t even hesitate, moving to sit behind her on his small cot. It’s almost as if he can sense how nervous she is to be this vulnerable around somebody. He takes the container out of her shaking hands as she sheds the blankets and his jacket. He touches the hem of her shirt. “May I?”

“Yeah. Go ahead.”

She doesn’t miss the sharp intake of breath when he lifts her shirt. Even in the dim lighting of his room, it must look like a mess. She starts to get up when he doesn’t move to touch her, red spots forming on her cheeks. Asking him for help had been a bad idea. “I shouldn’t have -- you don’t have to, I’ll -- “

“No, Jyn, that’s not -- “ he reaches out to grab her wrist and tugs her gently back on the bed. “I want to help you. If you’ll let me.”

Not trusting her voice, Jyn nods, squeezing her eyes shut. She flinches when his fingers first touch her back, but soon melts into his touch. The burn lotion gives her immediate relief, soothing away all the discomfort that she’s been forced to bear since Scarif. She should have asked him to do this a long time ago.

He finishes quickly, though leaves her shirt up by her shoulders so the ointment can dry. She turns to him, throat dry. “Do you. . .” she motions to the jar in his hands. “I can help you too. If you want.”

“I wasn’t burned as badly as you,” he says, standing up to place the jar on his desk. The bed feels colder without him sitting next to her. “Why did you do that?” At her look of confusion, he elaborates. “On Scarif. You moved to cover me from the blast.”

Oh. She hadn't thought he noticed. 

“I thought we were going to die,” she admits. “We should have. But even then. . .I wanted to protect you. I wouldn't have been able to bear it if. . .”

It sounds crazy, she knows, trailing off. She can't exactly explain why she did it, only that she had to. In that moment, she had felt as if there were no other choice.

And months later, she still feels the same.

But Cassian’s nodding as if he understands exactly what she’s saying. They don’t say anything after that. Jyn tugs her shirt back down, pulling his jacket and the blankets back around her shoulders. She opens her mouth to speak, but he beats her to it. “You can have the bed. I’ll take the floor.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she says immediately, making a spot for herself up against the wall. With her extra blankets combined with his, it’s a lot warmer than her cot is. “It’s your room. There’s enough space for both of us.”

For a second, he looks like he’s going to object, but decides against it. With a sigh, he slides in next to her, careful not to touch her.

It’s too cold not to share body heat. That’s why as soon as Cassian gets settle next to her, she immediately moves to his side, wrapping her arms around his torso.

“Jyn -- “

“Shush,” she murmurs, burrowing her head into the crook of his shoulder. When he wraps his arms around her, pulling her closer to him, she lets out a sigh of pleasure.

“ -- You’re still wearing my jacket.”

“Mhmm,” she agrees. “It’s warm. And it smells like you.”

He chuckles at that, resting his cheek on top of her head. As she drifts off to sleep, she swears that she can feel his lips against her forehead.

It’s the best night of sleep she’s gotten ever since she’s joined the Alliance. And when they’re both a little late to a debriefing the next morning, bleary-eyed and still disheveled from sleep, it doesn't matter. 

For the first time in as long as she can remember, she's happy.

(In the back of the room, Chirrut hits Baze with his walking stick, a knowing smile playing across his lips.)

  Jyn comes back to his room the next night. And the night after that and the one after that too. Soon enough, she's spending more time in his rooms than she is in her own.

Nobody’s surprised when she decides to move in with him shortly after.

#rebelcaptain #rebelcaptain fanfic #rebelcaptain fic #ro fanfic #rogue one fanfic #rogue one #ANYWAY this is the 10k monster hope y'all like it #my writing