Arianna

Hi! I am getting back into writing fics; you can send requests but I can't promise to write them all:)

[arianna-bradshaw]

The Weight of Heaven - Masterlist

Summary: In the aftermath of the Jedi Order’s fall, Arianna, the last surviving Padawan of Luke Skywalker’s academy, is left stranded between the broken pieces of her past and the war-torn galaxy’s uncertain future. Haunted by visions, grief, and the enduring bond she shares with Ben Solo, Arianna walks the razor’s edge between light and darkness. The last Padawan. The fallen heir. One final bond to save the galaxy.

Chapter One: https://www.tumblr.com/arianna-bradshaw/788522876681715712/the-weight-of-heaven-chapter-one?source=share

Chapter Two: https://www.tumblr.com/arianna-bradshaw/788523228440199168/the-weight-of-heaven-chapter-two?source=share

Chapter Three: https://www.tumblr.com/arianna-bradshaw/788523493222432768/the-weight-of-heaven-chapter-three?source=share

Chapter Four: https://www.tumblr.com/arianna-bradshaw/788523695683633152/the-weight-of-heaven-chapter-four?source=share

Chapter Five: https://www.tumblr.com/arianna-bradshaw/788523874284421120/the-weight-of-heaven-chapter-five?source=share

Chapter Six: https://www.tumblr.com/arianna-bradshaw/788524055110238208/the-weight-of-heaven-chapter-six?source=share

Chapter Seven: https://www.tumblr.com/arianna-bradshaw/788524210938167297/the-weight-of-heaven-chapter-seven?source=share

Chapter Eight: https://www.tumblr.com/arianna-bradshaw/788524361136078848/the-weight-of-heaven-chapter-eight?source=share

[arianna-bradshaw]

The Lions Den: Six

Chapter Six: Chaos Erupted

Summary: The Dagger Squad plans their attack on The Nocture, and ghosts from the past come knocking

I woke to the scent of gun oil and the low, distant hum of the city outside. Bradley’s arm was still draped around my waist, his body a solid wall of heat behind me, breath steady against the back of my neck. For a brief, disoriented second, I let myself pretend it was normal, that we were waking up in a world without blood on the floor and a price on my head.

But the ache in my muscles and the weight of a pistol on the nightstand snapped reality back into place. I rolled onto my back, careful not to wake him, but his eyes opened the second I moved. “Morning,” his voice was rough, sleep-heavy but edged with tension.

“Did you sleep?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.

He gave a faint, humorless smile. “Enough.”

Which meant maybe two hours, if that. Across the room, Floyd was already up, hunched over a tablet with dark circles under his eyes. Coyote was sitting at the table, cleaning a gun, while Hangman stood near the boarded window, cradling a cup of black coffee like a lifeline. The factory had that strange hush about it, the calm before a new storm. Bradley sat up, rubbing a hand over his face before swinging his legs off the cot. His back was marked with bruises and fading cuts, tattoos dark against his skin. War written on a body that never stopped moving.

“What’s the word?” he called across the room.

Floyd didn’t look up. “You’ve got about a six-hour window before the Nocturne make another move. And it won’t be subtle this time. They’re pulling in hitters from Jersey and Miami. Someone wants you both dead by sunset.”

My stomach twisted.

Hangman grunted, taking a slow sip of his coffee. “They’re getting sloppy, bringing outsiders. Means they’re desperate.”

Bradley’s jaw flexed. “Good. Desperate people make mistakes.”

Coyote set down the freshly cleaned pistol, cracking his knuckles. “We making a run for it or standing our ground?”

Bradley glanced at me then, his expression unreadable. “We hit them first.” The room went still.

Hangman arched a brow. “You sure about that, Rooster?”

“I’m done waiting for them to take another swing,” Bradley said, his voice dark, final. “We burn their meeting spot, take out the hitters they’re bringing in, and send a message.” I felt my pulse quicken, fear and adrenaline curling tight in my chest.

“And me?” I asked quietly. He looked at me then, not just as someone to protect, but as someone who’d survived beside him now. Someone who mattered.

“You’re with me,” he said. “Always.” And I believed him.

Hangman grinned. “Alright, then. Let’s fuck up their morning.”

The room snapped into motion, men gathering weapons, ammo, burner phones, maps. Bradley stood, crossing back to me, and for a moment, the cold calculation in his eyes cracked. He brushed a thumb over my jaw, steady and warm. “You ready for this, principessa?”

I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded. “Good,” he murmured. “Because this time… we finish it.” Bradley cleared a space on the long metal table, spreading out a worn map of the city. The factory lights buzzed overhead, casting long shadows across the room as the crew gathered around. Weapons, phones, and scattered magazines littered the surface, but nobody cared. The air was thick with tension and unspoken promises of violence.

Floyd tapped the map with two fingers, zooming in on a satellite image on his tablet. “They’re holed up here,” he said, voice steady. “An old private club on the riverfront, used to be a speakeasy back in the ’30s. Closed to the public, back in play now as a ghost location. Nocturne’s hitters and lieutenants are scheduled to meet there in four hours. I pulled heat signatures, five, maybe six so far, but more incoming. At least two from Jersey, one from Miami. Heavy muscle.”

Coyote let out a low whistle. “Ballsy move, bringing them in so fast.”

“Desperate,” Hangman said, cracking his knuckles. “Means they don’t know we’re already onto them.”

Bradley’s gaze stayed locked on the map. Cold. Calculating. “Entry points?”

Floyd pointed. “Three. Front’s reinforced, guards posted. Service alley around back- tight, blind spot here,” he tapped the screen. “And a side entrance through a boarded window off a neighboring building’s roof. That’s your best angle for a silent breach.”

Bradley nodded. “We split into two teams. Coyote and Floyd take the roof. Plant charges if you can, hit their comms. Hangman, you’re with me through the back alley. We cut their throat before the rest of the muscle shows.”

“And me?” I asked, stepping closer.

Bradley’s jaw flexed. His eyes found mine.

“You stay on comms, here, with a car running. You’re our out if things go south.”

“No.” The word came out sharper than I meant.

Bradley’s brow lifted, a flicker of warning there. “I’m not staying in a safehouse like a loose end,” I said quietly. “I’ve made it this far. You need eyes. I can handle myself.”

Hangman let out a soft, impressed laugh under his breath. “I like her.” Bradley’s gaze held mine, something unreadable in those storm-dark eyes. Then, finally, he gave a slow, almost reluctant nod.

“Fine. You ride with me. But you stay close. And if I say run, you run.”

“Deal.”

Coyote grinned. “Damn, Roos, think she might be meaner than you.”

Floyd smirked, flipping the safety on his sidearm. “We move in thirty.”

The room scattered into motion, each man gathering weapons, loading mags, checking earpieces and sidearms. The grim ritual before war. Bradley stayed behind, reaching for a fresh magazine, sliding it home with a sharp click. He glanced at me again. “You sure about this?”

I stepped in close, brushing my hand over his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his pulse beneath the ink of his tattoos. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

A ghost of a smirk tugged at his mouth. “God help them, then.” And just like that, we were at war.

The car ride to the riverfront was quiet.

Not the kind of silence that begged to be filled, but the kind thick with things neither of us had the room to say. Bradley drove, one hand steady on the wheel, the other resting on the shifter. The city lights slid over his face in fleeting, broken fragments. In those brief flashes, he didn’t look like Rooster, the ruthless capo, or the man who’d pulled a trigger on one of his own hours earlier.

He just looked like Bradley. A man shouldering too much, carrying ghosts no one else could see. I sat in the passenger seat, the pistol Floyd had given me resting in my lap, my thumb absently brushing over the safety. The hum of the engine, the rattle of loose shells in the glovebox, every sound was sharper now.

And still, the worst noise was the one in my chest. The ache of wanting him. The ache of knowing I might lose him before dawn. “I don’t want to leave this unfinished,” I said softly, not sure why it came out then. Maybe because the dark made it easier.

Bradley’s jaw flexed. His eyes stayed on the road. “You won’t.”

I looked at him, studying the harsh lines of his profile, the way the light caught the faint stubble on his jaw, the scar just beneath his ear.

“I meant between us.” I said, that pulled his gaze. A flicker of something raw, something he didn’t bother hiding this time. The car slowed as he turned down a narrow side street, headlights cutting across rusted dumpsters and old brick. He shifted the car into park but didn’t kill the engine.

For a long moment, neither of us moved.

Then his hand reached over, cupping the side of my face, rough, warm, too steady for the war we were walking into. His thumb traced the edge of my jaw, the way it always did when he was about to say something he couldn’t quite name. “This isn’t a world where people like us get to be careful,” he murmured. “I’ve tried to keep you at a distance. Tried to leave you out of it.”

A bitter smirk twisted his mouth. “Didn’t work.”

I swallowed hard, leaning into his touch.

“Then stop trying.” His thumb brushed my lower lip, his gaze dipping there before meeting mine again.

“I’m no good for you, principessa,” he said, voice rough, low. “I’ll tear you apart.”

I smiled, small but sure. “Then let’s burn.”

The breath he let out sounded like defeat and desire tangled into one, and then he kissed me. Not like before, not claiming, not punishing. This was slower, heavier. A promise. A curse. The kind of kiss you steal before the world ends. When we finally broke apart, his forehead rested against mine.

“Don’t die tonight,” I whispered. He smirked, brushing one last kiss to my temple.

“Not without you.” And then he threw the car into gear, the moment gone like a match burned out, replaced by the cold certainty of what came next. The hit was minutes away, and we were already halfway to hell.

The club was a ghost of what it had once been. A crumbling speakeasy buried in the industrial stretch of the waterfront, its battered exterior giving nothing away. But through the high, narrow windows, the flicker of light and the faint pulse of muffled voices told a different story. They were here, and they were waiting.

Bradley cut the engine two blocks out.

The night air was thick, heavy with rain on the horizon. The kind of air that made your skin itch before a fight. Hangman’s voice crackled through the earpiece. “Positions.”

Bradley checked his weapon one last time, the cold gleam of the slide catching in the dim streetlight. He gave me a look, a command and a promise wrapped in one, before slipping out of the car. I followed. The plan was tight. Two teams. Silent breach. Hangman waited in the alley, his face a mask of dark focus. “Coyote and Floyd are on the roof. Five bodies confirmed inside, two moving, one posted at the front. Time to clean house.”

Bradley gave a sharp nod. “Take the left. I’ve got the alley.” I gripped my pistol tighter, pulse hammering behind my ribs. This wasn’t a movie. There were no rehearsals, no stunt doubles. If I missed a shot, it wasn’t a second chance, it was a bullet in my skull. Bradley reached for my wrist, pulling me close for half a second, his voice low against my ear.

“Stay sharp. Stay alive.” And then we moved. The alley behind the club was narrow, scattered with trash bins and broken glass. The lone guard at the back door was leaning against the wall, a cigarette glowing between his fingers. Bradley struck fast.

One silent, brutal movement, a hand over the man’s mouth, the slick crack of his neck breaking, and he was gone. The body slumped without a sound. I didn’t flinch. Even thought I wanted to. Bradley’s hand flicked to the door handle. It gave under his grip.

We slipped inside.

The hallway was tight, old brick and peeling paint. The sounds of low conversation drifted from the main room ahead, half a dozen voices, laughter, the clink of glasses. They didn’t know yet. Bradley lifted two fingers in a signal.

One… two… three.

Hangman moved first, slipping down the left corridor, while Bradley and I pushed straight through the back entrance into the heart of the den. The main room was a mix of old-world elegance and rot. Faded velvet booths. A bar lined with empty bottles. And five men seated around a long table, maps and cash spread between them. Bradley didn’t hesitate.

His first shot took the man at the head of the table square in the chest, the suppressed sound sharp in the confined room. Chaos erupted- chairs scraped, men reached for weapons.

I moved without thinking. One of them lunged toward me, gun halfway drawn. I fired. The recoil snapped through my arm. The man dropped. Bradley was a storm, moving through them like death in ink and fury. Two more shots, another body hit the floor.

Hangman appeared from the side, dropping the last one with a knife to the throat. It was over in less than a minute. The room reeked of blood, gunpowder, and old alcohol. Silence fell.

Bradley’s chest heaved, his gun still raised as he swept the room. “Clear,” he barked.

Hangman wiped his blade on a napkin, the casualness of it both horrifying and weirdly reassuring. I lowered my gun, my hand shaking now that the adrenaline was starting to burn off.

Bradley crossed the floor in two strides, grabbing me by the back of the neck, pulling me in. His eyes searched mine, and for one raw, fragile heartbeat, neither of us spoke. “You good?” he rasped.

I swallowed hard, forcing a nod. “Yeah.”

He cupped my face for half a second longer, then turned back to the bodies. “Floyd, get in here,” Bradley growled into his comm. “Sweep their comms. Find out who’s left.”

Hangman grinned, clapping me on the shoulder. “Welcome to the big leagues, principessa.”

I leaned against the cracked wall, my breath ragged, hands trembling from adrenaline and exhaustion. Bradley stood a few feet away, surveying the aftermath with sharp, unreadable eyes. The brutal calm of a man who’d seen too much and survived.

He turned slowly toward me, the hard edge in his gaze softening just enough to remind me there was still something human beneath the storm. “You held your own,” he said, voice low but steady.

I swallowed, not trusting my voice. “I didn’t miss.”

He smirked, a dangerous, crooked curve that made my heart skip. “Good.” For a moment, we just stood there, two warriors caught in the aftermath, the weight of everything pressing down on us.

Then he took a step closer, lowering his voice to a rough whisper. “You okay? Really.” I hesitated. Part of me wanted to say yes, to be strong. But the truth tasted bitter.

“Not really,” I admitted. His hand reached out, fingers brushing a stray lock of hair behind my ear, his touch careful but claiming.

“You’re tougher than you think,” he murmured. “And I’m not letting you fall apart on me.” I met his eyes, fierce, protective, but also something vulnerable, raw.

“I’m not falling apart,” I said, voice steadier than I felt. He nodded, but didn’t let go. Instead, he pulled me into a rough embrace, his body a shield against the darkness creeping in.

The adrenaline from the hit was still raw, but Floyd’s quick sweep of the comms came up clean, no surprises, no new traitors lurking in the shadows. So we made our way back to our safe house. A relief, but it left a gnawing silence where answers should have been.

That’s when the warehouse doors creaked open. A tall figure stepped in, the heavy thud of boots echoing through the space. He moved with the quiet confidence of a man used to command, but there was something softer in his eyes; a kindness buried beneath years of hard miles.

Bradley’s body stiffened the instant he saw him. “Maverick,” he said, voice tight but respectful.

The newcomer nodded, his gaze drifting to me briefly before settling on Bradley. “I heard about the mess,” Maverick said, voice gravelly but calm. “Sorry I’m late.”

Bradley’s jaw clenched, but there was a flicker of something like relief. “Mav, we need every gun and brain we can get right now.” Maverick’s eyes flicked to the map laid out on the table, then back to the group.

“I’d do anything for Goose... thought I was done with all this,” he said, the name hitting the room like a ghost. “But it looks like the family still needs me.”

He looked at me again, softer this time. “Don’t let him drag you too deep, princess. This life chews people up.”

Bradley’s smirk was wry but grateful. “Thanks for coming.”

Maverick dropped his bag near the table, cracking his knuckles. “Let’s get to work.”

Maverick’s presence shifted the room. He wasn’t just another gun for hire, he carried a weight, a history that even Bradley seemed to respect. The kind of man whose silence spoke louder than words, and whose scars ran deeper than anyone dared ask.

He moved with a quiet grace, unpacking his gear with practiced efficiency, eyes constantly scanning, always alert. When he glanced at me, it wasn’t with suspicion or dismissal, but something like understanding. Like he knew exactly what it meant to be caught in this storm and still stand your ground.

Bradley stepped up beside him, leaning in to speak in low tones. The conversation was tight, clipped, strategy and updates, alliances and threats. But every so often, Bradley’s gaze flicked to me, as if weighing how much I could handle, how much I could be trusted. Maverick caught that look.

“Don’t worry,” he said quietly, almost to me. “Rooster’s heart is buried under all that ice, but it’s there.” I swallowed, feeling the weight of both men’s eyes on me. In a world where trust was a currency more valuable than money or bullets, I was suddenly the most expensive asset in the room.

Later, as the others gathered to plan the next strike, Maverick pulled me aside. “Listen,” he said, voice low and serious. “I’ve seen what this life does to people. It takes more than it gives. You’ve got to be ready for the cost, not just the blood and the guns, but the loneliness, the nights you’ll never sleep.”

I nodded, the truth of his words settling heavy in my chest.

“But you’re strong,” he added, a ghost of a smile flickering. “Stronger than you know. And if you need someone to watch your back, I’m your guy.” I looked up, meeting his steady gaze.

“Thanks,” I said quietly.

He gave a brief nod, then rejoined Bradley and the others, slipping seamlessly into the fold. That night, with Maverick there, the circle felt tighter, but the stakes higher than ever. Because in this game, survival wasn’t just about firepower. It was about knowing who you could trust when the bullets stopped flying.

The room was thick with anticipation as the team gathered around the worn table once more. Maps, phones, and weapons lay scattered, but the real weight came from the faces around it, each one hardened by blood and loss, each carrying the knowledge that this mission could be the last.

Floyd spread out the latest intel on the screen: a high-value Nocturne lieutenant moving through the docks with a small, heavily armed escort. The target was slated to meet with a shadowy figure believed to be orchestrating the cartel’s next move, a dangerous chess piece that, if taken out, could cripple the enemy’s hold on the city.

Bradley’s voice cut through the quiet.

“We hit fast and hard. No mistakes.”

His eyes locked on mine for a moment, a silent reminder that I wasn’t just collateral anymore, I was part of the fight.

Maverick nodded beside him. “We split into two teams. Hangman and I will take the front. Bradley and Arianna, you go in from the east docks. Extraction point is a boat waiting at the far end, clean and fast.”

I felt the weight of his gaze, steady and unwavering. “You ready?” Bradley asked.

I swallowed the knot in my throat. “I am.”

The plan was clear, but the danger was real. Every step could be the difference between life and death. As night fell, the city’s shadows deepened, swallowing the docks in darkness and mist. The countdown had begun.

The salt-tinged night air bit at my skin as we moved silently through the maze of shipping containers, shadows stretching long beneath the flickering dock lights. Bradley’s hand was a steady weight on my lower back, guiding but not holding, trusting me to keep pace, to stay sharp. Ahead, muffled voices echoed between the crates. The target and his escort were close. I slid behind a rusted container, pressing the barrel of my pistol into the cool metal, breath shallow. The flicker of cigarette light caught my eye, a lone guard, pacing like a shark smelling blood.

Bradley gave a subtle nod. Hangman’s voice crackled softly in my ear, “Team Alpha in position. Front entry secure.”

The first shot was a whisper… silent, precise. The guard collapsed before he could cry out.

Chaos erupted.

Bradley was a force of nature, cutting through the escort with ruthless efficiency. I moved like a shadow, my shots finding targets before they even realized I was there. The lieutenant tried to flee, but we boxed him in near the edge of the dock. I was the one who cornered him, gun steady as I forced him to his knees.

“Last words?” I asked, voice low but icy.

He spat blood, eyes wild. “You don’t know who you’re messing with.”

I didn’t answer, pulling the trigger.

A boat’s engine growled in the distance, the extraction. Bradley joined me, his breath heavy, sweat slick on his brow. “Move!” he barked. We sprinted through the maze of containers, every shadow a threat, every heartbeat a countdown. The boat was waiting, engine idling like a beast ready to pounce. As we climbed aboard, I dared a glance back at the docks, the city skyline bleeding into the night.

The boat’s engine roared as we cut through the dark water, the city lights fading behind us. For a moment, the only sound was the slap of waves against the hull and the ragged breaths of the crew. Bradley stood at the bow, eyes scanning the horizon, every muscle taut with unspent tension. He didn’t relax, not yet. Not until he was sure this war was truly over.

Back at the docks, Floyd’s comm crackled.

“All teams accounted for. Nocturne’s grip on the city is fracturing. Their lieutenants are dead or scattered. We’ve got a clear shot at their headquarters.”

Bradley’s jaw tightened. “This is it.” We weren’t just surviving anymore, we were hunting. The final assault was brutal and swift. Under the cover of night, we stormed the Nocturne’s fortress, a grim fortress of steel and shadows. Bullets tore through the air, men shouted orders and curses, and the acrid smell of smoke and blood filled every corner. Hangman and Maverick were everywhere at once, ruthless and precise.

I moved alongside Bradley, our steps synchronized, weapons steady. The boss of the Nocturne, a man twice the size of Bradley, with a face carved from cruelty, finally faced us in the heart of the chaos.

“You think this ends here?” he snarled, raising a pistol. Bradley’s shot was faster, cleaner. The man crumpled. Silence followed like a shroud.

The Nocturne were finished.

We stood among the wreckage, bruised and bloodied, but victorious. Bradley turned to me, a flicker of something unspoken passing between us.

“We did it,” he said quietly. But even as relief washed over me, I knew the fight had changed us, carved new scars, new truths. And this victory, hard-won, was only the beginning.

[arianna-bradshaw]

The Lions Den-Chapter 5

Chapter Five: Chaos Consumes

Summary: After making in to the safe house, Arianna and Rooster try to get a moments peace; interrupted by the cruel nature of reality.

The city blurred past in streaks of neon and shadow, the Maserati eating up the distance while Rooster weaved through backstreets and alleys like a man who’d been born behind the wheel. The sound of pursuit faded, but neither of us spoke, tension still thick in the tight cabin, every nerve stretched thin.

I didn’t dare ask where we were going. I trusted him. God help me, I trusted him.

After what felt like hours, he made one final sharp turn down a narrow, crumbling road lined with shuttered warehouses and rusted chain-link fences. The headlights caught a looming, nondescript building at the end of the block, no signs, no lights, nothing to give it away. Rooster killed the engine, the sudden silence deafening after the chaos.

“This is it,” he muttered. The space between us crackled, something fragile and raw lingering in the aftermath of adrenaline and desperation. He grabbed a duffel from the backseat, slinging it over his shoulder, then came around to my side, pulling the door open. “Come on,” he said, voice rough, softer now, but still edged with steel.

I slid out, my legs unsteady, and followed him to an unmarked metal door. He punched in a code on a battered keypad, the faint click of bolts sliding free sending another shiver through me.

Inside, the place was spare and utilitarian. Exposed brick, low ceilings, dim lighting. A small kitchen, a single bedroom, and a living room outfitted with a worn leather couch and a locked weapons cabinet. It smelled like dust, old wood, and secrets.

Safe.

And yet, anything but.

Rooster closed the door behind us, locking it tight, and for a moment just stood there, chest rising and falling, eyes on the floor, like the weight of everything finally caught up with him. I opened my mouth to speak, but he beat me to it.

“You okay?” The words came out like sandpaper, like he wasn’t used to saying them. I nodded, even though my heart was still lodged somewhere in my throat.

He tossed the bag onto the couch, running a hand through his hair. The usual cold distance in his expression was still there, but it was cracked now, fractured by everything that had happened.

“Get some water,” he said, not looking at me. “Shower if you want. You’ll be here a while.”

I swallowed hard. “And you?”

“I’m not going far.” A pause, then softer. “Not tonight.”

And though he didn’t touch me, didn’t offer comfort, something in his voice made my chest tighten, because for all the chaos and bloodshed and danger, in that moment, Rooster felt like the only thing in the world that was real.

The air inside the safe house was heavy, not with danger anymore, but with everything we hadn’t said. The adrenaline was still tapering off in my veins, my pulse slowing but my nerves frayed raw. I watched as Rooster moved through the small space, checking the locks, the windows, arming the security panel with muscle memory movements that spoke of a thousand nights like this.

He didn’t speak again.

I didn’t expect him to.

I wandered toward the small kitchen, found a bottle of water on the counter, and twisted it open with shaky hands. My throat burned, my head still swimming with flashes of gunfire, the sound of bullets cracking the air, his voice growling ‘Hold on.’ I took a long drink and let the cold water settle me.

When I turned, he was watching me, leaning against the wall by the bedroom door, one hand running through his hair, the other gripping the edge of the doorframe like it was the only thing keeping him upright.

His face was unreadable.

But his eyes… they were wreckage.

I set the bottle down and crossed the room without thinking. The cold, proud man who claimed to feel nothing for me, who warned me he’d destroy me, looked like he was crumbling at the edges.

And I couldn’t pretend it didn’t matter. “You’re bleeding,” I said quietly, nodding to a gash near his ribs where his shirt clung dark with blood.

He glanced down, as if just now noticing it. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” I whispered, reaching out before I could stop myself. My fingers brushed his skin and he flinched, not from pain, but like the touch cost him more than the wound did. For a long moment, neither of us moved.

Then, without a word, he grabbed my wrist, not rough this time, just holding it. Like maybe he didn’t want me to pull away. “I should’ve left you at the club that first night,” Rooster murmured, voice so low it barely reached me. “Should’ve sent you home. Should’ve never let this happen.”

My throat tightened. “Then why didn’t you?”

He didn’t answer.

Instead, he tugged me forward, resting his forehead against mine, our breaths mingling in the dim light. His hands settled at my waist, steady now, no bruising grip, no claim of possession, just a man holding on because it was the only thing keeping him from drowning.

“I don’t know,” he breathed. I stayed still in his hold, feeling his breath ghost across my lips, the heat of him chasing away the chill that had settled deep in my bones. The dangerous, relentless Rooster was gone now, leaving behind the man beneath, raw, frayed, and clinging to control by a thread. His forehead pressed against mine, and for the first time since the night we met, he wasn’t leading or taking. He was just… there. With me.

I let my hands rest on his bare chest, fingertips skimming the edges of his tattoo, feeling the rapid drum of his heart under my palm. Neither of us spoke for a long time. The danger felt far away, and it was just the two of us in this dim, empty safe house where no one could see, no one could judge. No one would ever know.

His thumb brushed the inside of my wrist where my pulse still raced. He didn’t let go. “I don’t do this,” he said quietly, his voice a low rasp that sent a shiver down my spine. “I don’t let people get this close.”

“You already did,” I whispered, and his eyes flickered shut like the words cost him something to hear.

Another silence settled between us.

Then, so soft it felt like a secret, he spoke.

“My name’s Bradley.”

I froze, my breath catching. Not Rooster.

Not the name that had followed him through blood-soaked rooms and whispered deals. Bradley.

The man.

He kept his head down, like he expected me to throw it back in his face. Like he wasn’t sure if saying it aloud would undo him. I cupped his jaw, coaxing him to look at me. His eyes were a storm, dark, fierce, afraid. And for the first time, I saw all of it. Every scar, every wall, every piece he fought to keep hidden.

“I like knowing your name,” I whispered and something inside him cracked wide open. He kissed me then, not like before. Not out of desperation, or anger, or to claim. It was slow, aching, his mouth moving over mine like a promise neither of us could afford to make. His hand slid to my waist, pulling me flush against him, the heat of his skin chasing away every other thought.

I melted into him, feeling the shift. The tenderness. The ache. For once, it wasn’t about power. It wasn’t about who was in charge. It was about Bradley. And me.

And the quiet, dangerous hope that maybe… in a world like his… we could have this.

Even if just for tonight.

We stayed like that for a long while, our breathing steadying, the weight of everything between us settling into something less suffocating. The storm had passed, at least for tonight, and in the dark, stripped of titles and danger, he was just Bradley. I lay with my head on his chest, fingers idly tracing one of the faded scars along his ribs. His arm was around me, his thumb brushing slow, absent circles against my hip. Neither of us spoke, the silence oddly comfortable in a way it never was before.

Then, out of nowhere, his voice broke the quiet. “I was seventeen when my father died.”

The words hung there, heavy and unexpected. I lifted my head, looking up at him. He wasn’t watching me, his gaze was on the ceiling, expression distant, like he was staring at ghosts I couldn’t see. “They shot him in broad daylight. Cornered him outside a restaurant we owned in the city.” His jaw tensed, the muscle ticking beneath my palm. “Twelve bullets. No witnesses. No one said a word. Cops didn’t even investigate.”

My heart ached at the cold finality in his voice.

“That was the first lesson,” he went on, voice quieter now. “In this life… loyalty isn’t real. Fear is. Power is. And when you have it, you don’t get to leave it behind. You bleed for it, you kill for it. You inherit it whether you want to or not.”

I swallowed hard. “You didn’t have a choice.”

He gave a humorless, tired little smirk. “Not one that mattered.”

His hand slid up, threading into my hair as he finally looked at me. There was no mask now. Just Bradley. A man carrying a name that felt more like a weight than a title. “I took over before I was eighteen,” he said, voice rough. “Too young. Too angry. They tried to eat me alive for it. But I made them bleed first.”

I didn’t flinch. I should’ve. But I didn’t.

Maybe because I knew it already, maybe not the details, but the shape of it. The way he carried himself like a man who’d survived a hundred battles no one else could see. “Why are you telling me this?” I asked softly.

He was quiet for a long moment. “Because no one else knows the whole of it. Not even Hangman. Not like this.” His thumb brushed along my jaw, his gaze sharp and sad all at once. “And if I’m dragging you into this world… you should know what it’s made of.”

I rested my hand against his cheek, leaning into the touch. “I don’t care about your bloodline, Bradley. I care about you.”

His throat worked, a flicker of something breaking through the storm in his eyes.

“I don’t deserve that,” he said, voice almost a whisper. I kissed him gently, no heat, no desperation, just something real.

“Too bad,” I murmured against his lips. “You’ve got it anyway.” And for the first time since the night we met, he let his guard down completely, pulling me against him, his face buried in my hair.

The night held onto its uneasy quiet for what felt like hours. I drifted in and out of a half-sleep against Bradley’s chest, his steady breathing beneath my ear the only thing tethering me to calm. But peace never lasted long in his world.

A sharp knock rattled the door. Three quick raps in a pattern; sharp, sharp, pause, sharp, like some coded language meant to cut through the dark.

Bradley tensed instantly beneath me. The warmth of his body vanished as he slid out of bed in one smooth, practiced motion, grabbing the gun from the nightstand.

I sat up, my heart hammering.

“Stay here,” he ordered quietly, his voice back to steel. He moved to the door, checked the peephole, then yanked it open with a sharp click.

Hangman stepped inside, pale under the low lights, his usual cocky grin nowhere in sight. The air around him felt charged, a storm riding in on his shoulders.

“You’re not gonna like this,” Hangman said without preamble, eyes flicking to me before settling back on Bradley. “We got movement.” Hangman exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “The Nocturne.”

The name alone was enough to send a chill through the room. Bradley had mentioned them earlier. He explained them as we had laid intertwined that night. French mafia. Old money, old blood, and a reputation for playing dirtier than anyone else. They were myth in most circles, ghosts in sharp suits, known for leaving a trail of bodies and silence.

Hangman continued. “Word is they’ve put out a bounty. High enough to make even our own start asking questions.”

Bradley’s jaw clenched. “For me?”

Hangman shook his head slowly, his gaze sliding to me. “For her.”

The floor seemed to drop out from under me. A cold fist wrapped around my heart as Hangman added, “They want her alive. And they’re not far. A scout was spotted two blocks over.”

Bradley didn’t hesitate.

“Lock this place down. Call Floyd and Fanboy, no one in or out without my word. And find out who gave up the location of the penthouse. Someone’s feeding them.”

Hangman gave a tight nod. “Already on it.”

“And you,” Bradley growled, turning to me, the tenderness from earlier buried under a hard, protective fire. “You don’t leave my sight.” I swallowed hard but didn’t argue, because for the first time since this nightmare started, I wasn’t afraid of what Bradley would do. I was terrified of what they would. Hangman gave me a look as he headed for the door. Something like guilt. Or regret. Or maybe a silent warning.

“Storm’s not over, Angel,” he said quietly. “It’s just getting started.”

And then he was gone.

Bradley crossed the room in three quick strides, pulling me up into his arms, not rough, not possessive, but fiercely protective, like if he could anchor me to him, the rest of the world couldn’t touch me. His voice was a promise, dark and steady against my ear. “They won’t take you.”

Bradley didn’t waste a second. The second the door clicked shut behind Hangman, he was already moving, switching back to Rooster like a blade snapping into place. The man who’d laid beside me in the dark was gone, replaced by the predator.

“Get dressed,” he ordered, his voice clipped but not unkind. “Boots. Nothing you can’t move in.” He nodded to the duffel bag.

I nodded, slipping out of the bed, every nerve sharp, my body already running on adrenaline. By the time I’d dressed, Bradley had pulled out a matte black case from beneath the couch and popped it open on the table. Inside was an arsenal; sleek, deadly, and efficient. He checked each piece with ruthless precision, laying them out like a surgeon preparing for the operating table.

I watched him move, the set of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders, the grim focus in his eyes. It should’ve terrified me. But it didn’t.

It made me feel safer than I ever had.

He glanced up, catching me watching him. “Ever shot a gun before?” I shook my head, and to his credit, he didn’t curse or snap. He grabbed a smaller, compact pistol from the case and crossed the room to me.

“Safety’s here,” he murmured, his hands steady as he placed it in mine, showing me the grip. “Keep your finger off the trigger unless you’re aiming to kill. No warning shots, no hesitation. You see someone that isn’t me or Hangman, you drop them. Understand?”

I swallowed hard and nodded.

“Say it.”

“I understand.”

His eyes held mine a beat longer, searching for any crack, then he gave a tight nod and brushed a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “Good girl.” A shiver shot through me at the rasp of his voice.

He moved back to the case, pulling out more weapons, magazines, and a thick envelope of cash.

“We’re blowing this place soon,” he muttered, mostly to himself. “But until Hangman locks down the next location, we hold here.”

He set about fortifying the room; sliding reinforced metal bars over the doors, checking every lock, pulling blackout shades down tight over the windows. He flipped switches hidden in the floorboards, activating silent alarms I didn’t even realize were there.

In minutes, the safe house turned from a rundown apartment into a fortified bunker. I helped where I could, carrying magazines, securing the kitchen door, double-checking windows. Every creak of the old building set my pulse racing, every shadow outside felt like it was watching.

By the time he finished, the room felt sealed off from the world. A tomb or a fortress, I wasn’t sure which. Bradley came to stand beside me, his hand brushing my lower back in a brief, steadying touch. His eyes were still cold, still sharp, but something in them softened when they met mine. “We’ll get through this,” he promised, voice low.

I nodded, not trusting my voice, and in the thick dark of the safe house, with death lurking just beyond the walls, we stood side by side; two wolves waiting for the night to break.

Time inside the safe house passed differently. Thick. Heavy. Slow as molasses and sharp as a knife’s edge. There were no clocks, no daylight seeping in through boarded windows, only the low hum of the city outside and the occasional flicker of headlights cutting across the far wall. Each one made my pulse jump, though Bradley never flinched.

He moved like a man built for nights like this. Checking the bolts. Reloading weapons. Pacing near the window, listening to a burner phone that stayed stubbornly silent. I sat on the old leather couch, the pistol heavy in my lap, my thumb running over the cool metal again and again. My body ached, exhaustion tugging at me, but adrenaline made my skin too tight, my heart too fast.

“I hate this part,” Bradley muttered after what felt like hours, dropping into the armchair across from me.

I looked up, catching the tight line of his mouth, the way his fingers tapped against the armrest; a man always moving, always calculating. “The waiting?”

He nodded. “I’d rather be in it. Rather be moving, chasing, fighting. Sitting still…” He shook his head. “It’s when mistakes happen.”

I swallowed, staring down at the gun again. “I don’t want to be a mistake.”

His head snapped up, his gaze locking with mine so hard it made my breath catch. “You’re not,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “You never were.” The words settled between us like an unspoken truth neither of us had the courage to unpack.

I stood then, restless, crossing the room to where a narrow window slit gave a glimpse of the outside world. A world still spinning, still burning, without a clue how close its monsters really were.

“I don’t know how you live like this,” I said softly. He was beside me in seconds, his hand brushing mine against the windowsill.

“I don’t,” he murmured. “I survive it.”

We stayed like that, side by side, eyes on the dark street outside. The air thick with unsaid things, with everything that had built between us over stolen nights, blood, and danger.

Then, his hand slipped into mine.

No claim.

No command.

Just… steady, solid, real.

And in the silence, with death circling and dawn nowhere in sight, it was enough. For now.

The world outside stayed eerily still, the city’s pulse muffled, as if it, too, was holding its breath. Bradley’s hand in mine was warm, solid, a steady anchor in a night built on fear and violence.

Neither of us spoke.

We didn’t need to.

But the longer the quiet stretched, the sharper the tension became, not the electric pull between us, though that still hummed beneath my skin, this was something darker. A predator circling, waiting for its chance.

Bradley’s fingers tightened around mine. “Get away from the window,” he murmured.

My stomach dropped.

I stepped back without hesitation as he pulled his gun from his waistband, moving with the kind of quiet, lethal grace you didn’t learn unless your life had depended on it. His shoulders tensed, head tilted like he could hear something the rest of the world missed.

“What is it?” I whispered.

His eyes didn’t leave the window, but his voice was cold steel. “A car. No headlights. Moving too slow.” My pulse spiked.

He crossed the room, flipped a switch on the wall, and the safe house’s few dim lights cut out, plunging us into shadow. My breath stuttered in my throat as he grabbed my hand again, pulling me down behind the old couch, out of sight.

“Stay down,” he breathed against my ear, his lips brushing my skin.

Outside, tires crunched over gravel.

A door creaked open. Bradley’s grip on the gun was steady, his other hand still clutching mine, even as the air turned suffocatingly thick. A shadow moved past the window. Another. My heart slammed against my ribs. I could hear my own breathing, ragged and too loud.

Then a knock.

Three quick raps.

Bradley’s body went rigid. “That’s not one of ours.”A beat later- another knock. The wrong pattern. My blood iced over. Bradley pulled me closer, our bodies flush in the dark, and I felt him reach for the second pistol tucked in the back of his waistband. The knock came again, harder this time.

Then silence.

A long, deadly pause.

Then the soft scrape of lock picks at the door.

Bradley’s voice was a breath against my temple. “You stay behind me, no matter what. If you get a shot, take it.” I didn’t answer. Didn’t need to. Because I was already ready to bleed for him.

The lock gave with a soft, final click. Bradley’s body went stone-still, and the world shrank down to the shallow, trembling sound of my breathing and the weight of his hand on mine. The door creaked open.

Slow. Careful.

A predator's entrance.

A figure slipped inside; dark clothes, weapon raised. Another followed. A third, barely a shadow behind them. Bradley moved like a ghost, his grip tightening on my hand before he let go. I barely registered the loss before he was on his feet, silent and swift as death.

The first man never saw him coming.

Bradley lunged from behind the couch, gun raised, and fired. The sharp, deafening crack of the shot made me flinch, but the intruder dropped without a sound. The second man shouted, bringing his weapon up too late. Bradley’s shoulder collided with his, the two of them crashing hard against the wall. I saw the flash of a blade, a vicious grunt, and then another muffled gunshot. The body slumped to the floor.

I scrambled for the pistol he’d left by the couch, my fingers wrapping around the grip just as the third man entered the room. His eyes landed on me.

Time slowed.

I raised the gun, my hands shaking so violently I wasn’t sure I could aim. His lips twisted into a cruel grin as he started toward me. “Drop it, sweetheart,” he growled. “Don’t make me—”

A single shot rang out. His eyes went wide. And then he was falling.

I didn’t realize I’d pulled the trigger until the acrid smell of gunpowder hit the air, my ears ringing. I stood there, my hand shaking around the weapon, staring at the crumpled body at my feet.

Bradley was beside me in an instant, gripping my arm, pulling the gun gently from my grasp. His other hand cupped my jaw, forcing me to meet his gaze.

His eyes were wild, dark, fierce, but not angry.

Proud.

Protective.

Alive.

“You did good,” he rasped. “You hear me? You did good.”

I swallowed hard, a tremor running through me. “I- I didn’t think-”

“You survived,” he said, his voice low, steady, anchoring me back to earth. “And you’re gonna keep surviving. Because you’re mine, and I don’t lose what’s mine.” The words hit me harder than the gunshot. I didn’t know whether to cry or kiss him. Before I could choose, another voice crackled through the hidden earpiece in his ear- Hangman’s voice, sharp and strained.

“Rooster, you’ve got two minutes. More inbound. You need to move.” Bradley’s jaw clenched. He grabbed a second weapon from the table, then reached for my hand again, his grip firm. “Time to run, principessa.”

And just like that, we were moving; side by side, through the back exit and into the night, with blood on our hands and hell at our heels.

We slipped out the back of the safe house, Bradley keeping me close as we darted through the maze of alleyways. The city felt different now… sharp, predatory, every shadow a threat. My heart thundered in my chest, my blood still high from the shootout, the weight of the gun still ghosting in my palm. We didn’t stop moving until a black SUV slid up to the curb two blocks over, headlights off. The back door popped open and Hangman leaned out, gun in hand, his face grim.

“Get the fuck in.”

Bradley shoved me inside first, sliding in behind me. The door slammed shut and the SUV peeled away from the curb without missing a beat. Inside, the faces waiting for us were a mix of tension and fury. Payback was in the driver’s seat, his eyes locked on the road, jaw clenched so tight the muscle ticked. Fanboy sat up front beside him, holding a radio to his ear, murmuring updates in a low voice. Coyote turned in his seat, relief flashing in his dark eyes when he saw me.

“Damn, angel,” he breathed, shaking his head. “Didn’t think you’d make it out of there.”

“I shot someone,” I said, my voice hoarse, not sure if I was proud, horrified, or both.

Hangman gave a grim half-smirk. “Good. That’s one less we’ve gotta clean up.” Then there was Floyd. He sat in the back, tablet in hand, a wireless earpiece in place, fingers flying over keys as he traced routes and surveillance feeds. The logistics guy. The ghost behind the curtains. He barely looked up as we climbed in.

“I’ve got new coordinates,” Floyd muttered. “Rerouting to the fallback. Penthouse’s blown, safehouse compromised, and three of our local contacts just switched their phones off. Which means they either skipped town or they’re waiting to sell you out.”

He glanced up, his gaze sharp behind his glasses. “Boss, this thing’s bigger than we thought.”

Bradley didn’t even flinch. “How much bigger?”

“Whole East Coast network’s moving. Word is the Nocturne put a bounty not just on her, but on you too. And half of Vegas. Someone wants this territory bad enough to bleed for it.”

Payback swore under his breath. Fanboy looked grim. Bradley’s grip on my knee tightened.

“Then we bleed back.”

Hangman leaned forward, voice low and steady. “We still don’t know who leaked the safehouse. Only a handful of us had that address.” The implication hung heavy in the air. A traitor. Bradley’s gaze swept the SUV, deadly calm.

“Find them. Fast. No second chances.”

Floyd’s fingers flew faster over the tablet. “Already narrowing it down.”

I pressed my back against the seat, trying to steady my breathing. The weight of this world was closing in; blood, betrayal, danger at every turn. But for the first time, I wasn’t alone. I had them. And I had Bradley. His hand slid into mine again, a silent promise in the dark.

The SUV cut through the sleeping city like a shark through dark water, weaving between abandoned streets and blinking traffic lights until it reached the edge of town, where old industrial buildings slumped against the night.

No one spoke much after Floyd’s update.

Tension thickened with every mile. I kept my hand tight in Bradley’s, the dried blood on both of us stiff and clinging to skin, but neither of us cared. Finally, Payback swung the SUV down a narrow, cracked road behind an old textile factory. Faded lettering peeled from the brick walls, long-dead security lights flickering overhead. It looked abandoned, forgotten. Which made it perfect.

As soon as the SUV rolled to a stop behind a rusted chain-link fence, Bradley was out of the car. He circled around to my side, opening the door before I even moved. “Come on,” he murmured.

I stepped out, my legs unsteady, and followed him toward the heavy steel side door. Coyote moved ahead of us, rapping out a quick code on the keypad. The lock buzzed, and we slipped inside. The new fallback wasn’t luxury. It wasn’t meant to be. Bare-bulb lighting. Concrete floors. A few battered couches and a long metal table scattered with weapons and phones. Maps pinned to a wall. A single cot in the corner. The air smelled like dust, old wood, and gun oil.

Floyd was already setting up his tablet station at the table, wires and devices unpacked with precision. Hangman dropped a duffel onto a chair, watching the door like he expected it to burst open at any second. Coyote locked it behind us, sliding the bolt into place.

“This one’s clean,” Payback said as he came in last, wiping sweat from his brow. “Nobody’s been near it in months.”

“Good,” Bradley muttered, his hand settling at the small of my back as he guided me toward the cot in the corner. I collapsed onto it without protest, exhaustion pulling at my limbs. My whole body ached, every nerve frayed. But Bradley didn’t leave. He crouched in front of me, reaching up to brush a streak of blood from my cheek, his thumb gentle against my skin. “You alright?”

I nodded. It wasn’t a lie… not entirely. His hand lingered against my face. His eyes searched mine. And for a moment, the war outside the walls didn’t matter.

“I told you,” he said quietly. “They won’t take you. Not while I’m breathing.” And then, before I could answer, Hangman’s voice cut through the room.

“Boss.”

Bradley stood, the cold, dangerous Rooster sliding back into place. “What?”

Floyd didn’t look up from his tablet as he spoke. “I found the leak.” The room went still.

Bradley’s jaw clenched. “Who?”

Floyd’s next words were soft, but they hit like a bomb. “It’s one of ours.”

Silence thickened, electric and sharp. Bradley’s voice was ice. “Name.”

Floyd’s eyes flicked up, meeting Bradley’s. “Payback.”

The world seemed to tilt.

I saw the betrayal crash across Bradley’s face, the muscle ticking in his jaw, the flicker in his eyes. Hangman’s hand drifted to his weapon. Coyote cursed under his breath.

And Payback…

Payback didn’t deny it.

He just stared at the floor.

For a heartbeat, no one moved.

The only sound was the steady hum of the ancient overhead lights, buzzing faintly like a storm gathering in the walls. Bradley took one slow, deliberate step toward Payback. His eyes weren’t furious, they were cold. Colder than I’d ever seen. The kind of cold that meant something irreversible was about to happen.

“Tell me it’s a mistake,” Bradley said, voice low, steady, like a blade sliding from its sheath. Payback swallowed hard, his eyes flicking toward the floor. His hand twitched at his side, but he didn’t go for his weapon. Which told me even he knew better.

“Rooster-” Payback started, but the word sounded wrong in his mouth now.

“No.” Bradley shook his head once, his voice lethal, measured. “You don’t get to call me that.”

Coyote was already moving, closing the distance to cut off any chance of an escape. Hangman’s hand rested loosely on his gun, his face unreadable.

I pushed up from the cot, my pulse a sharp ache behind my ribs. I shouldn’t have cared, shouldn’t have felt anything for the man who helped sell us out. But we’d all bled together. Bradley kept walking until he was inches from him.

“Why?” he asked. Not a shout. Not a demand. Just a single, razor-edged word.

Payback’s throat bobbed as he struggled for air. “They had my sister,” he muttered, his voice breaking. “Two weeks ago. Said if I didn’t feed them your safehouse, they’d send pieces of her back to me one by one.” The room stayed dead silent, and for the first time, the fury in Bradley’s eyes cracked, not softening, but warping into something darker, deeper. Betrayal layered with bitter, unforgiving grief.

“You should’ve come to me,” Bradley said, voice tight, pain barely buried beneath the cold steel. “We could’ve handled it. We handle everything.”

Payback’s eyes shone wet, but he didn’t wipe them. “I didn’t see a way out. They promised it would be quick. Clean. No one else was supposed to get hurt.” His gaze flicked to me. I felt it like a burn.

Bradley took one last step, pulling his gun with the kind of finality that made my stomach drop. “No one else?” he echoed. “Three dead at the safehouse. A bounty on her head. And you handed my family’s business to the Nocturne.”

He leveled the gun, the barrel steady. “Bradley,” I whispered.

But it was too late.

“This is mercy,” Bradley said quietly. And pulled the trigger. The shot echoed through the factory, sharp and clean. Payback dropped. Hangman didn’t flinch.

Coyote looked away. Floyd kept typing.

Bradley stood there for a long moment, his face unreadable in the flickering light, before finally lowering the weapon. He exhaled once, steady, like a weight had shifted but not lifted. Then he turned to me. “Get some rest,” he murmured. “We’re not done.” And just like that, he moved back to the table, already plotting the next move, blood still wet on the floor between us.

No one spoke much. Coyote dragged Payback’s body out back without a word. Hangman cleaned the blood with cold efficiency. Floyd kept to his screens, the glow of his tablet the only light in the room as midnight bled into the next hour. Bradley didn’t say another word. Not to them. Not to me. He moved like a man on autopilot- checking guns, updating maps, making calls, until even Hangman quietly called it and crashed out on the battered couch.

I stayed on the cot, watching him from the corner of the room. The adrenaline had long since burned out, leaving exhaustion in its place, but sleep wouldn’t come. Not with the weight of everything still hanging in the air. It wasn’t until the clock on the wall blinked past 3:00 a.m. that Bradley finally slowed. He rolled his shoulders, rubbed a hand over his jaw, and glanced toward me, and for the first time since the shot fired, his face softened.

He crossed the room in a few long strides, crouching down in front of me again, just like earlier. His voice was rough when he spoke. “You should be asleep.”

I gave him a faint, dry smile. “So should you.” He huffed something like a laugh, but it sounded broken. The sharp edge in his eyes dulled for the first time since the betrayal. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything, just reached out, brushing a thumb across my cheek, like he needed to feel something warm and alive.

“I meant what I said,” he murmured, voice low and raw. “I don’t lose what’s mine.”

“I know,” I whispered.

And I did.

Tonight had proved it in blood.

I reached out, sliding my fingers around the back of his neck, pulling him down until his forehead rested against mine. For a while, we just stayed like that. No words. No orders. No war. Just us.

When he finally spoke again, his voice was barely audible. “I never wanted you in this,” he confessed. “But now that you are… I can’t let you go.” I didn’t move away. Didn’t flinch.

Because whatever this thing between us was, twisted, reckless, dangerous, it was real. And in a world where everything else came with a price, I was done pretending it didn’t matter.

“Then don’t,” I whispered.

His hand cupped the side of my face, thumb stroking slow across my jaw, his eyes searching mine like he wasn’t sure he deserved this, but needed it anyway. “I’ll get us out of this,” he promised. “I swear it.” I believed him. Because whatever was coming, whatever storm still waited, we’d face it like this. Together.

He leaned in, pressing his lips to mine, slow and steady, no rush, no fire. Just a quiet, desperate kind of need. A kiss meant for the hours after the battle, when the world’s gone quiet and you’re still alive. And when he finally laid down beside me on that narrow cot, pulling me into his chest, I let myself fall asleep for the first time in days. Wrapped in his warmth. Surrounded by ghosts, and clinging to whatever pieces of this reckless, brutal world we could still call ours.

[arianna-bradshaw]

Is the lions den finished? 👀 no rush of course! Just inquiring 😁

I have a few more chapters that are published on ao3 and I’m moving them over here! It’s not finished yet tho:)

[arianna-bradshaw]

Let Me Have This

Obi-Wan Kenobi x Reader

WC: 5.4k

Summary: He was always the one I wasn't supposed to want. From the temple halls to the edge of the clone wars, Obi-Wan was my first touch of safety... and the deepest ache I carried.

CW: 18+, Angst, Injury, Smut

The first time I met Obi-Wan Kenobi was the day I arrived at the Jedi Temple as a youngling. I was only four, small and frightened, my fingers clutching the edge of the coarse robe they'd given me as if it were a lifeline. The Temple felt impossibly vast, marble floors that echoed too loud under my tentative steps, towering columns that disappeared into shadowy ceilings, and Jedi Masters whose calm, unreadable expressions made me feel both safe and utterly invisible.

Obi-Wan had already been there for a year. Just five years old, but with the poise and quiet presence of someone much older, he seemed to fit the Temple's serenity in a way I couldn’t yet understand. I remember seeing him for the first time in one of the halls, kneeling with perfect posture as he meditated, a single strand of his coppery hair falling over his brow. Even then, there was something luminous about him; like the Force settled around him differently, more purposefully.

He noticed me watching. I must have looked lost, holding back tears, my hands fisting in my tunic to keep from shaking. He stood, brushing off the fabric of his robe, and walked over. He didn’t say anything at first. He just knelt down until we were eye-level, his blue eyes so calm it made my chest stop aching.

“Hi,” he said simply. “I’m Obi-Wan.”

That was all it took. I clung to him like a shadow after that. My earliest memories are tangled with the scent of his robes and the sound of his voice guiding me. I would trail behind him through the Temple gardens, tugging on his sleeve and peppering him with questions about the Jedi, the Force, the stars above Coruscant. He never brushed me off. He would pause, think carefully, and give me answers as best he could; with more patience than any child his age should’ve had.

I remember asking him to help me wield my training saber. My hands were too small, too shaky, but I wanted so badly to be like the knights I saw in the archives' holograms. Obi-Wan, always steady, stood behind me and gently corrected my grip, his smaller hands surprisingly firm as they guided mine. “You don’t have to be strong yet,” he’d told me. “Just sure.”

It wasn’t just comfort I found in him, it was the kind of constant, grounding presence that younglings like me clung to in the storm of change. Obi-Wan Kenobi was my first anchor at the Temple. The first person who made me believe I could belong there.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Years passed like whispered prayers through the Temple halls. By the time we were Padawans, the fear had become a memory dulled by discipline, and childhood comforts gave way to long hours of meditation, sparring, and study. Obi-Wan was assigned to Master Qui-Gon Jinn, whose methods were unconventional and whose presence always seemed to disrupt the calm of any room. I was placed under the careful, sharp gaze of Master Mace Windu; measured, stern, and impossibly precise. If Qui-Gon encouraged Obi-Wan to question, Mace demanded from me nothing short of obedience.

Despite our paths diverging, we always found each other again, between rotations in the Archives, in shared classes on diplomacy and philosophy, on the Temple’s quieter balconies that overlooked the endless sprawl of Coruscant. Something in us never unlatched.

By fifteen, Obi-Wan had grown into the kind of presence that made people pause when he entered a room. His voice had deepened, his shoulders had squared, and the calm I'd always clung to had become something deeper… commanding, confident. He’d spar with me during joint training sessions, his eyes locked on mine in a way that made my skin flush beneath the layers of my robes. He never overpowered me, never showed off. But the way he moved, the way he held back just enough; it was deliberate. It was teasing.

The first time it crossed a line, we were sixteen.

We’d been training late, alone, as was sometimes allowed when our Masters trusted us enough. The sparring turned less formal, more instinctual. I lunged; he parried. He laughed, low, breathless. I taunted him back. Somewhere in the rhythm of it, our sabers deactivated. We were chest to chest, his hand pressed to my abdomen where he’d landed a controlled hit, my own fingers curled around the sleeve of his tunic.

Neither of us moved.

“I yield,” I whispered.

“You never do,” he murmured.

And then he kissed me.

It was fast, stolen, just a brush of his lips over mine, but it sparked like plasma through every nerve in my body. When he pulled back, his eyes searched mine, as if waiting for guilt, or fear. I gave him neither. I reached up and kissed him back.

From that night on, it became a secret we held tighter than our lightsabers. Beneath the Temple's serene surface, we built a quiet world of shared glances and late-night meetings in abandoned gardens and unused halls. We were careful. The Jedi Code hung over us like a blade, and Master Windu- so attuned to silence, to stillness- missed nothing. I trained harder, sharper, pushing myself to perfection to keep his attention elsewhere. Obi-Wan, ever the rule-follower, carried a weight of guilt in his eyes after every time we touched, but he never said no.

Sometimes, we'd just lie together on the floor of one of the old, unused meditation chambers, his cloak over both of us, fingers threaded in mine. He'd talk about the Force like it was something he wanted to believe in again, something less rigid. I’d trace the line of his jaw, memorizing it like scripture.

"I don’t know if I can be what they want me to be,” he said once, his voice rough with emotion he didn’t often let surface.

“You already are,” I whispered. “But you don’t have to lose yourself to be theirs.”

He looked at me like I was something sacred. Like I’d given him permission to exist.

We never said what we were. We didn’t dare. But when I brushed his knuckles beneath the long sleeve of his tunic during Council briefings, or he bumped my foot beneath the table during mission debriefs, it felt like a declaration.

We were Jedi. But we were something else, too. Something the Code didn’t have a name for. And neither of us were ready to let it go.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The Temple felt colder after we became Knights.

Not physically; Coruscant's sun still filtered pale and golden through the high windows, but something had shifted. Our robes were heavier with responsibility, and silence lingered longer between us, as though we no longer knew how to exist in the spaces we once made sacred. We no longer trained in the same halls. Our missions pulled us to opposite ends of the galaxy. The Order had given us independence, but stripped away the excuses we used to find one another.

And now Qui-Gon was dead.

I found Obi-Wan in one of the high, wind-exposed walkways that wrapped around the upper spires. The city below pulsed like a distant heart, and he stood without his cloak, arms folded into the sleeves of his robe, the breeze catching the ends of his tunic. He didn’t turn when I approached, but I knew he’d sensed me long before I arrived.

"I heard," I said softly, coming to stand beside him. "About Naboo. About… Qui-Gon."

His jaw tensed. His eyes stayed fixed on the skyline. “I wasn’t strong enough,” he said. “Not fast enough. He died believing in something I couldn’t see.”

“You survived. And you avenged him. He knew the risks.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be like that.” His voice cracked slightly before he composed himself. “I was knighted on a battlefield. By fire and death, not ceremony.”

I reached out and touched his wrist, fingers gentle against the fabric. “That doesn’t make you any less ready.”

He looked at me then. Really looked. His eyes, older, wearier, searched my face like he was remembering it all over again. I felt the years in that glance. The gardens. The kisses. The silence under Temple moons. All of it still alive behind his gaze, no matter how long we pretended it wasn’t.

“I have a Padawan now,” he said finally, pulling slightly away from my touch. “Anakin. A boy. A child with too much power and no patience. He looks at me like I’m something solid. Like I know what I’m doing.”

“You do,” I said, though I could even hear the crack in my voice.

Obi-Wan exhaled harshly, stepping back, his face folding into something hard and distant. “We can’t keep doing this.”

My throat tightened. “Doing what?”

“This,” he said, gesturing to the space between us. “Holding onto something we should’ve let go of years ago. We’re not Padawans anymore. We can’t keep feeding into these childish delusions.”

The words struck like a blow, sharp, practiced, meant to wound.

I straightened, even as my heart splintered in my chest. “Is that what it was to you? A delusion?”

He flinched. Just barely. “It has to be.”

There was silence again… only this time it was painful, raw, like everything we'd built had been pulled from under us with surgical precision. I looked at him, this man who’d once pressed his forehead to mine in the dark, who had whispered that he couldn’t imagine the Force without me in it.

And now he wouldn’t even say my name. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice ragged.

“No,” I said, backing away. “You’re a Jedi. You don’t get to be sorry. You just have to obey.”

I turned before the tears could fall. The wind rushed past me as I walked away, tugging at the edge of my robe like it wanted to pull me back to him. But I didn’t stop. Neither did he.

~*~*~*~*~

The war had aged him.

I saw it the moment he stepped into the command tent, his cloak soaked from the freezing rain outside, his face more lined than I remembered. His beard had filled out, his armor scuffed with carbon scoring, blood, someone else's… staining the hem of his tunic.

He removed his gloves with deliberate care, shaking out his fingers as though they ached.

I stood stiffly at the table, datapad in hand, pretending to study the battle layout glowing in blue holograms. I didn’t look at him. Not fully. Not yet.

“General Kenobi,” I said evenly.

He paused mid-step. Just for a breath. “Knight Thaleen.” His voice was deeper now. Rougher. Almost strained. “They said you were here.”

I nodded, tapping a sequence to rotate the map, even though I knew it by heart. “We routed the droid battalion three clicks west. Minimal losses. Master Plo is leading a flanking maneuver by dawn.”

He stepped closer, each footfall quieter than it should’ve been. His presence still rolled off him in waves, calm, controlled, edged with something he didn’t let others see.

“I wasn’t sure we’d cross paths again,” he said softly.

“You mean after you called our bond a childish delusion and left me standing in the wind?”

He inhaled sharply. Not angry… just worn down, like he’d been waiting for that line for years. “I had to make a choice.”

“You always did,” I said. I finally looked at him. His eyes were as blue as I remembered, but duller now; clouded by too many losses, too many compromises.

Something flickered behind them. Pain. Shame. Relief. “I never stopped…” he began, then stopped himself, jaw flexing as if the words were dangerous.

“Don’t.” I shook my head. “You don’t get to come back from the battlefield and offer pieces of what we were. We gave it up, remember? For the Code. For duty. For Anakin.”

At the mention of his Padawan’s name, Obi-Wan looked away. “He was just a boy when I took him in. He needed me.”

“I did too,” I whispered. “But you made your choice.”

He didn’t deny it.

A long silence stretched between us, filled only by the distant hum of generators and the tapping rain against canvas. The war pulsed on outside, but inside that tent, time slowed, crushed beneath everything we hadn’t said in years.

“I think about you,” he finally said, voice low and tired. “When it’s quiet. When Anakin’s asleep and the stars are too bright. I wonder if we could’ve made it work… if we hadn’t been born Jedi.”

My chest ached. I stepped forward slowly, stopping just a breath away. “And what would you do, Obi-Wan, if we weren’t Jedi? Would you let yourself love me then?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just stared at me like I was the last honest thing he’d ever seen. Then, quietly: “I already did.”

The confession settled between us like a storm. I reached up, brushing damp hair from his forehead. His eyes fluttered closed beneath my touch; just for a moment. Just long enough to remember. To mourn.

But I let my hand fall away. “We can’t survive this war if we keep reaching for what we can’t have,” I said.

He nodded, like he agreed, but his eyes told a different story. Still, when I left the tent that night, he didn’t follow. And I didn’t look back.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Republic Medical Station – Orbiting Saleucami

Standard Rotation: 0300 Hours

The air in the corridor was too clean. The sterile scent of bacta and antiseptic clung to the walls like a warning. I found him sitting in the shadows of the recovery ward, his silhouette dimly outlined by the low emergency lights. His armor was half-removed, slouched at his side, and a thin bacta patch was pressed to a wound beneath his ribcage.

I almost didn’t recognize him at first. He looked exhausted, like the war had hollowed him out from the inside.

He didn’t look up as I approached. “How bad?” I asked softly.

He exhaled through his nose. “The wound or the mission?”

I lowered myself onto the bench beside him. “Either.”

Obi-Wan was silent for a moment. Then, in a voice almost too low to hear: “The mission was a massacre. The wound is nothing in comparison.”

I turned my head slowly, looking at him. The lines around his mouth were deeper, and there were dark circles under his eyes. His hands trembled, just slightly, in his lap. “I heard about Anaxes,” I said. “You lost nearly half your battalion.”

He nodded once, jaw clenched. “I shouldn’t still be breathing. And yet… here I am.”

I reached for his hand without thinking. Just a touch. Just a reminder that someone still knew who he was before all this.

He looked down at our joined hands. Didn’t pull away. “I tried to forget you,” he said quietly. “Tried to train it out of myself. The way the Order tells us to. But every time I lost someone... I thought of you. Every time I nearly died, I wondered if you’d feel it.”

My throat closed. “I did,” I whispered. “Every time.”

He turned toward me then. Really turned. His hand slid up, cupping my jaw with reverent slowness, like he was afraid I might vanish. His thumb brushed beneath my eye, and I realized I was crying, silently, tears cutting lines down a face trained never to weep.

“We can't keep pretending,” I choked out.

“I know.”

“I tried to live without you.”

“So did I.” And then his lips were on mine. It wasn’t soft, not after all these years. It was desperate, aching, the kind of kiss that breaks something open. His hands buried in my robes, mine gripping the back of his neck like a lifeline. There was no Code here. No Council. No war.

Just us.

His breath was hot against my neck, his voice rasping my name like a prayer. We clung to each other like people who knew the galaxy was falling apart; who knew there were only so many chances left.

I let my hands fist in the thin fabric of his tunic, careful not to press too hard where the bacta patches clung to his ribs. The heat of him bled through the soaked fabric, his body trembling with tension, with restraint. I tilted my head back slightly, giving him full access to the column of my throat. He groaned low in his chest, the sound almost guttural, and pressed his lips there, soft at first, reverent, and then with a hunger that belied how long he’d gone without this.

His hands, those capable, calloused hands, moved down with purpose, over my waist, my hips, down to the curve of my thighs. Each touch left fire in its wake. I gasped, arching into him, my fingers curling around the back of his neck to pull his face back up. I needed to see him. I needed to anchor myself in the storm of this moment.

“Obi-” I breathed, the sound of his name catching in my throat.

He shushed me gently, his thumb brushing over my cheek as he leaned in to kiss me again… deep, slow, desperate. Like he was making a promise and an apology all at once. He kissed me like it hurt. Like letting go would kill him.

His hands found the folds of my robe, tugging them aside with slow, shaking movements, as though the fabric itself might fight back. I could feel the reverence in him, no rush, just the trembling knowledge that every inch of my skin beneath his fingers was something he'd dreamed of touching for years.

I gasped softly as the chill of the room met bare skin. His lips moved lower, trailing down my jaw, across my collarbone, until they reached the center of my chest. With unsteady fingers, he worked at the tie of my robes, then the thin bandage cloth that bound my chest beneath. His touch paused, just for a heartbeat, as he let the wrap fall loose and slide away.

The breath he took was sharp and uneven. A flicker of disbelief passed across his face, as if some part of him still didn’t believe this was real. His hands brushed over my ribs, reverent, and his gaze rose to meet mine.

“I tried to forget,” he murmured, voice thick, shaking. “But I never could. Not this. Not you.”

My breath hitched, a soft whimper catching in my throat as he pressed his mouth to the newly bared skin, slow and aching. I tangled my fingers into his hair, holding him close, not guiding, just holding. Just needing him there.

He kissed down my sternum, dragging his lips across my skin like he could carve the memory of it into himself. I shivered, both from the cold and the sensation, my body sensitized by the hunger we’d never let ourselves fully feel until now.

He came back up slowly, his eyes dark and blown wide, his chest rising with sharp, shallow breaths. His hands rested on my waist, thumbs stroking small circles there as though he couldn’t bear to let go, even for a second.

“Tell me you want this,” he whispered. “Tell me we’re not dreaming.”

I cupped his face between my palms, resting my forehead to his. Our breaths mingled, uneven and warm. “I’ve wanted this since the moment I wasn’t allowed to have it,” I whispered. “And I’ll want it long after we part again.”

His mouth was on mine before I finished the breath. No restraint this time. No distance. Only the gravity of everything we’d ever denied ourselves, finally crashing down.

I found the hem of his tunic with fumbling fingers, our lips parting only long enough for me to pull the garment over his head. The dim light caught on the lines of his torso, scarred and lean, hardened by war and years of restraint. My hand rose instinctively, brushing over the planes of his chest. His skin was warm beneath my palm, and I felt the muscle twitch slightly beneath my touch as he hovered over me, held aloft by trembling arms braced against the cold marble floor.

His hand moved with reverence, tracing the curve of my waist, then dipping lower, fingertips ghosting across the skin just above the waistband of my trousers. My breath hitched sharply, and I arched into him, the chill of the floor beneath me forgotten.

When his fingers paused at the edge of the fabric, I let out a soft moan, my hand catching gently around his wrist, not to stop him, but to feel the steadiness of him, the reality of this moment. He looked up at me then, his face hovering just above my chest, eyes searching, asking without words.

I sucked in a breath and gave the smallest of nods. He exhaled shakily, and for a heartbeat his expression softened, something like wonder flickering across it. He kissed my chest once; slow, reverent, before glancing down, his hand slipping beneath the fabric with purpose.

The moment his fingers brushed against me, my whole body jolted. He moved carefully, parting through the wetness with a practiced gentleness, before circling up to find the spot he knew would undo me. The pad of his finger pressed in slow, deliberate circles, coaxing soft moans from deep in my throat. My hips bucked involuntarily, and I gasped, fingers diving into the back of his hair to keep myself grounded.

“Force,” he breathed out, forehead resting briefly against my sternum as if the weight of the moment was too much to hold in his hands.

My breath came faster now, every movement of his fingers sending sharp sparks through my abdomen. I was unraveling beneath him, eyes fluttering shut, body arching into his hand with a hunger that had been burning quietly for years.

He watched me like he was memorizing every expression I made- every hitch of my breath, every flutter of my lashes, every whispered moan that slipped past my lips. His fingers never faltered, moving in slow, deliberate circles, coaxing me open, drawing me toward something that felt both inevitable and impossible.

My hand trembled in his hair, holding him close, needing something to anchor me. His name left my lips again, breathless, reverent, the only thing I could remember how to say. He closed his eyes at the sound of it, jaw tightening slightly, like he was holding something back.

"You're shaking," he murmured, voice rough and low, his lips brushing the skin between my breasts.

"You're making me," I whispered, breath catching again as his pace shifted, slower, firmer, knowing exactly how to pull me to the edge without letting me fall.

My other hand grasped at his arm, nails digging gently into the hard muscle there. I could feel his heart beating through his skin, fast and frantic; like mine. Like this wasn’t just something physical, but something seismic between us. Something neither of us had ever let ourselves feel this fully before.

His name spilled from my mouth again, softer this time, like a plea- and he lifted his head to look at me. His fingers never stopped moving, but his eyes met mine, locked there, like he was holding me together with just that gaze.

"Let go," he said softly. "I’ve got you."

Something broke open in me then.

The heat that had been coiling deep in my stomach finally surged upward, crashing through me like a wave. My hips jerked against his hand, my head falling back with a gasp that echoed through the cold med bay. He held me through it, one hand still moving gently, the other resting firm against my waist, grounding me, holding me like something precious.

I rode the shudders of release with him pressed so close I couldn’t tell where he ended and I began. He kissed the edge of my jaw, my cheekbone, the corner of my mouth, every part of me that trembled, he steadied.

When I finally opened my eyes, his face hovered inches from mine, eyes still wide and full of awe.

"You’re… incredible," he whispered, and there was so much ache in his voice, like he’d waited years to say those words and never thought he’d get the chance.

I pulled him down and kissed him again, slow, lingering, reverent, tasting the fire and the grief and the devotion we’d buried under years of silence.

“I need you too,” I murmured against his lips. “All of you.”

He nodded once, eyes shining in the half-light. His forehead dropped to mine, breath warm, heavy. Then, slowly, he shifted, his body pressing fully to mine, chest to chest, hips slotting between my thighs. His breath trembled against my lips as he hovered over me, one hand pressed beside my head on the cold floor, the other still resting at my waist. He was watching me like I was something fragile, like he didn’t know whether to hold me closer or fall apart completely.

“Are you sure?” he whispered, voice barely audible. His brow touched mine, his weight still held back, even as every part of him pressed toward me with an aching need.

I nodded, threading my fingers through his hair, drawing him down to me again. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”

That was all it took.

He kissed me again, slow, deep, a kind of devotion that made my chest ache. And then I felt the shift, the slow, careful press of his hips against mine, and I let out a broken breath as our bodies aligned. His hand cupped the back of my neck, steadying me, grounding me as he finally, finally, pushed inside.

The world narrowed to nothing but the feeling of him. The heat, the stretch, the overwhelming fullness of it. I gasped, one hand clutching his arm, the other fisting in his hair. He groaned low against my neck, like the sensation of being inside me was almost too much. Like he’d dreamed of this moment so long it physically hurt to live it.

He didn’t move at first. Just held me. Let me breathe. Let me adjust.

And when I nodded, breathless, he began to move… slow, deep, steady thrusts that rocked through me with measured control. His face stayed buried against my neck, his breath hot and uneven, his hands gripping me like he thought I might vanish. I met every motion, lifting my hips to meet his, anchoring him with my arms, with my touch, with everything I had.

“Force,” he whispered, broken and raw. “You feel… like coming home.”

I whimpered, tears prickling behind my eyes, not from pain, but from everything. The years. The longing. The ache we’d kept buried behind duty and discipline.

“I missed you,” I whispered, voice cracking. “Even when you were standing right in front of me.”

He pressed his lips to my cheek, my jaw, my temple, each kiss filled with something wordless and sacred. “I never stopped loving you,” he murmured, and I felt the words more than I heard them, low and rough and real.

We moved together in rhythm, his hips rolling against mine, my fingers dragging down his back, our breaths syncing like they had in every meditation hall, every mission, every stolen glance across Council chambers. But now it was real. Now there was nothing between us but truth and skin and the fragile hope that maybe, just for one night, we could have something of our own.

He picked up the pace just slightly, groaning as he pressed deeper, his name falling from my lips again and again like a mantra. I could feel him everywhere, inside me, around me, and still it wasn’t close enough.

I arched into him, crying out softly as pleasure built again in slow, searing waves. His hand slipped between us, fingers finding the sensitive place he’d touched before, drawing tight circles in time with his thrusts. It pushed me closer, sent fire curling up my spine, and I clung to him, breath coming fast, lips parting with broken moans.

“I’m-” I gasped, barely able to finish.

“I know,” he whispered, forehead pressed to mine, his own breath ragged. “Let go. I’m right here.”

I did. I shattered beneath him, my body convulsing with the force of it, breath catching in my throat as everything splintered into light. I heard him groan, deep, raw, helpless, as he followed me seconds later, burying himself deep with one final, trembling thrust.

For a long moment, we didn’t move.

He collapsed onto me gently, carefully shifting so he didn’t crush me, his body still shaking with the force of it. I wrapped my arms around him, holding him tightly, our hearts racing against one another’s chests.

“Tell me this is real,” I whispered.

He closed his eyes. “It’s the only real thing I have left.”

And for a moment, just one stolen moment, we let ourselves believe.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The first thing I felt was the cold.

Not the kind that bit into the skin, but the kind that crept in slowly, the chill that settles into a room once the warmth of the night has passed and the world begins to remember itself. The glowpanels overhead had dimmed to their lowest setting, casting everything in a pale, bluish hue that made it feel like we were suspended in time.

Obi-Wan was still asleep beside me, his face turned toward mine, lips parted slightly, brow relaxed in a way I hadn’t seen in years. He looked younger like this. Or maybe just less burdened. His hand still rested lightly on my waist, fingers curled into the edge of the blanket we’d haphazardly pulled over us sometime in the night.

I didn’t move.

I just lay there, staring at him, letting the reality settle in.

We’d done it. We’d crossed the line. The one we’d always pretended didn’t exist even as we tiptoed dangerously close to it for half our lives. But this wasn’t a glance or a touch, or a whispered name in the dark.

This was everything.

I reached up and brushed a stray lock of hair from his forehead, fingertips soft against his skin. His breath hitched, lightly, and then his eyes opened.

Bleary. Beautiful. “Hey,” he murmured, voice hoarse from sleep. He blinked slowly, orienting himself to the world again. When his gaze found mine, something in it softened.

“Hi,” I whispered, a small, sad smile on my lips. He looked at me for a long moment. Just… looked. Like he was trying to memorize this version of me; the one that existed only here, in the quiet, where no one could see us.

Then his expression shifted. Not regret. But something heavier.

“I shouldn’t have let it happen,” he whispered, voice barely audible.

I stiffened slightly, heart twisting. “You didn’t let it happen. We both did.”

He nodded, but his eyes darted away, staring past me toward the ceiling, the blanket, anywhere but me.

“I just… I know what this means,” he said. “What it risks. For both of us. For the Order. For Anakin.” The mention of his Padawan landed like a stone in my chest.

“I know,” I whispered. “But last night wasn’t a mistake. Don’t call it that.”

His gaze snapped back to mine, and there was pain in it, pure, aching pain. “I won’t,” he said, and meant it. “It wasn’t.”

We lay in silence for a while, the hum of the station slowly rising as dawn neared. Somewhere distant, clone troopers began their rotations. The war didn’t pause, even when the galaxy felt like it had.

“I don’t know how to go back to pretending,” I said quietly, staring at the shadows on the ceiling.

“You will,” he replied. “You always were stronger than me.”

“That’s not strength,” I said bitterly. “It’s survival.”

He sat up slowly, rubbing his face with one hand, the other still resting against me. “We’ll have to be careful. More than before.”

My chest tightened. I hated this part. The aftermath. The retreat. “What if I don’t want to pretend anymore?” I asked. “What if I’m tired of surviving without you?”

He didn’t answer right away, but the silence was the answer.

Eventually, he leaned down and kissed my forehead, softly, like a goodbye. Not forever, but for now. A goodbye forged from necessity, not desire.

“I want more too,” he said. “But the galaxy’s falling apart. And we can’t afford to fall with it.”

And then he stood, slowly dressing, piece by piece, gathering his armor, pulling his robes back around him like armor against not just blasters, but emotion.

I watched him go without a word, because if I spoke, I might beg him to stay, and we couldn’t afford that either.

[arianna-bradshaw]

The Weight of Heaven - Chapter Eight

A New Beginning

Summary: In the wake of peace, Arianna and Ben forge their own.

WC: 2.8k

~*~*~*~

The next morning rolled in with a cool, low-hanging fog. The scent of last night’s bonfires clung to the air, mingling with the faint trace of gunpowder from spent fireworks and the sharp tang of woodsmoke. Somewhere nearby, someone was brewing coffee, and the low hum of quiet voices drifted between the huts.

I shifted under the soft weight of the blanket, my hand instinctively reaching across the small bed in search of Ben.

But it was empty.

My stomach lurched in that first flicker of panic before I stretched out through the Force, reaching for him like a heartbeat.

Ben?

A beat later, his voice brushed against my mind, soft and steady.

I’m with my mom. You can come.

Relief flooded me and I smiled faintly, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. I tugged on my boots and shrugged a light shawl over my shoulders before slipping out into the crisp morning air. The camp was quiet, a gentle hush settled over it after the storm of last night’s celebration. A few lingering sentries paced at the perimeter, their greetings brief but warm as I passed.

I followed the pull of Ben’s presence like a tether, making my way to Leia’s hut near the edge of the camp. The doorway was half open, a warm glow spilling from within.

I slowed, sensing the depth of conversation inside- the steady hum of Leia’s presence, the calmer, wiser pulse of Luke’s, and Ben’s, bright and fragile, steady and unsure. Part of me felt like an intruder, but Ben’s presence nudged gently against mine in welcome.

I stepped in.

Ben looked up first, a small smile pulling at his lips. He patted the space beside him on the narrow bed and I came to sit down, leaning briefly into his side as his hand sought mine.

“Good morning,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to my temple.

I hummed a soft, still-sleepy greeting and gave their little gathering a curious glance. “What’re you guys talking about?” I asked, tilting my head.

The air shifted. A flicker of hesitation.

Leia exchanged a glance with Luke, who sighed and leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his knees. “We… wanted to talk to you both about something important.”

Ben straightened a little beside me, his shoulders tense. My fingers laced tighter with his.

Luke took a breath, glancing between us. “We’re all grateful you’re here. That you made it back alive. And you’re family, both of you. But after everything… we think it’d be safer if you left the camp for a while.”

I frowned. “Safer?”

Leia reached out, covering my free hand with hers. “There are still people in the galaxy who won’t take kindly to Ben’s return. And some who’d try to use you both to stir unrest.” She squeezed gently. “We’ve fought so hard for peace, Arianna. We don’t want to lose it- or you.”

Luke nodded. “There’s a place on Naboo,” he said quietly. “Our family estate. It’s been abandoned for years, but it’s yours now. It’s quiet, out of the way, and no one would think to look for you there. At least until things settle.”

I blinked, surprised by the offer. Naboo. I could almost see it in my mind; rolling green hills, lakes like mirrors, the air clean and soft. A planet so far removed from war it felt like a dream.

Ben’s thumb stroked over my knuckles, his gaze on the floor. I could feel his heart pounding through our bond.

“Would you both visit?” I asked softly, glancing between Luke and Leia.

Leia’s face broke into a tender smile. “Of course, darling. As often as we can.”

“I wish I could go with you now,” she added, brushing my hair back from my face. “But there’s work left here.”

I nodded, swallowing the tightness in my throat.

Luke gave a small chuckle, leaning back in his chair. “And as for you, Arianna… you’re not leaving the Jedi.”

I startled, frowning. “But the old Code- attachments, love…”

Luke waved a hand. “We’ve lost too much already to old rules and fear. If we’ve learned anything, it’s that the Force isn’t about severing connections. It’s about balance.” He smiled gently. “You belong to yourself. And to the ones you choose. That makes you stronger, not weaker.”

A soft breath escaped me, tears stinging my eyes. I nodded, feeling the weight of years of expectation and guilt begin to lift from my shoulders.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

Ben stood, pulling me up with him. “Guess we better pack.”

Leia smiled through glassy eyes, rising to embrace us both tightly. “Be safe,” she murmured. “You’ve earned it.”

Luke clapped Ben’s shoulder, then pulled him into a rough, brotherly hug. “Take care of her.”

Ben smiled, a flicker of peace in his eyes. “Always.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Leia sent us off with a small provision of food and an old, unmarked ship. No banners, no insignias- just a quiet vessel to carry us through the stars.

The goodbye was swift but meaningful, words unneeded as we exchanged quiet looks, the bond between us all undeniable.

As we lifted off, the camp shrinking below us, I felt something inside me settle. A stillness I hadn’t known I’d craved. Ben reached for my hand across the controls and I took it, our fingers lacing together.

Ahead, Naboo waited.

A place for us to remember who we were, and decide who we would be.

For the first time, I wasn’t afraid of what came next.

I was ready.

And so was he.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~ A New Beginning ~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I stood on the wide stone balcony of the home left to us, the morning light spilling across the lake like liquid silver. The estate; once belonging to Ben’s grandmother, Padmé Amidala, was a masterpiece of soft, ancient elegance. Cream-colored marble walls met yellow brickwork and rich red clay tile, all surrounded by sprawling fields that faded into dense, emerald forests on the far side of the water.

And the gardens…

I could have spent forever there. Wildflowers in every imaginable color burst from the earth in soft waves, tangling with climbing vines and fragrant blooms. Even though the house had stood silent and empty for years, the land seemed to remember what it had been. Life clung to it, growing stubbornly in the cracks, in the warmth of Naboo’s gentle sun.

It felt like a sanctuary.

We've been here a week now. Most of it was spent cleaning, airing out rooms thick with dust, and patching what time had worn away. But in between, there had been long stretches of peace; of meditating on sun-warmed stone, of sitting in the grass beneath ancient trees with our eyes closed, listening to the wind move through the leaves.

Ben was getting stronger.

I could feel it. The way his connection to the Force, frayed and bruised, was slowly knitting back together. He moved through it now like a man wading back into water after nearly drowning; cautious, but grateful. And every night we would fall asleep side by side, our bond whole and humming between us, steady as our breathing.

Luke and Leia had visited the day before, bringing food, old datapads of history texts, and a small holo of Han’s grin. They stayed until sunset, their presence leaving the air in the house warm and alive even after they left.

I let out a soft breath and leaned into the balcony’s stone railing, watching the breeze ripple across the lake’s surface in shimmering waves. For the first time in my life, I felt something like… contentment.

Ben’s presence brushed against mine a heartbeat before I felt his arm slip around my waist. His chest pressed to my back, solid and warm, his lips brushing the top of my head.

I smiled, tilting my face up as he kissed my temple.

“I love it here,” I murmured.

“I do too,” he murmured back, his voice rough with emotion, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

I turned slightly, kissing his cheek. My heart thudded unevenly as the words rose unbidden, the truth of them so easy now. “I… I love you, Ben.”

For a long, aching moment, he just stared at me; eyes dark and soft, that crooked grin spreading slowly across his face like dawn breaking. Then he laughed, a quiet, beautiful sound, and kissed all over my face; my brow, my nose, my jaw.

“I love you too, darling,” he grinned, and there was a lightness in his expression I hadn’t seen since we were teenagers.

And then… a shift.

A ripple in the Force. Strong. Familiar.

I stiffened, breath catching in my throat, my eyes drawn to the far edge of the balcony.

He was there.

Anakin Skywalker.

Not the monster of old war recordings, not the hollow-eyed Sith… but a man. Whole. Luminous in the Force. He stood about ten paces away, dressed in Jedi robes the color of warm earth, his hair tousled by the same breeze that stirred the leaves around us.

He was smiling.

Not at me- at Ben.

Ben’s breath caught audibly. His eyes widened, his hand tightening briefly on my waist. I felt the grief and wonder swirl through him in a tangled rush. It wasn’t fear, or guilt, but something purer. Recognition.

The bond between them flickered, like the echo of something ancient finally allowed to heal.

Anakin held his gaze a moment longer, a quiet pride in his expression. Then, as swiftly as he’d come, he was gone, dissolving into the air like mist, leaving behind only a warmth in the Force and the faint scent of rain-soaked earth.

I gasped softly, tears springing unbidden to my eyes.

Ben cupped my face, turning me toward him, his thumbs brushing away the tears before they fell. His eyes glimmered too, but his smile remained.

“He saw you,” I whispered.

“And you,” Ben murmured. “He’s… at peace now.”

I nodded, my heart aching and full.

Ben pressed his forehead to mine, his voice soft as a promise. “Come on… let’s go to our chambers.”

His hand found mine, lacing our fingers together, and he led me back inside; through the grand, airy corridors now cleared of dust, past the light-filled library and the old music room with its cracked glass windows. The house felt alive again. Full of memory and promise.

And as we walked, I couldn’t help but feel it too.

Not just peace.

But home.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When we stepped into our chambers, the soft glow of the setting sun cast long shadows across the room, the breeze from the open balcony doors stirring the gauzy curtains. Ben turned to me, his hand still in mine, and without a word he cupped my face and kissed me.

It was slow at first, gentle, his lips warm and familiar. I smiled against his mouth, my fingers sliding up to the side of his neck, feeling the steady beat of his pulse beneath my touch.

When he pulled back, his eyes met mine and I saw it there. The hunger, yes, but deeper than that, a reverence. A quiet, desperate kind of awe, like he couldn’t believe I was real, like this moment was something neither of us would ever deserve, yet here it was.

He took my hand again and gently guided me to the bed, laying me back against the soft bedding. He paused then, taking in the sight of me, silk robes catching the dim light, my hair fanned out across the pillows. His hands trembled slightly as he reached for me, smoothing his palms over my sides, his thumbs tracing the curve of my waist.

I smiled up at him, feeling nerves flutter in my stomach. I’d never been touched like this before… and somehow, through the bond between us, I knew neither had he.

I moved my hands to the clasp of his robe, fingers working the knot free, and slowly pushed the fabric from his shoulders. It fell to the bed behind him, leaving him bare in the dim light, his chest rising and falling with shallow, uneven breaths.

A soft blush colored his cheeks as he leaned in, kissing the side of my neck, his lips grazing my skin like a secret. His hands slipped to my thighs, fingertips gathering the silk fabric and inching it upward, leaving a trail of heat in their wake.

I let out a quiet breath, threading my fingers through his hair. He exhaled against my skin, a shaky sound that sent a shiver through me.

“I want to make you feel good,” he whispered, the words rough and earnest against my throat.

He kissed his way down my body, lingering at the edge of the silk as he hiked it further up, until it rested above my hips. When his gaze settled on the delicate lace of my undergarments, he let out a soft, unsteady groan.

His eyes lifted to mine, dark and seeking permission.

I nodded, my heart pounding, and smiled as our bond pulsed between us; steady, safe, and full of trust.

Ben smiled too, a hint of that boyish shyness he so rarely showed, and pressed another lingering kiss to my stomach, reverent and slow, before continuing.

Ben’s lips trailed lower, his hands smoothing up my thighs as though he was afraid I might vanish beneath him. Every touch was careful, almost reverent; as though he was learning the shape of me, committing every inch to memory. I could feel his nervousness beneath the desire, the uncertainty of someone who had never been given this kind of tenderness, never allowed to give it either.

I reached down, brushing a few dark strands of hair from his face, my fingertips lingering against his cheek. “It’s okay,” I whispered, my voice soft and unsteady. “I want this… with you.”

His eyes met mine again, and something in them softened; the hunger still there, but tempered now by emotion, by connection. The bond between us hummed, steady and strong, a tether neither of us wanted to let go.

He kissed my inner thigh, his breath warm against my skin, and I felt a quiet shiver ripple through me. His hands gripped my hips, thumbs brushing circles as he worked the lace down slowly, his gaze never leaving mine. When they were gone, he exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, almost like he was speaking it to the Force itself, like some old, sacred truth.

My breath hitched, heart pounding so loud I was sure he could hear it through the bond. “Ben,” I whispered, my voice cracking slightly, not from fear; from how full I felt. From how much this mattered.

He dipped his head then, his mouth finding me, his touch soft and cautious at first. I let out a quiet, broken sound, my hand tangling in his hair. He groaned softly at the reaction, encouraged by it, his confidence building as he found a rhythm. He licked over me and finally reached my clit, causing me to arch up and tightly grip his hair.

The bond between us tightened, a warmth spreading through every thread of it, and it felt like the Force itself was holding us, cradling us in this moment we’d been denied for so long.

I gasped his name, tugging him up toward me, needing his mouth against mine. He followed without hesitation, pressing our lips together in a desperate, breathless kiss. I could taste myself on him, the unfamiliar intimacy making my pulse race.

“I love you,” I whispered again as he settled over me, his forehead pressed to mine.

“I love you,” he echoed, voice rough and shaking, his hands cradling my face like I was something precious.

When he finally pressed into me, it was slow, careful, every movement meant to reassure, to claim this moment not out of lust, but of long-buried need and love finally allowed to exist.

He finally bottomed out, and I gasped; grappling onto his shoulders for a sense of grounding. He groaned, letting his head rest against my shoulder.

Our bond snapped even tighter; a flood of warmth, of light, of memories and future hopes all colliding in the space between us. Neither of us would have words for it later, for how the Force seemed to move with us, wrapping around us like some ancient blessing.

He started moving after a moment, deeply stroking inside me then pulling out to just dive right back in.

I whined, letting my legs come to tighten around his strong hips, running my nails down his back and he moaned my name, pulling me into a kiss. It wasn't long before I felt my stomach knot, tension building throughout my whole body and I keened, squeezing my eyes shut.

His taught groin brushed against my clit and I broke; arching erratically in his arms. I moaned loudly, my mouth hanging open as I came, panting and broken. He followed shortly after, staring at me intently. When his hips stopped stuttering inside me, he rested his forehead against mine.

I’d never felt anything like this. And I knew in the deepest part of me, neither had he.

And for the first time in our scarred, chaotic lives… we were both home.

Together.

[arianna-bradshaw]

The Weight of Heaven - Chapter Seven

The Final Trial

Summary: Now that Ben and Arianna have secured the fate of the galaxy, Ben must not secure his own.

WC: 3.2k

~*~*~*~

I woke to the steady, familiar hum of the Falcon’s engines, the air in the small med bay warm and clean compared to the cold of Exegol. The overhead lights were dim, and for a moment, I wasn’t sure where I was.

Then I felt his hand; warm and steady, holding mine.

Ben sat at my bedside, his eyes anxious but soft, his thumb brushing lightly over my knuckles. His hair was a tangled mess, his face pale and streaked with old tears, but when he saw my eyes open, relief flooded his face like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.

He leaned forward, and a small, unsteady grin tugged at my lips. “Y-You’re here,” I croaked, my throat dry and raw.

“I’m here,” he promised, squeezing my hand.

I glanced around, noticing Luke and Leia seated together on the lounge near the cockpit, speaking in hushed, serious tones. They looked up when they realized I was awake.

And for the first time in longer than I could remember… The room felt… light.

I turned back to Ben, reaching for his face. “A-All your darkness is gone,” I whispered hoarsely.

His eyes glassed over again, and he brought my hand to his lips, pressing a trembling kiss to my knuckles. “I-It wasn’t me,” he said softly. “Not really.”

Leia stood and came to my side, brushing my hair back with gentle fingers. Her touch was cool and motherly, her eyes misty but bright.

“You both did it,” she murmured, her voice thick with pride. “When we get to Ajan Kloss… there’s going to be a celebration. A big one.” She chuckled lightly, though it caught in her throat. “People already know you and Ben took Palpatine down together.”

Ben stiffened a little, dropping his gaze to the floor.

Leia sighed fondly and reached out, cupping his cheek. “But I don’t think you’re ready to party just yet, sweetheart.”

He gave a small, rueful smile and shook his head. “I wouldn’t dare intrude, Mom,” he said quietly. “You know that.”

Leia exchanged a look with Luke, a shared weight between them, before turning back to me.

“I think we start small,” she suggested. “Poe and Finn first. Let them hear it from you before the galaxy runs its mouth.”

I winced. “It might not go well,” I admitted, my voice raw, but I managed a small shrug. “But… it has to start somewhere.”

She smiled. “You’ve always been braver than you give yourself credit for.”

I pushed myself up a little, stretching out the soreness in my limbs. “I should hit the refresher. And probably change before we land. Don’t wanna scare the entire camp.”

Ben chuckled softly and leaned down, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “I’ll be here when you get back.”

As I stood and moved toward the door, I caught the faint murmur of conversation continuing between Leia, Luke, and Ben behind me. I didn’t catch the words- I didn’t need to. The sound of them speaking together, not as enemies, but as family, was enough.

And for the first time in years, I smiled without it hurting. The refresher felt like a sanctuary.

For the first time in what felt like years, I let myself unravel. The warmth of the water ran over my skin and through my hair, carrying the grit of battle, of darkness, of fear away with it. The steady rhythm of droplets against my scalp was grounding, pulling me out of the storm in my head.

I hated being apart from Ben, even for a moment. But through the Force, I could still feel him- a steady, familiar presence that pulsed with warmth and light. I could hear him if I reached for it, feel his heart, his nervousness, his fragile hope.

Our bond had never been stronger.

But under the serenity, a knot of anxiety sat heavy in my chest. Poe and Finn. Both of them had scars because of Kylo Ren. Poe, tortured. Finn, hunted. I didn’t know how this would go; how they’d react when they learned he was here. I could only pray they’d feel what I did: that this wasn’t Kylo anymore. This was Ben.

I dried off and dressed in my white robes, cinching the belt at my waist. The reflection in the mirror looked tired but resolute. Maybe a little older. I barely recognized myself, but the person staring back felt stronger than the one who’d left Ajan Kloss months ago.

When I stepped back into the main hold, my breath hitched.

Ben was standing there, dressed in simple white robes that looked lived-in and worn. They must’ve been Luke’s once; or his from long before. It didn’t matter. What mattered was the way he looked in them. Like a man free of shadows.

He wasn’t Kylo Ren in those robes.

He was Ben Solo.

He turned at the sound of the door, his eyes softening when they landed on me. I stepped forward and cupped his face, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath my fingertips.

“I’m glad you’re here, Ben,” I whispered.

A small, crooked smile tugged at his lips, one I hadn’t seen in years. His hand found my waist, and he exhaled quietly. “I’m nervous.”

“I know,” I murmured, brushing a thumb over his cheekbone. “I can feel it.”

He chuckled weakly, leaning down so I could press a kiss to his cheek. “We should be landing any second,” I reminded him. “Poe and Finn are probably gonna storm this ship like a war zone. Maybe you should wait in the chamber until I talk to them.”

He hesitated, anxiety flickering in his eyes, but he gave a shaky nod. “Okay.”

His hand slid up to cradle the back of my neck as he kissed me; soft, careful, lingering like it might be our last quiet moment. “I’ll see you in a minute,” he whispered against my lips.

I watched him retreat down the corridor toward the small chamber, my stomach twisting, and forced myself to shake out the tension.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Right on cue, the Falcon’s landing thrusters engaged, a gentle jolt signaling we were touching down. The moment the ramp lowered with a hiss of hydraulics, I felt them before I saw them; Poe’s electric pulse of emotion, Finn’s bright, steady warmth.

And then they came storming up the ramp.

Poe and Finn didn’t hesitate, crashing into me in a tangle of arms and laughter and breathless curses. I giggled despite myself, hugging them both tight, feeling the ache of missing them settle into something warmer.

“I missed you guys too,” I sighed with a smile.

Leia offered a small grin, giving my shoulder a squeeze before heading down the walkway toward the gathering leaders, Luke following close behind. I caught the glance she gave me as she passed, trusting, knowing, and it gave me a little courage.

We moved to the lounge area, and Poe wasted no time fishing a bottle of clear liquor from his satchel, shoving it into my hand. “You look like you could use this,” he grinned, but I could see the worry lurking in his eyes.

I stared at the bottle for a second, then took a long swig, feeling the burn in my throat.

“I need to tell you something,” I said, my voice quieter now, serious enough to pull them both up short.

Poe’s grin faltered. Finn leaned in, brows furrowed.

“And I need your trust.”

“Always,” Finn said instantly.

“Of course,” Poe nodded, but his wariness was sharper now, instincts on edge.

I took a deep breath, the words sticking in my throat. “When we were on Jakku… Kylo was there.”

Their faces hardened. Finn’s hand flexed against his thigh, Poe sat up straighter, eyes narrowing.

I raised a hand, pleading for them to listen. “But it wasn’t like before. I-I spoke to him. And that’s how we found out Palpatine was alive. He was controlling him. All this time. Inside his head.”

They exchanged a glance, confusion and skepticism written all over them.

“Ben came with us that day,” I admitted.

Poe’s jaw clenched, his body going rigid. “Are you kidding me? You brought him on the ship?”

He shot to his feet, fury radiating off him in waves. Finn looked too stunned to move, his mouth slightly open, eyes darting between us.

“It wasn’t Kylo. It was Ben,” I insisted, grabbing Poe’s wrist. “I know he hurt you. Both of you. I know. But it wasn’t him, Poe. Palpatine was in his head. Controlling him.”

Poe’s chest rose and fell sharply, nostrils flaring.

“We killed Palpatine,” I went on, my voice breaking a little. “Together. All the darkness… it’s gone. I can feel it, Finn. It’s gone. He’s Ben again.”

Finn swallowed hard, his brow still knitted with doubt. “Is he here?”

I hesitated. “Yeah.”

Poe didn’t wait. “Where is he?” he growled, already moving, opening chamber after chamber.

“Poe—please.” I grabbed his arm, but he shook me off, slamming the button to open the last door.

Ben sat there, cross-legged on the small bunk, pale and quiet, eyes rimmed in red. He looked up slowly, no defenses, no mask, no anger. Just him.

“I’m sorry,” Ben rasped, voice raw. “I didn’t mean to… any of it.” His lips trembled as he scrubbed a hand down his face. “I know what I did. I- I can’t undo it. But it wasn’t me.”

For a long, awful beat, no one moved.

Poe’s face twisted- fury, pain, disbelief warring with something softer, more uncertain. He took a step back like it physically hurt to be near him.

And Finn… Finn’s gaze held steady, quiet and unreadable.

I watched the moment hang there, hearts pounding in the silence.

The air inside the Falcon felt heavier than the worst storm on Exegol. The hum of the ship’s systems was deafening in the silence that followed Ben’s words.

Poe’s jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscle tick in his cheek. His hands balled into fists at his sides, his chest heaving with the effort to keep himself steady.

“You tortured me,” Poe bit out, his voice low, sharp, dangerous. His dark eyes locked on Ben like a scope. “You tore my mind apart. Left me bleeding in a cell while you stood there and watched.”

Ben’s face crumpled, guilt washing over his features like a wave. “I know,” he rasped, his voice barely audible. “I can’t take it back. I would if I could.”

“And you hunted me,” Finn said, stepping forward now, his voice quiet but steady. “For deserting. For leaving the First Order. I spent every day waiting for you to show up and finish what you started.”

Ben swallowed hard, his gaze dropping. “I know,” he whispered again. “I don’t expect you to forgive me. I wouldn’t.”

I stepped forward, placing a hand on Finn’s shoulder, another on Poe’s arm. “You don’t have to,” I said gently. “Not today. Maybe not ever. But he’s not that person anymore. I felt it when Palpatine died… everything he’d forced into Ben, all the poison, all the voices- it’s gone.”

Poe’s eyes didn’t leave Ben’s face. “You can’t expect us to just forget.”

“I don’t,” Ben said, looking up again. His voice cracked on the words. “I don’t want that. I just… I just want to help fix what I broke. However I can. I’ll stay out of your way, I’ll leave if you want, but I won’t lie to you. I’m not Kylo Ren anymore.”

There was a long, ragged breath from Finn. He rubbed a hand over his face, then crossed his arms, watching Ben carefully. “You meant it, on Exegol? It’s done?”

Ben nodded, a tear slipping free. “It’s done.”

Finn looked at me. “You believe it.”

“I feel it,” I said quietly. “And so can you, if you reach for it.”

Poe shook his head, the fight still in his eyes, but his shoulders dropped a fraction. “I’m not there yet,” he muttered. “But if Leia and Luke trust him… if you do… then fine. He stays. But not alone.”

“I’ll be with him,” I promised.

Finn exhaled. “I’m… not gonna pretend this isn’t messed up. It’s really messed up. But you’re alive, you’re you, and Palpatine’s dead. So… that counts for something.”

Ben gave him a look that was half disbelief, half gratitude, his voice breaking again. “Thank you.”

Poe pointed a finger at him. “One wrong move. One.”

Ben gave a single nod, never looking away. “I won’t.”

Poe’s expression twisted again, then he turned away, swiping a hand over his face. “Shit,” he muttered under his breath, before tossing me the bottle of liquor. “You owe me a drink later.”

I caught it and gave him a small, weary smile.

Finn stepped forward, offering a hand to Ben. The hesitation in the air was sharp, but Ben reached out, taking it. A firm, simple shake.

“I still don’t like you,” Finn said. “But maybe we can figure out what to do about that later.”

Ben managed the ghost of a smile. “Fair enough.”

The four of us stood there for a long moment, no one quite knowing what came next.

Then the Falcon’s comm crackled to life.

Leia’s voice: We’re ready for you planetside. Come join us.

I exhaled, looking between them all. “Guess it’s time to go home,” I murmured.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The Falcon’s hold was quiet again, the tension left behind like smoke after a fire. Finn and Poe had stepped out to give orders, to clear space for our arrival. The ramp was still down, but no one came in. The sounds of the camp drifted in faintly- distant music, voices raised in laughter, celebration.

But here… it was just us.

Ben sat on the edge of one of the bunks, elbows on his knees, his fingers laced tightly together like he was holding himself together by sheer force of will. His robes looked strange in the flickering light of the ship; too light, too soft for the man he’d been for so long. And yet, for the first time, they fit him.

He was still staring at the floor when I came to sit beside him. Neither of us spoke for a while.

I just let the silence settle, our bond humming low and steady between us, a quiet pulse of warmth and relief and exhaustion.

Finally, he spoke, his voice a rough whisper.

“I didn’t think I’d make it back here.”

I looked over at him, watching the way his brow furrowed, how his thumb absently rubbed the scar on his palm. “Neither did I,” I admitted, leaning my head against his.

The air out there was thick with the scent of foliage and smoke from distant celebration fires, the twin suns low and golden, painting the world in rich orange light. It caught Ben's hair, made the white of his robes glow faintly, and for a second, I let myself memorize the sight of him standing there.

Alive.

Free.

I hadn’t realized how much tension I still held in my chest until now, watching him watch the suns. His profile was soft in the fading light, the hard edges of the man I’d fought slipping away.

He was watching the suns again, calmer now, his face streaked with old tears but clearer somehow.

“You okay?” I asked softly.

He gave a tired, crooked little grin. “Getting there.”

I slid my hand into his again.

“No rush,” I murmured. “We’ll take it slow. Together.”

He squeezed my hand, lacing our fingers. “Together.”

And then we started walking, not toward the noise and lights just yet, but along the tree line, the last of the daylight painting the world gold. The future felt uncertain, fragile… but it was ours now.

By the time we reached the edge of the encampment, the suns had fully disappeared beneath the horizon. Lanterns and small fires dotted the clearing like stars scattered across the ground, voices rising in laughter, cheers, the occasional burst of music. The sounds of celebration.

For a war finally ended. For a tyrant destroyed.

For those who didn’t make it home.

Ben’s grip on my hand was tight, his thumb tracing slow circles against my knuckles. Every step closer, I felt his anxiety like a current in the Force, the ache of memories in this place, the sharp edges of faces he wasn’t sure would ever look at him without hatred.

But he didn’t let go.

Neither did I.

As we moved past the first cluster of people, heads began to turn. Conversations faltered. I felt the ripple through the crowd before the silence fully fell.

There were no screams, no drawn blasters, no demands.

Only stunned, wary, quiet.

Ben kept his gaze ahead, jaw set, his hand clinging to mine like a lifeline. I could feel the knot in his throat, the tremor just beneath the surface, but he didn’t flinch.

Leia was the first to step forward.

She crossed the clearing with steady, unhurried steps, and when she reached us, she stopped between Ben and the gathering crowd.

She didn’t need to say a word.

The look she gave them spoke louder than any speech; a look of this is my son, and he came home.

Luke stood at her side a moment later, his presence calm and commanding as he regarded the onlookers. “The war isn’t won by hate,” he said quietly, but his voice carried. “And peace isn’t kept by carrying old ghosts.”

Poe appeared from the far side of the crowd, Finn beside him, and for a moment my stomach twisted.

But Poe gave a short, sharp nod.

Finn met Ben’s gaze across the clearing and offered a careful, tentative smile. It wasn’t wide. It wasn’t easy. But it was real.

And one by one, the tension in the clearing softened. Not gone. Not forgiven. But broken open just enough to let air in.

Chewbacca huffed and grumbled from somewhere behind Poe, and a few small voices- children, too young to have known the fear, laughed and ran between the fires.

Leia stepped aside, giving us room to pass.

I squeezed Ben’s hand and tugged him forward.

We walked together into the heart of the celebration.

The sounds slowly rose again. Laughter, music, the clink of glasses. Some people didn’t look at him at all. Some watched, eyes wary. A few nodded stiffly. It wasn’t warm yet, but it wasn’t rejection.

And for now, that was enough.

We made our way to a quieter spot near the edge of the clearing, a long table laid with food and drink. I grabbed two cups and handed one to Ben, whose hands were still trembling faintly.

“I told you it wouldn’t be easy,” I murmured.

He gave a rough little laugh. “You undersold it.”

But his eyes were lighter than they’d been in years.

“I don’t care,” he added, quieter this time. “I don’t care if it takes years. I don’t care if some of them never forgive me.”

He reached up, brushing his knuckles against my cheek. “I’m just glad I’m here.”

I smiled, leaning into his touch. “So am I.”

And for the first time in forever, the galaxy didn’t feel quite so heavy.

[arianna-bradshaw]

The Weight of Heaven - Chapter Six

The End of Palpatine

Summary: Arianna and Ben work together to defeat the final enemy in their path.

WC: 3k

~*~*~*~

When we reached my room, I pressed the panel and the door slid open with a soft hiss, cool air rushing out to meet us. The space inside was dim, bathed in starlight through the viewport and the faint golden glow of a lamp beside my bed.

I turned to him, not letting go of his hand as the door closed behind us.

His eyes found mine, and I searched them, really searched them, and for the first time in years, his walls were down. Carefully, I let my presence in the Force reach for his, brushing against him like smoke, tentative and warm, as we used to when the nights were quiet and we were just two people clinging to something good.

He didn’t resist. His thumb traced the back of my hand, his gaze moving over my face like he was memorizing every detail. I exhaled slowly, reaching up to his cheek. He sighed against my touch, turning into it, his eyes closing.

In the Force, he breathed fully for the first time not in darkness, but in light, in me, in the bond between us. I felt it as it wove back together, strand by strand, fragile chords mending, and then the unmistakable snap of it falling into place again.

His eyes opened, glassy with unshed tears, mirroring my own.

I smiled, a soft, trembling thing.

Neither of us spoke… too afraid a word would shatter the moment, too full of the light, of each other. It hummed between us, aching and alive.

Then his hands rose, cradling my jaw with a tenderness that made my breath hitch. His eyes flicked to my lips.

“Arianna…” he whispered, the word carrying the weight of every memory, every moment lost.

I nodded, and then he kissed me.

Soft, tentative at first, a melding of breath and warmth and years of things left unsaid. I kissed him back, felt the shudder in his chest as he did, and he stepped us back until the edge of the bed caught behind my knees. He didn’t pull away.

We fell into it together, hands grasping, hearts racing, not out of desperation but relief. Like drowning people finally breaking the surface.

Neither of us spoke.

We didn’t need to.

The Force spoke for us, and for the first time in so long, it didn’t hurt to be whole.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Ben pulled away just enough to rest his forehead against mine, his breathing uneven and stuttered. His eyes burned with unshed tears, and I brought my hand up to his cheek, brushing my thumb gently across his skin.

“It’s okay, Ben,” I whispered. “I’m here.”

His jaw trembled, and he shut his eyes tight, shaking his head. “I don’t deserve this, Arianna. I… I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t-” His voice cracked, the words breaking apart as he pulled away, retreating to sit against the headboard. His arms wrapped around his knees like he was trying to make himself smaller, like maybe the darkness wouldn’t find him if he disappeared into himself.

“I’m a monster,” he choked, voice thick, barely audible.

My heart ached at the sight of him. Without hesitation, I crawled back to his side, reaching for him, cupping his face with both hands and forcing him to look at me.

“Ben, look at me,” I said softly, my voice steady even as my own chest tightened. “That wasn’t you. It wasn’t. When we kill Palpatine, you’ll be free. And you’ll never have to be that person again. Not ever.”

His lashes were wet, his gaze filled with shame and grief as it lifted to meet mine.

“They’re all going to hate me,” he whispered, breath shuddering. “I killed their families, their friends… my family.”

His hands fisted in the fabric of my shirt like a lifeline, desperate and terrified.

I pulled him into my chest, wrapping my arms around him, cradling his head against my heart. “Ben,” I murmured, running my fingers through his hair, feeling him tremble against me. “Some people… some people might not forgive you. It might take time. And some never will.” I bit my lip, trying to find the right words, the truth that wouldn’t hurt him further. “But the people who matter, the ones who see you the way I do… they’ll understand.”

I pressed a kiss to his temple. “And if they don’t,” I whispered, “then we’ll leave. We’ll disappear somewhere no one knows your name. Just you and me. And we’ll live. Quietly, simply. I swear it.”

His breathing slowed, his grip on my shirt easing but never letting go, like he wasn’t quite ready to believe it could be true but wanted to hold onto the thought anyway.

“I don’t deserve forgiveness,” he murmured, his voice rough and exhausted.

I leaned my cheek against his hair. “That’s not your choice to make,” I said gently. “It’s theirs. And mine. And I’m choosing to stay. I’m choosing you.”

I shifted us down onto the bed, using the Force to dim the lights in the room, leaving us in soft, starlit darkness.

“Rest now, Ben,” I hummed softly, my hand still stroking through his hair as his body finally began to loosen against me, the weight of years of grief and guilt easing, if only for tonight.

He clung to me until sleep finally took him.

And I stayed awake long after, holding him close.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The first light of morning crept through the viewport, painting the room in a pale, silvery glow. The stars had faded, and with them, the fragile peace of the night.

I stirred awake, though I hadn’t really slept. Ben lay beside me, his breathing even now, his face more unguarded in sleep than I’d seen it in years. No shadows beneath his eyes. No weight in his brow. Just him.

I ran my fingers through his hair one last time before the day took us.

“Ben,” I whispered softly.

His eyes opened, hazy and unfocused for a moment before they settled on me. And I saw it- the flicker of fear, of knowing what came next.

“We leave soon,” I said quietly.

He swallowed hard, sitting up against the headboard, rubbing his hands over his face. “I know.”

I reached for his hand, threading my fingers through his. “Listen to me,” I murmured, leaning in, forehead to his. “If something happens… if we get separated-”

“No.” His voice cracked. “Don’t. Don’t say it.”

“Ben,” I pressed, squeezing his hand. “Promise me you’ll finish this. No matter what.”

His throat worked as he forced a shaky breath. “Not without you.”

I smiled sadly. “You might have to.”

His eyes glistened again, but this time he held them steady on mine. “I’m not leaving you behind. I can’t.”

I kissed his forehead, closing my eyes against the ache in my chest. “Then stay close.”

We sat there for a while longer, just breathing, just holding on.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The command deck was packed when we arrived. Officers, pilots, and resistance leaders filled the room, maps and star charts projected into the air above the table.

Leia stood at the head of the room, Luke at her side.

The moment we entered, eyes flicked to Ben- though most didn’t know who he truly was beneath the hood of his borrowed pilot’s jacket. He kept his head down, staying to my side.

Leia’s voice carried through the room, calm and unwavering. “We have our heading. Thanks to the wayfinder, we’ve located Exegol.”

A murmur rippled through the gathered fighters.

Luke gestured to the star chart. “The planet’s surrounded by a planetary defense grid and an orbiting fleet. It’s worse than we thought- thousands of ships. We won’t be able to hold them off for long.”

Leia’s gaze swept over us. “This is it. We go in together. Hit them hard, fast. Disable what you can. Hold the line while our team infiltrates the surface. The rest is up to them.”

There was a heavy silence, everyone understanding what the rest meant.

Ben spoke then, his voice low but steady. “Once we reach Palpatine, stay out of our way. You can’t fight him. But we can.”

Leia nodded. “We’re trusting you.”

It wasn’t forgiveness. Not yet. But it was something.

I reached over and touched Ben’s hand beneath the table. He squeezed back.

Leia’s gaze softened as it landed on me. “May the Force be with you.”

The room began to disperse, final orders barked, flight groups assembling. The war was here.

I turned to Ben. “You ready?”

His lips curved into a small, sad smile. “Not even close.”

I smiled back. “Good. Me neither.”

And together, we walked to the hangar. Toward the last fight we’d ever have to face.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The descent through Exegol’s atmosphere was a nightmare.

The sky was a constant storm, dark clouds roiling overhead, streaked with violet lightning that lit the air in brief, violent flashes. The wind screamed against the hull of the stolen transport, buffeting us hard as we cut through the chaos.

I gripped the edge of my seat, the pull of the dark side here heavier than I’d ever felt. It wrapped around everything, pressing into my chest, seeping into my bones. The planet itself felt alive- ancient and hateful.

Ben sat across from me, his head bowed, eyes closed. But through the Force, I felt him. Steady. Focused. Holding the light tight within himself like a shield against the storm outside.

When we finally broke through the clouds, the surface revealed itself in flickers of lightning.

Endless black rock and jagged stone spires stretched across the horizon. And there, at the heart of it, rising like a monolith of death; Palpatine’s citadel. Massive and monstrous, surrounded by ancient statues and endless legions of ships and machinery.

“This is it,” I whispered.

Ben’s eyes opened. “Stay close.”

The ship touched down on a flat expanse of stone, hidden behind the remains of a shattered obelisk. As the ramp lowered, the cold hit instantly, sharp as knives in the thin, stale air.

We stepped into the storm. Around us, flashes of violet light revealed distant patrols; dark-robed figures moving like shadows, and squads of Final Order troopers patrolling the pathways. Their faces masked, their weapons ready.

Luke and Leia’s distraction had begun above us, flashes of battle streaked the sky, resistance fighters clashing with the planet’s fleet. Every burst of light was a reminder of how little time we had.

Ben took point, leading us through a series of narrow rock corridors, moving with practiced ease. He knew this place, the layout branded into his memory from years of servitude. I followed without hesitation, the Force guiding my steps, warning us of every patrol before we crossed their path.

We pressed ourselves into the shadows as a squad passed by, their voices distorted through their helmets. I felt Ben’s presence against mine, a solid anchor in the dark.

When it was clear, he grabbed my hand and pulled me onward, cutting through the labyrinthine paths toward the citadel.

The closer we got, the heavier the air became. The darkness was suffocating, seeping into every corner of my mind. I could feel Palpatine now; a looming, ancient presence, cold and hateful, aware of our arrival.

“He knows,” I murmured.

“I know,” Ben said, jaw tight. “We don’t stop.”

The towering gates of the citadel loomed ahead, guarded by two Knights of Ren. Their eyes caught ours instantly, weapons drawn.

Ben didn’t wait.

His saber ignited with a sharp hiss of blue, and mine followed a half-second later. The darkness surged around us as we charged.

The battle was fast and vicious; a blur of strikes, sparks, and raw Force. Together, we moved as one, our bond rekindled in fire and blood. Where I faltered, Ben covered me. Where he staggered, I was there to drive the enemy back.

When the last Knight fell, his body collapsing into the dust, we didn’t pause.

The gates cracked open before us on their own.

The darkness beckoned.

Ben met my eyes. “This is it.”

I nodded, gripping my saber tighter.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The throne room was a vast, cavernous space, carved from ancient stone and metal, its ceiling vanishing into blackness. Faint violet light filtered through cracks in the towering walls, casting jagged shadows that twisted and moved with every flicker of lightning.

And at its heart, the Emperor.

Palpatine sat upon a monstrous, jagged throne of dark stone and sinew, ancient machinery tethered to his broken form, sustaining him. His skin was pallid and stretched, his eyes twin coals of hatred and hunger. A sickly, unnatural life clung to him like a parasite.

The moment we crossed the threshold, he felt us.

“Ah…” Palpatine’s voice was a rasping, terrible thing- half voice, half wind through a tomb. “At last… the prodigal son returns.”

Ben stiffened beside me, his saber unlit, but the anger in him was palpable. Not the wild, consuming rage of Kylo Ren; this was sharper. Quieter. Controlled.

“And you…” Palpatine’s gaze settled on me, a twisted grin curling his mouth. “The girl who thinks of herself as a Jedi.”

I felt the darkness in the room coil around us, thick and suffocating.

“We’ve come to end this,” I said, my voice steady though my pulse thundered in my ears. “Your fleets. Your war. You.”

Palpatine let out a dry, mocking laugh. “You are nothing, child. A spark in the dark. A fleeting flicker. And you,” he turned his gaze to Ben, “a traitor. A failure. I gave you power, boy. A throne. And you would throw it away for her?”

Ben’s saber ignited with a sharp, defiant snap-hiss. “I was never yours,” he said quietly. “And I’m not afraid of you anymore.”

I stepped closer, my own saber coming to life, its light splitting the dark. “We’re not here to kneel.”

The Emperor’s expression darkened, the air around us thickening as raw, ancient power built in the chamber. The storm outside screamed louder. “So be it,” Palpatine hissed.

Lightning surged from his fingers, and we split apart, sabers raised. The blast hit the stone where we’d stood a moment before, leaving scorched cracks in its wake.

Ben charged first, his blade a streak of blue light as he moved in. I followed, our attacks weaving together like twin currents. Strike, parry, dodge; we fought not like master and apprentice, but as one.

Palpatine was impossibly fast, his dark energy lashing out in waves, twisting the room around us. Debris lifted from the floor, thrown like daggers. Lightning arced across the chamber, forcing us to split and regroup, again and again.

Ben took a blast of dark energy to the shoulder, gritting his teeth and pressing on, refusing to fall. I felt his pain through the bond but kept moving, our rhythm unbroken.

We circled the throne, every clash of sabers sending showers of sparks, every step a battle against the darkness trying to crush us.

“You cannot defeat me,” Palpatine snarled, his voice rising, lightning crackling between his hands. “I am all the Sith!”

Ben’s voice rose above the storm, fierce and raw. “And we’re all the Jedi.”

Together, we reached out through the Force, not to destroy, but to resist- to push back the tide. Our bond, fragile hours ago, now burned bright and defiant in the darkness.

The Force surged between us, a blinding current of light and fire.

Palpatine shrieked, recoiling as our combined power met his. The storm cracked overhead, the throne room shaking as stone split and ancient machinery buckled.

And in that final moment, it wasn’t the strength of hatred that decided the battle; it was love. For our families. For each other. For the future we refused to let him steal.

With one final, unified strike, we drove the light through the darkness, the last of his power unraveling like smoke in a rising wind.

Palpatine’s scream echoed, ancient and hollow, as his form crumbled to ash and dust, the machinery collapsing around him.

And then… silence.

The storm outside faded.

The dark lifted.

And for the first time in a lifetime, the galaxy exhaled.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I collapsed to my knees as the last of the storm faded from the air, the oppressive weight of the dark side finally lifting from my chest. Tears spilled down my face unchecked; from relief, grief, exhaustion, I wasn’t sure. A ragged sob tore from my throat, the reality of it all crashing over me in a wave too big to contain.

It was over.

A heavy thud sounded beside me, and Ben dropped to his knees. His breathing was harsh, uneven, his chest rising and falling like he couldn’t quite catch up with his own heartbeat.

Then he spoke, his voice breaking.

“Th-The voice… it’s gone.” His words trembled, as though he didn’t fully believe them. He sat back on his heels, hands open, staring up at the remnants of the ancient chamber. “I can’t hear any of them.” His eyes darted around like he was searching for shadows that had always been there. “Not Vader. Not Snoke. Not… Palpatine.”

His voice cracked, thick with disbelief and years of buried terror finally beginning to loosen their grip. His hands fell to his sides, his head turning toward me.

“A-Arianna,” he stammered, tears streaking his face, “it’s just me now. Only me.”

His expression twisted in disbelief, grief, and regret all at once. The way his voice trembled made my heart fracture again, because even in victory, he didn’t feel like he deserved it.

“I’m… I’m so sorry-” he began, reaching out.

I didn’t hesitate. I fell against his side, wrapping my arms tightly around him. His body was still trembling, but he clung to me like someone afraid they might still wake up and find it was all a cruel illusion.

“We… we needa go home,” I whispered, my voice cracking under the weight of it.

Ben nodded immediately, his hand rubbing over his face as fresh tears broke loose. “Yeah. Home,” he echoed, as though testing the word on his tongue for the first time in years.

I groaned softly, my limbs aching as I shifted my weight against him. “The Falcon should be here by now.”

He brushed my hair back gently, his touch a tender contrast to the battlefield we’d just survived. “I’ll find it.”

But exhaustion finally pulled me under before I could respond.

[arianna-bradshaw]

The Weight of Heaven - Chapter Five

The Return of Ben Solo

Summary: Arianna finds Kylo Ren on a trade trip to Jakku.

WC: 6k

~*~*~*~

It was six months after my Knighthood ceremony when I saw him again.

We’d landed on Jakku for fuel and supplies. I’d wandered to the markets, drawn in by a vendor selling new robes, a gorgeous set of white fabric trimmed in silver thread. For a fleeting second, I imagined myself wearing them.

Then the air changed.

I felt him before the crowd did. Before the vendors hurriedly shuttered their stalls, and villagers bolted for cover. The presence in the Force is dark, sharp, familiar. My heart stuttered in my chest.

I turned, and there he was.

No helmet. Just a dark cloak, shadowed robes, and those storm-wracked eyes.

I reached for my saber hilt out of instinct but didn’t ignite it. My hand trembled as it hovered there. “Ben,” I breathed.

He didn’t move, but his nostrils flared. There was something raw about him unguarded in a way I hadn’t seen since he was seventeen, about to leave on his first mission.

I stepped closer. Slowly. Lowering my arm.

“Leia’s here,” I said, voice steady despite the fear clawing at my throat.

“I know,” he bit out, his teeth clenched. “And Luke.”

I felt the swell of fury ripple through him like a tidal wave, but he didn’t lash out.

“Feel him, Ben,” I urged. “He’s not angry. He… he regrets it. All of it.”

I nearly reached for him, but forced myself still. He hadn’t stopped me from calling him Ben. That alone was a miracle. He always growled at it before. Snarled like a wounded animal.

His eyes closed, face tightening as though in pain. “It’s too late,” he said hoarsely. “I can’t come back.”

I swallowed hard. Another step. “Yes, you can. We all miss you. Leia. Luke. Me.” My voice cracked. “We can fix this.”

When he opened his eyes, they were rimmed red, anguish painted in their depths. “I don’t know how,” he whispered, looking away like it hurt to hold my gaze.

“I’ll show you,” I promised, my hand moving toward his. He flinched, but didn’t pull away. His palm was ice cold against mine.

“I… if I leave him…” His voice caught, and I tilted my head, urging him on.

“Who?”

“Palpatine,” he spat the name like poison.

My stomach dropped. “Ben- that’s impossible. He’s dead.”

His grip tightened around my hand. “No. He’s not. He’s been behind everything. He turned me… he’s controlling it all.” His voice cracked. “And if I leave him… if I turn back… he’ll come for you too.”

I forced my racing heart to steady. “Then we take the fight to him. Together.”

His brow furrowed, jaw clenching, eyes filling with unshed tears. “He’ll kill us both.”

I reached into the Force, probing gently; and felt it. Kylo Ren’s darkness, shrieking in protest as Ben struggled to surface.

“You’re stronger than him,” I whispered. “Come home, Ben. Please.”

For a long, agonizing moment, he just stared at me. And then... he nodded.

Just once.

And the galaxy seemed to shift on its axis.

I didn’t let go of his hand.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

For the first time in years, Ben Solo, not Kylo Ren, stood in front of me, battered and uncertain and breaking apart at the seams. The storm inside him still raged, but something in his gaze had shifted. A thread of hope, fragile and flickering.

“I can get you out of here,” I murmured, barely able to believe the words leaving my lips. “Leia’s on the ship. She’ll help us.”

He gave a bitter, hollow laugh. “You don’t understand, Arianna. There’s no escaping him. He has eyes everywhere. If I disappear, he’ll know. He’ll send his followers… his Sith loyalists… the Final Order. He’ll burn every system to the ground just to get to me.”

“Then let him come,” I said fiercely, my voice shaking with fear and defiance. “We’ll fight him. Together. You and me, you were never meant to do this alone, Ben.”

His grip on my hand faltered, like his strength was slipping through his fingers. “I don’t deserve this. I’ve done too much.”

“I decide what you deserve,” I told him. “Not Palpatine. Not Snoke. Not the First Order. You come with me now, and you start making things right. One choice at a time.”

For a long moment, he just stood there, staring down at our joined hands. And then a flicker of a memory passed between us- an old one, so faint and fragile I wasn’t even sure it was real. Bare feet on stone floors, starlight pouring through the temple windows. His hand caught mine in the dark when we were both too young to understand what it meant.

He let out a trembling breath. “I’m scared,” he admitted.

I took a step closer, until there was barely a whisper of space between us. “So am I.”

The sound of a distant shuttle engine split the silence. I felt Leia’s presence bloom like a beacon somewhere near the cruiser, she felt him too. The conflict. The shift. I knew she was reaching for him in the Force even now.

I turned my gaze back to Ben. “We don’t have long. Come with me. Now.”

His jaw clenched, warring emotions flickering across his face like lightning. Then he gave a single, sharp nod.

“All right.”

I didn’t let myself hesitate. I grabbed his other hand, tugging him toward the nearest alleyway that cut through the back of the market. The streets were eerily quiet now, the only sound was our boots on the packed dirt. The tension in the air was suffocating, every shadow a threat.

“We’ll cut through here,” I whispered. “The ship’s close.”

Ben stayed at my side, his presence in the Force a storm barely held in check. I could feel Kylo Ren clawing at the edges, a snarl of hatred and fear trying to reclaim him. But every time I felt it surge, Ben would flinch, steady himself, and press on.

We were nearly to the alley’s end when a dark figure stepped from the shadows.

A masked Knight of Ren. Ben froze. His entire body went rigid, the bond between us sharp and jagged with tension. “Ren,” the Knight rasped, igniting a crimson blade.

Ben’s hand instinctively dropped to his saber hilt, but he didn’t draw it. He looked at me instead, his expression wild, pleading.

I stepped forward. “No,” I said, igniting my own saber, the blue light casting us both in its glow. “You’ll have to go through me first.”

The Knight didn’t hesitate. He lunged. I met the blow head-on, the crash of our sabers sending sparks flying. The Force thrummed in my veins as I parried, sidestepped, and drove him back. He was strong, relentless, but so was I.

I didn’t have to look to know Ben was watching, frozen in the moment between his past and the future he could still choose.

Then, with a strangled sound, he moved. His saber roared to life, not the unstable red of Kylo Ren, but the same weapon he’d built as a padawan. The force brought it to him. The blue blade bathed the alley in cold light as he struck, driving the Knight’s blade aside and delivering a killing blow.

The Knight collapsed to the ground, his mask splitting in two. The silence that followed was deafening.

Ben stood over the body, chest heaving, his saber still humming in his hand. I stepped to his side, waiting- watching.

He looked at me. “I don’t know how to be him anymore,” he whispered.

“You don’t have to be him yet,” I said quietly. “Just come home.”

He gave a shallow nod, deactivating his saber. And for the first time in years, I felt it- not the void, not Kylo Ren’s cold fury, but Ben Solo’s presence in the Force, raw and unsteady but alive.

I reached for his hand. “Let’s go,” and this time, he didn’t pull away.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The star cruiser loomed above Jakku’s horizon like a silent predator, its hull gleaming against the dimming sky. We stayed to the shadows as we approached, slipping through the lower access tunnels meant for cargo and emergency departures. Every nerve in my body was wired tight, my senses stretched thin.

Ben walked at my side, hood pulled low over his face, saber concealed beneath his cloak. Every step he took felt like borrowed time.

Leia felt us coming.

I sensed her reach out through the Force, a steady hand pressing against the chaos in both of us. It was her touch that kept Ben moving when I saw the instinctive urge to turn back flicker in his eyes.

We entered the cruiser through the hangar’s maintenance corridor, an old side entrance no one but the senior command ever used. The main hangar was bustling with techs, officers, pilots coming and going. If anyone saw Ben Solo alive and breathing here, there would be chaos.

Leia was already waiting for us. She stood just inside the auxiliary docking bay, hood up, a guard posted at the far end of the corridor; a trusted man who’d served her for decades, already turned away discreetly.

When Ben stepped through the doorway behind me, Leia drew in a sharp, quiet breath. Her face didn’t betray it, but the bond between us hummed with unspoken words.

I closed the door behind us and activated the privacy field.

“Leia,” I said softly.

She moved forward, her gaze never leaving her son’s face. I felt the war inside both of them, the ache of a hundred memories pressing in. Ben kept his head down, unable to meet her eyes.

“Ben,” she whispered.

His shoulders shook once. And then slowly, so slowly, he raised his head.

Their gazes met. The air in the room shifted, heavy with grief and things left unsaid.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he rasped. “I- I don’t deserve-” Leia crossed the space between them and cupped his face in both hands before he could finish.

“You’re my son,” she murmured, her voice breaking. “And you came home. That’s all I care about.”

His eyes squeezed shut, and for a moment, the trembling boy I’d glimpsed years ago on Ossus surfaced, the weight of his sins almost too heavy to carry.

“I couldn’t feel you,” she whispered, brushing her thumb along his cheek. “All this time… I tried, and you were just… gone.”

“I was lost,” he choked out. “He took everything.”

“I know.” She held his face a moment longer, then lowered her hands, her expression hardening. “Listen to me. No one else can know you’re here. Not yet. Poe, Finn, the council… they won’t understand.”

“I don’t expect them to.”

“Luke is waiting,” she said. “He’ll want to see you. The three of us need to decide what happens now.”

Ben nodded. “I’ll go wherever you want. I’m… I’m done running.”

Leia glanced at me, and for the first time since Jakku, I let myself exhale. “Come,” she said. “This way.”

We slipped through the ship’s lesser-used maintenance routes, avoiding main corridors where the Resistance command was gathering for the next battle briefing. I felt the buzz of life aboard the cruiser; allies, commanders, pilots like Poe and Finn moving through the decks, and knew that for now, none of them could know who walked these halls.

Not yet.

Leia opened a secure door leading to one of the old meditation chambers built when the cruiser had once belonged to the Republic. A place meant for reflection, now long abandoned. Luke waited there, his cloak draped around his shoulders, the years etched into his face, his presence like a storm held barely in check.

His gaze flickered to me first… then to Ben.

And the air grew cold. Neither man spoke for a long moment. Then Luke’s voice came, low and rough. “I told you I’d kill you if I ever saw you again.”

Ben didn’t flinch. “I know.”

Luke took a step forward, and Leia immediately raised a hand, her voice firm. “Enough.”

“I’m not a fool, Leia. He’s dangerous.”

“I’m aware,” she said quietly. “But he came to us. He chose to come.”

Luke’s jaw clenched, his hand twitching by his side.

I moved between them instinctively. “This isn’t the time. He has information we need. About Palpatine.”

That made Luke pause. The name was a blade in the room, cutting through the tension like a physical blow.

“What about him?” Luke demanded.

Ben finally lifted his gaze. “He’s alive,” he said hoarsely. “And he’s coming.”

Silence crashed down like a wave.

Luke’s face hardened. “You better start talking.”

Ben drew in a shaking breath. “I’ll tell you everything. But you need to keep me off your scanners, out of your records, away from the others. If anyone knows I’m here… they’ll lead him right to you.”

Leia nodded once. “Done.”

And in that moment, the three of them, mother, son, brother, stood in the same room for the first time in years.

And though the fight was far from over, for the first time, it felt like the beginning of a war we might actually win.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The meditation chamber felt more like a war room now.

Leia sealed the door with a private code, and Luke disabled the internal sensors. No one else on the cruiser would know this meeting was happening. It was the only way this would work.

Ben stood a few paces from the center of the room, hood still up, his face pale beneath it. He hadn’t let go of the weight in his chest. I could feel it pressing against him, a thousand unspoken things clawing at the edges of his mind. But the bond between us was open again, faint but there, and I kept my presence steady, a quiet tether in the storm.

Luke stayed by the far wall, arms crossed, his posture stiff, every part of him radiating distrust. Leia stood closer, the space between her and Ben no longer quite so vast.

“Start talking,” Luke said, his voice a low command.

Ben swallowed hard. “He’s alive. Palpatine. Not just alive; controlling everything. Snoke was never real. A puppet. He made him, molded him, used him to turn me. To turn others. The First Order… the Final Order… it’s all his.”

“The Final Order?” Leia’s brow furrowed.

Ben nodded. “An entire fleet. Hidden on Exegol. Sith loyalists, warships… more than you can count. Enough to burn a thousand systems and leave nothing behind.”

Luke’s jaw clenched, a muscle ticking in his temple. “Why didn’t you tell anyone before?”

“Because I was his weapon,” Ben snapped, voice rough. “Because I thought it was what I wanted. I was… I was so far gone I couldn’t tell where I ended and he began. I didn’t realize what he was building until I saw it with my own eyes. Rows of destroyers, all with planet-killers built into them. He’s waited for this moment for decades.”

Leia’s face paled. “And he’s moving soon?”

Ben nodded grimly. “Within days. He’s gathering the last of his followers. Once the fleet leaves Exegol, there’ll be no stopping it.”

Luke spoke, his voice sharp as a blade. “How do we find him? No one’s been able to trace that system. It’s a myth. A dead world.”

“I can get you there,” Ben said. “There’s a wayfinder. A Sith artifact. It leads directly to him. I had one. Vader’s. It was destroyed.” His gaze flicked to Luke. “But there’s another. In the old vault on Endor’s moon.”

Luke’s face went rigid. “Of course.”

Ben hesitated, then looked at me. “You’ll need it if you’re going to reach him.”

I stepped forward. “You mean we’re going to reach him.”

Ben’s eyes flickered. “You shouldn’t… he’ll come for you. He already wants you dead.”

“I’m not hiding,” I said quietly. “Not anymore.”

Leia sighed, rubbing a hand over her eyes. “If we can find that wayfinder, we’ll have a chance. It’s the only way to strike before he moves.”

“I can help you get it,” Ben said, his voice softer now, frayed around the edges. “But we have to go now. Before the Final Order mobilizes.”

Luke’s stare was ice. “And why should we trust you? After everything you’ve done?”

Ben met his gaze without flinching. “You don’t have to. But you’ll have to decide which is worse- trusting me… or waiting until it’s too late.”

The room fell silent.

Leia finally spoke, her voice heavy with grief and command. “We don’t have the luxury of refusing this, Luke. Not anymore.”

Luke turned away, his jaw tight, and for a moment, I saw a flicker of the man he’d once been. The master who’d stood over a young boy’s bed with his saber drawn, terrified of the darkness rising in him.

Then he gave a sharp nod. “Fine. But I’m going with you. And if this is a trap-”

“It isn’t,” Ben said, weary and certain. “It’s the only way to end this.”

Leia took a deep breath, her shoulders squaring. “Then we move tonight.”

The bond between us pulsed, a steady, painful ache. But for the first time in years, we all stood on the same side of the war.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The star cruiser had settled into a heavy, waiting quiet. The kind of silence that came before battles and bad decisions.

I stood by the viewport in my quarters, the endless stretch of stars spilling across the darkness beyond. Somewhere in that void was Exegol. Somewhere out there, a thousand destroyers waited to descend on a galaxy already choking in its own grief.

I didn’t turn when the door hissed open behind me. I didn’t have to.

I felt him.

Ben stepped inside, his presence heavier than the hum of the ship, like a storm cloud dragging in behind him. He didn’t speak at first. Just moved to stand beside me, a careful distance away, both of us staring out into the endless dark.

For a while, neither of us said anything.

Then, his voice, low and rough. “You shouldn’t be doing this.”

I let out a quiet breath. “I’ve never been very good at doing what I should.” He gave a faint, humorless sound that might’ve been a laugh. “I meant what I said,” I added, not looking at him. “I’m not leaving you to face him alone.”

“You don’t owe me that.”

I turned to him then. His face was pale in the starlight, the sharp lines of it shadowed, older than it should have been. Eyes haunted, shoulders bowed under the weight of a thousand mistakes.

“It’s not about owing,” I said softly. “I don’t know if you can be Ben Solo again. I don’t even know if you want to. But I know I’m not letting you die without a fight.”

His throat worked. He looked down, hands flexing at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them. “I don’t know who I am without the dark.”

“You’ll figure it out,” I murmured. “One step at a time.”

I reached out, hesitant, unsure, and brushed my fingers against his. He flinched, but didn’t pull away.

“After all this,” he said, voice breaking slightly. “When it’s done… there won’t be anything left of me.”

I turned fully toward him, close enough now to feel the tension in his body, the strain in his voice. “There’ll be what you choose to keep,” I whispered. “And the people still willing to fight for you.”

His eyes met mine, and the bond between us surged, raw and aching. It wasn’t like it had been before. It was brittle now. Frayed at the edges. But it was still there.

For a moment, the war, the fleet, Palpatine… all of it fell away. There was just the two of us. The boy who used to sneak away from his lessons to lie under the stars with me. The girl who’d chased after him when no one else would.

He lifted a hand, like he meant to touch my face, but stopped halfway, fingers trembling.

“I missed you,” he said, so quietly I almost didn’t hear it.

My chest tightened. “I missed you too.”

He let his hand drop. “We leave soon.”

“I know.”

He hesitated at the door, then looked back. “Thank you… for not giving up on me.”

I swallowed hard. “I never will.” And then he was gone.

Leaving me alone with the stars, the weight of what was coming, and the fragile, flickering hope that maybe, just maybe, Ben Solo could still be saved.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The hangar bay was almost silent.

It was late, deep into the ship's night cycle, and only a skeleton crew remained on duty. Leia had cleared the schedule hours ago, citing a classified courier run. No one asked questions. No one could afford to.

I stood by the small transport, an older-model freighter stripped of markings and codes. Nothing about it suggested Jedi or Resistance. It looked like the kind of ship someone would abandon on a smuggling run. Perfect.

Leia was waiting by the ramp, cloak drawn tight around her shoulders, the familiar weight of command etched into her face. Luke lingered near the controls, his expression unreadable in the dim light.

Ben arrived without sound.

I felt him before I saw him; a ripple in the Force, heavy and sharp. He’d traded his dark robes for plain clothes, a pilot’s jacket, nondescript and anonymous. The scar on his face caught the light as he approached, but his eyes… his eyes looked clearer than they had in years.

Leia stepped forward first.

She reached up, brushing a hand against his cheek, something only a mother could do. “Find it,” she said softly. “Get that wayfinder, and come back to me.”

Ben swallowed hard. “I’ll try.”

Her eyes shone, but she didn’t falter. “That’s all I’ve ever asked.”

Luke’s voice cut through the quiet. “Don’t make me regret this.”

Ben met his gaze. “I’m not doing this for you.”

Luke didn’t respond. He turned away, climbing into the ship. I exchanged a glance with Leia. She gave a small, tight nod, a thousand things she wanted to say crammed into that one look. Be careful. Stay alive. Bring him home.

I nodded back.

Then I followed Ben up the ramp. The interior of the freighter was cramped, stripped down to the bare essentials. A single cockpit, a small cargo hold. No weapons. No backup. Just the three of us; me, Ben, and Luke.

The moment the ramp closed, the hangar lights dimmed, and the ship powered to life.

I slid into the co-pilot’s seat as Luke took the controls. Ben settled behind us, the hum of the engines vibrating through the floor.

“Course plotted for Endor’s moon,” Luke muttered, punching in the coordinates. “We’ll jump as soon as we clear the system.”

I glanced back at Ben. “You sure it’s still there?”

His expression was grim. “It’ll be there. No one else knows about that vault.”

“Good,” Luke said. “Because this is a one-way trip if it isn’t.”

The comm stayed dark. No chatter from the cruiser, no alarms. Leia was covering our departure. As we broke the atmosphere, the stars unfolded around us, endless and cold. I reached out through the Force, feeling the distant pull of Exegol, like a storm on the horizon. It was waiting.

Ben felt it too. His gaze flicked to mine, the bond between us steady now, tempered in the fire of what was coming.

I didn’t speak. I just reached over and covered his hand with mine. He didn’t pull away. The ship slipped into hyperspace, the stars streaking into lines of light, and we left the old war behind us.

The freighter dropped out of hyperspace with a jolt.

Endor’s forest moon hung below us, a green and blue marble in the void, shrouded by misty clouds and thick canopies of ancient trees. But it wasn’t the wilderness that drew my attention- it was the graveyard of war still orbiting it.

Wreckage.

Massive, rusted skeletons of Imperial Star Destroyers and fragments of the old Death Star lingered in the void like the bones of long-dead giants. The scars of a battle fought years ago, but the weight of it remained, thick in the Force.

The cockpit was silent as Luke guided the freighter down through the debris field, weaving between shattered hulls and drifted metal.

I could feel the wayfinder already. A dark pulse somewhere below, buried deep in the remnants of the old Death Star, its presence like a faint, rhythmic heartbeat in the Force. Ben felt it too. He shifted behind me, his eyes on the viewport as the ruins came into view.

“There,” he said quietly, pointing toward the distant curve of a broken superstructure half-buried in the sea, waves crashing against its twisted remains. “That’s where it is.”

I stared out at it, the jagged remnants of the old station’s tower rising like the ribs of a beast long since fallen. A heavy mist clung to the water and battered platforms, and even from here, the darkness of the place pressed against my senses.

Luke grimaced. “That’s where the vault was built. Palpatine’s private archive. Even I never saw it.”

“You weren’t meant to,” Ben said flatly. Luke shot him a look but said nothing more.

As we broke through the cloud cover, the ship buffeted by storm winds, I felt the pulse of the place grow stronger. It wasn’t just the wayfinder, it was a wound in the Force. A scar left by death, betrayal, and darkness.

I reached out and felt echoes in the broken metal.

Vader’s final steps.

Luke’s pain.

Palpatine’s death cry.

Ben stiffened, feeling it too. A flicker of guilt rippled through our bond, sharp and unspoken.

Luke set the freighter down on a stretch of beach just beyond the wreckage, the ship shuddering as it touched down on the wet, uneven terrain. The storm overhead was relentless, clouds low and heavy with rain. As the engines powered down, a tense quiet settled over us. I turned to Ben. “You still sure about this?”

His jaw clenched, but he nodded. “I’m not leaving without it.”

Luke grabbed his saber from the console. “Then let’s move. In and out. No unnecessary risks.”

I unhooked my saber from my belt, the weight of it familiar and steady in my palm. The ramp lowered with a hiss, cold rain pelting our faces as we stepped out into the storm. The scent of salt and scorched metal filled the air. Ahead of us, the twisted remains of the Death Star loomed against the gray sky, jagged and monstrous.

I felt the wayfinder’s call. Somewhere in those ruins, Palpatine’s last secrets waited. And so did whatever else the dark had left behind.

We moved toward it, three shadows against the storm, with the knowledge that whatever we found there would change everything. The storm swallowed us as soon as we left the cover of the ship.

Rain lashed at our faces, driven sideways by violent winds, the sky a churning mass of dark gray. The sea crashed against the twisted metal of the Death Star’s remains, sending spray high into the air. Each step across the sand felt like a battle, boots sinking into wet ground, the weight of the place pressing down on us.

The wreckage ahead was enormous rusted beams jutting skyward like shattered bones, chunks of durasteel scattered like fallen monuments. What was left of the old station’s command tower loomed against the horizon, broken but not beaten by time.

I kept one hand on my saber as we climbed over jagged wreckage, the Force thick with old ghosts. I could feel the echoes here. The fear, the final desperate fight. The presence of death lingering in every shadow.

Ben was quiet, moving beside me like a shade of himself, his face set, hood drawn up against the rain. Luke kept ahead, his saber unlit but ready.

We moved through the remains of a shattered hangar bay, puddles reflecting the storm above. Rusted TIE Fighter wings jutted from debris piles, and scorched control consoles lay half-submerged in water. The constant howl of the wind made it feel like the old station was still alive, groaning under its own weight.

I reached out in the Force, feeling the pulse of the wayfinder, closer now, a steady thrum somewhere beneath us.

“It’s under the old throne room,” Ben said quietly, sensing it too. “Palpatine kept his personal archive sealed below. No one else was ever allowed in.”

“Of course he did,” Luke muttered, glancing back.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

We pressed on, navigating through a narrow corridor of fallen beams and collapsed durasteel walls. Every surface was slick with rain, and more than once I felt the sharp twist of dark energy lingering in the metal, like the ship itself still remembered what it had been.

I caught up to Ben as we reached what had once been a turbolift shaft- now a jagged, open maw leading deeper into the ruins.

I touched his arm. He stiffened, then met my gaze. “You okay?” I asked, my voice barely audible over the storm.

He gave a small, humorless smile. “Not even close.”

I squeezed his arm gently. “Good. Stay like that. I need you sharp.”

Something flickered in his eyes. A piece of the boy I used to know. He gave a small nod, then jumped down into the shaft. I followed without hesitation, Luke close behind.

We landed hard on a lower level, the ground slick with rain and grime. The pulse of the wayfinder was stronger here, pulling at us like a tether.

Ben pointed ahead. “It’s through there.” A rusted blast door hung crooked in its frame, half-wrenched open by some ancient explosion. Beyond it, a long corridor stretched toward what was unmistakably the shattered remains of Palpatine’s old throne room. Even in ruin, it radiated malice.

The air was colder here, the Force heavy with old suffering. Luke hesitated at the doorway. “This place… it’s wrong.”

“Yeah,” I said, tightening my grip on my saber. “And it’s about to get worse.”

We stepped inside, the shadows closing around us.

The air grew thick and heavy as we moved deeper into the throne room’s shattered remains. The vast chamber was a twisted maze of broken pillars and cracked floors, shadows pooling in every corner like spilled ink. A cold, unnatural chill seeped into my bones; the dark side’s lingering stain.

Ben’s footsteps were careful but resolute, each one echoing in the silence like a heartbeat. Luke followed close, his gaze sharp and wary, while I stayed near Ben, feeling the fragile link between us tremble under the weight of the darkness.

The pulse of the wayfinder grew stronger, an insistent rhythm calling us forward.

Ahead, the throne itself stood ruined, half-buried under debris and cracked stone. It was a monument to power long lost, yet still humming with malignant energy. From beneath its base, a faint blue light flickered.

“That’s it,” Ben whispered, voice tight. “The vault’s entrance.” I knelt beside the fractured floor, brushing aside rubble to reveal a panel etched with ancient Sith runes. The markings pulsed faintly with that same blue glow.

Luke’s voice cut through the tension. “The lock will be force-protected. Expect traps.”

Ben’s eyes darkened. “Nothing new.”

With a careful breath, he reached out through the Force, fingers trembling as they hovered above the panel. The room seemed to hold its breath, the shadows stretching as if to listen.

Suddenly, a shockwave rippled through the chamber, throwing us back against the cracked stone walls. Dust and debris rained down.

I scrambled up, igniting my saber as a voice hissed in the darkness- cold, cruel, unmistakable.

“You should have stayed away, Ben Solo.”

From the shadows, a figure emerged- cloaked, masked, the signature black armor of a Knight of Ren.

Luke moved to block our path, saber blazing, but the Knight was swift, parrying with ruthless precision.

Ben shook off the shock, rising to join the fray, his saber’s blue blade igniting in his hand with a fierce hum.

The three of us stood together, light against shadow, fighting not just for the wayfinder- but for the future of the galaxy. Ben plunged his lightsaber into his chest. The Knight of Ren fell with a final, defiant snarl, collapsing into the shadows from which he’d emerged. The chamber fell silent again, save for the heavy ragged breaths of the three of us. It was clear the knight wasn't an attempt on his life. Just a reminder, a warning from Palpatine.

Ben’s hands trembled slightly as he deactivated his saber, eyes fixed on the dark space where our attacker had vanished. Luke sheathed his weapon, but his gaze remained sharp and watchful.

I knelt by the glowing panel again, careful now, reaching beneath the shattered floor. My fingers closed around a small, intricate device, the wayfinder. Its surface was cold, etched with Sith symbols that seemed to shift beneath my touch.

Ben stepped beside me, breathing steadier now. “We have it.”

Luke’s eyes narrowed. “No telling what traps remain.”

Ben nodded. “This place was built to protect secrets. We should move quickly.”

I slipped the wayfinder into my pack, the weight of it heavy, both physically and in the Force. It pulsed faintly, a beacon pointing toward Palpatine’s hidden world.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The storm outside still raged, but inside, a fragile hope had taken root.

We made our way back to the freighter in silence, the shadows of the ruined Death Star closing behind us. As the engines hummed to life and the ship lifted off, I looked at Ben. His eyes were tired, haunted, but determined.

“We’re not done yet,” I said quietly.

He gave a slow nod. “No. But this is the first step.”

Luke took the pilot’s seat, setting a course back to the cruiser. Leia would be waiting, and with the wayfinder in hand, we had a fighting chance.

When our freighter touched down in the hangar, Leia was already waiting, a soft, weary smile on her face as the ramp lowered. All three of us stepped out onto the metal floor, the hum of the ship’s engines still fading behind us.

“Did you succeed?” she asked, her voice low but hopeful.

I nodded, running a hand through my hair, still damp with rain. “Now we just have to kill Palpatine,” I shrugged, a dry edge in my tone.

Luke chuckled, clapping a hand on my back. “If anyone can, it’s you.”

He leaned over, kissing Leia’s cheek with a tenderness that spoke of old battles and older love. Beside me, Ben watched them, and I felt the ache ripple through him. The yearning for something he didn’t believe he’d earned. A family he still wasn’t sure would have him.

He cleared his throat, keeping his voice steady. “We can move tomorrow. You’ll need your forces ready. Palpatine won’t be alone, he has followers, armies. You’ll need fighters above the surface.”

Leia and Luke exchanged a look, a flicker of silent agreement between them. “Okay,” Leia said gently. “Get some rest, both of you. It’ll be a long day.”

Then, quietly, she stepped forward and placed a hand on Ben’s cheek. He flinched at first- startled by the touch, but then leaned into it, his eyes closing as if the contact alone might hold him together.

When they pulled apart, she left with Luke, heading to rally what remained of their scattered allies.

I turned to Ben, catching his hand in mine. “Come on. You’ll stay in my quarters,” I murmured. “I don’t want anyone seeing you.”

He hesitated, tension tight in his shoulders, but his hand stayed in mine. I felt the storm inside him, the flicker of anxiety, the constant dread, but still, he followed me through the private corridors, unseen by anyone.

[arianna-bradshaw]

The Weight of Heaven - Chapter Four

The Jedi Trials

Summary: Arianna discovers truths about herself and Kylo Ren as she faces The Jedi Trials to complete her training.

WC: 3.7k

~*~*~*~

My bond with Ben, Kylo, had quieted. I could still feel it sometimes, like a faint ache in my chest, like a storm on a far horizon. But I’d learned to brace myself against it, to breathe through it without flinching.

Until tonight. The eve of my Jedi Trials. I stood at the edge of the cliffs, the sky above Ahch-To vast and cloudless, a cold wind curling around my robes. The sea glimmered under twin moons, restless as ever.

I should’ve been meditating. I should’ve been sleeping, but the pull came sharp and sudden, and before I could steel myself against it the bond snapped open like a wound torn fresh.

He was there. I gasped, clutching the stone pillar beside me as the world tilted, and I felt his presence like fire and frost all at once. Ben. Kylo Ren. Whatever name he clung to now, it made no difference in that moment.

The Force bent between us. The ache of distance meant nothing. I didn’t call for him. He came anyway, and this time, I saw him clearly.

He stood in a darkened chamber, his face bare, hair damp as though from rain or sweat. The weight of command and guilt hung on him like a second skin. He was older now. Sharper around the edges. The darkness in him is thicker, colder.

For a long, taut moment neither of us spoke.

The bond crackled like static in my blood. “It’s been a while.” His voice was rough, too quiet, but unmistakably him.

I straightened, keeping my face hard, though my hands trembled. “I didn’t want this.”

“You never did.” His lips quirked, a bitter shadow of a smile. “You’ve gotten stronger.”

“And you’ve gotten darker.” That old tension sparked between us, a tight line between rage and something deeper, unspoken and ancient.

Ben stepped closer, though it wasn’t real, it felt like he might reach through the very air to touch me. “It doesn’t have to be like this, you know.”

I clenched my fists. “Then stop.”

His jaw tightened, a muscle flickering. “I can’t. You don’t understand what’s waiting for you out there. What Luke hasn’t told you.”

My pulse hammered. “I know enough.”

“You know what he did to me.” His voice was quieter now, raw, bleeding hurt in a way the Supreme Leader never would’ve allowed.

And damn me, I felt it. I hated how I felt it. Because no matter how many months had passed, no matter how steady I became in the Force, I would always remember the boy who sat beneath the twin suns of Ossus with me, who laughed, who reached for my hand when we were both afraid.

“You made your choice,” I whispered.

He stepped closer still. “And you’ll have to make yours.”

The bond surged then, sharp, electric, not a pull this time, but a warning. A flicker of something cold and inevitable on the horizon.

“It’s coming, Arianna,” he said softly. “Sooner than you think.”

The use of my name cut deeper than any blade. I drew in a shaking breath, lifted my chin. “Then let it come.” And I severed the connection.

It hurt. Like tearing a piece of myself away. But I did it. The bond went dark.

And the night returned, Ahch-To’s restless sea, the wind in the grass, the taste of salt and sorrow in the air. I stood there a long while, shaking, until a voice behind me spoke.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Dawn.

The sky was streaked with pale gray and lavender, the twin moons sinking low over the restless ocean. The mist clung to the ancient stones, and the cold bit deep enough to make every breath visible in the air.

I stood alone in the ring of standing stones, my saber clipped to my belt, my padawan braid heavy against my shoulder. Luke stood at the far side of the ring, his hood up, face unreadable in the dawn light.

“The Jedi Trials,” he said, voice low, carrying through the morning hush, “are not about skill with a blade. Or strength in the Force. They are about you. Who you are when stripped of the things you think define you.”

He stepped closer, placing a weathered hand on my shoulder.

“These trials will face you against your past, your fears, your attachments… and your future.” A beat. “Whatever awaits you, it will be by your own making.”

I swallowed, nodding once. “I understand.”

Luke raised his hand, closing his eyes, the stones around us began to hum, the air warping and shimmering as the Force bent. I felt it settle around me, the veil between realities thinning, and then everything changed.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Trial of Skill:

I found myself standing on a barren plain of jagged rock and ash. No sky, no stars, only endless heat and the low, mournful wail of the wind. Across from me, six figures appeared from the mist.

The Knights of Ren.

Their armor was charred, their sabers crackling red. At their center, a towering figure in black. Kylo Ren. His mask reflecting crimson light, his weapon already ignited. I drew my saber without hesitation, the blue light cutting against the endless dark. They came at me at once.

I moved on instinct, the countless years of drills, forms, and spars sharpening my reactions into pure, lethal motion. My saber met theirs in furious bursts of color, the Force surging through my limbs.

One fell. Then another. A third, driven back by a searing pulse of power, but it wasn’t enough. I was outnumbered. Tiring. Each blow heavier than the last. Kylo came for me. His strikes were brutal, his power unrelenting, like fighting the sea itself. I parried high, rolled under his blade, forced him back with a blast of energy. He barely flinched.

I lunged. Our blades locked. And then, just as the edge of his saber hovered near my throat, the landscape shifted.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Trial of the Spirit:

I stood on Ossus. A child again. Bare feet in the soft grass. The sound of the distant training sabers ringing through the air. Ben sat beside me, fourteen years old, hair wild and face soft, laughing as he tossed a stone into the water.

“You’ll always have me,” he said, grinning. I felt my throat tighten. A vision, a memory, or both.

Then the sky above us turned black. The temple in the distance erupted in flames. I felt the pulse of death through the Force, every scream a blade in my heart.

Ben rose, and his face changed, hardening into Kylo’s. His eyes became hollow pits of rage and sorrow. “You weren’t there,” he whispered, voice breaking. “You left me.”

I reached for him, sobbing. “I tried—” He vanished, and I was alone in the ashes.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Trial of the Flesh:

I felt real pain now. The memory of every wound, every broken bone, every scar earned in battle surged through my body. I fell to my knees, breath ragged, as the Force tested my endurance.

Luke’s voice echoed through the void. “A Jedi endures. Not because she is fearless. But because she chooses to rise.”

I forced myself up. One step. Then another. The agony dulled, and the pain became power.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The Final Trial: The Future

I found myself standing before two visions. To my left- myself clad in white, my saber still blue, standing beside a redeemed Ben Solo, the galaxy reborn from war.

To my right- myself in black, eyes rimmed in shadow, a red saber in hand, the bond with Kylo Ren unbroken and unholy, a tyrant beside him.

I knew the choice wasn’t real. Not yet, but it would be. I had to face the temptation. The darker version of me smirked, raising her blade.

“You’ll come here, in the end,” she said. “For him. For power. For revenge.”

I clenched my fists. “I’m not you.”

She laughed. “You were always me.”

And then before I could speak the bond tore open again.

Kylo. This time, I felt him desperate. Untethered. He crashed into my mind, his voice ragged and raw. “Stop this! Don’t let them break you!”

I gasped, falling to one knee as the visions shimmered. “Ben-”

“Leave Luke. Come to me. Now.”

“I won’t.”

His voice cracked. “You still feel it. You still… care.”

I did. I hated it, and I loved it.

And that truth, that maddening, inescapable bond, made me strong.

I stood, drawing my saber once more, looking at both versions of myself. And with that — I severed the bond.

Fully.

It screamed between us, Kylo roaring in fury and pain, and then it was done.

The visions vanished.

The Trials were over. I collapsed in the training ring as the first light of morning touched the stones.

Luke was already there, kneeling beside me. His hand gripped my shoulder. “You did it,” he whispered.

I looked up at him, exhausted, tears streaking my face. “I chose myself.”

A long, proud nod. “Then you’re ready.” He reached for my braid.

And at last, after all these years, after Ossus and war and heartbreak and betrayal, he cut it away. The strand fell into my hands, and for the first time since the night the temple burned, I felt… whole.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The sun hung low in the sky, casting long, golden shafts of light across the ancient island. The seas were calmer now, a hush hanging over the cliffs of Ahch-To as though the world itself held its breath.

The ceremony wasn’t grand. There were no courts, no senators, no gathered Jedi Council. Because there was no Jedi Council anymore. There was only us.

Leia stood at the edge of the stone circle, dressed in deep midnight blue, her hair braided in intricate loops, streaks of silver catching the light. The years had touched her face, but it was still the face I remembered from Tatooine, kind and fierce all at once.

Luke stood beside her, solemn as ever, his robe billowing in the breeze, a lightsaber at his hip and the quiet sadness of a thousand regrets in his eyes. I stood in the center of the ancient ring of standing stones, dressed in simple white Jedi robes, my braid now gone, the smooth fall of my hair brushing my shoulders.

The air smelled of salt and old stone. The Force was thick and steady, like a living breath through the island.

Leia stepped forward first, a slender, silvered chain in her hand, and draped it around my neck, a pendant etched with the crest of the old Jedi Order. “You are no longer a child,” she said, her voice steady though her eyes shimmered. “And no longer a Padawan.”

Luke followed, his saber igniting with a snap-hiss, the emerald light casting green shadows over the stones. “By the right of the Council,” he said softly, “by the will of the Force, I name you Jedi.”

He raised the saber in a salute, then lowered it before me. “Rise, Jedi Knight.” I stepped forward, taking a deep breath as the Force seemed to settle around me like a second skin.

I rose as a Jedi Knight.

Not the way I’d imagined as a girl on Ossus. Not surrounded by a temple of masters and hopefuls. But it felt… right.

Leia stepped in, pulling me into a tight embrace. Her voice barely a whisper in my ear. “I’m so proud of you.”

I clung to her, the ache of old losses and new ones unspoken between us. When she pulled back, she set her hand on my cheek. “You’ve done what few could,” she said. “Held onto the light in a galaxy that keeps trying to drag you down.”

Luke spoke next, his voice low but sure. “There’s a battle coming, Arianna.” He’d started using my name again. It made my throat tighten.

“One that will test every part of you. And when it does, you’ll remember this moment. That you are stronger than what haunts you.”

I nodded, steady. The wind carried the hum of the sea below. Luke gave me the smallest smile. The first in years. “The galaxy hasn’t seen a Jedi like you in a long, long time.”

And just like that, the ceremony was done. No applause. No holos. Just the endless horizon, the sound of the tide, and the faint thrum of the Force. I stood there for a long while, my new pendant cool against my chest, my saber at my side. The bond with Ben was gone. The darkness was growing. And I was finally what I’d spent my whole life becoming.

A Jedi Knight, but the war wasn’t over, and neither was his hold on me.

The sun had long since set. The sea was restless below the cliffs, the tide rushing in with a sound like distant thunder. The stars scattered across the sky in thick, glimmering bands, brighter here than anywhere else in the galaxy.

I sat alone by the ancient stone well at the heart of the island. A place where the Force felt old and unfiltered, where the air hummed softly and the ground thrummed beneath bare feet. The pendant Leia had given me rested in my palm, cool and heavy against my skin.

I should’ve felt whole. I’d survived the Trials. I was a Jedi Knight. The bond was severed, but there was a hole inside me. A dull, raw ache that pulsed in the back of my mind, not pain exactly, not anymore. It was absence. A space where he’d been. Where his presence had flickered at the edges of every breath for most of my life.

And now it is gone. I ran my thumb over the pendant’s surface, tracing the etched crest of the Jedi Order. It felt like a lie.

I’d always imagined the severing would bring peace. That the ache would stop, but what no one told me was how you could sever a bond and still feel its outline, like the phantom limb of someone you once loved.

The Force around me was so still. Too still. I closed my eyes, reaching out, the way I always had when sleep wouldn’t come. Once, it would’ve been easy. I would’ve felt him. Angry, conflicted, storming somewhere in the stars, and I would’ve known I wasn’t alone.

Now… nothing. A silent, empty sky. It left me aching in a way I hadn’t expected.Not for his darkness. Not for the broken boy he’d become.

But for the memory of sitting beside him on Ossus, sharing stolen moments away from everything that demanded we be something else. I knew this was what I was meant to do. What Luke needed me to do. What the galaxy needed. But that didn’t make the ache less sharp.

I pressed my fingers to my temple, swallowing against the tightness in my throat. “Damn you, Ben Solo,” I whispered, voice breaking. Not a plea. Not a curse. Just the truth of it.

Because loving him had been inevitable, and losing him had been worse. And now… nothing at all might be the cruelest thing of all.

The wind curled around me like a hand through my hair. And for the briefest, fragile instant, I could’ve sworn I heard his voice.

Arianna.

A shiver ran through me, but the bond stayed dark. It was a memory. It was always a memory now.

And it would be enough. Because it had to be. I drew in a slow breath, let the ache settle deeper, and lifted my gaze to the stars.

I am a Jedi. I am whole. I am alone.

And the night rolled on. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The next morning came gray and windswept. The horizon was thick with storm clouds, waves crashing violently against the cliffs. It felt like a storm was gathering, in more ways than one.

I arrived at the command center inside the Resistance cruiser Liberty Dawn, my new Jedi robes still marked by salt and travel. The air inside the briefing room was tight with urgency, pilots and officers gathered around the holo-table, the low murmur of voices cutting off when I entered.

Leia stood at the head of the room, a sharp contrast of command and grief, her presence instantly calming the scattered tension. Poe was there too, arms crossed, his brow furrowed. Finn stood beside him, BB-8 at his feet, warbling anxiously. Even Rose was there, datapad in hand.

The holoprojector flickered to life. A grainy image of a throne room- dark, enormous, with pillars stretching into shadow. And at the center, sprawled lifeless on the floor, was Snoke.

Dead.

Severed at the waist, his body smoking.

At his side stood Kylo Ren. No mask. His hair wild, his face grim and bloodied, eyes gleaming with something far more dangerous than before.

Ambition. And fury.

Leia’s voice was like a blade. “This came through an informant on the Supremacy.”

The holo image changed- a map of star systems in the Mid Rim. “Kylo Ren has taken full command of the First Order.” She paused, voice tightening. “And he’s not wasting time.”

Poe leaned forward, bracing his hands on the table. “What’s his next move?”

Leia hesitated, then looked at me. Everyone followed her gaze. “He’s hunting for you, Arianna.”

The room fell silent. Even BB-8 stopped his low whirring. I stiffened, pulse pounding in my ears. I’d felt him last night. I knew. But hearing it spoken aloud made it real.

Leia continued, eyes locked on mine. “He’s already seized the Nalus System. Intercepted transmissions confirm he’s interrogating prisoners for any knowledge of where you are.”

I swallowed hard.

Poe spoke up. “Why her? After all this time?”

Leia sighed, her shoulders heavy with the weight of things unspoken. “Because she’s the only one who can still reach him. And because she severed the bond.”

The words hit like a blow. Finn frowned. “Bond?”

“They were connected through the Force,” Luke said, appearing quietly at the far end of the table, his voice rough, shadowed with memory. “They grew up together. Trained together. And when Ben fell, that bond remained. She cut it during her Trials.”

Poe straightened. “And now he wants her dead?”

Luke shook his head. “Worse. He wants to turn her. Or destroy her. Either way… he won’t stop.”

I clenched my jaw, feeling the old ache flare in my chest. That hollow space where the bond had once been. I wouldn’t run. I wouldn’t hide.

“Then we stop him first.” I met her gaze. “We end this.”

She nodded. “One way or another.” Luke placed a hand on my shoulder.

“I hope you’re ready for what’s waiting for you out there.”

I met his gaze evenly. “I’ve been ready since the night the temple burned."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The starcruiser we resided on was enormous, gleaming white corridors, sterile floors, and the low, constant hum of its systems beneath my feet. It was a far cry from the damp huts of Ahch-To. Colder. Less natural. But the stars… the stars outside the viewport in my quarters made up for it. I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed seeing them this close, scattered like shattered promises against an endless black sky.

I was a Jedi Knight now. Officially. The title should have made me feel whole, steady. Instead, all I could feel was the emptiness left by the severed bond I’d once shared with Ben. Even when he’d fallen, when Kylo Ren had taken his name, there was still a thread between us. His conflict, like a storm buried under ice. And now… nothing. No rage. No grief. No flicker of him. It was like reaching for a voice in a void.

I sat on the edge of my bed, fidgeting with my hands. The white sheets felt too crisp, the walls too bare. I felt her approaching before she knocked, a familiar warmth in the Force. With a thought, I willed the door open, the soft hiss barely noticeable against the ship’s ambient thrum.

Leia stepped inside quietly and crossed the room to sit beside me, following my gaze out to the stars.

“I miss him,” she whispered. “It’s alright if you do too.”

My throat tightened. I stared down at my hands, fighting the restless urge to move them. “I don’t think it is,” I confessed, voice small. “I… I have to-” I drew in a shaky breath. “I need to kill Kylo Ren. Either in spirit… or… or I’ll have to kill Ben with him.”

Leia’s fingers gently curled around mine. “I know,” she murmured. “I pray it won’t come to that. I still believe his love for you might save him.”

Tears stung my eyes, but I blinked them away. “I’m a Jedi now. I’m not supposed to have attachments. If I save him… how do I stop feeling this way?”

Leia smiled softly, sorrowfully. “You’re one of the last, you know. The old Jedi ways- their codes, their laws- they belonged to a different time. Perhaps those rules no longer serve this generation. You don’t have to decide all of this now.” She squeezed my hand. “Keep your focus where it belongs, in the moment.”

Life aboard the cruiser was easier than I expected. Luke, Leia, and I coexisted in a strange kind of harmony. Two mentors and one lost girl pretending to be a Jedi. Poe and Finn were off scouting for any sign of the First Order’s plans. I was kept behind, safely hidden from the galaxy’s gaze, and from the spies that lurked in every shadow.

But in sleep… I wasn’t safe.

I dreamed of Ben often. Not visions. Not premonitions. Just aching, raw dreams of what might’ve been. Him, not Kylo, holding me as I always wished he could. Of running barefoot through empty halls, of two small faces with his dark eyes staring up at me. And every time I woke, it hurt. The uncertainty, the not knowing if that future was lost… or if one of us would have to kill the other before it could ever exist.

Sometimes, against my better judgment, I reached for him. I knew Luke would be furious if he found out. It didn’t matter. I never felt him. No rage. No sorrow. No conflict. Nothing. But I knew deep in my bones he was coming. He’d find me. He always did.

[arianna-bradshaw]

The Weight of Heaven - Chapter Three

The Return of Luke Skywalker

Summary: Arianna returns to train with her master, Luke Skywalker, in order to defeat Kylo Ren… One way or another.

WC: 5.6k

~*~*~*~

Two days later, I stood alone in the Falcon’s cockpit as the navcomputer locked onto the distant, uncharted planet of Ahch-To. The ancient home of the first Jedi temple, and Luke Skywalker.

I let my fingers trace the fraying braid against my chest. It wasn’t mine to cut yet. But soon.

The stars blurred into streaks as the ship leapt into hyperspace, and the last chapter of my old life fell away behind me. Ahead was only the Force, and him.

The hum of the Falcon in hyperspace was a low, constant thrum in my bones. I stood alone in the cockpit, watching the stars streak past in endless white-blue lines, the vastness of space pressing in on every side. My reflection stared back at me in the viewport; pale, bruised, the long Padawan braid hanging loose over my shoulder. I felt like a stranger in my own skin.

I hadn’t slept. Couldn’t. Every time I closed my eyes, the bond between us stirred; frayed and ragged but not entirely severed. A tether still clinging to some fragment of what we’d been.

And tonight, the Force was restless.

It moved around me like a current, whispering in ancient tongues I didn’t fully understand, tugging at the edges of my mind. It felt like standing at the edge of a cliff, a storm howling around me, knowing a single misstep would send me over.

I closed my eyes, reaching out, and he was there. Distant. Like the dying echo of a scream, but unmistakable.

Ben.

Kylo.

A pulse of pain surged through the bond, sharp and sudden. My knees buckled, and I gripped the edge of the console to stay upright. Darkness coiled around the edges of my mind; smoke and static, and then, like before, a voice.

“You should have stayed away.” The cockpit around me seemed to bleed away. The walls, the controls, the stars, all of it faded into a thick, ink-black nothing.

And then I was standing in a place I didn’t recognize. A ruin. Jagged stone and broken columns, scorched earth beneath my bare feet. The air stank of fire and blood.

A figure stood ahead of me, shrouded in shadow. I didn’t have to see his face to know it was him. “Why are you here?” I demanded, my voice echoing strangely in the void.

He stepped forward, the darkness clinging to him like smoke. His hair was longer than I remembered, framing a face harder and leaner than it had been months ago. The scar that split his brow was a pale gash in the flickering light.

And his eyes, those eyes, were no longer entirely Ben’s.

But something of him still lingered in the depths. “You can’t save me,” he said, voice raw and almost… tired.

I took a step toward him, my pulse racing. “I’m not here to save you. I’m here to finish what we started.”

His jaw clenched. “You’ll only destroy yourself.”

I reached for my lightsaber, feeling the smooth, familiar hilt in my hand. The light blue blade hissed to life, its glow pushing against the dark. “Then come and see.”

For a second, he hesitated. A flicker of the boy from Ossus. The boy who used to sit beside me beneath alien skies, sharing stolen moments of peace. Then it was gone. His red blade snapped to life.

The clash of the sabers filled the air with blinding light and sound as we collided, and the Force around us screamed.

And then— I awoke. Gasping.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The Falcon shuddered out of hyperspace, stars resolving into cold pinpricks of light against a sky the color of deep indigo. Ahead of me, the planet of Ahch-To rose out of the void. A world of jagged islands and endless, rolling seas. Mist clung to the cliffs. Great stone monoliths jutted from the water like broken teeth. I could feel the weight of centuries of history in its bones.

And somewhere, on one of those islands, was Luke Skywalker. The last of the Jedi, and maybe the only one who could help me finish this. I gripped my lightsaber and set the ship down on a narrow outcrop of grass and stone, the roar of waves echoing in my ears.

As I stepped down onto the earth, the Force around me shifted, heavy with memory and warning. Somewhere out there, Ben was waiting.

The grass was slick beneath my boots as I stepped off the Falcon’s ramp. A stiff wind cut in from the endless stretch of ocean, bringing with it the scent of salt and rain. The mist clung to the cliffs like a veil, obscuring the horizon in every direction.

Ahch-To.

I could feel it the moment my feet hit the soil, the Force humming in the ground itself, old and untouched. It was different here than anywhere I’d ever been. Not like Ossus, where the Force sang bright and young, or the twisted storm of Starkiller. This place was ancient. It had seen things no history recorded, things no holocron had captured. It was the birthplace of our Order, and I felt every ghost that had ever walked these cliffs pressing against my skin.

I slung my saber hilt against my hip and made my way toward the stone path ahead; a winding, uneven trail of crude steps carved into the side of the cliff. They spiraled upward, disappearing into mist and clouds.

I took a breath and started to climb.

The higher I went, the stronger the pull. The wind howled around me, whipping my braid against my cheek, tugging at my robes. The ache in my muscles went ignored. My hands found cold, wet stones to steady myself as the steps narrowed. The air grew colder, and the world fell away below me until it was just the sea, the sky, and the unshakable pressure of something waiting ahead.

And then at the top, the path flattened, opening onto a windswept plateau. A ring of ancient stone monoliths circled a clearing, their faces worn by time and storms. At the center of the space, his back to me, stood a figure in faded, weather-beaten robes, the hood drawn up.

My breath hitched. Even without seeing his face, I felt him.

Luke Skywalker.

He radiated power and sorrow in equal measure, a weight to his presence in the Force that made my knees weak. The bond between us was fragile, unfamiliar, but his grief was unmistakable.

I took a step closer. “Master Luke.” The words caught in my throat, spoken for the first time in years. He didn’t move.

I pulled the saber hilt from my belt, my fingers trembling slightly, and stepped forward into the center of the circle.

“I’m the last of your students,” I said, my voice low but carrying in the silence. “And I’ve come to finish what you started.”

The wind tore at my hair. Luke’s shoulders stiffened. He turned, slowly. The face I remembered was older now, lined with time and guilt, his beard shot with silver, eyes sunken but still sharp. Those blue eyes studied me, first with wariness, then with recognition.

“I told them never to send anyone,” he rasped, voice like sand over stone. “There’s nothing left for the Jedi.”

I took another step, my pulse hammering in my ears. “There’s me.”

A long silence passed between us. Then, for the first time, his gaze dropped to the saber in my hand; my own hilt, and the long, soot-stained braid still tied at my shoulder.

“You kept it,” he murmured.

“I never earned the right to cut it.” His expression tightened, and for a moment I saw the weight of every loss in his eyes, Han, Leia’s grief, the slaughter at the Academy, the boy with dark hair and a stubborn grin who once called him uncle.

“And what is it you want from me?” he asked, his voice low. I swallowed hard.

“To finish my training.” A beat. “And to learn how to face him.”

Luke flinched, barely, but I felt it ripple through the Force.

I didn’t look away. “He’s still in there. I can feel it.”

His gaze hardened. “Feeling it won’t save you.”

I nodded. “I’m not here to be saved.” Another beat. “I’m here to be ready.”

The wind howled again, sending a flurry of mist curling between us. Luke exhaled, his eyes closing for a long moment. Then, slowly, he reached out, and placed one weathered hand on my shoulder.

A pulse of warmth in the Force passed between us, not forgiveness yet, but a beginning. “At dawn,” he said, voice rough. “We begin.”

And for the first time in years, I let myself believe there might still be a way forward.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The night on Ahch-To was endless. The sky stretched overhead in an unbroken sweep of deep navy and charcoal, the clouds moving slowly in the high atmosphere like pale ghosts. The stars here were brighter than anywhere I’d seen since Ossus; sharp and cold and ancient, pinpricks in the canvas of a world that had existed before empires, before Jedi, before Sith.

I sat alone near the cliffs, the sea far below a restless black mass, the wind hissing through the stone monoliths around me. Luke had given me a hut for the night; a round stone dwelling barely large enough to stretch out in, with a single flickering lantern on the wall. I hadn’t gone inside. I couldn’t.

The Force felt heavier here. It moved in thick, slow currents, pressing against me with a weight I hadn’t felt since the Gathering on Ilum. It was old. Watchful. And it knew me.

I closed my eyes, legs crossed in the damp grass, the hilt of my saber resting in my lap. The mist curled around my shoulders like cold fingers. I let my breathing slow, reaching out into the deep, endless hum of the Force.

And it pulled me under. I saw it before it came, the familiar ripple, the frayed thread of a bond that refused to die. Ben, or what was left of him.

The vision didn’t take me to a battlefield this time, or to a broken Academy. It took me somewhere worse. A narrow, windowless chamber. Walls of smooth black stone, cold as a tomb. Candles floated in the air like dying stars, their light flickering and uncertain. And in the center of it, kneeling in meditation, was him.

Kylo Ren.

His hair was loose around his face, his breathing slow and steady, and for a long, agonizing moment, I could feel it, a flicker of the boy he’d been. A thread of something fragile still clinging to life deep inside him.

I took a step closer in the vision, the air growing colder, heavier. I reached out. “Ben,” I whispered.

His head lifted. Those dark eyes found mine in an instant. They weren’t entirely empty. Not yet. But there was something dangerous in them now, something feral and exhausted and desperate.

“You should leave me alone,” his voice murmured, distorted by distance and the haze of the Force. “You shouldn’t have come here.”

“I had to.” I felt the ache of it rise in my chest. “I saw you… on that bridge. I saw your face.”

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, the bond between us burned like it used to; sharp, immediate, a lifetime of shared memory and half-buried feeling crashing through my ribs, and then his expression twisted.

“You think you understand,” he spat. “But you don’t. You never did.”

I moved closer. “Then show me.” A flash of something rippled behind his eyes, grief, maybe. Or terror. and then the vision splintered.

The chamber dissolved into mist. I was somewhere else. A place I’d seen once before, on Ilum, in the caves when I’d found my kyber crystal. A jagged landscape of endless white sand under a blood-colored sky, ancient statues broken and half-buried in the dunes.

And ahead of me, a figure in black. A mask gleaming like polished obsidian. He turned, and it wasn’t Kylo. Not entirely. It was a future version of him, twisted and monstrous. The Force around him is thick with death and sorrow. And at his feet, my lightsaber. Broken. Snapped in half, sparks still bleeding from its core.

His voice was a whisper. “If you follow this path… you’ll have to kill me.”

I felt my own heart hammering against my ribs. And when I looked down the braid I wore was gone. A Jedi’s braid no longer.

A knight. But the cost… the cost was everything. I woke up with a start, gasping, my face damp with sweat, hair clinging to my cheek.

The sea’s roar was louder now, dawn just a pale smear on the horizon. I could still feel the cold of his hands in my mind. And I knew when the time came, when I stood before him again something would have to break. Him. Me. The bond we refused to sever.

I rose to my feet, gathering my saber, and turned toward the ancient temple where Luke was waiting. The dawn came cold.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The pale light cut through the mist, turning the cliffs a soft, ghostly gray. The ocean below was a restless slate, waves crashing against the rocks in endless, ancient rhythm. I stood at the edge of the plateau, my saber hilt clipped at my side, the Padawan braid brushing against my shoulder.

Luke was already there. He stood with his back to me, silhouetted against the rising sun, the folds of his faded robes caught in the wind. He didn’t speak right away. Just let the silence hang, letting me feel the weight of the place. The ancient stones around us seemed to hum with memory.

When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, but it carried. “Do you know what the Jedi believed the Force to be?”

I swallowed. “An energy field… created by all living things. It surrounds us, penetrates us, binds the galaxy together.”

His lips quirked in something like a grim smile. “Good. You remember the words.” A beat. “But words aren’t understanding.”

He turned, those weathered eyes finding mine. “Close your eyes.” I obeyed. The sound of the sea, the wind, the cry of distant bird-like creatures filled the air. “What do you feel?”

I took a breath, opening myself up.

The Force brushed against my skin like the ghost of a touch. I felt the salt in the air, the weight of the stone beneath my feet, the heartbeat of the planet itself, slow and ancient. The life teeming in the tide pools below. The sleeping ache in the bones of the world. “Life,” I whispered.

Luke’s voice came closer, steady now, the voice of a teacher I’d waited years to hear again. “The Force exists between all things. Not just in Jedi, not just in death. It’s in every rock, every wave, every breath you take. The Jedi forgot that. They let themselves believe it was theirs to control. That’s what broke us.”

A long silence. I felt his presence behind me, not intrusive, just there, steady like stone. “Reach deeper,” he murmured. I did, and there it was. The pulse. The sharp, cold thread of something familiar, like a scar on the fabric of the Force itself.

Ben.

Even here, across the galaxy, through dark corners and ancient places, the bond tugged at me. Luke felt my breath catch. He knew.

“You still carry him,” he said, and there was no judgment in it. Just weary knowing. I opened my eyes. The wind bit against my skin.

“I don’t know how to let him go.”

His expression softened. “That’s not the lesson.”

I frowned. “Then what is?”

He gestured around us. “You think the Force is light and dark. That it’s a choice between two sides.” He shook his head. “It’s balance. Life. Death. Growth. Decay. Violence. Mercy. The Jedi tried to claim only one half. The Sith clung to the other. Both were wrong.”

He crouched, picking up a handful of moss-covered stones from the ground. “Lesson one: the Force is not yours. Not mine. Not the Jedi’s to own. It moves through you, but it isn’t bound to your will.”

He tossed the stones into the sea. “Learn to listen to it. Not command it. Or it will break you, like it broke him.” His meaning was clear. Ben. Me. Every Jedi before us.

I nodded, the weight of it settling in my chest, and somewhere deep in the Force, I felt the bond stir again, distant, restless.

The lessons would be harder than I’d imagined.

That night, after hours spent meditating on the cliffs and sparring in the old stone ring, Luke led me to the heart of the island.

We made our way by torchlight, the sea’s restless roar a constant presence far below. The path was narrow, winding between jagged rocks and leaning monoliths half-swallowed by moss and age. The air smelled of salt, earth, and something older; something that didn’t belong to time.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

At the edge of a narrow ravine, Luke stopped. Before us stood a cave. Its mouth was a jagged wound in the rock, slick with mist, the darkness inside absolute. I felt it the moment we neared a thrumming in the Force, dense and cold and ancient. It wasn’t like the warmth of life I’d touched that morning. This was different. Heavier.

I knew what it was. Every student of Ossus knew the stories. The old places. Vergences. A place strong in the dark side.

Luke handed me the torch. “This place,” he said quietly, “will show you what you carry. The fears you refuse to name. The truth you won’t face.”

I stared into the black. “I’ve seen visions before.”

“Not like this.” His gaze met mine, and I saw something unspoken there. Regret. Sorrow. He’d stood at the edge of a cave like this once too.

“Do I take my saber?” I asked.

Luke shook his head. “The weapon won’t help you in there.”

My fingers brushed the hilt at my side. I left it, and stepped into the dark.

The air inside was cold, wet with condensation. The rock walls are slick and narrow, forcing me to move slowly. The torch hissed against the damp, sending strange shadows writhing along the stone. The deeper I went, the heavier the air became, until it felt like breathing through water.

And then I felt it. The shift. The Force thickened, a tangible presence, brushing against my skin like icy hands. My own heartbeat sounded unnaturally loud in my ears. I couldn’t tell how long I walked before the torch flickered out, leaving me in perfect darkness.

And then a voice. “You should’ve left me dead.”

I turned, and there he was. Ben. Not Kylo. Not the armored mask or the crimson saber. But Ben Solo, hair loose, eyes dark and ringed with exhaustion, face as I remembered it, and yet not.

He stepped forward from the shadows. “Why did you come here?” he asked, voice low, rough.

“To finish my training.” My voice didn’t waver.

“To kill me?”

I swallowed. “If I have to.”

The shadows shifted, and behind him I saw flashes; Starkiller’s fiery collapse, the ruined Jedi temple, the bodies of students I’d trained beside. Alana’s face twisted in death.

I flinched.

“You let them die,” Ben said, his voice cracking. “You weren’t there.”

“I tried-”

“Not hard enough.” The shadows twisted, and suddenly it wasn’t Ben before me, it was myself. Standing in Jedi robes, blood staining my hands, my braid gone, my saber burning crimson.

My voice. “You’ll be just like me.”

I stumbled back, shaking my head. “No.”

The other me smiled- cold, cruel. “We are what we’re made to be.”

I felt the bond again then; sharp, raw, like a fraying thread trying to hold something broken together, and in the depth of the Force, a question formed. Clear. Heavy.

Could you kill him?

Could I sever what bound us, finish what Luke began, and end him if it came to it? And if not- what would that make me?

What would it cost to save him? To lose him? The darkness pressed in, waiting for my answer. I gritted my teeth, lifted my chin.

“I don’t know,” I whispered into the dark. “But I’ll face it.” Just like that the weight broke.

The shadows peeled away. The stone walls softened, and the sound of the sea returned, distant but steady. I staggered out of the cave into the night, the stars overhead sharp and bright. The world felt heavier now. I carried the darkness with me, its weight clinging to my skin.

Luke waited a short distance away. I didn’t speak. I didn’t need to. He nodded, a quiet understanding in his eyes.

“The second lesson,” he said softly. “Is learning that fear never leaves you. You carry it. But it doesn’t have to be your master.”

I closed my eyes. Ben’s face still lingered in my mind. And the echo of my own voice, the one that wore a Sith’s saber. I was afraid, and I would go on anyway.

Because this was my path now.

The night was colder than any before. Mist clung to the grass and stones, swirling around my ankles as I stood on the edge of the cliffs. The sea stretched out forever, a dark, restless thing. The stars above were sharp, distant, but they felt no closer than they had the night Ben fell.

I couldn’t sleep. After the cave, everything in me felt stripped bare. I closed my eyes, breathing deep, letting the pulse of Ahch-To’s ancient Force surround me. I reached out carefully, like touching the edge of a blade I knew could cut me. I wasn’t trying to find him. I wasn’t calling. But it didn’t matter.

He was already there. Like a storm building on the horizon.

The air shifted warmer, heavier, and I felt it. A ripple across my senses, the world tilting. A bond too frayed to be cleanly severed.

My chest tightened, and then, like a memory came to life, I felt his presence. Ben, or whatever part of him was left.

The wind stilled. The sounds of the island faded, and suddenly he was there.

Not in the flesh. Not in any place I could reach. But through the bond. Through the Force. I opened my eyes and saw him standing not ten feet from me, outlined by the sea and sky. No mask. No armor. His hair loose in the wind, those too-familiar eyes locked onto mine.

He looked older, shadows beneath his eyes, weariness clinging to the lines of his face. It was him. Ben. The connection between us was so sharp it ached. Neither of us spoke at first.

The Force hummed around us like a taut wire, like a thread stretched too thin but refusing to snap. “You shouldn’t have come here.” His voice was low, raw. No threat in it. Just a tired truth.

I swallowed hard. “You started this. You reached for me first.” A flicker in his expression. Maybe guilt. Maybe regret. Or maybe just the weight of years that neither of us could unmake.

“I didn’t… mean to.” His jaw clenched. “It just… happens now.”

I could feel it. How the bond snapped awake in moments like this, when our shields were low, when memory ached, when the Force itself refused to let us forget.

“I saw you,” I whispered. “In the cave. I saw what you’ve become.”

A muscle jumped in his jaw. He stepped closer, barely, enough for me to feel the heat of him, even through the impossible distance the Force bridged.

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” I said, voice unsteady.

He laughed softly, bitterly, shaking his head. “You don’t understand.”

“Then tell me.”

His eyes locked onto mine, and for a single terrible second, I saw it. The grief. The anger. The ruin inside him. But buried beneath it, the boy who’d held my hand on Ossus, who sat with me under unfamiliar stars.

“It’s too late,” he said quietly. “For me. For us. I crossed the line, and you know what happens to people like me.”

I felt my throat tighten. “There’s still a way back.”

His expression cracked, a flicker of something so raw it made my chest ache. But then his face hardened again, a practiced mask settling over him. “You’d die trying to save me.”

“Then I’ll die,” I shot back, more fierce than I meant to. “But I won’t stop.”

The bond flared between us then sharp, bright, unbearable. A surge of shared memory, flashes of sparring rings and stolen moments in the dark, of laughter and pain, of blood on stone and the night the galaxy changed. His voice was a rasp.

“I don’t want to kill you.”

“Then don’t.”

The words hung between us, suspended in the space where the Force met memory, where past and future tangled together.

But his gaze dropped, and I knew it wouldn’t be enough. It wasn’t a matter of want anymore. It hadn’t been for a long time.

He reached up as if to touch my face, and though there was no real space to cross, I felt the ghost of his hand against my cheek, a warmth that shouldn’t have been possible. “I’m sorry.” It was barely a whisper.

And then like a candle snuffed out, the connection shattered. The night rushed back in. The sea roared. The stars wheeled overhead. The bond went silent, and I was alone on the cliffs.

Tears I hadn’t noticed blurred my vision. Somewhere far away, I felt him pull back into the dark, into the storm he’d made of himself, and I didn’t follow. Not tonight. I turned toward the path, back toward the ancient stones, my heart heavier but my steps steady. The third lesson would come.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The morning came slowly and gray. A cold mist hung low over the cliffs, turning the stones and ancient monoliths into pale silhouettes. The sea below churned with restless, sullen waves, the sky a bleached canvas of cloud. I stood alone at the edge of the ancient training ring, my hands curled into fists, the wind tugging at the braid against my collarbone.

I hadn’t slept. Not after what happened. Not after him. I could still feel the ghost of Ben’s hand against my cheek, the ache of the bond that shouldn’t have reopened. The words he’d said. The ones he didn’t.

I heard Luke approach before I saw him; not in sound, but in the shift of the air, the ripple of the Force that always accompanied his presence.

He stopped a few paces behind me, silent for a long time. When he spoke, his voice was soft. Tired. Like a man carrying every death in the galaxy on his shoulders.

“You reached for him.” Not an accusation. Not quite. Just a truth.

I swallowed hard, staring out at the sea. “I didn’t mean to.”

A quiet exhale. “But you did.”

I turned to face him, the wind stinging my eyes. Luke’s face was lined, beard catching the morning mist. His expression wasn’t angry. It was worse, resigned. Like he’d known this would happen the moment I set foot on the island.

“I told you it wouldn’t be clean,” he said quietly. “The bond between you… it’s older than you realize. Stronger than either of you know what to do with.”

I took a breath, my voice shaking. “I saw him, Luke. Not Kylo. Him.” A beat. “And for a moment… he wanted to come back.”

Luke’s jaw tightened. His eyes, so painfully blue, studied mine. “That’s the lie the darkness tells you.”

“It wasn’t a lie.” I didn’t realize how sharp the words came out until the silence after.

Luke looked away, staring toward the sea. “I thought I could save him once,” he said, voice rough with memory. “I thought if I just reached far enough… if I believed in him hard enough… I could turn back the tide.”

His gaze cut back to mine, and I saw it then; the old scar behind his eyes. The night the temple burned. “And it destroyed everything I loved.” The words hit like a blow, but I didn’t flinch.

“Then teach me how not to make your mistakes,” I said, voice low. “Because I’m not going to stop reaching for him, Master. I can’t.”

Something in his face cracked at the word Master. A flicker of what he used to be, before the failures, before the ghosts. He let out a long, uneven breath. “Then you’d better learn what it will cost you.”

He stepped past me, walking toward the center of the training ring, the ancient stones towering around him. “The third lesson begins now.” I followed. The weight of everything between us, between Ben and me, between what the galaxy wanted and what it demanded, hung heavy in the mist, but my feet didn’t falter.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The training ring was ancient.

Carved stones marked the perimeter, each worn by centuries of wind and rain, their surfaces etched with symbols of the old Jedi Order, older than the Republic, older than the wars. Moss clung to the cracks, and the ground beneath our feet was hard-packed earth turned slick by mist.

Luke stood at the center, lightsaber hilt in hand, the one I remembered from the old holos, from stories whispered by younglings at Ossus before the fall. The green blade hissed to life, casting pale light across his weathered face.

“This won’t be about winning,” he said. “It’s about balance. Focus. Control.” I unclipped my saber, fingers brushing the hilt’s familiar ridges; the sapphire band, the worn edges. I thumbed it to life. The pale blue light cut through the fog.

“Control over what?” I asked, my voice steady. He didn’t answer. He lunged.

The first clash of our sabers rang through the stones; sharp, electric. He pressed the advantage immediately, driving me back, testing my footing, my balance. His strikes were precise, measured, a master who knew every flaw in a stance, every hesitation in the swing of a saber.

I gritted my teeth, responding, falling into the old forms. Shii-Cho to Soresu, a sharp parry, a pivot through Makashi’s economy. But he was faster. Stronger. Not physically- in the Force.

He could feel where my mind slipped. “You’re thinking about him,” Luke said sharply as our blades locked. “About the bond.”

I shoved him back. “I’m here.”

“You’re divided.” He struck again, and as I moved to counter- it hit.

A pulse through the bond. A sharp, searing presence behind my eyes. Ben. I gasped, the world around me rippling. The cliffs faded. The sea was gone. I was somewhere else.

A corridor of black stone. Cold. Silent. Ben stood ahead of me, his face pale, eyes dark. No mask. No saber drawn. Just him. “You won’t win this,” he whispered. “Not like this.”

I felt the weight of his grief through the bond, how it clung to him like frostbite. And yet beneath it the boy I’d once known, flickering like a dying star. The real danger wasn’t his strength. It was my need to find him inside the wreckage.

“Come back,” I said, my voice trembling. His eyes flickered. And for a heartbeat, one single, terrible instant, I saw it. Ben. My Ben, and then it vanished. The vision snapped.

The world of Ahch-To returned in a burst of light and sound as Luke’s saber came down. I barely caught it, blue against green, the hum sharp in my ears.

“That’s what will get you killed,” Luke growled, his face inches from mine. “That. Right there.”

I shoved him back, breath ragged. “Then teach me how to shut it out!” I shouted, frustration breaking through my voice.

He disengaged his saber, stepping back, shaking his head. “You can’t.” A long beat. “The bond’s too deep. You’ll carry it until one of you ends it.”

I felt my throat tighten, the words choking me. “I don’t want to kill him.”

Luke’s gaze softened, something ancient and mournful behind his eyes. “And that… is exactly what the dark side will use against you.” The mist thickened around us, the training ring quiet now but for the sound of our breathing. My hands trembled around my hilt. The bond ached between us like a wound barely scabbed over.

And for the first time since Ossus, I realized Luke wasn’t trying to harden me into a weapon. He was trying to keep me alive. “The third lesson,” he said softly, “is understanding you can’t save everyone. And sometimes… the attempt is what breaks you.”

He deactivated his saber, clipping it to his belt, turning away toward the cliffs. “Rest. We’ll try again tomorrow.”

I stood alone in the mist, my saber dimming in my hand, the ache of Ben’s presence still lingering like a phantom pain. I didn’t know if I could sever it. I wasn’t sure I wanted to.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It had been months.

Months of dawn meditations. Of endless forms beneath the rising sun. Of sparring until my muscles screamed. Of lessons whispered in ancient tongues beside crumbling stone monuments. Of balance exercises so precise they stripped me raw, forcing me to unlearn years of what I thought I knew about the Force, and relearn it as something older, more elemental.

Luke was a harder teacher than I remembered. Not cruel, but relentless. There was no room for softness anymore. He didn’t flinch at my pain. He didn’t offer comfort. Only the next trial. The next lesson, but in the silence of the cliffs, I found strength I didn’t know I had.

[arianna-bradshaw]

The Weight of Heaven - Chapter Two

The Fall of The Jedi and Ben Solo

Summary: In the wake of Ben Solo turning to the darkside, Arianna navigates her role.

WC: 5.6k

~*~*~*~

I was twenty-three when Leia called for me. My Padawan braid hung to my hip now, my hair cropped just above it. It was my first solo mission, a detail for Leia herself, something Ben wasn’t allowed to take. I was proud, honored. The galaxy felt restless; a disturbance hummed at the edges of every meditation. Darkness lurked somewhere we couldn’t see.

For six months, I traveled with her. Protecting. Watching. Moving through shadowed systems in the Outer Rim. Communication with Ben was scarce; encrypted messages on datapads, fleeting moments between hyperjumps. I missed him more than I would admit.

And then, it happened.

We were standing in the control pit of Leia’s ship when the Force cracked like glass around me. I staggered, my breath catching in my throat. Pain lanced through my chest, a sudden, suffocating pressure. My knees hit the floor.

Voices blurred around me- alarmed, confused- but I couldn’t hear them.

I was sobbing before I knew it, my body trembling. A storm raged inside me, sorrow and fear and a cold emptiness like nothing I’d ever felt. So many… gone.

I reached, desperate, into the Force.

Searching for Luke; found him, barely. His presence was shredded, his emotions severed, distant and filled with a fear I’d never known in him.

But where was Ben?

I searched the Light. Nothing.

And then I remembered the dark.

I slipped into that space I hadn’t touched since my earliest days in meditation; that cold, shrouded place at the edge of awareness. And there, like a dying star in the void, was Ben. But he was not the boy I knew. His presence radiated fury, betrayal, grief, and something far worse; a seething, unnatural hunger that left me cold. It didn’t feel like him. And yet it was.

I called him through our bond.

Ben. Ben. Please.

But he didn’t answer.

I felt the bond tear, the warmth of his presence severing like a snapped thread, and then… nothing. He was gone. Not dead, but cut off, his side of our bond dark and empty.

A raw, broken sound tore from my throat as I crumpled against the cold floor. I barely registered Leia’s panicked voice as she knelt beside me, her data pad already in hand, desperately contacting Luke.

I reached into her mind, desperate to know. I heard it in Luke’s voice, transmitted through her: “He’s killed them. All of them.”

The words shattered something inside me. I felt it; the deaths, the blood in the Force, the silence where my brothers and sisters once shone. And in the middle of it, Ben, radiant in darkness. I’d always thought I’d see his eyes grow hard someday. I never imagined it would be like this.

Master Luke never came back for me.

Not after that night.

He left Ossus, vanishing from the threads of the Force as though he’d never existed. Not even Leia could feel him, no matter how hard she tried. It was as though the entire galaxy went dim; like a thousand lights snuffed out in one breath, and the one person who could guide me was swallowed by the void he couldn’t bear to face.

I stayed behind. The only Jedi left. No Master. No fellow Padawans. No Trials.

I refused to cut my braid.

It wasn’t mine to sever. I hadn’t earned my place. I was an abandoned Padawan with no future, no path forward, and no one left to lead me. So I stayed with Leia, folding myself into the ranks of the Resistance; fighting not as a Jedi Knight, but as something in between. A warrior trained in the old ways, orphaned by the Order that once promised peace.

I searched for Ben in the Force. For years. I reached out in meditations, through dreams, across battlefields and hyperspace. And though sometimes I felt a shadow, a flicker, it was never him. Only cold, empty space.

And yet I knew.

Even before the rumors began.

The whispers spoke of a man clad in black, of a crimson crossguard saber and a faceless mask, of the Knights of Ren rising from ash and blood under a new master. When the name Kylo Ren surfaced, it stole the breath from my lungs.

I remembered those old visions.

From Ilum. From nights meditating on the cliffs of Ossus. The cold mask. The eyes like dying suns. A face half-hidden by shadow. I had never known whose it was, but now… I understood.

I told Leia, and she only nodded, a sadness deeper than the galaxy in her gaze.

We knew he would come for Luke. I had seen it in flashes of a lightsaber igniting in the dark, of a confrontation under twin moons. Of anger, betrayal, and loss. So we searched for the map before he could find it first.

When Poe Dameron returned from Jakku, bearing BB-8 and the map’s fragment, it was the first proof of Kylo Ren’s face any of us had seen. I pulled the visions from Poe’s mind, searching every shattered memory for him; and there it was. That same cold mask, impassive and cruel, the one that had haunted my nightmares. My hand trembled as I let out a ragged breath, feeling the walls of the Resistance base close in around me.

And then… Han Solo arrived.

His presence filled the room like a storm breaking after years of drought. I had never met him, but the Force sang through his blood, carrying traces of Ben, of Leia, of a history written in rebellion and regret. I couldn’t stop staring.

R2-D2 woke soon after, completing the map. But something inside me warned it was already too late.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I left the base alone, in a stealth pod meant for covert operations, headed toward Tatooine to rally with old allies. But the further I traveled, the heavier the Force pressed against me; a suffocating, thick presence, like a storm building beneath my skin.

And then I heard it.

My name.

A whisper in the darkness of hyperspace, so close to my ear I flinched. I gasped, the Force around me closing like a fist. My hands fumbled at the controls as the world tilted. I fought it, throwing up mental barriers, shoving the invasive presence back, but it was powerful… vast… achingly familiar.

Ben.

The last thing I felt was his voice… not a word, but a presence. A shadow. And then blackness.

I woke up to cold metal.

The room was dim, its walls gleaming like oil, reflecting the pale light of overhead panels. A sterile, crushing silence pressed in around me. My wrists and ankles were bound in heavy, cold restraints bolted to a wide metal table. I could feel the slick chill of them against my skin.

I struggled, reaching instinctively for the Force. The bonds didn’t yield. My abilities, stifled by whatever dampeners they’d placed in the walls, sputtered against them. My breathing came fast and uneven. The air here tasted sterile, metallic, laced with something sharp.

Then I felt him.

A familiar darkness moving closer. A storm on the horizon. The hiss of compressed air sounded as the door slid open. And there he was.

Clad in flowing black robes, the polished obsidian of his mask gleaming in the low light, Kylo Ren entered with slow, unhurried steps. The cold of him reached me before his voice did, a sick, distorted echo of the presence I’d once known. The contrast between us was striking; my robes still Jedi tan, leather straps frayed from battle and age, the braid at my shoulder a stubborn relic of a life long abandoned.

I felt my lip tremble before I forced myself still.

“Still a Padawan, I see.” The voice that came from the mask was low, modulated, edged with mockery.

I swallowed hard, scanning what little I could of him beneath the armor, searching for a fragment of Ben. “Take off the mask, Ben,” I whispered, my voice shaking. The name slipped out like a wound reopening.

A sharp, furious snarl cut through the modulator as his gloved hand slammed against the black marble wall, the crack of it echoing through the chamber. I flinched, not from fear, but from the rawness of it.

“Ben Solo is dead.” He leaned over me, his presence pressing down, dark and cold as midnight ice. “I killed him.”

I reached for his mind- instinctive, desperate, but his defenses were a fortress. He felt me, and in turn, struck back, a sharp jab into my own thoughts. We fought in the space between, neither breaking through, but the connection lingered like a phantom touch.

His gloved hand rose to the helmet’s release. A hiss of hydraulics. The mask lifted.

And my breath shattered.

Ben’s face; older, harder, scarred by choices he could never undo- stared down at me. But it wasn’t his face that broke me. It was his eyes. They were no longer soft brown, but cold, glinting with something unnatural, sharpened by pain and hatred and years lost to shadow.

Tears gathered in my eyes before I could stop them.

“Ben… please.” My voice cracked. “Leia misses you. I-” I hesitated, choking on the words. “I miss you.”

Something flickered. A twitch in his jaw. A hesitation in the tension of his shoulders.

His hand reached for the hilt at his waist. The lightsaber ignited with a furious snap-hiss, unstable, blood-red plasma crackling, its crossguard vents hissing like a beast. It wasn’t the saber I’d seen him build at sixteen, the clean, precise weapon of a Padawan. This was crude, savage, seething.

He brought it close, the heat of it searing the air between us.

I stared into his eyes. And for the smallest moment- barely more than a breath- something inside them softened. Not enough to save him. Not enough to save us. But enough to remember.

He wrenched his gaze away, snatched his mask from the table, and stormed out.

The door hissed shut with a finality that felt like a blade driving through my chest. The room fell into a suffocating silence, broken only by the faint hum of the restraints locking me down and the fading warmth of his lightsaber’s heat lingering in the air.

I didn’t move. Couldn’t.

My throat ached from holding in the sob that threatened to rise. The tears that clung to my lashes blurred the sharp edges of the cold, black ceiling above me. But I didn’t let them fall.

I reached out into the Force.

For him.

I didn’t know why- instinct, memory, foolish hope, but I searched for that familiar warmth, that thread of tethered light that had once braided itself with mine so easily. I reached, stretching beyond the walls of the room, past the fortress of metal and darkness around me.

And I felt him.

Farther away now, like a dying ember buried under ash. A storm of anger and hurt and madness twisting inside him. But beneath it, something small. A flicker. A scar left behind.

The moment I touched it, it recoiled. Walls slammed up so violently it left my head pounding.

And then it was gone.

I sucked in a ragged breath, tears spilling over now. My body ached; not from the restraints, but from the crushing sense of absence, like a limb had been severed. The absence of him.

Ben Solo was no more.

I closed my eyes, trying to calm my racing heart. I reached again, not for him, but for Leia. Across the galaxy. Across impossible distances. She was always harder to reach than Ben, her presence steady, disciplined, but she was still there. She had to be.

Leia.

I sent it through the Force, a desperate, trembling plea.

I’m here. I’m alive. He-

A jolt. A spark.

I felt her. Faint, like a beacon dimmed by distance, but unmistakable. A wave of sorrow and resolve met me. She was alive. She was searching for me.

The door hissed open again.

I froze, heart leaping, but it wasn’t him. A masked figure in black, one of the Knights of Ren- the one called Varn, stepped in, his heavy boots muffled against the dark floor. He carried a slender electro-prod in one hand, its tip sparking faintly. I recognized him from scattered Resistance intel. Ruthless. Sadistic.

I schooled my face into calmness.

“Move her to the central chamber,” he ordered someone behind him. “He wants her alive. And on her knees.”

Two more soldiers entered- First Order guards clad in white armor streaked with crimson insignia. They moved toward me without a word, one tapping a control panel on the wall that released my restraints.

My limbs felt like dead weight, but I clenched my jaw, refusing to show them weakness.

The guards grabbed my arms, dragging me upright. Pain shot through my shoulders, my legs buckling briefly as the cold of the floor met my bare feet. The edges of my vision swam. But I steadied myself, lifting my chin as they forced me forward.

The hallway outside was long and sterile, a corridor of gleaming black, lined with low lights that hummed a steady, oppressive tone. The air smelled of ozone and fuel.

I kept my mind quiet. Let them think I was broken. But beneath my skin, the Force hummed.

I couldn’t overpower them. Not here. Not like this.

But I could wait.

I let my mind drift ahead, trying to sense where they were taking me, but the entire base was a storm of dark energy, too many minds clouded with fear and obedience. I couldn’t find his signature.

But I would.

They dragged me into a vast chamber; circular, lined with towering pylons and a raised platform at its center. A single, obsidian throne sat at the far end, and standing before it was him.

Helmet back on. Lightsaber at his belt. Black robes rippled with every breath.

The guards forced me to my knees. My braid brushed the floor, the loose strands of my hair falling into my face. I didn’t lift my head yet. I could feel his gaze.

Heavy. Piercing. Unforgiving.

The chamber door sealed behind me, and silence fell.

And then his voice, low and steady through the vocoder: “Leave us.”

The guards hesitated. The Knights shifted.

“Now.” The room emptied, their retreating footsteps fading until the chamber was still. Only then did I slowly raise my eyes.

He was standing at the edge of the dais, staring down at me.

Neither of us spoke. The tension between us felt like a live wire in the Force, humming and sparking in the space between. His anger still radiated; but so did something else. Something quieter. A deep ache neither of us could name.

I hated him at that moment.

Hated him for what he’d done. For who he’d become. For taking my home, my family, my future. For leaving me stranded in this war-torn life where every face I’d loved was either dead or lost to the dark.

But gods, I loved him too. And that was the worst of it. I drew a breath, stealing my voice.

“Why am I here, Kylo?” I refused to use his title.

His head tilted, the mask reflecting the cold lights above. “Because you’re mine.” His words came like a verdict.

I felt it before I heard it; that old, fractured thread of connection between us, still tethered, frayed and blackened, but there.

And in that instant, I knew he didn’t intend to let me go.

I forced myself to breathe evenly, even as the pressure of his presence pressed down on me like a storm. It filled the chamber, thick as smoke, a crackle in the air that made my skin prickle. My knees ached against the cold floor, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of shifting.

“I’m not yours,” I said quietly, but the words trembled more than I meant them to.

The mask tilted again, the black void of its eye slits fixing on me, and a low, humorless chuckle crackled through the vocoder.

“You always were,” Kylo said, stepping down from the dais with slow, measured steps. Each one sent a ripple through the Force, a pulse of heat and darkness like a tide rolling toward me. “Even back on Ossus. You just didn’t see it yet. But I did.”

I clenched my fists against the floor, my nails biting into my palms. “You saw nothing. You left nothing. You destroyed everyone we loved. Everyone who believed in you.”

His steps slowed, halting a pace in front of me. I could see my reflection in the polished black of his chestplate, a shadow of the girl I used to be.

“They were weak,” he hissed, voice lower now, bitter with venom. “They betrayed me. Lied to me. Luke…” The name twisted from him like a curse. “He raised his saber against me. You saw it.”

I remembered that vision. The flicker of Luke standing over him in the darkness, saber ignited, sorrow on his face. I didn't want to believe it. The hurt and betrayal radiating from Ben in that moment. I remembered not knowing what was real, what was true.

But it didn’t excuse this. It never could.

I lifted my chin, my eyes sharp and unflinching. “And what are you now? A coward hiding behind a mask? A slave to the darkness you swore you’d never fall to?”

For a moment, the Force stilled.

Then, without warning, his gloved hand snapped out, seizing my jaw. The leather was cold, rough against my skin, and the pressure made my teeth ache. “Careful.” His voice dropped to a rough whisper. “You forget where you are.”

But I could feel it, the storm inside him. Rage, yes. Pain. But tangled deep within, beneath the hate and power, was a hollow place where something like grief still lived.

I didn’t look away.

“Take off the mask,” I whispered again. “If you’re so sure of who you are now… look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t feel it.”

The fingers on my jaw twitched. I felt the ripple in him, the old bond tugging, frayed and fragile.

His thumb brushed against my cheek without meaning to- a touch so fleeting it felt like it might undo us both. Then he jerked his hand away like he’d touched fire.

A sharp breath hissed through his modulator. He stepped back. One pace. Two. His hand reached for his helmet’s release.

The hydraulics hissed. The mask lifted.

And there he was.

Ben Solo’s face, but altered. Older. Angrier. His jaw clenched as he studied me, those sharp dark eyes burning into mine.

And gods; for a second, the bond between us flared to life. Not like it used to be. Twisted, tangled, but still there. I felt it. He did too.

He exhaled, shaking his head like it physically pained him to feel it. “It’s too late,” he rasped. And for the first time, it was his voice. Ben’s. Not Kylo’s.

I swallowed thickly. “It doesn’t have to be.”

His expression cracked, just a fraction. A tremor in his brow, a flicker in his eyes. Then the walls slammed up again.

His face went cold, hard, the mask of Kylo Ren settling without the helmet. “You’ll see it soon enough. You’ll see them for what they are.”

He stepped forward, leaning down, his face inches from mine. His voice lowered, like a secret meant for only us. “I didn’t bring you here to kill you.” A beat. “I brought you here because you’re the only thing in this galaxy that ever mattered to me.”

And with that, he straightened, turned, and strode from the chamber, his robes sweeping behind him like smoke.

The door sealed shut, and I was left alone, the echo of his words hanging in the air like a noose tightening around my throat.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The hours after he left were a blur.

I stayed on my knees long after the guards returned, dragging me back through the cold, silent halls to a cell buried deep in the belly of Starkiller Base. The small chamber was bare, a slab cot bolted to the wall, walls so smooth and black they reflected my face back at me, pale and hollow-eyed.

I couldn’t sense him anymore. Couldn’t reach Leia. The Force here was thick, warped by pain and death, the lingering ghosts of those slaughtered at the academy still trapped in the walls. Their fear clung to the air like smoke.

I tried to meditate. To steady my mind. But every time I closed my eyes, I saw his face. Ben’s face. The raw flicker of something human in him when he spoke those words.

“You’re the only thing that ever mattered to me.”

I didn’t know if it was a confession, a curse, or a warning. Then… distant, faint, I felt it. A ripple in the Force. Not Kylo. Not the Knights. Something bright, fast, reckless.

Poe.

I shot upright, my heart kicking hard in my chest, and a moment later, the distant wail of alarms filled the base.

The lights in my cell flickered. The ground trembled beneath me, a dull, thunderous rumble carrying through the floor. Shouts echoed down the hallway, the rapid fire of blasters in the distance. I reached out, straining through the chaotic tangle of fear and rage, and there; bright as a flare, was Finn. And beside him, a presence I’d only felt once before but knew immediately.

Han Solo.

And Chewbacca.

They were here.

They were coming for me.

A surge of desperate hope swelled in my chest, and I sprang to my feet just as the outer door of the detention wing exploded inward in a shower of sparks and smoke.

The air filled with the sharp scent of scorched metal and the high-pitched whine of blasters. A squad of First Order troopers went down fast under a volley of fire; bolts searing through armor, bodies crumpling before they even hit the floor.

Out of the smoke strode Poe Dameron, his blaster raised, face fierce and determined. “Found her!” he shouted over his shoulder.

Finn was right behind him, panting, wide-eyed and armed with a stolen rifle. Han Solo limped in last, looking exactly as world-weary and pissed-off as Leia always described him, with Chewbacca at his side, bowcaster charged.

“Get those restraints open!” Han barked, already firing another shot over Poe’s shoulder as more troopers rounded the corner.

Finn stumbled to my cell door, frantically working the control panel. “Hang on- hang on- I got it-”

The lock released with a heavy clunk. Before the door even finished sliding open, I was moving. I didn’t think. I threw my arms around Finn, gripping him like a lifeline, and for a second his surprise gave way to fierce relief as he hugged me back.

“Took you long enough,” I rasped against his shoulder.

Poe grinned as he grabbed my arm. “Come on, we’re not done yet.”

Han stepped into view then, blaster smoking, his gaze sharp as it raked over me. “You’re the one Leia sent us for?” His voice was rough but there was something kinder beneath it.

“Yeah,” I managed, breathless. “And if we don’t go now, we’re all dead.”

A fresh wave of troopers came charging down the hallway. “Move!” Han snapped.

Chewie let out a furious roar and leveled his bowcaster, the blast sending two troopers flying into the wall. The rest of us sprinted, our boots pounding against the cold floor as the base rocked around us.

I kept to Poe’s side, his arm briefly steadying me when a blast rocked too close.

“We’ve got a ship,” he called. “North hangar, past the oscillator tower.”

I nodded, already reaching out through the Force. I could still feel him, Kylo, somewhere deep in the fortress, a thundercloud on the horizon. I didn’t tell them. I didn't want them to feel what I did.

He knew I was gone.

And he was coming.

The alarms screamed overhead, drowning out every other sound except the relentless pounding of my heart. The base shook beneath our feet, deep vibrations rattling through the metal floor. Somewhere far above, the Starkiller’s weapon was priming, the distant whine of its core rising, a horrible, monstrous thing that seemed to pull at the very air.

Time was running out.

We reached an intersection where the corridor split into two wide halls, each one humming with energy conduits and flickering crimson lights.

Poe skidded to a halt beside me, checking the schematics on the cracked screen of his wrist console.

“There’s a control node near the oscillator,” he shouted over the alarms. “Finn and I’ll hit it- try to delay the weapon charge.”

Finn’s face was pale but set in hard, determined lines. “You sure about this?” I asked him, a knot forming in my chest.

He gave a shaky grin. “I’m already deeper than I planned. Might as well finish it.”

Poe gripped my shoulder briefly. “Get to the main oscillator- plant the charges. If you run into trouble, keep moving.” I nodded.

And then they were gone, sprinting down the left corridor, their blasters drawn, vanishing into the smoke and flickering lights. I turned to Han and Chewie. Han Solo was leaning against the wall, catching his breath, sweat clinging to his temple. He glanced over at me with that rough, sardonic expression of his, eyes sharp even now.

“Ready, kid?”

“Let’s end this,” I breathed. We moved fast through the narrowing corridors. The walls here were lined with thick cables, the glow of Starkiller’s energy build-up bleeding through every surface, a sickly red light that painted Han’s face in sharp shadows.

I kept reaching out into the Force, feeling him. Kylo. Ben.

He was near. Growing closer with every step. A storm of fury and something else… a tension, a hesitation.

I didn’t tell Han. He already knew.

The room at the end of the corridor opened into a vast, hollow chasm; a hangar-sized abyss, stretching endlessly down into darkness. A narrow bridge spanned the gap, connecting the catwalk to the heart of the oscillator core.

And there, on the far side, stood Kylo Ren. Alone. Waiting.

The red glow from the walls illuminated him in stark contrast; his dark robes rippling in the heat, his mask catching the crimson light. He stood motionless, saber hilt at his side, like a shadow given form.

Han stopped.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

The tension thickened, heavy and suffocating. I felt Chewie shift beside me, his massive hand tightening around his bowcaster. The grief in him was a palpable, aching thing.

And then Han spoke. “Ben!”

His voice cracked across the space, raw, unguarded. Not Kylo. Not a monster. Ben.

Kylo turned, slowly, lifting his head. The mask turned toward us, toward Han, and something inside me twisted so hard I almost fell to my knees.

“Han, don’t-” I whispered, reaching for him, but he was already moving, stepping out onto the bridge. Chewie let out a low, warning growl. I felt his pain like a wound.

I took a step forward, but Han shot me a look. Not angry, pleading.

Stay.

I froze. The bridge seemed endless as Han crossed it, each step echoing through the vast chamber. The glow from the weapon core pulsed, the whine of the priming weapon growing louder.

I reached out through the Force, brushing against Ben’s presence. It was unstable. Turbulent. And for the first time in years- afraid.

Han stopped a few paces from him. “Take off that mask,” Han called. “You don’t need it. Come home. We miss you.”

Kylo’s hand twitched at his side. A long, endless silence stretched between them, and then he reached up, fingers unclasping the helmet’s release. The hiss of air escaped as the mask came free.

And it was Ben’s face. Sweat-damp hair falling around his cheekbones, dark eyes rimmed red. He looked so young. And so lost.

My breath hitched. Chewie let out a soft, pained groan behind me. Ben stepped closer to Han, and his voice; his real voice, raw and splintered; carried across the bridge.

“I know… what I have to do. But I don’t know if I have the strength to do it.”

Han’s face broke, his expression softening in a way I’d never seen.

“You do,” he said gently. “You still do.”

Ben extended his hand, offering up his saber, and the world seemed to hold its breath. I felt it. A tremor in the Force. A flicker of light, of possibility. For a fraction of a second, Ben Solo was there. The boy from Ossus. The boy I sat beside beneath starlit skies.

And then the core above them surged, bathing the chamber in a flare of red light. Ben’s eyes hardened.

I screamed before it happened , “Han-!” The saber ignited, a violent burst of crimson through Han’s chest. Time shattered.

Chewie roared, a sound of unimaginable grief. My knees hit the floor. The bond between Ben and me snapped taut, burning with pain, and then he severed it himself.

I felt it tear away. Han’s hand lifted, brushing Ben’s face one last time, then he fell. Tumbling down into the endless dark. The world collapsed into fury and heartbreak.

Chewie raised his bowcaster and fired, shot after shot, Kylo staggering back, howling, the bolts burning through his side.

“Move!” I choked out, dragging myself up. We ran as the oscillator exploded in a burst of flame and debris, the floor trembling violently. The weapon core cracked, brilliant light searing up through the walls.

Ben, Kylo, was still alive, and we would meet again. But not tonight.

Chewie grabbed me by the arm and we sprinted for the Falcon’s hangar bay, the entire base coming down around us. The sound of Starkiller’s final scream chased us through the corridors as the sky above the planet split apart.

And I left a part of my heart behind on that bridge.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The Falcon's hold was quiet. The hum of the engines, the soft rattle of loose tools in the walls, and the distant beep of the nav systems were the only sounds. I sat slumped against one of the durasteel walls, my legs pulled to my chest, my face buried in my arms. The stench of blaster scorches and blood still clung to my robes.

Chewbacca sat across from me, his head bowed low. The massive Wookiee hadn’t made a sound since we jumped to lightspeed, his grief a massive, aching weight in the Force. I didn’t try to reach him. Some wounds couldn’t be touched.

The pain radiating from him mirrored my own. Ben was gone. And Han… Han was dead.

I gripped the end of my braid, the long Padawan cord heavy in my palm, frayed at the end, streaked with soot. I couldn’t let go of it. It was the last piece of the life I’d built. And it was over now.

Leia was waiting for us back at the Resistance base. I wasn’t ready to see her. But I owed it to her.

When we landed, the hangar was packed with Resistance soldiers, mechanics, medics moving like ghosts in the aftermath of battle. The base had survived, but barely. Poe met me at the base of the ramp, his eyes dark with exhaustion and grief. He didn’t say anything; just pulled me into a rough hug, holding me tighter than he probably meant to.

I let it happen. I needed it more than I admitted, and then I saw her.

Leia stood alone near the command platform, her face pale and still. She didn’t cry. She didn’t flinch when she saw me. She just came forward, and without a word, gathered me into her arms.

And for the first time since that bridge, I broke. I sobbed against her shoulder, the grief I’d kept buried in that dark cell and running through Starkiller’s corridors pouring out of me like a dam breaking. She held me, one hand cradling the back of my head, the other at my back.

“I know,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “I felt it.”

She had. She’d felt every moment. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t tell her the things I’d seen in Ben’s face. The moments where the boy we loved flickered to the surface, then drowned in fury. She already knew. The ache in her presence told me she’d known for a long time.

When I finally pulled back, her eyes shone with tears that hadn’t yet fallen.

“I tried,” I rasped. “Leia… I tried to bring him home.”

Her thumb brushed my cheek, brushing away a tear. “I know you did.” A beat. “He still loves you, you know.”

The words struck a nerve so deep it almost undid me again. I swallowed hard. “That’s not enough anymore.”

She nodded, understanding in her gaze. She looked older now- not just in years, but in soul. We’d both lost so much. And part of me knew the galaxy might never heal from what happened in that place.

“There’s something else,” I said, my voice quiet. Leia waited, sensing what I hadn’t spoken yet. “I can’t… stay like this. Not half-trained. Not half a Jedi.” I gripped the braid in my hand. “If I don’t finish this, I’ll never be able to face him again. Not as I am.”

Leia’s lips trembled, and then she nodded. “You have to go to Luke.”

The name felt like a wound. He was a ghost now- hiding somewhere in the galaxy’s shadow. “I wish I could stop you,” she said softly. “But you were never meant to stay behind.”

She pulled me into one last embrace, pressing her lips to my temple like a mother to a child. “Finish your training,” she whispered. “And when the time comes… bring my son home.”

I wasn’t sure it was possible. Not anymore. But for her, and for the ashes of the boy I’d loved, I would try.

[arianna-bradshaw]

The Weight of Heaven - Chapter One

The Prologue

Summary: In the aftermath of the Jedi Order’s fall, Arianna, the last surviving Padawan of Luke Skywalker’s academy, is left stranded between the broken pieces of her past and the war-torn galaxy’s uncertain future. Haunted by visions, grief, and the enduring bond she shares with Ben Solo, Arianna walks the razor’s edge between light and darkness. The last Padawan. The fallen heir. One final bond to save the galaxy.

WC: 3.1k

Rating: Mature 18+

~*~*~*~

Ossus was nothing like my home. Where I came from, the world was made of sand; endless golden seas that stretched into the horizon, dunes that rolled like waves frozen in time. The sun beat down mercilessly, a harsh, unyielding orb that turned the days into blinding heat and the nights into brittle, empty cold. Dust clung to everything: your clothes, your hair, your skin, your lungs. I’d grown up with it beneath my fingernails, between my teeth, lining every crevice of the house no matter how many times my mother swept.

I never minded it, or thought to mind it, until I set foot on Ossus.

The planet shimmered with color and life in a way I’d never imagined. Orange plateaus jutted into the sky, their surfaces carved by time and wind, while dark, slate-gray mountains formed a jagged crown around the horizon. Rivers of deep green forests spilled down from the highlands, their canopies dense and soft-looking. The ground beneath my feet was soft and springy, thick with moss and grass. I remember curling my toes into it, half expecting the irritating cling of sand, but instead it was cool, clean, it felt like it was humming.

And it was.

Ossus thrummed with the Force. It wasn’t just something you felt in your heart or in your mind; it was in the air itself, in the trees, in the stones, in every patch of lichen and rush of wind. It was a quiet, endless current just beneath the surface of everything, as though the planet itself was alive, aware, and waiting. It was beautiful… and it was terrifying.

I’d come a long way from Tatooine.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I was six the day Leia Organa came to our home. I didn’t know who she was, not really. I’d heard stories from my father, about the princess who’d fought against the Empire, about the battles she’d led and the worlds she’d saved. But in person, she wasn’t a story. She was a tall, dark-haired woman with tired eyes and a kind, steady voice. She wore simple clothes the color of stone and dust, and her presence filled the tiny kitchen like she didn’t even have to try.

I only remember flashes of that day. The low murmur of their voices behind the half-closed kitchen door. The way my mother’s hand trembled slightly as she cupped my cheek before sending me outside to play. The boy waiting in the sun-drenched courtyard, watching me with sharp, curious eyes.

His name was Ben.

He was seven, a year older than me, dressed in tan tunics and worn boots, with dark hair that hung a little long over his brow and deep brown eyes that missed nothing. He grinned when he saw me, like we were already friends.

“I’m Ben,” he said. “Wanna see my lightsaber?”

I didn’t know what that was, not really, but I nodded. He didn’t have a real one; just a stick he swung around like the Jedi in the old holos. I showed him my collection of carved stones and my battered little hover-toy. We spent the afternoon racing through the dusty yard, pretending to be pilots and warriors, building forts out of scrap metal and dreaming about things we didn’t understand.

When the sun began to sink low, staining the sand pink and gold, my parents called me inside. My mother’s eyes were glassy, and my father’s jaw was set. They held me too tight, like they were trying to memorize the feel of me.

“I have to go with her,” I whispered, sensing what they wouldn’t say.

My mother nodded, pressing a rough-spun pack into my hands. “You’re special,” she said, her voice breaking. “And it’s time you learned what that means.”

I don’t remember much of the trip to Chandrila, except the way the stars looked from the viewport. I’d never left the planet before. Leia held my hand as the starship lifted off, and I stared down at Tatooine shrinking away beneath us, a little marble of dust and rock. It was the first time I realized how small it really was.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

We spent a week on Chandrila. It was nothing like home either- green hills, silver rivers, and clean air that smelled of rain. Leia met with her brother, Master Luke Skywalker. I’d heard his name whispered like a legend. I caught only glimpses of him at first: a tall man in dark robes, his face quiet and unreadable, his presence… vast. Like a mountain or a storm cloud.

Leia explained it to me over cups of something warm and sweet I couldn’t name. “You have the Force inside you,” she said gently. “I felt it the moment I set foot on your world. It’s like a star… you just don’t know how to use it yet.”

I didn’t really understand what that meant. I’d heard stories of Jedi in old bedtime tales; knights with lightsabers who fought for peace and freedom, who could move stones with their minds and hear whispers in the wind. I’d never thought it was real. I’d certainly never thought it had anything to do with me.

Ben and I sat outside a few days before I was set to leave. We lay in the grass, staring up at the pale lavender sky, the leaves rustling overhead.

“I’m gonna be a Jedi,” he announced suddenly, a grin pulling at his mouth. “Uncle Luke says I’m Force-sensitive too. Mom’s being stubborn about when I can go though.”

“So you’ll be at the Academy with me?” I asked, my heart leaping at the idea.

He shrugged, plucking a leaf and twisting it between his fingers. “Not yet. She says I have to be ten. Guess I’ll catch up later.”

I stared at the grass, blinking fast, the ache of the week catching up with me all at once. “I won’t know anyone there,” I whispered.

Ben looked over at me, his brow furrowed. “Hey,” he reached over and grabbed my hand, his grip warm and steady. “You’re a Jedi now. That means you’re part of a family. You’ll meet others like us… people who can feel the Force too. You’ll never be alone.”

It was the kindest thing anyone had ever said to me.

When Master Luke came for me, I hugged Ben so tightly my knuckles went white. “Promise you’ll come soon,” I demanded, my voice thick with tears.

“I will,” he promised.

Luke knelt in front of me, his presence like a quiet wind moving through the leaves. His eyes met mine, and he took my hand in his.

“Are you ready?” he asked softly. I nodded, setting my jaw like I’d seen Leia do, and hoisted my pack onto my shoulders. I was leaving everything behind. But for the first time, I was stepping toward something too.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Jedi training was far more demanding than I’d imagined.

When I was a child on Tatooine, the stories made it sound like Jedi sprang into the world with a lightsaber in one hand and wisdom in the other. I’d imagined battles with Sith, soaring through the stars, and lifting stones with a flick of my wrist. But the reality of it was… quieter. And harder.

The first few weeks, we barely touched a lightsaber.

We spent long hours seated on the ancient stone terraces of Ossus, the moss cool and damp beneath our bare feet, our hands pressed to the earth. Master Luke would sit cross-legged in front of us, his voice low and steady as he guided us through the simplest, and perhaps most difficult, lesson: to listen. To feel the Force moving in the ground, the air, the branches above our heads. To find ourselves within that current, and let it carry us.

“Close your eyes,” he’d instruct. “Breathe in. Breathe out. The Force surrounds you- reach for it.”

I remember the frustration. The way my mind wandered to home, to my parents, to the taste of sweet fruit and the sting of sandstorms. I would open my eyes and see the other initiates sitting motionless around me, the younger ones fidgeting like I did, the older ones serene and still. I envied them. In those early days, there was no time for friendships. We were all adjusting, all learning how to balance discipline, solitude, and the strange, weightless feeling of leaving your old life behind.

We read ancient texts, old codices on the origins of the Jedi Order, on the Living Force and the Cosmic Force, on peace, serenity, knowledge, and restraint. I struggled to keep my place in the endless pages of history and philosophy. The days bled into one another. Training in the morning, study in the afternoon, meditation at dusk. The sounds of the forests became my new lullaby.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When I was seven, we began to train with lightsabers.

Not real ones at first, practice blades, with dulled edges and humming energy fields. For the first time, I felt something click inside me. Where sensing the Force through meditation was a challenge, combat felt natural. The rhythm of footwork, the heat of a duel, the sharp scent of ozone in the air, I could lose myself in it.

I beat older students often, sometimes too easily.

Master Luke began watching me closely. He would step into the ring after a match and place a hand on my shoulder, his voice calm but firm.

“Your instinct is strong,” he’d say. “But control is the heart of the Jedi way. To defend, not to dominate. Defeat without compassion leads only to emptiness.”

I tried. But there was a quiet hunger in me when I fought, a sharpness I couldn’t name.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

At eight, I faced my greatest trial yet: The Gathering.

Master Luke led a group of us to Ilum, the ancient, icy planet where generations of Jedi had journeyed to find their kyber crystals. The trip was long, the air in the ship growing colder the closer we got, the Force on Ilum unlike anything I’d ever felt; ancient, vast, and watchful.

The ice caverns stretched deep beneath the surface, shimmering walls of blue and white that reflected and distorted our forms. Each of us was sent into the caves alone, to search for the crystal that called to us. The darkness was thick, the cold sharp in my lungs. I walked for what felt like hours, my footsteps echoing.

I faced visions; shadowy shapes, fears I didn’t understand then: my parents’ faces fading away, Ben calling for me from the other side of a chasm I couldn’t cross. I pressed on, my heart pounding, my fingers numb.

Then I felt it.

A pulse… a gentle tug in the chest, as though an invisible thread had tied itself to my heart and was pulling me forward. I followed it through a narrow passage, my breath fogging before me. At the end of a crystalline chamber, half-buried in frost, a light blue kyber crystal gleamed.

When I reached for it, it was like grabbing a star. A rush of light, warmth, and a thousand images behind my eyes. I saw flashes of faces I didn’t know, of planets I’d never seen. Ben’s eyes, older, sadder, sharper. I stumbled, the world tilting, but I didn’t let go.

I carried that crystal back to the ship, my hand clutching it so tightly my palm bled. A week later, in the forge, I built my lightsaber. The hilt was simple, but uniquely mine: brushed metal with sharp, carved swirls around the emitter, a band of sapphire in the middle, black ridges at the grip. When I ignited the blade for the first time; the clear, crackling blue light springing to life, I felt something settle inside me.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

At nine, the Academy became a home. I finally made a friend. Alana. She was a year younger, quick-witted, and sharp-tongued. Her hair was a thick tangle of black curls, and she hadn’t earned her crystal yet. But she was quick on her feet, especially in the sparring ring, and she wasn’t afraid to laugh at me when I lost my balance during meditation practice. We studied together in the archives, poring over maps of the Outer Rim and long, tedious scrolls about trade agreements and planetary governments.

I still counted down the days until Ben came.

When he finally arrived, everything shifted. He looked older- not much, but enough. His face was more angular, his hair longer, brushing his shoulders in dark waves. I spotted him across the courtyard, leaning against a tree with his arms crossed, a cocky grin on his face as he watched a sparring match between two boys.

I didn’t think. I ran.

“You’re finally here!” I grinned, throwing my arms around him. He laughed and hugged me tightly, his taller frame grounding me in a way no one else did.

“Miss me or something?” he teased. We picked up where we left off like no time had passed.

Ben advanced quickly. It was like the Force bent for him; the way his lightsaber moved through the air, the way he grasped complex concepts in minutes. It wasn’t arrogance, though he was never short on confidence. It was something in his blood. In his name. I admired him for it, envied it sometimes too.

At thirteen, I was named a Padawan. Master Luke himself performed the ceremony, his hands steady as he braided a thin strand of my hair, weaving in a lock of his own and tying it with green and yellow beads. The green for the Living Force, the yellow for combat. The braid hung past my shoulder while the rest of my hair was cut to my collarbone. I’d never felt prouder.

Ben was named a Padawan a year later. We trained together, sparred endlessly, and began our first missions. The galaxy was at peace, but conflict smoldered in forgotten corners. Trade disputes, blood feuds between clans on lawless worlds, quiet rebellions against governors. We were sent to defend the fragile threads of order, to protect where we could.

Between missions, we meditated. Sparred. Debated endlessly in the archives. I grew strong in the Force, able to move objects, shield myself from blaster fire, summon my saber to hand without thought. Master Luke said I was gifted in sensing the future, often glimpsing moments before they came, catching shadows of what might be.

At eighteen, Ben and I ached for the Trials. But Master Luke held us back, insisting we needed balance. That power without wisdom was a danger, that we must understand both the light and the shadow within us before we could face the final test.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I slipped out of my hut long after the twin moons had risen, the soft glow of Ossus casting silver light over the sleeping enclave. The night air was cool and carried the scent of salt and moss from the nearby sea. The soft crunch of my boots over damp grass felt deafening in the stillness, and I held my breath as I crept past the other huts. My datapad was tucked into the waist of my robes, just in case, though I knew I wouldn’t need it.

I barely spared a glance at Master Luke’s dwelling as I passed. His presence in the Force was steady, distant; I hoped he slept, or pretended not to notice where I was going.

At the edge of the cliffs, the forest gave way to open sky. The sound of waves crashing against jagged rock filled the air, a rhythmic, endless pulse that calmed the racing in my chest. The sky was so vast out here. A sprawling canvas of deep indigo, scattered with cold, brilliant stars. I felt small beneath it. Insignificant, and yet somehow more connected to everything than I had ever been.

I knelt in the grass at the cliff’s edge, closed my eyes, and reached out.

The Force stirred, familiar and steady; a living thread woven through the moss beneath my knees, the salt in the air, the distant peaks, and the darkness of the sea. And then, like the warmth of a hand brushing mine in a crowd, I felt him.

Ben.

I didn’t need to turn to know he’d followed. Our bond had always been like this; deeper, older than it should have been, like two spirits drawn together by something neither of us could explain. I felt his decision the moment it formed in his mind, even before the sound of his boots met the spongy earth.

A small smile touched my lips.

“Ben,” I greeted softly, my voice nearly lost to the sea wind.

He hummed in response, and a moment later, his tall frame lowered beside me. Without a word, he reached out and took my hand in his. His touch was warm, grounding.

“What are you doing out here?” he asked, tilting his head, strands of dark hair falling into his eyes.

I looked at him, my gaze tracing the angles of his face. He had changed so much these past years; sharper cheekbones, a stronger jaw, though the familiar scatter of freckles still softened him. His dark hair, longer now, framed his face and caught the moonlight. His eyes, though, were the same soft brown they had always been. Gentle. Thoughtful.

And yet, in my visions, those same eyes turned cold. Hardened. I often wondered what would change them, what would carve that sharpness into a gaze I barely recognized.

“Feeling the Force,” I teased, though my voice lacked its usual levity. I turned back to the water, my thumb brushing over the back of his hand where our fingers threaded together.

He chuckled, low and familiar, running his free hand through his hair in that careless way he always did. There was a closeness between us we were never meant to have. We both knew it. The Jedi Code spoke plainly about attachments, about connections that made one vulnerable. Yet, here we were. Always skirting that invisible line, never crossing it; not physically, not outwardly, but in these stolen moments beneath starlight, we allowed ourselves this.

I took a slow, steadying breath, reaching for him in the Force.

And, like always, he reached back.

Our signatures brushed, wove together in the space between our minds. It felt like standing in warm sunlight after days of rain; effortless, undeniable. His presence settled around me like a familiar cloak, and for a heartbeat, we weren’t Jedi. We were just two souls tethered by something ancient and unnamed.

At least once a week, we found each other like this. A sanctuary from the discipline, the expectations, the weight of the Code. I suspected Luke knew. He always knew. But he never stopped us.

As the years passed, nothing between us crossed the line. No forbidden words. No stolen kisses. Just this; silent nights, shared presence, and the ache of what could never be spoken aloud. We locked those feelings away, deep in the quiet corners of our minds where no other Jedi could sense them.

Then, everything changed.

[arianna-bradshaw]

Hey guys, I wanna start writing more fics! If you want to, you can send prompts/ideas.

Characters:

Bradley Bradshaw

Jake Seresin

Kylo Ren

Bob Floyd

Steve Rogers

And more, just lemme know :)

[arianna-bradshaw]

Once More, with Feeling

Summary: Five years ago, I thought I was just another no-strings hookup for Bradley—an easy fling in a world that never promised more. But when he shows up again, older, colder, and just as magnetic, the lines blur between past and present

TW: Dom/Sub, Alcohol, Angst, Sexual Content

WC: 6.8k

___________________________________

I’d gotten used to the whole friends with benefits thing. All through high school, I was the easy flirt, the cheap date… the desperate hookup. I thought maybe college would be different. Bigger dating pool, older guys, more options. I figured someone might actually like me for more than what I could offer between the sheets.

Spoiler alert: they didn’t.

Same cycle, different faces. So I accepted it. I was good enough to fuck, not good enough to love. And if that meant oversexualizing myself for a sliver of male validation, then fine- so be it. What better place to chase temporary attention than behind a bar?

The Hard Deck brought me a lot of things. The job wasn’t bad, honestly. Penny was cool as hell, the money was decent, and there was always a steady stream of cocky, needy pilots looking for a warm body while they were stuck in Fightertown. I never caught feelings. Too sensible for that. I knew my role. I knew how men like that saw me.

Then came Rooster.

I met him when he was still a student at Top Gun. No strings. No feelings. If you could even call us friends with benefits, which might’ve been a stretch. We hooked up for a few months- in my place, his, hell… even in the storage room at this very bar. He was sweet, though; after the dominating mind-bending sex ended, he always stayed over. Talked to me while I worked. Drove me home after closing. Made me laugh. And of course, like a dumbass, I started liking him.

But then he graduated. Got shipped off. And I found someone else to waste time with.

Fast forward five years.

_____________________________________

Penny was leaning against the bar with a smug little smile, gushing about her Pete- who was at the other end of the room looking like a lovesick teenager. It was cute. And a little sad. I hoped it worked out for her. Happy endings weren’t exactly a thing I believed in.

The place was getting packed. More pilots poured in, guys I recognized from old Top Gun classes. I handed out drinks, played the good sport, let them flirt and tell me about their call signs like I hadn’t heard the same stories a hundred times.

Then Hangman came up to order another round, flashing that shit-eating grin of his. I barely paid attention to what he was saying because that’s when I saw him.

Bradley.

Rooster.

He looked the same, and somehow different. His eyes were a little harder. He carried himself taller. Confident in a way he hadn’t been back then. But it was still him. And damn it, my stomach turned in on itself.

“Right, sorry- here you go, Hangman.” I forced a smile, sliding him the beers and pinning them on ‘Pete’s’ tab.

And then Rooster came to the bar. Stood right there. Ordered his drink.

And acted like he didn’t know me.

Like we hadn’t spent three months tangled in sheets. Like we hadn’t had drunk conversations at two a.m. Like he hadn’t fucked me in this goddamn bar.

It shouldn’t have hurt. But it did.

He played that stupid piano. Sang that stupid fucking song. Acted like the same old Bradley Bradshaw. And I told myself not to care. Told myself to keep moving. It’s not like he owed me anything.

But right before closing, when the last call was called and the crowd started thinning out, he slid onto a barstool in front of me.

“Hey, uh… Y/N, right?” he asked, voice soft. Nervous.

I didn’t look up from the glass I was drying. “What can I get you, Rooster?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, gave me that lopsided smile. “I’m sorry. That was stupid. I know it’s you.”

“Yeah. Whatever.”

“I got a nice little apartment thing on base for the next couple months,” he said like it was supposed to mean something.

I raised a brow. “Good for you.”

He hesitated, leaning in a little. “I was wondering if you wanted to come over. It’s been a while.”

There it was. The real reason. Not an apology. Not to catch up. Just another bored, buzzed pilot with nothing better to do.

I shrugged, setting the glass down. “Long enough for you to pretend you don’t know me.”

“That’s not it,” he sighed. “I just… didn’t want Hangman on my ass about it again.”

“Sure.” I grabbed another glass, not bothering to look at him. “I get off in thirty.” Because of course I did. Like I always did.

Bradley lingered near the bar while I wiped down the last of the tables, stubbornly refusing to let him help. I knew better- he’d just screw it up or drop something. Once the chairs were stacked and the glasses left to dry on the rack, I grabbed my purse from under the bar.

He was leaning against the counter when I turned, flashing that stupid, crooked grin and dangling his keys.

“You miss the Bronco?” he teased, the familiar rumble in his voice sending a pulse through me. I rolled my eyes, trying to play it cool, but my stomach flipped. My adrenaline was already spiking at the idea of climbing back into that truck, knowing exactly what would happen next.

He led the way outside, and the moment I slid into the passenger seat, the familiar scent of leather, cologne, and something distinctly him wrapped around me like a drug I’d sworn off but couldn’t resist.

Before I could get settled, his hand was between my thighs, fingers pressing against the seam of my too-tight jean shorts. I sucked in a sharp breath, biting my lip.

“You gonna be a good girl for me tonight?” he murmured, voice low and rough- that tone he only used when his blood was already running hot.

A shiver ran through me. I managed a shallow nod, my hand instinctively grabbing his wrist as it crept higher. Wrong move. In an instant, his hand left my thigh and tangled in my hair, gripping tight at the nape of my neck, tilting my head back just enough to force my eyes to his.

“Use your words, baby,” he growled, eyes dark and hungry.

God, I’d almost forgotten how this went. How easy it was to fall back into this.

“Yes, sir,” I breathed, my voice catching in my throat. His mouth twitched into a satisfied smirk. He leaned in, hovering close enough for his breath to ghost over my lips before finally crashing his mouth against mine, rough and claiming. His free hand slid up to wrap around my throat, thumb resting just beneath my jaw.

I moaned softly into him, my hands splaying against his chest, and for a moment I lost myself in it, the heat, the taste, the ache I didn’t even realize I’d missed.

Then, just as quickly, he pulled away. Without a word, he gripped the wheel, white-knuckled, started the engine, and tore out of the parking lot toward base.

Other than his hand gripping my thigh in a possessive, unyielding hold, Bradley gave me nothing else as he drove us to his place. It was classic base housing, a little run-down, a little sterile, but better than the barracks we used to sneak off to when we were younger. Perks of moving up the ranks.

I held my breath when he pulled into the spot, the Bronco jerking to a stop. He didn’t spare me a glance as he climbed out, leaving the door open for me to follow. I steeled myself, hopping down and trailing after him up the outdoor staircase. My eyes caught on the doormat in front of his door. ‘Real Friends Bring Beer’. Some things never changed. Still the guy who hosted every party.

The second the door swung open, his hand was on my wrist, dragging me inside. It slammed shut behind us, and before I could get my bearings, my back hit the door with a thud. His mouth was on my neck, teeth scraping, leaving sharp, possessive bites that I’d feel tomorrow. I gasped, my pulse kicking into overdrive as his lips were replaced by his hand, fingers pressing firmly against the sides of my throat.

“Miss me, baby?” he murmured against my skin, chuckling darkly as he felt my pulse race beneath his palm.

I swallowed hard, fighting to steady my voice. “Yes, sir,” I whimpered, eyes locking with his.

His gaze darkened, and his other hand slipped beneath the hem of my shirt, palm sliding over warm skin. I shivered beneath his touch, already leaning into it before he abruptly stepped back- putting a full, cruel step of space between us. I craved his hands again instantly.

“Strip,” he ordered, voice low and careful.

I moved to obey, my fingers fumbling at the button of my shorts before I caught the sharp warning glare in his eye. I drew in a shaky breath and corrected myself. “Yes, sir.”

I licked my lips, resuming the task. I tried for slow, teasing, sensual, but my excitement got the better of me, making my hands move faster than I meant to.

He watched in silence, his eyes following every inch of exposed skin like a predator sizing up his next move. When I stood bare before him, he let me stay there for a beat too long, the tension coiling tight in the air.

“Bedroom. Kneel in front of the bed. I’ll be there in a minute.” His tone was steady, but I could hear the hunger beneath it.

“Yes, sir,” I replied automatically, slipping past him and down the short hallway. The bedroom door was open, thank God. I stepped inside, taking a slow, steadying breath before dropping to my knees in front of the bed, facing the opposite wall. I waited. Heart pounding. Skin still tingled where his hands had been. And I hated how badly I already missed them.

I stayed there, kneeling in the dim light of the room, the steady thrum of my heartbeat pounding in my ears. The bedroom was exactly what I expected, simple, impersonal, a standard-issue dresser and nightstand, military-grade sheets stretched tight across the bed. The only hint of him was the faint scent of his cologne clinging to the air, and the dog tags hanging from the corner of the mirror.

I flexed my fingers against my thighs, keeping my posture straight, trying not to fidget even though my body was aching for him. The wait was its own kind of torture; knowing what was coming, craving it, and still being made to sit there, obedient and still.

I heard his footsteps before I saw him. Slow. Measured. He let me feel each one, the weight of his presence thickening the air. He paused in the doorway, and though I couldn’t see him, I felt his gaze on me. Every inch of my bare skin seemed to tighten under it.

“Good girl,” he murmured, voice low and pleased. The words made my stomach flip. I bit my lip to keep from smiling. Stupid how badly I still reacted to those two words.

A moment later, his hand was in my hair again, fisting at the roots and tipping my head back so I had no choice but to look up at him. His eyes were dark, pupils blown, and there was a sharp hunger in them that made my breath catch.

“You look better like this,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Always did.” My lips parted, a shaky exhale leaving me. His thumb brushed over my bottom lip, rough but careful.

“You remember the rules, baby?” he asked, voice like gravel.

I swallowed and nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. You’ll use your safe word if you need to.”

“Yes, sir.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. He leaned down, lips brushing my ear. “Say it for me. So I know you remember.”

“Vegas,” I whispered.

“Attagirl.” His hand tightened in my hair, tugging just enough to sting as he guided me toward the bed. I moved on instinct, letting him position me where he wanted, half-crawling onto the mattress, feeling the rough scrape of the comforter against my skin.

He leaned over me, his voice a low promise in my ear. “I’ve been thinking about this since the minute I saw you again.”

I shivered, already melting under him.

“Tonight, you’re mine.”

I didn’t answer- didn’t have to. He already knew. His hand flattened between my shoulder blades, pressing me down against the bed, my cheek against the cool fabric. I could feel the heat radiating off him as he hovered behind me, I could hear the steady rasp of his breath. Every nerve ending felt raw and exposed.

He dragged his hand down the length of my spine, slow and possessive, like he was relearning every inch of me. I shivered beneath his touch, my body arching instinctively, chasing more.

“Still needy,” he muttered with a dark laugh, his palm smoothing over the curve of my ass. “Some things don’t change.” A soft whimper escaped me, my hips pressing back before I could stop them.

He delivered a sharp slap, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make my breath hitch and my skin prickle. “Patience.” I bit my lip, gripping the sheets. He undressed with deliberate slowness, and though I couldn’t see him, I could hear the soft rustle of fabric, the metallic jingle of his belt, the clink of his dog tags as they hit his chest. It made the anticipation unbearable.

A moment later, he was back, his hand sliding between my thighs, fingers teasing, testing how ready I already was for him. “Fuck,” he groaned, voice rough and reverent. “You missed me.”

I whimpered, pressing my forehead into the mattress, my hips shamelessly rolling into his hand.

“I’ll take care of you, baby,” he promised, leaning down to press a kiss between my shoulder blades. “Gonna remind you how good this was.”

I was shaking for him already, desperate and aching. I hated how easily he could pull me apart, hated it and craved it in equal measure. Two fingers slipped inside me, curling cruelly against me. I whined, pushing back into his hand. He moved quickly, like he was carrying out a job, the job of getting me ready for him.

Bradley pulled his fingers out, pressing them against my lips and I moaned, licking over his thick fingers; tasting my essence. As if he suddenly snapped he pulled his hand away to my hip.

His hand gripped my hip, anchoring me in place as he slid inside, the stretch making my lips part in a sharp gasp.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, his voice thick and wrecked. “Just like I remember.”

I moaned, my fingers twisting in the sheets as he started to move, setting a pace that was rough, deep, and unrelenting. The room filled with the sound of skin against skin, ragged breathing, and the broken little noises he always managed to drag out of me.

Every thrust pushed me higher, made my mind blur and my body burn. “You gonna come for me, baby?” he growled against my ear.

“Yes, sir,” I gasped, teetering right on the edge. His hand slid around my throat again, pulling me up slightly, making me feel every inch of him.

“Good girl,” he whispered, and just like that, I shattered for him- lost in the heat, the roughness, the filthy, perfect familiarity of it.

I barely had time to catch my breath before he was flipping me onto my back, his strength effortless, the mattress dipping under his weight. His eyes were dark, heavy-lidded, pupils blown wide. That crooked smirk was long gone; replaced by something far hungrier, something primal.

“You’re not done,” he murmured, voice low and dangerous. I shivered, chest rising and falling as I nodded, my lips parting to answer , but before I could speak, he was reaching to the nightstand, pulling open the drawer.

The soft metallic jingle of cuffs made my stomach drop and my pulse spike. He pulled out a pair- cold, gleaming steel- letting them dangle from his fingers for a second, his gaze locked on mine.

“Miss these, baby?”

My throat went dry. “Yes, sir.”

He grinned then, wicked and sharp. “That’s my girl.”

I raised my arms without being told, wrists together, already knowing the drill. The sound of the cuffs clicking around them sent a thrill through me, the tight bite of cold metal making my skin tingle.

“Good girl. So fucking pretty like this.” His hand grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back just enough to bare my throat. His lips were on me again, teeth scraping against sensitive skin, and I moaned, the sound raw and broken in the quiet room.

He let go only long enough to grab a length of rope from the drawer; thick, soft, well-worn. He bound my ankles together with practiced ease, his calloused fingers working the knot tight enough to remind me who was in control, but never cruel.

“You trust me, baby?” he asked, voice low as he checked the knot.

I swallowed, breath hitching. “Yes, sir.”

“Say your safe word.”

“Vegas.”

He smiled, a real one this time, but it was laced with heat. “Good. You’ll tell me if you need it.”

“Yes, sir.” And then his hand was between my legs again, and I arched, a ragged sound tearing from my throat.

“Look at you… already so fucking desperate for it.” His fingers dragged through the slick heat of me, his other hand tightening on the cuffs, holding my wrists above my head against the mattress.

“Tonight, you don’t get to move unless I say. Don’t come unless I say. Don’t beg unless I tell you to.” I whimpered, my body already trembling under his touch.

“You’re mine tonight,” he whispered, leaning down, his lips brushing my ear. “And I’m gonna break you in the best fucking way.”

I could barely breathe, every nerve in my body strung so tight it hurt. The cuffs dug deliciously into my wrists, ankles bound together, leaving me completely at his mercy; and God, if that wasn’t exactly where I wanted to be.

Bradley leaned over me, his hand still resting against the slick heat between my thighs, his touch maddeningly slow now. Teasing. Testing. His thumb brushing over the sensitive bundle of nerves just to watch me twitch.

“You know what I missed most about you, baby?” he murmured, his lips trailing over my jaw, the scrape of his stubble leaving a burn in its wake. I whimpered, desperate to move, to grind up against his hand, to do something. But the cuffs and rope held me down and I could feel his smirk against my skin.

“That face you make,” he answered for me, low and smug. “When you’re right on the edge, aching for it, and you know you don’t get to come unless I let you. Drives me fuckin’ crazy.”

His fingers pushed inside me without warning, two thick digits filling me to the knuckle. I gasped, my back arching instinctively, only to have his hand press firmly against my stomach, keeping me pinned.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he muttered, his voice almost affectionate, but still rough around the edges. “Didn’t I say you don’t move unless I tell you to?”

“Yes, sir,” I breathed, my voice breaking as he started to move his fingers, curling them just right, dragging them along that spot inside me that made my vision blur.

“Good girl,” he praised, his tone dark and satisfied.

He kept working me like that, slow and ruthless, pulling me right to the edge until my thighs were trembling and I was begging without meaning to, soft, desperate sounds falling from my lips without permission.

And then he stopped. I let out a strangled noise, my hips lifting off the bed before I could stop them. Another sharp smack landed on the inside of my thigh.

“I said, don’t move.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” I choked out, my eyes stinging, both from the frustration and the raw, unrelenting need building inside me.

He smirked down at me, dark and hungry. “Oh, baby… you’ve got no idea what I’ve got planned for you.” He stood, walking around to the nightstand again, pulling out a long silk tie this time.

“Since you can’t seem to behave,” he murmured, balling it in his hand before crouching down beside me. “Open your mouth.” My lips parted without hesitation.

He shoved the tie between them, knotting it at the back of my head, the fabric pressing against my tongue. “There,” he muttered, brushing a thumb over my cheek as his other hand tightened on the cuffs, dragging them just a little higher above my head. “Now you’ll stay quiet until I decide you don’t have to.”

I whimpered around the gag, my pulse hammering, my whole body strung up and aching, craving whatever came next. And the look in his eyes promised it was going to be everything I’d missed.

Bradley stood over me for a moment, just watching, taking me in like a prize he’d finally reclaimed. His eyes raked over every inch of my body, bound, gagged, trembling beneath him, and the satisfied grin that spread across his face sent another hot pulse between my legs.

“Goddamn,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair, chest rising and falling as if he was barely holding himself together. “I forgot how fucking perfect you are like this.”

I moaned against the tie gag, the sound muffled, my body arching instinctively. The ache was maddening, and he knew it, thrived on it.

“Patience, baby,” he teased, dragging his fingers down the center of my stomach, slow enough to leave a trail of fire in their wake. “I’m gonna wreck you properly.” His hand dipped back between my thighs, his touch gentler this time, tracing circles that made me squirm. Every time my hips lifted off the bed, another sharp smack landed on my inner thigh or the curve of my ass, a constant, silent command to stay put. The sting only made the heat build higher, pressure winding tight in my stomach like a coil ready to snap.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he growled, voice rough, almost like he hated how badly he needed it too. Without warning, he flipped me again, onto my stomach, my bound wrists pulling tight above my head. He shoved a pillow beneath my hips, adjusting me just how he wanted- like I was nothing but something to be used, claimed, owned.

And fuck, it turned me on more than I cared to admit. I felt the blunt press of him against me a second later, the low, broken curse he let out when he sank inside sending another ripple of pleasure through me. He didn’t hold back this time- his pace brutal, relentless, every thrust forcing a desperate, muffled cry from behind the gag.

“That’s it,” he groaned, fisting a hand in my hair, pulling my head back so he could growl right in my ear. “That’s what I fuckin’ missed. This tight little body. These filthy fucking sounds you make for me.”

I whimpered, tears pricking the corners of my eyes from the sheer intensity of it, the pleasure, the stretch, the utter helplessness of being completely at his mercy. He reached around, pressing tight circles against that sensitive bundle of nerves, and my body betrayed me instantly- clenching around him, my thighs trembling as I teetered on the edge.

“You wanna come, baby?” he panted, his hand tightening in my hair, his other still working me mercilessly. I moaned, nodding frantically, tears slipping free.

“Not yet.” He laughed darkly, the sound low and mean. “You don’t come until I say. You’ll fucking hold it.” I sobbed against the gag, the ache almost unbearable now. My body was strung so tight I felt like I might break apart at any second.

“Good girl,” he praised when I managed to hold back, even as my body shook violently beneath him. “Almost there, baby. Gonna fill you up… mark you so good no one else’ll fucking dare touch you again.”

His pace grew rougher, his breathing ragged. “Now,” he growled, his voice cracking, and the second the word left his mouth, I shattered.

It tore through me like wildfire, my whole body convulsing, vision going white as pleasure crashed over me in waves, my muffled cries filling the room. Bradley followed a heartbeat later, his grip bruising on my hips as he came hard, hips jerking against mine with a low, filthy curse.

We stayed like that for a long moment, his weight draped over me, both of us panting, trembling. Slowly, he reached up, untying the gag and then carefully unlocking the cuffs, kissing the red marks on my wrists as he freed me.

“You okay, baby?” he murmured, his voice soft now, rough with tenderness.

I nodded, my throat raw, voice shaky as I whispered, “Yes, sir.” He smirked, leaning down to kiss me properly this time, slow and deep, his hand cradling my face like I was something precious.

“Good girl,” he whispered against my lips. Bradley stayed close, his breath still ragged against my ear, the weight of his body grounding me as the aftershocks trembled through my muscles. I was limp beneath him, my pulse racing, skin flushed and damp. The cuffs had left faint red marks on my wrists, the rope around my ankles loose now but the warmth of it still lingering.

He was quiet for a beat, his hand brushing sweaty hair from my face. Then his lips pressed softly against my temple, so gentle it made my throat tighten. “Hey,” he murmured, voice low, steady now. “You with me, baby?”

I managed a small, shaky nod, my body still floating somewhere between bliss and exhaustion.

“Good girl.” He eased out of me with a careful roll of his hips, making sure it didn’t sting, and immediately untied the rope from around my ankles, setting it aside. His fingers traced the marks it left behind, a soft hum of approval under his breath before he leaned down to kiss the inside of my knee.

I blinked up at him, my voice a dry rasp. “M’okay.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “Still gotta take care of you.”

He disappeared for a moment, the soft pad of his bare feet across the room the only sound. I heard the bathroom door open, water running. When he came back, he had a warm, damp towel in one hand and a glass of water in the other. He sat beside me on the bed, his touch impossibly gentle as he cleaned me up, no rush, no teasing now. Just careful, steady hands and quiet murmurs.

“You did so good for me,” he said, dipping his head to press a kiss to my shoulder.

I let my eyes close for a second, savoring the warmth of his touch, the comfort in his voice. He helped me sit up against the headboard, guiding the glass to my lips. “Drink, baby.”

I sipped the cool water a relief to my throat, and he didn’t pull the glass away until I’d had enough. “Need anything else?” he asked softly, rubbing his thumb in lazy circles over my thigh.

I shook my head, leaning into him. He pulled me close without hesitation, his arms wrapping around me tight, one hand cradling the back of my head as I tucked my face into his neck.

“You did so fucking good,” he murmured again, his lips brushing my hair. I felt safe here, in this strange, fucked-up, too-familiar space with him. My body still aches in the best ways, my nerves a little raw, but the warmth of his arms and the steady beat of his heart under my cheek was everything I needed.

“Stay,” he said quietly. It wasn’t a question. “I’ll get you in the shower in a minute, then you’re sleeping here.”

I gave a small, exhausted smile. “Yes, sir.”

He chuckled, that low, warm sound vibrating through his chest. “Not an order this time, sweetheart. Just… stay.”

And God help me, I wanted to.

The next morning came too soon.

I woke to sunlight bleeding in through cheap blinds and the distant sound of base morning drills. My body ached in the best ways, sore and stretched, faint bruises blooming across my hips, wrists, and throat. The sheets smelled like him. It was almost enough to make me smile.

But he wasn’t in the bed.

I sat up slowly, the room spinning for a second. The faint sound of running water and a toothbrush clinking against a cup told me where he was. No teasing morning touches, no lazy conversation. Just routine.

I dressed in silence, gathering my clothes from where they were scattered on the floor, tugging on yesterday’s shirt and shorts, hair a mess, mascara smudge under my eyes. I didn’t even look in the mirror, I didn't want to.

Bradley stepped out of the bathroom a minute later, towel slung low on his hips, dog tags resting against his bare chest. He barely looked at me as he grabbed his watch from the nightstand and strapped it on. “I’ll drive you to your car,” he said simply.

Not hey baby, not a kiss on the temple, not a smirk or a crooked grin like last night never happened. His voice was flat, casual. Business-like. I swallowed, nodding. “Okay.”

The ride was quiet. No music. No conversation. His hand didn’t reach for my thigh this time, didn’t brush mine on the gearshift. The Bronco felt colder in the daylight, and I hated how empty it made me feel. Like I should’ve known better.

We pulled up to The Hard Deck’s lot, the place deserted this early except for Penny’s truck. He didn’t kill the engine.

I reached for the door handle, hesitating for half a second. Part of me wanted to say something. Anything. But I didn’t even know what. Thank you? See you around? How fucking pathetic. Instead, I forced a small smile, keeping it light. “Thanks for the ride.”

Bradley gave a quick nod, eyes straight ahead. “Yeah. I’ll see you around, kid.”

Kid.

Right.

I bit the inside of my cheek, nodded once, and got out, the heavy slam of the door sounding louder than it should’ve in the quiet morning air. The Bronco didn’t wait, he pulled out before I’d even made it to my car. And just like that, it was done.

I let out a slow breath, blinking against the sharp sting behind my eyes, and climbed into my car. It wasn’t like I expected anything different. I knew what this was. I was good enough to fuck. Not good enough to stay. And I’d be damned if I let him see it hurt.

I sat behind the wheel, the engine ticking as it cooled down, but I couldn’t bring myself to start the car. The silence pressed in on me, heavier than the weight of the cuffs and rope from the night before. I stared out at the empty parking lot, the first pale light of morning making everything feel more real, and colder.

Why did it sting so much? I told myself it was just what this was supposed to be. No strings. No feelings. Just the same game we’d played for years. But deep down, the part of me that had liked him, that still liked him, was bleeding under the surface.

I thought about the way his hands had been on me, how he’d taken control so easily, how I’d given in without question. The way his voice sounded when he called me “good girl,” like I meant something more than a moment’s distraction. But then this morning, the cold distance, the clipped words. The ‘kid.’

It was like a slap in the face.

I reached over and pulled my phone out, fingers hovering over his name in my contacts. Should I text him? Say something? Ask if this was really all there was between us now? No. I knew better. I deleted the thought before it could take hold.

Instead, I started the engine and pulled out, the Bronco’s taillights already disappearing behind me. The road stretched ahead, long, empty, and uncertain. Maybe I was still good enough to fuck. Maybe that was all I’d ever be.

_____________________________________

That night, the Hard Deck felt different; not the usual chaos of work, orders, and flashing neon lights behind the bar. I wasn’t working; I’d left my apron and bartending shoes at home. I came because I needed to be somewhere, needed the hum of voices and the clink of glasses to drown out the thoughts spinning in my head.

The place was buzzing, the usual crowd of pilots and misfits crowding around pool tables and dartboards. Penny spotted me the moment I walked in and gave me that knowing smile; the one that said You look like you need this. She slid a glass across the bar toward me before I even sat down.

I took the whiskey without a word, the burn on my tongue a welcome distraction.

I wasn’t looking for trouble, but trouble found me anyway.

Rooster was there, but different. More guarded, colder, like the night had stolen something from him too. He caught my eye across the room for a moment, and I saw the flicker of something, recognition? Regret? Or maybe just indifference.

I looked away, focusing on the warmth of the glass in my hands, the bitter taste grounding me. Somewhere between the second and third drink, I caught Penny’s eye again. She mouthed, Are you okay?

I shrugged, forcing a smile. “Yeah. Just needed a drink.” She nodded, sliding me another whiskey.

I stayed there, half-listening to the jukebox, watching the crowd, pretending I was just another girl out for a night, not someone caught between wanting more and knowing it wasn’t coming. And somewhere deep inside, I wondered if Bradley was doing the same, sitting across the bar, haunted by what we’d had and what we’d lost.

I nursed my glass, the burn of the whiskey chasing away the ache that Bradley’s coldness left behind. The bar buzzed around me, laughter, the clatter of pool balls, the low hum of conversations; but I felt detached, like I was watching everything from the outside.

Penny stayed close, leaning in occasionally to check on me without prying. I was grateful for her quiet presence.

Then, across the room, I caught Rooster’s eyes again. This time, he didn’t look away. He was watching me, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze. Maybe regret. Maybe frustration.

My heart tightened, but I kept my face steady, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much it still hurt.

I took another slow sip, letting the warmth spread through me. God, I was so fucking stupid. I should’ve resisted his charm, should’ve remembered how completely undone I was those months five years ago. But he was like a drug- intoxicating and impossible to quit. Then I caught sight of him, whispering into the ear of the girl beside him, that damn signature smirk playing on his lips. That was my cue. I had to get out, fast.

I set my glass down harder than I meant to, the sharp clink against the wood drawing a few curious glances. My heart hammered in my chest, a mix of anger and something that felt dangerously close to heartbreak. I told myself this was just a game, just a night out to forget. But seeing him there, so effortlessly in control, made everything inside me twist.

I slipped off the barstool, the room spinning just enough to remind me I’d had too much. Penny caught my eye and gave me a subtle nod, no questions asked.

I needed air.

Outside, the cool night hit me like a shock. The sounds of the bar faded behind me, replaced by the quiet hum of distant engines and the faint rustle of leaves. I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. Maybe it was time to stop running in circles. To stop being the girl who was good enough to fuck but never enough to stay.

I pulled out my phone and stared at Bradley’s name. My thumb hovered over the screen, unsure if I wanted to text him angrily. But for now, I pocketed it and looked up at the stars instead. They didn’t judge. They just burned quietly, steady and distant, like me.

I stood there for a long moment, the cold night air grounding me in a way the bar never could. My fingers curled tightly around my phone, heart pounding like a war drum. The truth settled deep in my chest: I was tired. Tired of waiting, tired of hoping for something he wasn’t willing to give.

The name on my screen blurred as my vision stung with sudden tears I refused to let fall. I needed to stop chasing a ghost, stop letting myself get lost in what might have been. Penny broke through the quiet when she stepped outside after me, sliding a jacket around my shoulders without a word. Sometimes, you don't need to say anything. Just knowing someone had your back was enough.

_____________________________________

After I closed my front door behind me, the quiet of my apartment swallowed me whole. The buzz and chaos of the Hard Deck felt like a distant memory now, replaced by the hollow ache Bradley’s absence had left. I sank onto the edge of my bed, heart still pounding from the night, fingers trembling as I pulled out my phone.

The screen lit up instantly with a new message. His name flashed at the top.

Bradley:

“You made it back alright?”

A mix of emotions tangled in my chest, relief, frustration, something like hope. Part of me wanted to ignore it, pretend I was tougher than that. But I found myself staring at the message, thumb hovering hesitantly over the keyboard.

I took a deep breath, my fingers finally moving to type a reply. Because even if he was cold, even if this was complicated and messy, he was still the only one who made me feel this alive.

I stared at the message for a long moment, my thumb hovering over the screen. The words felt heavy-too simple for everything tangled between us, yet somehow exactly what I needed to hear.

You made it back alright?

I wanted to snap back something sarcastic, something tough, but the truth was, I was glad he cared, even if only a little. So I typed slowly, carefully:

Me:

“Yeah. Made it home.”

I hit send before I could second-guess myself and set the phone down, heart pounding as I waited. Seconds stretched into minutes, and just as I started to wonder if he’d reply, my phone buzzed again.

Bradley:

Good. Don’t get yourself into trouble, yeah?

A small, involuntary smile tugged at my lips. Maybe he was still distant, still hard to read, but beneath that rough exterior was something I couldn’t quite walk away from. I curled up under the blankets, the message glowing softly in the dark. For tonight, that was enough.

I stared at Bradley’s last message, the quiet glow of my phone, the only light in the room. Don’t get yourself into trouble, yeah? Simple words, but they hit differently. Like a warning wrapped in concern, distant, but still care.

I typed back almost without thinking:

Me:

No promises.

Sent. And then I set the phone down, heart racing in the silence. Part of me wanted to call him, demanding to know what this all meant. But the wiser part knew better. We were tangled in old habits, old games, and messy feelings neither of us was ready to unpack.

Still, his message was a thread; fragile, tentative, reaching out in the dark. I wasn’t sure where it would lead. But maybe, just maybe, it was a start.

[arianna-bradshaw]

The Afterburn

Summary: Some fires never go out. They just wait for the right spark.

When Y/N returns to Miramar after years away, she isn’t expecting to find comfort in the place that broke her heart. And she damn sure isn’t expecting Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw — the boy she left behind — to still burn just as hot in her veins.

TW: Sexual Content, Alcohol, Daddy Kink, etc.

WC: 9,056

__________________________________________

Ever since her dad passed, and her mom packed up their life to move across the country- far from any reminders, far from any support system- Y/n longed to find her way back to the military community. She was a military kid through and through, her memories scattered with the sounds of jet engines, salty beaches, rowdy Navy cookouts, and most of all, her dad’s friends. Her family. Her aunts and uncles in uniform.

When her father died unexpectedly, everything shattered. Her mother was evicted from base housing, and civilian life came crashing down around them. They moved to Virginia, the place where her parents had first met, but it never felt like home. Fightertown was home. Fightertown was all Y/n had ever known until she was fourteen. Late nights past curfew at the beach, running barefoot in the sand, chasing fireflies while Bradley and his stand-in dad, Maverick, watched over her. She could never quite understand how Bradley survived losing his father, Goose, a man she only had faint memories of. But then it happened to her.

After her dad’s funeral, Y/n left California with a tearful hug for Bradley and Uncle Mav, promising she’d come back someday. And now, more than a decade later, here she was- standing in The Hard Deck, completely unaware of how much solace she’d find in this place. It had been too long.

The first thing she did was find Penny and ask for a job. The older woman had been thrilled to see her, wrapping her in a tight hug and declaring it was about time the kid came home. Maverick, she learned, had been stationed elsewhere, and many of her dad’s old squadron mates had moved on too. Still, Miramar felt the same. The air. The sunsets. The sound of jets screaming overhead.

It took a few weeks to get the hang of bartending- she’d never done it before, but Penny was patient and grateful to have her around. And for the first time in years, Y/n felt like herself again. Being back in the atmosphere of the Navy was grounding. She could feel her dad everywhere: in the salty air, in the roar of engines, in the camaraderie of the pilots who filled the bar every night.

One hot evening, with the scent of the Pacific drifting through the open windows, a group of fresh-faced Top Gun recruits burst through the doors, loud, laughing, their tan flight suits immaculate. Y/n smiled instinctively as she set up the bar, already grabbing a tray in anticipation of the onslaught of beer orders.

“What can I get for you?” she asked, her voice light as one of them, a blonde with an easy smirk, stepped up.

He glanced back at his squad and grinned. “How about… seven Bud Lights?”

Y/n arched a brow but nodded, collecting the bottles and a bottle opener. Sliding them onto a tray, she passed it over. “Think you guys can handle opening these yourselves?” she teased.

“Oh, sweetheart, I can handle a lot,” the cocky blonde winked, and she rolled her eyes with a small, amused shake of her head. Navy guys.

As she watched him swagger back toward his table, something- someone, caught her eye.

Her heart stuttered.

There he was.

Bradley Bradshaw.

She wasn’t surprised he’d followed his dad’s footsteps into the Navy, but she hadn’t expected to see him so soon- or to look so… grown. And, if she was honest, impossibly attractive. Her stomach twisted as recognition dawned across his face too.

Penny sidled up next to her, catching the look on Y/n’s face and grinning. “I was wondering when he’d show up,” she murmured, nudging her with a shoulder.

Y/n groaned, rubbing her face. “You knew!”

“Of course I knew.” Penny laughed. “C’mon, kid- we all used to say you two were destined.”

It was true. When they were seven, they’d walked the beach holding hands. Bradley had been her first kiss- her first boyfriend. Seeing him now, older, broader, with a uniform and that infamous Bradshaw mustache…

When she looked up again, they locked eyes. Bradley froze mid-reach for his beer before abandoning it entirely, crossing the bar in three long strides. “Y/L/N?!” His voice was incredulous, grinning from ear to ear. “Is that really you?”

Y/n ducked out from behind the bar before she could stop herself, letting out a delighted laugh as he scooped her up into a bear hug. “The one and only,” she teased, cheeks flushing.

He set her down, holding her at arm’s length like he still couldn’t believe it. “Damn… you- you look good.”

Her eyes flicked up to his face, and she grinned, teasing, “And you’ve got the Bradshaw Porn Stache now? No way.”

Bradley turned his face side to side, showing it off proudly. “Wouldn’t be a Bradshaw without it.”

“Well… it actually looks good on you,” she admitted with a small shrug, still blushing. Y/n swallowed, feeling suddenly, stupidly shy. “I should get back to work. Penny’ll have my head.”

“Yeah, no- of course.” He grabbed her hand gently as she turned away, making her heart skip. “Uh- when do you get off tonight?”

She hesitated. “About an hour.”

A slow, hopeful grin spread across his face. “Can I… take you for a drive after? Catch up. It’s been too long.”

Y/n nodded before her brain could even catch up with her mouth. “I’d like that.” He gave her hand a quick squeeze and let her go, and she ducked back behind the bar, face burning, as Penny smirked at her knowingly.

“Oh, shut up,” Y/n muttered, but she couldn’t help the smile tugging at her lips. She was home. And for the first time in years, everything felt right.

The hour passed in a blur. Y/n barely registered the drink orders, the conversations, or the teasing from Penny. Every time she glanced toward the recruits’ table, her eyes found Bradley’s and every time, he was already looking at her.

When Penny finally nudged her and nodded toward the door, Y/n slipped off her apron, grabbed her keys, and stepped out into the balmy night air. The sun had just disappeared behind the horizon, leaving streaks of pink and orange fading over the Pacific. She barely had time to appreciate it before she heard a familiar voice behind her.

“Hey.” She turned to see Bradley leaning against a beat-up Bronco- not the sleek, government-issued truck she half-expected, but an old, rebuilt one that still had a little rust on the bumper. Very Bradley Bradshaw.

“Nice ride,” she teased, crossing her arms.

He shrugged, grinning. “She’s old, but she’s mine.”

“Sounds about right.”

He opened the passenger door for her, and she raised a brow. “Gentleman now, too?”

“Only for you, Y/L/N.” She slid into the seat, the familiar smell of old leather and saltwater filling her nose. The car rumbled to life as he started it, and without a word, they pulled out of the lot, the wind whipping through the open windows.

For a while, neither of them spoke. They drove down the coast, the ocean a dark stretch beside them, the radio playing low classic rock. It felt easy. Natural. Like no time had passed at all. “So,” Bradley broke the silence after a few minutes. “How long you been back?”

“Few months,” she admitted, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Got in, went straight to The Hard Deck, begged Penny for a job.”

He laughed softly. “You always did have good instincts.”

“And you? Top Gun, huh?” She glanced at him, unable to keep the pride out of her voice.

He smirked but didn’t take his eyes off the road. “Yeah. Made it in last year. Been… a hell of a ride.”

“I’m not surprised.” She smiled. “Your dad would’ve lost his mind, you know. So damn proud.”

Bradley’s jaw tightened just a little, and he nodded. “I hope so.”

Y/n reached over, resting her hand over his briefly. “He would.”

Their eyes met for a moment before she pulled away, feeling the heat rise in her cheeks. “Sorry,” she murmured.

“Don’t be.” He smiled softly. “It’s good to have someone around who remembers.” They kept driving until he pulled off onto a stretch of beach, tires crunching over sand-packed dirt. He cut the engine, and for a moment they just sat there, the sound of waves crashing filling the space between them.

“Same spot we used to sneak out to,” he said with a grin.

“No way,” she laughed, opening the door and stepping out. The night air was cool, and the ocean breeze carried a hint of salt. The stars above them were brighter here, away from the town’s glow.

Bradley rounded the car and stood beside her. “I figured it was only right.” She smiled, her heart tight in her chest as the memories came rushing back, stolen candy, makeshift bonfires, promises whispered under the stars.

“It hasn’t changed a bit,” she said.

“You have,” he murmured. She looked up at him, her breath catching. The playful glint in his eyes was still there, but there was something deeper now. Something older. Something real.

“Is that a bad thing?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Not even a little.” Before she could stop herself, she leaned in, and for a second, it felt like they were kids again, stealing another first kiss. But this time, it was different. This time, it meant something.

Their lips met, soft and tentative at first, then deeper, both of them chasing years of what-ifs in that one kiss. When they finally broke apart, he rested his forehead against hers.

“I missed you, Y/L/N.”

“I missed you too, Bradshaw.”

He grinned. “Good. ‘Cause I’m not letting you disappear again.” And with the sound of waves and old rock music in the background, Y/n realized maybe, just maybe, she was exactly where she was meant to be.

They lingered there for a moment, the sound of the ocean wrapping around them like a secret. Neither one of them spoke, not because there was nothing to say, but because everything that mattered had already been said with that kiss.

Bradley finally cleared his throat, a sheepish grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Wanna sit for a while?”

Y/n smiled, nodding. “Yeah.”

He grabbed a blanket from the backseat of the Bronco, faded navy blue, probably older than either of them, and spread it out on the sand. She kicked off her shoes and sat down beside him, pulling her knees up to her chest as the waves crashed a few yards away.

The stars were impossibly bright out here, the air cool but not cold. It smelled like salt, seaweed, and memories. Bradley leaned back on his elbows, watching the sky. “God, I missed this.”

“Me too,” she whispered, glancing over at him.

For a while, they just sat in the quiet. The low hum of classic rock still drifted from the Bronco’s open windows, mixing with the sound of the surf. Y/n let her head tip back, feeling the breeze in her hair, her pulse still slightly unsteady from the kiss.

“You remember that one night,” he started, his voice soft, “when we were, what- eight? Nine? We snuck out here with those gross chocolate bars from your kitchen?”

Y/n laughed. “Yeah. And you swore the stars looked brighter if you laid down in the sand and let the waves almost reach you.”

He grinned. “I was a weird kid.”

“You were a great kid.”

Bradley looked over at her, his expression softer now. “You were my best friend, Y/n. You know that, right?”

She met his gaze, her throat tightening. “Yeah,” she whispered. “You were mine too.”

His hand found hers in the dark, fingers brushing, then curling around hers like it was the most natural thing in the world. She let him. It felt good. Right. “I’m sorry I didn’t stay in touch,” he admitted after a while. “I should’ve.”

“I could’ve too,” she replied honestly. “It… hurt too much. Everything about this place did, for a long time.”

Bradley nodded, squeezing her hand. “I get that.”

The silence stretched again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was heavy in a way that felt earned, two people carrying the same kind of grief, the same ghosts. After a minute, he glanced at her, a crooked smile on his face. “So, I gotta ask…”

“Hmm?”

“You seeing anyone?”

She snorted. “Jesus, Bradshaw.”

“What?” he laughed, hands up in mock surrender. “A guy’s gotta know his odds.”

She rolled her eyes, grinning. “No. Not really.”

His brow lifted. “Not really?”

Y/n shrugged, looking out at the ocean. “There’s been people. But no one that mattered.”

Bradley let out a breath. “Good.”

She turned to him, smirking. “Good?”

He shrugged, a sheepish grin on his face. “Yeah. ‘Cause if I get my way… no one’s gonna have a shot after tonight.”

Her heart did that stupid fluttering thing again. “You always this smooth, Lieutenant?”

“Only when it counts.”

And before she could fire back a witty retort, he leaned in again, catching her lips with his. This kiss wasn’t tentative, it was slow, deep, a little rough around the edges like Bradley always had been. His hand slid to her cheek, the other braced in the sand, and she felt herself melting against him like muscle memory.

She gasped softly when he tilted her back onto the blanket, his body half hovering over hers, the weight of him familiar and foreign all at once. His lips moved to the curve of her jaw, then down her neck, and she felt her pulse stutter.

“Bradley…” she murmured, her fingers threading into his hair.

He pulled back just enough to look at her, eyes dark in the starlight. “We can stop. Just tell me.”

Y/n searched his face- her best friend, her ghost of Fightertown past, and the man now laying over her, and realized she didn’t want to stop. Not tonight. Not when the stars were out, the waves were crashing, and nothing else mattered.

“I don’t want to,” she whispered.

Bradley grinned- that same boyish grin she’d known her whole life, but tempered now with something heavier. “Good.”

And with that, the space between them disappeared again. The rest of the world fell away- the years apart, the ache of lost parents and broken homes- and for the first time in a long time, Y/n felt whole.

In a hushed voice he spoke, "Do you wanna head back to mine."

Y/n nodded before she could even let herself think about it. Bradley grabbed her hand, pulling her up, shaking out the sandy blanket and tossing it into the back of the Bronco.

The drive was quiet but electric. The salty air rushed through the open windows, soft rock humming from the radio. Y/n leaned out slightly, letting the breeze cool her flushed cheeks. Her nerves were frayed in the best way- this was so familiar, so easy. But this… this wasn’t something they’d ever done before. Not really. Nothing past those clumsy makeouts in Carole’s basement when they were fourteen. Now it felt heavier, hotter. Her heart was pounding.

She reached out and gently took his hand over the center console. He gave a soft squeeze, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. It felt like coming home. When they pulled into the driveway, Y/n let out a quiet gasp.

“You have your mom’s house?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Bradley nodded, offering a shy smile. “Yeah… it was mine after I turned eighteen. Mav and I lived here for a while. Until-” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “Until I joined.”

She nodded, sensing the tension just beneath the words. She didn’t push. He unlocked the front door and pushed it open, and she was instantly hit by the scent, the familiar mix of sea air, worn wood, and something faintly sweet she remembered from a lifetime ago. The living room looked almost untouched from how she recalled it. The same photos on the walls. The same couch where they’d watched movies and fallen asleep during late-night game nights. It punched something tender in her chest.

Carole.

Y/n swallowed hard, guilt swelling in her throat. She’d never forgiven herself for not making it to the funeral, for not reaching out. She should have scraped together whatever she could, should have called, should have done something. The weight of it lingered.

Then, Bradley was there- his hand cupping her jaw, pulling her into a kiss that was nothing like the ones they’d shared as kids. This was soft but insistent, stealing her breath and pushing everything else out of her head. Carole. The years apart. The ache. All of it gone.

She let out a quiet moan when his hand slid to her waist, her tank top riding up so his palm could find warm, bare skin. His fingers gripped tighter, walking her back until she felt the wall at her spine. The living room swam in her periphery- all she could focus on was the heat of him, the familiar scent of salt and aftershave, and the way his lips traced down her neck.

“Do you want this?” he growled against her skin, teeth grazing the sensitive spot below her ear. She nodded quickly, her nails trailing over his shoulders.

But he stilled, pulling back just enough to look at her, his eyes dark, voice rough. “I need to hear it, angel.” God, the way he said it made her stomach twist. The rasp in his voice, the way his control barely held on.

“Yes, Bradley,” she gasped, face flushed, meeting his gaze. “I want it.”

His smirk was slow, almost dangerous. “Good girl.” She barely had time to process the words before his mouth was back on hers, his kisses deeper now, hungrier. His hands slid down, hooking into the waistband of her shorts, lips moving from her jaw down to her collarbone. Y/n arched into him, chasing every touch, every scrape of stubble against her skin.

Somewhere in the haze, she realized this was exactly how it was always meant to be. And this time, she wasn’t going to run.

He didn’t break the kiss as he backed her down the hallway, his hands on her hips guiding her like he’d been waiting years for this exact moment. She stumbled slightly, her back bumping against a wall, and he chuckled against her lips- that low, rough sound sending a shiver straight through her.

“Bedroom’s this way, angel,” he murmured, his voice a little breathless now too. Y/n followed without hesitation, heart pounding against her ribs. The house was dim, lit only by the moonlight pouring through the windows, and every step felt heavier, charged. By the time they reached the doorway, she wasn’t sure if it was adrenaline or the need making her legs shake.

He pushed open the door, and the room was exactly as she remembered it, familiar furniture, a worn baseball cap hanging off the bedpost, the same battered dresser. But the air felt different now, heavier.

Bradley turned to her, his eyes flickering over her face like he was committing every detail to memory. Then, without a word, he reached for the hem of her tank top, giving her a silent chance to stop him. She didn’t.

Y/n lifted her arms, letting him tug it off, leaving her bare from the waist up. The way his eyes darkened, the way his tongue swiped across his bottom lip, it made her knees weak.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, stepping in, his hands sliding up her sides, calloused palms a little rough against her skin. He cupped her face again, kissing her softer this time, but it carried a weight behind it, years of what-ifs.

His mouth moved down her throat, trailing over her collarbone, to the swell of her breast. She gasped when his tongue flicked against her skin, her nails biting into his shoulders. “Bradley…” she whispered, not even sure what she was asking for.

He didn’t stop, didn’t pause; he only worked the button of her shorts loose, sliding them down her legs, leaving her standing there in nothing but lace and nerves. She barely had time to feel self-conscious before he was pulling his own shirt off, revealing sun-warmed skin, broad shoulders, and the kind of body Navy pilots were apparently required to have.

Her stomach tightened. Goddamn.

She reached out, her fingers trailing over his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath her palm. “You sure?” he asked, voice low, his hand covering hers.

She met his eyes. “I’m sure.” That was all it took.

Bradley kissed her hard, walking her backward until the backs of her knees hit the bed. She fell back onto the mattress, a soft gasp escaping her as he climbed over her, his mouth never leaving hers for long.

When his lips traveled lower, she arched up, her back bowing off the bed as his hands slid over every inch of her, taking his time, like he needed to relearn her. “Always knew you’d grow up to wreck me,” he rasped against her skin.

She whimpered, threading her fingers into his hair, tugging him back up to kiss her again. “Then what are you waiting for, Bradshaw?”

That grin. That cocky, crooked, goddamn Bradley Bradshaw grin. “Good girl.”

Then he was done waiting. The rest of their clothes hit the floor in a tangle, and the moment his body pressed fully against hers, skin to skin, it wasn’t just heat- it was something deeper, something old and aching and new all at once. He moved inside her slowly at first, letting her adjust, one hand laced with hers above her head, the other gripping her thigh. The stretch, the fullness, the weight of him- it made her gasp, and Bradley groaned against her neck.

“Jesus, Y/n… you feel so fucking good.”

She clung to him, nails digging into his shoulder blades as his pace built, each thrust pulling soft, breathless moans from her lips. It wasn’t frantic or messy- it was controlled, purposeful, like he was making up for every year they’d missed.

“Say you’re mine,” he growled, his teeth grazing her ear.

“I’m yours, Bradley,” she gasped, hips tilting to meet him. “Always have been.”

He kissed her hard, swallowing her sounds as his control frayed, thrusts growing rougher, deeper. Y/n could barely catch her breath, pleasure coiling sharp and fast in her stomach, building with every pass of his mouth over her skin, every possessive grip of his hands.

When she came, it was with a sharp cry, her entire body tensing beneath him, his name falling from her lips like a prayer. Bradley wasn’t far behind, a low curse ripped from his throat as he buried his face against her neck, hips stuttering. He held her tight as he followed her over the edge, their bodies tangled and slick with sweat, the only sounds in the room their ragged breaths and the faint crash of waves through the open window.

For a long moment, neither of them moved.

Finally, Bradley shifted, pressing a soft, almost tender kiss to her shoulder before rolling to his side, dragging her with him. He didn’t let go- one arm still wrapped around her waist, anchoring her to him.

Y/n lay there, her face buried in the crook of his neck, heart still racing. It wasn’t awkward. It wasn’t heavy. It was easy. Familiar. And for the first time in years, she felt like she could breathe.

“Don’t disappear again,” he murmured against her hair.

She smiled, eyes fluttering shut. “Not a chance.” And in the soft hush of the room, with Bradley Bradshaw’s arms around her, Y/n finally, finally felt like she was home.

The next morning was a mix of whispered words, and brewed coffee. The knock came before either of them were fully awake.

Bradley groaned. Y/n snickered, slipping on a pair of his sweatpants and tightening the drawstring as Bradley reluctantly trudged to the door. He barely cracked it open.

“Unless it’s a national emergency or you’re bleeding out, come back in a few hours,” he grumbled.

“I’ll be quick,” came Phoenix’s voice from the other side, sharp and amused. “But considering everyone saw your truck parked at the beach last night and then it didn’t move, I had to see for myself.”

Bradley groaned and pulled the door open, revealing Natasha Trace, Y/n recognized her from working at the Hard Deck, sunglasses perched on top of her head, coffee in hand, a wicked grin on her face. And then she spotted Y/n.

“Well, well,” Phoenix drawled, looking between the two of them like she’d just won a bet. “Morning, Y/n.”

Y/n sighed, crossing her arms, though she couldn’t keep the small smile off her face. “Morning,”

Natasha took one look at the oversized shirt Y/n was wearing, unmistakably Bradley’s, and smirked. “Cute look.”

Bradley sighed, rubbing his face. “Can’t a guy have one damn morning without the peanut gallery showing up?”

“No,” Phoenix answered cheerfully, stepping fully inside. “Not when you sneak off with a girl the entire squad thought only existed in your childhood stories and then conveniently forget to mention she’s back in town and in your bed.”

Y/n blushed, but there was something about Natasha’s teasing that felt easy, like an unspoken welcome back into the fold. “Okay, for the record,” Y/n said, hopping back up onto the counter and taking another sip of coffee, “I’ve been back for months. And I wasn’t exactly planning on… this.”

Phoenix raised a brow. “Uh huh.”

Bradley pointed a finger at her. “You tell a single one of them—”

“Oh please, they’ll figure it out by lunch.” She grinned.

Y/n groaned. “God. Penny’s gonna tease me to death.”

“Penny’s known for two weeks Bradley was back,” Phoenix said with a shrug, leaning against the counter. “Bet she’s thrilled you finally pulled your head out of your ass.”

Bradley gave an unrepentant grin. “Yeah, well… about time, huh?”

Y/n shook her head, grinning. It was ridiculous, chaotic, and exactly the kind of morning she didn’t know she’d missed so much.

“Alright,” Phoenix sighed, grabbing a handful of cereal from the box on the counter. “I’ll leave you two alone. But Bradshaw- you owe me a round later for not blowing this up in front of the guys.”

Bradley laughed. “Deal.”

“And you,” Natasha pointed at Y/n with a wink, “you better be at The Hard Deck tonight. It’s wing night, and I wanna see how much you can still drink.”

“Count on it,” Y/n grinned.

Phoenix gave them both one last look, shaking her head with a smirk as she let herself out. When the door clicked shut, Bradley groaned, leaning against the counter.

“Never gonna hear the end of this.”

Y/n slid off the counter and stood in front of him, smirking. “Could be worse.”

“Oh yeah?” he grinned, pulling her against him.

She stood on her toes, kissing him softly. “Yeah. You could still be sleeping alone.”

He let out a laugh, resting his forehead against hers. “Fair point.”

And for a moment, with the sunlight streaming in and the last of the coffee growing cold, everything felt simple. Easy. Right. “C’mon,” he murmured, squeezing her waist. “We’ve got a full day ahead of us.”

“Can’t wait.”

And they both knew- as much as the teasing would come, so would the warmth, the belonging. Because she was back. And this time, she wasn’t going anywhere.

The Hard Deck was packed that night, humid air thick with sweat, laughter, and the scent of fried food. The jukebox cranked out old-school rock, pool balls clacked on the worn tables, and the place buzzed with the kind of energy that only happened when a squad of Top Gun pilots had the next day off.

Y/n leaned against the bar, fresh drink in hand, laughing at something Penny said when the door swung open and the squad rolled in. Hangman was first, of course- sunglasses indoors, even at night- followed by Coyote, Fanboy, and Phoenix.

And then Bradley.

He spotted her instantly, his face lighting up for half a second before his jaw clenched, his gaze flicking to the man at her side. Y/n smirked to herself.

Game on.

Hangman was already at her elbow, leaning a little too close, his usual cocky grin in place. “Well, well, if it isn’t my favorite bartender,” Jake drawled, lifting his drink in salute. “You look good, darlin’. Real good.”

Y/n laughed, leaning back against the bar. “Careful, Seresin. I've seen the trouble you make here.”

“Oh, sweetheart, I’ve only gotten started.”

She grinned, letting him get away with it because she could already feel Bradley’s glare burning into the side of her face. She didn’t even have to look. The tension in the room shifted the moment Hangman sidled up to her. Jake didn’t miss it either. Of course he didn’t.

He turned slightly, his shoulder brushing hers as he kept his voice low. “So tell me, Y/n- any chance a guy like me could steal you away for a dance before old Bradshaw over there implodes?”

Y/n let out a soft laugh, taking a slow sip of her drink, eyes meeting Bradley’s over Hangman’s shoulder. The storm brewing in those hazel eyes was enough to make her stomach flip. She tilted her head, smiling sweetly. “I don’t know, Jake. You’d have to ask him.”

Jake grinned, following her gaze and immediately catching the dagger look Bradley was sending him. “Ah,” Jake said with a wolfish grin, not the least bit intimidated. “Guess I struck a nerve.”

“More like a death wish,” Phoenix muttered, sliding up beside them with a beer in hand. “You’re playing with fire, Bagman.”

“That’s half the fun,” Hangman shot back, winking at Y/n. “Besides, no harm in a little friendly competition, right?”

Bradley didn’t wait. He stalked across the bar, shouldering his way through a cluster of pilots until he was standing between them. His hand landed possessively on Y/n’s lower back, tugging her subtly toward him.

“She’s not available,” Bradley said coolly, though his voice was tight, dangerously low. Y/n bit her lip to keep from smiling.

Hangman held up his hands, grinning like the smug bastard he was. “Easy, Bradshaw. Was just catching up with an old friend.”

“Catch up somewhere else,” Bradley snapped.

Y/n slid her hand along Bradley’s arm, fingers curling around his wrist. “Easy, Brad. He’s harmless.”

“Harmless?” Bradley scoffed, eyes never leaving Jake’s.

Phoenix just shook her head, sipping her beer. “For the love of God, you two have been in a pissing contest since ‘08.”

“Because he’s always pulling shit like this,” Bradley muttered, not taking his hand off Y/n.

Hangman chuckled, leaning back on his heels. “Relax, Bradshaw. You already won. No need to get territorial.”

“I’m not-” Bradley started, but Y/n cut him off with a kiss to his cheek.

“C’mon, Rooster,” she teased, voice soft enough for only him to hear. “Buy me a drink before you start a fight in the middle of Penny’s bar.” He clenched his jaw, then sighed, shooting one last glare at Jake before nodding.

“Yeah. Let’s go.” As he led her toward the other end of the bar, Y/n glanced back at Hangman, who tipped his imaginary hat to her with a smug grin. She couldn’t help but smirk. Shameless asshole.

When they reached a quieter corner, Bradley turned to her, eyes still dark, tension still humming beneath his skin. “You’re mine,” he muttered, his hand sliding to her hip.

Y/n arched a brow, savoring the way his voice dipped when he was jealous. “Always was.” He kissed her then, rough and claiming, right there in front of half the bar.

And no one- not even Hangman- interrupted them this time.

When Bradley finally pulled back, his breath was ragged, and Y/n could see the storm still simmering in his eyes.

“You trying to start a bar fight, Lieutenant?” she teased, her fingers idly tracing the collar of his shirt.

“Don’t test me, angel,” he muttered, lips brushing her ear. “I swear to God, the second he looked at you like that-”

She smirked, leaning into him. “Jealous much?”

His jaw clenched. “Yeah,” he admitted, no shame in his voice. “I don’t give a damn if it makes me an asshole. You’re mine, Y/n.”

God, the way he said it, voice low and possessive, sent heat racing through her veins. She couldn’t help it, she loved it. Loved that Bradley Bradshaw, calm, collected Navy aviator, could lose his cool over her. “Good,” she murmured, fingers sliding under the hem of his shirt, feeling the taut muscle beneath. “Because I kinda like when you get like this.”

He let out a dark, quiet laugh, his hand gripping her hip tighter. “You’re dangerous.”

“You have no idea.” He gave her a look, one she recognized- equal parts lust, mischief, and a promise. And then, without another word, he grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the back door, past the pool tables and squadmates who were far too interested in pretending not to notice.

“Skipping out already?” Phoenix called after them, smirking.

“Don’t wait up,” Y/n threw back over her shoulder, laughter bubbling in her throat as Bradley tugged her outside.

The night air was cooler now, the scent of the ocean stronger. The Hard Deck’s glow spilled out onto the sand, music still thumping inside. But out here, it was just them. Bradley backed her up against the side of the Bronco, both hands braced on either side of her, caging her in.

“Couldn’t take one more second of him looking at you like that,” he admitted, leaning in close, his voice rough against her ear.

Y/n smiled, eyes gleaming. “So what’re you gonna do about it, Lieutenant?”

His gaze darkened, one hand trailing up her thigh, under the hem of her dress. “I’m gonna remind you who you belong to.”

She let out a breathless laugh, tilting her head back against the cool metal of the Bronco. “I never forgot.”

He kissed her hard then- fierce, desperate, tasting of beer and want. Y/n’s hands fisted in his shirt, tugging him closer, heat pooling low in her stomach.

“I should take you home,” he muttered against her lips.

“You should,” she agreed, breath hitching as his hand slid higher.

“But I really don’t wanna wait that long.”

“Then don’t.”

He groaned, pressing his forehead to hers. “Jesus, Y/n.”

“Been waiting on you, Bradshaw,” she whispered, lips brushing his. “What the hell took you so long?” That crooked grin of his returned, and he cupped her face, kissing her softer this time- slower, deeper, like he had all the time in the world to make up for.

“Not letting you go this time,” he promised.

“Good,” she murmured, her pulse pounding.

And with one last look- all fire and reckless affection, Bradley opened the passenger door for her, the unspoken invitation in his eyes. She slid in without hesitation, the night stretching out ahead of them like some endless, dangerous promise. And neither of them had any intention of playing it safe.

Bradley drove tensely, one hand gripping the wheel, the other possessively on her thigh. His fingers occasionally drifted up, skimming under the edge of her shorts, teasing her skin. Every time his touch inched higher, Y/n smirked to herself, loving the way she could unravel him without a word.

When they finally pushed through the door of his house, he wasted no time. Bradley’s hand came up to wrap around the back of her neck as he kissed her- rough, claiming, like he was done pretending this wasn’t inevitable.

“Let me know if this is too much,” he growled against her lips, squeezing her neck just enough to make her pulse jump. It wasn’t fear. It was pure, electric thrill, like he’d reached into her mind and found the exact place where her darkest wants lived.

Y/n’s breath hitched, eyes half-lidded as she nodded. That wicked grin flickered across his face, and his free hand came down hard on her ass with a sharp smack. She gasped, pleasure sparking through her veins, meeting his gaze as he stared down at her, waiting, daring her.

A wicked grin tugged at her lips. “Yes, daddy.”

Bradley sucked in a sharp breath, his eyes darkening, the verge of a groan caught in his throat. Then he crushed his mouth to hers again, rougher this time, his hands grabbing her hips like he couldn’t get enough. In one fluid motion, he lifted her, her legs instinctively wrapping around his waist. She was a little stunned at his strength, her hands sliding over the flex of his biceps as he carried her down the hallway.

He kicked open the bedroom door, and before she could catch her breath, she was thrown onto the bed. She let out a breathless laugh, watching him strip his shirt off, the muscles in his chest and arms tight with barely held restraint. Bradley was on her in the next second, his mouth trailing kisses down her neck, over her chest, until he had both of her wrists pinned above her head with one hand. The other made quick work of unbuttoning her jean shorts.

Y/n was in a haze, every touch, every word pulling her deeper under. All those late-night fantasies, every one of them was real now, and he was doing it better than she’d ever imagined. She drew in a sharp breath when he let her wrists go, only to hook his fingers into the waistband of her shorts and underwear, tugging them down in one swift, practiced motion.

Bradley knelt between her thighs, eyes locked on the sight of her, the hunger in his expression so raw it made her stomach flip. “Fucking hell,” he muttered, dragging a single finger through her slick folds before bringing it to his mouth. He sucked it clean, eyes fluttering shut for a brief second like he was savoring it. “You taste so goddamn good, baby.”

Y/n let out a soft moan, biting her lip, her back arching when he gripped her hips, sliding his arms under her thighs. Then he buried his face between her legs.

His tongue was relentless, licking and sucking with practiced, hungry determination. Her moans filled the room, soft, breathless sounds punctuated by sharp gasps when he found every spot that made her legs shake. His stubble scratched at her sensitive skin, making it just a little rough, a little dirty; perfect.

“Bradley-” she whimpered, her fingers threading into his hair, hips rolling against his mouth. He groaned against her, the vibration making her gasp again as he slipped two thick fingers inside her, curling them just right, his mouth never leaving her clit.

“You’re so fucking sweet, angel,” he rasped, his voice wrecked with want as he worked her toward the edge. “Gonna make you come on my face. Need to feel you fall apart.”

Y/n was already close, her body tightening, every muscle wound tight as a spring as he pushed her higher, higher, until-

She shattered.

A strangled moan tore from her throat as her body arched off the bed, her hands fisting in his hair as she came hard, his name spilling from her lips in broken gasps. Bradley didn’t stop, riding it out, drinking down every sound she made like it was the only thing he needed.

When she finally collapsed against the sheets, chest heaving, he pulled back, his mouth slick and his eyes glazed with satisfaction. “Fuck, I missed you,” he murmured, crawling up her body to kiss her, letting her taste herself on his lips.

Y/n clung to him, heart pounding, knowing damn well they were nowhere near finished. And God, she didn’t want them to be.

Y/n was still catching her breath when Bradley leaned over her, his weight deliciously heavy against her body, lips trailing lazy, open-mouthed kisses along her jaw. But there was nothing patient in the way his hands moved - one cupping her breast, the other sliding down to her thigh, spreading her open again.

“You think I’m done with you, angel?” he murmured against her ear, his voice rough and wrecked, making her shiver.

She bit her lip, a teasing smile playing on her mouth as she tilted her head toward him. “Didn’t figure you for a quitter, Bradshaw.” His answering growl sent a pulse straight through her.

In a swift motion, he grabbed her wrists again, pinning them above her head, his hips settling between her thighs. She could feel him now, thick and hard, grinding against her soaked core through his jeans, and she moaned, arching up to meet him.

“Keep talking, baby,” he rasped, nipping at her neck. “I’ll make good on every single thing you’ve ever fantasized about.”

Y/n’s breath hitched, her pulse racing. “You already are.” He kissed her, deep and bruising, then reached down to undo his belt, pushing his jeans and boxers down just enough to free himself. Her eyes flicked down, and her stomach fluttered at the sight of him- thick, heavy, and already leaking at the tip.

Bradley caught the look and smirked. “You want this, angel?”

“God, yes,” she gasped, writhing beneath him.

He teased her first, running the head of his cock through her folds, gathering her slick and dragging it against her clit just to watch her squirm. “You’re already so wet for me,” he muttered, eyes dark. “This pussy’s mine now, Y/n.”

“Always was,” she whispered, her voice rough with want. That was all it took.

With one sharp, deliberate thrust, he pushed inside her, burying himself to the hilt. Y/n cried out, her back arching off the bed, nails digging into his shoulders as he filled her completely. “Fuck,” Bradley groaned, his forehead dropping to hers, his breath ragged. “You feel like heaven, baby.”

He set a brutal, steady pace, each thrust deep and hard, driving into her like he needed to make up for every lost year between them. The bed rocked beneath them, the headboard knocking faintly against the wall with every movement, neither of them caring in the slightest. Y/n was a mess beneath him, gasping his name, legs wrapped tight around his waist, meeting every thrust.

“Harder,” she whimpered. Bradley didn’t hesitate. He grabbed one of her legs, tossing it over his shoulder, angling deeper. The new position made her gasp, stars bursting behind her eyes.

“You like that, baby?” he growled.

“God, yes, Brad—don’t stop.” His hand came down on her ass again, sharp and possessive, as he drove into her harder, faster. The sound of skin on skin filled the room, mingling with her broken moans and his ragged grunts.

“Such a good fucking girl for me,” he murmured against her throat, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. “Taking me so damn well.” Y/n clung to him, her whole body coiled tight, the edge rushing up on her fast.

“Bradley- I’m gonna-”

“I know, angel,” he rasped, hips snapping harder, chasing his own release. “Come for me. Show me who you belong to.”

It shattered her. She came with a sharp, strangled moan, her entire body tensing around him, eyes squeezing shut as wave after wave of pleasure tore through her. Bradley cursed, his thrusts turning erratic before he followed, spilling deep inside her with a hoarse groan of her name. He held himself there for a moment, buried deep, his hands cradling her face as he caught his breath.

Neither of them moved for a long beat, sweat-slicked skin pressed together, the only sound their heavy breathing and the distant crash of the waves outside the open window.

Finally, Bradley leaned in, brushing a kiss to her temple. “You’re fucking dangerous, Y/n.”

She smiled against his skin, still breathless. “You love it.” He chuckled, rolling onto his side, pulling her with him so her head rested on his chest, their legs tangled beneath the sheets.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his hand stroking her hair. “I really do.”

And in the quiet aftermath, with the ocean breeze cooling their skin and the salt air filling the room, neither of them had any doubts- whatever this was between them, it wasn’t stopping anytime soon.

Y/n woke to the sound of waves and the faint creak of floorboards as Bradley padded back into the room, two mugs of coffee in hand, his hair a rumpled mess, and the waistband of his sweats slung low on his hips.

“Morning, angel,” he greeted, his voice still rough from sleep- or maybe from how thoroughly he’d wrecked both of them the night before.

She smiled, stretching languidly beneath the sheets, one of his old t-shirts clinging to her body. “You’re spoiling me,” she teased, taking the mug he offered.

“You deserve it.” He smirked, sitting on the edge of the bed, one hand trailing down her bare thigh. “Especially after last night.”

Y/n raised a brow over the rim of her cup. “Mm, last night, huh?”

He grinned, leaning in to nip at her neck. “You loved it.”

“I did,” she agreed easily, then let a wicked little grin pull at her lips. “But you know what’s got me curious, Bradshaw?”

He froze, lifting his head. “What?”

She set her mug down, scooting closer, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “You didn’t hesitate when I called you daddy. Not even for a second.”

Bradley flushed- actually flushed, his ears turning a faint shade of pink, though he tried to play it cool. “You started it,” he muttered, though his hand on her thigh tightened like he wasn’t entirely over it.

Y/n laughed, absolutely delighted. “Oh, so that’s how it’s gonna be?”

He huffed out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Look, you say something like that in the middle of me trying to not lose my goddamn mind, and I’m not responsible for what happens after.”

She grinned wider, biting her lip. “I liked what happened after.”

His gaze darkened immediately, that dangerous edge flickering back. “Careful, angel,” he warned, voice low and rough, leaning in close until their noses brushed. “Keep teasing me like that and you won’t make it to breakfast.”

Y/n let out a breathless laugh, sliding her arms around his neck. “That a threat, Lieutenant?”

“It’s a promise.”

She kissed him, slow and lazy, her fingers threading into his messy hair. When they finally broke apart, she grinned. “You really do have a thing for being called daddy, don’t you?”

He groaned, dropping his head to her shoulder, laughing quietly. “Christ, you’re gonna be the death of me.”

“Good,” she whispered against his ear, tugging his earlobe between her teeth. “Because you’re stuck with me now, Bradshaw.”

He pulled back, grinning like the smug bastard he was, and pressed his forehead to hers. “Good.”

They spent the next hour tangled up in sheets and teasing kisses, trading soft touches and playful insults, the morning sun creeping higher through the windows. And for the first time in years, neither of them was in any rush to be anywhere else.

The Hard Deck was already packed by the time Bradley strolled in, sunglasses on despite the late afternoon hour, a smug little grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. His hair was a mess, barely tamed, curls still a little too wild, like someone had thoroughly run their hands through it.

Because someone had.

Y/n, sitting at the bar beside Penny, watched him over the rim of her drink, biting her cheek to keep from laughing. He looked way too pleased with himself. And the squad noticed immediately.

“Jesus Christ,” Hangman muttered as Bradley approached, leaning back against the pool table with a shit-eating grin. “Someone’s walking like he just conquered half the goddamn coastline.”

Phoenix snorted, sipping her beer. “I’d say he got laid, but he looks too smug for it to have been casual.”

Fanboy and Coyote exchanged glances before turning to Bradley, who set his beer down with a little too much satisfaction.

“Something you wanna share with the class, Rooster?” Phoenix asked, one brow arched, sharp as ever.

Bradley grinned, taking a sip of his drink, leaning his forearm against the bar. “Not particularly," leaning closer to Y/n, his hand resting possessively on the back of her stool.

Fanboy grinned. “I give it three days before Hangman tries to flirt with her again.”

“Already did,” Y/n teased, grinning at Jake. “He crashed and burned.”

“Hey, I was being friendly,” Hangman defended, holding up his hands. “Didn’t know she was already riding shotgun with Captain Pornstache over here.”

The table erupted into laughter, and even Bradley cracked a grin, shaking his head. Penny slid another round of beers down the bar with a knowing smile. “You kids have fun last night?”

Bradley didn’t even pretend to deny it. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Y/n leaned in close, whispering something into his ear that made his smirk falter and his face flush just enough for Phoenix to catch it.

“Oh, my God,” she groaned. “You’re into the daddy thing, aren’t you?” Y/n cackled, nearly choking on her drink as the entire squad howled.

Bradley groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Jesus Christ.”

“Knew it!” Hangman shouted, pounding the table. Penny just shook her head, laughing as she walked away.

Y/n winked at Bradley, smug and unrepentant. “Told you you were mine now.” And damn if he didn’t look like the happiest, most exasperated bastard in the room.

The teasing didn’t let up for the next hour. Every time Bradley so much as brushed Y/n’s arm, the squad would erupt into exaggerated wolf whistles or muttered “Daddy’s girl” comments under their breath. Phoenix was the worst, refusing to let him live it down while Hangman seemed personally offended he hadn’t won the unofficial bet.

“Alright, Bradshaw,” Jake called, slapping two pool cues onto the table. “You and me. Loser buys the next round.”

Bradley raised a brow, leaning back against the bar, an arm lazily draped around Y/n’s shoulders. “You sure you wanna do this, Seresin? You’ve already taken one L tonight.”

Y/n snorted into her drink as the guys howled. “Talk’s cheap, Rooster,” Jake smirked. “Let’s see if you can actually back it up.”

Bradley grinned, pressing a kiss to Y/n’s temple before stepping away. “Watch this, angel.”

“Oh, I’m watching,” she teased, giving him a smug little look. “Show me what you’ve got, daddy.”

The entire bar lost it. Hangman damn near choked on his beer, Coyote practically doubled over, and even Penny, wiping down glasses at the far end of the bar, barked a laugh.

Bradley groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I hate you all.” But the flush creeping up his neck said otherwise.

The game started, and much to Y/n’s delight, Bradley wiped the floor with Hangman. Shot after shot, balls dropping into the pockets with practiced ease. Every time Jake missed, Y/n would lift her glass in mock sympathy, making Hangman mutter curses under his breath.

“God, this is better than pay-per-view,” Phoenix grinned, leaning over to Y/n. “You sure you wanna deal with his cocky ass after this?”

Y/n smirked. “I’ll manage.”

When Bradley finally sank the eight ball with a smooth, confident stroke, he straightened, cue resting against his shoulder, and shot a look straight at Hangman. “Looks like you’re buying, Seresin.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jake grumbled, heading toward the bar.

Bradley made his way back to Y/n, that victorious grin firmly in place. He didn’t even ask before tugging her up by the hand and pulling her flush against him. “C’mere,” he murmured, his lips brushing her ear.

Y/n grinned, wrapping her arms around his neck. “What’s up, Bradshaw? Gonna brag about your win?”

“No,” he smirked, nuzzling into her neck. “Gonna steal you away.”

“Oh?” She arched a brow, leaning back to look at him. He shot a glance around the bar, his squad still teasing, the pool tables loud, the music thumping through the old jukebox. Then his gaze dropped back to her, his voice low and rough.

“I want you to myself for a while. Can’t stand having to keep my hands off you in front of those assholes.”

Y/n laughed, brushing her lips against his. “So possessive.”

“Can you blame me?”

She rolled her eyes playfully, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Alright, Lieutenant. Steal me.”

He grinned, grabbing her hand and weaving them through the crowd, ignoring the shouts of protest from the squad. “Hey!” Hangman called after them. “If you’re gonna leave, at least let me finish my beer before you start defiling my memories of this bar!”

“Too late,” Phoenix quipped.

The Hard Deck’s noise faded as they stepped outside, the cool night air brushing against their skin. Bradley tugged her toward the Bronco, pulling her close again once they were out of sight. Y/n smiled up at him, their bodies pressed together in the soft glow of the parking lot lights.

“You really can’t get enough of me, huh?” she teased.

Bradley grinned, brushing her hair back from her face. “Not a chance.”

He kissed her then, slow and deep, no teasing, no audience- just him and her, like no time had passed between then and now.

And Y/n knew, without a doubt, that this wasn’t just a fling, not some old childhood bond or a one-time thing. This was dangerous. Real. And God, she was already in too deep to care.

[arianna-bradshaw]

The Lion’s Den

Chapter 4: Chaos Evolving

Summary: Pride and fear tangled inside me like venom. I didn’t want to seem desperate. Didn’t want to be the girl pacing the room, watching the door, waiting for a man who’d made it perfectly clear I was a complication he didn’t know what to do with. And yet… the silence screamed louder than any words ever could.

TW: Italian Mafia, Sexual content, Daddy kink, Drugs, Alcohol, Guns, etc.

Pride and fear tangled inside me like venom. I didn’t want to seem desperate. Didn’t want to be the girl pacing the room, watching the door, waiting for a man who’d made it perfectly clear I was a complication he didn’t know what to do with. And yet… the silence screamed louder than any words ever could. I caught myself watching the door anyway. Expecting him to walk in, smooth and commanding, like he always did. Like he owned the air I breathed and the ground beneath my feet. Like none of this distance existed. My only reprieve was when with breakfast a phone was dropped off. No way to call anyone other than the contacts already listed. Rooster and the five men he basically owned. I didn't dare to use it.

Days passed, and all I had were Hangman’s occasional texts, sharp, teasing, half-laced with warnings, never enough to satisfy, always just enough to remind me that even if I wasn’t his, I was still part of their world. I hated how badly I wanted Rooster to come back. Hated the ache in my chest every time the elevator stayed quiet. And when he finally did return he came back like a storm, but colder. No easing back into the space. His eyes were harder.

“Don’t expect anything,” he muttered, voice clipped as he tossed his jacket over a chair. “Business took longer than I thought.” Something twisted in my chest, sharp and ugly.

I swallowed hard, every instinct screaming to break through that ice, to drag him back to the fire we’d both gotten lost in. “Rooster,” I whispered, his name catching in my throat. He looked at me like I was an echo he didn’t want to hear. A complication. A risk.

“Don’t make this harder than it is,” he said, voice low and unyielding. “You’re in too deep now. No mistakes.” His hand brushed mine. Barely a touch.

But it felt like a brand. A warning.

But he wasn’t here. Not tonight. The space between us was a cold, empty battlefield. And in Rooster’s world… love didn’t come with promises. It came with scars. And silence. His jaw tightened, and without another word, he turned away. And I was left alone in the war zone of what we’d become.

I was getting dizzy without regular human interaction. I needed something, some kind of hit to steady my nerves, to shake off the adrenaline Rooster had left swirling in my veins. I grabbed my phone off the counter, fingers trembling as I opened Hangman’s contact.

I need to go out tonight. See someone. See something. Can I go to The Ether?

I’d been trapped in the penthouse for over a week now. Only seen Rooster twice in all that time. It shouldn’t have felt this long, but it did. I craved conversation, connection — anything but the constant battle that was us. Not quite arguing, but something darker. A war neither of us wanted to lose.

Let me ask the boss, came his swift reply.

I waited, making my way to the couch, sinking into its cold embrace. Minutes passed, each one dragging longer than the last, until my phone rang.

Rooster.

My breath caught, my heart pounding so fiercely I thought it might burst. I answered before I could stop myself.

“I’m sending up some clothes, heels, and makeup,” he said, voice clipped, colder than I expected. “You will not leave my side tonight. Be ready at nine.” Before I could say a word, he hung up, and despite the chill in his tone, I was giddy, reckless with anticipation. I stared at the screen long after the call ended, my fingers still trembling as I set the phone down. Be ready at nine. The words echoed in my mind, both a command and a promise I wasn’t sure how to take. He wasn’t soft with me, never was. But there was something in that cold edge that made my chest tighten in a way I couldn’t explain. Like beneath all the ice and distance, there was a flicker of something raw, something almost… protective.

I glanced around the penthouse, suddenly restless. The hours ahead felt endless, but at least tonight I’d get out. I’d see the world beyond these walls, hear voices that weren’t laced with threat or warning. Maybe even catch a glimpse of the man Rooster was beneath the walls he built around himself. I pulled my legs up onto the couch, wrapping my arms around my knees. The thought of dressing up, putting on heels and makeup, feeling alive again, it filled me with a nervous kind of excitement. But underneath it all, there was that familiar knot of fear. What did he want from me tonight? Would it be just another game? Another battle? Or something different? I didn’t have the answers.

All I knew was that when the clock struck nine, I’d be ready.

Because I couldn’t stay locked away forever. And maybe, just maybe, tonight would be the night everything changed.

The elevator was almost silent, but I heard it clearly, three sharp rings, deliberate. My heart jumped. I rose from the couch, smoothing my hands over the worn fabric of my hoodie before crossing the room. The door slid open, and there he was: one of Rooster’s men, carrying a sleek black bag. No words exchanged. I took the bag and closed the door behind him, the weight of the moment pressing down on me.

Inside, carefully folded, were the clothes Rooster had promised: a tight black dress that looked expensive enough to blind anyone who caught sight of it, a pair of sharp heels, and a small box of makeup. I ran my fingers over the smooth fabric, feeling the promise and threat wrapped inside. The clock on the wall ticked closer to nine, and I moved quickly, shaking off the nerves coiling tight in my stomach. I changed, letting the dress hug my curves, sliding into the heels that made my legs feel long and dangerous. The makeup was simple, just enough to sharpen my cheekbones, darken my lashes, and give my lips that perfect, blood red. When I caught my reflection in the mirror, I barely recognized the woman staring back. Sharp. Dangerous. Ready. I was far from the scared girl who’d stumbled into Rooster’s world. At exactly nine, my phone buzzed again.

Waiting for you.

I grabbed my clutch, took a deep breath, and headed for the door. The elevator ride down felt like the final countdown. Each floor I passed was a reminder that I was leaving safety behind, stepping into a world I’d only glimpsed before. When the doors opened, the bass from The Ether thumped like a heartbeat through the lobby. And there he was. Rooster. Waiting. Cold. Commanding. Unyielding. But when his eyes met mine, something flickered, something I’d been chasing in the dark all week.

The heavy velvet curtains swallowed us the second we stepped inside. The air was thick with heat, smoke, and the pulsing rhythm of music that seemed to vibrate straight through my bones. The Ether was a different world, dark, electric, and dangerously alive.

Rooster’s hand settled on the small of my back, guiding me with a silent authority that made my breath hitch. Around us, the crowd moved in a hypnotic flow, faces blurred by strobe lights and shadows. But all I could see was him. His eyes never left mine, sharp and unreadable. The cold edge from before hadn’t softened, but now it carried a promise- a warning, maybe, or something closer to hunger. We navigated through the throng until we reached the private rooms, moving to The Lion's Den, the place where deals were made and secrets kept under lock and key. Rooster’s grip tightened just enough to remind me I wasn’t just a guest.

“Stay close,” he murmured, voice low and rough. I nodded, heart pounding. Every nerve screamed that I was exactly where I didn’t want to be, but also exactly where I needed to be. Inside the Lion's Den, the music softened to a low hum. Rooster poured us both a drink, his movements precise, controlled. He didn’t look at me as he handed me the glass, but his fingers brushed mine, just a touch, but enough to send a jolt through me. “Drink,” he said, voice clipped.

I obeyed. The liquor burned down my throat, a fire that spread warmth through the cold spaces inside me. For a moment, the fight between us paused. The walls came down just enough for a breath. But then he looked at me; really looked, and the storm in his eyes returned. “We don’t have time for distractions,” he said. “Not here. Not now.”

I met his gaze, unflinching. “Maybe I’m not here to be a distraction.”

His lips curved into a shadow of a smile. “Careful, Angel. That attitude could get you hurt.”

I leaned in just a little, daring him. “Maybe I want to get hurt.” For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to just us, a dangerous, volatile tension humming between two people who knew exactly how much they risked. Before I could press him further, the door opened.

A few men filtered in, sharp suits, hard faces, the kind of men who carried power like a weapon. The air shifted instantly, thick with the scent of expensive cologne, smoke, and bloodstained history. I recognized a few from that first night. The rest I didn’t want to know. This was no casual gathering. This was business. And I was no one.

Rooster’s hand dropped from my back as his mask slid into place, the cold, untouchable man these people followed. The room itself matched him: dark, heavy with mahogany and leather, walls painted in shadow, and an atmosphere so sharp it could cut glass. The Lion’s Den. A place where real decisions were made. Where loyalty was currency and betrayal got you a bullet.

Rooster didn’t tell me to stay. He didn’t need to.

I knew my place.

I slipped into the empty chair beside him, legs crossed, back straight, face smooth. The way I’d done that first night, in a dress meant to distract and a look meant to be looked at. Eye candy. An ornament to hang on the arm of a king. I let my expression settle into that distant, pretty nothingness. Let my gaze trail over the men like their conversations meant nothing to me, even as their words clawed into my skin.

Territory disputes.

Shipments gone missing.

A name spoken like a death sentence.

Rooster spoke in low, measured tones, every word carrying weight. Every glance a command. He never looked at me, not once, but his hand rested on my thigh, a silent, possessive reminder that I was still his place, to parade, to protect. And I hated how much it settled the storm inside me.

I knew what this was.

Knew how to play this part.

So I smiled when the men glanced my way, laughed softly at a joke I didn’t hear, sipped from the glass Rooster placed in front of me. I didn’t flinch at the sharp glint of a gun on a table, or the casual mention of bodies dropped in alleys. I was a shadow in their den. A beautiful, forgettable thing, but I saw everything. And as the night stretched on, and Rooster’s fingers tightened just a fraction on my thigh, I wondered how much longer I could keep pretending this was a game, because one day, it wouldn’t be.

The meeting dragged on, thick with veiled threats and thinly masked power plays. The men spoke in half-sentences and code, but the meaning underneath was clear enough. Someone was losing territory. Someone else was dead. Another was about to be.

I kept my expression soft, my smile in place, every inch of me composed the way I’d learned that first night. A living, breathing prop. Decorative, but dangerous in her own way. A woman no one asked questions about but no one forgot either. Rooster didn’t speak unless it mattered. And when he did, the room went still. It was strange, the power he carried. The way a single word from him could make grown men lower their eyes. He wore command like a second skin. Cold. Clean. Unapologetic, but every so often, his thumb would trace a slow, absent line over my thigh, a small, claiming touch everyone could see; and God help me, I hated how my pulse responded to it.

When the meeting finally adjourned, the men stood, handshakes exchanged with sharp looks behind them. A few spared me cursory glances, some lingering a little too long, but no one dared speak to me. Not with Rooster watching. One by one, they left, the room slowly emptying until it was just us.

The music from the club below pulsed faintly through the walls. Rooster didn’t say anything at first. He poured himself another drink, dark liquor catching the light as he moved, then leaned back in his chair and studied me. That stare made me want to squirm. Made me want to fight. Made me want to climb into his lap and either kill him or kiss him. I straightened my spine, refusing to look away.

“Not bad,” he said quietly, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You clean up well, Angel.”

I swallowed, my voice steady but soft. “I know my role.” Something in his expression flickered — a twitch of the jaw, a shadow behind his eyes. I pushed, because I couldn’t help myself. “And what exactly is that, Rooster? A distraction? A trophy? Or something easier to bury if I start asking the wrong questions?”

He moved so fast I barely registered it, one second across the room, the next in front of me, gripping my jaw between his fingers. “Watch it,” he murmured, voice low and dangerous. “You’re playing with fire you don’t understand.” But his touch wasn’t cruel this time. It was rough, possessive, and something else entirely. Something closer to desperate.

I met his gaze, pulse hammering in my throat. “Then let it burn.” For a long, stretched breath, neither of us moved. Then his mouth was on mine, brutal, claiming, no softness left between us, and I didn’t fight it. Because whatever this was, whatever battle we kept waging, I knew one thing for certain. I’d already lost. His mouth was on mine, rough and punishing, and I didn’t hesitate this time. I grabbed his jacket, fisting the lapels and yanking him down harder, chasing the violence of his kiss like it could quiet everything else inside me. There was no tenderness here. No apologies. This wasn’t about comfort, it was about claiming, about power, about needing something so badly you’d burn for it. Rooster’s hands slid to my waist, gripping tight enough to bruise, pulling me flush against him as if even an inch of space would be too much. His teeth scraped my bottom lip, and I let out a sharp gasp, the sound swallowed by the way his tongue swept in to take what he wanted.

I didn’t care that the room was still thick with the scent of cigars, blood, and power plays. I didn’t care that this was a battlefield where men decided lives and I was meant to be silent, ornamental, obedient. Because here, right now, his hands on me, his mouth devouring mine, it was the first thing that felt real in the last week. I moaned into him, my fingers already tugging his jacket off his shoulders, and he cursed under his breath, breaking the kiss long enough to stare down at me. His eyes were wildfire, all control shattered, and the sight of it nearly undid me.

“You don’t get it, do you?” he rasped, voice wrecked, thumb tracing my lower lip. “I can’t want you like this. I can’t fucking need you.” But his grip didn’t loosen, and neither did mine.

“Too late,” I whispered, reckless, breathless. And then we were on each other again, desperate, raw, hungry. His hands slid up my thighs, dragging the hem of my dress higher as he backed me against the wall of The Lion’s Den, the cold paneling biting into my skin, only making me arch closer. His mouth found the hollow of my throat, teeth grazing the sensitive skin there, and I gasped, threading my fingers into his hair, tugging just to feel the answering growl vibrate against my neck.

“Say it,” he demanded, his voice a low snarl against my skin.

I didn’t ask what.

I knew.

“I’m yours,” I breathed, my voice shaking. Because whether it was a lie, a weapon, or the only truth left, it didn’t matter. Right now, in this room, I was his. His breath was ragged against my skin, and for a moment, neither of us moved. His hands were still on me, the weight of them heavy, possessive, and when he finally pulled back, it wasn’t because he wanted to. It was because he had to.

Rooster’s jaw was tight, eyes still dark with something wild and dangerous, but the mask was sliding back into place, slower this time, like maybe it cost him more now. Without a word, he grabbed my wrist and tugged me toward the door.

“Where-?” I started, but he cut me off with a sharp look.

“Not here,” he muttered, voice low, rough with something like restraint. He led me out of The Lion’s Den, through a side hallway only the men in charge seemed to use, away from the thrum of music and strobe lights. His pace was fast, his grip unyielding. My heels clicked against the concrete as we made our way through the underground garage, the heavy scent of gasoline and oil thick in the air. I didn’t ask questions. I didn’t need to. The sleek black Maserati waited, engine already idling like it knew we were coming. Rooster opened the passenger door, his gaze flicking to mine, not soft, not gentle, but something had cracked in those dark eyes. A fracture he couldn’t quite hide.

“Get in,” he said quietly. I slid inside without hesitation. The drive was silent. The city lights blurred past, and I could feel the storm still swirling inside him, thick and suffocating. His hands gripped the wheel too tight, jaw clenched, and though he didn’t look at me, I could feel his gaze flicker over when he thought I wasn’t watching. Something had changed. We both knew it.

When we reached the penthouse, he didn’t wait for the valet. He pulled straight into the private garage and cut the engine. The hum of the city felt a thousand miles away down here. For a long moment, he sat in the driver’s seat, staring at the dashboard like it held answers he didn’t want to find. Then he spoke. Quiet. Measured. Cold, but not untouched.

“You’re a problem I should’ve handled the night I met you.”

My throat tightened, but I didn’t flinch. “And yet you didn’t,” I said softly. He let out a bitter, humorless sound that might’ve been a laugh if it didn’t sound so broken. Without another word, he got out, slamming the door harder than necessary. I followed, the click of my heels sharp against the polished concrete as he led me to the private elevator. He hit the button, waited, never looking at me. But his hand brushed mine again. Barely. A reckless, unconscious touch. And neither of us moved away.

The penthouse was dark, only the distant city lights bleeding through the massive windows, casting long, jagged shadows across the room. Rooster didn’t bother with the lights. He moved like he always did, sure, controlled, like the world bent around him whether it wanted to or not. I followed him in, my pulse a heavy, thrumming beat in my ears. He didn’t speak. Didn’t have to. The bedroom door was open, the space beyond dressed in cold, calculated black and white. No warmth. No softness. A reflection of the man who lived here. And yet, I wanted it. Wanted him. Even if it was reckless. Especially because it was.

He tugged his jacket off, tossing it onto the chair. The tension in his shoulders, the rigid line of his jaw, it was all still there, but there was something else now. A crack in the armor, barely visible but undeniable. I stood at the threshold, waiting. His eyes found mine across the room, and for a breath, neither of us moved. Then he reached for me. A fist in the fabric of my dress, pulling me forward until I collided with his chest. His mouth was on mine before I could catch a breath, hot, punishing, desperate. This kiss wasn’t for control. It wasn’t about ownership. It was about need. And it broke something in me.

I kissed him back just as hard, my hands fisting in the front of his shirt, pulling him closer, chasing the heat, the hunger, the ache I’d been carrying since the moment he first looked at me like he wanted to ruin me. His hands were rough, sliding over my hips, up my spine, until he gripped the back of my neck, angling my head the way he wanted. His other hand tangled in my hair, tugging just enough to make me gasp against his mouth.

“Goddamn you,” he muttered against my skin, his voice cracked and ragged as his lips trailed down my throat. “You were never supposed to get under my skin.”

“Too late,” I breathed, the words catching on a moan as he pushed me back toward the bed. I went willingly, my pulse a wildfire in my veins. He didn’t undress me gently. Didn’t worship or tease. He stripped away the barriers between us like they were insults, like every piece of fabric was a battle he had to win. And when I was bare beneath him, his gaze dragged over me like he was memorizing a sin he had no intention of repenting for.

For a moment, he hesitated.

I saw it- that fracture in his control, the war behind his eyes. But then his mouth was on mine again, and the last of the distance

between us shattered. The world narrowed to nothing but heat, skin, and the sharp, aching knowledge that this wasn’t safety. It wasn’t love. It was need. And it was war. And I was going to drown in him anyway.

My hands fumbled at the buttons of his shirt, frantic and trembling, desperate to feel skin against skin. Rooster growled low in his throat, parting from me just long enough to yank the shirt over his head once I’d managed to undo the first few. God, he was carved from sin. My palms slid over his tattooed chest, across the hard planes of his abs, tracing the ink like it might tell me something about the man beneath it. The space between us was electric — so different from that first reckless time, when Hangman lurked in the shadows like a voyeur.

Now it was just us.

His growl deepened as I moved, wrapping my legs around his waist, grinding my hips up into him with a needy whimper I didn’t bother to hide. His mouth crashed onto mine, teeth scraping my lip before he bit down, a sharp sting that made my pulse trip. His hand slid to my throat, a steady, possessive weight- not choking, but a reminder. A warning.

Mine.

I looked up at him, panting, and the storm in his eyes stole what little breath I had left. Without a word, he shifted, sitting back on his knees between my thighs. One hand still firm at my throat, the other drifted down my body in a slow, maddening path, until his fingers brushed over my bare, aching center. And then he was inside me, two rough, unforgiving fingers plunging deep.

I cried out, arching sharply against the pillows, the sheets twisting beneath my grasp as pleasure cracked through me like lightning. Rooster’s lips curved into a dark, feral smirk. “That’s it, Angel,” he rasped, his voice rough as gravel. “Take what I give you.” His fingers moved with ruthless precision, no hesitation, no mercy, like he already knew every part of me, like he’d mapped my body the first time and never forgot it.

I was gasping, writhing under him, my thighs trembling around his hips. The hand at my throat tightened just slightly, grounding me in the chaos, in the fire.

“You like this?” he asked, voice low, dangerous. “Being ruined by me?” I couldn’t answer. I could only nod, lips parted, eyes wide as I stared up at him like he was both the fire and the match. “Say it,” he growled.

“Yes,” I choked out, the word more breath than voice. “I need you.”

His eyes flared like I’d said something dangerous, something that cracked the edges of the cold armor he wore like a second skin. He pulled his fingers from me, slow and deliberate, watching my face as I whimpered at the loss. And then he was undoing his belt with one hand, still pinning me with the other, still holding me like I might disappear if he let go.

The next second, he was pushing into me, thick, hard, and unrelenting. My back arched like a bow, mouth open in a soundless cry as he filled me completely. I clawed at his back, nails digging into muscle as he began to move, slow at first, then harder, faster, deeper. Each thrust stole breath, stole reason.

He was everywhere, the scent of him, the taste, the weight of his body pressing me into the mattress like he wanted to anchor me there, keep me from slipping away. “You drive me fucking insane,” he bit out, hips slamming into mine. “And I still can’t stay away.”

I reached up, brushing my fingers along his jaw, and for a second, just one second, he leaned into the touch. His eyes closed. His breath caught. A crack in the king’s armor. But it was gone just as fast. He buried his face in my neck, breath hot and ragged. “Don’t fall for this, Angel,” he whispered against my skin. “I’ll destroy you.”

His movements grew more urgent, relentless, a storm barely held at bay. Every hard thrust felt like a promise and a warning all at once, the heat between us a volatile mix of desire and danger. I clung to him, my nails tracing shallow lines down his back, desperate to hold onto something real amid the chaos. His breath was ragged against my neck, each whispered word cutting through me sharper than any blade. “I’ll destroy you,” he repeated, low and fierce, as if saying it aloud might somehow keep it from happening—or maybe to remind himself.

But I didn’t care. Not tonight.

Not when the world outside these walls felt distant and meaningless.

When his body moved against mine, raw and unyielding, I found a strange kind of freedom in the recklessness. Like maybe, just maybe, losing myself in him was the only way to survive this madness, and as the edge crept closer, the walls we’d built around each other cracked a little more, letting in the light,and the danger of something neither of us dared name.

When it finally broke, it wasn’t gentle. It was violent and consuming, a wildfire burning through the last of my defenses. He collapsed beside me, heavy breaths filling the silence between us. For a moment, we just lay there, two broken pieces trying not to shatter completely. His fingers traced lazy patterns on my skin, tentative now, as if afraid to claim too much.

“I can’t keep doing this,” he finally murmured, voice rough with something close to regret. But I didn’t answer. Because even in the cold aftermath, even with the walls still looming, I knew one thing for sure: I was already lost.

His fingers trailed slowly over my skin, the tenderness a stark contrast to the brutal need moments before. I lay still beneath him, heart still pounding, every breath a fragile thread holding me together.

“I can’t keep doing this,” Rooster repeated, voice low and raw. There was a crack in it now, a glimpse behind the walls, a shadow of the man who fought so hard to stay distant. I swallowed hard, searching his eyes for something, anything, that would tell me he wasn’t slipping away already.

“Then don’t,” I whispered, voice barely more than a breath. “Stay.”

For a heartbeat, the silence stretched, heavy and thick with everything left unsaid. Then his hand found mine, squeezing just enough to say he heard me, even if he wasn’t ready to admit it.

“I don’t do ‘stay,’” he said, voice rough but softer. “Not like this.”

I shifted, turning so I could face him, the faint light catching the sharp angles of his face. “Maybe you just don’t know how.”

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, he looked like he might argue. But instead, he let out a breath, a small, almost bitter laugh. “Maybe,” he said.

We stayed there in the quiet, two broken souls tangled in sheets and shadows, the city’s pulse humming faintly outside the window. The silence was shattered by a sharp, insistent buzzing, the phone on the nightstand. Rooster’s hand shot out before I could even move, snatching it up with a speed that set my nerves jangling.

He stared at the screen for a long beat, the dark calm draining from his face. His jaw clenched so tight it looked like it might crack.

“Trouble,” he muttered.

I sat up, heart hammering. “What kind?”

He didn’t answer right away, eyes flicking to the door, the window, every shadow suddenly alive with threat. Then he stood, every muscle coiled and ready. “They’ve found us. The shipment’s been compromised. Someone’s coming.”

My breath caught. Rooster moved to the window, pulling back the heavy blackout curtains just enough to peer out into the city night, already darkening with danger. “We need to move. Now.”

His hand found mine, firm and unyielding, dragging me from the bed even as my mind screamed to hold onto the fragile peace we’d just carved out.

Rooster’s grip on my hand was iron as he pulled me from the bed. My skin tingled under his touch- possessive, urgent, and I didn’t resist. I knew better than to.

He moved with purpose, every step calculated, the predator’s instinct sharp in his eyes as he scanned the room. The soft glow of the city lights barely pierced the darkness beyond the window, but I could feel the tension thickening the air, like the calm before a violent storm.

“We don’t have time,” he muttered, voice low and tight. “Get dressed. Now.” I didn’t hesitate. My hands shook as I grabbed my clothes, slipping them on quickly, every second dragging like an eternity. The penthouse felt suffocating all of a sudden, their luxury turning cold, hostile. Rooster was already at the door, pulling his jacket on, his face set like stone.

The elevator ride down was a silent countdown. My heart hammered so loud I was sure he could hear it. I didn’t know who was coming or what they wanted, but I knew one thing- If they thought they could catch us off guard, they had another thing coming.

The garage was empty except for the Maserati. Rooster wasted no time opening the door and pulling me inside. The engine roared to life, a beast unleashed as he peeled out, tires screaming against concrete. Every second felt stretched thin, the world narrowing down to the hum of the engine and the sharp urgency of Rooster’s hands tightening around the wheel. “We need to get to the safe house,” he said finally, voice strained. “It’s secure—off the grid.”

I nodded, clutching the door handle as the city lights blurred past, the streets suddenly a maze of shadows and danger. “Who’s coming?” I asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“The Nocturne,” he said grimly. “And they won’t stop until they get what they want.” The night was closing in fast, and with every mile we put between us and the penthouse, I realized something- In Rooster’s world, peace was just a fleeting illusion.

Rooster’s grip tightened on the steering wheel as the Maserati roared through the night, tires gripping the wet pavement like claws. The city lights flickered past in a blur, but his eyes stayed sharp, searching every shadow, every mirror, every turn for signs of pursuit. Behind us, distant headlights flared, weaving through traffic with reckless speed.

“They’re close,” Rooster muttered, voice low but urgent. “Too close.”

I pressed back against the seat, heart slamming as the sleek car weaved through narrow alleys and side streets, the echo of engines growing louder. “Can you call Hangman?” I asked, fumbling for my phone in my pocket.

“No signal,” Rooster snapped, eyes darting to the dashboard. “They’ve jammed the area.” Panic bubbled in my chest, but Rooster’s steady presence was the only thing anchoring me.

“Hold on,” he growled, shifting gears as the Maserati surged forward, sliding around a sharp corner with expert precision. Behind us, the headlights swerved, one car peeling off, another closing in faster. Rooster’s jaw tightened. “They want to box us in. Not gonna happen.”

He took a sharp turn into an underground parking garage, the air thick with the scent of gasoline and danger. The chase tightened, engines roaring through the confined space. I could hear footsteps, too many, for a moment, the adrenaline made my vision tunnel. Suddenly, a black SUV blocked the exit, lights blazing like a wall of fire. Rooster slammed on the brakes, the car screeching to a halt mere feet from the barricade.

Doors flew open. Men in suits poured out, guns drawn, eyes cold and merciless. “No way out,” one snarled, voice like gravel, french accent think.

The confined garage echoed with the metallic click of guns being cocked- a sound that made my blood run cold. Rooster's eyes narrowed, deadly calm beneath the rising storm. His hand slammed down on the gear shift, spinning the Maserati around with expert precision as bullets shredded the air behind us.

Glass shattered. Tires screamed. I dove low, heart hammering, as the first shots tore through the rear window, spraying shards like deadly rain. Rooster’s knuckles whitened on the wheel, jaw set hard as he pushed the car to the limit, weaving through concrete pillars and low-hanging pipes. “Hold on!” he barked, voice sharp as the bullets ricocheted.

His eyes flicked to the side mirror, one of the men had climbed onto the hood of the SUV, gun raised, taking aim. Without missing a beat, Rooster slammed his foot on the gas, the Maserati lunging forward, barely missing the SUV as it barreled into a support beam with a thunderous crash.

The man on the hood tumbled off, landing hard, but he scrambled up quickly, relentless. Rooster swerved, tires screeching, dodging another hail of gunfire. The confined space of the garage turned into a deadly maze. I pressed myself against the seat, clutching the door handle, every nerve alight with panic and adrenaline. Rooster’s voice was a low growl. “We’re not done yet.” He gunned the engine, aiming for a narrow exit ramp. Bullets pinged off the car’s frame as we shot upward, sparks flying where metal met concrete.

The air outside hit us like a wave as we burst from the garage into the open street, the chase far from over, but for a moment, we were free. Rooster’s eyes burned with fierce determination as he pushed the Maserati into the dark city night.

“We’ll lose them,” he promised, voice rough but steady.

Masterlist:

Post by @arianna-bradshaw · 1 image

💬 0  🔁 0  ❤️ 0 · The Lions Den- Masterlist · Top Gun Mafia AU Summary: Arianna, a young woman drawn to the exclusive New York nightclub