sweet - luke skywalker x reader
luke skywalker is living on tatooine as he prepares to rescue han solo from jabba’s palace. you’re one of many bounty hunters sent to capture him. your mission complicates, however, when the lonely jedi is far too enthusiastic about your company.
bounty hunter! gender neutral reader x pre-rotj! luke
chapter warnings: light drinking, canon-typical violence
a/n: this is just an au where luke is supposed to be keeping a low profile as he hides out on tatooine after esb but he misses his friends and is way too social with strangers as a result. that is all
Luke Skywalker wasn’t easy to find. You weren’t sure if he was evading capture with his Jedi powers, if the Rebels were keeping him well hidden, or both, but your search had spanned two months now and your patience was growing incredibly thin.
You’d heard that the kid had blown up the Death Star, but you weren’t sure why Vader’s orders were to take him alive, or why so much effort was being spent on finding a single pilot. You didn’t normally take large bounties like this, as it was just so much more of a hassle, but under the collapsing economy of the Empire, you were running out of options. This pilot was going to singlehandedly put food on your table. You had a job to do, and more competition than you could handle, but what other option was there?
In your building frustration, you had started getting a bit sloppy. Your ship’s fuel tank being nearly on empty was a clear indictor of that. So, with no other option, you had to stop for fuel on the worst possible planet: Tatooine.
On top of that, you would have to dock at Mos Eisley. Your luck was growing worse by the minute.
Begrudgingly, you landed your ship, haggled with the station crew, and still paid more to fuel up than you should have. By the end of the interaction, you were about to blow a fuse, your anger reaching its limit. You hadn’t been this pissed in a long time, your growling stomach not doing much to ease your stress. So, with very little credits and a sour attitude, you made the trek over to the cantina.
What a shithole, you thought as you walked inside. The cantina wasn’t incredibly crowded tonight, but it was still relatively lively. The band was playing something a bit more relaxing, and you could see the setting suns from the seat you had taken at the bar. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad.
The bartender appeared in front of you, staring at you expectantly as your eyes roamed his selection. He didn’t bother with a greeting, but that was fine. You didn’t need one.
“Just beer is fine,” you mumbled, watching as he pulled one out and popped the cap off, “Thanks.”
“You wanna start a tab?” he asked, tired eyes boring into you.
“Yeah, why not.”
You supposed you’d dock at Tatooine for the night. It wasn’t like your bounty would be on this dead end planet anyway. If anything, he was more likely to be tucked away in a secret base, not allowed to leave in fear of being attacked. His status as a wanted man was quite well known, and there’s no way the Rebels would risk letting such a talented pilot slip out of their hands.
“You got anything to eat around here?” you asked, feeling your stomach growl once more.
The bartender must’ve heard it too, because he looked at you with a deeper grimace.
“I can make you a sandwich out of Haroun bread and Worrt meat,” he offered.
Gross, but you’d take what you could get.
“That’s fine, thanks,” you murmured.
He was nice enough to make the sandwich warm for you, and he did his best to make it look appetizing, even adding a little seasoning. You weren’t used to experiencing the kindness of strangers, so you weren’t quite sure how to respond, but you hoped that your gratitude was clear to him.
You studied the patrons as you ate, finally taking in your surroundings in full. A few men were playing some sort of card game you’d never seen before in the far corner, a prostitute sat talking to a potential client in a table to your right, and a few people were sitting close to the band. Prostitutes, gamblers, drunkards—this was all what you’d expected out of a Mos Eisley cantina.
“Ah, so you’ve made it another day.”
You momentarily thought that the bartender was speaking to you, but that hardly made sense. You looked up to see a new customer had entered, sliding into a barstool on your left, leaving an empty seat between you. You couldn’t see the person’s face, as the hood of their cloak concealed their features. From where you sat, you could only make out the outline of their side profile, the dim lighting and setting suns not doing you any favors.
“Seems like it,” the person replied.
The voice was much softer than what you’d expected out of a mysterious cloaked figure on Tatooine, but that was hardly as surprising as their drink order.
“Blue milk?” the bartender asked.
“Please.”
“Not dark blue?”
“I won’t be drinking tonight.”
Who comes to a bar and orders milk? you wanted to ask, but you bit your tongue for now. You still didn’t know whose identity that fabric was concealing, but judging by how friendly they appeared to be with a bartender in Mos Eisley, you were certain they were trouble.
“Suit yourself, kid. Anything else I can get ya?”
The figure seemed to contemplate this for a moment, gloved fingers drumming against the countertop thoughtfully.
“Got anything to eat?”
“That one right there is eating a Worrt sandwich,” he said, pointing at you, “That’s all we really have tonight. Sorry.”
“That’s dreadful,” they said quietly, not bothering to look at your plate, “I don’t need anything nutritious.”
“You’re asking if I have dustcrepes.”
“Sorry,” the voice was sheepish now, and you were willing to bet that the person under the hood was blushing, “Haven’t had anything sweet to eat in a while. I was just curious.”
“They’re not actually sweet, kid.”
“Nothing sweet ever came from Tatooine.”
The bartender laughed before disappearing for a moment, bringing back a plate with a singular dustcrepe on it. You were surprised to find that it didn’t look that bad.
“I hope this isn’t your only one,” the figure said softly, not yet sticking their fork into the treat, “I don’t want to take it from someone else—“
“Just eat the damn thing, kid. You’ve done enough for me. Least I can do is let you have the last dustcrepe.”
Hesitantly, the gloved hand cut a small piece of the crepe off, and you watched as the person’s shoulders relaxed when they finally took a bite. You had finished your sandwich now, but it wasn’t enough after several days of eating dried fruit and nuts, so you really couldn’t be blamed when another growl sounded from it.
The bartender turned to you, but the figure did not, now just sitting perfectly still.
“I know Worrt meat ain’t much. I’m sorry,” he apologized, wiping some sweat from his brow with a towel.
“It’s fine,” you murmured, embarrassed by your appetite, “I just haven’t been eating a lot lately. It’s my own fault. Thanks for the sandwich.”
You jumped in your seat when you saw the gloved hand extending in your direction, but the reflex to grab your blaster was tamed when you saw that half of the stranger’s dessert was being presented to you.
“What?” you asked, bewildered.
“Take half,” they insisted, nudging the food in your direction, only tilting their head slightly. You could make out their nose and a small part of their lips, but the dark shadows the hood was casting still made discerning any details difficult.
“No,” you replied, still confused, “I just ate. You haven’t eaten yet.”
“You’re hungry,” they said simply.
“It’s yours. You bought it.”
“Have you ever had a dustcrepe?”
“What? No?”
“Then at least try it.”
“He’s not gonna give up,” the bartender interrupted, a small smile on his lips, “He’d give you the shirt off his back if you asked for it. Just the type of guy he is.”
“Don’t ask me to take off my clothes,” the stranger mumbled, and you nearly laughed in spite of yourself, “But he’s right. I’ve decided that you’re going to share this with me, and it seems like you want to, so take it.”
Reluctantly, you took the crepe from his hand, your fingers brushing his as you did so. You felt no heat from his palm, and you made a mental note that he must have had some type of prosthetic. Interesting, but not nearly as important as the treat you had just bitten into, which was probably the best thing you’d tasted in a long time.
“Good, right?”
“It is,” you admitted, “Thank you.”
“Don’t worry about it. It’s one of my favorites, and I think everyone—“
He was cut off by someone tapping his shoulder, and he reflexively spun around in his seat to see who was trying to get his attention, consequently turning his back to you.
“I haven’t seen eyes like that around here in forever,” the culprit—one of the prostitutes you’d seen earlier, you realized—said, and you were suddenly envious that this woman had seen the kind stranger’s face and you had not.
“Oh,” the man said, seemingly dumbfounded, “But I was here yesterday?”
“It’s a shame you’re hiding such a handsome face,” she continued, ignoring his comment and taking a seat in his lap, “It’s a crime, really.”
“Thanks?” he all but squeaked, his hands flying up in an attempt to put some space between the two of them.
“Leave him alone, Pella,” the bartender huffed, sounding tired.
She sighed and climbed off of him, instead standing behind him and spinning him around to face the counter again.
“But just look,” she said, one hand on his shoulder and the other on top of his hood, “At those eyes.”
Before he realized what she was doing, she yanked down his hood, exposing his face to the entirety of Mos Eisley. The bartender rolled his eyes and no one else seemed to be particularly interested in the interaction, but you were floored.
Yes, he was beautiful. He had wispy blond locks that curled around his ears and a jaw that was strong but cheeks that were soft. You weren’t facing him directly, and yet you could still understand what she had meant about his eyes. They were a light blue, like the crystal waters of a much kinder planet than Tatooine, and shone even in the dim lighting of the cantina. His looks, however, were only a secondary thought to you at the moment, because there, in a tiny bar in the Outer Rim, sat Luke Skywalker.
“Son of a bitch.”
His eyes flickered to you in an instant, and he seemed to realize that your hand was hovering above your holster before you did.
“Don’t try it,” he pleaded, looking back up at you, “I don’t wanna hurt you.”
You weighed your options for a moment, and ultimately decided on unsheathing your blaster anyway, lunging out and grabbing the woman, pressing the barrel of your weapon to her temple. She screamed and kicked your shin, which hurt quite a bit, but you weren’t about to let anything stand in the way of you and this bounty.
“Hey!” the bartender shouted, coming out from behind the counter to confront you, “I make you a sandwich and you start pointing blasters at women in my bar? What the hell is wrong with you?”
“My business is with him,” you replied coldly, staring at Luke, “Drop any weapons you have.”
He was standing now, and with a sigh, he unclipped a blaster from his utility belt. You eyed him skeptically, but he just shook his head.
“Lost the saber when I lost the hand,” he told you, wiggling his gloved fingers at you in a way that almost felt sarcastic, “What now?”
His attitude wasn’t as annoying to you as it should’ve been, but you still glared. Keeping your blaster pointed at the woman, you quickly reached into your pocket, tossing a pair of handcuffs at the bartender.
“Cuff him. And if they don’t look tight enough, I’ll shoot her. Understand?”
When the bartender hesitated, you shoved your blaster harder into her temple, making her cry out in pain.
“I’ll be fine,” Luke told him, giving him a soft smile, “You don’t need to worry.”
The bartender still frowned, but he reluctantly reached forward, grabbing the cuffs.
“Behind his back,” you ordered.
Luke rolled his eyes and turned around, offering his hands to the bartender. He didn’t react as the cuffs were fitted tightly around his wrists, but you could see that they had to be painful.
“Okay,” you breathed out, shoving the woman forward and taking hold of Luke instead, “We’ll be out of your hair now. Apologies to the lady, and thanks for the food.”
“I’ll be fine,” Luke called out over his shoulder, apparently unbothered by your blaster pressing into his side as you guided him to the door, “Thank you for the crepe!”
When you exited the cantina, you roughly shoved him forward, now keeping your blaster level with his back.
“Walk that way,” you demanded, pushing him towards the direction of your ship.
“You shouldn’t have scared that woman like that,” he said quietly, though he obeyed your orders and began walking.
“She’ll be fine. She’s alive, isn’t she?” you countered.
“You didn’t have to threaten her.”
“She’s a prostitute at Mos Eisley. I’m sure she’s seen scarier people than me.”
“So? She’s still a person. And she has nothing to do with this.”
“Are you scolding me?” you finally asked in disbelief.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, looking ahead as he continued to walk, “I’m not trying to scold you. I just meant that other people didn’t need to get involved.”
In the span of thirty minutes, Luke Skywalker—the pilot who blew up the Death Star and wielded a lightsaber—had shared his crepe with you, scolded you for scaring a woman while trying to take him as a hostage, and then apologized for it. You briefly wondered if you had passed out from exhaustion and were having some sort of lucid dream.
“Why are you on Tatooine?”
“I’m from here. Why are you?” he countered, though it was without venom.
“Why are you here now? And because I almost ran out of fuel looking for you. I had no idea you’d be drinking blue milk in Mos Eisley, of all places. What’s up with that?”
He shrugged, silently continuing his trek. You walked a little faster and shoved your blaster into his spine as hard as you could, making him falter slightly.
“What?” he snapped, turning to look at you.
You tried not to lose your breath at the sight of his golden hair gleaming in the sunset, the sky’s soft orange hues making his blue eyes seem even more striking. You failed, exhaling deeply as you stared at him, bewildered by his beauty.
“What?” he asked again, this time with furrowed brows and genuine confusion.
“Nothing,” you grumbled, “Answer my questions.”
“None of it really matters,” he replied, turning and walking again, “Just stuff that doesn’t really concern you or your mission, I guess.”
“You don’t even know what my mission is. Why are you on Tatooine?”
He was silent for a moment, but eventually decided to humor you.
“You were expecting me to have another weapon. Was the lightsaber mentioned in my profile when you took the commission?”
“Yes,” you admitted, “It stands out. Not many people have those these days.”
“I suppose not,” he hummed, “Well, like I said, it’s gone. And I need another one. So here I am.”
“That doesn’t explain anything. Why are you here?”
“Looking through a dead guy’s stuff for some information on building a lightsaber myself. Among other things.”
“Among other things,” you mocked, rolling your eyes, “Why do you need a lightsaber anyway? Nothing beats a long range blaster.”
“You sound like my friend,” he said, chuckling quietly, “I’m a Jedi, so I need a lightsaber.”
“You’re not a Jedi,” you scoffed, not believing him for a second, “They’re extinct, but even if they weren’t, you wouldn’t be one. You haven’t even tried to fight me once. You’re weak.”
“I don’t need to fight you,” he said simply, “Because you won’t hand me over.”
The statement surprised you, and you felt the dam holding back the pent up frustration from the day snap. You finally made it to your ship, and you roughly shoved him inside, dragging him to the front of the small vessel and pushing him down into the co-captain’s chair. You loomed above him, pointing your blaster at the center of his forehead now, glaring at him.
“I will,” you seethed, your other hand falling to his shoulder to keep him in place, “I wish I could just kill you now and save myself the trouble of having to hear your voice all the way to the rendezvous point.”
“Where’s the rendezvous point?” he asked, cocking his head at you as if you weren’t holding a loaded weapon to it.
“I’m not—What the fuck is wrong with you? You should at least humor me a little and act like your life is in danger. This is bad for my self esteem.”
He laughed at that, showing off his stupidly perfect white teeth.
“My life’s not in danger,” he said, bringing his hands out from behind his back and holding them up to show you that his handcuffs were gone, “See? I’m all good.”
You stared at him in disbelief for a second, his freed hands mocking you and all you’d worked for.
“I’m gonna kill that bartender,” you announced calmly, turning to exit your ship again. You pushed the button to open the cockpit’s door, but it only parted halfway before slamming shut again. Puzzled, you smashed the button again, much harder this time, only for the exact same thing to happen. Finally, you turned to Luke, whose hand was outstretched, open palm facing you and the door.
“Sorry,” he said sheepishly, letting it fall back to his side, “But I can’t let you kill the bartender. He’s a nice guy. Also, he was true to his promise. He really had those cuffs on tight.”
“What did you just do?” you asked, dumbfounded.
“The Force,” he explained, still seated, “I’m a Jedi. I told you that. You should tell the Guild to update their records.”
You circled him slowly, now even more suspicious of him than before, and you raised your blaster again.
“I think Vader would understand if I killed you now. You’re freaking me out a little.”
“You’re funny,” he said sincerely, waving his hand again and sending your blaster flying across the room, “You seem to have a pretty good sense of humor. We could’ve had a nice conversation at the bar instead of doing all of this.”
You stared at your weapon in the corner, once again at a loss for what to do. You were a pretty talented bounty hunter, and you were confident that you could put up a decent fight against Luke, but you had no experience fighting Jedi.
“I’ve had a really long day,” you confessed, eyes darting between Luke and your blaster, “I’m pretty emotionally exhausted. I’m too tired to even be that pissed at you right now, and I really wish I wasn’t, because I really want to beat the hell out of you for giving me such a hard time, but unfortunately, I’m broke, and this job was supposed to be my ticket to financial security, so if you could just stop fucking things up and—“
“And what? Go and die quietly?” he interjected, quirking an eyebrow at you, “I’ve got things to do too, y’know. Can’t get myself killed just yet.”
“He wants you alive.”
“And then when I won’t do what he wants, he’ll kill me. I don’t have time for that right now.”
“Darth Vader put a bounty out on you and you’re worried about it getting in the way of your work schedule?”
“It’s important work,” he offered, shrugging again.
“Funny,” you huffed, feeling quite defeated, “Well, fuck me I guess. Why didn’t you take the handcuffs off sooner? Actually, why did you even come with me in the first place?”
“I haven’t spoken to someone my own age in two months. And you seemed nice.”
You had never been called nice a single time in your life. You were stunned, swallowing hard for a moment before speaking again.
“Well, sorry to have disappointed you.”
“You didn’t disappoint me. This is the most fun I’ve had in a long time. I never get to talk to anyone these days. Being stuck here for two months has been draining, and—“
“You’ve been here for two months?” you asked, backtracking slightly.
“Yeah, around that long. Why?”
You had gone to eight different planets looking for this guy, and the entire time, he had been here, drinking blue milk and making friends with bartenders.
“Ah,” he said then, as if he understood your frustration, “Sorry to have caused you so much trouble. I’m sure it’s not nearly as much as whatever my bounty is, but since I can’t let you take me in, I can at least give you some of the credits I have—“
“What’s wrong with you? Why are you offering to compensate me when I just kidnapped you?”
“You didn’t kidnap me,” he corrected you, “I came willingly. And it’s fine. You were never going to actually turn me in anyway, so it doesn’t matter.”
“Why do you keep saying that? I fully intended on bringing you in before you started moving shit around with your mind.”
“I can just tell,” he said simply, shrugging again.
You sighed, collapsing into the pilot’s chair and crossing your legs.
“Well, since I can’t shoot and kill you, and now I also can’t kidnap you, I guess you’re free to go.”
Just as the words left your mouth, your ship made a horrible creaking noise, causing you to shoot up out of your chair. To your surprise, Luke followed suit, gently placing a comforting hand on your arm. You wanted to slap him away, but you found yourself liking the light touch more than you anticipated, your cheeks flushing. He really was beautiful, but he was still supposed to be your bounty.
“It’s just the wind,” he reassured you, offering you a small smile, “But I wouldn’t go out in that right now. It could mean that a storm is approaching.”
“A storm? It doesn’t rain here, does it?”
“Not that kind of storm,” he replied, “A dust storm. It could be nothing, but when the wind picks up like that at night—“
He was interrupted by another strong gust rocking the ship forward, and he winced. He leaned forward to look through your windshield, and sure enough, considerable amounts of sand had started blowing through the air, and the suns had now nearly fully set. Even if you wanted to get Luke off of Tatooine, there was no way you could travel in this.
“If you want me to leave, I should probably do that now,” he said awkwardly, staring through your windshield.
“Is letting you out gonna blow a ton of sand into my ship?” you asked tiredly.
“Um, probably. Sorry.”
“How long will this last?”
“I’m not sure. Could be an hour, could be more. They usually get worse at night and settle by morning.”
“I just want one stroke of good luck,” you groaned, running your hand through your hair, “Whatever. Just stay until it’s over.”
He gave you a curious look at that, which would’ve been cute on anyone else; however, seeing as he had just extinguished your dream of financial stability, you were still a bit resentful.
“Okay,” he replied, smiling a little, “Thanks. I appreciate that.”
“I’m not doing it for you. My ship is already falling apart, and exposing the inside to a dust storm is just gonna be another nail in the coffin.”
“If you say so,” he hummed, sitting back down, “So, you’re a bounty hunter?”
“We don’t need to make small talk.”
“Yes, we do. It’ll be awkward if we don’t. And I’m genuinely interested. Like I said, I haven’t seen someone my own age in two months. You can humor me a little.”
You sighed, long and drawn out to make your misery clear to him.
“Fine,” you hissed, “Yeah, that’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?”
“Not really. You’re pretty laidback for a bounty hunter.”
“And now you’re insulting me. You’re the gift that keeps on giving, huh?”
He had the audacity to giggle at that, and you could’ve sworn that your heart stopped beating for a moment. There was no way that this was the same person who blew up the Death Star. There had to be some sort of mistake.
“I didn’t mean it as an insult. Just that you’re not wound so tight that you start killing everyone in your path. Most bounty hunters are like that, in my experience at least. Not to generalize or anything.”
“You have a lot of experience with bounty hunters?”
“Well, yeah. I’m a bounty, after all.”
“Right,” you huffed, crossing your arms and relaxing a little, “And what? Others have found you before?”
“You’re the sixth this month.”
You sputtered for a moment, unable to conceal your surprise. You’d known that you probably weren’t the first person to run into Luke, but five others? This month?
“You’re full of shit,” you argued, narrowing your eyes at him, “Those are hunters from the Guild. You would have been captured by now. I don’t believe you.”
“Sorry?” he replied, looking a little uncomfortable, “You don’t have to believe me, but I don’t really have any reason to lie to you.”
“Yes, you do,” you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. Your ship made another horrible noise then, and your stomach churned when another gust of wind forced itself against your only mode of transport.
“It’ll be okay,” he said, standing and walking towards the entrance to your ship, “But if you’re really worried about sand, we should stuff some fabric in these cracks. You should really have this resealed, actually. Do you not get cold from the air seeping in?”
“What, you’re making renovations now?” you scoffed, standing and following him as he walked down the corridor, “Hey! Where are you going?”
“To get fabric,” he called back, and he was gone.
You jogged to catch up with him, only to be floored when you saw him wave the door to your quarters open with his hand. That should’ve been impossible, but you supposed he was full of surprises.
“You can’t just barge into my room,” you snapped, putting an arm in front of him and slamming the button to shut the door.
“Don’t complain when your loading ramp is covered in sand tomorrow morning.”
You stared at him for a second before begrudgingly relenting, slamming the button once more. He smiled at you as he stepped into your quarters. You were hoping that he wouldn’t try to read you by studying your room, but your hopes were shattered when he made his way to a small desk in the corner.
“Is this an N-1 Starfighter?” he asked, staring at a model ship you had sitting on the desk, “I used to collect model ships. I never had this one though.”
“Yes,” you snapped, stepping between him and the desk, “I killed a guy for that. Don’t touch it.”
“Can I touch it?”
“I just said—“
“I won’t break it. I swear. I can be delicate.”
“Fine,” you hissed, reluctantly placing the model in his hands, “But if you break it, you have to let me take you to Vader.”
“Sounds fair,” he agreed, even though trading his life and freedom for the chance to hold an N-1 model hardly seemed fair to you at all.
You tried not to look at him at all as he admired the ship in his hands. You tried not to notice how his eyes lit up and his entire body visibly relaxed. You hadn’t even realized he’d been tense until now. His gloved thumb gently traced the doors, and with all the care he could muster, he tapped the tiny droid you had placed inside.
“It even has an astromech,” he mused happily, and for whatever reason, he felt compelled to meet your eyes then.
His beauty was truly unfair. Even in the dim lighting of your ship, his eyes still sparkled, and you couldn’t help but wonder what he’d look like in broad daylight. Divine, surely.
“Um, yeah,” you replied, voice strained, “I found that separately.”
“It’s a good addition,” he praised, smiling at you, “I have an astromech myself. Flying isn’t the same without him.”
“The R2 unit,” you said, recalling its mention in his commission profile.
“His reputation precedes him then,” he chuckled, shaking his head fondly, “Makes sense. Big personality for a little droid.”
“I wasn’t aware that droids had personalities.”
“I’ve met droids more personable than some people.“
“Seems more likely that you’re just projecting your big personality onto them,” you scoffed.
He smiled at you again and gently placed the model back into your hands.
“Thanks for letting me look at it. That’s probably the nicest model ship I’ve ever seen.”
“Whatever,” you murmured.
Your ship made another creaking sound then, and tilted more than it should have at the next gust of wind. To your horror, you were knocked off kilter, N-1 model flying out of your hands as you fell towards the floor.
Luke caught you before you collided with the ground, but you hardly cared. You shoved him off of you as you scanned the ground for the model ship, and you began to panic when you couldn’t find it.
“It’s fine,” he assured you, and your head snapped up to see the tiny N-1 Starfighter hovering level to where you’d been holding it. You looked to see that his other hand was outstretched; he appeared to have used his powers to keep both you and your prized possession from hitting the floor.
Relieved as he gently moved the model back into your hands, you sighed and placed it in your desk drawer. You’d keep it there until your ship stopped swaying in the violent winds of Tatooine. You didn’t bother thanking him.
“Do you have any extra sheets or blankets? We can use those to seal the gaps for now,” he said, reminding you of why you’d both come into your quarters in the first place.
“A few, yeah,” you mumbled, pulling some extra sheets from the drawers under your bed. You tossed a couple into his hands, and the two of you exited your quarters and made your way back to the entrance.
He got to work immediately, stuffing the sheets into the cracks that ran along your door. You didn’t offer assistance, instead standing with your arms crossed in front of your chest as you watched him. He was out of sheets, but a small portion of the seal still remained unattended.
“Do you have any more?” he asked, turning back to look at you.
“No,” you snapped, glaring at him, “Can’t you use your cloak?”
He cocked his head at you then, and pursed his lips together in what may have been annoyance. Seeing his expression venture anywhere near irritation was surprising to you at this point, and you wondered if you should continue giving him a hard time just so you could see him lose his composure a little. Maybe then you could finally gain some insight into why the Empire regarded him as such a great threat.
“I told you not to ask me to take my clothes off,” he joked weakly, though he looked a little uncomfortable.
“It’s the perfect size. Why not?”
“I just don’t want to,” he huffed, seeming torn between honoring your request and keeping his robe on.
“Not very noble of you, Jedi.”
“Don’t do that,” he said, eyes narrowing at you, “You’re trying to get under my skin. If I’m stuck here until the storm blows over, shouldn’t we at least be civil?”
“Your stoicism is annoying me. I can’t be civil if I’m annoyed.”
He stared at you for a second before sighing, his shoulders slumping a little.
“Sorry?” he replied, brows furrowed, “I’m not sure how I’m supposed to be acting, but I can be quiet for the rest of the night if that helps.”
For some reason, you were beginning to regret trying to annoy him. He wasn’t actually growing irritated with you; he just seemed hurt.
“I’m going to bed,” you said then, deciding this was a bandaid fix to your growing uncertainty surrounding your bounty, “I guess you can leave when the storm calms down, since I’m apparently not going to turn you in. Don’t break anything.”
“Oh,” he mumbled, seemingly surprised by your response, “Okay. Well, it was nice meeting you.”
“Wish I could say the same,” you murmured, and with that, you stormed off towards your quarters, managing not to look back at him a single time.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───
Sleep didn’t come easily to you. Perhaps it was because you had left a supposed Jedi unattended in your cockpit, or maybe it was because of the harsh wind blowing against the side of your ship, which was already in worrisome condition. Regardless of the reasoning, you were struggling to rest.
After a few hours of trying in vain to sleep, you finally decided to give up. In your night robes, you ventured back into the cockpit, half expecting Luke to have vanished into the night.
How wrong you were.
There, having leaned the co-pilot’s chair as far back as it would go (which wasn’t very far, admittedly), sat Luke Skywalker. His knees were pulled to his chest, and his head rested against the back of the chair, his eyes closed. A shiver passed through him, and only then did you realize that he wasn’t wearing his cloak. You walked back towards the entrance door then, only to see that he had, in fact, shoved his robe into the remaining gaps. You sighed, a degree of guilt you hadn’t felt in years creeping up on you and gripping your conscience.
Reluctantly, you returned to the cockpit and roughly shook him by his shoulders. He jolted awake, eyes wide as he momentarily panicked. Much to your dismay, he immediately relaxed upon realizing it was you. This was an insult to your career.
“Is the storm over?” he asked, voice strained and raspy from sleep. You hated how attractive you found it.
“No,” you mumbled, unable to stop yourself from staring into his soft, tired eyes, “Come on.”
Confused, but willing to follow you anyway, he stood, trailing behind you as you led him back towards your quarters.
“Get your cloak,” you snapped when you passed the entryway, and he quickly complied.
“Some sand might get through—“
“I don’t care. Just take your shit.”
“Okay,” he replied, stifling a giggle. You rolled your eyes.
When you entered your quarters, you climbed back into bed. He stood, looking a little uncomfortable, but he didn’t say anything. Begrudgingly, you tossed a pillow down onto the rug next to your bed.
“Not being able to see you is stressing me out,” you said then, trying to sound as menacing as you could. Apparently, your efforts were in vain.
“Aw,” he hummed, taking a seat on your rug, “That’s sweet. Thank you.”
“I meant—“ you began, but you sighed in defeat when you caught sight of his sleepy smile, “Okay, whatever. I’m going back to sleep. Don’t do anything stupid.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied, still grinning at you, “Goodnight. Thanks for the pillow.”
You didn’t reply, instead turning on your side so you wouldn’t have to look at him.
This was the most troublesome bounty you’d ever agreed to.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───
You weren’t sure why, but you awoke with a start, unable to breathe. You gasped and reached for your weapon, your fight or flight response immediately kicking in. When you were able to fully open your eyes, you realized in terror that you were face to face with a Trandoshan, his hands around your throat and his claws digging into your skin. Eyes widening, you managed to clutch the small knife you kept under your pillow, and shoved the blade into the side of the creature’s neck. He howled out in pain just long enough to allow you to roll out of your bed. You hit the floor hard, but managed to recover as you finally made it to your feet. Your blaster sat on your desk, and you made a beeline for it as you continued to cough from the assailant’s attack on your throat.
As your fingers wrapped around the handle of your blaster, you suddenly felt claws digging into your ankle, pulling you backwards and making you hit the ground again. You gasped, the air having been knocked out of your lungs, but didn’t release your hold on your blaster. The Trandoshan lifted you by your ankle and slammed your body onto the floor, your head making a horrible sound as it collided with the steel below. Grunting, you held onto your blaster for dear life, trying to think clearly enough to fend off the attack on your life.
You feigned unconsciousness if only to stave off another collision with the floor. The Trandoshan moved to kick your blaster from your hand then, but in a panicked effort to save yourself, you rolled to the side. You caught your attacker off guard enough to fire a shot to his knee, but knowing Trandoshans and their cockroach-esque abilities, it wouldn’t be enough. You fired off another shot into the creature’s neck, near where you’d shoved the blade, and you finally managed to bring him to the ground. Heart beating fast, you pointed your blaster at his head and kept your finger on the trigger until you were sure he was no longer breathing.
Hearing a commotion elsewhere on your ship, your adrenaline motivated you to race down the corridor and into the cockpit. To your horror, you saw that three more Trandoshans had infiltrated. You were confused by the corpse of one sitting on the floor next to a defeated assassin droid, but your confusion was quickly resolved when you caught sight of Luke standing on top of the co-pilot’s chair. He was unarmed, and yet a Trandoshan and assassin droid lay dead on the ground. You couldn’t wrap your head around it.
“You are outnumbered,” one of the Trandoshans hissed, blaster pointed at Luke.
Luke caught sight of you then, and before you knew what was happening, your blaster was flying through the air and into his hand.
“Hey!” you shouted, but he ignored you as he quickly fired a round into the two Trandoshans standing in front of him. You weren’t able to warn him about the lack of ammunition in your blaster before it was too late, and he frowned as he realized that he no longer had a weapon. The last Trandoshan charged at him then, but he dodged the attack by jumping off of the chair and landing gracefully on his feet.
The attacker shot at him as he skillfully evaded the bullets. You were impressed, but you couldn’t help but frown as your floors were maimed. Luke kept him firing until the Trandoshan was out of ammunition as well, leaving him with no choice but to engage the Jedi in close combat. Luke had no problem with this, practically dancing around the Trandoshan as he fended off his attacks. The creature did finally land a hit on him, however, and you winced as blood trickled down his nose.
You ran towards your arsenal then, deciding that Luke no longer had the situation under control. You picked up two more blasters and then scurried back into the cockpit, ready to shoot down the intruder. When you arrived, however, the Trandoshan’s feet were no longer touching the ground. You followed his panicked gaze until your eyes landed on Luke, whose outstretched hand appeared to be the culprit behind the floating creature in your cockpit. His expression was sharp as he clutched his hand into a fist, and with a final gasp, the Trandoshan fell to the ground, dead.
Luke panted, walking backwards until the back of his knees hit the co-pilot’s chair. He collapsed onto it then, trying to catch his breath as he sat with his head in his hand.
Only then did you finally begin to realize the danger he posed. You had struggled to take out one Trandoshan, and he had managed to kill four and an assassin droid in the same amount of time. He was only armed for two of those kills, and you felt a little sick at the realization that you had been sleeping in the same room as a man who could choke people with his mind.
Blood trickled from his nose and down his chin, but he seemed rather indifferent to it. Sighing, you approached him cautiously, blaster still in your hand as you neared the man in your cockpit. He must have sensed you growing near, because his eyes flew open and he looked up at you.
“Hey,” he greeted you softly, his voice strained, “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
You stared at him for a second, bewildered by the implication that he’d intended to fight off all of the attackers on his own while letting you sleep.
“One of them made it into my quarters,” you replied, unsure of what else to say. His face fell, and he stood to survey your body for an indication that you were hurt. You weren’t sure how, but he managed to find one, and you froze when his gloved hand caressed your cheek.
“You’re injured,” he said in between his ragged breaths, hand moving to touch your forehead, “Where’s your ‘fresher?”
You blinked at him and pointed down the hallway, unable to protest as he grabbed your hand and dragged you to your own restroom. Blood still dripping down his face, he made you sit on the lid of the toilet as he searched for a first aid kit. He really must have had some unnatural ability to find what he was looking for, because he returned with it in his hand.
“You’re bleeding,” he told you then, kneeling in front of you as he put a cloth under your nose, “Blow.”
You obeyed, a little dazed, but he stopped you.
“Not that hard,” he chuckled, and you rolled your eyes and blew your nose a bit more gently. He folded the cloth then and made you lean forward a bit, placing it in your hand and making you hold it. He then guided your other hand to pinch your nose.
“Sit like that for a few minutes. Don’t blow your nose again unless I tell you to.”
“You’re bleeding,” you told him, your own voice coming out as nasally. You cringed at the sound, but he giggled.
“Yeah, but you’re the one with a likely concussion. I’m alright.”
He leaned over your sink as he tended to his own nose, and you frowned when he spit a bit of blood into it, quickly rinsing it down by turning on the faucet.
“Who were they?” you finally asked, beginning to sort through the haze in your brain.
“Trandoshans. Dangerous, known for hunting Wookiees—“
“I know what Trandoshans are,” you snorted.
“Sorry, right. You’re a bounty hunter. I didn’t know what they were until a few months ago when they started trying to kill me, but then again, I’m from the middle of nowhere. Anyway, yeah. They broke in—you really need to get your doors fixed—because they saw us leave the cantina together. They were after me. I’m sorry that you got hurt.”
He sounded so sad towards the end that you could hardly stand it, and you couldn’t get over how ridiculous he was for apologizing for attracting additional bounty hunters when you were the one who had kidnapped him in the first place.
“I made you come here against your will. Don’t apologize for my mistakes,” you murmured.
Perhaps it was the mental fog resulting from your possible concussion, but you felt a little more relaxed around him than before. Considering how you’d just seen him decimate an entire group of bounty hunters, it was certainly a little ironic. Still, he was tending to your wounds and profusely apologizing when it wasn’t even his fault to begin with, and you couldn’t help how fascinated you were by his actions. You’d never met anyone like him.
“I could’ve left. I’m from Tatooine, you know. I could’ve handled the storm,” he mumbled, spitting some more blood into your sink.
“I told you not to. Because of the sand,” you reminded him.
“But I should’ve known that staying was risky. I put you in danger because I was being selfish. I’m sorry,” he said seriously, meeting your eyes with an expression so sad that you wanted to throw up.
“It was my poor judgment. Not yours,” you replied, voice quite stern despite the nasally pitch that pinching your nose made inevitable.
“No,” he mumbled quietly, cheeks a little red, “I wanted to stay. I was looking for a reason to. It’s my fault you got hurt.”
“What?” you asked, confused by his admission, “Why? I was trying to kidnap you.”
“I mean, I could’ve gotten out of that,” he replied, gesturing towards the bodies in your cockpit, “I just didn’t want to. You’re really interesting, and like I said, I haven’t spoken to anyone my own age in two months now, and you’re really funny—“
“You’re insane,” you mused in disbelief, “You’re so lonely that you’d befriend someone who’s actively trying to get you killed?”
“You make it sound embarrassing,” he grumbled, frowning. It was cute.
“It is embarrassing,” you teased, staring at him as he tried to stop his nose from bleeding, “You should be more careful. What if I had hurt you while you were sleeping?”
“I would’ve woken up,” he argued, “Look, I’m not trying to sound arrogant or anything, but I really think I could’ve held my own against you. And besides, you weren’t gonna turn me in.”
“How would you know?”
“I sensed it,” he replied, grinning. A little bit of blood had pooled around his teeth. Sighing, you tore off some toilet paper and stood, shoving it into his mouth. He squawked in surprise, hitting his head against the wall as he walked backwards. After you wiped the blood from his teeth, you threw the tissue into the garbage alongside the cloth you’d been holding under your nose. He continued to stare at you in utter disbelief, as if wiping the blood from his mouth was the craziest part of this night.
“You can’t be serious,” you said, quirking an eyebrow at him.
“You just put paper in my mouth,” he replied, “Warn me next time.”
This was the most emotive you’d seen him all night. You couldn’t conceal your amusement.
“So I can do it again if I warn you?” you asked, wondering if the punches he’d endured had given him a concussion as well.
“Sure? But I almost bit you, like, reflexively. So just let me know before you do something like that.”
Of course he was only so stressed because he was worried that he might’ve hurt you. You rolled your eyes and laughed in spite of yourself. Only when his expression softened did you realize what you’d done.
“You have a beautiful laugh,” he said sincerely, smiling at you with blood still trickling down his face. You rolled your eyes at him.
“I think you have a concussion,” you huffed, crossing your arms and watching him in the mirror as he tended to his injuries.
“Probably,” he laughed, pinching his nose, “I need to stop getting hit in the face. It’s fine every now and then, but this has happened quite a few times this month.”
“You’re gonna get a permanent brain injury or something. Why not just leave Tatooine if so many bounty hunters are tracing you back to here?”
“Jedi stuff,” he replied, grinning as he made eye contact with you through the bathroom mirror.
“Sounds like a load of shit. Nothing is worth risking your life every few days.”
“Rich, coming from a bounty hunter.”
“Except for money,” you clarified, and hearing him giggle as a result felt like a small victory to you for reasons you didn’t really want to think critically about.
“I value knowledge more than money,” he said, “But if you must know, I do have other business on Tatooine.”
“So you’ve said. You never elaborated.”
“My friend is stuck here. I’m working on getting him out,” he told you simply, tossing his bloodied tissue into the trashcan and shrugging.
“Sounds like your friend might be more trouble than he’s worth if you’ve had to put up with a bunch of bloody noses while coming up with a plan.”
“He’s trouble,” he agreed, smiling, “But he’s certainly worth it. He’d do the same for me.”
You weren’t sure if you’d ever had a relationship like that—one where you’d risk your life to save the other person. You weren’t surprised that someone like Luke would have plenty of deeply meaningful friendships, though. You could see how his friends would treasure him, and how he’d do the same. That seemed to be the kind of person he was.
“I’m sure he would,” you replied, somewhat absentmindedly as you admired him.
“Do you hear that?” he asked suddenly, turning to face you with wide eyes.
“No?”
“The storm is over,” he declared, and he practically raced out of your bathroom and into the cockpit to see for himself. He paid no mind to the bodies of the bounty hunters he stepped over, his demeanor greatly contrasting the rather morbid scene.
He was right. The twin suns were beginning to rise, the air now appearing somewhat clear.
“Have you ever seen a sunrise on Tatooine?” he asked then, watching you as you stared out at the pink sky. You shook your head.
“Then we should go see it,” he decided, grabbing your hand and pulling you towards the entrance ramp.
“If I’m not turning you in, I need to pick up another commission. I should go—“
“You should get checked out by a medical droid before you fly this thing. You definitely have a concussion.”
“You’re not a doctor,” you argued as he pulled your sheets from the cracks in the door, folding them before placing them on the ground, because of course he would.
“Which is why we should get you to someone who can confirm what I already sense,” he replied somewhat teasingly, “Let me show you the sunrise first. Your head will probably hurt afterwards because of how bright it’ll be, and then I’ll feel vindicated and we’ll find a medical droid. Sound good?”
“I have a job,” you protested, but he was already pulling you outside.
“You can’t do your job with a head injury,” he said, and before you could put up any further complaints, he was dragging you outside.
Following your bounty to go watch the sunrise was not how you had expected this job to go; however, in spite of yourself, you felt the smallest ember of joy begin to burn within you.
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───
He was right about three things.
The first was that the Tatooine sunrise was truly something to behold. He had climbed onto the roof of the tallest building in Mos Eisley, and you begrudgingly followed him. As the twin suns began to make their debut, however, you were glad that he’d made you do this. You didn’t think that Tatooine had any beauty to offer, but you were quickly proven wrong by the scene unfolding before you.
The second was that you had a concussion. He found a medical droid for you after you had, in fact, complained about the brightness of the suns once they had fully emerged, and you were told that you had a very mild head injury. You’d be fine, but the droid advised against flying for the next few days. Luke seemed all too pleased by this news, and offered to let you stay with him for a bit. He was likely just lonely as a consequence of being on Tatooine by himself for so long, but someone wanting you around was still a foreign and strangely pleasant feeling. In spite of yourself, you relished in it.
The third was that you were not, as he’d said from the very beginning, going to turn him over to the Empire. How could you? Anyone who spent more than a few minutes in his presence would struggle to put him in harm’s way. In fact, he was probably using some sort of mind trick on you. That was the only explanation for the sudden softening of your calloused heart. He must have this effect on everyone, and that’s what made him so dangerous.
Even with your skepticisms, you were injured and trapped on a dangerous planet with no one else to rely on. So, when your stomach rumbled that evening and he reluctantly told you that he only knew of one place for food in Mos Eisley, you finally agreed to follow him back into the cantina.
The prostitute from before scowled at you as soon as you entered, but to your surprise, the bartender just shook his head, as if he had been expecting this result all along.
“Evening, Luke,” he greeted him, sliding a glass of blue milk onto the counter as the Jedi took a seat, “I see you’ve made another friend.”
“Something like that,” he replied, and you knew he was grinning even though his hood covered his face, “Could we maybe do another sandwich, if it isn’t too much trouble?”
“Two?” he asked, and when Luke nodded, he disappeared into the kitchen.
“Think he’ll still serve me beer after I almost shot his customers?” you whispered, and Luke, of course, giggled.
“You need water. You shouldn’t drink with a concussion,” he chided, hand patting your knee like it was the most natural thing in the world. Your stomach flipped at the contact, and you almost fell out of the barstool when he kept his hand there, clutching his blue milk with the other.
The bartender emerged then, carrying two sandwiches. Luke thanked him and ordered you a water, much to your annoyance, and happily ate his sandwich with one hand. When the bartender returned, he brought out another dustcrepe. Luke perked up immediately.
“Thank you. You have no idea how much better these make me feel,” he said sincerely, cutting the dessert in half and sliding the plate over so you could reach it more easily.
“Don’t worry about it, kid,” he replied, “I appreciate your help around here.”
You weren’t sure what he was referring to, but it wasn’t really your place to ask questions, seeing as you’d pulled a gun on two of his patrons yesterday. You also didn’t have a hard time believing that Luke would go out of his way to do something nice for the owner of a Mos Eisley cantina. It was incredibly on brand for him.
At some point, the bartender caught sight of Luke’s hand on your knee, and you were somehow even more embarrassed by this than the fact that you had threatened to kill his customers the day prior. You blushed furiously as the man raised a knowing eyebrow at you.
“He won you over,” he mused, a small grin playing at his lips, “Did he give you the shirt off his back?”
“His cloak,” you murmured, scowling and looking away. The bartender laughed, and Luke looked up from his dustcrepe to smile at you.
Although he had been right about everything else, there was one thing he’d gotten wrong.
“Nothing sweet ever came from Tatooine.”
It’s what he’d said the day prior while sheepishly asking for a dustcrepe. You’d thought the same until yesterday, but now, as he sat in front of you, you knew he was wrong.
After all, Luke himself had come from Tatooine. And what was he if not sweet?
Needless to say, you lingered on the planet long after your headache had subsided.
