Can I request a Hunter x reader undercover at a masquerade ball one shot?
If they get to dancing in the fic, I got some music that may fit their waltz:
Okay but no seriously like how dare you use the word "may" as if this song isn't ABSOLUTELY PERFECT FOR THEIR WALTZ! You have a direct line to my heart with this one @kombatkid. Bless your beautiful, sweet heart. Howl's Moving Castle (among other Ghibli films) is a top favorite of mine and I have always loved the undercover masquerade trope. Excuse me as I put my writer-ussy into this (I apologize for the phrasing. I am just excited. Also, gender wasn't specified so i went the neutral route! Hope that's okay!
Feel It 💞
Pairing: Hunter x GN!Reader Warnings:(SFW) angst, fluff, social anxiety, testing boundaries, contemplations of killing someone, hazing, taunting, bullying, secret relationships, undercover formal appearance, first kiss, dancing, loss of confidence, clumsiness, nervousness. Summary: You thought that things like this only happened in storybooks, never thinking for a second that you would be dressing up in matching regal wear tailored to be identical to Hunter’s for inconspicuous reasons as you both will be going undercover impersonating chaperone security for an “Emancipation Ball” celebrating the eighteenth birthday of Grand Moff Tarkin’s bratty nephew. He revels in torturing his staff and making examples of innocent workers and it was only a matter of time before he cast his trickery onto you and your mission partner. 🚨THIS ONE-SHOT CONTAINS NO SPOILERS🚨
Read on ao3 - 6.5k words
Writing Masterlist - My kofi✨
The starched collar on this uniform is so stiff, it keeps cutting into the conjunction of your chin and neck. Of course, your slouched posture could certainly have a hand in easing this affliction if you had the desire to fix it, but your subconscious denies you that satisfaction. Dark circles under your eyes add to their depressive vacancy. Hunter catches onto your increased deflation of spirit in being in a place like this. No amount of glitter, smiles or silver platters will be enough to conceal the dark and corrupted underbelly that funds these functions. You look like a completely different person in this stark overhead lighting beating down from the oppressive chandeliers secured to the ceiling. Your anxiety takes on a physical representation of your confidence when in a setting you’re not used to or apprehensive about. In addition, you’d definitely venture to say that apprehension would be an understatement.
“How are you holding up?” Hunter is posted at the same entryway as you, meant to be greeters after guests are ushered inside.
“As well as you can probably expect.” You mumble beneath your mask, arm still raised as you dig your leather gloved fingers beneath the stiff collar in hopes that you can stretch it out, if even just a little bit.
“We already got the intel we came here for. Festivities end in about half an hour.” Hunter reassures you that the party will not last much longer, then pauses before speaking to you a bit more sternly this time in a coarse and commanding whisper. “Stop fidgeting with your collar.”
“It’s digging into my neck.” You reason with him annoyedly while yanking at the thick, canvas-like fabric. “I can’t help it.”
“You’ll get us noticed if you keep doing that.” Hunter warns. “Just ignore it.”
“I highly doubt that me adjusting an article of clothing is cause for concern.”
“It is when we’re supposed to be impersonating highly trained security meant to be unphased by even the most unexpected circumstances.”
“I tried to tell you that…”
“Tell me what?”
“I’m not like you.” You shrug, giving up with your collar. “I’m not trained for any of this. I owned a lively little antique store before these assholes decided to raid it for their personal collection. I’m not cut out for guard duty. Why couldn’t you have just gotten Echo to do this with you? Literally anyone else. Anyone but me...”
“Because Tarkin knows our faces, but he doesn’t know yours. It’s mere luck that it’s part of the dress code to have masks or else this mission would be impossible. If push comes to shove, it would be less suspicious if at least one of us could still show our face and not be identified.” Hunter taps on the metallic plating that covers his whole face in a way that only a small slit allows his eyes to view the surroundings. “This tattoo isn’t exactly easy to cover up. And there’s no amount of tailoring that could make the uniform fall symmetrically over Echo’s prosthetics. Not to mention Wrecker couldn’t even fit into the thing-
“Okay okay, I get it.” You cut him off, knowing there is no other way this could have played out that would allow you to avoid being in such an unsettling environment. Not only are the stakes tremendously high while standing directly in the belly of the beast, but you’re inherently resistant to such radical social interactions due to your own fears many would deem as irrational.
Your confidence has been wrecked since every shred of your identity was stripped away from you and collected like it was nothing but a badge to be reclaimed by another. If not for this capable clone force stumbling upon you while destitute and in need of shelter following the clearing out of your shop, you would have never been given the opportunity to have a VIP pass to exclusive access amongst the people closest to the very enemies you despise. Although, now that you’re here, why do you continuously allow them to make you feel so small...?
“Listen to me.” Hunter adds, tilting his head so that you can see his eyes through the face shield. “Being a soldier doesn’t mean you’re fearless. It’s the difference between taking action in the sight of fear, or letting fear control us.”
“You can’t possibly get me to believe that you’ve ever been scared.” Shaking your head, you deny the possibility that Hunter, someone you’ve only ever known as courageous, could feel what you’re going through now.
“All the time. Every day.” His eyes are compressed in a smile you wish you could see. Hearing this come from him brings you to second guess the pity you keep feeding yourself, a toxic poison you drink hoping for someone completely different to suffer the consequences. “We will make it out of this. Trust me.”
The sincerity in his voice is delivered so tenderly in your ears. You nod your head slowly in acceptance, not fully believing the words yet, but leaning harder on their support than you did before. It would be one thing if you were attending just any jovial party, but the Empire prefers to hire their help from shattered unions of the Republic, knowing full well that the servants in their employ are nameless, homeless and otherwise hopeless and at the mercy of the governing bodies in power.
Just as this heartfelt moment was beginning to ease your trepidations, an external force shatters your serendipitously shared intimacy.
“You there!! Come! Assist me with a bit of playful theatrics, would you?”
You and Hunter are frozen in the very fear he was trying to help you overcome. You were told you wouldn’t have to do anything but stand around and look tough. There was no disclosure of any sort of involvement whatsoever, let alone a proverbial spotlight shining directly upon you that would only foreshadow just how concentrated the focus will grow on you both throughout the night. This must be a trial of sorts. A public display of hubris on the birthday boy’s part while imposing episodes of humiliation on yours and Hunter’s.
“What are you staring at me like that for?” The birthday boy scoffs with his pretentious guests growing impatient with the reveal of whatever party favors he plans on showing next. “That wasn’t a request.”
Departing from your post, you and Hunter join the group in the center of the room. Tarkin’s nephew is being followed by a cargo droid carrying some sort of weaponry. The little teenage brat Eagerly tries to open and retrieve the weapon himself but is having trouble, immediately ordering Hutner to tend to his whims. “Make yourself useful and open this for me.”
He then turns to you, raising his hand with his arm outstretched to the wall in the back of the room. “I want you to stand over there.”
Giving Hunter a glance in search of his reassurance again, he acknowledges your need and dips his head ever so slightly, giving you the signal you need to do what was asked of you.
With your back turned, you hear the latches on the box flip open as Hunter pulls the weapon from its case and primes it. You recognize its mechanical whirring and identify it as an energy bow. Turning around, you make note of its fuchsia beam and ornate golden structure. With your back against the wall, the little brat comes scampering towards you just after snatching a ripe meiloorun from a nearby concessions table. The plump fruit is tossed into your grasp as you surmise he’s going to task you with the unthinkable. “Now, I’m sure you’re familiar with this party game, only… I prefer to watch.”
Hunter stands dumbfounded with the bow in his grasp. He was already wary of passing it to the heathen child, but he would much rather the weight of the outcome rest on his shoulders.
“Sir, a weapon like this requires a few test shots to ensure its calibration.” Despite all the shuffling of everyone’s feet on the floor, he can feel you trembling against the wall as he attempts to buy time out of this threatening happenstance. “And even so, are you sure we should be doing something such as this indoors?”
“The matters of what we ‘should’ and ‘shouldn’t’ be doing are irrelevant.” He sneers, a younger reflection of Tarkin’s oppressively moody genetics and it leaves a sour taste in Hunter’s mouth just talking to him. Once forced to salute and stand at attention for his uncle, now having to do the same for him.
“Just be happy you’re not standing against the wall with your friend over there. Now, keep shooting until you knock the fruit off their head!” He commands Hunter and he watches as you shakily lift the little melon and place it atop your uniform cap. It takes a couple moments to stabilize, of which Hunter uses to ready his aim and prime the bow. He hates seeing you in his line of fire, wishing he can direct this bolt to the very people who marvel at your misery. He holds his posture, tall and true for an extended period of time and the boy grows impatient when he notices that Hunter isn’t firing yet. “Are you deaf? I said shoot!”
Hunter looks at you from where you stand, small and shrunken by the distance wedged between you, the melon on your head an even smaller target now; just an orange dot against the Imperial decor that threatens to swallow you whole. He releases the tension of the plasma string and sends an electrified bolt zooming in your direction. To the brat’s surprise, it collides with the meiloorun on the first try, tumbling to the floor and rolling away from you to reveal a charred blemish where the force of the bolt collided with the fruit.
Unbeknownst to the birthday boy, those few seconds Hunter spent stalling were vital seconds used to calibrate the weapon to its truest setting. Disappointed you’ve not dropped to the floor in a pile of your own dead weight, the child deflates when he sees that you’re still standing. You let out rapid gasps, struggling to tame this sudden surge of adrenaline into your veins while also trying not to let the other party goers in on your internal crisis. “No fair! I thought you said this weapon is finicky at the start.”
“Were you hoping for a malfunction?” Hunter challenges the child, treading on thin ice in the eyes of the surrounding adults that enable this behavior while somehow entertaining the birthday boy with a dissection of his morbid psyche.
“Duh!” He tosses his hands in the air while the brainless masses giggle at his rebuttal and Hunter is suddenly petrified by the way no one around him even bothers to speak up against what he’s doing. “Now we have to take things up a notch!”
The boy scans the tables for anything else to use as a target with you as the placeholder for it. His evil eyes land on a candlewick flower nestled into a place setting on one of the decorated tables. He hands it to Hunter with a roll of his eyes and dismisses him to give to you. “Walk this over there to them. I already made the trip once.”
Hunter takes the flower and twirls it between his thumb and middle finger and sighs deeply, his warm breath clouding up in his face guard. His feet drag against the floor as his form has begun to take on the same saddened slouch you seem to wear all the time, only his episode of self-depreciation has only arisen when the safety of your well-being has been threatened. He can’t deny this child, and neither can you. You can only hope that he grows indifferent before things get too unstable.
Hunter doesn’t have to look at you to know your jaw is slamming your teeth against themselves at a million miles a minute, he would be able to hear you anywhere in the estate. He needs you to take what he said before and really trust him. He would never dream of hurting you for the entertainment of others, nor by accident.
He closes in on you, hands you the flower and tries to whisper soothing words to you in hopes to calm you. “Hey. Remember what I said before? I need you to focus on that and nothing else. Got it?”
“Excuse me, what do you think you’re doing?” The boy hollers at Hunter and the attention of everyone is drawn to your side of the room.
“I am handing them the flower, sir. Like you requested.” Hunter stands between you and the boy and you are temporarily alleviated by Hunter blocking his sinister stare.
“Shooting it from their hand is easier than shooting it off the top of the head.” He argues, echoing through the room as his voice clashes with the symphonic ambient music. “Put it in their mouth.”
Hunter is the only one who manages to hear your gasp, his fist tightening around the flower’s stem, nearly crushing it. Hunter pivots on his feet to face you. His eyes are filled with regret in getting you in this position, cursing himself and the arguments he tried to sell you only moments prior. The onlookers watch as he lifts your face by the chin with one of his gloved hands and removes your mask. Your mouth hangs open, him keeping your lips parted for a few prolonged seconds before whispering something else to you while looking deeply into your eyes. “Don’t be scared. You’ll be fine. I promise.”
Hunter places the stem between your teeth and shuts your mouth to let you bite on its grassy flavor, stroking your jaw sweetly before turning on his heels and walking away in perfect about-face formation. At this point, you can’t decipher if the nerves you’re feeling are from the risen stakes of this gruesome game, or the little touches of Hunter’s hands upon your skin. Regardless, you struggle to keep your knees from buckling under the pressure.
Hunter returns to his place by the boy’s side and pulls the plasma string back a second time, taking aim. The stem of the flower only extends an inch or so away from your cheek. You concentrate hard on clenching your bite down on it so as to keep the petals stable for Hunter to shoot.
“Fire!” The boy yells. Hunter lets the bolt fly and you impulsively shut your eyes, too full of fright to witness the outcome. A rush of wind wafts over your left cheek and you hear the blasting thud of the bolt coming in contact with the wall behind you. Opening your eyes, you notice the complete absence of the bud of the flower. Turning your head, you see that it has been reduced to ash and nothing else remains of it but the residue it left on the wall and a single petal on the floor. “Wow! You’re good at this!! My uncle really didn’t cut corners with you guys.”
“I would be pleased to show you what other measures I took that did not constitute the cutting of corners.” Tarkin appears and suddenly the tone in the whole ballroom is altered to an elevated state of severity. Before, it was only you, Hunter, and other service personnel that felt threatened by the brat’s presence. Now everyone is being bogged down by a degree of feigned bravado. “What is the meaning of this? Why have you removed them from their posts?”
“Uncle! I was just uhm-
Tarkin snatches the bow from Hunter’s grasp but doesn’t scan him further, focusing solely on his audacious nephew and calculating the goings on himself, looking between Hunter and the scorch marks staining the walls beside you. “And here I thought I could have an unscheduled meeting during this function without any issues.”
Tarkin stores the bow in the very gift box that the droid had brought out and tells it to take it away, turning back to face his nephew. “I thought I told you that it was a present for after the party.”
“I know, but I just couldn’t wait! If anything, this should just tell you that you picked a great gift, Uncle.” The brat is on the cusp of being praised by this tyrant right now and you can see Hunter’s fists clench once more from all the way where you’re standing.
“Ambition says alot about your spirit, but there’s a time and a place for everything, child.” Tarkin wags a wrinkled finger at his kin before placing a hand on his back to anchor him to his side while also guiding him to mingle with other elite members of their family. Hunter is disgusted by this mentoring style, not even thinking to reprimand the boy for the blatant disregard for human life, gambling souls like they’re sabacc chips. “Come along now. I want to show you how it’s really done.”
“Uncle?” The boy questions Tarkin as he snaps his fingers, then points at you and Hunter to follow him. Even more frightened than before, you can only wonder what Tarkin is alluding to.
“Anyone can dodge a bullet if they’re expecting one.” Tarkin speaks as if something like that is so easy, dismissing the difficulty in being dexterous enough to do it as well as having trust in the person firing not to hit you. “If you care to test one’s limits on a completely different scale, you have to get in their head, my child.”
“How do I do that, Uncle?” The boy is a sponge absorbing all the nefarious knowledge Tarkin has to offer.
“Observe.” Tarkin announces, pointing at you and Hunter with one hand and the symphony orchestra with the other. “You two. Center of the room, if you could please.”
His delivery of words is saturated in saccharine kindness as you know better than to believe that anything Tarkin would command would be any better than the things his nephew would think up. Hunter joins you in the center of the room as the ambiance of your surroundings darken with the exception of the overhead light bathing you in its golden glow from above “Do not let each other fall, do not miss your mark, and do not step on each other’s feet. For each of these offenses, I will deploy an MG7 to planets within the system housing rogue insurgents and conspirators against the Empire.”
You and Hunter are still confused as to what he’s requesting and Tarkin sighs, hanging his head before clapping his hands together in summons to a couple of members of the orchestra. Their dead stares tell you that they’re mere drones active only to obey their superiors. You’re being forcibly shoved into Hunter’s space with his arm being placed at the small of your back in a position to lead you with his other hand. You look into the metal slats of Hunter’s face shield and see that his eyes are telling you so much without him even uttering a word. He’s plagued by worry and can hardly hide behind the obscurity of his face covering.
You don’t know if he’s danced before, and your only experience with a common waltz was way back in primary school for a seasonal cotillion. The recalling of this knowledge is dire now as millions of lives currently depend on it. A single misstep and Tarkin will quite literally send a torpedo to an unsuspecting settlement that “might” be harboring insurgents in their eyes.
“I hope you put on quite a show for us! Your little rebellion depends on it.” Tarkin remarks as he and his nephew shuffle to find their place in the shadows of the audience that encircle you and Hunter.
The orchestra signifies the start of their song with a solo piano number to open things up. Tension builds as the tempo finds its place in the dark ambiance. You’re trying to focus too hard on the next beat that occurs instead of just letting Hunter lead you. You can’t find the trust in yourself, let alone him not to fail this deathly trial. The tune takes about a minute of introduction before it initiates the actual waltz tempo and the rest of the orchestra joins in the song, of which Hunter uses to his advantage, communicating things to you under the veil of his mask while swaying back and forth with you.
“We can do this. Focus on me.” Hunter squeezes your hand, his straightened posture likewise improving yours as well and you’ve completely discarded the annoyance of the collar tht was once causing you incessant discomfort. The blackout of the audience is increasingly unnerving, but this wall of darkness that surrounds you certainly makes it easier to imagine there are not in fact dozens of villainous faces staring down your every move hidden within it.
The piano keys slam into a deeper register just as a violin’s cry resounds through the space. The melancholy whine is drawn out and you feel Hunter steady himself, slow his pacing and bow when the triad tune of the waltz finally makes its appearance. Moving once to his left, you follow and bring both feet together. You step forward with your left foot so that Hunter can move back and to your right. Continuing this method, it certainly is enough to break the ice. The steps are predictable for a while, but when sudden musical transitions appear, you and Hunter refrain from putting on a spectacle out of pure terror of making a fateful mistake. However, despite staying with the beat, The spectators are growing bored with this classic display, itching to spot a bit of enthusiasm.
Then comes a voice from the shrouded black that entraps you, “I asked for a show. Do something different or I’ll be sending off the first torpedo.”
Tarkin’s command disrupts your concentration and you nearly step on Hunter’s foot, but he senses your directional faltering and saves you from failure. You gasp, glancing at the floor then back up at Hunter to ensure you’re making the correct movements when you feel another squeeze on your hand. “He’s just trying to mess with us. Don’t let him.”
Every few measures, Hunter pulls away and spins you before resuming the initial position. A move like this is meant for one to be dressed in a gown to elevate the performance, but having donned the same threads as Hunter, you contemplate the effectiveness of your little show.
Suddenly the music evolves into a growing swell of strings with an urgency. Upon this transition, Hunter dips you quite professionally and you hitch your leg up with a sudden kick to add a bit of thrill to the move. You and Hunter proceed, giving into the sudden glee you feel when you’re starting to get the hang of your own moves. Hunter’s closeness to your torso is captivating, the way his strong arms keep you in place while also seamlessly flowing with his movements. You sway with him such as a willow tree waves in the wind, graceful and confident.
As a shy person, it surprises even the most timid when one happens upon a hurdle that calls for their action and they find that they’re able to rise to the occasion. With your chin in the air, back straight, shoulders even and floating on air in Hunter’s grasp, you engage in this synchronized waltz as if born to do it. The dark circles beneath your eyes disappear when your face is finally pulled from the shadows of your uniform cap. Your complexion glows in the radiance of the dance floor and Hunter realizes he’s rather fond of this bright shade of self assuredness he identifies in your features. He sees you just as you are and he adores it.
You stumble a bit when the song unexpectedly shifts to a reiteration of its own introduction, growing stronger and slower with a relentless continuum. The notes are enunciated by the empty echoing of the ballroom chamber and the sudden shift in progression causes a misstep and you quite obviously fumble over the top of Hunter’s foot before he can manage to catch you. With the majority of the orchestra at rest, this mistake was impossible to miss.
The high pitched whine of an alarm resounds, cutting through the symphony as an assumed torpedo is launched and it breaks your focus. You can’t see the torpedo, where it’s been fired off or even what planet it’s hitting. For all you know, he could be bluffing and not killing anyone while choosing to mentally torture you instead. This abrupt interruption causes your movements to be inconsistent for a couple more measures and he takes this as an offense, firing another.
He nearly launches a third but you regain your composure after Hunter whispers to you. “Don’t anticipate the music. Feel it.”
He notices that you’re waiting for every legato pause to tell you what to do before pushing into the next measure when you should be moving with it as a whole. The piano solo picks up in speed with the additional melodic strings enunciating every final note in each measure before the rest of the orchestra continues with the song.
Taking Hunter’s advice, you allow your body to become one with the music. You’re no longer fighting against its flow or anticipating the next move such as you would guess a correct answer on a test. There are no correct answers here, only correct feelings.
In sections where the core melody is showcased, you and Hunter flawlessly execute the starting moves to regain your previously lost footing. Although, you spice things up by adding longer flares between each transition at an accelerated pace with more control and conviction. You begin with a continuous spin in front of Hunter, then he guides you to revolve around him in a circle before making it back to your starting position with your hand on his shoulder and the other being held tightly in his grasp. “That’s it. Keep your eyes on me. You’re perfect.”
Hunter’s words are the blade that severs your anxious ties to this material world. You formed a habit to default to self pity when you’ve had so many reasons to believe it was the only way; be it taught through conditioning or reinforced by your own short-comings. At this point in time, you decide you’re not going to take it anymore. Not from yourself and especially not from anyone else. You were so trapped in hating life and the situation that was forced upon you, but it takes strength to decide to see things differently. The only way to step into your confidence and ensure that you remain in a place of self worth is to recognize that other people’s behaviors toward you says everything about them and what they value while saying absolutely nothing about you in turn.
You completely forget that this room is full of people you despise the most. You and Hunter give Tarkin and his spiteful nephew a remarkable performance, one their guests will certainly brag about to their constituents for years to come, all while harboring additional praises to the Tarkin name. You could care less about their pompous egos garnering any amount of benefit from your anguish, but you and Hunter have hijacked the scene to your advantage. No additional missiles have been launched and you improvise a few moves of your own that Hunter is cleanly able to follow as the song nears its end. The strings’ cadence accelerates into a waterfall of overlapping vibrato blending into one amalgamated tune. You end with a daring twirl with Hunter lifting you off the ground and doing a spin himself. You kick your legs in the direction of the audience as you sweep around in the air before Hunter plants you back on your feet, posing with a sensational swoop as Hunter moves your torso downward in a circle before returning upright to a vertical position just as the last note rings out.
Tarkin proves the jogan doesn’t fall far from the tree when his nephew displays a similar distaste for yours and Hunter’s ability to overcome his challenges. You both survived. That’s true. But the thought of many others paying the price for what could have been prevented still drags on your heart.
“Well! I am quite impressed!” Tarkin emerges from the shadows while giving you and Hunter a vainglorious slow clap before snapping his fingers a single time. The lighting is reverted back to its original state in the blink of an eye and your retinas burn with the stark change. The party goers all begin to clap in unison while muttering things amongst themselves. Even if it didn’t last as long as you hoped, for a little while you felt the freedom of that dark cloud of distress being driven away from your skies. Hunter smoothed out your rough edges. He sewed up your loose ends and planted an encouraging seed in your mind that opens the possibility for new and lovely things to grow. You can’t remember the last time you felt so invigorated.
Hunter’s hand remains clasped in yours and he pushes you behind his form upon Tarkin’s approach. Tarkin and his nephew make note of this display of protection from him that certainly breaks the code of formalities, glancing between them to acknowledge, but ultimately choosing to ignore it.
“Now, I don’t usually do this, but I believe you’ve earned a reward, don’t you agree?” Tarkin looks to his nephew for his input but he shrugs, disinterested of this event already as he departs in search of his next source of entertainment. “Come along. I think you’ll enjoy the flavor. I picked it myself.”
Tarkin brings you and Hunter a few floors up the building to a minimally decorated room at the end of a very long and seemingly forgotten corridor. Since you’re regarded as security guards, the need for a third party to monitor you is unnecessary as they are so certain it is impossible for anyone to breach these quarters. Their primary flaw in this is that they greatly underestimated the industriousness of your and your squad.
A singular round table is placed in the center of the room with a couple cake slices perched on plates atop of it. It is a cream colored cake with bright red ribbon swirls of tart jam throughout with a pale white icing. Hunter is just as astonished as you are when presented with this feigned hospitality. Following his lead, you refuse to sit in acceptance of this offering, opting to remain standing in uneasy protest.
“What’s the matter? Doesn’t everyone like cake?” Tarkin retrieves a fork from the place setting and cuts a little portion off each piece before bringing it to his mouth to showcase neither have been tampered with. His eyes close to savor the taste, smiling and waving the shining article of cutlery about the air in satisfaction. He discards the fork and replaces the missing cutlery with a clean one. “It’s not poisoned if that’s what you’re wondering. I wouldn’t waste a commodity like that on the likes of you.”
You sit at the table and Hunter joins you. Both hands are placed beside the plate where Tarkin can see them. This must be a test of defiance because you could easily drive one of these sharp utensils directly into his jugular. Tarkin dips his head so that he is so close, you can see his pulse dancing in his neck. It is at this point Tarkin notices the reluctance of Hunter in removing his face shield. “Let’s take this off, shall we? You can’t possibly think to enjoy yourself with this on-
“No!” It was something you never prepared to have cross the threshold of your lips, a yell like that. You have no idea where this voice came from, but it certainly stopped Tarkin in his tracks.
“I beg your pardon?” Tarkin directs his attention to you and you stammer, struggling to find the words to offer an excuse so as to not reveal Hunter’s true identity. “Did you just tell me ‘no’?”
“I- uhm…” Your brain is scattered amongst your psyche, scrambling to find a worthy and believable reason for your outburst. “He has a bad scar. Half his face is deformed. He’s self conscious in the way that it makes it hard for him to do things like a normal person, such as eating.”
Tarkin glances between you and Hunter. Strangely enough, you are the one to feel Hunter shaking this time. However, the conviction in your delivery of speech is convincing enough for Tarkin to leave you be. “Hmm… Very well. I shall send for you shortly. Don’t take too long.”
The soles of Tarkin’s boots resound with every step he makes to the door before he closes it. Once gone, you and Hunter heave a sigh of relief that it feels like you’ve been holding in for hours now. Your head falls into the cradle of your hands and you fight back the flood of emotion that has been challenging your concentration the entirety of your stint in this deathly dungeon.
Hunter rips his face shield off in disgust and quickly makes contact through his comm device to the rest of the squad that’s been waiting on stand-by. “Havoc 1 to Havoc 2, be ready for my signal. We’re heading to the roof.”
It is at this moment Hunter sees just how badly this wrecked you. He’s adapted to harsh treatment such as this, so much so that it rolls off his shoulders. You differ in this aspect as their transgressions cling to you such as thistles and thorns, their sting digging into your soul and causing you more pain when you try to pry them off with bloodied hands. Hunter takes a knee in front of you, pulling your hands away from your face to reveal your fatigued eyes. “Look, we’re not to blame for what happened back there. Tarkin was searching for any excuse to do what he did.”
“Whether it was all fake or not, their intention was to hurt us.” Your voice breaks slightly, but you refrain from giving into hysterics as best as you can. Hunter takes your face in his hands and touches his forehead to yours. His presence keeps you centered and with a few steady breaths, Hunter has stabilized you. “H-how did you do that…?”
“I’ve learned a thing or two about calming nerves.” Hunter readjusts your uniform cap and gives you a bit of space while keeping his hold on your hands. “My greatest personal trait used to be an incredible hindrance. It was… very overwhelming when I was younger.”
“I can only imagine how rough that was for you. Especially so young.” Hunter can detect the notes of self-insult in your voice, comparing your struggles to an elite and trained soldier of war. Thankfully, he tells you a bit of information that only a person such as him would be privy to and it certainly does the trick in unburdening you with the weight of innocent lives on your conscience.
“You did far better than you think back there.” Hunter adds, winking in reference to your dance moves and ability to keep an even keel. “And besides, he was lying about the whole thing.”
“Wait, are you saying you knew he was bluffing?” You don’t even bother concealing the astonishment in your voice, retracting your hands from his hold in shock.
“He used to pull the same stunt on his new recruits. Some things never change, I guess.” Hunter shakes his head, standing up and crossing his arms in disapproval.
“Why didn’t you tell me that!” You stand up to meet his gaze and He takes a step back towards the exit door to initiate the escape plan.
“I’m sorry, but it had to be believable. His stupid little game would have never ended if we didn’t give them something.” Hunter offers you his hand in apology and you waste no time in accepting it. He squeezes it and it takes you back to the dance floor where the rest of the world dissipated and it was only you and him gracing that hall. Hunter pulls you into a similar embrace as when you were waltzing with one another, but he places both hands on your back and rests his head on your shoulder. The brown waves at the nape of his neck brush against your cheek and you feel a magnetic pull bringing you down to secure yourself to him in this hold. He sways from left to right in a smaller, more personal two-step, stroking your head and breathing into your neck.
Hunter lifts his head to look at you, eyes moving rapidly in contemplation of something he knows you both want. Your mouths part at the same time, leaning into each other to share a blissful lock of lips. The passionate heat is enough to melt away all your fears of the moment. Hunter’s hands move up your back and shoulders to caress your face, pulling you even deeper into the kiss. “I told you we’d make it through this, didn’t I?”
“I suppose you did.” You murmur through the blushy spell Hunter had cast. “I’m sorry I ever doubted you.”
“You have no reason to be sorry. I am just glad I got to dance with you.” He kisses you one last time before making his way to the exit door, your hand in his pulling you along behind him. He holds his closed fist up in a signal for you to wait until he ensures the path is clear. You and Hunter were briefed on the blueprints of the Tarkin Estate and if the information there is true, there should be a service hatch across the hall that leads to a secret staircase putting you in a path directly to the roof. “The coast is clear. Stay right behind me.”
You and Hunter navigate the cramped passageway all the way up. Hunter stops at a sealed ventilation door and plants small explosives on its hinges. Without saying a word, he shields you with his body in anticipation of their imminent combustion. He hovers over where you stand a couple steps below him, hugging you close and telling you something that nearly gets drowned out by the beeping charges. “Cover your ears.”
The charges deploy and at last you take in breaths of fresh outdoor air being spun in a dizzying whirlwind by The Marauder’s exhaust. Tech has arrived right on schedule, lowering the boarding steps and closing in on your location fast.
“That looks like our ride!” Hunter climbs out of the hatch first, helping you out while never letting go of your hand the whole sprint to the ship. You know the others are going to want to know everything that happened behind enemy lines, but you’re hoping some things will be kept as yours and Hunter’s precious secret. At least for now…
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