#swfic

[aimmyarrowshigh]

Femslash February 2026

021. Benevolence -- Saché/Yané (Star Wars)

Saché and Yané kiss their children's hair and let them follow Luke Skywalker out to his ship. It feels like the last time they saw their Queen.

[ellayuki]

04052022 - Star Wars

May the Fourth Be With You!

~

“General,” Poe says, a bit sing-songy, sometime after dusk. Finn rolls his eyes with what he knows for sure is a fond smile. (Rey rolls hers with a mock gag, which, rude.)

Finn lowers his shiny, new lightsaber. “General.” It flickers bright, electric blue before he turns it off. “Did you need me for something?” 

Poe would like to tell him exactly what he needs him for, right now, and also yesterday, and five years from now. He bites his tongue, though. (Rey gags again, though it sounds more on the real side this time. Serves you right, he thinks her way, if you’re reading my mind.) “I was just coming to see if you’re done for the day, it’s almost dinner time.”

Finn nods, then turns to Rey with a raised eyebrow. “Yes,” she sighs, and puts away her own lightsaber. “Yes, alright, we’re done today. Let’s go eat.”

[bespin-clouds]

I’ve just posted the Epilogue for my Obidala fic!! ☆ Excerpt:

“Your kindness knows no bounds,” he told her earnestly, again amazed by the endless capacity his wife had to help others.

Obi-Wan touched her cheek and leaned in for a kiss, but Junie was now vying for his attention, reaching out her chubby limbs towards him. Picking her up easily, he placed her against his chest. She wriggled and stared about, watching the distant speeders with fascination.

“This place has a good feeling about it,” he said. “What do you think?”

Padmé nodded, pressing her cheek against his shoulder. “It feels right.”

The real estate droid floated onto the balcony to join them. “How are we finding this property?”

“It’s lovely,” Padmé replied.

“You have still only viewed eighty-nine percent of the complex. The master suite comes with a stunning walk-in wardrobe, if you would like to see it, please follow me.”

Padmé was gone in an instant, following the droid back into the room. Chuckling to himself, he adjusted his daughter in his arms and she watched him with round eyes.

“Your mother likes her clothes, doesn’t she?”

Junie stared at him a little longer, then smiled, shyly bringing her hand to her mouth to chew it.

“What do you think of this place young one?”

He stretched out with the Force, seeking their bond. Junie’s mind was fuzzy and unintelligible, but he could sense her emotions. His daughter seemed very happy being held in his arms. Obi-Wan started to feel more and more certain that this was perfect for their new home.

“Well, if you’re happy then I’m happy.”

“Baa.”

“Let’s go tell your mother that we’ve reached a decision.”

“Da… dummm!”

☆

Fandom: Star Wars  Pairing:  Obidala (Obi-Wan x Padmé) Rating: K Length: 3100 Progress: Complete 

Summary: AU set after ROTS. Obi-Wan, Padme and the new-born twins hide on a remote planet from Vader, who believes them dead. 9 years later, Obi-Wan and Padme’s friendship has turned into a deep love and they are expecting a baby together. An unexpected turn of events removes the parents from their children, and they must race to reunite before the Empire, and Vader, could tear them apart forever.

✦  ao3  ✦  ff  ✦ 

[pretchatta]

caf machine's broken

The caf machine on the Ghost does enough work to practically be called a full crewmember, and when it breaks Hera is very grateful to whoever can get it up and running again. Or, one time the caf machine was broken and one time it wasn't.

rating: teen; kanan jarrus/hera syndulla; 2k words (full spicier version on ao3)

---

It was a morning that started like any other.

Kanan woke first, with his arms wrapped around a still-sleeping Hera. He spent a glorious ten minutes simply lying there, holding her against his bare chest as he listened to the soft sounds of her breathing in the darkness of their shared cabin. She was soft, and warm, and comforting, but he couldn't stay forever. He carefully extricated his limbs from hers and climbed out of her bunk, trying not to wake her. After pressing the lightest of kisses to her forehead he padded out towards the galley.

Kanan's morning routine was one he'd settled into very happily. He flicked the switch on the caf machine to get it warming up while he fetched their mugs out of the cupboard. Regardless of what jobs they had, their day always started with him bringing Hera her morning cup of caf. It was for efficiency, he would say if she asked – part of his job as a crewmember to ensure the captain and her ship were at peak running capacity. But in reality he loved the sleepy “thank you” he got when he placed the warm mug into her hands, and the slow smile that crept over her face after the first sip.

Unfortunately, that was not how today would go.

The hideous clanking sound started before he’d even set the mugs down on the counter. Spinning around to face the caf machine, his hands hovered frantically over the buttons as he desperately tried to work out what was wrong and how to make it stop. Hera would never forgive him if he broke her beloved provider of caf.

There was a red indicator next to the water status and another one next to temperature, which wasn’t good; he’d thought those lights could only ever be green. The noise was starting to grate against his eardrums so Kanan jabbed a finger at the power button, figuring the best option was to just turn the whole thing off. The noise stopped, and the silence gave him the space to think. No water suggested a problem with the intake pipes, and if there was no water to boil that could explain why the machine was overheating. So, find the plumbing lines, and take it from there. Shouldn’t be too hard.

The caf machine had a permanent position on the counter in the galley – Hera used it so much that she didn’t see the point in having it somewhere out of the way. The water intake pipes should be at the back of the cupboard below. He swung the door open and was confronted with stacks of caf bags.

Of course. Because Hera makes sure the caf is fully restocked before she thinks about rations. Or, Force forbid, real food.

Kanan sighed and set about emptying the cupboard. When the back wall came into view he grimaced at the sight of smooth durasteel; the plumbing was fully integrated. Of course this was the one part of the galley Hera had been sure to do ‘properly’.

He finished taking out the caf before heaving himself up off the floor to go look for the access panel key. It would be in Hera’s toolbox, but where that was was anyone’s guess. He had been hoping to get this fixed and make the caf before Hera woke up, but that was looking less and less likely as the morning went on.

Five minutes later and searching all the obvious places had yielded precisely nothing. Kanan accepted his fate.

He returned to Hera's cabin, where his captain slept soundly. Her face was so peaceful like this, smooth and unlined, free from the worries that plagued her waking mind. He stroked a hand over her bare head and traced the base of one lek with a fingertip. She stirred in response to his touch, turning to nuzzle his palm as it cupped her cheek.

"Hera," he said softly, his voice still rough from sleep. "Where's your toolbox?"

She blinked her eyes open and made a sleepy noise of confusion.

"The caf machine's broken – tell me where you left your toolbox and I'll fix it."

She raised a single eyebrow. "You broke my caf machine?" she mumbled.

"I'm fixing your caf machine."

Hera gave him a sleepy smile. "It's probably still in the forward turret. I was tightening the wiring yesterday."

He leaned in to press a soft kiss to her lips.

"I'll have your caf ready soon."

Kanan saw her eyes flutter closed again as he left her cabin. He expected that she would stay in bed until provided with caffeine, but several minutes after he'd retrieved the toolbox and started work on the pipes he was pleasantly surprised to hear her enter the galley behind him. He'd identified the problem, but a lack of replacement parts meant he was attempting a creative solution that would at least keep them in caf until they could reach a port with the right kind of supplier. His back ached from the angle, and the cramped space didn't make the job any easier, but he was determined to get the machine working again.

Behind him, he heard Hera pick up her mug and settle against the countertop. He glanced over his shoulder to see her cradling the mug as if it were full, apparently content to wait for her morning fix before starting work for the day. That wasn't the only thing he noticed: her eyes were also firmly fixed on the part of him that was currently on prominent display. An appreciative smirk danced over her lips.

Kanan grinned to himself before turning back to his work. Maybe this awkward job wasn’t so bad after all; at least Hera was enjoying herself. As he struggled to finish the last fiddly piece of work, he might have over-exaggerated any shifting of his balance, but if so it was purely for her benefit.

When the job was finally done, he backed out of the cupboard and twisted to lie on his back on the galley floor. He heard his spine crack, protesting at being forced into one position for too long.

“Fixed,” he said, letting out a gusty sigh.

Hera was moving immediately, eager for her caf. She paid Kanan no attention, choosing to stand over him as she pressed the buttons on the machine as easily as she did the ones on the Ghost’s main console. Kanan didn’t mind; he now had an excellent view of his own. He was relieved to hear the machine whir to life above him, glad that he didn’t have to go back to try something else. The day hadn’t even started and he needed a break.

The look on Hera’s face was one of pure focus as she took her filled mug and brought it to her lips. The caf was surely too hot to drink but she had never let that stop her before. She took a sip, and Kanan watched her savour it.

“Good?” he asked, a small smile playing over his lips.

She looked down at him, another kind of heat in her eyes. “It’s perfect.”

Kanan would have expected Hera to take her caf to the comfort of the common area or her favourite spot, the pilot’s chair. The look on her face said she intended otherwise. She dropped to her knees, one on either side of him so that she was straddling his waist.

“It seems I need to thank you for saving my morning,” she began, more than a hint of suggestion in her voice.

“Yeah?” he said unintelligently. Something about Hera always made it hard for his brain to form words.

Hera took another sip of caf. “Yeah.”

She leaned forward slowly until her lekku brushed his shoulders, one hand bracing herself against his chest. He could feel the extra warmth it had from the caf mug against his bare skin. She closed the remaining distance between them as their lips met and the heat of her mouth pushed all other thoughts from his head as it moved against his.

Her caf was cold by the time they were done – but at least there was caf.

---

It was an afternoon remarkable for the fact that the Spectres were enjoying a rare day off.

Hera stepped through the doors to the common area of the Ghost and surveyed the scene before her.  Zeb was absolutely destroying Ezra over the dejarik table, Sabine was flicking through her sketchbook with a look on her face that said she was ready to get stuck into a new project and Kanan was perched next to Ezra, clearly ready to take on the victor of their game. She knew this atmosphere; her crew were settling in for a long, lazy afternoon of quietly doing nothing.

This was not something Hera was willing to allow.

“Who wants some caf?” she asked, walking towards the galley.

A chorus of “Yes, please,” followed her from individuals who would gladly sip a hot drink as they whiled their time away. It was time they could be spending productively; Hera was feeling restless, and wanted to end the day having achieved something.

She let the door close behind her and counted to ten. Then she walked right back out into the common area.

“Caf machine’s broken,” she announced. “Kanan, could you take a look at it?”

He’d just started his new match against Zeb, and gave her a reluctant look.

“I’ll fix it,” Ezra offered. “I don’t mind.”

“Nope,” she countered quickly, “it’s a complicated machine and I don’t want it broken any further. That caf machine has done more for the rebellion than any other in the galaxy. Kanan?”

He sighed. “Alright. We’ll finish this after, Zeb.”

Hera waited for him to stand up before addressing the others.

“Since Kanan’s busy with that, while we wait for the caf, how about you finish up a few of the tasks I gave you this morning? Sabine, I still need that inventory of the Ghost’s munitions levels. Zeb, the Phantom could use a full diagnostic scan, Chopper has the results of the last one for you to compare with. And Ezra, didn’t you say the forward turret needed calibrating?”

A series of groans and reluctant agreements filled the air until, one by one, the three of them filed out of the room, Zeb calling for Chopper as he went. Hera waited until they were all gone before heading back into the galley.

Inside, Kanan was waiting for her, standing next to the caf machine with his arms folded and an expectant look on his face.

“The caf machine’s fine.”

“You fixed it?” She took a step towards him, layering gratitude and implications into her voice and the gaze she fixed him with.

It didn’t quite stick.

“It wasn’t broken,” he said slowly, not getting it.

“So, you’re saying that after I just sent the kids off to do chores, you don’t want a reward for fixing my caf machine?” She took another step, punctuating the word reward with drawing a fingertip over his jawline.

That seemed to get the message across.

“Oh, no, I didn’t say that,” he backtracked. “What I meant was, it was never broken to me , because of how great I am at fixing it.”

“So you do want your reward.” Her finger was now under his chin, her own tipped up so that her lips were mere inches from his.

“Very much,” he murmured.

Her answer was to push him back against the counter, hard, and lean in to press her body against his. She surged up onto her toes to catch his lips in a heated kiss as her fingers threaded through his hair, the tie that held it back only the latest in eight years of casualties.

By the time the door opened to admit Zeb, who had his diagnostics up on a datapad, they had put themselves back together with only a slight flush on their cheeks that could give them away.

“Diagnostic complete, Hera,” Zeb said to her as she passed him on her way out. “Hey, Kanan – did you fix the caf machine?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, sure did,” she heard Kanan reply from behind her. “Just a, uh, loose part that needed screwing back together on the counter. Good as new now.”

Hera held back a snort as she ducked around Zeb’s large form. Subtlety had never been Kanan’s strong suit.

“Great, ‘cause I could really do with a cup,” Zeb continued obliviously.

Hera shook her head as she hit the door control for the cockpit.

At least there was caf.

[dxnniquee]

Darth Manteia, Jaina Solo.

She was Manteia. She was the prophetess. The sorceress. The seer. The goddess. The cursed. She was Manteia. Oh, the name echoed. Manteia. It sounded beautiful. Manteia.

[jaigeye]

forsaking all the rest.

Chapters: 1/1 Word Count: 7,200 Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Additional Characters: Sabé, CC-5052 | Bly Relationships: Padmé Amidala/Aayla Secura Additional Tags: Naboo Royal Handmaidens, Secret Identity, Secret Relationship, POV Padmé Amidala, Romance, Padmé is head over heels, Courtship, Courtly Love, Flirting, First Dates, Banter, Mutual Pining, Padmé pretends to be a handmaiden

Summary: While attending a Senate gala, Padmé disguises herself as one of her handmaidens to eavesdrop on her fellow Senators. The Jedi Aayla Secura proves to be a very distracting presence.

[darkisrising]

Lukewarm, by DarkIsRising, pt1

Trying something different. Posting this little DinLuke WiP as I go here (final result will go up on ao3 when it’s done) because variety is the spice of life. Lukewarm

The Jedi is sick, this much is clear.

It wouldn't be any business of Din's except this is the guy that's supposed to watch over his kid. The guy that’s supposed to protect him when Din isn’t around, and if there's one thing Din has known since the moment he’d survived a shootout to find the little gremlin’s bassinet, it’s that danger follows Grogu like stink on a bantha.

If his kid is going to be here his life depends on the Jedi being in fighting shape. And this—this rheumy-eyed, dewy-skinned, slightly-shivering man—is decidedly not in any shape to fight.

"I'm fine,” the Jedi lies from where he sits at the clearing’s edge, legs crossed and leaning just this side of too much against the trunk of a tree. “Really."

The cough that follows his words wracks the Jedi's body so hard he doubles over, torso practically folded into his own lap from the force of it.

"I can see that," Din says, the edge of his sarcasm flattened as it works its way through his helmet’s modulator. Nevertheless, he knows the Jedi hears it when the skin of his jaw moves a bit, teeth obviously clenching tight below.

It’s the only tell of annoyance in an otherwise calm expression.

"You know, I’ve done plenty of things harder than this in my life. I've shot down TIE fighters. I've battled Sith lords. I brought down an empire,” the Jedi says, and the list would be impressive if he could manage any kind of fire as he recited it.

As it is, it all sounds rather dull. Rather tepid, and it’s not like any of this is news to Din.

Despite what everyone seems to think of him, Din isn’t totally ignorant of current events and galactic happenings.

Okay, fine, he had been up until fairly recently but he’s made a point of catching up since, starting with asking around until he’s learned a thing or two about Luke Skywalker: the Jedi who’d shown up like a miracle and taken his child away. So he doesn’t really need to hear about the hotshot flying ace thing, and the Death Star destroyed by impossible luck thing, and the whole rebellion would have fallen apart without him and his now-Senator sister thing.

And, true, when all he’d known of Luke Skywalker was a man cloaked in black wielding a flaming laser sword, yeah, the stories all made perfect sense.

Since then Din’s visited Grogu on this jungle moon enough times to come to know the Jedi a little better. He’s seen smiles bright enough to power space stations. He’s heard laughs so open and genuine he wonders how all the ugliness the Jedi must have seen hasn’t scrubbed his joy away, like it has for everyone else in Din’s life.

It isn’t that he doubts the stories, it’s just that Din is having a tough time squaring battle hardened veteran turned space wizard Luke Skywalker with giggling delightedly to see Grogu magic-float a frog to him Luke Skywalker.

As if reading his mind—another annoying Jedi trait—he continues on. “I’m perfectly capable of taking care of your kid with a cold. If I were sick.” He swipes the sheen of sweat away from his upper lip with the back of his wrist and gracelessly swipes that off on the thigh of his tight, black pants. “Which I’m not.”

"Mm-hm," Din says, a neutral enough sound.

"And anyway," he says with a grin that could have been winsome if not for the pallor of the skin it's set in. "Jedi don't get sick."

Din challenges the Jedi with a stare through his visor. The Jedi gives as good as he gets, staring right back, and sometimes it startles Din how easily the Jedi finds his eyes through the blacked out screen of his helmet. Most beings tend to stare at their own beskar reflection when they speak to him, but the Jedi is somehow able to meet his gaze every time.

"Then I guess you're not a Jedi," Din counters. “Since you are sick.”

Opening his mouth to reply, Din braces for the smart ass response he's come to expect, but the Jedi has another coughing fit instead.

It’s worse than before, and by the time it’s over Din isn’t amused anymore. Now he’s feeling bad for the guy, even if it’s his own kriffing fault for insisting on leaving the temple’s dry comfort for his usual pre-dawn meditation, sniffling along the way. Din had made sure Grogu was deep asleep and dreaming about trouble before following the stubborn Jedi, watching him sit as the wet of the morning fog rolled in, soaking through the Jedi’s cloak, and collecting in droplets along the shine of Din’s armor. 

"Come on,” Din says with a sigh that his helmet muffles, pulling the Jedi to his feet and slinging an arm across his shoulders. “Bed. Now. We can decide if you're a fraud later."

"And what if I am?" There’s a sharpness to his voice that would be impressive if the Jedi wasn’t also sagging heavily in Din’s arms, tripping over the underbrush as they went.

"You're not," Din says in a clip, pressing a steading hand on the Jedi’s waist.

They’re nearly to the temple when the Jedi says, so softly Din almost misses it: "Feels like I am, most days."

And that’s one song Din knows the tune of, because he’s had those thoughts himself. Alone, with nothing but deep space to keep him company, wondering if all the true Children of the Watch had died in the sewers of Nevarro, and if they had what, then, did that make him?

"Yeah,” Din says and they leave it at that.

[melanoradrood]

Hello!!! Congratulations on hitting 111 followers! Can i still submit a prompt? 46. “Hey, have you seen the..? Oh.”. For Rebelcaptain, but you can also write for any ship of your choosing :)

in honor of 1111 Followers 

Cassian stared at the item in his hand, not believing his eyes. He had seen tests like this before, although most people tended to rely on the help of a medic droid - but not Jyn. Jyn would be the sort to smuggle this in from off-world, not trusting a droid or even one of the doctors on base to give her an answer.

He hadn’t even known she had thought… he hadn’t imagined…

When? When had this happened? When had she thought?

Well, it was negative. A negative pregnancy test. So it didn’t matter, right?

Except, if Jyn had thought she was pregnant, that meant she had thought about being pregnant, and if she had thought about being pregnant, then that meant -

That meant it might be okay for him to think about it as well. It might be okay for him to think about Jyn carrying their child, might be okay for him to think about a bundle of sweet affection and love in her arms. He had seen the love on Kes and Shara’s faces when they presented their child to the world…

He had seen them crying in dark corners after sending their son to live on Yavin 4 with Kes’ father, safe from the Rebellion and the war.

But still, the thought of Jyn pregnant, the thought of a family with her, the thought of a future…

He had never thought he would have a future after the war, but with each success, with each battle, he began to believe it more and more, that he might survive, that he might have a life after this. What life was there, though, for an old spy, so beat up and mangled that more things hurt than didn’t? What career was there - could he even grow things like a farmer, or would he be in a mine, or would he… no, he certainly would not be on an inner planet, working any sort of fancy job.

And Jyn… what would become of Jyn after the war? What life was there for them together?

Karking hell…

The door to the fresher opened behind him, and he knew it was Jyn, just back from her shift up in command, but he didn’t turn, still staring at the stick he held in his hands.

“Hey, have you seen the… Oh.”

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from it, and then he felt her hand touching his forearm - she was getting better at that, at touching him, at being touched. He no longer flinched when she touched him, although it was only just her he was that comfortable with, only her he was comfortable having his back to, only her that he trusted.

Why didn’t she trust him enough to tell him about it?

“It’s negative,” she said, and he jerked around suddenly, eyes wide at her words.

“I can see that,” he retorts, and the test drops from his hand as he looks down at her, at the love of his life, at the woman that shared his bed, his missions, his ship, his hopes and dreams and passions, his-

He should have proposed to her. He should have done it long ago. He should marry her, so that if she thinks she is again, it won’t be a question, he should-

“I didn’t realize you thought you were,” he said, the words a bare whisper on his lips. “Do you… do you want that? To have a child?”

They’re both frozen at the word, at the idea of a child, and then Jyn steps back, a shaky breath escaping her. He knows the pain of losing both her parents so young still aches deep in her chest, something that only comes out on the worst nights, and he thinks she might not want to put her child through the same pain…

“I don’t know,” she finally replies, her eyes on the floor as she takes a step back from him. It’s not a lie - no, she’s scared of his response, scared of the answer, perhaps. “I never really thought about it until I was late… and then it was negative, so-”

“I never thought about it either,” he confesses, and his hand touches her upper arm, much as she had before, trying to offer her some comfort. “But… I think, if you wanted one…”

She stiffens  in his touch, at his words, and he pauses in step, waiting for her to respond, or to relax.

“Not now,” she says, and her eyes are lost in thought, her hand on the kyber crystal around her neck. She must be thinking about her own mother, her own parents. “Not when there’s a war, when the galaxy is-”

“No,” he says, his hand tightening on her, and he draws her back against him, her backside pressing into his chest as he holds her tight, enveloping her in his embrace. “No, not now. I mean… I mean one day, when the world is safe.”

He doesn’t know if that time will ever come to be, but after a few seconds, Jyn relaxes. Her grip maintains on her necklace, however, and he presses his nose into her hair, letting her work through her emotions until she can find the words to respond.

“I think… I think if I did, I would only want one with you,” she finally says, and the words hang in the air, something serious, something…

“Yeah,” he says, and he presses a kiss to her temple, his own hold relaxing slightly, no longer clinging to her, instead letting her turn around so that her arms can go around his middle, fingers no longer caught on her necklace. “One day… you and I… if you want to.”

She nods, and he can sense her starting to tense up, but his hands start to run down her back, soothing her.

“When the world is safe,” she says, repeating his earlier words. There’s a sense of finality to it, as though the decision has been made, and it could be two years or ten years from now, but it doesn’t matter - they’ll figure it out when they get there.

“When we make it safe.”