DRABBLES | ocs, canon, x reader

drink water , reader , hurt/comfort

i have a migraine, i'm dehydrated, and i'm in the mood to project way too much onto a reader insert. light hurts my eyes.

brief mention of sensory sensitivity, heavily implied physical abuse, coping with trauma, that thing that some people do where they do anything and everything so they don't have time to think because thinking is bad, self-destructive/self-neglecting behaviors

if you, like me, hate the taste of water and avoid water because of that, get a straw and use it religiously.

technically is an outtake from my firsts book

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kix grabbed your shoulder and pushed you back down. he harshly shoved a canteen into your hands. "drink."

your eyes darted back and forth between the canteen and kix. "stop stalling," he huffed. "drink, and i don't have to get the generals involved." he watched your eye tic. you considered for a second longer before knocking it back, chugging it faster than a dying man. kix lunged for you, pulling the canteen away. "don't-- don't drink it so fast. kriff, are you trying to throw up?" he tugged it away and watched you seemingly gag. "what's wrong?"

"i don't like the taste of water."

kix's brows furrowed. he took a sip from the canteen, getting what few drops were left. "it tastes like nothing." you shook your head. you still haven't met his eyes. "is that why you don't drink water? the taste?" a silent, barely perceptible nod. "what about food?" you stiffened.

"what about food?"

"you don't eat enough."

"don't have the time." you scratched at your skin idly.

kix decided to take a different approach. "don't you jedi meditate?" you tensed for a split-second; he'd have missed it if he wasn't probing for information beneath your "stoic jedi" facade.

"i don't. too busy."

kix was a medic, not a psychologist. he was unsure how to approach this; kix wasn't particularly known for his bedside manner. he knew that you didn't meditate because you didn't want to stop moving-- because then you'd think. kix saw it in his general, in his brothers-- hell, he seen it in himself.
kix sank down besides you with a quiet sigh.

he pulled you into a loose embrace and you tensed, frozen like some sort of hunted animal. it was loose enough to give you an out, but you stayed.

"you need to take care of yourself. i know it's hard to stop and rest but-" he paused, searching for the right thing to say. "a gar shuk meh kyrayc," he murmured. it was a phrase he'd heard a thousand times from the older clones. "you're no use dead," he translated.

something inside him hurt when you pressed closer to him, your frame quivering and shaking.
he'd seen you cry before. professionalism had stopped him from comforting you then. you had cried silently, cleaning up afterwards with a practiced hand, so robotically that kix wondered how often you did this-- and if anyone would have even known.
no one had known you had cried that once, except for kix.
professionalism be damned. he held you tighter, tucking you against him and rocking you gently.

"i'm sorry," kix said, thinking of the time he'd given you a physical-- how hesitant you were to take off your cloak, how the tiny scars spanned your skin like cracks. "i'm sorry," kix said, as he thought of the stories of darjetii and their dark powers, as he thought of the flitting rumors that followed you as dooku's ex-padawan, as he thought of how young ashoka was when she became a padawan.

"i'm sorry," he said, instead of saying how your trauma made you stronger, how the force works in mysterious ways-- and he gave you something the jedi council had never given you, that no one had ever given you.
the universe is cruel and awful but he understood. he knew and-- instead of giving you a pitying glance or sending you away-- he embraced you, an implicit i am here and we can be safe here.
and for the first time since you could remember, you made a sound as you cried-- a choked, smothered sob.
and kix held you tighter.