dancingwiththeplanets

[dancingwiththeplanets]

IT’S THEIR DAY!

Happy Father’s Day to the best dads in the galaxy!

[dancingwiththeplanets]

Hi! I was wondering if you could do a TBB x Fem!Reader +any other clones of your choice, where they keep using pet names in mandoa like cyar'ika, mesh'la, and maybe even riduur?(because they might’ve gotten accidentally married? Love those tropes)

but the reader has no idea what they mean and that they’re pet names or that the batch likes her. Eventually she finds out of course and a bunch of stuttering cute confessions?

Your writing is so amazing and i literally can’t get enough of it! Xx

“Say It Again?”

TBB x Fem!Reader

You had gotten used to the way clones talked — the gruffness, the slang, the camaraderie. But ever since you’d been working more closely with Clone Force 99, you’d noticed something… different.

They used weird words around you. Words you didn’t hear other troopers saying.

Hunter always greeted you with a gentle “Cyar’ika,” accompanied by that intense little half-smile of his.

Wrecker would beam and shout, “Mesh’la! You came!” every time you entered a room — like you were some goddess descending from the stars.

Crosshair, as always, was smug and cool, throwing in a soft “Riduur…” under his breath when he thought you weren’t listening, though you never figured out what it meant. He often smirked when you looked confused, and somehow that made it worse.

Even Tech, who rarely used nicknames at all, had let slip a casual “You’re quite remarkable, mesh’la,” when you helped him debug his datapad. He didn’t look up, but you felt the heat in his voice.

And Echo? Sweet, dependable Echo — he was the least subtle of them all.

“You alright, cyar’ika?”

“You look tired, cyar’ika.”

“Get some rest, cyar’ika.”

You were starting to think “Cyar’ika” meant your actual name.

But something was off. The others never used those words with each other. Only with you.

So, naturally, you asked Rex.

And Rex choked on his caf.

“You—what did Crosshair call you?” he coughed, wiping his chin.

You repeated it: “Rid…uur? I think? I dunno. He said it real low.”

Rex gave you the slowest blink you’d ever seen and then rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Riduur means… spouse. As in… wife. It’s what you call your partner.”

You froze. “What?!”

“And cyar’ika?” he continued, amused. “Sweetheart. Mesh’la is ‘beautiful.’ They’re… Mando’a pet names. Very affectionate.”

The blushing.

The flashbacks.

All those words… those looks… Tech calling you remarkable like it was a scientific fact, Crosshair smirking like he had secrets, Echo’s voice dropping a full octave every time he said cyar’ika…

You marched straight into the Havoc Marauder like a woman on a mission — and promptly forgot how to speak when all five of them looked up at you.

“…You okay, mesh’la?” Hunter asked gently.

You blinked. Your voice cracked. “…You’ve been calling me sweetheart?”

The room went dead silent.

Echo dropped his ration bar.

Wrecker panicked. “Wait—you didn’t know?”

Crosshair chuckled and leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “Told you she didn’t know.”

Tech frowned at him. “Statistically, the odds of her knowing were—”

“You called me your wife,” you said, pointing at Crosshair like he’d committed a war crime.

He shrugged. “Didn’t hear you complain.”

You stammered something completely unintelligible, covering your face with both hands, and Wrecker let out the loudest, happiest laugh you’d ever heard. “So… does that mean you like us back?”

You peeked through your fingers. “…Us?”

Hunter stepped forward slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “We all… kinda do. Like you. A lot.”

You were red. Like, fruit-on-Ryloth red. “You’re telling me five elite clones have been flirting with me in another language this whole time?!”

“…Yes,” they all mumbled at once.

Crosshair grinned like he’d won a bet. “So… Riduur?”

“Riduur?” Crosshair repeated, lifting a brow like it was nothing. Like he hadn’t just dropped a romantic thermal detonator right in front of everyone.

You stared at him. At all of them.

Hunter’s quiet guilt. Echo’s embarrassed fidgeting. Wrecker’s hopeful puppy-dog smile. Tech’s analytical interest. And Crosshair’s smug little smirk that you really wanted to slap off his face… or maybe kiss.

You swallowed. “I—I need a second.”

And then promptly turned on your heel and walked right back out of the Marauder.

⸻

You spent the rest of the day spiraling.

Sweetheart. Beautiful. Wife.

They’d been calling you those for weeks. Months, maybe. You were out here thinking it was some fun cultural expression or inside joke you weren’t in on—and it turns out you were the joke. The target. Of five clone commandos’… affection?

It didn’t feel like a joke, though. It felt sincere. Soft. Safe.

And scary.

Because you liked them. All of them. Differently, but genuinely. The thought of them caring about you—of whispering pet names they grew up hearing in the most intimate, personal ways—made your chest ache in a way you didn’t know how to handle.

⸻

The next day, you avoided them.

The next day, they let you.

The third day, Hunter found you in the mess hall, sat beside you without a word, and handed you a steaming mug of caf.

You looked at him.

He didn’t speak right away. Then: “We’re sorry. If we made you uncomfortable.”

“I’m not uncomfortable,” you blurted out. “I just… didn’t know how to react. I’m still trying to figure it out.”

Hunter nodded, eyes kind. “We can stop. The nicknames, I mean.”

You hesitated. “No. I don’t want you to stop.”

He smiled, just a little. “You sure?”

You nodded. “I think I like them. I just… I want to know what they mean now.”

⸻

So, one by one, the boys showed you.

Wrecker said “mesh’la” every time you helped him carry heavy crates, with a goofy grin that made your stomach flip.

Echo said “cyar’ika” after every quiet conversation, letting the word linger like a promise he wasn’t ready to say aloud yet.

Tech, precise as always, began to offer direct translations.

“You look stunning today, mesh’la—objectively, of course.”

Crosshair didn’t stop with “riduur.” He started calling you “cyar’ika” too—softly, in rare unguarded moments—and he never looked away when he said it. Like he meant it. Like he knew what it was doing to you.

And Hunter? Hunter started saying “ner cyar’ika.” My sweetheart.

⸻

It wasn’t instant.

But slowly, their voices stopped making you flustered—and started making you feel home.

You started saying their names softer. Started touching their arms when you passed. Started blushing less… and smiling more.

And one day, while standing beside Wrecker during maintenance, you reached up on your toes, kissed his cheek, and whispered, “Thanks, cyare.”

He blinked. His whole face lit up like a nova. “You said it back!”

Later, you caught Echo outside the ship. Nervous, swaying slightly on his heels. You pressed your hand into his and whispered, “You can keep calling me cyar’ika, you know.”

He looked down at you with wide eyes. “You really don’t mind?”

You shook your head. “I like it.”

And Tech, when you repeated “mesh’la” with a teasing little lilt, glanced at you and—just this once—forgot what he was doing.

Even Crosshair dropped his toothpick when you looked him dead in the eye and whispered: “You keep calling me your riduur. What does that make you, then?”

He blinked. Once. Then smiled. Really smiled. “Yours.”

⸻

By the time you curled up beside Hunter one quiet night, your head on his shoulder and his hand tracing slow circles on your back, he murmured “ner cyar’ika” and you didn’t freeze or stammer.

You just smiled.

Because now you knew.

And you finally, finally understood that you’d never been the joke.

You’d always been the reason they smiled.

[dancingwiththeplanets]

felt like drawing clouds, Seelos decided to come with

[dancingwiththeplanets]

We really aren’t gonna see Din Djarin again until 2026.

[dancingwiththeplanets]

Holding On (Part 2/2)

Hunter X F!Reader

Weeks after your rescue, things seem to be looking up for you. Though Hunters feelings remain the same, how can he express how he truly feels?

warnings: hurt/comfort trope, reader suffers from nightmares, panic attacks, mentions of needles and injections. Very emotional reader. Lots of comfort. Mutual pining. First kiss. Female reader.

Authors note: I completely forgot I was to do a part 2 to this. Sorry for the wait. Queued Post.

Part One | Part Two

You awaken to the gentle hum of the ship, blinking away the sleep from your eyes. As your vision clears, you notice Echo sitting across the room, head slightly bowed, soft snores escaping his lips. A warm smile spreads across your face at the sight.

You speak softly, not wanting to disturb the peacefulness of the moment. "Echo, hey." He stirs at the sound of your voice, lifting his head and meeting your gaze with a gentle smile.

"Hey," he responds, stepping closer to you. "How are you feeling today?"

It's a question you've grown accustomed to from the whole team, and despite the lingering challenges, you find yourself improving each day. "Good," you reply softly, sitting up and crossing your legs on the bed. "And how about you?"

Echo chuckles and shrugs, his eyes reflecting a mixture of weariness and determination. "Same as usual." He retrieves a scanner, checking your vitals with practiced ease. "Listen, last night you had a nightmare."

You sigh, the memory of the unsettling dreams still lingering in your mind. "Yeah... they've been happening quite frequently."

Sympathy shines in Echo's eyes as he finishes the scan, confirming that everything appears fine. He takes a seat beside you. "Hunter was here and saw you tossing and turning. He asked me to stay until you woke up."

A pang of embarrassment tugs at your heart, realising that Hunter had witnessed your vulnerability even in your sleep. "I'm sorry he had to see that," you admit, cheeks flushing with a mix of gratitude and embarrassment.

Echo's gaze softens as he nods in understanding. "Yeah, nightmares were a constant companion to me for a while. Still have them occasionally. It's... something we've all been through in one way or another."

You find solace in his words, knowing that you're not alone in this struggle. "I guess it's just part of the journey, huh? The memories and the pain find their way back, even when we try to move forward."

Echo's hand rests reassuringly on your shoulder. "It's okay to feel overwhelmed. Healing takes time, and it's different for everyone. But we're here for you, every step of the way."

A small smile tugs at the corners of your lips, appreciating the support from Echo and the rest of the team. "Thank you, Echo. You've all been so kind to me."

He offers a warm smile in return. "Of course, we care about you. You're part of the squad, part of our family."

The word "family" resonates deeply within you, reminding you of the connection you shared with them all. Despite the hardships and the nightmares, you're grateful to have found a place where you belong. Finally.

"Morning. Can I get you a drink or anything?" You look up as you hear a voice from the hallway, and your heart flutters at the sight of Hunter approaching. Echo takes his cue and gives you a final pat on the shoulder before leaving just the two of you.

"I'm alright for now, thanks," you reply, grateful for his offer, and pat the spot beside you.

Smiling, Hunter takes a seat, his fingers strumming somewhat anxiously against his leg. He still hasn't addressed your confession of love from a while ago, uncertain of when the right time and day would be. With the nightmares plaguing your mind in recent weeks, he feels that bringing it up now would only add to the tension.

"Echo tells me you saw me have another nightmare," you speak up, sensing the sudden thickening of the air. "I understand why you didn't want to stay and watch."

Turning his head to look at you, Hunter's eyes shimmer with reassurance. "I didn't want to leave, I just... I know Echo is more familiar with dealing with this type of stuff, and I wasn't sure what to do. I should've stayed."

"I would've been fine either way, don't worry," you whisper, gently placing a hand on his forearm. A warmth flows between you both, and although you're unsure if he feels it too, he lets out a somewhat breathless exhale before clearing his throat.

"We, uh, we're going to be landing on Coruscant in a few hours. Maybe it'll do you some good to get out for a while?" Hunter suggests, but a sudden wave of panic washes over you.

Your eyes widen, and you instinctively shake your head. The memories of being captured and taken by the Empire on a busy planet flood your mind, leaving you feeling vulnerable and unsafe. The Marauder has become your sanctuary, a place of solace and security.

"N-no, no, I can't," you stammer, a wave of unease washing over you, making your skin prickle as if an itch you couldn't scratch.

Hunter's voice is calm and reassuring as he wraps his arm around your shoulder. "Hey, it's going to be alright. I'm right here with you," he says, his presence providing a sense of comfort. "You won't leave my sight. Crosshair will be with us too, on high alert, ready to spot anything suspicious." He tries his best to offer reassurance, but your body begins to tremble, and tears well up in your eyes.

"Not yet. Please... I'm not ready," you plead, your voice filled with fear and vulnerability.

"Okay," Hunter says softly, his touch comforting as he rubs soothing circles on your back. "You can stay on the ship then. I'll stay with you, and we can have one of the others stay too," he suggests, understanding your fear and offering a solution. You nod, quickly wiping away the tears that trickled down your cheeks, trying to steady your panicked breathing.

“Sorry, it's just..." you trail off, finding it difficult to put your feelings into words. But Hunter understands, and he gently pulls you closer until you can rest your head against his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat provides a calming reassurance, especially as he tenderly runs his fingers through your hair. "Maybe another time,"

There was no denying the nervousness that gripped you as the team landed on Coruscant, even though you chose to stay on the ship. Memories of that traumatic incident flooded your mind, causing your heart to race in your chest, despite being shielded by two of the bravest soldiers you knew.

You're in the cockpit, keeping a watchful gaze through the windshield when you hear hushed whispers coming from the hull. Your curiosity piqued, you turn your attention towards the source and see Hunter and Crosshair engaged in an intense conversation. However, when your eyes meet Hunter's, you notice that his smile, though meant to be reassuring, doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"What's going on?" you ask, voicing the question that lingers in your mind.

Crosshair turns his gaze to you, his expression as stern as ever, as he holds up a stim pack. "Tech's orders," he explains, his voice carrying a tight tone.

A sudden wave of nausea washes over you, triggering haunting images of the torment inflicted by the IS-O droid. Your mouth goes dry, and before you know it, Hunter is rushing to your side, his presence a comforting anchor. "It'll be over in a second," he assures you, his voice laced with concern.

Crosshair approaches cautiously, standing beside you and placing a calming hand on your shoulder. "Don't worry, doll. I'm not as clumsy as Wrecker," he remarks, trying to infuse some levity into the situation. However, despite his attempt at humor, you can't find it in you to laugh.

Gently, Crosshair rolls up the sleeve to your arm and you do your best to hold your nerve and look away but your eyes deceive you and instantly fall to the right where the stim was being raised, needle pointy. The sight of it made you recoil and push the boys away from you.

“No, I’m not doing it.” You rasp, tears stinging your eyes once more. “I’m not ready.”

“Cyare, Tech says it’s imperative you take this stimulant.” Hunter explains, holding his hands up as if to ease a wild creature. “It’s going to be okay.”

“Hunter,” you whimper, shaking your head, “I-I can’t!”

Crosshair remains quiet, watching you closely but his eyes are soft at seeing you so anguished.

"Hey, shhh, hey, it's okay." Hunter's soothing voice brings a momentary calmness as he gently cups your cheeks, his touch grounding you. Your ragged breaths begin to steady as he draws closer.

Overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment, the fear of the injection momentarily fades as Hunter presses his forehead against yours, cooing softly and caressing your skin with his thumbs. "That's it, you're okay," he murmurs, his presence offering a sense of security.

Your eyes flutter closed, unaware of Crosshair's approach as he seizes the opportunity to administer the injection while you're in this state of calm.

"Hunter," you rasp, feeling a gentle hold on your arm, the fear starting to creep back into your consciousness.

"Just focus on me. You're doing so well. So, so well," Hunter encourages, tilting his head slightly, his breath brushing against your lips. In this tender moment, you're overwhelmed with the urge to lean closer and kiss him. But instead, the truth spills from your lips in a burst of honesty.

"I love you."

There's a suspended pause in the air, your eyes squeezed shut in anticipation of his response. You couldn't help but reveal your true feelings. He meant everything to you.

"I love you most, darling," Hunter replies, his words filling your heart with warmth and relief.

When you open your eyes, you notice that Crosshair had discreetly stepped away, and there's a subtle sting in your arm. Huh, guess he was gentle handed.

Crosshair had left with a small smirk, leaving you feeling a mix of flustered and curious. "I... sorry, I don't know why I said that," you stumble over your words, trying to steady your breathing while your heart races with the weight of your admission.

Hunter hums, a knowing expression on his face that tells you he's not entirely convinced by your apology. "Is that why you've said it twice now?" he asks, tilting his head to the side, his eyes searching yours.

Your eyes widen in surprise, your brows furrowing as you try to recall the first night you were rescued. "Twice?" you repeat, your mind racing to piece together the memories.

"Yeah," Hunter confirms softly, his hand moving from your cheek to your arm, soothing the sting from the stim. "A few nights after we rescued you, you were half asleep and it slipped out that you loved me." He holds his breath, hoping beyond hope that your feelings were genuine as he gathers the courage to ask, "Do you?"

You blink up at him, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "Do you?" you ask in return, suddenly remembering that he had just declared his love for you. In front of Crosshair of all people.

"Of course. A lot," he replies, his words filled with sincerity and affection. The warmth that spreads through your chest reassures you that your feelings are reciprocated.

A gentle silence fills the air as the weight of your shared feelings hangs between you. In that moment, the galaxy seems to fade away. All the pain and suffering no longer seemed to matter.

Unable to resist the magnetic pull any longer, Hunter leans in, closing the remaining distance. His lips brush against yours, soft and tender, as if afraid to disturb the fragile beauty of the moment. “I’m going to look after you. I’m going to love you, forever.” He utters against you and you melt into his embrace.

Your heart is soaring with joy, knowing that he was going to be true to his word. It will still take a while to heal, but you knew Hunter would not mind healing with you.

Part One | Part Two

Masterlist

More Hunter Works

Tags: @andyoufollowyourheart @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @captxin-rex x @jesseeka @ashotofspotchka @oohyesplease @theroguesully @mustluvecho @ladykatakuri @jambolska-grozdova @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 @rain-on-kamino @either-madness-or-brilliance @staycalmandhugaclone @ko-neko-san @echos-girlfriend @fiveshelmet @dangraccoon @plushymiku-blog @chrissywakingup @kixs-husband @pb-jellybeans @nunanuggets @sleepycreativewriter @tech-aficionado @grizabellasolo @therealnekomari @tech-depression-inventory @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @imalovernotahater @tinyreadersmur @kaminocasey @marvel-starwars-nerd @ladytano420 @ladyzirkonia @raevulsix @the-good-shittt @whore4rex @imperialclaw801 @temple-elder r @mysticalgalaxysalad @photogirl894 @fantasyproductions @by-the-primes @the-bad-batch-baroness

[dancingwiththeplanets]

Hi! I absolutely love your writing 😍 Everything you write is so freaking cute and you're an amazing author. If you're still accepting requests, could I have something where a fem!reader gets pretty badly injured (like maybe she was tortured by imperials for info on the bad batch or maybe she was trying to protect Omega or something) and she's kinda freaking out bc like she's in a lot of pain and she's really worried about the boys or something and so one of the boys (maybe Hunter or Tech?) has to like hold her still and comfort her or distract her? If that's not something you're comfortable with writing that's totally ok 😉 (I'm such a sucker for a good hurt/comfort/whump fic). Love you!

Holding On (Part 1/2)

Hunter X F!Reader

word count: 2.2k words

After being held captive by the Empire, the boys hold out a rescue mission for you and are horrified at the sight in front of them. In pain, distressed and weary, only Hunter seems to be the one to calm you down.

warnings: brief mentions of torture/bodily harm (not detailed at all), IT-O droid, injured reader, hurt/comfort trope, blood mention, not an established relationship. Fluff at the end. Not proofread.

A/N thank you for the request my dear friend! @arctrooper69 hope you enjoy ❤️ I decided to do Hunter as I have a WIP for Hunter in process

Part One | Part Two

Rewritten 20th June 2023

In the blink of an eye, everything changed. One moment, you were walking alongside Omega, and the next, darkness enveloped you as you were rendered unconscious.

Before losing consciousness, you had managed to ensure Omega's safety, shielding her from the Empire's clutches. The encounter with the Imperials had caught you off guard since it had been a considerable amount of time since you and your companions had crossed paths with them. The sudden abduction left everyone in shock, especially Omega, who had frantically returned to the ship, screaming and sobbing.

Among the group, Hunter was the one who bore the deepest grief. His heart raced as he discovered your whereabouts. You were held captive in a new Imperial compound, concealed within a mountain, reminiscent of the one where Gregor had once been rescued.

The connection Hunter shared with you was unlike anything he had experienced before. It surpassed the bond he had with his brothers or anyone else. He truly loved you, though he had always been hesitant to admit it to himself and to you. Now, he despised himself for allowing you to venture into the town alone with Omega. On that day, a foreboding feeling churned in his gut, urging him to stay close. Yet, you had insisted himself that you would be fine. And now? His worst fears had become reality.

All except Crosshair and Omega swiftly stormed the Imperial stronghold, incapacitating any opposition in their path. As they reached a cleared floor, Echo communicated through the comms, while the others scouted the area. Hunter, consumed by anxiety, could only pace restlessly.

His mind swirled with worry. "Echo, how much longer?" he inquired, his voice laden with anxiety.

"Not much longer... These encryptions are new and complex. Just try to stay calm. We'll rescue her," Echo responded, his words a mix of unease and reassurance. Hunter knew Echo meant well, attempting to console him, but how could he remain calm? Every fiber of his being threatened to erupt in panic at any given moment, and each passing second felt like an eternity.

"Just hurry... please," Hunter pleaded, his voice filled with desolation.

Echo and Wrecker exchanged a solemn glance, understanding the depth of their Sergeant's sorrow. Despite their usual banter and teasing about Hunter's obvious affection for you, their hearts weighed heavy.

With the location secured, Hunter's mind incessantly repeated the cell and floor numbers. Your cell was guarded by heavily armed soldiers, but that posed no threat to Hunter when it concerned you.

Descending into the depths, he stood before the imposing red energy barrier that separated you from him. There you were, alive, but as he called out your name, you remained unresponsive. Huddled in a corner, your knees pressed tightly against your chest, and your head buried within them.

Tech deactivated the energy barrier and followed Hunter into the cell, while Echo and Wrecker kept vigilant watch.

"Hey, cyar'ika," Hunter crouched in front of you, hearing your repetitive mumblings. The same phrases, muffled and continuous, resonated from your trembling form. Yet, you did not lift your head.

Tech joined Hunter, his visor flipped down as he scanned you. "I can't get a clear reading," he frowned, cautiously reaching out to touch your shoulder. Instead of looking up, you unleashed a gut-wrenching cry and forcefully kicked him away.

"Don't touch me! I told you I don't know anything!"

Tech stumbled back, utterly stunned by your reaction, while Hunter's eyes widened in horror.

"Cyare, please, it's me, Hunter. Tech is here too. We've come to rescue you," he pleaded, his voice laced with worry and urgency. However, it seemed like the message wasn't registering.

"No, no, no! I don't know anything! Leave me alone," your whimpers grew frantic, hands clutching tightly at your hair as you shook your head back and forth. "I don't know. I don't know."

Hunter fell silent, overcome with a profound sense of helplessness as he witnessed you crumbling before his eyes. He was terrified even to touch you, fearing that you might disintegrate like sand slipping through his fingertips. He whispered your name with utmost gentleness, desperate for any connection. "Please, look at us."

A hushed silence settled in as your tears subsided and your trembling limbs gradually stilled. Hunter held his breath, while Tech patiently stood beside you, awaiting any response. Slowly, you raised your head, your eyes fixed on your Sergeant yet seemingly distant.

The vibrant life that once resided in your eyes had faded, replaced by pools of darkness. It felt as if you were looking through Hunter rather than at him. Chills coursed through his body, as witnessing your vacant gaze was one of the most agonizing sights he had ever beheld.

Blood adorned your face, a distressing amount. Your lip was split, swollen on the left side, where a prominent bruise had begun to form. A cut marred the skin above your eyebrow, and your nose appeared to be dislodged.

Once again, Hunter whispered your name, his voice filled with sorrow. "I'm so sorry we didn't come quickly enough. But we're going to take you back to the ship, okay?"

Your expression remained devoid of any emotion. It was as if you didn't recognise the man standing before you. Beside you, Tech silently continued his examination. "Hunter, this goes beyond a mere capture and interrogation. They used an IT-O on her," Tech spoke sternly, giving Hunter the gravity of the situation.

"An interrogation droid?" Hunter repeated, acutely aware of the brutal nature of these machines. Designed to inflict pain and extract every ounce of information from a captive's mind, resisting their torment required immense strength and resilience. It came as no surprise to Hunter that drugs could be injected as well, given the bleakness that clouded your expression.

"Yes, they're lethal. Utilized by the ISB. I need to thoroughly examine her body and ensure that she..."

Hunter's mind wandered from that point onward, mirroring your detachment. His heart shattered at the sight of you in such a state. Although you were alive, although you were technically safe, it felt as though you were slipping away, beyond his reach. The longing to hold you close and offer solace coursed through him, yet he remained paralysed by the helplessness of the situation.

With utmost caution, Hunter extends his hand towards you, the gesture taking time to register in your slowed perception. Your gaze shifts between his hand and his face, even your blinks becoming languid. "Where...?"

"We’re going back to the ship. We'll keep you safe," Hunter speaks softly, flexing his fingers as an invitation for you to grasp them.

"But I don't know anything. I told you I didn't know anything." Wariness returns to your countenance, your eyes narrowed with a mix of fear and anger. Your mind spins, and your body tenses.

"We're not your enemy. It's me, Hunter, your friend. Family."

Family. The word reverberates within your mind, stirring your consciousness with a flicker of recognition.

Hunter, sensing all hope slipping away, battles against the urge to force your compliance. Yet, your hand envelops his, and in that moment, he knows it's now or never before your state of mind shifts once more. Swiftly, he lifts you into his arms, and the entire group dashes towards the secured exit. Wrecker leads the way, with Hunter carrying you closely behind, while Tech and Echo guard the rear.

Your eyes squint, brows furrowed, and Hunter senses panic surging through you once again. They are perilously close to the exit, and he cannot risk you breaking down now. "Close your eyes, cyare," he urges, placing his hand over your eyelids, guiding them shut. Miraculously, it works.

With Imperial forces attempting to flank them, they manage to make it out, and most importantly, they make it out with you.

The road to your recovery was arduous and filled with challenges, but Hunter remained by your side at all times. There were moments when you would regain consciousness, recognising your safety, only for a sudden switch to flip, leading you to lash out, scream, and insist on your lack of knowledge regarding any rebellious activities.

From the fragments Hunter had gathered through your limited conversations, he learned that there had been a significant shift in Rebel activity. Unluckily—and perhaps luckily for you—you had been involved in the initial uprising. That was how you crossed paths with the Bad Batch initially after they completed a mission for Rex and you were identified as an easy target. However, you hadn't seen Rex in many rotations, perhaps even months.

Today was another sluggish day in your recovery, with Hunter retreating to the cockpit to clear his mind. Echo and Omega attended to your wounds, and you appeared to be improving. Your clouded eyes had cleared, and your swollen lips had subsided significantly.

Crosshair joined Hunter, casting him a sidelong glance. His left knee bounced incessantly, and he let out a deep sigh. "Hunter, relax. She's... getting better."

"She's not getting better quickly enough," Hunter retorted swiftly, although his knee bouncing reduced as he ran a hand through his tangled locks.

Crosshair hummed, busying himself with toggling switches on the control panel, as if trying to occupy his mind and conceal his concern.

Despite his stoic nature, Crosshair couldn't offer much comfort, and his worry intensified when he heard screams coming from the back of the Marauder. He watched as Hunter raced toward the source of the commotion.

As expected, you were in his bunk, seeking solace in familiarity, but you were curled up in agony. Echo stood back, holding a stim in his hand, while Omega did her utmost to provide comfort.

"No, no more, please..."

“What’s going on? Echo?” Hunter kneels by your bedside, looking to Echo for answers.

“She agreed to have a stim, something to help with the pain and make her more relaxed but as I got closer she just, well as you can see.” He gestures with his scomp, a solemn expression on his gaunt face as he sees you cling onto your knees for dear life. He had been making progress with you for two days but now it seems as if he had just gone back to square one.

Hunter sighs and places a gentle hand on your arm, offering whatever comfort he can. "It's okay, you're safe. Echo is only trying to help you."

Your eyes remain fixed on the ship's wall, but upon hearing Hunter's voice, you roll over to face him, your lower lip quivering. "Everything hurts, Hunter."

It's the first time you've said his name since the incident, and a slight weight lifts off his shoulders. You're starting to remember who he is, who they are, and where you are. It's a small step, but it's better than nothing.

Sobs rack your body, tears streaming from your sleepy eyes down your cheeks. You reach out to him, and without hesitation, Hunter moves to lie beside you, cradling your head against his chest. His chest becomes damp from your tears as he rests a hand on the back of your head, gently rubbing circles into your hair.

"I know, I know," he whispers softly, trying to keep his emotions in check. "I'm here."

Silently, Echo escorts Omega out of the room, deciding to postpone the administration of the stim. He hopes that the two of you can find peace in each other's presence.

After some time, your cries subside, and Hunter focuses on the rhythm of your breathing, preparing himself for any signs of a looming emotional outburst.

"I didn't tell them anything," you finally break the silence, and Hunter tenses momentarily before tilting his head forward to look down at you.

"It wouldn't have been your fault even if you did," he reassures you, feeling you take a deep sigh as your eyelids close.

As the moments of peace continue to pass, the storm within you subsides, replaced by a sense of calm. "I'm sorry for scaring you," you murmur softly.

Hunter blinks, a slight smile tugging at his lips. "I'm sorry for not coming quick enough."

Your eyes flutter open just a fraction, allowing you to catch a glimpse of the frown on his face and the exhaustion evident in his eyes. You both were worn out. "I don't know what else you would've done. I don't know what I would have done if I saw you, the one I loved, like this."

A profound tension fills the room, and Hunter's heart stops. Did you just...?

He gazes down at you, only to find your eyes closed, seeking solace in his warm embrace as you drape an arm over his waist. "Thank you for saving me."

Hunter chews on the inside of his cheek, hoping that your small yet significant admission wasn't a fabrication. He decides to wait until you're in a better state before addressing it. For now, he plays with the ends of your hair and whispers tender words to ease your pain. When he hears your soft snores, he leans down and presses his lips to your cheek, yearning for a brighter future. Cupping your face with his free hand, holding onto you and never wanting to let go, he whispers ever so faintly, "I love you too."

Part Two

Masterlist 🤍

More Hunter Works

tags: @nunanuggets @andyoufollowyourheart @littlefeatherr @kaitou2417 @eyecandyeoz @captxin-rex @cwarssimp @jesseeka @ashotofspotchka @oohyesplease @megafrost4 @adriiibell @theroguesully @equalityforcats @rexandechosandwich @mustluvecho @inagalaxywickedfahaway @misogirl828 @ladykatakuri @jambolska-grozdova @chxpsi @alexandrisonfire @arctrooper69 @padawancat97 7 @rain-on-kamino @by-the-primes @torchbearerkyle @tech-aficionado @in-the-crosshairs @therealnekomari ri @a-c-lee @autumnleaves1991-blog @tech-depression-inventory @mylifeinthetardisforever @brynhildrmimi @greaser-wolf @lucyysthings @agenteliix @fiveshelmet @the-good-shittt @photogirl894 @cosmic-persephone @imalovernotahater

[dancingwiththeplanets]

Ruthlessness (Sergeant Hunter x fem!Reader)

"After everything you've done...how will you sleep at night?"

"Next to my wife."

Notes: Feral Hunter, above-average bloodshed and violence. Reader is implied to be a Jedi but it's never explicitly stated, inspired by that line from Epic: The Vengeance Saga.

Hunter tore through the base. He could smell your fear and terror, and he knew you were nearby. He didn't even need Tech's directions.

This is what he was made for.

He hadn't slept since he'd heard you'd been captured, and he wouldn't rest until you were safe in his arms.

He quickly dispatched the two TK Troopers at the door with blaster and knife. Before the first body could hit the floor, he snatched the key card from their belt. He could hear your heartbeat just beyond the door, sluggish and slow, along with one other heartbeat and the deadly hum of an interrogation droid.

The moment the door opened, Hunter found his target, launching his vibroblade at the droid.

The blaster shot took him by surprise. Hunter managed to dodge so that it grazed him just below the ribs, but it burned. Every nerve in his body screamed out in pain,but he had to keep moving forward Hunter dropped to his knee, holding his wound, and looked up at the blaster pointed at his face.

"Doctor Hemlock warned me you'd come after her," the Imperial officer said, his voice low and lethal. He sounded just like Hemlock and Rampart, a controlled calm with a storm seething beneath the surface.

Hunter had no use for control. Not when he saw you hanging limp in the officer's arm like the damsel in distress in some cheap holo novel.

"Let her go, and I might let you live." Hunter growled, pushing himself to his feet.

The blaster followed his every move, and the officer chuckled as if he hadn't just been threatened.

"That's not an option here. She's a traitor, as are you."

Hunter took a step forward, only to stumble against a table littered with surgical tools. The officer kept the blaster trained on him, smart man.

But not smart enough.

"You're a stubborn one, aren't you?" The officer chuckled, "You clones just don't know when to quit."

"Hun'red percent success rate," Hunter bragged through gritted teeth, forcing his legs to support him.

"And vain too," the officer scoffed.

Hunter turned his body just enough that the officer couldn't see him grab the scalpel, still trying to make his way to you. Your heartbeat was growing slower with each passing second. He had to get you out of here.

"And what do you call your Emperor, then? An empire that'll last a thousand years? The Republic's been around longer than that."

"The Republic is gone!" The officer snapped, "That is the difference between the Galactic Empire and your precious Republic!" He jabbed the barrel of his blaster against Hunter's chestplate, sealing his doom.

Hunter moved too fast for anyone but Crosshair to have really noticed. The scalpel met its target in the vein of the officer's wrist, and he dropped the blaster with a scream. Hunter grabbed the wound and twisted it, forcing the officer to drop your body. Hunter only took his eyes off the officer to make sure you were safe, but he recovered quickly. He reached for the blaster with his non-dominant hand, and Hunter kicked it out of reach. The officer went for Hunter's wound, digging his hand into the wound. The air was ripped from Hunter's lungs as he tried to focus his vision. He couldn't let you die here, not as a trophy for some fanatic Imperial sycophant.

He still gripped the scalpel in his hand, and as the officer grinned sadistically Hunter drew it across his face. Blood splattered everywhere, and the officer reeled back with his face in his hands. Hunter didn't let him recover. He stomped his booted foot on the officer's shin, shattering his bones. The officer writhed on the floor as he tried to crawl away, dark blood from his face and wrist staining his gray uniform and slicking the tile floor.

Hunter held his side and adjusted his hold on the scalpel for a firmer grip, standing above the insignificant worm of a sentient that had dared to lay a hand on his Cyare.

"You clones-" the officer spat, coughing on his own blood.

"Scraping by, betraying the glory of the Empire just to live hand to mouth..."

"How how do you live with yourself?

"How do you sleep at night?"

Hunter grabbed onto the officers hair, yanking his head back so that the last thing he ever saw was the clone who would kill him.

"Next to my wife."

He drove the scalpel into the monster's chest, over, and over, and over again, until he heard the silence of its heart.

Hunter heaved a deep breath, tasting the coppery tang of blood at the back of his throat. It took a moment, but Hunter knew it wasn't his own.

A shuddering breath echoed through the room, and Hunter turned to you, crouching in between you and the officer so that you wouldn't have to see him as you woke up.

"Cyare? Cyare, can you hear me?" He called your name, cradling your head in his lap.

You mumbled something unintelligible, eyelids twitching.

"Hun'er?"

"Easy, easy Cyare, you're safe. It's over," He said. He gently pressed his fingers to the spot below your jaw where he could feel your heartbeat. It was delicate, like the flutter of a bird's wing, but it was there all the same. He needed to get you to the ship.

Hunter lifted you into his arms and though you raised your arms to hang onto his neck, they weighed as much as a starcruiser.

"I've got you," He whispered, "You're gonna be alright."

Your knee hit the blaster wound in his side, and he winced.

"You're hurt," You gasped, still drugged but now worried about him.

He shook his head and straightened his shoulders, "Don't worry about me. You're safe now. That's all that matters."

@photogirl894 @meadow-of-daisies-and-lavender @emperor-palpaminty @clonethirstingisreal (I just thought y'all would enjoy ✌️)

[dancingwiththeplanets]

The Mandalorian Fireside (ambience)

[dancingwiththeplanets]

Goodbye 2024, Hello There 2025! 🥳🎉🌟

Those were some busy 12 months:

Worked on a LOT of fun and diverse freelance jobs

Moved to a new city

Met a ton of lovely people at conventions and attended FMX Conference or the first time (eternal thanks to Robert Hranitzky), what a blast!

Got to wear some amazing new cosplays crafted by @sekuteskacosplay 💙

And yes, also made progress on Tukk Tales...

...although not as much as I had hoped. Finding the spare time to work on such an elaborate no-budget personal project can be tricky...

BUT! I'm as committed and motivated as ever and 2025 is the year I want to take some bolder steps to allow myself to focus more on Tukk Tales, even if it means scaling back on freelance work. I'm in the middle of making some exciting plans and can't wait to share updates with you soon! 😁

Thank you so so much for sticking with me and supporting my project despite the quietness (and me kinda sucking at social media lol)! It'll be worth the wait! ❤️

🎉🥳🌟 HAPPY NEW YEAR! 🎉🥳🌟

(And a special thanks to Luis Humanoide for his incredible Tukk Tales music used in this clip)

[dancingwiththeplanets]

Commander Wolffe x fem!medic!reader

You work as the GAR's first cybernetics specialist, providing necessary care for the ever-growing list of troopers with cybernetic augmentations. Entirely in Wolffe's POV (oops).

Written in response to an AO3 request by Alessandra_DaughterofApollo!

Word Count: 5,100

Warnings: Contains vague references to medical treatment of the eye. Also contains references to Wolffe's chapter of Nobody Listens to Kix and mentions my Wolfpack medic OC Curl.

It had been a long day. So long, in fact, that Wolffe couldn't actually remember the last time he had slept. It couldn't be a good sign.

The day's work had been simple enough, dropping off supplies to a planet that had suffered a Separatist threat to their shipping routes. The threat itself hadn't amounted to much, but it was enough for the commerce guild to put temporary restrictions on the movement of goods. For the safety of their personnel, they had explained.

That was a ridiculous excuse for laziness, to Wolffe's way of thinking, but nobody had asked him. Not that they ever did.

In any case, he was glad to be back onboard the Solidarity. The 104th was on the way back to Coruscant for a resupply and a short leave, set to arrive at the center of the Republic in a little over a day. General Koon had dismissed him for the night. There was nothing more the commander needed to do, and he relaxed in the privacy of his bunk.

Sleep could be hard to come by, especially for someone who had lost as many men as Wolffe had, but his body was ready to rest. The moment his head touched the thin, GAR-issued pillow, Wolffe was drifting through a fog, well on his way toward a deep sleep.

So he was very irritated when his comlink chimed loudly, ringing again when he successfully ignored it the first time.

“What,” he asked flatly when he picked up the call.

“Co- Uh. Yes, Commander Wolffe?”

Wolffe huffed out a sigh at the obvious hesitation and fear of the person on the other end of the line. He would think it was a shiny if the voice wasn’t clearly female.

“Yeah.”

His suspicions about the voice were confirmed when she gave her first and last name. Definitely not a clone.

“Hello! The GAR has started scheduling regular maintenance appointments for all of the troopers who have received augmentations. It’s time for your bi-annual checkup.”

“No.”

That seemed to throw off the pleasant voice with its rehearsed, overly friendly manner. “Perf- um… No? I’m - uh - I’m afraid appointments are mandatory-”

“Complain to my general.” Wolffe disconnected the comm with the press of a button and turned over in his bunk, surrendering gladly to sleep.

He thought no more of the matter, having half-dismissed it as some kind of dream lying on the edge of unconsciousness… until after a briefing the next day.

“Commander, I need to speak with you,” General Koon said just before Wolffe left the briefing room.

“Of course, sir,” Wolffe agreed, fighting the urge to salute. The general didn’t like being saluted, not when it wasn’t absolutely necessary. His Jedi in particular didn’t seem to understand the importance of keeping distance between the officers and the men. Wolffe wasn’t sure why he respected that as much as he did, but he would happily take a blaster bolt for the general. Would do so even if he hadn’t been engineered to do exactly that.

When the rest of the men had filtered out of the briefing room, Wolffe glanced expectantly at General Koon. The Jedi always liked to get to the point of a conversation, which worked out excellently for Wolffe. He shuddered to think how he would have handled being assigned to a general who chattered.

“Commander, why am I hearing that you’ve refused to schedule a necessary appointment for your eye?”

Wolffe blinked at his general. “...Sir?”

General Koon shook his head slowly. “I consider you to be a responsible, dependable person, Wolffe. Certainly the most capable soldier I’ve ever known.”

“Thank you,” Wolffe said automatically. He had always admired General Koon’s direct nature, but it wasn’t often turned on Wolffe himself.

“So you can understand my concern when I hear that you aren’t taking care of your health,” the general concluded. It was difficult to gauge his exact mood with the breathing mask covering his mouth and eyes, but Wolffe knew the Kel Dor well enough to know that he was disappointed.

“I- that’s not exactly… the full story…” Wolffe argued weakly. General Koon didn’t argue, just waited patiently for Wolffe to offer a better explanation. The trouble was that Wolffe didn’t actually have a better explanation. “...the problem is that… we’ve been busy. I haven’t had time to worry about cybernetic maintenance.”

There. That, at least, wasn’t a lie. It wasn’t overly honest - certainly not the full reason - but it was true. The 104th had been running missions non-stop for weeks.

“I see,” the general mused slowly. “So you aren’t neglecting your health, the issue has just been one of timing?”

“Exactly, sir,” Wolffe agreed, relieved to hear his commanding officer on his side.

“Then you should have no difficulty making an appointment for the time in which we will be on leave on Coruscant, correct?”

“I can try for an appointment,” Wolffe said with a grimace. “I’ll have to see if there are any spots left…”

“You already have an appointment,” the general told him. “The woman who called seemed extremely optimistic about the chance that you would go into the office for a visit after all.”

“Wait,” the commander requested, feeling like he was reeling. General Koon had referenced this earlier, but it was only now that Wolffe’s brain had absorbed and processed them. “Did that civilian woman contact you?”

“Yes, she did,” General Koon admitted readily. “And I agreed that she should go ahead and schedule your appointment. I knew you wouldn’t deliberately ignore your health. You know all too well the impact you have on your men and the army, along with why it would be detrimental to ignore the responsibility of taking care of your health.”

Wolffe nodded, feeling a muscle ticcing in his jaw.

“Please let me know if you need anything further done to get to your appointment,” General Koon invited. “Even if it’s something simple like getting coverage for a shift, I would like to help in any way that I can.”

Behind the buzz of speech filtered through a breathing mask, Wolffe could hear the sincerity in his general’s voice.

With a small sigh, he just said, "Thank you, sir. I'll follow up right away."

"Good man," the general said warmly. He left the room then, off to a holomeeting with the rest of the Jedi council. Wolffe gave himself a moment to sulk before he left as well.

A few days later, the commander found himself walking into a small office in the Coruscant headquarters of the GAR. It certainly hadn't been there the last time he was in the area. Hells, he was fairly sure it must have started life as a closet of some kind.

When he stepped into the room, he found you inside. You sent him a quick smile, but tapped rapidly on the datapad you were holding.

"Just one moment, friend," you said, voice cheerful. "Let me finish this up and I'll be right with you."

It was a pleasant request and Wolffe would have been happy to wait, except his own patience made him grumpy. Why was he so content to listen to a secretary? Especially one who had clearly tattled to General Koon?

"I have an appointment for right now," he reminded sharply.

You glanced at him and said serenely, "Thank you for your promptness. It is appreciated. I will be with you in just a moment.”

And so Wolffe contented himself with studying the room while you continued working on your datapad.

The room was viciously small. There was a desk with an adjustable lamp placed on its surface, an exam table, and a large tool chest, but no other pieces of furniture. You probably could have used some, but there was no way anything more would have fit into the space. The desk with the lamp held a few scattered datapads, but the majority of the surface was occupied by pieces of cybernetics. A cursory inspection showed several limbs, a few panels for a head augmentation, and a collection of minuscule motors. The smallest motor was placed in the bright circle of light emanating from the lamp, surrounded by a collection of tools so delicate that they looked like toys. Whoever this cybernetics specialist may be, he must be skilled.

Maybe Wolffe would even let the man touch his eye.

"Okay," you announced, setting the datapad down with a sharp noise. "Commander… Wolffe, correct?"

Wolffe bit back a sigh. These civvies were so disorganized. “Yes, Commander Wolffe. Presumably the only one with an appointment for this exact moment. Or two minutes ago, really.”

Rather than react poorly to his harsh sarcasm, you sent him a blinding smile. “Of course. Please sit down and we’ll get started in a moment.”

He did so reluctantly. Climbing up on the table in full armor wasn’t an elegant process, but Wolffe refused to remove any of the plastoid plates. They offered a sense of protection and security, though he would never admit that. Also, you weren’t showing any of the wary respect he had come to expect from civilians, and Wolffe wasn’t above using the subtle intimidation about who he was and the rank he held in the GAR.

“Any questions before we get started?” you asked, snapping on a pair of gloves.

“Yeah,” Wolffe said gruffly. “Did you comm my general?”

You smiled at him, tilting your head to the side in inquisitive amusement. “You told me to, Commander. Remember? And you don’t seem like the type to appreciate someone refusing to follow an order.”

Wolffe grumbled at that, especially since he did in fact remember that. “Does the medic know his secretary is that petty?”

“Secretary?” you asked, eyes widening. For the first time, Wolffe had knocked you slightly off balance. He was amused to see that your immediate reaction to that was the beginnings of anger sparking in your eyes. “I am the medic, Commander.”

Ah, excellent. If he picked a fight with you, he might be able to get away with avoiding this appointment entirely. “I don’t know many medics who make their own appointment calls.”

There it was, the spark of your anger turning to a small flame… but you took a deep breath and extinguished it. “Well, I am a new addition to the GAR’s health plan and I don’t have a secretary, so I suppose you aren’t entirely wrong. I am the medic and also my own secretary, assistant, janitor, supply officer, mechanic…”

You trailed off with a shrug, but Wolffe wasn’t ready to let it go that easily. “You’re the mechanic?”

There was a brief pause, a silence in the room during which Wolffe thought that anger would spark once more, but you only tipped your head back and laughed. It was a light, happy sound, contagious enough that Wolffe found his own lips wanting to quirk in response. “I know cybernetics is a field dominated by males, but yes, I’m the mechanic as well. If you keep being surprised by every part of my job, this appointment is going to take all day.”

“I’m sure you have other appointments,” Wolffe said inanely, cursing himself internally in the next moment.

But you shook your head. “Not today. Every trooper currently on Coruscant who has a cybernetic implant has already been here for maintenance.”

Wolffe winced at the term, thankful that you were busy wheeling over a small table filled with shining instruments and missed his reaction. Maintenance. He hated that term. It made him sound like a droid, something less than human - even more so than he already felt as a clone. He and his brothers had once told General Koon that they were meant to be expendable… and he had never felt the truth of that more sharply than when he was reduced to a collection of worn-down parts by the simple word.

“I don’t think this is necessary,” Wolffe grunted out, attempting to change both the topic and his feelings by bringing his irritation back to the surface. “I just had my implant checked out by a medic from the 501st.”

“Yes, I’ve read Kix’s report,” you agreed, locking the table’s wheels in place as Wolffe stared at you in shock. Thoroughness from a GAR medic? He never would have guessed it. “He performed a cleaning to reset the motor in your eye due to a malfunction. It was a clever move and it worked, but he didn’t actually do anything with the motor. That’s my job. And I’ve read the reports from the medic attached to your unit… Curl, I believe? It seems that he doesn’t have the training to work on cybernetics, either. So I’ll be the one to take care of it for you.”

“So I’m just supposed to sit here while you tinker with the inside of my eye?” Wolffe asked, and if his question was a bit harsh, who could really blame him? Nothing with the cybernetic hurt after the socket had been mounted, but it still wasn’t how he had intended to spend a precious free day.

“Not at all, Commander,” you breezed. “I have a replacement motor here. I’ve personally checked to see that it works without any chance of overheating, sticking, or otherwise malfunctioning. All I’m doing today is removing the old motor, cleaning the socket and the lens, and putting the new motor in place.”

Wolffe didn’t say anything, but you didn’t move or speak, either. It took a moment to realize that you didn’t intend to do anything until you had gotten his permission, and Wolffe gave a tight nod.

“Okay, first, we need to remove the lens,” you explained, as if he didn’t know. “Please look up.”

Wolffe did so, bracing for what was about to happen. Removing the cybernetic was mostly painless, but it certainly felt odd. The lens lifted free, sliding out from under his eyelid. You were careful to let the mag-link between the lens and the motor disconnect before you pulled it away. As soon as that link was broken, Wolffe’s vision was cut in half and he watched through one eye as you meticulously removed the internal motor from the cybernetic.

“Do you clean this regularly?” you asked, inspecting the motor with a small frown.

The commander had to give you credit - you were studying the small, sludge-covered motor much more closely than anyone else had ever dared. Even Kix, with everything he had seen in the 501st, had avoided looking too closely.

And suddenly, Wolffe was embarrassed at how bad he had let things get. “Yes,” he lied. “I clean it once a week.”

“Every week?” you asked skeptically.

“I may have missed a week or two…” Wolffe hedged, suddenly irritated at the way you were seeing through him. “Why? I don’t look like the kind of person smart enough to maintain the system that lets me see?”

“Your intelligence was never in question,” you argued, firmly shutting down his attempt at starting a fight. “But sometimes, people avoid things that are uncomfortable or that make them feel vulnerable-”

“I don’t feel kriffing vulnerable,” Wolffe spat out.

You nodded. “Okay, then we probably need to get you scheduled for another surgery.”

“Wha- why?”

“If you clean this every week, even if you missed a week or two - or three - this is too much buildup in the motor,” you explained, holding up the piece in question. “There’s a chance of fire or a catastrophic malfunction. If the cybernetic is creating this much sludge, we need to find a different model.”

Wolffe didn’t respond to that, unable to think up a good excuse for the state of the cybernetic and unwilling to admit that he had lied.

You seemed to take pity on him, turning away for a moment and returning with a brush and a small container of clear liquid. “I’m going to clean out the socket now. You’ll probably feel a bit of it, but let me know if it gets uncomfortable.”

Internally, Wolffe reflected that you were far more gentle than Kix had been, and there had been no pain then. There was a slight tickling sensation as the bristles smoothed over the metal lining the inside of his eye socket, but nothing more intense ever came about. Just as you finished, the side of your smallest finger brushed down over his cheekbone and Wolffe jumped slightly at the unexpected contact. You misunderstood his reaction, pressing a hand to his shoulder and muttering soothing nonsense about how you were almost done. He couldn’t truly feel your touch through the spaulder covering his shoulder and he was starting to regret not removing his armor.

You were attractive, he was willing to admit that much. You were lithe and sure-footed as you strode around the minuscule office, grabbing the tools and pieces that you needed before working to prepare the new motor for his eye. Your hands were strong and confident in their motions, your eyes keen and clever, taking in everything about the components in question and Wolffe’s own state of health. You were the ruler of this small court, and he was only a visitor.

Kriff, he wanted to be more than a visitor.

Shaken by the sudden neediness of his own thoughts, Wolffe cleared his throat and gruffly told you, “It’s a waste of time, treating me. Putting in new parts is bad enough. We don’t need to worry about surgery.”

Your talented hands paused as you glanced up at him. “What does that mean?”

Wolffe shrugged. “There’s every chance I’ll die. I could die in the next mission I go on. And if I survive that one, I may not make it through the next after that. The more missions we run, the lower the odds of survival. It’s just math. And I hate to see you waste your time and good parts on someone who isn’t likely to live long enough to use them. The parts, I mean.”

You blinked at him, apparently forgetting about the lens you had been gently cleaning. In a voice that was softer and more real than anything he had heard from you up to that point, you asked, “What if you live?”

“Unlikely,” Wolffe scoffed.

With a shake of your head, you said, “You need to think about it.”

He paused, momentarily startled by the firm passion in your voice. What did you know that he didn’t?

“Logically, if you’re willing to plan for the possibility that you won’t survive, it makes sense to consider the possibility that you will. The odds of death may be higher than those of survival, but they’re still worth considering. What if you live?”

What if he did? Wolffe frowned, a cautious sense of hope expanding in his chest before he brutally forced it back down. “Then I’d have to deal with the unknown of life after the war. Don’t forget, clones don’t have rights, according to the Republic. Officially, we’re barely considered sentients. I’d have a short life of forced servitude patrolling some Outer Rim planet so the Republic citizens don’t have to remember I exist.”

He had said too much. You looked a little stunned and extremely concerned. “I can see why you’d consider the idea of death so carefully, then,” you said eventually. “But no one who speaks with a trooper can doubt that you are sentient. I’ve heard about more than one bill for clone rights on the Senate floor, and there would be even more of a push after the end of the war.”

Wolffe snorted. “Nat-borns don’t care about clones. The only ones who do are the Jedi, and they’ll be focused on peace-keeping after the war, not fighting for clone troopers who are getting too old to be useful anymore.”

There was another silence in the small office and Wolffe didn’t quite know how to break it. He was never this pessimistic… or honest. Certainly never this vocal about any of it. It must be a combination of the nerves from visiting a medic combined with the shock of finding such a beautiful woman working here. “Listen-”

“Have you ever thought about speaking to someone about this?” you asked carefully. “I’m a medic, not a psychologist - and I wouldn’t treat you if I were - but I have a friend who’s an excellent therapist. I’ll give you their information and you can reach out if you decide that’s an option you want to pursue.”

“Why not treat me yourself?” he asked.

You did that amused head tilt again. “I… am treating you..?”

“No, if you were a psychologist,” Wolffe amended. “You said you wouldn’t treat me if you were. Why not?”

“Because it’s a bad idea to take on long-term patients you’re attracted to,” you answered, sounding as though the answer should have been obvious.

Wolffe felt like someone had punched him in the gut and he stared at you in shock. You were mocking him? After everything he had shared with you? That’s what he got for being too honest with a nattie, and a civilian at that. “Hilarious. Anyone ever tell you there are clubs out there that would pay a premium to hear those jokes?”

You were drying the lens with a soft cloth, the material never pausing in its small circles as you glanced over at him, frowning. “What are you talking about?”

“I told you I’m a clone, not a person, and a damaged one at that,” Wolffe said tightly, fury making his voice lower. “And you decide that’s a good opening to be funny. Mission accomplished. I must just not get the joke.”

“Commander…” you broke off the soft entreaty, changing it to, “Wolffe. I’m not making fun of you. You’re an attractive man. Do you really think that isn’t true? Or that I would say it if I didn’t believe it myself? I wouldn’t want to be your therapist long-term because I would probably end up falling for you.”

Wolffe was stunned into silence, watching blankly as he tried to reconcile what he was hearing with what he was seeing. His automatic reaction was to think you were lying, teasing him for some unknown reason, but he wasn’t as certain of that as he had been at the start. Wolffe had always considered himself to be a fair judge of character. He didn’t see any of the telltale signs of a lie on your face, in your voice. If he didn’t know any better, he would think that you were being honest with him…

The quiet lasted long enough for you to finish checking the connections between the motor and the mag-links that would connect it to Wolffe’s eye socket and the outer lens.

“Connecting the first mag-link now,” you warned, and Wolffe didn’t quite manage to tamp down a flinch at the jolt of the connection. You murmured more soothing nonsense as you connected the outer maglink and Wolffe blinked as his cybernetic eye came back online.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” you started. “I’m the only cybernetics specialist contracted by the GAR at the moment, but I’ll arrange another before your next appointment. I don’t want you feeling-”

“Say it again,” Wolffe commanded, capturing the hand that had been nervously fluttering through the air between you. You were still wearing medical gloves streaked with saline solution and the remnants of sludge from his old motor, but Wolffe couldn’t care less, especially since he was still wearing his own gauntlets.

“I’m sorry?” you asked hesitantly.

He was probably being too intense, as he had been throughout this appointment, but Wolffe couldn’t figure out how to stop. “Again. Please. Please say it again.”

So many years had been spent learning to hide any trace of his thoughts that tried to slide over Wolffe’s face, but now, he hoped he was managing to communicate with his expression. He didn’t have the words to even start explaining what he needed from you. Maybe you would somehow understand?

You studied his face as he did the same to yours, using his newly enhanced cybernetic eye to get an even closer look. Eventually, you took a deep breath and said, “You’re a very handsome man, Wolffe. And you’re clever and interesting, if a little pessimistic. I could see myself falling for you.”

Wolffe’s heart stuttered in his chest. You weren’t lying, not that he could tell. And, kriff, if he couldn’t tell the difference, maybe he didn’t want to know if it was a lie. He stared into your eyes, searching for the truth as your gaze bore deeper into his own. Your lovely eyes bounced back and forth between his, moving from the deep brown to the silver and back without any apparent preference between them.

But one thought kept him from true joy, no matter how much he tried to relegate it to the back of his mind: he didn’t deserve you. Wolffe knew himself well enough to admit that he was a cranky, irritable man with too much responsibility and a too-short lifespan. He may not be able to do much about the responsibility or the lifespan, but he could try to work on the rest of it.

And hope? The hope that he could live and live well after the war ended? It wasn’t that he had never considered it before. It was just that the idea of it filled him with such a strong sense of longing that it made his chest ache. It hurt more to hope for life than it did to be resigned to a relatively early end, but he was starting to understand that the attitude wasn’t healthy. Maybe he should speak to someone, look for a way to confront that painful hope until it made some sense to his battle-hardened soul.

“Give me your psychologist’s comm information,” he said. Judging from the disbelieving gape your mouth fell into, you hadn’t been expecting that.

“That’s not- I wasn’t trying- I’m not just saying that to get you to go to therapy!” you stammered out in protest.

Wolffe laughed, the most sincere sound he had made in as long as he could remember. “I didn’t think you were, mesh’la. I just… if I ever meet someone like you again, someone who’s willing to give me a chance… I want to make sure I stand a chance at being good enough for her in return.”

“Why not me?” you asked, expression wary to the point of fearfulness.

Wolffe wanted to scoff at the idea of saying something that would hurt you, but he wasn’t a delicate man. He hadn’t been raised for kindness, probably wouldn’t be good at it anyway. But, for your sake, he tried.

“I wouldn’t want to do that to you,” he admitted, deciding that honesty was the best solution. “You have better options than me out there, any di’kut could see that.”

“And what if I thought you were the best option?” You smiled gently at him. “Are you really gonna make me wait until your next maintenance appointment to see you?”

Wolffe winced at the hated term, but smiled in your direction. You seemed unwilling to let his reaction go, though. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t like calling it ‘maintenance’,” he admitted. “Makes me feel like a droid.”

“No! Maintenance… It’s describing what we do to keep up with the care of your cybernetic, not you! It’s not meant to apply to a person, just… their implants…” you trailed off, a small crease appearing between your brows as you puzzled it over. Wolffe longed to know if that always happened when you were deep in thought. “That’s a good point, and now I don’t like ‘maintenance’, either. I’ll come up with some better terms. Maybe some of my fellow cybernetics specialists have found a better way to describe it. I’ll reach out to them…”

Wolffe smiled, amused by watching your brain take off into the plans you could implement. You caught sight of him soon enough, and he would treasure the memory of the soft smile growing on your face in return. “But you didn’t answer my question, Commander.”

“Wolffe,” he corrected.

“Wolffe, then,” you agreed. “Are you really going to make me wait another six months before I get to see you again?”

“You’d really want to see me sooner, mesh’la?” he asked. “Brave little thing.”

“How about we celebrate your first therapy appointment with a walk around the city?” you proposed. “I’ll take you to my favorite restaurant, if that sounds good.”

Wolffe grimaced, abruptly brought back to the reality of a soldier’s life in wartime. “I won’t be on-planet long. Our leave is only for a few days.”

“That’s fine, I know how it is,” you assured. “And so does my friend. They work with a lot of soldiers. They’ll want to have an in-person meeting for your first session, so they’ll find time to fit you in before you ship out again. But don’t feel pressured to agree to the rest of it if you’re not interested. I just want to see you feeling better.”

It took a moment of staring blankly at your soothingly smiling face for Wolffe to realize that ‘the rest of it’ meant a date with you. “Did you have to take oaths when you became a medic?”

“Um- yes,” you confirmed, looking confused again. “Several of them. Uphold the Republic’s laws, keep patient concerns confidential, do no harm, the usual ones.”

“Well, you’ll be doing a lot of harm by changing your mind after inviting me on a date,” Wolffe told you, grinning ferociously at your sudden transition from confusion to wry amusement. “I’d love to go for a walk with you.”

“Great!” you said, smiling so broadly that Wolffe felt like he was being washed in starlight. “I’ll get you the information and you can make your appointment. I trust you still have my comlink channel information?”

Wolffe shook his head, explaining dryly, “I deleted it when I woke up the next morning, but it’s fine. I can go ask my general for it.”

You laughed. “I would say I’m sorry for going over your head, but…”

“Don’t be sorry,” Wolffe ordered. “Never be sorry. I’m not.”

Wolffe didn’t like medical appointments. They signified pain and fear and loss and hopelessness… but not this one. Hells, if you were around long enough, he might even learn to tolerate medics instead of avoiding them - disregarding Curl, of course.

At the very least, he had found one medic he wouldn’t avoid.

---

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[dancingwiththeplanets]

Celebration prompt- “is that seriously your password?” + oc of your choice (maybe the setting is some sort of anniversary?)

Also congratulations 🎉

I am so thrilled you requested a fic with Limit! I'm sorry it took forever to get written, but I hope you like it!

For those who are not familiar with Limit, he's one of my medic OCs. This fic will give a lot of his background, but he can also be found in this chapter of Just for Kix and in a few chapters of my Alpha-17 story Gar Cabur.

Limit + "Is that seriously your password?" + Anniversary

Limit x gn!reader

Word Count: 4,300

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, slightly tipsy reader, slight angst, mentions of a medical situation, Kaminoans being awful, lots of teasing.

(Image credit goes to shadowstorm59 on Reddit)

"Come on, let's GOOOO!" The cry was met with wild cheers from all of the troopers around you.

It was the one-year anniversary of the formation of the 327th Star Corps, General Aayla Secura's unit in the Grand Army of the Republic. The men had decided that such a special occasion should be celebrated, and they set out to do just that.

Somehow, one of them had managed to convince some of the upper officers to help out. The officers had brought in a volunteer team of troopers assigned to other units and used them to form a skeleton crew.

In an unprecedented move, the entirety of the 327th had been given clearance to go down to the surface of Coruscant so they could celebrate as a group.

Not that anyone had waited that long, obviously. You had been offered alcohol hours ago. It had been the type of alcohol the troopers could afford - rough, stinging, and tasted absolutely vile. You had accepted without hesitation and were currently several shots deep. Your mouth hated you, but the rest of you was surprisingly okay with things.

The first transport was set to depart for the surface in five minutes, and it seemed like every trooper on the Liberty was clamoring for space onboard. Almost every trooper.

"Hey, have you seen Limit?" you asked a nearby trooper, having to repeat yourself twice to be heard over the crowd.

"No, not since this afternoon."

You turned to another trooper. "Have you seen Limit?"

That trooper said no, as did the next and the one after that. You were starting to get frustrated with the drunk soldiers - ignoring the fact that you were more than a little tipsy yourself. But the fifth person you asked squinted blearily at you before his face cleared into one of realization.

"Yeah, I have!"

You waited for him to say more, but he just fell into anticipatory conversation with his friends. You worked to regain his attention.

"Where, trooper?" you asked. "Where did you see Limit?"

"In the medbay!" he told you, still laughing uproariously at something one of his friends had said.

"The medbay?" you repeated, frowning. "When was that?"

But the trooper he had already moved away, lost to you. You extricated yourself from the crowd, ignoring the questions called out by some of the troopers. They were your friends and you had every intention of meeting them at 79's, but you had to make sure Limit was okay.

Limit was the 327th's medic, a favorite among the men. You had heard stories about the medics attached to other GAR battalions and you could understand why. While other medics may make threats or ignore what their patients wanted, Limit was careful to make sure every man had a voice.

He certainly didn't look like the type to be so mindful of the men's wishes. Limit was tall, even taller than the already-intimidating troopers. He had the breadth to match, so muscular that his armor had to be created specially for him. There was some scarring along his jaw and neck, probably from the same incident that had removed part of his ear, but he was an utter sweetheart.

You had adopted him after a single medbay visit. It had been for a minor complaint, but Limit had been so careful and thorough that you were impressed by such a short interaction. From that day on, you made a point of talking to him every time the two of you crossed paths - which seemed to happen more and more often now.

You had planned on dancing with him at 79's, especially when he had mentioned his avoidance of dancing, but you couldn't follow through if he stayed on the Liberty all night! So you were off to the medbay, determined to bring Limit with you even if you had to drag him along.

Sure enough, when you reached the medbay, you found Limit inside. The medic was busy with his datapad, and you were willing to bet he was working on requisition forms for when the men came back aboard the ship. Limit didn't believe in taking chances on running out of supplies.

"Limit, come on," you whined, complaining like this was the newest in a long list of conversational pleas with him. Clearly, it wasn't, since he jumped in his seat and looked up at you in total shock.

"I di-didn't hear you come in," he admitted. "Is everything o-o-okay?"

"No," you complained and he stood, beginning to study you in an apparent search for injuries. "Why are you still here? You should be getting ready to take a transport back to Coruscant."

Limit settled back into his seat after realizing that you were in no danger. He glanced around the medbay with a shrug. "I still have- still have a lot of things that I need t-to get done."

You looked around in disbelief. The beds were made, sheets and pillows perfectly straight. All of Limit's equipment had been cleaned and put away. The floor was so shiny that you could see an odd reflection of yourself rippling around as you moved.

"Like what?" you demanded.

Limit looked sheepish when he realized your well-founded skepticism. He lifted the datapad. "Forms."

"Forms that can be done later, right?"

"Yes, they can," Limit agreed eventually. He paused. "Were you wait- waiting for me?"

"Yes, you said you would hang out with me tonight," you reminded him.

Limit shook his head. "I'm sorry to ma-make you wait, then."

"It's fine," you assured him. "I spent the time productively. Did you know Jolt has a very extensive collection of alcohol? It's terrible! ...but undeniably effective."

"Are you dr- drunk?" Limit asked, sounding like he was preparing to be disappointed in you.

"No, but I'm on my way there," you told him happily. "Anyway, are you ready?"

"Al-almost," Limit hedged. "You can go ahead- go ahead without me. I'll catch up in a bit."

You stared at him, unimpressed. "Limit, who else am I gonna hang out with if you're not there? I'll just wait."

Limit looked like he was going to argue, but the look on your face must have warned him that it wouldn't end well. Or maybe it was the way you hopped up to sit on the edge of his desk. The ancient durasteel creaked ominously, discouraging further argument even more. So, Limit hurried around the medbay, putting away sensitive supplies and finishing up the last few tasks he needed to do.

"Have you been here for the entire first year of the 327th?" you asked, conveniently forgetting that you had planned to stay quiet so he could focus on his work.

He glanced over at you, startled. "No, I've only be- been here a few more weeks than you- than you have."

"Really?" You knew you sounded disbelieving, but you had only been with the 327th for a couple of months. That would mean that Limit was an incredibly late addition to the battalion. "You just seem so comfortable with the troopers."

Limit shrugged. "They're easy men to get- get along with."

You gave a skeptical hum at that. "Or you're just way too nice. Actually, no, that's definitely what it is."

"I'm n-not too- too nice!" Limit argued.

"Uh huh," you threw back, hamming up your doubt. It always made him smile when you did that. Most days, you would do anything for that smile… You pushed the thoughts away to focus on the current conversation. "What were you doing a year ago? Saving orphans from street gangs? Working to save endangered species of deep-space mantas?"

And there was that beautiful smile. Limit tried to fight it back as he shook his head despairingly, but it spread across his face regardless.

"I was still- still on Kamino," he told you softly.

"Medic training?" you asked, tucking one leg beneath you to protect you from the metallic chill of Limit's desk. "That must have taken a while."

"It did, bu- but I was on Kami- Kam- Kamino even longer because I'm def- defective."

You stared at him. "I'm sorry, defective? Exactly how did they think you were defective?"

Limit gestured at his face and you had a terrible moment of fear that you had forced him to talk about the scarring on his face and neck. Instead, he said, "You hear how- how I talk. They did t- tests, lots of 'em. Wanted to make sure- to check whether it was a prob- problem with my genes or their process."

While Limit delivered that halting, painful revelation, you struggled not to show the pity you felt. No one liked being pitied, but you also couldn't just let his explanation hang there. If he could be brave enough to share something so painful, surely you could be brave enough to answer just as honestly.

"That's horrible!" was all that came out and you winced at your own lack of tact.

"It makes sen- sense, if you think about it," Limit debated. "If I'm… this way, they'd have to- have to be concerned that more troopers could be, too."

"Limit, you have a stutter, not an extra head," you told him firmly. "The Kaminoans suck and you deserve better. Even if you are being dramatic about it?"

"Dramatic?" Limit repeated, aghast at the accusation. "I am no- not-"

"I know, I know!" you rapidly assured him, chuckling a little despite yourself. "I'm just teasing you, Limit. I really don't think the stutter is as bad as the Kaminoans seem to have made you think, but I promise, I'll leave it alone."

Slowly, Limit smiled again. "Tha- thank you."

You nodded in reply, then shifted on the desk. "Almost ready?"

"Almost, but…" Limit trailed off with a sigh, looking guilty. "I don't know if I'm in the right- in the right mood for a party."

"Then we can just stay here," you told him with a shrug, bringing your other leg up so you were sitting cross-legged on the desk. "What do you want to do instead?"

He stared at you like you had started speaking fluent Geonisian. "You've been looking forward to this party since bef- be- sin- when it was just a rumor."

"I have," you agreed. "Did you hear Aftermath is going to be there?"

"Aftermath?" Limit repeated. "I never met him. I came to the 327th after he had already- had already left."

"Yeah, I guess he's between missions and just happens to be on Coruscant tonight," you explained. "I heard he was trained by Alpha-17 himself!"

"He was," Limit confirmed. "All the ARCs are. He's the ARC trainer."

"Wait." You frowned up at Limit. If you lived on Kamino until recently, did you ever meet Alpha?"

"You cou- you could say that," Limit said, looking unintentionally mysterious.

You scoffed. "Keep bragging."

Limit chuckled at you, watching the way you crossed your arms and pouted. "Aftermath would prob- probably tell you all about his training if you- if you asked. You should go."

With a shrug, you told him, "It would be cool to meet Aftermath after everything I've heard about him, but… I would rather hang out with you. We could stay here, or go down to the surface and just stay away from 79's. The skeleton crew is already here. They took over about an hour ago, so we're good for whatever."

"Nice of you," Limit said, eyes amused. "But I wouldn't want to miss Aftermath. Besides, the rumor is that the general is going to be there."

"General Secura is going?" you demanded. "I hadn't even heard that? How do you know?"

"Medics know everything," he told you, looking smug.

“Then do you know how long you’re taking?” you asked, shifting on the desk. “Get your stuff so we can get to 79’s! I want to see Galle get trashed and start dancing! Apparently, it only happens between four and seven shots, so we have a time constraint.”

“I can’t de- deprive either of us the sight of Galle's dance moves,” Limit agreed. “Just let me shut- shut down the datapad and we can go.”

You nodded, watching unabashedly as Limit typed in his password to power the sleeping datapad’s screen on so he could shut it down properly.

“Hurts?” you asked disbelievingly. “You’re a highly trained medic, the smartest man I’ve ever worked with, and your password is ‘hurts’?”

Limit smiled gently at you, rubbing the side of his neck, and finished shutting down the datapad before he tucked it neatly into a desk drawer. As you got ready to slide down to the floor, he offered his hand and steadied you as your feet touched the floor.

It was a simple action, subtle and casual, but it still left you feeling flustered as you left the medbay by Limit's side. And so, to cover your awkwardness, you did what you always (inadvisedly) did:

You talked.

"Seriously, Limit, what is with your password?" you continued, as if by keeping the teasing going, you could ignore the warmth that had spread through you at the feeling of Limit's hand on yours, the brush of his other hand against your waist. "You're a GAR medic, not a school nurse."

Limit chuckled quietly, and your eyes met his. His face was softly amused and lit with the warmth of gentle affection.

You shook your head, grinning impishly. "I'm not gonna let this go until you explain yourself."

"Have I ever told you what hap- happened to my ear?" he asked, voice blank.

Immediately, your stomach dropped.

Your brain connected the dots, but too late for you to help yourself. Limit had touched the scars on his neck when you had first asked about the password and hadn't spoken since, no matter how much you teased. You should have noticed sooner, no matter how not-entirely-sober you were feeling.

"Oh. Oh, Limit, I- I'm sorry," you apologized, stopping and starting as you tried to figure out a way to explain yourself that conveyed just how sorry you were. "It's not my business. Please don't feel like you have to tell me anything about that. I mean, unless you want to. I'd be happy to listen- well, not happy, because I'm guessing it hurt, but I still, I just- Are you laughing at me?"

Limit laughed aloud at the question, immediately confirming your suspicions. "You manage to thr- throw me off-balance every time I talk to- talk to you. It's just nice to see you out- out of your element for once."

You huffed, the broad smile on your face giving you away as you bumped his arm with yours. "No, you've never told me what happened to your ear."

"It was when I was still- still on Kamino," he explained. "There was an atta- attack by the Separatists. We had some warning, but not enough. Not nearly enough."

(*October 2, 2021*)

"I was tr- trying to get from the medbay to the private quarters area," Limit said, eyes distant even with his gaze fixed on the hallway ahead. "I had been- had been asked to help get a civilian woman to the ARC training area. I was with a gr- group of cadets and a couple of ARC trainees. There was- was a- an explosion. Not too close to- to our position, but nearby. All that light and sound… it dra- draws your attention, you know?"

You nodded, even if he wasn't looking at you. "Well, I heard- I heard something in the hallway ahead. I don't remember what it was. I might never remem- remember. But something told me to get the men away. I grabbed every- everyone I could and pushed them- pushed them back around a corner."

"I gue- guess the hallway was filled with fire," Limit said with a frown. "I don't remember th- that, either, but I wasn't full- fully around the corner yet. I was thr- I was- The men tell me I was thrown back pretty far, an- and something hit my head. It took off the top of my- my ear, left scars down my neck."

Your heart hurt, listening to Limit tell you the story. It wasn't an easy subject for him, you could tell from how bad his stammer had gotten, but he seemed determined. Every part of you ached to wrap him in a hug, but Limit's shoulders were tense, his jaw set. He didn't seem like he was in the mood for physical comfort.

"I wo- woke up in the medbay on Kamino, the medic st- stand- standing over me. He wanted me to- wanted me to tell him what was wrong." Limit gave a humorless sort of smile. "Do you kn- know what I said?"

You shook your head. If you spoke, he would be able to hear the tears in your voice. The last thing you wanted was for this to become about you rather than him.

"'Hurts'," Limit told you. "It's a- a- all that would come out. Years of- years of medical training and all I could say is 'hurts'. So I ma- made it my password."

He shook his head slightly, as if replying to a question you couldn't hear. "I want to remember that patients are sc- scared and looking for help. It's my job- my job to figure out the parts they can't tell me. N- no, not my job. My responsibility. My privilege."

You walked silently for a few minutes, each lost in your own thoughts. When Limit finally looked over at you, he seemed surprised to see tears.

"What's wrong?" he asked, halting in sight of the transports.

Despite yourself, you laughed at that. "What's wrong? Limit, you can't just tell a story like that and expect me to have no reaction."

"I didn't mean to make you sad," Limit said, looking upset.

"I'm not sad, I…" you trailed off as you thought about it, letting Limit lead you into the transport while you did.

Since everyone else had made a mad rush to the surface, you had the transport to yourselves. You wiped the last of the tears from your cheeks and mused over exactly what to say.

"I think about how you must have felt on Kamino and then I think about how you must have felt during the attack. And then, hearing you were in such pain… and then, hearing that you took something awful and turned it into a reminder of something good for yourself…" You shook your head. "Limit, I just think you don't realize how incredible you are."

A hint of redness began to creep up Limit's neck. "I just did what any of my brothers would have done."

"Yes, but you didn't let it change you, either," you insisted. "You're still sweet with the men, careful about what they need and want. That's a rare thing, especially in the GAR. I just-"

You cut yourself off and threw your arms around him. Limit's hands rose to cradle your back, delicate as if he thought he would break you with his touch.

When you pulled back, he let you go immediately, but you didn't move far - only far enough to kiss him on the cheek. You could feel his lips purse automatically in response, brushing your cheek.

Haltingly, you slid over a fraction and kissed him again, this one landing on the corner of his mouth as he stopped breathing. Finally, you pressed your lips against his.

Limit's hands tightened around you and you sighed at the feeling of his touch… but a moment later, he pulled back.

"What happened?" you asked, still trying to get your bearings.

With a shake of his head, Limit gently grasped you around the waist and lifted you off of his lap. In the brief moment in which you were trying to figure out when you had climbed on top of him, Limit settled you gently in the seat beside him.

"I c- can't," he told you, still shaking his head slightly. "I want to,but… You aren't in your- in your right mind."

"My right mind?" you repeated, thoroughly confused. "Limit, what are you talking about?"

"You're drunk," he explained, patting your hands when they wandered toward his.

You laughed. "I'm not, though? Maybe a little tipsy, but that's all."

"It isn't- isn't right," Limit insisted. "I won't t- t- take advantage of you."

"We both know I'm the one more likely to take advantage of you," you argued, though you pulled yourself away until there was a sliver of space between you and him. "And I haven't had anything to drink in over an hour."

"That doesn't ma- matter," he touched you. "Humans metabolize alcohol at a rate of half an ounce per hour. If you had more than one drink, even if it was an hour ago, your inhibitions are lowered. You're saying and doing things you normally wouldn't."

You wanted to argue. Wanted to insist that this was what you wanted, but if he didn't believe you, it would just make him feel more uncomfortable.

"Fine, but this conversation isn't over," you warned. "We'll go to 79's and have fun with the 327th, but I'm gonna bring this up again."

"I look forward to that, mesh'la," Limit told you quietly.

And you had been telling the truth. You and Limit got to 79's just in time to see Galle dancing wildly on the dance floor. General Secura was indeed there, her naval-baring outfit looking far more at home at the club than it did on the battlefield. Commander Bly was sitting beside her, warding off would-be admirers with ice in his gaze.

You and Limit spent the evening talking, eating, and laughing. You were even able to convince him to join you on the dance floor. It was brief, but nice. Despite the offers of alcohol, you didn't drink for the rest of the night. Instead, you focused on gathering as much blackmail material as you could from the drunk troopers while Limit alternately scolded you and laughed.

The next morning, you woke slowly, filled with a tranquil happiness as you thought over the previous night. It was only when you were ready to get up for the day that you realized you had been smiling at the ceiling. The GAR had put you in the nicer part of the barracks - necessary for a private room - but there still wasn't much in the cracked ceiling to smile about.

Then you sat up, a plan having formed before you could think about it: you wouldn't wait to get back onboard the Liberty before you talked to Limit. Instead, you would find him here and now!

You rolled out of the bed, putting on your civilian clothes before rushing out through the blank, gray hallways of the GAR barracks. You only had one idea of where to find Limit, but you were fairly confident he would be there.

And so, you walked into the barracks medbay, fully expecting to see Limit there. Instead, you were greeted by another trooper, clearly a medic as well. Unlike Limit, this man sported a thick labyrinth of maze-like tattoos on both arms.

"Is everything… okay?" he asked, studying you with an air of puzzlement.

"Yeah, everything is- I'm looking for- Have you seen Limit anywhere?"

The unfamiliar medic smirked. "Looks like you were wrong, ner vod. Better accept it gracefully."

"I'm sorry?" you asked, frowning.

He shook his head, still giving the barest hint of a smile as he gestured behind you.

You turned to see Limit standing there. He didn't even glance at the other medic. "Thanks, Ink."

"So…" you started, already beaming. "I'm not drunk anymore. Not even enough to lower my inhibitions."

"It is-" Limit paused to check his chrono. "-eight twenty-seven am. I'm gla- glad to hear you aren't drunk already."

"The point is," you continued, undeterred by his teasing, "my inhibitions are as high as they ever are and I haven't changed my mind. So unless you have any objections…"

"Are you sure- sure about this?" Limit interrupted, the words rushing out of him. "I don't want to force you in- into something."

"Limit, I meant what I said last night," you told him. "I want this. If anything, I'm forcing you into things. If you're not interested in me, that's fine. I just need to know-"

You cut the entreaty short as Limit's large hand slid into your hair, his other delicately cupping your jaw.

He stared down at you, dark eyes soft as he leaned down. When his lips brushed yours, he paused, hesitating away for a moment before returning with more strength. You sighed, melting into him. Your hands rose to his chest, bracing yourself against it as you went on tiptoe to reduce the tension on his neck.

A loud whistle split the two of you apart. Ink was standing there, a datapad pointed in your direction. From the chatter you could hear from the 'pad, Ink had started a holochat with some other people to witness the scene.

"There you go, Limit!"

"Told you to make a move."

"Yeah, it's about time!"

"Sto- stop it, guys," Limit told them, ducking his head shyly.

You patted his pec encouragingly. "Wanna go somewhere a little more private?"

"Kriff, yes," Limit agreed immediately.

With a laugh and a little wave at the datapad, you pulled Limit out of the medbay behind you.

---

A/N - Again, just in case you think I'm wildly narcissistic, Ink is not supposed to be a self-insert of any kind. I just needed a name that had something to do with his tattoos. (Also, ARC Trooper Aftermath was made up for purposes of this story.)

Requests are currently closed, but check out other works on my masterlist or sign up for my taglist!

Thanks for reading!

Taglist: @rexs-wife @sugarpuffsstuff @stargazingthenightaway @just-some-girl-92 @kimageddon @ladysongmaster @carodealmeida @adriiibell @boomtowngirl @quietplaceinthestars @bitchylittleredhead @blck-omen @lackofhonor @buddee @captxin-rex @salaminus @literallydontlook @lucyhelena @808tsuika @ladykatakuri @bikerlorian @louise-12 @torchbearerkyle @frietiemeloen

(Speed-tagging tonight, friends! If I accidentally tagged you and you want to be untagged, let me know!)

[dancingwiththeplanets]

trick or treat🎃🍫

Happy Halloween, Shay!!! For you, I have a very short, very fluffy, and mildly spicy interlude with Kix! I hope you enjoy and have a wonderful All Hallows' Eve 🍫🎃🍫🎃🍫🎃

Pairing: Kix x Reader (GN; has hair)

Rating: T (but as always, minors DNI)

Wordcount: 365

Warnings and tags: fluff, sensuality, established relationship, teasing

Suggested Listening:

This fic smells like: Choco Musk by Al-Rehab (full-size Hershey’s bars)

“Run me through it one more time,” Kix said, gliding his fingertip down your shoulder. “Just to be sure.”

“It’s not that complicated,” you replied with a little laugh to cover the shiver that his touch sent through your body. 

“Natborn holidays are weird and confusing. I do like your costume, though.” He dropped his face to your neck and inhaled softly. “You smell nice, too. I bet you taste like candy.”

Oh, hell no. Not a chance.

“CT-6116, are you attempting to seduce me when the trick-or-treaters will start arriving at any minute?” you demanded.

“Mmm, I can tell you’re serious when you use my number,” he murmured.

“If you had a middle name, I would have used that instead.”

“Absolutely terrifying,” he lied, trailing his lips down the line of your throat and pushing the neckline of your costume out of the way. 

“Well, it is fright night,” you gasped, then mentally cursed your breathless voice.

His laugh was nothing but a soft puff of warmth against your skin.

“So,” he said, “the younglings all dress up in costumes and ring your doorbell. Then you give them treats?”

“Exactly.”

“What if they don’t say ‘trick or treat’?” His fingertips grazed beneath the hem of your shirt to stroke your waist.

“They still get candy.”

“That’s a good policy,” he whispered with a soft nibble on your earlobe. “Not everyone can speak. I was right, by the way. You do taste like candy.”

“I know what you’re doing, and it’s not going to work, you absolutely incorrigible—”

“What if they’re not wearing a costume?” he interrupted, continuing his relentless exploration.

“They still get candy. Oh!” You let out an undignified little shriek as he found a particularly lovely—SENSITIVE. SENSITIVE spot.

“So you’re telling me that all I have to do is ring your bell, and I’ll get a treat?” he asked in a deceptively innocent tone.

“Yep, that’s how it works,” you replied shakily as a wave of awareness raced down your spine.

“Hmm.” He traced his fingertips up the line of your neck and along your jaw, tilting your face until his lips were a mere breath away from your own. “Trick or treat.”

---

@ireadwithmyears

[dancingwiththeplanets]

Inside

Summary: A mission on a seemingly uninhabited planet goes wrong for Clone Force 99’s civilian member. The Bad Batch find themselves having to make a tough decision as they face an unthinkable situation. 

Pairing: None, but hinted at Hunter x reader flirting

Warnings: Body horror, alien species, injuries, vomiting, surgery, very graphic medical stuff, needles.

A/N: Taking a break from the horny to deliver my second horror fic for Halloween. This one is inspired by the Alien series. One of my favorite horror series. Please do heed the warnings, this one is rather graphic.

MASTERLIST

You wake with a pained groan. You're face down on something hard and uneven. There's water dripping somewhere, the sound echoing around you. Your mouth feels dry and your tongue swollen as you attempt to swallow. Your throat aches, not unlike when you would get sick as a child. 

You try to move, but pain erupts all across your body. You take a deep breath, your stomach aching in protest. You crack your eyes open, but you're in pitch black darkness. 

You push past the aching in your body, reaching a hand down to your belt. You fumble until you find the pocket with your torch, pulling it out. You turn it on, shining it around you. 

You're laying on a rocky surface in what looks like a cave. Memories come back to you as you lay there, your brain finally catching up. 

Your squad had been sent to an uninhabited planet to search for an emergency beacon that had been set off. There were no records of any personnel in this area, but with war waging across the galaxy, it wasn't uncommon to get distress signals from the most unlikely places. 

The planet was host to non-stop high winds and storms, and the beacon led you into a cavern in a hillside. You remember entering the cavern and searching, and you remember the ground giving way under your feet. 

That was how you got here. 

You slowly push yourself onto your side, gritting your teeth against the agony burning through your very bones and the deep cramping in your stomach. You shine your torch at the ceiling, but it's too high to see where you fell through, or how far you'd fallen. 

You push the button on your comms, calling out for anyone, but you get no reply. Comms had been spotty on the planet's surface. Just your luck they won't work at all down here. 

They know you're missing. Hunter had called out to you as you'd fallen. You're not sure how long you've been down here, how long you were unconscious. Could have been mere minutes. Could have been hours. You don't think they'd leave you down here for hours. 

You try the comms again, getting nothing but a garbled static sound in return. It was something, but not nearly enough. You can't just lay here, but you're not sure what else to do. 

You slowly work on turning yourself onto your back, your stomach spasming painfully with every small movement. You're definitely injured, no doubt about that. You just hope they can get to you before it gets worse. The ache in your throat has subsided, as well as the dryness in your mouth. You'd kill for some water, and the dripping off in the distance is doing nothing to help that. 

You shine your torch at the ceiling as the sound of rocks falling reaches your ears. Fear spikes through you as it gets louder. You can't be sure you're alone in the cave. You don't feel like there's anything else inside, but then again, you'd have no way of knowing. There were obvious weak spots in the cavern above too, which could give way and bury you under rubble. 

More debris falls into the cavern before lights appear a few feet away. Two figures drop from the ceiling, their headlamps lighting the cave. You breathe a sigh of relief, resting your head back against the ground as they approach you. 

"You alright?" Hunter asks as he kneels down next to you. 

You squint in the bright light of his headlamp. "All things considered, I think I'm alright." 

"No life threatening injures that I can see." Tech says, scanning your body. "Where is your pain located?"

"My stomach." You say, wincing as you press against the tender area. 

"How did you land when you fell?" Tech asks.

"On my stomach, I think. I woke up face down." You say. 

Tech hums, injecting something into your neck. "Likely a blunt force wound. No signs of internal bleeding or damage."

The pain begins to ebb, the fog in your brain clearing as the stim shot kicks in. 

"The whole cavern floor could be unstable." Tech says as the sound of more debris falling reaches your ears. 

"Let's get out of here." Hunter says, looping your arm around his shoulders. 

Tech takes the other side and they lift you to your feet. You curse, trying to fold in on yourself as your stomach screams in protest. 

"Come on, let's get you back up to the surface." Hunter says, wrapping an arm around your waist. "Then we can get a better look."

You lean against him as they guide you to where they'd entered the cave. Hunter maneuvers you so you're chest to chest, securing both of you with a rope. You wrap your arms around his neck, leaning your head on your shoulder as he sinches you tighter together. 

"You know if you wanted to get me in this position, you could have just asked." You murmur, and you can practically hear Hunter's eyes rolling. 

"Bring us up." Hunter says, tugging on the rope.

He wraps one arm around you as you're lifted off the ground, holding you securely as he works his way back up into the cavern. It's a long way, further than you expected. 

No wonder your body was aching so much. 

You breathe a sigh of relief as you're lifted back into the cavern, Wrecker waiting to pull you up. He sets you gently on the ground, the pain starting to disappear as the stim shot continues to work. 

"Let's get out of here." Hunter says, pulling himself up over the lip of the hole. "Before something else happens."

You lean against Hunter as the squad makes their way from the cavern and back into the perpetual storm. He guides you, keeping you steady as the wind whips around you. 

You're ready to get off this planet. It's not the worst place you've visited, but you're certainly not going to consider coming back. 

***

"There's bruising developing." Tech says, fingers pushing against the sore spot on your stomach. "Likely the cause of your discomfort." 

He jabs a bacta needle into the center of the bruise, making you hiss. 

"Ow." You grit out, but you can already feel the ache easing just a bit. 

"You'll be fine in a few hours." Tech says, clinical as usual. 

"Get some rest." Hunter says as you fix your blacks. "I don't doubt we'll be getting new orders soon."

You hum, rubbing your eyes. You do feel tired, more so than you usually do after a mission like this. It's more akin to how you feel after a fight. You don't argue any, pulling down one of the bunks before practically collapsing on it. 

You don't get much rest, though. You feel strange, beyond the fact that you fell a few hundred feet into a cave. There's a strange pressure in your chest, like something is pushing up against your organs. 

Tech had reassured you that nothing was injured, that everything looked normal internally. Your armor had done its job and protected you against any major damage that could have been caused, and it was a miracle you didn't hit your head very hard. 

You drift off into an uneasy, restless sleep. Despite your exhaustion you don’t sleep well, the nagging feeling of something being wrong not easing any.

You’re not sure how long you float in and out of sleep. They let you rest, setting themselves up in various places around the ship to rest as well. Downtime is rare, so the squad always takes advantage of any time available to rest and recuperate. It always seems to take you longer to recover, likely something to do with their enhancements. 

You rise after a while, tired of tossing and turning. Your stomach churns a bit as you move, the pressure still evident in your chest but you brush it off. Likely just some residual side effects from falling as far as you did. You make your way towards the cockpit, slipping past Hunter and Wrecker sleeping in the computer seats. 

You pause as the pressure increases in your chest. Your stomach feels like it’s squirming and you barely make it to the fresher before you’re vomiting up what little you had eaten before the mission into the toilet. The squirming feeling continues until you're dry-heaving, nothing left to come up. 

You fall back against the wall of the tiny fresher, taking in gasping breaths. Tears blur your vision as you try to control your stomach. You run cold water in the small sink, splashing some on your face. 

Your stomach still feels like it's squirming as you step out of the fresher, still shaking a little. You don’t feel good, but you try to write it off as just being the exhaustion coupled with the events of the day, coupled with you hitting your head. 

Hunter and Wrecker are awake, both of them staring at you. Tears continue to burn your eyes. You feel bad for likely waking them. 

“You okay?” Wrecker asks, ever the sweetheart. 

You nod, wiping the sweat from your brow. “Yeah. D-Don’t feel so good.” Your stomach still feels as if it's squirming, the pressure increasing in your chest. 

Hunter says your name, his eyes focused as he stares at you. You turn to him, frowning in confusion. “Don’t move.” 

You hold your breath, your heart starting to thump with fear as he kneels in front of you, one hand pressing against your stomach. Your insides squirm, but not in a good way as he presses lightly against your abdomen. 

“There’s something inside you.” He says, pulling his hand back. 

Your stomach drops, your body going numb with fear. “W-What.” 

“I can hear it moving.” He says, standing back up. “Tech, do another scan.” 

Tech holds his datapad in front of your stomach and you stay as still as possible, despite the fear making you want to drop. Something inside you? Was the squirming in your stomach not your own body’s doing? Or the pressure in your chest? Was something moving in there, causing you to feel this way? 

“There.” Tech says, holding up his datapad. 

It looks like a worm. A large, alien worm just under a foot long nestled right under your ribs. 

“H-How?” You gasp out, unable to tear your eyes away from the image. 

“It’s possible it entered your body while you were unconscious.” Tech says. 

“But wouldn’t it have shown up on the scan?” Hunter asks. 

“It’s possible it was too small to be picked up on the initial scans.” Tech explains. “Which would mean it’s growing quickly.” 

“The bodies.” Echo says, having appeared as well as Crosshair, a tense silence settling in the hull. 

“Wh-What bodies?” You ask, shaking in fear. 

“Right when you fell, we found the beacon. There was nothing but bodies left. They’d been there for a while.” Hunter explains, his voice low and calm. “Their injuries...something had...forced its way through their chests. Like they tore right through from inside.” 

You’re hyperventilating. Your fingers and toes are tingling. The interior of the Marauder is swimming. You’re on the floor, Hunter’s hand on your back as you sob. 

“Get it out of me.” You gasp, clinging to his wrist. “You have to get it out of me.” 

“Reroute us to the nearest medical facility.” Hunter says. 

Echo heads to the cockpit, Tech still staring at the datapad. “We may not have that kind of time.” He says. “It’s impossible to guess the length of the gestational period. It could attempt to free itself any moment now.” 

Hunter gives him a look as you sob harder, the squirming and pressure in your chest becoming more prominent now that you know something is inside you. Something is causing it to happen. 

“We’re six hours away from the nearest medical center.” Crosshair says, coming back into the hull. 

“She doesn’t have that kind of time.” Hunter says.

“Get it out of me.” You cry. “I don’t care what you do, just get it out!” 

Hunter looks at Tech as he adjusts his goggles. “We could attempt to remove it before it reaches the end of its gestational cycle. That would cause the least amount of damage, though this is hardly a sterile environment for something so invasive.” 

“If you don’t do something I’m going to cut it out myself.” You say, reaching for Hunter’s knife. 

He pulls his arm away before you can grab it. “We have to try. She could die if we don’t do anything.” 

***

The metal bunk is cold against your bare back. You’re in nothing but your breastband and pants, your shirt tucked into your mouth to give you something to bite down on. Tech is standing over you, situating the scanner at just the right spot. Hunter is hovering over your head, Wrecker sitting at your feet. 

“We will have to be quick.” Tech says, looking over the tools on the crate next to him. “Try not to let her move too much.” 

“Why can’t she be sedated?” Hunter asks, his breath fanning the top of your head. 

“Forced sedation may cause the creature to prematurely attempt an escape. If it is feeding off her in any way, we don’t want to risk disrupting the environment in a way we are not prepared for.” Tech says, grabbing a scalpel. 

The beeping of the monitor on your arm increases, your body tensing in preparation for what’s about to happen. Hunter wraps his arm across your chest, leaning in close to your ear. You wrap your hands around his arm, holding on as Tech presses the scalpel against your skin. 

“Oh I can’t watch.” Wrecker says, turning his face away. 

You let out a whimper, your body tensing as he slices through the skin. Your teeth sink into your shirt as your face contorts with pain. Your very nerves are on fire as he opens the wound, just enough to find the creature inside you. 

Hunter presses his arm against your chest to hold you still as you attempt to jerk away from the pain, Wrecker holding onto your legs. 

“You’re alright.” Hunter whispers in your ear. “It’s almost over.” 

Your chest pushes against his arm as you sob, able to feel the alien worm inside you moving as Tech attempts to extract it. Your hands are gripping Hunter’s arm so tightly it has to hurt. 

Your whole body jerks, a muffled scream tearing from your throat as sharp pain erupts inside you. You’re hyperventilating, the monitor on your arm beeping rapidly. 

“Tech?” Hunter asks, the desperation noticeable in his voice. 

“I have a hold of it, but it’s attempting to attach itself to her.” Tech says, reaching for a long needle.

Your eyes roll back, darkness filling your vision as Tech lifts the creature from your stomach, a high pitched cry sounding from it before you slip into unconsciousness. 

***

It’s bright when you wake. For a moment you think you might have died, but the sound of beeping tells you otherwise. 

You squint against the bright lights of the medical center, lifting a hand to try and shield the bright lights. Someone says your name, pulling you out of the fog. You turn your head, staring up at the blurry figure beside you. 

“Hunter?” You rasp out, rubbing your eyes. 

“Good to have you back, cyare.” He says.

“You’re very lucky.” Another voice says and you tilt your head to stare up at a doctor standing over you. “You’ve made a full recovery, thanks to the interventions of your squad.” 

“I am pretty lucky.” You say, looking around the cot at the five members of your squad. 

“One last round of tests,” The doctor says. “Then you’ll be free to go.” 

You look back at Hunter as the doctor steps away. “Thank you.” You say. 

His brow furrows a little. “For what?”

“We wouldn’t have even known if it wasn’t for your senses. And I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for Tech’s skills.” You say, turning to look at Tech. 

“It was a very simple procedure.” He says, adjusting his goggles. “And the little I got to study the creature before it was confiscated rendered some fascinating discoveries. I am looking forward to reading the full report once the Republic has finished its own studies.” 

You can’t help but smile at his enthusiasm despite everything. You slip your hand into Hunter’s as Tech continues to babble on about the creature, squeezing it gently. 

Taglist:

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[dancingwiththeplanets]

Vizsla

[dancingwiththeplanets]

In Sickness & In Health

Pairing: Din Djarin x Reader (no pronouns used but Din does call Reader “cyar’ika”)

Category: sick fic, fluff

Summary: Din cares for you when you're sick.

Warnings: sickness/illness, Grogu being a menace, Din being awkward, cuddling, hurt/comfort, fluff basically

Word count: 1.2k

A/N: I am recovering from a cold.

Consider buying me a coffee :)

You'd woken up sick, quite possibly in the worst condition of your life. Your limbs ached, your head was pounding, your stomach turned at every tremor of the Crest, your throat was sore and you could barely breathe through your nose. Death felt like it was approaching you at any second.

Din insisted that you were being dramatic.

He was sure that you'd just picked up a minor illness from the last planet you'd stopped on for supplies and would recover in a couple of days. He told you to rest and to stay away from Grogu as much as possible, unsure of the strength of the child's immune system.

Which would have been easy considering all you wanted to do was curl up into a tiny ball in the dark and sleep. Unfortunately, the kid was just a little too curious in nature and wanted to see what was wrong with you. And he wouldn't take no for an answer. This caused Din to lock him away in the cockpit with a shiny ball to occupy him for the majority of the time while you recovered. 

"I feel bad." You told your travelling companion after Grogu had been shut away.

"You'll feel worse if you give him this disease and he dies." The Mandalorian replied, handing you an extra blanket after assuring you that it was fine that you used his bunk to sleep in.

Your eyes widened in fear, heart beating rapidly in your chest suddenly. "I thought you said this was a common illness!"

"Yes, but he is only a child." He sighed, gesturing for you to lie down. "You will be fine. Now go to sleep."

You mumbled to yourself lowly but did as he said anyway, drifting into a dreamless sleep once Din had closed the door.

You awoke some time later, sweat pouring out of you in floods as you burned as hot as a supernova. In your delirious fevered state you got out of the bunk, laid down on the floor of the hull and fell asleep again.

When you woke up again, a few hours later you assumed, you could feel something touching you.

As your eyes cleared, you realised that Din was sat beside you on a crate patting your head.

Your brows raised in surprise. "What are you doing?"

"Soothing you." He mumbled through the modulator.

"By doing this?" You croaked, glancing up to where his wrist hovered above your eyes.

He paused. "Do you... do you not like it?"

"Don't dislike it." You said. "It's just a little strange."

"The kid likes it."

"Do I look like a green baby with large ears to you?"

He hesitated.

"Don't answer that." You grumbled, turning to bury your face in the thin blanket you'd dragged to the floor with you.

"You were talking in your sleep. I thought it might help."

"Oh." You whispered, embarrassed about what you might have said.

"It was mostly incoherent mumbling."

"Oh." Thank the stars.

"Mostly." There was a hint of teasing amusement to his voice which you were terrified to question.

But you did anyway. "What does that mean? What did I say?"

He ignored your questions. "You should get back into bed."

"Too hot."

"Get back into bed, cyar'ika." He insisted, holding a gloved hand out to help you up.

You did as he said, too tired to argue anymore.

"I'll come back to check on you in a while." Din told you before disappearing to the cockpit again.

You faded in and out of sleep before the Mandalorian came back with a bowl of soup and a restless Grogu at his side a little later.

Worry plagued your mind momentarily as you cautiously eyed the kid. "I don't want to get him sick."

"He missed you." Din replied with a small shrug, handing you the bowl and a spoon.

You smiled down at the kid weakly, glad to see him. He was a nice presence to have around, almost always happy about something. The Mandalorian was the opposite in that regard - always unhappy about something, apart from the child, but was still a nice presence to have around. Overall, the combination of the both of them was making you feel better. A lot better. There was no one else you'd rather spend your sick days with.

The three of you ate in silence, just the occassional babble of nonsense from Grogu as he slurped down his dinner. The warm food made your throat hurt less but despite its temperature, you started to get cold.

You wrapped the blanket more tightly around yourself in the hope that it would help but had little success. So you distracted yourself by watching Din and Grogu interact instead. Maybe the warm feeling they created in your heart would extend to the rest of your body.

The dull hum of the ship combined with the quiet mumbled, very much one-sided, conversation between the two other members of the clan caused you to grow sleepy again. Which Din quickly noticed when your eyelids started drooping and your head lolled to the side a couple of times. So he swiftly put the child to bed and sent him back to the cockpit before returning to you.

"You should go back to bed." He stated, noticing your intense grip on the blanket as he sat you down on the end of his bunk. "What's wrong?"

"I'm cold." You confessed, even though it was pretty obvious by your violent shivering and chattering teeth. "Freezing actually."

Din did nothing for a moment, just stared at you and seemingly contemplated something if the way his fingers twitched at his sides was any indication, before hitting a switch and plunging the hull into darkness.

"What are you doing?" You blinked, suddenly feeling more awake as you tried to adjust to the lack of light.

"Sshh." He replied, the clang of metal on metal punctuating the word for him.

Was he... was he undressing?

"Din, stop."

"I said sshh." His voice was clear, no muffling from a modulator or helmet. His face was out in the open.

You stayed silent until you felt hands land on your shoulders, letting out a small gasp at the contact.

"Lie down on your side." Din mumbled, gently pushing you back.

The protest you had prepared died on your tongue as you felt him crawl into the bunk beside you and settle down at your back as the two of you laid down. He got as close to you as possible, arms wrapping around you and legs tangling with yours.

"What're you doing?" You whispered despite relaxing back against him and embracing the heat he was radiating.

"Warming you up." He mumbled into the back of your neck, lips grazing your skin.

"No!" You whined, wriggling a little to attempt getting out of his grasp. "I don't want you to get sick."

"Don't breathe on me then." He answered simply, arms locking around you to hold you in place. "Now go to sleep."

You would've fought more, concerned with his health, if it wasn't for the fact that this position felt good. So good. He was warm and soft and you felt so safe and secure in his hold. Maybe just cuddling for a little while wouldn't be too risky. At least, that's what you told yourself as you fell into a deep slumber.

It only took a couple of days before rattling, shaky coughs could be heard echoing around the ship from a certain bounty hunter's modulator.

[dancingwiththeplanets]

Sway The Stars Which Dazzle Like Pearls

Pairing: Din Djarin x female!reader

Fandom: The Mandalorian

Warnings: reader is mute due to trauma that isn't specified and uses sign language taught to her by Din, everything in italics is being signed.

A/N: I feel like I haven't written anything in forever and I was worried about not being able to get this done in time and that if I did that it wouldn't be good enough anyway. But, here it is, good or bad. If I got anything wrong as far as communicating via sign language, let me know so I can do better! My fic for the Summer Lovin' 2024 writing challenge. @pedgito @chaotic-mystery

The planet they land on seems to have an eternal night, a never ending full moon and black sand beaches. Here, the stars reflect perfectly in the still waters, a mirror image of the galaxy spread out above. She walks down the Razor Crest's ramp silently, assessing these surroundings with a sharp eye.

He watches her squat down on her haunches to scoop up a handful of the dark sand, crushing it around between her fingers like she's feeling for the quality of an expensive fabric woven on a far off planet. Her face gives little away of what she is thinking.

Din doesn't know much about her past, about what happened before he found her stowed away on the Crest and petrified of her own shadow after his (first) explosive departure from Nevarro, the tiny green kid in tow.

All he knows is that she can't talk. The words are there, he can see them tumbling around behind her eyes, but they seem to get clogged up in her throat, like a gummed up hyperdrive. So he'd started teaching her to sign.

Her footsteps crunch the gravel-sand as she makes her way over to his side, brushing her hands together to clean off the excess sand but some grains still cling to the creases between her fingers, almost sparkling in the moonlight like jewelry. She pins him with a questioning gaze and signs

'Why?'

"Why what?" he motions backs and she fumbles another word, face scrunched in frustration until she finds her rhythm

'Why are we here? Bounty?"

Din shakes his head, considering what he would call this little excursion between jobs before he replies with

"Pitstop, for fun"

"You do fun?" she pulls her mouth into a smirk, pleased at her little joke.

Din tries not to sigh. He's glad they can communicate so freely now, it's light-years better than their rough early days where any movement to sudden or big had her flinching away violently. But he has no idea how she learned to put so much sarcasm into her gestures. Not that he minds now. Anything is better than seeing that unfiltered terror in her eyes.

"Come" he turns and takes a step toward the gently lapping waters edge but doesn't hear her follow, he turns back with a questioning tilt of his helmet

"What is it?" she asks, expression concerned, still rooted in place

"Something good" he assures

"Promise?"

"Yes."

When they reach the water, the ship and the sleeping green child inside it are only a few yards away, a hulking silhouette jutting out of the otherwise flat landscape.

Pulling off his gloves and tucking them safely away, Din crouches down, the toes of his boots touching the water. His companion mimics him, watching carefully as he slowly submerges his hands in the water before carefully feeling around in the wet sand below.

She taps her knuckles into the soft place just below his beskar pauldron, knowing from unfortunate experience not to catch the armor with her bare hands, furrowing her brows when he turns to look at her, seeing her ask

"What are you looking for?"

"Just wait" Din says aloud and she leans back to sit properly on the ground, still curiously watching him dig around, one of her own hands drawing meaningless shapes in the sand beside her.

It takes him a few tries before he finds it, a small orb made and shaped by time and natural forces until it was washed ashore, waiting to be found.

Sitting back beside her, Din holds out his find nestled in the palm of his hand. It stands out stark white and shining in the odd moonlight.

She signs something he doesn't recognize at first, she watches him for a moment, waiting, and then tries again

"Diamond"

"No, pearl" he says out loud and signs it once, twice, then watches her repeat the motion.

The first few times are uncertain as her eyes dart between her hands and his, studying the movement he makes which shapes this new word. Then a couple more times, each with more confidence until

"Pearl" she signs, grinning over at him

"Good" Din smiles beneath his helmet, holding out the pearl to her, an offering.

"Mine?" she quirks a brow at him, still uneasy with receiving things she doesn't feel she has earned.

Din just watches her, hand outstretched and waiting patiently for her to accept this small gratitude.

Eventually, with the barest brush of her fingertips across his naked palm, she takes the pearl. Holding it reverently, worry flashing across her face before she curls her hand around the gifted treasure.

Din had learned to sit with silence long before he met her, so he turns his head out toward the water, then upward just a little, like he's watching the stars.

He isn't. He is giving her the privacy to feel those sometimes tumultuous emotions that come with receiving a gift.

She frowns at her closed fist, lips pulled down in a deep scowl. If her eyes look a bit glossy, she would never admit it. There's a strange feeling in the pit of her stomach, a roiling feeling that urges her to not accept this. Not to trust.

But she can see the Mandalorian from the corner of her eye, pretending to watch the stars, nervously rubbing the tips of his fingers together and smearing the gritty sand there until it sloughs off and back onto the beach.

Her courage feels like a finite thing, urgently flopping around in her chest like a gasping fish on land. She leans over closer to the Mandalorian, sees his helmet shift but not quite turn fully toward her as she wraps her arms around his bicep, the pauldron on his shoulder cold even through her shirt.

Hugging him feels like a monumental leap, her cheek pressed against the mudhorn sigil on his beskar shoulder. Her courage has waned and she feels weak, vulnerable, but the little pearl clutched in her hand reminds her that it isn't gone for good.

That it is okay to lean into her companion, her friend, who seems like a forever sturdy rock in the storm that has eclipsed her life.

Awkwardly, arms still wrapped around her Mandalorian's arm, she tells him

"Thank you."

Din makes a sound of acknowledgement, smiling gently beneath his helmet and watching her from the corner of his eye. Her face seems content and his chest constricts in pride, to see that he has hopefully earned her trust enough for her to relax in his presence.

"You're not even looking at the stars" she softly accuses, leaning forward to fully grab his attention

"Neither are you" he retorts.

She huffs a small laugh, tilting her head and raising a hand slowly toward the smooth metal cheek of his helmet. She guides him so they are face to face. Sort of.

They stare, her watching the reflection of the stars in the visor of his helmet, wondering just a little if his eyes are bright beneath all this beskar. If he's looking at her as gratefully as she is him.

Din watches her face, unsure about the hand she has on his helmet, but far more distracted with trying to decipher her expression. Joy seems too big, maybe contentment?

Either way, neither one of them is watching the stars turn above them, a precious pearl clutched between them, a symbol of more. Of hope.

[dancingwiththeplanets]

i’d look for you

din djarin x f!reader | masterlist

summary: din offers you something else in a field of wildflowers

warnings: 18+, allusion to smut ONLY. soft!din. idiots who have feelings but don't know what to do with them. jo's writing din so it gets weirdly poetic again. wordcount: 2k notes: pairing is the same as other din fics by me. but don’t need to read to enjoy. written for @morallyinept's Flora & Fauna Challenge - this fic has made me smile so much, I hope it does the same for you.

“Can you do something for me?”

The question hangs, burns, in the air of his bed. Your eyes blinking awake, having been roused from slumber by his gloved hand on your cheek.

You’re aware he’s waiting, biting the inside of your cheek, as you nod.

Swallowing the longer answer which burns on your tongue, finding it now tastes of acid and wrongness, having been trapped inside for so long, having let it overstay its welcome.

You suspect he knows it all anyway. Likely as easily able to read you, as you are him. Able to hear the words you don’t say, just from the way you stare at him, like a written passage all on its own.

He helps you up, but doesn’t hurry you. You almost smirk at the purposeful, cautious touches on your side, trailing his gloved hand along the curve of your back as he leads you to the refresher, awakening thoughts more sinful than you suspect is his intention.

It’s then he tells you the time, but shares nothing else about why the ship is quiet.

“What about—”

“He’s asleep.”

Your mouth clamps shut, taking the clothes he hands you as you bury the rest of the questions. Each piece you slide on, you don’t shy away as he stands waiting. Letting him stare, letting him take in the sight of you in more light than he can when your bodies usually writhe.

Are you admiring me, Din? you want to ask. Do you feel the invisible string between us too?

Sometimes, you dislike that he told you the shade of his eyes, because you look for them. Peer through the visor with more hope than you’d allowed yourself to have before.

“Can you turn around?”

It should sound like a command, but his tone is softer, more brittle. Something unspoken within it, tightening around each letter, bending and forging with it—likely things he’ll never admit.

Still, you obey. Closing your eyes as you feel him behind you, his presence crowding and looming—recollecting when he’d been barer than he is now, draped over you.

If you will it enough, you swear you can feel his breath fluttering over your shoulder—remembering how he makes you feel full and sated, content and happy. The last time, you’d been in a haze, fucked out, blissfully aware of the naked fingers resting at the base of your neck as you came down and the way he had tilted your head back and swallowed your whine like he knew it belonged to him.

You do, you think, belong to him.

Not because he has taken, but because he has earned—he has proven. A thing which rises to the tip of your tongue and sears alongside the other words which linger and ferment.

“Trust me,” he says.

Not a question, but an ask. And you don’t mean to, but an unintentional gasp escapes at the feel of the soft, smooth fabric when it slides over your eyes. Light fades as though he clicks his fingers, blanketing you in night in the middle of the day as it tightens around your head—rendering you quiet, shyer, almost smaller, as your sense is removed, willingly given but taken all the same.

Then you stand, breath hitching, anticipation threading through your veins as you wait. For him to move, to speak, to do. Each second stretches into eternity, making a protest wish to appear. A change of mind, a declaration of wishing to do something else, than this.

But, you don’t speak it. Instead, dancing your fingers against the tops of your thighs, waiting, not patiently, but not rushing.

“Relax.”

You snort to smother the shiver that darts down your spine at his voice.

Unsure how one does such a thing when you hear the ramp going down, subtly listening to the sound of water running. You feel lost, adrift in a sea of darkness—of nothingness—with every fibre of your being yearning for a familiar anchor, teeth rolling over your bottom lip as you fight the urge to whisper his name into the void, a silent plea for reassurance amidst the engulfing uncertainty.

Din, you think.

Wondering if he can hear his name in your mind. If he’ll come to your calling, hold your hand; allow you to ask if this is necessary, if this—

“Breathe.”

And you do.

Chest filling, lungs flooding—his gloved fingers sliding between your bare ones, rooting you as he repeats it. Calmness spreads through you inch by inch, in the same way he makes pleasure surge through your muscles.

He gives you a minute, a moment. Likely waiting until your head turns in the direction you think he’s in, before he leads, offering stony orders to be careful—one that almost makes you grin until your steps take your soles to meet something softer than his ship.

The smell greets you first. It’s crisp and sweet—unlike anything you’ve encountered. Then the drizzle, how it forces your clothing to bind to your skin in a way that should feel suffocating, but instead feels freeing. Lips beginning to stretch, teeth showing as your cheeks ache with the intensity of your grin.

It’s then you feel him move behind you, the squelch of his boots signifying it. His chest meets your spine, the ghost of his touch along the side of his neck, before you feel the fabric over your eyes, loosen and light begins to seep in.

Then, it goes from nothing to everything. It being almost too much to take in all at once—the unveiled surprise, the thing he’d wanted you to see in its wonder and not in pieces as you descended.

And—

“It’s beautiful.”

It being the delicate blooms that stretch out before you. Each one a mysterious burst of colour against a backdrop of greenery. Vibrant splashes of colour, all wild and free, rising from the ground like the scenes from books you used to read. With each sway and ripple in the breeze, you spot more flowers. All of them stirred by the falling rain, watching each motion, all in awe; lost for words.

Distantly, you become aware that he’s moved to the side of you, but you’re unable to tear your eyes from the world. Not able to take your sight from the striking array of hues, every colour flower you think you could ever imagine swaying. Because there are iridescent blues and purples; there are some that glow with luminous gold and reds that look stained with blood. Shares you can’t even name, but are drawn to, reluctant to steal your gaze until you spot another.

Fingers reaching out, knee bending, you touch one, find it softer, more delicate than you ever thought. Tears springing to your eyes, chest swarmed with warmth as you admire the way the stems twist and spiral in graceful arcs, all beaded with the sparkling mist that continues to fall.

“What do you think?”

“It’s…”

Words fail you, a thing you’re not sure he could ever believe.

The only conscious thought is that you wish to live amongst them. No words exist that can describe how serene you feel; how as wild or as drenched as the petals you admire.

Because it’s then you really notice the rain, coming to sit amongst the living and the flowers. Ground soaked with it, it falling in torrents. Each droplet is a percussion against your skin, seeping through the layers and soaking you to the bone.

It's a different kind of loveliness. It’s all free, raw and unyielding, a mosaic of shades that aren't bowing or converting into a glistening canvas of liquid silver—even if the skies try to.

In truth, you thought you’d seen rain. But this is something different.

It is more akin to the sky having been ripped open, split in two, cracked, all but pouring its tears upon the land in a symphony of water and wind. Your fingers dig into the dirt, feeling his equally soaked thigh press against yours as he joins you, feeling him watching, studying, even if you can't see his eyes.

“My mom used to say that a flower sprouts when a person leaves us,” you say, soft, barely your normal volume. “I always wondered where they did—I guess I know now.”

Shifting, you peel your sight from the flowers to see his legs extended, his body so close to yours. So much so, it would be easy to lean into it. Into him. To press your drenched clothing against his equally drowned frame, seek warmth, and take what he will offer you in the brightness of the day.

“Din,” you continue, tuning in to the gruff noise he makes for you to continue, as you move your shoulder closer.

His head turns, the front of his helmet facing you.

Allowing you to see a bead slide gracefully down the silver, moving like a serene symphony—as others fall, and then another. All being left by the sky above, weaving paths you wish to trace with your fingers.

You shouldn’t, but you want to wipe each away with your touch, rest your palms against the places his cheeks should be and will your hands to remember the warmth you know they can be.

“Can you remember the last time you felt the rain on your bare skin?”

Silence. Rain slides against leaves before rolling down to the soil below. The sound increases and decreases in odd waves as the storm tries to square itself against the sun, against the blossoms which rise like an army unwilling to cower.

“No.”

His reply is rough, croaked out through the modulator—caked in openness you’re not sure he wishes to show.

And, it makes a memory resurface. Sharp and clear. The first time you’d felt him unmasked, the vulnerability etched into his features—frame tense, rigid. Nervousness flowed through him as easily as the blood that races. How you’d kissed him, felt his cracked lips gain confidence against yours as his muscles rippled under your palms.

In a different way than then, you reached out, offered comfort—providing something you’re not sure he easily is given.

“A person could get lost here,” you sigh, the words practically tumbling out.

A stillness follows, one only punctuated by the rain. That is, until he shifts, until you hear him exhale, before adding, “Not you.”

Dragging your eyes from the landscape, you watch as more droplets slide and skate down his helmet, against his armour. Desperate to cling. It’s nothing but mesmerising, making him appear like he’s made of the sky. Reflections of the flowers there, muted shades mirroring.

“No?”

He’s silent for a moment. Just one. “Wouldn’t let you. I’d find you.”

Smirking, you turn back to the view. “You’re good at that—practically a professional.”

He allows a beat, lets your shoulder settle against him—the heels of your boots digging into the ground of this place, hoping a little bit clings on and comes with you.

“I’d look for you.”

Breaking your gaze from the flowers and the falling rain, you rest them on his helmet. On him. On the space you think the brown eyes he’s told you about are currently watching you.

It’s slow to appear, taking its time to spread up into your cheek as the implication of his words ring out. Look, not find; search but not hunt.

“I wouldn’t run to begin with.”

You feel it, the shift, slight tilt of his head at your words.

And you swear you hear him breathe good, light almost airy—before gloved fingers find their way between yours again. Soaked, sodden. But neither moving as seconds become minutes.

“Cyar'ika?”

You hum, preening, almost blooming under the name he’s just begun using. Nestling further against him, watching the flowers sway and turn in the rain before his gloved hands come in front of you—a bunch of flowers held out to you, offered, given.

“My hair is brown too.”

You smile, taking the bunch, bringing them to your nose. “That’s nice to know.”