#clone trooper oc x reader

[sev-on-kamino]

Fly The Night

Pairing: OC Blizzard x fem!Reader (mechanic, no y/n, no physical descriptions, nicknamed Sparks)

Summary: You always fix their starfighters, so Blizzard wants to show you your handiwork up close and personal.

Warnings: none, just flirty flight fun, and a sweet kiss or two, SFW

Word count: 1171

Written to “Dance The Night” by Dua Lipa

The hangar of the Negotiator was practically your own personal quarters. You rarely left, except to eat and hit the sonic. The rhythmic sound of tools in motion, the whoosh and hum of the engines as fighters departed and arrived were the best lullaby you could ask for.

You wanted to fly though. You could never compete with any of the troopers, and you knew that, but even just running the test flights yourself would be a dream come true.

You were daydreaming in the cockpit of the Avalanche, when her pilot popped up next to you.

“I’m honored Sparks, you hadn’t christened the Avalanche yet, and I was starting to think you didn’t like me,” Blizzard said with a grin, as he rested his arms at the edge of the cockpit.

“Christened?” You asked, brow furrowed in confusion.

“The boys and I noticed you sit in the cockpit for a little while after you complete repairs or upgrades,” he explained. “You hadn’t enjoyed the comforts of the Avalanche yet, so the boys were teasing me.”

“You don’t stress your bird like they do. You need the least attention,” you replied with a grin.

“Ah, mesh’la, I actually need the most attention, but that’s a conversation for another day,” He said with an easy laugh. “So what made me so lucky today?”

“She’ll need a test flight to make sure everything’s right and tight,” you hesitated a moment before deciding Blizzard was too sweet to tease you for your honesty. “And I like to pretend I’ll get to do it myself one of these days.”

“If you’re fantasizing about flying, this is the fighter for you,” he said excitedly. “I mean you maintain her, so I’m sure you know that she’s the best in the fleet. Smooth, responsive, fast, and beautiful.”

“Are we still talking about Avalanche?” You asked, feeling your face heat up as his warm, deep voice extolled the virtues of his fighter.

“If I should be talking about something else, Sparks, say the word.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you said softly, running gentle fingers over the instruments. “Let me get out of your way and get back to work.”

“Not so fast,” Blizzard said, blocking your exit. “You wanted to do a test flight, and my baby needs one.”

“I’m not allowed; you know that.” Your brow furrowed, and you bit your lip sadly.

“You’re not allowed alone. You won’t be alone though.”

“Blizz,” you said with a warning tone. If he was playing with you, you’d blast him out of an airlock.

“I mean it, Sparks,” he insisted. “Give me a second to get clearance, and we’ll be on our way.”

He disappeared from view for a moment, and you looked down at the panel. You knew what each switch, button, and dial was for. You wrapped your hands around the yoke, feeling the worn, yet soft, material.

“We’re clear!” He cheered, popping your daydream bubble, as he appeared over the edge of the cockpit once more.

“Really?” You asked much louder than intended. You clapped a hand over your mouth, as a few heads turned your way. “Sorry, really?”

“I wouldn’t tease you like that. Now hop up, so I can join you,” the pilot said, maneuvering into the cockpit behind you.

Once he was settled, he took hold of your hips, and pulled you down into his lap. You could feel the warmth from your face spreading across your entire body, as your body pressed into Blizzard’s. You could feel the heat of him through your flight suit, along with every bit of his muscular form where it met your body.

“This is your flight, mesh’la. Take us to the runway,” he said gently, taking hold of your hands and placing them on the yoke.

You released a shuddering breath before you ran the pre-flight checks.

“Tower, Avalanche ready at runway 5,” Blizzard said, the rumble of his voice rolling through your back where it was pressed to his chest. “Requesting clearance for departure.”

“Avalanche, you’re clear to taxi,” came the response, and you could feel the excitement humming in your chest like the moment before you kiss someone you’ve liked for a long time. As you picked up speed down the runway, your heart began to thrum wildly in your chest.

“V1,” Blizzard called, and you nearly squealed. Just ahead you could see the faint blue shimmer of the final barrier between you and the stars.

“Avalanche, you’re clear for takeoff.”

Blizzard gave you a nudge.

“Rotate,” you said, your voice coming out far more confidently than you’d expected. “Positive rate, gear up,”

The pair of you shot out of the hangar, and into the void. You couldn’t believe it, you were flying. You knew you must have looked like a kid in a candy store, as you carefully maneuvered through the emptiness.

“This is a test flight, Sparks. Put her through her paces,” Blizzard said, reclining, and resting his hands on your thighs.

The Avalanche lived up to Blizzard’s praise, as you increased the speed and performed every trick you’d ever dreamed of. Loops, sharp turns, rolls, everything your heart had desired for so long.

“This is amazing, Blizz!”

“Told you she was the best. Don’t ever tell him I said this, but Skywalker’s toy has got nothing on my baby,” Blizzard replied in a conspiratorial whisper.

Your laughter rang out, as you calculated the jump to hyperspace. You didn’t need to go far, but you did need to check the hyperdrive’s functionality.

“Ready?” You asked.

“Punch it.”

You reclined against Blizzard’s broad chest, as the soft blue hues of hyperspace washed over the pair of you.

“I don’t know how I can ever repay you for this,” you said softly, turning your head to nuzzle against his jaw.

“You don’t owe me anything, cyar’ika,” he replied, wrapping his arms loosely around your waist. “You‘ve kept my baby running smoothly, and kept my vode safe. I’m the one who owes you.”

“Well, I don’t know how you’re going to top this for our next date,” you said hesitantly.

He shifted so he could get a proper look at you. “Sparks. Don’t tease me, please.” His voice sounded so soft, so fragile. Despite the dangers he faced all of the time, this was the first time you’d ever heard fear in his voice.

“I wouldn’t tease you about this, Blizz.”

He cupped your face, and brought his lips to yours in a feather light kiss. His thumb brushed over your cheek, as he leaned closer to take your lips again.

There was a beep from the console to alert your upcoming drop out of hyperspace, and the two of you were brought back to the cockpit.

“Kriff, I was supposed to be taking notes and measurements,” you groaned.

“Oh no, looks like we’ll have to take her around again,” Blizzard said, pressing a kiss to the side of your face, as he settled back once more, and let you soar through the stars.

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[wizardofrozz]

Bestie! 🥰 I come bearing a first kiss prompt request! If it’s not too much trouble!

"sorry, that was my first kiss." "i could tell." "...." "i'm kidding!"

With Sawbones? Because this feels so on brand lol.

For Tonight

OC Sawbones x gn!reader

Word Count: ~1.7k

Warnings: mention of war, alcohol, suggestive themes

A/N: Thank you so much for the prompt, my wonderful friend ❤️ I had a lot of fun writing younger Sawbones and exploring what he was like close to the beginning of the war. Also, thank you @a-single-tulip and @hetalianskywalker for beta reading 🖤

Coruscant seemed to never sleep. Hundreds of species from across the galaxy mingling in one place, regardless of the galaxy-wide war that had just started. But you couldn’t judge, you were out and about, spending another girls’ night drinking and blowing off steam. Your group had already lost a few members by the time you reached 79s. 

You weren’t against one-night stands, hell you’d had your handful, but finding someone worth your time was exhausting sometimes. You settled at the bar with one of your friends, ordering something non-alcoholic, and giving yourself a break. It shouldn’t have been a surprise that your friend had already caught someone’s attention. Not that you minded, you were silently rooting for them. 

The clink of glass on the bar had you glancing up at the bartender, flashing them a smile as you handed over a few extra credits. They offered you a small, exhausted smile in return before hurrying off to the next customer. You absently swirled your drink, watching the bright colors swirl together as the music picked up around you. 

The dance floor filled in more and you glanced around; less than a year into the war, you were already starting to recognize battalion colors. Red, blue, green, but as you scanned the busy bar, another color caught your eye. Gray was new.

Two clones sat at a table near the bar and you couldn’t help but stare out of curiosity. The gray paint looked newish, barely scuffed, leading you to think they just got back from their first deployment with that color. You didn’t recognize their haircuts or any of the scars you could see; it would be hard not to recognize a long face scar. But there was something about them that screamed higher rank. Suddenly, the man with the face scar stood, arching a brow at his companion, his lips moving slightly before he walked off. Your eyes drifted to the clone sitting by himself. 

He was slouched in his chair, legs spread as he mindlessly swirled his drink, staring off into space with a hard look on his face. Your eyes followed the movement of his hand when he lifted it to scratch his cheek. It was clear the beard was still growing in but you found you didn’t mind it; it seemed to...fit him in a way. Your stomach clenched when his head turned, eyes immediately locking onto you. You froze, your face warming as he tilted his head slightly, his expression never changing. Then he just watched you. It felt impossible to look away but a part of you didn’t want to, not really. 

He jerked his head to the side and it took you a second to realize he was motioning to the now-empty chair across from him. Were you really going to do this? Apparently, the answer was yes when you stood. You could feel his eyes on you the entire way but you didn’t look up to meet them until you carefully settled into the chair opposite him.

“Uh, hi,” you said, trying not to squirm when he just blinked at you. 

“You were staring,” he replied, his voice a bit lower than you expected. Your brows pinched together and you rested your arms on the table top. 

“And so were you,” you countered, arching a brow. It was such a small change in his expression, the ghost of a smile, and you couldn’t help but feel a little triumphant. He shifted down a bit more in his chair, dark eyes trailing over what he could see of your body until his eyes landed on your face again.

“I was,” he stated simply, sipping his drink without breaking eye contact.

“Why?” If the question caught him off guard, it didn’t show on his face. Instead of answering right away, he sipped his drink, rolling his top lip into his mouth before setting the cup down again. 

“Aren’t even gonna ask my name first?” The realization made you flinch, shifting in your seat; you offered your name as an offering first, watching a faint smirk tug at the corner of his lips.

“Ni - Sawbones, but you can call me Bones.” You caught the slip, squinting at him briefly but didn’t ask.

“Well, Bones, I asked you a question,” you teased, moving to take another sip of your drink. You almost wished you had picked something alcoholic because the longer he just stared at you, the more self-conscious you grew. Sawbones’ jaw worked, the grinding of his teeth lost to the chaos of the bar but you could see the small movement in his cheek. 

“Pretty,” he finally admitted, although his eyes never left your face. 

“What?” Your lashes fluttered, still a little unsure if you heard him right. His eyes shifted away for the first time but it was brief, the weight of his stare back almost immediately. 

“You. You’re...pretty,” he forced out. The sour look on his face almost made you laugh; it looked like it pained him to say it. 

“Don’t hurt yourself,” you chuckled, hoping to lighten the mood a little. Sawbones immediately rolled his eyes but there was a hint of amusement in his expression. 

Over the next hour or so, you inched your chair closer to him as the crowd got wilder. Sawbones didn’t say much unprompted, answering your questions, but he seemed more content to listen. He told you about his squad, the Wolfpack, and you found out he was a medic but he didn’t elaborate much, leaving out his rank specifically. Surprisingly, he didn’t seem in much of a rush either, although, you almost didn’t notice when his hand dropped under the table, resting it on your knee when you were close enough. 

The only reason you did notice his hand was because it tightened briefly before it disappeared when another body knocked into your chair. He sat up a little straighter, twisting in his chair, and his hand shot out, yanking another clone back toward him. You couldn’t hear what he said but you did notice the way the other clone’s throat bobbed. Sawbones released him, shoving him back a little hard than necessary. Your brows pinched together when he turned back to you. 

“What was that for?” you yelled over the music. Sawbones’ expression pinched and he leaned closer, turning his head slightly. “I said-” 

The thrum of the crowd suddenly picked up when a new song started, cutting off the rest of your sentence. Sawbones’ nostrils flared, his top lip twitching in irritation and then he was standing, grabbing your wrist in the process. You couldn’t even ask what he was doing before you were being pulled through the crowd. You hurried to keep up, nearly knocking into his back a few times until he tugged you into one of the quieter hallways leading to the back of the bar.

“Okay,” he huffed, still not releasing your wrist. The combination of how ridiculous it was that he dragged you all the way here just to hear what you had to say and the sudden nervous swirling in your stomach, forced a laugh past your lips. Sawbones’ brows knitted together but he didn’t say anything.

“I - I was just asking why you stopped that trooper,” you chuckled, meeting his eyes. 

“He ran into your chair.” It took your brain a second to process, a smile slowly spreading across your face. The gesture only seemed to confuse him more, the crease between his brows deepening. You took a step closer, quickly realizing he still holding onto your wrist. As soon as you brought attention to it, he let go, clearing his throat. Sawbones shifted his weight when you rested a hand on his chest, eyes darting down to look at it before finding your face again. 

“Thank you, that was sweet of you to stand up for me,” you murmured, inching a bit closer. His only response was a stiff nod, calculating eyes watching as you inched closer. It gave you a surge of confidence when one of his hands came to rest lightly on your hip. Sawbones was unbearably tense but the second your lips touched his, he exhaled through his nose, his stance losing some of its rigidity. It wasn’t glaringly obvious but there was a hint of hesitations in the way his lips moved against yours. His eyes stayed shut for a moment when you pulled away, his chest expanding with a long deep breath. 

Sawbones blinked slowly, eyes half-lidded when they met yours and although he didn’t quite smile, there was a pleased look on his face. When he spoke again, his voice was softer and he didn’t break eye contact.

“Sorry,” he huffed, lightly rubbing your side, “that, uh, was my first kiss.” It was endearing to get a glimpse behind his grumpy, stoic mask; it brought a small smile to your face as you brushed your thumb over the edge of his beard.

“I could tell,” was out of your mouth before you could stop it. The silence was suffocating and Sawbones’ brows pinched together but you couldn’t quite tell if it was anger or embarrassment. “I’m kidding! I’m kidding!” Sawbones arched a brow, not looking very amused, although, he didn’t necessarily look angry either. You were starting to wonder if he just wasn’t very expressive. 

His hand continued to mindlessly trace the curve of your waist and he didn’t pull away from your touch; it felt like a good sign. But he also didn’t say anything or really do anything other than blink. 

“I really was joking,” you murmured, letting your hand slide down to the side of his neck. 

“I know,” he replied, his jaw clenching slightly. You blinked at him and almost laughed; it made you wonder if maybe he was just nervous. 

“How about I make it up to you?” you offered, you corner of your mouth lifting. He hummed with interest, tilting his head slightly as his eyes shifted around your face before he nodded. You gently pushed him toward the wall until his back knocked into and pecked his lips one last time before lowering yourself to your knees. 

Sawbones’ eyes widened, his hand hanging in the air where you were just standing as he blinked down at you. “What’re you doin’?”

“Just wait and see,” you chuckled, winking at him. One eyebrow jumped and he swayed with a silent laugh, a small smirk lifting the corner of his mouth. 

Sawbones’ head thumped against the wall when his codpiece hit the floor.

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[leenathegreengirl]

I am truly happy for them 🥲💜💕

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[phantasm-ae]

cw: afab reader x commandor fox, fluff, a bit of angst

HEADCANON: Fox doesn’t dance. No. Never. That all changes, however, when he sees you — Jedi General — that always makes him toe the line between order and action

PAIRING: Clone x reader, Commander Fox x Jedi reader

Coruscant. The Grand Rotunda. Late evening. Nineteen-hundred, local.

The Republic never truly rests. Not even a celebration. But that was already a given.

Even under chandeliers glowing gold, festivities exchanged between pleasantries and warm food. Nor did the clink of glasses, the soft lull of music, or the subtle scent of sweetfruit wine could quite erase the weight in the air. It was a celebration -- yes, Fox knew that -- but only in the way a funeral might be called a gathering.

The tension remains -- pressed into the backs of every clone’s neck like a second collar. Even if they were technically called in to... unwind and revel in a moment's rest or as you -- their Jedi general, all grace and danger wrapped in robes that never sat quite right -- called it "a rare chance to breathe commander"

But how could a man like Fox exactly fucking breathe, when he didn’t know what to do with air unless it was barked out in orders?

So here he stood.

Sentinel straight and posture poised and perfect. His crimson armor, though a little looser on his lither and brooding form, was still gleaming in polished arcs beneath the warm glow of the lights overhead. His helm resting under one arm. Never far from his grip. Would rather cut his ankles sideways than let his weapon stray from his grip.

He hadn't touched the food. Hadn't dared sip the wine. He wouldn't let his guard drop -- not even now. Not even here. Not even... Not even for you.

Especially not for you.

You were dangerous in ways the war hadn’t prepared him for.

The kind of Jedi the archives would pretend didn’t exist -- too sharp at the edges, too radiant in motion, too much skin between robe folds for a council room.

He’d seen you end a skirmish with a flick of your saber and start a diplomatic meltdown with just a look. All pretty eyes and a mouth that never moved unless it meant something -- Fox had never seen someone weaponize silence like you did. Or laughter. Or kindness. You wielded those just as deftly as your saber. And that was the problem.

You were dangerous. Not in the way most Jedi were. Not with just the blade or the Force.

You were dangerous because you looked at him.

Really looked.

Past the armor. Past the rank. Past the locked jaw and the sleepless eyes and the thousands of walls he’d bricked up inside himself just to survive.

He hated that. And kriff did he crave it too

The Jedi weren’t supposed to be beautiful. They weren’t supposed to make men or clones forget they were soldiers. They weren’t supposed to laugh the way you just had across the room, head tossed back, teeth flashing like some forbidden thing carved from starlight.

Fox dragged his eyes back to his hands -- gloved, clenched, immovable. Clearing his throat and blinking his eyes rapidly to try and focus on things within his grasp and control.

He could kill with them. Break with them. Command with them. But he’d never learned how to hold someone without fear.

But then there you were -- suddenly walking toward him through golden light and warm music, a little too much of your shoulder bare beneath the drape of ceremonial robes, gaze set on him like you’d already decided something.

He told himself to stay still. Swallowing like a man parched as he overheard you excuse yourself smoothly from senators and council leaders who were speaking on matters he never quite... wanted to understand. No intention of listening. Too pristine and weaponized for matters as declarative and political for that. He was a soldier. That was all after all.

Fox’s ears caught the rustle of your glossy and silky fabric before his eyes allowed the indulgence of watching your approach again. You moved like the war hadn’t touched you -- but he knew better. That lightness in your step was trained, honed, rebuilt after too many nights stitching yourself back together with grit and sheer will.

And now? Now you were crossing the floor like you didn’t know you were the most arresting thing in the room.

He hated crowds. He hated these “breathers,” these forced illusions of peace. But somehow, he hated more the thought of you crossing this floor and turning away before you reached him.

“Commander,” you said, voice warm like evening spice.

“General,” he managed, the word clipped but careful. As if even your title burned in his mouth.

You didn’t stop until you were toe-to-toe. Up close, you smelled like whatever those off-world flowers were someone had arranged along the marble staircase -- sweet, a little wild. Your lips curved as your gaze dropped to the grip he had on his own wrist, fists tight, shoulders locked. You looked up at him like he was a problem you didn’t mind solving.

“You look like you’re about to be deployed,” you said, soft, amused. “Has anyone told you you’re allowed to enjoy yourself?”

“No, ma'am,” Fox replied instantly.

You snorted. “Wrong answer.”

Then your hand -- bare, elegant, calloused just enough to tell the truth about your life -- rose, hovered, and touched the crook of his elbow.

Fox stiffened. His throat bobbed with a dry swallow.

You leaned in, just enough to murmur where only he could hear, “I won’t bite. Unless ordered.”

He exhaled sharply. A sound not quite a laugh but restrained.

“I don’t know how to dance,” he said, low. A confession that felt more like a surrender.

You tilted your head at his words, smiling more playfully than really petrubed at his words. “Good. Neither do I.” Then, bolder now as ever, Sansanna spice on legs and beautiful haloing hair, you reached for his hand. “We’ll learn together.”

It would’ve been easier to say no. It would’ve been smarter.

But when your fingers slid against his glove, patient and warm and fearless... and gentle. Something in him cracked.

Fox let you lead him to the floor.

And for once -- just once -- he followed.

The music swelled around you as you both found your place amidst the dancers. It was soft at first, a tender and amiable rhythm that made the room feel like a hazy dream. Revnog after a long day -- a world where everything but the two of you faded into the background in peace.

Fox’s chest tightened as your fingers remained lightly wrapped around his, the pressure subtle, yet there was something unspoken in it. His gloved hand, usually so sure and commanding, now felt almost foreign against yours. A sense of unease and... regret choking through his gut and armor at wanting to strip his glove then and there just to feel your bare touch on his calloused and coarse palms.

His heart thudded, each beat an erratic reminder that he didn’t know how to dance. He didn’t know how to move in this kind of space. How to exist in it without becoming the soldier first.

But you didn’t need him to be a soldier now didn't you?

You led him first with slow and tenative steps, moving in time with the music, guiding him in that unhurried way that only someone who knew what they were doing could. The warmth of your body was close now, almost too close. The scent of sweetfruit wine, mingled with something more elusive -- more you -- filled his senses. The fragrant aroma of something saccharine and cloying, glazing his nostrils all honeyed and syrupy.

He could feel his pulse quicken. The space between the two of you felt like a chasm, but the weight of your gaze made it feel like you were pulling him in closer, inch by aching kriffing inch.

"You’re too stiff," you murmured up at him, a teasing smile dancing on your lips. Voice low, soft, coaxing. "Relax. It’s just a dance."

It was just a dance yes.

Except everything in him screamed that it wasn’t.

It was the way your body moved so fluidly, as if everything about you was unbound -- while he was wrapped in layers of armor, both literal and emotional. His body was a fortress, one he built brick by brick, a thousand cautions echoing in his chest.

But when you rested your other hand lightly against his chest -- right where his heart hammered so damn loudly -- Fox inhaled sharply, eyes darting to the curve of your lips with reckless abandon. Unraveling and uncontrolled

“You’re not a soldier right now, Fox,” you whispered, pressing into the space where the tension clung to him. “You’re just you.”

He blinked, throat tightening again. "I don't know who that is."

The words hung between them like an invitation, a delicate thread of truth that Fox wanted to pull away from but couldn’t. Your smile faded for the briefest of moments, just enough for him to see the flicker of something behind your eyes. Something far more... vulnerable than anything he’d expected. Then it was gone again. Dispersed and dematerializing. Tucked away into something lost and nonexistent that neither of them could quite shake.

For a moment, there was silence.

Nothing but the mellow and tranquil strings of the vioddle and bandfill filled the air. A placid and mild backdrop between the two of you as time seem to stretch on and on.

But in that karking silence, Fox realized he was still holding you.

His grip, though not tight, was firm enough to keep you in place, like an anchor amidst the sea of unspoken things. His palm burned where it pressed against your back, the armor’s edges strangely at odds with the softness of your robes. All silk and smooth on your waning and glowing skin. And you didn’t kriffing pull away. You didn’t flinch. You just moved, and he followed, instinct taking over where his mind faltered.

You were right. Kriff. Kriff. Kriff. You were right.

He wasn’t a soldier in this moment nor a clone nor a number. He was just... Fox. A man shelled in armor and rough skin. Holding this beautiful beautiful Jedi in his arms. All idyllic, vivid, and lush.

And that... that terrified him.

Because a clone could hide behind orders and discipline. A clone could just bury things deep and keep the world at a distance. Remain a number. Remain just another copy of a copy. A simulacra of someone now distant and lost.

But here. Now. With you so close, he couldn’t hide.

Not from you. Not from the weight of your gaze or the quiet truth that you saw him -- all of him -- in a way that no one else had. And it wasn’t even a judgment. It was just... understanding. Like you knew exactly what it took to break someone like him, and somehow, you weren’t interested in doing that. You were just... there. And that was worse.

That he had allowed himself to be led, to surrender to something as simple as a dance.

Fox wanted to pull away -- karking needed to -- but then you shifted just so, your body pressing closer. The smell of your hair, sweet and soft against his cheek, broke any semblance of control he still had left.

It was dangerous. So dangerous.

“Don’t think too hard about it,” you whispered again, a little breathless now as his grip subtly tightened. “Just… move with me.”

Every second that passed, every subtle movement and glide of your graceful and limber body against his, felt like it was carving him open, the walls he’d spent years constructing starting to crumble one small piece at a time.

This wasn't war.

This wasn’t command or survival.

This was something else entirely.

Kriff. Kriff. Kriff.

This was him, stripped of everything but raw desire and the tremble in his chest that wouldn’t stop.

Fox’s grip tightened just slightly at that realization. Swallowing like drought and Tattoine sand was forced down his throat.

Afraid that if he let go, you might vanish like the fading warmth of a dream. The familiar thundering of his heart against the thin layers of his armor. Motile and rapid, but this time it wasn’t from the adrenaline of battle or last-minute missions on end.

This time it was from.... the gradual and soft-hued intimacy of the moment -- the weight of your proximity. The way your gaze flicked between his eyes and his lips, so close that he could feel the warmth of your breath skimming the curve of his jaw.

He wanted to say something. Anything. Some quip, some sarcastic remark to break the tension. Something to ground him back in the world he knew. But there was nothing. Nothing but the steady rhythm of the music, the hum of the grand hall, and the gentle brush of your fingers across his shoulder.

Fox’s throat tightened again, and he had to fight to keep his mouth closed and gulp down the lump that had formed there. "I'm not sure I'm doing this right" he admitted, his voice low and gravelly, rough from years of commanding, barking orders, and keeping everything tightly wound within himself.

You stopped moving for a fraction of a second, pulling back just enough to look at him with those sharp eyes, like you could see straight into his soul.

"Then let me show you," you said softly, your hand resting lightly against his chest, right over his heart. "It doesn’t have to be perfect. Just... be here. With me."

Fox’s pulse stuttered, his whole body tensing involuntarily. "I’m not... really good at that General," he said again, more firmly this time, though it sounded more like an apology than anything else.

"But you’re trying," you whispered, your voice like velvet against the hard edges of his reality. "That’s all I need. Just you, here. With me."

And for the first time in his life, Fox wasn’t thinking of the next mission, or the next order, or the next battlefield. He wasn’t thinking of the weight of his armor or the duty to his brothers. He was thinking of you, and the way you made him feel... alive.

You smiled, that knowing, dangerous smile of yours. The one that had haunted him from the first moment he saw it from across the halls of the Jedi Temple, where you had stood, effortlessly commanding attention without saying a single word. That smile had always felt like a challenge, something that unsettled him, made his chest tighten in ways he wasn’t ready to admit . "Relax, Fox. We’re not fighting. We’re just... dancing."

And somehow, with you, with the softness of your touch again and the warmth of your gaze. Velvet, dulcet, and languid. He almost believed it.

The music swirled around you two again once more, a soothing backdrop that felt far away and, at the same time, more present than anything Fox had ever experienced. His movements more levelled and benign, less stiff, and more fluid as you guided him through the steps, your presence a balm to the turmoil churning inside him.

With you gleaming, saturated, and languid like this in his arms. All sugary smiles and dew-kissed eyes. Fox realized that he was no longer just Fox, the soldier. Fox the clone. Fox the commander. Fox CC-1010.

He was something else.

Something he hadn’t known he could be. Ever be.

A man.

And as the glowy ardent tempo and sequence lulled the both of you into a pattern that he could follow. With Fox slowly leading you in varied movements and motions that had no specific routine. Intimate. Bossoming... Devoted. Bolder now as he spins you around and grins when you laugh softly as he does so.

Fox realized that for the first time in months. Karabast probably years even.

The armor around his heart wasn’t the only thing keeping him safe anymore.

No. No. No. Kriff no.

It was and will always be —

— you.

masterlist

[areyoufuckingcrazy]

Fives always kisses the reader on the forehead before mission - they’re friends but theres a little bit of tension- but then he gets badly injured and the reader spends the night next to his bed, incapable to leave him, and when he’s still not waking up she kisses his forehead and bammm the flirt is awake and they just have stars in their eyesssss

“Kiss It Better”

Fives x Reader

Fives always kissed your forehead before a mission.

He never made a big deal out of it. No lingering looks, no awkward pauses. Just a brief touch—soft and warm—right in the center of your brow as he passed, like it was the most natural thing in the galaxy. And maybe it was. He kissed Jesse’s helmet for luck once. Echo got a punch in the arm. You, apparently, got forehead kisses.

It had started on Kamino. First deployment. You were shaking in your boots, pretending not to be terrified. Fives—cocky, charming, and stupidly handsome in the way all the clones were but only he knew it—had given you that trademark grin, leaned in, and brushed your forehead with his lips. Just for luck, he’d said. Nothing more.

But he kept doing it.

Every mission.

And every single time, your heart skipped a beat.

“Ready to go, cyar’ika?” he asked one morning, helmet tucked under one arm, the other reaching out toward you.

You scoffed, stuffing extra medpacs into your bag. “Don’t call me that unless you mean it, Fives.”

“Oh, I always mean it,” he winked, stepping close.

He bent, warm fingers brushing your cheek as he kissed your forehead again, soft as breath.

“I hate you,” you whispered automatically, voice unsteady.

“Liar,” he said, and then he was gone.

⸻

That mission was supposed to be a quick recon. In and out. But the Separatists had gotten smarter—or maybe just luckier—and the outpost exploded before anyone could retreat.

You saw the blast before you saw the blood. Smoke. Screaming in your comms. And then Jesse’s panicked voice yelling, “Fives is down! I repeat, Fives is down—!”

You didn’t remember running. Just the taste of ash in your mouth and your hands shaking as you dropped to your knees beside the twisted figure on the ground. His armor was charred. His face—oh, stars, his face—was bloodied, lashes fluttering as you pressed your hands to the wound in his side.

“Stay with me, Fives,” you begged. “I swear to the Maker, if you die, I will hunt you down and bring you back just to kill you again—”

He didn’t respond. He was already unconscious by the time the med-evac arrived.

They stabilized him.

But he didn’t wake up.

Not that night. Not the next.

You refused to leave the medbay. You were a medic—technically off-duty—but no one dared argue. You sat beside his cot, curled into the too-small chair with your knees drawn up, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath the sheets.

You were numb. Exhausted. And heartsick in a way you couldn’t explain. Because this was Fives—flirtatious, charming, annoying Fives—and the thought of him gone made something deep in your chest crack open.

You realized, sometime around the second sleepless night, that maybe you hadn’t hated those forehead kisses at all.

Maybe you’d been waiting for the day they meant something more.

⸻

You fell asleep with your head beside his arm, one hand resting lightly on his.

The beeping of the monitors was your lullaby. That, and the quiet sounds of clone medics passing in and out, voices hushed out of respect or fear. No one knew if he’d wake up. The damage was internal. The bacta was doing what it could. But his body… it was tired.

He just needed a reason to come back.

You looked at his face in the sterile light. Even pale and bruised, he still looked like Fives. There was a hint of a smirk in the curve of his lips, a stubborn quirk in his brow.

And suddenly, you knew what to do.

You leaned forward.

Your breath caught.

And for the first time, you kissed his forehead.

Soft. Lingering. Like a promise.

You whispered, “Come back to me, Fives. Please.”

You drew back slowly.

And that’s when his eyes fluttered open.

You froze.

So did he.

His gaze—bleary, confused—found yours almost immediately. And despite everything—despite the pain, the haze, the IV lines—he smiled.

“Hey there, gorgeous,” he rasped.

Your breath hitched. You stared at him in disbelief, tears instantly blurring your vision.

“You—kriffing idiot,” you gasped, half laughing, half sobbing. “You weren’t supposed to—!”

“You kissed me,” he interrupted, voice low and hoarse, but unmistakably smug. “That was new.”

“I was saying goodbye,” you lied, cheeks burning.

“Liar,” he whispered, echoing himself from before. His fingers moved slightly, brushing your hand. “I heard you. You said please.”

You pressed your lips together, throat tight.

“I missed my forehead kiss before the mission,” he murmured, trying to sit up.

You pushed him gently back down, blinking away tears. “You nearly died. Maybe don’t flirt while you’re still bleeding internally?”

He gave a weak chuckle, but it turned into a groan.

You cupped his cheek carefully. His skin was warm under your palm. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“I scared myself too,” he whispered, sobering.

There was a pause.

Then, quietly:

“You kissed me first this time.”

You swallowed hard. “Maybe it meant something.”

He tilted his head, eyes glinting despite the exhaustion.

“I was hoping it did,” he said softly. “Because every time I kissed you before a mission, I wanted it to mean more.”

You blinked.

Then smiled, slowly.

“Stars in your eyes, Fives?” you asked gently.

“Only when I’m looking at you.”

You leaned down again, and this time your lips brushed his—barely there, a feather-light kiss.

His hand squeezed yours, and he sighed, utterly at peace for the first time in days.

You didn’t leave his bedside for the rest of the night.

[romanovaswebs]

i adore crosshair's dynamic with omega so much . not only for how lovely it is , but what it says about both of them as characters ; quietly emphasizing aspects of crosshair . the persistence needed to for him to assimilate to your presence , leading to the softer delivery of his trademark honesty — not to mention the " oh , i'm way worse " in response to being more overprotective than hunter .

he's a quiet lover , and a lot of people aren't built for that . he's worth it , though , a million times over . he scans over someone and knows what they're thinking , what's making them (un)comfortable . acts of service , but not one to demand overwhelming praise for it — saying he'll take it back if you'll make such a big deal about it .

warmth is something he craves , but refuses to beg for . don't ever underestimate the warmth of a hand wanting to defrost his own ; always running cold , despite the protected heart of his.

[jetii]

Good Graces

Chapter One

Pairing: ARC Trooper Fives x Esmé Terel (Handmaiden!OC)

Tags/Warnings: Fives POV, romance, fluff, hurt/comfort, action/adventure, unrequited feelings, kinda enemies to lovers, forced proximity, awkward flirting, eventual smut, Fives is a bit much in this chapter but he evens out quick

Fic Summary: Assigned to protect Senator Amidala during high-stakes peace talks on Naboo, ARC Trooper Fives finds himself working alongside Esmé, one of Padmé’s longtime handmaidens. She’s disciplined, distant, and utterly unimpressed by his charm—exactly the kind of challenge Fives can’t resist. But when an unexpected crisis forces them into an uneasy partnership, he realizes there’s far more to Esmé than she lets anyone see. And he might just be in over his head.

Chapter WC: 2,172

A/N: I love Padmé's handmaidens and all the lore that goes with it, and I couldn't resist writing this. I'm aiming for about 10 chapters total. There's a new option on the taglist for this fic btw (feel free to update your choices if you don't want to be tagged in this).

Next Chapter | Join the Taglist | Masterlist

It's a simple assignment. Escort Senator Amidala during the peace talks, ensure she stays safe, and after, if he's lucky, spend a night drinking and enjoying the sights of Naboo's capital city with his brothers. Easy enough.

Fives is well-versed in these sorts of things. The escort missions are some of the few types of jobs the 501st takes up outside of the battlefield. It's always senators, ambassadors, or important personages, and most of the time, they're content to let him and his brothers do their jobs, as they should.

He likes doing this. It's a breath of fresh air to the normal routine. Most of their missions, after all, tend to be high-risk, high-stress, and high-fatality. It's hard not to appreciate the simplicity of the assignments every once in a while, and he's sure it's the same for all the other troopers. They get to take a break from the fighting, and instead get to have the pleasure of walking among beautiful landscapes and beautiful people. It's not a bad gig.

He just wishes it wasn't Senator Amidala.

He has nothing against the Senator herself, of course. She's nice, polite, and professional, and she's very clearly well-acquainted with the ways of the galaxy. She's the exact opposite of the clueless, sheltered politicians he's so used to dealing with, and that alone puts her leagues above her peers in his mind.

But it's not her he's worried about.

It's her handmaiden.

Esmé is the sort of woman he'd go out of his way to meet on any other day. The kind of woman that would stop him dead in his tracks, make him reevaluate his life, and then make him consider dropping everything to chase her until she'd let him have her. He's never had an easy time ignoring his attraction to pretty girls, and Esmé is just that.

She's the picture of everything a Nabooian woman is supposed to be, with her dark, curling hair, golden skin, and a pair of large hazel eyes that shine a deep amber in the light. She's smart, beautiful, and a little bit mean, the sort of person Fives knows his brothers would joke about being his type. And they're right.

He doesn't believe in love at first sight, but Esmé is the closest thing he's ever found to it. She's perfect in almost every single way.

So, naturally, he doesn't understand why she hates him.

She doesn't look at him, doesn't talk to him, doesn't even acknowledge him. She barely spares him a second glance when they're together. Her words are curt, her tone cold, and she doesn't speak more than a few sentences to him even when he tries to engage her. 

He's not entirely sure what he's done to offend her. He's never been anything but polite and friendly. Maybe a little too friendly in hindsight, but he can't imagine what would have set her off. The most she's ever given him was an annoyed look and a sigh when he'd tried to help her carry her things. She's never actually told him to fuck off, but it's obvious enough from the way she ignores him that he might as well not be there.

But even with how obviously she's avoiding him, he can't bring himself to dislike her. She's just... something else. It's hard not to think about her even when he's not around her, and he finds himself wanting her attention. Wanting her. 

He's a bit of a glutton for punishment, he'll admit, but there's a certain thrill in knowing that Esmé could destroy him with a single word, and he'd thank her for it. He doesn't even know what it is about her. Maybe it's the challenge, maybe it's the fact that he's a weak man and a pretty face is all it takes to make him want to get on his knees and beg, or maybe it's something else entirely, but he doesn't think it really matters.

The point is, he wants her, and she's decided he's not worth her time.

If it were any other woman, he would have backed off. But it's not any other woman. It's her. And he can't stop himself from thinking about her, from staring at her, from wishing she'd spare him just a sliver of the attention she devotes to Senator Amidala.

It's a hopeless endeavor. She's completely disinterested, and he knows he should give up.

But he's stubborn, and a bit of an idiot, and he's not quite ready to let go. The universe has handed him the perfect opportunity, and he doesn't know if he'll ever get another chance like this to spend so much time alone with her. He doesn't know what he'll do, or what he'll say, but he'll figure it out.

He's not letting her go without a fight.

He's got the entire week.

All he has to do is figure out a way to win her over.

Fives trips the moment he's stepping out of the gunship.

The Senator's entourage, gathered on the landing pad, watches in abject horror as he falls forward, his helmet slipping off of his head as his hands fly out to catch himself. In his haste to follow General Skywalker out of the ship, his foot catches on the ramp and sends him stumbling forward. His bucket goes sailing through the air, bouncing off of the paved stones and skittering to a stop against Esmé's feet.

There's a moment of silence as he stares at his helmet in shock, his gaze trailing slowly up the delicately embroidered skirt, across Esmé's stomach, her chest, and finally, to her face. Her expression is carefully blank, but there's something about the look in her eyes that lets him know exactly how stupid he's just looked.

At her side, Senator Amidala holds a hand over her mouth to hide a smile, though her shoulders tremble slightly as she looks away. General Skywalker is outright snickering, and he can hear Jesse and Tup laughing loudly from inside the gunship behind him. Even Rex has the audacity to snort quietly as he steps down from the ramp.

Fives' ears burn as he jumps to his feet. A nervous chuckle escapes him as he dusts himself off.

"Ah. Um. Hi."

Esmé stares back at him blankly. She looks down at the helmet lying at her feet and then back up to him.

"I—" He starts down the ramp quickly, his eyes never leaving her. "That's..."

Esmé leans down and plucks the helmet from the ground before he can force any more words out. She holds it between her thumb and forefinger, inspecting the visor, her nose wrinkling slightly in distaste. He thinks she might laugh at him like the others, but instead, she gathers her sleeve in her hand and uses the fabric to rub the visor clean, ignoring him entirely.

He feels his chest go a bit warm at the sight, and his footsteps stutter. 

General Skywalker claps him on the shoulder, laughing, and then he's walking past him towards Senator Amidala, greeting her warmly. She gives him a bright smile, and the two of them begin to talk in low tones, heads bent together as they walk away.

Esmé still hasn't looked at him, even as he comes to a stop at her side. Her eyes are still on his helmet, her lip curling slightly. She must feel him staring, because she looks over at him and quirks a brow, her gaze flicking downwards and then back up again. 

He realizes belatedly that he's still watching her with his mouth open. He closes his mouth and clears his throat, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

"You, um." Fives' tongue darts out to wet his lips. He clears his throat. "I'm Fives, by the way. ARC Trooper. Just in case you forgot. Or... if you didn't know. I don't think I ever introduced myself."

Esmé gives him a bland look.

He shifts his weight. Looks down at his helmet, then at her, then down again.

"...Right." He laughs nervously. "You probably already knew that."

She doesn't speak, merely holding out his helmet for him to take. He's quick to accept it, his cheeks going hot as their fingers brush. He tucks the helmet beneath his arm and rocks back on his heels, trying not to fidget under the heat of her stare.

"Thanks," he says lamely.

Again, she says nothing. But her gaze is still on him, and he wonders, briefly, if maybe now would be a good time to say something, maybe start a conversation, try and get to know her. Maybe if he could just find something they had in common, a shared interest, he could—

"Don't mention it," Esmé says finally. Her gaze trails downwards and back up. There’s a hint of…something in her tone. It's hard to tell what. Disdain? Indifference? Boredom? All three? "I suppose it’s not every day a man falls at your feet."

Fives nearly chokes on his tongue, his entire body going rigid as he stares down at her. He can hear the other troopers hooting with laughter behind him, but he's too caught off guard by her words to do anything but gape. 

Had she just...was that a joke? A tease? Something else? It was hard to tell, with how emotionless her voice had sounded. But he sees her lips twitch, a barely-there tilt of the corner of her mouth that he'd have missed if he hadn't been looking for it. 

Oh. Oh.

He hadn't thought—

Well, now. This changes everything.

He can’t seem to make his mouth work for a few long seconds. She's watching him now, a slight furrow in her brow, and suddenly, all he can think about is getting her alone and showing her exactly how willing he is to fall at her feet.

She seems to realize her mistake immediately. Her lips thin into a tight line, and her jaw goes tight. There's a subtle change in her demeanor, the way she holds herself, the look on her face. He can't place what it is, but something is different, and it's like someone's flipped a switch. Gone is the amused gleam in her eyes, replaced with a cool disinterest that makes his heart sink.

Esmé nods at him curtly, and then turns away, her shoulders squared and her chin held high. The rest of the entourage is already heading toward the transports waiting to take them into the city, and she follows without a backwards glance, her stride steady and sure.

"See you around," Fives calls after her, once he’s managed to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth.

Esmé’s shoulders tense slightly, her foot hovering in midair. It's brief, only a half-second of hesitation, and then she's continuing on her way, hands tightened into fists behind her back. 

He watches as she stops to help Senator Amidala fix her shawl, tucking it back over the Senator's shoulder and brushing her hands along the fabric. The two exchange a few quiet words, their heads bent together, and then Esmé is turning and following the rest of the party towards the transport.

He can't help but admire the way she moves, her hair fluttering in the breeze, and the sway of her hips as she walks. There's a confidence in her, an air of authority that sets her apart from the rest of the handmaidens and staff trailing behind her, and it's mesmerizing to watch.

Maybe it's a trick of the light, or maybe he's imagining it, but he swears he sees her cast a glance back at him, her eyes narrowed. He stares back at her and grins, and he sees her shoulders go tight. She whips around quickly and marches towards the transport without another look back.

He feels his chest swell with something that feels dangerously close to hope.

That was the first time she'd ever spared him a second glance. And the first time she'd ever spoken to him directly. It might not have been much, but it was a start. A good one, he thinks. And it's something he can build off of.

Maybe this won't be as hard as he'd originally thought.

"Wow," Rex says from behind him.

"Yeah," Fives breathes. "Wow."

Rex gives him a pitying look and pats him on the back. He leaves his hand there as he starts herding Fives along, and Fives lets himself be led. He doesn't stop watching her, even as the transport doors close behind her and she disappears from view.

"You're not going to be any help this week, are you?" Rex asks, his voice low.

Fives shakes his head. He can't seem to wipe the smile off of his face.

"Nope," he answers distractedly, still trying to catch a glimpse of her through the tinted windows. "I'm gonna do something stupid, Rex. I can feel it."

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Rex turn his gaze skyward as if praying for patience, his sigh heavy and put-upon.

"Of course you are."

Taglist: @baddest-batchers @covert1ntrovert @stellarbit @bruh-myguy-what @champagnejaig

@spicy-clones @kindalonleystars @cw80831 @totallyunidentified @heidnspeak

@lovelytech9902 @frozenreptile @chocolatewastelandtriumph @etod @puppetscenario

@umekohiganbana @resistantecho @dindjarins1ut @tech-aficionado @aynavaano

@burningnerdchild @ihatesaaand @lolwey @hobbititties @mere-bear

@thegreatpipster @lordofthenerds97 @tentakelspektakel @notslaybabes @mali-777

@schrodingersraven @megmegalodondon @dangraccoon @dreamie411 @sukithebean

@bimboshaggy @anything-forourmoony @9902sgirl @jedi-dreea @salaminus

@ghostymarni @gottalovehistory @burningnerdchild @yoitsjay @callsign-denmark

@julli-bee @sonicrainbooms @captn-trex @feral-ferrule @webslinger-holland

[dustmusings]

star wars oneshot masterlist

all works are x fem!reader unless specified

if you like a fic I would really appreciate a reblog <3 tumblr thrives on sharing and so do I ! if you want, you can be added to/removed from my taglist here :)

501st legion

captain rex let me take care of you [16+] | 5.7k make it feel better [18+] | 4.3k playing pretend | 4.2k where trust falls apart | 4.7k fall of an empire | no pairing | 1.4k comfort (drabble) | 948

arc trooper fives gone, but not forgotten | 4.4k ↳ how to feel again | 3.1k my kingdom for a kiss [18+] | 8.7k

clone medic kix a tricky situation | 2.8k i wanna be yours | 3.8k

clone trooper hardcase oldest trick in the book | 3.4k

the bad batch

sergeant hunter a little while longer | 4.1k a half-hearted escape | 3.4k

clone trooper tech we never quite made it | 10k

clone trooper crosshair brightest in the dark | 9.2k

arc trooper echo lonely tonight | 1k

misc. clones 

commander wolffe words in my mouth | 3.7k consequences be damned | 3.3k on your side | 3.1k

commander fox read between the lines | 8.1k

captain howzer angel of small death [18+] part 1, part 2, part 3 | 24k

threads of the unseen: ahsoka miniseries

part one: tread carefully | 5.4k part two: forging connection | 4.2k [coming soon]

[professional-yearner]

Saving Grace

Yandere Coruscant guard x reader

Pt.1

TW: for suggestive themes, yandere themes, murder attempt of major characters, obsession at first meeting,

(Very slow updates)

You sighed, trying to shake the drowsiness that seemed to stick to you like gum. You woke up a little late today. Scratch that, you had woken up exactly on time, but fallen back asleep almost just as quick. Luckily for you, it didn't affect your trip too much (seeing as you had learned to walk at a clip when you needed to) other than putting a bit of anxiety about getting to your job on time behind your actions.

Hoisting your work bag on your shoulder, you enjoyed the feeling of the wind whizzing by the open air transport as you lazily watched the guards patrolling the car in front of yours. They were doing what they usually did, checking tickets and making sure that no one was causing too much of a ruckus.

You rather liked the patterns and colors of the guards armor; one with stripes and the other with more of a color block paint job. They entered your car with a swipe of a security card, coming in silently and beginning to ask for tickets. Nodding blankly, you dug around your bag for your pass, only looking up when you heard a man raising his voice.

“I don't have to show you anything, clone.”

You turned to glare at him, only in time to see him shove the guard with the striped armor. Hard.

So hard he fell right past you and off the transport all together.

You gasped, grabbing for him without thinking. Catching his arm, you felt yourself lurch forward from his weight, falling to your knees as you tried to stop him from falling into the seemingly endless void of Coruscant traffic.

His helmet was gone in an instant, knocked loose by the blow and disappearing into the flow of cars.

His terrified eyes bore into yours as you struggled not to fall over yourself, trying desperately to pull him back to safety.

Your fingers felt like they were on fire as they dug into the space between his vambrace and elbow plate, only able to grip onto the black body glove underneath

Finally, you felt a pair of strong hands pulling you back from the edge by the waist, helping you succeed in pulling the guard up onto the shuttle once more.

He pushed himself up as his brother ran back down the train after his almost killer.

“Oh my god,” You panted, still on your hands and knees as you tried to catch your breath, “Are you alright?”

He was shaking, tears streaming down his face as he stared, looking in shock at the ground in front of him.

Your expression softened, tears of your own welling in your eyes for the man.

You reached over, resting your hand softly on his arm, “Hey,”

That made him look up at you, eyes unfocused for a moment before they widened, taking you in. They then moved to the hand you still had on his arm, making you blush.

You took it away quickly, “Sorry!”

The trooper shook his head, his own cheeks turning a bit red.

You both just looked at each other for a minute. It made you shift uncomfortably, unsure of if you should be the one to break eye contact first. Reprieve came in the form of the transport's robotic voice calling your stop, making you stand quickly. You felt bad for leaving him just sitting there, drying tears on his face in a transport full of strangers, but you didn't know what else to do.

You really needed this job.

“Sorry- sir, it's, um, my stop.” You said quickly, waving a bit as you stepped off, free of the once terrifying now awkward interaction.

You felt eyes on your back until the transport started moving again, leaving you mostly alone on the platform.

Von was in love.

He laughed to himself, feeling over the places she had touched him. Von felt himself twitch under his codpiece as his breathing became more ragged.

She was perfect. His perfect little savior. So soft and sweet, unlike her surroundings. Such a disgusting city didn't deserve someone like her, but he thanked the stars she was here anyways.

He hadn't been able to get her flustered face out of his mind since his brothers had brought him back to the barracks to recover from the attempt on his life. He had just been laying there for a few minutes, fantasies of her circling his thoughts as he stared into nothing.

Oh she was adorable.

The way she was so worried about him after getting him to safety, her sad little whimpers as she attempted to get him and all 70 pounds of his armor back onto the platform, how she flushed when she'd touched him.

He wondered how she'd blush when he touched her, knowing just the right spots to make her-

"Von, brother? You doing alright?" Hack called from the doorway, looking concerned.

He nodded, smiling and assuring the other clone, "I'm fine! Thanks, brother."

The blond clone nodded, "Just wanted to make sure,"

He walked back out into the hall, leaving his sibling once more, "You've been in there for hours."

[oceansssblue]

Hello, I hope that you are having an amazing day. If requests are still open, I have a funny Star Wars prompt/or/oneshot if you want. You know how in Top Gun, after Maverick flirts with a lady at a bar, only to find out the next day that she is his superior officer. What about a similar situation in the Clone Wars era, in which one of the members of the Bad Batch, or one of the 501st like Fives, flirts with a female Jedi reader (who's probably in her early twenties) at the 79s, not knowing that she is a Jedi General. Only to find out the next day that she is the Jedi General assigned to them for their next mission.

Her appearance in the bar makes her look nothing like a Jedi. She just looks like a civilian until she is in her jedi robes the next day. She doesn't deliberately deceive them or anything. She just wanted to unwind after an undercover mission. She just didn't think bringing up that she is a Jedi was important, she assumed they already knew. The only hint she gave on their "date" night was a happy and playful "see you tomorrow" as they part ways to get to their respective homes/barracks. She is happy to see them the next day.

Cool fun little oneshot! Decided to go with Crosshair, seems more like his thing.

Hope you like it!

Xx,

Sky.

"SEE YOU TOMORROW"

CROSSHAIR/F REDADER 📩💖

WARNINGS: ALCOHOL, FLIRTING&TEASING.

Your muscles still ache after a two year undercover mision in Alcaz. Spending long hours of running and hiding in the capital will do that to anyone; even a Jedi. Your first mision with the Order started years ago; even if you're still young right now. Everyone starts early these days; you went from youngling to padawan and Jedi Knight in just a blink of an eye. The war makes you feel older than what you really are.

It's weird being back in Coruscant. Back in a normal setting were you don't need to constantly be aware of your surroundings –even if it's instinctual, now–; where you're not constantly in danger. Entering 79's, your eyes quickly flickering over the crowd of tipsy clones and the dance floor, a tiny smile makes it up to your face. You feel inmediately relieved, somehow. You don't need to pretend here. You don't need to be a soldier, a Jedi Knight, a General. You don't have responsabilities and lifes dangling from your shoulders. Here, right now, you can just be you, a simple girl in her twenty-two's.

Happy smile still in your face, you make your way towards the bar. You order a sweet drink light on the alcohol side to start with; turning around and taking small sips while you scan the bar distractedly. There's a few eyes on you already. Not because you're necesarily pretty –though you believe yourself to look alright–; but simply necause you're one of the few natives around here, and more so a woman. Clones will always be ever the gentleman, it's ingrained in their discipline, their sense of honor; but they're still men, real humans, and they have urges like everyone else. Like Jedis do, too, no matter what many people think.

You're not really in the mood for sex, though. You're too tired for that; your plan is to spend a few hours drinking and chatting and then return to the Temple. You've got a meeting tomorrow, and you should make sure you get your well deserved, comfortable sleep. You're almost drooling thinking of a bed already, but you'd like to unwind a bit first; even though your body is tired, you feel your mind too active to surrender to dreamland yet. Plus, you need to disconect from your previous mision and adapt to your new situation; to the new changes.

A few troopers that you had the chance to meet before starting your jump around the galaxy to serve to the Jedi and the Republic recognises you, and you quickly find yourself chatting amicably in a booth with them. They're kind, and perfectly respectful; they speak to you as if you were a normal person, though –not a general, not a Jedi–, and you soon fall into a relaxed posture and a lazy smile. None of you speak about war, about their fears and worries; but of hopes and desires, jokes and secret lovers that await for them patiently all over Coruscant. Some look flustered after realising they've confessed such things in front of you; but you just shake your head and smile. You're glad they're finding some happiness wherever they can.

On your third drink in –and probably the last one, judging by your flushed cheeks and the low hum of carefree excitement & arousal spreading inside of you– you feel another stare on you. It's heavy, it's intent so clear it's almost screaming at you; and you listen to your Jedi instincts, eyes slowly flickering around the bar to find it's owner.

You come up with a pair of dark brown eyes. They're the exact same shade of most of the clones in the GAR; and yet, it's stare so much more intense. It could almost cut through you and hit someone on the other side.

You study him curiously in the same way he has been observing you before. Even sitting down in a booth with some other soldiers, you can tell he's taller than most; the shape of his body and muscles long and thin, agile, though still strong. It's impossible not to notice the tattoo around his right eye; it fits him well, really. What surprises you most about him –besides his stare– is his hair, though; a mix of greys so pretty it almost shines under the lights of the 79's.

He's still dressed up on armour, like a lot of other soldiers on the bar. His is black and grey with a few stripes of dark red; a white skull with a "99" underneath it on his right pauldron. It's right then and there when you understand who he is, who they are; and your eyes twinkle in amusement, your smile widening. This is Clone Force 99, the squad that will be under your command. The Council told you they were different, that they had special abilities very useful for battles; but they fail to mention you they were literally, physically different as well.

You understand... Crosshair's –he must be– cautious and curious study then; he might be wanting to find out who exactly their new General is, and how does she behave when she's not on duty like everyone else.

You shoot him a grin and Crosshair's neutral, almost uniterested face turns into a smirk. He arches an eyebrow, and makes a gesture with his head; a welcome for you to join them in their table. You nod and say your goodbyes to the troopers; smiling and shooting one or two more playful comments before making your way across the room, walking confidently to this squad of extraordinary men.

"Hey there, boys" you greet them, deciding for informality in order to not spoil their night of fun from the start. "Care if I join?"

There's various reactions around the table. Crosshair looks amused. Echo and Tech are purely surprised –the later one quickly scanning you almost as if trying to find information about you with just his eyes–; while Hunter looks hesitant. Wrecker is openly excited and happy.

"Yeah, take a sit!" He pushes his brothers to one side, making room for you in the circular booth their sitting in, ignoring the other's quiet, pained grunts.

They all look a little tipsy too.

You chuckle and take the offer, letting down your drink on top of the table and sitting besides Wrecker. Crosshair arches his eyebrow again, still finding amusing how you seem confident enough in a table –a bar– surrounded by men. He likes confidence in a woman, but such levels are a bit more rare.

"Comfortable?" He asks, his voice deep and smooth, almost a lazy drawl, and you grin back at him.

"Very" you answer, emphasising your answer by taking a long sip of your alcohol and laying lazily against the booths backrest.

After holding his stare for a few seconds, you turn your attention back to the rest of the group; scanning them curiously. They do de same with you.

"So, didn't have time to do a change of clothes?" You point out. "Did you come back from a mission today, or is this just an night outfit choice?"

Wrecker laughs, will Echo and Hunter show a tiny smile. Tech is completely serious still, lost in his thoughts without tearing his eyes from you. Crosshair also stares at you.

"We came back from a mission a pair of hours ago, yeah" Hunter finally answers, relaxing slowly. "Thought we should enjoy a bit of freedom before getting back to work tomorrow".

His voice is deep as well; a bit more soft yet raspy.

"Ah" you answer, smiling guiltily. "Got it. Well, I'm not going to cut out your fun, no worries. Feel free to drink and chat as much as you like. Also... This is still a good fit. Beautiful armour, guys".

This time Tech blushes, Echo clears his throat in silence and Wrecker, Hunter, and Crosshair, all smile widely. Ah, yes, you forgot; armours are precious to all Mandalorians, including clones, and you could have very well call them...

"So you think we're hot? That it?" Crosshair drawls, eyes interested.

You laugh shrugging your shoulders. Yeah, well, you might be a little too tipsy. This is definitely your last drink if you want to keep things professional. Force knows if you weren't a Jedi and this weren't your men you'd have had already tried to take one of them home. Huh, it seems you're not as tired as you thought.

"Pretty" you correct him, if only to mock him a bit and play with him.

Crosshair's stare darkens and you can feel his arousal and want calling you through the Force.

You smile down playing with the rim of your glass distractedly, and feeling a sudden wave of shyness. Alcohol is a dangerous thing.

The thought makes you giggle a bit.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

The night goes on, and you switch to a non-alcohol drink as promised to yourself. The conversation turns normal and more easy as the clock ticks by; all of them being very interesting, fun people to chat with. Crosshair and Echo are more reserved than the rest; different types of quiet observing and thoughtfullness. You suspect the second one isn't as comfortable with your presence as the rest –while you have no doubt that that wouldn't suppose a problem in battlefield, you know he's an excellent soldier–; while Crosshair... Crosshair's intentions are still quite clear.

He's bold, you have to say. Most troopers wouldn't want to risk being reported for misconduct even if they know most Jedis would just gently shut their intentions down if it were the case. Clones usually don't want to risk it; though it's evident that Crosshair doesn't think you will or plainly, doesn't care.

It doesn't bother you. He's attractive, and it feels good to be desired; you're a Jedi, but you're also just twenty-two, and you can't help it yourself. Still, you're nothing but polite to him, if only a bit of playfullness here and there. You're not going to go to bed with him, not before your oficial meeting; not while you can still resist.

You sigh with a smile.

"Well, boys, it has been a pleasure" you start, standing up and patting Wrecker's shoulder besides you. "But I think I'm gonna go and try to shut an eye. Have your fun without me, see you tomorrow!"

Tech eyes widen slightly, observing your retreating figure while Crosshair makes a move to follow you out of 79's.

Tech grabs his brother's shoulder and pulls him back down, ignoring Crosshair's almost snarl.

"She expressed her desire to go to sleep, Crosshair. Let her be" he opted to say, still not 100% sure of his theory before proving it with a quick search on his datapad.

Crosshair sighed and gulped down the remaining of his drink.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

No matter that the Batch had left 79's pretty late in the night, they were all rised and prepared to meet their new General at 0600 puntually. Their faces carried nag under their eyes and various degrees of tiredness; but they weren't being shipped anywhere, so there was no real problem with that. It was just a formal meeting so they could put a face to the name and greet each other; then they'll be left alone to enjoy the rest of their shore-leave day.

"I hope she's nice!" commented Wrecker while they waited up in a line in front of the Marauder.

Hunter hummed.

"I just hope she lets us do our thing" he muttered, clearly not very happy about the new placement.

None of them were particularly enthusiastic; they had never had a personal Jedi General before, and it would be a big change for everyone involved.

"I am confident she will" answered Tech, perhaps the only one holding positive thoughts about it. "I have thoroughly researched our General in the early hours of the morning and she has an impressive record on undercover missions and other side tasks. It seems she is usually sent on unusual requests as well, just like us. In adition, she is fairly easy going. I am positive we would all be able to adapt to each other well".

Right when Wrecker was going to ask with a deep frown etched on his face how did he know she was as "easy-going" as Tech affirmed, a female figure crossed the doors of the hangar walking towards them with wide confident steps.

Wrecker's, Echo's and Hunter's faces stared back in shock; while Tech nodded firmly as if he were explaining something to them, and Crosshair followed the young Jedi's movement full of intrigue and a masked surprise.

"Morning, troopers!" She greeted them, still a few meters away from them.

Her smile was radiant in the greyness of the hangar bay.

Crosshair leaned towards the smartest of his brothers, subtle.

"Punishment for fucking your Jedi General?" he asked in a distracted whispered, eyes never leaving the woman aproaching them.

Tech answered completely unbothered by his antics; posture firm.

"From an informal reprimand to proper decomissioning".

Crosshair smirked.

"I'll risk it".

He arched an eyebrow in amused defiance when she looked straight at him.

THE END.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Taraaa! Here it is love, hope you like it! It was a little fun cheeky thing to write :)

Not checked after finishing writing it cause I have exam tomorrow and still got a few finals left, but I hope I didn't make a lot of mistakes!

Only two more requests left before I jump onto another tbb Mermaid fic. Don't worry, yall, I will reopen requests the future, just let me survive my exams first ;)

Stay tunned!

Xx,

Sky.

Back to masterlist here:

[rex-meshla]

Rex-Meshla's Masterlist ✨

Shadows of the Force

Captain Rex x F!OC

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9

Steel Meets Silk

ARC Commander Colt x F!OC

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5

Clone Drabbles

Commander Wolffe

Brat Summer

Testing Limits

Testing Limits —Part 2 (NSFW)

ARC Commander Colt

Take What You Need (NSFW)

Commander Fox

An Unusual Assignment

Captain Howzer

Stolen Nights and Shared Dreams

[wizardofrozz]

Worth the Credits

OC Sawbones x reader

Word Count: ~1.3k

Warnings: +18 NSFW, sex toys, anal, voyeurism, let me know if I miss anything (I suck at tagging)

A/N: I was supposed to be finishing a first kiss prompt for Fox and this happened instead 💀 back to working on the Fox fic now that I got this idea out of my head lmao

It was torture. Torture that you had asked for, you reminded yourself. Sawbones hadn’t even done anything yet. He meandered around the room, grabbing things as he went while you say cross-legged on the floor. You still weren’t quite sure what to expect when he said he wanted to show you something. 

Saw paused in front of you, tilting his head as he blinked slowly. A smirk made his mouth twitch when your eyes dropped down, eyeing the bulge in his boxers. You arched a brow when he moved to your nightstand only for any moisture in your mouth to evaporate when he pulled the dildo out. He - he wasn’t supposed to know about that. 

“I -” he held up a hand, cutting off your sentence without even looking at you. A few things knocked against the inside of the drawer while he searched for...something. You jumped when he pushed the drawer shut with his knee and turned to face you. “Saw?”

He blatantly ignored the soft whisper of his name, bending down to drop the toy and lube, you came to realize, on the floor a few feet away from you. Your brows pulled together when he lowered himself to his knees, sitting back on his heels. Saw looked utterly content while you felt like you might vibrate out of your skin. 

“What are you doing?” you finally asked, pointedly not looking at the toy sitting nearby. However, you couldn’t avoid it for long when he reached over, bringing the toy into your line of sight while he inspected it. 

“You use this when I’m gone,” he replied lowly, pausing for a moment before looking through his lashes. “Figured I’d see what I’m missin’.”

It was comical the way your mouth dropped open. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d used something a toy on himself but it was usually only a plug or a vibrator. Your lashes fluttered when he sat up on his knees. 

“What about me?”

“Watch.” The order made your stomach somersault but the idea intrigued you, so you got comfortable, leaning against the dresser behind you. The corner of Saw’s mouth curled upward, his eyes never leaving your face as he hooked his thumbs under the waistband of his boxers. 

Your tongue poked out to wet your lips, immediately noting he was already half hard. The muscles of his abdomen shifted as he moved and you couldn’t help yourself, shamelessly admiring the toned planes of his stomach. It wasn’t until his head dropped forward with a huff that you noticed his arm was behind his back. 

Saw’s jaw flexed then his lips parted in a silent sigh, his eyes squeezing shut. The plug rolled slowly when he set it down; he’d clearly planned this. The realization that he’d been walking around like that for who knows how long forced a soft gasp past your lips. His eyes flickered up at the sound, his still parted lips turning up with a smirk, showing a flash of teeth and you clench involuntarily. 

Stars, you wanted to touch him but the idea of just sitting back to watch him get himself worked up did have its appeal.

His movements were slow and precise, his hand gliding over the toy as he spread lube down the length. Saw’s eyes never left your face, watching every little shift in your expression and occasionally glancing down at your lap where your hands rested. You wondered what he’d do if you did touch yourself. 

Saw spread his knees a bit more, his nostrils flaring with a deep breath as he found your eyes again. Your lips parted as he sat back slightly, watching as he tried to stop any sound from leaving his mouth. You bit your lip to hide your smirk when his lips parted in a harsh exhale, lashes fluttering as he paused, his throat bobbing.

“Go on,” you whispered, licking your lips. He let out a quiet, almost hoarse laugh, sitting up a little straighter as he cupped his balls, squeezing lightly as he sank down further. Saw gradually tilted his head back, his face pointed up toward the ceiling when he finally took the entire dildo. 

“Oh, fuck,” he breathed, moving his hand to squeeze the base of his cock. His chest heaved, his free hand resting on his thigh as he adjusted. “Startin’ to see why you like this thing so much.”

The low, gravelly sound of his voice sent a chill down your spine and you squirmed, trying to keep the movement subtle. You should’ve known better. Saw’s eyes settled on your face, his eyes impossibly dark as his lip twitched. 

“It - it does its job,” you forced out, darting your eyes away. “But, it’s not as good as you.” Saw snorted, drawing your attention again as he took a long, deep breath. 

“Damn right,” he sighed as he lifted himself off the toy. Your eyes trailed over his legs, watching the muscles flex and you ground your teeth together to stifle the urge to sink your teeth into his thigh. You glanced up at his face, shivering when his lidded eyes landed on you. He held your gaze as he dropped his hips again, holding his arm still so he stroked the length of his cock as the toy filled him again. 

Saw’s eyes rolled back, a groan rumbling in his chest and your lips parted in a silent, answering moan. He took it slow, increasing his pace gradually until every cant of his hips punched a grunt past his lips. His skin glistened faintly, stomach clenching every time the dildo pressed against the spot that made his jaw flex and you were mesmerized. 

“Fuck,” Saw groaned through clenched teeth, his hand pausing to squeeze the base of the cock again. “C���mere.” 

It took you a second to register what he said but you scrambled to your knees once it did. A smug grin lifted the corner of his mouth, his eyes dropping down to watch you crawl closer. You froze when his free hand gripped your chin, tilting your head back; you let him guide you to your knees, whining when he pulled you into a bruising kiss. 

The scrape of his beard made the heat under your skin almost unbearable; it blew your mind that he could have you wound so tight without even touching you. Saw’s hand moved to the back of your neck, holding you there as he picked up his pace again, moaning softly against your lips. Your hands came to rest on his stomach, feeling the muscles clench and shift as his breathing picked up again. 

“Saw,” you whispered, trailing your fingers lower. 

“I’m close,” he rushed out, his voice ticking up on the last word. You tilted your head down, watching his hips jerk against his hand and you pressed your nails into his skin. Every muscle locked up as he dropped down onto the dildo fully, his hand continuing to stroke his cock. Saw searched for your mouth in a desperate effort to muffle his moans. 

Sawbones growled against your lips as he spilled over his hand, squeezing the back of your neck without realizing. You kept your lips pressed against his, kissing him in between his labored breaths, lightly dragging your nails over his stomach. It was unhurried, a slow press of lips until Saw started to come back to himself, growing more demanding. You moaned, opening your mouth when he pulled you closer. You broke the kiss first, resting your forehead against his cheek with an amused huff, looking down at his softening cock. 

“Whatcha think?” 

“Worth the credits,” Saw chuckled, absently kissing the side of your face. “But one last thing.”

“What’s that?” you mumbled, flattening your hands against his ribs. You gasped when his grip on the back of your neck tightened, your eyes widening when he pulled you away. Saw’s eyes were still jarringly dark and you fought not to squirm. He leaned in again, his tongue poking out, stopping just out of reach with a smug grin. 

“Clean me up, sweetheart.”

Ragu list:

@a-single-tulip @wings-and-beskar @anxiouspineapple99 @secondaryrealm @dystopicjumpsuit @sunshinesdaydream @moonlightwarriorqueen @starrylothcat @starqueensthings @multi-fan-dom-madness @trixie2023 @mythical-illustrator @wolffegirlsunite @clonemedickix @sev-on-kamino @dickarchivist

[leenathegreengirl]

Sometimes he can’t believe just how loved he actually is…

💕💜Tag List💜💕

@legacygirlingreen @thora-sniper @thecoffeelorian @neyswxrld @somewhere-on-kamino @clonethirstingisreal @royallykt @morerandombullshit @burningfieldof-clover @tbnrpotato @keantha @returnofthepineapple @antisocial-mariposa @techs-stitches @resistantecho @kimiheartblade @dezgate @sunshinesdaydream @rex-targaryen @freesia-writes @heidnspeak @queenjiru @commanderfury @kyda-atshushi @deezlees @thebadbatchfan @justanotherdikutsimp @aknightreaderr

[scribble-dribble-writes]

Long haired Crosshair has me in a hold. He would have been unstoppable

[areyoufuckingcrazy]

501st Material List 💙🦋🛋️🥶

|❤️ = Romantic | 🌶️= smut or smut implied |🏡= platonic |

Overall

- “The Warmth Between Wars”🏡

- “Your What?!"🏡

- “Armour for the Skin” 🏡

- “Hearts of the 501st” ❤️

- “she’ll be fine” 🏡

Arc Trooper Fives

- x bounty hunter reader pt.1❤️

- x bounty hunter reader pt.2 ❤️

- x reader “This Life”❤️

- x reader “Name First, Then Trouble”🌶️

- x Sith!Reader “The Worst Luck”❤️

Captain Rex

- x Jedi Reader❤️

- x Villager Reader ❤️

- x reader “what remains”❤️

- x Sith Assassin Reader “only one target”❤️

- x Reader “Ghosts of the Game”

- x Bounty Hunter Reader “Crossfire” multiple characters ❤️

- x Jedi Reader “War On Two Fronts” multiple parts

- “Smile”❤️

- “501st Confidential (Except it’s Not)” ❤️

Arc Trooper Echo

- x Old Republic Jedi Reader❤️

- x Old Republic Jedi Reader pt.2❤️

- “A Ghost in the Circuit” 🏡❤️

Hardcase

- x medic reader ❤️

Kix

- x Jedi reader “stitches & secrets”❤️

- “First Name Basis” ❤️

Overall Material List

[bring-backup-99]

Before It Gets Too Late

PAIRING: tech x fem reader

SUMMARY: You spend a fun and special day with Tech, starting with a flying lesson that takes an unexpected turn. There’re fluffy times but mostly sexy times. (I’m trying to support and comfort my Tech people during this dark period.)

WORDS COUNT: 1926

RATING + WARNINGS: 18+, very spicy, porn with minimal plot, PiV, rough sex, probably bad flight mechanics

NOTES: This is installment twenty-two of my reverse harem “Bad Choices” smutlet series on Ao3, but I think it’s also a nice stand-alone Tech story. Although it’s written in second person, my heroine has a very established relationship with the Batch.

Everything was going fine until a large flock of flying creatures shot out of the canopy in a wide column directly into the ship’s path. You were too close to simply fly around them, and every other usual option you could think of would leave hundreds of them dead and the ship with possible light damage.

So without a second thought, you killed the thrusters while sending the ship in a tight turn, the nose pointed at the column. A quick tap of the port thruster has you cleared of the animals, with what you hoped were minimal casualties, then you reinitialized the main thrusters and resumed your disrupted flight path.

For a full minute, there was silence to your left. Finally, “It appears that flying lessons were unnecessary.”

“That was never the question,” you hedged. “You asked if I would like you to give me lessons. You didn’t ask if I knew how to fly. I answered honestly.” And this was your third time out.

“But with a glaring omission,” Tech huffs at you.

“Don’t be angry at me. I was very curious as to how you would be as a flight instructor, and I would not have received the same response if you had known.” What you do know is that this is logic he won’t be able to argue with.

He hmphs at you again, but you can tell he’s not really upset.

“That was an interesting maneuver you performed.”

“A modified ‘Tech turn.’ Seemed like the best option for minimizing death and destruction.” You pause for a moment, then you look at him. “It can’t be, right? The ‘Tech turn’…” You trail off as you see the corners of his lips turn up to an actual smile.

“That is not what it is called.”

“I’m going to fuck your so hard as soon as we land.”

“I was contemplating something similar.”

He doesn’t take the controls from you, but you sit quietly for a while.

“I’m not great at mechanics. You could teach me that?” you offer.

“Specifically define ‘not great’,” he asks.

“I definitely couldn’t fully repair this ship, but I am unable to give you a rundown of which systems I am deficient in. That’s the best I can do.”

“That…is acceptable.”

*

Almost as soon as the ship touches down in the tree-lined clearing, you are on each other. He lets you push him back down in his pilot’s chair, straddling him while your lips devour his with kisses. You groan in frustration as you try to divest him of his various layers of clothing, but you’re too eager and your fingers can’t find all the buckles and straps.

Want. Need. They course through you. You need his skin against yours. Finally, he takes pity, gently stops your fumbling, and slowly removes all the items covering his torso, your desperate whimpering doing nothing to hurry him. Then he lifts off your shirt. Your bodies crash together again. He kisses along your neck, down to your breasts, cupping them, licking your nipples. You throw your head back and cry out, your hands stroking over his head and neck; then fingernails scrape down his back, feeling his taut muscles.

“Against the wall,” you groan. Moments later, you’re both naked, and your back is to the one bare metal plate in the cockpit. Tech drops to a knee in front of you, places your leg over his arm, and targets your clit in a focused and aggressive attack.

“Fuck! FUCK!” you scream as, mere minutes later, you come. And then he lifts you, burying himself deep inside you, pounding into you, your pussy still twitching in pleasure.

Every rough, hard thrust is accompanied by his grunts, and you loudly proclaim your satisfaction, your voice echoing through the ship. You want Tech to do this, need him to do this, to take his pleasure from your willing body. He captures your wrists, pinning them above your head with one hand, his other hand gripping your ass, fingers pressed into your flesh, pinching, bruising. He kisses you, mauling your lips, and when he breaks away, you sink your teeth into his shoulder.

He gasps, releasing your wrists, and takes a strong hold of your ass and thighs, angling you for deeper, feral thrusts. Your arms encircle his neck and shoulders. You want him like this, desperate for you, as if no one else could give this to him. An animalistic groan emanates from him as his cock ravages you until finally a full throated cry signals his climax and he holds himself deep inside of you, and you feel his hot cum pump into you.

Neither of you move, the only sounds your gasping breaths as you each try to take in enough air.

“Mmmm,” you finally manage. “That was excellent.” You smile, then lick a drop of sweat from his neck.

“Yes,” he says, a slight gleam in his eye, “Quite satisfactory.”

* You lie in a bunk together, your head on his shoulder, a hand idly stroking his chest.

“Why did you not disclose to me that you did not need flying lessons? Your skill level is clearly quite adequate.”

You suck in your breath. I wanted to spend time with you outside of my bedroom. I wanted to know who you are when we’re not fucking. I wanted to be on this ship with you when you could be focussed on me. I wanted… So many wants, as if you can’t be happy with what you have.

“It’s been a long time since I flew. I wasn’t sure that I didn’t need them…at least as a refresher.” You hesitate. “Are you angry at me?...slightly perturbed?

“I am not. And at least they were not a waste of time.” His fingers run up and down your arm.

“No,” you agree.

Tech looks down at you, watching your hand move along his skin. You have not asked him why he offered to teach you, which is for the best. Tech is worse at articulating his wants than you are.

*

You wake up alone in the bunk. It’s been awhile since the person you’d fallen asleep with wasn’t still beside you. The ship is dark, so it must be night. You get up, the floor cold under your feet, expecting to find Tech in the cockpit.

Instead, a drop-ladder is down from the midship overhead storage space.

“Tech?” You call up.

“Ah, you are awake,” you hear him say. “I was just coming down to collect you. Come up here.”

“Um, I’m naked?” You look around for your clothing and see nothing.

There’s a long pause. “It appears that I am nude as well…I do have blankets.”

You sigh and tentatively climb the ladder, then follow Tech’s voice to a maintenance hatch with another ladder that lets you out onto the ship’s fuselage. He takes your hand and leads you to where he’s laid out a large blanket over the cockpit. You feel awkward even though the warm night air is quite pleasant on your skin.

“What’s this all about?”

Tech helps you down onto the blanket, then points up. “The moons have just set, so we should have quite an excellent view of the Quadrillen meteor shower. I believe you expressed dissatisfaction with your ability to see this from the city.”

You look up and, after a few moments, you watch a meteor blaze across the sky. You hadn’t mentioned that you wanted to watch this to Tech. You and Crosshair had been discussing it. You hadn’t realized Tech was paying attention. You lie next to each other, mostly in silence, watching the light show.

“I must admit, I was skeptical at first, but this is quite a pleasant experience.”

“Skeptical? Why?”

“I have seen many natural phenomena during my travels in space. I did not think that the debris from a comet entering a planet's atmosphere would be particularly visually stimulating in comparison to what I have witnessed. But taken as a whole, this is quite an excellent experience.”

You laugh. “I suppose.” Smiling, you continue to watch as the little streaks fill the night, when suddenly three meteors scorch their way across the sky. You sit up excitedly and point. “That was amazing.” You look down at Tech. He has a slight smile on his face, then he pushes himself up and presses his lips to yours. His arms gather your body to him, one hand stroking in your hair, one at the small of your back. He takes your breath away with his kiss, drawing you down onto him.

This feels insane. Are you really going to fuck on top of the ship under the night sky? Turns out, yes, yes, you are.

You lie on him, enjoying the feel of his hot skin along your body. You kiss for a long time, until you can’t take it anymore, and whisper, “I need you. Please.” He helps you slide onto him, both of you gasping. You whimper; you’re a little sore but the sensation is too sweet. You lean forward, pressed chest to chest, as he pivots his hip to help you fuck him gently.

And when he carefully rolls you both so you can watch over his shoulder as the stars cascade out of the sky, you can’t help but think that this is all a little too ridiculous. He moves above you, long strokes that make your breath catch, and you cry out because sometimes he fits inside you perfectly.

You wrap your legs around him. “Yes, I like that. It feels so good. Just like that, Tech. Mmmm, just like that.”

Stars keep falling as he takes hold of your legs, angling you so his cock can thrust deeper. Your cries sound small as the trees surrounding you consume them.

You move together, one being working toward the same goal. Each stroke sends shivers through you until you feel your body full with warmth as a soft climax overtakes you, not nearly as intense as the one earlier, but somehow more satisfying.

He holds your hands, fingers intertwined, as he watches your face while the orgasm washes over you, drinking in those little noises you make that he so enjoys. He moves carefully as you finish, knowing you must be sore already, wanting you to still find pleasure as he nears his own climax.

And then you start whispering to him, “Come in me, Tech. I need to feel you inside me. I need it. I need you to come for me.” You move under him, insistent, demanding, so he has to surrender to you. He stiffens and gasps, his hot cum emptying in you. You wrap yourself around him as he collapses onto you, finally spent. You watch as the stars continue to fall through the blackness of the sky.

“We shouldn’t fall asleep up here.”

“Yes, that would be unwise.” He gingerly lifts himself off you. You roll and lie on his shoulder, watching the stars fall behind the trees. The air is cooling and you shiver. “Let us go back inside. You can continue watching from the cockpit, if you wish.”

“Tech.” He looks at you, while collecting the blankets. I wanted to spend more time with you, that’s why I lied.

“Thank you for tonight.” This was really special to me. I hope it was to you.

“Yes, this was very enjoyable.” He watches you as you climb down the hatch. I wish to do this again.

* But wait, there’s more:

The rest of the series can be found here.

Warning: It gets kinky