tanobatcher

[tanobatcher]

Im here from TikTok thanks for the food your headcanons are top notch love u xoxo 😘

thank u so much ily more <33

[tanobatcher]

the party

wolffe x fem reader summary: literally just a smoke sesh except it's reader's first time with 🌿 warnings: mature content a/n: this is so poorly written but i'm just self indulging in my husband don't mind me

It’s hard to tell if Wolffe enjoys your company, but he’s never rejected it. Not out loud, at least. He tolerates you enough to invite your stay with his indifference, even if it means hardly sparing a word or a glance in your direction. A slight breeze blows through the silence tonight, tickling your cheeks like a playful feather. The air is heavy and solemn, though, weighed down by words that have yet to be spoken.

“Something on your mind?” You ask him tentatively, glancing over the ledge. It’s the only thing stopping you from plummeting forward into Coruscant traffic—not exactly the best way to meet your fate. The faint noise of 79’s rumbles below, thumping against the soles of your feet as a reminder of the party that precedes this quiet rooftop.

“Not particularly.”

“So…you just came up here to mope around?” You look back at him when the question rolls off your tongue at the same time he exhales a cloud of smoke from the cigarra hanging lazily between his lips.

“I’m not moping,” he scowls before nodding at the ledge, “You’re a little close.”

Your eyes cast downward, back at the city that stretches on for more miles than your vision can handle. It makes you feel small, for there are infinite conversations happening at this very second, but only one of them matters to you. Only one of them is occurring right here, at the top of this building where the war can’t reach.

“I’m just looking at the view,” you reply, “I’m usually all the way down there, so…it’s nice.”

“You can look at it from a distance.”

The edge in his tone tells you that he’s still pretty sober, far from loosened up like he might’ve wanted. Or maybe he’s just always this bossy.

You roll your eyes. “Relax, Wolffe. I’m not gonna roll over and die.”

He doesn’t take this as well as you hoped, for his gaze only hardens like a warning sign against your disobedience.

“It’s fine. See?” You continue, gently shaking the guardrails.

They’re slightly less secure than you thought, but that doesn’t cause the jolt of surprise in your heart. No, the reason is Wolffe as he watches your movements and surges closer. It’s more instinctual than deliberate, like it’s second nature to stop you from making a careless mistake. His concern is unnecessary, though. Irrational, even. Perhaps you were wrong about his current state of sobriety. He’s never been one to worry about something so unlikely.

He maintains a few steps of distance between you, but his hand fists the back of your shirt to pull you toward the distance that satisfies his conscience. He looms right behind you like a shadow, and you swallow hard from how close he is. He’s not touching you anymore, though, retracting any opportunity for contact as quickly as he extended it.

The smoke from every long, languorous breath he takes slowly wraps around your body like the ghost of his arms. There’s a hint of spice in this aroma, but it’s mostly bitter and ashy. It’s also warm. Maybe enough to make this night feel less chilly.

“Are you gonna give me a turn?” You ask, staring up at him.

He steals a glance at you from the side before training his eyes forward, taking another drag. “I don’t think so, cyar.”

“Aw,” you frown, “Just once. Please?”

“You’re drunk.”

“Not even close.”

Inhaling again, he closes his eyes before pulling out the cigarra and exhaling. His gaze is still as razor sharp as always when he looks at you again, probing you for dishonesty. But you’re telling the truth. You could barely focus on the vibrant chaos downstairs, where warm bodies and liquid courage come together in this curated paradise. You just couldn’t enjoy yourself to the fullest. Not when you knew he was up here.

“Please,” you try again, stepping closer to him, “Just once, and I’ll leave you alone.”

He grimaces, peeling his eyes away from you. After what feels like a moment of him battling himself and your stare, he nods toward himself.

“Come here.”

A rush of triumphant exhilaration lights a spark in your chest at the sound of his low and stern voice. You walk toward him, and he moves behind you with one hand grasping your jaw. His touch is firm as he tilts your head against his chest, trailing a sneaky caress near the nape of your neck. Your breath hitches at this, too jarred to notice how his heartbeat has sped up like yours.

“Open,” he nudges the cigarra between your lips and whispers, “Good,” when you obey. His warm breath over your ear crumbles the resolve you once had a few moments ago. There’s a rising wave of heat coursing through your body, threatening to crash at any second now.

“Just once,” he reminds you before instructing, “Don’t inhale too much.”

“Mhm,” you respond, squeezing your eyes shut to focus. Your inexperience betrays you as you go against his command, inhaling way too much for your own good. Choking on the smoke when he pulls the cigarra away, you try to blink away the sting of tears in your eyes. He turns you around quickly, letting you cough into his chest.

“I said not too much,” he snaps.

Despite the bite in his voice, his touch is reassuringly gentle as he rubs slow circles around your back. You cough until you can’t anymore, looking at him and realizing that you’re much closer than before.

“It was an accident,” you defend yourself hoarsely.

He raises his eyebrows, clearly not impressed. You think he’s done entertaining you until his expression relaxes and he says, “Watch.” So you do, staring with wide eyes as he places the cigarra between his lips and inhales slowly—much longer than you’ll be able to handle if given another chance. Your eyes trace his jawline when he turns away and exhales into the night sky like it’s that easy.

“Show off,” you mumble.

He brings the cigarra back to your mouth, ignoring this comment. “Ready?”

You mask your surprise and set the end between your lips like before, this time inhaling much less.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, looking at you closely, “Just like that.”

You barely feel the tingly sensation from the smoke filling your insides when you’re solely, irrevocably focused on his voice. He’s so quiet, yet he’s all you hear in the midst of the honking, cursing, and blaring music everywhere else. But this one sound is all that matters. It’s the only feeling that matters, too. The cigarra leaves your lips and you exhale, forgetting to turn away from him. An apology sits at the tip of your tongue once you realize you’ve blown the smoke into his face, but there’s no trace of his usual irritation when everything clears. He’s…smiling. At you. He almost looks proud.

“Now try it yourself.” He holds the cigarra in front of you.

It’s your turn to raise your eyebrows. “I thought you said ‘just once,’” you remind him as you gingerly take the cigarra between your fingers.

“You said that.”

“Yeah, but you agreed.”

He grasps your chin between his fingers, pressing his thumb into the groove below your bottom lip. “It’s fine if you can’t handle it.”

Instead of answering, you take a light drag, thinking back to what he showed you a few minutes ago. This time, it’s no accident when you exhale in his face. The playful smile he sees as the smoke clears widens his own, so much that he wonders when the last time he felt like this even was. The last time he simply had fun like this, free of the burdens he carries off the battlefields and into his own nightmares.

Sucking in a breath, he takes the cigarra for another hit. You wait for him to release the smoke, no doubt dazed and distracted in the way you’re looking at him. Instead, though, the thumb on your chin pulls down as he parts your lips wider. His touch is hot and burning, spreading red flames across your entire face. You’re trembling slightly, but you don’t pull away. You don’t miss the moment where he hovers his lips over yours and releases the smoke into your mouth, staying close even after this exchange. But he doesn’t close the distance. He pulls back after a stolen breath, seemingly unfazed through that stone-cold demeanor.

The amusement in his eyes is more telling, though. You search his gaze for this dance, and it makes you feel even warmer than the lingering smoke in your body. You’ve gone quiet, simply looking at him like there’s no other view in the entire galaxy. He’s looking at you, too, but the silence is broken when he asks, “Something on your mind?”

You run a leisurely hand down his chest. “I didn’t think you’d be such a bad influence.”

He rolls his eyes, but his expression quickly shifts with severity. “Don’t go looking for this anywhere else.”

“Why would I?” You pause at his waist, wrapping both arms around his middle. Surprise flashes across his face for a split second, but then it’s gone. Still, his heart races against your body as you press your frontside flush against his, bringing your faces mere inches apart again.

“…I can just go to you,” you continue, tilting your head innocently, “I know where to look.”

The slow smirk that he covers with another hit of the cigarra is just as cocky as you know him to be. You rest the side of your face against his chest, feeling butterflies in your stomach when his free arm wraps around your shoulder to pull you closer. He holds you safe and sound, looking up at the stars and finding that the view is just as nice as you said it was.

[tanobatcher]

Hii I was wondering you could do a Rex x reader. The reader would be a female Jedi and Rex and the reader would have a soft relationship but have difficulties through the war. The relationship can be secret or not it’s up to you. I would love if the relationship was a soft loving one. Thank you and there’s really nothing else I would specifically like so you can just freestyle 🥰 !!

midnight kisses

rex x jedi fem reader summary: you meet rex after not seeing him for a while and try to enjoy your limited time with him while the war looms heavily on both of you. warnings: none just some smooches <3

Coruscant has become the best place for you to meet your secret lover off the battlefield. It’s the worst place in every other aspect—the smell, the noise, the people. But all of this is the reason why nobody notices you slipping into a seemingly empty alleyway among the lower levels, away from the constant movement that makes this city so vibrant.

“You’re late.”

Despite the calm smile that spreads across your face at the sound of Rex’s voice, you feel a jump in your stomach as you approach him carefully. He meets you halfway, already pulling you into his arms before you can take a good look at him. It’s been a while since you could see him like this. And still, there’s nothing different about the way he wraps his arms around your figure, burying his face in the crook of your neck with a relieved exhale.

You give him a tight squeeze before pulling back, sliding your hands to his face. He holds your hips close, and you feel the way he lets his touch roam around this part of your body. Only slightly, like he’s just teasing you.

“I’m sorry,” you kiss him once, “I got caught up in a meeting with the Council.”

He dips his head to catch your lips with his, kissing you longer and deeper. Your eyes widen before falling shut at the hunger in this kiss, like he’s been starved of this moment. But he’s also gentle as he holds you, reminding you that there’s nobody else who makes you feel safer than he does.

“I forgive you,” he murmurs before breaking off from the kiss completely.

“Mmm,” you wind your arms around his neck as your lips meet his again, “I wish I had more time to make it up to you.”

“I’ll hold you to it next time,” he touches his forehead to yours and smooths a gentle hand down the side of your face, “Is everything alright?”

You let your arms fall a bit, resting your clasped hands against his chest as you remember why you’re meeting him so last-minute in the first place. Well, besides the fact that you just wanted to see him.

“I need a favor,” you tell him, “I hope it’s not too much trouble.”

“What do you need me to do?”

“The Council won’t approve the relief mission to my home planet. I thought, maybe, you could speak to Anakin…”

Rex leans back, raising his eyebrows a bit. “Of course, but I don’t know how far that’s going to get you. The general’s not on the Council.”

“I know, I know,” you frown, “But I think he’s the only one who can get through to Master Kenobi. Who can then vouch for me. Maybe. I don’t know. I’m getting a little desperate.”

You sigh, suddenly overwhelmed with the stress that’s been on your back recently. To balance your responsibilities as a Jedi, a military leader, a romantic partner, and now you can’t even be there when your people need you the most…it’s become a lot. So much that you want nothing more than to sink into Rex’s arms as he tells you it’s all fine—even if it’s really not. After inhaling a shaky breath, you do. You lean forward and drop your forehead against his chest, already feeling better when his arms immediately come around your trembling form.

“I’m sorry,” you tell him quietly, “I don’t mean to put this all on you when I know you have your own problems.”

He presses his mouth to the top of your head. “Don’t be sorry. I’ll talk to him, but I don’t want to promise anything.”

“Thank you, Rex. Really, I appreciate it.”

“’Course.”

He pauses before pulling back and smiling down at you almost comically. You’re right to recognize that humorous glint in his eyes, since he continues, “Was that really the only reason you called me here today? I feel like you could’ve at least buttered me up a little before asking so shamelessly…”

You smile as the knot in your stomach softens like your expression. “If that was it then I would’ve just sent a transmission.”

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t.”

He cups the back of your head to pull you into yet another ravenous kiss that makes you dizzy. All the worries you carried on the way to this meetup seem to wash away at the sensation of his lips sliding against yours and his hands holding you firmly. You feel like you’re floating and falling all at the same time. But you also know that he’s grounding you to the world, reminding you that you can always turn to him for anything. And truly anything. Because…

“You’re all I have, you know,” you whisper to him, “I can’t be more grateful for you.”

He appears a bit flustered at this, reddening at the tips of his ears and the underside of his cheekbones.

“I love you,” he tells you the same way he always says those three words. Softly, as if he only wants you to hear it, but also incredibly sure of himself. There isn’t any doubt in his voice, nor is there any in his eyes as he looks at you like nothing else exists in this galaxy. Nothing can replace the warm embrace that wraps around your heart whenever he reminds you of this truth. Still, a gnawing guilt nags at the back of your mind when you remember what you’re going against to be with him: the entire way of life you were raised on. But you know he must feel the same. You’re both sacrificing so much just to be in each other’s arms at the midnight hours when nobody else is watching.

“I love you, too.” You trace a circle over his chest, “Sometimes it scares me...how much.”

“Are you…having second thoughts about this?”

You grab his arms and lean back, staring at him in disbelief. “What? No. Of course not.”

“Are you?” You ask when he’s silent, suddenly unreadable.

Rex shakes his head, squeezing your waist reassuringly. “No, never. It’s just…I get it. Everything’s become a lot.”

“If anyone understands that, it’s you,” you sigh before smiling and slipping your hand into his. He looks down, a little startled, before lacing your fingers together tighter.

“Since you came all this way, I’ll treat you to dinner,” you tell him, already tugging him along through the alley, “We have a lot to catch up on.”

“Ah, you know. It’s the same old,” he replies as he follows you.

“I still want to hear about it.”

“I know. I’ll tell you over dinner.”

You beam up at him as a typical Coruscant crowd surrounds the two of you. So many blurry faces cross your path, but none of them matter except for the one by your side. The one smiling back at you. The home you always want to go back to, and always will.

[tanobatcher]

Hi there! I really like your style of writing; can I make a request for some NSFW Echo x F!Reader please? A mercenary!Reader who joins on missions from Cid, she's been trying to drop hints and flirt with Echo but he's being oblivious. Maybe some angst about he never imagined he would have options like that after Skako; maybe some exasperated Hunter having to confront one or both of them because he can't handle another moment of smelling her all horny for his brother who won't get it through his thick skull she wants him

bad decisions

echo x mercenary fem reader summary: you've been wanting a chance with echo for a while now. even though it's not easy getting on the same page, perhaps your new connection with him makes it worth the wait. warnings: suggestive content a/n: me when echo's struggles with intimacy :((

Echo doesn’t particularly like hanging around Cid’s parlor, and you don’t blame him. The gambling, the drinking, the cursing, the fighting. It’s just a collection of the lowest life forms coming together to compensate for their bad decisions. Which is why you fit right in. This all comes easy to you in between jobs that scrape the credits you need to live hand to mouth each day. For the longest time, you’ve been going at it alone. It’s easier that way. No dependents, no attachments, no strings attached. No sharing, either. Just you and the money.

But getting roped up in Cid’s way of ripping off this sad group of clones seems to have changed things. None of them really likes you except for the young girl, who clearly likes everyone. You suppose that the big one is nice to you, too. Still, the basis of your so-called “mutually beneficial relationship” makes it inevitable that they aren’t exactly benefited by your presence. After all, you being here means they get paid less. Not your problem, though.

What has been problematic, recently, is the inability to get one simple conversation out of Echo. That’s all you’re really sticking around for—the credits have been rolling in nicely. If only he weren’t so…him.

“Who shit in his mantell mix?” You ask while popping a kernel from Wrecker’s outstretched hand as Echo abruptly walks out of the parlor, clearly fed up with all the noise. It’s gotten busy in the past half hour, which indicated his cue to leave.

“There’s shit in the mantell mix? Aw, man…”

You roll your eyes and sigh, watching Echo’s figure disappear into the street. He’s probably headed back to the Marauder, sulking over something. Or just sulking.

“You think he’s up for some company?” You rest your chin against your knuckles, still looking at the entrance even though he’s long gone.

Wrecker’s mouth is stuffed with too much mantell mix when he asks, “Uh, who?”

Groaning, you drop your face into the crook of your arm on the table while wondering how you got stuck with the most brainless bunch of idiots in the entire galaxy. But the worst of them all is the one who still hasn’t caught on to your interest. He’s been driving you the most insane, and this frustration has festered beyond a simple emotion. It’s a burning desire, one that can’t ease just from pressing your thighs together whenever he’s around. And even when he’s not, because you’re still thinking about him.

“For fucks sake,” comes a new, rougher voice that jolts you in surprise, “You’re really driving me up the wall here.”

You look up, unsurprised that it’s Hunter brooding in the corner with an irritated glare in his eyes. Maybe he’s not as unaware as the rest of them. The taut pull in your stomach calms, replaced by a bored indifference at the sight of his proximity.

“Yeah, Hunter, I’m not in the mood,” you tell him exasperatedly.

He raises his eyebrows at this, and you’re unsure if he’s insinuating something under those eyes. Turning away from him, you go back to looking at the parlor’s entrance that keeps swelling with newcomers looking for a crazy night. But none of them are Echo returning after he realizes that maybe the Marauder is too quiet right now. No, he likes the quiet. He likes it a lot.

“What?” You snap at Hunter, “If you have something to say, just say it.”

Hunter runs a slow hand down his face, grimacing with impatience. You don’t understand what his problem is, nor do you care. You’re about to get up and find somewhere else to sit when he says, “Echo, huh?”

“What?”

Hunter’s lips twitch at the side before he replies, “You’re not gonna get anywhere with that one. Trust me.”

Defensiveness seizes your throat like claws as you push out of your chair, standing abruptly despite some people looking over at you to see what the commotion is all about. You hadn’t meant to draw attention like this, but the galaxy is nosy wherever you end up. Your face is warm when you retort, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“No, I think you do.”

“Fine. Your point?” You mutter through gritted teeth.

“Just take your shit outside. I can’t stand another second of this.”

“Oh, you just have to make everything about you. Good thing I was just leaving.”

And you do, stalking out of the parlor similarly to Echo a few minutes ago. The streets of Ord Mantell try to swallow you whole, but you know the way to the Marauder through the winding roads and bustling crowds. Once you reach the ship, everything seems to quiet. The chaos of the world sinks into the background, except for your racing heart as you step inside. Echo is nowhere to be found at first, an observation that makes you sigh with dejection.

The further you walk into the ship, though, the louder you hear some distant clicking toward the cockpit. And to your suspicions, your heart skips a beat when you catch sight of Echo hunched over in the copilot’s seat. Only, he looks different—in a way you’ve never seen before. He’s out of his armor, wearing nothing but a tight black jumpsuit that does wonders for his straining back muscles. You’re not sure how long you’ve been standing there, gawking, but reality wraps its fingers around your ankles to bring you back to the ground. Echo must’ve realized you were there, because he looks over his shoulder with a narrow gaze that slightly softens when he realizes it’s you.

“Can I help you?” His deep, slow voice sends shivers down your spine. It’s like he doesn’t even have to try.

Your eyes flick toward the screwdriver in his left hand as he rests it on his thigh and waits for your response. Are his eyes always that big and brown? You also notice that he’s missing his headpiece, giving his ears their rare appearance.

“No, I…I just wanted to get away from the parlor for a bit. I think Cid spiked her own punch.”

Echo’s gaze follows you as you collapse into the pilot’s seat beside him. He’s uncomfortably unreadable at the moment, so you avert your eyes from him and continue, “I hope you weren’t expecting privacy.”

He makes a low “ha” sound under his breath, the closest thing you’ve ever heard to a laugh from him.

“I told you not to drink anything,” he reminds you.

Your face suddenly feels hot again. “Maybe next time I’ll take your word for it.”

“Maybe, huh?”

“Fine. I will.”

Echo peers at you closely before leaning over again, bringing his screwdriver back to his prosthetic calves. You don’t miss the way he also turns away from you a bit, spinning the seat just enough to block you from fully seeing what he’s up to. But he doesn’t ask you to leave. You take that as a sign that this conversation isn’t a lost cause yet.

Except, it kind of is. A disappointing silence consumes the Marauder, only occasionally disturbed by the sound of Echo’s mechanical legs tightening with quiet squeaks. Eventually, you hear a tired grunt, and Echo leans back in his seat with his eyes closed.

“I think I’ve forgotten what it’s like to not have to do this every other day,” he sighs.

You glance over his figure slowly before getting up to crouch before him.

“Every other day sounds like overkill,” you tell him while taking the screwdriver from his hand. His eyes fly open in surprise, widening even more when he realizes you’re on your knees in front of him. But you don’t meet his gaze until after you’ve inspected his legs, smiling much too calmly for his liking.

“It’s not consistent maintenance,” he mumbles, unsure where to look.

You lean forward and rest your arms against his knees, shifting further between his legs—closer to him. He swallows a hard, nervous lump in his throat, and you follow this movement with your own hungry gaze. That only seems to intimidate him more, though.

“I know a guy who could replace these for you. The material is kind of…cheap. No offense.”

Echo wrinkles his nose at this. “Cheap?”

“I mean,” you wince, worried that you offended him already, “You could use an upgrade. I’m sure it’s been a while.”

He casts his eyes downward—is that…shame? You don’t know the story behind the differences in his body from his brothers, but you also never saw that as your question to ask. Based on the look on his face, perhaps you were right. You lean back a bit, thinking you’ve completely overstepped the line, until he admits, “These were…given to me. To put it lightly. I didn’t really have a choice. And I definitely couldn’t have asked for...an upgrade.”

You shrug, taking it upon yourself to twist the screws back into place. “Like I said, I know a guy. I can pay him not to ask questions, too.”

“Uh, nah. I’d rather not add to the list of debt we allegedly owe Cid.”

“This isn’t about Cid. It’s just me.”

“Yeah, but…you’re not all that different from her.”

This halts your movements completely as you look up at him, not meaning to show the flash of hurt across your expression. But he notices it. Only, he meant what he said. He’s never been the type to double down on his beliefs. Most of the time, that’s admirable. Right now, though, it just stings.

“You hardly know me,” you retort coldly, feeling your walls creep up.

“You’re a mercenary. I think I’ve met enough to know what you’re all about.”

Mercenary. He says the word like it’s poisonous, like it disgusts him. Maybe it does disgust him. Maybe you disgust him. None of those options provide you with good feelings.

Still, you have to hold your ground. “Well, you're about a paycheck anyway from joining the club.”

He scowls, looking over your head. “That's what it is. The money.”

“Yup,” you emphasize the “P” sound with a shameless pop.

“How can you be so shallow?”

You laugh cynically, shaking your head at his naivety. “You can’t fight it. Money’s everything in this galaxy.”

“You sound like Cid.”

“Funny. Really funny, since I was actually considering speaking to her about increasing your share. Good thing you just pissed me off.”

Scoffing, he says, “Don’t bother. We’re not sticking around anyway.”

Your stomach lurches at this, but you hear yourself replying, “Lucky me.”

He nods, glancing down at where you’re working on his legs. “I can handle this. I hope you’re not planning to charge me for—”

You sigh loudly and exasperatedly, cutting his sentence off. “You know, Echo, I was really hoping you weren’t as stupid as I was beginning to think you were.”

“I—excuse me?”

You set the screwdriver down and clasp your hands together, resting your chin against them as your elbows use his knees for surface. Your smile is sweet, so unlike the way he wants to see you.

“Nothing. Look, I just don’t think you really hate me.”

“I, uh…”

“Should we test that theory?” You continue, leaning up to bring your faces closer.

He notices how close your mouths are and turns to the side a bit, swallowing hard.

“Did one of my brothers put you up to this?” He asks with growing embarrassment in his eyes.

Your expression flattens at this question, which sounds absolutely ridiculous when you think about how badly you've been dying to get him alone. If anything, it’s his brothers who have proved as nuisances to your desire. There’s no way he has it backwards. Except…he does. He can’t even look at you right now.

“You’re not serious,” you breathe, “Is it that hard to believe that I’m here because I’m just trying to get a conversation out of you?”

His eyes flick up and down your kneeling figure. “Is this how you converse with everyone?”

You furrow your eyebrows before laughing, covering your face with a lazy hand. “Just you, Echo.”

He smiles at your smile, but this quickly fades as soon as it appears. “You’re right. It is hard to believe.”

“I mean…” he continues, “Look at me.”

You rise from the floor, now standing over him as you do what he says.

“I’m looking,” you tell him, “And I don’t see a problem.”

He meets your eyes, trying to discern if you’re telling the truth. You move closer to him until you’re sinking into his lap, grabbing his broad shoulders for stability. His expression twists with surprise, but his left hand finds your waist. Instead of pulling you closer, though, he holds you firmly so that there’s still some distance between your torsos. This reminds you of how strong he is, for the pressure of his long fingers is almost bruising. The idea of him marking you up is quite inviting. You feel his stubble as you caress his jawline, wanting to kiss along this sharp ridge. But you’re not about to push your luck.

“Have you always been this handsome?” You ask him.

He chuckles drily. “It’s a long story.”

You drag your hands down his chest, pressing down against this hard surface. “I almost want to ask.”

He purses his lips like he’s considering the notion. “I don’t know. But…”

The sharp inhale he releases sounds uncharacteristically carnal for someone so self-controlled. And then the words that follow, too.

“…That feels really good.”

His head is tipped back, baring his throat like another temptation testing your patience. You fail this one, though, for you can’t stop yourself from leaning closer and pressing your lips against the nape of his neck. He tightens his hand around your waist right when you ask, “What…this?”

As the words leave your mouth, you kiss along his neck while running your hand down his chest to his stomach, stopping at the beginning of his lower half. He breathes hard and heavy, slipping his fingers under the hem of your shirt without even thinking. All he can think about is how much softer your skin is compared to his. How different you two truly are. Those thoughts crumble into the background of his mind when you whimper at his touch, a soft “mmm” sound that ignites something inside of him. Something he thought he wasn’t capable of feeling anymore. And it scares him.

He suddenly stands, lifting you against him with his left arm. Your legs tighten around his middle as you hope he doesn’t put you down—put an end to all of this, really.

But to your dismay, he says, “I don’t know about this.” His mouth is so close to yours that you can almost taste his rejection.

“Oh. Is it me?” You can’t help but ask. You don’t recognize your own voice, suddenly feeling smaller than ever.

He shakes his head. “It’s not you. I just don’t think I’m ready for…what you have in mind.”

You raise your eyebrows, unable to fight the amused tugging at the side of your lips. “So, you finally get it.”

He smirks, but there’s a sheepish look in his eyes when he sets you on the floor carefully. Your hands are still splayed against his chest as you stand in front of him, and he wraps his left hand around yours reassuringly. After wondering for so long if he would even look at you with anything but resentment or indifference, your heart warms and flutters like you’re a teenage girl again. This isn’t anything like the instantaneous, transactional relationships you’re used to in the business. People come and go, including you. Maybe this can be different. Maybe it is different. You'll know if you wait for him. All in good time, of course.

“Well, I’ll be here,” you tell him, smoothing your palm over his racing heartbeat, “You know. If you ever want to make a bad decision with me.”

He kisses your forehead softly, surprising the both of you.

“I’ll take your word for it.”

[tanobatcher]

running back to you

hunter x gn reader summary: you and hunter ended your relationship a while ago, but he doesn’t hesitate to show up when you call in a favor. despite the time that's passed, not a lot seems to have changed under the surface. warnings: a lil post breakup angst bc i love self sabotage

There’s only one person in this galaxy who hasn’t let you down yet. It’s been a long, cruel year since you last spoke to him, but your voice replays in his mind every day. He hears it in between battle cries and blaster fire, always preparing himself for the last whisper before it all might go to sleep. It hasn’t been easy for you to forget about your history with him, either. It only drowns out with your line of work.

But sometimes, the tide pulls you back in. And suddenly, you’re looking right at the person you never thought you’d see again. He’s not looking at you in return, not right now at least. His eyes are trained forward, colored in flashes of blue as the silence of hyperspace fills the unspoken conversations you somehow still hear in the back of your mind.

“Are you done?”

His rough voice glides across your skin, startling you out of your thoughts. You blink, finding that he’s turned his head toward you with a solemn look in his eyes. Feeling warm all of a sudden, you avert your gaze and reply, “With…?”

“Staring.”

You frown, irritated he’s even making conversation at this point in the night.

“Just taking a look at you,” you face forward and scoff, “Your tattoo is still ridiculous.”

The sound he makes under his breath might’ve been as close to a chuckle as you’ll get. “You like it.”

You make a face at him, trying to sound convincing when you say, “You wish.”

“Maybe.”

The word is soft, almost as gentle as his first confession. It pulls the exact reaction he was waiting for, falling straight into his hands like he wanted. Now he’s staring right at you, daring you to respond with something other than the hitch in your breath. Your chest feels tight, aching with a truth you can't acknowledge ever again.

“Why are you here, Hunter?” You question with an edge of desperation.

He leans back in his seat, fidgeting with the knife he always swings around like a toy. “You’re the one who called me.”

“I didn’t think you’d answer.”

“What would you have done if I didn’t?”

You pause at his slightly demanding tone, seeing a shadowed intensity in his gaze that warns you to choose your response carefully. The slow slide of his knife returning back to its sheath sends shivers down your spine, for your whole body is hyperaware of his every move. You know he feels the same—feels it more, even.

“Found someone else to do the job,” you answer like it’s obvious, “And then finish the job, because it wouldn’t have made a difference.”

He tilts his head, trying to catch your eye. “Uh-huh.”

You sigh and fold your arms into your chest. “Like I said, I didn’t think you’d answer.”

“Sounds like you weren’t thinking at all.”

You don’t say anything, knowing he’s right despite the flare of annoyance that warms your face. Asking him for help after a stretch of no contact and a promise you’ll never think about him ever again is just about the last thing you expected yourself to do. But you did, and now you’re back in the Marauder like old times. Still, this turn of events isn’t just your doing. He didn’t have to answer. He didn’t have to drop everything at the sound of your voice, only to barely look at you until now.

“It won’t happen again,” you tell him quietly.

He nods, but you can tell he doesn’t believe you. Maybe he doesn’t want to. Gesturing to the back, he says, “Get some rest. I’ll wake you up when we’re there.”

If this is his way of putting some space between you two, you take it. Without another word, you get up from your seat to unfold one of the bunks and lay on your side with the cockpit in your direct view. You watch him run a slow hand through his hair before letting out an exhausted sigh, and it’s too much to bear. Right when you turn around to face the wall, he looks back at you. His eyes linger on your figure, noticing how small you’re trying to make yourself to avoid taking up too much space. Or to simply disappear from this moment. But it’s too much to bear. His heart thrums louder and harder, rattling against the chains that weigh him down with regret. If times were simpler, he’d be right there next to you with his arms holding you close and strong. You’d fall asleep against his chest, and his lips would find the crown of your head in the haze of your fatigue. A whisper of his affection, perhaps, and then nothing. Just peace and quiet for the brief moments you remember stealing with so much greed.

So now, it’s no wonder you’re wide awake. And you stay like this until the ship lurches out of hyperspace, nearly bringing you back to where you started. You can’t even call it your home when it doesn’t feel like it. Not when a piece of you is always being carried around by someone else.

Hunter doesn’t approach the bunk until the Marauder is fully landed, but even then he’s not sure how to break the silence. You feel his close presence hovering over you, trying not to move a muscle despite both of you knowing you’re not asleep. The side of your face is pressed into the mattress, and you wonder if you pretend hard enough that this moment is frozen in time, then everything will feel okay. His familiar scent surrounds you like the embrace you’re missing, but there’s something cold about the air inside this ship. Something empty.

“I’m awake,” you eventually say as you slowly sit up, “You’re creeping me out.”

His expression is unreadable as he crouches low to the ground and helps you slip your feet back into your boots, quickly doing up the laces. Your head suddenly feels light and airy, but the pit in your stomach is a heavy reminder that he shouldn’t be doing this. You don’t tell him that, though, afraid he might stop. His hands rest around your calves when he’s done, and you could swear there’s an absentminded caress in the way his thumbs move back and forth. Slowly, but surely.

“I have to go,” he tells you, “Can you be on your way from here?”

Your stomach drops further. “What about the payment? I told you I’d give you half—”

“Keep it.”

You gnaw on the inside of your cheek in frustration, unsurprised that he’s still as selfless as ever. All he ever lets you do is just take and take from him while never expecting anything in return—refusing it, even. And you hate it. You hate it because it’s exactly what you loved him for. You’ll always believe he deserves better because of that.

“We made a deal,” you whisper. It’s obviously no use, though.

“Deals change,” he squeezes your calves gently and stands up, clearly not planning to change his mind.

You grab his hand, which seems to startle him as he glances down at this abrupt contact. Before he can pull away, you say, “I owe you one, then.”

His expression of surprise relaxes into a halfhearted smirk. “Alright. I’ll remember that.”

You drop his hand as your heart skips a beat, recognizing that damn smile. But this sudden wave of nervous butterflies doesn’t stop you from standing and cupping the side of his face. Your thumb brushes over some faint lines, resting against the dark ink curved along his cheekbone. He feels a little more gaunt than the last time you saw him. It hurts to think about what he’s been through in your absence. It hurts to think about him at all.

“Maybe I do like it,” you murmur.

Recalling what you said about his tattoo just earlier, he leans into your touch. “’Course you do.”

The look in his eyes is almost enough for you to convince yourself that he’s still yours. You inhale a sharp breath, feeling as if everything you want to say to him is now bubbling up from the deepest, darkest parts of your insides. It climbs higher, squeezing out any remaining air in your lungs until the tip of your tongue tastes as bitter as your last goodbye.

Your voice is barely a whisper. “Hunter, I…”

I miss you.

I want you.

I love you.

I’m sorry.

But nothing comes.

“You’ll call me,” he replies just as quietly, “If you need anything. Yeah?”

You swallow the lump in your throat, unsure why your eyes are suddenly wet and heavy. His posture softens like he’s relieved when you nod. He takes a step back before he decides to cross any more lines, remembering you have separate lives to return to now. You don’t look back at him as you walk off the Marauder, but once you’re far enough, you glance up at the cockpit where he’s watching you leave. Your body stills as your gazes lock, and he gestures his chin forward a bit. He’s telling you to keep going, but every step further away from him feels heavier than the one before. You don't know if either of you will keep your promises. You just know there’s only one person in this galaxy who’ll come running back to you at the sound of your voice. Because he's never, ever let you down.

[tanobatcher]

hello! your recent tech fic soothed something deep in my soul!! You nailed his words perfectly abd he was so comforting yet stayed himself. Could I please request something with tech where maybe the reader was captured and they are getting her back and he is really stressed until they succeed and then he is soft with helping her heal? Or really any tech fluff you might be interested in? Thank you so much! 💝

the eye of the storm

tech x fem reader summary: tech breaks off from his squad to rescue you from captivity. now, you're injured and stranded without a ship. warnings: none a/n: i'm so super sorry for the mega delay on this eeekkk :( i had to go on a little hiatus but i'm reopening my fic requests! if ur interested, pls check out my slightly updated guidelines before submitting something <3 also, apologies if this feels off from prompt i'm lowk still trying to get inspiration back :)

“I hope you have a plan.”

Tech pauses at your remark, turning his head to the side. “What makes you think that I don’t?”

“Just…” you try to glance around, but your head spins at any sort of movement, “…the fact that we’ve been walking for over an hour now.”

He resumes his steady pace, holding the back of your thighs as you rest your face against the upper plane of his shoulders. You feel the vibrations of his words when he replies, “That would be incorrect. Only one of us has been walking.”

“Well, only one of us has a functioning right leg,” you retort in defense.

“I was not complaining.”

“Sure, you weren’t.”

“I do have a plan,” he reiterates from before, “And the first part of it is to find shelter.”

Your stomach seems to rumble on cue with a distant thunder overhead. “Funny. I was thinking the same exact thing.”

“Of course you were,” he says with a skeptical edge in his tone.

You’re quiet for the rest of the way, unable to bother him even if you tried. Your eyelids are almost pulled shut when Tech finally lowers you to the ground, having found a place that satisfies his definition of a “shelter.” Your vision is blurry and dark as you try to catch some glimpses of where you are. There’s a roof and four walls, perhaps the only functioning set for miles, and it looks largely abandoned. Dust flickers everywhere, disappearing with the last of the light outside. You’re in so much pain that you don’t even notice when Tech brings some water to your lips, carefully gripping your chin with his nimble fingers. It hurts to swallow, which he notices. His thumb wipes away some stray drops near the corner of your mouth, lingering even when you meet his eyes.

“Not a bad place to stop,” you tell him weakly, “Definitely not the kind of place with a rotting corpse in the closet.”

He straightens your legs out, slowing down when your expression twists into a brief wince. “Would you prefer waiting outside? I highly doubt you’d like to know the probability of getting struck by lightning on this planet.”

You listen to the escalating pattern of rain falling against this worn down structure. Pretending to consider his alternative, you decide, “Mmm…I think I’ll take my chances in here.”

When he doesn’t say anything, you look at him and see that his focus is back to your mangled leg. The bloody, twisted sight is nauseating, so you turn your face away and ask, “How bad is it?”

“Not…good.”

“You’re not gonna cut it off, are you?”

“That won’t be necessary.”

Your eyes squeeze shut as he begins peeling away the fabric around your shin, so meticulous and precise that this all feels like it’s going on for much longer than it actually is. You try to breathe normally, but he’s already picked up on the state of your ribs from your struggled sounds. He checks on this after he’s done bandaging your leg to the best of his ability, shifting closer with a conflicted look on his face.

“I…” he swallows and avoids your heavy-lidded stare, “I need to remove your clothes.”

You nod, sitting up from the wall so he can take off the thin, frayed layers from your upper body. He appears uncharacteristically unsure, like he’s still searching for an answer—a way to make this less awkward. There’s a new type of fear in his eyes as you watch him closely. It’s not the kind you see during compromised missions, for those are still situations in which he can retain his composure. You suck in a breath as he touches your bare skin, assessing the damage for himself. The noticeable tremble in his hands makes you wonder what to say to him in this moment. You’re grateful for how dark it is in here. But anything he can’t see, he can definitely feel.

After what seems like an eternity, you break the silence with an attempt to sound humorous. “I didn’t think this was how I’d get you to undress me.”

He pushes his goggles up the bridge of his nose before lowering his head a bit more to hide the red flush in his cheeks. “I wouldn’t classify this as undressing. You’re barely exposed.”

“Barely?” You scoff and lift up your bloodstained shirt with a lazy hand, “Sounds like this isn’t your first time.”

“Yes, well, broken ribs are not uncommon for our lifestyle.”

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

He peers up at you with a look so serious you think he’s going to respond. Instead, he changes the subject.

“You’re bleeding internally. I would minimize the conversation if I were you.”

You exhale and drop your head back, unable to fight the tired smile that curves your lips. “Whatever you say, Doc.”

Instead of lecturing you further like you thought he would, he stays quiet and treats the wounds across your torso. The storm outside is only passing through, but it’s currently showing no signs of slowing down any time soon. If it wasn’t this difficult to remain conscious, you might have been overwhelmed by the occasional strikes of lightning and heavy downpour. The closest thing you can hear loud and clear is his voice when he moves beside you, also leaning against this rattling wall. His gloves and armor are stained with your blood, a darkening shade that makes you feel sick.

“I’ve done what I can,” he tells you with a displeased frown, “You’ll need proper medical attention once we leave this place.”

“You shouldn’t have come back for me,” you whisper, “I’m dead weight.”

He shakes his head and reaches over you to grab your shirt. As he carefully helps you back into it, he says, “We don’t leave our own behind.” You can’t see him very well as he tells you this, separated by the fabric that hides his solemn expression.

“The others didn’t seem to have a problem with it,” you murmur under your breath once you’re settled back into your clothes.

“We were hardly in a position to go after you. At least…not at the moment.”

“I know,” you nod. You glance down at your leg before meeting his eyes again. “But you’re here.”

“We would have found a way regardless,” he tells you firmly.

You nod again, closing your eyes. “I know. I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry.”

He opens his mouth to respond, faltering when he sees a few teardrops trickling down your face. Your voice breaks when you suddenly whimper, “Tech?”

His posture straightens. “Yes?”

“I’m not going to die here, I am?”

“No,” he answers immediately, “The storm will pass in about ten minutes. I can get a signal to the Marauder in less than two. It won’t be long until they’re here, and I expect that they’re already on their way.”

“So…” you drop your head to his shoulder, “How long is that in total?”

He considers giving you a number, but just thinking about it frightens him more than he would like to admit. There are hardly any circumstances in which he would rather be wrong, this one being his greatest exception. All of the variables that make this situation a nightmare for both of you keep spiraling around his head. No matter how many times he goes through them, he can’t help but conclude that your chances are more than slim tonight.

But you trust him more than anything and anyone. You feel his resolve to keep you safe as he laces your fingers together, and then you hear it in his voice when he answers, “Not very long.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I am.”

You take a quiet breath, feeling his pulse as your wrists touch together from your joined hands. “I was scared I’d never see you again,” you admit, finding it difficult to staunch your conversation despite his warning.

“I’ve never been so afraid,” you continue when he doesn’t say anything, “But mainly because I realized there were things I never got to tell you.”

“Like…what?” He asks, confused.

“Like…” you squeeze his hand, “How much you mean to me.”

It’s silent for a moment, so you think you’ve expended his patience until you hear, “Is there a reason why you can’t tell me now?”

You try to push his shoulder with your own, finding that even a playful gesture like this sends pain all over. “Is there a reason I should? Besides the fact that we might get struck by lightning before the others get here.”

“I suppose not,” his thumb caresses your bruised knuckles, “But I would like to know anyway.”

Your lips are curved into a soft smile as you lift your head to brush a kiss against his jawline. His skin is warm, still flushed like his nerves have yet to calm down. He doesn’t move an inch other than the widening of his eyes, which you notice when you pull back to look at him. The sight reminds you exactly why you like him so much, why he makes you laugh the way you do. Only around him, though. He’s capable of bringing out a different side of you—the side that you love being. And out of all the faces who appeared first when you needed someone the most, you saw his first. It’s the one you see now in this dark room, surrounded by an even darker storm.

But here, in the center of it all, it’s calm. It’s patient. It’s safe. It’s not so bad when you’re not alone.

[tanobatcher]

holy moly

late night training sessions gets pretty hot apparently, made this for my friend

[tanobatcher]

can he bite me

Hope nobody did this with Plo Koon and Commander Wolffe before!

Tumblr messing up the picture's quality again

The template by @mellon-soup under the cut!

[tanobatcher]

CRIED 🥲🥲🩷🩷

I genuinely think about the way his face instantly softens for her in this scene every single day

[tanobatcher]

clutched my heart for this one 🥺

I’m just over here dying over Wolffe stuttering to master Plo trying to get out of having to listen to Threepio’s story. It’s too adorable 🥺🤍

[tanobatcher]

hello 😊 I love your fics so freaking much!! could I make a wolffe request please? Do you know the scene in the bad batch where rex and wolffe meet up unexpectedly? I was thinking maybe something where the reader is with rex and wolffe thought she was dead but she’s alive and its angsty then fluffy and they get back together 🩷 or anything you want! Ilysm thank you!!

rainfall

wolffe x fem reader summary: you and wolffe unexpectedly cross paths as the empire continues to pull you two apart. warnings: none a/n: HEHE TYSM u are too kind <33 unfortunately i rmb that scene all too well sigh my baby looks so tired :(

Rex didn’t tell you much about his encounter with Wolffe—and the Empire—the night your only base burned down. Perhaps he was afraid you’d go looking for him, only to reach a dead end. Or worse. Whatever the reason for this withheld information may be, it doesn’t stop you from thinking about him every day. That much hasn’t changed since the war ended.

“Try not to fall behind,” the captain advises from up ahead.

His voice is quiet enough not to draw any attention, which is difficult these days. Even the briefest glance can escalate into a permanent warning that convinces everyone to simply pass through instead of causing trouble. But trouble seems to have found you in this new line of work. It’s not so bad with friends.

“I’m right behind you,” you reply, barely dodging a passerby about to shoulder you into someone else. Coruscant crowds are always a different kind of traffic. There’s an additional rush to this one as a drizzle dances along the pavement, easing the city into a louder storm that’s soon to come. You blink away the raindrop that slips from the hood of your poncho and catches across your eyelashes, letting it trace a superficial tear down your face. It’s cold against your skin, but a worse chill runs down your spine when you notice a few troopers in the distance through the sea of bodies trying to get by.

Falling into step with Rex, you ask, “Do you think he’s here?”

He lifts his head, staring in the same direction as you. “Let’s not wait around long enough to find out.”

You don’t believe the attempted indifference in his tone, looking at him from the side as a numb acceptance tugs at your hope to see Wolffe…and get through to him. “He needs our help just as much as the others.”

For a moment, all you can hear is the surrounding rainfall pattering against any nearby surface. You think he’s not going to respond until he says, “I know.” The words sound guilty to your understanding, so you believe they taste bitter in his mouth. They’re conclusive enough to silence you, drawing your attention back to the mission at hand. You eventually break off from him, keeping your orders at the front of your thoughts as an abrupt downpour consumes the streets. They’re nearly empty now, with only a few patrols here and there. You see it all from this desolate rooftop, reminding yourself that the vaguely familiar voices don’t belong to the ones you know. But the exchange of comms is as simple as any nostalgic remnant of your past.

Suddenly, a much closer static noise raises goosebumps across the back of your neck. Shifting away from the ledge, your hand strays near the blaster resting against your thigh. “Try not to kill anyone today,” Rex had requested earlier, “This is supposed to be fast and quiet.”

Luckily for him, you don’t get the chance to take the shot in the foggy darkness. A figure emerges through the rain, also pointing his blaster at you, but it isn’t this lethal threat that freezes you like carbonite. It’s the grainy voice under his helmet that demands to know what you’re doing up here. You know that voice. You also know the faded markings all over his armor. And when you step into the light with your hands in the air to indicate surrender, he realizes he knows you, too.

“Wolffe!” you quickly push your hood off your head, not caring when the rain immediately tries to make you regret this, “Stop. It’s me.”

You can barely see him as the frigid water streams down your face, but you just make out the moment he lowers his blaster. It doesn’t immediately return to his holster, though, simply remaining at his side in his slightly trembling hand.

“You…remember, right?” You ask with hesitation, “You remember me?”

His blaster clatters to the floor, creating a sound so uncontrolled and defeated that you’re surprised. Your eyes cast downward at the abandoned weapon before finding him again, wishing he’d show you his face. Only then will you allow yourself to believe this isn’t a dream.

“Say something,” your voice nearly breaks, “Why aren’t you saying anything?”

You taste salt against your lips as it mixes with the rain, and you know you’re crying. It’s the one thing you told yourself you wouldn’t do for him anymore—not after being told to forget about him—but you’re tired of pretending this isn’t killing you slowly. Excruciatingly. You stand in front him, helpless in the same way he thinks of himself. You would give up on yourself long before even considering doing the same to him, though. If there’s anything he should know about you, it’s that.

“I’ve been trying to find you. Ever since Rex—”

He tenses and cuts you off. “You’ve spoken to Rex?”

You drop your arms down to your sides, shivering as you reply, “Does that surprise you?”

A wordless stare bridges the distance between your bodies, decreasing with every slow step he takes toward you. If it weren’t for the striking cold, you’d already be meeting him halfway and throwing your arms around his neck to make this moment feel real. Instead, you’re as still as a fawn who can’t anticipate the threat in front of her.

Wolffe reaches for you first, carefully pulling your hood over your head before cupping your face. He’s almost fearful as he cradles you like this, hardly applying any pressure in case you might evaporate right then and there. And he just looks at you for a moment, tilting your face up to the light so he can see you more clearly through all of these barriers. Your hands quickly find his forearms, holding him with more of a taut desperation.

“What?” You whisper, unable to bear any more silence from him.

“Just…making sure you’re not a ghost,” he murmurs.

You shake your head with as much room as he’s giving you in his hold. “I’m here.”

“You shouldn’t be.”

“Come with me, then.”

Your suggestion is so unburdened, so certain that he leans back in retaliation. You feel his urge to run away, but you’re not losing him here. Not ever again.

“If Rex told you anything,” he says bitterly, “Then you already know my answer.”

You brush your hand against his helmet. “It doesn’t matter what he told me.”

“You came here with him. Didn’t you?”

“I—” you hesitate, and the moment is lost. He pulls away, retreating from your touch as he presses a finger to the side of his helmet. You can’t hear what’s being relayed to his comm, but you take him by the hand when his head turns toward you. It’s like a plea for mercy, one that you’re confident he’ll answer because you trust him with more than your life.

“No,” he says to whoever seems to be in his ear at the moment, “It was nothing. And while you’re still here, you can tell your supervisor that he’s one false report away from demotion.”

You wait a few breaths to ensure he’s off the comms before questioning, “Are you really in a position to be handing out threats like that?”

“You can’t be asking about any position I’m in when you decide to show up and cause more problems for me.”

You flinch. “You don’t mean that.”

He squeezes your hand ever so slightly, and it’s hard to tell if he’s trying to reassure you or intimidate you. “I do.”

“I don’t believe that,” you continue, “Just like I don’t believe you really think this is right for you.”

“As opposed to what? You?”

His voice is low but resentful, like he’s trying to sound mean when he’s far from it. He seems to think that if he hurts you just enough, you’ll find the courage to walk away before he does. Your brief stretch of composure betrays you when his words sink into your skin like teeth, craving more than your flesh and blood. This hunger reaches your bones. You look down with a knot in your throat, refusing to meet his eyes.

“Don’t do this,” you plead, “I’m not angry at you. I’m not here to judge you for anything.”

“I know.”

“Do you know what I dream about? Every night?” You continue shakily, “I dream about you. Seeing you again, in all the different circumstances I can imagine. But this is the real thing, and you’d rather push me away? Have you forgotten how much I lo—”

“I know,” he snaps, and immediate regret seizes his figure as he moves backward like he can’t be around you right now. You press your tongue to the roof of your mouth, inhaling deeply despite the tightness in your lungs. Quivering in silence, you take a step forward. And then another, until his arms come around you like a shield from the rain. If he won’t hear it, you make him feel it, running your hands across the stiff surface of his armor to embrace him in return. You’re so close to him that you can hear how hard it is for him to breathe, too. But this is all so easy for a sliver of time, enough for this frigid night to feel as warm as a summer’s day.

“You’re cold. You’ll get sick if you stay out here.”

“I’m not leaving without you,” you speak into his chest.

“You have to. It’s not up for debate.”

You frown and place your hands on either side of his helmet. “I can’t live with knowing you were right here, with me…and I just let that go. Can you?”

“Of course I can’t,” he whispers.

His tone is soft, and it unravels something inside of you as you imagine his expression underneath this mask. It’s exactly the one you see when you pull it off, not expecting him to allow you. The rain doesn’t even phase him. There isn’t so much as a twitch to his eyebrows when the water coming down much stronger now soaks his hair before running down his face. You’re slow to lower his helmet to your side, too focused on looking at him for the first time in a long time. You try to look for anything that’s changed—anything that might indicate he’s not the Wolffe you know. Your Wolffe. Then you realize everything in the galaxy could change, and it has, and he’s still your favorite person through it all.

“But…” he breaks the silence, wincing slightly, “Just knowing you’re alive…it’s enough.”

“Not for me,” you shake your head.

He studies your expression before sighing, bringing his hands back to your face. His lips find the crown of your head, and he kisses you there. You feel how gentle he’s trying to be until he pulls back, suddenly looking at you with a graver intensity.

“Rex didn’t mention you’ve been traveling together.”

You nearly laugh at the edge in his tone, finding it unserious despite the circumstances. “Must’ve slipped his mind when you were chasing him across the planet.”

He still appears displeased. “And he’s been keeping you safe?”

“They take good care of me,” you reassure him.

Dropping his shoulders in apparent relief, he nods even though a heavy sorrow darkens his stare. You feel as though he’s trying to apologize for not being there, but to that you only shake your head. The look you give him in return is easy for him to read, asking him for one last reconsideration. One last chance for him to make things right, to be taken care of the way he deserves.

“Come home with me, Wolffe,” you say one last time.

“Where’s that?” He rasps.

You press your mouth to his, kissing him softly as you taste the cold water clinging to his skin. Your wet faces slide together when he kisses you back with more desperation, long and lingering like he can never get enough air. It’s almost as if he never wants to stop.

“Wherever we want,” you gasp between kisses, “But it’s not here.”

He rests his forehead against yours with a sharp intake of breath. Rainwater runs off his eyelashes and down his cheeks, so disastrously beautiful that your heart hurts all over again. And yet, all you can do is smile. It catches him off guard, confuses him even.

So, he asks, “What is it?”

You shake your head. “I’m just happy you’re here.”

He looks stunned for a moment, but you notice the corner of his mouth lift in return. You’re unsure how long it’s been since he’s felt like this, only knowing that it’s been far too long for you. Everything about this moment makes the rest of the world obsolete to your perception, boiling down to the soft giggle you just can’t control. It doesn’t make sense, but it doesn’t have to. Not when you’re finally with him. Nothing else matters right now except for that truth.

“I didn’t think we’d ever see each other again,” he admits, “I keep thinking I’m just going to wake up disappointed again.”

“You won’t. Not tomorrow,” you promise him, “Not ever.”

“Yeah,” he takes his helmet from you before sliding it back over his head, “I believe that.”

You watch him closely as hopeful realization dawns on you like the early sunrise this city will soon see. You’re gone by the time morning arrives, just another forgotten shadow that slipped through the night. Only, you weren’t alone. And you know you won’t be anymore.

[tanobatcher]

omfg i’m sat. thank u for summoning me @imperialsprig

I had an idea for an AU where instead of immediately joining the Rex and the clone rebellion after he defects from the Empire, Wolffe instead has a brief run as a feared Crime Lord, and now I can’t stop thinking about it!

(The cloak was inspired by the amazing artworks by @catd3mon and @kokosnusslos!)

[tanobatcher]

knew i had a type

something about two of the most significant arcs in The Clone Wars that involve having Ahsoka and Fives be hunted down by the Republic, with Wolffe and Fox being the ones to have "caught" them...

—

[tanobatcher]

he’s so beautiful i’m gonna cry

this is so shit bro

[tanobatcher]

First off, your writing is *chef kiss* 🤌🏻

Could you write a mega soft Tech fic where Y/N deals with overstimulation/panic attack/anxiety post-mission? Have him still be his analytical, proper self but have him deeply understand the need for physical comfort/intimacy in these moments. Grounding, hugs, forehead kisses, hand-holding, head-to-chest, etc. ❤️

solitude

tech x gn reader summary: tech comforts you after a difficult mission. warnings: none a/n: hehe tysm i sincerely apologize for the delay on this :((

The faucet sputters before a jet of water rushes over your palms, cold and striking like the struggled gasp that heaves your chest as you hang your head low in front of the bathroom mirror. You can hardly breathe through the quick splashes you try to drown yourself in, muffling any noise heard beyond the closed door behind you. But the noise in your head grows louder, and it feels dizzy like you’re out of balance. Like the floor is slowly but surely caving below your feet, luring you toward an inescapable darkness.

Coming back up for air, you brace your hands on either side of the tiny sink while still panting in waves that overtake the previous with no mercy. It’s hard to keep yourself upright when your legs are close to giving out, shaking like the rest of you. You don’t notice when the door opens, but seeing a figure in the mirror triggers the impending drop of your stomach. It’s not exhilarating like entering or leaving hyperspace. It’s just awful, squeezing out your sanity as this pain ebbs and flows through your blood. There’s no open wound to explain this feeling, though. Only your own mind as it traps unwanted memories inside of you.

“You’re needed at the bridge,” you hear over a methodical sound of fingers against a screen, “Hunter’s orders.”

“Can he give me a minute?”

You attempt to sound irritated, but all Tech hears is exhaustion. Your voice is small, devoid of its usual energy and strength. He looks up from his datapad, wide-eyed with curiosity rather than immediate concern, until you lean over the sink on the verge of collapse. Nausea sinks its claws into your throat as the world spins, but it’s really just you losing sight of what’s in front of you. You hardly register when your knees buckle, even more unaware when he surges forward, even though this bathroom isn’t big enough for more than one person at a time. The sound of his datapad clattering to the ground is jarring, but not nearly as much as the sudden weight of his arms around you. He sinks to the floor without letting go of you, holding you to his chest.

“Let go,” you mumble, squirming slightly before a restless thrash jerks your entire body, “Please. I can’t—”

He turns you so that you’re now facing him, loosening his grip on your shoulders. You’re not sure what’s preventing you from seeing clearly—the water from the sink or your own tears—but one pair of eyes remains clear among the haze. They’re brown and kind, and they look at you as if knowing what’s passing through your mind right now.

“I can’t do this anymore,” you sob, “I’m not like the rest of you. I can’t pretend I’m not scared shitless when things go wrong like that—”

Uncharacteristically wordless, Tech brings a soft cloth to your face and wipes both carefully and patiently. He’s not looking at you directly anymore, almost avoiding your gaze as your shaky breaths interrupt your rambling. His mouth twitches nervously when he pauses his movements near your lips, deciding not to clean you there. Leaning back a little, he asks, “What gave you the impression that this isn’t difficult for us, too?”

“Huh?” You whisper weakly, glancing up at him.

He purses his lips before shaking his head. “You’re in shock. Hunter’s request isn’t as urgent as he makes it sound, so I’ll inform him of your inability to—”

“What? No—” You try to stand as panic seizes your lungs, “I’m fine. I just—I just need a minute—”

He stares at you when you slump back to the ground while mumbling, “I’m fine. It’s fine—stop looking at me like that.”

Your hands come around your head, covering your ears from the echoing screams that feel so near with how loud you hear them. It doesn’t seem like you’re safe on the Marauder when your mind remains on the battlefield, worn down and afraid after constant survival.

“Stop,” you bite out even though his presence has been made so minimal that you almost forget he’s still here, “Just stop—”

You cut yourself off in surprise when he pries your arms away before tentatively cupping your face. His fingers aren’t fully touching your skin, hovering with caution, but you feel the cool sensation as light as it is. A teardrop rolling down your cheek catches against his thumb, which he catches in a swift outward motion. You look at him with uncertainty, leaning away from his touch despite how safe it feels. But when he asks, “Would you mind if I held you for a moment?” you answer by closing your eyes and giving in to the tension trembling through your body. It loosens and relaxes, allowing you to go limp in his responding embrace once he feels your compliance.

His heartbeat is strong against your back as you release the excess of your cries, swallowing hard with increasing desperation for air. You listen for this rhythm subconsciously until he says, “Breathe at my pace.” So you do, following his calm inhales just to exhale everything back out with him.

“Tell me five things you can see.”

You open your eyes in narrow slits, barely letting the light above your head infiltrate your vision. “Um…the ceiling…the walls…the sink…the mirror…”

“One more.”

Lowering your head a bit, your hands find his as they rest against your torso. “And…you.”

He’s quiet for a beat before continuing, “Now, four things you can touch.”

“Um,” you take a deep breath and feel your surroundings, “The floor.”

“My clothes,” you fist your rumpled jacket, “Um…the wall again. Right here.”

“And…you,” comes the last whisper.

His posture stiffens behind you, but he doesn’t let go of your body. “Three things you can hear.”

Your eyes flutter shut again to focus, and it sinks in that you truly are back on the Marauder with your squad. Familiar voices outside of the bathroom begin to trickle through your guarded attention, giving you the answers you hardly need to think about.

“Hunter, Wrecker, Crosshair,” you list, “And you.”

“That was four.”

“I know.”

“Hm,” he replies skeptically, “Two things you can smell.”

A brief chuckle slips out without hesitation. “You.”

“Is that humorous to you?” He retorts with an edge of defensiveness seeping into his tone.

“We just got back from a mission, so…”

“So, you mean to insult me.”

“No,” you lean back into his chest, “Never.”

He sighs before telling you, “You still need one more for your response to be considered complete.”

“Um…” you wrinkle your nose, “Me, I guess. I need a shower, too.”

“It’s tolerable,” he says a little haughtily.

“Lucky me,” you hum, thinking that’s the last of his interrogation.

He proves you otherwise when you hear, “One thing you can taste. If anything, at the moment.”

“I guess…” you take a moment to think, “The caf you made us this morning.”

“That was several hours ago. I highly doubt you still—“

“It’s my final answer,” you release a conclusive breath and fall silent, wishing you could stay tucked away in this little corner forever. In his arms, really. There’s a comforting solitude in this moment that will soon be disrupted by the responsibilities waiting just outside the door, with the rest of your life. You surprise him when you take his hand and drape it over your heartbeat, feeling the steadying thump together. In a way, he takes this as a sign of your gratitude. So he responds with a gentle kiss to your temple, leaving his lips pressed against your skin instead of pulling away.

You shift in his arms to face him more clearly, trapped between his long legs that don’t fit well in this small space. Still, you manage, and his eyes cast away from yours again. He looks at your joined hands, lifting them higher until his lips brush against your knuckles with the same softness as before.

“I understand,” he murmurs, “Thinking you’ve reached your limit.”

“You do?” You whisper, finding it difficult to believe someone as knowledgeable as him would ever need to doubt himself.

He nods once, meeting your eyes with a flash of hesitance. “We all do. I believe that makes you more like us than you think.”

“I don’t know. You could be wrong…about me.”

His eyebrows briefly raise at this, but his expression is neutral when he explains, “There’s nothing abnormal about your reaction today. What you’re experiencing isn’t uncommon to the rest of us, even if you’re not aware of it.”

You squeeze his hand, noticing the heavy implication in his tone. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you needed help.”

“Your apology is unnecessary. I only meant...that you’re not alone.”

“I never feel alone,” you tell him honestly, touching your forehead to his, “Not when I’m with you, at least.”

He leans into you, too, lacing your fingers together. “Then we’re in agreement.”

You smile and close your eyes after seeing that he’s done the same. Anything you might have said in response falls away from your tongue, saving itself for another time. For now, you simply breathe at his pace, finding it easier to keep up now that the eruption of your fears is a figment of the past. And if it returns as it always does, you’re sure that he’ll find you where you need him to. You're confident that he'll know exactly what to do.

[tanobatcher]

would you ever write a wolffe family type fic? one where he has daughters or something?

i've written a wolffe x fem oc longfic on my ao3 where he eventually has children (including daughters -- is that a spoiler ??) but that's not what the bulk of the story is about. feel free to submit another request with what ur looking for tho!! <3 i would be happy to do a "x reader" as well

[tanobatcher]

hi there! i'd love to request a fic with wolffe x f!reader. the reader and wolffe are going over mission plans on a really tiny datapad screen. he leans in close behind her to look... like super close. she can feel his breath on her neck and he doesn't back off. she calls him out, half-teasing, but he just smirks and mutters something low like, "you seem fine with it" and then it leads to a spicy make out sesh. thank you!! 🖤

distractions

wolffe x fem reader summary: are we about to kiss right now?????? warnings: mature/suggestive content a/n: i LOVEDDDD writing this tysm EEEEKKK stawppp there was literally never a moment where i wasn't going insane wow *rolls off a cliff and dies* fun fact - i wrote this on the plane so rip to my dignity :D

For someone so quiet unless prompted otherwise, Wolffe can’t help but draw attention to himself at any occasion. The room can be completely full, or it can be empty like it is now. Either way, you feel as if you have a radar under your skin that waits for his particular frequency, chilling you all the way down to your bones whenever he’s near. He’s not easy to ignore, even if he has no problem doing the same to anyone else. You do your best, though, swiping a slow finger across his datapad to focus on the brief. An odd restlessness consumes your seated body as you try to distract yourself from the fact that he’s been standing right behind you for more time than necessary. Not just behind you—over you. His large shadow casts an unmistakable darkness across the table where you’re resting your forearms, waiting and watching like he always does.

But the silence eventually catches up. Lifting your head, you tell him, “You can sit down, you know.”

His eyes briefly find yours before moving back to the screen, requiring no moment from the rest of his still figure. Other than that, he doesn’t say anything, which is a response in itself. His type of response, at least. You start to regret bringing this up at all as your gaze drops from his face and trails down his frontside, noticing that he’s out of his armor. The room is bright enough for you to catch the outline of his chest, and you don’t realize you’re staring until he peers at you again. This time for longer with a slight, judgmental arch to his eyebrows.

Flustered, you turn back around. “It doesn’t have the effect you’re looking for. Standing there…like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like nothing. That’s what I meant.”

You can practically hear the eye-roll when he replies, “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Never mind.”

Hearing your heartbeat in your ears so loudly, you’re caught off guard when he leans closer and braces a hand against the table. You’re almost caged in his arms as his other hand finds his datapad, raising it a little higher so he can see the rest of these endlessly boring words. And although it all happens so fast, with barely a breath between each movement, your head spins at his sudden proximity. It feels heavy and slow, even though it’s not, escalating your pulse at an embarrassing rate. He hasn’t so much as touched you, but your stomach knots like he’s already far past the surface of your flesh.

If he’s speaking, you vaguely hear him. Rather, you feel a tickle start at your neck and run down your spine as he brings his lips low to your ear. Your distant focus recognizes the stern inflections of his tone, leading you to believe he’s explaining something—probably for the millionth time today. It wouldn’t surprise you if you’ve already sat through this conversation before. To him, there’s no such thing as overdoing anything when it comes to the mission at hand. A warm, dizzying sensation tingles at every inch of your body until he abruptly asks, “Are you listening?”

“Yes,” you immediately reply, glancing at him from the side. Your faces are much closer than you thought, and he tilts his head to look at you with a mix of disbelief and disapproval.

“What did I just say, then?”

“You’re not seriously testing me—” You cut yourself off when you see a scowl begin to emerge, scooting away a bit. But your back only finds his bicep, silently telling you that you have nowhere to go unless he moves himself. Despite tensing at this contact, he doesn’t give you the space you can’t bring yourself to ask for. Somehow, the thought of sinking back into his arms feels much better than whatever distance you usually find yourself keeping with him. You’re so close that you can tell he’s feverishly warm under his clothes, radiating with something hot and carnal. Something that brings your faces even closer, stopping at the soft breaths you’re now sharing with him.

“You’re a little close,” you whisper, “Don’t you think?”

He smiles, and you see the lines on his face deepen before the corner of his mouth lifts. He speaks softly, not just quietly, when he murmurs, “You seem fine with it.”

“I wasn’t exactly complaining.”

“Are you sure?”

You nod, swallowing hard at the rough edge of his voice. “Mhm.”

“Yes…” he leans in, “…or no?”

“Yes,” you reply, almost breathless.

“Sir.”

You blink in confusion before realizing what he means by this. “Yes sir.”

His hand, which was just braced against the edge of the table beside you, slides up your body to grip the back of your neck. It doesn’t feel hostile, more like a question as his eyes search yours. He caresses his thumb across your skin before tugging your head back, the action so controlled that you merely close your eyes and follow. His lips graze your skin just above your pulse before kissing gently, curving into a smirk when your heart rate lurches in response. You gasp, barely able to make a sound.

He hears you loud and clear, though, prompting him to kiss you again. It’s dirtier this time, open-mouthed as he tastes you through sucks and nibbles that string your whimpers along. Both of you have long abandoned his datapad, quickly reaching for each other in an unfamiliarly wild frenzy. He’s usually so calculated in every move, but this moment is different. You feel this certainty when his hands grab you roughly, desperately, pinning you against the edge of the table. Your body pivots with your arms circling his neck, clinging for dear life as he ravishes your throat and collarbones. Your legs follow suit soon enough, wrapping around his torso to push him closer.

He grunts when your middles meet, slamming both hands on the table around your figure to steady himself. Looking down at you with heavy-lidded eyes, he takes one finger and teases it between the buttons of your shirt. You stare back at him, wide-eyed and waiting for his lead. Waiting for him to kiss you where you want him to, really.

Breathing hard, you tell him, “Take it off.”

He raises his eyebrows, not used to being told what to do. Too much anticipation is gnawing at your insides for you to care, though. And maybe he doesn’t, either.

“Why not?” You continue in a low voice, “You were thinking about it.”

His eyes trail down your body from your face when you slowly lift your hand to unbutton your shirt. Each one pops out as you say, “Unless…you’re too shy.”

Your words provoke his ego exactly how you expected. His mouth flattens as he glares at you, lifting you with both hands around your torso to set you on the table. He doesn’t even wait for your legs to open wider for his body to fit in between—he pushes his way through and widens this gap from his size alone. Standing over you with an impatient spark in his eyes, he mutters, “That’s not what you should be worried about.”

“I’m not worried about anything right now.”

“Anyone could walk in and see us like this,” he says absentmindedly. He seems to be reminding himself more than warning you, though.

“Let them watch, then,” you whisper before leaning forward and kissing him. His response dies on his tongue as soon as he feels your lips touch his, ridding his mind of any restrictions that were wearing out his patience. Yours, too.

Cupping the back of your head with a firm hand, he kisses you deeper. But it doesn’t feel like just a kiss—it feels like consumption as his mouth hungrily slants over yours. He caresses your tongue with his before sucking on it, taking your mouth even wider when you moan softly against his lips. You’re fully wrapped around him now, both your arms and legs embracing his body to pull him closer with every breath that passes between your muffled whispers. You hear him say your name at one point, but you’re not sure if your imagination is getting the best of you. Still, the sound replays, so you tighten your hold on him in case it decides to run away.

“Don’t stop,” you gasp when you feel him pull back.

He shakes his head and shoves the rest of your shirt away from your shoulders, letting it fall back against the table. Your body follows suit, topless and arching away from the cold surface. There’s hardly any time to think between the moment he lays you back before leaning down to kiss you again, this time rolling his hips into yours so carefully that you know it’s intentional. You know he wants you to feel what you’re doing to him. The pressure makes your head fall back, and he takes this moment of weakness as an opportunity to kiss down your neck. And then your chest, all the way to your stomach.

“Wolffe.”

“I know,” he murmurs reassuringly and shifts upward until your face to face. He looks down at you so closely that you’re almost kissing again, but not quite. His thumb finds your bottom lip, stroking lightly before resting at your chin. Wide-eyed and breathing heavily, you wait for the rapid rise and fall of your chest to steady.

“We’re…” you pause to laugh and clasp your hand around his at the side of your face, “…getting a little carried away, I think.”

The hazy look in his eyes seems to blink away as his usually stern tone returns. “We should stop, then.”

“I…” you hesitate before whispering, “I don’t want to stop.”

“What do you want?” The question sounds rough and displeased coming from him, but the slight softening of his gaze tells you otherwise. You cup his face just over the bottom half of his scar, pulling him down a bit closer.

“I just want to stay like this for a bit longer.”

He looks surprised at this and doesn’t say anything. Instead, he kisses your forehead before kissing you on the mouth again. It’s calmer than earlier as if he’s taking his time. As if he wants to make this as long as possible, too. You let your hands travel freely, running them through his hair while kissing him back. Every gentle collision feels like nothing else matters. Nothing but him, of course. You let yourself fall into this dream, endlessly chasing more, and more, and more. You let yourself believe this is where you’re meant to be, instead of the war outside of these walls. For that moment, it’s the greatest lie you hear as truth. It’s the greatest distraction you never wish to escape from.