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arctrooper69 · 4 months ago

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help Help HELP 🥵🥵🤤🤤🥵🥵🤤🤤🥵🥵

The NOISES I am making right now as I've read through these chapters!?!?

I freaking love this so much ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ Kix is husband and I desperately need more of this!

spare a crumb, I'll take it

Pairing: Kix x Translator!Reader

WC: 2k

Rating: M (no smut/spicy content but discussion of sex)

You head to 79s with your favorite unit. Kix walks you home.

part 1 part 2 part 3

Kix is going to lose his mind.

It’s been hours, and yet each and every time you get up, his eyes zero in on your legs. He can’t help it. Really.

It’s not like he hasn’t seen bare legs before. But it’s the first time he’s seen your bare legs. (To be fair you do have tights on under your dress, but they’re fishnets; they’re also driving him insane). Part of him wants to strangle Jesse for inviting you to 79s while they’re planetside on Coruscant.

But a larger part of him is thrilled his brother had pity on him because now he gets to see you out of your uniform, and he’s losing it. He thinks you need to wear this every day. Fuck the GAR and their drab uniform; you’re glowing like this. And your legs…

His gaze drops back down to said offenders as you make your way back from the bar.

You’re sipping on your drink, plunking a beer down in front of him.

“Looked like you were getting a little low.” Kix’s face heats up as he glances at the way your lips wrap around your straw. What is wrong with him?

As you slide in next to Fives, Echo snickers at Kix, who is stuck watching your mouth.

“Hey, nothing for me?” he hears Fives ask. You snort, taking another sip of your drink, and Kix manages to drag his eyes to the foam that’s settling at the top of his beer.

“Listen, Jesse was gonna get you something, but I’m afraid we’ve lost him to a Twi’lek for the night. But you don’t need anymore to drink, Fives. Back me up, doctor.” Your foot taps lightly against Kix’s calf.

He jerks back to attention, grimacing a little. He’s a solider, he shouldn’t be stunned into stupidity by you, and yet his eyes hover towards your lips anyway.

“Not technically a doctor.” You pout a little at his rebuttal, foot still gently knocking into his calf. He’s so fucked.

“No fun,” you whine. Kix’s jaw clenches. He knows he’s playing right into your hand, but he can’t stop himself.

“I am plenty fun.” He does his best to ignore the way Echo shakes his head, pitying him. But you're delighted, jumping to your feet.

“Oh yeah? Prove it.”

Kix is being pulled up and to the dance floor before he can process what’s happening. Gone is the safety of sitting at a booth, and instead, he’s surrounded by throngs of people. He can't even cower inside his bucket, as he left it sitting with his brothers' in a shiny set of four on the table.

But his anxieties are quickly forgotten about when you lightly drape your arms around his neck. Oh no, all he can focus on now is you.

The confidence you exuded earlier has vanished, but only a slight pinch in between your brows indicates what could possibly be going on in your head.

“Hi,” you say quietly, barely audible over the thumping music.

“Hi,” Kix answers back, doing his best to gently rest his hands on your waist.

“This ok?” you ask. He knows this answer is important. It’s his chance to opt-out, to deescalate this to something strictly platonic, something professional and GAR approved.

“Yeah,” he chokes out, mouth moving before he can make a rational decision. Fuck.

You just beam up at him. “Cool.”

And your hips begin to move to the music, but you stay pressed against him.

Kix inhales unsteadily, slowly trying to move in sync with you. It’s hard with everyone around (he swears he can feel Rex staring holes into the back of his head, and he bailed on their night out).

So he shuts his eyes, trying to move his body on beat, trying to just feel you and the music. It's some sort of synth-pop from a Coruscanti local that's been everywhere recently. But music aside, Kix feels like he’s on fire when you dance this close to him.

But eventually, you untangle yourself from him, movements becoming a little wider, a little bigger as you dance, lost in whatever you’re feeling; Kix orbits around you slowly, happy to be basking in your glow, happy you want him near.

He’s not sure how long the two of you dance. Surely longer than he normally would stay out with his vode, but he can’t bear to leave your side; the thought of someone else taking his spot makes his skin crawl. So he dances and dances until he aches a little, and he’s rewarded when you wrap your arms around his neck again and lean against him.

“Tired,” you bemoan, eyes shut as your head rests against him.

Kix ignores the way his heart races in his chest, and he shoves down the embarrassment that rises when he realizes you can probably tell. He just sways gently with you, enjoying the moment.

“I’ll take you home.” Again, the words come out before he can stop them, and he panics a little as you still. But then you lift your head from his chest, eyes wide and soft as you gaze at him.

“Really?” He nods, thumb mindlessly stroking your back. You drag him back to the table, where Echo and Jesse sit with a Twi’lek and Pantoran woman he doesn’t know. Fives is long gone by now, helmet missing from the lineup.

Despite the urge to put it on, Kix leaves his with Echo and Jesse, mentally begging one of them to take it back to the barracks. He doesn't want to look at you obscured by plastoid and glass.

“Bye, guys. Kix’s taking me home,” you say, voice coming out louder than you think. You’re holding onto Kix’s arm tightly, and he recognizes a bleary look in your eyes.

How much did you have to drink? You seemed fine earlier, just tired if anything. He mentally kicks himself for not keeping track. Some medic he is.

“Yeah, yeah. Making sure you get home in one piece,” he mumbles, face warm at how openly affectionate you’re right now. Jesse smirks at him, and Kix’s eyes drop to the ground.

He’s on autopilot as you direct him to an air taxi and around the subsequent blocks that are in between the air taxi drop-off and your apartment complex. When you stop at your building, he frowns. Sure, it’s on a mid-level but your safety is of the utmost priority, and this building’s security is not cutting it.

He’s eyeing about 10 different paths a faceless attacker could take before he realizes you're dragging him forward and through the doors of the building. That’s fine. He should make sure you should make it to your unit. That’s it. No other reason.

When you’re at your door, you drag your fingernails up and down his plastoid-covered arm, nevertheless sending shivers down his spine.

“Do you wanna come in?” you ask, your free hand already typing in the code to your room. He doesn’t have much of a choice as you tug him into your little apartment.

He can scope out the place. Make sure the premises is safe. And then that’s it. Back to his bunk.

While you kick off your heels and collapse onto the couch, Kix takes in your apartment. He’s struck by how you everything is. From the artwork on the wall to the colored kitchen appliances, everything feels like you. If he tries hard enough he can picture you haggling for your lamps, and petting different rugs until you picked the softest one.

It’s so full of life and color here. Not at all regulation.

At some point you flipped to your stomach, choosing to watch him silently, eyes all soft and demure. Kix is struck by how intimate this all feels, and anxiety bubbles up inside of him as he feels very out of place. A hard-cut monster bred for war in your soft little apartment.

“I should probably get going,” Kix says reluctantly, rubbing his head. “They’re going to assume the worst.” His tone darkens a little, and Jesse’s smirks and Fives’ laugh echo and resonate in his head.

“I don’t mind that.”

Your voice cuts through the noise in his head, silencing everything. He stares at you, and the way you’re looking at him. With half-lidded eyes and a partially open mouth, you look pleased and in a mood to say things without a filter. Kix doesn’t miss the way you push your chest out slightly towards him. He inhales sharply, throat feeling dry.

Something hot stirs to life in Kix’s gut, and he aches at those four words. You like the idea that his brothers think he’s fucking you. The thought of the implications burns bright and fast through him. His jaw tenses.

��Well I mean-” you continue, misunderstanding his silence.

“I do,” he cuts you off firmly, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “I do mind.”

The quiet sits heavy in the air for a second, and then you deflate, crestfallen at the way he shut you down. Your eyes glue themselves to the floor as you shift your body to try and subconsciously make yourself smaller on the couch. (Kix feels like a pervert noticing the way your dress shifts to reveal more skin). He sighs trying to think of how to explain this to you right now.

“I mean that in the sense that I care about your reputation, as well as my own,” Kix explains, wanting to undo whatever hurt he causes.

“I don’t want them thinking I’ll take advantage of you when you’re not sober.” You seem placated by that, nodding quietly. It’s a logical reason, one that spares your feelings, but it’s cold. Not at all what you had wanted him to say.

And if he understood you correctly, you had liked the idea of having sex with him, had been pleased with the idea of everyone thinking you were together. (His codpiece feels uncomfortably tight). The thought sits with him for a minute, stoking his ego as he basks in lust that travels through his body.

“And if I were to fuck you, it’s going to be when you’re in your right mind and can remember…everything.”

Something white hot and primal has hijacked Kix’s brain, a need to let you know you’re not crazy and the desire isn’t one-sided. He’s left staring at you blankly, heart racing as he lets himself slip into a vague daydream that involves making you squirm and pant on this little couch. Another time. If you'll let him.

“Oh,” you say dumbly, staring at him. Sober enough to put the pieces together, but drunk enough to not string together a proper response.

Fuck, maybe he shouldn’t have said anything.

“Oh,” he says back, watching as a slow and sappy smile spreads out on your face. Well, that’s a good sign. He slowly backs up towards the door, keeping his eyes on you.

“Goodnight, Kix,” you mumble, smiling at him and pushing yourself up to rest on the couch.

He feels a lick of heat rush through him at the site of your chest pressed against the arm of your couch, fishnet-covered legs kicked up behind you, eyelashes batting at him so prettily.

His eyes glide over the back of your upper thighs where the hem of your dress rests against your fishnet-covered skin. He wonders if you’d let him kiss your skin there, if you’d let him bite.

In a matter of seconds, you’ve managed to reverse the upper hand he had, keeping him wrapped around your finger. Good. As it should be.

“Goodnight,” he chokes out, exiting your apartment and leaning on the wall next to the door as it slides shut and locks.

He wishes he could hide in his bucket. He knows his face is flushed, and he can feel his cock twitching.

Oh, this is bad. He shakes his head a little as he pushes off the door, heading back to the lower floors. With you, he forgets himself; with you, he feels like a person. Very bad, indeed.

The noise of the Coruscant streets bombards his ears, making it harder to think, but he’s grateful for the somewhat fresh air. It’ll be nice to clear his head as he heads back to the barracks.

But it’s a fool's errand to believe he’ll be thinking about anything but your lips and that swath of skin on the back of your upper thighs.

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arctrooper69 · 4 months ago

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Ackkkkkk! This chapter and Crosshair 😭😭😭😭

Sorry it took me so long to sit down and read this! ❤️❤️❤️

Fool's Errand Pt 13

Part (13) of Fool's Errand, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

If I ever say there'll only be one more chapter in an arc... just... ignore that. Very similar to a wedding photographer saying "just one more picture." Lies. It's all lies.

Warnings: Reference to child being injured, standard guilt and regret, mild injury description and medical procedure, panic, profanity, mild brotherly teasing

WC: 4,461

“Any dizziness or problems with your vision?” The routine words left with little thought toward either the question itself or the dismissive answer given, and the man before me clearly resonated that disinterest, bright green eyes never turning from the girl tucked firmly into his side. I hadn’t seen their reunion, but the depth of their love for each other, the relief in finally finding themselves together once more lay plainly in how inseparable they’d been since he’d boarded, flanked by Wrecker and Echo, as Tech darted past to get the Marauder airborne before anyone had even begun reaching for the crash seats.

“Your… um, your man – the clone – the… with the glasses…” He muttered, hand motioning vaguely toward the cockpit, “he already asked me all this.” I had to steal a short breath to bite back the rush of annoyance at his generalized labels.

“I imagine he did.” I responded in a pointedly professional tone. “Tech is extremely capable in several fields, including medical, but you know how it is, Senator: we all have our own paperwork.” He let out an absent hum, hand coming back up to slide gently down his daughter’s hair.

“To the best of your knowledge, did you lose consciousness at any point?” I continued, but he didn’t turn back to me.

“Was she hurt?” The sudden quiet of his question caught me off guard, attention lifting to find him nearly curled around the dozing child. “Areeya… was she hurt?” He pressed, fighting back the tears clawing up his throat. I didn’t answer for a moment, unsure if he was the type to lash out and blame anyone but himself for what happened; stomach churning over the danger such a man might pose… but I remembered the Senator from Alderaan… how kind he’d been…

“Yes.” I whispered, gaze studying him carefully for some sign of warning, but he didn’t lash out; didn’t turn toward me with rage in those eyes he’d clearly passed on to her. “A ship she was on crashed… but she was lucky – my squad secured her well enough to prevent all but some minor injuries – small burns on her legs, a few bruises.” His eyes instantly travelled over the tiny form in search of any signs of such trauma. “I’ve already treated it – she probably won’t even scar.” He was still for a moment, and then a tremor stole through him. It was so slight, I nearly missed it, but then another seized his shoulders. And another.

I lingered for only a moment as he began to break. There were questions I still needed to ask, tests I was required to run… but not now. The man before me was a politician. He’d likely sent countless to their deaths from the comfort of some mansion absent a moment’s thought toward what widows they left behind. Maybe he’d been responsible for withholding resources desperately needed by the army. Maybe he’d spoken out against increasing provisions, or refused to entertain thought toward measures of caring for the soldiers once the war was over. Maybe not. Maybe he was one of the good ones – someone who recognized clones for the very real, very human people they were and acknowledged the horrors “leaders" like him subjected them to…

Regardless, in that moment, his career didn’t matter. He was a father. And he was mourning his failures in protecting the child who still sought nothing more than the safety of his embrace. And that was a moment not meant for the eyes of a stranger.

I gently rested my hand on his shoulder, fingers briefly tightening for what glimmer of comfort that silent gesture might offer before standing and treading toward the fore of the ship, footsteps echoing quietly about the otherwise empty cabin.

In the cockpit, Wrecker lounged across the pair of chairs behind the copilot’s seat, surprisingly soft snores just catching on slow, deep breaths, clearly having fallen asleep mid-conversation with his brother. Tech glanced only briefly toward me as I sat beside him before letting his gaze return to the datapad balanced on his thighs, jaw taut with annoyance from, I could only imagine, his inability to hold the device with the hand still strapped to his chest.

I watched the light trails of hyperspace gleaming against the soft yellow shielding eyes narrowed above a tense frown, and I didn’t need to look at the small screen to know what he was reading.

“Hunter…” He started, but, in a rare moment of hesitation, let the following words remain unspoken.

“Yeah.” It was barely a whisper, legs pulling up to tuck against my chest as I watched him. He didn’t look at me, but his attention shifted away from the hastily written medical report I’d typed out while waiting for them to return, and I briefly wondered if he’d blame me for everything Echo had been so eager to dismiss. Part of me hoped he would, that someone else might justify the guilt still raging in my chest.

“There’s no record of brain damage from the most recent scan.” My arms tightened around my knees at the façade of hope forced into his words.

“Nothing serious, no.” I confirmed before continuing quietly, reluctantly, “Field scanners are pretty limited for fine detail, though.” He knew that, and I hated how effortlessly that simple fact robbed him of whatever denial he’d so briefly clung to. “I’ll know more after we rendezvous with the Vigilance. Unless he wakes up before then.” I added, and my teeth worried absently at my lip from the silence that followed.

“How’s your arm?” He didn’t respond for several seconds, his gaze finally shifting almost disdainfully toward the restrained limb.

“Unusable.” He replied with more than a touch of impatience before forcing out a small sigh and continuing, “but I believe your stitches are holding.” A tiny huff of laughter caught in my throat that made his lips bunch slightly.

“Mind if I take a look?” Some of that tension eased from his shoulders, attention shifting back to me as the screen to his datapad went dark.

“If you believe it would be beneficial.” He yielded, leaning back slightly against his seat.

“I believe the last thing we need right now is for one of you guys to get an infection.” I responded, pushing myself to my feet, and the look of offense that instantly pulled at his face drew a barely restrained chuckle from me.

“I would recognize the signs of infection long before it became dire.” I flashed him a smile at the chastising words, settling lightly onto my knees beside him.

“You focus on getting us back to the GAR.” I replied warmly. “I’ll make sure your arm doesn’t fall off.” He merely hummed dryly in response, and I couldn’t help but be struck by the stillness around us, by the violent juxta of that quiet against the chaos I’d found myself in the center of mere hours prior, and I savored it in the way I carefully freed him of the brace, movements just shy of reverent as I began stripping him of what armor he’d been able to slip on around the thick bandages.

“I didn’t think you’d still be able to rescue the Senator after we had to blow the walls early.” I murmured, words hushed.

“It… wasn’t easy.” He admitted, voice catching slightly at even the tiny strain of supporting the weight of his forearm, and I quickly guided him forward to rest the limb on his thigh. “Echo and I were forced to crash the speeder into his transport to prevent them from taking off.” I paused, taken aback by the lengths they’d had to go to.

“If you keep crashing things, the GAR’s not going to let you fly anymore.” I teased. His brow hitched as he glanced toward me from the corner of his eyes, but his expression softened slightly at the little smirk warming the mockery of accusation narrowing my gaze.

“I believe this maneuver would more appropriately be referred to as tactical misuse of an appropriated transport.” I didn’t try to hide the way my face contorted around a barely muffled laughter, and thrilled in the almost shy smile just managing to toy with his lips.

“Wouldn’t’a had to ‘tactically misuse’ anything if yuh’d just let me blow that last charge.” Wrecker mumbled, appearing to all the worlds as though he were still asleep save for his good eye peaking groggily at us.

“Had you detonated the final charge, there was a non-zero likelihood of the Senator being caught in the explosion.” Tech retorted, and it was clearly not the first time he’d had to voice that argument.

“Ahh, he’d’ve been fine.” Wreck dismissed with a lazy wave of his hand. “The clanker’s had ‘im way in the back. Maybe a couple ‘a bruises, but then we wouldn’t’ve had to run all the way up here!” I had to fight the wince at the thought of him running up the steep hill, knee only just beginning to heal.

“Your way likely would have resulted in our primary objective being injured or rendered unconscious, in which case we likely would have needed to carry him to the Marauder as that transport was a large enough target for even the B1’s to accurately hit.” I let out a small sigh as Wrecker drew a breath to respond, clearly more amused by the ease with which he could pester his brother than any desire to actually prove his point.

“Not if we blew them up, too!”

“The amount of explosives needed to terminate the entirety of the Separatist forces would most certainly have resulted in our own deaths, as well…”

It wasn’t a clean line. The metal that had torn into his arm was jagged and hot, and the scar would clearly proclaim just how frightful the wound had been. He didn’t look down as I checked the severity of the swelling, inspecting the countless stitches for signs of tearing, and I realized that Wrecker’s bickering was far more intentional than I’d initially assumed. He was offering a distraction. Even after all the time I’d spent with them, the effort I’d put into earning their trust and easing their fears, I knew what horrors haunted their youth, knew how ingrained their terror was of allowing anyone beyond their own brothers to care for them.

Maybe that knowledge should have hurt. Maybe I should have been insulted or annoyed, but I felt only gratitude. Despite that fear, Tech made no effort to pull away from my touch, and Wrecker’s laughter felt so effortless as he continued prodding his brother with senseless taunts and jests. I wondered if Tech knew, if he was intentionally allowing himself to be bated. Probably. The thought made me smile, though I knew there was a sorrow behind it I couldn’t quite hide.

“How’s the pain?” I asked softly as I finished securing a fresh bandage. His eyes flashed only briefly from me to the crisp linen before darting pointedly to the unlit screen of his datapad.

“Tolerable.” He answered, and I rolled my eyes with a short huff.

“Tech.” I pressed, and his shoulders dropped slightly.

“In so long as I do not attempt to use it, the pain is nominal.” He reassured me, voice lowering into something near a whisper. I don’t think I’d ever heard him talk like that before. There was an unspoken apology and gratitude and warmth, and something about it sent a wave of static dancing through my chest. I hadn’t expected it, couldn’t recover in time to even grant myself a shred of denial that he didn’t notice, eyes catching his for just a moment before quickly looking away.

“If that changes,” I murmured as though there was no threat of heat creeping up my neck, “let me know.” Stealing a quick breath, I forced aside that lingering thrill and fell back into rote phrases and warnings. “It’s not just about pain management. That wound was severe. If there’s any sign of infection, we need to catch it early.” His hesitation had nothing to do with his injury, but he belatedly nodded in response.

“Speaking of pain management,” I continued, voice rising as I turned to look at Wrecker, and I tried not to calculate how much he’d been able to see around the broad backrest of the pilot’s chair, “how bad did that hike mess with your knee?” Something between a grin and a wince flashed across his scarred face.

“Already got one ‘a them ice packs on it.” He offered with a note of remorse, and I didn’t hide the way my brows rose in surprised approval. “It’s helpin’ some, but…” His cheeks warmed slightly, jaw shifting with an almost abashed nervousness, “it’s still pretty stiff… Think you’ll have time to…” His hand swept toward it with a shrug, and my expression warmed.

“I want to scan it again – make sure nothing got damaged, but, yeah, I think another massage is a great idea.” He instantly relaxed at the reassuring murmur. “Are you okay to wait a few minutes, though? I want to run back to check on Cross and Hunter first.”

“‘Course!” He replied without hesitation, and my heart ached for how quickly he answered, how ready he was to put his brothers before himself… but nearly an hour had passed since I’d left the medbay, since I’d watched that damn, wonderful line dance across the monitor. It didn’t matter that several alarms would blare through the entire ship should that change… I needed to see it, to feel it once more before that anxiety might ease.

The Senator had shifted just enough about the crash couch to cradle his daughter, Areeya, against his chest, and both appeared to be asleep. Echo wasn’t in the cabin with them, nor was he in the kitchenette or fresher. I’d just resolved to search for him after checking on the others when I finally reached the medbay.

“Dammit, Crosshair!” I nearly shouted, body already surging forward before the door finished opening. He’d forced his legs beneath him, body trembling as he leaned heavily against the wall. Blood slid toward his wrist where he’d ripped the IV from his arm, and his shoulders jerked with each harsh breath. “What the hell are you doing? You shouldn’t be-” My words fell short as I reached him, hand darting to his chest to steady him, but he jerked away with a violent scowl, and I couldn’t help but freeze.

“I’m fine!” He growled through clenched teeth. “I’m not staying in this kriffing medbay!” I was so taken aback by not only that venom I’d nearly forgotten the taste of, but also by the strange frenzy in his hoarse voice.

“You didn’t give a damn about that last night.” I retorted, and I could hear the confusion simmering beneath my annoyance, the insult gnawing through my chest that I had to fight to suppress in order to slip back into some semblance of gentleness in the face of his outburst. “Cross, it’s alright. Just talk to-”

“Talking isn’t going to give me my damn eyes back!” He snarled, teeth bared, and his head jerked to the side at the distant sound of the air cyclers kicking on. I barely noticed that quiet hum anymore, but he flinched as though someone was screaming mere inches from his ear.

“Crosshair, your eyes are healing. They aren’t-”

“Just shut up!” He roared, and I instantly fell silent, something cold and wrong coiling about my chest at the sound of fractured gasps catching between ground teeth, at the sight of his chest bucking with each panicked flinch as he fought to regain some sliver of control over his shaking legs, the limbs stealing tiny, rushed steps as he felt for the edge of Hunter’s cot. “…damn it…” He growled, but whatever remorse twisted through him quickly vanished beneath the safety of his rage as he cursed again. “Damn it!”

Without another word, he pushed himself harshly forward, hand stretched out to maintain some bit of contact against the wall as he all but darted for the door, and I didn’t have time to move before his shoulder rammed into me with enough force to knock me back several steps with a quiet “oof”. I heard the sudden intake of breath, the way his lips parted around what he’d never admit to being a sob as a desperate apology strained to leap from his tongue, but, in the same instant, he was moving again, head tucked toward his chest as he threw himself from the room.

“Cross!” I called, my own sob shamelessly ripping the air from my lungs. It hurt not to go after him, not to sprint through the hall and lock him in an embrace until he stopped shaking, but I knew that would only make it worse. Trapped. How could he not feel trapped when he could see nothing but darkness around him? As worried as I was, as desperately as I longed to help him, I knew that he’d find more comfort in a few minutes alone, in stealing himself away of his own strength and volition than in what honeyed words or gentle touches I might offer… A few minutes… then I’d grant myself some excuse to seek him out…

My eyes dropped to Hunter, to that blessed monitor that I knew was cursed to haunt my dreams for years to come as I studied the display. Steady. Strong. Stronger than I had any right to hope for, and I felt myself wilt beneath a shaking sigh at the color just beginning to return to what meager patches of skin were free of the deep purples and sickly yellows of bruises that were finally beginning to fade.

I tried not to rush, fingers reaching out to feel his pulse before turning my attention to the tube still piercing his side. It wasn’t dripping anymore, but I couldn’t bring myself to remove it. Not yet. Another scan. A fresh IV bag. A stolen moment to rest my hand lightly atop his chest as I tried to ignore the palm-shaped outline over his sternum, an echo of that near-grief just threatening to overcome me before forcing myself to move; to clean up the liquid already beginning to soak into both cots from Crosshair’s crudely detached saline bag.

“Everything’s looking good.” I told him. It didn’t matter that he was unconscious. I wanted him to know. “You’re going to be in a world of pain when you wake up, but you’ll be okay.” Feeling those words on my tongue, hearing them and knowing there was no hint of deceit or deception amidst the syllables offered a far greater comfort than I’d expected, and I granted myself just a moment longer to grasp his hand tightly in mine, to savor the warmth of him before finally pushing myself to stand once more. “I’ll come back to check on you again soon – need to figure out a way to deal with that damn brother of yours, first…”

I didn’t have to look far. He didn’t like being down low. I didn’t know if it was an innate drive or something drilled into him through a lifetime of training, but he gravitated toward high places; trees, rocks, even something as simple as claiming the upper bunk.

“Cross?” I called gently as I entered the bunkroom. He didn’t move, body curled tightly atop his bed, that familiar, scratchy blanket wrapped awkwardly around him where the fabric had clearly folded but he’d been unable to straighten it. “You’re going to bleed all over your sheets… Can I at least put a bandaid on your arm?” My voice was barely louder than a whisper, words slowed, unrushed and void of the guilt churning through my stomach. Shouldn’t have left him… I should have made sure someone was with him so he wouldn’t wake up alone…

Several seconds passed in a tense silence, before, almost begrudgingly, he tried to offer me his arm, but that tangled fabric snagged around his wrist, instantly earning a strangled growl as he tried to wrench the limb free, and I could see how badly he was still shaking.

“Hold on – hold on. I’ve got it.” I murmured quickly, already hopping onto the now empty frame of Hunter’s bed to reach him, but he’d already managed to fling the coiled blanket away, and I had to bite back a sigh at the mess of crimson already smeared about the crook of his elbow. Balancing awkwardly atop the metal tubing underfoot, I gently slipped my fingers beneath his arm, pointedly ignoring the flinch he couldn’t quite fight back, and began dabbing at the stained skin.

“I know you probably want to be alone,” I started, voice hushed, lazy, as though I wasn’t pouring the entirety of my focus toward willing some measure of calm into him, as though I was somehow more concerned with the miniscule prick from the torn IV site than I was the crippling display of shear terror from the man I’d so readily found myself viewing as impervious to such things, invulnerable…

I’d seen the others break; seen Hunter ruined at the threat of losing one of us, Wrecker crushed beneath the fear of a child, Tech robbed of his brilliant mind and left floundering, and Echo… I remembered holding him through nightmares, remembered how readily he held me in turn, and I felt my heart stutter with a dread that only grew the longer he somehow managed to hide from me… but Crosshair…

I’d seen his rage. I’d felt the biting edge of his indifference. And I’d grown to love them with the same fervor that now filled me upon finding him watching me with far kinder emotions; amusement when my own stubbornness led to fights, grief when reality seemed bound to tear us apart, and something far sweeter when no one else was there to bear witness, when stolen moments allowed for a softness forbidden amidst the harshness of what stations happenstance had forced upon us. This, however… This was raw in a way I’d never wanted to see. This was cruel and wrong and wrought with a hopelessness no whispered reassurances could touch.

“But I still have some work to do with Wrecker’s knee, and I’d prefer to do that with him laying down.” I continued speaking with that same, unconcerned, almost mumbled cadence, casually securing a small bandage over the tiny hole before guiding his arm back over his chest, hand lingering for just a moment longer. “Is it okay if I bring him in here with you?” Again he paused, belatedly reaching out to wrench the blanket back over him. I knew that blanket had nothing to do with the cold, needing, instead, some cover to hide the way he trembled.

“… fine.” He muttered, mouth taut with a harsh frown.

“Okay.” I whispered, finally allowing a sliver of worry to just bleed through, and I stepped down before he had the chance to lash out at the sound of it, pointedly letting my footsteps tap loudly against the metal floors so he could hear me.

“Wreck.” I called upon returning to cockpit. The way his posture instantly changed, shoulders pulling back as he sat up straighter, attention quickly locking on me left me no uncertainty that he heard every ounce of unspoken pleas yet to leave my lips. “Mind if we do this in the bunkroom?” He was quiet for a moment. I tried to think of how to explain what I was really asking, how to warn him about the state Crosshair’s temporary blindness had rendered him into but he didn’t need me to voice it.

“Yeah.” He replied with that understanding and patience I’d forever love him for.

Tech shift just enough to meet my gaze, studying me for a moment before speaking.

“Crosshair…?” I offered a tense smile.

“He’s not handling it well.” I admitted, barely breathing the words. Tech’s eyes turned back to watch Wrecker carefully begin climbing up the ladder before returning to me, head bobbing in a small nod. Without another word, he turned back to the viewport, but I could see the tension in his shoulders, the delay before actually taking in any of the data flashing across the control panel. Later, if he allowed, I resolved to bring Crosshair in here, to allow the brothers a moment of their own to recover from the maelstrom of emotions this cursed mission had brought.

“I said I was sorry!” Wrecker’s voice reverberated through the ship without even the faintest hint of that stillness he’d regarded me with barely a minute prior, and I quickly trailed after him, unsurprised to see the alarm in the Senator’s eyes as I passed through the cabin, reaching the bunkroom just in time to catch Crosshair’s seething retort.

“Sorry doesn’t get the kriffing dents out of my muzzle!”

“Well, we’ll jus’ get yuh another one at the Vigilance.” His response wavered between an apology and a dismissal.

“I don’t use regulation parts.” He scowled.

“I’m not letting a single one of you behind a gun again for at least a month, anyway.” I interrupted with an impatience of my own that carried the grief and guilt and regret we all suffered beneath in some way.

Wrecker lounged comfortably across his cot while Crosshair still lay curled tightly atop his, though he’d pushed himself up as though to glare at the man through the thick bandages about his eyes.

“Plenty ‘a time to get a replacement!” Wrecker beamed, and neither of us drew attention to the flash of gratitude I sent him. It felt like years had passed since that terrifying moment – since forcing myself back into the burning carcass of the wrecked transport to save Tech only to find Wrecker leaning hazardously on the Firepuncher with that tiny girl over his shoulder.

“I brought you in here to deal with that knee, not so you could start a fight.” The feigned reprimand only earned a knowing smile from the gentle man.

“Not my fault he’s so picky about that hunk of metal.”

“Hunk of-!"

“Enough.” My voice rose just enough to echo slightly, and I had to bite back a chuckle at Wrecker's little smirk as he began tugging at the waist of his blacks.

“If it makes you feel any better, him using your rifle like that was probably the only reason he was able to save Areeya.” I murmured up to the seething sniper.

“It doesn’t.” He responded curtly. I didn't try to silence that bout of laughter, and thrilled in the subtle way his shoulders relaxed at the sound.

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arctrooper69 · 4 months ago

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arctrooper69 · 4 months ago

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Thank YOU for reading! I'm glad you enjoyed it! 😁😍😍😍

hiii! i just found your hurt/comfort dialog prompt list you had tagged and i'm such a sucker for that kind of stuff. could you please do prompt 34. "you're covered in blood, need to tell me something?" with wolffe? maybe even a little bit of prompts 20 and 35 from the the hurt/comfort sprinkled in there too? i absolutely adore your work and your such a fantastic writer, i look forward to everytime you post, and you do such a beautiful job on your writing that i can't wait to read this once it is done (if you decided to do it) . feel free to change it how you want, and thank you for taking time out of busy day to read this. love you <333

Hey! I'm so glad you've been enjoying my work! Sorry it took me awhile to get this out to you. I had so many ideas for it but I couldn't decide what I wanted to do. Hope you enjoy it! 😁

Prompt# 20: "How long did you think that you could hide that?"

Prompt# 34: "You're covered in blood, need to tell me anything?"

Prompt# 35: "It's just a headache, I'm fine."

--------------------------------------------------

Love is a Battlefield

The new General doesn't want to ask for help. Commander Wolffe does so anyway.

Warnings: Blood. Angst. Battlefield scenes. Hurt/Comfort.

--------------------------------------------------

"Okay, today officially sucks." You grumbled under your breath, cursing whatever cosmic Force led you to be in your current state. Groaning you dragged yourself back over the ledge and collapsed in the mud. Everything hurt. Your clothes were stiff with dried and drying blood and at this point, you weren't sure if it belonged to you or to those damn splox who's nest you'd fallen into. Probably both.

Ok, now to find the rest of the company. You were sure that you hadn't strayed too far from the battlefield when you'd been drug off by battle droids and thrown from a cliff in the resulting fight. But hey, at least you took them down with you. You thought, cracking a smile. Master Plo would've been proud. On the other hand, you frowned, you had gotten separated from everyone else - so maybe not so much.

You drew a sharp breath between your teeth. A burning, grating feeling radiated from your side as you stepped over a rock and nearly fell to the ground. You paused for a moment to let your tunneling vision focus again, fighting back the urge to throw up. Maybe some of the blood was actually yours. The trek back to camp was going to take much longer than you expected.

Good. Maybe that would give you time to mull over the conversation you'd had yesterday morning with the commander of you battalion.

You were sure it was the reason that Commander Wolffe was ignoring you earlier today.

***

You'd chosen to continue on with the battalion after Master Plo had received an urgent message from the Council, recalling him from the field. Wolffe disagreed.

"You're injured!" He snapped, more forcefully than intended.

You sighed rolling your eyes. "It's just a headache. I'm fine. You know I've had worse, Commander." It was more than a headache, probably a concussion due to the nausea and dizziness that currently plagued you. But he didn't need to know that.

Wolffe pinched the bridge of his nose.

"General, I saw that spider droid fling you halfway across the battlefield. Can you at least go to medical to get checked out? I need you-" He froze, then coughed quickly, trying to pass off his slip-up as though he'd been interrupted mid sentence. "We. We need you. Your men need you at your best, general."

He coughed again and quickly left the room, leaving you frozen in place.

***

Did he really say that? You replayed his words in your head over and over again.

"I need you."

You couldn't deny that it had shaken you. You couldn't deny that it had hit you in such a way that made your whole body tingle and flood with warmth. As much as you tried to suppress it and convince yourself it was nothing, you had found yourself staring at the Commander a lot recently. The way he confidently carried himself, the subtle spark in his eye, the way he cared for his men even though he hid it behind that abrasive and sarcastic front - it was all so perfect. So attractive. So him.

No, he couldn't have meant it like that. You were his superior and even more importantly, you were a Jedi. No attachment allowed. He definitely couldn't have meant it like that. It was simply a slip of the tongue. He felt nothing for you and you felt nothing for him. You told yourself that your infatuation wasn't real. Commander Wolffe was a good solider and your fondness for him was simply a professional sense of pride. That's all.

Distant voices interrupted your brooding. Several clone troopers were searching high and low, calling out for someone but you didn't quite catch the name.

"Who are we looking for?" You walked up to the trooper closest to you. His shiny white armor was streaked with mud and ash - one of the new guys. Splash, they'd christened him on account of the puddle of mud he'd landed in immediately after jumping from the gunship into the field. It was hard to believe you'd only been here for three days. It felt like three years.

"We're looking for the General!" He explained hurriedly, hardly giving you a side glance.

Your heart dropped. Surely not Master Plo. Had he not left for Coruscant after all? Your hero and former master had seemed invincible ever since he'd chosen you to be his Padawan.

"General Plo Koon?" You asked hesitantly.

Splashed grunted as he stepped over a log. "No, the other one."

A wave of relief washed over you. You could've laughed out loud if your head wasn't so cloudy. Your side screamed with every step. You took a shallow breath, trying to ground yourself.

I am one with the force and the force is with me. I am one with the force and the force is with me.

Supplementing with the force wouldnt last long and it was draining, but it was better than the agony you'd been in. You took a deep breath, allowing the pain to become a whisper and looked back up at the clone.

"Well you found her!" You joked.

"What?" He stood up looking confused. Then he looked over at you.

Splash straightened up upon realizing that he had indeed found the General. He was glad he was wearing his bucket because he could feel his face turning red with embarrassment. He scrambled stiffly to attention. "Uhm, sorry Sir. I mean Ma'am. Uh, General." He stuttered, trying to compose himself. You chuckled, wincing as the movement pulled at your wounded side. Splash looked alarmed as if he'd just realized that his General was covered in blood. "Are you injured, Ma'am?"

You grit your teeth to hide the pain. "No, I'm fine, thank you. I believe it all belongs to the splox that I killed. Fell into a nest of em."

He looked at you, unsure if you were being serious or not, trying to recall if the regulation manuals told him what to do in a situation like this.

"We should probably make our way to medical, all the same." He concluded. "Just to be safe. Get you checked out and all." He offered his arm.

You shook your head. "No that's alright. They're much too busy right now, seeing as the battle has just ended."

"Well I'm sure..."

You put a hand up to stop him. "It's fine, Splash. I can take care of myself. Let's worry about making our way back to camp."

"Of course, General."

***

You made your way back to camp and bid Splash a farewell. Exhausted, you yawned and slowly made your way back to your tent, passing the Commander's tent on your way there.

"General!" Commander Wolffe sprang to his feet the moment he saw you. "Are you alright, ma'am?"

His eyebrows knit tightly together with a frown. If you didn't know better, you almost thought he looked concerned. Worried even. But that would be stupid. You were reading too much into it. He was simply a solider looking out for the welfare of his commanding officer. That's it. Nothing more.

"I'm good!" You grinned, hoping he didn't notice the way your teeth ground against the pain in your head and now your side.

Wolffe's face became unreadable.

"Just good!?" He growled. "General, you are covered in blood. 'Good' does not even begin to cover it. Do you need to tell me something?"

Yes. I think I'm in love with you.

"No not really." You nonchantly shrugged. "It's not mine. Fell into a nest of those giant splox beetles and had to take em out before they ate me. You know how it is."

Wolffe rolled his eyes. He didn't believe you, but what could he do? He wasn't your superior, he couldn't order you to tell him. He made a note to ask Cody and Rex to let him into the clones-with-stubborn-generals club. He could sure use some advice.

"Could you be anymore bull-headed?" he wanted to yell at you as you left the room, interpreting his silence as the end of that conversation.

Wolffe groaned in frustration. Why did he care so much? Why did the thought of you being wounded send waves of terror cascading through his core. You were acting strange, subtly walking as though every step sent agony shooting through your body thinking nobody would notice. He noticed. He wanted to pick you up in his arms and bandage your wounds. He wanted to softly kiss each scar on your skin.

You were a good leader. He understood wanting to be tough, wanting to be strong for the soldiers under your command. If he was honest with himself, he did the same.

You trudged wearily back to your tent, ignoring the pain that was slowly returning to full force with a vengeance as though it was angry at being willed into submission.

You made it a point to avoid medical. The dwindling amount of medical supplies worried you. It was only a matter of time before they would run out if they weren't sent relief. The chief medical officer had drastically downplayed the dire straits the company was in when you asked him. You'd seen the inventory. It was scarce. It wouldn't be right, going to medical right now. Not when you could most likely patch yourself up with the small medkit by your bunk. The clones made up the backbone of the GAR, it was only right that they take priority over you.

***

It was a miracle of the Force that you hadn't passed out by the time you reached the tent. Biting your lip to keep you from making too much noise, you peeled off your shirt to assess the damage, grabbing a towel from the shelf.

You bit back a pained moan and your vision swam as you gripped the edge of your cot to steady yourself. A large gash curled around the side of your chest from the bottom of your breast to your hip. The torn skin bled heavily, quickly turning the towel a crimson red.

This was...not good.

The com chirped, making you jump. You felt dazed and exhausted. Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath before answering the com. Sergeant Sinker's brisk voice echoed from the device.

"General, the clankers are moving in from the North. They've engaged the front and the 501st is calling for aid. What are your orders?"

Your men needed you. Who were you to ignore them? What kind of leader would you be if you sent them off while you stayed behind. "A good leader leads by example" Master Plo always said. You were tired of the animalistic way the clones were treated - as if they were only droids or worse. You would be there for your men, fighting right up front beside them. Right beside Commander Wolffe.

You lit up the com. "Proceed with the request, Sergeant. I'll be there shortly."

You looked at the medkit. Well, so much for that. You quickly taped up the wound and slapped some bacta treated gauze on it. Then you quickly changed your clothes, willing yourself to ignore the nauseating pain. You steadied yourself with a hand on the wall before wiping the cold sweat from your clammy skin. You tried to breathe, once more closing your eyes in meditation once again squashing down the pain. The show must go on. The General must lead her men into battle.

***

General Skywalker was right to call for aid. The Separatist forces were throwing everything they had at you. You jumped over the guns of a tank, slicing through the controls to disable it. Droid after droid came at you from all sides and you cut them down. If only the Commander could see you now in all your glory.

An explosion knocked you off your feet, wrenching you from your stupor. Pain surged through your body as you pushed yourself to your feet. The continuous onslaught of enemy forces wasn't so fun now. You began to realize just how tired you were. Trying to catch your breath felt as futile as swimming in honey. Your mind felt sluggish and your arms felt like lead. A B2 took aim and fired. You saw him fire and raised your saber to block but it was a fraction of a second too slow and the blast hit your shoulder. Kriff. You hit the ground hard, letting the awful, searing pain wash over you. You wanted to close your eyes. You wished you could just rest. Just for a moment.

Your eyes flew back open. No. The men need you. Get up. Shakily you forced yourself to your knees and onto your feet. One more time. You knew this was abusing the force but it was for an honorable reason. Right?

I am one with the force and the force is with me. I am one with the force and the force is with me. Pain is temporary. Accept it simply as a signal sent by the body. Accept the pain. Respect it. Don't fight it. Ask your body to begin to heal.

You let out a feral scream, pouring every last ounce of energy and willpower into your prayers, knocking back an entire wave of droids. And then you felt nothing.

***

My head. The first thing you noticed upon regaining consciousness was the skull splitting headache that you could almost feel radiating down your entire body. It felt as though someone was spearing red hot needles through your eyeballs, twisting them through the many sections of your brain. The pain made you nauseous.

An agonized wheeze drifted from your lips as you tried to raise your hands to cup your face. When did my arms get so heavy? Pain shot through your side and shoulder as you tried to move. Panic gripped you when you couldn't.

"Ah kriff," a gruff voice cursed. "Hey! General. General, it's okay. Calm down. You're safe." You'd know that voice anywhere - it was the only clear thing that cut through the haze of pain. Commander Wolffe.

He barked a command at someone and after a few minutes the pain had loosened it's claws. It wasn't much but it was better than before.

"What do you need, General? Are you still in pain?"

"Lights," you managed to groan. Even that took too much energy and you desperately hoped that you wouldn't be sick in front of the Commander.

Wolffe immediately jumped from his chair, quickly shutting off the lights. That helped some, but not much. It still felt like your head was being lobotomized by a pickaxe. Your side and shoulder felt like they'd been broken off and trampled by a bantha. A bantha that was on fire maybe.

"You are so kriffing stubborn, you know that!?" Wolffe growled. Seeing you wince, he lowered his volume but continued with the hard and bitter tone.

"How long did you think you could hide that!? Hmm?" He motioned to your side.

"You almost died yesterday." He said, softening his voice ever so slightly.

Wolffe looked tired. His eyes were sunken and even his cybernetic one had a dark shadow beneath it. He looked like he hadn't shaved or showered since the battle. His grey armor was still scuffed up with dirt and grime. A small bacta patch adorned his right eyebrow.

You looked away, shame burning at the corners your eyes, adding to the overwhelming pressure in your head. You failed him and now he hated you. You turned your head away from him wincing at the pain but you couldn't bear to have him see the tears that rolled down your cheeks.

"Look at me." A command. He didn't have the authority to give you a command, but you felt compelled to comply all the same. Hastily wiping your eyes in a futile attempt at seeming alright, you turned towards him. Your breath caught as he wrapped his hand around your wrist, pulling it from your face.

"Stop kriffing pretending that you're okay." Still a command, but this one felt softer. His voice still held the rough, bitter edge that defined him so well but as you met his eyes, they held an uncertain gaze of vulnerability.

"Your men need you alive. They care about you, General." He paused, pacing back and forth in the dark room. He came to a stand still by the foot of your bed, refusing to meet your gaze, as though he had something he wanted to say. Finally he took a deep breath and slowly let it out.

"Oh kriff it." He snapped. "I care about you, damnit!" He shook his head and began to pace again, the anger returning to his visage.

"General Plo said you could've died." He spat. "He said that you had spread yourself so thin, used up so much energy that you could've killed yourself. Do you..." He cut himself off and took another breath, clenching his fists tightly. "Do you know what that would've done to this company. Do you know what that would've done to me!?"

There was fire in his eyes when he looked back up at you. "It would've killed me too."

You lay there in your bed staring at him - shocked at this outburst. What was he saying? That he cared for you? That he loved you? That he thought about you as much as you thought about him?

"I.." you began softly.

"No. I'm not done."

You shut your mouth.

"General, when you came back to camp covered in blood, I had to restrain myself from throwing you over my shoulder and taking you to medical myself. I knew something was wrong but I trusted that you knew what you were doing. It was the same when I saw you collapse yesterday. It took everything in me not to race to your side."

He shook his head, disappointed in himself, and angry with you. "I should be holding the line with my men, not babysitting my General!"

You stared blankly ahead, letting his anger wash over you. So that's how he saw you. That solves one problem, you tried to convince yourself. It was good that he didn't reciprocate your feelings. That made it easier to cleanse yourself of any feeling of attachment. But then why didn't hurt so bad? Why did it feel like a part of your soul had been sawed away? Wasn't letting go of your emotions supposed to bring you peace? This crushing weight of disappointment and heartbreak was anything but peace.

The room was quiet save for the beeps and whirs of the medical equipment around you. The silence felt deafening. Then finally Wolffe let out a sigh.

"I'm....sorry..." The words dragged themselves reluctantly from his mouth.

You didn't respond.

The bed buckled slightly as Wolffe sat down on the edge. He tentatively rested a hand gently on your back, expecting you to recoil or stiffen under his touch. His eyebrows shot up in surprise as you leaned into his touch instead.

He sighed, rolling his neck. "Look," he began awkwardly. "I'm not good at this kind of thing so I'm just going to be honest with you. I..." He stopped. You turned your face towards his. He took a breathe, not daring to make eye contact. "I think I'm in love with you. Kriff. No, I know I'm in love with you."

You gasped, the dam broke and tears began to stream down your face.

Wolffe jumped up, startled and clearly embarrassed. "I...I mean... I... I didn't mean..." The normally confident Commander stumbled over his words in a shameful horror.

"No," you sobbed. You felt so relieved. Everything felt right again. "You didn't do anything wrong." He looked down at you, eybrows knitted upwards in confusion. "Then why..." He motioned to your tearful face.

"Because I love you too and I was afraid that you hated me. I was afraid that everyone would see me as a terrible General. And also my everything hurts and..." you sobbed, "...and I love you so much."

Wolffe looked down at you with amusement and a strange softness took hold of his features - a foreign look for his usually serious demeanor.

"You look nice when you smile," you whispered with a small grin. "But you can go back to frowning if that's more comfortable for you."

Wolffe rolled his eyes as he settled down in a chair beside your bed. "You should get some sleep, General." Back to his serious old self again but he kept that twinkle in his eye. Only for you. he thought.

"I'll be right here when you wake up."

--------------------------------------------------

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arctrooper69 · 4 months ago

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Omg thankssss… 😍🥰❤️😍🥰❤️ I really needed to hear that today ❤️

Hey! I'm so glad you've been enjoying my work! Sorry it took me awhile to get this out to you. I had so many ideas for it but I couldn't decide what I wanted to do. Hope you enjoy it! 😁

Prompt# 20: "How long did you think that you could hide that?"

Prompt# 34: "You're covered in blood, need to tell me anything?"

Prompt# 35: "It's just a headache, I'm fine."

--------------------------------------------------

Love is a Battlefield

The new General doesn't want to ask for help. Commander Wolffe does so anyway.

Warnings: Blood. Angst. Battlefield scenes. Hurt/Comfort.

--------------------------------------------------

Good. Maybe that would give you time to mull over the conversation you'd had yesterday morning with the commander of you battalion.

You were sure it was the reason that Commander Wolffe was ignoring you earlier today.

***

You'd chosen to continue on with the battalion after Master Plo had received an urgent message from the Council, recalling him from the field. Wolffe disagreed.

"You're injured!" He snapped, more forcefully than intended.

Wolffe pinched the bridge of his nose.

He coughed again and quickly left the room, leaving you frozen in place.

***

Did he really say that? You replayed his words in your head over and over again.

"I need you."

Distant voices interrupted your brooding. Several clone troopers were searching high and low, calling out for someone but you didn't quite catch the name.

"We're looking for the General!" He explained hurriedly, hardly giving you a side glance.

Your heart dropped. Surely not Master Plo. Had he not left for Coruscant after all? Your hero and former master had seemed invincible ever since he'd chosen you to be his Padawan.

"General Plo Koon?" You asked hesitantly.

Splashed grunted as he stepped over a log. "No, the other one."

A wave of relief washed over you. You could've laughed out loud if your head wasn't so cloudy. Your side screamed with every step. You took a shallow breath, trying to ground yourself.

I am one with the force and the force is with me. I am one with the force and the force is with me.

"Well you found her!" You joked.

"What?" He stood up looking confused. Then he looked over at you.

You grit your teeth to hide the pain. "No, I'm fine, thank you. I believe it all belongs to the splox that I killed. Fell into a nest of em."

He looked at you, unsure if you were being serious or not, trying to recall if the regulation manuals told him what to do in a situation like this.

"We should probably make our way to medical, all the same." He concluded. "Just to be safe. Get you checked out and all." He offered his arm.

You shook your head. "No that's alright. They're much too busy right now, seeing as the battle has just ended."

"Well I'm sure..."

You put a hand up to stop him. "It's fine, Splash. I can take care of myself. Let's worry about making our way back to camp."

"Of course, General."

***

You made your way back to camp and bid Splash a farewell. Exhausted, you yawned and slowly made your way back to your tent, passing the Commander's tent on your way there.

"General!" Commander Wolffe sprang to his feet the moment he saw you. "Are you alright, ma'am?"

"I'm good!" You grinned, hoping he didn't notice the way your teeth ground against the pain in your head and now your side.

Wolffe's face became unreadable.

"Just good!?" He growled. "General, you are covered in blood. 'Good' does not even begin to cover it. Do you need to tell me something?"

Yes. I think I'm in love with you.

"No not really." You nonchantly shrugged. "It's not mine. Fell into a nest of those giant splox beetles and had to take em out before they ate me. You know how it is."

"Could you be anymore bull-headed?" he wanted to yell at you as you left the room, interpreting his silence as the end of that conversation.

You were a good leader. He understood wanting to be tough, wanting to be strong for the soldiers under your command. If he was honest with himself, he did the same.

You trudged wearily back to your tent, ignoring the pain that was slowly returning to full force with a vengeance as though it was angry at being willed into submission.

***

This was...not good.

The com chirped, making you jump. You felt dazed and exhausted. Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath before answering the com. Sergeant Sinker's brisk voice echoed from the device.

"General, the clankers are moving in from the North. They've engaged the front and the 501st is calling for aid. What are your orders?"

You lit up the com. "Proceed with the request, Sergeant. I'll be there shortly."

***

You let out a feral scream, pouring every last ounce of energy and willpower into your prayers, knocking back an entire wave of droids. And then you felt nothing.

***

He barked a command at someone and after a few minutes the pain had loosened it's claws. It wasn't much but it was better than before.

"What do you need, General? Are you still in pain?"

"Lights," you managed to groan. Even that took too much energy and you desperately hoped that you wouldn't be sick in front of the Commander.

"You are so kriffing stubborn, you know that!?" Wolffe growled. Seeing you wince, he lowered his volume but continued with the hard and bitter tone.

"How long did you think you could hide that!? Hmm?" He motioned to your side.

"You almost died yesterday." He said, softening his voice ever so slightly.

"Oh kriff it." He snapped. "I care about you, damnit!" He shook his head and began to pace again, the anger returning to his visage.

There was fire in his eyes when he looked back up at you. "It would've killed me too."

You lay there in your bed staring at him - shocked at this outburst. What was he saying? That he cared for you? That he loved you? That he thought about you as much as you thought about him?

"I.." you began softly.

"No. I'm not done."

You shut your mouth.

He shook his head, disappointed in himself, and angry with you. "I should be holding the line with my men, not babysitting my General!"

The room was quiet save for the beeps and whirs of the medical equipment around you. The silence felt deafening. Then finally Wolffe let out a sigh.

"I'm....sorry..." The words dragged themselves reluctantly from his mouth.

You didn't respond.

You gasped, the dam broke and tears began to stream down your face.

Wolffe jumped up, startled and clearly embarrassed. "I...I mean... I... I didn't mean..." The normally confident Commander stumbled over his words in a shameful horror.

Wolffe looked down at you with amusement and a strange softness took hold of his features - a foreign look for his usually serious demeanor.

"You look nice when you smile," you whispered with a small grin. "But you can go back to frowning if that's more comfortable for you."

"I'll be right here when you wake up."

--------------------------------------------------

674 notes · View notes

arctrooper69 · 4 months ago

Note

I love this so much! ❤️🥰❤️🥰❤️🥰❤️🥰❤️ I’m having a really bad day and I needed this ❤️

Hello, I apologize if I am bothering you but I just wanted to tell you that I appreciate the head cannons you posted yesterday. I have just gone through a similar breakup and I'm really sad, especially before Valentine's Day. I also wanted to add that in the past I have been in a similar situation that reader was with Crosshair and you did that interaction justice. It's scary and confusing and you think everyone is against you, but reading his story and then all thenothers really helped me feel not so alone.

Nonny, you could never be a bother. I am so sorry to hear about your sudden breakup. I am glad you could find comfort in the fic, Coloring🌈, particularly in the Crosshair segment. No one, and I mean no one deserves to be forced into that position. I am pleased to know you got out. Survived. I based that interaction on an event in my own life, so I know just how badly it hurts and how isolated you feel. Anywho, it was brought to my attention by another moot of mine that I didn't include Omega on that post, but this gives me the perfect opportunity to make her own HC reacting to and comforting a friend in need. I hope this catharsis finds you well.(´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

Galentine's Day💝

Pairing: Omega x F!Reader(platonic) Warnings: (SWF) none really. Makeovers. Going out to eat. Just overall bestie excitement with Reader and Omega! Summary: Omega takes you on a Girl’s Night Out™ after an unfortunate revelation concerning your boyfriend. HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY, MY LOVELIES!!! (❤️ ω ❤️)

Read on ao3 - 3k words

Writing Masterlist - My kofi✨

“Your boyfriend did what?!” Omega cannot believe your misfortune, appalled that someone would treat you so abhorrently.

“Well, it’s safe to say he’s my ex-boyfriend now…” You sigh, saddened by the unexpected heartbreak. It has you questioning every moment you were with him. “I can’t believe I was so stupid!”

“Hey, enough of that talk!” Omega scolds you resolutely, not wanting to sit idly by as you blame yourself for his actions. “I know just the thing you need.”

Omega disappears behind the gunner’s mount and rummages around in a cubby at the foot of the controls. She finally locates what she was looking for, a large box made of tin with loose contents rattling around inside. You’re ever curious as to what she’s got in store, so you ask her. “What’s all this now?”

Omega sets the box down, unlatching the clasps and swings the lid over. There are countless palettes of pigment, tubes of lip color and compacts full of blush and concealer. “Everything we need to give ourselves makeovers!”

It’s been so long since you’ve seen a collection as extensive as this. It’s not that you felt putting makeup on was a rudimentary action, but when operating in a turbulent field where you are expected to be ready to roll out for action at a moment’s notice, it no longer became a necessity. Even the smell of the cosmetics instills you with fondness of a time when life was simpler and the hardest struggles you had to face were what color dress goes with which shade of eyeshadow. You thought this part of yourself had ceased to exist, but it was only lying dormant.

“Oh…” You smile to yourself, taking in every piece of Omega’s collection. “Do you know when the last time I did my makeup was?”

“I don’t know that I’ve ever seen you wear any in the time that my brothers and I have known you.” Omega says while scratching the top of her head in thought.

“That’s right.” You say at a level just above a whisper. “How about I do yours first.”

Omega jovially chuckles, jumping up and down excitedly as you gesture for her to sit in the nearby chair. “I’m ready!”

“Now, if I had to guess,” you plunge your hands into the box full to the brim and dig around for a particularly sparkly palette, “you’re in the mood for something shiny!”

“How’d you know?” Omega asks with a coy little smirk.

“You can’t fool me.” You nudge her with your elbow while dabbing an applicator brush into a section of bright pigment. “I know you’re a sucker for all things bright and eye-catching.”

You approach Omega with the brush and she obediently closes her eyes to let you dab her eyelids. She kicks her feet while you work, far too taken by happy jitters to it still. You don’t mind though, knowing you’ll be through with her in no time. With eyes still closed, you take one of the black liner crayons and trace along her eyelashes so that they don’t get lost in the glitter. You discard the eye makeup and reach for a compact of blush, rouging her cheeks with a couple swipes along the contours of her face. You finish her look off with a coat of glistening lip gloss, picture perfect and beautiful. “There. All done!”

You hold up one of the compacts with a mirror embedded inside, handing it to Omega. She takes it and peers into her reflection, her adorable expressions lighting up the more she studies her features. “You made me look like a princess!”

“I didn’t make you look like one.” You laugh at Omega’s remark. “You are one!”

“I’m gonna go show Hunter!” She exclaims before her departure. You take advantage of the time alone to do your own makeup, a little more complex and intricate than what you did for Omega. You use multiple different shades of pigment on your eyes, a glitter one on your lid, a slightly darker one along your crease and a brighter cream color across your brow. You are shocked to find an eyebrow pencil as well as multiple different types of mascara to choose from. You make use of almost all of the contents in Omega’s box to replicate the look you used to wear every day without fail. It’s like a uniform or war paint; a ritual that helps you feel closer to yourself. Therapeutic.

Omega returns with Hunter in tow just as you finish. “Omega told me you’re doing makeovers.”

“Do you want one?” You ask Hunter humorously.

“No, that’s not what I am getting at.” He lets out a slight chuckle at that.

“What else did Omega say?” You continue, sensing Omega wishes to say something with the way she’s clinging to Hunter and jumping up and down.

“I told him I wanted to have a play date with you!” Omega announces loudly.

“A play date?” You reiterate, unsure what this will entail.

“Omega told me what happened with your… erm- boyfriend.” Hunter is visibly uncomfortable discussing the personal matter, thinking he will offend you.

“Ex.” You flatly say while adjusting your eyelashes.

“Right. Ex.” He awkwardly looks between you and Omega before finishing. “She thinks it would do you some good to get out and have a little fun.”

“She does?” You grin at her, looking down and praising her with your eyes. It’s so thoughtful for her to have your well-being in mind.

Omega switches from holding Hunter’s arm to yours, already pulling you towards the flight deck. “Look! Hunter even gave me a bunch of credits so we can go out to eat and stuff!”

“What does Hunter think about all this?” You ask, glancing over your shoulder to hear his verdict.

“Look, I trust that you’ll not get into trouble together. We’re in a far enough system that no one knows to look for us, but don’t get careless.” Hunter tells you with confidence, knowing full well you will have everything under control.

“Aye-aye, captain!” You salute at him with Omega still yanking at your arm, eager to get this excursion underway.

“Be safe you two! And don’t come back too late!” Hunter waves you off before descending the boarding stairs to join his other brothers in their temporary lodging.

“Ah! Finally he’s gone!” Omega says when the hatch closes completely. You watch as she takes a seat in the pilot’s chair, waving for you to join her. “Now I get to show you what Tech has been teaching me!”

“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” You encourage her mischief, excited to know where her crafty mind wanders as you take the seat beside her at the helm.

“The Tech Turn!” You both shout in unison.

Omega goes full throttle on the thrusters once the ship has raised to a safer altitude. With such an empty sky, you’re able to get away with all sorts of maneuvers due to the lack of air traffic. She pushes the lever all the way forward and you’re thrown into your seat with the force. You sit back and watch Omega demonstrate how it’s done. You’re so proud of her, seeing just how far she’s come in her training.

She spots a towering pillar far in the distance that would be the perfect structure to execute the turn around. You exchange a look with her, knowing you both are anticipating the same thing. She promptly kills the thrusters and yanks as hard as she can on the controls, pitching the ship aggressively to the right to commit to a daring drift, swinging in defiance of gravity until she powers up the thrusters again.

“WHOO!” You cheer emphatically for Omega, reaching over to give her a pat on the back when she finally levels out and slows down to a safer speed. “That was your best one yet!”

“I told you I’ve been practicing!” Omega says, her eyeshadow still sparkling in the late evening sunlight.

“Now, where did you have in mind for this little excursion?” You venture to ask.

“Well, I was thinking that we should eat something!” Omega glides the ship down to a bustling market corner where restaurants and shops reside. She parks it in a rather vacant area reserved for guests. “C’mon! There’s a really good restaurant Wrecker takes me sometimes!”

“Oh! So, you’ve been here before.” Omega pulls you by the arm into the market square and you file in behind her when she locates just the place she was talking about. Upon entering, you find that it is hot, loud and the aromas of food are so dense, it’s almost overwhelming. Omega leads you to a rounded, square-shaped bar where another pair of customers are seated. Following her lead, she hops into one of the chairs and waits for you to join her. “How often do you come here?”

“Hey! Short stuff!” The Besalisk chef that will be making your meals walks over with a brimming cart of raw ingredients. His booming and gruff voice startles you despite the surrounding noise of clattering plates and cutlery. “Where’s the big guy?”

“Wrecker stayed behind so that I could show my sister here a good time.” Omega winks at you, addressing you as her sibling. You take this to heart and it helps you feel closer to her, like true family should. “We’ll have two specials, Reggie!”

“Anything for you, sweetheart.” Reggie grins at Omega, shooting a smile at you as well. “I’ll get you a couple Ocean Sunrises to start. Just the mixer for the little‘un. How’s about a splash of spotchka in yours?”

“Oh! Yes please! Make it a double!” You agree to the offer, eager to know.

“Coming right up!” Reggie departs to the bar to mix your drinks up. He comes back with two curved goblets containing a gradient of colors that really do resemble the ocean sunrise. One sip and you can taste the acerbic flavor of the spirits, but the aromatic syrups and tropical fruit juices makes indulging almost irresistible. “There. Now, it’s time to get on with the show!”

“The show?” You ask, glancing between Reggie and Omega. Reggie starts pulling vegetables and lean cuts of meat from his cart. He prepares the massive griddle slab with some cooking oil, squirting it onto a flattened spatula and spreading it across a large area of the heat element.

“Just watch!” Omega is locked in on the grandiose display while sipping her drink.

You sit back and take it all in, the edible entertainment. Reggie places a pair of small bowls in front of all guests sitting at his booth. One contains a little mixture of seasoned, chopped greens and the other is full of a savory broth meant to act as an appetizer to consume while he prepares the main meals.

“So we have specials all around! You’re all too kind, making this easy on me.” Reggie initiates his preparation by spraying a fine alcoholic mist across the heat element’s flame, igniting it in a bright flash of fire. You are beginning to see why Wrecker would choose to take Omega here. This place combines his two favorite things; combustion and food. The flames grow taller, almost reaching the ceiling before he slams down a steel lid, suffocating it. He lifts the lid up and allows a plume of smoke to escape, filling the air with its charred scent. Now with the heating element fully seasoned, Reggie begins flipping and shuffling his utensils in his hands, tossing them with a twirl in the air before flawlessly catching them again.

“And around the world we go!” He says, somewhat impossibly managing to twirl one of his steel forks around his girthy finger. Omega giggles at his fun. You’re sure she’s seen him do this countless times but she will never tire of it.

Reggie then grabs a raw egg with a bright blue shell and spins it like a top in the midst of all the smoke on the griddle. He slides his spatula underneath it and sends it into the air once, twice, then a third time before letting it land on its edge, parting the shell in two. The viscous interior spills out and sizzles when it makes contact with the heat. He does the same with three more eggs, one for every customer awaiting their meal.

Once all eggs have been cracked and scrambled, he pulls out a massive platter of noodles and deposits them right into the mound of loosely coagulated egg matter. While the noodles get warm and are slowly coated with egg, Reggie switches to the vegetables. Picking out an onion slice from the pile, he separates the layers and piles them on top of each other with the biggest on the bottom and getting smaller as it goes up. Reggie fills the little tower with an edible accelerant until it boils hot, a plume of steam shooting straight out. With a careful ignition of the plume, more flames jut out of it like a ship’s drive cone. He takes little pieces of vegetables and roasts them on the open fire, a delicate touch to each one.

“Look! Here comes the best part!” Omega exclaims excitedly, clapping her hands together while keeping her eyes trained on Reggie’s routine. One by one, he chops bite sized pieces of roasted vegetables and dexterously launches them into everyone’s mouths. Omega perks up in her seat, sitting a bit taller to reach it. She chews it with a smile, savoring the deliciousness of the flame-broiled food. Reggie then locks his gaze onto yours, getting another portion ready for you to catch. Just like he did to everyone else before, he tosses the piece into the air so that it travels in a perfect arc, landing directly into your mouth at last. You likewise eat the offering, surprised by its revolutionary deliciousness. Reggie giggles slightly when he witnesses your reaction, knowing he’s still got that special touch.

Reggie then reveals an even larger platter containing the protein options for the evening. Amongst them, he has procured an assortment of fresh fish, lean poultry and bright red portions of deeply marbled nerf steaks. He lays each on the heat element, a blistering sear causing the cuts to curl and stiffen as they cook. Reggie drizzles the cuts with sauce and sprinkles them with special seasonings. The scent is mouthwatering and you’re growing hungrier by the second, now having finished off the appetizers.

Reggie sets aside a small amount of bites again, skewering them and letting them brown up in the drizzled sauce before lifting them and handing them to all his guests. “One for you, and you, and you…”

When every aspect of the meal has reached perfection, Reggie begins piling massive portions of noodles into deep bowls. They are complimented by equal additions of vegetables and meat, so saucy and begging to be devoured. As a finale, Reggie performs one last sparkly flambé by sprinkling his special seasonings over all dishes but from a much higher vantage point above his head. He sets them aflame and the entire cloud shines like welding sparks. They fade into the atmosphere and Omega is the first to showcase her amazement with lively applause. You join her, as do the other customers at the bar as Reggie bows gratuitously.

“Thank you! I’ll be here all week! Enjoy the food with ya sis, Short Stuff.” Reggie tells her with a twinkle in his eye, addressing you and Omega one last time before he departs.

“We will! Thank you, Reg!” Omega tosses him a little sack of credits and Reggie’s eyes expand, weighing the hefty amount of money inside. He gives Omega a nod as a thank you for the tip, stowing the sack on his cart before heading back to the kitchens.

“Omega!” You beckon after he’s just out of sight. “Where did you get that kind of money?”

“I have my ways.” She winks. “Besides, I said I am taking you out. I’m not gonna bring you all the way out here and make you pay.”

“Those brothers of yours are really teaching you well, aren’t they.” You are reminded of the squad that awaits your return.

“They can be sensible when they want to.” Omega adds, chuckling with her response.

You don’t reply immediately, putting a slight pause in the conversation as Omega digs into her noodles. Although, it seems that she knows that ails you before you even mention it. “You’re sad about your boyfriend, aren’t you?”

“Ex.” You clarify while aimlessly twirling your fork.

“Right.” Omega sighs, then scoots her chair closer to you. “You wana talk about it?”

Setting your fork down, you rest your hands in your lap, looking down at them while picking at your chipped red nail polish. You foolishly painted them in hopes to look and feel more glamorous in light of the upcoming romantic holiday, but wish to be stripped of all remnants of the occasion you’re sure to miss out on. “Have you ever heard of Valentine’s day, Omega?”

“Valentine’s Day? Is that an event on the galactic calendar like Life Day?” Omega inquires curiously.

“Not quite.” You sigh, wondering how you’re going to explain this in layman’s terms. “It’s on the smaller side of the holidays, but bears a remarkable cultural significance with couples.”

“How do you celebrate it?” Omega’s interest has increased.

“On my home planet, there’s no one way to celebrate it, but the one constant is that you spend it with the person love.” With these words, a quaver in your lip appears and Omega cannot ignore it. Despite your emotions you keep speaking. “It’s tomorrow.”

“Oh…” Omega realizes just why you’ve been stricken with such grief. Only hours ago, your now ex-boyfriend revealed to you his true colors. You were highly looking forward to the occasion, dolling yourself up with the nail varnish in anticipation of it, but now feeling silly for going to the trouble.

“But you know what?” You interrupt your own misery, diverting the mood to a better one. “I am glad you brought me here, Omega. Just us girls. Who needs boys anyway?!”

“Yeah! You’re way better off without him!” Omega cheers encouragingly.

“Let’s make a pact to mark the day before Valentine’s Day as our own personal pampering day for times exactly like this.” You set in stone a new tradition to have with this growing girl.

“Deal!” Omega raises her hand towards you, urging you to strike it with your own in a high-five. You clutch each other’s hands together tightly, squeezing with love before gorging yourself on the brimming bowls before you both.

⋈⋈⋈⋈⋈⋈⋈⋈⋈⋈⋈⋈⋈⋈⋈⋈⋈⋈⋈⋈⋈⋈⋈⋈⋈⋈⋈⋈

Taglist: @captxin-rex @gospelofme @fangirl-goes-nova @romanoffs-gf @sstarwarsss @r2d2staser @nahoney22 @ashotofspotchka @eclec-tech @art-of-the-twistedstitcher @only-a-simp-deals-in-absolutes @justalittletomato @twiggoblin @xsherryberryx @kriffclone @sweetminx @deewithani @tinker-tech @megafrost4 @freesia-writes @boontaeveboba @ahoeformando @arctrooper69 @taz-107 @lizzowinkyface @chad-something @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius @merkitty49 @nonsenseandm3mes @id-rather-be-a-druid @storm89 @techs-stitches @the-chains-are-the-easy-part @succulent-momma @virtualexpertanchor @padawancat97 @hurtbywhisperedmuses @misogirl828 @seriowan @plushymiku-blog @the-dathomirian-jedi @ladykatakuri @mysticalgalaxysalad @talesfrommedinastation @dukeoftheblackstar @littlecrowtime

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arctrooper69 · 4 months ago

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Thankssssss 😍 I’m glad you liked it!

Omg please write another letter home from rex that was so cute

Eeeee! My very first ask! Your wish is my command! Hope you like it! ❤️

Running Home

Captain Rex writes a letter home. Part of the "If I Don't Make it Back" series.

Warnings: General angst? First time writing Captain Rex

--------------------------------------------------

Cyare,

I can't tell you where I am of course, but I just thought I'd write to say I miss you. We should have a day or two planetside after this mission and I can't wait to spend every minute of it with you. I can't tell you how lucky I am to have you in my life and how proud I am of you. You are so strong, cyare. That's one of the many things that attracted me to you. Please don't work yourself too hard.

Mesh'la, you're a star shining in the darkest parts of the galaxy. I never thought I'd have something other than my brothers to fight for. You guide me home and I could stay in your arms forever. There's something I've been wanting to tell you but I was too afraid of ruining what we already have. I thought I'd wait to see you in person but now I know that's just an excuse. If I don't say it now, I might never get the chance. I love you.

Us clones were not designed to fall in love, but somehow I did anyway. I guess Fives was right about that and I guess now I owe him a drink. I always seem to get dragged into whatever trouble they land themselves in. It certainly make things interesting. They all say hello by the way. I know I don't show it often, but I am proud of them. I'm so proud to be their captain. If anything were to happen to me, my brothers would keep you safe.

Mesh'la, if something happens, I just want you to know how hard I tried to get back into your arms. Please trust in yourself, cyare. You won't ever be alone. I love you so much and you know I'd fight Count Dooku himself if it meant I'd make it home to you any faster. I can't wait to see you.

Love,

Rex

P.S. It's my turn to pick the holomovies this time.

--------------------------------------------------

@zoeykallus @nahoney22 @merkitty49 @ttzamara (wasn't sure if you wanted to be on the general tag list or not)

191 notes · View notes

arctrooper69 · 4 months ago

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FAHKIHZGPOIOYT0PKLEREWGFHLKJJGDR2EES(JHLITYSYH”JADDFGHJKLL!!!!!!!!!!!!

I freaking love this so much!!! ❤️❤️❤️🥰❤️❤️🥰😍❤️❤️❤️❤️

Crosshair’s bit is probably my favorite ❤️

May I request a platonic TBB x fem!reader fic where reader finds out her boyfriend cheated and so they all do her best to support her and cheer her up? Whether that support be making cookies, comforting her, or revenge on the boyfriend (Crosshair probably on that one), I think it’d just be sweet to see the batch supporting someone.

Yes, but of course you may!! And since you asked so nicely, I believe it's headcanon time!!! And as per your request, I had Crosshair get a little revenge for Reader in this one! Please enjoy!

Coloring 🌈

Pairing: TBB x F!Reader(platonic) Warnings: (SWF) angst, infidelity, hurt-comfort, references to/depictions of abuse, dissolved relationships, blood, gore, death Summary: A set of individual headcanons illustrating the reactions as well as ways different members of CF99 would comfort or even defend Reader in an instance of an ex-boyfriend’s romantic infidelity.

Read on ao3 - 6k words

Writing Masterlist - My kofi✨

Hunter

Hunter was on his way back from his usual credit collection appointment with Cid on Ord Matell when he spots a man that seems to bear a striking resemblance to your boyfriend. He recognizes the pace of his gait, the cologne that wafts through the air when he’s around. A little pretentious in his opinion. Hunter always felt he was trying too hard to impress you. You care not for frivolous things like that, but if he made you happy then who is he to object. He rounds the corner, happy to introduce himself and make his greetings when the woman he’s wrapped his arms around looks nothing like you.

“Hey! Fancy seeing you out and about.” Hunter interrupts the romantic moment, and your boyfriend turns beet red out of embarrassment and fright from seeing him here. “Who’s this?”

“I’m his girlfriend.” The woman bows slightly, maintaining eye contact with Hunter. “And who might you be?”

Hunter answers her query with a stout punch landed across your boyfriend’s jaw. He falls to the ground just as you cross through the alleyway to your trusty meeting point, expecting to be greeted with flowers and a kiss, not a scuffle. “What’s going on here!”

“I don’t know! This guy just strolled up and punched my boyfriend for no reason!” The woman squeals, visibly distressed.

Your boyfriend looks up at you from where he lies on his belly, blood dripping out of his mouth and staining the ferrocrete. Your eyes are then trained on Hunter who appears to be soothing the soreness of his knuckles from having landed the punch. Watching on with tears in your eyes, you choke out a sob and flee on foot as fast as you can away from the situation. You are found tucked away, crying to yourself beneath the obscurity of an industrial awning. Hunter traces your echoing weeps and approaches with caution, knowing just how badly you’re hurt. “Is this seat taken?”

You sniffle, hurriedly wiping your tears away as if to conceal the very emotions within your sleeve. The cry forces the furrow of your brow to bring on a tension headache and the shudder of hyperventilation causes tremors that you cannot alleviate on your own. You manage to shake your head back and forth, telling Hunter it’s free to be occupied by him if he wishes. He sits beside you, waiting until you’re able to handle conversation.

He puts his arm around you and the comforting weight of the appendage puts a stop to your breathless spells and you can simply sit in silence with the constant estuary of tears falling from your eyes. “I thought he was with you. That girl.”

You say nothing, letting his words process, hoping your brain wouldn’t form images in your head.

“He kissed her. Was hugging her. It wasn’t until she turned around that I saw it wasn’t-” He glances at you, still zoned out and staring off into space. “Well, you know the rest.”

“You didn’t have to defend my honor.” You finally speak up, your hair disheveled from the run and hanging in front of your face. Hunter is reminded how much he dislikes the feel of his own untamed strands swathed across his features. Your hair clings to your nose, cheeks and forehead from the presence of sweat, tears and the tiniest remnant of snot. You aimed to isolate yourself, but Hunter will have none of it.

Hunter puts a gloved hand atop yours as though telling you he’s here. He recognizes your need for seclusion and respects it. “Someone had to.”

“I know, but you didn’t have to.” You say adamant in your stance. “I could have handled it myself.”

“I’m sorry.” The way Hunter so quickly takes accountability is not something you’re used to. You perk up at the notion. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Or done anything.”

“No, the fact that you did just means you care, and I really need that right now.” Your voice breaks at the delivery of this, and Hunter watches you crumble a second time. You catch your breath and clean your face again, only this time, Hunter assists you in moving your hair aside. He pets your head, soothing you while encouraging you to breathe. “Can you stay with me for a while?”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Hunter runs his hands through your hair, detangling the intricately woven locks. “And I know just the thing to pass the time.”

He sections off your hair in three parts starting at the crown. He continues plaiting the sections until he reaches the last couple inches of your hair, going over and under and over and under all the way through. The sensation of his fingers combing from root to end relaxes you. It isn’t until he’s completely finished that you realize he even takes off his headband and secures it to your head like a stylish accessory, the bow perched just above your bangs. You feel light and unburdened as well as refreshed and gratified. You don’t need some boy to tell you your worth. Hunter has shown you exactly how to see that through your own eyes.

“Well, go on.” You gesture with a loop drawn with your finger. “It’s your turn.”

“Oh, no that’s not necessary-”

“Your hair is a mess now that your bandana is gone.” You grin at him with a tilt of your head, wiggling the bow-styled tie at your crown where his accessory rests. The interruption is met with a nod on his end, turning around so that you can braid his hair as well in repayment. You know that it’s not something you have to do, but you know the maneuvers. It would bother you if you didn’t at least attempt it. “You’ll thank me later when the gust of a ship’s exhaust doesn’t cause your hair to blind you.”

Hunter smiles as he follows your request, giving you a chance to further make the best of this situation. You remain there together for a while, making the jaunt to return to the others only when you’ve finished.

Wrecker

Wrecker can hear your voice from down the corridor after having returned from a trip to the Mantell Mix kiosk. He walks into Cid’s bar hoping to surprise you by acting goofy with his helmet still on and making monster noises. He stops short of the women’s refresher when he sees that it’s occupied. He waits behind the door until it slides open, but he is not met with smiles and laughter as he so hoped.

Wrecker roars at you through his helmet whilst holding two cartons of mix, one in each hand. You dodge him seamlessly to proceed to the bar, heading for an empty seat and choosing one to brood in. He pushes his helmet up to rest atop his head to fashion like a rather durable hat and advances to investigate as it’s blatantly obvious you’re not in the mood to partake in the after-mission ritual.

He sits in the chair beside you and peers on, your shoulders rising and falling with sobs. “Not hungry?”

Instead of admitting or denying the state of your nutrition, you simply toss your comm link towards him where it clatters on the countertop, files having been opened to reveal that explicit messages have been sent to the wrong channel and were meant for your boyfriend. Not you.

“What’s this?” Wrecker picks it up and immediately bears witness to a thread of scandalous holo-photos of a woman in nothing but a lingerie ensemble, scrolling through until he reaches the bottom message that reads ‘Thinking of you, baby.’ Wrecker blushes at the lewd sight, closing the images out and setting the comm link aside, knowing it will do you no good to look at those now. “Oh!”

“I just broke things off with him. That’s why I took so long in the ‘fresher.” You say apologetically, thinking Wrecker was waiting on you to finish.

“I wasn’t waiting on that.” Wrecker discloses while lifting up the cartons of mix he purchased just for you and him to share. “I wanted to give you this.”

The scent of the mix hits your nostrils. Sweet and salty and oh, so crisp. Your stomach grumbles from the craving and you raise your head to take a handful to munch on, tears obstructing your vision as you pop individual pieces into your mouth and chew. You both enjoy your cartons of Mantell Mix until nothing but crumbs remain, meanwhile Wrecker can still see that you’re in need of more distraction.

“You know what always cheers me up when I am sad?” Wrecker starts, picking your brain a bit.

“No.” You answer flatly. “What?”

Wrecker lets his actions do the talking, plucking Lula from nearby and putting her in your arms. You snuggle with the plushie, hugging its warmth and softness. “Thank you, Wrecker. I know how much Lula means to you.”

“I know. Which is exactly why we’re going to honor her in the only way I know how.” Wrecker makes his way behind the bar and pulls out a rudimentary set of ingredients that you deduce are for a form of baked goods. “We’re going to make cookies of her!”

“Cookies?” You speculate his proficiency in the kitchen. “Have you ever made these before?”

“You’re not making your Lula cookies again. Are you?” Echo passes through before meeting the others outside, inspecting the ingredients. “I thought we told you last time they’re dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” You ask, thinking you’ll be an accomplice to food poisoning.

“Meaning they’re rather addicting. He only makes them when something bad happens.” Echo warns with a smile. Though, the smile suddenly fades when he sees your bloodshot, puffy eyes. He looks on, forlorn but hopeful, and departs. “Let us know when they’re done.”

“Well, I stand corrected.” You remark to Wrecker as he gathers more equipment. “What’s the first step?”

Wrecker walks you through the wet and dry ingredients, blending them individually before combining, however, this mixture is far crumblier than you expected.

“Yeah, see how it’s all loose like that? This is what we want.” Wrecker says while watching you push around the mixture.

“I fail to see how this will turn out to be a cookie.” You are losing hope in this shaggy concoction.

“Just wait. This is the fun part.” Wrecker then takes the bowl from your grasp and dumps the entire contents onto the countertop.

“Wrecker! This is a mess!” You don’t know what to do with the bits of dough at your disposal, having been strewn all over.

“Start mashing it together with your hands.” He instructs you calmly.

“With my hands?” You question, worried it will cling to you like tar.

“Yeah! It’s fun. Like this!” He starts smushing the crumbly bits until their common bindings allow them to adhere to each other, forming a cohesive unit. It’s dry enough that each piece sticks to itself and not his fingers. He steps aside, letting you do the rest.

In no time, a soft dough ball is formed from the amalgamation of crumbled matter. Wrecker halves the entire dough ball and reaches for unexpected ingredients to incorporate to influence the color. He deposits a black powder derived from activated charcoal into one half while using dehydrated Brekka beet root for the other half. Wrecker kneads the powder thoroughly into the dough and soon the full intensity of color comes through.

While watching him, you begin to realize he’s done these many times before. He operates so professionally, dividing sections of the dough up and forming an oblong shaped log. He rolls and stretches it while pulling at certain edges and flattening others. You don’t realize what he’s forming until he begins to cut slices of the log at a depth no wider than a small screw. He places slices of this log equidistant on a steel sheet while the roaring broiler warms a heating chamber. The picture has come clear. You can see the signature black body with red ears, hands and paws that trademark Lula’s appearance.

You and Wrecker bake them in batches, accumulating many cookies. The moreish little confections are irresistible, and you find yourself sampling one from every tray you pull fresh from the heating chamber. “I guess it’s good my boyfriend cheated on me. I wouldn’t have learned your recipe otherwise.”

“Don’t say that.” Wrecker shakes his head and passes you a cookie. You accept it, thankful he could take your mind off what a bad day you had to make better memories instead. “What happened to you was rotten and I would have made them even if you stubbed your toe.”

“Thanks, buddy.” You chuckle, biting off Lula’s ear of the cookie. “You know just how to make someone feel better.”

Echo

“Looks like someone had a long night.” Echo remarks humorously to Fives as he walks into the barracks with his hair and uniform in disarray.

“Don’t remind me.” The reply in his voice is combattant with a sudden retch. Echo rolls his eyes, surmising he’s hungover again. It isn’t until Echo sees the blemish of lipstick smeared along the collar of his chest plate.

“What is that?” Echo flatly asks Fives, demeanor switching to that of a more serious tone.

“Echo, please don’t tell her.” Fives takes one look at the lipstick and realizes the Loth cat is out of the bag. Panic sets in, unable to hide the sordid reality of his nightly excursion. “I-I had a few too many at 79’s, okay? It won’t happen again.”

“You’re right, because I’m going to tell her myself if you don’t.” Echo stands firm in his decision to be transparent with you, knowing that nothing good will come of keeping secrets.

“Tell me what?” You walk in on their conversation, Trading glances between Echo and Fives when you finally see it. A plum-colored smear decorates his chest plate that extends from a bright print of puckered lips. Your mood turns sour, but it looks like Fives’ whole morning since he woke up has been just that. His complexion has faded to a pallid twinge of green and he looks as though he’ll upchuck in a matter of seconds. Before he could explain himself, you storm out with a hearty objection. “Urgh!”

“Wait!” He calls after you and you humor him, stopping with your back still turned on his queasy face. “Please! You have to understand! I-I didn’t plan on anything happening last night!”

“No one ‘plans’ to cheat, Fives.” You stifle any show of emotion, not wanting to appear weak despite being in such a vulnerable position.

“I know.” He laments sincerely. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s over between us.” You declare mournfully, a quaver in your inflections. “This won’t affect your work, I hope?”

“N-no. It won’t.” Fives’ response is sure and respectful of your decision, giving you no further grief.

“Good.” You sniffle, still keeping your back turned. They can’t see it, but they know you’ve given way to your impulses and let yourself process the shock. Before you completely shatter, you speedily walk away to the courtyard just outside the Coruscanti infrastructure of the GAR headquarters. Despite the planet being a raging ecumenopolis, the smog seems thinner at this altitude. The fresh air hits your lungs, and you take in every breath hungrily. A pain in your chest emerges and you’re not sure if it’s due to your nerves or a fracture to your heart.

“You’ll always be my brother, but you royally fumbled the ball with her. I hope you know that no number of excuses makes this okay.” Echo scolds him, speaking on behalf of you.

“It was a mistake. Tell her I’m sorry. Please.” Fives is sweating heavily now and could quite possibly collapse from the exhaustion.

“I don’t know if hearing it a third time will change anything, but I will.” Echo tosses him his own canteen of water before giving him further instruction. “Fluids and bed rest. Now.”

“Sir, yes sir.” Fives obeys the orders of his brother, taking small sips of the canteen and heading to his cot.

You collapse beside a tree, the warmth of the sun keeping you comfortable with the brisk windchill emerging heavier as night falls. You keep thinking about all the good times you’ve shared with Fives, but the memories are tainted with the thought of him in another woman’s arms. How dare he kiss a stranger with the lips he said belong to you? Bringing both knees to your chest, you rest your head on them, enclosing your face with your arms to cry in silence.

Echo tracks you down. It doesn’t take him long to spot you taking a breather beneath one of the evergreen trees in the courtyard. The grass beneath his feet shuffles and you are startled when you realize you’re not alone.

“It’s alright. It’s just me.” Echo announces himself. “Are you okay?”

“What do you think?” You keep your face hidden, not wanting him to see you like this.

“Right. Sorry.” He sits cross-legged beside you on the ground. “Fives wants you to know he’s sorry.”

“He wasn’t very sorry when he was giving it to some floozie last night.” You bite back; anxious hostility being taken out on the wrong person.

“No. I guess not.” Echo sighs deeply, feeling at fault for being the wingman that set you both up.

“Why did you have to introduce me to him?” You can’t bring yourself to look him in the eyes, opting to sob into your knees.

Echo can’t stand to witness such anguish. He tries to comfort you the only way he knows how. He puts his arm around you, nonverbally giving you permission to unload all your anguish onto him with no restraint. You lean into the attention a little, letting yourself cry as hard as you require, all without a modicum of judgement from Echo.

“If it’s any consolation, I really let him have it.” Echo gives you his personal handkerchief to wipe your tears with as he continues to soothe you.

“It’ll get over this soon enough.” You say through stuttered whimpers. “It just stings a little right now.”

“I’ll be here for you regardless.” Echo discloses.

“Fives too?” You ask.

“He’s my brother.” Echo smiles. “I’ll always be there for him, even when he’s messed up.”

“Good. He’s gonna need you.” You manage to laugh through the tears. “I could tell he had a raging hangover, and that’s more than enough punishment.”

“You’re probably right.” Just as Echo says this, he performs a double take, his vision trained upwards towards the sky. “Oh… look.”

It’s as if the clouds have parted just for you. The night air is crisp and indulgent as the sun has completely fallen past the horizon. The sparkle of stars embellishes the surrounding glow of one of Coruscant’s four moons. Echo’s expression softens when he sees that you’re locked in on the sky. He raises his arm, pointing at the moon with confidence. “That moon there, it’s Centax-1.”

“Is that where the second day of the week’s name comes from? Centaxday?” His involvement is working as Echo takes your mind elsewhere, focusing on the celestial bodies that hang in orbit while sharing fun facts.

“It would indeed.” He grins proudly when he learns you’re just as widely read as he. “The standard month is based on its syzygy.”

“Heh, ‘syzygy’. That’s a funny word.” Your shoulders rise and fall with jovial humor instead of woe.

“When you get to be as well-read as I, one tends to find humor in all manner of words.” Echo is pleased to see your mood shift in a lighter direction.

“How quaint, to find broader meaning in little things.” You say, almost lost in thought. Having Echo here certainly makes this process easier.

“Like this?” Echo gestures around you both, acknowledging the setting of tranquility and healing.

“Yes. Just like this.” You say, comfortable at his side beneath the stars.

Tech

Tech can see that you’re sad about something, but you won’t tell anyone what it is. It puts a drag on your entire day. You haven’t eaten, you didn’t sleep well, and you’ve been rather short-tempered anytime someone would ask you what’s wrong. Tech tries his hand at prying this time and you challenge initially. “You’ve been out of sorts all day. Would it help to talk to someone about what might be wrong?”

“You wouldn’t understand.” You shrug his inquiry off at first, coldly assuming he would be disinterested.

“Try me.” Tech says, determined to get to the bottom of what plagues you.

“I walked in on my boyfriend in bed with another woman. At my flat.”

By the contortion of Tech’s facial expressions, he is appalled and disgusted by this information. “In your own dwelling? What did you do?”

“Did the only thing I could think to do. I grabbed up all the clothes they left on my floor and tossed them out the window. It was pretty entertaining watching them make the walk of shame eight stories down and through a bustling courtyard to get their trousers.”

A smile emerges on Tech’s face at the thought of that vulgar justice but through his amusement, he can see the sadness in your features. “You trusted him, didn’t you?”

“I shouldn’t have. It always turns out this way.” You shrug in defeat.

“What does?” He asks further.

“Getting close to people like that.” You sniffle, holding back the oncoming burn of tears. “I brought this on myself.”

“That’s a hardly constructive outlook.” Tech shakes his head in disagreement.

“I can’t look at it any differently!” You exclaim, frustrated.

“Then look at him differently.” Tech reasons.

“What do you mean?” You ask this time.

“You can’t control what others do with the attention you give them. He decided to repay you with betrayal, but that is no fault of your own. That fault lies within him.”

“I know.” You look down, still upset.

“You say that, but you still feel culpable for his wandering eye.” He says this, and you avoid his eye contact, proving what he thinks to be true. Tech continues. “Romantically committing oneself to someone is just as daunting a labor as calculating the speed of light, but even if the outcome is incorrect, you can always try again.”

A single tear streams down your cheek and Tech watches its path glisten, but you collect it with a finger and wipe it away quickly hoping he didn’t notice. “I don’t want to try again for a while.”

“Perhaps that’s best.” Tech pats you on the back, glad he got to have this talk. “You would benefit from focusing on yourself.”

“Hey, uh. Do you need help with anything?” You ask Tech this time.

“Oh, just idle nonsense.” He chuckles. “It would bore you.”

“Try me.” You say his own words back to him and he’s stricken with surprise.

“Well, I could use a hand in recalibrating the ship-”

“Done. Race you there!” You say as you begin sprinting to the landing bay where the Marauder is parked. For the entire rest of the day, you occupy your mind as well as your hands with something meaningful and lasting. You work with Tech for hours in the torrid heat until the ship is in tip-top shape. You have all but forgotten why you were sad in the first place when you’re elbow deep in grease and power cables. It works effectively in helping you forget about your trashy ex and his tramp of a girlfriend he brought into your home.

“There. Good as new.” Tech dabs at the sweat accumulating on his brow. “Now isn’t that a better way to release your energy than sulking?”

“I wasn’t sulking.” You snap at Tech but he just grins, still sensing that short temper of yours. “Okay, maybe I was sulking a little.”

“I know one other way to fix that.” Tech suggests as he walks towards a cooler full of chilled drinks.

“Other than hard labor?” You joke with him while he rummages in it.

“Very humorous, but no.” He pulls a pair of popsicles out of the cooler; hidden treats no one knew had been deposited. He tosses one at you, the condensation soaking your palms with its cold moisture. It’s refreshing, the stark temperature difference when it’s so hot outside. “A little something sweet and cold to help you unwind.”

You open the exterior foil packaging of the ice pop, savoring its creamy fruitiness as you feel yourself heed a greeted appreciation for the little things, like sharing a treat with a dear friend. “Thank you, Tech.”

“For what?” He asks while chomping large bites of his pop.

“This.” You wave your treat at the general ambiance, noticing the sun dip lower in the sky, saying in itself just how long you’ve been working with him. “It really helped.”

“Likewise.” He grins, watching the sunset at your side, letting you know you’ll never be alone.

Crosshair

Why? Tell me!” You’re trying not to raise your voice at your boyfriend. You’re hoping to keep things as undetected as possible, but when he breaks news like this to you, it’s impossible to maintain a whisper. You address him angrily, tired of his mischief and games. “Why would you sleep with her?”

“Why do you think? You’re here all the time!” Your boyfriend grits his teeth, also working very hard to not draw attention to himself nor the brewing conflict. “I have needs, you know! I can’t be expected to wait on you every minute of every day!”

“I’m here because this is my job. Sorry you can’t get off your ass and find one.” You let your true feelings slip for once, having gotten feisty with the heated argument. Your boyfriend posts up to you, puffing his chest out and almost bulldozing you over. He hovers over you, his breath burning hotly on your scalp with each exhale. He’s seething, both fists clenched at his sides just waiting for a change to pummel you.

“What was that?” He dares you to repeat yourself.

“N-nothing.” You’re frozen by submissiveness, knowing what awaits you if you speak out of turn again.

“Yep. That’s exactly what you are.” His breath clouds around your face, unhygienic and putrid. You don’t know how you used to manage his lips pressed to yours. Now all it does is disgust you. “Nothing.”

You’re feeling claustrophobic and cornered. An attempt to flee is made, but he yanks you by the hair causing you to yelp. He clamps a hand over your mouth and speaks directly into your ear. “Where do you think you’re going?”

You fawn into yourself; any sense of objection having been scared out of you. It’s easier this way. Just don’t fight it.

“Waterworks?” He reinforces the grip he has around your shoulders, squeezing tightly where old bruises still bloom beneath your sleeves. Your tears begin to fall and he hates the sight of them. With your arms still locked in his clutches, he shoves you towards the wall, throttling you against the unforgiving surface to force you to stop. “You always act like crying will get you out of this.”

“You’re not allowed back here.” Crosshair appears in the doorway, and you plead for him to save you with your eyes, puffy and glistening with fear.

Your boyfriend tightens his grip, and you wince, the force of his hands causing your shoulders to go numb. He doesn’t care that Crosshair has just made himself known. In fact, things might turn more volatile as a result.

“Oh, look. One of the science experiments has come to rescue you.” With this, your boyfriend throws you to the ground, puffing his chest out to Crosshair this time, but the intimidation tactic renders no effect. “I was just leaving.”

Crosshair can see that you don’t need this moment to be exacerbated, making wait for your boyfriend to exit while they shoot daggers at each other with their eyes. Once he’s gone, Crosshair slowly comes near, but you don’t want him to, having shrunken into a corner.

“Don’t!” You exclaim adamantly to his surprise, stopping him short of his advances. “I’m sorry. I-I don’t want anyone to touch me.”

“Would if feel better if I brought Tech so he can examine-”

“No!” You interrupt his well intentions, burdened by shame. “Please. I don’t want anyone to know.”

Crosshair keeps looking you over. He notices the dark circles under your eyes, a scab still healing on your bottom lip and a set of finger imprint bruises that line the nape of your neck. Who knows how many hidden scars and wounds you keep from the light of day or beneath a layer of complexion cream. “How long has this been happening?”

“Oh him?” You surmise he’s talking about your boyfriend. “He’s not always like that. He can be really sweet at times.”

“Is that before or after he’s hurt you?” Crosshair challenges your thinking.

“I thought I could change him.” You feel an oncoming cry tighten in your throat. “He lost his job when the mines he used to work collapsed and he’s been… different ever since.”

“Different how?” Crosshair lends an ear for you to express your sorrows.

“He started taking my earnings, what little credits I make here to provide for us while I put in the hours. He started controlling how I dress and who to talk to.” You glance up at Crosshair, realizing he sees more bruises peeking out beneath the hem of your wrist cuffs before finishing your next statement, yanking your sleeves down. “And… he never liked that you and the others are my friends.”

“I’ve never liked him myself.” Crosshair doesn’t take his eyes off the blemishes and marks left across your body. His blood boils with the thought that you believe you deserve this. He stares at the fingerprints at your nape, unable to remain silent about them any longer. “What side of him was he trying to show you when he left you with those?”

The expression you give Crosshair is a disconcerting one, followed by an unnerving silence.

“I am only going to ask you this once, and I need you to be truthful with me.” He starts this with such caution enveloped in tenderness and understanding. “Do these instances bleed out into… other areas of your relationship?”

He can see by your reaction to that question that his assumptions are validated. You scramble for rationalizations and ways that you can alter the light this atrocity is being viewed through, but it’s no use. “You don’t get it. When we’re together like that, it’s the only time he’s nice to me.”

“But he isn’t nice to you, is he?” Crosshair helps you see the very wrong way you’ve been treated. “It hurts.”

“He’s just like that.” You try to justify it more, refusing to speak truth into existence. “Tough love is what he always says.”

“There is a difference between tough love and flat-out hate.” Crosshair adds, hoping to get through to you. “Trust me. I know the difference.”

“B-but… I don’t know what to do. I’m scared to break up with him. What if he tracks me here again?” Your mind is racing, feeling trapped in the hell of your own making. Why didn’t you get out sooner? You curse yourself for your misjudgement.

“Don’t worry about that.” Crosshair stands up, his heart set on making this problem of yours disappear. “Leave everything to me.”

Crosshair tracks your ex down to a dark and secluded alleyway, having followed him since he made his exit from the massive clone HQ facility. Against your boyfriend’s better judgement, he has the audacity to try and hustle someone for their money. Crosshair watches the altercation unfold as your boyfriend seems to have bitten off more than he could chew. The man he tried to take advantage of has a friend and they both gang up on your boyfriend for having the gumption to take anything they had with force. Crosshair slips into a darkened section of alleyway, peering at the grim events before him. Your boyfriend trades fists with this pair of brigands, but he is not strong enough to take them both. In a moment of weakness, your boyfriend reaches for a concealed blaster pistol, waving it to and fro to gain some room from the scuffle. The initial man your boyfriend was trying to mug counters this show of force by brandishing a Tehk’la blade, rushing him before he could even line up his shot and fire. He is struck in the gut, eviscerated when the blade is ripped upwards and twisted. With the commotion, he pulls the trigger a couple times, announcing the disturbance for onlookers to investigate as a couple of scorched marks stain the wall nearby. The pair of brigands leave him for dead and flee before they could be caught by authorities, startled by their own actions. Your boyfriend lies there in a puddle of blood, trying to hold his organs together.

Crosshair appears in the dim light of the industrial channels, toothpick caught in his maw as he squints judgingly at your boyfriend. Just as he was towering over you before, Crosshair saunters towards him, making your boyfriend feel ever so small. He stares in disbelief at Crosshair, never having once thought his would be the face he sees when he draws his last breath.

“A fitting end to your disgraceful life.” As a form of poetic justice, the wound to your boyfriend’s gut has caused his airways to become otherwise obstructed by his own fluids, unable to utter a single curse of your name. With this, his strength has vanished as well. His grip is limp around the blaster, so Crosshair takes it into his possession. Crosshair raises his arm and lines up his aim perfectly. Before he fires a single round between your now ex-boyfriend’s eyes, he tells him one last thing before he collapses with a thud onto the pavement. “You were never worthy of the love she gave you.”

Crosshair returns to find you’ve been waiting for him since he left. You’re eager to know the outcome of the confrontation, knowing your boyfriend was never one to miss a chance to fight. “What happened? Is he going to leave me alone?”

Crosshair reaches behind himself and presents the 434 Deathhammer you recognize to be your boyfriend’s trusted blaster. With a single gasp, you accept it gratefully. “He was trying to rob someone, but fate had better plans. He was practically gone when I got there.”

“Practically?” You ask, looking up from the gun. “Did you… finish him?”

“I did.” Crosshair doesn’t see a benefit to impeding your closure. “Does that upset you?”

“No.” You feel yourself grinning softly, a foreign feeling you thought you’d never sense again. “The opposite, actually.”

“It still angers me what he reduced you to.” Crosshair speaks on your behalf, letting his own emotions flood within him.

“I know, but I survived it well enough.” Your hopeful perseverance should have never been wasted on an excuse of a man like that, but Crosshair does appreciate seeing that you’ll be fine after all.

“A life like yours warrants so much more than survival.” Crosshair contends with you kindly.

“Love never got me anywhere at all.” You reflect regretfully.

“It brought you to us.” Crosshair speaks on behalf of his brothers, letting you know you fall under their protective purview as well.

“But love won’t keep me safe.” Both hands form into fists as you continue, the urge to fight having arisen. “I need to start hating now.”

“Those are strong words.” Crosshair knows you’re only flustered because of what’s happened, giving you the benefit of the doubt. “I don’t think you mean them.”

“I have to learn to be stronger. Stronger than I am.” You wish to spit, longing to be rid of the copper and iron aftertaste. “I hate the way his name tastes now.”

“Let’s cleanse our palates then.” Crosshair takes you to the indoor shooting range, empty and unoccupied. You have the room to yourself, but he tells you to turn around from the targets until he’s prepared a proper reveal to the impromptu surprise he’s thought up to make you feel better.

After a long while, he returns to you, tapping you on the shoulder to beckon you to turn around. There’s nothing notably different about the room. Everything seems to be in order, that is until you notice the holographic images programmed on the targets. As per a creative direction for training to be taken, the facilities can be adjustable for any manner of combatants. Crosshair searched the public records for your boyfriend’s image, landing on a shameful little mugshot that has seen better days. “Here. It’s yours now.”

He’s offering you the Deathhammer and you timidly accept it. For so long, this weapon was a source of fear, now it will be a beacon of your own triumph. You raise your arm and Crosshair can see the similarities in your form that are akin to his when he pulled the trigger on the man that held you back. With profound efficiency, you strike every target dead on, causing the hologram to glitch and fade away, just as he did. Turning around to address Crosshair, you express just how much this has helped you, but you’re certain he already knows. “Thank you. For everything.”

The corners of his mouth are pulled up for a couple seconds at most before he resets the range with fresh targets. “You can thank me when that aim of yours is perfected.”

“Fair enough.” You chuckle as you turn back around to line up your shot again.

⋈⋈⋈⋈⋈⋈⋈⋈⋈⋈⋈⋈⋈⋈⋈⋈⋈⋈⋈⋈⋈⋈⋈⋈⋈⋈⋈⋈

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arctrooper69 · 5 months ago

Text

Ohhhh.... Holy crap.... That's...

Oh man... I need Wolffe... Need him.... 🤤🤤🥵🥵

Locked Doors

Pairing: Commander Wolffe x Reader Word Count: 2.7K Rating: Explicit (18+ Only) Summary: You and Wolffe get caught, but Wolffe doesn't want you to be quiet. A/N: A one-shot based off of this earlier post. More light-hearted than my usual as I try to expand my horizons LOL

“Did you hear that?”

You reach your hand back to cover Wolffe’s on your hip, pausing his thrusts, and try to bite back a whimper at the sudden lack of friction.

Behind you, Wolffe growls, deep in his chest, and you swear you can feel the vibrations all the way down to your pussy.

“I didn’t hear anything,” he bites out.

By the sound of his voice, you know that if you look at him now, you’ll see a scowl across his too handsome face — eyebrows scrunched, lips pressed together in a thin line. Maybe even an eye roll added in for fun.

But you keep your eyes trained on the door to his barracks office because you know you heard something. The shuffle of feet, a silent-to-everyone-but-a-Jedi cough.

“Wolffe, I— oh, fuck!”

He interrupts you with a swivel of his hips and you don’t have time to cover your mouth or bite your lip, which you really should have done because there is definitely someone outside that door right now.

You grip the edge of the desk Wolffe has you bent over and shoot a glare back at him. He smirks, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes deepening when three distinct knocks echo through the room.

You feel your eyes widen at the same time Wolffe tightens his hold on your hair and pulls you flush against his chest. The change in position has his cock moving roughly against the walls of your cunt and you have to force down another moan.

“What the fuck, Wolffe?” you pant as he lets go of your hair and trails his hand along the edges of your neck and shoulder.

“The door’s locked, mesh’la,” he whispers into your ear, his breath soaking into your skin and adding to your already ramped up desire. “Whoever’s out there can stay there. You can stay right here. And I can answer his questions just,” he pulls out of you almost completely.

“Like,” he circles a nipple with a thumb while his other hand squeezes your hip.

“This,” he slams back into you and you cover your mouth, trying to muffle a shout at the feel of every inch of his cock so deep in you so quickly.

Wolffe doesn’t give you time to recover before the hand covering your breast moves up your body, fingers circling around your wrist and pulling your hand away from your mouth.

“None of this, though, love,” he presses a kiss into your shoulder. “You want to fuck in my barracks, we’re gonna fuck how I want to. And I want you loud.”

A shiver runs up your spine at his words; there’s tension and anxiety, but also something you hand’t really expected.

Excitement? Curiosity? Desire?

“Let him hear what I do to you.” Wolffe moves his mouth from your shoulder to your neck, nipping at a patch of skin and you close your eyes, still contemplating his proposition.

Your relationship with Wolffe isn’t exactly a secret among the 104th boys. It’s hard to keep anything secret from people you spend so much time around. Especially when you have a tendency to frequent a certain co-commander’s quarters on long war missions.

Aside from a few amused glances (mostly from Boost) or embarrassed smiles (usually from Comet), no one ever says anything, though. At least, not to you. You have no idea what they might say to Wolffe when you’re not around.

Still, as much as you trust the boys, you’ve never done anything like this. Never been loud when you knew for certain they would hear. Never let Wolffe take you knowing there was someone whose view of the two of you was only prevented by a few inches of durasteel. Never had your desire and your passion and your needs so publicly displayed — even if all anyone could do was listen.

You shiver again, a moan creeping up your throat at the realization that you do want this.

You want whoever’s on the other side of that door to know you’re in here. You want them to know that you and Wolffe work just as well together in the bedroom as you do on the field. You want them to know without a shadow of a doubt that you are Wolffe’s and he is yours

With his hand tracing lines down your neck, his breath insistent against your skin, you know that’s what Wolffe wants, too.

Decision made, you turn your head, leaning back slightly so you can catch Wolffe’s eyes. The normally golden hue in the one is blown dark brown, almost black, and you swear the faint electric blue in the other is somehow brighter.

“Give him something to listen to, then,” you say, voice slightly louder than a whisper, “Commander.”

Wolffe’s cock twitches at your words and you gasp, but it’s nothing compared to the near snarl that comes from his mouth as his lips crash into yours for a quick but breathless kiss.

When he pulls back, a smirk is once again in place. “Be careful what you ask for, mesh’la.”

He grabs your chin and turns you so you’re facing forward, facing the door, once more. He circles his hips, hand trailing down to your breasts just as another knock comes through.

“What is it, trooper?” Wolffe uses his tired, bored voice. The one that let’s everyone know he has better things to be doing. Or, in this case, better people.

As you gasp again against the jolt of pleasure from his cock rubbing along the edges of your cunt, you wonder how in the fucking hell he can manage to be so controlled.

Probably pure stubbornness.

As if he knows what you’re thinking, Wolffe flicks a thumb over a nipple and you hiss, almost missing the trooper’s response.

“The— The door’s locked, sir,” his voice is hesitant. Wary. And, based on the way Wolffe keeps moving inside you, the way he keeps flicking and massaging your breasts, if he doesn’t already know what’s going on, he will soon enough.

“I’m aware . . .” Wolffe pauses, pointedly waiting, you assume, for the trooper to give his name.

“Um, Catcher, sir.”

Wolffe pulls out of you halfway, thrusting back in and masking your moan with his next words.

“Right. I’m aware the door’s locked, Catcher,” he lets out a loud sigh and you roll your eyes even though you’re mid-whimper. Always so dramatic. “You can talk to me without seeing me, can’t you?”

“Ye— yes, sir,” Catcher says immediately.

The urgency and panic in his voice is so out of place in this situation and your shoulders shake on a silent laugh. You cover your mouth, only realizing what you’ve done when a sharp smack sounds through the room and a jolt of pleasure tinged with pain courses from your breast straight to your throbbing pussy.

“Wolffe!” you hiss.

Catcher continues talking but you ignore him to lean back and glare at the man behind you. He smirks down at you, not the least bit contrite, fingers soothing the reddening mark on your breast.

“I told you,” he says, making no attempt to lower his voice, “no covering up that pretty mouth of yours.”

You open said mouth, about to say something to show him just how pretty it can be, when:

“Uh, Sir?” Catcher hesitates, “I didn’t catch that.”

Wolffe rolls his eye. “I said get on with it, kid.”

“Could say the same to you, Commander,” you grumble.

Peering back down at you, he narrows his eyes, hand moving across your chest to trap you firmly against him. With your arms now pinned under his at the elbows, there’s no way for your hands to reach your mouth, even on accident.

“I told you to be careful what you ask for.” His voice is back to a whisper, words meant just for you.

Deciding that if you’re in this deep already, you might as well enjoy it, you grin and say, louder, “Oh, I know exactly what I’m asking for.”

Catcher’s voice stops and you have just enough time to hear him clearing his throat alongside Wolffe saying “that’s my girl” before you’re being fucked out of your mind. Every sensation is made better by the knowledge that you’re not alone.

Someone can hear you. Can hear Wolffe pounding into you. Can hear you chanting his name between moans loud enough they can probably reach outside the entire fucking barrack, let alone just outside this room.

You cling to the only thing your hands can reach — Wolffe’s arm — and try to focus on the door, try to listen and see if Catcher is saying anything else, but you can’t.

The force of Wolffe’s thrusts — all the way out, all the way back in, hitting the exact right places over and over and over — are too much and still not enough.

“More,” you moan, your decision to no longer care who hears you leaving you uninhibited, especially when the sound of skin slapping against skin is so loud, “Wolffe, I need more.”

He lowers the arm clutched across your chest, still keeping yours pinned to the sides but making it so he’s holding you across your waist instead, and brings his other hand up to your mouth.

“Lick it,” he rasps, voice finally giving away how close he must be, too.

You do as he says, tongue swiping up and down his fingers, sucking on them when he gently pushes between your lips. You close your eyes, humming around the thick, rough length of them and wishing you’d had time earlier to suck on his cock instead. When Wolffe groans into your neck, his cock jumping inside you as he stutters on a thrust, you know he’s thinking the same.

You release his fingers from your mouth and he immediately pushes his hand down to your cunt, instincts and muscle memory helping him find your clit straight away. He circles the bundle of nerves, pulling yet another moan out of you in the process.

Wolffe moves his fingers at a pace that matches his thrusts, which are becoming quicker and shallower, the noises between you echoing louder and louder in the small room.

The combination of his cock and his fingers has you close. So, so close. Your fingernails dig into his forearm and you lean your head back, neck exposed, trusting that Wolffe will know the last thing you need to get you all the way there.

And as always, Wolffe never disappoints.

“Want my teeth on you, mesh’la?” he grunts, thrusts reaching a speed you didn’t even think was possible. “That what you need, dirty fucking girl?”

He slams into you and you whine up at the ceiling. Of course he’d want to play with you now.

“Wolffe, please,” your moan is more of a sob and you can feel him smirk into your neck, the bastard.

“Don’t worry,” he licks a circle into your skin, “I’ll take care of you.”

And then he bites you.

His teeth sink into the space between your neck and shoulder just hard enough to leave an outline of his mouth without drawing blood. Just enough to leave his mark where others can’t see.

The slight twinge of pain is immediately overwhelmed by a wave of white-hot pleasure that shoots down your entire body, flooding your pussy and making you cry out.

“Wolffe, fuck!” you shout as you clinch around his cock and rub against his fingers to ride out the wave of an orgasm so intense you can barely fucking see.

Lips still firmly pressed into your skin, Wolffe growls, deep and primal, and, with a final, forceful thrust that nearly sends you back to the edge, he releases inside you. Closing your eyes, you squeeze around him again, soaking in the feeling of being so full.

The room is quiet apart from your shared panting. As you come down from your high, you rub circles into Wolffe’s arm, soothing over the crescent-shaped marks left by your nails. After a moment, he raises his head from your shoulder and looks down at you, golden eye soft the way it always is, after.

Once again, you open your mouth to say something — this time something romantic, something sweet. The kind of words Anakin is always embarrassing himself with by saying to Senator Amidala.

“I-”

“Wolffe! Are you done in there yet?”

Wolffe jerks his head up to the door, no doubt wondering why a shiny would be so bold as to call him by his name and not his rank. But you know this voice almost immediately, and grimace as Sinker continues.

“We’re all real happy for you, brother, but some of us value our sleep, you know.”

Finally realizing who the voice belongs to, Wolffe’s scowl turns into a self-satisfied smirk. You shake your head, not relishing whatever’s about to come out of his mouth next.

“Keep complaining, Sergeant,” he yells across the room. “I can keep this going all night if I have to.”

He looks down at you as he says the last past and you swallow hard. As if to prove his point, his cock, still inside you, twitches with renewed interest. It brushes just enough against your sensitive walls that you can’t help the moan that slips out.

“I’d listen to him, if I were you, boys,” you say, a bit breathless, and all the noises outside the door cease.

You and Wolffe stare at each other, eyebrows raised. After a moment of silence, Sinker clears his throat. “Just . . . try not to traumatize any more of the shinnies, yeah?”

You hear his footsteps echo down the hall, away from the room. Wolffe chuckles, kissing your cheek. You shake your head once more, but a smile tugs at your lips.

“We cannot do that again.”

Wolffe shrugs, removing his arm from across your waist and finally pulling out, rubbing a hand across your back when you gasp at the emptiness. “You seemed to enjoy it. I know I enjoyed it. And who cares what the boys thought. It’s good for them to remember I’ve got some bite to my bark.”

You turn around to look at him, squeezing your thighs together in an attempt to keep as much of him inside you as possible. Leaning against the desk he had you bent over earlier, your eyes trace his body, from the top of his scar to his already hardening cock. You give up trying to hold back your smile and laugh, nodding down at his length.

“You really could go again right now, couldn’t you?”

He steps forward, your smile reflected on his face, and pushes a strand of hair behind your ear. “Only for you,” he says softly, not a hint of his earlier cockiness in his voice now.

You close your eyes and push your cheek into his palm, trying to steady the thrumming of your heart in your chest and through your veins.

Wolffe leans down, breath warm and intoxicating against your skin. “Let me make you scream my name again, love.”

Love. He’s called you that a lot tonight. It’s not new, he’s said it before. But your heart still clinches every time the word leaves his mouth.

Another shiver runs up your spine and you hum, tilting your head against his ear. There’s so much about Wolffe you love. So much you want to explore. So much you want him to do to you. So much you want to do to him.

You place a hand against his chest and push him, catching him off guard enough to allow you to force a switch in positions.

With him against the desk now, you open your eyes and keep your mouth at his ear, hand trailing from his chest to grip his cock.

“Let me make you scream my name.”

You feel him smile against your neck yet again and his next words rumble through your body, reaching you in all the places you know his hands will soon follow.

“Give it your best shot, mesh’la.”

And you do.

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