#clone commando scorch x reader

[vodika-vibes]

Secret Admirer

Summary: When you get a bouquet and a love letter left on your front porch, you jump to the logical conclusion that they were left for you by your boyfriend. Turns out, they’re not from him. And it bothers him a lot.

Pairing: Clone Commando Scorch x F!Reader

Word Count: 1321

Warnings: Scorch gets jealous and can't keep his hands to himself.

A/N: I was in a Scorch mood this morning, and so this was born. I really need to focus on my requests but, guys, I'm struggling right now. I can't wait until spring gets here.

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When the doorbell rings in the middle of the day, shortly after lunch, you’re surprised. People don’t visit you, and you’re not expecting any deliveries today, but it also wouldn’t be the first time your mom bought you something without warning you, so you pause your work and make your way to the front door.

By the time you open the door, there’s no one there. 

But, sitting next to your door is a massive bouquet of red roses and a pink envelope wrapped to the vase with a white ribbon.

And you just about melt on the spot.

Obviously, the flowers are from Scorch. Who else would send you flowers other than your long-term boyfriend?

A bit disappointing that he doesn’t know what your favorite flowers are, but it’s the thought that counts, right? You pick up the flower arrangement and bring it into your home, absently kicking the door shut behind you, and settle the vase on your kitchen table.

Gently, you adjust the flowers so that they don’t look squished, and you pull the envelope off the vase. You slide your finger under the seal of the envelope and pull the simple card out.

It’s really simple. Pale pink card stock with a flower design indented on the cardstock. And the text is written in a neat if not flowery, calligraphy. It’s pretty.

Not really your style, but pretty all the same.

You lean against the counter and read the note. It’s, quite possibly, the sappiest love note you’ve ever read in your life. It’s also the only love note you’ve ever received in your life, so maybe it’s always like this?

However, Scorch does compare your eyes to stars three times and your lips to the petals of a flower twice…which is weird. And not at all like Scorch. 

He’s never, in the year you’ve been dating him, compared you to nature. He doesn’t compare you to anything, as he claims that it wouldn’t be a fair comparison to the other things.

For a moment, just a moment, you think that this can’t possibly be from Scorch. But then you push the idea to the side.

There isn’t another person alive who would buy you flowers, and the weirdness is probably just a template that the company has for hapless boyfriends and husbands.

You wouldn’t be surprised, based on some of the gifts your father has gifted your mother over the years.

So you push the worry to the side and set the card on the table next to the flowers, and then you return to your office to go back to work. You need to finish all of your work so you can spend the next ten days with Scorch without interruption.

Several hours later, as you send the final email out to your supervisor, and then mark yourself on vacation for the next week or so, you hear the familiar sound of Scorch moving near the front door.

His armor is heavy, and he can’t help but make a lot of noise. “I’m home,” He calls from the front hallway.

“Welcome back,” You roll your chair back to push your office door open, “I’m almost done here, and then we can decide where we’re going for dinner.”

A moment later, Scorch appears at the door to your office, a crooked smile on his handsome face. He’s only wearing his blacks, and you can’t help the lovestruck sigh when you see him. He really is unfairly gorgeous.

His grin widens at your sigh, but he doesn’t tease you about it. Well, not yet at least.

“Should I go and dig out the wheel of restaurants?” He asks lightly as he steps into your office properly and wraps his arms around you from behind, taking a moment to press a light kiss against the side of your neck.

You reach up and bury your fingers in his messy curls, “If you want. We both know that’s easier than trying to decide what restaurant ourselves.” You tilt your head back and beam at him, “You have helmet hair, Scorch.”

He hums, and kisses your cheek quickly, “That would be because I was wearing my helmet all day.”

“Aww, you poor thing,” You tease lightly.

“It’s fine. I spent all day watching tooka videos…and then Boss caught me and beat my ass.”

You grin at him, “Serves you right.”

“Heatless, babe.” He kisses you three times in quick succession, “Anyway, I need to shower before we go anywhere. I stink.”

“Well, I didn’t want to say anything—” You squeak when he prods your side with a strong finger.

He hugs you tightly for a moment, and then releases you, “Finish up your work, pretty girl. I won’t be long.”

“I’m almost done. Promise.” You reply, a tiny smile lifting your lips as he takes your hand in his and brings your knuckles to his lips to press a light kiss there. 

Scorch then squeezes your hand and releases you so he can go shower.

Without his armor on, you can’t hear him move through your shared apartment, though when you don’t hear the shower click on in the other room after several minutes, you turn in your chair and frown at the door. 

“Scorch?”

There’s no reply so you stand and poke your head into the hallway. From your office door, you can see him standing in front of the kitchen table, but his back is towards you. 

“I thought you were going to shower?” You ask as you approach him.

He turns his head to look at you, and there’s a frown on his face, “Who’re the flowers from?”

You blink at him, twice. “Well, I thought they were from you, but now I’m not so sure.”

“Babe, I wouldn’t buy you roses. You hate roses.”

You tilt your head, “Did I…tell you that?”

“You didn’t have to. I’m an observant guy.” Scorch picks the note up and reads it, his nose scrunching up in distaste, “Whoever wrote this doesn’t know you at all.” He announces after a moment.

“Why do you say that?” While having a secret admirer is somewhat concerning, you’re slightly more amused with how Scorch is treating it. 

“He mentioned your eyes and your lips, but didn’t once mention your amazing personality.”

A laugh slips from your lips, “Yes. Because it’s my personality that caught your attention first.”

Scorch tosses the note in the trash, and then turns so he can pull you into his arms, “Well, babe, if the note mentioned your amazing legs or ass I’d have to hunt this admirer down and beat him to death.”

“Ooh, my hero~”

He grins at you and his hands slide down your body, making you squeak, “I changed my mind.” Scorch announced, “My shower can wait an hour or so.”

You squeal when he smoothly drops his hands to your thighs and lifts you as if you weigh nothing, and you fling your arms around his neck, “Scorch!”

“Mm, love it when you say my name like that—” Scorch replies as he leans in and bites down on your neck, and you know that he’s intent on leaving a bunch of visible marks on you.

“I’m still working—” You try.

He pauses and glances at the chrono on the wall. A few moments later, the chrono chimes 5 pm, and he grins at you, “Now you’re not. Come on, sweetling. Let me remind you why you picked me.”

“Seriously, are you jealous of a flower bouquet and a card?”

“A love declaration, baby. Not just a card. And, when I’m finished with you, you won’t care about either.” Scorch says confidently, as he carries you into the bedroom and drops you on the bed.

Your secret admirer shows up on your front step several hours later, only to get sent packing when Scorch opens the door shirtless, and covered in scratch marks and hickies. 

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[areyoufuckingcrazy]

“Pull the Trigger”

Scorch (RC-1262) x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Suggestive content

You shouldn’t have let him take the detonator.

But here you were—sprinting down a blackened corridor on a Separatist cruiser, the air behind you thick with smoke and laughter. His laughter.

“Scorch!” you shouted, coughing. “That was not what I meant when I said ‘make a distraction’!”

He turned, grinning under his helmet, shoulders relaxed like this was a holiday and not a mission gone sideways. “Come on, mesh’la. It worked, didn’t it?”

“You blew out two support beams and almost buried us alive!”

He jogged backward in front of you, still grinning. “Almost only counts in sabacc and thermal charges. You should know that by now.”

You skidded to a stop near a still-smoking hatch, chest heaving. The emergency lights flickered blood-red across the metal walls, shadows dancing. Scorch leaned one arm against the bulkhead, casually blocking your path like this was some kind of game. His visor tilted down toward you.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you asked, trying to catch your breath.

His voice lowered, suddenly rougher. “Because you’re flushed, panting, and glaring at me like you want to kill me or kiss me.”

Your lips parted. “And if I do both?”

“Then I really hope you start with the kissing.”

The heat between you wasn’t from the explosions anymore.

You stepped forward, crowding into his space, fingers curling into the edge of his armor. “You know you’re a menace, right?”

Scorch reached up, tugged his helmet off with one hand and dropped it with a careless clatter.

“I’m your menace,” he said.

And then his mouth was on yours—hot, fast, unrelenting.

His hand cupped your jaw, tilting your head back so he could deepen the kiss, and you didn’t even try to hide the sound you made. It felt like falling into the middle of a detonation—chaotic and exhilarating and impossible to stop.

He tasted like heat and danger. The kind of kiss that burned.

You shoved him back against the wall and bit his bottom lip just enough to make him growl.

“You get off on this, don’t you?” you breathed. “The adrenaline. The explosions. Me pissed off and in your face.”

“I like the view,” he said, eyes dark and wild. “You in combat gear, cursing at me. Gets my blood pumping.”

You rolled your eyes, but your hands didn’t leave him. One of them slipped under a loosened strap on his chest plate. “You’re so full of it.”

“I’m full of something,” he muttered, voice low.

You kissed him again—harder this time. His hands found your hips, grounding you like a storm. You didn’t have time to undress, not here, not now—but Maker, you wanted to. And he knew it.

Instead, you just stayed locked together like that—gripping, kissing, devouring—until the hallway filled with smoke again and the comm crackled to life.

“Scorch, where the hell are you?” Sev’s voice snapped. “Extraction in four minutes.”

Scorch broke the kiss with a low groan and leaned his forehead against yours, breath hot on your skin.

“Guess we’ll have to finish this later, sweetheart.”

“Assuming you don’t blow us up first.”

He smirked. “Now where’s the fun in playing it safe?”

You grabbed your blaster and turned down the corridor. “You coming?”

He slipped his helmet back on, voice crackling through the filter. “Behind you, always.”

And as you ran, side by side toward the drop zone with the scent of smoke and something wilder still clinging to your lips, you knew this was how it would always be with him.

Fast. Fiery. Unpredictable.

A joyride with a lit fuse and no brakes.

And you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

[ghostofskywalker]

There Are Many Benefits to an (Unauthorized) Vacation

RC 1262 Scorch/Fem!Reader

Words: 1,507

Summary: The building tension between you and Scorch finally yields something more than glances and wishes while the squad is taking a bit of time to themselves.

Prompt: "There is no shame in using a pool floatie.” - “Yes there is. I’m shaming you.” || any delta squad

Note: this was written for the @cloneficgiftexchange seasons prompt-a-thon event, which is currently open for submissions! there are a bunch of amazing prompts for every seasonal situation, and i was so excited to try out writing for scorch!

Clone Troopers Masterlist

If the Republic or the GAR ever reached out to you and asked why this mission in particular was taking longer than the originally designated two rotations to complete, you would simply tell them that the team had run into complications when it came to surveillance and simply had to extend your stay in the safe house. You would reiterate the importance of the intel that you were gathering, and even go one step further to remind your superiors of the dedication of the group you were working with. 

The truth however, probably wouldn’t get you any kind of medal or award. 

You didn’t really care though, because this was an opportunity that you would probably never get again. Not only did the safe house you were staying in have a gigantic pool and accompanying lounge chairs, but this was the time of year where the weather was best for swimming. With this planet’s sun high in the sky and no neighbors within earshot of the building, Delta Squad had no trouble making the decision to extend the assignment by a rotation or two (even Boss was on board from the start).

You of course did not complain, especially now that you were laying out on an inflatable raft while the cool water lapped up your legs. Every once in a while a few droplets of water hit your face from the boys’ splashing, but it was never anything bad enough that you actually had to sit up and see what was going on. Right now, you were content enough to just listen to their conversations from the sidelines. 

Scorch, as usual, was nothing but humble about his skills, and was more than comfortable in the water. “I bet I could swim laps around you!” 

“I highly doubt that,” Sev retorted. “We’re made of the exact same genetic material, our speed is the same as all the other troopers.” 

“Wanna bet?” 

Boss’ voice floated through the air at Scorch’s proposition. “Save it for the training facilities, why don’t you?” You didn’t even have to lift the sunglasses from your face to tell that he hadn’t gotten into the pool yet, as the lounge chairs on the patio had become his favorite part of this assignment. 

“Why, Sir?” Scorch called back, voice glinting with the joyful mischief you’ve come to expect from him at this point. “Afraid you’d lose?” 

Boss sighed. “No, I just intend to squeeze every drop of relaxation I can out of our extra time here. It’s not like this will ever happen again.” 

“He’s right,” Fixer’s voice joined the conversation. You couldn’t tell where he was simply by the volume and direction of his voice, but if you had to guess, he was probably sitting on the edge of the pool with just his legs in the water. “I have half a mind to relax like Y/N over there.” 

“You should,” you said as the pool water rose just a little higher, providing the most wonderful relief for your sun-warmed skin. “This is the best experience I’ve ever had.” 

“I don’t know if it’s worth it for how ridiculous you look,” Scorch responded. 

“I do not look ridiculous! And there is no shame in using a pool floatie to relax.” 

“Yes there is, especially when said pool floatie is shaped like a bantha. I’m shaming you.”

You scoffed. “I don’t care what this thing looks like,” you said, finally opening your eyes to look at Scorch with your eyebrows raised. “I’m so relaxed right now, I don’t think a droid attack would even affect it.” 

“Oh really?” A small splash accompanied the commando as he swam over to you, and suddenly you were really close to an incredibly attractive clone (who just so happened to be shirtless). “Even if someone…flipped you?” 

Lifting your sunglasses up so that the two of you could lock eyes, you couldn't help the way your heart fluttered. There was something about Scorch in particular that made you act like a cadet, and now that you had more time to relax, the tension had slowly been building. “Not even then,” you said lowly, reaching up to pat his cheek. 

As you lowered your sunglasses over your eyes once more, you could see a glint of something you couldn’t quite place in Scorch’s expression, and you truly wondered if he was going to try and test your statement (and your patience). But no attack ever came, and you spent the rest of the afternoon floating in the sun, a part of you wishing something further had happened with every passing moment. 

***

In your opinion, the time went by too fast. Tomorrow morning you would be getting back on the ship to receive your next assignment from the GAR, and life would once again become dangerous, tiring, and stressful. Everyone else had stayed inside for the evening, but you were determined to get as much use out of the pool as physically possible, so you had kept your bathing suit out when packing the rest of your things away. 

If floating during the day was like paradise, at night it was some kind of heaven. The humidity had cut significantly, there was a cool breeze rustling the trees, and the chirping of birds and bugs provided a symphony of conversation as you stared upwards, the last trails of the evening light slowly disappearing across the sky. 

The sound of the door opening brought you back to the present, and Scorch’s voice entered the space moments later. “Thought I might find you out here.” 

“Yeah, I really don’t want to leave,” you said softly. 

“Me too,” he admitted, sitting down at the edge of the pool and putting his legs in the water. You watched as he slowly lowered himself in, throwing his shirt on one of the lounge chairs before it got completely soaked. 

It hit you moments later: that Scorch was once again standing over you, and that oh-so recognizable tension was once again building, charging every molecule of air around you. If he leaned down and you leaned up, your lips would be touching. 

“All good things have to come to an end I suppose,” you said softly.

“That doesn’t mean we can’t make the most of things.” 

Maker, you were so close to him. “And how would you want to make the most of it right now?” 

There was a pause, it was as if he was considering all the implications of your words. “I think I’d do this,” he finally said, in a voice much softer than you’ve ever heard him use. 

The moment your lips touched, it felt as though time had stopped. None of this felt real, especially not the fact that you would be returning to the front lines of a deadly conflict tomorrow morning, or that his brothers could walk out the back door at any moment and see the two of you in the pool. Right now, you and Scorch were the only two people in the entire galaxy. 

Or at least, you were until you felt the pool floatie begin to shake, and soon your entire body was plunged into the (pleasantly warm) water. That di’kut. 

You opened your eyes underwater, and you could see a grainy figure laughing above the surface. It was the perfect time to strike back, and you certainly took the opportunity. Leaping up out of the water, you tackled Scorch, using his surprise to your advantage as you dragged him down with you. 

You couldn’t really hear that well underwater, but his joy was obvious. The two of you chased each other through the pool, dragging one another countless times into the now choppy waters and laughing with every breath you took. 

Once again, you two were alone in the galaxy.

It was only when your lips had found each other for the second time did someone else walk out the door, and the two of you broke apart to see Fixer and Sev staring in your direction, one of them looking much happier than the other. 

“Ha, I called it! It’s time to pay up, Oh-Seven,” Fixer laughed, elbowing his brother next to him, who looked genuinely annoyed at the situation.

“You guys couldn’t have waited until the next time we hit 79’s?” Sev grumbled, heading inside to pay his lost bet. 

Fixer just winked at the two of you standing speechless in the pool before following his brother inside, and you were once again alone with Scorch. There was a smile on his face that you were sure not even an explosion could wipe off, and you knew that you must have looked just as wild, soaking wet in the evening’s almost-darkness. “Want to keep making the most of things?” he whispered. 

Your response was to pull him into another kiss, one that was instantly reciprocated. 

Tomorrow you would have to return to the war and the GAR, but tonight, you wanted to make sure that was the furthest thing from your mind.

- the end -

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[arcsimper5]

Yai'mol - Chapter 4 - Memories

yaim'ol - [yai-MOHL] - return, homecoming

Pairing: Sev x F!Jedi OC, Scorch x F!Jedi OC Characters: Delta Squad (Republic Commando), F!Jedi OC Cin Rating: M - Explicit content in later chapters Warnings: Gore, Canon-typical violence, angst, smut (later chapters), descriptions of injury, force osik.

Following on from the end of Republic Commando, Sev and Cin must make their way through the galaxy, overcoming trials and tests in a bid to keep themselves alive long enough to reunite with their squad.

[Content warning for explicit smut at the beginning of the chapter]

“S-Sev, maker, please…”

“Calling his name still, mesh’la?” Scorch let out a playful hum of disapproval as he pulled away from her core for a moment to glance up at her.

His eyes were bright and full of mischief, chin drenched in her pleasure as he licked his lips, gaze darting briefly up to his brother where he sat behind her, restraining her arms with one hand while the other teased her bare breasts. “Must be doing something wrong.”

Before Cin could answer, Scorch was back to work, diving between her thighs with devastating precision. Her entire body arched in Sev’s hold as his clever tongue wrapped around her clit once more, driving her closer and closer to bliss.

Behind her, Sev’s chest rumbled with low laughter, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. Leaning in close, he flicked his tongue against the sensitive flesh, smirking at the whine he got in response.

“Not my fault she loves having her tits played with,” the sniper growled, nipping at her ear when she let out a whimper, rolling her hips against his thick cock where it pressed into her back, desperate for pleasure. “Prettiest thing in the whole karking galaxy, aren’t you, ner kar’ta?”

Another pinch of her nipple between his bare thumb and forefinger, combined with Scorch’s tongue drawing unintelligible symbols across her sensitive bud brought her right to the edge, head thrown back on Sev’s shoulder as she screamed for them both, relishing in the pleasure they gave her.

“That’s my good girl,” Sev praised as her orgasm rolled through her body, arms and legs twitching, his hand tightening around her wrists, “give him everything you’ve got.”

Scorch continued to lick and suck her sensitive flesh as she thrashed above him, her thighs tightening around his head as the waves of euphoria faded to overstimulation, trying to communicate without words.

Sev could tell what she wanted, laughing his low, knowing rumble before pulling her away from Scorch’s mouth and lifting her up with terrifying ease. She couldn’t even question his actions before he sank her back down, his cock sliding easily inside her warm heat, her walls quivering around him.

“You like that, baby?” Sev growled as he rolled his hips, bottoming out inside her. She could only mewl in response, panting for breath, overwhelmed by the feeling of being so utterly filled. Managing a nod, Sev grinned as he bit her neck, sucking a deep purple mark into her skin. “You like me filling you up? Feeling my cock inside that perfect pussy?”

“S-Sev, f-fuck!” she gasped, eyes widening as Scorch crawled up between her legs, mouth moving towards her breasts.

“Gonna take such good care of you, cyar’ika,” he promised, even as she let out a wail of pleasure when Sev bucked, hitting a sensitive spot deep inside her body, “can’t wait to have my turn with you.”

“S-Scorch,” she whined, barely able to keep her eyes open as more and more pleasure sent the world into a haze, “I… I…”

“Shhh, mesh’la,” he chuckled, letting his tongue flick out to flick at one nipple while his hand fondled the other, “enjoy this. We’ll take care of you… We’ll always take care of you.”

“Ner cyare,” Sev murmured in agreement, voice strained as he fought his own release, “ner kat’ra. Ibac’ner.”

--**--

Sev woke with a start, gasping for breath as he shot up, sleep clinging to his senses.

“Cin?”

No answer.

He may have only been half awake, but he managed to rip the layers of material covering him away, confused to find himself in only his blacks as he stumbled towards what looked like a door.

Where was he?

Last he remembered, he’d found Cin, he’d… 

“Kriff,” he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut in pain as memories of pinning her to the ground and holding a knife above her flowed back to him. “Cin!”

There was an urgency in his voice now. Pushing through the pain, he groped blindly for the doorway, trying to make sense of everything around him.

The material under his palm felt like wood, natural and unfinished. It sloped gently inwards, running up high, above the ceiling from what he could tell.

“Cin!”

Pulling at the door, he found it unlocked, wincing as light spilled into the room from outside.

Looking around in confusion, he found the source to be multiple carved chandeliers made of polished wood and metal, the lights on them bright flames. In the centre of the room was a large table, set as if waiting for a large group to descend and eat. It was covered with various fruits and berries as well as slabs of cold meats. Some of the fare he recognised, though others seemed foreign, and for a moment, the urgency running through his veins lulled enough for him to acknowledge his hunger.

How long had he been out for? It felt like he hadn’t eaten in days.

Almost on instinct, he staggered towards the table, collapsing onto one of the benches and reaching for a handful of seifruits, small bright purple berries he recognised from his training.

He knew he should be looking for Cin, that this could well be a trap, but Maker, he was so damn hungry.

His mind was still awash with confusion, every thought sluggish and half formed.

There had been a trandoshan, he remembered that much. Pausing mid-bite, he cursed himself, trying to tear his gaze away from the spread before him, panic making his breath catch.

What if they’d got her?

What if they were torturing her while he sat here, eating?

Nausea enveloped his senses, his stomach churning with worry. His body fought him hard, drawn to the feast. But he couldn’t… He needed to find Cin, he needed…

As the door behind him opened, he found himself reaching for his blaster on instinct, only to find the sidearm, much like his armour, missing.

If he hadn’t been so confused, he might have laughed at himself as a large wookie with dark brown and red fur stepped through the door, shooting him what seemed to be a smile of sorts; here he was, an elite commando, dressed only in his blacks, unarmed, stuffing his face with fruit instead of finding his comrade.

Kamino would have put him down for less.

Still chewing the mouthful of food he’d grabbed, he took a defensive stance, sizing up the wookie with narrowed eyes.

It would have to be a wookie, he complained to himself silently. Boss was the one who did languages. And without his helmet, he wouldn’t have a chance to translate.

“Where’s Cin?” he demanded, the wookie letting out a soft, laugh like sound. “Something funny, furball?”

The wookie simply rolled its eyes and turned back through the door it had come from, making an odd, low growl which seemed to be echoed by others beyond the threshold.

After a moment of hesitation, he began to follow, assessing the situation. If he was going to be attacked, he figured it would have happened by now. After all, he’d been unconscious here for… a while. Reaching up to scratch his face, he realised a thick fuzz had grown onto his chin, a testament to just how long he had been out of it.

It had been years since he’d had any kind of facial hair. Originally, the Kaminoans had outright banned it, claiming that it interfered with the seals on their buckets. Even though that had been laxed, Scorch and his dumb goatee were the closest any of them ever got.

Scorch… He wondered where his brothers were now, if they were okay, if they’d made it off world before… whatever had happened, happened. He was still trying to make sense of everything, his head spinning wildly.

Sev drew a sharp breath as he walked into yet another wooden room of the massive complex he was in, in silent awe of the sheer size.

Judging by what he knew about their location and the presence of so many wookies, most of them giving him odd looks as he passed silently past them, following the one who had come to find him, they were still on Kashykk, and likely inside one of their massive dwellings.

His guide let out a roar, catching his attention once more as he was guided to a doorway, his breath hitching once again as he spotted a familiar figure inside.

There, cross-legged and meditating, her lightsaber laid out in front of her as a warm fire radiated light across her features, was Cin.

She was dressed in a shirt and trousers far too big for her, her arms exposed and littered with cuts and bruises. Her auburn hair, once kept in long plaits that trailed down her back was all but gone now, barely reaching her ears and choppy, his heart lurching again as he remembered seeing the terrified look on her face as she lay beneath him.

Whether it was his guilt, fear or something else that drew her from her meditation, he wasn’t sure, but before he could move, her eyes fluttered open and sought him out, her expression softening into a gentle smile of recognition.

“Sev,” she breathed, tears beginning to well in her eyes. He was frozen to the spot as she clipped her lightsaber to her belt and stood, adjusting her ill fitting clothes before she moved to him, wrapping her arms around him in a tender embrace. “You’re awake.”

“Mesh’la,” he croaked, head dropping onto her shoulder.

Relief flooded through him, arms trembling as he wrapped them around her body, clutching her tight.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Every other word he could have offered in that moment felt utterly inadequate as he clutched at her, every emotion he’d held back for years mixing into a torrent that spilled down his cheeks and into her borrowed clothing.

Even as she shushed him and reassured a worried looking female wookie who approached, she supported him, guiding him back towards the room with the spread inside and settling him down on one of the benches.

With one hand still resting on his shoulder, keeping him grounded, Cin grabbed a plate and loaded it with a selection of meat, cheeses and fruits, placing it in front of him along with a pitcher of water.

“Eat, love,” she urged, fingers trailing patterns into his skin through the thin material of his blacks, “you’ve been out for two days.”

“Two days?” Sev choked, unable to even look at the food as she settled next to him, straddling the bench so she could face him. Nodding sagely, she drew in a steadying breath, her expression tight.

“After you passed out, Tarai and her search party found us. They’d been hearing the shots, and figured you for a Trandoshan. They bought us back here, and…”

She hesitated, biting her lip before her eyes flickered up to meet his, full of misery.

“Sev… you… you had a chip in your head,” she breathed, the words fluttering around the silence of the room. A cold shiver ran through his body as he stared at her, dumbfounded.

“What kind of chip?”

“A biological one, from what Rieikonno is saying,” she sighed, dropping her gaze to the bench she was sat on. “They… ran a scan on you, when you got here. We couldn’t wake you up, no matter what we tried, and… we thought… we were beginning to think, that…”

The pain in her words spurred him into action, his hands moving to hers, lacing their fingers together. Even without words, she smiled softly at the comfort he offered, taking another breath, readying herself to continue.

“They ran a scan, and at first, we thought it was a tumour. They took you down to the lab under the structures here, and they… they took it out. It took a long time, they said it was embedded almost like your brain had grown around it, but… they did, and then they brought you up here, and…”

Again, she faltered, tears dripping from her lashes onto their joined hands, her chest shuddering.

“Sev… the Jedi,” she began, voice trembling. “The clones, they… they…”

Another flash of pain ran through Sev’s head, memories flashing over and over like a spotlight across his vision.

“Kill the Jedi. Kill the Jedi. Traitors, all traitors!”

He didn’t know why he was speaking aloud. Maybe it was to confirm to himself what his thoughts were telling him. He’d heard the order over comms, loud and clear.

“Execute Order 66.”

Kill the Jedi. The Jedi had betrayed the republic. Somehow, he knew. He didn’t need to hear it. It was obvious, how they’d turned on those they were supposed to protect.

They all needed to die. Her included.

Cin. The name was poison now. The feelings he’d held close to his chest were gone, replaced by a seething hatred, one that only grew as he spotted what he was looking for; familiar footprints sunken into the softened ground beneath them.

She was running. Good. She should be running. He would hunt her down like the animal she was. Kill her. Bring her lightsaber back to the Capitol.

So why were his hands shaking? Why did the idea of watching the light leave her eyes fill him with such dread? Why did he care enough that he thought to make it quick and painless?

Gasping for breath, Sev’s eyes fluttered open once more, finding Cin looking at him with a mixture of horror and fear in her eyes.

A flash of movement caught him off guard, a light flashing off to his side. He reacted on instinct, hand snapping to grab at the intruding figure, resulting in a shocked roar echoing around the room.

“Easy, easy, Sev,” Cin urged, looking to the wookie whose arm he’d grabbed, shaking her head. “He’s not dangerous, he’s just disorientated.”

A low rumbling growl echoed from the door, Cin’s eyes narrowing into a frown as she turned to the source.

“He wasn’t himself,” she protested to the large wookie who now stepped through the door, a large metal belt with ammo bolts secured to it and a bowcaster at his side adding to the ferocity of his expression, “I told you. Ask Riek, he’ll tell you. It was the chip.”

Another set of low rumbles and whines, Sev’s grasp loosening on the other wookie.

“Well I trust him, and if you trust me, you’ll respect that.”

Cin’s tone was terse, gaze full of anger as she glared up at the wookie, their conversation continuing, though Sev couldn’t understand the other side.

“Then kick us both out. I’m not going to leave him.”

Another few roars and grumbles sounded, the elder who Cin had been arguing with rolling his eyes and crossing his arms over his chest, showing obvious displeasure.

A sharp bark came from him, followed by another long whining sound.

“Well I’m not Yoda.”

Whatever he’d said had obvious set her on edge, her eyes refocusing on Sev as she grabbed the plate of food and took his hand, urging him to stand.

“We need to get you resting up again, love,” she murmured, voice soft once again as it was directed at her. “Do you think you can follow me?”

“Anywhere,” he managed gruffly, drawing a weak smile to her face, “and always.”

Any retort she might usually have given was lost to the sound of movement, the wookie he’d previously grabbed looking over him with a mix of caution and concern.

“I’m… sorry,” Sev mumbled, flashing a look to the paler furred wookie, who smiled easily back at him before letting out a low rumbling purr, Cin nodding in response.

“She says it’s okay. She understands. This is Ollerra, she’s been overseeing a lot of your recovery.”

Sev winced as he stood up from the bench, supported on both sides, to make his way back to the room he’d woken in. His mind was still spinning, head throbbing and only getting more painful with every step he took, and Ollerra seemed to notice.

A soft sound left her, Cin’s head snapping to the commando.

“Are you in pain?”

The hesitation in his reply was all the confirmation she needed, a frustrated sigh leaving her lips.

“She’ll give you pain meds, okay? Once you’re settled in bed.”

The vulnerability settling over Sev’s body was uncomfortable, his limbs trembling.

“And you’ll stay?” he murmured, exhaustion beginning to creep into his every nerve now he knew Cin was safe and that they were secure. With the additional promise of a shot of pain meds, he was ready to sleep again, but only if he could keep her close.

“Of course, e’tad.”

He huffed a laugh at the use of his number, smiling weakly through the pain. Not much registered as he was drawn back into bed, the sharp sting of a hypo in his neck and the warmth of a body settling close to him, soft fingers cording through his hair the last thing he felt before sleep claimed him once more.

[littlemissmanga]

I'm so glad I read your author's note, because just knowing that Sev and Scorch reunite in your AU (which I consider canon, as you know) was what got me through this. You got me right in the heart between Scorch's fears and Reader's reassurances, and I mean that in the best way <3

DJ!

For your ficlets, could I request

'Mumbling unintelligibly into the embrace'

With Scorch from Delta Squad?

He's a soft boi really, and if anything happens to him in the finale, I will be cry 😭😭

Love you! ❤️💜💗♥️💚💓💖💙😍

A/N: Hi @arcsimper5! I’m so relieved to know that the person claiming to be Scorch in TBB was in fact an identity thief, and that the real Scorch is safe and happy and hanging out with Sev, whom he scooped up from Kashyyyk as soon as Scorch flipped the Empire the bird and dipped after Order 66. This ficlet takes place shortly before the brothers reunite. 💛💛💛

Pairing: Scorch x Reader (GN, has a pet vulptex named Lyca because I really want a pet vulptex and I would name her Lyca)

Rating: T (but as always, minors DNI)

Wordcount: 485

Warnings and tags: nightmares; panic symptoms; angst; hurt comfort; cuddles; Scorch blew up canon with a thermal detonator and the galaxy was a better place for it

Summary: Scorch grapples with the aftermath of Kashyyyk.

Suggested Listening:

This fic smells like: Pillowtalk Poet by Pinrose (rumpled sheets, soft musk, quiet whispers)

Masterlist | Sign up for my tag list

Scorch lurched forward, his eyes snapping open before he even realized he was awake. Sweat beaded on his skin as he sat up in bed, and he shoved the blankets away, suddenly overheated and overwhelmed with claustrophobia. He heard a faint tinkling sound followed by a small whimper as your pet vulptex nuzzled him gently, her cold nose bringing him back to his body. 

“Hey, Lyca,” he gasped. 

He gave her a reassuring pat, then scrubbed his hand over his head, blinking hard as he tried to get his bearings in the darkened bedroom. His thumb traced over the smooth scar where his inhibitor chip had been removed, a grim reminder of a terrifying reality.

The sheets rustled, and he knew he’d awakened you. Kriff.

“Scorch?” you murmured hoarsely, reaching for him. “Are you all right?”

Your hand rested on his shoulder, solid and comforting, and he reached for it with his own, holding onto you tightly, afraid that if he let go you might vanish into nothingness.

“Yeah,” he lied. “Just a bad dream.”

You were quiet for a moment, then you sat up and scooted closer, wrapping your arms around him. “Kashyyyk?”

He nodded, burying his face into the nook between your neck and shoulder as he clung to you. He mumbled against your skin as you stroked your hand up the back of his neck to tangle your fingers in his hair.

“Hm?” you asked as you pressed your lips against his head.

“I miss him so much,” he repeated, squeezing his eyes shut tight to keep the stinging tears from falling.

“I know,” you whispered. “I know you do. We’ll find him, I swear to you. We’ll get him back.”

“I should have gone back,” he choked as his throat constricted with grief. “I should have—”

“Stop,” you said firmly. “What happened was not your fault.”

“But—”

“It wasn’t.” You tightened your arms around him, holding him close. “You can’t keep blaming yourself like this, or it’s going to eat you alive.”

“Then whose fault is it?”

“It doesn’t matter,” you replied. “All that matters is what we do now. You told me you think Sev is still alive, right?”

“I know he is,” he said. “I can feel it.”

“Then he needs you to be on top of your game.” You kissed the side of his head again, then whispered, “I am here for you. I will do whatever you need me to do. But I can’t do it alone. We’ll get through this together, and we will find him, I promise.”

Slowly, he nodded, then pulled away just enough to look into your eyes as they glittered subtly in the semi-darkness. He rested his forehead against yours as he sighed, “I don’t deserve you.”

“You deserve better,” you said quietly as your lips brushed against his in the lightest kiss imaginable. “You deserve everything I can give, and more.”

---

Want to request a ficlet? Check out this list of prompts! Requests are open, but my writer's block is still plaguing me, so I might be a little slow in filling them, but I will fill them!

Want more Delta Squad? I have Sev fluff and spice!

Taglist:

@secondaryrealm @sev-on-kamino @523rdrebel @wings-and-beskar @merkitty49

@anxiouspineapple99 @sinfulsalutations @arcsimper5 @starrylothcat @clio3kantarella

@cloneloverrrrr @goblininawig @ladytano420 @arctrooper69 @sunshinesdaydream

@littlemissmanga @stunkbiggu @starqueensthings @marierg @idontgetanysleep

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@totallyunidentified @eclec-tech @euphoriacafe @hipwell @yve-barr

[toska-writes]

Clone commandos request if possible. 😁 Could you do delta squad. where on a mission they get captured along with the Padawan, and get protective when they try to separate them or interrogate them.

So i thought about writing a fic based on todays bad batch episode (but I need to get some of the requests done- if you wanna request some Wolffe *wink wink* that’s ok)

“Got your back”

Summary: a mission goes south with the delta squad but they have your back

Paring: The delta Squad/ republic commandos x padawan!reader (PLATONIC OFC)

Warning: slight mentions of injury and imprisonment nothing too bad… the most scary- not proofread

Word count: 1688

Notes: Delta Squad fics are not my “most popular” but ones I always do so much for and I don’t know why

Also I swear to god someone asked to join the Taglist but I can’t remember nor find it so let me know!

"Can you focus for one second Scorch? EVER?" Fixed screamed through the comms, you could see his tense movements from a mile away as the squad ducked once again behind a wall.

Boss could only nod this head, he quickly spun around from where you, Sev and him were hiding to shoot an incoming droid.

"Sorry Scorch I can't defend you this time it's not looking good." You spoke between gasp of your own breath, the adrenaline from the long hours fighting wearing on you and the whole group.

Sev leaned heavily on Fixer from where you could see him, though Scorch as of now was doing a good job covering them.

"Boss," You yelled over the hiss of a smoke bomb going off- the contents of which were going in your eyes and making you cough. "I'm all out of ideas here."

The comando spared you a glance for a second, you feared what his face would have looked like if his helmet was discarded.

Boss looked down at the padawan for a moment. A thin cut ran along their cheek way too close to their eye for Boss’s comfort. He watched their head whip around looking through the fog desperately before a huge bang went off.

After a moment of slight ringing Boss felt the bump of another person against his side. The padawan looked around frantically for the force of the bomb before looking up to the comando.

In a more solemn voice they asked. “Boss what are we gonna do?”

Boss thought about their options then. Backed into the corner of what should have been an abandoned outpost, on of their men injured and the rest ready to collapse from exhaustion. He as a leader thought he was better than this but Boss felt as if he walked his squad right into this trap.

“The missions easy enough for us.” Boss had said only hours before. A knot sat in his stomach but the team needed an easy mission, a break from their last fiasco with the bugs.

He’s never been more wrong in his life.

While he was lost in thought, Boss nearly missed Scorch sliding up next to their leader, his panicked voice tried to fill Boss’s ears.

For a moment the other comando didn’t realize the trooper in yellow was talking until Scorch made a shhh gesture with his hand.

That’s when you noticed it too, the complete lack of noise. No more clanker chatter or blaster bullets from each side. Just the low hiss of the fog that didn’t seem to die down.

You opened your mouth to say something before the unmistakable scraping of metals filled your ears.

“Rollies! get down!” Scorch shouted pulling you and Boss to the floor with him. About 5 Droidekas emerged from the smoke…. Lucky you guys.

“Scorch handle them.” Boss yelled using his hands to signal something at Fixer and Sev at the speed of light. His gruff tone scratched your ears but you all seemed pretty fed up at the situation.

Blaster bullets were blocked by your lightsaber left and right until the next words made your heart drop all together. “Out of hand grenades sir.” Scorch ripped his blaster out now but the shields were too strong on the droids.

“Down the hall!” Fixer yelled as both He and Sev passed the 3 of you, a way out hopefully planned.

You felt them before you saw them, you tried skidding to a stop before turning into the next hall as a hand shot out to grab Boss.

“Shit.” Was the only thing you could say, before they could question what you meant a group of comando droids emerged with guns drawn.

“You’ve got to be joking me.” Sev rasped out, his arm shook while he tried to lift his blaster up and fire. The tiredness leaked off of him though you were sure it did for everyone.

A ring of blue light hit the wall behind you. It didn’t make sense though, comando droids weren’t the type to show mercy.

Your lightsaber flashed along the darkened walls trying to keep the nimble droids away, why couldn’t the separatists just send the normal clankers.

Once again the hall was engulfed in a think smoke. You heard more blasters going off but you feared you were getting more and more disoriented. After a moment you heard a sickening thunk next to you and you assumed the worst.

In the blink of an eye you felt the blast hit its mark and half your body go limp. Unlike the bulking clones you were with it only took about 2 hits before you were out.

•✩•

Boss was the first one to awaken. His head bobbed around and his eyes fluttered open. Boss reached his hand up only to finally realize that his armor was gone.

He laid there for a moment, confusion laced his face. What had happened to him? To them….

In a split second Boss shot up to a sitting position , which his head greatly protested, and looked for the rest of his squad.

Relief was one of the best things in the galaxy in this moment. In the dim light of the ray shield keeping them in Boss could count the 3 other comandos and the form of their padawan knocked out next to Scorch.

Sev still looked bad as now Boss could get the full view of his gash along his side- the blacks on all of the men seemed to be tattered.

Boss observed their surroundings for a moment before giving a light tap to Fixer on the foot. When that didn’t work the first time a much hard kick was implemented.

Fixer gasped awake along with Scorch after a “friendly” tap from the clone comando.

I didn’t take Scorch long before he leaned back against the wall and groaned, clearly he knew the situation at hand.

Boss could only stare for another second at Sev, guilt rummaged through his insides as he helped his injured brother up ultimately waking him as well. This was his fault and Boss couldn’t shake that.

“Fixer start working on those bindings.” Boss ordered unable to keep his gaze on the unconscious padawan. Clearly to the eyes of their captors the Jedi was the bigger threat.

Sev hissed for a moment now finding a new brother to lean on.

You came to with the feeling of someone’s exposed hands brushing against your arms. The pounding in your head was present but the blanket of confusion was much scarier.

“Thanks for joinin’ us.” The unmistakable voice of scorch chimed in. Your eyes strained against the darkness but you could tell what the problem was.

The cool metal hurt your wrists as Fixer fiddled with them muttering a small apology every once in a while.

Boss’ low voice filled the cell, plans of just how they would get out to fight another day. Your eyes scanned the worrisome group.

Scorch sat fidgeting with his hands trying desperately to listen but you could see the worry in his eyes as clear as day.

Fixer sat in front of you cursing and apologizing but he just couldn’t seem to do anything useful without his tools and data pad.

Sev’s eyes closed everyone once in a while and you could see the fight to remain in the moment, though his scowl never seemed to be wiped off.

And finally Boss. His voice was level and low just like the countless other times you heard him give directions, however this time was different. He knew this wasn’t in their favor and he was worried beyond belief.

Someone had to stay strong for them all.

Your heartbeat beat out of your chest, a dull throb started in your temples the feeling seemed vaguely familiar.

“I think someone’s coming.” For the first time you were unsure in the force. Fixer faltered for a moment before meeting your eyes. “It’s probably these. Messing with you.” He shook the bindings.

Though to your surprise, and relief in a way, someone did make their way down the hall. Boss spoke out quickly as you averted your gaze, sweat started to form on your brow.

“We need a medic.” It was hard to call it pleading despite where Boss said it from his position on the floor, but it was definitely more of a demand.

2 masked figures approached though they seemed to ignore Boss all together.

“We need the Jedi.” The cool voice stated only once.

Everyone seemed to freeze for a moment unsure about which group would make the first move.

“Get up.” Was demanded at you and you glanced around meeting Boss’ eyes for only a moment before you gripped onto the sleeve of Fixer.

The ray shield was down now and the larger figure stepped in. “I’m not asking again”

“Like kriff they’re going with you.” Scorch stood in front of you now. His full height filled up their line of sight.

“Move clone.” For a second Scorch was pushed back that was until Boss stood as well and shoved their captor away from his brother.

Before the other could react with their blaster Scorch was all over them. Fixer taking the hint that their time was now scrambled to get their other brother still on the floor.

Your eyes were blown wide with the loud alarm that was set off. You felt someone grab your arm as you were still in a little daze.

“I hope you didn’t think we were really gonna let them take ya.” Scorch said as the group rushed down the halls.

You thought about that for a moment, had there truly been something to worry about while you were surrounded but the Delta Squad, your brothers?

A smile broke out of your face and Scorch seemed to get your reply.

“I hope you know.” Scorch called over his shoulder. “You’re never picking the missions by yourself again Boss.”

An angry yell was heard from somewhere behind you replacing the fear in your body with a laugh. “You were the one to pick the bug mission Scorch!”

______________________________

Taglist:

@arctrooper69 @thereforepizza @padawancat97 @pb-jellybeans @floffytofu @verybadatwriting @solstraalaa @ray-rook @gregorsmissingarmor

[ct7567329]

Pieces We Mend ~ Scorch x F! Technician Reader

Summary: Scorch rushes to his go-to weapons technician to repair his beloved blaster for the umpteenth time. When sharing stories of his deployment takes an unexpected turn, scars of your past are revealed. Delta Squad Week Day 2 - Scars (Happy Scorch Day!) Word Count: 2.6k Warnings: Canon-typical violence, panic attack, mentions of death, PTSD, if I missed anything lmk! A/N: I went a little out of my comfort zone for this one! Even this is only "day 2", I'm having so much fun writing these! tagging @deltasquadweek for hosting! join my taglist / masterlist

The familiar hiss of the workshop door signaled trouble long before you glanced up from your work. Sure enough, there he was. Given the fact that Delta Squad just returned from their latest mission, Scorch was perfectly on schedule. He was leaning in the doorway with a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth and his mangled DC-17m in his hand.

“Guess who needs a miracle worker today?” Scorch called, his voice echoing through the workroom.

You sighed dramatically, setting down the delicate wiring you’d been adjusting, “Scorch, don’t tell me. Again?”

He sauntered in, presenting the blaster to you like a prize, “What can I say? Separatists don’t go easy on the fun.”

You set the blaster carefully on the workbench, your fingers already itching to get it apart and see what kind of damage he’d done this time. As a mobile weapons technician stationed on whichever Cruiser you are most needed, you're used to working on crucial weapons developments, not repairs. And although your specialty was keeping the ship’s arsenal in top shape, your secret satisfaction came from working with Delta Squad.

Throughout the war, you’d built a quiet reputation as their go-to person for weapon repairs. Scorch, in particular, seemed to break his gear more often than anyone else, whether through bad luck or overzealous combat style. It wasn’t just about fixing blasters for you, it was about being part of their missions, even if indirectly. They made your role feel vital, even if you mostly stayed behind the scenes.

You glanced up at Scorch, a teasing smile playing on your lips, “Give me a minute to work my magic.”

He chuckled, throwing his head back against the durasteel walls as if this ritual was the highlight of his day, "You’re a lifesaver, you know that?”

You gave a mock salute, already grabbing your tools and prepping the workspace, “Don’t get used to it.”

You settled into your workbench, reaching for your perfectly placed tools from muscle memory. Scorch pulled up a nearby crate, dropping down beside you with a grunt that sounded less like complaint and more like release.

“This thing’s seen better days,” you grimiced, turning the DC-17m over in your hands.

“You think?” he frowned, crossing his arms, “Last mission was rough. The clankers hit us harder than expected. I guess it took a couple of nasty hits.”

You nodded, eyes scanning the blaster’s internals, “Well, no wonder it’s falling apart. You really put these weapons through hell.”

Scorch watched you work with something like quiet admiration but you didn’t notice. Your focus was absolute, the way you handled each component with care and precision betraying the countless hours you’d spent mastering this craft.

“You always this good at fixing our messes?” he asked, shaking his head with a chuckle.

You glanced up, flashing him a half-smile, “If I wasn’t, you wouldn’t keep bringing me your broken toys.”

He grinned, but the usual bravado softened, replaced by something gentler, “Guess I’m lucky then.”

As you worked, Scorch found himself watching you more than his precious blaster. It wasn’t just because you were skilled, although he was impressed, but because you were you.

He shifted on the crate, suddenly self-conscious. Normally, he’d crack a joke or throw out a casual comment to break the silence, but right now his throat felt dry and words stuck halfway. He felt ridiculous. He was a soldier, trained for countless battles, but here, alone with you, he felt like a rookie.

He caught himself stealing a glance at your profile. He mentally noted the way your brow creased slightly when you concentrated, the faint smile tugging at your lips when a tricky part clicked into place, and subtle shake of your head when something just wasn't placing right. It was those little things he hadn’t noticed before, or maybe he just hadn’t allowed himself to see.

It made his chest tighten, though he couldn’t quite put the feeling into words. It was admiration, sure, but also mixed with something warmer, something deeper that he wasn’t ready to name. He wasn’t sure if it was respect, longing, or just the simple fact that being near you made the world feel a little less war-torn.

“Hey,” he said finally, voice rougher than intended, breaking the silence, “Thanks for always taking care of us.”

You didn’t look up right away, but the softness in your response was unmistakable, “It’s what I’m here for.”

He nodded, eyes dropping to the floor again. Part of him wanted to say more. He wanted to tell you how often he thought about you when you weren’t around, how your presence was something he looked forward to more than he dared admit even to himself. How just knowing you were there, repairing his gear, made the chaos of war seem a little less overwhelming.

But instead, he stayed quiet, afraid that saying too much might shatter the friendship between you.

Scorch clenched his fists lightly, a small frustration simmering beneath his calm exterior. He internally kicked himself for not being good at this. He was trying though. Trying to be close without crossing a line. Trying to hold onto these moments, even if all he could do was watch from the sidelines.

So he settled for watching you work, hoping somehow you might see the way he looked at you even when the words failed him.

You finally looked up from the blaster, wiping a smudge of grease off your fingers, “So,” you look over at the abnormally silent Scorch, “any new battle stories to share? Something exciting that caused this latest destruction?”

Scorch leaned back a bit, running a hand over the back of his neck, clearly a bit uncomfortable but eager to talk, “Yeah, a few. Nothing too crazy.” He paused, then glances at you, noticing how your eyes are fixed on him, patient and attentive.

“Well, there was this one run near the Outer Rim. We got pinned down by a droid ambush. Lot of close calls, but we made it out. Barely," he dropped his head, looking at his hands clasped firmly in his lap.

Some cross between a laugh, snort and exhale escaped his lips, "Oh! On Tatooine, this eopie emptied its bladder on Sev. He reeked for days!"

You burst into laugher, "You're making that one up!"

Scorch held his hand in false surrender, "I swear, soldiers honor! And if you don't believe me, go take a wiff of his armor."

"I'll take you word," you chucked, a smile smeared across your face,

He let the silence settle for a moment before he cleared his throat and continued, “We were also on Empress Teta recently. That mission was rough.”

Your hands froze mid-motion, letting the blaster slip from your grip and clatter against the workbench. Your breath hiccuped in your throat, and suddenly the air felt too thick, too heavy. Your chest tightened painfully while your breaths became shallow, rapid gasps that catch in your throat.

Panic spiked. Your vision blurred at the edges. The workshop lights were suddenly too bright, the hum of machinery too loud. You press a trembling hand to your chest, struggling to slow the frantic rhythm of your heart.

Scorch’s eyes snap to you, concern flashing immediately across his face as he jumped from the crate, “Hey, you okay?” he asked, slowly making his way to you.

You couldn't answer. You shook your head slightly, but your body continued to betray you. Your hands were clamming uncontrollably, making you feel like you were on the verge of collapse.

Without hesitation, Scorch moved closer, steadying your shoulders with firm but gentle hands, “Breathe with me, okay? In and out.” His voice was calm and steady like a lifeline pulling you back from the edge.

You tried to focus on his words, matching your breath to his measured rhythm. Each breath felt shaky at first, like you were dragging air through a narrow tunnel, but with Scorch’s quiet presence anchoring you, the panic began to lose its grip.

Your heart still pounded in your chest, but the sharp sting in your lungs dulled slightly. Scorch’s hands were steady on your shoulders, grounding you in the moment, reminding you you weren’t alone.

After several long breaths, you slowly lifted your head, your eyes meeting his concerned gaze. His expression softened instantly, filled with a tenderness you hadn’t expected.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, “Just relax. Whatever it is, it's okay now.”

Your lips trembled and you let out a shaky breath, your voice cracking, “When the war started and the first wave of droid attacks hit Empress Teta, I was there with my family.”

Scorch pressed his lips together and closed his eyes, keeping his hands firm on your shoulders.

“We were just civilians,” you continued, “We lived in one of the trade districts. We didn't have much. My parents ran a shop and my younger brother loved to tinker with old droid parts. I was helping in the workshop when the attack alarms went off,” you swallowed hard, feeling your throat tighten, but you pushed through, needing to let the words out.

“At first, we didn’t even know what was happening. People were shouting in the streets, the sky was filled with fire. The Separatists moving in faster than anyone could react. My father tried to stay calm and get us to safety, but there was nowhere to go. The droids were everywhere, tearing through buildings and shooting down anyone who got in their way.”

You closed your eyes for a moment, recalling the frantic scramble for cover, “My mother was hit when we were trying to get to the underground shelter. My father stayed with her. He wouldn’t leave her side. I knew that the moment my mother fell. So, I grabbed my brother’s hand and ran.”

A tear slipped down your cheek as you turned your head, looking off at the back wall of your workspace, “I thought he was right behind me, but when I turned a corner he wasn’t there anymore. The blaster fire kept getting heavier and heavier. I wanted to go back, but I couldn’t. The droids were closing in. I barely even made it into a maintenance tunnel. When I did get there, I hid hours; listening to the fighting, the screams and the fire to end.”

You gulped while Scorch tightened his protective grip on your shoulders. “You did what you had to do to survive,” he reassured you.

“When I couldn’t hear them anymore,” you continued, "I crawled through the tunnels until I found a shuttleport on the outskirts. Most of it was rubble, but one transport was still intact and abandoned. I didn’t even know how to fly it. I just had to leave.”

Your hands trembled again, but this time, Scorch released your shoulders and held both your hands. “I ended up on Coruscant. I was barely old enough to sign on for this job, but I had enough training from my family’s workshop to be useful. That’s how I got assigned to this ship. I thought if I could fix something, if I could help the Republic, maybe it would mean something. Maybe I could avenge my family.”

You met Scorch’s gaze again, eyes shining with tears, “I tried to forget it, but every day, I've been afraid someone will mention Empress Teta, and it would all come rushing back.”

His expression shifted from concern to deep, almost painful guilt, “I-I shouldn’t have mentioned it,” he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of his own regret, “If I’d known-”

You shook your head quickly, tightening your hold on his hands before he could pull away, “Scorch, no. You couldn’t have known. How could you?” You took a shallow breath, trying to soothe not only yourself but him, “It’s not your fault. You were just sharing your story, and—” your voice broke a little, “it’s okay. Really.”

His brows furrowed, “But I could see how it affected you, how it just broke something open. I should have noticed, should have realized you were struggling.”

“You couldn’t have known,” you repeated, “I’ve gotten good at hiding it. You were just being you. I enjoy hearing you talk about your missions. It makes me smile. I need that, and I still do.”

Scorch exhaled slowly, “We all have scars. Physical ones, mental ones. You’re not the only one carrying those invisible wounds.” He hesitated, his gaze dropping briefly to your joined hands, before meeting your eyes again with an intensity that made your breath feel steady again, “but maybe, if you don’t have to carry all that weight of survivor’s guilt on your own those scars won’t burrow as deep.”

The silence that followed only lasted a few moments before you let the remainder of your tears stream down your face. He wasn’t offering easy answers or false promises. He was simply offering himself, his presence, and his strength, so you didn’t have to bear it alone. He was offering to be rock that you lost.

The playful commando who’d always brought you stories and laughter just revealed the depth of his empathy. You felt the lump rising in your throat again, but this time it wasn’t panic or fear, it was the realization that even though your family was gone, you could still be loved.

Slowly, you nodded, your words barely audible, “Thank you, Scorch.”

He didn’t answer with words. Instead, he tugged you into a hug, one arm around your shoulders, the other wrapping around your back, holding you securely against him. It wasn’t a brief, polite hug. It was the kind of embrace that said I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere. You felt his chest rise and fall with each steady breath, the warmth of him seeping into your skin.

For a moment, you let yourself sink into him, your hands fisting lightly against the plates of his armor as you soaked in the quiet comfort. His hand cradled the back of your head gently, fingers running through your hair. It was a rare tenderness from someone so used to chaos rather than offering comfort.

After a long moment, you pulled back slightly, cheeks flushed, though you didn’t completely break away from his arms, “I’m sorry I couldn’t fix your blaster.”

Scorch gave a soft huff of laughter, shaking his head as his thumb brushed across your cheek, wiping away a stray tear, “Unbelievable,” he murmured, his tone light but laced with affection, “You think I’m still worried about that thing?” His grin softened as he tilted his head, “You’ve always taken care of me and my gear. Maybe it’s time I start taking care of you.”

You felt your heart flutter at his words. He said them so effortlessly and naturally, as though it was the most obvious thing in the galaxy. Yet, behind his playful tone, you could feel the sincerity.

“But your beloved weapon,” you whined, looking at the fried internals of the DC-17m across your workspace.

He pulled you in for another hug and chuckled against your ear, “Cyar’ika,” he teased, the Mando’a slipping out, “my DC-17m’s just a blaster. You matter more than a silly weapon.”

Your cheeks burned at his words, and you couldn't help but smile. You didn’t know what the future would bring, or if you’d find the courage to confess your feelings, but in that moment, wrapped in his arms, the weight of survivor’s guilt felt a little lighter.

For the first time in a long while, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t as alone as you thought.

[i-willstealyourtoes]

HELLO YOU 💐💛👋🏼

May I request something about Delta Squad if you don't mind? Anyone that comes across your mind (or all four really 👀), about how they like to have cuddles with you 💓 thanks!!

YEAHHHHH REP COMM!!!! I FUCKING LOVE DELTA SQUAD!!! Although I've not played it in a few months so forgive me if it's horribly OOC 😭 This also kinda turned into general physical affection HCs T-T

Cuddling with Delta Squad!!

Boss

Boss isn't one for copious amounts of PDA

Is it because he gets embarrassed? Because he wants to uphold a tough reputation? Most likely just because he doesn't feel a need for it all the time, that's all

But he will still keep a hand on your waist or hold your hand sometimes !! Just don't expect him to cling on or initiate all the time :,)

But that's neither here nor there, we're here to talk about how he cuddles

And when you're in private? He gets pretty physically affectionate

Maybe not as much as Sev or Scorch, but more often than not you'll find a pair of hands on your hips pulling you closer

He almost seems to bury himself in you, as if you're the only thing that keeps him sane

He loves his brothers and his job but god, can it be exhausting being a leader all the time

You're a bit of a refresher, hugging you is his way of de-stressing !!

His favourite place to hug you is anywhere in your home, like bed or on the couch :)

But to him, the best hugs are the ones where he comes home and immediately wraps his arms around you

"Missed you, cyare."

Although he might not say it out loud, he loves when you stroke his arms or the palms of his hands

Your hand is likely softer and/or smaller, so it's a nice change from his own skin, covered in scars and rougher skin (which you seem to adore more than he does)

If you're laying down, he likes to be the big spoon; he's protective okay leave him be :,)

Fixer

Fixer is even less willing to initiate PDA; he will at most allow the linking of fingers or short kiss on the cheek

Partly because he thinks it's unprofessional or whatever, but also because he knows his brothers will tease him endlessly if they see him blush or grin

Even in private, he can be a little shy about hugs and kisses !!

He's not used to having someone to be romantic and soft with

But once you introduce it, he's hooked

Slowly but surely he starts to seek you out more when the two of you are at yours, although if you tease him about it he might huff and fold his arms (he's a little embarrassed)

He starts off by just a simple squeeze, but eventually he'll hold on longer, preferring to press his face into your shoulder if possible

He will melt if you hold his face and stroke your thumbs under his eyes. Please do this.

Oh and kissing him all over his face? You might have to send this man to the hospital after the heart attack you've given him

He loves when you hold him, it makes him feel appreciated, like someone chose him and loves him :,)

His favourite place to hug is probably on the couch, watching a movie as the two of you casually hold one another

Initially, he prefers to be the big spoon but when you start offering to hold him against your chest? He realises how damn good it is.

As I've said before, he can be a little hesitant to ask, so instead expect him to just pull up and rest his forehead on your chest or shoulder :)

"...Thank you, ner cyare."

Sev

Sev however, is not shy about PDA. He will definitely initiate and accept any touches from you

He prefers to keep the more fluffy stuff in private though, so expect hands on your hips or even neck (gentle) in public (although he does that in private too), as well as kisses on the lips (and neck too)

But cuddles? It really depends.

I think - and forgive me if I'm wrong - Sev is also not too familiar with long term (romantic) relationships

He's had his occasional one-night stand, but nothing that would have him planning dates or visiting a person's house

So when you two become a bit more serious than he's familiar with, he's hesitant

Not that he doesn't like you or that he's having second thoughts, rather he doesn't really know how to do these things smoothly

But he's willing to learn !!

So when you start offering/requesting more innocent touches like hugs, he's down, just maybe not out of nowhere in public

Or at least, that's how it started...

After a few sneak hugs from you and him, he finds that he's more willing to do them in public too

Nothing big, just don't be surprised when he brings you close from behind :)

Oh and he loves to follow up with kisses on the back of your neck, maybe even a bit of biting (he teases, okay)

He loves hugging you in bed, both before and after sleep !!

And more often than not, he's the big spoon, unless something bad has happened

As he becomes more certain in your relationship with him, he loves when you run up to hug him, or even greet him with a big squeeze as soon as he shows

"Missed me that much, mesh'la?"

Scorch

Sev likes PDA; Scorch cannot get enough of it

You don't even have to introduce it to him, if anything you'll probably have to tell him to hold back

Because he won't, and more often than not he'll have a hand or his lips on you

Holding hands, around your shoulders, on your hip, whatever it is he's desperate for any contact

I think all of Delta Squad aren't used to intimate long-term relationships, but Scorch adapts quicker than the others

Even with short term partners he can be quite physically affectionate, so when you tell him about cuddling and that, he's absolutely down

"You're telling me I get to cling on to you like a needy tooka? Yeah... yeah, I won't say no to that."

And cling he does.

Even in private he's quick to hold you at any - and every - point, especially when you're in the middle of something

Why? Because he's annoying and can't get enough of the only person that treats him like this.

His favourite time to hold you is when you're cooking.

"Scorch, I can't cook if you keep clinging to me like this-"

"Aw, come on babe. You can multitask?"

He's a bit of a sucker for bathing together though, he will absolutely keep you in the bath for as long as humanly possible

All of them give pretty tight hugs, but if you ask Scorch for a hug be prepared because he will wrap his arms around your head and bring you as close as possible to his chest

Oh, also he's totally down to be big or little spoon !! He likes holding you close to his chest, but having you bring his head to your chest? It's one of the most comforting things in the world to him :))

[wanderinginksplot-writes]

Scorch + Happiness

Scorch x gn!reader (no reader description or pronouns, no use of 'Y/N')

Word Count: 3,900

Warnings: guilt, grief, depression, mentions of past mourning, mild PTSD, lying, references to morally gray characters, references to the Republic Commando book series, and spoilers for the series finale of Star Wars: The Bad Batch. (It is a happy story, I promise! The warnings are just a little dire.)

For the lovely anon who sent in this request: After the TBB season final may I request something happy with Scorch? I didn’t expect him to die in the season finale, I actually scream “Scorch no!” At my tv

Same, friend. In this house, we're in denial!

Masterlist

---

The knock on your door was unexpected and unwelcome. 

It had been a long week and you had used the first of your two days off to run errands. Groceries, assorted errands, and chores around your apartment had eaten away at one of your precious free days.

When night fell, you had opted to stay home, which wasn’t a wonderful choice because it only served to emphasize how lonely you were. Of course, going out to a restaurant or exploring the city had exactly the same effect. So had grocery shopping and errands, come to think of it…

Stars, who were you kidding? The throbbing loneliness was always there, no matter where you were or what you were doing. 

Another knock had you rolling off the couch and onto your feet. For half a second, you thought about putting on something to look even slightly more put-together, but you discarded the idea just as quickly. Whoever was outside the door was interrupting your evening, not the other way around. However you looked, they could simply deal with it. 

The person had started to knock again, but you opened the door before they could do anything more than give a single, half-hearted tap. 

“What?” you demanded, speaking before the door panel had even slid far enough open for you to see the stranger’s face. 

“I-” 

“Scorch?” you gasped, wrenching at the door panel as if you could force it open any faster. 

His handsome face broke into the ghost of his old grin. It was slow and shadowed, but so achingly familiar that you knew beyond all doubt that your riduur had come home to you. 

You had dragged him inside before remembering to give him a choice, but it gave you more privacy to run your hands over every inch of his face and torso. You still weren’t fully convinced that you were awake, but your shaking fingers hadn’t found a single plane that was anything other than the way you remembered Scorch. 

“How are you back?” you asked, voice trembling as hard as your fingers. “I haven’t seen you since the end of the war. No one has.” 

“I wasn’t on Coruscant,” Scorch explained haltingly. “I didn’t have a choice - I would never have left you if I didn’t have to.” 

“But it wasn’t just you.” You searched Scorch’s eyes, cradling his face in your hands. “Every trooper I know left. Everyone I know who’s with a trooper said they disappeared just when you did. And all we could do was ask each other why.” 

You didn’t realize that you were crying until Scorch smoothed away the tears with his thumb, but you weren’t actually surprised. If anything, you were shocked that you hadn’t started before that point. 

“Cyare,” Scorch murmured, pressing his nose against the crown of your head as he held you a little tighter. “I’m so sorry. I failed as a partner. As a protector. I should have been there. I should have been able to…” 

When Scorch trailed off, you glanced up at him. “Where did you go, Scorch? You said you didn’t have a choice. What happened to you?”

Scorch took a shuddering breath and started explaining things to you. How the troopers had been notified that the Jedi had betrayed the Republic. How the GAR was responsible for wiping out the Jedi. How all of the vod’e Scorch spoke with seemed to be utterly different than he knew them to be. 

He told you about working with Kal Skirata - a familiar name, even if you had never met him personally - to gather intelligence on the new Empire. Scorch hesitated a little before describing a cruel scientist named Hemlock, but he told you about being headhunted by Hemlock to help with a highly classified project in a place called Tantiss. 

Shaken as you were by his explanation up to that point, you were most taken aback when tears began to track over Scorch’s cheeks. “I never thought I would see you again, cyare. I never thought I would get out of there.”

“But you did, Scorch,” you reminded him. “You’re safe. You’re free.” 

“I shouldn’t be,” he said, straightening. The utter certainty in his eyes chilled you to the bone. “I did the worst thing any trooper can do. I betrayed my brothers.” 

You tried to argue, but he wouldn’t hear any of it. “You don’t understand. I did. I betrayed them all. I turned away when they needed me. Even worse, I had to prove my loyalty to Hemlock every day. I… I did terrible things.”

“Why did you stay so long?” you asked, mind racing to find a new angle to argue. If Scorch wouldn’t let you comfort him, maybe you could think of a different way to convince him. 

“The comms were monitored, heavily.” You must have looked as lost at his explanation as you felt, because he explained, “I couldn’t find a way to get the coordinates to Skirata. If I sent them from Tantiss’s comms, Hemlock could have found the clan. I couldn’t risk them. I thought about stealing a ship, but that would have sent the whole place into lockdown and we could never have gotten the troopers out.” 

“How many of them were there?” 

“Dozens.” Scorch shook his head. “Hundreds, maybe. Too many for me to take with me. It would have taken a large-scale effort.” 

His use of past tense made your stomach curdle, but you did your best to look expressionless as he went on. 

“I had to look loyal to Hemlock, and any of the dozen troopers waiting to take my place,” he told you, starting to sound desperate. His fingers tightened around yours, as if he thought you would pull away from him. “If I didn’t, it all would have been for nothing. There would be no way to tell Skirata, no rescue, no hope-” 

“Shh, Scorch,” you soothed, massaging his hand. 

Scorch chanced a single glance at your face before he buried his head against your shoulder. He muttered something unintelligible against your skin, but you didn’t want to ask what it was. When Scorch was in a Mood, he tended to talk himself into a spiral if someone didn’t break him out of it. Sev had been the best at it, but you could do it well enough when he wasn’t around. 

“It sounds like you didn’t have a choice,” you reasoned. “It’s horrible that you had to do bad things, but you didn’t choose to do them. It was an impossible situation. There was no right answer, no way to get out of it with your hands clean. It will take time to come to terms with everything, no one would argue that, but-”

“You don’t understand,” Scorch interrupted, pulling away to reveal features twisted into an anguished expression. “There was a kid.”

That made you pause for the first time. “A kid? Whose kid?”

“She was a clone, somehow.” Scorch shook his head slowly, wonderingly. “I think she was a true Fett clone - a non-augmented one. No increased strength, no heightened metabolism, no accelerated aging. Hemlock made a big deal out of her. Everyone made a big deal out of her.” 

You frowned. “Weren’t the Kaminoans worried about the original Fett sample degrading in quality since his death? If she really is a true clone, could they want her for another genetic sample? Especially since they can’t find Jango’s son?” 

“I thought that at first, but not anymore.” Scorch sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face. The motion accentuated the new stress lines carved into his face and the red tinge to his eyes. When you glanced up, you saw silver glinting in his hair. “They’re discontinuing the clones.” 

You were so preoccupied with the changes in Scorch’s appearance that his words took a moment to sink in. “They- what? What do you mean?” 

“The Galactic Empire has a new recruitment strategy.” Scorch’s explanation was dripping with sarcasm. The name of Palpatine’s new order has been especially soaked in it. “They’re taking in natties. The clones who are left act as instructors to the mongrels or muscle for the officers.”

It took some effort to fight back your wince. You hated when Scorch and his brothers used the term ‘mongrel’ to describe non-clones, but now didn’t seem like the right time to bring it up. 

“Is the girl okay?” you asked quietly, trying not to sound anything other than curious. 

“As far as I know,” he confirmed. “She was on the platform with the squad who shot me.” 

“Excuse me?” you demanded, shooting to your feet. You had been studying Scorch’s changed appearance since he had gotten into your apartment, but you shoved his dark cloak aside to run your fingers as well as your eyes over his face, neck, and torso. “You were shot?” 

“Easy, ner karta,” Scorch soothed, grabbing your hands and cradling them in his. “Yes, I was shot. By another commando, part of a squad who went AWOL after we were ordered to kill the jetii. I was protecting Hemlock, who was trying to take the girl away from Tantiss. It made sense to eliminate the threat I posed before stopping him.” 

“You’ll have to forgive me if I still hold that against him.” You ran a critical eye over Scorch. “He must have missed everything important if you’re here now.” 

“No, he hit where he was aiming, my heart. Three shots.” 

Scorch must have anticipated that you were going to chastise him again, because he tugged gently on your hands until you collapsed onto the couch beside him. “I know, but my armor protected me.” 

“But how?” you asked desperately, searching his eyes. “I heard the new armor is terrible. Protection against gas and concussive blows, but almost nothing against blaster bolts.” 

“How did you-?” 

You waved a dismissive hand. “When all of you disappeared, anyone left on Coruscant who had been involved with a trooper ended up in the same circle. We were all looking for information. That’s a lot of collective contacts in the GAR and Senate. We couldn’t find any of you, but we took all the information we could find and made sure to pass it along to anyone else in the circle.”

Scorch shook his head slowly. “Clever of you all. No, the armor isn’t any good against blaster bolts. But I wasn’t exactly going to give up my Katarn armor, was I? Not when I finally had it painted like I wanted it.” 

You reluctantly returned Scorch’s teasing grin with a small smile of your own. Scorch’s obsession with painting and repainting his armor had toed the line between endearing and irritating… much like everything else about him. 

“Of course, you’ll have to start over now,” you pointed out. 

Scorch’s face sobered. “In more ways than one.” 

You squeezed his hands comfortingly. “What happened when you were shot?” 

“I knew that I couldn’t stay there anymore.” Scorch glanced away. “They wouldn’t believe that I was on their side, not at that point, and Hemlock had a blaster aimed at the kid. I knew he wasn’t getting out of there alive, so I let the bolts knock me off the platform.” 

Despite your best efforts, you let out a strangled noise at that. Scorch’s lips curled up on one side in a pale reflection of his usual grin. He knew exactly how you felt about heights. 

“I caught myself on the way down,” he reassured you, rubbing gentle circles over the back of your hands. “Used my ascension cable to connect to a few different places until I could get back into the lab and download an extra copy of the lab’s work. Tarkin showed up a little later, so I snuck onboard his Star Destroyer to get back to a civilized system.” 

“So… the Empire thinks you’re dead?” you asked slowly. 

“As far as I can tell.” Scorch glanced away, admitting, “I haven’t gotten in touch with anyone on Kyrimorut yet. They would be able to find out for sure.” 

“Kyrimorut?” you repeated, stumbling over the unfamiliar word. “I’ve never heard of it.” 

Scorch rubbed at his tired eyes. “That’s the point. It’s a secret camp on Mandalore. Skirata and his Nulls have been hiding there since the fall of the Republic. They take in clone deserters, hide them from the Empire. That’s where they’ll want me to go. Where I’ll need to go, if I don’t want to be pressed back into the Empire’s service.” 

Your heart stopped for a moment, your hand clutching convulsively at Scorch’s. “You- you’re leaving? Again? You just got back-” 

“Shh, mesh’la, shh,” he soothed. “It’s too dangerous for me to stay here. It wouldn’t be safe for me or for you. I have to go. But… you don’t. You can stay here, keep living your life. You’re welcome to come with me to Mandalore, but I know that’s a lot to ask-” 

“I’m coming with you,” you announced, standing. “I need to pack. How much should I bring?” 

Scorch was staring blankly at you. 

“Scorch?” you prompted, already putting together a mental list. “Focus. Do I need to bring the basics, or will they have them already? I don’t want to take up space with blankets and stuff if we could just get them there.”

“You’re… you’re amazing, ner karta,” Scorch said eventually, pressing a kiss to the back of your knuckles. “The best riduur I could have chosen.”

“I missed you so much, riduur,” you murmured, letting him pull you closer. “Now, blankets?” 

Much later, you had managed to consolidate all the necessities into a few packs for each of you. Scorch had been the one to insist on bringing more things. He swore it was because he didn’t want you to go without, but you saw the way he cradled an old pair of sweat pants like they were a stuffed animal. 

You didn’t have the space for everything, of course. But you packed the sweat pants anyway. It didn’t surprise you that Scorch would need some comfort after everything he had been through. You’d help him find it where he could. 

When you had finished packing, you glanced around for final necessities that you might have missed. The important thing was to leave no sign that you didn’t intend to come back, so most of your stuff was still where it always was. For some reason, that made it much harder for you to feel the urgency that shadowed your every step. 

“Should we leave?” you asked, reaching for the front door panel. Scorch hand stopped you, wrapping around your arm just above the elbow.

“Hang on,” he said, dark gaze scanning around the space like you just had. “I spent so much time thinking about this place. I want to make sure I remember as much of it as possible.”

You let him look for a minute or two, but the tension ratcheted back up. “Scorch? How are we getting to Mandalore?” 

“One of the clan will come get us,” he explained, “but we need to get to the Industrial Sector first. That’s the easiest way to disguise a cargo vessel.” 

“When will they meet us there?” 

He shrugged. “They’ll probably need a couple of hours after my call. The trip is usually around 12 hours, with an extra hour or two to get into position.”

“And when did you call?” you asked, already checking the current time. 

“I- Uh, I haven’t yet,” Scorch hedged, raising his hands defensively when you rounded on him. “I will, though!” 

“Why did you wait?” you asked, dropping your packs by the front door. “You could have called while we were packing. Unless… Why haven’t you called yet?”

He sighed lightly, reaching into a hidden pocket. He pulled out a small data drive, holding it up with a guilty expression. “Because of this.”

“The research?” you guessed, confirmed by his nod.

“I don’t know if I want to hand it over to Skirata,” Scorch admitted, with the air of someone admitting their darkest, most shameful secret. 

You frowned. Delta Squad had never quite understood the hero worship Kal Skirata received from his men, but they had never given you any reason to think Skirata was untrustworthy. “Okay.”

Scorch did a double-take. “Okay?” 

With a shrug, you said, “I trust your judgement.  I’ve never met Skirata and I don’t know what’s on that drive. You do. If you don’t want to give anyone the data, I assume you know what you’re doing.”

“Just like that?” 

“Just like that,” you confirmed. “But I have to ask: This was why you were on Tantiss. You wanted to transmit information to Mandalore for so long. Why are you hesitating now?” 

Scorch was quiet for a long time. Silence was an odd state for him, and it lasted long enough that you thought he might be permanently broken. Eventually, he shook his head, the movement small enough that you weren’t sure whether you were really seeing it. 

“Skirata wants to give us longer lives. If there’s anything he can do to make sure that happens, he’ll do it.”

You were trying to think of a tactful way to admit that you wouldn’t think that was a bad thing, either, when Scorch caught your gaze. 

“He’ll do anything.” 

You let the words die on your tongue. 

“This research,” Scorch emphasized, holding up the data drive, “involved a lot of vode. Skirata has been known to keep an ex-Seppie scientist or two on the payroll. If I give him this copy, he’ll give it to his scientist to check if there’s anything useful for the cause. They might decide the experiment is worth a second round of testing.” 

Scorch sat back down on your couch, leg jiggling incessantly. You stared at the movement as you followed him back across the room. “Even if they don’t want to keep it going, this is an automatic pardon from old Palpatine. He bankrolled the research. I’m not sure how much he already knows, but I’m sure he would want to know more. And he’d be willing to pay every credit in the Imperial banks to get his hands on this. I don’t trust anyone to fight that kind of temptation.”

“Even Skirata?” you said, more of a summary than a question. 

“Skirata is… independently wealthy,” Scorch explained. You knew without asking that there was much more of a story there, but you didn’t need to hear it just then. “But he has a tendency to think the best of his people. Earn his trust once and he’ll cover your back while you burn down the galaxy.”

“So if just one of the people around him realizes what that information is worth…” you reasoned slowly. 

Scorch nodded. “It’ll end up right where it started: with the Empire.”

“It’s your data drive.” You smiled sadly at him. “If you don’t trust them with it, better that it never leaves here. We can destroy it before they pick us up.”

“And if they don’t believe that I didn’t get the information? That’s the whole reason I was there. And Vau’s boys don’t leave until a mission is done.” 

You snorted. “There are a thousand things that can go wrong with a data drive. The Empire embedded some kind of virus. The drive itself was corrupted and you didn’t know before you used it. It was exposed to an electric shock aboard Tarkin’s Star Destroyer. It got wet. You sat on it in the wrong way-” 

“Okay, I get it,” Scorch said, waving you away as you came up with sillier and sillier things that could have happened to the chip. The grin on his face eased a tightness you hadn’t noticed forming in your chest. 

“I’m just saying,” you finished, settling beside him on the couch again. He took your hand, still staring at the pile of bags by the door, and you settled against him with your head on his shoulder. “And if they still don’t believe you, what are they going to do? Turn you away? Then you and I will just go find a place of our own, away from the Empire and Kamort.” 

“Kyrimorut.” 

“That’s what I said.” 

Scorch chuckled, but the only reply he gave was to dial a frequency from memory into his wrist comm. “Ordo? I’m on Triple Zero. Can you arrange a ride for my riduur and I? Our ship’s in the shop and I hear the shuttles off-planet have gotten very stingy with their tickets.”

“Scorch,” a voice greeted, an edge of relief clearly present. “Welcome back to the civilized galaxy, vod. Lucky for you, we were about to head out on a grocery run. We’ll comm when we’re close. Ten hours. Ordo out.”

“Grocery run?” you repeated, tilting your head to glance up at Scorch. 

“There are some supplies you can’t get on Mandalore,” he explained. “Not without attracting the wrong kind of attention. They make regular trips to the Inner Rim for anything that can’t be grown on the farm.” 

“Farm,” you sighed dreamily. “We’re going to live on a farm.” 

Scorch openly laughed at you. “I’ll remind you how excited you were when we have to butcher our first animal or fix a hole in a sock.” 

You made a face at him. “I’ve lived on Coruscant for a decade, Scorch. I’m so excited about the idea of seeing a plant that I could fly. Don’t ruin this for me.” 

He kissed your temple. “Okay, fine. Enjoy your fantasy. Just don’t be too upset with me when it’s different than you expected. Let’s get some sleep before they get here. If Ordo said ten hours, he meant it.” 

“I wish we’d known that before we packed the big blanket,” you grumbled half-heartedly, grabbing some throw blankets from the basket in your living room. 

Scorch made the bed for you both, using far too many blankets to make some kind of nest he insisted would be more comfortable than the comforter had ever been. 

You watched him, a soft smile on your face as he demonstrated all the benefits of a blanket nest. It would be nice to live on a farm, you thought. You never had before, so it would be new. But what you hadn’t told Scorch was how excited you were to be with him, without secrecy or worrying about who might be watching. You would be able to hold his hand in the open, tease him for telling one of his ridiculous jokes, kiss him when he did something sweet.

When you left the apartment eight hours later, the data chip was destroyed beyond all saving and ready to be quietly ejected while the ship was in hyperspace. The tight set to Scorch’s shoulders had disappeared and his smile matched yours. Even the tension of sneaking down to the Industrial Sector couldn’t lower the quiet happiness you shared.

Kyrimorut could end up being the worst place in the universe and you would cheerfully live there if it meant being with Scorch. Wherever you ended up would be perfect.

---

Author's Note - According to AO3, this is the 66th chapter of my soft clone trooper fics. A deeply cursed number for us prequel fans, but I like how this turned out!

I am still a little in denial that the clone trooper in The Bad Batch is Scorch at all, but I'm in FULL denial that Scorch is dead. I refuse to believe that. Anyway, this was requested almost a year ago, so… I am not fast.

Also, before anyone comes for me: no, Scorch's destroyed data chip would probably not fool the Nulls. I think they're smart enough to figure out that Scorch got the information. However, I also think that Skirata's single-minded loyalty to all clone troopers would be enough to make them overlook it.

[vodika-vibes]

Hi Vodika🤗🤗

Congrats on 800 followers🎉🎉🎉

Is it possible for a request to have the scavenger hunt with either one of the nulls or with delta squad. (Sorry I know you said pick a clone but I cant😭 so please have the creative freedom) also if you can make it fluffy as a cloud that would be amazing.

Thank you and congrats again!!!!

Counting Stars

Summary: When Scorch tells you he has a surprise for you, you expect the normal kind of surprise, a snack or something like that. Normal things he’s gotten you in the past, you don’t expect a scavenger hunt.

Pairing: Clone Commando Scorch x F!Reader

Word Count: 982

Prompt: Scavenger Hunt

Warnings: Very fluffy, you've been warned

A/N: So I couldn't go into detail about the scavenger hunt, not without going over the word limit, but I hope you like it anyway!

Click HERE to be added to my taglist

This has to be your favorite time of year, when the leaves start to change colors, and the miserable heat of summer fades into the more comfortable temperatures of autumn. 

Sure, it gets chilly occasionally, but that's what you have sweaters for.

Today you’re clad in a yellow sweater dress. It’s new, and you hope Scorch likes it. It took you ages to find a sweater in his specific shade of yellow, after all.

But, he’s late.

He said that he would be here at 10, and it’s now 10:30 and he hasn’t even sent you a message saying that he’s on his way.

You’ll wait for him. Of course, you’ll wait for him, he’s worth it, but it’s still annoying to not hear from him.

Warm fingers brush against the back of your neck, and you jump slightly, before tilting your head back to look up into the grinning face of your boyfriend. 

“Found you,” He jokes as his arm slides around your shoulders and he gives you a slightly awkward hug.

You can’t help the smile that crosses your face, Scorch never fails to make you smile, it’s one of the reasons you love him. “Was I lost?” You reach up and lightly brush your fingers against his cheek, before tapping the tip of his nose.

“Nope, I just like finding you,” He drops a loud kiss against your cheek, and then hops over the back of the bench and eagerly tugs you to your feet, “Are you ready for your surprise, cyare?” He’s grinning like a schoolboy and his excitement is contagious, as you start to feel the same amount of excitement.

“I do like surprises,” You reply as you slide your hands into his. You look him over, “Is the surprise a place?” He’s not carrying anything.

Scorch’s grin broadens, “Close your eyes.”

You do as he asks, and then crack open an eye to peek at him.

“Ah! No peeking!” 

You giggle as he presses a hand over your eyes, and you reach up to wrap a hand around his wrist, his skin is warm and you can feel his pulse racing as if he’s nervous about something. “You seem nervous, lover boy.”

“I worked hard on this surprise,” Scorch replies. You hear him move around slightly, and then the sound of paper unfolding. Then Scorch moves his hand, “Alright, open your eyes.”

Once again, you do as Scorch asks and open your eyes. Your gaze immediately falls on the paper he’s holding in front of your face. You tug it from his hand and hold it so you’re able to see it properly.

“A gift awaits you at the path, to find your next clue go to the place we first met.” Your gaze snaps to Scorch, “A scavenger hunt?”

“The others helped,” Scorch admits with a sheepish grin, “I promise the reward at the end is worth it.”

“Mm, do I get hints?” 

“If you need them. I doubt you will, though.” 

Honestly, you don’t think you will either. Not if all of the places are related to your relationship with Scorch. So, you flash a bright smile at him and take his hand, “The place we first met was that little bookstore near the spaceport.”

Eagerly, you tug him down the street, heading toward your favorite bookstore.

Once there, the owner hands you a second slip of paper with a kind smile. That clue leads you to the park where you and Scorch had your first date.

Upon arriving at the park, Sev appears, tucks a red rose behind your ear, and hands you the third clue before he leaves. This clue leads you to the university you attended when you and Scorch first started dating.

Your old professor supplies you with the fourth clue, which leads you to the lake where you and Scorch shared your first kiss.

Fixer is at the lake, and he hands you a thermos full of your favorite caf, as well as the next clue before he too leaves.

By the time you receive the last clue, from Boss, the sun is starting to set and you’re starting to get hungry. But you want to see the scavenger hunt to the end, so you lead Scorch to the clue location.

It’s only when you arrive that you realize that you and Scorch have never been here together before. 

You’re at a small fountain, far removed from the bustle of the city. It’s quiet and peaceful, and you know you’ve never been here with Scorch before. Still, maybe you’re misremembering.

So you release his hand and poke around a little bit.

But, there’s nothing.

“Mm, Scorch? I think there’s been a mistake. There’s nothing—” You finally turn to look at Scorch, and your words trail off.

He’s on one knee in front of you, a small velvet box in his hand, “I was hoping that this place would become important for us,” Scorch replies with a nervously excited smile. 

“Scorch,” You are not going to cry, even though you can feel tears pricking the corners of your eyes.

His gaze locks with yours, “I love you. I’ve loved you since the day I first met you. And I thought that a walk down memory lane would be a good preface to this,” He absently lifts the ring box, “So, cyare, will you marry me?”

You don’t answer, but then you don’t have to. Because as soon as he finishes his question you tackle him in a tight hug and crash your lips against his.

When you break the kiss, you’re beaming at him and you’re perched on his lap. Scorch’s arms are tight around you, and he’s a little breathless and hazy-eyed. “So,” He says, “Is that a yes?”

You giggle and bump your forehead against his, “Silly man. Yes, I’ll marry you. Nothing will make me happier.”

@imabeautifulbutterfly

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[areyoufuckingcrazy]

“Tactical Sovereignty” pt.1

Delta Squad x Reader

The shuttle ride to Coruscant was smooth, but your stomach churned all the same.

Neutral or not, your planet had always walked a razor-thin line between the Republic and the Separatists. You'd kept your distance from the Senate's chaos, balancing diplomacy and independence with every word your advisors crafted. But that balancing act had finally cracked—threats were no longer whispers. Intelligence confirmed the Separatists planned to make an example of your world, dragging it into the war one way or another.

And so, here you were. Dressed in ceremonial finery, face calm and regal, though you could feel the edge of tension behind your eyes.

The doors of the Senate hangar hissed open with practiced ease. Sunlight filtered in through the tall skylights, glinting off the white armor of clones stationed around the platform. But it was not the standard guard detail that caught your attention.

Four soldiers stood in perfect formation near your platform—distinct from the white-armored ranks. Their matte, battle-scarred Katarn-class armor was painted in bold, individualized designs. There was no mistaking who they were.

Delta Squad.

You'd been briefed: elite commandos, the Republic's surgical scalpel for missions too grim for standard troopers. Your planet had refused Jedi intervention to avoid implying alignment with either side. Delta Squad, however, was a compromise the Senate could stomach—and you could accept.

They stepped forward in perfect sync.

The one in front spoke first. His voice was crisp and measured, modulated slightly by his helmet's filter.

"Princess. We're your assigned protection detail. RC-1138, designation: Boss. The rest of my squad is RC-1140, Fixer—technical support and slicing. RC-1207, Sev—sniper and demolitions. And RC-1262, Scorch—explosives and comic relief, unfortunately."

"Unfortunately?" Scorch piped in, helmet tilted as if offended. "I'm charming."

"Delusional," Sev muttered, voice gravelly, a hint darker than the rest.

You blinked, caught somewhere between amusement and confusion. They weren't what you expected. Not at all.

"I expected...something more formal," you said, arching an eyebrow.

"We can be formal," Fixer said blandly. "It just slows us down."

Boss took a step forward. "With your permission, we'll assume control of your schedule while on Coruscant. We'll be with you at all public appearances. Close protection protocol."

"And when I'm in private?" you asked carefully, testing the waters.

"Two-man rotating shifts outside your quarters. No listening devices. We're not spies," Boss replied.

That earned your approval. You gave a nod, regal and crisp. "Accepted."

Boss gestured to a waiting speeder. "Senator Organa has requested a diplomatic briefing in an hour. We move now."

⸻

The speeder weaved through Coruscant traffic like a silver bullet, flanked by a second vehicle carrying additional Coruscant Guard escorts. You sat in the primary seat with Fixer beside you, focused on scanning the skies through his HUD, silent and still. Boss rode in the front with the pilot. Scorch and Sev were in the tail speeder, handling long-range overwatch.

"What's your planet like?" Fixer asked suddenly, not looking at you.

You glanced sideways. "Peaceful. Or it was. Mountains, rivers, a lot of ancient forest. We prize education, diplomacy, culture."

"Never been there," he said simply. "Sounds better than Kamino."

"Kamino?"

"Rain, endless ocean, cold. We trained there."

"I suppose that makes you all excellent swimmers."

Fixer almost smirked. "Not by choice."

⸻

You reached the diplomatic annex of the Senate without incident. Senator Organa met with you in a secured chamber. The meeting lasted forty minutes. You discussed trade routes, neutral standing, defensive aid. Boss stood behind you, arms crossed. Fixer guarded the door. It felt safe.

It didn't last.

As you exited the annex through a marble-floored hallway—Delta Squad surrounding you—something shifted. Boss stopped mid-step. His helmet tilted.

"Hold. Sev, you see this?"

"Infrared ping, upper alcove—movement," Sev's voice crackled in.

Fixer drew his weapon. "Thermals picking up a secondary heat source—side corridor, left. Someone's here."

The world went silent. Your heart leapt into your throat.

"DOWN!" Boss barked—and shoved you with a force that knocked the breath from your lungs.

A blaster bolt screamed past your head—dead on target. It would have killed you.

Fixer returned fire instantly, sending bolts at the darkened alcove above. Scorch's voice blared over the comms: "Explosive signatures detected—get her out of there!"

Boss was already grabbing you by the arm, dragging you behind a marble column. His body shielded yours as the hallway erupted in smoke and fire—micro-charges along the wall, precisely placed.

Sev's sniper bolt rang like thunder. Someone screamed.

"Status!" Boss barked.

"One shooter down," Sev reported. "Second's fleeing. I've got eyes."

"Fixer—route!"

"Emergency exit tunnel, three meters left of the statue. Let's go!"

You were already running—your fine dress torn and scorched, one slipper gone, heartbeat in your ears. Scorch was waiting at the exit point, rifle raised, expression grim.

"They really want you dead," he muttered as he covered your retreat.

⸻

Once safe inside a secured speeder again—this one driven manually by Fixer—you were shaking. Not visibly. You didn't dare shake in front of them. You were a princess. Trained since childhood not to flinch.

But Boss sat across from you, watching silently. After a long pause, he finally spoke.

"They knew your route. Your schedule. Someone inside the Senate leaked your movements."

You met his gaze, breathing steady. "Then find them."

Boss nodded slowly.

"We will."

⸻

The durasteel doors to your temporary apartment slid open with a gentle hiss, revealing a space clearly meant for Senators: high ceilings, soft light panels, and a panoramic view of Coruscant's skyline. If not for the adrenaline still hammering in your veins, you might have appreciated it more.

Delta Squad fanned out instantly.

Boss took point, scanning the room. Fixer moved straight to the control panel to run a full security sweep. Sev was already at the windows, eyes behind his visor tracking the distant rooftops. Scorch stood near you, helmet tilted with what you imagined was either concern or curiosity.

"Clear," Boss confirmed after a full sweep. "Perimeter is locked down. No entry without authorization."

"You're safe," Fixer added. "For now."

You exhaled deeply for the first time in what felt like hours.

Your gown was a wreck—torn at the hem, soot smudged across the bodice, and the fine embroidery near your collar scorched where the blaster bolt had almost found your throat. You were a vision of royal dishevelment, but you held your chin high.

"I'm going to need something far stronger than Senate flattery to calm my nerves."

You turned and made your way to the apartment's bar—a tasteful, recessed alcove behind polished panels. Crystal decanters glimmered invitingly under soft ambient lights.

"I assume none of you drink on duty?" you said, already pouring something amber and sharp into a glass.

Scorch laughed. "Well—technically, no. But—"

"Correct. We don't," Boss said sharply, cutting him off. His tone was clipped. Commanding. "We're here to protect, not relax."

Sev, standing by the window, shrugged with a hint of insolence. "Bit late for formality, sir. We already got shot at today."

Scorch grinned under his helmet and stepped forward. "Princess, if you're offering, I'd be rude not to accept."

You offered them both a smug, satisfied smile as you handed over two glasses. "A wise decision. Besides, I insist. It's the least I can do for the men who threw themselves in front of a blaster bolt for me."

Boss crossed his arms. "Scorch. Sev. Stand down. That's an order."

Scorch raised the glass to eye level. "Technically, I am standing down, sir."

Boss didn't laugh. Fixer gave a barely audible sigh from the control panel.

"You realize this is not a vacation," Boss muttered, voice edged with quiet irritation.

"No, but I'm not dead yet, so I'll celebrate that," Sev replied darkly, sipping from his glass.

You perched elegantly on one of the barstools, legs crossed, swirling your drink. The warm burn in your throat did little to shake the cool superiority you wore like a cloak. You were still standing, still regal—even in tatters.

"So tell me," you said, eyes on Boss now, tone arch and just slightly mocking. "Do you ever take that helmet off, or is 'intimidating silhouette' your full personality?"

Fixer snorted. Sev muttered something about "finally, someone says it." Scorch laughed aloud.

Boss didn't respond. He only turned away to resume his patrol of the suite, clearly not taking the bait.

You sipped again, then glanced toward the door when the comm chimed.

"You expecting visitors?" Fixer asked sharply.

"I am," you said smoothly. "I sent word ahead."

Boss looked like he was about to object, but before he could, the door slid open to reveal two finely dressed Senators: Senator Meelari of Aleron and Senator T'vaen of Cerea. Both were close allies—well-meaning and reliable political shields who never challenged your rhetoric too hard.

"Princess!" Meelari swept forward dramatically. "We heard what happened! We were horrified. The very idea that someone would attack you—on Coruscant of all places!"

"I'm flattered by your concern," you said, standing with the poise of a queen rather than someone who'd nearly died hours ago. "But as you can see, I'm quite difficult to kill."

T'vaen bowed respectfully. "I trust the Republic will be investigating thoroughly?"

"They're already on it," Boss said without turning around.

Your smile sharpened. "I have the best the Republic can offer," you said, glancing toward Delta Squad. "Elite commandos, bred for precision, loyalty, and efficiency. Though they're not particularly chatty."

"Ah," Meelari said, giving them a brief nod. "Clones."

You stiffened slightly. You heard the subtle condescension in his tone. It wasn't overt, but it was there.

"Not just clones," you said coolly. "They are the blade that keeps the Republic alive. The only reason any of us can still sit in the Senate and pretend our ideals matter."

Boss said nothing—but you could sense he heard it. All of them did.

Senator T'vaen smiled tightly. "Ever the moral voice of the chamber, Princess. Your conviction is admirable."

"It's not conviction," you said, turning your glass lazily in your hand. "It's truth. The Republic doesn't win because of speeches or trade deals. It wins because these soldiers bleed on nameless planets while Senators bicker about budget cuts. I simply acknowledge the obvious."

Sev muttered under his breath: "She's not wrong."

Meelari tried to laugh off the moment, clearly uneasy. "Of course, of course. But we came to check on you, not start another debate. Is there anything you need, anything your world requires for additional security?"

You smiled—brilliant and disarming. "Only continued support in the Senate. And perhaps a little more admiration."

Your guests chuckled, flattered and distracted. You basked in it. You always did. Praise was your oxygen—and you'd never learned how to breathe without it.

Boss approached you quietly when the Senators drifted toward the window to admire the view.

"You shouldn't be entertaining guests yet," he said, voice low.

You tilted your chin up at him. "Do I look like I require rest, Commander?"

"You look like a high-value target who's still very much in danger."

You leaned in slightly, voice just above a whisper. "Then you'll just have to keep me alive, won't you?"

Boss didn't flinch. "That's the job."

You smiled slowly. "Good."

⸻

Next Part

[orangez3st]

In Some Other Lifetime - Chapter 2

Torture me to sleep

Clone Commando Scorch × F!Reader

↤ Prev | Next ↦

✧ Chapter Summary: For a fleeting moment, there seems to be the tiniest glimpse of hope. Although, the future remains uncertain—with Scorch's constant and cold presence towering over you.

✧ General Tags & Warnings: reader is a jedi turned bounty hunter, soulmate au, clone commando scorch fix-it-verse, the bad batch season 3 canon, rescue mission, prison break, other tags will be added

✧ Word Count: 3.3k

✧ Chapter Warning: f bomb, female body search done by a male (non-con, so beware! you may skip that part, it's almost at the end. tried to make it as vague as possible. really vague, nearly nothing graphic.)

Story Index ✧ Join Taglist ✧ Other Clone x Reader

Tantiss is supposed to imprison clones. 

Oppressing them under a medical routine to fuel Hemlock's underground cloning project where they draw blood out every single day.

Witnessing Crosshair, drained and his back hunched, as they pass each other every morning twists something in her stomach.

Omega no longer casts a concerned look, though. It breaks her a little to see her brother suffering that way, but she has to be more clever than wearing her heart on her sleeve in enemy territory.

Tantiss is supposed to imprison clones, she affirms herself—again—as she watches your calm meditative form through the bars of your cell. It's understandable. Part of your routine. You need peace. Tantiss is stressful. She gets it. Gungi taught about the essence of finding inner peace through meditation, after all.

And especially since you and Gungi are similar.

The thought must be a jinx somehow because when her attention returns to you, you're already acknowledging her presence.

“Oh. Hello,” Omega says with a small wave of the hand. Wandering in the detention block and chatting with prisoners are not part of her daily assignments, so she'd want to appear small when sitting by the door.

And a single raised eyebrow from you is all she gets for now. Your attitude kind of reminds her of that bounty hunter. Fennec Shand.

“What's your name?” she starts carefully, understanding your stance. “I'm Omega.”

You know Omega. You'd been the one hunting her down through systems and back. It was exhausting, especially when Clone Force 99 always put up quite a fight—especially since you weren't fully present for the cause. Everything about it was wrong. You were hunting a kid.

And loud voices aren't meant for the detention block. It incites trouble.

“Call me Eight, Omega,” you say, making your way to the door and lean close in the kid's direction.

“But–”

“I'm no longer associated with my birth name,” you interrupt her firmly. “You can look it up in the system. But I don't answer to that name anymore.”

The Empire never knows of your past existence as a Jedi. It was a protocol of the Order to erase every single exiled Jedi profile from their database for their own safety. You crafted a new identity the moment you were released into the wild. Your fellow bounty hunters and the rest of the damned galaxy recognize you by that name. The Empire has no idea of your real birth name. It'd been swallowed into the void long ago. The ones who know of your true name are either dead or have forgotten already.

Omega studies you, surprise and pity present in her eyes. Eyes which color are quite familiar to you. “Why?”

The question somehow puts you on edge, reminding you that the kid roams free instead of getting incarceration like you are—looking less of a prisoner than you are. “The Empire does things to you,” you answer curtly.

Omega looks away momentarily. “Does it involve you to throw away who you were before the war?”

Who you were before the war was a lovesick young adult who thought ignoring the Soul Mark was ridiculous. Even though it's just numbers. You clench your left fist, where it is. There had been someone out there who loved you. Scorch. Not the commando who tails Hemlock like a massiff pup. Your Scorch.

And as always, you deflect the thought in the presence of others. Reminiscing on how it went and how it's supposed to be with Scorch is private. You feel like you're desecrating him somehow. Desecrating the bond. Kriff, you don't even know if the bond still exists. Your dreams remain empty—no more whispered voices. Your heart is left hollow and floating in the darkest of chambers.

“What are you doing here, kid?” Shaking your head, you swallow the bile in your throat. “You'd get caught. You better go and do whatever you're supposed to do.”

Seeing you getting up to your feet, Omega starts, the panic creeping in. “Wait!”

You're a potential ally. She can’t lose you—not when she barely gets past building the start of a good rapport.

“I promise I don't mean any harm. Sorry. I admit that was kind of a bad start.” The Empire. This place. It's doing something to her, alright. You're right. “But just to be sure… You’re one of them that hunted us down in Bracca, right?”

You look at her long enough to be hopefully considered apologetic. “I am.”

Omega's uncertainty was shown as clear as day. She still needs to work on it if she wants to survive under the watchful eyes of the Empire. Trying to befriend you? The kid is onto something. It's in this moment where you wish you could lean onto the guidance of the Force. You sigh and settle your shoulder against the wall. “What do you want, Omega?”

“I just want to make sure you can be trusted first,” she says..

You deadpan. “You're talking to a bounty hunter turned you hunter, both qualities of which are tending to stab people in the back for the most profitable gain.”

“So you're stabbing the Empire in the back that it got you in this cell?”

It gets you to smirk. Omega eagerly leans in seeing your expression.

“I want to make sure you can be trusted,” you challenge.

The blonde teen sighs heavily. Comically. Her chin drops to her chest in the dramatization. Then, she looks back up at you sharply.“I want to break out of here so bad.”

“Good for you. The walls are listening.”

“I dread every second being in here.”

“You and me both,” you bitterly respond, not convinced yet.

“I've been domesticating one of this facility's lurca hounds because I have no friend and I really wanna get out of this place.”

You blink.

“You're impossible,” you muse.

Omega looks at the ground sadly. “I just want to be reunited with the rest of my brothers.”

Brothers. Clone Force 99. Their existence reminds you of Delta—or whatever it had been in the past. “Crosshair is here too, isn't he?”

Omega nods. “Yeah. Just on the other side of the block. Yours is quite solitary,” she says, before hesitantly adding, “He's your Sergeant, right?”

Your body flinches in remembering every muscle reflex when you hunted her down. “Was, kid. Remember that. The Elite Squad is toast now. It's the clone commandos over stormtroopers now.” Then, you let a small wry smirk slip through. “Rampart did his best.”

Omega lets out a small noise of amusement. “I guess so.” You can read her hesitation to properly comment on your statement. Kriff, you'd have to remember you're talking to a kid, and not a drink partner at a bar. Nevertheless, she looks more mature than her age. How old is she—15? The current cruel state of the galaxy has taught her so much, then. She's a survivor. Just like you are.

The conversation lulls—you can see Omega mentally formulating another prompt to ask or to talk about with you behind the apparent stress in her youthful features, behind the slightest frown that scrunch her dark brows.

Then, you feel it.

That tug in your gut. That pull when something unfavorable is about to happen. In the silence, as if an alarm has been set, your chest too twinges with the familiarity. Even though you've been carried away in this conversation, you never forget the occurrences around you. The stretch of corridor that spans before your door is your arena, after all. You are aware of the comings and goings like clockwork, and something's coming. And it's familiar.

For a fleeting moment, you wonder if that was the Force giving you a warning.

The footfalls grow closer.

You alarmingly meet Omega's gaze, who surprisingly shares the same look at you. “Go,” you shoo her, “It's the commando. Don't get caught.”

Her head bobs in a series of urgent nods, already on her feet and scanning around for an escape route. Her eyes meet yours in certainty. “I’ll come back in a minute.”

You sigh. “Omega—”

“If I don't make it then it's nice meeting you, Eight.”

You watch her petite figure retreating as far as your peripheral allows you to. During the shift of the atmosphere, you're driven to your knees. You try to listen closely, your eyes closing. In the darkness, you try to seek light—as what you always do in the first minutes of your meditations—to seek the warm tendril of the Force to reconnect the bond once more.

Please. I'm sorry. I need you.

“Were you engaging in any suspicious activity, ES-08?”

Your eyes snap open upon hearing the boyishness of a certain voice—a sound that should never belong in these cold dark corridors. Tricolor painted boots beyond your cell door reign over your entire periphery, and you have to crane your neck back to find the commando’s blue HUD staring down at you in cold helmeted observation.

“Is meditating dubbed as suspicious activity now?” you retaliate.

Scorch fixes his blank gaze at you.

Then he tilts his head in the direction of your worn inmate mattress. “This is now a surprise inspection. Go stand in the corner, slide down the wall, and sit on your hands with your back straight against the wall and tuck your legs close to your body.”

He gives a jerked nod to a stormtrooper in the middle of the corridor behind him whom you didn't notice before. You hope Omega made it past security. You watch him in disbelief, even when the door slides open in a blocky noise of metal against metal and him chambering his ICWS to his backpack. But even then, you know you can do nothing.

“What could I even be possibly hiding? My fork?” You sit as instructed, trying to look intimidating even when he's the one dominating the room. “You're wearing katarn, for gods’ sake,” you mutter, undoubtedly picked up by his audio receptors.

The door slides close. Preventing any escape. Safest for both parties. You could throw a punch born out of your mounting frustration right here and then, he could easily deck you into unconsciousness. The sight would be similar to one of those cage fight gigs that you often ran into in the underworld of Coruscant.

Your hands begin to unsettlingly yet comfortably warm underneath the weight of your body. Setting your gaze down to the floor, you decide it's wisest to say nothing—for now. Your privacy breached, Scorch plucking off the sheets off your pillow and mattress to hopefully obtain misplaced objects.

His height towers far above you. You swallow heavily. You had never seen him in armor in the before—only images from your dreams that he projected where he posed in the mirror to draw gleeful laughter out of you—and now you're graced with intimidating, broad-framed katarn up close. You used to adore his armor, especially the striking choice of yellow, and his quirky and comedic personality that matched. The view of cold and dark corridors beyond your cell forms a pit in your stomach again—you don't think you would ever see him in his armor the same way again. Then again, it looks wrong. Too hospital-clean, void of scratches and battlefield grimes. Assigned to guard duties similar to clone troopers isn't what commandos are supposed to do—not even in the before.

You have to remind yourself again—the Republic fell. Scorch, the man you're supposed to love and perhaps still is, who was decanted during its glorious era or so it seemed, fell along with it. Your heart mourns for the man he is now. What wouldn't you give to have him back and see his broad smiles and savor his jokes? First things first, you want to be reconnected to the Force.

“Love drives you to do crazy things,” you mutter out loud, tone distant.

You notice a slight pause in Scorch's movement as he lifts the mattress of your berth, standing in silence, seemingly scanning the structure with his HUD. If you don't know any better, you think he's probably stalling to listen to you.

“In these dark times, out of all scenarios, we’re cursed to love. We're cursed to live,” you continue, “Funny that one needs the other. Love needs life to thrive like a plant in soil. Life needs love to feel complete.” Scorch's helmet tilts ever so slightly in your direction. You feel a surge in your body. “Like a pair of lovers.”

“Are you feeling unwell?”

Of course he thinks you're delirious. But you ignore his question, your eyes can only speak the truth there is, glimmering and unladen with meds or exhaustion. Inside, there is hope for your other half truly is listening. “If according to your textbooks feeling unwell equals speaking the truth, then yes.”

I hope you know I'm willing to be held prisoner. I hope you know I'm here solely for you. I hope you know I want to be near you. I hope you know that I still exist. We still exist. We could exist.

A mountainous amount of fool's hopes. Dangerous things to say in Tantiss because the walls have ears.

Once satisfied with his observation, Scorch turns to you. “Stand up.”

You comply.

“Turn around and face the wall for a mandatory body search procedure.”

Your heart suspends, horror washes all over you at the thought of the cold hands of your supposed lover running across your body. “You're kidding me.” The last thing you need is Scorch's hands on your body when he isn't even half the man you'd known him. “I demand a female trooper.”

His hand now is placed on his sidearm strapped to his belt. “Do as I told you.”

“And I'm just gonna let you touch me where your hands shouldn't even belong?!”

Scorch's helmet tilts to the side. His tone mocking and arrogant as if picking the trait up from Royce Hemlock himself, with the boyish softness that sounds both familiar and wrong, when he says, “Shouldn’t they?”

You feel your heart twists inside your chest. His stomach-lurching words, wringing the pain throughout your body. “You—” Tears sting the corners of your eyes and begin to cloud your vision. Before you can stop it, the urge to throw a hopeless hook to his helmet surfaces, seemingly worth the split knuckles and a stun bolt you'd definitely get—you take one step forward into his space, your fists clenching. “Say that again. Word for word. I dare you.”

“Last warning, ES-08.”

“Say it, Scorch! I double dare you!” you cry angrily.

Before you can anticipate, he roughly yanks you around and pins you to the wall in front of you, the abrupt motion drawing air and a sob out of your lungs. You feel your body tense uncomfortably, your cheeks pressed against the cold durasteel wall. For a moment, you think you'd rather die than be touched by a person who loves you not.

You try not to imagine the time of your first and last date where he'd been stealing glances to your lips and not even trying to make it not obvious. Accompanying the admiring gleam in his warm eyes, the excess cream and bagel seasoning stuck to his upper lip made him even more adorable. You try, too, not to remember the moment where his hands carefully yet confidently cradle your face, as if handling one of his explosives, before kissing you under the neon lights of Coruscant. It was lovely, the type of kiss that makes one addicted—even you got to deepen that kiss. In the end, it left both of you breathless and smiling so wide that your cheeks hurt.

It was beautiful.

“I advise you not to question order and continuously be difficult to deal with.”

Unlike now.

“Speak for yourself,” you rasp, your lips brushing the durasteel wall as you talk but you don't care. “I hope you know you're torturing me inside and out, Scorch. I'm going to make you eat a fucking live thermal det that you have in your pocket so you'll carry your fucking name to the fucking grave. If there's any left to be buried.”

“Cease talking,” his monotonic voice orders behind you. With a hand on your shoulder, he tugs you back slightly so you're standing in form. “Spread your arms. I won't touch you in certain areas.”

Gray walls. Gray walls. Durasteel insults you again and looks down at your pathetic fate—truly pathetic this time. Swallowing another oncoming sob, you spread your arms and close your eyes, anticipation already swallowing you and turning your stomach inside out. You're helpless. Utterly, hopelessly, helpless.

You twitch terribly as Scorch's gloved fingers swipe across your ears first. Then down your neck, where you flinch again at your own vulnerability—the possibility of getting choked and having you gasping for air right there and then if Hemlock decides he no longer needs your damn blood samples. Scorch inspects your back, his palms flat across your shoulders and down to your shoulder blades back and forth exactly twice. 

Moving to your arms, his pats had been firm, allowing you to breathe in relief for a moment. Down your torso, you gasp when he lingers a split second too long on your waist that you nearly don't notice. His hands leave the vicinity of your body a second later, and you can feel the hesitation radiating off his form even without looking.

Then, in a blinding speed, Scorch slightly lifts your shirt and runs his gloved fingers along and underneath the waistband of your trousers.

It was over before you could even comprehend.

He doesn't want to make you uncomfortable.

It drives another sob out of your body, your forehead meeting the wall in front of you with a quiet thunk.

Without even being given the chance to breathe, Scorch progresses downward to your legs. You start to register his search is no longer with pressure as he did to your arms. He'd definitely hadn't done this before—patting down a woman. You can feel the slightest hesitation in his movements that indicates his unfamiliarity with female anatomy in this instance as his gloved hands proceed to pat down each of your thighs, inside and out, down to your ankles.

“Turn around.”

He doesn't reprimand you for your loose form— your arms already tilting downwards, more toward the underworld for the doomed ones rather than straight to either walls of your cell. Whether Scorch has enough of your reactive outbursts or something else, you foolishly allow yourself to hope that there may be still a single bone in his body that actually cares about you.

You comply, your eyes still closed. You’re scared of yourself—you don't know what will happen if you pretend to look into his eyes through the glaring blue light of his HUD.

Scorch repeats his search from your ears and neck, you try not to shiver in addition to hearing his calm, rhythmic breath through his helmet's filters near you. The trousers have no pockets whatsoever, so he doesn't linger on your thighs. Once his hands leave you, you dare open your eyes. With the same distant movement as if he's merely another clone, he turns his back on you and signals to have the door open while reaching for his blaster.

The ghosts of his touch remain on your body. Suddenly you just can't wait for the next shower session.

“There is order in this facility we all must abide by,” Scorch says to you from beyond the confines of your cell, “Remember that, ES-08.”

You watch his form receding from your periphery.

It wasn't always like this.

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[clonegirl99]

Bet I Can Make You Smile

Delta fluff for @orangez3st

“I’m going to make you smile, Sev, and you’re going to like it.”

The gruff commando looks at you, undoubtedly withering glare hidden behind that eerie blue T-visor that makes them all look like minor variations of the same over-engineered droid, then storms off down the narrow passage of the ship you had helped Delta “requisition” back on your home world.

And now, well, you couldn’t exactly go back there any time soon - not that would would want to. You’d been looking for a way out and helping these friends of a friend acquire transportation let you use your well-honed skills to aid the Republic in its fight against the Separatists. You couldn’t care less about the alleged stakes of the war; you just saw the way the droid-lovers were treating the locals and decided you wouldn’t mind kicking in some Techno teeth on your way out the door.

You hadn’t banked on enjoying the experience as much as you have been, and you weren’t complaining about it. Four handsome young men with vastly different personalities were keeping you company as you effectively ran away from home to join the circus.

“Fierfek, that man needs a hug,” you grumble, rolling your eyes dramatically and flopping onto the padded bench in the crew mess that had become your bed and de facto throne, where you rein over your court.

And by that, you mean play sabbac with Scorch and compete to see who could tell the most outrageous stories. He seemed sure that you were hiding something far more interesting and scandalous than the career you’ve made in the strategic relocation of interplanetary vehicles. Conversely, you had a feeling that most of what Scorch told you about his debauchery on leave was entirely manufactured.

“It’s not made up,” their leader, Boss, corrected as he joined the two of you, like Scorch, his helmet and upper body armor already doffed for the night. “Just not his stories.”

“Come on, don’t blow my chances at impressing our lovely guest!” Scorch protested.

“You already did that yourself,” Fixer stated flatly from the doorway where he’d appeared, helmet under his arm.

You laugh and rub Scorch’s back jovially. “Aw, it’s okay, Scorch. You’re still my favorite.”

“Hear that? She says I’m her favorite.”

“She’s just being nice,” Boss grumbled.

“You think you’re her favorite, Boss?” Fixer jumped in, the most personality you’d seen from him since you’d liberated your current ride with his slicing assistance. “Charming her with your sparkling conversation, are you?”

“Hey, can the chatter,” Scorch teased, a hint of defensiveness in his voice.

You look back and forth from one brother to another, amused by their playful banter. You hadn’t yet gotten to see them all together much outside of the limited action of grand theft starfighter. You weren’t sure what you had expected, but you had decided you enjoyed their dynamic even if you weren’t sure if they actually liked each other or not. It made for a great distraction when things were too quiet.

“Mereel,” Scorch confirmed, turning his focus back to you. “Our older brother. All his stories. You wouldn’t like him, though. Cocky. Always chasing after anything in a skirt.”

“But you were stealing his stories to impress me, so what does that say about you?”

Fixer turned around to poorly stifle a laugh while Boss just looked at Scorch with his eyebrows raised as if to challenge him to respond to your teasing.

“Well?” You giggle and prod his armored shoulder. “What does that make you if you want me to believe you’re the arrogant womanizer? And what do you think of me if you’re acting like this uncouth brother of yours who chases just anything?”

“Wait, what’s that?” Scorch redirects, grabbing your wrist to push your sleeve back, revealing a long, silvery scar that ran up most of the inside your right forearm. It looks alarmingly like a self-harm scar, something you’ve had to address numerous times.

“Oh wow. Never noticed before. Looks like a scar…”

Boss and Fixer, who apparently care about you more than you realized, move to get a better look.

You sigh and roll your eyes dramatically again. “I didn’t do it myself. Well - I guess I did, but not on purpose and not to hurt myself.

“Y/n, you know I already find you incredibly interesting. Now I’m absolutely fascinated,” Scorch says, back to acting like his brother Mereel.

“For fierfek’s sake, Scorch…” Boss groans.

“Oh come on, y/n, you can’t start a story like that and then not say anything else. Spill. What did you do to your arm?” He’s not done with the attempted flirting, tracing the jagged line with an ungloved finger.

“Fine,” you begin. “But it’s not that exciting and you each have to tell me about one of your scars after. Deal?”

“Deal,” said three completely different voices from three nearly identical faces.

“Okay, well, obviously I didn’t get my start lifting jump-equipped starfighters. A girl’s gotta start somewhere, and I started with… eh… a little light B & E, if you will.

Boss snorted. Scorch grinned and leaned forward. Fixer stared.

You rolled your eyes yet again. “Oh, don’t you three go playing all innocent with me. Like you haven’t smashed a window or forced a lock here or there when circumstances required it.”

“The circumstances that require us to do those things are war and fighting a war, y/n,” Fixer began.

“And mine were, I needed to eat and I needed creds. Fighting to stay alive, one might even say. And,” you add with a cocked eyebrow, “very little collateral damage in what I was doing. The people we stole from were all scumbags who had it coming anyway. But do you want to know the story or do you want to lecture me?”

Scorch bit his lip to stop himself from laughing as Fixer, suitably chastened, raised his hands in apology.

“Please, go on.”

“I mean, that’s pretty much the story. Last time I ever drank before we hit a place. Makes you bleed a lot more. Never got caught, though. Probably because they took me to a wild bird rescue to get glued back up.”

Scorched finds this all quite amusing. Fixer alternates between impressed and disapproving. Boss just nods slowly.

“So you got your wing clipped then sewn back together by a bird vet. Pretty feather-brained scheme all around.”

You all groan at Scorch’s terrible joke.

“Don’t quit your day job, Scorch,” you tease.

“He would have to start actually doing his day job well to justify that.”

Sev has joined your little party, keeping his distance at the other end of the room, wearing just his black undersuit that left nothing to the imagination.

“Welcome, Mister Sev! To what do we owe this honor?” You play it up to get under his skin.

“Can’t sleep with this damn bantha rodeo happening on the other side of my bunk wall.”

There’s no way the man had been trying to sleep. His damp curls, longer than regulation after so much time in the field, were uniform around his entire head. No flattened spots or frizz from his pillow. It wouldn’t surprise you to learn he slept in his undersuit even when off duty so he could be mission ready in a heartbeat. Either he stopped in the mirror to tuck things in just right before coming out here, or he made himself look good to come spend time with you.

“If you’re joining our fun, you have to share a story behind one of your scars,” you direct.

“I wasn’t party to this contract. I have no intention of participating in this game. Just letting you know I can hear you on the other side of the wall. I’ll stay right over here while you finish… Then we should probably resume watch shifts in the pilot’s seat, 3-8...” His final sentence is weighted with a combination of criticism and annoyed rationality.

“Autopilot works quite grand,” you responded, corner of your mouth quirking up into a crooked smile.

Sev rolls his eyes, possibly to mock your frequent expression and certainly in response to your statement.

You respond with an even more dramatic rolling of your eyes, complemented by a highly performative flop back on the bench.

“Can you tolerate our rowdy party for a few minutes, petunia?”

Scorch snorts his appreciation of the epithet.

“Laugh it up, six-two. You have to tell her about your little nap on the Prosecutor while I was being tortured and Boss and Fix were under heavy fire.”

“I was concussed. You let yourself get captured.”

You look back and forth between them, wondering if this was more teasing or another argument. “I was actually going to ask why your eyebrows are thinner than the others’?”

His squadmates laugh as he scrubs a hand over his face.

“Go on, Scorch. Tell her,” Fixer taunts. “We’re lucky he hasn’t blown up the whole squad yet,” he tells you.

“Look, it was just a minor incident. The charge wasn’t properly wired to begin with. Not my fault.”

“Should have checked the charge before you applied it.”

“Lesson learned,” Scorch responds with a roll of his eyes.

“That’s how he got his name,” Boss tells you. “Not just his own eyebrows, but our training sergeant’s too - You’re lucky he didn’t give you a thrashing.”

Scorch grimaces. “Guess he thought I learned my lesson the hard way already.”

He turns back to you. “Our training sergeant is a mean old bastard. But it’s kept us alive.”

“So, you messed up a training exercise and scorched yourself?”

“Exactly,” Boss confirms.

“First of many stupid moves,” Sev adds.

“Not as stupid as how you got that -“

“Shut it, six-two,” the sniper growls menacingly.

The other three stifle laughs and your interest is piqued. He refuses to make eye contact with you.

“Your turn, Fix,” Scorch prompts.

Fixer and Boss share their stories, Scorch and even Sev adding the occasionally bit of color commentary. By the time they finish, you feel closer to and more integrated with the squad, though certainly still an outsider, especially with Sev.

“Back to it, then,” Boss orders, still team lead but more casual than you’d seen the squad previously. “You’re up, Scorch.”

Boss and Fixer shuffle back to the crew quarters as Scorch climbs into the cockpit, leaving you to yourself except for Sev’s brooding presence.

“You’re reckless, girl.” His voice, gravelly as ever but relaxed of some of its usual grit, almost made you jump. “Gonna get you in trouble one of these days…”

“That so?” You grin up at him. “You gonna bail me out?”

“No,” he replied, as though the answer was already evident, but you could see the ghost of a sparkle somewhere behind his eyes.

“Is that a smile that I see?”

“Absolutely not.”

It absolutely is.

“I’m not that bad. Gotten this far with no problems.”

“Says the girl with a scar the length of my sidearm.”

“Oh, come on, it’s not that…”

You trail off as Sev pulls a blaster pistol from a holster hanging on the wall. He drops the energy clip and cycles the weapon to ensure he wasn’t as reckless as he has just accused you of being, then saunters over and sits down next to you - right next to you. Hip-to-hip next to you.

He has to know what he’s doing.

Without taking his eyes off yours, he gently pushes back your sleeve to expose the scar.

“Alright, let’s make a wager,” you interrupt. The words come out higher pitched than they should have, like he was making you nervous or something.

“A wager?” He cocks an eyebrow at you. “Alright, Princess. Let’s hear it.”

“Princess?”

“I’m using the term loosely.”

You chuckle and check him lightly with an elbow. “Alright, Princess.”

He gives you a look that makes you snort a laugh.

“Hey, if I’m a princess, so are you. And you’re much prettier.”

You could swear he nearly blushes before chasing it away with a scowl and mumbling something that might have been, “you’re the pretty one.”

You pretend to have missed it. “If I’m right and the scar is shorter than your pistol, I get to give you a big hug.”

He sighed heavily. “Fine. And if I’m right, you have to stop taking stupid risks. No more break-ins or hijackings.”

“I’m not a hijacker, Sev. I just find ships lying around and…”

He’s glaring at you with such intensity that you feel naked and pinned under his gaze. It makes you squirm, which he notices.

“Deal?” He asks, seemingly amused.

“Fine. But no backing out if I win.”

“You won’t.”

“I wouldn’t sound so sure if I were you.”

“You’re not me. And I am.”

You harrumph and extend your arm out so he can lay the blaster next to the scar for comparison.

You howl in triumph as he grits his teeth - at least a centimeter shorter than the pistol.

“Aw, Sev, if you really wanted a hug so badly, you could have just asked. Didn’t have to embarrass yourself too.”

He grumbles under his breath, another implied smile somewhere behind his glower.

“I want a real hug too. Up.”

You stand, your side suddenly cold from his absence. He gives a performative sigh and towers over you, so close you can smell the soap he used in the ‘fresher.

You wrap your arms around his waist and feel him relax as much as he may be capable before he tentatively drapes one arm over your shoulders. You may be imagining it, but his breathing may have been a slightly shallower, just a bit shaky.

Rather than thinking too much about it, you chalk it up as a victory and grin.

“Not so bad now, was it?” you tease as you pull away.

He seems uninterested in hurrying the moment and you think he might be hesitating before letting his arm fall before he grunts and turns away so fast you’re certain it’s so you can’t see his face.

“Goodnight, princess,” you call as you pull your improvised bedroll out.

He pauses and now you’re certain he’s smiling and blushing a bit.

“‘Night.”

[wanderinginksplot]

Refuge Chapter Seven

You have a little time to kill before your first mission. Delta Squad has very different ideas of how you should spend it.

Continued slow burn Delta Squad x fem!reader

Word Count: 6,600

Warnings: feelings of alienation, mentions of lack of money, misunderstandings, light discussion of weapons and battle tactics, slight embarrassment.

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---

When Scorch had mentioned finding a fun way to spend time planetside, he had apparently meant it literally. He and Sev walked you to the front entrance to the Temple and unceremoniously led the way outside. 

Scorch had already started walking away, chattering about places he enjoyed, when you stepped through the towering doors. You paused when you were out, taking a moment to adjust to the differences between what you were used to and what you actually found on Coruscant.

To be fair, those differences were hardly surprising. Coruscant was densely populated and heavily polluted. The outside air wouldn’t feel fresh, cool and faintly scented with pine needles like you were accustomed to on Voubos. But you were never ready for the hot, semi-stagnant waft tinged with the exhaust of innumerable speeders flying overhead.

More than the disappointing atmosphere, Coruscant was overwhelming, so bright your eyes stung to look around. Voubos could be noisy and had its fair share of sunshine, but there were no trees to shelter you from it here. The street outside the Jedi Temple was one of the few that hadn’t been choked by buildings, and it left the sun beating down on the duracrete expanse where you stood. The vicious light was blocked only by the occasional shadow of a speeder passing overhead, like a less-pleasant version of the clouds that performed the same function back home. 

And none of it was silent. The speeder engines were noisy, the people were noisy. Everything was undercut by the rumble of far-off machinery and the drone of hovering screens broadcasting the most recent Senate debate. It was loud enough that you almost didn’t register the sound of someone speaking directly to you. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Sev’s harsh voice managed to cut through the stimuli surrounding you. You shook your head. “I’m still getting used to all of this..”

“You came here from the GAR headquarters,” he countered, frowning. “And you tailed us from there again today.”

“Commander Gree brought us in a transport the first time and I was too scared to see anything more than a blur,” you explained, still transfixed by the chaos surrounding you. “When I found you earlier, I was focused. I had something to get done. And now…”

“Now, you don’t have a mission to concentrate on,” Sev summarized. 

You grimaced. “Exactly. I’m sorry, I know I must seem… I’m sorry.”

Sev shook his head. “Remind me later and I’ll tell you about my first time on a planet other than Kamino.”

“Why not now?” you asked. 

“First, I don’t want to scare you,” he said ominously. Then he nodded behind you. “Second, we’re about to have company.”

Before you could wonder about the second part of that, Scorch came jogging up to the two of you. “What’s going on? I thought you were following me.”

“Just taking a minute to look around,” Sev told him. 

“We’ve all been here before, Sev,” Scorch reminded, exasperation in his face and voice. “No need to play tour guide.”

Sev - standing slightly behind you - must have made some kind of face at Scorch, who abruptly changed his stance. “Or, I suppose there might be a little need to play tour guide. But I’m the much better choice for it.”

He beckoned you closer and you obligingly followed him to the edge of one of the regular gaps that provided entrance to the lower levels. Scorch gestured toward it, though it was partially hidden behind the utilitarian fences that kept passers-by from getting too close. “Do you know what’s down there?”

With a smile at his hushed, conspiratorial tone, you nodded. “It’s another level. I understand there are five thousand of them.”

“Oh,” Scorch said, seeming to deflate slightly. 

Sev laughed at his brother, joining you in staring toward the fence-flanked space. “Five thousand plus a few, but yeah. I take it you did some research about the planet?”

You nodded. “But there are a few things I still don’t really understand.” 

“Like what?” Sev asked. 

“How do they make sure the levels are tall enough?” you asked, feeling utterly ridiculous. But the question had been bothering you, and this was a good opportunity to get some answers. “Do they just base the height of the ceilings on the tallest known species and go from there? Or are different levels different heights?”

Sev was staring at you blankly, which made you more nervous, but Scorch tipped his head back with a look of understanding. “Ahh, I get it. You’re thinking too small, nattie. Levels aren’t just for beings to walk around on. Each one is big enough to have buildings and speeder lanes and stuff. There’s no need to base them on specific heights.”

“They’re that big?” you asked, feeling suddenly queasy with vertigo. It was strange, fearing heights with your feet planted firmly on the ground, but you were also cognizant of the fact that you were far, far from the surface of the planet itself.

Scorch nodded sagely. “Yep. And each one has more species than you can count calling it home.”

“You good?” Sev asked, fingertips grazing your elbow lightly. 

You were gaping, you knew it. When you spoke, your voice was hushed and a little unsteady. “How are there any people left to live on other planets?”

“There are plenty more people in the galaxy,” Sev told you, amusement filling his deep voice. “Trust me, we’re fighting about half of ‘em.”

“You’re just not used to seeing this many life-forms,” Scorch informed you. “This is the most heavily populated planet in the galaxy. Your planet wasn’t anything compared to this.”

You hadn’t thought about Voubos very often since you had started training with the Jedi. Still, it was jarring to hear someone mention it, especially so casually. It made you feel like your life was a statistic, an incidental casualty almost too small to be counted. Not even - your life hadn’t been lost or taken, simply changed. You weren’t even significant enough to be a statistic.

Suddenly, you felt dizzy again, overwhelmed by something so much larger than yourself. But this time, instead of the planet’s population, the feeling had been brought on by the staggering largeness of the war. 

The only thing that brought you out of it was an unexpected noise. The sound could only be described as the sound of a plastoid-covered hand striking a plastoid-covered chest. It was followed shortly by a growl from Sev. “Shut up, di’kut.” 

“Sorry,” Scorch muttered. “I forgot natties are sentimental about that kind of thing.”

“It’s okay.” They both looked skeptical about your reassurance, but you smiled and changed the subject before they could add anything else. “So, what are we going to do? Did you have a plan for what you want to see today?”

“Whatever you wanna see,” Scorch told you with a shrug. “Explore as much as you want.”

Sev nodded. “We’re only here to make sure you aren’t attacked. Or fall off a building.”

That low opinion of your survival skills aside, you were warmed by the thoughtfulness and started off in a direction you decided looked promising. 

The time you spent on Coruscant took on a strange quality. Everything you saw was wonderful, every experience unlike any other you had ever had before. But, looking back, you could hardly catch more than a blur. 

You saw shops filled with goods both familiar and utterly mystifying. The streets were packed to bursting with beings, many of them belonging to species you had never seen before. Street performers playing strange instruments tried to entice passers-by to dance while stern, armored troopers ordered them to keep moving. 

You couldn't help sneaking a glance at the red and white helmet as you walked past. Both the Republic and the Separatist Alliance had distributed propaganda on Voubos, so they weren't unfamiliar to you. But you hadn't realized how imposing they would be with their blankly watching visors and the blasters strapped to their thigh plates.

With your focus so close on one trooper, you completely missed another standing on the opposite side of the path. Unfortunately, your lack of attention meant that you bumped into him, swiping him with your shoulder. 

He didn’t move in the slightest except to look down at you. In contrast, the slight collision had sent you staggering and you offered apologies even as you tried to recover your balance. 

“Watch yourself, civilian,” the trooper ordered. You couldn’t see his expression, but his tone managed to be disdainful even through the small speakers of his helmet. 

“Didn’t you hear her say ‘sorry’?” Sev asked, his deep voice lashing out from behind you. 

“And that’s more than you deserve, di’kut,” Scorch told him dismissively. “Anyone could see it was an accident.”

The trooper bristled, taking an aggressive half-step forward. “Hey, just because you’re-”

“Drop it,” the other trooper advised through the crowd. “Not worth the paperwork.”

The closer trooper looked Scorch and Sev up and down. He didn’t bother including you in that. Seemingly to himself, he muttered, “Commandos.”

“What was that?” Sev asked. 

If Sev took things any further, it was going to get physical. If it got physical, Scorch would join in. If Scorch joined in, it would be a brawl. Would you be pulled off of working with Delta Squad if half of them started a brawl with the Coruscant Guard? Instinct told you yes, but the Republic was short-staffed… But you weren’t taking any chances.

“Sorry again,” you called loudly, cutting off whatever else anyone might say. Your push against Scorch’s shoulder wasn’t gentle, but it was effective. Sev was more of a challenge, and you ended up bracing both hands between his shoulder blades and shoving. It wasn’t at all effective, but he let you move him. “We’ll just be on our way!”

The moment you had gotten through the press of the small crowd, Sev let out a string of blistering curses in an unfamiliar language. You watched in something like awe while Scorch gave you an amused look. When Sev had finished, Scorch asked, “Feeling any better?”

“No,” Sev grumbled. “I should have hit him.”

“I don’t think any of us are interested in seeing the inside of a Corrie Guard holding cell,” Scorch said lightly. “What’s next?”

As the second part of that had been directed at you, you glanced around. “I’m not sure. Are either of you getting hungry?”

Sev gave you a look you couldn’t quite figure out until Scorch added, “Always.”

You were, as well. “Well, something smells fantastic! I think it’s coming from over here…”

A nearby stand was offering street food, roasted meat and hunks of bread paired with a variety of sauces for dipping either into. The worker standing there belonged to a species you couldn’t name, though you had seen some of them around. They had a humanoid build with green, leathery skin. Their face had folds and curves that made you think their bone structure was slightly different than that of humans, but similar enough to know that they were offering a polite smile.

“Looking for something in particular?” The low tone and roughness of the worker’s voice made you think they were male, but there was no way to know for sure without asking, and that would have been inexcusably rude.

“It all looks incredible,” you told them, flashing a smile between staring at the array of foods spread out on the stand’s preparation surface.

“Only the best at Kiaba’s.” It was always risky trying to interpret the facial expressions of humanoid species, but from the clear pride that shone from their bearing, you assumed that you were speaking with the very Kiaba who owned the stand. 

You wanted to get a closer look at the food, but before you could take more than a step, Scorch had caught at your elbow. He leaned close, and for a wild moment, you thought he was going to kiss your cheek. 

He didn’t, of course. His lips ended up a scant distance from your ear instead, keeping Kiaba from overhearing. “We don’t have any credits, and this side of the city isn’t too willing to give their goods away.”

“Especially Klatoonians,” Sev added, half-turning away from Kiaba, who was watching you curiously from behind the stand’s main counter. “The culture believes in the value of hard work, but they take it to extremes. They consider any charity to be stealing someone’s chance to earn something the right way.”

You sent Kiaba a regretful smile. “I’m sorry, I’ve just been informed that we don’t have any credits.”

The professional half-smile that had stretched Kiaba’s lips disappeared in an instant as they scowled. “No handouts.”

“Of course not,” Scorch muttered, definitely loud enough for Kiaba to hear. Their scowl deepened and they leaned forward as if they were half-thinking about jumping over the workstation to beat some sense into an upstart customer.

So you cut in, avoiding Sev's attempt to stop you. "Sorry about the confusion! While we're talking, though, can you tell me what that dish is. The one right… there?" 

You gestured to something that looked like a pocket of dough, crimped at the edges, with hints of a warm orange seeping through in certain spots. It looked like a normal piece of dough, other than the spots, but it smelled of deep spices and roasted vegetables. 

Kiaba shook their head. "I can't take time outta my day to explain my menu to people who aren't even gonna buy something. I have paying customers."

"Where?" Scorch challenged. "We're the closest thing you have to customers within a five-klick radius!"

To Scorch’s credit, that was true. The area in front of Kiaba’s stand wasn’t empty - the size of the city made that nearly impossible - but no one seemed compelled to look at the food, much less stop. 

“Of course you don’t have to talk with us if you’re busy,” you assured. “I just want to understand it to see if I can find something similar in the future when I do have some credits.”

“You’d never find anything like my tisuh,” Kiaba told you, their tone a mixture of irritation and pride. “There are others who make it, but no one who does it as well as I do.”

You nodded, offering an encouraging smile. Kiaba watched you suspiciously before heaving a loud sigh. They beckoned you closer, dishing up one of the dough pockets so you could examine it more closely against the light brown of a simple disposable plate. 

“Tisuh is found many places in the galaxy,” they explained. “It is dough wrapped around a filling. There are as many kinds of tisuh as there are people who make it. Everyone has their own recipes, but the best one is found on Klatooine, where I’m from. My forebears have been making this dish for thousands of years, for millions of people. Wherever I am…” Kiaba took a bite of the pale round, showing you the orange-sauced filling inside as they chewed and gave a blissful tilt of their head, “it always reminds me of home.”

The watering of your mouth halted as you wondered what would remind you of Voubos. Everything, you expected, but you still managed a nod for Kiaba. “That’s lovely. I’m happy you have such a strong tie to things that bring you joy.”

“Where’s home for you?” they asked, taking another bite of food. 

“Nowhere, not anymore,” you admitted softly. “I’m looking for a new one.”

The green-skinned being finished chewing and watched you silently. You held their gaze, waiting to hear more about their tie to the tisuh or be told to leave, but Kiaba sighed again. They set their half-eaten food aside, deposited two more tisuh onto a new plate, and held it out to you. “You might as well have a full stomach while you look.”

The smile that spread across your face was instant and - you could feel it - delighted. It was nice to be reminded that there were kind and generous beings in the galaxy, no matter how rare they seemed. “Thank you, Kiaba. I appreciate it.”

From behind you, there came the sound of a throat being pointedly cleared. Kiaba rolled their dark eyes. “I guess I can spare a few for your friends.”

“I appreciate that, too,” you told them with a slow nod to show your gratitude. “As do my friends.”

It took a stern look from you to prompt Scorch and Sev into thanks, which were muttered without an ounce of sincerity. Kiaba seemed unconvinced, but the astonishment you felt when you took your first bite of tisuh brought something almost prideful to their expression.

The dough was tender and delicate, falling away to reveal a filling that seemed to be made up of mostly vegetables. They were tender, with just enough variation in texture for you to recognize that the filling had several different kinds of vegetables in it. All of them had been stewed in a thick sauce that was toward the upper limit of your spice tolerance, but the heat was dampened slightly by the coolness of the bready dough that had surrounded the filling.

“This…” you started, pausing for a moment while your brain tried to choose between speech and shoving more food into your mouth. “Kiaba, this is incredible!” 

“I know,” Kiaba told you with the closest thing you had seen to a smile on their face. 

You returned to inhaling your tisuh. Sev and Scorch were silent, but you could tell that they also liked the food by the speed they were eating. Even so, your plate was the first one empty and you disposed of it in a nearby waste receptacle. 

“My apologies for my friends,” you told Kiaba, earning a glare from Scorch. Sev ignored you entirely. “I can see why you were worried about a sudden flood of customers. I’m not sure how you have any tisuh that hasn’t been purchased already, but I thank you for sharing the excess with us. Your kindness is most appreciated.”

Kiaba waved you away. “Been kinda slow today, actually. Lucky for you all.”

Scorch appeared over your shoulder, peering down toward your hands. “Do you have any you’re not going to-? Oh, you’re already finished. You know, most females wouldn’t have been able to eat all of that.”

“Well, most females don’t have Kiaba’s excellent tisuh to motivate them,” you countered. “I think that’s the best thing I’ve ever eaten!”

A dozen or so passersby glanced over at you curiously at the fervent praise. Some came to look at Kiaba’s selection of foods, and you were amused to see that a small line formed as you watched. 

Kiaba glanced from the line to you, their dark eyes traveling to Sev next. They pointed a stubby green finger at Scorch and Sev. “You two keep this to yourselves. I’m not running a clone charity. This was a one-time thing. I don’t want to see clones coming around here asking for handouts.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sev muttered while Scorch made a rude gesture behind him. Fortunately, Kiaba was too busy tending to the line to pay much attention to their antics, and you managed to pull the commandos away before they could say anything else. 

The three of you walked in silence for a while, but it started to grow uncomfortable. You rubbed your stomach and let out a contented sigh. “That was great.”

Sev nodded. “Better than the usual stuff.”

That made you remember to ask what you should have asked earlier. “So you guys don’t have any credits at all? How do you eat when you’re on Coruscant?”

“GAR mess hall,” Sev told you. “Or there’s a civvie place nearby that gives clones food occasionally. Some sympathizer. Feels bad for us.”

“Oh.” There seemed to be very few responses to that, but you ventured, “Nice?”

“Yeah, but it can get a little old,” Scorch said. “We don’t mind eating the same food over and over - ration bars’ll train you right up for that - but it’s nice to have something different now and then.”

You nodded understandingly. Anyone would get tired of the same food over and over again. “That’s valid. Even if it’s charity, that doesn’t mean you need to want it all the time.”

When Sev spoke, it was so sudden that he interrupted whatever Scorch had intended to say. “How much of that was Jedi osik?”

Scorch’s protests cut off and you felt the weight of their scrutiny on your face. All you could offer was the truth. “I’m not really sure.”

“I thought you learned to control it,” Scorch said. 

“I am, it’s- it’s a long process,” you reminded them both. “It’s hard to know when I’m using the Force, because I’ve spent my whole life thinking it was just part of who I am and how I relate to people.”

The silence was deafening - which was a trick, considering the sheer number of people surrounding you as you walked through the city streets - until it was broken by Scorch. He sounded unusually serious, enough so that you actually looked over at him. “Never use that on us. Just… don’t.”

“I won’t,” you assured him instantly, stung by the insinuation that you would try to make them do something by force rather than conversation or negotiation. 

“You might not know, though, right?” Sev pointed out. 

“...Right,” you agreed, voice quiet. You hated to admit it, but you refused to lie to them. There was every chance you wouldn’t be able to recognize when you were influencing their will. 

The silence that fell between the three of you was tense. When Scorch suggested that you go back to the GAR’s barracks, you didn’t argue. 

When you arrived at the barracks, Boss and Fixer were waiting for you. 

“About time,” Fixer grumbled. “I knew Six-Two couldn’t read a chronometer, but I thought better of you, Oh-Seven.”

“Shove it, Fixer,” Scorch retorted. “We’re not on a mission. And fifteen extra minutes is nothing in civvie time.”

“C’mon, we have places to be,” Boss ordered, offering only a brief nod to Scorch and Sev. He gestured for you to follow him as he walked away. 

You glanced at the others. Sev’s expression was blank while Scorch’s was an amused mask. Fixer started walking in the direction Boss had gone, tilting his head for you to come along.

Gradually, the signage told you that you were approaching the armory. Every door you passed was just like every other, a gray door set in a gray wall. They were double the width of a standard door, leaving no hint about what lay behind or what typically was transported in or out. When you finally stopped, Boss had to enter a code into a control panel set into the wall and scan a spot on his arm before the door would open. From the noise it made while it slid, it was heavier than normal - most likely armored to withstand any attempts to break in. Even then, you entered into a narrow, shallow hallway that led directly to another door with the same control panel and scanner. Boss opened that armored door as well and you entered the room.

When you stepped through, you were taken aback by the sheer size of the armory. Just ahead of you was a waiting area, complete with hard durasteel benches set into the walls for people to sit while they awaited their chance to speak with the clerk. The clerk’s desk was set behind another wall - though this one did not reach the towering ceiling. It was guarded by a transparisteel barrier that looked resistant to blaster fire, though there was a speaker set into it so people could speak to the clerk. 

Behind the clerk’s chair, you could see rows of doorways holding different types of weapons. Each entrance was covered by a ray shield. There were shelves in the middle of the space that held the additional necessities - everything from kamas to harnesses that would support heavy weapons for the wearer - and at the back of the room, you could see a practice range. There was more around the edges of the space, you were sure, but it was hidden by the half-wall and the clerk was beckoning you forward. 

You took a nervous step toward the human male - definitely not a clone, you noted, but a GAR employee - but Boss approached with more confidence. “I need to outfit a new member of my squad.”

“Okay, that doesn’t help me much,” the clerk told him. “What is your designation? What is your squad’s designation? What is the new trooper’s designation?”

“RC-1138, Delta Squad, and she doesn’t have a designation.”

The clerk blinked at the resolution of Boss’s answers. “She? You have a non-clone addition to a commando squad?” 

“Yes, we do,” Fixer said, ushering you forward. “Approved by the Jedi Council. Generals Yoda, Windu, and Unduli in particular.”

The clerk still looked a little stunned, even when he was looking directly at you, so you helpfully supplied your name. He shook his head in resignation. “You’re going to have to wait while I get this cleared.”

“Fine,” Boss agreed, stopping you when you started toward one of the benches in the empty waiting area. 

“You’ll probably be more comfortable over there,” the clerk said. 

“We’ll just wait here,” Fixer countered, leaning slightly against the counter and watching the clerk steadily. 

There was no way to know for certain how quickly the clerk would have moved without being stared at by two no-nonsense commandos and one mildly confused Force-sensitive woman, but he was able to contact someone in moments. After a short conversation with a superior who sounded decidedly grumpy to be asked for clearance, the clerk motioned you over to a door set into the wall that divided the waiting area from the rest of the armory. 

When it opened, Boss led the way in and Fixer followed you. The clerk gave all three of you a skeptical look. “The droids will help you from here. I assume you know where everything is?”

“Yes,” Boss said shortly. 

“Thank you!” you chirped, unable to fight the urge to be polite. 

Boss glanced back at you with a slight lift of his eyebrows, but didn’t say anything as he led the way toward a specific part of the room.

“Don’t thank him,” Fixer told you. He didn’t lower his voice in the slightest and you cringed at the idea of the clerk overhearing him, but the man had gone back to his desk and was now scrolling through a datapad. “He did nothing but slow us down.”

“He let us in the door,” you argued. 

“Slowly,” Fixer snorted. “I could have sliced in faster than it took him to open it.”

"When you two are finished," Boss started, his even tone holding an edge of impatience, "I'd like to get this done."

With that said, he turned and tapped a droid that began to power up. 

You had gotten more familiar with the variety of droids that helped everyday life run more smoothly in the Republic, but you certainly didn't know all of them. You leaned closer to Fixer. "What kind of droid is it?" 

"An RMR, second generation," he told you. "They're pretty rare. The GAR is the only legal user in the galaxy."

As soon as the droid was fully upright, Boss shoved his arm in front of its sensors. "I need armor for my new squad member." 

The droid scanned Boss's arm with a flickering reddish light, then trained its sensors on his face. "The records indicate that the new attachment to Delta Squad, led by RC-1138, is a human female. The approval was issued by the Jedi Council. Do you need armor for a Jedi?" 

"Yes," Boss decided. As the RMR droid whirred toward one of the shelves, he gave a wordless shrug over one shoulder, offering that by way of an explanation to you and Fixer. 

The droid came back, holding a small stack of plates in its metallic arms. Boss accepted them with noticeable disgust. "What is this?" 

"Armor for a Jedi," RMR explained. "Most Jedi choose to wear small amounts of armor to facilitate easier movement around the battlefield. The blaster-resistant undertunics are provided by the Jedi Temple, but I could check to see what we have in stock…" 

“Absolutely not,” Boss refused. The droid, having already started to move away, turned just in time to catch the plates it had just handed Boss. The sergeant was shaking his head with thinly veiled irritation. “No Jedi of ours is going to walk around unarmored. I want a full set for her, tailored to her specs.”

You tried to keep a straight face, but you were unreasonably warmed by the casual sense of belonging that Boss had offered. You weren’t even a Jedi, really, but Delta Squad had offered you a place in the galaxy where you could fit in. And you would apparently fit in there for a long time, if Boss had anything to say about it.

“Sergeant, a full set of armor is heavy,” RMR objected. “Wearing it may decrease her ability to maneuver around a battlefield. That is the reasoning behind most Jedi wearing sparser armor-”

“And that’s their choice,” Boss agreed. “But I won’t have someone on my squad who would be taken out by ricochet blaster fire. Let us worry about her maneuverability.”

RMR droids clearly had not been designed to sigh, but if it had the ability, you would bet that RMR would have done so. Instead, it settled for a heavy silence before replacing the plates Boss had handed back. 

“Boss,” you started quietly, trying to disguise the emotion in your voice. You didn’t know exactly how you were going to thank him for looking out for you, but you needed to tell him. Especially in the wake of Scorch and Sev’s subtle step back after your earlier meal. “I-”

“No complaints,” he told you harshly. The surprise of it kept you from protesting aloud, but he seemed to take your silence for offense, because he gave a small sigh. You watched his shoulders move with it before he angled his head to see you in his peripheral vision. “I know it seems like too much, but-”

“Thank you,” you interrupted. 

You could only see Boss’s face in profile, but you watched the eyebrow you could see shoot upward in surprise. Before he could answer, the RMR droid returned. This time, it was carrying a much larger stack of plastoid plates. 

The feeling you got at the sight was a surprise to you. Those were yours - or, they would be once they had been sized properly. It would be your way to start repaying the debt you owed these men. Delta Squad had saved your life, and this pile of plastoid would protect that life while you worked to help them. 

RMR was apparently not happy with any of you, and it dumped the armor into Boss’s arms. Boss caught most of it, but Fixer had to snag a few pieces out of the air. Then RMR handed you a piece of slinky black material. 

“What is this?” you asked, holding it up and puzzling at the shapeless fall of fabric.

There was a beat of uncomfortable silence, broken only by a mutter from Fixer. “Body glove.”

Ah. 

The next hour was among the most embarrassing of your life. Republic technology was at least good enough to keep the fabric from becoming sheer as it stretched over certain places, but there were no secrets in the body glove. Every bump and curve and swell of your figure was blatantly visible.

It was bad enough when you confronted yourself in the long, narrow mirror in the changing room, but Boss and Fixer clearly noticed the places where the fabric strained to contain you. It became a game of ignorance, everyone aware of it, but no one saying anything. 

Fortunately, the nature of your task meant that you slowly got more covered up as time passed. Pieces of plastoid armor locked into place, each one held firm against you by a system of electromagnets. You had wondered how the armor worked, and you were thrilled to find that the electromagnetism was activated when the plates touched different sections of a flexible wiring worked into your body glove.

You had to swap several pieces of armor, working closely with RMR as you sized up and down to collect a full set that fit your body. By the time you finished, you were sweating. (You had to wipe it away with your palm, since the back of your hand was protected by a gauntlet.)

“Doing okay?” Fixer asked, approaching with the helmet you had been eying almost as long as you had been trying on armor. 

“Yeah,” you confirmed with a sheepish look. “This really is heavy. More than I expected.”

Boss nodded. “We’ll do most of your training in it to build your strength. The relief mission we’re about to go on won’t require speed, but wearing it will keep you safe while you get used to it.”

“I can’t say I’m looking forward to it, but I think it’s a good idea.”

As soon as you had agreed, Fixer handed you the helmet. “Last piece.”

You raised the helmet and slid it over your head. The seal at the bottom of the helmet pulled at your scalp, then at the sensitive skin of your face as it lowered further and further before it settled into place. When the helmet seal met the neck of your body glove, the helmet’s HUD flickered to life. 

Your breath caught at the way information was augmenting everything you could see. You had assumed that the helmet would limit your sight and hearing, but that wasn’t the case at all. In fact, the only sense that suffered was smell. 

The viewport allowed you to see everything around you while the HUD gave you information about everything outside your field of vision, synced to where your eyes traveled. The speakers of the helmet were incredible as well, bringing sounds inside while also allowing your sound of surprise to travel outward.

Fixer grinned and Boss gave a soft chuckle - both of which were presented with perfect clarity by the helmet. 

“I remember that first time seeing the galaxy through a helmet,” Fixer said, sounding a little wistful. 

“We’ll probably turn down some of the HUD features until you get used to it,” Boss offered. “And then you can sort through it all and choose what you want to keep.”

“Can I keep all of it?” you asked. “It’s incredible!”

“You won’t want to see everything,” Fixer warned you. “Especially not when you’re in combat. You’ll want the necessities - nothing more, nothing less.”

“If all members of your squad are fully armored, I must request that you leave the armory,” RMR informed you all, appearing once more. You weren’t surprised, though. The HUD had warned you of an incoming droid even with RMR approaching from behind you. 

“We’ll be on our way in a minute, droid,” Boss told it. He turned to Fixer. “Go check our ship for tomorrow. Make sure everything is loaded and that systems are set for a smooth mission. You know what to look for.”

Fixer nodded and - with a final glance at you - left the armory. Boss held a hand out in your direction. You glanced at it, then at him, but he couldn’t see your confused frown under the cover of protective plastoid.

After a moment, he said, “Give me your helmet. I’ll hold it while you change back into your clothes.”

Ah. At least you hadn’t done anything mortifying, like taking his hand. Even so, your face was hot as you removed the helmet and handed it to him. Your retreat to the changing area may have been a little faster than it would have been otherwise, but that could be for any number of reasons. 

When you reappeared, Boss gave you a medium-sized pack. “To carry the armor.”

You nodded and knelt to pack the plates of armor. By far the bulkiest piece was the chestplate, but it wasn’t impossible to carry. The body glove folded down smaller than you could believe, especially now that you knew there was an electromagnetic system hidden in the fabric’s weave.

You stood and slung the pack over your shoulders. It took a moment to adjust your balance, but the weight didn’t seem quite so bad with it supported by your shoulder. Boss handed you the helmet once more. “I’ve already signed everything out, so we’re good to go. Just remember that everything is owned by the GAR. They don’t care if you customize it, but not in any way that purposely damages it.” 

“Got it,” you said with a nod. “Anything else I should know?”

“No, but there’s something I should,” Boss countered. “What’s wrong?”

You blinked in surprise, walking behind him as you left the armory. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Nothing is wrong.”

Boss sighed through his nose, a sound filled with more disappointment than irritation. “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want a real answer. What is it?” 

You took a moment to think it over, but Boss apparently thought you didn’t intend to say anything at all. With a grave look, he said, “I’ll make it an order if I have to.”

With that mild threat hanging over you, telling the truth seemed to be your best option. You told him what had happened at Kiaba’s, and the way Scorch and Sev had reacted to you afterward.

“It makes sense and I understand where they’re coming from,” you hastened to add. “I’m just worried they’re never going to trust me. But I know none of us knew everything before we agreed to have me work for you and I’m not going to be offended if you feel the same way. It’s hard to-”

“I don’t.”

The simple denial made you abruptly cut off your tirade. Despite the trickle of relief running through you, the only question you had was: “Why?”

Boss shrugged. “The Force isn’t much different from getting an order. You feel like you should follow it, but nothing can completely take over your free will. Not unless you’re a complete di’kut.”

“How do you know?” you asked. It seemed stupid to question things when they seemed to be going your way, but you couldn’t help it.

“Someone had us made,” Boss pointed out. “If the Force could make people follow something without question, they wouldn’t need a clone army, they would need a rogue Jedi. Besides, Dooku would do that to make an army for the Seppies. Instead, they’re spending fortunes on their clankers.”

For the life of you, you couldn’t think of an answer to that. When you kept walking beside him in open-mouthed silence, Boss caught your look and shrugged again. “It’s a working theory, but I thought it over before I ever agreed to have you join us.”

“You’re smarter than I could ever dream of being,” you told him, hearing the awe in your own voice. 

“Nah, I’m just used to thinking around what the jetii do,” he countered. “Don’t worry about Sev and Scorch. They’ll get over it soon enough. Right now, you need to focus on the mission. We meet in the hangar bay at oh-five-hundred hours. Get some sleep before then.”

---

Author's Note - Uh, oh. A little awkwardness with Scorch and Sev! I'm STILL working my way through the Republic Commando book series, and I feel like troopers (especially Delta) would have trouble with the idea of their scraps of free will being taken away by someone, even if they like and trust that person.

This chapter was supposed to be posted a week ago, but Thanksgiving was crazy and internet access was sparse. Sorry for the delay and thank you for your patience. Thank you for reading!

[i-willstealyourtoes]

I know I initially said I wouldn't do this but... I want to try still !! I've never participated in something like this T-T I'm worried I've somehow misunderstood something or broke the rules... But I hope these small drabbles(?) will be okay !!

Tags: @deltasquadweek @orangez3st

Delta Day 1: 'Dinner'

"...Dinner."

"Yep."

"...You want dinner."

"Yep."

"...With me..?"

Although you words might have come across as rhetorical, you truly were confused to get a call from Scorch. Especially since you you didn't know he even remembered your name.

"Yeah, you down? I'm in the area, if you wanna pick somewhere."

The truth was, you were fairly certain the commando would have only kept you in his mind during that one mission you had together and forget you not a moment after. He seemed friendly enough (more than his brothers, for sure), and he did ask for your number, but given that award-winning grin he gave you, you assumed he wouldn't actually call you. He was probably too busy with work, his brothers or some other - more attractive - person.

"...Scorch, it's 3am..."

But here he was, at a peculiar time at night, asking you out.

"Well, yeah, but... Okay, what about a midnight snack? Don't tell me you don't get the midnight munchies..?"

The.... midnight munchies...?

"...Alright, I'll bite. I'll see you at the diner nearby that one abandoned pharmacy. You know, the one-"

"-with the hole in the roof? Yeah, sounds good. I'll see you there."

This was definitely going to be an interesting outing.

(idk if I'm doing this right T-T forgive me)

[wanderinginksplot-writes]

Refuge Chapter Eight

It's finally time for your first mission with Delta Squad.

Continued slow-burn Delta Squad x fem!reader

Word Count: 4,300

Warnings: Anxiety, feelings of alienation, social awkwardness, teasing, minor verbal bullying, brief physical bullying, and general references to weapons and warfare

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You would never get used to traveling this way. 

You had watched as the ship left from the hangar bay, directed by a GAR tower as you slowly rose through masses of Coruscanti traffic. Fixer had asked you to step out of the cockpit during takeoff. Well, it had actually sounded far closer to an order, but you apparently made him nervous with the intense way you watched everything.

Still, you had found another transparisteel pane to watch from as the planet fell away beneath you. You were in the air. That had always been something for other people to experience, people on distant planets. Voubosians had nowhere to go and the concept of space flight was more theoretical than something that average people expected to experience someday. 

And if your palm rose to press against the inside of the windowpane as Fixer put the ship into hyperdrive, who could blame you? Not a single person. Especially since the rest of Delta Squad were all crowded into the cockpit. 

You were going to Isiring, a small planet in the Outer Rim and very close to Separatist space. The planet was considering joining the Republic, and that consideration had put them under occupation by the Separatist Army. The GAR had driven off most of the droid army, but the Isiring people were in desperate need of supplies. The Wolfpack had brought a shipment of supplies, but there had been more refugees than expected. 

Delta Squad had brought additional supplies, enough to last until another battalion could get through the Separatist remnants with a full resupply. Additionally, Delta would help build and reinforce the refugee camp that the 104th was building. 

And, somehow, you were considered capable enough to be part of Delta Squad’s mission. You had your own doubts about that, but you had agreed to take on this assignment and you were determined to see it through. 

That didn’t stop you from jolting when someone spoke behind you. 

“It’ll be a while before we get there, even using the hyperspace lanes along the way.”

When you had recovered - trying to play off your surprise as a temporary loss of balance, you turned to nod at Sev. “Thank you for letting me know. How long do you think the journey will take?”

Sev was frowning, though. "Did you just get scared?" 

"I thought everyone was still in the cockpit," you explained, chuckling at yourself. Sev didn't laugh at all. On Toporik, a harmless fright was considered humorous, good for a shared laugh among friends. Sev didn't seem even slightly amused and you conceded internally that it could be a cultural thing. 

"You didn't hear me?" 

"No," you admitted, feeling fully awkward by that point. “I didn’t know I was supposed to be listening for you.”

Sev shook his head and returned to the cockpit, leaving you waiting uncomfortably alone in the transport's small seating area.

And you stayed alone for far too long. You couldn't hear any conversation among Delta Squad in the cockpit, but there were closed comlink channels in their HUDs. In all likelihood, they were talking about you. 

It wasn’t necessarily bad. They could be discussing how to fit you into the mission without risking themselves or you due to your inexperience. Though you knew they had already considered that, and probably had been doing so since they were first assigned to assist on Isiring. In that case, the conversation might be bad. 

You decided to convince yourself that they were all crowded in the cockpit, surrounded by pure silence. 

When everyone other than Scorch filed out of the cockpit, you were staring out of the viewport and toying with the material of your body glove. The shine of the transparisteel’s interior meant that you could watch Delta’s faces as they came into the ship’s main cabin. 

Sev glanced at you for a moment before he continued on to the back of the ship. Boss didn’t even look at you. Fixer watched you stretch and release the fabric of the garment’s shoulder a few times before he shook his head. Surprisingly, he reached out to still your fingers with his own. For all that he hadn’t seemed very easy with touch, the movement seemed utterly natural for him. 

“Don’t you remember how hard we had to work to get that glove for you?” he asked. The question could have been stern or harsh, but his tone sounded softer, almost gentle. “Try not to tear it on your first mission out, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” you echoed, releasing the fabric immediately. It snapped back into place with a sting that made you wince. You were still facing the window and thought your expressions were private, but when your gaze focused, you could see that Fixer was looking at the window as well. He was using the opposite vantage point to watch you in the reflection. When he saw that you had seen him, he offered a nod and pulled his hand away from yours. 

That touch - simple, but freely offered - sparked something in you. Suddenly, you realized how horribly, deeply lonely you were. Perhaps it was inevitable; this was the first time you’d had alone with your thoughts in some time. Without the stress of running for your life or the distraction of Jedi training, you could process it. 

Sitting still, staring out of the viewport at stars passing by too quickly to be anything other than streams of light, you were spiraling. You had no community, no place. Delta Squad had offered you a spot among them, but now that you were there, they seemed concerned about your presence. No, not concerned… inconvenienced. 

Had this all been a mistake? You were honor-bound to see things through, especially since this had been a choice, one you had made gladly. If you died, you couldn’t see that as a terrible tragedy, but what if one of the others ended up hurt or killed trying to protect you because you couldn’t protect yourself? 

“Hey.” 

You turned quickly at the greeting, desperately clinging to the interruption of your frantic thoughts. Sev was standing there with a box in his hands. 

When you didn’t say anything, he frowned. It seemed to be a common expression for him. Or maybe you just brought it out in him…

“You good?” Sev asked. “Your breathing has picked up.”

“Just… trying to meditate.”

It was an incredibly weak lie, one that hung in the air for an uncomfortably long time. Sev gave you a few seconds of incredulous silence to fess up, but you stayed quiet. 

“Yeah,” he said eventually, clearly still skeptical. He lifted the box slightly. “Brought you some food.” 

“You brought me dinner?” you asked, unreasonably touched by that. Your emotions were erratic - not a good sign before your first mission. 

Sev scowled. “I guess. You get some before Scorch gets his. We’ll be going lights-out in about an hour, so consider this your warning.” 

“Thank you,” you said, accepting the box from him. Then a thought struck you and you felt more than a little silly for not having considered it before. “Um… where am I sleeping? There are only four bunks and I don’t want to take anyone’s spot-” 

“Someone has to fly the ship,” Fixer pointed out. “We’ll rotate bunks - the new person takes the empty one. Everyone’s clean and in top health, so you don’t have to worry about hygiene.” 

“As long as Scorch remembers to wash the liquid tibanna off this time,” Sev muttered. 

“Hey!” Scorch objected from the cockpit. You jumped again. You hadn’t known he could hear the conversation outside. “That only happened once!” 

“Yeah, but I’m the one who ended up with gas burns on his-” Sev’s dark eyes slid toward you before he turned briskly away. “Anyway, I wouldn’t recommend sleeping in a bunk after Scorch has had it.” 

“At least my hair isn’t greasy!” Scorch called. 

That made you laugh despite yourself. Sev’s hair was shorn so close to his scalp that you didn’t know if you could grab one without the use of tweezers. The idea of grease being able to cling to his nearly bare head was so unlikely as to be truly entertaining. 

“Stow it, men,” Boss ordered, sitting across from you with his own box of rations. “Everyone other than Scorch needs to finish up and get some sleep.”

“I would love to, Boss, but dearest Oh-Seven hasn’t brought me my meal yet.”

Sev rolled his eyes toward the cockpit. “I don’t feel like helping you out today. Get your own food.”

Scorch said, “If you insist.” You could clearly hear the sound of a restraint being unbuckled, followed by a few footsteps. The ship gave an alarming dip, spilling some of your food and pulling an alarmed gasp from you. 

Boss was on his feet before the food had landed on the table. “Scorch, sit your shebs down before I figure out a way to keep them there permanently. Sev, get Six-Two’s food before he kills us all. Fixer, get a new ration pack for her.” 

“That’s not necessary-” you protested. 

Fixer was already speaking over you. “What should I do with this one?” 

“Give it to Scorch,” Boss ordered. “She can have the fresh one.” 

“Aw, Boss…” Scorch’s complaining tone was clear even from the cockpit. “You know flying makes me hungry.” 

You wanted to melt through the seat. The last thing you wanted to do was start off your first mission by getting one of your squadmates in trouble. “It’s fine, Sergeant, really. Only a little bit spilled.” 

“Okay,” Boss said with a nod. “Did you hear that, Scorch? Only a little bit spilled. Sounds like you’ll survive the rest of the flight without starving to death.”

As you continued to insist that everything was fine, Fixer whisked the ration pack away from you and delivered it to Scorch. You bit your lip, dread weighing heavy on your stomach. It spiked sharply when you heard a soft exclamation from Scorch. 

“Oya! You only spilled the greens, civvie. That’s the worst part. Think you did me a favor…”

Your murmured reply was unintelligible, even to you. 

The situation was uncomfortable. And it was made worse by knowing that everyone knew about it. Sev and Scorch had been there when you admitted that you may not know if you were manipulating them. Even if you didn’t mean to. 

And then you had told Boss about what had happened. He had seemed sympathetic, but he had probably mentioned it to Fixer, even if the other two hadn’t. That had to be the cause of the awkwardness among the group, you were certain of it. Conversations had been stilted and laughter was nonexistent in any of the men.

Sev slid a fresh ration pack in front of you, but you only managed a few bites before you pushed it away. “I think I’m going to get some sleep.”

“You’re not going to eat any more than that?” Sev asked, eyeing your barely-touched tray. 

“No, I just…” You trailed off, uncertain of what to say. Eventually, you decided to keep to simple sentences. “No, I’m done.” 

“You should probably get a little more down,” Fixer said skeptically. “You never know when you’re going to eat on a mission. Skipping meals before you get there means you’re going to be distracted, weak-”

“Go to bed,” Boss ordered. Dimly, you recognized that he had been watching you closely throughout the short conversation, his gaze searching. Whatever he found there seemed to make him take pity on you. He nodded at the other Deltas before he returned to cleaning and reassembling his blaster. “Get some sleep.”

You were too grateful to do anything more than nod back before you scurried toward the small bunk section at the back of the ship. If the conversation shifted after you had left, you didn’t hear it. You made a point of not hearing it. 

But, to your eternal frustration, sleep wouldn’t come.

One by one, Delta followed you to the bunks - with the obvious exception of Scorch. Each one seemed to settle easily into slumber, but it eluded you. 

Eventually, you opted to slip out of the bunk entirely. Instead of lying there helplessly, you wanted to sit in the main cabin of the ship and reread the field manual the GAR had scrounged up for you. 

It seemed like a safe bet - Scorch was flying the ship while the other three were asleep, but you had barely started reading before Boss appeared. 

His sudden and silent approach made you jump, pressing a hand to your chest in an effort to calm your racing heart. When you could breathe without feeling like you were going to vomit, you asked, "What are you doing?" 

"Funny," he said, leaning against the doorway between the bunks and the main cabin. "Pretty sure I'm supposed to ask that."

"I'm reading," you offered, lifting the datapad as if to prove it.

"What you're doing is disobeying an order," Boss countered. "I told you to get some rest."

You froze, staring at him with wide eyes. He had said that, of course, but you had assumed it wasn't a real order. He had also said that a single disobeyed order would result in him kicking you out of Delta Squad…

"Relax," he told you, pushing away from the doorway to settle in a nearby seat instead. "That was a test. For future reference, I only issue official orders in war zones. Everything else is just a… strongly worded suggestion."

You nodded, gaze dropping to your twisting fingers as you tried to calm your pulse. 

Boss gave you a few minutes to settle before he spoke again. “So, knowing that it isn’t an order… wanna tell me what’s going on?” 

“Can’t sleep,” you admitted with a slight shrug. “I think I just have too many questions.”

“Questions,” Boss repeated tonelessly. 

“Yes, but I feel like I should already know the answers, so I haven’t asked them.” You gave a mirthless laugh. “I don’t enjoy wasting your time, you know.” 

When you finally snuck a look at Boss’s face, he was frowning slightly. “Why should you know the answers to questions you haven’t asked? And think of it this way: I would rather answer your questions now and know that you have all the information you need than worry about you if things get bloody.”

“I thought blood was guaranteed?” 

“This is a relief mission,” he clarified. “We might see some action, so we need to be ready for it, but it’s not like we’re dropping into an active war zone. Not this mission, anyway. So what questions do you have?”

“Can you-?” You cleared your throat and started over, wanting to sound more like a specialist gathering information and less like a lost child. “Can you give me some idea of a timeline? For our arrival, at least?” 

“Sure,” Boss said, nodding. He didn’t seem irritated by the questions, which helped ease your nerves enough to actually listen to him. “We make sure everyone is awake and fully dressed at least two hours before arrival. An hour out, we do final weapons and equipment checks. By the time we hit atmosphere, everyone needs to be prepped for landing.” 

“Do we expect it to be a bad landing?” You hadn’t experienced too many landings - just the one, actually - but you had seen enough HoloNews footage to know that you didn’t want to experience a crash. 

A new voice made you jump again, and you turned to see Sev leaning against the doorway to the bunks. His voice was even gruffer with sleep, almost hard to understand, but you tried to listen anyway. “Landings can be rough, depending on how much fire we take. Fixer will get us through the worst of it. Even if we land hard, everyone needs to be clear within fifteen seconds.”

“And the time between breaching atmosphere and landing?” you asked, struggling to gather all of the vocabulary you had learned in the past few weeks. “Do we… wear parachutes or something? What’s the protocol?” 

“Parachutes?” Boss repeated. 

“Why would you jump out of a ship in a war zone?” Sev asked, nearly scowling by that point. 

You frowned a little yourself, but more out of confusion than irritation. “Well, you know… if it’s crash-landing or something-”

“Don’t jump out of the ship,” Boss advised. 

A groan drifted from the doorway behind Sev, followed by Fixer’s voice. “Who is jumping out of a ship?” 

“The civvie,” Sev tossed back, moving over slightly so Fixer could stand bleary-eyed in the doorway beside him. “The jetii must have taught her some strange tactics.”

“Shut it, Sev,” Boss ordered, tacking on a glare for good measure. His gaze evened out when he turned back to you. “You’re always gonna be safer inside the ship, even if it’s going down. There’s too much chance of taking a blaster bolt while you’re floating above an active battlefield.”

“Are we having a meeting?” Scorch called from the cockpit. 

“No,” Fixer told him. “Civvie’s just asking some questions. Wanted to know if we were going to wear chutes when we break atmosphere.” 

“Chutes?” Scorch echoed, bewildered. “Why would we jump out of ship in the middle of a combat zone?” 

“Okay, I’ve got it,” you hurried to say, getting to your feet. “Understood. Awake and dressed two hours out, checking weapons one hour out. Ready to go when we break atmosphere. When we land, get out of the ship within fifteen seconds. If we’re not dead from being shot down.” 

“We won’t be dead,” Fixer assured you. The confident tilt to his chin made you believe him. “I’ve landed bigger ships than this in worse areas.” 

“But everything else is right,” Boss confirmed. 

Sev shrugged. “Pretty much. Though if landing is quiet, you can miss the fifteen second mark by a few seconds without as much risk.”

“Seriously, I can come back there,” Scorch offered. 

“That’s okay; we’re done,” you told him. “Thank you all. I’m going to sleep now.” 

—

To your great relief, the landing part of the mission had been simple. 

You had been ready and armored far too early, but Scorch had been too tired to do much more than laugh. Fixer had guided the ship into a smooth landing on Isiring, and the Republic’s forces had secured the area around the relief camp. Boss had advised everyone to wear helmets anyway, and you gladly followed that advice. You were always a fan of overpreparedness, and you found yourself a little shy around the unknown troopers. 

The peace didn’t last long, though. Your first task was to operate the droid lifts, shuttling fully-loaded lifts to deposit their supply crates in the correct areas while dispatching the newly empty ones back to the ship for Delta Squad to restock. It was easy work, and you were grateful for the chance to decompress and brace yourself for anything else you might be assigned to do next. 

But what you hadn’t realized was that your position as the only one outside of the ship left you surrounded by unfamiliar troopers. 

One such trooper laughed far too loudly behind you, knuckles rapping sharply against the top of your helmet in a way that made the HUD give an irritated beep. “What is going on here? I think you could have used a little more time in that growth jar, eh, vod?”

None of that made any sense to you, so you stayed silent, shoulders hunching up toward your ears as you focused on the datapad you were using to direct the droids. 

“Hey, knock it off,” another voice said, and you relaxed slightly at the intervention. “Obviously, he hasn’t learned to talk yet!” 

Uproarious laughter, then you were jostled as someone knocked your arm. It was probably a playful gesture, you knew that. But the interaction had drawn attention, and being surrounded by strangers who were all tall and broad enough to make you feel trapped… Well, it wasn’t doing wonderful things for your peace of mind. 

The sound of your name in a crackling call made you startle. “What’s wrong? Why is your heart rate so high?”

Your HUD identified the voice as belonging to Fixer. “I’m-”

The explanation, whatever it was going to be, cut off as you were jostled again. This time, it was a hard enough hit to push you forward, and you staggered slightly as you tried to keep hold of the datapad without stepping into the path of droids whirring back and forth. 

“Back off!” a harsh voice commanded and you noted with more than a little relief that Sev was closer than any of the other Deltas. Clearly, he had left the ship. 

“Or what?” one trooper called challengingly. “We’re just having some fun.”

“Fun’s over.” You couldn’t see Sev’s face, but you knew exactly how it would look - darkness simmering behind a tightly controlled expression. 

Another trooper scoffed. “You commandos think you’re so much better than us. This one won’t even talk to us.” 

That made you freeze, overcome by a strange mixture of shame and fear. A gauntleted hand entered your frame of vision, wrapping around your wrist and giving a tug. You recognized the jagged lines of red paint and let Sev pull you toward him, stepping free of the group of troopers at the same time. 

“C’mon, vod,” a trooper jeered. With your new perspective, you could see that none of them were wearing helmets, and there was a look of derision on this man’s face. “You’d be better off letting us standard troopers into the commando force. That one’s clearly defective.”

“If you men don’t have anything more important to do than harass my people, I’ll speak to your CO and see what we can figure out,” Boss said firmly, such durasteel in his tone that the troopers straightened, looking uncertain. They didn’t walk away, however, and the reason why was apparent only a moment later when an imposing figure approached you. 

“Commander Wolffe,” Boss greeted with a salute. 

“Sergeant,” the commander returned. Like his men, he wasn’t wearing a helmet. His bare face was stern, the harshness of it accentuated by the wicked-looking scar over one eye. The helmet tucked beneath one arm was painted to look like some kind of animal and his posture was precise. 

Commander Wolffe looked like a man who had little patience, and that impression was only solidified when he asked, “Why are you giving orders to my men?” 

“Permission to speak freely, sir,” Boss requested. With a glance at the men still standing nearby, he added, “And privately.”

Wolffe gave a slow nod, eyes traveling to the men behind you. They watched him eagerly and his voice was sharp as he said, “Dis-missed.”

You had never seen a group disperse so quickly.

“Your men were harassing a member of my squad,” Boss reported, removing his helmet so the other man could see the disapproval on his face. “We can all deal with jokes, but I can’t stand by and let my people be physically pushed around.” 

The commander’s gaze moved to you, critically assessing you in a way that made you want to shift uncomfortably. “Take your helmet off.” 

With your eyes hidden behind plastoid and transparisteel, you had no idea how Boss knew that you had looked at him for confirmation, but you were grateful for his subtle nod anyway. As soon as you had your sergeant’s approval, you broke the seal on your helmet and lifted it free. 

The air on Isiring was cool at best, far from cold, but it felt frigid on your face after being confined in the helmet for so long. You took a deep breath, straightened your spine, and made eye contact with Commander Wolffe. 

“This must be your first mission,” he said cryptically. You had a moment of panic, wondering what you had done so wrong that he knew you were - as Scorch said - a shiny, but a corner of Wolffe’s mouth lifted in a wry smile. “Otherwise, I would have heard about this already.”

You looked helplessly at Boss, searching for a hint about what to do next, but he looked as amused as the commander. Without any further leads, you let your manners take over. You held a hand out toward Commander Wolffe, introducing yourself as he shook it with a firm grip. “I’m a specialist assigned to work with Delta Squad.” 

“Commander Wolffe, leader of the 104th battalion,” he offered in return. “We don’t get many females out here, especially not attached to commando squads. If the men get stupid, come find me.” 

“I- will,” you stammered. “Thank you, sir.” 

Wolffe released your hand and nodded at Boss. “Sergeant.” 

“Commander.” 

And then the commander walked away. Your embarrassment, having faded during the semi-normal conversation, flared back to life as you caught sight of the dozen wide-eyed troopers watching you from the edges of the camp. You jammed the helmet back on your head and looked down at the datapad, frantically moving to catch up with the droid workers who were waiting for additional commands. 

“Hey.” 

You glanced up, attention caught by the urgency in Boss’s tone. “Yes?” 

“We have more work to do on the ship, but we’re on the same HUD loop,” he reminded. “If you have any more problems, shout ‘em out. We’ll come take care of it.” 

“Thank you, Sergeant,” you told him, but you felt yourself slump as he walked away. Half an hour on the ground and you’d already needed a rescue and caused a tense interaction between your commanding officer and the leader of the relief camp. It wasn’t an auspicious start.

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Author's Note - I am so sorry, guys. I knew it had been a while since I last updated, but I missed that it's been EIGHT MONTHS. I post a chapter of a fic every week across my accounts (or, at least, I try), but I don't have a firm schedule about which fics get updated when.

Thank you all for your patience, assuming that anyone is still interested in this story. I can't promise that I'll start posting it super often, but I'm sure I can do better than once a year!