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anxiouspineapple99 · 6 months

Text

Queen of Hearts

Vampire!Fox x Fem!Reader

Summary: On your way home from work one early morning, you catch Fox drinking a man's blood in a back alley, and it changes your life forever.

Pairing: Vampire!Fox x Fem!Reader

Characters: Fox, Thorn, clone OCs

Tags & Warnings: 18+, NSFW, MonsterClone!AU, clone discrimination, clone rights, minor injuries, violence, murder, blood, angst, domestic fluff, mild sexual themes, non-sexual intimacy, erotic blood drinking, enemies to friends to lovers, reader can be considered demisexual, stalking

Word Count: 14.5k

Author's Note: This fic is dedicated to my beloved @starrrgazingbunny! She gave me the clone, the monster, and the prompt, which inspired this monstrosity of a fic. Haha, get it? Monstrosity? Monster? I'm hilarious. Anyway, I love you darling and I hope you like the fic 😘 As always, please enjoy 💚

@clonexreaderbingo Square: "Your eyes sparkle."

MonsterClone!AU Prompt: "I know what you did."

Fox’s boots rhythmically clack against the sterile tile floor of the GAR clinic as he strolls through the bright halls with his hands clasped neatly behind his back. It’s late, and he was sorting through an endless stack of data-pads when he received the comm that one of his Corrie Guards was injured on duty and undergoing medical treatment at the clinic. After the comm, he tossed his data-pad to the side and downed the rest of his cold caf before making his way to the clinic.

Fox hates receiving these comms because it’s always the same story. The natborns, who he swears are born with only one brain cell each, are cruel to his corries. Their apathetic dismissal of a clone's mere existence boils his blood. The clones never asked to be created and they surely never expected to be used, abused, and thrown out with the evening’s trash. They are flesh and blood men, his men, and he considers each one of their lives as his responsibility.

Fox lets his frustrating thoughts dissipate when he stops in front of the exam room door. The medic on duty, whose fingers are rapidly tapping on a data-pad medical chart, deviates from his rounds when he sees Fox with his arms crossed. Fox stays silent as he approaches, so the medic continues his data entry as he waits. Fox glances through the window of the door to get a small glimpse at the situation, then turns to address the medic. “What happened?”

The medic looks up from his data-pad and frowns. “He was breaking up a street fight on the lower levels when a natborn busted his nose and broke his arm.” The medic shakes his head. “Poor kid. It was his first night on patrol too.”

Fox sighs, thanks the medic, and dismisses him with a silent nod.

As the medic leaves, Fox opens the door and quietly slips into the exam room, hoping to go unnoticed. He leans back against the wall and crosses his arms as he observes another medic carefully tending to the corrie’s injuries. Fox slumps his shoulders and releases a heavy sigh as he assesses the bruises on the clone’s face. This is the fifth corrie he’s gone through this week and the trend is only getting worse. It’s mind-numbing to him, just how cruel the natborns are.

After watching for a few more seconds, Fox pushes himself off of the wall. He pulls his bucket off and sets it down on the counter, his loose curls cascading down to just above his eyes. He walks over to the exam table, taps the medic on the shoulder, and asks him to take a break. The medic nods and hands Fox the bandages and adhesive before exiting the room. Fox flicks his hair to the side and away from his eyes as he takes a seat on the stool in front of the injured clone.

“C-Commander,” the corrie stammers in surprise while scrambling to stand to attention.

Fox reaches up and places two firm hands on the clone’s shoulders to gently push him back down onto the exam table. “At ease, vod,” his voice soothes. “No need to get up. You’re hurt.”

“Y-Yes sir,” the corrie says, nervousness escaping his voice. It’s not every day a shiny gets a visit from their commander, let alone have them bandage their wounds.

Fox lets a small smile creep onto his lips. He always finds it endearing the way the shinies act around him. They think he’s some sort of celebrity being the Marshall Commander of the Coruscant Guard, but in reality, he’s just an overworked, sleep-deprived, and overly-caffeinated bag of meat. There’s nothing about his existence that makes him feel worthy of their praise, at least, not when his men sit in the clinic wounded while he sits behind a desk doing data-work.

“What’s your name, kid?” Fox asks, his fingers working deftly to continue wrapping the bandage where the medic left off.

“Slapstick, sir,” the corrie says.

Fox chuckles at the name and tightens the side of the bandage.

Slapstick winces at the pain. “Apparently, I’m good at comedy, sir,” he jokes.

Fox grins. “You’ll have to tell me a joke when you’re better.”

“Will do, sir,” Slapstick smiles.

Fox makes quick work of wrapping the broken arm and gently gives it back. He grabs a cloth sling and fits it over Slapstick’s shoulder, making sure the elevation is correct for his arm to rest comfortably. Fox then grabs a few cotton pads and dabs them with alcohol to clean the blood off the corrie’s face and applies a bandage across his nose. When finished, Fox sits back in the chair and watches as Slapstick nurses his broken arm, a flash of emotion crossing his bruised face.

Fox frowns, rises from the chair, and places a firm hand on the younger clone’s shoulder. He peers into the shiny’s innocent, yet fearful eyes, and silently reassures him. “Do what the medics tell you, and you’ll be fine. That’s an order.”

“Yes, sir,” Slapstick nods. “Thank you, Commander.”

Fox smiles with sad eyes. “You’re welcome, kih’vod.”

Fox turns away, grabs his bucket off the counter, replaces it on his head, and then exits the exam room. He softly shuts the door behind him and stands in the hallway for a moment to compose himself. He closes his eyes and exhales slowly to release the tension built up in his shoulders. They’re so young. He laments. The new shinies come in looking so full of life and eager to please their superiors. It catches him off guard every time he sees one of their youthful faces.

Being part of one of the earliest batches of clones, Fox feels old. The gray streaks running through the sides of his dark curly hair only serve to prove it. It’s ironic to him since his batchmates haven’t grayed yet, so it must be the stress. He and the shinies are only a few years apart in manufacture date, but the accelerated aging makes him feel as if he’s lived a lifetime. He wishes he could relive the days when he was a shiny. Back then, they didn’t even have names.

Fox still remembers being a fresh young clone and ready to serve the Republic. He was created as part of a batch of commanders bred to be leaders, with superior intelligence and bolstered strength. Little did he know what true horrors he and those under his command would endure. The constant ridicule by every lifeform walking the streets of Coruscant, the discrimination and litany of ‘no clones allowed’ signs on business storefronts, and the lack of human decency was, and still is, repulsive.

He didn’t ask for this post, one so far from the war. Yet, here he is, visiting the broken men under his command and taking every bit of their suffering personally. Each one who is spat on, belittled, cursed at, and dehumanized weighs deeply on his soul. At least on the battlefield they’d receive the respect they deserve. At one point, Wolffe warned him of being overly attached to his men, and Fox knew Wolffe had every right to speak about loss, but he still didn’t listen.

He internalizes all of their pain and lets it steep deep within him. His anger for the natborns burns white hot in the pit of his stomach. He decided long ago that there’s nothing good about a natborn. They’re all useless beings that sit on pious ideals and build their peace on the dead bodies of his brothers, stacking them like cheap bricks and using their blood as mortar. But now, he’s done letting the atrocities slide. He’s done watching his brothers suffer at their hands.

Fox straightens himself as his resolve settles within him. Purpose driven, he marches back to headquarters. He doesn’t bother turning the lights on in his dark office, the blue glow from his data-pad illuminates his face as he sifts through the new reports to find the one about Slapstick. He pulls up a holo-recording of the events and watches it with intent. He notes the location, and when he sees the natborn’s face, he tosses the data-pad onto his desk and leaves his office.

He knows what he needs to do, and he’s finally ready to act on his intentions. The guilt that has crept into him, knowing that he could have done something sooner, only propels him forward in his mission. As he nears the exit of the headquarters’ building, Thorn is waiting for him. Fox curses under his breath. He knows Thorn will try to stop him, try to talk some sense into him, but he doesn’t care. He’s done playing around, and if he has to go through his brother, he will.

Thorn crosses into Fox’s path and folds his arms. "And where are you going?"

"Out,” Fox answers as he steps to the side to go around him.

Thorn follows his movements, preventing him from advancing. "What? You've got a hot date or something?"

"Something like that," Fox mutters, trying to side-step him again.

"I know what you’re gonna do," Thorn says, blocking his brother again. “I can smell it. The lust.”

Fox grunts in frustration and forcefully pushes past his brother. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Thorn turns and catches Fox’s arm, his grip tight. "Whatever you think you're going to accomplish out there is only going to come back to bite you,” he warns. “You're gonna get caught!"

Fox smirks under his helmet. "Not if I bite first."

A small gasp escapes Thorn’s throat. He didn’t want to be right. He knew Fox was up to something malicious when he first caught a whiff of his altered scent, a shift so strong he could smell it from two klicks away. He refused to believe that his brother would go this far and intentionally put all of the commanders at risk by going rogue, but he was wrong. Fox is going through with it. In his brief shock, Thorn’s grip slacks enough for Fox to yank his arm out.

Fox, finally free of his brother’s blockade attempt, stalks off into the night to find his prey.

“Fox!” Thorn calls, desperate to get him to reconsider, but Fox doesn’t respond, and Thorn, powerless to stop him, watches as he slips into the shadows of Coruscant.

You let out an exhausted sigh as you finish up your shift at the diner. It’s been a long night, and you glance at the chronometer on the wall while stretching out your back. It’s 02:00 hours and almost time for you to go home. You don’t mind working the second shift, in fact, you enjoy being a night owl and sleeping during the day. The initial adjustment to your schedule was difficult, but now that you have a routine set, your body works just as well as it did in the daylight.

After bringing the remainder of the plates to the kitchen, you grab a to-go container and pile all of the leftover scraps into it, then pour what’s left from the caf carafe into a to-go cup. Your manager is a good person, and she lets you take food home at the end of your shift for dinner. It isn’t much, just what customers didn’t finish, but you’re always grateful. Once you have all of your things gathered and your leftover dinner, you wave goodbye to the rest of the staff and leave.

As you walk along the diner front, you frown at the bright circular neon sign. It has an image of a clone’s helmet in the center and a large red slash running through it. You don’t understand what people have against the clones because they seem human enough to you. Sometimes it bothers you to be working in such a discriminatory business, but you don’t have much of a choice. Most places of business are anti-clone, and it’s hard getting a job with one that’s clone-friendly.

You sigh, and continue along the darkly lit street towards home. As you approach the next alleyway, you see two Coruscant Guardsmen leaning against the wall. You smile and wave at them and they eagerly wave back. One of the perks of working the second shift at the diner is that you get the pleasure of running into your two favorite Corrie Guards, Traipse and Chris, on their patrol route. They’re wonderful friends, with big hearts, and even bigger stomachs.

“Watcha got for us today, mesh’la?” Traipse asks as he slips his bucket off.

“The usual,” you smile and hand the to-go container to him. “A couple half-eaten sandwiches and some cold fries, but this time there’s a little ketchup stuck to them.”

“Sweet!” Chris rips his bucket off as he eyes the food in the container, practically salivating at the prospect of cold, soggy fries.

It breaks your heart to see them so excited over scraps from another patrons table, but you know that anything you give them is better than what the GAR feeds them. It’s the least you can do for them, and they truly appreciate the meal. You still remember the first day you met them when you began working at the diner. They were new and on patrol when they stopped in for a hot cup of caf, which was a big mistake. The owner was livid, cursed at them, and almost shot them.

The scene that unfolded in front of you was just as frightening as it was disturbing. The two corries only wanted a cup of caf to keep them awake during their patrol, and they were nearly killed over it. That was the night your heart broke and truly softened for the clones. You felt so bad for them that at the end of your shift, you scraped together all the leftover food and caf you could get a hold of, and searched the streets looking for them. You’ve been friends ever since.

“And,” you sing while holding up the to-go cup, “some caf to wash it down.”

Their eyes light up like it’s Christmas. “No way! You got us caf too?”

You laugh and hand the cup to Chris. “It’s not very hot, and it's a bit stale, but it should be enough for the both of you to share.”

Chris takes the first sip of the lukewarm, slightly stale caf, and you can see the tension slip from his shoulders. It’s like he’s tasting caf for the very first time, and it’s not even good caf. You smile, but on the inside, you’re hurting. All of the caf shops on their patrol route are anti-clone, so they can’t stop for a simple cup of caf or even grab something to eat. They have to wait until their patrol is over and return back to the GAR headquarters. You wish you could do more.

“Thank you, mesh’la,” Traipse says, then gives you a big hug. “You’re so good to us.”

“It’s my pleasure,” you smile as you squeeze him back. “You know, someday I’m going to open my own diner, just for clones.”

Chris grins. “We’ll be your first customers!”

You laugh at his exuberance, and tap your foot on the ground. “I wish I could stay and chat, but I really need to get home.”

Chris hands the cup of caf to Traipse who takes a small sip. “You want us to escort you home?”

“Nah,” you say with a dismissive wave of your hand. “I’ll be fine. I walk this route every night, you know.”

“Be safe, okay?” Traipse says. “And if you need us, you know where to find us.”

“Thanks boys,” you give them each a farewell hug and set out towards home, turning around to wave goodbye one more time.

You really did want to stay and chat with your friends like you do every night, but this particular shift was exhausting and now you only want to sleep. You barely had any breaks in between your tables being filled and emptied, so your feet ache painfully. Just the distance to walk home is enough to make you want to scream in agony. You didn’t want to tell your friends that your feet hurt, because you know that one of them, if not both, would have tried to carry you home.

It’s not that you wouldn’t mind being carried home by a big, strong, and handsome clone, but they have a job to do. They're on patrol, and you’re already putting them into jeopardy by chatting away with them when they’re supposed to be walking about the streets of Coruscant. They’re allowed to take breaks, but to have them deviate from their course so severely just to take you home because your feet hurt, is way too big of an ask. It would not be right..

As you continue to walk the dark streets, illuminated only by neon signs, your thoughts are interrupted by a noise coming from one of the side alleys. It almost sounds like a scuffle. They say curiosity killed the tooka, but it hasn’t killed you yet. So, you cautiously peer down the alley and see two men standing by the wall. One looks like a clone, but you can’t tell what color his armor is, and the other man looks wasted. You tip-toe closer and crouch behind a crate to get a better listen.

“I know what you did,” Fox says as he backs the drunken man against the wall.

“Get lost clone,” the man slurs.

"You hurt my kih’vod," Fox says.

"Your what?" the man asks, clearly confused with the term.

"My kih’vod," Fox repeats. "You broke his arm, and for what? Fun?"

The man pauses as he tries to understand what the clone is talking about through his drunken haze. Once it finally registers, the man sneers and becomes angry. "He deserved it!" the man yells. "All of them! They're all freaks of nature!"

"Freaks of nature?" Fox mocks and cocks his head to the side, feigning confusion at the accusation. "Whatever do you mean?"

"Disgusting meat droids," the man scoffs.

Fox chuckles darkly and gets in the man’s face. "You don't understand anything."

"What’s that?" the man slurs.

Fox pulls his bucket off and whispers in the man’s ear. "I'm the freak of nature." He grabs the man by the throat and lifts him up against the wall.

"Let go!" the man yells as he struggles in Fox’s grasp.

"You're not in a place to bargain," Fox says, purposefully baring his fangs in a show of intimidation. The neon lights bounce off the fangs, making them glow bright, a stark contrast to the dark alley.

You startle at the sight of the fangs and your grip loosens on the side of the crate, causing you to fall into the alleyway, making a thud noise when you hit the ground. You scramble back to your hiding place behind the crate and clamp a hand over your mouth, hoping he didn’t hear or notice you. You close your eyes as your mind races a mile a minute, wondering just what in the stars you just saw.

Fox snaps his head to the side when he hears the sound and he catches a small glimpse of you scurrying behind the crate. Tucking that away to deal with later, he turns his attention back to his prey. “Looks like we have an audience,” Fox sighs. “I just hate it when guests show up uninvited to dinner, don’t you?”

The man wriggles helplessly in the Fox’s grasp, fear washing over him as he realizes the mistake he’s made.

"Confess your sins," Fox says.

"I… I'm sorry, please," the man pleads, tears streaming down his face.

"Oh, not to me," Fox explains. "I'm not your Maker."

The man whimpers, haphazardly kicking and fighting to get free, but he’s too weak under the influence of alcohol.

"I am your death," Fox sinks his fangs into the man's neck and sucks every last bit of blood out of his worthless body. Eventually, the man stops wriggling, and his body slumps in Fox’s grasp.

Fox grimaces at the bitter taste of the man’s blood, but it’d be a shame to waste it. He finally pulls away from the man’s neck, panting for breath, then spits the last bit of the bitter blood out of his mouth as he staggers back. The alcohol in the man’s blood begins to make him feel light-headed and woozy. He turns to where you’re hiding behind the crate and starts walking towards you. His bucket sways in his left hand, while his right hand drags the man’s limp body alongside him.

Fox stops in front of you and drops the lifeless body beside you. The man’s cold, dead eyes meet your live ones, and you feel sick to your stomach. You look up at the clone with wide eyes as fear and dread wash over you like a heavy blanket. You can see now that his armor is red, red like the Coruscant Guard and red like blood smeared on his face. Your breath quickens when you notice the elongated fangs made visible as he pants from his fresh kill.

“You’re a… a…” you stammer out as you slowly inch away from his looming presence.

“A vampire?” Fox finishes your sentence with a roll of his head, still feeling tipsy from the alcohol invading his system.

“That’s… impossible,” you say. You’re at a loss for words as your brain flips between fight, flight, and freeze. Sure, you’ve read the stories about vampires, but they were just stories, right? Vampires don’t exist in real life, do they? You’re not sure what to think, but you don’t have time to work through figuring out an answer. You dart your eyes to the left and to the right, looking desperately for an escape route.

Fox kneels down in front of you and grabs your chin, forcing you to look into his deep brown eyes. “This is our little secret. Do you understand?”

You nod your head, too shocked to give a verbal response.

Fox searches your face for a moment, unsure of what he’s looking for, but eventually he releases you. “Run along little one,” he whispers, “or the fox might catch you.”

At his words, you scramble backwards, awkwardly trying to get up off the ground. He’s not coming after you, but the fear and adrenaline that’s raging inside your body tells you to run away. You get to your feet and you run. You run as fast as you can. You look back to make sure he’s not following you, and you see him, standing where he left you, watching you as you make your escape. You turn forward and continue running, ignoring the pain in your already tired feet.

You’re not sure which direction you're running in, just that it’s away from him. You wonder what he meant by ‘the fox’. Who is ‘the fox’? Is he a fox? No. He’s a vampire. Is his name Fox? You’re not sure of anything at the moment, and you decide to figure it out later. You keep up your stiff pace, dashing through the streets, turning down corners that look familiar until you come to an abrupt stop when you crash into Traipse. A small yelp escaping your lips as you fall backwards.

“Mesh’la?” Traipse asks in surprise.

Chris stoops down to pull you to your feet. “Are you alright? That was quite the hit.”

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Traipse adds as he looks you over to make sure you’re not hurt.

“I’m okay,” you pant.

Traipse and Chris trade bewildered glances and briefly look around to see what you might have been running from.

“What happened?” Chris asks. “We thought you went home.”

“I…” you want to tell them what happened. You want to tell them what you saw, but you quickly remember that you were sworn to secrecy, so instead, you feed them a lie. “I just got spooked. That’s all.”

Traipse doesn’t believe your explanation for one second. He narrows his eyes in suspicion. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” you insist with a shaky breath, trying to sound convincing. You pause for a moment, then make a simple request, hoping that they’ll stop asking questions. “Would you walk me home now? Please?”

“Of course,” Traipse answers. He’s still not happy with the lack of explanation, but he doesn’t want to push it any further. “It would be our pleasure.”

The two corries walk on either side of you as you make the journey home. You feel a sense of safety with them at your side, so you try to let yourself relax a little. Many people fear or even hate the Coruscant Guard, but you’ve always enjoyed having them around. They make the lower levels more bearable and safe to live in, and your late nights aren’t so lonely. But now, can you really trust them? Are they really who you think they are? You’re not so sure anymore.

As you approach your apartment, you once again think about the corrie you encountered in the alley. You know that he’s a corrie based on the color of his armor, but you’ve never seen him around the lower levels before, or at least not on your route home. Perhaps he lives on the upper levels and comes down to the lower levels to feed. Your skin bristles at the thought. A vampire amongst the clones. A vampire amongst the Coruscant Guard. What if there are more?

You glance at your companions and briefly wonder if they’re vampires too. You quickly throw the idea out of your mind. If they were vampires, wouldn’t they have drank your blood by now? You shake your head to remove the swirling thoughts. The sun will be rising soon, and you just want to go to bed at this point. When you arrive home, you thank your two escorts as they leave you outside of your apartment, but they stay long enough to make sure you get inside safely, and for that you’re grateful.

Once inside, you lock your door and check every window to make sure they’re locked as well, and then pull the room darkening curtains across them. The fear that has crept inside of you from the words of the mysterious corrie in the alley has not left you. You shiver and slink down beside your bed, clutching your knees to your chest. You wonder if he’ll find you or if he’ll try to hurt you. You know not all clones are good, but you’ve always tried not to judge them on the outside.

As your adrenaline winds down, you decide to skip dinner, throw on your pajamas, and curl up under your duvet, covering your head with the thick material like a child afraid of the monsters under their bed. You keep a light on beside your bed, just in case, then slowly drift off to sleep as your exhaustion overrides your fear and forces you to sleep. Surprisingly, you sleep well, and are only awoken by your preset alarm at 17:00 hours, reminding you to get up for another day.

You barely remember the events of the night before in your waking haze, but as your senses return, the fear and anxiety creeps back in. You now wish you had asked Traipse and Chris to walk you to work as well. You know they would have if you asked. Sighing heavily, you take a quick shower, get dressed, and throw some food together for a hasty breakfast before heading out the door. Fortunately, your route to work is uneventful, which you’re thankful for.

Your day at work is the same as usual. With the hustle and bustle of the diner, you rarely have a moment to even think about the corrie in the alley. Between waiting tables, refilling caf, and chatting with the patrons, you almost forgot. However, there’s a nagging feeling in the back of your mind. The feeling that you're being observed. You don’t let it bother you too much, but you know it has to be him, watching your every move, making sure you don’t spill his secret.

At the end of your shift, you bring the remaining plates to the kitchen, gather up another to-go container of scraps and pour the last of the night's caf into a to-go cup for Traipse and Chris. You bid farewell to your co-workers and meet up with your two corrie friends by the next alley. They’re leaning against the wall, waiting for you to show up, but with stern looks on their faces. They must be worried about you. However, their demeanor perks up when they see you coming.

Across from the diner and in the shadows, Fox watches you. He keeps his distance, but he decided to keep an eye on you after the events of the previous morning. The words from Thorn rotate in his mind about getting caught and they churn in his stomach, because knows what will happen if the GAR finds out he’s a vampire, and he knows he put the rest of the commanders at risk. Which he mentally kicks himself for; the stubborn stupidity and lack of rational thinking.

Thus, he watches you, making sure you keep your mouth shut. He really doesn’t want to have to shut it for you, so he’s saving that drastic option for last. The keeping of his secret is vital to his entire batch’s survival. Only a few people outside of the commander batch know what happened during that unfortunate training mission, and that’s how he wants to keep it. It’s not safe for any of them. They’re not monsters and they’re not animals, but they aren’t normal.

It was a routine training mission for the batch of commanders. A get in, complete the objective, and then get out type of mission. Their Mandalorian instructor was a proud and harsh man, but he knew how to train strong leaders. However, something went wrong when they stumbled upon an unknown creature in the bowels of the world. An otherworldly looking being that struck fear in all of them, even their instructor. Every man on that training mission left that world changed.

They left that world infected. Each one gained a heightened sense of smell, sharper ears, and an unusual taste for human blood. They could hear heartbeats as people passed by and smell fear on their men. The change was difficult, being acutely aware of others around them, and they didn’t drink blood often. It wasn’t needed for survival, so why risk it. Most of them didn’t like talking about it either. So, their fangs remained hidden and their attraction to blood was stifled.

Fox snaps back from his memories when his eye catches the blinking neon sign affixed to the diner’s transparisteel front which bars his brethren from entering. He scowls at the offending sign and writes you off just like he does everyone else. A worthless natborn that can’t see past their own biased ideals. He huffs, thinking that maybe it would be worth the trouble to just get rid of you after your shift, but his better judgment, that he was missing last night, tells him not to.

He continues to watch you throughout your shift, unamused as you bustle around waiting tables, refilling caf, and pocketing tips. He finds you rather boring, actually, and continues to weigh your existence in his mind as to whether he wants to keep you alive or not. As you exit the diner at the end of your shift, he straightens his back and stretches. He quickly furrows his brows at the smile plastered on your face and wonders what you could possibly be smiling about.

Fox becomes curious about your odd happiness, so he follows you, maintaining his distance and keeping to the shadows where he can. Luckily, that isn’t a difficult thing to do in the lower levels. When he sees you approaching two Corrie Guards standing by an alley, he stiffens, worrying that you might harm his brothers. He watches intently as you get closer, his muscles tensing as he rolls the notion of ousting himself. He takes a single step forward, then stops.

Laughter. He hears laughter. His brothers are laughing with a natborn. They’re laughing with you. Fox’s mouth falls open in shock, and he takes a step backwards, caught completely off guard by what he’s seeing. He watches, dumbstruck, as you hand them the to-go container of food and the to-go cup of caf. To think that a natborn could be kind to a clone was unfathomable for Fox, but here you are, giving them food, giving them caf, and making them laugh.

The look of pure joy and happiness on their faces melts something deep within Fox. He can’t quite place the feeling, but it’s warm and soft and inviting. His anger and fear starts to crumble as his features soften. Could he be wrong about you? Is there such a thing as a good natborn? His skepticism and apprehension are replaced with intrigue and curiosity, and he decides that he needs to know more about you. So, he watches you more, but now because he wants to.

You fidget with your fingers and shift your weight between your two feet. “Hey, can I ask you guys a question?”

“Sure,” Traipse says as he tosses a few potato wedges in his mouth.

You hesitate for a second, piecing together the words carefully so that you don’t say too much, but you need to know the answer. “Is there a ‘fox’ in the Coruscant Guard?”

“Is there a ‘fox’?” Chris repeats with a slight laugh. “Yeah, there’s a Fox, but he’s not in the Coruscant Guard.”

“Oh…” you knit your brows together in confusion. You swear that the colors on that clone’s armor belong to the Corrie Guard.

Traipse chuckles at your confusion and needles Chris. “What this di’kut is trying to say is that Fox is the Marshall Commander of the Coruscant Guard, so technically he’s not in it, he’s over it.”

Your mouth opens in shock. “Fox is a Commander?!”

“The Commander,” Chris corrects with a pointed finger.

Your brain continues to recalculate like a GPS that has lost its signal. You can’t believe that the corrie you ran into in that dark alley, the one that killed that man, the one that is a vampire, is also the Marshall Commander of the Coruscant Guard. You feel sick. You’re not sure what question to ask next. You don’t want them catching on and you don’t want to release too much information, so you go with something simple. “Do you like Commander Fox?”

“Of course!” Traipse exclaims. “He’s the best!”

“He visits his men when they’re in the GAR clinic,” Chris adds. “Even the shinies get a visit from him. He really cares about us. Kinda like you do.”

“Oh,” you trail off, not sure what to say.

Traipse and Chris continue to gloat about their amazing commander, which confuses you even more. The image they paint of Fox is nothing like the man you saw in the alley last night. There’s no way they’re the same man. It’s not possible. The man they’re speaking of is kind, brave, and smart, but the man you saw in the alley was terrifying, violent, and spiteful. The two images clash inside your mind as you struggle to decide if they really are the same man.

“Why do you want to know about our Commander?” Chris interrupts your thoughts.

You stiffen and come up with something quick. “Oh, no reason,” you dismiss. “I just heard the name is all.” You hope that explanation is convincing enough for them, and you let out a little sigh of relief when they shrug and change the subject.

Fox continues to watch you from the shadows as you interact with the two corries. He becomes nervous when you bring him up in the conversation, because if you’re as smart as he thinks you are, you’ll figure out his identity. With that information, you could easily go to the nearest general and get him arrested, court-martialed, or worse, decommissioned. He listens intently to his men’s praise, but his shoulders finally relax when they change the subject to something else.

After that encounter, Fox decides to watch you more, fully intrigued by the way you treat clones. He still has some doubts, and wonders if it’s only for show or if you really do care. However, night after night, he watches you clean tables, pack scraps together, and leave the diner. Like clock-work, you meet up with your two Corrie Guard friends to offer them a half-eaten meal, talk about your day, and listen as they regale you with harrowing stories of their nightly patrols.

Slowly, Fox finds himself wanting to see you more. Every night he leaves his office, whether his work is finished or not, to come and watch you at the diner. The way you dance around the tables in your apron, smile at patrons as you refill their mugs, and the sound of your laugh have become a part of his routine. He doesn’t want to miss a single second of you. He watches you with every intention to reveal himself, but he knows he can’t. Not after what you saw him do.

While Fox is back at headquarters, Thorn catches him lost in thought while sitting at his desk, mindlessly twirling his stylus around his fingers as his stack of data-pads grow. Thorn leans against the door jam and folds his arms. “You look busy.”

Fox continues to twirl his stylus while staring blankly at Thorn, unamused by his sarcastic tone. “Yeah, I am. So, why don’t you leave me to it.”

Thorn huffs. “You’ve always been a bad liar, vod.”

Fox wonders if Thorn is getting suspicious of him, and his question is answered quickly.

“You gonna tell me where you keep sneak’en off to at night?” Thorn asks.

Fox stops twirling his stylus and lowers his eyes to scan the data-pad on his desk. “It’s none of your business.”

“It’s my business if you’re gett’en us all in trouble,” Thorn retorts.

“It’s not like that,” Fox says without looking up from his data-pad.

Thorn approaches Fox’s desk and places both hands down flat onto the surface. “Then why don’t you tell me what it is like?”

Fox looks up from his data-pad and meets Thorn’s eyes with a scrunch of his nose. He emphasizes his words and says them slowly. “It’s none of your business.”

Fox and Thorn stare at each other with intensity. Thorn trying to read Fox’s intentions and Fox trying to ward off Thorn’s intrusion. As Thorn continues to search Fox’s face, he picks up on a faint scent emanating from hum. Thorn’s mouth slowly opens into a toothy grin as a singular thought pops into his mind. Thorn laughs and shakes his head, straightening himself up and moving away from the desk. He drags a hand across his chin. “You’re in love, aren’t you?”

Fox’s body tenses at Thorn’s acute awareness. “You have no idea what you’re talking about,” he dismisses, but his body betrays him. Heat slowly rises up his face and to the tips of his ears as his heartbeat quickens, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Thorn.

“You are!” Thorn exclaims with a knowing smile.

“I am not!” Fox retorts loudly, but then hushes himself to make sure no one hears. “I am not.”

“Don’t worry, vod, your secret is safe with me,” Thorn says playfully. “This is kinda unexpected though… I thought you hated natborns?”

Fox groans and leans back in his chair, running his hands down his face. “I do.”

Thorn throws him a devilish grin. “I guess not all of them.”

Fox leans forward and points his stylus at Thorn. “Get out.”

Thorn laughs and turns to leave Fox’s office, but not before giving him one more parting piece of brotherly advice. “Let me know if you need any date-night ideas.”

“Out!” Fox yells as he throws his stylus at his brother.

Once Thorn is out of sight, Fox plants his face onto his desk and groans. He never understood how Thorn could be so perceptive all of the time. He reads him like a book, but then again, he’s never been good at hiding his body’s reactions. Fox picks his head up from the desk and places it in his hands, fingers sliding through his mess of curls. He hates to admit it, but Thorn is right. He is in love, but he refuses to admit it because you’re a natborn. It goes against everything he knows.

It’s too late though, Fox can’t help himself from falling in love with you. He doesn’t get many glimpses of happiness in his life, but when he sees you. Maker, when he sees you smile, and your eyes sparkle, and you laugh, it’s enough happiness for him. He wants you to bring him table scraps and cold caf, to tell him about your day, and laugh with him. He wants to escort you home, to make sure you’re safe, and to be the reason that you smile, but he doesn’t know how.

Fox once again finds himself sitting in the shadows just outside of the diner and staring into the transparisteel window. He’s completely transfixed on you as you go about your shift. Something about your warm smile has captured his cold and calloused heart, and tonight is no different. He feels the urge again, the urge to confront you, to make himself known so he can get to know you. He kicks himself over and over for making you scared of him, but he wants to make it right.

He decides to approach you tonight, and steels himself to prepare, but as you open the door of the diner to leave, Fox catches a whiff of something intoxicatingly sweet. His heart skips a beat, his breath quickens, and his fangs become aroused at the scent. Even with his bucket on, it’s not enough to block out the decadent aroma. He pulls his bucket off and places a hand over his mouth and nose to try and stifle it, but it’s no use, the scent wafts around as you walk.

Through his growing arousal, Fox searches your body, looking for the source, and then he sees it. A bandage on your arm covering a cut. He tries to block the lustful thoughts out of his mind and remain focused, but Maker does he want a taste of you. His fangs throb out of need. The fragrance of your blood is like nothing he’s ever smelled before. Male blood is bitter and female blood is sweet, but your blood is overwhelmingly sweet. Sweeter than anything the universe could ever provide him.

Although he had plans to finally confront you tonight, he decides he needs to leave. The urge to drink your blood is too strong. If he made his move now, it would only frighten you, and that’s not what he wants to do. He doesn’t want you to be scared of him anymore. He doesn’t want you to look at him in fear like you did the night you met. He wants to make his intentions clear to you so there’s no mistake. He’ll show you that like your two corrie friends, he is also worthy of your affection.

It’s been three weeks since your terrifying encounter with Commander Fox, and you’ve finally put him and the ordeal out of your mind. You did what he asked and kept his secret, so there was no reason for him to come for you. However, you never quite lost the feeling of being watched, but you decided that it was just the paranoia getting the better of you. Besides, with Traipse and Chris walking you home every morning, you always felt safe.

Tonight is no different. You finish up your shift at the diner like usual, scrape together the best looking leftovers, and pour a to-go cup of the remaining stale caf. You clock out, say goodbye to your co-workers, and meet up with your corrie friends at the next alley over to give them their dinner. The look of excitement on their faces never fails to make you smile. It’s sad that something so simple, like table scraps and old caf, could make their night something special.

You chat with them about your day at work, and all the latest gossip from your co-workers, while they devour the diner food. A few well-timed jokes and laughs are exchanged, and when they’ve finished eating, they walk you home like they do every night since the scary incident. On the way, they fill you in on all of the juicy details of the Coruscant underworld. Some of it is so ridiculous you wonder if it can possibly be true, but you laugh and enjoy their musings.

Once you arrive at your apartment, you bid your friends farewell and swipe your keycard to enter your home. The inside of your apartment is dark, and only illuminated by a couple strings of battery powered fairy lights that are much more cost-effective on your energy bill than keeping your lights on. You lock the door behind you, toss your bag on the couch, and check all of the windows, before pulling the room darkening curtains closed as the sun threatens to rise.

You then enter the kitchen and wash the day of work off of your hands, then do a couple of the dishes that you’ve neglected for the past week. You place them neatly in the drying rack, then dry your hands as you mull over what you want to eat for dinner. You don’t feel like cooking, so leftovers are your only option. You pull open the conservator door and stare at your dismal choices. Finally, you pull out a small container of something you know isn’t bad and reheat it.

Sitting at your kitchen table, you mindlessly scroll through your data-pad and look at the current events while you munch on your dinner. You sigh as you read reports of the increased crime rate, violent anti-clone protests, and higher taxes for the lower levels. You toss your data-pad down, and grumble about there never being anything happy in the news to look at. When you finish dinner, you place your used dish in the sink, stretch, then head to your bedroom.

As you enter your bedroom, you flip the switch on the side wall to turn the lights on and nearly jump out of your skin as your soul almost leaves your body. There’s a clone lying on your bed. Of all the things you thought you’d come home to, maybe a stray tooka or something, you definitely never in your wildest imagination thought you’d find a whole clone in your apartment. You freeze and throw a hand over your mouth to stifle any noise but the clone doesn’t stir.

After the initial shock wears off, you notice that the clone’s armor looks awfully familiar to you. Your eyes widen with realization. It’s Fox. The Marshall Commander of the Coruscant Guard, a vampire, is on your bed. He’s lying on his stomach, armor still adorning his body, bucket perched on the nightstand, his face buried in one of your pillows, with both arms wrapped around it. Every single human emotion runs through your body, and you’re not sure which one to pick.

“Fox!” you yell. “What are you doing in my bed?”

Fox doesn’t move, but mumbles into the pillow. “Sleeping.”

“Why are you sleeping in my bed?” you demand.

Fox nuzzles the pillow gently. “It’s comfy.”

Your mouth falls open at his answer, but you really aren’t sure what you were expecting. “How did you even get in here?”

“The door,” he murmurs sleepily.

“I– You–” you're at a loss for words. You’re stunned. You rush over to him and grab his left leg to try and pull him off your bed, but he’s too heavy and you can’t get him to budge. You step back and groan in frustration that he’s not moving. Suddenly, something clicks in your brain and you become very afraid. “You’re…” you back away from the bed. “You’re not going to kill me are you? I kept your secret! I promise!”

Fox sighs at the fear he hears in your voice, and he mentally kicks himself for being the cause of it. He thought that confronting you in a safe place, such as your home, in a very calm and non-threatening way would make this easier on you. Clearly, he was wrong. Perhaps he should have asked for Thorn’s help after all. In an attempt to de-escalate the situation Fox remains still and speaks calmly. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

His soft spoken words almost sound sincere, but you can still see his bloody face in your memories and hear those cynical words spoken to you. You feel conflicted about the situation. He hasn’t bothered you since that night and he hasn’t moved an inch since you got home. If he really wanted to kill you, wouldn’t he have done so already? It would be way too easy. Your physical prowess is nothing compared to a clone, let alone a commander. He could easily kill you.

“I promise,” he adds when you remain quiet.

You can hear a level of vulnerability in his words that strangely sets your heart at ease. Maybe the Fox that your corrie friends spoke of is the real Fox, and the Fox that you met in the alley isn’t. You might be rationalizing away his behavior that night, but everyone has a breaking point. Ultimately, you decide to give him the benefit of the doubt. You're still not okay with him breaking into your apartment or sleeping on your bed, but maybe he just needs a place to crash.

“Can you at least take your armor off?” you sigh. “You’re getting my duvet dirty.”

Fox doesn’t move a muscle.

“Whatever,” you let out another sigh, too exhausted to argue. “I’m going to take a shower, and I’m locking the door. So don’t try anything funny.”

Fox remains silent and unmoving.

You narrow your eyes, still wary of the commander. You know who he is. You know what he is. And you know what he’s capable of. As a precautionary measure, you grab your mace from your purse on the couch, gather a change of clothes, and lock yourself in the refresher. You should feel scared, more scared than you are, but something about him feels disarming and almost safe. It’s a stark contrast to what you saw the night you met, but maybe that’s his plan.

You finish your shower and exit the refresher, feeling clean and ready for bed. When you walk back into your bedroom, you startle for a moment. Fox is still lying on his stomach on your bed, but his armor is stacked neatly next to your dresser, leaving him clothed only in his black bodysuit. You look at him for a moment, cocking your head to the side, and wonder why he waited to take his armor off. Perhaps he didn’t want to scare you by making any sudden movements.

Whatever the reason, his intentions of not harming you are made clearer every second. He’s leaving his entire body vulnerable to you. You could easily grab one of the steak knives from the kitchen and stab him in the back with it, but you won’t. He hasn’t given you a reason to, and you hope he doesn’t. You haven’t been known as the smartest person in the world, and you trust way too easily, but you honestly don’t feel any malicious intent from him as he lies in your bed.

You cautiously come around to the empty side of the bed and look at his face nestled in your pillow. His dark curly hair lines the sides of his face, coming to rest just above his closed eyes, his lips are slightly parted as he breathes slowly. You have to admit, he looks peaceful, like this is the first bed he’s ever slept on in his whole life, and your heart softens a bit for him. He’s still a vampire, you remind yourself, but he doesn’t look scary, at least not like this.

Since Fox is sleeping on top of your duvet, instead of in it, you grab a blanket from the chair on the other side of the room and carefully drape it over him. He remains still and doesn’t say a word. You still wonder why you’re doing any of this, but something deep inside tells you that he won’t hurt you. You grab another blanket for yourself and stand at the edge of the bed. He’s still a little too close for comfort, and for caution's sake, you decide to sleep with your mace in your hand.

“Can you scoot over, please?” you ask.

Without opening his eyes, Fox wiggles himself to the edge of the bed, taking the pillow with him. You stifle a snort at how funny he looks, but the smile that crosses your face cannot be hidden. He’s like a child. Acting just like the rest of the clones when they encounter such small creature comforts. You take a lot of things for granted as a human, as a natborn, but you try your best to pay it forward to the clones when you can, even if that means letting one sleep in your bed.

You crawl onto the empty side of the bed and snuggle under the blanket you pulled off of the chair. You rest your head on your pillow and look over at Fox. His eyes are still closed and he seems to be asleep. Your mind on the other hand is racing with so many questions that you’re having trouble sleeping. It keeps going back to the night you met, and makes you wonder why he’s so different today than he was then. You fidget with your fingers, then decide to finally ask.

“Fox?” you whisper.

“Hmm?” he hums.

You hesitate for a moment. “Can I ask you something?”

“Mhm,” he mumbles against the pillow.

“What would happen if they found out?” you ask.

Without opening his eyes he answers. “I’d be decommissioned.”

You chuckle. “Is that some type of early retirement?”

Fox opens his eyes slowly and looks at you. “I wish,” he sighs. “I’m defective. Defective clones are either reconditioned or decommissioned.”

You stare into his deep brown eyes. They look sad. “What’s the difference?”

“Reconditioning makes you a blank slate,” he explains. “Like a memory wipe. Then you’re put back in the general clone population to start over from scratch.”

“That’s… terrible,” you say. You don’t know too much about a clone’s life other than what your clone friends have told you, but to think that their lives can be ripped from them in an instant is sickening.

“That’s life,” Fox laments.

You pause before asking your next question, unsure if you really want to know the answer. “What about decommissioning?”

Fox rolls onto his back and leans his arm over his forehead, pushing his curls up and out of his face. He doesn’t want to tell you the truth, but if he ever wants you to understand the reason he needs you to keep his secret, then he has to tell you. “It’s just a fancy term for euthanasia.”

You sit up and your mouth gapes open in shock. “Euthanasia? Like what they do with animals?”

“Yeah,” he whispers.

“But you're not animals,” you retort.

“You’re right,” he says. “But we’re not people either. We’re products. Goods bought and sold. Some can be fixed, others need to be disposed of.”

You stifle back tears. “I don’t think of you as products.”

“I know,” Fox smiles sadly, remembering the way you treat your Corrie Guard friends. “But a memory wipe can’t fix what I am, so the only option is disposal. It used to be very common back when I was manufactured. I almost lost one of my batch brothers because he had blonde hair.” Fox chuckles at the memory.

“I’m so sorry,” you offer, unsure of what words of comfort you can even give him. The way he talks about himself, as a product makes you sick to your stomach. The reality of the clones hits you like never before and your resolve to help the clones grows even stronger. “I’ll keep your secret, I promise. I won’t let them decommission you. Any of you.”

Fox smiles at your kind words, even if they are naive. He knows you can’t save all of them, but he also knows you will try. He finds your affection for him and his brothers endearing, and it makes his heart flutter with warmth and happiness. He knows he is safe with you, that he can be vulnerable with you, and that you won’t cast him aside like so many other natborns have. You’re different, so much different than anyone else, and he never wants to lose that.

“Go to sleep, mesh’la,” Fox says. “You can save all of the clones tomorrow.” Without another word, Fox flops himself back onto his stomach and buries his face into the pillow, slowly drifting off to sleep.

You lie awake for a little while longer as the sun peeks through the top of your room darkening curtains, and think about his words, about the fate of the clones, and about his fate as a vampire. You’re not even sure how he became a vampire, or if there are more vampires amongst the clones. All you know is that this clone, this commander, Fox, is sleeping peacefully in your bed, and dreaming of a life that is more than what he was created for.

The next evening, you wake up as usual to your alarm going off, telling you to get up for another night at work. You sit up and stretch towards the ceiling, then rub the sleep from your eyes. You look over and see Fox still sleeping in the same position he started in. You wonder if sleeping on his stomach is out of habit, or if he really enjoys it. To you, it looks uncomfortable, but you let the thought go. You sneak out of bed, trying not to wake him, and start your morning routine.

Since it’s the two of you this evening, you decide to make breakfast for once, instead of just tossing whatever you find in your mouth and flying out the door. You start the caf machine and pull two mugs out from the top of your cupboard. It’s been a long time since you’ve had a guest for breakfast, so you’re glad you kept the extra mugs. As the caf percolates in the machine, you set your small kitchen table for two, with plates, forks, napkins, and cups.

You pull four eggs from the basket, but you pause when you realize that you’re not sure how he likes his eggs. To be honest, you’re not sure if he’s ever eaten an egg. You decide to play it safe by making them all scrambled. Everyone loves scrambled eggs. Then you toss several strips of bacon in a different frying pan. As you work on cooking the eggs and bacon, you pop a few slices of bread in the toaster and grab the orange juice from the conservator.

When you close the door, you’re startled to see Fox standing there. His face is still covered in sleep and his curls are all flattened on one side. He has one hand under the top half of his blacks, scratching at his stomach, and he releases a small yawn. The smell of food must have roused him from his sleep. You give him a small smile and pull out one of the table chairs for him to sit. He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes light up when you place a mug of hot caf in front of him.

He looks between you and the caf several times, almost asking for your permission to drink it. You chuckle and nod your head for him to take it. He grabs the sides of the mug, cradling it like it’s the most precious gift he’s ever received. He brings it to his lips, inhaling the beautiful aroma before giving it a small taste. The hot liquid bites his tongue, but it doesn’t bother him, not when the taste of the caf is this divine. He lets out a languid sigh and practically melts into the mug.

You smile grows bigger at his childlike innocence and you place a plate of steaming food in front of him. His face is still in his mug, but when he pulls it away and sees the food, his eyes blow wide open. Once again he’s shocked that you’re providing him with such delicacies to enjoy. He starts to feel guilty that he gets to eat like a king while his brothers are starving on rations, but he doesn’t want to be rude, so he eats what you give him and enjoys it.

Whether it was your home cooked meals or your comfortable bed, your new routine now contains Fox. Every morning, when you come home from work, you find Fox lying in your bed, exhausted from his night. You let him shower now, and even bought him his own towel, soap, and shampoo to use. Sometimes he spends a while in the shower, but you don’t bug him about it. You can only imagine how good it feels for him, after never having a proper shower in his life.

You also make dinner for the two of you as well. You have to admit, ever since Fox came into your life, your eating habits have gotten better. After dinner and dishes, you both curl up into your bed and sleep. When you first explained to him that the duvet was for sleeping under and not on, Fox got very excited. The weight of the duvet made him sleep better than he’s ever slept before. Then, in the evening when you get up, you make caf and breakfast, and you both leave for work.

It’s been several months now, and you’re completely used to cohabitating with Fox. You now expect him to be there whenever you come home. You find it fun to have a roommate. You have someone to talk to and watch sappy holo-dramas with. There’s nothing you enjoy more than curling up on the couch and eating popcorn together. He doesn’t bring in any income, but you don’t mind. The joy on his face when he drinks his first mug of caf in the evening is payment enough.

This early morning is no different than any other. You come home from work and find Fox lying in your bed, and you jostle him awake so you can make dinner together. Once you taught Fox how to cook, he became invaluable for meal prep and dinner time. Making dinner with Fox is now one of your favorite things to do. You both find it fun and a great bonding time. You talk about your days, smile, and laugh about dumb things each other says. You’ve never been happier in your whole life.

This morning, you’re making stew for dinner. It’s a new recipe and you’re really looking forward to sharing it with Fox. The days on Coruscant have grown cold and blustery, so it’s the perfect time of the cycle to be making warm food for the soul. You both set to work, peeling and chopping vegetables to throw in the pot. You're chatting about your day, when in a split second, your knife slips and you cut your finger. You wince at the pain and drop your knife on the cutting board.

Fox immediately smells your blood, that sweet sweet blood of yours that he almost forgot about. His heart skips a beat and his fangs twitch to life in his mouth. He fights it, the urge to take you right here in the kitchen and drink that precious blood of yours, and he staggers backwards until his back is resting against the conservator, covering his nose from your alluring scent. You sigh at your clumsiness and walk over to the sink to rinse your finger off, but Fox catches your arm and grips it tightly.

You snap your neck to look over at him and you see his blown pupils threatening to overtake his dark brown irises as his fangs begin to grow in his mouth. His grip on your arm is tight and for the first time in a long time, you feel fear when you look at Fox. Your life together has been so normal, you almost forgot he’s a vampire, and here you are bleeding in front of him. Your breath quickens, and your arm trembles. When Fox smells your fear, he releases your arm and steps away from you.

“I… I’m sorry,” he apologizes through a shaky breath. “It just smells so good. I couldn’t help myself.”

You rub your arm where he gripped you and knit your brows with worry. You can tell he’s struggling against the urge, and you feel bad for being afraid of him when his reaction seems automatic and not even close to malicious. He’s desperately trying to respect your boundaries, fighting the arousal in him as his fangs throb, desperate to release the building pressure. You have to get rid of it, the blood that’s causing him so much pain, so you turn the water faucet on.

“Please!” Fox pleads between pants. He reaches with his arm again, but stops himself as he poorly tries to contain his need. “Don’t waste it.”

“Do… Do you want it?” You ask hesitantly. The words feel foreign as they cross your lips.

Fox clenches his teeth and nods.

You fidget nervously. "Will I become a vampire if you drink my blood?"

Fox chuckles as he strains through his desire. "Doesn't work… Like that.”

“Fox, I’m scared,” you admit.

“Won’t… Hurt you,” Fox says through gritted teeth. “Promise.”

You hesitate for a moment, then tentatively stretch out your finger. He looks at your blood, lust overtakes his eyes, the pupils now blown wide. He wants it. He craves it. The sweetest smelling blood. He parts his lips and you can see his fangs protruding past the rest of his teeth. A fresh wave of fear hits you and you recoil your finger. Fox can smell your fear, so he takes your wounded hand gently in his and caresses the side of his face with the back of it, trying to calm you down.

He slowly slides your hand down his cheek and to his lips and darts out his tongue, flicking it across your bloody finger. He closes his eyes and he releases a sultry moan at the taste. Your blood is intoxicating and he wants more. He wraps his lips around your finger, his hot tongue swirling around it, lapping up every last drop that has spilled from it. You shudder when he starts sucking on it, pulling fresh blood from the open wound, the sensation odd and unfamiliar.

As much as Fox wants more, your finger won’t give it. The cut begins to clot without further penetration and the sweet taste slowly dissipates. He reluctantly releases your finger, a soft whine escaping from his throat at the loss of your blood. You take your finger back and inspect it, the wound already scabbing over and healing. You look at him in shock, and he stares back at you, panting as he comes down from his high. His fangs retract and his brown irises return.

“How did you do that?” you ask.

Fox sits down at the kitchen table and exhales deeply as his senses come back to him. “The secretion of my fangs.”

You raise an eyebrow.

“How much do you know about vampires?” he asks.

“Just what I’ve read in books,” you answer as you sit down at the table across from him.

“Well, all those books are wrong,” Fox explains. “First, I can’t turn you into a vampire. Second, we’re not immortal. Third, my fangs are only present when they’re aroused. And fourth, my fangs secrete both dopamine and serotonin.”

You blink at him a couple of times as you take in all the new information. You open your mouth to ask another question, but he answers that one too.

“And no, I don't turn into a bat at night or become dust in the sunlight,” he adds with a small laugh.

“So, then you don’t need blood to survive?” you ask.

Fox shakes his head. “Nope. It’s more like a craving.”

“What about the man?” As soon as the words are released, you instantly regret the question. You didn’t mean to bring that night up, but it fell out of your mouth too quickly.

Fox pauses at the question, knowing it was going to be asked sooner or later. “I drink blood for two reasons,” Fox begins and puts up two fingers. “For revenge and for pleasure.” Fox pauses again and looks to the side. “That man… He hurt one of my men. I was angry and bitter, and out for revenge.”

“Oh, I see...” You think about his words for a moment, wondering if you should ask more about that night or if you should just change the subject and move on. It’s already a sore spot between you two, but Fox has apologized about it multiple times since you’ve been living together. You ultimately decide on the latter of the options. “Does it taste good?”

Fox chuckles at the question. “Depends. Male blood is more bitter and female blood is more sweet, but those scales can tip depending on a lot of things.”

“What does my blood taste like?” You ask.

Fox traces absentminded shapes on the table with his finger and smiles as he remembers your taste. “Sweet, very sweet.”

You fidget with your wounded finger before asking your next question. “Was it… pleasurable?”

Fox purses his lips and thinks for a moment, trying to form his words carefully so as to not cause you an alarm. “Yeah, it was pleasurable, but it’s more pleasurable when I use my fangs.”

You wonder what the taste of your blood has to do with his fangs. “Why?”

“The secretions,” he says as he taps the side of his lip. “If my fangs are inside you, then you get it too. It’s supposed to keep the prey from struggling too much, but it also feels really good.” Fox rubs the back of his neck in embarrassment. He’s never had to explain this to anyone before, especially to someone he cares about. “It can make for an awkward revenge kill, but also an erotic pleasurable drink.”

A warm heat creeps across your face. You remember the way he looked when he was drinking the small amount of blood you gave him and he was clearly having a good time sucking on your little finger. Perhaps getting your blood drunk by a vampire is a pleasurable experience. Your mind begins to wander and you think about Fox sinking his fangs into the side of your neck and it sends sparks of excitement through your body. You quickly lose yourself in your daydream.

“Mesh’la,” Fox says, trying to pull you from your thoughts.

You blink back to reality. “Yeah?”

“Are you okay?” Fox asks, tilting his head to the side.

“Oh, yeah,” you let out a nervous laugh. “I’m fine. Just a lot of information.”

Fox gets up from his chair and places a small kiss on the top of your head. “I’ll finish dinner tonight. Why don’t you go shower. It'll be done by the time you're out.”

You lean your head back against his stomach, close your eyes, and sigh. “Okay.”

Fox gives you another chaste kiss and helps you to your feet. A shower does sound really nice right about now. It’ll give you some time to clear your head and think about everything that has happened. You leave Fox to dinner and head to the refresher to take a shower. You run the water for a minute before getting in, then step under the stream of hot water. The water flows across the curves of your body as the gentle massage of the droplets soothes your muscles.

You wash your hair and give it a good conditioning, then wash your body. You lather up your washcloth and run it across your arms, legs, stomach, and down the side of your neck. You stop and do it again, only slower, rubbing the soft cloth against the thin sensitive skin. You start to think about Fox, about his fangs inside you, and what it would feel like. You close your eyes and imagine it, an erotic encounter with someone you trust and love that doesn’t involve sex.

You’ve had the conversation with Fox before, about sex. You’ve been living together for a while now, and what started as a mutual living arrangement turned into a relationship before you could blink your eyes. He shared his feelings with you. How much he loves you, cares for you, and what you mean to him. The feelings are mutual. However, you always feel bad about denying him such an intimate encounter, but you aren’t ready, and you’re not sure when you will be.

Fox never pushes the issue, and he never brings it up. He only ever discusses it if you are the one who initiates the conversation. You love that about Fox. He respects every boundary you give him. Even when he was overcome with lust at the scent of your blood, he still let you make the choice. He was in pain, and he chose you over himself. He always chooses you, over and over again. This time though, you want to choose him. You want to give him what he craves.

Once out of the shower, you dry yourself off with your towel and hang it next to Fox’s. You quickly towel dry your hair, moisturize your body, throw on your pajamas, and leave the warmth of the refresher. The transition to your chilly apartment isn’t bad, because Fox grabs you from behind and pulls you against his warm chest. You squeal and then smile when he wraps his arms around your stomach. He buries his nose in your freshly washed hair and lets out a contented sigh.

“You smell good,” Fox mumbles against your scalp.

You giggle. “Really? All I smell is that stew you’re making.”

Fox chuckles. “It does smell good, doesn’t it?”

You escape his embrace and spin around on your heels. “I think it’s dinner time.”

“I think you’re right,” Fox agrees and you both head to the kitchen.

The two of you sit at the kitchen table and enjoy your dinner together. Regardless of your small chopping mishap earlier, the stew came out wonderful. Fox did an amazing job and you can see him beam with pride as you groan from the warm earthy goodness. He also made a small batch of biscuits, which surprised you. You forgot you had those in the conservator, so you're happy they finally got put to good use. After dinner, you clean up the kitchen and Fox takes his shower.

It’s just about bedtime as you see the sun peeking through your curtains. You’re already in your pajamas, so you crawl into bed. The cool sheets cause you to shiver slightly as you wait for the bed to get warmer. Fox returns from his shower, his curls still a little damp from toweling them. He removes his t-shirt and tosses it onto the chair, leaving him in only his gray sweatpants, both of which you bought him a couple months ago, then settles in on the other side of the bed.

With Fox under the duvet, you know the bed will get warm soon, but you’re still cold, so you scoot over to him to leech off of his warmth. His body radiates heat, which is why he can sleep without a shirt and not freeze to death, unlike you, who needs ten different layers, plus extra blankets to keep warm. Without opening his eyes, Fox lifts up his arm to give you access, and you eagerly take the invitation and snuggle closer to him, instantly feeling warmer.

You close your eyes and try to fall asleep, but your thoughts from earlier are nagging at the back of your mind. You start thinking about Fox drinking your blood again, and how pleasurable it might be for you. The thoughts are only compounded by being so close to him, the warmth emanating from his body, the musky scent of his skin and hair, and the feeling of his toned back muscles beneath your fingers. It’s almost too much to bear, and once again your curiosity is getting the better of you.

“Fox?” you whisper into his shoulder.

“Hmm?” he mumbles into his pillow.

“Do you want to drink my blood?” you ask, a twinge of nervousness escaping through your question.

Fox opens his eyes as a jolt of lightning goes straight from his stomach and into his fangs. The thought of drinking your blood arouses them, and they quickly become engorged and primed for penetration. He curses to himself at just how fast they were ready when you asked. Almost, embarrassingly fast. The familiar pressure begins to build and Fox shifts his body in discomfort. He doesn’t know if you’re just curious or if this is an invitation, but he prepares himself for either.

“Yeah,” Fox admits as he rotates from his stomach to his side so he can see you better. “But not unless you want me to.”

“What if I do want you to?” you ask.

Fox stifles a groan as his fangs throb in his mouth, desperate to pierce your beautiful skin. “Are you sure?” he asks.

You hesitate for a second. “Will it hurt?”

Fox picks his head up and props it up on the palm of his hand, elbow bent and leaning on the pillow. He looks into your eyes, glides his hand from your covered waist to your exposed neck, and brushes his knuckles against the soft flesh. The skin there is so supple and inviting. His fangs throb harder as he envisions himself drinking your sugary sweet blood. Fox leans closer, as he continues to caress the side of your neck, and rests his forehead against yours to reassure you.

“You’ll feel a sharp pain as they sink in,” he explains with a gentle whisper, “and they’ll throb under your skin, but the pleasure will take over soon after.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” you say softly.

Fox smiles, then continues. “It’ll drip a little when I pull them out, but I’ll clean it up. You might be drowsy afterwards and a bit cold. It might ache for a day, since it's your first time, and form a small bruise.”

Your heartbeat quickens at all the information and Fox can smell your growing fears.

Fox cups the sides of your face in both of his hands and looks deeply into your sparkling eyes. “You don’t have to be afraid, cyare,” he soothes. “I won't hurt you.”

You nod your head in acknowledgment.

“Tell me that you want it, cyare,” he whispers, his hands moving from your face to your shoulders.

“I want it Fox,” you answer.

“How do you want it?” he asks, nuzzling the side of your cheek with his own. “Do you want to lay down or sit on my lap? Whatever is more comfortable for you.”

You think for a moment, and if you’re going to be drowsy, then you’ll want to be laying down, so you pull back from his touch and lie back against your pillow. “Just like this.”

Fox leans over to give your forehead a small kiss, then rips the duvet off the both of you. A slight shiver runs down your body at the loss of your warm covers, but it’s soon replaced with a new warmth. Fox straddles his legs overtop yours, hovering over your prone body as his hands plant themselves at the sides of your head. Your anticipation grows as he stares down at you with lustful eyes, and a knot forms in your stomach as you wonder what his fangs will feel like as they penetrate your soft skin.

Fox can hear your heart racing and he gently places his left hand on your chest. "Relax for me, mesh’la. Your heart is beating too fast. I don't want this to hurt."

You nod your head and work to get your breathing under control to slow your heart rate. You take deep, slow breaths as Fox guides your breathing to be in sync with his. His brown irises have been replaced by blown pupils and his fangs protrude from their hiding spot, dripping with their pleasure inducing secretions. His dark curls drape around his face, accentuating his hooded eyes and parted lips. You stare into his eyes, letting your breath match his, as you finally calm down.

"Good girl," Fox praises.

He tilts his head to the right and ghosts his lips across your supple neck as he searches for the perfect spot to penetrate your flesh. It has to be just right. Too far to either side, and he might hurt you. He takes him time, even as you whimper impatiently beneath him, because he needs this to be perfect. You’re putting all of your trust in him, that he won’t hurt you, and he refuses to break that trust. He continues to nose around your neck, before he finds his mark.

"Right there," Fox breathes against your neck, causing the little hairs to stand on end. “That’s where you’ll feel me.” He nuzzles the side of your face for reassurance. "Are you ready, mesh’la?” he whispers against your skin. “To feel ecstasy?”

You release an involuntary moan at the sultry words. "Please, Fox. I want you to– Ah!"

Your words turn into a whimper when you feel a sharp pain in the side of your neck. You instinctively raise your left hand to touch the pained area, but it instead finds purchase in Fox’s hair. You clench your fist around his curls, your other hand digging into his back, as you wince at the stinging sensation. It’s just as he described, but as soon as the pain came, it went. Now all you feel is the throbbing of his engorged fangs under your skin as he drinks your blood.

Fox pulls away from your neck to catch his breath. His head rises to meet your wanton gaze and you can see your blood on his fangs and lips as he pants above you. Your own breath becomes rapid as the endorphins released from his fangs invade your system, reaching every corner of your body, causing you to elicit the most salacious moan. The feeling is euphoric and your eyes roll back in your head. He’s not even touching you, and your body feels like it’s on fire.

"How do I taste?" you ask between labored breaths.

"Intoxicating," Fox moans. "So sweet. So perfect."

Fox reinserts his fangs into your delicate skin, desperately needing to taste more of you as he becomes drunk on your sugary blood. It’s delectable, addicting, and too good to part with. A pure delicacy that he wants to drown in. His own pleasure is only magnified as you fall apart beneath him, moaning his name in the most obscene ways while taking chunks of flesh out his back. If anyone were to overhear you right now, they’d never once think that you’re being devoured by a vampire.

The flood of endorphins overpower your body. You dig your nails further into Fox’s back as you curl your toes into the sheets, trying not to scream from the tension building and releasing in your body. You understand now, what he meant earlier when he said it would be pleasurable, and you wholly underestimated just how pleasurable it would be. You’ve never felt like this before, like you're floating in a cloud of weightlessness, and you never want it to end.

Fox knows he has to stop before he drinks you dry. The urge to stay here forever, tasting you and lapping up every drop of blood you have to offer, is overwhelming. He wants to indulge in your sweet nectar and get drunk on your blood for hours, but he can't. He can feel your skin growing chilled as your blood recedes your vital organs. He’s out of time and he needs to let you go. It won’t be forever though. He has a feeling that he’ll get to drink your blood again.

With a soft whine, he releases you, panting heavily from the long drink. He looks at the two holes in the side of your neck, little pools of blood forming at the surface. He licks the droplets until they begin to clot and close, and kisses the spot for good measure before picking his head up to look at you. He licks the remaining blood off his lips and smiles down at your disheveled state. Your cheeks are flushed, eyes half open, and mouth parted. It must have been a wonderful ride.

“Fox,” you moan as your body continues to ride out the last of the endorphins.

“Cyare,” Fox purrs as he nuzzles the side of your cheek.

You look up at him with hooded eyes. “How was it?”

Fox chuckles. “I should be asking you that.”

“It was really really good,” you groan.

Fox smirks. “I’m glad.”

You groan at your body’s response. With Fox’s fangs gone, the euphoric feeling in your body slowly begins to dissipate and your senses return to you, as well as the side effects. You roll your head to the side and close your eyes. “I’m so tired.”

Fox carefully gets off of you, stretches out beside you, and strokes your hair. “That’s normal.”

“I’m cold, too,” you add with an involuntary shiver as you try to curl into a ball.

Fox frowns and pulls his fingers away. He moves toward the edge of the bed and grabs the duvet that he flung off earlier. He rolls you over so you’re facing him and gently presses you against his chest. He then wraps the duvet snuggly around you both, making sure that you are completely covered, with just enough of an opening so you can breathe. He runs his hands up and down you back as you bury your face into his neck and cling to him for warmth. “Better?”

“Mhm,” you mumble against his skin.

Fox places a soft kiss on your forehead. “Rest now.”

“Fox?” you whisper.

“Yes, mesh’la?” Fox answers.

You look into his eyes and smile. “You caught me.”

Fox chuckles and holds you tighter. “So I did.”

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bluerosefox · 4 months

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[2023 Prompt List 1][Here] [2023 Prompt List 2][Next] [2023 Prompt List 3][Next]

|Why Ra’s Would Summon the Ghost King (Also Twins AU) [Part 1] |Danyal, Danny, Phantom [Part 2] |WIP [Part 3] |Bio!Dad Jason and Bio!Mom Jazz (With Oc!Kid or Son!Danny) |Ghost Gotham (With Bonus Ghosts Martha and Thomas) |Danny Says Clone Rights |Robin’s Haunted Halloween (Feat. Ghost King Danny and Ghostly grandparents Martha and Thomas) |Library Cryptid Danny |Twins to Trio? (Dani mistakes Damian as Danny, and Damian learns his twin might not be dead) |Twins AU BUT WITH ANGST! |Mom!Dani (Square up Superman) |Free Flying Graysons (Feat. Ghostly John and Mary Grayson) |Comes in Twos (Twins! Jason and Danny die on the same day) |Foreboding Words of Warnings (Feat. Competent Ghost King Danny) |Across My Memories (Feat. Ghost King Danny, Ghost!Prince Jason) |Consorthood Via Combat (Feat. Ghost King Danny, and Danny dating any Bat of your choosing) |Wrong Number Au (Danny sends a rant text to Tucker... Only its not Tucker) |Todd and Phantom, Mostly Ghostly Shenanigans (Danny and Jason try to get out of the GZ together and bond) |Ellie “I WILL bite you” and Danny “He’s just a baby” Fenton (Deaged Danny and caretaker (and tiny bit feral) Dani (Ellie) watch out Gotham, she’ll bite.) |Double Troubles (another Damian and Danny twin au but they wanna see how long their families notice they switch places) |Everything, including the bride. WAIT, BRIDE?! (Dead Tired pairing, Tim now regrets being a smart cookie as a kid and solving a magical puzzle box while Danny regrets beating Pariah Dark cause he got the old King’s bride now as his own) |CAT Ghost INSTINCTS (Damian brings home a... interesting new acquaintance who has some interesting... quirks) |Peek-A-Boo Champ! (Jazz and her baby being taken by a cult. Jason coming to save them. And Uncle Danny being the best at peek-a-boo) |Teeny-Tiny Kitten (Danielle ‘Ellie’ makes a wish and later gets found by a certain cat and bat) |Same As The Day I Lost You (Mix de-aged Danny, and siblings!Damian and Danny, add in some teleporting/portaling when the bats are fighting the League and you get this idea.) |Cuckoo Clocks (Clockwork sends a certain RR a sticky note during his solo run to come find Phantom and later find him) |The (Not) Normal One... (a reborn/reincarnted Danny idea where he’s the normal one in the batfam... only he’s really not.) |Dip and Kiss (Jason totally would kiss the person who ended the Joker in an Oscar worthy movie moment) |The Trouble With Time Travel Guilt (Danny starts an AITA thread due to his guilt over the future that will never be, he trauma bonds with fellow heroes and time travelers over it) |Friendships Between Realms (YJ and Danny Shenanigans Being Peek Friendship) |Misunderstandings and Miscommunications (Danny panics and runs, good Fenton parents want their son home, well meaning but not knowing the full picture best friends, on a war path Jazz and the maybe wooing of RH, and the DCverse getting caught in the middle of the chaos) |A Little Robin (Danny gets stuck in a Robin doll/plush and winds up in Gotham) |Kid's y'know? (Youngblood wants to be an astronaut this time, and Danny... Has to stop him from running amok the JL Watchtower) |Gothamites Never Really Rest (Johnny was a crime alley kid, Kitty was the daughter of a mob boss, and Jason was a kid they pseudo raised before their deaths. They meet again when Kitty and Johnny return to Gotham and find budding crime lord named Red Hood)

#dpxdc prompt posts #part 1/3

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the-bad-batch-baroness · 4 months

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The Last Notch

Fives x Fem!Reader

Summary: In a dystopian Star Wars universe where clones aren't just soldiers, but also pleasurable objects used to help finance the war, Fives starts to question his role in the Erotic Bingo lottery system when he meets you and discovers something more fulfilling than sex.

Pairing: Fives x Fem!Reader

Characters: Fives, Jesse, Hardcase

Tags & Warnings: NSFW, 18+, dystopian!AU, implied/referenced sexual content, NO SMUT, strong sexual themes, explicit sexual language, clone sex workers, erotic bingo/lottery system, kink mentions, clone objectification, culturally-reserved reader (also read as demi-sexual), misunderstandings, angst, happy ending, POV switches between the reader and Fives

Word Count: 8.5k

Author's Note: I began this bingo card with Fives and I'm ending this bingo card with Fives. This fic has been sitting in my drafts since I first received my bingo card back in May, and I was so excited to revisit the idea. It's a little out there, and may not be everyone's cup of tea, but the underlying themes are really good and it's actually super sweet. As always, please enjoy 💚

@clonexreaderbingo Square: Regret

The evening air is crisp and the sky is clear as you make your way home from work. It's only been two weeks since you defected from your home planet and began a life on Coruscant, so you aren't used to the planet's large size, crowded public spaces, and endless winding streets. You thought you were going the right way, but something doesn't feel right. You don't remember seeing that purple neon sign on your walk home last night, but there it is, flashing at you.

You sigh and rub your tired face. You're lost, again. However, this time, the street is darker and the walls are a little more enclosed. A bit of anxiety creeps in as you take a few wary steps forward, then hesitate when the idea of turning around crosses your mind. You're not sure what to do. There aren't any kiosk maps around, and even if you did find one, you don't know if it will help you find your way home. The only thing you do know is that you won't find it by standing still.

Thus, you continue onward, trying to remember the landmarks leading to your apartment even though every corner looks the same. It's not until you come to a four-way intersection of lengthy streets that you begin to feel real panic. Your breath quickens as you turn in a circle, looking down each path with no inclination to step towards any of them. If you can just get to higher ground, or find someone to ask directions from, you'll be able to get home, but there's no one.

"You look lost," a man says.

You startle and turn around to look at the man, but you say nothing in response.

"I can help you get home," he says.

Something in your gut rings an alarm bell, alerting you that this man has no intentions of helping you find your way. You don't know what his real intentions are, but they aren't in your best interest. You take a cautious step back, and he takes a step towards you. You just want to go home. That's all you want to do. You hate this planet, you hate your home planet, and you hate this stupid galactic war that has led you to this exact moment where you might die in the streets.

"Please," you say with a shaky voice. "Leave me alone."

"But you're lost, little one," the man tilts his head to the side and steps closer. "Don't you want to find your home?"

"I–" you stammer and take a bigger step back. "I can find my own way home, thank you."

The man chuckles. "Oh, but I don't think you can."

You want to cry. In fact, you might just break down right here in front of your would-be kidnapper because you don't know what else to do. If your feet could move, where would you run? Where would you go? You don't know where anything is, let alone a police station, and running into a Coruscant Guardsman would be a miracle at this point. Out of your brain's options of fight, flight, freeze, or fawn, your brain chooses to freeze, which is the dumbest thing it can possibly do right now.

"Please," you plead. The tears get stuck in your throat as a sob threatens to escape. "I–"

"Hey!" another man shouts from behind you.

You stiffen as you feel a firm hand rest gently on your shoulder.

"She said, get lost," the man growls.

You watch intently as the creepy man scrunches his face with indignation before he backs away and disappears into the shadows of one of the streets. You want to release a sigh of relief, but some other man you don't know is touching you, and your body hasn't ditched the freeze mode yet. You're too afraid to turn around and see who the mysterious hand belongs to, so you remain standing still, stiff as a board, hoping he'll go away, but he doesn't.

"Are you alright?" the man asks as he removes his hand and walks around into your view.

You glance up at the man speaking to you and look into his soft brown eyes. His face carries a worried expression that feels warm, and he tilts his head to the side while awaiting your answer. You study him for a moment. He's well-groomed, with short, curly dark hair, a neatly trimmed goatee, and he's wearing normal casual clothing. You're not sure if you can trust him yet, but there's something very calming about his relaxed demeanor and soothing about his deep voice.

"Yeah," you finally breathe, then swallow hard. "I think so."

"Good," he says with a crooked smile. "What're you doing out here all alone? This isn't exactly a safe area."

"I got lost," you explain. "I just moved here recently and I'm still not used to how big this place is."

"That's understandable," he says warmly. "Well, welcome to Coruscant. Where'd you move from?"

"Onderon," you say.

"Onderon?" he repeats in surprise, then takes a more rigid and guarded stance. "A Seppi planet?"

You sigh and roll your eyes. This isn't the first time you've been heckled for hailing from a Separatist planet, and it most likely won't be your last. "Just because the leaders choose to align themselves with the Separatists, doesn't mean the citizens feel the same way," you explain. "There's a reason I defected."

The man raises his eyebrows at your annoyed tone, then casts his vision towards the ground. "I didn't realize…" he pauses. "I guess I never thought about it like that."

"Not many people do," you whisper. "Judging people by where they come from is cruel."

"I'm sorry," the man says as he rubs the back of his neck. "You're right. The Republic is all I've ever known…" he pauses, "and I've never stopped to think about the civilians on the other side."

You give the man a half-smile. "Thanks."

"Hey," the man says. "Why don’t I walk you home. It’s late and I’d hate for you to run into any more trouble."

You ponder his offer for a moment. "That's very kind of you."

"It's the least I can do after sticking my foot in my mouth," he explains. "Take it as an apology."

You chuckle. "Then I accept your apology."

The man smiles and reaches out his hand. "I'm Fives."

You smile, shake his hand, and offer your name. "Nice to meet you, Fives."

When you give Fives your address, he snorts and makes a comment about you being really lost. You want to be annoyed at him, but you can't seem to muster the gumption. He's too delightful for you to be mad, so you sigh in defeat and follow him as he leads you to your apartment. Coruscant isn't so scary now that you have an escort, and a very strong looking one at that. You can't imagine anyone even thinking about approaching you with him by your side.

Fives keeps the conversation light-hearted and casual as you stroll together along the neon-lit streets. You talk about everything from your first childhood pet all the way up to where you work. It's not an extravagant job, but you work as a barista at a small caf shop that doubles as a holo-bookstore. He asks you questions about your job and why you like it, and you answer that you are a plain and simple woman. You like the quaint atmosphere the caf and holo-books provide.

An indistinguishable expression flashes across his face and you wonder if you said something wrong. You shouldn't care if he's bothered by your simplistic lifestyle or not, but you're enjoying his company. You don't have many friends on Coruscant to begin with, and you want him, at the bare minimum, to like you enough to keep in touch. You've never been good at making friends, but with him doing most of the talking, he's making it easy for you two to get to know each other.

When you finally reach your apartment, you share a moment of awkward silence in front of your door. You're not sure if you should ask him inside and offer him something for his trouble, or if you should part ways here. On Onderon, it would be disrespectful not to offer your hospitality to him after he saved your life and walked you home, but you're not sure about the customs on Coruscant. You're afraid he would mistake it as an opportunity to take advantage of you.

"Thank you for walking me home," you say.

"It was my pleasure," Fives says.

You pull out your key card. "Well, good night."

"Hey," Fives begins as he rubs the back of his neck. "I know this may be sudden, but would you like to get a drink sometime? With me?"

You turn away from the door and look at him with surprise. Of all the things you thought were going to happen tonight, this was the least expected. "Oh," you say nervously. "I appreciate the offer, but I don’t drink."

"Soda?" Fives asks quickly. "What about soda? Or water?"

You let out a small laugh. "Sure, I like soda."

"Great!" Fives exclaims. "How about tomorrow night, around 19:00?"

"Works for me," you say with a small smile. "Where are we meeting?"

"At 79’s," Fives says. "I can give you directions."

"The clone bar?" you ask in confusion.

Fives chuckles. "Well, yeah, I am a clone."

Your eyes grow wide. "You’re a clone?"

"Yeah…" Fives furrows his brows, then raises one. "You’ve never seen one before?"

"No," you say, feeling a bit embarrassed.

"Well, that’s a first," Fives remarks with amusement. "You really didn’t know?"

"I’m from Onderon, remember?" you say. "We don’t exactly get clones on our planet."

"I guess that makes sense," Fives says.

"Besides," you add, "you're not wearing any armor and the only clones I've ever seen had armor and helmets on."

"That's fair, too," Fives says. "I'm on leave, so I like to relax a little and ditch the kit."

"If you don’t mind me asking," you begin. "I’m not trying to be rude, but, how will I find you at the bar? You know, since you all… look alike."

Fives laughs, tilts his head, and points at the Aurebesh tattoo on his temple. "This. This is me. Fives."

You feel a little dumb for not noticing it earlier, but you blame it on the poor lighting. "I can remember that."

"Then I'll see you tomorrow?" Fives asks.

"Yes," you answer. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Fives smiles, takes a few steps away from your door, then turns back to face you. "Good night."

You smile at him, then swipe your card to unlock your door. "Good night."

You walk into your apartment and let the door whoosh shut behind you. Releasing your held breath, you turn around, place your forehead against the cool door, and smile. It's been a while since you felt like this, and you have to admit, you're a little bit scared. Your last relationship ended because of the war, differing opinions, and your sexual preferences. It's not that you don't want to have sex, or that you don't find men attractive, but it takes you time to feel safe to do so.

It's a huge turn-off to a lot of men. Sex is the only thing that men think about when they see a woman, and there aren't many who will willingly be in a relationship with you, knowing that they'll have to wait until you're ready to even touch you sexually. Most just leave after you explain it to them, so you're not getting your hopes up that Fives will accept it either. He seems like a decent and nice man, but the thought of him rejecting you like the others has you hesitant to try again.

You sigh and back away from the door. There's no use in worrying about it now, because you'll have plenty of time to overthink it all tomorrow while you're at work. Instead, you take care of your nightly tasks like making dinner, showering, putting your most comfortable pajamas on, and snuggling under your blankets to watch your favorite holo-show. It's the one that makes you laugh and keeps your mind from thinking about the life you left behind, and the people you miss.

However, as much as you try to pay attention to the holo-show, your mind keeps wandering to Fives. You think about his smile and the way he laughed. That's what you notice about people. You don't care if they're hot, sexy, or attractive, but only if their smiles are warm, their eyes are honest, their minds are humorous, and their hearts are soft. Those are the qualities you look for in a partner. And now here you are, lying awake, wondering what else you'll learn about him.

The morning arrives soon enough, and you feel exhausted from your lack of sleep. You tossed and turned like a secondary school girl going through her first crush, but your body doesn't bounce back like it used to, and you're feeling the consequences of your choices. Nevertheless, you're giddy to get the day started and get to work. The sooner you go to work, the sooner you'll get off of work, and the sooner you'll be able to go on your date with Fives at the clone bar, 79's.

That place makes you wonder. You've heard a lot about 79's since you came to Coruscant, and not all of them are good. While living on Onderon, you didn't frequent the bar scene, but then again, Onderon bars are upscale to begin with, so you don't know if the bars on Coruscant are similar or if they are more like the bars on Tatooine that you've read about, full of cheap booze and degenerates. You consider doing a little more research beforehand, but you decide against it.

Before leaving for work, you pack a small bag with a change of clothes for your date. It's a bar, but you don't want to be too flashy if it's like Tatooine, and you don't want to look too frumpy if it's like Onderon. You think back to the way Fives was dressed when you met him, and ultimately decide to go the casual route. Not too classy and not too frumpy, just comfortable. However, you do pack your lucky earrings and small bottle of perfume so you don't smell like caf all night.

Your shift goes as expected, with your routine customers coming in for their usual orders. You love that about your job, getting to meet new people and learning all sorts of things about them. But, perhaps your favorite part of the job is offering holo-book suggestions. The shop doubles as a holo-bookstore, where patrons can drink caf and read, so the holo-book side of things is just as important as making their caf correctly. As an avid reader yourself, your suggestions are always on point.

Once your shift is over, you hang your apron up and make your way to the back to change. Your co-workers say a few remarks and ask you a couple questions about your excitement and you explain that you're meeting a man for a date at 79's. Your co-workers exchange a few surprised and knowing glances and you can't help but notice. You're unsure why they're reacting like that for just a date, but then again, you're still new to the area, so it might be a bit of missing context.

After you're dressed and happy with your hair, you make your way to 79's. This time, you are determined not to get lost, and mapped out the route ahead of time to be extra careful. If he's in the bar waiting for you, then he won't be out on the streets to find you if you get lost. You're not sure why you didn't offer to exchange comm numbers the night you met, but you blame the scary life or death situation for rattling you completely out of your mind which made you forget.

As you get closer, you notice the large, bright, orange neon sign with the 79's logo in the middle, and you're taken aback by how big the place is. The bars on Onderon, even the high-scale ones, aren't this big. Its size alone makes you feel nervous. You don't like bars to begin with, and here you are, waltzing right up to a giant one full of men that you don't even know. You begin to wonder if all of your senses left you when you agreed to this date, but you can't back down now.

The door slides open and your senses are bombarded. The smell of booze is thick in the air, the music is loud, and the bar is filled with clones. Your eyes widen and you suck in a quick breath. This was not what you were expecting, not in the slightest. You stay frozen by the door, sidestepping lazily when someone walks in after you, too afraid to go in any further. There's half-naked women, half-naked men, pole dancers, a stage, and every other kind of strip club vibe.

You whip around to leave, but bump into a clone in your haste. He only has the bottom half of his armor on, with just the black bodysuit covering his torso, except the sleeves are rolled up. The armor doesn't look like the Coruscant Guard that you're used to seeing. Instead, it has blue markings and big leather flappy-looking things that cover his thighs, with holsters and black pouches draped over them in a criss-cross. You step back in surprise but don't say anything.

"Well, hello there, sweet little thing," the clone says with a cocky smile as he looks you up and down.

You feel uncomfortable with his eyes roaming over your body, and you're glad you chose casual modesty over anything revealing, but you still want to bury yourself in a pile of blankets to keep him from staring at you like some sort of snack. The clone's resemblance to Fives is uncanny, except he's bald, with a giant GAR logo tattoo covering most of his head and face, and a five o'clock shadow. You knew they were clones, but you didn't realize they looked that much alike.

"Uh, hi," you finally muster the courage to say, trying not to let your nerves escape through your voice.

"Don’t think I’ve ever seen you in here before," the clone says as he steps closer to you. He gently runs a finger under a lock of your hair. "What're you into? I can show you around to all the good spots."

"I'm meeting someone," you blurt out and pull your face back to let your hair slip from his finger. "For a date."

"Oh, apologies," the clone says, and backs off his advances. "Who're you looking for? I can bring you to him."

"Fives," you say. "I'm here for Fives."

"Fives?" the clone says in surprise. "Well, aren’t you a lucky girl, to be requested by Fives."

You knit your eyebrows together in confusion. "Requested?"

The clone studies your perplexed expression for a second, then shrugs. "Never mind. Come on, I’ll bring you to him."

You nod and follow the clone through the bar, trying not to look at the debauchery happening all around you. But, you end up catching a few glimpses that make you wish you could bleach your eyes. People throwing credits at scantily clad clones twirling around poles, people doing way more than just kissing in the booths, clones taking shots from women's cleavage, lap dances that are anything but dances, and you think you saw someone having actual sex. It's a nightmare.

Finally, you see Fives, sitting in one of the booths. You recognize his goatee and the Aurebesh tattoo on his temple. Although, at this point, you're not sure what to say to him, since you've been hurled so far out of your comfort zone you may never recover. Nevertheless, you smile at him and he smiles back at you, gesturing with his hand for you to sit down. You take a seat across from him in the booth, but squirm when you think of what you saw people doing in these booths.

The clone that escorted you leans over the back of your booth, cages your head with his hands, then smirks at Fives. "Trying something new tonight?"

You jump.

"Get lost, Jesse," Fives growls.

Jesse straightens up, raises his hands in defense, and walks away.

"Don’t mind him," Fives says. "He's harmless."

"He seems…" your voice is shaky, "nice."

"Do you want something to drink?" Fives asks, changing the subject. "They’ve got an assortment of non-alcoholic beverages."

"Sure," you say. "I’ll just have the soda."

"Got it," Fives says as he gets up from the booth. "I’ll be right back."

You sit alone in the booth and contemplate your life choices that led you to this moment. You're not sure how you, a respectful young Onderon lady, ended up in a vulgar place like this. 79's is nothing like the bars on your home world, and you're very disappointed. What does this mean about Fives? Is he into this lifestyle? Or does he come here just because he's a clone and it's a bar meant for clones? Maybe you're overthinking it and he likes caf and holo-books just like you do.

"So," a clone says as he slides into the booth to fill the empty spot left by Fives. "You’re Fives’ special hook-up, yeah?"

"I beg your pardon?" you huff. "This is a date, not some sleazy hook-up."

It's another bald clone, but this one has blue lines tattooed on his face, no five o'clock shadow, and no armor, at all. He looks like he just came down from the poles and you really didn't want to see that tonight. You're beginning to wonder if the bald clones are the weird ones and the clones with hair are the normal ones, because out of the three you've met so far, Fives is the only one who seems to be somewhat ordinary, and also the only one with a full head of hair.

"Jesse told me otherwise," the clone says, disregarding your earlier remarks. "So, how’d you worm your way into that spot?"

"Spot?" you repeat in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"Seriously?" the clone says with a quirk of his brows. "You do know who Fives is, right? One of the top ten clone names in Erotic Bingo? Master of every position humanly possible? He’s only got the longest line of people waiting to scan him on their bingo cards. So how’d you cut the line?"

"Erotic…" you're stunned, mouth gaping and eyes wide. "What?"

"Come on," the clone says. "Erotic Bingo? The lotto system? You know, where you can win credits by having sex with clones? Do you live under a rock or something?"

You feel sick. The room begins to spin as all of the words this clone has spoken to you swirl around in your mind, setting off every klaxon in response, shouting at you to leave this place immediately. You've been duped. You've been lied to. Your image of Fives and his soft, sweet smile shatters into a million pieces. You feel stupid, like you should've known it was too good to be true. Sex. It's a drug, and they're all addicted to it. That's all you are to him, a sexual object.

Fives comes back from the bar with your soda and a Corellian ale for himself, and frowns when he sees the clone sitting across from you. "Hardcase," Fives says with a warning in his voice. "That's my seat."

Hardcase smirks, and slides himself out of the booth. "Whoops," he says. "Guess I mistook her for someone else. She's all yours."

Fives rolls his eyes and gives Hardcase a whack with his shoulder to get a move on, then sets down the drinks before sliding himself back into the booth. He smiles and grabs his ale, lifting it to toast with you, but his smile slowly dissipates when he sees your panicked expression.

"Are you okay?" Fives asks. "Did Hardcase say something to you? I'm sorry. He really can't control himself half the time."

"I…" you stutter, trying to find the words in your parched throat. "I have to go."

"Go?" Fives asks in confusion. "Go where? You just got here."

"Home," you answer as you try to hold back your tears.

"I don’t understand," Fives says. "What's wrong?"

"This," you say. "All of this."

Fives shakes his head, bewildered by your words, unsure of what to say.

"You're just like everyone else," you say as you get up from the booth. "All you men ever want is sex. You think women are cheap and gullible, and will rollover for you in bed. Well guess what, Fives. I’m not cheap, I’m not easy, and I’m not going to be another notch in your bedpost!"

"What…" Fives' jaw slacks. He scrambles to get up from the booth to go after you. "Hey, wait! Please, let me explain!"

"Just stay away from me!" you turn around and shout, tears threatening to fall from your eyes. "This was a mistake… You're a mistake."

Fives sighs as he watches you leave. That last remark hurt, but at this point he thinks he probably deserves it. The one time he actually wants a relationship, he botches it up four ways to Benduday. He pinches the bridge of his nose and rubs his forehead before making his way back to the booth. He sits down and slinks back so his feet can touch the opposite side, and watches the condensation slip down the side of your glass of soda, the ice clinking as it melts.

"Ouch," Hardcase says as he leans over the back of Fives' booth. "That was painful to watch."

"This is your fault," Fives says without turning around to look at him.

"I'm not the one that invited that kinda girl to this kinda place," Hardcase says, before pushing himself off the booth and turning around. "And they say, I'm the dumb one."

Fives groans, even though he knows Hardcase is right.

He's not sure what he was thinking when he invited you to 79's after you said you don't drink alcohol and you like quiet atmospheres. Everything that 79's is not. Perhaps it was out of a sense of familiarity. Then, to top it all off, you got the wrong impression about the date, but he can't blame you for coming to that conclusion when he's the one who invited you to a borderline whore-house of a bar. The more he thinks about it the more he realizes why you were so upset.

Fives fiddles with his Corellian ale, aimlessly twirling the base of the glass bottle against the table. As he takes a sip, Jesse slides in across from him.

"What do you want?" Fives asks.

"I take it your hook-up didn’t work out," Jesse muses as he takes a sip from his own beverage.

"It wasn’t a hook-up," Fives says.

"Sorry," Jesse waves with his hand sarcastically. "I meant your special hook-up."

"It wasn't a hook-up," Fives repeats, the irritation in his voice growing.

"What?" Jesse asks. "You were on a date or something? That’s cute."

Fives huffs. "What if I was?"

"Then I’d ask what you did with the real Fives," Jesse laughs.

"Don’t you ever get tired of it?" Fives asks. "The Erotic Bingo? Meaningless sex?"

"Nope,” Jesse says and takes another swig. "We’re toys. Toy soldiers for the GAR and sex toys for everyone else. Novelties. Created to be used, abused, and thrown away."

"That’s rather grim," Fives says.

"It’s our reality," Jesse retorts. "What did you think you were going to do? Date, settle down, have kids, and live a normal life?"

"I could try," Fives says.

Jesse snorts. “In ten years time, you’ll be old enough to be her father. How gross is that?”

Fives grunts.

"Listen," Jesse says as he puts his drink down and gets serious. "I wish it was different. Maker, I wish it was, but it’s not. This is the life of a clone. We’re only in our prime for a short time, so we have to do what we can before we're old and flaccid."

Fives sighs. "I get that, but–"

"Don’t think about it too much," Jesse interjects. "You’ll just make yourself depressed."

"Hey, you know what?" Jesse says. "There's a woman at the bar that needs to cross off "Dueling Arcs" on her card. You in? Might help you forget about your date."

"Not interested," Fives says dryly. "Echo's somewhere around here. I'm sure he'll do it with you."

Jesse chuckles. "That chick’s got you by the balls, huh?"

"Piss off," Fives sneers.

"Suit yourself," Jesse shrugs. "Careful though, I'd hate to take your place in the Top Ten Most Erotic Clones."

Fives rolls his eyes. He used to enjoy that title, now all it does is remind him of what he can't have, you. The Erotic Bingo lottery system was created soon after the war began. Apparently, the clones gained a cult following after civilians began to figure out that clones were attractive. The senate and the GAR realized they could bank on this new found interest, and created an Erotic Bingo lottery-type game that would benefit the clones, civilians, and the GAR's funds.

The Erotic Bingo game is pretty simple. People all over Coruscant can purchase the bingo cards at any lottery kiosk on the planet. The bingo cards have a range of prices that correspond to the difficulty of making multiple bingos or getting a blackout. The cards are labeled from 'D' tier being the easiest and cheapest, in terms of purchase and payout, to 'S' tier being the hardest and most expensive. The more bingos made and the more expensive the card, the better the payout.

The Erotic Bingo cards have a wide range of sexual activities from tame vanilla intercourse, mutual masturbation, and oral sex, all the way up to the most degrading and disgusting kinky sex imaginable. Usually, only the 'S' tier cards contain the extreme activities, but on occasion, an 'A' tier card will have one or two. Some common squares are: "sex with a shiny", "dueling arcs", "suck a sergeant", "commander facial", "69 at 79s", "barcs and arfs", and "medic masturbation".

The clones don't get much of a choice in the Erotic Bingo game. They can refuse an offer to fulfill a square, but most don't. It's the only way a clone is allowed to make any credits. When a clone scans their identichip into the bingo card, they automatically receive their kick-back as a direct deposit when the bingo card is returned. If a bingo was not achieved, then there's no kick-back. So, in reality, it's in a clone's best interest to fulfill as many squares as possible.

Many of the battalions have fully leaned into the Erotic Bingo game, making it a part of their culture. The 212th basically runs a gentlemen's club. They don't perform a lot of 'S' acts, but they do get a lot of repeat customers. The 104th is all about the animalistic kinks, like breeding. They call it the "Wolffe Den'' and it's exactly what it sounds like. Then there's the Coruscant Guard and their "Dungeon". For those interested in whips and bondage, that's the place to be.

The 501st, on the other hand, doesn't have a particular theme, but dabbles in a little bit of everything. A person can rarely find an unwilling participant in the 501st, but any square dealing with a commander has to go somewhere else, considering Rex is a captain. It's the only type of squares the 501st can't do. The Jedi disapprove of the entire system, and refuse to take part in any of it, but they didn't have a say in the system's creation and neither did the clones.

The GAR even built a hierarchy system of the "Top Ten Most Erotic Clones," which is where Fives landed himself after filling out countless bingo cards. And as Hardcase pointed out previously, he has a waiting list a mile long. For shinies, it's a right of passage to scan their names on a bingo card, but for higher ranking, popular clones, it becomes a full time job when they're on leave. It fills their every waking moment, and at least for Fives, it's dulled his libido.

Fives began to question the whole Erotic Bingo lottery system after he saw Tup come back to the barracks late one night, crawl into his bunk, and refuse to speak to anyone for days. Only Kix knew what happened and Fives never asked. Sometimes, attractive young clones get pulled aside to fulfill Erotic Bingo cards for the upper echelons of Coruscant, like senators. Tup ended up in that category, and Fives wasn't surprised at Tup's reaction, since senators buy the 'S' tier cards.

He doesn't want to do it anymore. He's tired of the meaningless, trivial, and almost chore-like sex, with not a single emotional bond ever created in the process. Everyone, literally, comes and leaves, like he's an object they can use to get themselves off, then either toss him out or come back to reuse him again. He's a walking dildo without a vibrate feature. And yet, the game is so ingrained in the clone culture, that backing out is considered taboo and he could be shunned.

After he met you, he wanted to be done with it. All of it. The sex, the Erotic Bingo game, the credits, the titles. He was ready to throw it all away just to have someone like you in his life. Someone kind, sweet, endearing, and funny. There was an actual spark when he talked to you. His heart fluttered and his body felt things it hadn't felt in so long. He just wanted to get to know you, but he screwed it up, and you left 79's hating him. He wants a second chance and to try again.

Fives downs the rest of his Corellian ale and grimaces at its disgusting warmth, but why waste the credits. He places the empty bottle on the table and decides to head back to the barracks to turn in early. There's nothing left for him to do at 79's tonight, so there's no point in staying. He glances at the bar on his way out and sees that Jesse found Echo. He wishes he could cheer them on at their endeavor, but he can't. Watching them only tightens the knot in his stomach.

Back at the barracks, he lies down on his bunk and thinks about how he's going to approach you again. However, his thoughts keep being interrupted by the sounds of breathy grunting from several of the bunks. Normally, he would zone it out, or maybe start masturbating to it, but not tonight. The only thing on his mind right now is you, and somehow touching himself to the image of you in his mind seems wrong after what happened. So, he is forced to listen until they finish.

Regardless of what is going on around him, he's still thinking about you. He runs all of the events through his mind, over and over again, trying to figure out why he didn't ask you out on a date somewhere else. Even an old diner would have been better than 79's. All of the signs were there that you would be repulsed by his sex-working lifestyle, but he chose to ignore them, and he doesn't know why. Maybe he was anxious and wanted the safety net of 79's to calm his nerves.

Fives groans and rolls onto his stomach, squishing his face into his pillow. Overthinking this is doing absolutely nothing to help him, and neither are the erotic sounds echoing throughout the barracks. He pulls the pillow out from under his face and presses it over his ears, trying to muffle the sounds so he can think properly without his dick getting in the way. Finally, he realizes that all he has to do is undo the misunderstanding and he should be able to win you back, hopefully.

You wake up this morning feeling worse than you did the morning before your date with Fives. With all of the crying you did last night, your face is all red and puffy. You try splashing some cold water on it, but it doesn't do you much good. Perhaps a bit of make-up can mask your broken heart. Although, you're not sure what you're so upset about. You've only known the man for barely two rotations and you're crying over him like you've been together for years.

There's no use wallowing in your own sorrow, so you do what you always do when life discourages you. You put your big girl panties on and go to work. At least your customers will be a good distraction for you. They won't try to have sex with you. Besides, it's only your third week on Coruscant, and there are plenty more men where he came from. Then again, if all the clones are in on the erotic-bingo-whatever-thing, then maybe there aren't as many fish in the sea as you hope.

Either way, you're sure you'll find someone to love you for who you are, and not just for your anatomy. But you can't shake the disappointment that you wish it was Fives. He checked all of your boxes and you really wanted it to be him. Even after you stormed out of 79's, all you could see when you closed your eyes was his smile. It was genuine. You quickly shake the thoughts away before you start going down the rabbit hole. You saw who he was, and that's the end of it.

Just as you predicted, your mind is in a better place when you start working. Your regular customers come in and get the same orders as they usually do, and you chat with them while you make their specialty drinks. They ask you how you are doing, and you give them a generic answer so that they won't pester you. You would rather talk about them right now, and not yourself. Keeping your mind occupied with others helps you stay focused on the task at hand.

However, you nearly drop the latte you're holding when you see a clone standing outside the large transparisteel storefront. Your heart starts racing, but you tell yourself it's just a coincidence. There are millions of clones on Coruscant. It could be anyone. You watch him out of the corner of your eye when he enters the shop, and that's when you see his goatee and the Aurebesh tattoo on his temple. You take a deep breath as he approaches the ordering counter.

"What are you doing here?" you ask while crossing your arms.

"A cup of caf and a credit for your time?" Fives asks as he puts a few credits down on the counter.

"I'm not a stripper," you huff. "I can't be bought."

"I know," Fives sighs. "And that's not what this is."

"Then what do you want?" you ask.

"To have a cup of caf and talk," Fives says. "That's it. I promise."

You roll your eyes and swipe the credits off the counter, then pour two mugs of regular hot caf. You call back to your supervisor to let them know that you're going on break, then pull your apron over your head and hang it up. You pick up the two mugs and signal Fives to follow you to one of the corner tables, then set the mugs of caf down opposite each other. You pull out one of the chairs and sit, then cross your legs, lean back, and fold your arms over your chest.

"You've got fifteen minutes," you say.

"I'm sorry," Fives begins. "For what happened at 79's."

"You lied to me," you accuse.

"That's not true," Fives says calmly. "I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to get the wrong idea."

"What other idea was there?" you ask. "You had me meet you at a strip club where I got bombarded by half-naked clones asking me how I made it on your 'hit list' for Erotic Bingo. What did you think I was going to think?"

"I… I don't know," Fives grimaces and glances away. "I just…" he pauses. "I just wanted to talk and get to know you. I swear. There was nothing else."

You lean forward, set your elbows on the table, and place your chin over your clasped fingers. "There's always something else," you say. "It's all you men ever want. All you care about is sex and I don't want it."

"I don't want it either!" Fives exclaims, then hushes himself when he remembers he's in a public place. "I don't."

"They all say that in the beginning," you huff. "Then they get you all emotionally attached and try to force you to do what they want. Well, I don't buy it for one standard second."

Fives sighs and smooths his index finger around the rim of his mug. "You know, I thought you would be different."

You furrow your brows at his words.

"You talked about not judging people based on where they came from," Fives explains. "Well, I didn't get a choice in being created, or being a soldier, or being a kriffing pleasure object. You get to leave your past behind and make a new life, but mine has to stay with me, right?"

"Fives…" you say.

He's right. You're judging him the same way he judged you when you told him you were from Onderon. It's true, the clones didn't have a choice in where they came from as much as you didn't have a choice in where you came from. He's throwing your own hypocrisy back into your face and you're mortified. The roles are reversed. You both thought of each other as different from the rest; what you were searching for, but ignorance and misjudgment clouded it.

Fives sighs and gets up from the table. "I guess we both lied."

"Wait, Fives," you say to try and stop him. You get up from the table and reach out to grab his arm, but you pull your hand back before making contact.

"Thanks for the caf," Fives says, then walks out the door.

You slump back down into the chair, mouth gaping in shock, feeling dazed by the whiplash you just endured. Regret washes over you and you can't believe what just happened. He came all this way, to your comfort zone, to try and apologize and explain himself, but you refused to hear it. You could kick yourself for the awful way you acted towards him. He was wrong about you and you were wrong about him. It was all just a giant misunderstanding. Maker, you're an idiot.

You scramble out of your chair and race towards the door, pushing it open and looking down the street towards where he went. You can still see him, casually walking further away. You can't let him go, not yet. You can still fix this. Everything can still be salvaged. You only need to apologize and start over. It's so simple, yet why didn't you realize sooner? You run down the street, trying to catch up with him. It might already be too late, but you have to try. You have to.

"Fives!" you yell as you get closer.

Fives turns around and his eyes widen in surprise.

"Wait!" you yell, finally closing the distance. You stop in front of him and pant at the exertion. "I'm sorry. You were right. I judged you before I even got to know you. I'm so sorry." Tears start rolling down your face.

"Hey, it's okay," Fives says, and he chances to wipe away one of your tears. "Don't cry. Please?"

"It's just… so hard," you say in between sniffles. "I'm so far away from home. I barely know anyone. The planet is so big and I'm so small."

"Shhh," Fives soothes. "It's okay. Sit here." Fives ushers you to sit down on the sidewalk against the wall, and he sits down next to you and listens.

"I just… I wanted a friend," you cry into your knees. "I wanted you to be my friend, and then all the sex stuff scared me, because it's not who I am. I don't care about it. I don't want it. I don't need it. I've had people leave me over it."

Fives sits silently next to you and waits for you to finish.

"I'm sorry," you say as you wipe your face with your sleeve. "I don't know what came over me, and I feel so stupid for crying after everything I said."

"Apology accepted," Fives says. "And you're not stupid."

You sigh. "One of us has to be."

"Then it's probably me," Fives admits.

"Can we both be stupid?" you ask with a small laugh.

"Sure," Fives smiles. "Hi stupid, I'm Fives."

You burst out laughing, and all of a sudden, every fear and reservation you have about Fives melts away. He really is just a nice guy that did the best he could with the hand that he was dealt, just like you did. It's amazing how two complete strangers, from different corners of the galaxy can somehow meet by chance and click together like puzzle pieces. Your heart feels warm and full of life, and you can't help but smile at the way he makes you feel; complete.

"You know," Fives says as he taps his knee. "I'd love to be your friend, and ditch the Erotic Bingo game while I'm at it."

"Really?" you ask, hope brimming in your tear-stained eyes.

"Really," Fives says with a smile. "I want connection, and the bingo game can't give me that, but you can."

"What about sex?" you ask. "I can't promise you that I'll ever want it."

Fives chuckles. "I've had enough sex to last me four life-times. Trust me. I can go without it."

"Are you sure?" you ask.

"Yeah, I'm sure," Fives says. "Just let me know what's okay, and what's not, and we'll go from there."

You smile and lay your head against Fives' shoulder. "This is okay."

Fives smiles and lays his head atop yours. "Okay."

Soon after you agreed to be friends, Fives did indeed ditch the Erotic Bingo game, much to his brother's displeasure. He wasn't completely shunned out of the culture, especially by his own battalion, but there were plenty of clones that disagreed with his choice and they weren't afraid to show it. Fives was strong though, and he suffered through it like a champ, even convincing a few of his closest brothers to ditch the game as well and seek out more meaningful connections.

Now, it's been a year since your fateful encounter with Fives and both of you have thrived. Your friendship quickly bloomed into a beautiful partnership. Without an ability to make any income, you helped support Fives' needs with your own job. It became easier once you were promoted to shift manager and began earning more credits. The extra credits also afforded you to find a bigger apartment, so that Fives could move in with you. It's been a lot of fun having a roommate.

When he's not off-world fighting the Republic's war, he's home with you, relaxing on the couch and watching holo-movies with you. Sometimes, you'll start a holo-series, then he'll get an assignment and have to leave. He'll beg you on his hands and knees not to watch it without you, and you don't, most of the time. Other times you'll start a pillow fight, or make brownies, or just talk and laugh at stupid jokes until your sides hurt and tears start rolling down your cheeks.

You can't believe that in such a short time, Fives has become the center of your world. He's your best friend, and he's never once asked you for sex or kisses or touches or anything else that you weren't ready for. He's completely content with what he already has with you and always waits until you initiate an act first. Even then, he will ask you a few more times before reciprocating, just to be sure it's what you want and not something you feel pressured into.

Today it's early evening, and you both just finished a delicious dinner that you made together. You're working on putting the leftovers away in the conservator and Fives is standing in front of the sink washing the dishes. You stop what you're doing for a moment and watch him. You're not sure when you finally fell in love with him, but you know you are; it's unmistakable. You walk up behind him, wrap your arms around his middle, and press yourself tight against his back.

Fives smiles at the warm gesture, but keeps scrubbing the plate in his hand with the sponge.

"Fives?" you ask.

"Mhm?" Fives hums.

"I think I'm ready," you say.

"Ready for what?" Fives asks.

"To make love," you say.

Fives stops scrubbing the plate. "You think?" he asks over his shoulder. "Are you sure?"

You stand on the tips of your toes and place a soft kiss at the nape of his neck, just at the base of his hairline. This is the first time you've kissed him and you can tell it's having an effect. A few of the hairs stand on end after you remove your lips and it makes you smile. He probably wasn't expecting it, and to be honest, neither were you. But the way he was standing there, doing the dishes, stirred something in you that you've never felt before. You nuzzle your face into his back.

"I trust you," you whisper against his shirt. "With all of my heart."

Fives places the dish down in the sink with the sponge resting on top, and dries his hands with the dish towel. He turns around to look at you, studying your face to make sure there are no hints of reservation or anything that would raise a red flag that you are feeling pressured to say this. Sensing nothing, he wraps his arms around your back and pulls you gently against him, barely allowing your bodies to touch, then tilts your chin up to lovingly stare into your soft eyes.

"Cyare, are you sure?" he asks again. "I don't want it if you don't want it."

"I want it," you insist. "I want… I want to be the last notch in your bedpost."

Fives smiles and kisses your forehead. "It's reserved just for you."

Masterlist

AO3

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omaano · 1 year

Text

Last one for @bobadinweek's bingo - A Gravity Falls AU for my FREE square! I'll make a whole post to sum up all my contribution to this bingo a bit later (I made 10 artworks for this event in the past year omg!) - but I'm really pleased to end it with this one - just look at how cute they are as babies! There are some musing about this AU (and another variant) under the cut if you're interested ;)

I'll admit that I don't actually know much about Omega (aside from how she appeared in some fics and what I saw of her on this site), but I already felt bad enough for taking her bow and giving it to Boba (if it's up to Grogu he won't be able to keep hold of it for long, lol), so I felt it best to let her keep her hat and give her the journal. She seems more like the type to pour over it, while Boba just jumps headfirst into any and every kind of adventure. (Also imagine Boba with a pig-sized mini rancor. He'd lose a limb to it, but he would also LOVE it!)

I know that it's usually headcanon'd that Din and Boba are about the same-ish age (with usually Boba coming out a year-or-two older), but for the sake of fun here let Din hit puberty and his growth spurt a bit earlier and be just a bit older, and let Boba have his gay little awakening that summer.

(Just imagine that episode where Dipper makes multiple copies of himself (I know the roles don't track perfectly, shush!) to try and ask Wendy out for that dance/date at the party - and make it Boba trying his very awkward best [insert clone joke here], and, say, put an equally teenage Cobb in Robbie's place, except Cobb turns out to be cool, and now Boba is in all kinds of trouble, and surrounded by too many cute boys wow (but Din is still the cutest with his weird frog-eating baby troll). This idea's kept me entertained through the struggles of trying to keep track of my lineart and flat colour layers with the background here lol.)

ALTERNATIVELY I also entertained the idea of Boba and Fennec running a con mystery shack because they try to lie low for some crimes and not get caught (they are just the ideal type of chaotic-dumb-but-secretly-competent combo, who would play super dumb about any supernatural shenanigans going on while casually leaning against a rancor under a way too small sheet in the corner); and Din is the handy man helping out around the shack, trying to cover for his weird slightly green son who should not be allowed near frogs or you will see something you can never unsee after, and baby Rey, Finn and Poe could be the ones to get into all kinds of supernatural trouble (with Hux as Pacifica, and Kylo/Ben as Lil Gideon lol that would even work with Han and Boba having an archnemeses kind of situation going on). Plus Boba has an endless supply of lost competent twins so...

#bobadin #bobadinaubingo #boba x din #boba fett #din djarin #tbb omega #omega bad batch #the mandalorian fanart #tbobf fanart #sw fanart #digital art #gravity falls AU #my art #I swear I tried to keep this last one simple if I'd picked the second variant (as I'd entertained it a month ago)#I would have evnded up drawing a whole interior of the mystery shack and like 7 characters #and I am not going to do that to myself on a time constraint #I haven't yet recovered from that bookshop interior yet lol #one day I will get the photo qulaity of my posts right I swear

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mamawasatesttube · 10 months

Note

What are ur fav timkon aus?

the au that lives in my and @adjit's dms where tim never becomes robin and instead works with lois lane as an investigative journalism intern/junior guy or whatever, and supernova complains to superman that this guy KEEPS poking his nose into things and getting in trouble, and superman rubs the back of his neck ruefully and says yeah... lois is definitely enabling that. and then oops! they fall in love

the au that lives in my and @adjit's dms where tim gets cloned and replaced and nobody has a good time but then everything is okay because kon loves and supports clones so fiercely and he inspires this poor clone who was just made to fulfill a purpose and then be killed to actually have hope and a desire to live his own life and be his own person. and he is our perfect little baby boy do you want to know more about him please ask us more questions about him we have so much to say about him—

the au that lives in my and @adjit's dms where adult superheroes timkon end up training a gaggle of teenagers (tim teaches them nonpowered combat and gadgetry; kon becomes the beloved mentor of a baby telekinetic or two) and we get outsider pov shenanigans and whatnot

timkon love square au concept bc whats better than shenanigans. nothing. but they have to be best friends to lovers also bc otherwise whats the point

theres probably other smaller spaces i find fun to play in too (like adapting the plots of star trek episodes onto them or whatever teehee) but i can't really think of anything specific else at this moment. (<- guy with bad memory)

#answers #timkon

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tcwmatchmakingau · 8 months

Text

Take a Chance (Part 1)

Pairing: Crosshair x f!reader

Rating: General (but MDNI)

Summary: Crosshair finally caves and sets up an appointment with Right to Love. He doesn’t expect much out of it, but what he gets is softer and brighter than even he could ask for.

Warnings: Crosshair angst (because that’s a warning I guess); peep my matchmaker OC Tal, love them dearly; brotherly teasing

A/N: @wolffegirlsunite submitted a prompt about Crosshair at carnivals and I just kinda…ran with it. In this AU, the Citadel never happened, so Echo is not with the Batch.

WC: 3.2k

Crosshair had mastered the art of patience a long time ago. He had to; it was a requirement of his specialization as a sniper. Sitting for long, boring hours in a secured hideout, there had been times on missions where he didn’t move for hours, at minimum. One learned how to be patient when all one had was time to pass. He thrived in those situations. After all, it was what he was made for.

What he hadn’t yet mastered was the art of civilian life. He’d rather perch in the branches of some scraggly pine on some far-off Mid-Rim world, teeth chattering in his bucket from the cold, than sit here in this waiting room. Despite the facade this damned service had so clearly cultivated to be comforting, he felt on edge, nerves screaming at him. Soft music chimed pleasantly from the speakers hanging from the ceiling corners. Vanilla, warm and inviting, cloyed in his nose. Adorning the walls, right, cheerful posters touted sickeningly saccharine slogans. We’ll help you find your path! and At Right to Love, we’ll make sure your love is right for you!

His upper lip curled in the barest hint of a scowl. Karking hell, why had he let Wrecker talk him into this?

With a slight shake of his head, Crosshair refocused on the datapad resting in his lap. He was supposed to fill out this questionnaire to let the matchmakers do their job, but all he could think about was the vulnerability of it all. He had to just…give away personal information? Just like that? Kriff, even his brothers had given up getting him to talk about his feelings before he was ready.

Leading him to another worry, one he’d never admit out loud, and certainly wasn’t about to admit to himself. Was he ready for this?

His first impulse was, yes of course. He’s Crosshair, member of one of the most elite squadrons of clone troopers in the entire existence of the Grand Army of the Republic. Clone Force 99 didn’t back down from challenges, and had a 100% mission success rate.

Or at least, they did. When the GAR still existed. When the war still raged and when clones’ lives were valued less than dirt.

He’d answered exactly three of the twenty-five questions so far. The fourth question, “How would you best describe your personality?” presented options that felt so…restrictive. Was he a) shy and reserved, b) expressive and open, c) humorous but private, d) uncomplicated and easy-going, or e) other?

Crosshair had been labeled as “other” his entire life. Frustration simmered in his chest, hot and annoying.

Just as he was about to stand, chuck the datapad back at the receptionist, and storm out, the receptionist in question cleared her throat.

“You don’t have to answer every single question, darlin’,” she said, smacking her gum. “That’s just to help us get started.”

He felt the knot of anxiety in his chest loosen in spite of himself. “Anyone ever turn in a blank form?”

Her dark eyes met his, narrowed behind square spectacles, before she shook her head with a reluctant grin. “There’s a first time for everythin’. We’re all about firsts here.”

“Yeah.” He huffed, looking back down at the datapad. The rest of the questions were similarly vague and aggravating as the personality one, but by the time he reached the last one, he was surprised to find that he’d filled in nearly half of the responses.

Sweeping his gaze across the waiting room once more, he couldn’t help but pick out the imperfections, the way that that one paint stroke lifted some of the first coat underneath there by the corner, or the way that the ceiling tile above him only appeared symmetrical but every third one was slightly shorter, or the way that the receptionist’s eyeliner had one, tiny, nearly imperceptible gap where it had snagged over her skin. He found that the skin around his nail beds was dry and cracked, red and angry—a nervous habit he’d picked up shortly after the war ended.

Quit stalling, he snarled to himself.

The receptionist gave him a fleeting smile as he crossed the room to deposit the datapad on her desk. He wished she wouldn’t.

“One of our case workers will be with you shortly, dear,” she said.

He returned to his seat, silent, apprehensive.

He didn’t have to wait long; at least the receptionist was right about that. Not even fifteen minutes later, a short, kindly individual with a buzzcut and piercings pushed open the faux-wooden door leading to the back. Crosshair appraised their appearance quickly, an old habit. Black eyeliner on their bottom waterline, round, unframed glasses, a black T-shirt with some indie band Cross had never heard of: he hated to admit it, but the sight of someone dressed so casually put him at ease. Whatever he’d been expecting, it certainly wasn’t this.

“Crosshair?” they asked, as if there was anyone else in this damned waiting room.

Still, Crosshair rose, toothpick clenched between his teeth. Quiet as a wraith, he followed who he assumed would be his case worker down a labyrinth of hallways. Behind a few of the closed doors, the familiar tones of regs’ voices drifted to him, counterpointed by the unfamiliar strains of other case workers.

At last, his adorned case worker pushed open a door and gestured for Crosshair to enter first.

Slinking past, Crosshair took in every detail at once. Above the corner desk were at least a dozen framed holoscans, most of them featuring his mystery case worker and two others, a beaming brunette woman and a laid-back, dark-skinned man. Crystals of various colors, cuts, and properties sat scattered across the side table nearest the futon; a tapestry arched across the ceiling. One lone plant, a healthy looking thing with glossy castleton green leaves, breathed life into the room from one corner.

“I’m Tal,” the case worker said as they closed the door behind them. “Make yourself comfy. Or don’t. Everything here is under your control.”

Crosshair shot a glance at Tal, head tilting just slightly, so minutely that Tal probably missed it. He hesitated for just a moment before sinking into the futon, the silky black fabric cushioning him as he tucked his feet up.

“Tea?” Tal asked.

Poison, came the immediate, instinctive thought.

“No, thanks,” he said.

Tal shrugged. “Suit yourself.” As they poured steaming water into a waiting mug, they glanced at him. “So, Crosshair, here’s how this works. I’ll ask you a few questions, you can ask me some, and after our meeting, I’ll get to work matching you to some of our clients, yeah?”

“Fine.” Cross shifted the toothpick between his teeth, the poky bit softened and no longer quite so poky. He’d need to grab a fresh one soon.

For a moment, Cross simply watched as Tal scooped honey into their tea mug, spoon clinking softly as they stirred the drink. The faint scent of…was that chamomile? drifted to him, and he nearly wished he’d accepted the offer.

Nearly.

“Let’s start with the basics.” Tal set the mug down on a cork coaster. “Why are you here?”

Crosshair quirked an eyebrow, leveling his best unimpressed stare at Tal—who, to his surprise, matched Crosshair’s energy.

“That’s starting with the basics?”

Tal shrugged. “Would you rather I coerce answers on these blank questions?” They waggled a datapad in one hand.

Sucking on his teeth, all Crosshair could do was shake his head.

“Great, because I’m sure you hate having teeth pulled as much as I hate pulling them,” Tal said. “What brings you in?”

“My brother,” Crosshair said flatly. Not technically a lie.

“And is that Tech, Hunter, or Wrecker?”

He clamped down on the toothpick, the fragile wood snapping. “Wrecker.”

Tal typed on the datapad for a moment. “Got it. So, no other reason, nothing more self-motivated?”

“No.”

With a hum, Tal typed some more on the ’pad before setting it to the side. They took a tentative sip of their tea, a smile of satisfaction curling over their lips.

“Tell me if I get any of this wrong, m’kay?” Tal said. “The war ends last year. You and your brothers get to live a normal life, and you each try dating. Maybe it works for them, maybe it doesn’t, but it certainly doesn’t work for you. None of the people you go out with can get past the fact that you’re a sniper, or a science experiment, or just an ass. So you stop going out.

“But your brothers don’t. In fact, one by one, they make their way here, to this very office in fact, find themselves partners, and settle into the cushy civilian life you just can’t wrap your head around. You’re happy for them, because they’re your brothers. But you’re also annoyed by them, because they have what you just can’t seem to find.”

Crosshair bristled at the nonchalance with which this individual, this…observer, read him for filth. Removing the now-shattered toothpick from his mouth, Crosshair forced himself to go through the ritual of discarding the broken one, selecting a fresh one from the pouch at his belt, and slipping the dry wood into the pocket of his cheek.

He avoided Tal’s gaze the entire time. In their calculating gaze, Crosshair saw himself reflected.

“You got part of it wrong,” he eventually said. “I never tried in the first place.”

And it was true. He’d been…arrogant, more than usual, refusing to even entertain the idea of finding a fulfilling relationship outside of his vode. He’d seen the way people looked at him on the streets, even here in the capital, where no one should stand out. He couldn’t stomach the thought of having to put himself on parade just to find happiness.

“Well,” Tal said, “I can’t be right all of the time.”

A wry smile twisted Crosshair’s mouth. Maybe this wouldn’t be such a bad experience after all.

By the time that Crosshair left the RTL building, his stomach crawled with ants. He couldn’t tell if it was from nerves or excitement or some combination of both, but he couldn’t remember feeling so hopeful in a long, long time. Tal had given him their comm frequency and promised to answer any questions if Cross thought of them; and swore that as soon as they found him a match, they’d let him know. In return, Crosshair had given his word that he would think of an answer to the last question Tal had posed before their time was up. “What kind of date do you want to go on?”

Given that he’d never been on any, and certainly didn’t ingest media that portrayed such things, he hadn’t been able to give an answer. He hadn’t even wanted to lie, instead defaulting to his training, the instilled need to have the entire picture before making a decision. Kark, this meant he had to do research.

Climbing the stairs to the apartment he shared with his brothers, he took the time to school his expression into its usual blank mask. The last thing he needed was for any of them to catch a whiff of where he’d been. He hadn’t even told Wrecker he would go to the matchmaking service; he’d just…left in the middle of the morning after they had all gone their separate ways.

He lingered in the hall just long enough to determine who was already home. Judging by the raucous laughter, snide remarks, and grumbling complaints, it seemed all three of them were.

Great.

The door slid open and whooshed shut behind him as he stepped over the threshold. From the living room, Wrecker’s head peeked around the corner, a broad grin on his scarred face.

"Was wonderin’ where you went,” he called.

Cross ambled to the living room, pushed Wrecker back out of the way with one thin hand on his brother’s face. Laughing, Wrecker over-sold the push and landed squarely on his ass on the tile floor.

Plopping into the beige, worn-out recliner, Cross sighed, running a hand through his short silver hair. He’d need a haircut soon.

“Out,” he finally answered.

Hunter fixed him with a look, eyebrows scrunched. “‘Out’?”

Crosshair nodded once. Kriff, he should have just gone to his room, avoided this whole mess, but he knew his brothers; once they got on the trail of something, they couldn’t let it go.

Wrecker lightly kicked the recliner—thought a light kick from him meant that the chair still slid a few inches across the floor with an uncomfortable screech. Hunter winced from his spot on the couch.

“Did you go you-know-where?” Wrecker asked, voice in a stage-whisper, as if Hunter and Tech weren’t right kriffin’ there.

Cross rolled his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I believe Wrecker is referring to the matchmaking service known as Right to Love, which has helped clones find life partners,” Tech interjected with a glance up from his datapad. “A service to which you have been incredibly averse.”

“Hey, I thought I was convincing!” Wrecker’s voice dripped with indignation. “Wasn’t I, Cross?”

Crosshair cut a glance at his older brother. “No.”

“Aww, Cross, you’re no fun,” Wrecker whined. He stood and lumbered to the kitchen.

Crosshair met Hunter’s gaze. Knowing his brother could probably smell the karking vanilla candle and chamomile tea on his clothes, he had tried walking through exhaust vents to douse the scent. But the way that Hunter’s eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring, set Crosshair’s heart sinking.

“Well,” Hunter said with a knowing look, “wherever you went, hope you had a good time.”

The rest of the evening passed quietly, the four of them settling into their usual routines. Dinner ate, holoseries watched, old stories swapped, the clock ticked by with an aching slowness. Even as his brothers recounted the latest triple-date ideas they’d had, he couldn’t help but fixate on the building anticipation in his limbs, a jittery, twitchy feeling that had him on edge. All he wanted to do was shut himself in his room and research.

As soon as the clock showed 10 PM he bid his brothers goodnight and forced himself to walk normally to his room. The second the door slid shut, he rushed to his desk and booted up his datapad, one of Tech’s old ones.

While the device blipped to life, he lowered himself into his desk chair and gazed at his reflection in the floor-to-ceiling window, cast in ghostly blue from the ’pad homescreen. Eyes wide with apprehension, Crosshair almost didn’t recognize himself. He forced himself to look beyond the mirror image and focus on the scintillating lights of the ecumenopolis. Skyscrapers reached for the stars, lights dotting every floor in a mockery of the galaxy that laid beyond the polluted skies. Speeders whirred past, traffic lanes cruising steadily. Somewhere out there, came the unbidden thought, somewhere out there was the person for him.

He snapped the datapad shut.

Someone being right for him meant he was right for somebody, and that thought alone was too much to bear.

He went to bed trying to ignore the heated worm of jealousy burrowing into his spine at the sounds of his brothers’ laughter.

The next morning, he awoke to the insistent blip-blip-blip of his comlink. Peering with bleary eyes at the tiny screen, it took his sleep-addled brain a moment to parse together why an unsaved frequency was contacting him this early. A glance to the time revealed that it was, in fact, mid-morning. Still. Early for him.

A few possible matches, the message read. Would you like to come in and chat about them, have me send you their profiles, or just pick for you?

His eyes shot open, suddenly wide awake, as the message sunk in. Sitting upright in bed, he hesitated over his reply, thumbs dancing aimlessly over the keypad. This was sooner than he expected. The fact that there was more than one match made his stomach lurch—there was no way that was right.

A few? was what he ended up writing back.

Correct, came the reply. Then three bouncing dots appeared, Tal typing another message. There’s no rush. You’re in control here.

The reminder did little to calm Crosshair’s racing thoughts. Looking over at his reflection in the window, he grimaced at himself. He’d gone to sleep with his clothes on, his short hair spiked up on one side of his head from the awkward sleeping position he’d been in, and blanket marks criss-crossed his face. He at least needed a solid fifteen minutes to look put together, and then hopefully he would feel awake enough to compose a reasonable reply.

And so, fifteen minutes later, he perched on the edge of the living room recliner, comlink in hand as he stared down at the blinking cursor. He’d been given choices. So few people gave him choices, at least before the war ended. He decided he liked having options.

So absorbed in wracking his brain for a coherent response, he completely missed the tell-tale sounds of Wrecker sneaking up behind him until it was too late. His brother snatched the comlink out of his grasp. Cross reached for his brother, but Wrecker was faster than he looked and darted to the other side of the couch, nimble as a Nexu.

“Wrecker!” Crosshair growled. “Give. It. Back.”

Wrecker’s belly laugh echoed off the walls. “You’ve been actin’ weird since you got home. I wanna see why.” He glanced down at the comlink, lips moving as he silently read the messages to himself, then his mismatched eyes widened.

“You did go you-know-where!”

Crosshair sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “If I say that I did, can I have my comlink back?”

“Maybe.”

“Kark, fine. Yes, I went. Now, give it back.” This time, as Cross strode forward to nick the comlink back, Wrecker let him, a ear-splitting grin breaking over his face.

Cross squinted, unease seeping into his veins at the mirthful glint in his brother’s eyes. “What did you do?”

He whipped the comlink up to his face and glared at the screen. There, in his latest sent messages: Pick for me!

Chuckling, but already backing away, Wrecker flashed him one final smirk before tearing down the hallway to his room. Crosshair sighed, shoulders deflating. Kark it all to hell, now he’d never hear the end of it.

The comlink bli-bli-b-b-blipped in his grasp as several messages came through at once. Groaning, he collapsed into the couch, head in his hands, determined to ignore the damned device, but as the notifications continued, he ground his teeth and peeked.

A torrent of messages from the group chat with his vode.

Crosshair’s going on a date!!!

I could have told you that. -Tech

Proud of you, vod’ika.

Does this mean we can go on QUADRUPLE dates!?!?!?!?

Calm down, Wrecker, let the man actually meet the person he’s being set up with before you start planning.

We’re gonna have so much fun!!!!

I can see why Crosshair chose not to reveal this to us. -Tech

And at the bottom of the notifications, one lone message from Tal: Great. I’ll send you information about your match as soon as it’s confirmed. Thank you for trusting me with this, Crosshair.

#tcw matchmaking au #clone matchmaking au #The Bad Batch #prompt response

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flyiingsly · 6 months

Text

Nightmares

Square : I wasn't sleeping

Pairing : Crosshair x gn!jedi!reader

Warnings : angst, nightmares, trauma and implied PTSD, mentions of Mount Tantiss, Crosshair being touch starved, this man deserves more hugs honestly

Wordcount : 3,5k

Summary : Crosshair keep having nightmares after being rescued from Mount Tantiss. You are a former jedi who is very sensitive to other people's emotions, and you are able to feel how bad he struggles with them. One night, after another nightmare, you try to show him that he can count on you to help him overcome his trauma.

A/N : My second submission for the @clonexreaderbingo ! This is part of an Everybody lives AU in which the Batch end up peacefully living on Pabu after successfully rescuing Omega and Crosshair from Mount Tantiss, just has they deserved it :D

Disclaimer : I'm still struggling to understand English grammar properly, English is not my native language and even if I have proofread my writtings several times, there is probably still typos in it. I'm very self conscious about it and I apologize for it in advance, but I'm doing my best to do better and I'm actively working at improving my writting skills !

So if you spot a typo, feel free to point it to me so I can correct it, it will be much appreciated :)

It was a cold night on Pabu. The winter season was approaching, the days were shortening and the sun seemed to grow even more distant form the little island every day. It had been weeks since Crosshair was successfully rescued from Mount Tantiss and that the squad was finally reunited. You knew it was still hard for him to accommodate to his new life and his new environment. You could tell he was having a hard time socializing and trusting everyone around him. He was doing his best and was making efforts, but he was still often standing alone and was still a bit cold with those who tried to interact with him. It was going to take time for him to get over everything he went through, you and the Batch knew it, and you were all trying your best to make him the most comfortable and at ease as possible.

But nonetheless, at this point, he was starting to become close to his brothers and to trust them again, their bond was in the process of being restored, and you could see it was improving more and more with each day passing.

At first, you weren’t expecting him to open up much to you, as you weren’t originally part of the Batch. You have been knowing Echo for a long time now, since you were fighting along the 501st, before he was captured at the Citadel. You were a jedi, and have grown very attached to the clones during the war, so after you escape Order 66, you decided to go after Rex and Ahsoka, for you had the feeling that something had happened to them, but not in a bad way. You had the feeling that they had made it out of all of this mess. It was during your journey to find them that you met the Batch, and got reunited with Echo. You had worked with them before on a few occasions, and they took you in without hesitation. Since Crosshair wasn’t with them at that time and didn’t approve their decision to keep you, you were expecting him to not recognize you as one of the members of the squad. Furthermore, the last few times you had crossed his past, he tried to shoot at you …

But you were trying your best with him anyway, giving him all the time he’ll need to trust you, never rushing him, always being kind to him … He was intriguing, and you took your time to get to know him. And surprisingly, as the time was passing by, that hard shell he was protecting himself under started to soften. He noticed all the efforts you made, all the patience you poured into trying to understand him, all your kindness … He wasn’t use to kindness, or to someone being so patient and open hearted with him. It felt strange at first, and even if he didn’t want to admit it, he was appreciating it sincerely. He felt at peace when you were next to him. All the attention and sympathy you gave him made him feel valuable and more human.

The two of you eventually became closer, although it was barely noticeable from the outside. He was still somewhat cold, distant and sarcastic, and you sometimes had troubles figuring out what he was thinking or feeling about you. But for the rest of the Batch, who knew him for so long, it was obvious that he ended up being really attached to you. You may be a jedi, but they were still a lot of things that you weren’t able to catch a glimpse of, even more with someone as mysterious as Crosshair.

Sleep was nowhere to be find that night, various and weird thoughts were spiraling through your mind and you weren’t able to get rid of them. You ultimately decided to do a better use of that spare time by reading some records from the previous mission that Tech had collated on his datapad then shared with you. You were the only one who was really paying attention to his ramblings about everything. You were an eager curious who loved to learn new facts as random as they can be, just like him.

You were absorbed in your reading when a strange feeling took over you.

You stopped your reading and just wait for it to go, but after a few seconds, you hear some very light footsteps passing by the door of your room. It wouldn’t have drawn your attention if it wasn’t for all the fear and anxiety that you were able to sense right now.

Something was wrong with the person crossing that corridor.

Crosshair.

You knew it was him, it was obvious. You knew he was regularly having nightmares about what happened to him on Tantiss. In fact, it happened to every member of the Batch to have nightmares from time to time. The war has left scars in everyone minds, even in yours. You’ve spent a couple of nights comforting them already, you knew how bad it was. But with Crosshair, it was worst. And although the others were able to talk to you about it, he, on the other side, was using a lot of energy to hide it and keep it to himself.

You could feel it anyway, his torments were so violent that it was overwhelming your senses every time you were near him after one of his nightmares. It felt as threatening as those Echo had after he was rescued from Skako.

Now you knew what was keeping you up and bothering your mind. You let the footsteps move away until you couldn’t hear them anymore. You hesitate for a moment, then get up of your bed. You knew he was more comfortable alone in these moments, but what you just felt was so intense that there was no way for you to not, at least, go check on him.

You put your clothes back on with a coat and a scarf and pull on your shoes. Your instinct was telling you to take a blanket as well, and within seconds, you were out of your room, the light of an electric torch guiding your steps in the dark.

As soon as you were out of the building, the cold wind hit you right in the face, freezing you on the spot and sending a violent shiver down your spine despite your heavy coat. The moon was full and its light was bright enough to allow you to shut down your torchlight.

You didn’t search for a long time before spotting him, for his strong emotions were leaving an easily identifiable trail behind him. You head toward the beach where the see was at its highest level. The light of the moon was beautifully reflecting on the waves, making them shimmer as they swirl.

“What are doing here ?” a cold voice took you aback, making you stop in your tracks. You were still a few meters away from him when he spots your presence behind him, addressing you without even turning his head to look at you.

“Well, I heard you leaving the building, so, I wanted to make sure that you were okay …”

He finally turns his upper body toward you, raising his head to look at you with a surprised expression.

“Did I wake you up ?” he asks. His voice was filled with concern. It was so unusual for him to not wear his little snarky tone that you weren’t sure how to interpret it.

“Oh, no, don’t worry ! I wasn’t sleeping anyway …” you answer briefly, not wanting to explain to him what was exactly on your mind. It wasn’t a lie anyway for you were, in fact, unable to sleep.

You looked at each other for a moment in complete silence and without moving.

“But, if you want to stay alone, I’ll understand … I just … wanted to let you know that I’m here if you need it …” you add hesitantly, waiting to be send packing any minute now, “and … I thought you’ll appreciate to have a blanket if you plan to stay here, the air is particularly cold tonight …”

He furrowed his brows, still not saying a word, and lectured you from head to toes, surprised and not really knowing how to handle the situation.

“You can stay.” He finally answers bluntly, turning back to face the see again.

You slowly move closer and sit next to him, keeping enough distance for him not to feel pressured. The silence goes on, as both your gazes were riveted on the moving water. What a coincidence, you thought, that the spot he picked up was your favorite one. It was the perfect place to stay hidden when you needed a moment on your own due to the high rocks border surrounding it.

You could feel that his anxiety level has decrease since you arrived. Even if he was still struggling, it was better than nothing.

Then your mind starts to drift toward some more joyful thoughts, fondly recalling the first time that you and the Batch arrived on Pabu.

“Didn’t you say that you bring a blanket ?” a voice suddenly pulled you out of your thoughts.

You look at Crosshair in surprise, you thought that he didn’t care about it at first.

“Of course, here.” You answer, holding it to him.

“Thanks” he mutters with a blank expression. You smile at him in response, not expecting him to smile back, before focusing on the water again.

As he unfolds the fabric, you notice that he was getting closer to you in the process. When you felt his arm brush against your back and the blanket being settled on your shoulders, your eyes widen. You automatically grab its edge to tighten it up around your body before his hand release it. It was your turn to look at him in surprise this time.

“Thanks …”

“I’ve already prevented you from sleeping and made you go out despite the weather, I just don’t want you to catch a cold because of me on top of that.” He was looking back at you too now, his piercing eyes profoundly rooted in yours. It wasn’t so often that you can meet his gaze, especially for such a long time.

His words made you understand that he knew why you weren’t able to find sleep, and why you were here. He knew how sensitive to other’s people emotions you were, and how comforting and helping your company was for his brothers when they were at their lowest. You couldn’t tell if it was his way to make you understand that he was in need of some comfort, but you decided to take the opportunity.

“You know …” you slowly start, picking your words with caution, “… if you need to talk to someone about anything, you can talk to me, I won’t judge you.”

You gave him another gentle smile, and slowly, you feel like if something was beginning to break apart inside him, as the glowing of his eyes became more intense and his jaw clenched. He suddenly looks away, lowering his eyes on the sand with a heavy sigh. You weren’t waiting for an answer, you just wanted him to hear it.

After a moment, his whole body started to shake as he buries his face into his trembling hands. But much to your surprise, after another heavy sigh, he raised his head from his hands and turned his body toward you, unexpectedly wrapping his arms around your neck and shoulders under the blanket, pulling you in a desperate and tight embrace.

Your eyes widen and you stood there in shock, processing what was just happening. You couldn’t move a finger at all, you were completely frozen to the spot by this out of character move. He immediately notices your tension and loosen his grip, realizing what he had just done.

“I’m … I’m sorry, I don’t know what was going through my mind, I shouldn’t have done that, I’m sorry, I didn’t want to force that on you …” He seems terrified, his voice was heavy, and you could feel guilt and shame in his tone.

But as he was trying to move away from you, you hold him back by placing your hand on his shoulder.

“Hey, it’s ok, don’t worry, you didn’t do anything wrong. I know you’re having a hard time, but it’s ok, you didn’t force anything on me, I was just … Surprised, you know. Because you’re usually not the huggy-kinda person, and I know that you particularly value your personal space, so I just wasn’t expecting that and I did not know how to react, but, it’s okay, really.” Your voice was calm and reassuring, but he still was feeling really bad about it.

“I know, I’m so sorry, I don’t know what happen, I got overwhelmed, that’s not my type, I should never have done that, I should’ve asked, or just don’t do anything at all …” He was so embarrassed and moved it broke you heart.

“Please,” you gently ask for his attention, “it’s not a big deal, really, I’m fine about it, right ?” you were looking at him, but his eyes were avoiding yours. “Right” he mumbles.

“Hey, come here” you whisper softly, squeezing his shoulder gently and opening your arms, the edge of the blanket tucked in your hand, to show him that he could still have that hug if he wanted it.

He raises his gaze to look at you right in the eyes, then looks at your hands with a hesitant expression on his face, then back at you, like if he needed one more sign of approval to be sure to not make a mistake again. You gave him an encouraging smile to show him that everything was definitely safe and alright, before he finally wraps his arms around you again, burying his nose in the crook of your neck.

He was so close that you were able to feel the beating of his heart. It was fast at first due to his sudden rush of anxiety, but it was slowly calming down to go back to its normal pace. You knew he was struggling with physical touch and people being too close to him, so you couldn’t have ever imagined that he was so eager for contact and so touch starved under his need for personal space and keeping distances. You gently move your hand that wasn’t holding the blanket to his head, and started to softly run your fingers through his silver hair, sending a shiver down his spine. His breath was warm and steady against your skin, and even if the struggle was still present on his mind, you knew he was more at ease than before.

The embrace was peaceful, and you really were enjoying it. You stay here in silence, again, as you hold him tight, your chin settled on his shoulder, contemplating the moving water, and offering him as much time as he needed to calm down. A few minutes later, he lets out another sigh, before starting speak in a hushed voice.

“It’s not that I don’t want to talk to you, it’s just that … I can’t. I can’t put words on those things to describe them, I can’t even say that out loud, my brain won’t allow me to do it. It feels like it’s too much, like if every time I want to talk about that, I suddenly forget how to talk. The words are stuck in my throat, like if they don’t want to get out … I feel restrained, like if I was having some sort of blockage … And …. I can’t even describe that feeling properly … It’s so frustrating, but I just can’t do it, not yet … They never taught us how to express our feelings on Kamino … We’re just … Not supposed to open up about all of this, we’re not meant for that, we’re just meant to follow orders without complaining, without showing how these things affect us, or it’s considered a defectiveness …”

His words were hard to swallow. He must have been suffering so much more that you could have imagine.

“It’s ok, I understand that” you whisper softly, “I know how hard it can be to put words on such hard-to-accept and frightening thoughts. I know it takes a lot of time to be able to clearly talk about these things and open up about it. But don’t worry, you have all the time you need to process and learn how to explain everything. Just know that you are safe now, even if it’s difficult to believe after everything you went through, but nobody is going to hurt you anymore, we will never let that happen again, I swear.”

You feel his grip around you tighten and his face press harder against your neck, just like if he was afraid that you could suddenly disappear.

“Thanks you” he simply breathes out.

His voice was filled with emotions, you knew that he really needed to let this out.

“Whatever you need.”

After a moment, he breaks the embrace, creating a space between you under the blanket. When you look at him, it seemed that his nervousness has returned.

“Can I … Can I ask you a favor ?”

“Of course, what is it ?” you curiously answer.

“I know it’s a lot, it’s probably awfully inappropriate, and I’ll understand if you tell me to get lost, but …” he hesitates before finishing his sentence, “can I share your bed tonight ?”

He was embarrassed to ask you and afraid of your rejection, like paralyzed, eyes riveted on the sand, waiting religiously for your answer.

You weren’t expecting that, and for a moment you thought that you had misheard his words, before quickly understanding that he was perfectly serious and sincere about it.

The last thing that you wanted was to make him feel bad or ashamed about it, or to give him the impression that you were hesitating. Honestly, you didn’t need to think about it, the answer was loud and clear in your mind.

“Of course, don’t worry. And nobody will know, if that’s what’s bothering you”

“Honestly … I don’t care about it, the only thing that matters to me right now is being with you.”

Your heart sank at his words. You were expecting him to do everything to prevent the other to know about all of it, or that everything that matters to him was to not be alone no matter with who it was, but he didn’t.

“Then I’m not going to let you down, ever.” You whisper, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead.

***

You stay on the beach for a little while after that, holding each other close and watching the see, before going back into the building. You made your way toward your room without a sound to not wake up anyone else, and when the door closed behind you, you both felt relieved. It was like if something long awaited but never asked for was finally happening. It was like a reunion you never knew you were both needing before.

The light of your bed lamp was warm, the room was small but cozy, like a protective cocoon. Now that he was sure that nobody could bother him anymore and that he was safe, he really started to lower his guard. You could feel it, and it warmed your heart to know that he was getting better.

You get into the bed first, placing yourself on a side as near of the wall as possible to give him more space. He crawls under the sheets without a word. You were so close to him that you could feel his heat without touching him.

“Are you ok ?” you ask, looking at him lying on his back.

His eyes left the ceiling to stare at you. He was hesitant, but after a while, he gets on his side, and you felt his hand gently settles on your back, pulling you toward him. The contact made you shiver, for his fingers were cold, and soon, his body meets yours, his warmth enfolding you. He huddles up against you, and buries his face in the crook of your neck again.

“Now I am.” he whispers against your skin.

You could tell he was smiling, and the beating of his heart was resonating steadily against your chest. Your cheeks were blushing, but you didn’t care anymore, for you were, too, feeling great right now.

“Perfect then” you whisper back, stretching your arm to reach the light switch. The room was plunged into darkness as you settle your hand on his back, pulling him even closer. Your other arm slides under his neck, allowing you hand to land on his head and your fingers to wander thoughts his hair just like before on the beach.

He lets out a sigh of relief, drowning into the comfort of your embrace, slowly allowing sleep to wash over his mind. It didn’t take you long to sink in either, and soon, you were asleep in each other’s arms, both secretly wishing that this shared night will not be the only one.

#cfb2023 #vi writing #the bad batch #tbb crosshair #crosshair #crosshair x reader #reader insert

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