#clonexreaderbingo

[staycalmandhugaclone]

Ode to Artists Pt 1

Part (1) of Ode to Artists, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

Am I well past when I was supposed to finish my Bingo sheet? Yup. Am I still counting this one toward the "Bed" prompt? Also yup. I meant for this to just be a one-parter, but I just can't write those... so it'll be 2 or 3 parts of mostly (emphasis on mostly) fluff before we get into the next whump-tastic arcs I have planned. (Also, after my appointment today, the midwives say I could literally go anytime from tomorrow to 5 weeks from now, soooo if I vanish for a bit... well, you'll know why)

Warnings: This arc will mostly be fluffy stuff, but there will be references to past torture here and there. This one has some flashbacks, profanity, and loads of emotions like guilt, fear, anger, and general angst, as well some brief mention of wanting to die (not SI - with relation to ending torture), and I supposed some dependency

WC: 3,405

Rough Mando'a translation:

hut’uunla chakaaryc - coward and a rotten, low-life, (considered worst possible insult)

When we’re children and we first learn that the sky is endless, when we’re told of the countless lives beyond that stunning blue and the thousands of planets that we’ll never visit; when we’re first taught that the impossibly distant stars who’s lights danced in the darkness of night had died and been reborn long before we’d ever glimpsed them, and we discover just how small we are amidst an existence that would live on unchanged in spite of our hopes and dreams and fears, unmoved by our short lives and inevitable deaths; when we’re children and these harsh truths rob us of that innocent sense of invulnerability and infinite potential innate in the brilliance of youth, there is a wound that is dealt in the wake of that revelation regardless if the words are spoken with unapologetic honesty or gentle wonder, and those wounds may scar or they may fester, but they never fully fade.

I remembered when I learned how big the galaxy was. I didn’t feel that loss then. At the time, I’d felt inspired, enamored by the vast stretches of possibilities I’d never before considered and lightened beneath the new sense of freedom granted by those possibilities, but I felt those scars now.

Used bandages lay forgotten in small piles atop the medbay counter as my eyes stared blindly at the still pink bands encircling my wrists, fingertips just whispering over the newly knit skin. The freshly formed nerves shuddered beneath that delicate touch, unaccustomed, yet, to even gentle sensation. I hadn’t seen the damage wrought by how violently I’d thrashed against those restraints, not until after Comet had done his best to clean and sow them back together, and bacta gel had regrown most of what surely still dirtied a floor already coated with too much blood, but I could imagine it. For the scars to still shine so starkly against the unmarried flesh beside it, I didn’t doubt how near I’d come to severing tendon and exposing bone, and the simple fact that I could remember no sense of pain beyond the panic of drowning held its own morbid wonder.

It was as I stared unseeing at those scars, thoughts coming and going absent a moment’s true consideration, that I felt small. I’d never known fear could cut so deeply, that the body was capable of such terror, and yet I’d suffered beneath it for so long as the worlds around me continued in blissful ignorance. Children played as I screamed. New lovers relished the touch of another as I died. Stars were born as I begged for everything to end, and yet I now stood in the same room of the Marauder that I’d lived in for well over a year. The air still held the stale taste of too many rotations through the recyclers. The engines hummed with that same subtle rumble fading into the ambiance of the occasional beep of an alarm, and beyond the door, if I bothered to listen, I was sure I’d hear Wrecker’s boisterous voice or catch a sharp retort from Crosshair.

Even in that haze of wandering memories, my heart still leapt at the thought of him. He’d refused to let me so much as change my own bandages during the week we’d remained on the Negotiator. What arguments I’d tried to offer failed beneath the gentleness of his touch, the way his eyes hardened and his lithe body curled over mine. It didn’t feel possessive. It felt safe, and that was far too precious to refuse. Between those moments, however, I’d rarely seen him.

Only after noting his absence for several days did I learn that he kept vanishing to the training rooms, seeking anyone foolish enough or brave enough to spar and ensuring what minor injuries he sustained had been tended long before returning to my side. I wanted to talk to him about it but found myself unable to force the question past my lips, too worried that I already knew the answer to risk asking, because what could I say if he was fighting as a means of distracting himself from everything I wasn’t yet willing to speak of? If he felt driven to escape a helplessness I knew too well, a helplessness he only felt because of me? It had been something of a relief to get word of our latest assignment if only to break that routine.

With my wounds now all but healed and the lot of us en route to Alderaan, some semblance of normalcy was finally beginning to return. Friendly bickering again flowed between the brothers, free of that tension that had made my heart twist since Devaron, and no one shot away to hide the instant the medbay door opened or purposefully avoided eye contact if we were in the same room. It wasn’t perfect, but it was better. That return to normalcy, however, brought with it a quiet I wished I could appreciate, but the thoughts it granted freedom to were ones that robbed me of breath and left me staggering amidst memories I couldn’t force back.

“Doc?” My attention snapped away from those lingering scars, chest hitching in a small gasp at the suddenness with which that daze fled me. Echo stood barely a handful of steps away, brows draw lightly together above eyes full of the beginnings of worry. I hadn’t noticed the hiss of the door opening or closing, hadn’t heard whatever initial greeting he’d offered as he entered. Had he asked me something? How long had he been speaking before falling silent at the realization that I wasn’t even aware of his presence?

“Sorry, Echo; guess I got a bit lost in thought.” I said softly with a gentle smile that did little to chase the concern from his gaze. “What did you say?” He hesitated a moment, jaw tensing, and I couldn’t help but fear I’d missed something vital in whatever words he’d spoken while my mind had floated absent intent.

“Just… wondered if you’d eaten yet? Figured I’d grab you something since I was headed there anyway.” My heart sank at the offer, certain that had nothing to do with why he’d really come here, but the tentative truce between us was still too delicate to strain beneath blunt questions. I turned my attention back to the counter, using the excuse of gathering the discarded cloth to hide the threat of disappointment from my gaze.

“Probably a good idea.” I sighed despite how unappealing one of those flavorless bars sounded. “I’m finished here, anyway, so I’ll come with you.” A stranger wouldn’t have noticed the tension steal through him, the delay preceding that forced smile. A close friend wouldn’t have hesitated to address them. I noticed and said nothing, caught in the lingering uncertainty of where we stood, terrified that I might push him away again with one poorly chosen word.

“Have you reviewed the mission brief, yet?” He asked, vying for some attempt at nonchalance as we started from the medbay. I nodded, still a bit confused by it. We were making a delivery to the governing body. Given the relatively safe location of the planet, using a squad with the immaculate record Hunter and his brothers boasted made little sense. Echo let out a small chuckle at my expression, and my heart leapt at the sound.

“I think Cody sent us on this one as a bit of a break.” I didn’t fight the look of surprise that drew my attention back to him, though the darkness that followed left me turning away just as quickly. He was babying us because of me… sending us as a glorified delivery service. I wasn’t sure if I was grateful for the reprieve or enraged at how badly I needed just that: a respite from the unending horrors of this nightmare of a war.

“I don’t think he meant it as an insult.” At that, a quick huff escaped me, cheeks warming from how effortlessly he read me.

“I think he meant it as an olive branch more than anything.” I retorted, pleased to glimpse the smirk those words brought to his lips.

“Or an excuse to get Crosshair off his ship as soon as possible.” He mused, voice lowering as he leaned subtly closer to me, and I found myself biting back a string of laughter at his conspiratory tone.

I wasn’t surprised to find Wrecker in the small kitchette as we entered, a few empty wrappers already littering the table with a third already half eaten. His eyes lit up when he saw us.

“Did he tell you?!” The vibrant excitement in his voice was almost enough to make me hesitate, eyes flicking back to Echo for a moment.

“I’m going to guess not yet?” I replied, brow hitching expectantly. The arc didn’t bother even trying to explain before his brother jumped to his feet.

“They got this celebration tomorrow on Alderaan! Tech says they only do it every five years!” He purged the news in a loud, eager rush of glee that I was helpless against, lips instantly drawing up into a broad grin.

“Tomorrow? Are going to make it?” A quiet whisper of fear coiled in my chest, images of too many strange faces milling about overly pretentious floors as music danced through the air, but I refused to grant it purchase in the wake of Wrecker’s delight.

“Yup! Hunter even said we’d have the whole night to see it while the ship gets fueled up!”

“It’s outside,” Echo added softly, and I couldn’t quite meet his gaze despite how my body automatically shifted toward him, too aware of what prompted him to offer the gentle reassurance. “Up in the mountains.” Alderaan’s snowy peaks were renowned for their timeless beauty, and the knowledge that we wouldn’t be confined to some inescapable prison veiled in the guise of splendor and finery proved the perfect balm to the quickening of my heartbeat.

“We’ll have to bundle you up with a couple extra layers.” I didn’t doubt that he heard the gratitude warming my words as I finally found the strength to look at him, and the kindness in those eyes shown untainted by the distance that still haunted us.

“Pretty sure I’ll be thawing out the whole trip back regardless how many sets of blacks I put on.” He grumbled, but there was no heat to the complaint. I offered a sympathetic smile and bumped my shoulder lightly against his chest before treading further into the small room to retrieve some rations for us.

“Did Tech mention what all we might expect at this event?” I knew Wrecker would have seen through the subtleties of how Echo eased that fear from me; knew he’d likely understood the instant my gaze first turned away from him, just as I knew he understood the true reason behind my question, and I loved him for how readily he answered my unspoken plea for a distraction as he raptly described what he remembered of Tech’s earlier explanation: of the group of artists that had lived and died centuries prior, but who’s works of Alderaan’s beauty became so renowned throughout the galaxy as to alter the very fate of the planet, inspiring countless others to seek out those natural landscapes to witness that beauty for themselves. He spoke of the promise of endless venders offering unique food and drink and all manner of goods, and he drew no attention to why I sat so quietly beside him, why I failed to respond with my usual glee to his animated retelling, but he was not silent in the face of my stillness, powerful body shifting ever so subtly about mine, hand gentle in every brief touch that somehow never lasted too long, and I couldn’t bring myself to feel anything but relief at his unspoken offer for a comfort that was so soft as to barely be noticeably beyond the unwavering sense of safety it granted me.

It was late. Offensively late. The medbay lay illuminated in the faint glow of a monitor I hadn’t been able to bring myself to turn off, knowing what darkness awaited me the instant I flicked that switch, what terrors lingered in the shadows vying for any excuse to strike. Crosshair had said nothing about it as he shifted atop my bed, groggily holding the blanket open with feigned impatience, but I couldn’t dismiss that flare of shame at yielding to that fear. The instant I settled into him, however, the warmth that enveloped me as he fit himself perfectly around my too tense form and let out that deep, quiet sigh of contentment robbed me of all thought beyond the feeling of his chest dancing with unhurried breaths against my back, the strength of his arms holding me with a covetous need, and I’d found myself drifting into a far kinder sleep that I had any right to hope for.

I loathed the unknown disturbance drawing me from that gentle slumber, jaw tensing beneath an attempt at denial that I might simply ignore whatever it was and slip back into that blessed nothingness. Crosshair lay perfectly limp against me, face tucked into my hair with that precious stillness of sleep. Resigned to a late-night visit to the privy, I reluctantly tried to slip away from him, laughter threatening to bubble past pursed lips at the tiny groan that escaped him as his arms tightened petulantly around me, but he showed no signs of waking as I finally managed to detangle myself from his embrace.

Footsteps as near to silent as I could manage, I tread carefully down the hall, tiptoeing past the bunkroom, though only Wrecker and Echo lay within, both far too lost to their own blissful sleep to note my movements. It wasn’t until I’d nearly reached the privy door that something on the very edge of perception left my blood running cold. I couldn’t say what it was, not yet, but my body seemed drawn toward it, wide eyes locked on the fore of the ship as my legs carried me forward despite the sudden urge to flee.

Even after some recognition began to note the sound of broken gasps amidst free-flowing water, I couldn’t bring myself to stop. There was a haunted sense of familiarity in the way I watched myself move through the ship; in the automated motions I didn’t have the presence of mind to even try to stop.

“…severe forms of torture.” There was a weight to that normally clinical voice; a dread that even he couldn’t fully suppress.

“Tech.” Hunter’s hushed voice barely registered as he turned sharply to face me, but I couldn’t focus on him. I hadn’t even noticed myself climb down the ladder into the cockpit.

“Who ordered the hit?!” I don’t remember when that man’s voice had filled with such anger.

“It’s rare for anyone to endure longer than a couple minutes… what she went through”

“Tech!” Hunter barked, finally ripping his brother’s attention from the audio clip. I didn’t see the look in his eyes as he followed Hunter’s gaze toward me.

“Just tell me who planted the kriffing bomb!”

“I don’t know!” It didn’t sound like my voice. It was enraged and terrified and ruined by hours of screaming. Hunter’s hand flared toward Tech, but he sat frozen – caught – as I approached on strides faltering beneath the tremble just beginning to steal through me.

“That’s krayt spit, and you kriffing know it! Who ordered the hit?!” Part of me wanted to be impressed at how clear the recording was, mind eager to detach from the rush of liquid that followed my every response, the way my lungs panicked and burned with the afterimage of that agony.

“Just kill me, you hut’uunla chakaaryc!” I’d heard Warthog say that once… even Wolffe had been taken aback, and only Sinker would tell me what it meant when I’d asked. That man surely had no idea what I’d called him, but the violent slap that tore from the speakers followed by the seemingly endless flood of water and desperate coughs left no uncertainty that he’d fathomed a guess.

“…Doc.” My hand was reaching out, senses dulled to all but the echoes of my nightmares screaming with such haunting clarity from the speakers, deaf to Hunter’s quiet call.

“Who was behind the attack?!”

“I don’t know!!” That voice was sobbing and screaming and so utterly broken.

My fingertips barely brushed the console before the recording stopped, but I could still hear it… the gush of water… I could feel it’s chill tear the warmth from my flesh; felt it flooding my mouth and nose… and I felt that undeniable, visceral fear of death creeping through me.

Hunter shifted hesitantly toward me, but I merely shook my head. The movement was so slight, I barely felt it, but it instantly left him frozen, shoulders sinking beneath emotions I was still far too raw to try to name.

Without a word, I stepped away from them, away from whatever apologies or questions or murmured reassurances might be festering atop their tongues, my eyes still staring blindly at the endless buttons and switches decorating the console, and when I turned away, when I began to leave in the same silence in which I’d arrived, neither could bring themselves to try calling out again.

Any other night, I would have cringed at the thought of waking him. I would have strained myself to slip back into his embrace as carefully as possible, breath held in my chest until I was sure my intrusion hadn’t robbed him of that empty sleep, but I could spare little thought toward such things. He was warm. And he was safe. And I didn’t bother to even slide beneath the blanket before pressing myself against him.

Crosshair’s torso swelled with a sharp inhale, brows drawing together with some mixture of annoyance and confusion, but then he went still. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him, body curling into his as though I might hide from the memories still raging through my mind. He studied me for mere seconds before shifting in careful, unhurried movements, one arm slipping beneath me to wrap around my shoulders while he brought his other hand up to just whisper against my cheek, the unspoken question clear in that tender gesture.

Again, I felt my head give the slightest shake, unable to offer anything more. His thumb trailed the ridge of my cheekbone, touch featherlight, before letting his hand brush gently through my hair to rest against the back of my neck, holding me with just enough force for me to feel his strength, and a shuttered exhale escaped me that left us both clinging just that much harder to each other.

He didn’t speak throughout the night, but the occasional dance of his fingers or touch of his lips in something too gentle to be called a kiss reassured me that he was still awake, still holding me until that tension began to slip away. I don’t know how long we laid there, letting the minutes and hours pass in that perfect quiet, but when I finally heard the steady thrum of his heartbeat over those horrid screams, I wanted to sob. I wanted to shout beneath the disdain I felt toward myself and the apologies I didn’t have the strength to voice. I wanted to tell him that he could leave; that I wouldn’t blame him for needing to separate himself from the mess I’d become, but I couldn’t stop my grasp from tightening around his shirt at the very thought, and when he responded without hesitation, when his arms nearly crushed me against him, I abandoned even the memory of fear that he’d want me to grant him that escape.

In the morning, I’d thank him. In the morning, I’d try to offer some manner of an explanation that he was long past due, but for what few hours still remained in that façade of night that meant nothing in the emptiness of space, I let myself give in to the simple need for his presence and the quiet it granted me. I let myself be weak that I might find solace in his strength, and I let myself love him with every atom of my being for the selflessness of his comfort.

Next Chapter

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[littlemissmanga]

"Don't Forget That, Okay?

Pairing: Crosshair x reader

WC: 2,020

Warnings: A bit of angst/hurt feelings, but what do you expect with Crosshair. All is resolved by the end though.

Prompt/Square: “don’t forget that”

Summary: The Bad Batch have a rare few days of leave, meaning you get a chance to visit home. You invite the boys to tag along. But Crosshair makes his discomfort with the domestic scene known.

a/n: So my parents were those parents growing up. They were the ones who “adopted” my friends. My childhood home was open to anyone going through a tough time or in need of additional support, no matter what that looked like. Even if everything was good, they were always checking in on friends and trying to feed them (seriously, like an ungodly amount of time was spent eating). Many of my friends have my parents’ cell numbers to this day (we’re all over 30) and still text them just to chat.

I couldn’t help but think of how “I don’t need anyone” Crosshair would react to reader bringing him home seeing a well-adjusted and reasonably happy family and feeling so out of place. Think a Shawn Hunter in Boy Meets World situation. And that just made me want to hug him. Then I saw my Clone x Reader Bingo Card courtesy of @clonexreaderbingo and “don’t forget that” seemed to fit perfectly!

-------------------------------------------------------------------------- b

The wind cut against his skin, the harsh sting reminding him how exposed he was.

Not just because his armor was still inside, too far to grab before the need for fresh air overwhelmed him. No, the barely silent current that ran along through his muscles and shocked like a raw nerve was thanks to you.

A bitter burst of air pushes past his lips without consent.

Of course, like always, you didn’t need to try to get under his skin. You’d done that naturally the first second you’d stepped on the Marauder, meeting him quip for quip as soon as you opened your mouth. Your tenacity and stubbornness grated on him and thrilled him in the same breath, and soon he began craving your verbal matches.

They would always end at an impasse, leaving him more determined to force you to back off … or get a rise out of you. Soon, he began craving the intimacy of them. He began craving that moment when the two of you stood toe to toe, willing the other to cave first so you could follow.

He saw how easily you meshed with his brothers, how they could make you laugh out loud or comfort you after a tough mission and he had longed to join their ranks. Longed for much more, actually.

And then you stumbled. Stuttered, technically. And it opened the door.

He still hasn’t figured out what caused you to trip over your words that day, but when he turned to look at you, confusion melted into smug contentment at the sight of your wide eyes roving over his arms before snapping up to meet his.

Ever since, the second you started to get mouthy with him, Cross would pull himself up to his full height to tower over you, almost as if he was reminding a reg to mind his place. Well, in a way he was. But your place — where he’d like it to be, anyway — was much closer than he’d let any of those regs. Hell, closer than he’d let his brothers most days, if he was being honest.

And Maker if your reaction didn’t spur him on each time. He didn’t need Hunter’s hearing to know your heart would start racing. He could see the desperate way you’d try to control your breathing, chest heaving so pretty, just for him. Because of him.

The fire that raced through his veins that first time seared that image into his memory forever. He thought then he would do anything to keep you there. Next to him.

You seem to feel the same. In the months since, you had rarely left his side. You continued to constantly wheedle him, though neither of you jabbed with the same venom anymore. Not really. It was all an act, a dance to pull you together without either needing to be the first to succumb to the vulnerability he could feel tug at his heart every time he caught you sneaking a glance at him.

But again, without a thought, you put him right back on his ass. Now, it feels like his stomach felt would fall out his ass if his chest didn’t collapse in on itself first.

She doesn’t even know it.

And you shouldn’t. It was his mistake.

He forgot he was a soldier, a clone built for nothing more than war. That truth had honestly never bothered him before. He had his squad, his missions and his skills. That’s all he needed out of life.

But seeing you here …

He should have known accepting the invitation was stupid. When the Batch had been given a few days of leave, he should have kept to his routine. Stayed in the Marauder, cleaned his rifle and caught up on sleep instead of agreeing to join you and the others in visiting your home planet.

When the ship first touched down, he could see his brothers surveying the area. But as they approached an almost picturesque home at the end of a picturesque road, their curiosity remained as Crosshair’s morphed into bitterness.

It was too bright, too open, too peaceful to be anything other than alien.

Your smile was dazzling when you called out to your family with a lightly mocking tone, but the contentment on your face when your mother pulled you into her embrace broke his heart. It’s why he was the only one of the Batch to refuse the same welcome from her.

That Tech looked slightly uncomfortable with the overt affection was little comfort. Crosshair couldn’t even bring himself to tease his brother. Not when you so clearly belonged here. And Crosshair knew he never would.

So when your mom tried to get him to talk about himself, when your dad asked what he’d like to eat for dinner, when you looked at him with those eyes that shone with so much kriffing happiness it would have brought him to his knees if he were a weaker man ... he ran.

Like a worthless hut'tuun, damn him.

That’s what hurts the most. He knew the truth, deep down. But he hid from it. It was so easy to do when you were in his world.

Seeing you in yours has forced him to acknowledge that your place isn’t with him. It’s here, or somewhere just like here. Somewhere far away from battlefields and blaster smoke. Somewhere where kind words fill the air, rather than explosions. Where you can surround yourself with people who love you and can keep you happy.

You fit here. So completely he’s sure he will never see anything so perfect again. And with that same certainty, he also knows he will never belong here or anywhere like it.

This sort of soft, quiet peace isn’t meant for a soldier … a sniper … him.

“Cross?”

He freezes at the sound of your voice, letting the howl of wind through the trees suffice as a reply. When an exasperated huff fills the air, he expects it to be followed by your footsteps fading away as you turn back toward the house.

But then, you never do what he expects, do you?

So, he steels himself, tensing his muscles and darkening his glare when you plop onto the ground next to him in front of your childhood home.

“Ever heard of personal space?” He spits, hating the insecurity that forces the venom to seep back into his voice on instinct.

“Don’t be stingy, it’s cold out here! Not all of us run warm, you know.” Your tone remains light, joyful. Artificially so.

He doesn’t understand how you could willfully ignore every hostile reaction his body gave. He isn’t sure if he hates it or loves it. “Then go inside.”

Your lips purse as if you’re really considering it, fooling no one. “Hmm … nah. I think I’ll stay put.”

Crosshair scoffs and looks ahead. He doesn’t want to encourage you. But he is selfish. Too selfish to push you away as you scoot even closer, molding your side to his.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper quietly, shocking him into compliance as you gently loop your arm through his, pulling it to your chest as your chin finds its perch on his shoulder.

“For what?”

“Making you uncomfortable.”

“You’re not that talented.” If he is going to do this, might as well be now. Stars, he loves the feeling of your arms around his, of you pressed against every inch of his side, grounding him. But it wasn’t his to enjoy. “I’m not uncomfortable. Just think this is a karking waste of time.”

Leaning away from you, Crosshair tries to jerk his arm out of your grasp. But you surprise him with your strength as you lay claim to the limb, making it clear to you both that he’s not going anywhere.

You tug gently on him, tucking your head slightly to catch his gaze. “Then I’m sorry for wasting your time. I just really wanted to bring you here.”

He buries his confusion, unwilling to open that door without knowing he could close and lock it tight. “That’s stupid.”

“You’re stupid. Leave is rare, and when we do get it, it’s too short. I wanted you guys to make the most of this one, at least, since we weren’t too far away. Because you deserve to sleep in a bed in a room of your own without needing to wake up and take a night shift. Because you deserve a hot shower — a real one, not sonic — without a time limit. Rejecting all that is stupid, Cross.” You’re practically lecturing him, your voice strong as you look at him incredulously.  

You keep his gaze for a beat of silence before dropping it. Crosshair feels his lips moving, ready to refute your rather ridiculous nat-born assertions, but you cut him off, your voice dropping to almost a whisper, wavering in a way he’d never heard from you before.

“But there are other reasons, too, ya know? Selfish reasons. Because there’s no better cook in the galaxy than my dad. Because my mom has been begging to meet you for months and I’ve been distracting her on every holocall to save you from that fate. Because I got to meet your family and see where you came from. Your past. Got to see everything that made you, you. I wanted to show you mine.”

His arm is finally freed as your hands drop to your lap, eyes following the movement. He can see the nervous twitch of your fingers as you mindlessly toy with the fabric of your pants. Looking up to study your face, his eyes trail over the curve of your cheek where your eyelashes rested, your gaze still cast down.

“I won’t say sorry for wanting that. But I am sorry for whatever I did that sent you out here.”

Oh.

His chest feels like it’s ready to collapse in on itself again, more intensely this time. And there’s only one word he can think as he reaches out to direct your face to his, as his fingers skim the smooth skin of your cheek, as his eyes meet yours, hoping they convey that one word as yours scream your uncertainty:

Precious.

“You didn’t do anything. I don’t fit here.”

There it is. Simple. Easy. Delivered in his signature gruff tone that erased the hurt it took for him to say them, to accept them.

“Do I fit here?” You ask, tilting your head slightly, almost daring him to say no. A gesture so adorable and infuriating at the same time it makes his blood boil … for better and worse. Outwardly, though, all it earns is a roll of his eyes.

“You always ask such dumb questions?”

“Only in response to dumb statements.” You shoot back, response at the ready as the pair of you fall seemlessly into your natural rhythm.

He narrows his eyes. “Nothin’ dumb about it, doll. Not my scene.”

You shake your head, a small playful smile teasing your lips. He knows that smile means nothing but trouble and he can’t afford any more of that. Still, Crosshair can’t help but play along. I really am a coward.

“Well, if I belong here, then so do you.”

Just as simple. Just as easy. But it can’t be.

“That’s not—”

“It is,” you interrupt, leaning impossibly closer. “And if there’s somewhere you don’t feel comfortable, then I don’t belong there, either.”

Maybe he is a weak man. Because against all logic and instinct, when you tuck your head under his chin and curl up against him, Crosshair can’t do anything other than pull you firmly into his arms and hold you tight against him.

A stronger man would be able to keep a healthy distance. But you don’t seem to mind this weakness. And Maker knows he can only fight his own selfishness for so long.

“I belong with you, and you with me. Don’t forget that, okay?”

Your lips moving against the delicate skin of his neck sends shivers down his spine and you, likely thinking it’s from the cold, press further unto him. The ghost of a laugh at your sweet misunderstanding coats his lips before they press into the hair at the top of your head.

“Okay.”

[happy-beeeps]

Rain or Shine

@clonexreaderbingo

Pairing: Hunter x reader

WC: 2.4K

Warnings: none!

Prompt: storm

Summary: Hunter’s senses have him especially sensitive to storms. You on the other hand have grown to love them, so you show him one of your favorite tricks to enjoying the rain.

A/N: MY FIRST HUNTER FIC which is so surprising because I am in love with this man. I will be writing plenty more for him and EEEEEEP first bingo fic I’m so excited!!!!

It’s the kind of rain that shakes the Marauder with each crack of thunder, the kind that sends bright white light into the hull of the ship. You’re keeping Omega company in her makeshift room, her head laying comfortably across your chest as she squeezes you tighter with every blast. Your hands dance idly in her hair, and you remember the way your own mother used to soothe you when you were young.

“I was afraid of storms too when I was young,” you croon, hands smoothing out the tufts of blonde.

She yawns, sinking further into you at your words. “I'm not afraid, we had storms on Kamino all the time.”

“Mmm. Still, when I was afraid, she would sit with me and watch the rain tap on the window. She’d tell me it was the sky’s way of saying hello. And we’d have a special routine to keep the storm away.”

She’s silent for a moment, then asks quietly, “How do we keep them away?”

“We would count between each thunder crack, each second was klick away, would you like to try?”

She nods, and the two of you stay like that for a while, counting down how far the storms have shifted and where they stay. It works like a charm of course, and the idle counting has the added benefit of lulling the girl to sleep, and you carefully shift her back in bed before exiting the space, carefully climbing down the ladder. The Marauder is silent now, save for the sounds of the storm. In the time you’ve spent soothing Omega, the rest of the Batch must have gone to sleep, save for Tech, who you join in the cockpit for a moment.

“Any chance of us getting takeoff?”

“Negative. The storm cell is only building in power, we will be spending the night here.”

You nod, then pull your knees up to your chest, noting the absence of his brother, your Hunter. “Has Hunter gone to sleep? I’m surprised he didn’t stop to say goodnight to me or Meg.”

“That is because he has not gone to sleep. Hunter does not enjoy the sound of storms, the vibrations and loud noise disrupts his senses, I suspect he is either in your shared quarters, though on one occasion he could be found in the lower cargo hold, if the sound travels too loud.”

You sigh, happy that he hasn’t abandoned your favorite nightly ritual of saying goodnight to Omega as a unit, then coming back to bed together to whisper sweet nothings, but also worried about his discomfort. You pat Tech on the shoulder in a way that serves as a verbal goodnight, and leave him to his devices in the cockpit.

Hunter tries his best to behave normally when you find him in your quarters, but the small metal space acts more like a tin can, it only amplifies each noise coming from the outside. He’s sitting upright as he can in bed when you join him, bandana still on, as if he hasn’t fully prepared to undress.

“I was worried you’d forgotten about us.” You chide as you dip into your bed. You’re careful not to touch him without his invitation, you’re not sure how sensitive he is right now.

He leans his body closer to you, opening an arm and inviting you in. “Forget about my two favorite girls? Not likely.” There’s a beat and a crack of thunder, and his breath comes out shaky and ragged. “How is she?”

“She’s asleep now, she’s afraid of thunderstorms, can you believe it? A Kaminoan who doesn’t like the rain.”

He laughs, then pulls you in closer to his chest, and you use the proximity as an excuse to reach up and untie his bandana, knotting your hands in the tender flesh of his scalp. He groans in thanks, and you’ve nearly successfully distracted him from the sensory overload that you can only imagine the repetitive tat tat tat of the rain on ship must be, when a lightning strike nearby sends the ship rattling. He hisses, the vibrations surely sending shockwaves up his spine.

“You know, a little birdy told me she might be the only stowaway who doesn’t like the rain.”

“Gotta… stop… talking… Tech.” He grits out as the rain increases in pressure, the sound building up louder. You’ve responded accordingly, begrudgingly backing off of him to give him the space you’re sure he needs.

“How can I help?”

“Just you being here helps me, you know that.” He reaches out to place a ground grasp on your leg, and rubs it soothingly, though you aren’t sure if it’s more for himself or you. “How come you like storms so much?”

You shrug, arms crossing over your chest as you turn to face him. He’s hard to make out in the lowlight, but you can see the tension in his jawbone. Your heart aches for him in these moments. Sure, his heightened senses were a survival skill, and they made him a more than adept partner, but moments like now, when they caused him so much pain? You wished you could just take it all away. “I don’t know, it reminds me of home I think. I used to be so afraid of the storms, and my mother tried everything to make me feel better.”

Hunter snorts, “hard to imagine you being afraid of anything.”

“Please, growing up on a farm there’s plenty to be afraid of.” You move off the bed then, getting an idea as you reminisce on your childhood. “My mother tried it all, we’d read, she’d sing songs, we’d count. It all worked to soothe me, but it never stopped making me afraid, you know?” You turn around to face him again and reach out your hands, sending your chin down to coax him forward.

“It’s not that I’m scared, you know that, right?”

“Course I do. Big bad Hunter isn’t scared of anything.” You pull him up and gently caress his jaw in your hands, fingertips tracing over the pretty inked spots before ghosting his lips with a kiss. “Do you trust me?”

“Course. With everything.”

You smile at the sentiment, he’s always so open with you, so soft. You lead him down the hallway, towards the ramp, and you’re happy now to realize you’ve both discarded your shoes, though you’re suddenly a little worried about your thin, white night dress. You press the few buttons that lower the ramp and it begins to move, sending a warm, wet blast of air up into the ship as it drops. You’ve been sent to a tropical system, and Tech has landed the ship in a small patch of land not horribly far from a village. The area is thick with vegetation, and even before the rain started you couldn’t help but feel as if you could feel the water in the air. Now, with the storm, it’s as if the air is made of soup.

Hunter follows you cautiously, eyes skeptical as you lead him out carefully into the rain. His eyes are squeezed shut, as if he’s preparing for something uncomfortable, and you’ve led him just below the ramp before closing it back up again. The inside of the ship is dark, meaning Tech has since retired to his quarters and is probably goggles deep in the holonovel you lent him, leaving you and Hunter alone to conduct your excitement.

“When I was a little girl, my mother took me out into a storm when I was just too afraid to sleep.” The wind is light, and it sends your and Hunter’s hair flying in a myriad of directions. You can feel your clothes start to dampen as you stay out here, but you can’t shake how soothing it feels, how refreshing the rain is. “I wasn’t afraid of the rain, you see. It was the noise I didn’t like. When you’re out in the rain, it’s actually really quiet. It’s the house that makes all the noise.” She was right, naturally, and you ended up sitting out in that rain for close to two hours playing, you remember her chasing you all across the pastures and fields. You’d woken up sick, but it had all been worth it. It’s a fond memory, and you think perhaps it’s why you like the rain so much now.

Hunter cracks open an eye, looks around, and opens the second. He breaths in, the way he does when he’s listening, and exhales something from deep within his chest. Like he’s actually relaxing. “It’s not as bad, actually being out in it.”

“I know. I am almost always right.” You sidle up to his side and wrap your arms around his waist, enjoying the moment just being in the rain, slowly getting soaked together. It’s going to take you days to feel clean after this, what with the Marauder’s sonic shower, but you don’t really mind. It’s so refreshing, so rejuvenating. The feeling of newly formed mud between your toes has you feeling like a child again and you don’t know why, but you act on it. Breaking you and Hunter out of your trance, you take off, running through the clearing before turning over your shoulder, “come and get me, sergeant.”

He takes off with a grin and starts the chase. You’re fast, years spent running across farmland and then again through battlefields to administer aid have made your legs strong, but Hunter is stronger. He’s on you in moments, grabbing your waist from behind before spinning you to face him. You’re both laughing as you look at him, and you wrap your legs around his waist, his arms supporting the rest of your weight securely.

“You’re fast, but I’m faster verd’ika” he grins, and his hands are in your hair. You’re both soaked to the bone now, and you can tell by the way his eyes roam your form that your dress has turned entirely sheer with the rain, but you can’t help but conduct your own visual exploration of the way his blacks (and his hair) cling to his skin, giving you an even more intimate look at areas you’ve surely seen before. He must be doing the same thing, because it’s his voice that breaks the silence first. “You’re beautiful cyare.”

“Mmm,” you smile, running an affectionate hand along his cheek tracing the outline of his tattoos, his hands still placed firmly beneath your thighs. “Gotta compete with you, pretty boy.” He laughs, but his lips are on yours in a minute in a kiss that’s both longing and passionate, fueled by something carnal and pure. He’s such a complexity, your Hunter, always straddling both sides of a situation. You suspect it has something to do with bearing the weight of leadership, and now something akin to fatherhood.

He pulls away and rests his forehead on yours, breathing softly. “Thank you for this, by the way.”

“Anytime. I’m always happy to sit with you. Rain or shine.”

He snorts, and the two of you rest in that moment again, you so secure in his arms. You’re certain you’ll wake up with a cold, you know it, but that doesn’t matter to you in this moment. It lingers, that feeling of security, before a crack of thunder has the trance broken, and the childish flame reignited in your soul. You wriggle free of his grasp and drop down to the squishy earth, and make to run from him again. “Oh no you don’t,” he starts, grinning wickedly, and goes to pull you in close, what he doesn’t account for though, is the slip of the mud on your feet, and his quick motion has you losing your footing and tumbling into the wet earth. The other thing he fails to think of, is your grip on his arm, as he falls beside you. This is how the two of you find yourselves here, caked in mud and breaking with laughter. He helps you up and then carries you back to the ship, as the two of you (unsuccessfully) quietly navigate back to your quarters in a fit of giggles.

The night ends with the two of you trying to squeeze into the tiny sonic shower, and both of your mud caked clothes being long forgotten on the floor.

When you awake the next morning to the sound of birds chirping, the two of you are less person and more tangled pile of limbs, each trying their best to hide their sniffles. No matter, you’ve got a long journey back to Ord Mantell and nothing to do, and you’re happy to stay in bed together the rest of the day, staring into each other's eyes. In fact, the two of you are getting a head start when you hear a low gasp and a thud (you imagine it to be a datapad) before Tech’s indignant, and accusatory, voice moves close to the door of your quarters. “what pray tell have done to my ship!?”

The night comes back in flashes to the both of you. The discarded clothes, the giggling, the kisses en route to the shower, the mud-

Oh. The mud.

The two of you dress quickly and step outside, and you have to bring your hand over your mouth to keep from laughing. There, from the ramp to your quarters to the fresher, is a tell tale trail of two sets of muddy footprints. Hunter opens his mouth to apologize to Tech but his younger brother simply holds up a hand and walks away, massaging his temples as he does. Hunter moves to sneak a hand around your waist, kissing your temple and whispering in your ear as the two of you watch Wrecker point and laugh at the footprints on the floor.

“I love you.”

[burningfieldof-clover]

gold necklace

@clonexreaderbingo prompt: tech warnings: fluff, tech is cute dedicated to @ilovestarwarsmen725 word count: 793

You hadn’t seen Tech in a few days. This wasn’t abnormal. Sometimes he would fall into very long stints of being holed up in his workshop just creating and tinkering with things. You didn’t worry, though. That was his happy place. He’d come home when he was ready. Either he was hungry and ran out of food in his shop, needed someone to infodump to, or he just finally remembered that he missed you. 

This was all okay because you still visit him. There was a spot for you to sit and observe or take a nap just to be near him. If you did nap, Tech would sometimes drape a blanket over you, kiss your forehead, or even take a moment to rest himself.

One night he finally came into the house. He was tapping away on his datapad. His face was brushed with dirt and oil. You smiled. If Tech were to move his goggles even slightly, you’d probably find clean skin underneath. 

“Mesh’la,” he says, gaining your attention. “I didn’t realize how many rotations I had spent in there. Did you visit me?”

“A couple times,” you answered. “You looked like you were having fun.”

Tech looked up at you and smiled. His smile reached his beautiful eyes. He caressed your face and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. “I am so lucky to have you. I never thought I’d be able to find such an effortless balance between work and a relationship.”

The kiss left you with a dazed smile. “It just works out for us. You’re not the only lucky one.”

Tech sat his datapad down on the countertop. “Speaking of us,” he started while reaching into his pocket, “I have something for you.”

You perked up at those words. “What is it?”

“You must close your eyes.”

You did as he asked. 

Tech took the gift out of his pocket. You heard his awkward steps approach you and stand behind you. Raising a brow, you were increasingly curious but kept quiet. You felt something cross your clavicle and wrap around your neck with delicacy, ending behind you with Tech’s skilled fingers brushing across your skin briefly. 

“You may look.”

Blinking your eyes open, your hands raised to your collarbone to feel the item. You could barely see it. Tech grabbed his datapad then held it in front of you with both of his hands while still behind you. He opened up the camera.

Staring back at you on the screen is the hopeful gaze of Tech, waiting for your opinion, and the mirror image of yourself. You leaned forward to look at the necklace Tech has gifted you. 

The tiniest links have been crafted and laced together to make a beautiful looking twist in the chain. There is no charm or centerpiece to this necklace, but it shines so brilliantly. 

“Tech, this is beautiful! You didn’t have to…”

Tech smirks and you watch him do it on the camera still pointed at the both of you. “A lot of my projects have been to break down electronics and repurpose them for other things, and since gold is so incredibly conductive, there is a surplus of it in most items I work with. I’ve been keeping the gold set aside for future projects, and I decided to try my hand at making jewelry.”

Your eyes widened at his explanation. “Wait, Tech, you made this? For me?”

“But of course, darling. I hope it meets your standards.”

“Are you kidding me? This is incredible!”

Tech smiled and kissed your cheek. “Would you do me the honor of smiling, mesh’la?”

Since it was a rare sentiment, you obliged. You snuggled a little closer to Tech and smiled into the datapad’s camera. Tech snapped a photo of the two of you, and then another one with him kissing the side of your head. 

The photos were such a nice addition to his gift. He was being so affectionate that it was making your heart warm and your body melt. 

“Did you know that gold is the third most conductive metal? It pales compared to copper and the more impressive silver. They are not items I come across often. But, the symbolism in this necklace is that I have poured my conductive energy and intelligence into it so that you will always feel me with you. Especially on the days that I am incredibly busy. I hope that you get my meaning.” 

You nodded as your fingers brushed across the chain. Tech took a few strides away to find a drink. “Tech?” you called quietly.

“Yes?” he answered without looking over.

“I love you.”

A smile formed on his lips that you could see from his profile. “And I you, darling.”

[mylifeisactuallyamess]

Kamino

Clone Cadets being looked after by a Cuy’val Dar.

A/N: Finally got my first @clonexreaderbingo prompt done! Thanks to @a-single-tulip for inspiring 🥰 gonna drop this and go to bed, so hit me up if you see anything I missed.

Square: Kamino

Warnings: mention of blood, war, children, weapons, my own version of cadet training and fighting.

Word Count: 3666 😬

Cuy’val Dar: Those who no longer exist

Osik: Shit

Udesii: Calm down

Kandosii: Nice one

‘ika: Little

Buir: Father

The rain lashed against your window, raging in the howling wind like it was trying to reach you. Each patter was faintly heard whipping into the thick transparisteel only to dash out of existence. The whole of this facility was state of the art, designed to weather the harshest of storms, protected to the hilt from catastrophic waves and jarring winds that would sweep you off the platforms and out to sea.

Your alarm started to buzz, an irritated grating noise that you had learnt to block out.

Everyday here was the same. The routine was rigid, structured down to the very minute, so the clones that were under your care got the most from their lessons.

With a sigh, you hauled yourself from your bed, glaring at the bright white that assaulted your eyes every time you blinked. Thankfully what the Kaminoans were paying you for doing this daily osik was enough to keep you going. And the boys weren’t that bad. Really.

Your armour was stacked up in the ‘fresher. You had barely needed it the last couple of years, having your arms full of babies and small children rather than weapons and other people’s appendages before you cut them off. Clutching the sink you steeled yourself to keep going, every morning was the same drag but as the day wore on it got easier. Until you fell asleep and you had to start all over again.

Slipping on a new set of fatigues you slapped your cheeks in an effort to startle yourself awake, trying to get that sharpness back that had been dulled from being in this white washed, aiwha-bait, infested hell hole.

First things first—breakfast.

The kids were awake by the time you got to their room and it looked like Fox had woken up on the wrong side of his bunk today. None of them even noticed you’d entered, standing in a circle as they chanted fight, fight to the two kids in the middle, really going for it.

You cocked an eyebrow when Fox slugged a decent left hook into the side of Cody’s face but the kid didn’t go down. He was dazed and Fox took advantage of that, yelling as he launched himself at his brother and flattening him.

Honestly. All before they’d even eaten.

“Udesii!” You pushed your way through the boys, hauling the angry red faced nearly four year old off the other and putting him in a rugby hold on your hip.

The others backed up, their caramel brown eyes wide as you glared at them all and suddenly they remembered what to do. Lining up, shoulders back, standing rigidly to attention. Cody groaned from his position on the floor specks of blood dripping from his nose or lips, you didn’t know, you didn’t care. Not this early in the day.

“Get up.” You grabbed his collar and got a look at his face as he sniffed and smeared the blood across his cheek.

“I’m ok, Sarge,” but as he spoke you could see blood between his teeth and you sighed.

“Go and see Mij,” you told him, shoving him towards the door. You still had hold of Fox who had gone remarkably still in your hold, he hung heavily and you knew he was hankering to get down. Being held like this was probably humiliating. So you jostled him into a better position and walked up and down the line of the others.

They were all identical to someone who didn’t know them. Their eyes were the same shade, their hair had the same cut, they could swap clothes and all still look exactly the same. You could tell them apart though. Noticing the slightly different shade of Rex’s eyes compared to Cody’s. Or the browner colour of Keeli’s hair next to the deep black of Wilco’s. And their personalities were all sparks from the same flame, some just burned hotter than others or channelled it differently.

“Rex’ika.” One of the boys stepped forward, sneaking a glance at Fox who was turning even more red as he hung his head as low as it would go. “What happened?”

Instantly they all started gabbing at once and you held up a hand, silencing them instantly. “I asked, Rex. Speak.” He drew himself up taller, pushing his shoulders back and you saw the frown marking his face.

“I’m not entirely sure, Sarge. I woke up to the sound of a scuffle as they had woken up first. Their shouting woke the others and that’s…” his shoulders sagged slightly but then he steeled himself and carried on. “That’s when we all got up to watch them.” Fox was getting heavy now, so you dumped him on his feet and he stood sullenly with his head down.

“None of you saw what started it?” You asked and they all shook their heads. “Fox’ika.” Crouching to his level you prodded his shoulder and he lifted a hand to rub his arm. “Why?”

“Because he grabbed my collar so he could get into the ‘fresher before me!”

“And that was reason enough to make him bleed, was it?”

“I’m sorry,” he pouted. “I didn’t mean to but he just made me so angry.” You sighed, shaking your head as you got up.

“Anyone would think I’ve got a bunch of Nulls on my hands,” you breathed. “Come on. Breakfast. Chop chop or you’ll miss out.” You watched them file out, Rex in the lead with Howzer on his heels, followed by Thorne, Wolffe, Keeli, Grey, Fox, Wilco and Bly.

This group of ten troublemakers were your boys for another a year before they joined the wider ranks. You oversaw their training, taught them to look after themselves as well as each other. It felt like you were failing at that at the moment.

You followed them to the mess hall where they each grabbed a tray and chose what they wanted this morning, sitting in neat rows at their usual bench and you joined them, feeling Cody’s absence.

“You’ve lost one,” a deep voice said behind you and you turned in your seat.

“Thanks for that observation, Jango. You know, I hadn’t noticed.”

“Fighting again?” He sat down at your bench with his son. Boba was older than your boys, (if you went by their visual age) only by a couple of years, but you could already see Jango’s influence over him. He glared at your cadets who stared at the older boy with wide eyes as they chewed silently.

“One’s in the medbay,” you said, chucking a haughty look at Fox who didn’t cow under yours and Jango’s combined scrutiny.

“I see the aiwha-bait hasn’t ruined them completely,” he murmured.

“They could be worse, I suppose.” You tossed the bland food back onto the tray, making a point to raid Skirata’s room for some uj cake for the boys later. “Eat up. We’ve got deecee training in 5 minutes.” There was a collective scuffle as they quickened their chewing, these boys were always hungry and you wondered if they had enough to eat at all times. But if you faltered in their training, they failed in their tests and then it reflected badly on you and they got punished. And nothing broke your heart more than seeing your boys with tears in their eyes because they didn’t achieve their best and they were made to relive that.

Exactly on the hour, they were lined up, dumping their rubbish and slipping their tray into a stack before heading off to the training area. This one was set in the middle of Tipoca, each area blocked off so multiple groups could train at one time. You and the rest of the Cuy’val Dar, working together to make an army. An army of children.

The boys spread out, Cody slipping in at the last minute and taking his place next to Rex. Each deecee was in pieces on the ground before them. The challenge was to make the blaster, correctly, and take out the targets before anyone else. Take the blaster apart and move onto the next weapon. Rinse and repeat.

“Go!” You barked, not needing to prepare them before your order, they knew the drill. You paced up and down, pursing your lips as you watched their little fingers deftly put together a weapon that could fell a bantha with one shot.

You heard the whir as the first deecee charged up successfully and Wolffe was off. His aim was perfect, it had been since he looked two years old. Next to go was Fox. The challenge now was for them to work effectively together, aware of each other in the field while staying on their main objectives.

Keeli was next, sliding in on his knees as he clocked a shot on the first target. Bly and Howzer went together, automatically splitting and taking opposite sides. You looked across at Rex, his gaze was on the cadet next to him as he waited for Cody to catch him up so they could go together.

Eventually they were all in the maze of targets and you watched their scores on the screen, leaning easily against the wall. Wolffe and Fox returned, taking apart their Carbines and turning to the rifles.

Not a word was spoken and you honestly wondered if they communicated telepathically. Sometimes it scared you how in sync they were but when they had the same brain patterns, getting the same training, some similar behaviour was inevitable.

Wolffe clocked the best numbers today, Fox not far behind and the rest were all fairly evenly matched. You tried not to think how they would soon be doing this with live rounds. And they wouldn’t be yours anymore.

You pressed some buttons as they waited patiently for the room to change, the droid targets disappearing, being replaced with a weapons wrack.

“Pair up.” Your commands were needless but sometimes you just needed to hear someone say something. Even if it was yourself. “Today we’re using blades.” The boys put on their contact sensors and each took a knife from the rack. Fox and Thorne, Wolffe and Howzer, Rex and Cody, Bly and Wilco, Keeli and Grey all stood there looking at you. “Ready positions.” You activated their sensors with a touch of a button and you saw them all tense. “Begin.”

You watched the hits increase on the screen, seeing Howzer was coming out on top today and you felt a sense of pride. Thorne was beating Fox, which probably wouldn’t go down well. Usually those two were thick as thieves.

“Switch!” There was a groan, Keeli tipped his head back, making it obvious he didn’t want to switch from Grey. Fox pushed him causing the cadet to stumble which started another fight. Before you could move Rex and Howzer stepped in, kids being adults.

“Udesii!” You stressed for a second time today. Spreading your arms as you stepped between them. “What crawled in your fatigues and died today?” But Fox just glared at you. You thought he was going to spill whatever was troubling him, but then he lowered his gaze.

“Nothing,” he muttered, shrugging off Howzer.

“Fine. Continue.”

There were no more incidents. They went to lunch and ate in silence, shooting looks at one another as Fox concentrated on his food.

You hated the way the ration cubes coated your mouth in a chalky paste but you made a point of eating what they did in the mess hall. If only the Kaminoans would vary it every now and again. Maybe you could bring it up with Jango. He was the golden boy after all.

After lunch it was study time. They sat at desks and just absorbed. It really blew your mind the amount of information they went through everyday. Lists of species, equipment they’ll be using including their kit, so when they finally grew into it they’d know exactly what they were doing. Ships and their specs, droids and their functions—it just carried on and on flashing before their eyes. They talked now, shouting facts to one another, answering questions and relaxing a little.

You let them. As long as they stayed on topic you enjoyed watching their interactions. Occasionally you sat with them, answering what questions you could but already painfully aware their knowledge surpassed yours dramatically. You were just a supervisor until they went up to the next level.

Dinner was more relaxed, they talked, laughed and acted like children for a moment. It made you ache inside, knowing their lives were going to be so short, bred for a single purpose that could make their lives even shorter.

It was getting darker, not that you could tell on this infernal, cloud covered hellhole. You were walking the boys back to their quarters when you came across Rav and her clutch of lads with their noses pressed against the thick transparisteel. They sounded excited, gasping and giggling as they pointed outside and you let your boys blend in with hers.

“What’s going on?” You asked quietly.

“Kal. He’s got his hands full,” she chuckled. You leaned to look outside, not seeing anything at first until you realised you were looking at a foot on the outside. Your eyes travelled up to see two young clones climbing the dome of the mess hall, in the driving rain.

“Kandosii!” You exclaimed with a grin, as Mereel caught your eye and gave you a quick wave. “Keep your hands on the line, boy.”

“I don’t know how Kal hasn’t died of a heart attack,” she muttered. “Come on, boys. Bedtime.” Her lads separated from yours and carried on walking in the opposite direction.

You led the way for your lot, listening to them talking about the Nulls like they were some sort of other species. But if the Nulls were causing mischief…it meant Kal’s room was empty.

“Inside…if I come back and you’re fighting or doing anything you shouldn’t, I will make you watch me eat Kal’buir’s uj cake. Got it?”

“Yes, sarge!” Came an excited, blended response and you nodded. Closing the door, you hurried off, keying in the code for Kal’s room and hoping he didn’t catch you red handed. Rather you’d let him assume it was his boys than you, not that he’d be mad. You just liked him wondering where all his food was going.

“Kandosii,” you whispered, dragging the sticky heavy cake out and slicing it up neatly. You were able to get five large chunks and halve them, pushing the cake back together so it didn’t look like any was missing. You’d done this way too many times. Wrapping up the slices you quickly exited his room and went back to your boys.

You found them sitting on their bunks, or sitting on the crate looking outside. Rex was happily swinging his legs over the edge of his bunk, a little smile alighting his face when he saw you return. They clamoured around you, excited whispers filled the room until they were all chomping happily. That would keep them quiet for a moment. But you had one slice left.

Fox was in his bunk, back turned to the room as he pretended to be asleep already. You even checked on him, putting a hand on his back and feeling him tense up.

“All right boys! Wash, teeth and then bed.” They took turns and you watched proudly until they were all settled in their beds. “Lights out,” you warned them, plunging the room into darkness save for the lightning that slashed through the room.

Back in your quarters you left the cake on the side. You debated eating it but something said, you were going to need it.

Sure enough, just as you started to doze there came a small noise at your door. Activating the panel it opened to reveal Fox standing with his hands behind his back. He scuffed the floor with his bare toes and refused to look at you.

“Come on then,” you sighed. He seated himself on the little sofa you had, his eyes watching every move you made as you put the cake on a plate and handed it to him. He didn’t take it and you gently sat beside him. “Fox’ika…you can talk to me.” His hands fisted in his lap and you gasped when he suddenly dived into your arms. His grip was tight and that’s when you noticed he was shaking slightly, so you put the plate down and hugged him back. Rubbing little circles along his shoulders as he quietly cried into your top. You murmured to him in Mando’a, letting him know he was ok while all the time hating this entire programme and what it was doing.

These boys had only existed for less than 2 years and already had seen and done more than the average human adult in their entire lifetime. The strain was immense, you knew because you could feel it, you saw it everyday. Just because they didn’t know any better didn’t mean it wasn’t a struggle. They were human, real blooded humans after all and they needed some nurture amidst everything else.

“What happened with Cod’ika?” You finally asked when his emotions had slowed down.

“I was coming to see you,” he admitted straight away. “He was awake and saw me get up, I thought he was going to tease me…” he trailed off and you took a breath.

“So you punched him instead?” Fox sat up and rubbed his sleeve over his face, giving a shrug that told you everything you wanted to know. “Eat your cake.” He dived on the plate with relish, getting crumbs all over the seat but you didn’t care. Your attention was drawn back to the door and Fox looked at you with wide, scared eyes. “It’s ok,” you reassured him, slipping your blaster free of the holster that hung on the back of your chair. It was habit, to react this way, you didn’t trust the Kaminoans as far as you could throat them. You checked the safety and then punched the door open only to come face to face with a group of shining wide eyes.

“Is Fox’ika in here?” Wolffe asked, a slight scowl marking his brow. “His bunk is empty.” Howzer eyed your blaster with the gaze of someone who knew what he was looking at.

“A modified DE-10 pistol,” he rattled off.

“Yeah. Of course you knew that.” The safety clicked back on and they all exhaled as one. “Get in here before the aiwha-bait see you.” You checked the corridor and shut your door. The nine of them clambered onto the sofa, squeezing around Fox as he broke off tiny pieces of his cake and shared them with everyone. “Now, why am I getting the special treatment tonight?”

“We were worried,” Cody spoke up. “We thought Fox’ika got in trouble.”

“No one is in trouble,” you told them. Their companionship touched you and it made tears threaten to spring to your eyes. They fought like siblings, because they were siblings.

Their heads followed your motions as you crouched next to the sofa. “This, right here, I want you to remember it.”

“Why?” Asked Grey with a puzzled expression on his face.

“Because one day you’re going to be scattered. There’s going to be moments where you think nothing is worth continuing for. When you hit those dark moments I want you to think back to this, right here. The warmth in your chest,” as you spoke you prodded at Wilco’s chest and he suppressed a giggle. “The feeling of always having a brother at your side even when you fall out.” Now you prodded Cody and he had the decency to look slightly sheepish. “Because no matter what happens you will all have each other, through thick and thin, through the battles and the sickening distance. Nothing can break this bond you have.” They all looked at each other, Bly leaned into Thorne and rested his head on his shoulder, Rex put his arm around Fox and the rest huddled in for the embrace.

“I’m sorry, Cod’ika,” Fox spoke up unprompted.

“It’s ok,” Cody replied. “Made one of my teeth wobbly, see!” They crowded round to get a look at his tooth that barely moved but he looked so proud. You bet Mij had told him the punch made it wobbly to make him feel like it was worth it.

“Come on, you lot. I need to sneak you back to your room.”

“Can we stay here?” Keeli asked quietly but the rest didn’t say anything, just turning one by one to look at you with pleading eyes. How could you resist?

“Ok. Ok, make yourselves comfy.” You went over to your bed, surprised when they came over and clambered over the sheets to settle in bedside you. “Oh, you actually meant, here. With me.”

“It’s cold in our room,” Thorne said. “Reminds me of the tank.” The others all murmured in agreement and you closed your eyes, laying back against the pillow and having your arms spread so at least four of the boys could lay on them.

The others pressed in around you and soon enough they drifted off, becoming heavy deadweights that cut the blood supply off to all your extremities. Still, you’d rather face down the entire population of Death Watch than move any of these sleeping troublemakers from your side.

Lightning flashed like a jagged spike, thunder curling outside as it wrapped around Tipoca. You had already made a vow to make these boys the best of the best, but now it burned hotter than ever. They deserved to be Commanders, Captains, leading the charge with their Jedi Generals. These boys deserved the finest gear and the best chance of staying alive. And you were going to equip them with everything they needed to survive. Even when they weren’t your charges anymore, they’d always be your boys.

[221bshrlocked]

fatal dis|at|traction

Pairing: Hunter x AFAB!Reader

Words: 9774

Warnings: Unrequited feelings (in more ways than one). Touch-starved characters. Lots of sweet/dirty talk. Hunter likes to tease a lot. Oral Sex (female receiving). Fingering. Squirting. Just a bit of a knife kink (it's not everyone's cup of tea so it's a very short scene). Pentrative, Unprotected Sex (wrap it up folks). Creampie. Cuddling.

Summary: You have feelings for Tech who is now taken. Hunter notices your little predicament and decides to offer you a solution, one that you take enthusiastically. Little do you know that this could be the start of something new.

A/N: It's been a minute but I'm very thankful for the Life Day Gift Exchange by @cloneficgiftexchange because I finally managed to write something. This is for @intricatechaosofyou who gave a prompt after my own heart. I hope you enjoy this as much as I did writing it. Coincidentally, this also fits into one of the @clonexreaderbingo prompts I got which I am embarrsingly behind on.

With every little chuckle you heard from Phee, your heart beat in jealousy at not being Tech’s center of attention. You thought it wouldn’t be an issue in the beginning, assuming that Tech would remain uninterested in Phee’s flirtatious advances. But the more she hung out with the team, the more he warmed up to her subtle compliments and faint touches. Before you knew what was happening, he was hanging out with her whenever you and the batch had time off from the crazy missions Sid continued to send you on. 

Then she took you to Pabu and things really spiraled. Their time together increased each day and you barely got to see him. You couldn’t blame him really, or Phee. You just wished you had more time or perhaps been a bit more brave about your feelings towards him.

Another random laugh fills the afternoon air, this time from Tech, and you can’t help but stop what you’re doing and look at the two of them enjoying the preparation for Life Day. You look with longing at the man who managed to captivate your heart with a simple, random fact, and you sigh heavily at knowing that you’ll never really have a chance with him. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Hunter breaks your sad train of thought, and you turn around to look at him, silently praying that he didn’t just notice you staring at his brother. You pack the decoration boxes and look down to the ground, pretending you don’t understand what he’s talking about. 

“What?” You ask once, and when Hunter doesn’t respond right away, you glance at him quickly to try and gauge his reaction, hoping that you can fool him by acting as clueless as possible about his question. He stares at you silently, uncrossing his arms and heading towards you to help you out with the rest of the boxes.

“I- I’m not sure what you’re referring to, Sarge.” You say in passing as you make your way to the storehouse, already thinking of some lie to respond with in case he dragged this out. When you set down all the empty containers, you shut the door behind the two of you and head towards the center of the town. 

“Don’t do that…not with me.” Hunter breaks the silence after a while, stopping you in your tracks and waiting until you acknowledge him. You ring your fingers nervously, gulping down the nervousness that built up in your throat before facing him. There’s another fake reply at the tip of your tongue but before you can say anything, Hunter beats you to it, stopping you from embarrassing yourself any further. 

“Come on, you can’t lie to me.” He furrows his eyebrows, looking at the couple standing not too far from you before centering his attention back on you again.

“I’m not lying.” You’re more defensive than you’d like and Hunter sighs in irritation, shaking his head and taking those last few steps towards you. The last thing he wants to do is embarrass you but he knows this conversation won’t go anywhere unless you willingly open up to him. 

“Then why is your heart racing? I can practically feel you shaking. You’re not even looking at me.” Your palms grow sweaty the more he reveals those little details about you. 

“Talk to me.” You never thought you’d hear him plead for anything and when you finally look at him, you see a genuine, heartfelt expression on his face, one that makes you feel even more horrible about the predicament you found yourself in. 

“It’s not important, don’t- just don’t worry about it.” You wave your hand around and turn around to walk away from him, only to feel a strong hold wrap around your wrist and stop you from going anywhere else. 

“Tech is a genius, but he can be incredibly dense at times.” Hunter waits until you meet his eyes again before he whispers that last sentiment. The shock of the exclamation sends your heart racing, and your eyes widen in horror at the prospect of everyone else potentially knowing your feelings for Tech. 

“Wha- how…how did you know?”

“I know mesh’la, I know.” He loosens his grip a little, but doesn’t let you go completely, not wanting you to run away from him. The two of you stand in quietness for too long to your liking, and you give up on trying to pretend you don’t know what he’s talking about. 

You give up on trying to make it seem like you’re okay. 

“Is it that obvious?” The chuckle is self-deprecating, and you avoid looking into his hazel gray eyes, afraid you’d cry if he continues to give you that horribly sentimental expression. 

“Not to the others, although Echo guessed just as much a while back. But no, the others don’t know.” Hunter lets go of you then, but he doesn’t move away from you, wanting you to know that he’s here to help in whatever you’ll allow him to. 

“How did you find out?” You move away from the crowd slowly forming around the town square, wanting to have some privacy from prying eyes, from Wrecker and Omega. 

“I notice the way your eyes light up whenever he walks in the room, or goes on one of those rants about kriff knows what.” Anyone else would have laughed at you, but you feel at peace knowing that Hunter would never tease you about something like this. He was too kind to joke about such an intimate little secret. 

“Hmm.”

“And your heart beats like you’ve just run across the whole of Coruscant.” Hunter adds as he comes to a halt in front of the house you reserved for yourself when you first got to Pabu. 

“Ahh, that is extremely embarrassing.” You turn away from him as you respond, not wanting to be at the receiving end of whatever comment he was going to throw your way.

“It’s not…it’s natural to react that way when you have feelings towards someone.” You’re a little surprised by his explanation, mostly because you never thought he’d be the type to speak so sweetly about something as awkward as emotions. 

“Right.” You can’t help but smile when you see him shrug at you, and as you’re about to unlock your door, Hunter turns around and grabs the knob, preventing you from reaching for it, let alone turn around and get away from him. 

“You know what you need?” He asks, and you shiver at the sudden drop in his voice, wondering why he was suddenly becoming so friendly with you. 

“Please enlighten me, because this whole conversation hasn’t been humiliating enough as is.” You laugh in an attempt to diffuse the tension slowly building in between the two of you, but Hunter doesn’t crack a single smile, roaming his eyes down your neck and taking in a deep breath before meeting your gaze once more. 

“You need to get your mind off of him, just for a little while. Find a distraction…sometimes you have to stay busy so you don’t feel.” You’re too distracted by the proximity between his body and your own to dwell on the true meaning behind his words. 

“Yeah well, good thing we’re staying here. Helping rebuild the city will definitely take my mind off of him and…ugh, I guess make me focus less on seeing the two of them together.” Looking past him to the slowly busying town square, you completely miss the way he bites his lower lip as he studies you closely and shakes his head at your response. 

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh yeah, what do you mean th-” Turning your focus back to him, the words die in your throat when you finally notice the way he’s looking at you. You part your lips in a gasp, finding it difficult to breathe as Hunter leans into your space and groans his intentions against your jaw. 

“I mean…you need to get your mind off of him, and onto something else…perhaps someone else.” Your body freezes at the unexpected intimacy of the moment, and although you know you should push him away and tell him to forget whatever was happening, you tell yourself that this might just be what you need to forget about Tech. 

“I s-see.” Hunter’s hand reaches for your waist, holding you against him until he’s sure you’re accepting his advances. He smiles at you, his eyes twinkling with mischief that sends a zap of lightning down your spine. 

It was a warm day in Pabu, but having Hunter flush against your chest makes you even more heated, and you gulp down whatever nervousness was threatening to make itself known in the form of a rejection, allowing your fingers to dance along his forearm before you grab onto his shoulders for support. 

“W-what do you have in mind?” He gets even more bold then, wrapping his arm around your back and pulling you in until you nearly bump your forehead against his nose. 

“I think you know.” His voice is gravely, and it occurs to you then that he may have always had this deep baritone, but you just never truly appreciated it until now. 

“Humor me, Sarge.” You smirk right back at him, eyes dancing from his lips to his piercing gaze in preparation for what he’s about to say. 

“Well, you’ll first need to find someone willing to help you out, someone who knows all about distractions. Then, you take them somewhere private and…how should I put this, kindly ask them to fuck your brains out…take the edge off a little…and if you start thinking of him again, you get on your knees and have them dick you down real hard…till you can’t think straight.” His lips graze across the skin of your cheek, down to your neck, as he promises you the filthiest sentiments, and if you weren’t sure you knew the man standing in front of you was far beyond the average man, you would have asked him how he had you melting into his arms in such a small period of time. 

“Maker,” you nearly reach up to kiss him but then quickly remember that anyone can see you. Before you can push him away, Hunter nudges you harshly to get your attention again, not wanting you to get distracted by your surroundings or if anyone might hear what the two of you have in mind. 

“Hmm, I think your body agrees with me sweetheart. Why don’t you have that tired brain of yours catch up?” He nods at your head, tilting his head to the side as if he was asking you a silent question. 

“Do you…do you know someone that can do all of what you just said?” 

“You’re right in luck baby, I happen to be free for the next couple of hours.” Hunter responds right away, knowing that it would be extremely difficult to have you like this again. 

“Ahhh, t-that saves me from looking then.” You smile when he rests against you and nudges your nose with his own, aquiline one. 

“So, what do you want?” Again, his voice is smoother than honey, sending you spiraling in a matter of seconds out of anticipation. 

“I thought you…don’t be cruel, please.” You kiss the corner of his mouth, feeling the rough stubble across his sharp cheeks burn you in the sweetest way. Hunter turns his head far enough to finally tough his lips with your own, the kiss ending far too quickly to your liking but leaves you begging for more. 

“Never…never. I mean, how do you want it mesh’la? You want it slow, soft, sensual…” He slithers his hands across your body, leaving a trail of fire across your skin with each sweet touch he graces you with. 

“Or do you like it hard and fast…till you can’t scream anymore?” He digs his nails into your curves then grabbing and squeezing your ass until you nearly fall against him.

“Oh fuck…I- Hunter, please.”

“You’re a big girl, use your words and tell me what you want!” Hunter combs his hand into your hair, tugging on it harshly until you throw your head back and give him access to your neck. He descends down on you like a madman, nipping and sucking on the soft expanse of your skin until you’re panting in his embrace. 

“You want me to be sweet with you…or do you want to feel me with every step you take tomorrow?” He licks the bitemarks he’s left behind, chuckling to himself when he feels you shaking in his arms and practically begging him to fuck you right out in the open. 

“Please Hunter, be- be rough with me. As rough as you want.” You reach for the collar of his shirt, fisting it in your hands as if you were holding on for dear life. You should have known that as everything else, Hunter would easily take you down without breaking a sweat. 

“A girl after my own heart.” He chuckles then, the sweet sound shooting straight into your chest and making you wish he just pushed the door behind you open and took you somewhere more private. 

“I’ll take my time with you next time baby, worship every fucking inch of your body as you deserve. But tonight…tonight I’m going to teach you how to take me…please me…open up for me and take my cum like the good girl I know you are.” He kisses across your damp skin in between words, finding it difficult to continue holding back when he could practically smell your arousal the more he whispers into your ears. 

“I’m going to fuck you into the next galaxy sweetheart, till the only name your pretty little brain can remember is mine and mine alone.” Your heart beats so fast Hunter thinks you might pass out, but as you melt into his arms and pull him closer to you, he knows that you’re enjoying this as much as he was. 

“And believe me when I tell you, I’ll know if you’re thinking of him. So be a pretty little sweetheart and focus on me.” He moves away to take a better look at you, raising a curious eyebrow when he finds you completely lost in every touch and every sweet word he was gifting you with. 

“Yes,” you barely manage to breathe out, waiting for whatever he still has in stock for you. 

“Yes?” Hunter asks, his expression turning more serious when you open your eyes and look right into his own. There’s something so erotic about how much he can sense every little reaction you have to his advances, but he sets his thoughts aside long enough to hear you openly consent to him. 

“Yes, sergeant.” Those two words are music to his ears, and he steps away instantly, but not before making sure you can still stand on your own two feet. You snap out of your haze when you no longer feel the heat of his body against yours. 

“Good girl.” He grabs your hand and leads you away from your home, down the tiled pathway towards the quieter side of the island. 

“Where…where are you taking me?”

“Some place where you can scream my name without worrying about anyone hearing you.” He nearly stops in his tracks when he hears you moan in response to his words, but he knows that if he looks back now, he might never make it to his own place. If anything, the reaction he gets out of you makes him walk quicker, not caring for how you stumble several times as he continues towards the smaller, but more private homes at the bottom of the island. 

You can’t look away from him, and as you follow him blindly, you find yourself surprised at not wishing he was someone else. Maybe because you’ve always found him objectively handsome, all the clones were if you were being honest, or perhaps because you’ve always wondered what it would be like to be with someone like Hunter, someone who you knew would be so attuned to every sound and every muscle twitch you’d have that he’d know instantly how to please you. But the longer you dwell on it, the more you realize that you’re lucky to have someone like him pay you this much attention, or even be willing to give you this favor. 

Little did you know that while you were longing for Tech, Hunter was struggling to keep his own feelings at bay. He didn’t want to take advantage of you, far from it, but he figured that maybe, just maybe, if he showed you how much he cares for you, you’d look at him instead of his brother. 

He can feel your eyes on him, and his heart skips a beat at the prospect of finally having your attention. Hunter wants to ask you if you’re sure about this, but as he approaches his residence, he finds himself less willing to break the two of you out of whatever cloud you’ve fallen under, afraid that you’d change your mind and leave. 

The thought nearly breaks his heart, but as he slows down and unlocks his door, he feels your hands shaking even harder, and he knows then that he needs to give you an out because you may not be able to take it yourself. 

“Sweet girl, you’re trembling.” He turns around and cups your neck, forcing you to look into his eyes so you’re sure he doesn’t mind if you walk away from him. 

“If you’ve changed your mind…if- if you don’t want this anymore, we can stop. It’s- it’s okay.” The words sound less convincing to his ears, but he braces himself for the rejection he’s sure you’re about to give him. 

“No, Hunter please.” Your instant response sends a wave of relief and reluctance through his chest, and his eyes widen for a fraction of a second before they soften again, knowing that if you noticed his expression, you might push through just to not upset him. 

“I won’t have you against your will baby.” He leans over and kisses the small space in between your eyebrows, waiting until you relax against him before he pulls away and meets your gaze again. 

“I want this, Hunter. I- I want you. I’d be lying to myself if I said otherwise.” You tug at his forearms, wanting him to not shy away from you, perhaps even afraid that he’d change his mind and tell you to leave. Your nerves slowly rise again and Hunter must sense your spiraling thoughts because he pulls you into the small space and shuts the door behind you, pushing you against the wall and stepping impossibly close to you so you can only feel him. 

“Tell me what you need. Right this moment.” 

“Can you just...hold me for a minute? I- I need to feel your arms around me.” You barely manage to breathe out the request, not because you think he’ll laugh at it but because you find yourself having a difficult time thinking of a single coherent thought. 

“Sure thing ad’ika, come here.” Hunter slowly walks back to the small bed at the edge of the wall, sitting down on the soft surface of the covers before pulling you into his lap. You follow him quietly, finding it oddly soothing to have him in control of your actions rather than your own mind. You throw your arms around him and rest your head on his chest, willing yourself to relax as soon as you feel his hands roam across your back soothingly. 

“I want you to focus on my heartbeat.” You do as he says, moving your head down a little further so you can listen to his heart. If you’re shocked by how much faster it is, you say nothing and dwell on the fact that he may be just as nervous as you are. 

“Take deep breaths,” Hunter slides one hand underneath your shirt to test the waters, shutting his eyes and smiling to himself when your muscles relax deeper into him. 

“Nothing else matters, little one. Only you, and me…right here and now.” He reminds you one last time, massaging your back and turning his head every once in a while to kiss you. Hunter shuts his eyes to commit this moment to memory, unsure of whether he’ll ever get to have you like this again or not. He says nothing after, wanting to ensure that you have all the time you need before the two of you do anything. 

You’re not sure how long you spend in his arms but when you no longer feel nervous at being in his presence, you pull away and rest your hands on his chest, willing yourself to be brave enough to look into his eyes after experiencing such an intimate moment with him. 

“Feeling better?” He reaches for your chin and moves it up softly to take a better look at you. As soon as he looks into your eyes, he smiles at you, waiting until you return the expression before doing anything else. 

“Hmm.”

“Then why don’t you lay back for me.” He moves you off of him and studies you closely as you maneuver yourself around his bed. You’re less shy than before, that he’s sure of, but you do as he says more confidently, something that doesn’t go unnoticed by Hunter, and makes him imagine all that he can do to you. 

“You know, I- I always thought you had a soothing voice,” you break the silence reluctantly, biting your lower lip when you notice Hunter smirking at the unexpected sentiment. 

“Yeah?” He questions as he kneels on the bed and slowly crawls towards you. 

“Yes, but now…now I’m realizing it’s your presence.” You waver in your response, finding it difficult to think of anything when he’s looking at you like you’re his prey. 

“Tell me more.” Hunter demands, dancing his fingers across whatever skin he has access to and watching as goosebumps erupt across your body at the simple touches. 

“It’s in your touch, your- kriff, your movements…your gaze.” You arch your back when Hunter digs his nose at the space just above the edge of your pants and takes a long whiff of your scent. You think that if anyone else has done something so strange, you’d be turned off by it, but this was Hunter, and scenting was important to him, especially since he must have been getting awfully close to you because he liked what he could smell. 

“Glad to be of service,” he comments in passing, nudging your shirt up to get more access to the skin of your stomach. He kisses your navel, breathing you in with each new bit of flesh he came across. 

“Gods above,” you can’t take it anymore, reaching for his shoulder and trying to pull him closer to you so he could speed things up a bit. 

“No sweetheart, it’s only me.” He chuckles at the whine you send his way, looking up at you as he parts your thighs and makes space for himself in between. 

“You’re d-driving me insane Hunter.” Hunter doesn’t move an inch as you try to bring him closer. If anything, he slows down even more and takes both of your hands into his own, softly kissing the wrist of each one before bringing them above your head. 

“If you’re still coherent, then I’m not driving you insane enough.” He’s teasing you, and if you didn’t know better, you’d think he was pushing you to a point where you could do nothing but beg for him. So distracted with the patterns he’s drawing across your arms, you don’t realize where the other hand is reaching until you feel his grip tighten around your throat. 

“Ahh, please.” You arch your back, grabbing the sheets beneath you in an attempt to keep your hands where he asked you to. You want nothing more than to wrap your arms around him and surrender to his lips, but you knew better than to disobey his orders. Hunter was a strict man in the field, and you were positive he wasn’t any different in this context. If anything, he was probably even more severe now. At least you hoped he would be. 

“And remember baby, it’s ‘Sergeant’ for you. Got it?”

“Yes, sergeant.”

“Now, do me a favor and keep your hands there.” He taps twice on them, waiting until you nod in agreement before he sits back up and takes your wrecked form. He hoped you’d open up for him easily, but he never thought you’d be so needy, let alone greedy for him. 

“But how will you take my clothes off?” You pout at him, the expression making Hunter wish he could flip you over and fuck you into oblivion. But he knew you needed him to be soft tonight, even if you were adamant in making him get a little rough with you. 

“Let’s not spoil the fun.” He warns with a pinch to your hip, chuckling at the way you jump and your thighs unintentionally close around him. 

“A bit sensitive, aren’t we?” He rests one hand near your head as he leans down and kisses the corner of your mouth, waiting for you to breathe before touching your lips with his own. It’s a chaste kiss, yet it sends your heart leaping through the roof because of how unexpectedly tender it is. 

“I…haven’t done this in a while.” You whisper against his mouth, chasing him along when he begins to pull away again. 

“Shame,” it’s such a simple comment, and yet you feel a string of butterflies in your stomach at the implication behind it. The fact that you held Hunter’s focus when so many on the island were begging for it makes you wish he could have approached you sooner. 

“Hmmph,” the sound of your moan reaches your ear instantly, and you try to hide from Hunter out of embarrassment, but he doesn’t let you, moving down your body slowly and continuing to drive you mad with need for him. 

“Go on baby, moan for me.”

“What if s-someone hears?”

“Everyone’s in town for the celebrations,” he reaches down and unbutton your pants, looking straight into your eyes as he pulls the fabric down your legs and throws it behind him. You try to close your legs quickly, afraid he could smell how wet you are. But Hunter is much faster than you, and he prevents you from moving another muscle, looking down once at the dark patch on your panties before meeting your eyes again, silently letting you know that he could smell you long before this very moment. 

“No one’ll hear you, mesh’la. So beg all you want, you’re mine tonight.” He slips one finger beneath the edge of your panties, thumbing at the skin of your hips to get you to calm down a little before he does anything else. 

“Only tonight?” You don’t mean to ask this question, not now at least, but you figured you may as well see if this was a one-time thing or not. 

“Oh I don’t get to decide that, you do.” He surprises you with his answer, and the shock must be visible on your face because Hunter tilts his head to the side and stares at you until you realize you really were in control of what goes on between the two of you. 

“So if I- oh kriff, if I want you to fuck me every night…”

“Then ask me nicely.” He slips one hand underneath your shirt, raising it above your stomach to your chest and laying it across your sternum to feel your heartbeat. When you don’t respond right away, he slides his hand a little further and draws random patterns just below your breast. 

“Better yet, beg me sweetly…and I’ll give you my cock whenever you like.” He promises as he continues to edge you into submission, something that makes you wish you could yell at him about and thank him for. 

“T-thank you, sarge.” Your breathing becomes erratic the longer he touches you anywhere but where you want him, and just as you begin to give up hope, he removes his hands completely from your form and reaches behind him. 

“Do you trust me cyar’ika?” The question is asked with hesitance, and you’re not sure why he’s asking you this all of a sudden, but when you hear the sound of a clasp coming undone, you know why he’s being so serious. 

“You know I do.” It’s the first thing you said since he dragged you behind him where you aren’t practically shaking beneath him, and once he’s completely satisfied with your response, he pulls out the blade from its holster and flips it around. You’re enamored by the swift movement of the weapon as it dances in between his fingers, and the faster Hunter plays with the knife, the more difficult you find it to breathe. 

“Then look at me.” He demands as he stops swinging the knife around, and you obey him instantly, gulping excitedly as he leans over your body once again and places the sharp end of the knife at the top of your shirt, inches below your neck.  

“Don’t,” Hunter warns slowly, nicking small holes into your shirt until the article of clothing rips down the middle, “move,” his voice is somehow even more gravely than before, and you stop breathing altogether, not because you think he’ll hurt you but because you can’t help but feel turned on by how focused he is on you and how safe you feel with something so dangerous, “a muscle.” He continues to ruin your shirt and you can’t find it in yourself to care one bit, knowing that being at Hunter’s mercy was worth far more than any shirt you could own. When he completely separates both sides of the fabric, he slips the wide edge of the knife beneath the fabric and pushes it to the side before grabbing the other with his fingers and displaying your nude skin to his hungry eyes. 

You let out a deep breath and refuse to look anywhere else but his dilated pupils, clenching your thighs tightly at knowing that you were the reason behind such a dramatic reaction from him. 

“I can smell you, little one. Does this turn you on?” He finally looks away from your heaving chest to your eyes, and when he finds you already staring at him, he smiles to himself and places the knife down gently on the small table near his bed. You’re disappointed that he clearly won’t be using it anymore, and Hunter notices the small expression because he trails his fingers down your front and pinches one nipple to get your attention. 

“Use your words and tell me.” You arch into his rough ministrations, whispering your response and moaning for more. 

“Y-yes, it does.”

“I knew you’d be fun.” He soothes the heated skin of your breast, drawing small circles around one nipple just as he leans down and takes the other in between his teeth. You whine his name over and over again, and Hunter growls his approval against you, lapping up the bitemarks he left around your hardened peak before sucking harshly on it again. 

“Fuck, I do love how sensitive you are.” He manages to say right before diving for the other nipple and tasting your natural scent along with the soap you use to shower. 

“And how hard your nipples perk at the touch of my fingers.” He thinks you’re about to move one hand so he reaches quickly for it, gripping it tightly and keeping it against the bed while he leaves angry marks across your chest. 

“Ahh maker, please sergeant.” Your moans are becoming louder, and Hunter decides then and there that if you were going to scream for him, it should be his name falling from your lips, not his rank. The only warning you get before he descends down your body is his hand slipping underneath your panties and instantly pushing two fingers into your cunt. You’re dripping for him, and his thick fingers rub against your tight walls with an embarrassing ease. 

“Kriff, I know I asked you to call me that, but forget it.” Hunter looks into your eyes as he lets go of your wrist and grabs the back of your neck, not bothering to say anything else as he lunges for your mouth and swallows your moans. You part your thighs and your lips for him, not caring for any rule he’s given you as you throw your arms around his neck and pull him closer to you. He fingers you slowly, but as begin to clench tightly around him, Hunter can’t hold back anymore and he moves off of you with a wet smack before crawling down your body. You’re shocked by the sudden urgency of his movement, and as soon as you reach for his hair and tug on it, you feel his warm lips close around your clit and his tongue aggressively lap at the engorged bundle of nerves. 

“I want you to scream my name, mesh’la. Scream my name as you come on my tongue.” 

“Hu- ahhh g-gods!” You’re not aware of what you’re saying, and the harder Hunter thrusts his fingers into you, the quicker you feel your release coming along. 

“You smell…so sweet.” Hunter manages to breathe in between his assault on your pussy, and you let go of his hair to grab for the sheets beneath you, not wanting to hurt him by how hard you’d pull on his hair. 

“But you taste so much sweeter.” He feels his cock harden as the taste and scent of you fill his nostrils. Normally, he’d find it overwhelming to be surrounded by so many strong scents, but the more you gush for him, the more he wants to dive into you and make you soak him with your arousal. 

“Hunter, oh right there…please.” You reach for his hair again, but this time, you pull so hard that his red bandana comes off in your hand and reminds you to loosen your hold so as to not overwhelm him with too many sensations. 

“Sorry, I-” You try to apologize but the words trail off when Hunter looks up and shakes his head at you. 

“I don’t mind, sweet thing. Go on, pull as hard as you want.” He leans down and kisses the hand near his head, nipping at your thumb to let you know that he was feeling more than okay. 

“But won’t that-” You don’t want him to feel like he needs to do this for you, but Hunter distracts you again, rubbing at your clit with his thumb to get you to listen to him. 

“Please cyar’ika, let me feel you…everywhere.” Hunter begs you, pushing your thighs apart even more in an attempt to get you to do as he says. He doesn’t wait for a response then, descending down on you again with more passion than you thought him capable of in such a setting, and before you know it, he has you right at the edge with his expert hands and his enthusiastic mouth. You should have known that he’d know what you like quickly, but something about him being so attuned to your responses pushes you closer to your orgasm, and before you know it, you’re shutting your eyes and letting the flood of sensations overtake you. 

“Hmm fuck, that’s it.” You scratch at his scalp as you pull on his hair, the action driving Hunter nearly mad and making him grab at your stomach to keep you planted to his face. 

“Hunter…I- I’m co-” His harsh breathing and how hard he continues to lick at your clit is all you need to fall apart, and as soon as he coils his fingers inside you and rubs your tight walls, you come around him instantly, shaking violently beneath his firm body and screaming nonsense into the damp air of the room. It’s becoming nearly too much, and although you want him to stop, you can’t find it in yourself to push him away, a part of you sensing that he may need this as much as you. So you let him continue his assault on your cunt, and before you realize what’s about to happen, Hunter pulls away and watches as you soak his arms and his bed with your juices. He doesn't let up once, plunging his fingers into you so quickly that you manage to wet even his thighs. When he hears your heart beating impossibly rapidly against your chest, he slows down and removes his hand from you, pulling away and watching as your panties hide you from his eyes again. 

He waits until you look at him before he slowly sucks on each of his fingers, smirking to himself when you hide behind your arms and close your thighs immediately. 

“I changed my mind.” His voice is rough, and you’re not sure if it’s because he’s turned on or because he’s having a difficult time breathing just as you. Then the words settle in your remind and you move your hands away to take a better look at him. 

“W-what?” You don’t have time to grab him as he gets off the bed and reaches for his shirt, throwing it away as well before unzipping his pants and pulling them down his thighs and stepping out of them before kneeling on the bed again. 

“We can do rough later. Right now, I want to watch you come undone…slowly.” He grabs your ankles and pulls them apart, not caring for how blatant he’s being with his staring as he moves towards you again. 

“Fuck baby, you’re gushing for me.” His disbelief sends a shiver down your spine and you softly smack his thigh to get his attention away from your heated core. 

“Hunter, don’t- don’t say stuff like that.”

“And why shouldn’t I?” He narrows his eyes at you, daring you to say anything in disagreement. 

“It’s…embarrassing.” You manage to whisper out, only to have Hunter shamelessly wipe the wetness over your legs with his hand. 

“No, it’s fucking sexy mesh’la….and if I had known taking my shirt off would turn you on this much, I would have walked around naked since you came on board.” He reaches for your hand and you squeal suddenly when he tugs you harshly until you nearly smack his chest. Looking down at you, Hunter bites into his lower lips as he pulls the rest of your shirt away and throws it away, not bothering to push you back into bed when you rest your hands against his naked chest and feel his muscles flex and unflex. 

“Speaking of taking things off…” You try to grab your panties but Hunter stops you, shaking his head and bringing your hand back to his skin. 

“No, keep’em on.” 

“But-”

“These are mine now, and I want nothing more than to smell your cunt and my cum on them…when I take them.” Hunter nods down at the wet article of clothing as he swipes your hair away from your face and softly grazes your bruised lips. 

“Hmph, you’re a shy little thing aren’t you?” He wonders out loud when you turn away from and rest your forehead against his stomach, once again feeling a sense of pride wash over him at being the one to bring such a reaction out of you. 

“Do the honors.” He takes your hands and moves them down his rigid form, not missing the way your breath hitches when you feel the muscles on his stomach flutter at the soft touch of your palms. You don’t dare look up at him as you drag his boxers down his hips until his cock juts out from beneath the elastic. 

“Oh fuck me.” You stop what you’re doing as soon as you see the size of him, and Hunter uses your moment of distraction to his advantage, pushing you back into the bed and moving away to step out of his boxers before returning to you again. 

“Since you asked so nicely.” He remembers the biosheath and finds one in his drawer instantly, but before he can take it out, you take his wrist and bring it back to you. 

“Wait-” You stop him, unsure of what to say now that he was looking at you with such an unreadable expression. 

“You don’t have to- like I said, I haven’t done this in…in a while. And I’ve-” Your attempts to explain to him that you don’t have anything and that you wouldn’t mind it if he didn’t use a biosheath with you evaporate into thin air, and as you give up on trying to relay the message, Hunter shuts the drawer and lays on top of you. One look into his eyes gives you away and you turn from him to avoid whatever embarrassing words you’re sure he’s about to relay to you. 

“You want me to fill you with my seed, little one?” The question is asked in such a low voice that you nearly miss the playfulness in between. You refuse to acknowledge him, afraid of how much he’d drag this out if you told him outright that you wanted to feel him leak out of you. 

“You want me to fuck my cum deep inside your pretty little cunt?” He asks again, this time as he slips his hand in between your bodies and wraps his palm around his hard cock, lazily stroking his length while teasing your clothed clit with the tip of his dick. He goes on for too long, and when you can’t take it anymore, you moan in agreement, hoping that the outburst pushes him to finally, finally, fuck you. 

“O-ohh gods, please…please.” The way he cups himself and teases the both of you nearly sends you into overdrive, and just as you begin to give up hope, Hunter tugs aside your panties, and pushes his cock against your wet folds, giving you a taste of what’s to come. 

“Keep begging baby.”

“Please Hunter…I need you. I- I want you to come inside me, want to feel you all night long.” He was planning on making you cry for him, but the sound of your voice telling him everything he’s heard a thousand times in his dreams sends him reeling and before he can warn you, he pushes his cock into your slit, arms nearly giving out at finally feeling your cunt welcome him in. You arch your back as soon as you feel his thick, hard cock fill you, and although you should be embarrassed at how easily he slides into you, you don’t bother thinking about it, not when Hunter was finally giving you what you’ve been craving. 

“Kriffing hells, you feel so good mesh’la…so tight and hot for me.” He stops moving, the heat of your cunt making him nearly lose his mind and whatever bit of control left in him. 

“Hunter-” You don’t like the fact that he’s stopped pushing into you, but then he moves and you realize that maybe you needed a second to get used to him after all. 

“I know, love. I know, just a little bit more.” Hunter kisses your forehead, lips quivering at the thought of being too much for you to handle. He waits until you’re relaxed a little before he gives you more of his cock, and when you drag your nails across his arms and grab onto his shoulder, he stops again to soothe you. 

“You want to be a good girl for me, don’t you?” 

“Yes…oh maker yes.” Your voice breaks, making Hunter wish you weren’t so kriffing sensitive to him. 

“Then open up for me…take me.” He leaves a trail of wet kisses down your neck, licking and nipping at the taut skin in an attempt to distract you from whatever discomfort you were feeling. 

“Haa…ahh, you’re- so fucking hard.” Your words are unexpected, and Hunter fists his hands tightly into his pillows so he doesn’t do something he’d regret. He unintentionally thrusts the rest of his dick into your pussy, the action knocking the breath out of the both of you and sending a strike of pleasure down your spine.

“Only for you, sweetheart. O-only for you.” Hunter breathes against your chest, cursing at how much better you felt now than in his dreams. He could feel every inch of you squeeze him, and if it weren’t for the fact that you told him it’s been a while, Hunter would have begged to fuck you like he wanted. But it has been a while, and the last thing he wanted to do was to hurt you. When you wince at the slightest of movements, Hunter pulls back and studies you, carefully listening to your heartbeat and looking over you to see if you were too uncomfortable to do this now. 

“Are you okay?” He should be the one asking you this question, not the other way around, and even though a million compliments run through his mind, he barely manages to respond to your question. 

“Fuck, I’m more than okay.” He hisses out as you clench around him, and before he can let you know that he’s not reacting out of pain but of indescribable pleasure, you reach for his hair and tug him down, begging for him to do anything besides remaining still. 

“Then move…” You cross your legs behind his back to tempt him into moving against you, but Hunter remains impossibly still, resting his forehead against yours as he tries to tell you why he’s having a difficult time moving. 

“N-not yet, just let me feel you. Let me…feel all of you.” He hopes it’s enough for you to stop asking him to move, but he should have known better. 

“Is- is it too much?” Your shyness makes itself known again, and Hunter swears beneath his breath because he genuinely didn’t mean to come off so strained in his response. 

“No, it’s- you’re perfect.” It’s both everything he’s feeling and barely an explanation of what he’s reserved for you for so long, but he can’t find any other word to describe what he’s experiencing with you now. You’re about to ask him to keep talking when he finally listens to you and pulls out a little before thrusting back in. 

“Oh.” The simple word riles him up more than he cares to admit, and he sets a slow and sensual pace to calm himself down and give you what you desire. The small room fills with sounds of your harsh breathing and Hunter’s controlled growls, and before you know it, he’s hitting every inch of you in a way that makes you see stars. Then you look at him, and you find his eyebrows furrowed and his eyes shut tightly, and you just know that it’s because he wants to do more with you. 

“Hunter,” you call for him, soothing his back with your hands to let him know that you weren’t going anywhere. 

“Hmm?” His eyes flutter open instantly and you wonder if their color was always so intense and dark, or if this was just a product of what the two of you were doing. 

“Don’t h-hold back.” You cup his neck and pray to the maker that he listens to you.

“I already told you cyare, I want you to fall apart for me…nice and slow.” He pronounces each word with a soft push of his hips against you, and you know then that this would definitely not be the last time you sleep with him. It couldn’t be. 

“But I-”

“I want to commit you to memory. The way your heart skips a beat when I kiss your shoulders,” he leans closer against you and leaves a trail of wet kisses across your sternum to your shoulder, biting it playfully when he notices you trying to move along with him. 

“The way you bite your lips when I pinch with your nipples,” you throw your head back in ecstasy as he pinches your nipple and rolls it in between his thumb and his index finger. 

“The way your eyes shut when I sink my teeth into your skin,” Hunter takes one last look at the pleasure etched on your expression before taking the other hardened peak into his mouth, rolling his tongue around your nipple before biting down harshly just below the reddened skin. 

“The way your cunt clenches around my cock when I pull your hair,” you wrap your arms around his back and pull him flush against you when you feel him comb his fingers into the hair at the nape of your neck and pull harshly on it, the action letting you know that Hunter was most certainly capable of being rough with you, but was choosing to get your body used to his soft touch first. 

“And- fuck…ah fuck, the way your tight walls invite me in deeper when I play with your clit.” He lets go of your hair and slides his hand down your body, squeezing your hips and scratching along your thighs to leave his mark. As soon as you open your eyes and look at him, he begins to draw small circles around your clit, all the while picking up his pace just a little to get you closer to your climax. 

“I want it all baby,” he begs for you, roaming his eyes across your body to get his fill of you before he brings the two of you to the edge. You’re so sensitive from before, but something about having Hunter pay close attention to you makes you welcome whatever he has to offer you. 

“I- I’m close.” You manage to whisper to him as he continues to play with your body, and you realize the mistake you did in your claim when you hear him laugh and pause in his ministrations. 

“Already?” He doesn’t expect you to answer, but you whine his name and roll your hips around to get any form of friction. Hunter is distracted by the movement, and he resumes his attention to your clit, grunting with need when you reach down and scratch his stomach to urge him on. 

“D-don’t tease.”

“Never…never.” He responds immediately, thrusting into you with shallow pushes, already feeling the knot in his stomach slowly unwind the more he feels your heat pull him in. 

“I can feel your fucking heartbeat, can feel it singing for me the harder I fuck you.” Hunter cries out in a mixture of pain and pleasure, sitting up and moving the hand on his stomach down to your clit to get you to touch yourself.

“Please Hunter,” as soon as you start teasing your clit, Hunter grabs both of your hips and fucks into you with slow, languid movements, knowing that if he picks up the pace any further, he’d have you screaming so loud that the rest of the batch may actually hear you. 

“What do you want? Tell me.” There is a layer of sweat covering your body and making Hunter lose his mind. Your scent is more pronounced now that it has ever been, and he’s not sure if he’ll be able to interact with you normally now that he knew what you smelled like as you prayed for him to fuck you harder. 

“I want you to come with me.” Your request storms into Hunter’s mind, making him wish he could just tell you how he feels, how he’s felt for so long. 

“Kriff,” he throws his head back and looks at the ceiling, knowing that tonight would replay in his mind until you came to him and asked him to take you to bed again. 

“So close…so fucking close. Hunter, please…let me feel you come with me. Come inside me.” You grab one of his wrists in an attempt to remain grounded, and Hunter can’t help but whine at the desperation you were trusting him with. Never in his life did he think he’d have you so unabashedly wanton, but here you were, telling him that you wanted nothing more than to feel him come with you. 

“You’re killing me baby.” Hunter growls and looks down at where you’re joined, not caring for how crazed he must appear to you as his hair swings back and forth, and his face shines with sweat. 

“Oh-hhh f…fuck right there-” you scream into the darkening room, no longer able to hold back the pleasure from seizing you and showering you with a most beautiful distraction. 

“Mesh’la, I-” whatever he’s about to say is cut off by your lips as you pull him into you and mold your lips with his own. It’s a hungry kiss, and Hunter prays to the Force that you’re desperate for him out of necessity and not out of simple, physical attraction. He gives you what you want regardless, slipping his tongue into your mouth and surrendering himself to the pleasure just as your walls flutter around his cock and signal your orgasm. Feeling you tighten even harder around him is almost too much, and he doesn’t realize he’s thrusting so violently into you until you break the kiss and scream his name. He fucks into you without abandon, growling your name over and over again until he lets go and falls over the edge with you. You’re aware of how harshly you’re dragging your nails across his back, and before you can apologize for accidentally sending him into a sensory overload, Hunter is falling against you and sinking his teeth into your shoulders, shooting his cum so deep inside you that you feel the warmth of his seed spread across your body. Neither of you stop moving, wanting the other to reach absolute pleasure before you finally slow down. As you come down from your highs, you wonder if you should ask Hunter what he was going to say right before he came, but you get distracted by the way he begins to slowly move off of you. 

“No wait,” he’s about to move off of you when you throw your arms around his neck and keep him flush against you. You can almost feel his heartbeat sound against your chest, and you’re sure he can hear your own singing for him, but you pay no mind to it, instead focusing on the heat of his skin as it slides against yours. 

“Stay.” You ask once, hoping that he’d listen to you without wondering why you wanted to have him crush you with his weight. 

“Wrap your arms around me tightly.” He says after a while, and as soon as he knows you did as he said, he slips his hands beneath you and holds onto you as he rolls around. The action shifts his cock inside you, and both of you moan out in unison at the shock of oversensitivity that strikes across your spines. He is careful when he moves again, and once he’s comfortable on his back, he slides his hand up your body and grabs your neck. You pull back to look into his eyes, offering him a lazy smile before resting your cheek on his chest again. 

“Does this feel good?”

“I- I liked your weight on me…but yes, this is nice.” You decide not to lie to him, knowing that he may misunderstand your answer if you didn’t give him the whole truth. 

“Noted.” You can hear the smirk in his own voice and snuggle closer into him, not realizing that your playing with his hair until he nuzzles closer into your hands.

“Stay as long as you like, ad’ika.”

You make a mental note of asking him what all of those words mean later, but for now, you surrender to his embrace and the gentle touches he continued to grace you with. Neither of you say anything else as you relish the sweetness of the moment, and before long, you notice that Hunter’s heart was beating much faster than it should. You’ve been sitting without much movement for a long time, so you wonder briefly why his heart was threatening to leap out of his chest. The thought of being the reason behind such a reflex makes you think differently of Hunter, and you hope that your hunch is right or else you’ll end up making a fool out of yourself when you ask him to take you to bed again. 

Just thinking of doing this again with Hunter sends your spiraling and you unintentionally clench around him, but this time, you realize that he’s grown hard again. In fact, you could feel him pulsing inside of you, and you hope he doesn’t sense the shift in your body or else you’d have to explain to him why you were getting wet again. 

“Don’t forget our little agreement sweet girl. I told you I’d know if you were thinking of him.” Hunter breaks the silence suddenly, and you frown at the sentiment, not because it was far from the truth, but because Hunter thought you were thinking of Tech and not him. 

“I didn’t forget.” You pull away and pout at him, wanting him to see that you clearly weren’t lying to him. 

“Then what’s making your heart race so suddenly?” It’s the first time Hunter asks a question that he clearly doesn’t know the answer to, but when you look away from him and draw strange patterns over his chest, he knows instantly what it was you’re thinking about. 

“Interesting…” You roll your eyes at him, unable to hold back from giggling along with him when he cracks a smile and laughs at your obvious irritation. 

“H-Hunter,” you break the moment and gulp nervously when he meets your eyes and gives you his undivided attention. 

“Yes, mesh’la?” If there was ever a moment where Hunter was at his most peaceful, you think it may be this one. 

“Kiss me? Please?” You’re reluctant in your request, unsure of whether he’d draw the line here now that you weren’t actively trying to fuck each other. But as he’s done so many times in the past few hours, he surprises you with an answer that you’d later pinpoint as the first time you truly felt something deeper than attraction for him. 

“Never ask for what’s already yours, cyare.”

[the-bad-batch-baroness]

Dancing Lights

Wolf!Wolffe x Fem!Reader

Summary: During a mission on a frigid planet, you get lost in a blizzard and Wolffe becomes desperate to find you before you freeze to death. Once he does, he’s forced to reveal a secret part of himself in order to protect you from a territorial pack of wolves.

Pairing: Wolf!Wolffe x Fem!Reader

Characters: Wolffe, Plo Koon

Tags & Warnings: 18+, implied/referenced nudity with no descriptions, established relationship, hurt/comfort, light angst, suggestive themes, implied sexual content, violence, blood, injuries, reader doesn’t know she’s pregnant, protective!wolffe, snowed in, abandoned cabin, cuddling for warmth, Brother Bear/Balto type spiritual references, happy ending

Word Count: 12.7k

Author's Note: The terms "alpha" and "mate" are used in one part of the fic for a very specific purpose as a language marker (there are NO sexual, kink, or ABO implications). There’s also a distinctive speech pattern shift between Wolffe talking to the wolves and Wolffe talking to himself and the reader. This is intentional. The perspective shifts between the reader and Wolffe a lot, but the change is always separated by a paragraph break. As always, please enjoy 💚

@clonexreaderbingo Square: Smile

Wolffe frantically searches for you. One minute you’re walking behind him and the next minute you’re gone. He trudges through the piling snow, calling out your name, barely a whisper over the raging winds and whipping snow, but receives no response for his efforts. The battalion lost long-range communications soon after the blizzard started and you’re not answering on comms, so his only hope is to find you before the drifting snow claims you. He can’t lose you, not now.

Wolffe only dares to backtrack so far to look for you, or he might lose the battalion as its dark gray silhouettes slowly fade into the white tundra. Wolffe stares out into the nothingness and calls your name as loud as his voice will let him. Then he waits, hoping for a shred of your voice to make it back to him, but he hears nothing. Gritting his teeth, he turns on his heels and uses the backs of his men as wayfinders to trudge his way up to the front of the procession.

“General,” Wolffe shouts over the storm.

“Yes, commander?” Plo Koon asks as his snow covered parka blows wildly in the wind.

“We’ve lost one of the… men,” Wolffe says, pausing to consider whether he should name you as the lost soldier. He knows how Jedi feel about attachments, and he’s not in the mood for a lecture. “They appear to be lost in the storm.”

“Have you attempted to make contact?” Plo Koon asks.

“Yes, sir,” Wolffe answers. “Multiple times, sir, with no success.”

Plo Koon raises his hand to his face in thought. “That is a predicament.”

“Sir,” Wolffe begins in a serious tone, “with your permission, I want to go after them.”

“That would be ill-advised, commander,” Plo Koon answers. “The storm is getting worse and we must advance to the rendezvous point before we become buried in it ourselves.”

“But sir,” Wolffe argues. “We can’t afford to lose anymore men. Our numbers are dwindling as it is. We need to find them.”

Plo Koon crosses his arms and waits a moment to respond, reading Wolffe through the force like an open book. “Attachments are dangerous, commander. As lethal as this storm.”

Wolffe grimaces and shifts on his feet like a child getting caught in a lie. “I don’t believe in leaving men behind, sir.”

Plo Koon’s facial features soften and he places a gloved hand on Wolffe’s shoulder. “Neither do I, but you are needed here. Perhaps we can send a scout.”

The general is both right and wrong. Having their commander walk away in the middle of a stressful situation will reduce the battalion’s morale significantly. They have been marching to their next rendezvous point for days, and the blizzard is only making it more difficult. However, there is no way in the stars above that a mere scout will be able to find you in this storm. The scout is more likely to get himself lost. But Wolffe? He can find you, without a shred of doubt.

“With all due respect, sir,” Wolffe argues, clenching his fists together to hold his composure. “I am the most suited for this mission. You know this. I refuse to risk any more of my men dying in this storm and being buried unceremoniously under a pile of snow.”

Plo Koon considers Wolffe’s words and the conviction behind them, then sighs. “Very well.”

“Thank you, sir,” Wolffe says, finally releasing the breath he was holding in.

“However,” Plo Koon continues. “We cannot halt the convoy or render aid if you fail your mission. You will be on your own.”

“I understand,” Wolffe nods before turning to walk away.

“And Wolffe,” Plo Koon adds quickly. “Come back safely. Both of you.”

Wolffe doesn’t answer, but the sentiment shared between the two is unmistakable. He will bring you both back safely, or it’s the last thing he’ll do. Wolffe climbs up into the ATTE he’s been living in for the duration of this campaign and grabs his pack. He grabs everything he might need, including canteens, rations, medical supplies, an emergency blanket, and a spare set of blacks, as well as tossing out anything that he knows he won’t need. Traveling light is a must.

Before making his departure, Wolffe seeks out Sinker and temporarily puts him in charge of the battalion for the duration of his absence. Leaving the battalion in Sinker’s hands is an easy decision for Wolffe to make. The sergeant has been by his side since the beginning of the war, and has shown considerable aptitude and courage under distress. Wolffe knows that he is up for the challenge and has faith in him to lead the men to the rendezvous point mostly unscathed.

With everything in order, Wolffe hops down from the ATTE, his boots sinking deeply into the fresh fallen snow beneath. The wind is ripping and visibility is minimal, but Wolffe steels himself and sets out in the opposite direction of the battalion. After a few yards, he looks back. The gray silhouettes of the men and machines are gone. There’s no turning back now. He faces forward, picking his feet up and over the snow in a painstakingly slow process, but at least he’s moving.

As he trudges through the blizzard, snow begins sticking to his armor and weighing him down. He stops every so often to brush himself off, but it quickly becomes a useless effort. He grumbles to himself that of all the planets you had to get lost on, why did it have to be this one? He’s not angry, but he is scared; scared for you and for the little package you carry inside you unawares. Regardless of how he feels about the situation, he is determined to find you.

After a little while longer, he stops and stands still. The snow swirls around him, covering his visor and the gray markings on his armor. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply, calling on the senses lying dormant within him to come to the surface and aid him in his search. No human or comm system can find you in this storm, but maybe he can. Maybe the wolf inside him can. A spirit of a bygone era that speaks to his soul at night and shows him images of dancing lights.

Wolffe removes his helmet, a dangerous move in this type of weather. The temperature alone could kill him with frostbite, but he needs to feel the air around him. The cold nips at the tips of his ears and wind blows through his short hair without caution, leaving little bits of frost at the tips. With his eyes still closed, he breathes deeper, calming every nerve in his body until he can find your presence. If we can’t locate you like this, then he’ll be forced to make a drastic move.

Suddenly, it clicks like a strike of lightning. Whether it’s a feeling, a sense, or an intuition, he knows where he needs to go. He shakes the snow off his head and replaces his helmet, bristling as the cold snow melts down the back of his neck. But, he doesn’t have time to worry about his comfort at the moment. Every second he wastes thinking about himself is another second lost trying to find you. He turns and starts walking, letting his internal compass guide him to you.

As he continues forward, the storm lets up a little. He wonders if the change will be permanent or if it’s just a momentary lull. Again, he doesn’t have time to think about the logistics when you could already be dead and frozen, buried under a pile of snow. He shakes his head at the intrusive thoughts, then notices a ridgeline of trees in the distance. His stomach flips and his breath quickens. He knows you’re in there. You’re smart. Of course, you’d try to find shelter.

Wolffe moves as fast as he can through the piled snow towards the forest of trees. He senses that you are nearby. He stops at the edge of the wooded area and scans to the left and to the right, searching, listening, hoping, and praying that he’s not too late and that he can find you still alive. As he’s standing there, a shiver runs up his spine and he knows he needs to find you soon. If he can find you in this weather, so can they, and he’s not in the mood to deal with that.

He enters the tree line cautiously, then hears a sound in the distance that stills his heart. He doesn’t have much time to find you. Breaking out into his best sprint through the deep snow, he pulls on the trees and branches for leverage, making his movements faster as he frantically searches for you. You're close. He can feel it. He can smell it. His heart is beating out of his chest at the sound. They’re coming, a lot of them, and he doesn’t want to be here when they arrive.

Wolffe releases a heavy sigh of relief when he finally sees you, or rather, he sees your emergency shelter tied to a couple trees. You have the beacon on, but its light is barely visible against the white and gray landscape. The shelter is partially buried by the snow and Wolffe falls to his knees to dig you out. The wet snow seeps through his gloves, and the cold bites at his fingertips, but he doesn’t care. He continues digging until he finds the opening of the shelter.

Once he finds the entrance, he digs a bit deeper to make a little path for him to snake his body down and get into the shelter to get you out. When the path is wide enough for his body, he gets on his stomach and shimmies his way to where the zipper is. He pulls it open just enough to peek inside and no more. That’s when he sees you, curled up into a protective ball, covered in an emergency blanket, with a small heat lamp in the middle of the shelter to keep you warm.

“Cyare,” Wolffe calls gently as he opens the entrance wider and wiggles the upper half of his body into the tent. There’s barely enough room for him to crawl on his hands and knees.

You stir and make a small grunting noise.

Wolffe releases another sigh of relief, then rests his forehead against the cold canvas floor of the shelter. He thanks the stars you're still alive. Sadly, his brief moment of relief is quickly interrupted when he hears the sound in the distance again. They’re getting closer and he’s running out of time. He picks his head up and curses under his breath. He needs to get the both of you out of here now, or there will be trouble, and not the type he can easily deal with.

Wolffe stretches out his hand and tugs on your foot, trying to wake you from your sleep. “Cyare,” he calls a little louder.

You startle awake. The light from the tent-opening blinds you for a moment and the cold air nips at your exposed face. When your eyes finally adjust, you see Wolffe’s familiar bucket staring at you. “Wolffe?”

“It’s me,” he says.

“You found me!” you exclaim with excitement.

Wolffe wiggles the rest of his body into the small tent and pulls you into his arms the best he can, gently pressing you against his armored chest. He removes his bucket and rests his forehead against yours. “I found you.”

The sweet reunion is cut short when Wolffe hears the sound again, but this time, it’s not so distant. He jumps into action, releasing you and putting his bucket back on. “Pack up,” he orders. “We have to go. Now.”

You're shocked by the sudden urgency, but you follow Wolffe’s lead and begin rolling up the blanket. “What’s the hurry? The storm–”

“They’re coming,” Wolffe interrupts while stuffing all of the loose items into your pack.

“Who’s coming?” you ask in confusion. One minute you’re sleeping peacefully in your shelter as you wait out the storm and the next minute Wolffe is rushing you back out into the storm.

“We don’t have time for me to explain!” Wolffe snaps. He feels more afraid than he was before he found you.

You’re slightly offended by his harsh tone, but if you know anything about Wolffe, it’s that he doesn’t mess around, especially when it has to do with someone’s safety. You decide not to push the issue and hasten your pace to get things wrapped up. The good thing about emergency shelters is that they’re quick to assemble and even quicker to tear down. You both finish with the pack and you follow Wolffe outside of the shelter and break that down too.

Before you get in another word edgewise, Wolffe grabs your arm and pulls you along through the snow. His grip is tight and you struggle to keep up, feeling like your arm will rip out of its socket. “Wolffe, stop!” you shout while pulling on his arm with your free hand. “Let go!”

Wolffe ignores your struggle, believing that you’ll forgive him later for his roughness when you’re both safe. He doesn’t have the time to coddle you or explain why you need to run away as fast as you can. Your yelling doesn’t help his cause, but then again, they don’t need to hear you in order to find you. It’s already too late, Wolffe knows this, but he refuses to give up without at least trying to get you to safety. Even if he has to deal with it on his own, he needs you safe.

You continue to struggle against Wolffe’s grasp and fight him with each step as you demand an explanation from him. He doesn’t give you one. He doesn’t even turn around to look at you. He just keeps walking, not letting up on his brisk pace that has you panting in cold air that burns your lungs. Finally, in a last ditch effort, and to give your lungs and legs a break, you let your legs go slack and plop yourself down into the snow, jerking on Wolffe’s arm on the way down.

Wolffe stops and grunts in frustration. “We don’t have time for this!”

“Wolffe!” you yell through a panting breath while trying to get him to listen to you. “I can’t keep up. My legs. My lungs. It hurts.”

Wolffe lets go of your arm and paces in a circle as he thinks. “I need you to get up.”

“I told you, I can’t!” you argue. 

Wolffe kneels down on the snow in front of you and removes his bucket. He grabs both of your cheeks and forces you to look into his eyes. “I need you to get up. Now.”

His gloves feel cold on your skin and for a moment you see something flash across his eyes, something desperate that you’ve never seen in him before. But before you get to respond, you hear it. The sound of howling in the distance. You watch as Wolffe tilts his head to the side to peek around you and in an instant, you finally understand. How he heard them before you did, you may never know, but that sound is what Wolffe has been afraid of, the sound of wolves.

You find new strength in your fear and get to your feet, ready to start running again, but Wolffe doesn’t move with you. You turn to see him still kneeling in the snow, staring out through the trees at nothing. Your confusion turns into worry which then turns into a deeper fear. You step behind him and place your hand on his shoulder for reassurance. He places his hand atop yours and stands to his feet. He knows something you don’t, but you're too afraid to ask him what it is.

“It’s too late,” he says in a hushed tone.

“Too late?” you ask as your voice quivers. “Too late for what?”

Wolffe turns around and pulls you tight against him, wrapping his arms around you and burying his face in the crook of your neck. His cold plastoid armor digs into your clothing. He can hear the fear in your voice and it breaks his heart. This is exactly what he was afraid of, what he didn’t want to happen. The scenario he’s played over and over in his mind since he started out on this mission, the one he so desperately wanted to avoid at all costs, is now inescapable.

Wolffe drags his lips up to your ear and whispers. “Do you trust me?”

You shiver as his hot breath ghosts against the cold shell of your ear. “Always,” you answer.

Wolffe pulls away and plants two firm hands on both of your shoulders. “I need you to listen to me and do everything I say. Understand?”

You look into his eyes and nod your head. “I understand.”

“Don’t move,” Wolffe orders. He shakes your shoulders, like he’s trying to ingrain it in your body. “Don’t move a single inch, no matter what happens.”

You're confused by the instructions, but you trust that Wolffe knows what he’s doing, so you go along with it. “I won’t move. I promise.”

Wolffe nods his head and gives you a small half-smile. “Good girl.”

You watch him carefully, studying his body language, the way he worries his lip and shifts his weight from leg to leg. You can’t help but notice the growing anxiety, so you bring your hand up to cup the side of his face to reassure him. You smooth your hand over his reddened cheek, your fabric glove catching on the rough bristles of the stubble growing in. Wolffe places his hand over yours and leans into the caress, then pulls it away from his face to kiss your palm.

“You know I love you, right?” Wolffe whispers against your hand.

You smile. “I know.”

Wolffe relishes in the simple and soft moment he’s allowed to have with you. He’s not sure what will happen, but he knows that at least in this moment, he has you. He found you, which is what he set out to do. Mission accomplished. But, the promise he made to the general before he left the battalion reverberates in his mind. He swore he would bring you both back safely, and that’s what he still intends to do, no matter the cost.

An eerie silence washes over the area. Every sound of nature is muted by the snow and what’s left in its wake is a hollow peace. However, that silence is pierced by howls and soft steps in the snow. Wolffe closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, then turns to face the oncoming enemy. He keeps one hand on you for reassurance, and the other in front of him for his own defense, not that it will do him any good. His blasters won’t help him here either, not against a full pack.

The wolves come into view and surround you and Wolffe in a circle. Their fur coats are light gray and white, perfect camouflage for this place they call home. If it weren’t for their golden eyes and black noses, you wouldn’t even be able to see them. Your breath hitches in your throat at their menacing presence. The wolves are large. Larger than you ever imagined from the books you’ve read, with the tips of their ears easily coming up to your hips. You swallow back your fear.

The pack circles around you and Wolffe, then comes to a stop. Wolffe holds his ground as he waits for their next move, but he doesn’t have to wait long. A large, older looking pure white wolf steps out from the circle. The alpha of the pack, Wolffe assumes. He knows what he needs to do, but even in the face of all of these wolves, he’s reluctant. Without an explanation, he’s not sure how you will react to what he’s about to do, but at this point he doesn’t have a choice.

To your surprise, Wolffe starts shucking off his armor, tossing it about haphazardly until he’s only left in his black bodysuit. You watch him with bewilderment, trying to understand why he’d take his armor off during a situation like this. He’ll freeze to death with so little coverage and be vulnerable to attack. You remember his words about not moving, but you want to reach out and touch him. He must be able to read your thoughts because he turns his head to look at you.

“Remember what I said?” Wolffe asks.

“No moving,” you answer. “But Wolffe–”

Wolffe puts a finger to your lips. “Trust me.”

You nod your head and kiss his finger, earning you a sly grin.

Wolffe turns to face the white wolf and you can’t believe what you’re seeing. Bright yellow lights emanate from Wolffe’s fingertips, his toes, his eyes, and his mouth. Wind blows by your head and swirls around him, obscuring everything but his silhouette. You watch as his body morphs into a smaller form and your breath is stolen in awe. He doesn’t make a sound, even as his body contorts into unfamiliar angles. The wind and light disappear and what’s left behind is a wolf.

“Wolffe?” you ask hesitantly, body shaking from what you just witnessed.

Wolffe cranes his neck around and looks back at you with a single, piercing, golden eye, the other eye is still cybernetic and the scar over it has morphed to fit his new facial figure.

“You’re a… wolf,” you stutter in shock.

You’re stunned. When Wolffe asked you to trust him, you weren’t expecting this. You stare at his new form, a man’s body traded in for dark gray fur across his face and ears that travels down his back, a lighter cream color across his belly and legs, and a black stripe down the middle of his back that stretches to the tip of his fluffy tail. He’s a wolf, there’s no mistake about it. You can’t help but admire his beauty, and also feel a level of terror at the teeth hidden in his mouth.

Quite the show, the Alpha says.

Wolffe turns his head back to look at the Alpha. Not great. Rusty.

The Alpha considers Wolffe for a moment, unsure of what to make of him. Your wolf-speak is less than to be desired.

Wolffe snorts. Been a time.

The Alpha is not impressed with Wolffe and circles around you both, sizing up the situation.

As the Alpha moves around you, you notice that it’s much larger than Wolffe, but it also seems much older. You’re not sure why, but that’s the impression you get. You can see multiple scars across his body, each one a proud win against another wolf, you suppose, just as the clones have scars from their battles. To you, everything is quiet. You can’t hear them communicating, but you watch their body language and hear their growls, which still doesn’t mean much to you.

Wolffe plants his paws firmly into the snow, ears pinned, and snarls. Back!

Easy, pup, the Alpha says as he makes a full circle back to where he started. I’m only observing.

Not pup, Wolffe growls.

No? the Alpha questions. Then what are you?

Alpha, Wolffe answers. Own pack.

The Alpha looks at Wolffe with intrigue. Oh? I would have never guessed. You’re rather small for an alpha.

Wolffe barks at the insult, baring his fangs in an intimidating display.

It works, well, at least on you it does. You flinch at the sudden loud noise.

The Alpha disregards it and looks past Wolffe to you. What is that? A hunting trophy?

Wolffe’s fur bristles at the insinuation and rumbles out a low protective growl. Mate.

Odd choice… the Alpha says as he continues to stare at you with mild interest. He decides to ignore you for the time being. Tell me, alpha, what are the laws that govern?

Wolffe cringes at the question. He knows the answer, it’s written somewhere in the DNA that entangles with his own, but his wolf-speak is poor and he can’t put the words together.

Has your tongue gone still? the Alpha goads. Trespassing in another pack’s territory is an offense punishable by death.

Wolffe retakes his defensive stance and bares his fangs.

The Alpha pauses for a moment before responding. However, I am feeling generous today, young alpha.

Wolffe’s ears twitch.

You have two choices, the Alpha offers. Join our pack at a lower rank and we’ll let your mate go free or give us your mate as tribute and you may go free. The choice is yours.

Wolffe snorts at the two bleak choices and decides to make his own third option. He raises his head and howls loudly towards the sky.

The sound is deafening and you cover your ears to try and muffle it. You’re not sure what they’re doing now, but the tension and uncertainty is making your skin crawl. The golden eyes that stare at you from around the forest make you feel small and afraid. You wish to be able to speak to Wolffe, to get any shred of reassurance that everything will be okay, but he hasn’t said a word to you. Your best guess is that he can’t talk to you, which is the only thing that makes sense right now.

Wolffe finishes his howl and waits for the response.

You want to fight? the Alpha asks. A bold move for one so young and stupid.

Not dumb, Wolffe replies. Protect mine.

The Alpha snorts, then stares into Wolffe’s eyes as he searches his soul. You have the spirit of ages within you, young alpha. My old eyes can still see. The Alpha pauses. I will respect your wishes. If you win, you and your mate will earn safe passage through our land, but if I win, you will join our pack and your mate will perish.

Wolffe takes a deep breath. He has too much to lose not to stay focused. Seal it. Sing the song.

The Alpha lifts his muzzle towards the sky and howls. Wolffe then joins in the howling, letting their wolf-songs mingle and intertwine in the sky like a binding contract.

Promise, Wolffe says. Mate not hurt.

You have my word, the Alpha says. Your mate will not be touched during our fight.

Wolffe nods and takes a fighting stance. The Alpha does the same.

You watch the two wolves with great anticipation as your legs tremble beneath you. You’re still unsure about what’s going on, but whatever it is, you trust Wolffe. At least, that’s what you keep telling yourself. That’s what he told you to do and that’s what you have to hold on to. You must have faith and believe that Wolffe will work things out and you can both go home soon. But waiting in silence, without knowing, is slowly killing your nerves. You want to run and escape.

Your thoughts are abruptly interrupted when Wolffe and the Alpha lunge towards each other, fangs bared. A gasp escapes your throat and you have to tell your trembling legs not to move, just like Wolffe told you. The two wolves collide, both going for each other’s necks. You watch in horror as tufts of gray and white fur are flung about into the air. The sounds of growling and snarling fill your ears as they tumble in the snow, one on top of the other and then vice versa.

The Alpha pins Wolffe to the ground and clamps his jaw around Wolffe’s shoulder, causing him to cry out in pain.

“Wolffe!” you yell and take an automatic step towards him, forgetting Wolffe’s order not to move.

A wolf on the sidelines catches your movement and lunges towards you. You scream and fall back onto the ground. Your cry alerts Wolffe and he snaps his head up. With strength unknown to him he kicks the Alpha off of him and leaves his fight to get to your side. He snarls at the wolf and nips at his legs, causing it to retreat back to the circle. Wolffe whips around and looks into your frightened eyes. He brings his nose to your face and gives your cheek a small, gentle lick.

As sweet as the gesture may seem to Wolffe, you wish you could feel anything other than fear.  There’s blood on Wolffe’s muzzle and blood on his fur, reminding you of what he is doing.

Wolffe turns his attention back to the Alpha and barks. Liar!

The immature actions of a young pup, the Alpha says. I assure you, he will be punished severely. The Alpha glares toward the younger wolf in his ranks and bares his fangs with a low growl. The younger wolf cowers back with his ears flattened and his tail between his legs. Shall we continue?

Wolffe agrees and the fight recommences as they both tumble through the snow once again. Nipping and biting at each other’s necks, legs, bellies, and backs. Wolffe gets in a few bites, but the Alpha is much bigger and stronger, yielding better results with his bites, which leaves Wolffe’s beautiful gray fur coat marred with blood. He pauses to catch his breath and looks back at you, his strength and reason to fight. Mustering what he can, Wolffe forces himself to continue.

The yelp Wolffe makes when the Alpha sinks his fangs into his neck is unbearable. All you can do is watch and pray to the Maker that Wolffe survives this. You don’t know what started the fight, you don’t know the rules, and you don’t know what will happen to you if Wolffe dies. You shake your head at the macabre thought and focus on Wolffe surviving. You wish you could help him. You wish you could do more than watch as he lies helpless and whimpering in the snow.

Wolffe is out of breath and running out of strength. For a wolf so young, his stamina isn’t at peak performance, but for someone who rarely uses his wolf form, it’s better than he thought it would be. He lays in the snow, chest heaving as he tries to breathe. The bites sting him like fire and slow him down. He’s not sure how much longer he’ll be able to last. He knew he didn’t stand a chance against a seasoned alpha. He may be the leader of the ‘Wolfpack’, but he’s no alpha.

You want to cry. You don’t know how long the fight has been going on, but you’re getting sick of it. You know you’re not supposed to move, but you can still speak. They can’t stop you from cheering him on. Whether he understands your words or not is a gamble you’re willing to take, because you can’t lose him like this. “Wolffe!” you yell. “Wolffe, get up!”

Through his pained haze, Wolffe can hear your voice calling out to him. The sweet sound of his mesh’la, warped by the fear caught in the back of your throat. He knows you’re trying to be strong for him and he finds it endearing. The need to protect you and to protect his unborn child, overrides his pain. He shifts his legs in the snow, trying to get back up, using your voice as a crutch to stand. He rocks himself onto his stomach and hoists himself up onto his shaky legs.

Will protect, Wolffe chokes out between pants as blood drips from his muzzle. Won’t lose. My mate. My pup.

The Alpha watches Wolffe carefully. His own white coat has been stained by blood. Some of it is his but most of it is from Wolffe. He finds the young alpha compelling. His protectiveness over his mate is rivaled by that of many an alpha and he admires him for his strong will. The Alpha can sense it strongly now, the spirit that resides in Wolffe. An ancient spirit from many generations before him. The one that chases the moon at night and howls with his brethren in chorus song.

The Alpha approaches Wolffe and bows. I concede to you, young alpha.

Wolffe heaves in a labored breath, his shaking legs about to buckle underneath him. He’s not sure if this is a trick, but according to the laws that govern, this means he wins.

The Alpha steps closer and Wolffe takes a cautious step back.

Your spirit, the Alpha begins to explain, it’s strong and powerful; ancient as the dancing lights that adorn the heavens. Don’t lose it.

Wolffe stares into the golden eyes of the Alpha and sees his truth. He bows to the Alpha, turns, and limps his way over to you.

You and your mate will have safe passage through our land, the Alpha exclaims to Wolffe and his own pack.

Wolffe turns back to look at the Alpha. Thank you.

And with that, the pack of wolves disappear into the trees as silently as they came. You stare with wide-eyes, then drop to the ground, your legs refusing to bear the load of your body any longer. You don’t know if you should cry, scream, or laugh. Regardless, you and Wolffe are safe, at least you hope you're safe. You startle for a moment when you feel Wolffe’s nose touch you. You look into his tired eyes, trying to read them as best as you can, but you understand nothing.

“Can you turn back?” you ask. “To a human?”

Too weak, he answers, but his voice won’t reach your ears.

You sigh when you get no response. With no way to communicate with Wolffe, you’re not sure what to do. You don’t know where you are and with no comms to contact the battalion, you’re on your own. You stretch out your hand to pet Wolffe’s head, but you recoil it when you get too close, scared he might not be who you think he is. Wolffe sees your hesitation and lifts his head into the palm of your hand, nuzzling it for comfort. You smile and scratch behind his ears.

Overcome with the emotion you are holding in, you throw your arms around Wolffe’s neck and bury your face in his soft fur. “You saved us. Thank you.”

Wolffe wants to melt into your embrace, but a snowflake landing on his nose reminds him of the other situation. Wolffe pulls out of your arms and starts pushing at his armor with his nose, piling it together. You tilt your head at his actions, but when you see the snow start to fall again, you get the idea. You stack Wolffe’s armor neatly and wrap a cord around it so you can tie it to your pack. Wolffe grabs his bag between his teeth and you grab yours, slinging it onto your back.

Wolffe starts limping forward and you walk closely behind him, following his lead through the forest. If anyone can get you home, it’s Wolffe. You soon reach the end of the forest and stare out into the wide advance of nothingness. The snow falls harder and the wind begins to howl. You shiver as the cold air breaches your layers of clothing. Wolffe turns around and stands behind you. He noses at his bucket tied to your pack and you wonder what he wants.

You put your pack down and carefully remove his bucket from the neatly tied package of armor, then hand it to Wolffe, unsure of what he could possibly want with it in that form. It’s not as if it will fit on his head.

If Wolffe could roll his eyes, he would, but instead he pushes his nose against the bucket so it goes back towards you.

You sigh and shake your head, still unsure of what he wants you to do with it.

Put it on! Wolffe growls as he drops his pack from his mouth.

His sudden outburst startles you. “I don’t know what you want me to do!” you snap at him.

Wolffe tries to calm himself. The language barrier is grating on him, so he takes the bucket in his mouth and places his front paws on your knees to gain some height, then haphazardly drops the bucket on top of your head. It sits crooked and looks funny from Wolffe’s vantage point, but it should get the point across.

“Oh,” you realize. “You want me to wear it.”

Wolffe nuzzles his nose against your hand as an affirmation.

You situate his bucket on your head, but it’s too big on you and bobbles around. You think you look ridiculous, but if this is what Wolffe wants then this is what you’re going to do. It’s probably to keep your face from freezing off in the cold, but it could have other uses as well and you just don’t know it.

“How do you see out of this thing?” you ask as you try to walk forward, but the HUD throws you off balance.

Wolffe can’t smile or laugh, but he snorts through his nostrils at your comment. He sees just fine out of it, but then again, it is made for him.

You watch Wolffe’s reaction to your comment and wonder. “Can you understand me?” you ask.

Wolffe nuzzles his nose against your hand again to answer your question.

“We can work with that,” you think out loud. “We need some way to communicate... How about for yes or no questions, touch your nose to my hand for yes and growl for no?”

Wolffe touches his nose to your hand in agreement.

“Well, that was easy,” you breathe.

Actually, none of this is easy. You're several klicks away from your battalion, out in the middle of a snowstorm with a small amount of supplies, and an injured Wolffe who seems to be stuck in a wolf’s body. At least, that’s what you gather from the fact that he is still a wolf and not a human. You don’t have any way to confirm that theory, but you can’t imagine that he would choose to stay a wolf if he had a choice. The words you speak in your mind surprise yourself and you sigh.

Wolffe can smell the storm coming and he nudges your back to push you forward, causing you to stumble.

“Hey!” you turn around and exclaim. “Just because you’re a wolf doesn’t mean you can’t have manners!”

Wolffe snorts, picks his pack back up, and limps past you.

You huff, then hoist your pack onto your back and follow after him.

You’re not sure how long you’ve been walking, but your legs are tired and your body is freezing. The blizzard began to rage not long after you left the forest, and you're both out in the thick of it without much protection. The wind whips around you and threatens to knock you over as it bites your skin through your clothing. Wolffe was smart with making you wear the helmet. There’s no way you would’ve been able to see without it and your ears would have fallen off already.

You have one hand holding the strap of your bag and the other holding onto Wolffe’s tail as he guides you forward through the storm. You don’t know where he’s leading you, but you trust him that it’s towards shelter. Well, that’s what you're hoping for anyway. He, at least, has fur and is made for this type of weather, but, you don’t have a fur coat to keep you warm and your two heavy legs sink further into the deep snow while his four lighter legs sit closer to the surface.

It doesn’t take much longer for you to start staggering, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Wolffe when his tail gets yanked. It hurts, but it’s better than losing you in the storm, so he bears it without complaint. It’s when you let go of his tail that he gets worried. He turns around and looks back to see you laying still in the snow. Panic washes over him and he limps back over to you. He knows that if you stay like this, you’ll get buried in the snow and he can’t let that happen.

Wolffe drops his pack and digs with his paws to get your head out of the snow. He pushes you with his nose to try and get you back up, but you don’t budge. He knows you’re still alive, he can hear your heartbeat, but you still won’t move. He digs around each side of your body as the snow continues to bury your limbs. He grabs onto your outer jacket with his teeth and pulls, but with the weight of the snow you're too heavy for him. He steps back to reassess the situation.

Wolffe paces beside you as he tries to think, then howls in frustration towards the gray sky. Get up, cyare, Wolffe pleads. Please, get up.

He noses at your face, but gets no reaction.

We’re so close, Wolffe says, trying to encourage you to keep moving, like you did for him during the fight, but his voice falls on deaf ears. You have to get up! That’s an order!

He still gets no response. Not even a stir from you.

Don’t make me do this, cyare, Wolffe growls.

He only has one option left and it makes him sick to his stomach. It’s the last thing he wants to do, and he hopes you will forgive him when this is all over, but he’ll do anything to keep you safe. To keep you both safe. He digs out your left arm that has been re-buried by the heavy falling snow and bites down hard.

You jerk at the searing pain in your arm.

The adrenaline in your body starts pumping and you're quickly awoken. You figure you must have fallen asleep since you’re laying in the snow. You look up through the HUD with half-lidded eyes and see Wolffe crouching in front of you, your arm in his mouth. He’s biting you. He’s eating you. You stare at your arm as blood begins to soak through your coat sleeve. You’re scared. Not of the storm, but of Wolffe. He has your arm in his mouth and you're afraid he’ll rip it off.

“Get off me!” you yell hoarsely, scrambling to get up out of the snow and away from him. “I’m not your dinner!”

Wolffe drops your arm before you hurt yourself. I’m sorry.

You stare at him and then your bloody arm in shock and disbelief. “You bit me!”

Regret washes over him at your reaction. I’m so sorry.

“Why?” you ask. You feel heartbroken and confused as to why Wolffe would bite you. Why he would intentionally hurt you. You don’t understand. All of those sweet promises he’s whispered in your ear during moments of passion slip away on the raging winds of the blizzard. He told you he’d never hurt you, but he did. He hurt you and you’re bleeding. “Why would you do that?”

Wolffe drops his tail between his legs and lays himself flat against the snow to seem less intimidating. He wishes he could explain, but he can’t. He never meant for you to misconstrued his intentions so far as to think he would attack you on purpose, or eat you. It’s the worst-case scenario, but he’d rather have you alive and hate him than have you dead and love him. You both need to keep moving, but he lets you settle down before making any more movements.

You lie in the snow as you let the adrenaline run its course. The snow starts to pile around you and in a moment of clarity, you understand why he bit you. If he didn’t wake you, then you would have been buried in the snow and froze to death. It doesn’t make the wound hurt any less, and you’ll never forget what it looked like to have your arm bleeding in his mouth, but you can push past your anger for the moment and move on. You can talk about it later when you’re both safe.

You make an attempt to push yourself up and out of the snow, but struggle. Wolffe gets up and places his muzzle under your other arm, trying to help lift you so you can stand. You get the picture and use him to pull yourself out of the snow. Once you’re up, you lean against Wolffe to help regain your balance before trekking on. Moving is a chore for both of you now. Between his wounds and limp and your frozen and tired body, it’s a miracle you’ve even gotten this far.

When you’re ready to get moving, you grab onto Wolffe’s tail. He picks up his pack, and once again guides you through the blizzard to shelter. It’s not much further before you see a dark shadow appear through the blinding snow. As you get closer, you see the outline of a cabin and breathe a sigh of relief. You knew Wolffe would find shelter, and you’re so thankful that he’s with you. If it weren’t for him, you’d still be back in the woods, waiting to be devoured by wolves.

You approach the cabin and Wolffe scratches at the wooden door, whining for you to open it. You pull the latch and Wolffe drops his pack and runs in before you to be sure it’s safe. The last thing you need is more danger or obnoxious critters. The cabin is dark and cold, but solid, and not too drafty. It will do just fine to wait out the rest of the blizzard. Wolffe circles back from his perimeter search and presses his nose into your hand to let you know it’s safe for you to enter.

With Wolffe’s nose-touch of approval, you pull the door shut against the merciless winds and latch it closed. You drop your pack down, pull out some glow sticks, and the small heat lamp you had in your tent. You crack the glow sticks and place them around the outer areas of the cabin to get some much needed light, then place the small heater in the middle of the room. It won’t throw enough heat for the entire cabin, but it will take the chill out of your bones for the time being.

Wolffe can see without the glow sticks, but he knows you can’t. As you settle in, he does a more thorough reconnaissance and assessment of your situation. There’s a fireplace, some chopped wood, an old table, some broken cabinets with no food in them, and a worn out rug in the middle of the floor. It’s not much, but it’s enough. More than enough, actually. Wolffe turns when he hears you strike a match to light the fireplace. The small fire casts a warm orange glow in the room.

Finally able to relax, you take Wolffe’s bucket off and place it on the table alongside his armor. You pull your coat and gloves off, and blow into your hands to warm them up. It will take a little for the fire to heat the entire cabin. You look over at Wolffe and see the blood dripping from his shoulder. You’re not sure how he’s still standing, but you need to get that wound taken care of before it becomes infected. You grab the medpack from your pack and walk over to the fire.

“Come here,” you call as you sit crisscross on the rug and pat the area next to you.

Wolffe, absolutely exhausted, slowly limps over and lies down on the carpet beside you. He places his muzzle on your left leg and you run a hand across his head. He closes his eyes. You gently move your hand down to touch the area where his shoulder is bleeding and he whines. You frown, then grab the bacta and start applying it. Wolffe kicks out his hind leg at the pain, but he stays still for you. Finally, you wrap the wound in bandages, then take care of the other bites.

Once you’re done with Wolffe’s wounds, you move onto your own. You pull the sleeve up on your left arm, and wince as the movement opens the scabs that are stuck to the fabric.

Wolffe picks his head up off your leg when he hears your pain. He looks for the source and sees the puncture marks of his teeth on your arm. His stomach drops. He gave you that wound. It’s his fault that you’re bleeding and he wishes he could fix it. If only he had the strength to change back, he could bandage your wound, instead of forcing you to do it yourself. In an effort to help, he leans forward and licks at your wound, but you recoil and reflexively whack his nose.

“Ow!” you exclaim. “That hurts!”

Wolffe whines and lowers his head to rest on the rug between his front legs. He didn’t mean to hurt you even more. He just wanted to help. I’m sorry, cyare.

You look at how sad he is and sigh. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I know you didn’t mean it.”

Wolffe remains still, but lifts his eyes to look up at you.

You meet his gaze and offer him a sad smile. You can never stay mad at Wolffe for long, even if he did bite you. Usually you like it when he bites you, but not when his teeth are as sharp as a vibro-blade. Besides, there’s no use in staying angry at him, not when he’s already saved your life three times in one day. You pat his head and give him a small scratch behind his ear, which seems to perk him up a little. “Good boy.”

Getting back to the task at hand, you apply the bacta to your wound and wrap it in a bandage. It’s not the best job you’ve ever done, but you did it with one hand, so you feel somewhat proud of yourself. Now that the wounds have been taken care of, you move onto food and water. You get up from the floor and rifle through Wolffe’s pack. You grab the canteens and rations from it, since you used your supply back in the forest, and sit back down next to Wolffe.

You reach out to hand one of the canteens to Wolffe, then stop when you remember he can’t drink out of it like a person. You sigh, stand back up, and walk over to the kitchen area past the old wooden table. There’s no food in the cabinets, but there has to be a bowl you can use, and it doesn’t take long for you to find one. You wipe it out with your shirt and bring it back to where you were sitting, then place it in front of Wolffe’s nose and pour the canteen of water into it.

Wolffe continues to lie on the floor, but picks his head up to lap at the water in the bowl. He didn’t realize how thirsty he was until the first droplets hit his tongue and he eagerly drinks the rest of the bowl, being careful not to spill any of the precious resource. When you try to refill the bowl with more water, Wolffe stops you. He doesn’t need it as much as you do, and if push comes to shove, it’s easier for him to go find water in his wolf form, than it is for you as a human.

Once you’ve had your fill of water, you open up the ration pack and toss one of the bars to Wolffe. He catches it mid-flight in his mouth and eats the entire bar in one bite. You’re a little surprised, but you’re not sure what you were expecting, considering the size of his mouth and what wolves actually eat for sustenance. You chuckle. “Well, those aren’t going to last long.”

When you try to give Wolffe another ration bar, he does the same thing he did with the canteen of water and declines it. He intentionally doesn’t catch it, and the second bar comically bounces off of his head and onto the ground. Wolffe gently picks the ration bar up in his mouth and drops it in your lap for you to eat. He can survive on the one ration bar for a while. It’s more important to him that you get your proper nutrients to help keep you and the little one healthy and safe.

You pick up the ration bar and cringe in disgust that it has some of his wolf-saliva on it. But, then again, it can’t be the worst bodily fluid of Wolffe’s you’ve ever put in your mouth, so you eat it without complaint and try not to think about it too much.

After you finish the ration bar, you and Wolffe sit in silence for a while and just listen to the crackling fire in front of you and the howling blizzard outside. It’s peaceful, in a sort of sense, and almost comforting. You look over at Wolffe and wonder if he’s fallen asleep. He has his front paws crossed with his head resting on top of them and his eyes are closed. You look back over at the fire and yawn, thinking it’s best for you to get some sleep as well. You’re exhausted.

You get up off the floor, walk over to the table, grab the blanket from your pack, and sit back down next to Wolffe. You look over at him and his eyes are open and staring at you. You shake your head at his alertness. Not much gets past him. You stretch your arms out over your head, then lay the blanket on your body. You rest your head on the hard floor, which quickly becomes uncomfortable, and you know you’ll wake up with a crick in your neck if you try to sleep like this.

You sit up and look at Wolffe, who is still watching you. “Can I…” you fidget with the edge of the blanket. “Can I lay on you?”

Wolffe picks his head up and beats his tail against the wooden floor.

You giggle at his response. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Wolffe changes his position and lies out flat on his side with his legs outstretched towards the fire. He doesn’t care what position he sleeps in, because his fur works as a buffer against even the hardest of surfaces. He’ll gladly be your pillow and he’s happy to oblige you. You're still his cyare, even when he’s in his wolf form. The wolf form changes nothing about how he feels about you or his devotion and duty to protect you. He may be in a wolf’s body, but his heart is his own.

You situate yourself between Wolffe’s legs and lay your head on his side, being careful not to disturb any of the bandages. His body is warm and his fur is soft. You can feel him breathing steadily as his chest rises and falls, and the sound of his heartbeat is so similar to his human form that when you close your eyes, you can imagine it’s him you’re laying against. You nuzzle your cheek against Wolffe’s soft fur and let yourself drift off to sleep, safe by his side.

When you wake up, you feel a slight chill and notice the fire has died down. You need to get up to put more logs on it to stay warm, but you don’t want to move. You lazily rub your face against Wolffe, but it doesn’t feel right. There’s no fur. You pick your head up and look at Wolffe, but he’s no longer a wolf, he’s human. He’s also completely naked. Realizing that he’s going to freeze to death being exposed like that, you lay your blanket on top of him and get up to rekindle the fire.

You're glad he’s back to normal. You weren’t sure how long he was going to be a wolf, or if he was ever going to change back into the man you know, but you feel relieved now. You carefully lift the blanket to check the bandages, and you can see his injuries better now without the fur, and they look good. Nothing is infected, but the bandage on his shoulder needs to be changed. You run your fingers through his hair, then warm yourself by the fire and wait for him to wake up.

It’s not much longer before Wolffe begins to stir and shift uncomfortably on the hard wooden floor. You smile as you hear the familiar grunt he makes when he wakes up from a good night’s sleep and you bask in the sound of the deep voice you love so much. You turn from the fire to look at him, and you see him try to push himself up from the floor and onto all fours. You scoot across the rug and gently push him back down before he reopens the wound on his shoulder.

“Cyare,” Wolffe says, his voice rough with sleep. He tries to touch his nose to you, but he misses by several inches, not realizing that he’s back to his human form.

“It’s me,” you giggle.

“You can understand me?” Wolffe asks in confusion.

“You’re you again,” you explain as you grab his hand and touch it to his face. “See? No fur.”

Wolffe grunts like he has a hangover and places a hand against his throbbing head. “Must have changed back in my sleep.”

“Yeah, about that…” you say, trying to segue into the obvious.

Wolffe slowly sits up, the blanket falling down around his waist. “It’s a long story.”

“We’ve got time,” you counter while sitting down next to him. “The blizzard hasn’t let up.”

Wolffe sighs. He knew this conversation was coming and he thought of several ways to explain it to you without it sounding like some bizarre folktale, but he’d rather not. “You won’t believe me.”

“Try me,” you say with folded arms.

A shiver runs up Wolffe’s spine and he realizes he’s naked. “Can I have my blacks first?”

“Oh, yes, of course,” you say before getting up and grabbing the spare set of blacks Wolffe put in his pack, then returning to hand them to him. “Sorry about that.”

Wolffe chuckles and grabs his blacks from your hands. “Nothing to be sorry about.”

Wolffe quickly puts his blacks on and melts into the comfort of the tight bodysuit against his bare skin. He sits back down next to you and immediately pulls you into his lap, your back against his chest, and wraps his arms around your stomach while burrowing his face in your neck. He peppers your neck with soft kisses, making you smile. His kisses become longer, more focused, and he trails them from your neck down to your shoulder as his hands creep under your shirt.

“Wolffe,” you say knowingly.

“Hm?” he mumbles into your neck.

“You’re stalling,” you say as you remove his hands from under your shirt.

Wolffe grunts at your perceptiveness. He really thought he could make you forget by working you up, but he was dead wrong. You want to know, and he knows you well enough that you won’t let it go until you have an answer. With a heavy sigh, he stops his attack of kisses and shuffles you around in his lap so you’re facing him. “Are you sure you want to know?”

“Yes,” you answer. “Tell me everything.”

Wolffe sighs and begins his recount of the events.

“It was near the beginning of the war. My first campaign after losing my battalion and my eye. I was at my lowest point back then.”

Your shoulders slump and eyes soften at his words.

“During the campaign I got separated from the battalion, on a world similar to this one, and I found myself cold and alone on the side of a snowy mountain, staring up at the night sky and waiting to die. Thought I was going to.”

You lean your head on his shoulder as you continue to listen.

“Then I saw these green and blue lights appear out of nowhere and dance across the black sky, right over my head. They were beautiful. As I stared up at the lights, I saw this white figure jumping down from them like it was a staircase or something. As it got closer, it kinda looked like a wolf, but it was see-through and wispy-like. I’d never seen something like that before.”

You chuckle at Wolffe’s descriptions.

“You find it funny, but I thought I was dying and seeing things. So, the wispy-wolf-looking thing came over to me, and I mean it stood right next to me, and started talking to me. It said I had a ‘strong heart’ and a ‘wise mind’, or something like that, and then it asked me if I wanted to live. I actually thought about saying no, but I ended up saying yes for whatever reason.”

You grab onto Wolffe tightly, and he rubs your back to soothe you.

“Then it spoke again and said it was an ancient wolf-spirit that travels across the night sky, waiting for someone worthy who can tether it back to the ground, or something like that. It didn’t make much sense to me, but I agreed. It was better than dying on that mountainside. Then that thing walked right inside of me and I nearly pissed myself.”

You snort.

“That was my first transformation into an actual wolf. Once I was in the wolf form, I could smell and see and sense all kinds of things. That’s how I found my way back to the battalion. The general was the only one who knew it was me, through the force I guess, and we never told anyone. It took a little to figure out how to transform back, but the wolf-spirit’s been inside me ever since.”

“You can’t get rid of it?” you ask. “Just out of curiosity.”

“Not that I know of,” Wolffe shrugs. “It’ll probably leave me when I die, and go back up into the dancing lights.”

“I guess that makes sense,” you say.

Wolffe tilts his head to the side. “It does?”

“Well, yeah,” you answer.

“So, you believe me?” Wolffe asks.

“Of course,” you say with a small laugh. “There’s no reason not to. Besides, there’s lots of things in this galaxy that we don’t know about, and wolf spirits now aren’t one of them.”

Wolffe gives you a crooked smile and places his forehead against yours. “I don’t deserve you.”

You lean into the embrace and sigh, but your happy moment is interrupted by your growling stomach.

“Hungry?” Wolffe asks.

“A little,” you answer while getting off his lap.

You walk over to the table and pull out the last package of rations from Wolffe’s pack. You open the package and put one of the bars in your mouth, then throw the other one to Wolffe. He catches it, but he doesn’t eat it.

“You can have mine,” Wolffe says.

You cross your arms. “You need to eat.”

“I can wait,” he says.

“You're injured,” you argue. “You need energy to recover.”

“I have reserves,” he retorts.

“Wolffe,” you huff. “I’m not arguing with you. Eat the bar.”

“I said, no,” he says sternly.

“Fine,” you say as you put your coat on. “Then I’ll go find you something to eat.”

Wolffe gets up from the floor and grabs your arm. “You’re not going anywhere.”

You give Wolffe an incredulous look, then yank your arm back. “What is your problem all of a sudden?”

“I’ll go out and find us some food,” he says.

“You’re injured!” you exclaim. “If you transform back into a wolf, you’re going to break open your wound!”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take,” he says.

“Well, I’m not,” you huff and start walking towards the cabin door.

Wolffe stands in front of it with his arms crossed. “You’re staying in this cabin and that’s an order.”

“Wolffe, I swear to the Maker, you can’t just pull rank on me whenever it suits you!” you exclaim.

“Too bad,” he says.

You fume and try to push past him. “Get out of my way!”

Wolffe groans. “Stop fighting me!”

“Stop telling me what to do!” you yell.

Wolffe grabs your shoulders and shakes you. “What do I have to do, huh?” he asks. “Tie you up?”

“Maybe,” you sneer.

“Why can’t you just listen to me?!” he exclaims.

“Because,” you begin, “you’re not making the best decision for the two of us!”

Wolffe’s patience snaps. “Only because I’m trying to make the best decision for the three of us!”

You pause, taken aback by his choice of words. “Three?”

Wolffe sighs and leans his head back against the door, kicking himself for saying the one thing he didn’t want to say.

“Wolffe,” you ask slowly. “What do you mean by three?”

Wolffe wipes his hand across his face and looks at your confused expression. “You’re pregnant.”

You gasp in shock. “What– How– When– How do you know that?”

Wolffe rubs the back of his neck. “It started out as more than a hunch, but when I transformed into a wolf, I knew for sure because I could hear its heartbeat.”

You place a hand on your stomach and stagger backwards, looking for a place to sit as you try to process this life-changing information.

Wolffe catches you and guides you to one of the chairs by the table. He kneels down in front of you and takes your hands in his. “I wasn’t going to say anything until you figured it out on your own. I’m sorry. It would’ve been difficult to explain.”

You stare at Wolffe, still in disbelief. “I’m pregnant?”

Wolffe nods his head. “Yeah.”

“I’m pregnant,” you say as you continue to stare at Wolffe.

Wolffe isn’t sure what to do, so he just stays still and waits for you to make the next move.

Suddenly, the lightbulb turns on in your head. “That’s why you gave me your rations and why you didn’t want me to leave.”

Wolffe lets his shoulders relax as you finally understand. “Exactly,” he sighs. “I was worried about the baby.”

You start to laugh and Wolffe raises his eyebrow in confusion. You throw your arms around Wolffe’s neck and squish yourself against him tightly. He pulls you from the chair to sit in his lap and holds you there for as long as you will let him. He rubs your back with his hands and soothes you with soft kisses along your neck.

“Will you let me take care of you now?” he whispers.

“Yeah,” you mumble.

Wolffe gives you one last big squeeze, then hoists you up to carry you over to the rug near the fire. He places you down gently on the rug and wraps you up in the blanket, then gives you a small kiss on the cheek. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Promise?” you ask.

“Promise,” he answers.

Wolffe removes his blacks, since it’s the only pair he has and he doesn’t want to ruin them, then hands them to you. “Here, they should smell like me now.”

You smile, take them from him, and breathe in his calming scent.

Wolffe leaves the cabin, making sure the door latches securely behind him, then transforms into a wolf so he can find some food. His shoulder wound still hurts, but he can walk on it without much of a limp now, which is fine for him. Even if it was broken, he would still go out and find you food. The urge to protect and provide is so much stronger now that he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that you’re carrying his child. He would do anything to keep you both safe.

Now that you’ve settled down and have time to think, you feel bad for being angry and argumentative with Wolffe. Everything he’s done for you since he first found you in the forest has been to protect you and the baby you didn’t even know about. You can’t even begin to imagine how difficult it has been for him to keep that secret for so many weeks. You’re body hasn’t changed, so it never even occurred to you that you could be pregnant, but he knew.

You wait diligently in front of the fire for Wolffe to return, wishing you had a data-pad to distract yourself with, or even a deck of cards, or anything. Waiting in the quiet is making you fidget out of boredom, and if you’re not careful, you’ll fidget your fingernails right off your fingers. You need something busy yourself with, so you scan around the cabin to try and find inspiration. Then you realize that whatever food Wolffe brings back with him is going to need to be cooked. Bingo.

You throw Wolffe’s top blacks over your head, so you don’t have to carry the blanket around, and you walk over to the kitchen portion of the room. You go through all of the broken cabinets and drawers until you find something to cook in. You have a fire, but throwing some dead carcass on an open flame makes your stomach churn. Eventually, you find a large pan hidden away in a corner. It’s a little dusty, but it’ll do. You clean it off, then set it near the fire to preheat.

Satisfied with your preparations, you sit back down onto the rug and continue to wait for Wolffe. Your wait isn’t much longer before Wolffe returns from his hunt, but then again, without a chronometer, you can’t tell how long he’s actually been gone. The latch on the cabin door opens, then closes abruptly, and you smile while stoking the fire. You hear him take a few steps into the cabin as the floor creaks beneath his weight, but the steps are followed by a loud thud.

You whip around to see Wolffe lying on the ground, his fresh kill next to him. You rush over to check and make sure he’s still breathing, and he is. Thank the Maker. His body is cold from exposure, which makes sense, but you notice his breathing is labored and he’s sweating. You put your hand to his forehead and it’s hot. He has a fever. You curse under your breath, and check under the bandage on his shoulder. It’s red around the edges, just what you were afraid of.

“Wolffe,” you say. “I need you to get up for me.”

Wolffe groans.

“Come on,” you say while putting his arm around your shoulder. “You’re too heavy for me. I need you to help me.”

Wolffe musters what he can and you do your best to drag him over to the rug by the fire. His body is cold, and you need to warm him up so he has a chance to fight the infection. You lay him down on the rug and work to get his blacks on. It’s a struggle, and you wish he would’ve stayed in his wolf form since it came with its own fur coat, but you guess it’s better if he can talk to you. You cover him with the blanket, then focus on cleaning and redressing his shoulder.

Once you get Wolffe situated, you turn your attention to the dead creature at the door. You're not completely sure how to turn it into dinner, so you just throw it into the pan next to the fire and hope for the best. It’s better than starving, but you wish you could make it into soup to help Wolffe. You think for a moment, then get an idea. You grab snow from outside and use it to fill the pan. Then take the electrolyte package from the medpack and dump it in the pan too.

You look at your concoction brewing by the fire and narrow your eyes. “That’s going to taste awful.”

“Mesh’la,” Wolffe calls in between pants.

You turn your attention away from the pan and back to Wolffe, then scoot over to him. “I’m here.”

“Sorry,” he breathes.

You smile and wipe his forehead with your sleeve. “Don’t be. You took good care of me, of us. Now it’s my turn.”

Wolffe doesn’t respond, but you know he would if he could. What’s important now is that he gets rest.

After a little while, you check on the weird soup you’re trying to make and see that the creature is thoroughly cooked, at least, you think it’s thoroughly cooked. You taste some of the ‘broth’ and you’re not impressed, but at least it has salt and nutrients in it. You scoop up the broth into one of the bowls you found and bring it over to Wolffe. You situate yourself behind him so he can sit up against you and you can help him drink it. He fights you on it, but you eventually win.

Once you’re both fed, you throw more logs on the fire and settle in on the rug next to Wolffe. He’s shivering from his fever, so you snuggle up to him to try and keep both of you warm. It’s not ideal for you, but you know Wolffe would try to give you the blanket and his blacks if he knew you were cold, and you can’t let him do that, not when he’s sick. With Wolffe heating your back and the fire heating your front, you let your mind slow down and drift off to sleep.

The next two rotations, you guess, are similar. Wolffe’s fever continues as he fights the shoulder infection and the blizzard still rages on outside. You wonder if it’ll ever stop. The only good thing about the cold is that you can leave the leftovers outside and defrost them by the fire when you need them. Lucky for you, Wolffe brought back a decent sized creature that you’ve been able to ration out. But, the food reserves are dwindling, and neither of you will survive on nothing.

Finally, on the third rotation, you think, Wolffe’s fever breaks and his infection looks much better. He continually apologizes to you for getting sick, but he knew that if he didn’t bring back food, and he fell ill, you both would have been in trouble. You, of course, tell him not to worry about it and that you’re glad he came back safely. He saved your life, again, and you couldn’t be more grateful. Actually, he saved both you and your baby’s life, which makes you love him even more.

Not long afterwards, you both notice a silence. It’s still dark outside, but there’s a certain sound missing. The sound of the howling winds. You walk over to the cabin door, with Wolffe right behind you, and you open it to see nothing but a white ground and a black sky. The storm is over. You smile and lean back against Wolffe’s chest in relief. Now you can leave and head towards the rendezvous point to meet up with the battalion. It won’t be difficult with Wolffe leading the way.

As you stare out into the darkness, hot puffs of breath mingling into the cold night air, the sky lights up with green and blue colored streaks. Your mouth gapes and your eyes widen at the magical sight. It’s just like Wolffe described, dancing lights in the night sky. Wolffe wraps an arm around you and pulls you close against him and smiles. He’s happy you get to see them too. Then he hears the spirit within him howl towards the dancing lights above and he feels complete.

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[arctrooper69]

How Fascinating

Waking up next to Tech is like waking up on a cloud. It's like waking up in heaven.

@clonexreaderbingo "Your eyes are so beautiful"

I got the idea from this post by @ladyzirkonia

Warnings: No smut but there's a bit of suggestive fluff. 😘

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Gentle tendrils of sunrise drifted quietly through the cracks of the slated blinds, waking Tech from his slumber. He inhaled deeply, blinking the sleep from his eyes. He rolled over to his side and with nimble fingers, plucked his goggles from the bedside table, careful not to jostle the sleeping figure next to him. A smile crept through his lips as he lay back down, sinking into the warm mattress, bathed in golden sunlight. It had been a long, long time since he'd gotten anywhere close to feeling so well rested. So peaceful.

Tech propped himself up onto his elbow, overlooking his sleeping companion. She was so beautiful. So kind, and bathed in the golden glow of sunlight, Tech likened her to a star.

***

The sensation of fingers lightly running up and down your arm pulled you from a deep sleep. An unbidden grin snuck it's way over your lips, giving away the fact that you were no longer asleep.

"How fascinating..." He whispered, fingers running through your hair.

"Hmm?" You turned to face him, opening your eyes. Tech chuckled as he brushed the hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear.

"I was simply admiring the way the sunlight frames your face. Even asleep you are beautiful. It's fascinating."

Pulling him close, you planted a kiss on his nose.

"You're just saying that because you want me to stay in bed with you."

”Well, yes..." he replied sheepishly.

You giggled and rolled your eyes.

"Tech you know I have to go to work soon."

His fingers traced across your collarbone.

"I know," he sighed. "But I did very much mean what I said." He took your hand. "You are truly beautiful."

You sighed, the blissful moment shattered by an unexpected flash of melancholy.

"Do you really think that?"

Tech blinked, unsure where the sudden change in tone had shifted.

He pressed his lips to your forehead.

"I do."

The fleeting offense floated back into the melancholic abyss from whence it came as you smiled warmly into the warmth of his neck. He smelt like grease and gunsmoke.

"Prove it."

You felt him raise an eyebrow and smirk against the skin below your collarbone where his lips lay on their path to smoothly kiss his way down your body. He turned his head towards you.

"I know that look. Do not try to tempt me with those beautiful eyes of yours, cyare. I thought you needed to get ready for work?"

"I can call in sick."

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[dangraccoon]

Nightmare

Crosshair x Reader

@clonexreaderbingo (if you want me not to tag you on future late additions lmk)

Square filled: "go to sleep"

Word count: 341

Warnings: trauma, nightmare, The Outpost & related topics, comfort

Note: I am well aware that I am posting this in March of 2024, but I decided I wanted to keep going, deadline be damned.

Crosshair awoke with a start, coughing violently, as he desperately fought to remove the snow that had filled his lungs in the avalanche. He needed to get to Mayday.

No- no, that wasn’t right. There wasn’t snow here and this wasn’t the mountain. The warm breeze fluttering the curtains as it passed through the open window was enough to dispel that. There were no vultures overhead, just the lazily turning blades of the ceiling fan. To his right wasn’t Mayday, but you, not frostbitten or injured, just sleeping.

He screwed his eyes shut, pressing his palms to them despite the way his right hand trembled.

“Cr’ss?” you murmured, groggily sitting up and scooching closer. “‘S’okay, baby.”

“I’m fine,” he answered too quickly. “Go to sleep.”

Despite his protest, you wrapped your arms around him, the warmth of your body enveloping his. You sleepily coached him through a breathing exercise, still holding him tightly and rubbing small circles into his back.

“Wanna talk?” you asked simply.

He sat silent, still going through the exercise without your guidance, but gave a little shake of his head.

You hummed an acknowledgment, repositioning yourself between him and the headboard with your legs on either side of him. Gradually, you eased him back to lean against you. He turned onto his side to press his ear against your chest, visibly relaxing as he listened to your heartbeat, strong and steady.

You combed your fingers through the short silver hair that had finally started to get some length back to it. “Which one?”

“Outpost,” he whispered. 

You pressed a soft kiss to the top of his head, heart aching when he shuddered underneath you. “Cold?”

He nodded, nuzzling his head ever closer to your chest. You reached down, grabbing and pulling the blanket up over both of you.

“Want more?”

He nodded again, so you reached for the remote on his nightstand. Turning it to a low setting, you heard a soft sigh of relief.

“What do you need, baby?” you murmured into his hair.

“Just you.”

Thanks for reading! - River

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[anxiouspineapple99]

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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{Naboo Sunset}

Program: When Padmé sends word to you that Rex will be on an extended leave this time, you make sure that he'll enjoy his well deserved rest with no worries. Even with General Skywalker in on your plan, no one could have foreseen how Rex would react to your affection. Naboo will always be where the two of you point as the start of your lives as riduurs.

Pairing: Captain Rex x GN! Reader

Genre: Fluff

Length: 2636w

Camp Resolute's Masterlist

ClonexReader Bingo

Prompt: Sunset

Warnings: Mild suggestiveness, Petnames (usual Mando'a ones), Alcohol (not to the point of getting drunk)

Counselor Notes: Well this took a turn I didn't see coming! Thank you @ghostofskywalkerfor the idea of a sunset date with Rex <3 For the @clonexreaderbingo.

“So, just to make sure I understand correctly,” Rex slowly voices his concern as he walks off the Twilight with Skywalker, “Senator Amidala requested extra security for the Senate gathering that Naboo is hosting, and the GAR only sent the two of us”. After working with the general for most of his military career, Rex is wary when it comes to any mission with the jedi. His concern only grows when he knows the general is hiding something from him. Rex scans the royal hanger with his eyes, and his suspicions heighten when he realizes their ship is the only one not from this planet. 

“No,” Anakin drags out. “But we are here by special request. That part isn’t a lie”.

Rex rolls his eyes and sighs, “Then why are we here, sir?”

The two men reach the main entrance where the guard lets them into the palace with no questions asked. Rex’s eyebrow raises at the lack of protocol. His heart quickens as they walk through the bright palace halls. Normally, Rex can push aside the insecurity that comes with feeling like an outsider, but the grandeur of the royal halls and the luxurious outfits that its inhabitants wear cause him to sink into himself slightly. Finding comfort in the plastoid armor that his brothers wear alongside him even systems away.

Anakin looks at the captain out of the corner of his eyes for a moment, taking note of his stiff posture. He focuses on his gaze in front of them, but he then bears off to a side corridor. He leads Rex to a hidden staircase and explains, “The 501st has been granted an extended leave after our last success”.

Rex’s eyebrows furrow, “Then why are we on Naboo?” He’s careful to keep his voice calm so as to not betray the growing hope that’s overcoming him. The last rays of early evening bleed into a vibrant sunset over the lake from the open archways that line the outer wall.

“I may, or may not, have lied about the Senator requesting you to be here,” Skywalker sheepishly admits. “That doesn’t mean someone else didn’t request your presence, though”.

Reaching the top of the stairwell, Skywalker steps to the side and opens the door for Rex. His signature smirk appears on his face, and Rex thinks this is finally the moment he’ll strangle the general for everything he's been put through. Fully ready to voice his intent, Rex’s body freezes at the sight of you sitting at a table for two on the palace’s terrace.

Dressed in a summer evening outfit, you look at your partner in amusement as he can’t take his eyes off you. His expression of disbelief makes you lightly chuckle. Warmth blankets around you as the sun kisses your skin causing butterflies to tickle your stomach.

“I’ll leave you two to it. We’ll have a few weeks here, Rex, so try to actually relax on your time off,” Skywalker quietly dismisses himself. Before he completely moves away, he nods at you in gratitude.

You smile lightly at the general, and you focus your gaze on Rex. “Care to join me? It’d be a shame to let this go to waste,” you say and motion to the table full of fruit, cheese, and bread. A jug of water sits on the side of the table with a bottle of wine in a chiller stand. 

Rex can’t breathe as he takes in this moment. Memorizing it to hold close for the rest of his life, his heart swells to the point where he swears he's going to break. “How,” Rex tries to find his voice as he walks towards you, “How did you plan this?”

You reach your hands out to him and grasp his gloved hands. Rubbing your thumbs over his knuckles, you explain, “I had some help. Padmé learned about it through her husband, and she sent me a message. Offered to let us have a vacation away from prying eyes”. You look up at him from your seat and flutter your eyelashes. The soft smile on your face growing as Rex looks down at you in adoration. A flush warms your cheeks when he takes one hand to tilt your chin up towards him. His gentle touch ignites sparks across your skin.

“Have I told you how much I love you?” Rex quietly mumbles before placing a kiss to your lips. His hand then cups your jaw to help guide you into a better position to deepen the kiss. His lips move against yours and pride warms his chest when you meet him with equal tenderness. Everything feels as if it comes to a standstill as the two of you reunite and fall into your partner’s embrace.

You rest your free hand on his hip and run your thumb over the new scratches on the worn plastoid. Silently thanking the stars for safely returning Rex to you one more time. Rex pulls away from your lips, and before you can protest, he places a quick peck to your pout. Your heart races from the small act, and you meet his affectionate gaze with a similar look on your face. “I think you’ve voiced the idea one or two times,” you muse, “You did, did however, say we would need all the time in the galaxy to truly express how much you adore me”. 

You lightly laugh and let him step away to find his seat across from you, and his laughter soon joins yours. You pour water into both your glasses while you softly inquire. “How would you like to go about your vacation?” When Rex raises an eyebrow as he slips off his gloves, your cheeks flame as your mind begins to wander from the terrace oasis to the luxurious bedroom the two of you will find comfort in soon enough. “We have a gift sitting in front of us. If you want, we could completely ignore the war for a short time. Get lost in our imaginations of what it would be like to spend our lives peacefully hidden away from the galaxy,” you elaborate.

Rex looks at you with a thoughtful expression. His eyes flickering from your ethereal appearance to the beautiful scenery that leads his mind to all the possible afternoon rendez-vous the two of you could find yourselves in before noticing the small quirk of your lips. His chest aches at the care you’ve put into this experience for him, and he leans forward to grasp one of your hands across the table. “That’s a very dangerous idea, cyar’ika,” Rex muses.

“Don’t you flirt with death everyday, love?” you tease and squeeze his hand. “How could a blossoming field of flowers beside a tranquil lake pose more of a threat than a battlefield?”

 Rex chuckles and looks up at you from his eyelashes. His amber eyes hold a roguish glint that only grows in intensity at the small shiver that falls over your body. When he responds, he voice drops into a gravelly, hushed tone, “I meant dangerous for you, cy’are. Three weeks tucked away from any distractions where I can finally take my time to love and adore you. Worship you every morning, afternoon, and evening for everyday we live in paradise. You’re offering me too much when it should be me who offers you everything”.

Your breath hitches and the blush rising to your cheeks rivals the sunset’s rich red and orange hues that paint the sky. Heart pounding against its cage, your voice comes out airy: “Whatever you desire, I shall give to you during our time together. As long as you promise that you’ll return to me each time we must part ways”.

Rex feels like he can’t breathe. A wash of guilty pleasure consumes him as you bite down on a strawberry. The glistening juice trails across your lip before your tongue swipes across to collect it. Your lighthearted laugh seemingly brings a brighter glow that Rex didn’t think was possible to the golden beams of sunlight that stream through the hanging flowers. His other hand subtly moves to his utility belt as you turn your head to watch the sun set against the great lake. Rex is thankful that you let him get lost in his thoughts this time, because he wants to do right by you for this change in your relationship.

“I will do everything in my power to come home to you, so we can continue to create memories like these together,” Rex promises. His voice softens into a reverent awe, and as he speaks he unclasps one of his pouches.

“I know,” you softly acknowledge, “I will always count down the days until we reunite, but during those days I will always worry for your well being and safety”. Rex’s hand squeezes yours, and your expression drops. Not daring to look at your lover, you keep your attention to the families and friends who gather by the lake’s shore to begin their summer celebration. Your chest constricts as hugs are shared and shouts of excitement crescendo against the evening’s warm breeze.

Rex ducks his head and sighs. His fingers hesitate when they graze the small box he’s kept safe by his side during his last few deployments. When he steals a glance at you, Rex’s heart all but breaks at the adoration he holds for you. Sitting before him, Rex looks upon his lover who holds him with such care and tender love. Who understands him better than he does. Who goes through every obstacle to stand by his side and support him in a galaxy that causes a fear to fester in the back of his mind. A lover who walks him off the edge when his emotions get the best of him. There’s no one more deserving of his lifetime devotion after everything his cy’are has done for him. Certainly, no one who he could imagine living the rest of his life with.

With a reignited spark of resolve, Rex scoops the small box into his hand and clasps the pouch. “I can’t promise that a worst case scenario will never happen,” Rex quietly begins. When you turn to face him with a worried expression that nearly makes him choke, he takes a deep breath. “However, if there is a way for me to find my way back to you, I will always search for it. There is nothing in this galaxy that could keep me from returning to you. The only exception being death itself”.

Your breathing begins to grow heavy as you listen to Rex’s declaration. A night you hoped would be full of laughter and relaxation now renders you speechless while feeling the weight of his words sink into you. Your heart races as you watch Rex rise to his feet and return to your side once more. “Rex,” you softly question. Only for a quiet gasp to slip past your lips when he drops to one knee now holding your hand with such tenderness as he trails his thumbs across your knuckles.

Rex’s heart pounds against his chest as blood rushes to his ears. An overwhelming mixture of emotions makes him feel dizzy, but he will not let this opportunity pass. “I have never met a person who willingly gives a piece of their heart to whoever may need it. Someone who cares so deeply for their loved ones or people they have only just met, because you believe that everyone deserves to feel cared about. Regardless of if you’ve spent weeks with them or just a few minutes. You offer your heart to anyone and trust them to take care of it just as you would theirs, because you hold hope that the galaxy will rebuild itself into a place where everyone feels at home once more”.

“You’re going to make me cry,” you let out a watery laugh and wipe away the threatening tears, “You better not be doing what I think you’re trying to do. This vacation is supposed to be about you”.

Rex lets out a short laugh of disbelief as he shakes his head. He looks up at you with a beaming smile, “But that’s just it, cy’are. Without you, I am a shell of a man. You have brought so much light and love into my life that I never dared to dream possible. My heart only beats for you, and I want to spend the remaining days of my life by your side”. Rex slides his thumb under the ring box’s lid as his thunderous heartbeat echoes in his ears. “If you will allow me the honor, I would like to care for you with just as much devotion as you have shown me in the time we have already shared together”. 

Your eyes soften as Rex opens the ring box to reveal a simple silver band with a small sapphire in the middle. The last rays of light catch on the gemstone to cause it to sparkle in the early evening. “You would be a fool to ever think I wouldn’t say yes,” you weakly laugh and run your thumb under your eyes. 

“Then say it,” Rex pleads. His amber eyes shimmer with excitement in the golden sunlight as he waits to hear the words he’s only dreamed of hearing you say.  “Please”.

“Yes,” you softly assure him, “I would love to spend the rest of my life by your side”. There was never a doubt in your mind that this would be the man you married when you first met, but as Rex slips the band onto your ring finger, you have never known a love so strong. When you try to convey your feelings, the words can’t come. Only a small whimper falls from your lips and a short laugh. So instead you cup Rex’s face, and you share a passionate kiss. Your eyes flutter closed as you commit this moment to memory. 

A chuckle of acknowledgement falls from Rex before he nips at your bottom lip and deepens the kiss. Tilting his head, Rex holds your wrists and thumbs your racing pulse points. Your hum causes his skin to tingle. Finally, Rex feels as if he’s found his place in the galaxy. When your kiss breaks, the two of you still lean into each other's embrace and rest your foreheads together. For a few minutes, the pair of you don’t move away. Only shifting slightly to ghost your lips over over the other in featherlight kisses. Nudging your chin with his nose to make you open your eyes, Rex gently places a lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth before pulling away to stand up.

Instead of sitting across from you like you thought he was doing, your eyebrows raise when he takes his chair and moves it next to yours. “Couldn’t even go a minute without being apart,” you find your voice to tease.

Rex shoots you a look of amusement while reaching over to pick up the bottle of wine from the chiller. “Because you’re any better,” Rex counters and nods to your hand resting on his belt. Now adorn by a silver band that only makes his smile grow at the sight. Twisting the cork free, Rex pours both of you glasses of bubbly and places the bottle back in the chiller. As he sits by your side, he offers you a glass and rests a hand on your thigh. He tilts his glass towards you with his usual charming expression. “May we share as many days together as riduurs as there are stars in the galaxy,” he proposes.

Lightly clinking your glass to his, you beam at Rex. “And may we always find our ways home to one another after any time apart”.

[happy-beeeps]

Home Remedy

Pairing: wrecker x f!reader

WC: 1.3k

Warnings: mention of needles and illness. Sick fic fluff!!!

Summary: you’ve caught a nasty bug, the only cure of which is cuddles from your favorite Batcher

a/n: this is inspired by me having strep a week ago and literally self soothing with this

Bingo prompt: Wrecker!! This is part of the @clonexreaderbingo !!!

You’d felt pain before, there was no arguing that. You’d knocked your head on the underside of a speeder, marking you with a splitting concussion and weirdly, a metallic taste in your mouth you struggled to get out. You’d trained with Hunter, the two of you going round for round in hand to hand combat, the kind that had you convinced you could physically feel your muscles splitting. Still, neither of these things could prepare you for this, the raw feeling in the back of your throat, like dragging knives across a sunburn each time you dared to swallow. Not to mention your rapidly fluctuating body temperature, a cough that won’t quit, and a head that feels it’s been stuffed with cotton balls. You are definitively down bad.

You’re currently sitting half upright, half reclined in Wrecker’s bunk, Omega donating one of her extra blankets and Lula to your cause. Tech lowered the lighting in the room to keep your eyes focused, and you’ve been communicating with your datapad to save your voice from the aforementioned knife stabs. The door slides open before you can process it, and Omega walks in holding a small tray, Wrecker’s hand firmly on her shoulder.

“Go on, she’s gotta be hungry.” He urges, and Omega walks close to you, her lip quivering.

“Hi,” she begins, and you smile, tapping quickly on your datapad before flipping it over to her.

Hi sweetheart, did you bring me something?

“We thought you might want some soup, I used to watch Nala Se make it on Kamino.” She sets the tray down in front of you and your heart wants to just break at the sight. Oh, oh of course, this is why she had been so broken up about your bug. How many times had she had to watch her brothers go into the infirmary and never come out? The thought hurts more than any pain in your voice, and you struggle to respond, to put on a brave face.

“I’ll be ok,” you whisper to her, and the sound of your voice, cracked and all, is enough to elicit a smile from the young girl. She beams, nearly knocking Tech over as he comes to stand in the door frame next to his brother.

“You’re due for another vitals check,” Tech states, and you can’t help the small whimper that escapes your lips. Wrecker moves to sit next to you on the bunk, his tall, solid form offering some semblance of comfort as you type furiously on your datapad.

“She says ya’ can stop calling it a ‘vitals check’ and just say takin’ her temperature.” Wrecker huffs, reading off your screen while you look up at him with big, weepy eyes. “Stop pokin’ my girl, let her rest, would ya’?”

“Wrecker, if she is to get better, she needs to be consistently and accurately monitored.”

“I thought you said she’s just got a bug.” His eyes narrow at the tone, and Tech rolls his eyes.

“It is just a bug. Still, given the fact that her genes are not modified to resist illness like ourselves, and she is evidently not up to date on her vaccinations like Omega, it’s important we keep an eye on her.”

“She says it’s not so easy to find a med center on Jakku.” He says, before grabbing the temperature gauge from his brother's hand, shoo-ing him with the other. “I’ve seen ya’ do this twenty times now. Let me do it, she’s more relaxed with me anyway.” Tech makes a move to resist, you think, but thinks better of it at Wrecker’s insistent stare. He puts his hands up in surrender before leaving the room, tossing you a curt, “feel better” as he does.

You scooch closer to the wall to make room for him as best you can. It’s always a tight squeeze for the two of you in this bunk but now he’s treating you like you’re made of flimsiplast, settling gently next to you. His hand comes up to brush one of the (definitely damp) strands of hair off your forehead, noting the way his hand leaves a trail of chill bumps down your skin.

“You cold, cyar’ika?”

“Nah,” you whisper and lie, and you can’t tell which makes him frown more.

“Not s’posed to be using your voice right now,” he murmurs, but just leans in closer to you so your next words are quieter.

You hum in response, pressing your body closer to his in an attempt to leech some of his warmth. Wreck is always warm, hot even, a fact that normally has the two of you shedding layers and clothes often to avoid sweating to death. Now, trapped beneath layers of blankets and a fever that’s subsided into a bone chilling cold, you’re desperate for the warmth he provides. Wrecker’s no idiot, he can read you clearer than anyone you’ve ever met, and can interpret this need from you in a heartbeat.

“C’mere,” he sighs, opening his arms and allowing you to crawl nearly on top of him, lacing your legs around one of his massive thighs and resting your head on the solid, muscled pillow of his chest. His arms settle around you gently, as if he’s afraid to hurt you after all this time. The temperature gauge is pressed against your forehead, and you look up at him, all fever stricken and delirious and blissfully happy as he reads the numbers, clearly content with what the screen shows. “You’ve broken your fever!”

“Man, I feel better already!” you chide, and he sighs, pressing a kiss to your sweaty forehead, not shying away when things get gross.

“I just wish ya’ would take the bacta shot,”

“We only have a few of them, it’s just a bug, I’ll be better soon. ‘M not gonna take something that could save your life one day.”

“I know, I just hate knowing that you’re hurtin’, and there’s nothin’ I can do. S’not fair.”

“Wreck,” you pause as your frame is wracked by coughs, a chesty one that has him grimacing, “you being here is doing plenty. I promise.”

He smiles at the tone, and pulls you closer into his side. You relish at the warmth that radiates off of him in droves, and curl around him as best you can.

“This sucks,” you whimper, and he responds by running a hand gently across your hair and down your back.

“I know it does, but just try and rest now, ok?” he asks, and you can only whimper in response. He presses a kiss to your forehead that placates you, and wrapped in his arms and his warmth, you drift off into the best sleep you’ve had in days.

* * *

The morning rolls around and you crack open your eyes, delighted to find Wrecker still firmly against you in the bunk. It’s earlier than you’d like to be awake, but when you open your mouth to yawn, and brace yourself for the knives and pain, nothing comes. There’s a dull ache and a bit of a scratch in your throat, but nothing bad. The cotton balls have left your head, and when you clear your throat, no cough follows. Wrecker wakes up at the sound of your voice and beams down at you.

“Mornin’ sunshine,” he mumbles, kissing you softly on the cheek.

“Wreck, I think you’ve healed me,” you smirk, adjusting yourself and tossing your legs over his hips so you can recline fully on his chest, “Don’t feel so bad anymore.”

“‘Course I did,” he smiles, running his hands down your back, “I knew what you needed all along.”

You feel dopey with the amount of smiling you’re doing, and perhaps it's the after effects of the medication, but you’re grinning from ear to ear as he presses you back against his chest, where you relish in the sound of his heartbeat and the curing power of Wrecker’s attention.

[ghostofskywalker]

Don't Wait For The Sky to Clear

Sergeant Hunter/Reader

Words: 1,384

Summary: When you wake up to hear a storm outside where the ship is parked, you recruit Omega to have some fun in the pouring rain with you. The only downside is the tired admonishment you'll inevitably receive from your boyfriend when he sees the two of you.

@clonexreaderbingo square: "you're an idiot"

Note: several things inspired this, one of them being the huge thunderstorm that hit where i live this afternoon, another being the fact that i drank water today for the first time in a while, and finally, the post that goes "it's always 'why did you go out in the storm?' and 'you're soaking wet' and never 'how was the storm the storm looked fun was it fun?'" which i saw ages ago and can't find again for the life of me

Clone Troopers Masterlist

Waking up to the sound of raindrops falling on the Marauder was one of the best ways to start the morning. Your lover’s arms were curled around you in a comforting way, and you were almost content to just stay like this forever, listening to the sound of Hunter’s soft breathing and feeling your heart beat in tandem with his. 

You were almost content to do that, but you still got out of bed as you heard the strength of the rain outside. 

Racing to the tiny viewport in the hallway, you watched the outside world through a foggy haze, and tried to see if you could make out shapes from the little patches of water already gathering on the wing. The GAR-standard durasteel of the ship was just the right material for the most wonderful symphony of taps and patters, and you found yourself mesmerized by the weather outside. 

No one else was awake yet, and as you walked over to the cockpit to see out the front of the ship, you had an idea. It was probably a terrible idea (and would certainly result in a slightly annoyed lecture later), but you didn’t care. 

The ladder to Omega’s room was tiny, and you were soon poking your head into the space. “Hey you,” you whispered, causing the young girl to stir gently and open her eyes too look at you with a slightly confused expression. “Wanna do something fun with me?” 

Although she had just woken up, you knew that she would always be on board for an adventure. “What is it?” she whispered back. 

“It’s a surprise,” you said, reaching out and waiting for her to place her smaller hand in yours. “But maybe it has something to do with the rain outside.” 

Immediately, Omega’s eyes widened. You had wondered how she was going to react to this, given that she spent most of her life looking out at the rainy deluge that made up the seas and skies of Kamino. But to you, having come from the arid deserts of Tatooine, rain was a novel thing, and you wanted to impact some of the childlike wonder you felt when the sky opened up on her. 

“You don’t have to come with me if you don’t want to,” you said, right as you reached the door of the ship. Your hand hovered over the button that would release the ramp, completely ready to take Omega back to her room if she expressed any desire to go back to sleep.

“No, I want to,” she said. “I was rarely allowed out of Nala Se’s sight, and I would sometimes think about going outside in the rain, just to stand there.” 

“Then what are we waiting for?” you asked brightly. “Let’s go!” 

The feeling of raindrops on your skin was not a sensation you were ever going to forget, and every time you were fortunate enough to experience it you vowed to never take it for granted. This rain was a pleasant temperature, as you had experienced storms that were either too warm or too cold for your liking, and you tilted your face up towards the sky as soon as you and Omega were standing on the ground. 

This planet was full of grassy plains, and you watched as Omega ran in circles around the ship, immediately possessed with the wonder and elation that you always desperately hoped hadn’t been squashed by the circumstances of her past. If Hunter asked you what had prompted you to do this (and you were sure he would), this would be the reason you presented to plead your case. 

Maybe there was still a little bit of that childlike wonder in you as well, hidden away under the worry and responsibility that had only increased as the galaxy changed, as the Republic fell. And maybe that little spark of limitless joy was telling you to let go of all inhibitions. After all, this was to help you just as much as it was to bond with Omega. 

Water splashed on your legs as you called out for the little girl to wait up, something you knew she would never do. Instead, you were now locked in a game with her, and you were determined not to lose (though the sentiment meant nothing to her). 

Shrieks of laughter filled the air as you chased Omega, panting but not allowing your fatigue to win just yet. You were eventually able to catch up, and you wrapped your arms around her and pulled her close. “I’ve got you!” you said, laughing. 

But instead of struggling and jokingly trying to break free, as you expected she would do, Omega turned and gave you a hug. “Thank you for bringing me out here,” she said softly. “I sometimes miss Kamino, but this is really what I miss.” 

“The rain?” 

She nodded. “The sound of it is so calming. And of course I’ve always wanted to be out in it with no other reason than to have a good time.” 

“You’re welcome Omega,” you said, a smile spreading across your face. If this life was difficult for you, there was no telling how taxing and terrifying it must be for someone as young as her. “Now, do you want to lay down in the grass with me?” 

“Why would you do that?” 

Truth be told, you didn’t really want to chase her around anymore (that was tiring!), but there was also another reason. “I love the feeling of the rain falling on me, and I can close my eyes to imagine anything I want. It has the power to wash your worries away, even if just for a few moments.” 

She placed her hand in yours, and the two of you laid down on the ground. The rain was starting to get a little stronger, and you closed your eyes as you let the worries you were holding go. Daydreams of happiness filled your mind, of a future where you and the rest of the team did not have to run or fight, where you could all live the lives you wanted in places that welcomed you with open arms. 

You could feel Omega’s presence beside you, and she let out a soft sigh of content. You had always thought of her like a daughter, and this experience only cemented that in your mind. For an unknown amount of time, life was perfect as the two of you laid there, giggling slightly when a raindrop touched your face. 

When you finally decided to go back inside the ship, you wondered if anyone else was awake, and that question was soon answered as you stepped into the cockpit to see Hunter and Echo staring at you. 

“You’re soaking wet,” Hunter said, glancing between you and Omega. “Did you go out in the storm?” 

“No.” Your voice and Omega’s were in perfect unison, both knowing that Hunter wasn’t actually mad, so you could joke with him a little. 

Hunter just nodded at your obvious lie (even though you knew he didn’t believe any of that), and sent Omega off to the refresher to dry off after Echo left to get her some dry clothes. 

Once you were alone with him, he turned to you. “So,” he said. “Did you go out in the storm?” 

“Maybe,” you responded, walking over to him and wrapping your arms around him. You were still drenched, but he didn’t move away. “What about it?” 

“What in Maker’s name possessed you to do that?” 

“You know, there’s really other things you should be saying to me right now instead of this.” 

“Oh yeah? Like what?” 

“What about something like ‘how was the storm cyare? The storm looked fun, was it fun?’”

At your words, a slight smile crossed his face, adding more evidence to the fact that he wasn’t actually mad. “You’re an idiot,” he said, shaking his head. 

“Maybe, but I’m your idiot,” you said, leaning in to place a big kiss on his lips. “And you’re never getting rid of me.” 

“That I’m well aware of,” he said, pulling you even closer to him. At the rate you were going, you were both going to need to spend time drying off after Omega got out of the refresher. 

- the end -

i no longer have a taglist! if you're interested in being notified when i post, you can follow my library blog @ghostofskywalker-library and turn on notifications!

[the-cantina]

Bliss | Hunter x F!Reader

Pinned post | Masterlist | WIP list | The Bad Batch | Clone Squads | Delta Squad

For @clonexreaderbingo | SQUARE: Hunter | Read in Ao3

Fic | Explicit | Word Count: 5.8k (do not perceive me) SUMMARY: After having fun out in a snowy winter day, you and your husband find a very good way to keep warm. CONTENT SFW: Domestic fluff, married life, playful wrestling, use of “queen”, “princess”, and “ma'am”. Hunter is one incurable cuddle bug. NSFW: Explicit smut, a desperate submissive Hunter, reader is a domme and a bit of a meanie, food play, oral sex (both receiving), rough hair pulling, mild manhandling, begging, edging, unprotected PiV, creampie

18+ themes below the cut. Be responsible about the content you consume, if you're not of adult age in your country, do the both of us a favor and go away.

[Gedet'ye = mando'a for please]

It’s not entirely clear who started it, and honestly, finding culprits would do little to change the course of things now; at least, that was the argument that shut up that annoying, anti-fun voice whining inside your head.

You risk another peek from behind the makeshift cover, your already numb hands turning the ice in your grasp into another snowball from muscle memory alone. Hunter had yet to check near the shrubberies chosen as your base of operations. Perfect. Gathering the stack at your feet, you slink away to the next hiding spot, only to freeze midway.

It can’t be…

You can’t fight the smirk that stretches over your lips at the scene ahead. If your rushed attempt at hiding was bad, Hunter’s was downright pitiful. Of all the places, your lover picked the back of your house to hide behind. It was a passable — if predictable — choice. Or it would be, if he didn’t forget to leave his boots out of view.

Tip-toeing to his hiding spot, you bite your lip to keep in the laughter bubbling in your chest, feeling every bit like a cheesy holomovie villain, sneaking behind the hero to deliver a nefarious attack. But the ‘gotcha!’ on your tongue never makes it past your lips.

Confusion robs your voice as you process what’s in front of your eyes. Where you expected Hunter to stand, there’s only a discarded pair of boots, surrounded by undisturbed, smooth snow — no tracks to be seen. Realization feels like a bucket of cold water washing over you, and adrenaline turns your giddiness into hyperawareness in the space of a heartbeat.

He could be anywhere.

Suddenly too exposed and vulnerable, you quickly backtrack your route. Wide-eyed, you scan the white expanse of the backyard for any signal of Hunter activity, suspicious of every blade of grass, branch, and rock littering the floor.

On the edge as you are, the sudden touch on your back is enough to make you jump a foot in the air. An entirely undignified squawk echoes in the cold as you lose balance, toppling headfirst towards the ground.

Your face never touches the snow. Instead, it presses against the warm, solid — rumbling with laughter — chest of your lover.

Petty irritation over losing the battle before it even starts sparks in your chest. But, just like the half-hearted pout in your face, it fizzles out and dies as Hunter’s joy wraps around you like a blanket.

How could you possibly be annoyed when his joy was so loud, so clear? When he gave in to the laughter usually seen in the more carefree Wrecker — the kind that formed belly-deep, rumbling with enough strength to destabilize you from atop him? When he sported a grin so wide, the corner of his eyes crinkled in the most adorable way, sparkling with joy rarely afforded in his way of life? …

Oh, you were in deep for the sergeant, weren’t you? The realization might cause more worry than you really felt, if the love-struck glint in his warm brown eyes didn’t make it clear as day that he was twice as gone for you.

“Gotcha.” He purrs once he calms down enough to speak, strong arms tugging you closer to deliver a noisy kiss at the crown of your head.

“Yeah, yeah. You got me. Happy?” You snort at his lively nodding, before growing serious, “But I can’t believe you took off your boots just to trick me! Let it be known I will hear no grumble or excuse if you catch a cold because of that.”

“Every sacrifice is worth it when it comes to love and war, mesh’la.” Hunter says, sitting and bending over to pull his boots back on before his hands rest on your waist, squeezing softly. “Even more so when this is my winning prize…” His wink is almost enough to kick your annoyance back to life.

“Winning prize, huh?” You ask, turning to straddle him with a smirk and an idea brewing in your head.

“Oh yeah,” Hunter says, eyes closing with a pleased hum when your hands run down his chest and up his sides, “having you in my lap? All over me? Sure feeling like a winner here, love.”

“I’m sure you do, love.” Your smirk widens to a devilish grin as Hunter leans back on his gloved hands, eager to grant you wandering ones further access to his body, “But you should know better than to count your chickens before they hatch!”

It’s Hunter’s turn to jump when, instead of the touch he expected, you shove a fistful of snow up into his blacks. His startled yelp, the way his eyes go wide, jaw popping open in shock and betrayal. It’s all too much. You’re powerless to fight your own fit of laughter, a half-hearted ‘I’m sorry love’ wheezed amidst your cackling.

“Oh no, you didn’t,” he growls, making a show of picking the melting ice from his shirt.

“Oh, but I did,” you say, arms crossing over your chest “all is fair in love and war-” the taunt dies in your throat as the world blurs, and then Hunter is smirking above you, muscular thighs bracketing your waist. “Hunter, cyar’ika…” you plead in vain, wrists pinned above your head. Whimpering is all what’s left as the same evil grin you sported moments ago now stretches over Hunter’s full lips. His hand — full of snow — crawls menacingly close to the edge of your shirt, and your yelp pierces the air when the ice slides home right under your jacket.

“Ah, so it’s war you want?” you say, his payback igniting the fire of revenge on you. In a move mastered after one too many roughhousing with the boys, up go your hips — and off you falls Hunter. On top once more, you promptly wipe off his smirk with two fistfuls of snow.

You wrestle back and forth for what feels like forever, rolling in the frozen ground like a pair of mischievous tooka, no victor ever rising from the tangle of limbs and laughter.

Until you sneeze, that is.

Like the flip of a switch, all mischief bleeds off Hunter’s eyes; the smirk shifts into a fond smile, and tickling hands pull you off the snow, right into his warm body. Your complaints about getting “carried away from the fun” are both half-hearted and quick to fade as you melt into his embrace, humming contentedly as Hunter’s furnace-like body heat seeps into your now damp layers.

It still surprised you, sometimes, how hot clone’s bodies ran. It probably was intentional engineering from the Kaminoans, but you counted it as a blessing. There was no better way to keep toasty and cozy when the cold seasons came around… Not so much of a blessing during summer, though. By then, every moment felt like standing fully clothed under Tatooine’s twin suns — because if there was one thing Hunter was besides loving, it was awfully cuddly.

Probably the reason he has you tucked halfway inside his jacket, your arms by his neck and legs held around his waist like you’re his personal cuddle toy.

Hunter refuses to let you go as he reaches the door, tightening his hold on you when you try to climb down; content to fumble with punching the door’s code with his non-dominant hand, to hop awkwardly while taking off his boots — as long as you stay right where you are. You chuckle at his antics, but hold on strong; if he thrives on cuddling, far from you to deprive your man of his sustenance!

Hunter’s grip doesn’t ease once you’re both inside, breath not even hitching as he keeps you firmly at his hip (oh, the pros of enhanced strength!) while crossing the expanse of your home to the bedroom to pick your fluffiest towel, and you’re still on his lap as warm water fills the bathtub in your ‘fresher.

So. Cuddly.

“Take your time, love,” he says before giving your forehead a kiss, at last done with fussing over your chilled body. “There’ll be caf and snacks waiting when you’re done.”

Sinking in the tub with a contented sigh, you do just that, letting the water chase off whatever lingering cold your family-sized heating pad of a husband didn’t manage to. The familiar clinks and clangs of Hunter’s kitchen antics fill the air, and a fond smile tugs at your lips. Who would’ve thought? The battle-hardened, serious clone sergeant fate had you stumbling upon years ago, now whistled away in the kitchen. Baking.

How you ‘domesticated’ a man like him was maybe the one mystery of your life, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. Sure, the whole rebelling against the Empire and the many rotations spent apart took some (a lot of) time to adjust to. But all the cuddles, devotion, and the way Hunter strove to make you feel loved more than made up for it. The homemade food was a definite plus, too — blessed be Echo, for teaching his brothers the life outside of ration bars.

It’s refreshing, you think. Being in a relationship with someone who puts as much work in as you do. Just like you, Hunter never stopped wooing and courting you every moment he got to spend by your side, even after he ‘officially’ moved in, or when you said the ‘I do’ years ago, on that tropical planet’s beach. He was everything you could expect from a husband, really.

Well, except for those nights patching up his blaster wounds, and all the time spent apart. But you knew what you were getting into from the start, so complaining would hardly be fair.

Eventually, hunger outweighs the will to stay in the rapidly cooling water, and you walk back to the bedroom. Deciding on comfort, you rummage through Hunter’s — very messy — half of the wardrobe, humming when you spot your target. The once coarse black fabric is faded gray and soft, the colorful image in the middle has long peeled away.

But you still remember, as if it was yesterday, Hunter’s face when you gifted him the tacky souvenir shirt as a joke. How elated he was that you thought, that you liked him enough to get something — silly as it was — for him.

You’d known each other for a while by then; that you’d been slowly falling for the sergeant was the worst kept secret of your life, but it was that smile and then hug he gave you that day sealed your fate. Hunter’s scent is fading from the fabric when you bring it to your face, but it still has enough him to have the butterflies stir in your belly as you approach the kitchen.

The delicious smell of toasted bread, herbs and spiced caf hits you as you enter the room, but it’s not it, or the fruits and steaming food spread atop the table that makes your mouth water.

Hunter stands with his back to you, the stay-at-home gray sweatpants hanging dangerously low at the hips the only thing on his body. You don’t even try to stop from ogling his broad frame, the strong neck – exposed by the messy bun atop his head –, and the delicious back muscles shifting under golden brown skin as he taste-tests whatever else was he was making for the both of you.

A different kind of hunger blooms inside as you lean on the door frame. Your fingertips tingle with the need to trace the designs inked on his skin, to run over the expanse of his back and up his scalp the way you know he loves. The way that makes him look at you with a need mirroring the one steadily growing at the apex of your thighs.

Biting down on your lip is all you can do to keep silent your groan as Hunter stretches; his arms rise up above, giving you a show of his biceps, and your mind’s eye floods with scenes of the last time your nails dug in them. You mentally pat yourself in the back for not jumping your husband’s bones then and there, and keep on watching the little show he unknowingly puts on.

It amused you, how focused Hunter could get with his tasks; how at ease he felt in your home, able to relax instead of having his senses on alert and scanning for danger 24/7. Enough to let all sounds, noises, and scents blend into ‘white noise’, blissfully oblivious to whatever went on outside his immediate bubble, to the point he won’t even notice you.

Not until a soft groan leaves your lips — the throbbing between your legs grown too insistent to be ignored for much longer —, and he turns around with the beginnings of that grin that always sends your heart racing.

“I didn’t hear you come in, cyar'ika, snacks are…” the words fade into silence once he registers what you’re wearing, and how little. The bottom of the shirt barely covered past the top of your thighs, and by the way Hunter breathes in and groans, he’s plenty aware it’s the only thing you got on. Even without enhanced senses, he’s seen you aroused enough times by now to pick on your heaving chest, your lips parting as your thighs squeeze together… On the heavy, hungry gaze pining him into place and heating his own body.

Hunter leans back in the counter with a smirk, arms crossing over his chest. A teasing brow rises when your eyes follow the movement, and the smirk grows into a cocky smile when he flexes, and you involuntarily lick your lower lip.

“May I be of help, cyare?” he asks, not bothering to hide the huskiness on his voice.

Instead of giving a verbal answer, you approach him slowly, enjoying how his heated gaze follows your every move, breath growing shallow as he takes a better look at you. By the time you reach Hunter, he’s already grasping the countertop, both making himself all the more inviting to your gaze and knowing better than to make a move to touch you.

And that was another thing that surprised you in this relationship. When you first got intimate, you fully expected a large man like him, a squad leader, to be full of dominance between the sheets, but that was not the case. Sure, Hunter had his moments of taking the reins when you didn’t feel like leading the show but — unlike some past lovers —, he didn’t complain or huff about your own dominant nature. If anything, he encouraged it.

“Oh, you want to help me?” You purr, grasping his chin to make him look at you, instead of your thighs. He did not earn it, yet. “I can think of some ways…” your opposite hand rakes down his chest, and you watch in delight as goosebumps rise in the wake of your touch.

Hunter shudders when your fingers trace the scar crossing his rib cage, a low moan spilling from his lips as his body arches under your touch, heated skin hungry for more of your caresses. You don’t leave him wanting, moving to squeeze his hips and ass, enjoying the feeling of strong muscles flexing under your palm as Hunter focuses on staying still, so you may explore as you please.

“Aren’t you such a good boy? Taking what I give you without being greedy,” he nods in your grasp, eyes closing under the praise, but snapping back open when you give his cheeks a soft squeeze, “good boys deserve rewards.” You pull him down to the readily reciprocated kiss, humming as the sweetness of what he was tasting coats your tongue. Hunter bucks with a groan when you cup the growing bulge in his pants, “And so willing to please…”

“Any- anything for you, cyare, ah-” he stutters between pants as you kiss and bite down the strong column of his neck.

“Great! So, will you please be a dear and grab the syrup for me? I’m really craving a snack right now, and you’re at the cabinet already!” The disbelief in Hunter’s eyes at your sudden change of subject is a little sad, but you only smile expectantly, tilting your head to the side when he doesn’t move outright.

“Anything for you, love… Which flavor do you want?” when he finally speaks, the strain of lust clear as day, as is the one in the sweatpants. His breath hitches when he adjusts it before reaching for the syrup. 

You pounce as soon as his back is turned. Hands resting on his chest, you kiss each vertebra of his back tattoo, trailing down to close your teeth at the dip of his waist. He rewards you with one of the deep moans you love, trying to turn around before you stop him, nails digging on the meat of his hips.

“No, darling” you tut, breasts pressing against his back, a finger drawing circles at the edge of his cock’s outline, “keep your hands right where they are.” He concedes with a shaky breath, resting his forehead on the cabinet door, forearms resting over his head. “Very good, Sarge.”

You keep teasing him over the sweatpants, fingers running soft paths over his inner thighs, stomach and chest, avoiding the place he needed your touch the most. A flame of wicked satisfaction licks down your back as you watch his hips rut hopelessly against the air whenever you ghost the edges of his bulge.

It’s not until a fine sheen of sweat glazes the skin of his back, knees about to give under the weight of his lust, that Hunter is shown some – cruel – mercy, stepping back and sitting on the countertop.

“I want the chocolate one,” you finally answer his earlier question, a smirk on your lips when Hunter finally glances over his shoulder, lust-glazed eyes blinking a few times before your words truly register. Already so wrecked, and you’ve barely started.

“What will-” words fail when you cross your legs to stave off some of the aching desire in your core, giving him a glimpse of your slicked thighs. “Cyare… What will you…” he takes a deep breath to calm down his mounting frustration, only to regret when the scent of your arousal floods his senses.

“Take your time, darling.” You say, making a show of popping a fruit slice between your lips, then licking the juice off your fingers. He takes a shuddering breath, and you smirk.

“What will you be eating, cyare?” Hunter’s voice is nearly a growl under his need’s weight, one that sends a pleasurable shiver down your back.

“There it is, I knew you could do it!” you coo, kissing his temple and taking the bottle in his hand. “You.” When he blinks in confusion, you weave your hands on the back of his hair, tugging once to get his full attention. “You are the only snack I plan on having, as soon as you sit down on that chair.” You guide his gaze to it, taking the chance to tease that spot under his ear with your lips while he shakily nods. “Now be a good boy for me, yeah?”

The words are barely out of your mouth before Hunter is halfway there, pants flying across the room and chair scrapping over the floor in his eagerness to finally get his reward. Shaking your head with a chuckle, you take your time sauntering your way to him, an extra sway on your hips to tease him one last time.

Once standing between his legs, you open the bottle and let flow a generous stream of chocolate over his chest and stomach. Satisfied with the amount of ‘topping’, you finally give in to the craving that has been killing you since you stepped through the door.

Hunter whines a curse when you take off your top and get on your knees, the softness of your chest on his body threatening to break him even before your tongue can reach him.

The intoxicated groan is not something you can hold back when you give the first lick; the syrup’ sweetness and the salt of Hunter’ skin making for a decadent cocktail that have you immediately diving for more, lips, tongue, and teeth gracing his body with the drive of a beast starved.

By the time your lips finally reach his throbbing bulge, your lover is a sweating, swearing, panting, beautiful mess. His eyes — black with need — stare down at you from behind the thin curtain of curls he tugged free in the need of grounding himself from your touches; sweat-coated chest heaving with the breaths passing from parted lips. And Hunter looks so pretty like that, you almost rise off your knees to tell him that. Almost. Instead, you give in to the demanding fire in your core and rid him of the last barrier keeping you from what you crave the most.

The moment your fingers curl around his cock, Hunter arches off the chair with a shouted moan, hips stuttering in your grasp out of instinct; still, he has the presence of mind to tap your arm twice, and you immediately let go. For a heartbeat, you worry he won’t be able to stop, but with a string of slurred curses falling from his lips, he settles back down. Cheek resting on his trembling thigh, your hand soothes up and down his calves, the other entwined on his own. A squeeze is the signal he’s ready, and you’re quick to pick up from where you stopped.

Holding Hunter’s gaze, you finally bring your mouth to where he needs you the most. A sadistic pleasure licks at the base of your spine as you watch him struggle to keep his eyes open under your tongue’s ministrations. He sucks in a sharp breath when you flatten your tongue against his heavy balls, and it comes out as a whined ‘Gedet'ye’ when you take one inside your mouth before paying attention to the other.

You move to lick the underside of his cock, following the heady trail of pre-cum dripping — flowing — from the neglected head, humming at the warm taste before taking him in your mouth. You’re sure the desperate moan that comes out of his lips is the best sound you’ve heard in your life; as you let him out of your mouth before taking him back as far as you can, you’re gifted with another one.

“Mesh’la!…” Hunter pants, mouth moving but no other words come out. You hum a question, and the vibrations rip a sobbed moan from his chest before a hand tugs at the curls, the other clawing at his own thighs in a brave attempt to ground himself. It seems to work, because Hunter swallows once, twice around his moans before finding his words “Y- You’re killing me, gedet'ye, please, p-”

Hunter’s hips start to buck as you double your efforts, sucking hard on the head as your hands caress his balls and jerk him slow and firm — the way it drives him mad —, his half sentences drown under ragged breaths and growled moans, and when the head of his cock seems to thicken even more on your tongue, you know exactly what to do.

Pure, beautiful music. That’s what Hunter’s needy, broken groan is, as you get back on your feet and leave him dangling at the edge of glory — but with nothing to push him off it. His head falls back, leg bouncing, sweat-slicked chest heaving, breaths huffing against his palms as he brings them to cover his face. Is it…?

You tower over his seated shape, half-caging him in with a hand on the back of the chair, the other holding his jaw. The effect is immediate: Hunter’s attention snaps to you, hands falling away from his face to reveal teary, warm brown eyes under upturned eyebrows. His gaze doesn’t break even as he leans in your touch when your thumb soothes over his tattooed cheek, or when it gently pulls his lower lip from his teeth. 

“Hunter, cyare?” You say, smoothing stray curls off his face and resting your forehead on his, smiling when he softly presses back, “too much, do you need a break? We can always stop if you say the word.”

“Thanks for checking, love,” he says, voice a hoarse whisper — if from affection or moaning so much, you’re not sure —, hand cupping your cheek to bring you to a soft kiss “but I’m good if you are.” He fights the aroused shivers wrecking his body the best he can, keeping his face as clear as possible while you make sure he’s telling the truth. And Hunter knows exactly the moment you’re convinced, your gaze morphing from concerned to sharp, smile melting into a smirk, fingers tugging his head back by the locks now in your fist.

“Oh, I see.” You purr, the gentle grasp on his jaw turning fierce as your nails dig into his tattooed skin, “Are you getting greedy, love? Is this why you weren’t happy with the pleasure I gave, and threw a tantrum, hm?” Hunter hisses when you pull his head to the side by the hair, hips squirming to rut his cock against his body exactly once before your nails dig in, pinning his hip down with your weight, “Is this really what you want right now? To be an ungrateful brat?”

Hunter glances at you from the corner of wide eyes, Adam’s apple bobbing, before shaking his head the best he could from the tight grasp you kept on his hair. But you were not having it, a soft growl rumbling your chest before descending with lips and teeth on the strong column of his neck. Hunter whimpers, the duality of soft lips and sharp teeth making his hips fight your grasp as you bite a fresh claim on his skin. Your lips trail his ear, leaving the bite to sting with no soothing. A promise.

“I asked you a question, ner cyar’ika.” You say, teeth grazing the soft spot right below his ear. A warning. “Now be good for me, and use your big boy words. Will you keep being a brat? Is it a punishment you’re angling for, hm?”

“N– No, ma’am,” Hunter moans, “I want– Please let me be your good boy, please ma’am.”

“Oh, cyare…” you coo, “You know being my good boy is not something you get to beg out of me”. Releasing the grasp on his locks, you chuckle when he briefly tries to follow your retreating touch before catching himself and sitting back again. “Why don’t you show me how much you mean it?”

Hunter is off the chair and hoisting you up the countertop before you can even start to tug off your shirt. You throw him a bone, letting him have a fill of you with nuzzling open your legs and pawing at your thighs to prop them up his shoulders, before his jaw is back on your grasp.

“Oh my, how selfish of me! Feasting on to my heart’s content while you’re so very hungry… Let’s fix that, yeah?” You coo, spreading your legs further and granting him a clear view of how much you want him right now. Hunter’s gaze borders on ravenous as it fixates on your cunt, he barely blinks when you pat his cheek before relaxing back on your back, “Now be a dear and eat all you can ha-”

Your teasing cuts short when Hunter dives in, hands planting near your shoulders as he stands up — rising your lower back clean from the table; your legs tighten on instinct, trapping his head between your thighs. Hunter doesn’t relent, instead rutting the table’s edge with a groan and licking a slow stripe from your entrance to your clit.

The way Hunter is eating you out is a far cry from the gentle, careful way you’re used to. His tattooed cheek glistens with a coating of your slick as he nuzzles your thighs and kisses your pussy lips with abandon. It’s glorious. His moans and groans vibrate deliciously against your center as he uses tongue, lips, and a dash of teeth to suck and tease every spot he knows drives you crazy, before finally moving to your clit.

His lips wrap around your throbbing clit and suck at the same time a thick digit breaches your entrance, and your eyes roll so hard you swear you glimpse at the face of the Maker. You start to roll your hips as a familiar, decadent fire swells in your core, and Hunter’s free hand roves your body. The calloused palms and fingertips only adding to your mounting pleasure as he settles on massaging and squeezing your chest. A second finger breaches you, and you curse, pleasure like a second heart beating to the rhythm of Hunter’s fingers hitting your sweet spot. Then he tweaks one of your nipples, and you’re gone.

You’re vaguely aware of Hunter getting on his knees, giving you a better angle to ride your high on his mouth as pleasure drowns your mind in bliss; or the way his own moans echo yours with the way your thighs squeeze until he’s dazed.

When your high subsides at last, Hunter is quick to catch your wobbly legs as they roll off his shoulders. As you roll your head to the side to check on him — you did put his head in a lock —, a wave of relief and renewed lust wash over you at the sight that greets you. Hunter’s face — chin, mouth, even the bridge of his nose — glistens with your slick, eyes wild, needy gasps falling from his lips. Pre-cum pools under his rutting cock as he mindlessly grinds on the edge of the table — desperate for any kind of relief for his aching.

Scooting to the edge until his length is trapped between your bodies, you pull Hunter in for a kiss. Your taste on his lips makes you moan; the sound spurs him on, hips picking up their rutting in a frantic manner. He groans at the feel of your nails digging on his nape as you deepen the kiss, tongue chasing his and lips swallowing his increasing whimpers.

“Such a good boy, taking care of me so well,” you say, breaking from the kiss for air and holding his face in your hands, gaze locked on his. “Do you know what good boys get? Rewarded. Fuck me, cyare.”

He nods eagerly when you lay back down, face burying in your shoulder as he aligns and sheathes himself to the base in a single motion, ripping a shouted moan from the both of you. His body trembles under your caressing hands with the effort of waiting for you to get used to his girth. You purposefully squeeze your walls around him to signal you’re ready, and he chokes on a moan at the feeling before he starts moving.

Hunter’s moves slow and deep at first, both savoring finally your warmth and making sure you’re truly ready, before he stills again — his length buried as deep as it goes —, both hands gripping your waist hard. Your brows furrow in confusion, and you’re about to ask what’s wrong when he leaves the shelter of your shoulder to face you.

“Mesh’la, I-” Hunter stutters, clearly trying to focus despite his fraying control. “I can’t be gentle I’m- I’m too worked up-” he mumbles, showering kisses all over your chest and kneading the soft of your hips to ground himself against the urge to ravage you.

“Good.” You purr, hands latching on the back of his hair to get his attention back on you. The growl that falls from his lips at that has goosebumps breaking over your skin, am aroused giggle escaping your throat “Because I didn’t ask you to make love to me,” you pull his head down, gracing his neck in another bite, “I told you to fuck me.”

“As you wish, my queen.”

And fuck you he does, beating the breath out of your lungs with every hard stroke of his cock. And even though your legs cross at the ankle and cling to his waist with all you have, or you hold on to his broad shoulders for dear life, Hunter’s hand on your hip was all keeping you in place. The sound of skin on skin, heavy breathing, gasps and half-choked moans make for the debauched symphony of your fucking.

It’s not long before his pace starts faltering, his moans melting into whimpers as his need to fill you up reaches its limit. His rough finger circles your clit with practiced precision, eager to send you over the edge one more time before he can. Hunter clings to you as he feels you come, a hand bruising a grip on your thigh, the other curling tight under your waist to keep you in place; his chest presses yours down, teeth latching on your shoulder.

He thrusts once, twice, and sheathes his cock as far as he can as his climax takes over, a mix of praises and curses of your name falling from his lips like a prayer as his cum fills your cunt.

You barely have the time to catch your breath, to come down from the first round’s haze before you feel Hunter — still buried deep inside you — getting hard once more. You smile down at him, humming as he peppers kisses and nibbles on your chest — maker bless clone stamina. But another kind of hunger overcomes the one flaring back to life between your legs, and your stomach growls a loud refusal to being neglected again.

Hunter snorts a laugh in the valley of your breasts as your cheeks heat up, and leaves a kiss in your forehead before withdrawing from you.

“I hear your orders loud and clear, Princess. Snacks coming up pronto!” he quips, helping you up and off the table to pull your back to his chest, peppering little kisses from your temple to shoulders while you both waddle to the spread of pancakes and fruit Hunter got ready while you bathed.

“Oh, so now I’m only your princess? Minutes ago, I was your queen.” You tease, reaching for a piece of fruit, “I’m appalled at how easily you demote me, Sergeant.”

“My oh my, how could I ever make it up to you?” he rumbles in your ear, snatching your fruit at the last moment and popping it inside his mouth. You gasp, turning around to look at a smirking, unrepentant Hunter. Oh, he is asking for it.

“I do happen to have a few ideas, but we’ll need the whipped cream and a bed this time. Get it ready for us, will you?” You say as you leave his embrace and look for what is needed. “Oh, and Hunter?”

“Hm?”

“That was ten. I do expect to find you waiting and ready when I enter the bedroom.”

“… Yes, ma’am.” You don’t need enhanced eyesight to notice the way he shudders, steps hastening as he practically scampers the rest of the way.

★ And if you got to the bottom of this post, please consider reblogging and/or leaving a comment! It helps me know you like what I share with you, and fuels me to share more ★

[221bshrlocked]

Keep Your Religion

Pairing: Commander Wolffe x Jedi AFAB!Reader

Words: 7630

Warnings: 18+ only. Starts off angsty then gets to the smut. Softer than usual Wolffe because that man would be madly in love when he finds his special someone. Lots of Kissing. Possessive Behavior/Words. Dirty/Sweet Talk..but mostly Sweet. Exhibitionism Kink if you like squint! Oral Sex (female receiving). Penetrative, Unprotected Sex (wrap the shlong before you king kong my dudes). Slight Breeding Kink. Wolffe is insatiable yall!

Summary: You try to end things with Wolffe because you fear your relationship will end badly due to the rules set in place for the Jedi and the Clones. Wolffe convinces you otherwise.

A/N: Can you believe I finished another fic? Neither can I. It was about time for another Wolffe fic so here you go my lovely humans. I hope you enjoy. Comments are always always always appreciated so let me know how I'm doing please and thank you. I do apologize that I'm not tagging, it hasn't been working for some reason since post editor changed permanently to this new looking editor. I'll try to figure it out I swear! P.S. this is the second of hopefully many more submissions for @clonexreaderbingo

Something about seeing him so relaxed and loose tugged at the strings of your heart. It was a rare sight, one you thought he would only grace you with when the two of you are alone together. But here he was, throwing back whatever shit drink the bar offered him and his brothers, all the while smiling at Cody’s remark about the new shinies embarrassing themselves in front of Anakin and Obi-Wan. You’re nursing your own drink in the corner, trying to find the best possible way to approach the booth without making a scene. He’d told you before that almost everyone close to him knew of your relationship, but you felt weird about dropping the pretenses. You were his boss, after all. Well, not completely his boss, but a commanding officer regardless. If you started acting extra friendly, you’re not sure how the rest of the Wolfpack would take it. 

As you swirl the spotchka around, you suddenly feel like someone is watching you, hunting you even. There’s only one man who’s ever made you feel so heated and just as you look up from the glass in your hand towards the group of Clones you were previously studying, you notice Wolffe staring you down, the slightest hint of a smirk flashing at you in an attempt to get you to react to his attention. 

Normally, you’d enjoy the subtle flirtatious expressions, even tease him a little to get a rise out of him before escaping to the nearest room to lure him for a private moment. Or, as private a moment as 79’s can offer a Jedi Master and a Commander of the Grand Republic Army. 

But tonight was different. Tonight, you came out to the Clone bar to decide the best way to end things with Wolffe. It was the last thing you wanted to do, but you didn’t want to push your luck any further. Things were getting worse by the hour, and you couldn’t afford losing Wolffe all because some assholes in the Senate didn’t think he deserved to love or to be loved by someone. Then there was the matter of the Jedi Council, and how strict they were becoming. It was already frowned upon before the war, and it only took a few months into this galactic conflict for them to push their ideologies even harder on everyone at the Temple. 

You would never forgive yourself if they punished him simply because you couldn’t stand being far away from him any longer. You narrow your eyes at Wolffe and down the rest of your drink, disappointed in yourself for not having the guts to tell him earlier. 

And for knowing that you probably wouldn’t be able to do it tonight. 

The smile on his face drops instantly when he notices you avoiding his gaze, and you curse yourself for ruining his night. It was going so well, and one look at you made the worry return to his mind again. 

Clutching your robes tightly, you pay the bartender quickly before excusing yourself and heading towards the bathrooms in the back. You could feel the tears threaten to spill down your cheeks and the last thing you wished for is for someone to see you and make a huge fuss about it. As you push through the crowd, you feel those same pair of eyes hold you down harshly, as if they were refusing you permission to leave without confronting them. 

Quickly wiping your eyes, you push open the doors and turn around to lock them behind you, only to nearly bump into the chest of the man you were hoping to avoid tonight. You gulp nervously, and before you can say anything, Wolffe tilts his head to the side and studies you closely, his eyes roaming down your body to see if anything needs his immediate attention. 

When he finds nothing out of the ordinary, he takes a step closer to you and shuts the door behind him, not bothering to lock it as he continues to back you up until you hit the wall. 

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re trying to avoid me.” His gaze is direct, unfaltering in the haze of lust he was sending you under. You furrow your eyebrows and try to look anywhere else but him, but as always, he doesn’t give you the easy way out. Grabbing the bottom of your chin, he turns you until you have no choice but to look straight into his eyes and respond. 

“What if I was?” You’re not sure what pushes you to say something so defensive, but the chuckle it gets out of him makes you realize you had already lost whatever game he was playing with you. 

“I’d say you should have gone to another bar.” He’s right. You know this, and he definitely knows this too. The ease with which he continues to have an effect on you would normally be welcomed, but you’re pissed at him. Pissed for being so weak for him. For not bothering to put up a fight. 

“But here you are…at the one place you knew I was coming to tonight.” Wolffe leans down and nudges your temple with his nose, breathing in the scent of your sweat and perfume, and forcing you to reach for him so you don’t topple over from the sheer amount of control he has on you. 

“So tell me mesh’la, what have I done to deserve the cold shoulder?” He whispers the question in your ear, slowly sliding his hands down your body until they reach your waist. You’re having a difficult time breathing, and you moan his name as you throw your head back when he squeezes your hips and pushes his chest impossibly closer into your own. 

“I- you didn’t…it,” you can’t form a coherent sentence, let alone a sensical thought, when you’re so overwhelmed by his presence alone. You thought he would laugh at you, but when his breathing becomes nearly as erratic as your own, you understand that he was genuinely trying to figure out if he’s done something wrong. His methods seldom changed, and you weren’t surprised that he was trying to get you to talk by touching you as intimately as possible without tearing your clothes off. 

“Don’t tell me I did nothing wrong…sir. Something must have happened, or else you would be begging me to have my way with you right now. So what is it? What have I done?” Wolffe repeats again, making you feel guilty for your behavior and for what you’ve been thinking of doing since the last time you were together. You remind yourself that he deserves someone better, someone who wouldn’t compromise his position in the GAR all because of their messed-up religion. He deserved so much more than you. 

And the mere mention of your rank made it worse.

“W-Wolffe, I umm, I can’t do this anymore.” You know this was the last thing he expected you to say because in the blink of an eye, he’s removing himself from you completely and putting space between your shaking body and his own wound up chest. When you muster up the courage to look into his eyes, a shiver courses down your spine. 

It has been so long since he’s given you such a look, one that was filled with nothing but suspicion and guardedness. He’s quiet for longer than you like, and when you reach for him in an attempt to console him, his frown deepens and he twitches away from you. You hadn’t expected such a reaction to hurt this much, but it does, and like before, you have no control over the stream of tears rolling down your chin. Again, it’s not what he expects to witness from you, certainly not after what you just declared to him, and when you sniffle to get yourself under control, he closes the space between you more aggressively than before, slamming his hands on both sides of your face and clenching his jaws tightly when he sees you pouting at him. 

“I don’t know what I’ve done, I don’t. But I’m sorry regardless. I am so very sorry. Whatever it is, we can talk it out. It’s not worth throwing away all that we have. Please. Just- krifff…tell me what it is I have done, and I will get down on my knees right now and beg for your forgiveness. But don’t do this, don’t give up on us.” In all your time knowing Wolffe, you’ve never once heard him speak with such a tone. He was always assertive, confident and unwavering in his commanding presence. 

But the only thing you could feel now is his fear. 

“You did nothing wrong, it’s me…it’s all me Wolffe.” You know this won’t be enough for him, but you try to convince him regardless. Then he drops his head against your shoulder and you know you won’t be able to hold out much longer. 

“I wasn’t born yesterday sweetheart. If you’ve ever held an ounce of respect for me, you’ll tell me what I did wrong. You owe me that much. I- I deserve to know.” If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was close to breaking down as well. 

“I do Wolffe, I respect you…more than anyone. You have to know that.” You hope he doesn’t turn away when you reach for him again, and as you cup his cheeks in the palms of your hands to raise his attention to you, you’re met with an expression you never thought you’d see on his features. 

“You haven’t done anything baby, it’s me. It’s…all me.” If you were a better person, you would have been consistent in your tone with him, but seeing him so torn down broke you, and you couldn’t not soothe him the way you always did whenever he comes back from a particularly difficult mission. 

“You deserve someone better Wolffe, someone who would never compromise your safety. Being with me is- it’s getting dangerous. The Council is becoming more strict…the Senate even worse. If they court martial you because you’re with me, I- I don’t know what I would do.” There’s something so gut-wrenching about the way he refuses to look away from your moving lips, and when you stop talking, he doesn’t blink once, his cybernetic eye focusing in and out before slowly blinking along with the other.

“Someone better?” It’s clear that he’s still hurt by the word vomit you threw at him, but whereas his voice showed it earlier, the shakiness and reluctance is gone now, replaced with a menacing, almost angry tone that you were too familiar with, one that you’ve witnessed during battle when his orders weren’t obeyed immediately. 

“I can’t give you what you want Wolffe, not without hurting you eventually…unintentionally. My- my religion, it’s becoming a threat to your well-being. It’s not worth the hassle. I am not worth the hassle. You could do so much better than-” Whatever you’re about to say gets lost in the damp air of the room as soon as Wolffe decides he’s heard enough of what was on your mind. He grips your neck tightly, winding his other arm around your back and violently pulling you into his embrace as he swallows your surprised shrieks. Your frown deepens for another moment before you surrender yourself to the possessive kiss, and Wolffe must feel you melting into his arms because he growls against your lips and claims your tongue without remorse. 

His hold on you only grows stronger when he feels your arms move to wrap around his neck, and when he’s sure you’re trying to get closer to him and not push him away, he tilts his head to the side and deepens the kiss, not caring for how messy or aggressive he’s being with you as he shoves his tongue past your lips and reminds you of what you could be missing if you got what you wanted and left him. 

As the need for air becomes difficult to ignore, Wolffe breaks the kiss and gives the two of you a moment of respite. When he opens his eyes and finds your orbs glistening with unshed tears, he swears beneath his breath and lunges for you again, the hand around your throat loosening for a fraction of a second before tightening around your jugular and forcing you to accept his rejection of your wishes. You moan into the kiss, allowing him to take whatever he wants from you, knowing that he wasn’t going to allow you to go through with whatever it is you thought you could get away with tonight. When he’s content with the reactions of your mind and body to his touch, 

“You nearly broke my heart, ner runi. Don’t ever say that to me again!” Wolffe refuses to let go of you, afraid you’d leave the room thinking that he agreed to the sentiment you dropped on him a second ago. When you say nothing in return, he shakes his head and crushes you into his arms, nuzzling into your neck and breathing you in to attempt and calm his nerves. He prays that you give him some form of an answer that confirms your understanding of what he just said, but when you don’t, Wolffe sighs heavily and pulls back enough to take a better look at you. 

“Wolffe, we need to talk ab-” Again, he doesn’t care for what you have to say and cuts you off, letting you know that this was definitely the end of the conversation. 

“No, we’re done talking. You can keep your religion sweetheart, I couldn’t care less for its consequences…but don’t you fucking dare and ask me to abandon mine.” His voice is firm, the familiar unyielding articulation confirming to you that he’s already made up his mind on the matter. There would be no more on the matter. 

As much as you hate to admit it, it feels like a bantha has lifted one of its feet off your chest. You look into his eyes and find them filled with a more familiar emotion, one that kept you going ever since you confessed your feelings to him. You thought it would be difficult to get him to accept your proposition, but you realize then and there that it was definitely harder for you to come to terms with your initial thoughts. 

You slowly smile at him, and it must be what Wolffe needs to hear to forget the last few minutes because his touches become less crazed and more soothing, a level of intimacy you’re always yearning for when the two of you are away from each other for too long. 

“And what...what is your religion?” You barely find the attention span to ask, the familiarity of his touch and his voice sending you down a spiral of lust-filled thoughts that only increased the longer Wolffe remained in your presence. 

“Your body is my religion cyar’ika, and I’m not planning on losing my faith any time soon.” The confession is lewd, mostly because he’s using your weakness to drive the message home. But as dirty as the admission sounded on his lips, you couldn’t help but sink into his embrace, wanting to hear more of him so you could forget about why you were here in the first place. 

“Is that s-so?” You’re practically shaking in his arms, and Wolffe uses your momentary distraction to tug your robes apart and leave a trail of kisses down your neck to where he wanted to bite you most. 

“Yeah,” he licks at your skin, wishing with all his heart he could have you right then and there. It’s not as if the two of you haven’t fucked at 79’s before. He just knew that you both needed something more, something that he can only accomplish in the privacy of his rooms. 

“Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to excuse myself for the night, tell the boys I have to finish reports for the General.” He slips a hand underneath the edge of your shirt, drawing circles on your waist until you slowly begin to roll your hips into him. 

“Ahuh,” you’re not really paying attention to what he’s saying, your body already frozen with anticipation now that it felt his hands and his tongue leaving marks across it again. 

“Focus,” he squeezes your ass, shaking it twice to get you to open your eyes and look past the haze to obey his next commands. 

“Yes sir.” You bite into your lip and giggle when he narrows his eyes at you and mumbles something about punishing you for being a tease. 

“You’re going to leave shortly after, something about being needed back at the Temple.” Your stomach twists in knots when you realize he’s using his ‘Commander’ voice on you, and you can’t help but wrap your arms around his neck and mold your lips with his own when you remember the last time he used that same tone on you. 

What a night it was. 

“And where w-will I actually be going?” You ask as soon as Wolffe pulls you away and breaks the kiss. 

“My room baby, where you’ll stay for the rest of the night.” He says matter of factly, as if you shouldn’t even be asking his such a question. 

“Pray tell, Commander. What will we be doing that- oh kriff, that will require me to spend the night in your quarters?” You throw your head back when his hand slithers up your body and cups your breast through your Jedi robes. You can almost feel the heat radiating off the palm of his hand, and the harder he gropes you through your clothes, the more you wish he would just push you down on all fours and fuck you into oblivion. 

“Well, I don’t know about you sweetheart, but I’ll be practicing my faith...and worshiping every inch of your body until the only thing you can feel is me.” The smirk on his face would be menacing if you weren’t so used to it by now, and you gasp lightly when he leans down and bites the skin of your shoulder peeking from beneath your cloak. 

“Oh gods-”

“That’s it, moan for me cyar’ika. I want the whole fucking bar to know who makes you feel good.” Wolffe shoves your thighs apart and pushes his leg in between, slowly moving you back and forth on him to give you a preview of what’s to come tonight. 

“Wolffe, please. I need you.” You fall forward against his chest, whining for him as he continues to move you across his thigh and dares you to come from such a simple touch. 

“Oh, now you need me?” You know he’s joking without looking at him, but the question throws you off guard and you snap your gaze up to see if he was hurt by what you said previously. 

“I- I didn’t…I’m sorry.”

“None of that.” Wolffe shakes his head, not wanting to ruin the moment by something so trivial. He slows down his touches but keeps you moving on him, hoping to distract you long enough to make this night a little better for the both of you. 

“Wolffe,” you call for him again, not in warning but in desperation, hoping that he can see how sorry you are for ever doubting what the two of you had. 

“That was cruel of me, forgive me sweetheart.” His voice is soft, so much sweeter than before, and you’re reminded by how quickly his mood changes whenever he senses you’re upset or angry. 

“How could you ask that when I am the one who hurt you?” You should drop it, everything that he’s done is proof that you should let this go and get back to more important matters, but you can’t stop yourself from asking him, wanting to know why he’s always so patient and caring with you when he was the one who deserved better. 

“You didn’t hurt me, cyare.”

“I did, I- I almost…”

“You could never hurt me, little one. Never.” Like before, he doesn’t care for whatever you have to say, not because he doesn’t value your words, but because he knows how difficult your relationship with him probably weighs on your mind. 

Even from the beginning. 

You study him for what feels like hours but is probably only seconds. And you wonder how anyone could ever think him cruel and rude when he was so loving and unbelievably long-suffering. Without warning, you throw yourself at him, mirroring his actions from before and shoving your mouth against his own to feel grounded. He doesn’t waste a second, pushing you harder against the wall and sucking on your tongue until you were a moaning mess in his embrace. 

“F-fuck, if you keep that up, I won’t- kriff, I won’t hold back.” Wolffe rests his forehead against yours, trying to keep himself in check so he doesn’t end up embarrassing the two of you by what his body is willing to do. 

“Then don’t!”

“You want me to fuck you right here, where anyone can walk in and see you getting filled with my cock?” He shouldn’t be surprised by how wanton you are, and although he knows he should step away and put some space between you and him, he can’t help but retort with his own teasing comment. 

“Please Commander.” You lean up and kiss his jugular, nipping at the skin just above his armor and soothing it with another kiss before laying your head back and meeting his intense gaze. 

“Always playing dirty. Just for that, you’ll have to wait.” Wolffe clears his throat and eyes you up and down before taking a few steps back. He barely manages to hold back from laughing when you stumble forward and nearly lose your footing. You’re about to complain when he raises a hand and silences you, furrowing his eyebrows at you in an attempt to look intimidating. 

“Another word, and I won’t give you my cock tonight.” He warns calmly, smirking immediately when you shake your head and tell him you’ll be good.

“No please, I’ll stop. I’ll behave, I swear.” 

“You’ll behave-?” The question trails until the room is silent again and you know instantly what you said wrong. 

“Commander.” You whisper to him as you try to fix your clothes and hair so you don’t look like you were fucked against a wall by the Commander of the 104th Battalion. You don’t dare smile at him, afraid he’d misunderstand the gesture for another one of your teasing expressions and completely throw the night away. 

“Good girl, now do as you’re told and I promise to reward you.” He watches you saunter past him and before you unlock the door, he smacks your ass quite harshly, watching you closely to see if you were going to behave or retort like you usually do. 

“Yes, sir.” You don’t dare give into his tricks, hoping to get through the next hour or so without getting distracted, or worse…caught. 

“Off you go.” He gestures for you to leave before him, and when you’re no longer in sight, he shuts his eyes and sighs in relief. Wolffe is not sure how the two of you got to where you are now, but considering the fact that he expected something like this to happen since you got together, he’s relieved that it was for reasons different from what his mind conjured up all those nights he spent alone in his bed. 

You walk out and move towards the bar again, your eyes roaming across the busy bar and waiting until Wolffe walks out before you make sure that no one noticed the two of you together. He follows you soon after, finding you almost instantly and winking at you before he heads towards his men. You watch as he tells Sinker to give him his helmet, and you assume they all roll their eyes not a second later because he told them he needed to get some paperwork done. 

But as soon as Cody looks at you, he knows what Wolffe is planning on doing, and before you can turn away from him, he raises his glass and smiles at you before downing the rest of his drink. You should be embarrassed at being seen, but something about the way the Commander gestures at you makes you smile, as if he was telling you that he hoped the two of you are okay. You shake your head at him and throw your hood up, walking to the Commander of the 21st Nova Corps to let him know you’ll be leaving earlier tonight. 

“Ah General, I was wondering when you’ll be joining us.” You smile at Commander Bacara and the boys, giving them a few credits to let them know the next two rounds were on you. 

“Sorry Bacara, I’m calling it early tonight. Needed back at the Temple!” You feel bad for lying to him, but as always, he doesn’t ask for an elaboration, telling you that he hopes you don’t have to do too much paperwork while you’re still on break. 

“See you later,” you nod at him and the others when they salute you, and just as you walk out of the bar, you vaguely hear them yell for the droid making its rounds to get them a round of quanya. 

“Hmm, didn’t peg them for the type.” You mutter to yourself as you step out into the chilly Coruscant air, looking around to see if Wolffe was anywhere to be seen or if he has already left. When you don’t sense his Force signature nearby, you make your way towards the speeder bike Anakin lent you and bring it to life, trying your best to contain yourself so you wouldn’t be caught by another Jedi nearby. 

You make your way through the streets as quickly as possible, and when you make it to the Temple, you park the bike nearby and think of the best way to make it through the barracks without being seen by any of the Masters…or Commanders. 

It’s not the first time you entered the barracks, and under normal circumstances, it wouldn’t be strange to see a Jedi making their way through the hallways. But it was nearly midnight, and you weren’t sure you could lie your way through a question if you were caught before you made it to Wolffe’s quarters. You’re about to reach out to the Force to see if anyone is awake when you hear footsteps approaching you from behind. The familiarity of its warmness sets your mind at ease, and you take a deep breath before you turn to face him. 

“Commander.”

“General, is there something I can help you with?” He’s putting on a show for the surveillance cameras, and you clear your throat before you tell him something about wanting to review the plans for the next mission. 

“Very well,” he’s curt in his response, and you get the sense that he may be avoidant because he has about as much control around you as you do whenever you so much as hear the mention of his name. 

“Thank you, Commander Wolffe.” He nearly falters in his steps at hearing you call his name, and he swears beneath his breath as a way of warning. You nearly smile at his reaction, but you remember how closely the guards watch the cameras and you choose to switch your attention to the ground. Not another word passes between the two of you, and as you reach his room, you feel your heart threaten to leap out of your chest at the prospect of finally spending a night with him. 

Up until now, the two of you had to make do with stolen moments and short breaks, whether on missions or back here. Neither of you have ever spent the night alone, and you find it fitting that tonight would be it. It’s comforting and nerve-wrecking all at once, and as soon as you step into his quarters, you allow yourself to take in the calm before the storm. 

Before the door slides completely shut, Wolffe is on you like a moth to a flame, nearly ripping your clothes off of your body as he pushes you down onto his bed. 

“W-Wolffe, I-” You try to ask him why he’s so frantic and crazed all of a sudden but he lets go of you and stands to his height, making quick work of his armor in record time all the while keeping you still with the mere look in his eyes. 

“I can’t do slow tonight, can’t wait another fucking second without having you.” You always admired how much care he puts into his armor whenever he’s taking it off or putting it back on, so seeing him drop each pass to the ground sends a zap of lightning down your spine. 

You mirror his actions without another word, throwing your boots and socks away before struggling to take your pants off. Moments later, you feel the bed dip once Wolffe crawls towards you, his muscles flexing in such a menacing way that makes you fall back into the sheets and wait for him to tell you what to do next. 

But then he says nothing, and you’re torn between asking him what he needs from you and letting you do whatever the fuck he wants. He reaches for the edge of your pants and tugs them right down your legs, not once blinking as he violently takes your sweater off and throws it somewhere behind him. You’re left in nothing but your undergarments, and as you twist your arms to take your bra off, Wolffe shoves your thighs apart and makes space for himself in between. 

“I need you, now.” His voice should terrify you, it should be enough of a warning for what he has in store for you. But you find it exhilarating, knowing that only you could get him to lose this much control. You try to reach for him, wanting to feel his skin beneath the tips of your fingers, but Wolffe shakes his head and grabs both of your wrists in one hand, slamming them above your head and tightening the hold he has on them while he slithers his other hand down your nude body. 

“If it were up to me mesh’la, I’d tie you to this fucking bed and have my way with you whenever I want. I’d- kriff, I’d fill you with my cum every minute of every fucking day…so everyone would know you’re mine…so they know that I’m yours.” He teases you through your panties, rubbing lazy circles across the damp spot quickly becoming larger. 

“Wolffe, please…take me.” You whine his name in desperation, hoping he’d finally give you his cock and end your misery. 

“I swear to the maker sweet girl, I’m going to fuck you all night long…kiss every inch of you, mark you with my teeth and hands until you’re my very own altar. I’m going to worship you baby, but only if you promise me one thing.” Wolffe slips his fingers beneath the flimsy material of your panties, rubbing at your clit furiously to get you to focus on him and him only. 

“A-anything…anything Commander.” You turn to the side and kiss his forearm, hoping he’d see how willing you are to do whatever he asks of you. 

“Pray for me.” As you look bite into his skin, Wolffe pushes his hard dick into your cunt, not bothering to give you a moment to get used to being so full before he starts fucking into you with sharp thrusts. You’re screaming his name instantly, arching your back from the sheer amount of pain and pleasure he was bringing upon you so quickly. 

“FUck, there we go…such a good fucking girl for me, screaming my name so sweetly. Go on ner Jetii’ika, tell everyone who fucks you like the perfect cockdumb whore you are.” He leans down and bites the top of your breasts, letting go of your wrists for a brief second so he can rip the last bit of clothing shielding you from his hungry eyes. 

“Wolffe…f-ffuck, oh gods…Wolffe!” You twist your fingers into his bed sheets, crossing your legs behind his back and whining for him when he descends down on you and sucks on your nipple. His hand seeks out your own, and when he intertwines his fingers with yours, he grunts and growls against your skin, reaching for the other breast and groping you harshly until the only thing you can feel is his tongue, and his hands, and his cock wreaking havoc on you. 

Wolffe knows he should slow down, perhaps be a little less demanding with you. But something about seeing you in his bed when everyone else is asleep makes him more possessive, more needy with your body. And it didn’t help how you were reacting to his advances, how completely you surrendered your body to him without so much as a question. He opens his eyes and roams them over your already bruising skin, and when he finds you wanting for more, he increases his pace and fucks you until you couldn’t even breathe out his name. 

You sense his gaze on you, and as you look through heavy-lidded eyes, you find him completely focused on your dazed expression. 

“Wolffe, I- I love you.” You’re not sure what makes you say those words now, but a voice in your heart told you this was the right moment. You’ve spoken before about what this thing between the two of you was, and you knew, as well as he, that this would be it. There would be no one else, not for him, and definitely not for you. 

But you’ve never actually said those words out loud. You’ve said it in the way you kissed him, in the way you gave yourself to him…and Wolffe had pretty much conveyed them to you with every stolen glance and every quick touch he managed to sneak when the two of you passed each other on the General’s ship. 

Like before, Wolffe hasn’t expected to hear you part with such a confession, now of all times. He falters in his pace for a brief moment before he sinks his cock into you and stills completely, wanting to be as close and connected with you as possible when he finally said what he’s felt for you since you introduced yourself to him. 

“Ni kar’tayli gar darasuum…cyare.” You let out a quiet sob at the intimacy of the moment, and Wolffe wraps his arms around your neck and your waist to feel you against every bit of his skin. His thrusts are shallow, barely leaving you empty out of fear of losing this moment. You throw your arms around his neck and bring him flush against you, crying for him one last time as he seals your lips with his own and sinks into your wet cunt. 

The world comes to a halt around you, and all you can feel is Wolffe’s lips claiming your mouth just as he fills you with his seed. You come with him, shaking softly in his arms as his hot cum shoots into you and coats your walls with proof of his need to mark every fucking inch of you. It’s too much and not enough, and you push your heels into his ass in an attempt to bring him even closer to you. It’s not possible, you know that, but you want nothing more than to have him sink into your body until you weren’t sure where he ended and you began. 

Wolffe is fighting for his life, torn between giving you a second to breathe and quite literally stealing your breath to fill his lungs with your essence. He parts for a brief moment and looks at you, kissing your eyes softly before shoving his lips against yours again. You don’t dare ask him to give you a moment of respite, mostly because you’re sure you would miss him if he were to put space between your skin and his lips. 

Suddenly, the world turns around and you break the kiss unintentionally, gasping in surprise when he turns the two of you around until he’s laying on his back and you on top of him. You smile against his jaw when you feel his hands slide down your back and grab at your ass. As he starts moving your hips back and forth, you nuzzle into his neck and breathe in his scent, licking and kissing his skin the more he fucks his cum deep into your cunt. 

“W-Wolffe…”

“I’m not done with you yet, ner kar’ta.” The promise is both teasing and terrifying, but you can’t find it in yourself to hesitate, not when he was promising you the stars all night long. 

And he does, he brings you the heavens until you can no longer breathe without tasting the cosmos on your tongue. With every touch of his fingers, you beg him for more…more of his sweet words, more of his sinful kisses, more of his needy cock.

He fucks you until you lose your voice, and when he’s sure he’s rung your body of every ounce of pleasure it can offer him, he fucks you some more, filling your pussy until you were nothing but a mess, a mixture of his seed and your juices.

And then he pushes you down and parts your thighs to pull you apart with his tongue, and you feel that familiar heat rise in your chest all over again. You tug on his hair, torn between urging him to make you cum again and pleading for him to stop because you could no longer stand the pleasure. You were so sensitive, and Wolffe knew very well how painful the ecstasy was becoming, but some twisted part of him wanted to mark your cunt with his teeth and tongue as well. He wanted to devour you, body and soul. Your release comes in the form of a silent cry, and Wolffe laps up your mixed cum until you can’t take it anymore, softly pushing his shoulders away so he can slow down.

There is a lazy smile on your features, one that deepens further when you see Wolffe crawling on top of you and leaving a trail of wet kisses across your sweaty skin.

“Satisfied?” He dares to ask, lightly pinching your nipples when you don’t respond right away. You giggle at the touch, pulling him closer to you so he can kiss you some more. He melts into your body, roaming his hands across the tired muscles until he has no choice but to fall beside you.

You hum in response, studying his relaxed expression and laying the softest of kisses on his forehead before pulling him into your neck. Neither of you say anything, and only when your breathing steadies does Wolffe pull away to make sure you’re comfortable and asleep.

He sits up on his elbows and takes in his handiwork, biting his lower lip when he sees the bruises already forming all over your body. The contentment falters for a split second, but his worries evaporate when you sleepily reach for him and bring him back into your arms. He mutters his love for you one last time before surrendering to the comfort of your embrace, falling into a deep sleep almost as soon as he rests his cheek on your shoulder. 

It’s hours later when you wake, and you groan tiredly when the sunbeams hit your eyes and make it difficult to escape them. You turn to the other side and peek through your lashes, only to find Wolffe already wide awake, softly touching the length of your arm with his lips and nose, as if he was tracing every little mark he left on your body from last night. He looks up when he notices your breaths coming in erratically, winking at you and smirking at the sudden spirit of shyness falling over your tired form. 

“I can taste the sunlight on your skin.” He moans against your clavicle, lightly nipping at the skin over the bone when you turn away from him and hide beneath the sheets. 

“Hmm…such a smooth talker.” You groan from underneath the shield you’ve created, giggling like a little girl when Wolffe tugs them away and attacks your face with playful nips and kisses. 

“Only for you cyar’ika.” He whispers into your ear before biting at the space just below it, his touches becoming less playful and more needy as he takes in the way your body is reacting to his advances. 

“Wolffe, your lips feel so good.” You throw your head back and sink your nails into the muscles on his back, gasping for air the longer Wolffe continues to mark you up. It’s almost as if he was looking for spots on your skin he hasn’t left his bite marks or fingerprints on. Not that you were complaining. 

“Just my lips, General?” You can hear the smile on his handsome face, and you nearly push back to edge him on, but you realize it would serve you better to give into him and tell him what he wants to hear. 

“N-no, it’s everything you do to me Wolffe. It’s in your touch…your- your voice…your cock.”

“My little Jedi can’t get enough of me.” He shifts you in his arms until you’re laying on your stomach, and when you try to look back to see what he has in mind, he combs his finger into your hair and pushes you into the pillows until he has access to your back. When he hears whine his name, he descends down on you like a crazed man, sinking his teeth into the skin he wasn’t able to reach last night while pulling on your hair to remind you who was in charge. 

“Oh gods…never, Wolffe. Never. I want you all the kriffing time, even now…I just want you to- to,” you forget what you want to say, the need to commit this moment to memory outweighing whatever information your mind wanted to part with. It must be the reaction Wolffe was wanting for because he chuckles against your heated skin and finishes your thought for you. 

“Claim you?”

“Please.” You try to push the sheets away from you so you can feel him against your back, and Wolffe lets go of you for a split second to let you do whatever you wish, returning flush against you once you’re completely nude to his eyes. He’s on you in the blink of an eye, teasing you with the head of his hard cock while keeping a firm hold on your hips so you don’t move against him.

“Can’t really do that now, can I mesh’la?” He struggles through his words, his hungry eyes picturing all the things he still wants to do to you as you lay there beneath him, willingly submitting your entire self to him without a second thought. 

“You’re already mine, little Jedi. You’re mine, have been since you came here all those months ago and told me you wanted me.” He massages your back with his calloused hands, trying to come to terms with the fact that he will never be close enough to you. He’ll never get tired of this. He’ll never not want to touch you with everything he’s got. 

“But since you plead so sweetly,” you moan into the sheets as you feel him part your thighs and slowly sink his cock into your swollen cunt, keeping you filled to the brim and refusing to move until you begged some more. 

“Wolffe...” You reach back and tug on his hair to bring him closer to you, the need to hear what you do to him igniting a flame in your chest, one that only he could put out by showing you how much he craves you. 

“F-ffuck, you’ve ruined the mornings for me cyare. Now I- I won’t stop thinking of your wet, tight pussy when I…kriff, when I wake up.” Wolffe bites into your shoulder as he rolls his hips into you, no longer able to control his desires from you. He wanted you to know the effect you have on him, the hold you had on his very soul ever since you walked onto his ship and offered your aid all those months ago. 

“I’m yours Commander, always. Y-you can have me whenever you want.” You sigh heavily when he growls against your skin and continues to fuck into you without caring for how rough he’s being. 

“E-even at sunrise, General?” Wolffe chuckles as soon as your cunt clenches tightly around him at the mention of the honorific, letting you know that he enjoys calling you by your rank as much as he does when you moan his. 

“Especially at sunrise-” You barely manage to breathe out, smiling through the assault he was bringing on your body as you surrender yourself completely to him.

“My little tracinya,” Wolffe nuzzles into the crook of your neck, content with the way you seem to melt the harder he fills you with his cock. A part of him knows he should maybe discuss the incident from last night, but he finds it difficult to pay any mind to your words when he already has you so willing and wanting beneath him. 

Later, he would consider the little issue of your religion later. 

But for now, he was adamant on showing you his own.

[the-bad-batch-baroness]

Lean On Me

Kix x Fem!Reader

Summary: You're out dancing with your friends when you sustain a knee injury and Kix comes to your rescue.

Pairing: Kix x Fem!Reader

Characters: Kix

Tags & Warnings: 18+, established relationship, alcohol, mention of past injury, minor injury, domestic fluff, romance, a little angst, hurt/comfort, mild suggestive themes, non-sexual shower scene, implied nudity

Word Count: 6.1k

Author's Note: Due to an unexpected knee injury, my fic writing schedule has been thrown out of whack and I wrote this instead of the ten other fics in my queue. Still a bingo square down, so I don’t feel too bad. Fic is based on a real injury that happened to me four days ago. How the reader got the injury is how I got the injury. Self-indulgent, because I wanted Kix to kiss it and make it better, but it got away from me. As always, please enjoy 💚

@clonexreaderbingo Square: Kix

It’s a gorgeous summer evening as you bustle around your apartment while getting ready for your night out. You playfully slide across the linoleum kitchen floor in your socks and stop abruptly at the calendar hanging on the wall. You grab a red marker from the adjacent drawer, pull the cap off with your teeth, and cross off today’s date. You flip backwards through the calendar and look at the sea of red adorning the previous pages and let out a small sigh.

Each red slash marks one rotation of Kix’s deployment. It’s already been sixty rotations since he shipped out, but a smile creeps onto your lips as you flip the calendar back and focus on the large red circle four rotations away. Kix had sent word two weeks prior that the 501st were finally coming home and he gave you an estimated date of his return. You’re excited for him to come home, but each rotation seems to linger longer than the last as you wait impatiently. 

Nevertheless, at least for tonight, you’ve decided not to dwell on how much you miss him. Instead, you’re preparing yourself for a fabulous girl’s night out. You and your friends have been planning this excursion for a couple weeks now and you’re thrilled to finally get out, party, and unwind. It’s not something you do often, especially without Kix, but this night was just for the girls, so no boys are allowed. It’s only about you and your friends having a good time.

As the time for you to leave approaches, you pull off your loungewear and slide on a playful emerald green dress that you purchased for the occasion. It’s not sexy by any means, but it’s fun and perfect for a night out with friends. You slip on your favorite pair of flats and sit in front of your mirror to style your hair while humming a happy little tune. You adorn your ears with a simple pair of earrings and give yourself a little spritz of your white gardenia perfume.

As you finish up your look for the evening, you hear a knock at your apartment door. You wonder if it’s the neighbor down the hall. She’s an elderly woman that you help out every once and a while. She’s really sweet and loves to tell stories of her younger days when you get lonely. You announce that you’re coming and make your way to the door. You press the button to open it and your eyes grow wide at the unexpected sight before you, a clone trooper in full armor. 

“Kix!” you exclaim as you throw yourself into his outstretched arms. You nuzzle your face into his neck and breathe in his musk and vetiver cologne that instantly intoxicates you. 

“Hello beautiful,” he purrs while dropping his duffle to squeeze you tightly, pressing a desperate kiss on your neck while savoring your alluring floral scent.  

You lean your head back to look up at his face, his amber eyes just as warm and piercing as you remember. “I wasn’t expecting you,” you admit with excitement.

“We got back a little early,” Kix explains. He gives you a soft kiss on the cheek and you smile. “I wanted to surprise you.” He leans you back a little, running his hands up and down your bare arms, while his eyes gaze upon your dolled up body. “This isn’t for me is it?” he inquires with a chuckle.

“Oh, this?” you look down at yourself and remember what you were doing before he came home. “I was going out with the girls tonight, but I don’t have to!” you quickly rebut. “I can stay here.” As much as you have been waiting for this night out, you are completely ready to ditch all of your plans to spend it with the fine man standing in front of you.

“Out of the question,” he shakes his head. “Go out with your friends and have a good time. I’ll be here when you get back.” He presses a tender kiss to your forehead and a small whine escapes your lips when he lets you go. He picks up his duffle and heads into the apartment, sighing in relief at finally being home. You lean against the doorway, smiling as you watch him instantly meld back into domestic life as if he never left.

“If you keep staring at me like that, your eyes are going to get stuck,” Kix jests without turning around. He can feel your gaze resting on him and knows you won’t leave without a little nudge. You huff through your nose at his intuition and grab your purse from the stand next to the door. You amble over to give Kix a goodbye kiss and he swats your butt when you turn to leave. You whip around and shoot him a surprised look, but he just smirks. “Get out of here!”

You shake your head at his playfulness and head out the door with a small wave of your hand. The place where you’re meeting your friends isn’t too far, so you decide to walk since the evening air is pleasant. You take your time strolling along the sidewalk, thinking only about what you’re going to do when you get home. You want to stay in the present and have a good time with your friends, but it proves difficult knowing your handsome man is waiting for you at home.

You finally make it to the meeting spot, a little dance club that has great reviews. Your friends see you coming and greet you with excited waves. You quicken your steps to close the distance and exchange hugs all around. You enter the club with your friends and make your way to the bar first. You order something light, a simple sangria. The goal is to have fun, not get wasted, and you want to enjoy your night out and have a blast with your girlfriends. 

The rhythmic beats emanating from the speakers vibrate under your feet and traverse up your legs as you wait for your drink. You close your eyes and let it encapsulate all of your senses. You love the deep bass and the way it makes your body feel. The way it makes your heart beat faster in anticipation and excitement. The way it rumbles into your core in the same manner as Kix’s voice when he moans sweet nothings of desire against your body. 

You’re pulled out of your daydream by a clink of glass when your sangria is placed down in front of you. Feeling slightly embarrassed at your lewd thoughts, your face flushes pink as you thank the bartender. You take a few sips of the cold, fruity, wine drink and let out a sweet sigh. It’s refreshing and helps cool you down in the hot club. You leisurely sip on your drink as you chat with your friends at the bar, occasionally falling into a fit of laughter from your growing buzz.

Your ears perk up when you hear the bass of your favorite song. Your heart races, and you grab one of your friends to pull them out onto the dancefloor with you. You sway your bodies to the beat, waving your arms over your heads, laughing, and smiling at how silly you’re being. The song switches, and now you’re jumping up and down in a crowd of people doing the same. Everyone’s energy is feeding off each other and you jump around with reckless abandon.

As the song continues, you pant heavily as sweat droplets disperse from your body at your rapid movements. You slow down as you feel your calves burning from all the jumping, and it becomes a sudden reminder that you need to exercise more often, because clearly you're out of shape. You finally stop jumping to catch your breath, and you bend over to rub your screaming muscles. You straighten yourself up and see your friends wave you over to where they’re sitting. 

You plop down in the booth with an exhaustive exhale and order another sangria to help you cool off. Your friends ordered some finger foods for everyone to pick at throughout the night and you dive into the greasiest and saltiest looking thing that was brought out. You start chatting with your friends, laughing hysterically at the jokes you make, leaning playfully on each other, and  enjoying their company. You dance a little more, drink and eat a little more, and chat a little more.

You check your chronometer and realize several hours have passed, and you think now is a good time to head out before you’re too tired to walk home. You let your friends know and begin scooting yourself towards the edge of the booth. As you straighten yourself up, something doesn’t feel right. Your left knee feels strange. You try to walk a little, but your knee won’t bend or straighten. It doesn’t hurt, but rather it feels as if something is stuck under your kneecap. 

You try to walk forward, but you end up limping. Your friends take notice and ask if you’re alright. You’re not sure how to answer them, but you know you can’t walk home like this. You hobble backwards and sink back down into the booth. Your face downtrodden at your awful luck. Your friends offer to call you a cab, but you're not sure what you want to do. You debate whether or not to comm Kix, but knowing your medic boyfriend, he would be furious if you didn’t try to reach him.

Regret washes over you when he answers in that groggy, sleepy voice he gets after waking up in the morning, but he brushes away your apologies. You explain the situation to him and he asks a few simple questions. He doesn’t sound worried, but you can tell the wheels aren’t completely turning in his head yet. He directs you to stay put and says he’ll come get you. You smile and exchange ‘I love yous’ before ending the call. You sigh in relief and await his arrival.

It doesn’t take long for Kix to appear on scene. You see him come through the entrance, in full gear no less, and you wave him over. He has a stern look on his face and walks deliberately, quickly closing the distance between the two of you. You barely let out a small greeting before he slides his hands around your back and legs and lifts you up into his arms. You’re taken aback by the sudden and silent gesture and instinctively wrap your hands around his neck to hang on.

“Kix,” you chuckle playfully as he walks toward the exit of the club. “What are you doing?”

“I’m taking you to the GAR clinic,” he answers without moving his eyes to meet yours. His fierce gaze is locked on its heading. 

“It’s 23:00 hours,” you remind him as you wave goodbye to your friends. “They’re closed.”

“Nothing is closed if you have a key,” Kix retorts, a smirk flashes across his face, but is gone as quickly as it came. He raises his foot to push the club door open and his armor-covered thigh glides across your bottom. You inhale sharply at the swift movement, but Kix doesn’t notice as he carefully maneuvers you both through the opening before it swings shut.

“Don’t you think that’s a little excessive?” you question in a stutter as your face flushes. He doesn't answer. “It’s twelve blocks away!” you try to convince him of the absurdity of him carrying you for such a distance, but he still doesn’t answer or waver from his course. 

His face is trained forward, focused solely on his mission and nothing else. You know that look, that gaze. The one he gets when he automatically falls into combat mode. His expression becomes serious and determined. It’s like a switch, and his ability to flick it on and off amazes you every time. It doesn’t matter the situation, when his training kicks in he becomes unstoppable and immovable, and it’s one of the qualities you admire most about him.

As Kix walks down the street towards the GAR clinic, a cool breeze blows through and hits your sweaty skin sending a shiver through your body. Kix notices you shudder and grips you tighter against his chest to keep you warm, cursing under his breath that he didn’t bring you something better to wear. In his groggy haze after your comm, he forgot you wore a dress tonight and left the apartment with just his gear and blaster, as if this situation even called for a blaster.

He gives you an apologetic kiss on the forehead and continues your journey towards the GAR clinic. The walk is mostly silent, with just the serenade of rhythmic crickets filling in the void. You want to say something, maybe tell him to take a break, but he would never listen. You wonder how his arms haven't fallen off yet at carrying you for such a distance. He doesn’t even sound winded. You start to feel bad about the situation and doubt creeps into your mind.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper while burrowing your face into his neck, a small tear escaping your eye and dissipating into the black fabric of his body suit.

Kix stops walking, tosses you up a little to readjust your position in his arms and continues walking. You thought he was going to say something, but he didn’t. You wonder if he’s mad at you and the destructive thoughts begin swirling endlessly in your mind. All of sudden, you’re second guessing everything about your relationship with Kix. What if you’re too much for him? What if he’s getting tired of you? What if he wants a less accident prone girlfriend?

Before your thoughts could spiral any further out of control, Kix speaks up. “I’ve carried heavier for longer distances,” he reassures. “This is nothing.” He pulls your torso up a little higher and nuzzles your face softly with his cheek before bringing you back down to the comfortable carrying position. You breathe a sigh of relief and rest your head once again on his shoulder, letting the warmth and calmness of his body relax and comfort you. 

Not long after the short exchange, Kix stops walking again, but this time it’s because you’ve finally made it to the GAR clinic. You look up at the familiar sight, where the two you first met, and smile briefly at the memory. The clinic is dark, which is what you would expect at this late hour. Kix shifts your weight so he can grab his clinic access card from his pouch and swipes it. The door whooshes open and the lights automatically turn on as you enter the lobby.

Kix swipes his access card again to gain entrance to the secured medical facility, and instead of carrying you to one of the exam rooms, he brings you straight back to the x-ray room. You still think the whole thing is overkill, but you trust that he knows best. He carefully sets you down on a chair, kisses your cheek, and maneuvers the x-ray machine and your knee to get the pictures he needs. His biggest worries are a tear, fracture, or dislocation and he won’t feel satisfied until he knows for sure.

You sit still for him while he takes the x-rays, scrunching your face periodically at the stiffness and aching you feel in your kneecap. It’s becoming more and more uncomfortable the longer you sit with it bent at this angle, but this is where Kix wants it, so you stay put. You turn your head and look through the window of the tech room and watch as he works. He’s completely focused and engrossed in what he’s doing as he flicks switches and taps on the data-pad. 

You continue to watch as he projects the holo x-ray and puts his hands on his hips as he studies it. You’re starting to feel nervous about the outcome and wonder how badly you injured your knee. Your breath quickens and you let out a small grunt at the pain in your knee. You lean over to rub it and glance back through the window at Kix. He switches off the holo-projection and turns around to look at you with a small smile. You really hope that’s a good sign.

Kix makes his way back to where you’re sitting and gets on one knee in front of you. Without saying a word, he lifts your injured leg gently, fully extends it, then fully bends it, focusing carefully on the movement and your expressions. He rotates your leg to the right, then to the left, presumably to check your mobility. It didn’t particularly hurt when he moved it, but it didn’t feel great either. He then takes his thumb and presses it just below your kneecap.

“Ouch!” you cry with a sharp inhale and recoil your leg from his touch.

“Bingo,” Kix states as he gets up from the floor. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you ask while rubbing your knee, slightly offended at his painful test.

“Patellar tendinitis,” Kix answers with a relieved smile.

“Galactic standard, please?” you question, unsure of the medical terminology.

Kix chuckles and gives you a kiss on the cheek. “It means the tendon that connects your kneecap to your shin bone is swollen. It’s an easy fix with some anti-inflammatories, an icepack, and rest.”

“How did I do that?” you wonder aloud. All you wanted to do was have a fun night out with your girlfriends and here you are sitting in a clinic with a knee injury.

“Were you jumping?” Kix inquires while crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall behind him.

You purse your lips, almost embarrassed to answer him. “Maybe, a little.”

Kix raises an eyebrow at your sheepish answer. He always knows when you’re lying. It’s one of his unfortunate special powers.

“Okay, maybe a lot,” you answer while looking down, not wanting to meet his piercing gaze.

Kix sighs and shakes his head. “You shouldn’t be jumping like that when you have a previous knee injury.”

“But, I just wanted to have fun!” you protest as your emotions flow through your words unabated. “I just want to dance and have a good time like every other girl gets to do.” 

Kix frowns, pushes himself off the wall, and sits next to you on the x-ray table. He slides a strong arm around your back to pull you against his side and leans his head atop yours. He takes your hand, brings it to his lips, and kisses the back of it. “I know, cyare,” he soothes in a low rumble. “I know.”

You close your eyes and lean into his touch, feeling defeated and betrayed by your own body. The previous knee injury wasn’t even your fault, and it happened so long ago, you didn’t even think about it while you were out with your friends. It’s funny how quickly your body reminds you of how truly broken it really is. You wish your body could do what everyone else’s can but this blatant reminder fills your heart with a type of grief that will never leave and your eyes well with tears.

Kix is quick to notice and wipes them away before they get a chance to fall from your flushed face. He knows you try. He knows you want to have fun. He knows you want nothing more than to be normal. And he knows how much it hurts you when you can’t, but there’s nothing he can do about it. You stay in each other’s embrace for several more minutes, silently exchanging invisible words of hurt and comfort, with light sniffles and soft kisses being the only sounds heard. 

Kix pays close attention to your body language, waiting for when you're ready, and not a moment too soon. He feels your heartbeat slow, your breathing moderate, and your body finally relaxing into his. “Do you want to go home?” he asks.

You take a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Yeah, I think I’m ready.”

Kix kisses the top of your head and stands up. He stretches out his hand and you grab it to help hoist yourself up to stand on the floor. You wince at the discomfort in your knee and limp forward a step. Kix puts his other hand on your back to steady you, and you breathe out a small thanks before continuing to limp forward. Unsatisfied with your struggling, Kix bends over to wrap one arm around your legs and the other around your back, cradling you into his arms like before.   

You sigh and roll your eyes at his selfless, albeit reckless, gesture. “You can’t carry me all the way home too. That’s even farther!”

Kix smirks at your challenge. “Watch me.”

The journey home is much more light-hearted than the walk to the GAR clinic. You can tell Kix is relaxing as he steps down from medic-mode and steps into boyfriend-mode. He asks you more questions about your night out with your friends and you regale him with exaggerated tales of your womanly wiles. You both laugh at your wild stories and he tells you a couple funny ones from his time on deployment. 

It must be quite the sight at 02:00 hours, two people laughing hysterically while strolling down the street, one carrying the other. People probably think you’re drunk, but neither of you care about their opinions. You're finally getting a chance to be together after being separated for such a long time. It doesn’t matter the circumstance, just the closeness, the fondness, and the affection are what you need. His gentle touch, his strong heartbeat, his deep voice, it’s all that matters to you.

Kix rounds the corner of the street your apartment is on and you hear him huff. The long distance and exhaustion is finally getting to him, but he is determined to finish strong. He shifts your weight in his arms to get a better grip and you smile at his tenacity, rewarding his efforts with a sweet kiss on his cheek. He makes the final stretch and pulls out your apartment key card, swiping it to open the door to your home. 

He carries you through the doorway, past the kitchen, and into the bedroom, laying you gently on the bed, before flopping backward onto it himself with a heavy sigh of relief. You roll onto your side to face him and prop your head up on your elbow. “Are you okay?” You chuckle as you run your other hand over the stubble of his shaved head.

“I just need a minute,” Kix breathes, his chest rising and falling rapidly from the exertion. “And a shower.”

“I could use one too,” you realize after thinking about your night out before you injured yourself. There’s no way you can go to sleep with all that ick covering your body, but you wonder how well you can shower yourself with your knee hurting so badly. You imagine all the ways you can brace yourself to wash your hair and how hopping on one foot works in a slippery bathtub.

“We can take one together,” Kix suggests as if he’s reading your mind. He turns his head to look at you, waiting for your answer.

You raise an eyebrow in response. It’s not that you don’t want to, in fact, you’d love to, but not now, not like this. This isn’t the time for that. You're in pain and you don’t want to play around. You just want a shower, and only a shower, nothing else.

“What?” he asks, feigning feelings of hurt that you think he would take advantage of you in your injured state. “I need a shower, you need a shower, and you obviously can’t do it on your own.”

You purse your lips and narrow your eyes at his assessment, feeling offended that he would say something like that, even though it was the same conclusion you came to only moments earlier. You think about it a little more, and you hate to admit it, but it does make sense. You're both exhausted and disgusting, so a shower must be taken at some point. You sigh in defeat and begrudgingly agree to shower together, but you stipulate no funny business.

Kix agrees to your terms and conditions without hesitation, because, honestly, he doesn’t want to do anything either, but it’s more fun if you think he does. He loves to see that flustered look on your face and watch as you get defensive and straightforward with him. He smirks at your empty threats as you rattle off all the things you would do if he crosses even one line, and he laughs at your playful smacks on his arm when he tosses out a lewd joke. 

“Kix,” you stretch the pronunciation of his name out to show your annoyance. 

“Alright,” he concedes while still laughing. “Are we doing this or what?”

“Yes,” you answer with a sigh. “We’re doing this.”

Kix smiles and heaves himself up from the bed with a grunt. 

“You sound like an old man,” you jest with a snort and start to giggle.

Kix turns around and furrows his brows. “If you weren’t injured, I’d–”

“You’d what?” you quickly cut him off, daring him to answer.

He takes a deep breath and lets his thoughts dissipate. “Never mind.” You both laugh at yourselves, obviously too tired to think straight. “Come on,” he beckons. “Shower time.” 

Kix starts by removing his armor piece by piece and neatly piling it in the closet. He then peels his sweaty blacks off and tosses them towards the laundry hamper, but they land hanging halfway out. He shrugs at them and leaves the room to turn the shower on. You then slip your dress over your head and also toss it towards the hamper, but you sigh at your terrible aim as the hamper topples over. You shrug at the mess and decide to worry about when you have more energy.

Kix comes back to get you, and frowns as he watches you rub your knee. He knows it’s going to hurt for a while and he wishes he could do something to alleviate your pain besides medicine and ice. He walks over to the edge of the bed and kneels down in front of you. You raise an eyebrow, wondering what he’s going to do, but you give him the benefit of the doubt. He slides his hand along the outside of your shin, snakes his fingers under your knee, lifts it to his face, and kisses it tenderly.

“I’ve heard kisses make boo-boos better,” Kix whispers against your knee, his hot breath giving you goosebumps. He recoils apologetically at your body’s reaction. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to do that.”

“It’s fine,” you assure him with a soft chuckle and a sincere smile. What he did was a sweet gesture and you had no qualms with it. You wish his kisses had the magical power to take all your pain away, and sometimes it feels like they can, but there are some things that kisses cannot fix. However, you play along and feed into his heartfelt attempt. “My knee already feels better.”

Kix smiles knowingly, gets up from the floor, and comes alongside you. He reaches one arm around your back to support you, and grabs your hand with his free one. You brace yourself against his strong hold and pull yourself up from the bed. You hobble forward a little, trying not to put pressure on the injured knee, and Kix steadies you. You lean against his toned body and limp toward the refresher, wincing at the discomfort. 

Once in the refresher, you toss your undergarments aside and Kix picks you up to lift you over the raised side of the tub and places you down into the warm spray. You grab the small railing on the side to steady yourself, and give Kix a nod to let him know he can let go. He slowly takes his hands off you, making sure to watch if you falter. As he sees you holding yourself up, he gets into the shower and joins you under the hot water.

Kix places his hands on your hips and pulls you back against his bare chest. “Lean on me, sweetheart,” he whispers in your ear. 

You don’t hesitate to take him up on his offer as you release the railing and let his strong arms hold you up. You’ve built up enough trust with him that you’re not afraid for a single moment whether he’ll drop you. You know that when you’re in Kix’s arms, there’s nothing that can touch you, there’s nothing that can hurt you, and there isn’t a force in the galaxy that can pry you away from him. There’s no fear when you’re with Kix. Some call it possession, but you call it safe. 

You let the hot water roll over your face, your hair, and down your body for several minutes before grabbing your shampoo bottle. You squeeze a little onto your palm and lather it up in your hair. Kix leans his head back to keep it from getting in his eyes and you giggle as he blows away the bubbles forming in your hair. You rinse the shampoo out of your hair, add some conditioner, then grab your body wash and loofah. 

It’s a little awkward, the two of you tangled up as you try to wash the dirt off your body, but he tries to maneuver you into different positions to reach different spots. At one point, he was holding you with one hand and scrubbing you gently with the other. You wonder how he does it. How he could be so strong and unyielding in the field, yet so gentle with you. He holds you like a fragile piece of glass even though he could crush you with a single flex of his muscles. 

You finish cleaning all the nooks and crannies of your body and rinse out the conditioner from your hair. Now, it’s Kix’s turn to get the water he’s been waiting so patiently for. He moves you both forward, so you're past the shower’s spray and he’s directly under it, pressing one hand against the back of the shower for you to lean against. He groans with pleasure under the water’s cascading heat and the vibration echoing from his chest sends a shiver down your body.

Kix notices you shivering, and makes quick work of cleaning himself up, thinking your cold from being outside the water’s warmth. He switches hands for you to lean against so he can clean everywhere he needs to, and rinses the soap off his skin just as fast. You feel bad that he didn’t get to spend more time under the water, but he reassures you that as a soldier he’s used to quick showers and this was more than enough for him to feel satisfied. 

Kix turns the water off, leans out to pull a towel off the rack, and wraps it loosely around your damp skin. He tussles the towel to help you dry off and you start giggling. He smiles at the happy little sounds you’re making and gives you a chaste kiss on the nose. Once satisfied that you’re not shivering anymore, he gets out of the tub, picks you up to lift you over the side, and gently places you back onto the ground. 

He makes sure you're steady, then grabs another towel from the rack, pats himself off, and wraps it around his waist in a few short movements. It’s so quick that if you blink you’ll miss it, but that’s him, quick and efficient. He positions himself beside you to help guide you back to the bedroom, limping slightly along the way. As you approach the bed, Kix picks you up princess style once again and gently lays you down onto your side of the bed. 

He rummages through the dresser, grabbing you some clean pajamas and a pair of boxers for himself. You both dress yourself for bed, and you take the towel wrapped around your body and work on drying your hair to an acceptable amount to go to sleep. You don’t have the energy to blow dry it at this point, but you also don’t want to sleep on a sopping wet pillow. As you work on your hair, your stomach starts growling and you realize it’s been hours since you had any food.

“Is it too late to eat?” you ask an already half-asleep Kix laying next to you.

He opens one eye to look at the chronometer on the bedside table and mumbles into his pillow. “It’s basically breakfast time, so why not.”

“I bought a frozen pizza last week,” you mention while tracing small circles on his back to coax him awake. “You could pop it in the oven real quick.”

Kix groans in protest, but his stomach betrays him and growls at the mention of food. He sighs in defeat, gets up, and rubs his eyes. It’s been a very long night for the two of you and dawn is already fast approaching. Luckily, neither of you have plans for the day so sleeping past noon is the only logical course of action. On his way to the kitchen he remembers to grab the anti-inflammatory medicine and an ice-pack for your knee, the two things he wasn’t supposed to forget. 

He puts the pizza in the oven and brings you the medicine and a cup of water to wash it down. You gladly take it as the pain in your knee started bothering you again after the shower made it feel slightly better. Kix smiles lazily at you, the exhaustion clear on his face, and you feel bad for making him stay up so late for you. He takes the cup of water back and places the towel-covered ice pack on your knee, timing fifteen minutes for when you need to remove it.

Kix, being the ever-doting man he is, decides to do one more thing to help make you feel better. He steps back into the kitchen and puts the kettle on. If there’s one thing he knows you enjoy, it’s a hot cup of tea. For some reason, tea fixes everything. Bad day? Tea. Period? Tea. Sad? Tea. Injured? Well, according to the track record, tea will work for that too. He sifts through your tea cabinet and pulls out your favorite blend and mug, and steeps you a steaming cup. 

The pizza timer dings and Kix pulls it out of the oven, slices it, and brings the whole thing into the bedroom, along with some napkins, and the tea he brewed for you. You smile when he comes into the room and you're even more happy to see your favorite mug in his hand. He sets the mug down on your bedside table and places the pizza in the middle of the bed, before walking back around and settling onto his side of the bed. 

You take a sip of the tea and lean your head back against the headboard in simple bliss, sighing softly. Kix smiles at your peace and downs a slice of pizza. You grab a slice as well, and pick up the remote to start one of your favorite princess holos. You're feeling extra sappy tonight and in need of something comforting. You already have your prince charming, but you still love the nostalgia of watching the maiden fall in love with the prince and being swept away into a happily ever after. 

Once the pizza has been demolished, Kix removes the pan from the bed and tosses it onto the floor. He slides across the sheets to close the gap between you and wraps an arm around you to pull you close. You lean into his loving embrace and nestle your head against his chest, laying an arm across his stomach. He kisses the top of your head and you close your eyes, listening to his strong heartbeat and his soft breathing as they soothe and lull you softly to sleep. 

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A03

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