#commander mayday fic

[cyarikasmoon]

Credits

Commander Mayday x reader

Summary: Your favourite bearded commander pays you a visit.

Pairing: Commander Mayday x sex worker f!reader

Word Count: 1,522

Warnings: smut, eating out, oral (f receiving), vaginal fingering, PinV sex, unprotected sex, reader is a sex worker, sex worker positivity, overstimulation (if you squint)

Divider by: @saradika

A/N: So I was trying @ atsnauweek on twitter’s ‘Build Your Own NSFW Prompt’ and ended up with the results of sex worker au, overstimulation, and “you’re doing so good for me” and then someone said Mayday so HERE WE ARE. I actually really like this piece I love Mayday so much what a beautify clone 🥹 anyways enjoy!! x

You let out the breath you had been holding. Your fingers clutch onto dark long strands of hair. Usually they’re pushed off his face but now they're a tangled mess, falling across his face. Stray hairs cling to his forehead with the thin sheen of sweat that has built up on his brow. His hair damp. His beard soaked. The thick coarse hair rubs against your inner thighs, building up into a sweet burn against your soft flesh.

His tongue laps against you, licking up your arousal before he pushes his tongue into you. You gasp out low and shuddery, chest rising and falling quickly. Your grip on his hair tightens as you roll your hips against his mouth.

“May…” You whisper, eyes closing, unable to focus.

His left hand tightens his grip on your hip, fingers digging in ever so slightly. His right hand slowly moves across your skin from your thigh towards your pussy. You open your eyes at the pressure of his touch and glance down, your bottom lip between your teeth, attempting to hold back your whimpers.

“Come now, Mesh’la, don’t hide those noises from me.” He coos softly, voice deep and rough as he pulls away from your cunt for a moment.

“I’m meant to be making you feel good. It’s why you pay me isn't it?” You whisper, eyes darting away for a moment.

The pressure of his fingers return and you look at him again.

“This does make me feel good.” He states simply, brown eyes staring into yours. “Nothing brings me greater joy, Mesh’la.”

“Well, it’s your credits.” You mutter.

He stares up at you then, eyes hardening. You feel yourself freeze under that stare. His usual warm gaze now makes a shiver run through you. He pulls you down by your hip, causing you to yelp at how he manhandles you. Now underneath him, you look up with wide eyes to see how he towers above.

He radiates power, the energy around him is that of a commander. This was the commander you didn’t get to see, the one on the frontlines.

“It may be my credits.” He says low and steady and you feel as if you can’t breathe. “But I would choose you in any life. In any situation.”

His hand moved again, his fingers brushing against your folds and you shiver. Your pussy clenching around nothing in obvious want as his fingers tease you.

“Do not diminish yourself like that.” He murmurs as he leans close and you can see the hairs of his beard near his mouth are still wet with your arousal.

You nod simply, lips glancing back down to him and you whine as you feel a digit push into you.

“Mayday…” You whisper softly, hands reaching up to wrap around his neck.

“I don’t want to hear you speaking like that again.” He leans close to you, slowly pumping his finger in and out of you at a cruel pace.

You nod your head quickly, hips moving to try and make him move faster. His hand leaves your hip and grips your chin, finger and thumb holding your face steady so he can look at you.

“I don’t get much time with you. If I could buy all of the time in the world I would. I’d sell my soul for a lifetime with you.” He declares in a quiet voice, lips inching closer.

You gaze up at him, completely at his mercy. God you want him. You need him. He was different then all of the others. He cared for you. He took the time to make you feel good. You wanted to believe he loved-

You gasp and close your eyes as the second finger is pushed into you and you whimper softly.

“I don’t want your short time to be you doubting yourself.” He’s so close now.

You nod again and your fingers are back in his hair and pulling him close so you can kiss him again. You feel how he smiles against your lips as he kisses you back slow and sweet. Pulling away slightly you feel his breath against your lips.

“You’re doing so good for me.” He opens his eyes to look at you. “Now will you let me make you feel good as it brings me the greatest joy?”

You can only nod, your voice having left you. You’re completely at his mercy and you kiss him once more before he pulls away with a chuckle.

“Ori’jate…” He whispers and you scramble back up to rest against the pillows as he moves between your spread legs and smirks at the mess you’ve been making since taking his fingers.

“Pretty girl…” He murmurs and brings his mouth to your cunt once again and you can’t help but moan loudly now.

“Mayday…” His name is a prayer on your lips.

Your hips rock against his mouth as he eats you out, fingers buried deep inside you and curling up. You whimper and fist the sheets as you arch your back. You were so close already. The way his thick long fingers found that spot inside of you, his lips sucking your clit, your back arching, toes curling. It was all building up so quickly.

No one ever made you feel good. He did. Mayday always did. You continue to say his name, he hums between your legs. His beard brushes against your skin and the sensation is so familiar and right.

“May, I’m close, I’m-”

“Cum for me, Mesh’la.” His voice gruff as he released you for a moment, fingers buried deep still.

His mouth returns to your and he presses his tongue against your clit as he curls his fingers just right. You cry out, legs shaking and he forces them to stay open so they don’t clench around his head as he stays buried there. He sucks and licks up your release, humming in satisfaction as the commander makes you fall apart.

When pleasure slowly morphs into overstimulation you whine softly and he moves back, beard shining with your arousal and you laugh breathlessly.

“Oh stars…” you laugh, hiding behind your hands and he presses a kiss to your inner thigh.

“No hiding from me now.” He croons softly, pulling you back down and you grin up at him.

“Never.” You murmur back and laugh as he goes to kiss you. “You’re washing your face before you kiss me with that mouth!”

Only with him could you make a request like that. Others would tell you to shut up. Others would see it as a joke. Would just carry on because they were paying you. But not Mayday.

He chuckles and gets up, still in his blacks and he disappears into the fresher. You lay there for a moment, catching your breath. Enjoying the feeling of your body feeling boneless and the afterglow of how he made you cum.

When he returns he’s stripped down, and you see how hard his cock is and you prop yourself up on your elbows with a grin.

“Does this mean I get to make you feel good now?” You turn over, raising your ass in the air as you arch your back, showing off your wet cunt to him.

You grin as he rolls his eyes with a huff but his hands grab and kneed your flesh before he’s on top of you, pressing kisses along your back.

“You’re impossible, Mesh’la.” He sighs with a fond shake of his head, pressing a kiss to your spine.

“I’ve learnt that word now.” You murmur, eyes closing in bliss at the soft touches.

“And I speak the truth everytime I call you it.” He whispers against your skin and you feel his hard cock pressing against you.

“Tell me something else.” You whisper, grabbing onto the sheets as you clench around nothing again, desperate for him. “Something that’s worth more than credits.”

He pauses for a moment, as if to think and then you hear the soft hum of contentment as he knows what to say. He presses gently kisses up to your neck, long and sweet. Then he finally, finally sinks into you and you whimper at the feeling of finally being full to the brim of him.

“Ni kar’tayli gar darasuum.” He whispers against your neck, right arm wrapping around your torso to pull you close, hand cupping your breast. His left hand on your hip, holding tight.

You want to ask what this means but your words are choked off with a moan as he shifts and begins to rock deep into you. You didn’t have all the time in the world. You didn’t know when he’d next have all the credits to come and see you. But you would enjoy this while you could.

So your eyes close in bliss as you moan and cry out as Mayday kisses your skin and drives his cock deeper into you, hoping he leaves marks so you can remember and pretend it’s him when you’re stuck with other clients.

To pretend and believe it’s him until he returns to see you again.

Mando’a Meanings:

Mesh’la - beautiful

Ori’jate - very good

Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum - I love you

[moxie-girl]

still workshopping some of these a bit, but here's the current mando'a name chart for the CCs (plus rex!)

green words are ones I took directly from the mando'a dictionary, yellow words are technically non-canon but are basically real words, orange are words I made up that could probably be real words, and red ones are the ones I just mashed words together and they don't always make the most sense

I'm taking constructive criticism on some of these names! If you have a better mando'a name for a character (esp. one w a red name) I'd be happy to hear it!

edit: other name lists can be found here: 501st 212th !!

[imabeautifulbutterfly]

Alright I’m back for one more…

May I suggest 11 and 38 with our hubband Mayday?

@coffeeandbatboys I hope you like this one too, love.

Love oo.

Warmth

Warnings: Freezing, falling into a pond, nearly freezing to death, near death, fluff, kissing, comfort, cold, I think that's it. Let me know if I miss anything.

Main Master List   |  Star Wars Fic Roulette

The snow wasn’t letting up, each step you took only got heavier. You were cold, your body frozen from falling through the ice, who could’ve known there was a pond under all the snow. Thankfully, it wasn’t deep enough to prevent you from getting out, but you did lose your rations. Your hands felt as though they were going to fall off, you kept them hidden under your armpits, hoping they’d warm up a little, but it seemed to only make your armpits cold. 

It was just another ten kilometres, you already walked an hour in this weather, soaking wet. At least, when you fell in, you had practically finished your patrol. 

And as much as you didn’t mind Barton IV, at this current point in time, you wanted to be warm in your quarters, with Mayday’s arms around you. Holding you close, as he whispered sweet promises in your ear. 

Keeping those thoughts going in your mind, was the drive you needed to keep going. 

It was almost two hours later, when you saw the outline of the base. You let out a sigh of relief, as your steps faltered on the hard concrete surface. You kept moving, but now your feet somehow felt even heavier. 

There was a blurry image of someone running towards you, someone shouted your name, it sounded so close and so far, you couldn’t even move anymore. Your knees crumpled under you as you fell to the ground. 

Mayday rushed over to you, as soon as he saw you trudging towards the entrance he took off on a full run to get to you. Before you even hit the ground he wrapped his arms around your back and knees carrying you in his arms inside. He took you to the medics as soon as he could. 

He sat beside your bed, his knee bouncing as he held your hand, pressing it to his lips, hoping the warmth from his breath would provide you comfort. 

Your eyes slowly opened, you turned your head to look at the person holding your hand, smiling as you saw Mayday sitting beside you. 

“Hey…” you whispered softly, unable to talk louder.

His eyes flung open to look at you, he let out a choked sigh, without a thought, he shifted from his seat, sitting beside you on the bed looking into your eyes. “Oh thank the force!” He pressed his forehead against yours, “Maker! Cyare, you had me worried.”

“I’m sorry…”

“It’s okay. What happened?”

“I was running away from some raiders, and … the ice broke. I fell into a pond…”

“You ran? Did you think they were gonna kill you?”

“Thought had crossed my mind” you offer a small smile, although your eyes were barely staying open.

“I want you to know something, cyare, the only one who gets to kill you is me. Trust me, when I say I will make good on promise if you don’t comm when you’re in trouble.”

“I tried, but the cold killed it.”

“Doesn’t matter. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir.” You chuckled, as you slowly opened your eyes and looked into his eyes, smiling. “You know I didn’t do it on purpose.”

“I know. And that’s the only reason, I’m not yelling at you, or saying ‘You dumbass. Don’t do that. Ever again.’ Understood? This is your one and only near death experience you’re allowed to have.”

“Okay, sweetie. I understand.”

Mayday pressed his lips against yours, needing to remind himself you were there, you were alive and you were safe now. Maker, how he hated the Empire, he hated how they didn’t care about anyone. Even if they wanted to shun him and his brothers, they should at least take care of you. 

He lifted you with his arms as he wrapped them around you, hugging you close to his body. He never wanted to think about losing you again. Hopefully, with the new Lieutenant that was to be arriving in a few days, things would get better. At least, he hoped you’d all get some new equipment and supplies. 

Main Master List   |  Star Wars Fic Roulette

Tag list:

@liadamerondjarin @badbatch-simp24@spicymcnuggies@lady-ren @firstofficerwiggles @darkangel4121 @discofern @kavecika @monako-jinn-stories @ladykatakuri @avathebestx @theroguesully @furyhellfire66 @carodealmeida @ciramaris @sprout-fics @twinkofthedink @dindjarin-mandalorian @ulchabhangorm @littlemisspascal @tortor-mcgee @vodika-vibes @clonethirstingisreal

[vodika-vibes]

Hello Vodika. I know you have a lot of requests, but maybe a Mayday x Reader? (soulmate au?) >//<

One More Kiss

Summary: Her name has been part of him since his decant day, written on his collarbone in looping cursive in teal ink. On days when training was awful, he would trace her name and imagine what it would be like to meet her. When the war ends, Mayday finally meets her. And it’s love at first sight.

Pairing: Commander Mayday x F!Reader

Word Count: 1379

Prompt: Soulmate AU - Soulmates names are written on their body

Warnings: Tooth rotting fluff, reader is described as wearing glasses and having hair

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: Hihi! I hope you like this one! I wanted soft and sweet and adorable, to get away from the sadder Soulmates AUs that I've written recently.

Mayday lays in bed, his arm tucked under his head as he hovers somewhere between awake and asleep. Really, he should get up. There are a lot of things that need to be done around the house, and working would be better than lounging in bed.

He turns his head as he hears a low sigh from the bed next to him, and a small smile crosses his lips when he sees that she’s still asleep.

His cyare.

His soulmate.

Carefully, to not wake her, he rolls onto his side to watch her sleep. 

His cyare is a musician.

Well, that’s something of an understatement.

She’s a pop star. One of the more popular musical artists in the Core. Popular with kids, teenagers, and young adults mostly.

She works so hard. She has diets, and personal trainers, and voice coaches. Not to mention her manager, agent, and a team of lawyers that circle her like a pack of particularly protective sharks.

She had a concert last night and they didn’t return home until late. It took almost an hour for Mayday to pull all of the pins out of her hair and pull it out of the intricate style it had been pulled into the night before.

She stirs and rolls to bury her face into her pillow.

Mayday smothers a laugh, she still has glitter on her face. Odds are, they’ll be finding glitter all over their home for the next week.

His gaze lingers on her face for a moment, his fond smile widening as he admires her. Mayday reaches out and brushes a strand of hair off the side of her neck, revealing his name, written in neat print, just under her ear.

His fingers graze his name, and she shivers and tries her best to curl into his chest as if hiding from the morning sun.

Slowly, she stirs from her deep slumber and blinks up at him, blearily. “Mmm…May?”

“Good morning, cyare.” He murmurs, “Did I wake you?”

She hums and buries herself against him, her arms draping clumsily around him, “I don’t think so.” She finally murmurs, “I think I had a bad dream.”

“Oh?” His arms wrap securely around her, and with a careful tug, he rolls back onto his back and pulls her onto his chest, “Do you want to talk about it?”

She shifts so that her head is resting just under his chin, her hair smells like the chemicals that are used to style her hair, and Mayday makes a mental note to remind her to shower before breakfast.

“Dreamt that you got tired of my career,” She murmurs, pulling him from his thoughts, “That you left to find someone better.”

“Well, that’s silly,” He lightly taps her cheek with one finger, “How could I find someone better than the person who was made for me?”

Her lips curl up into a fond smile, “I know. But it was still a sad dream.”

“I bet it was,” Mayday slides his hand to the back of her neck, “Did you sleep well, other than that?”

“Mm. Was exhausted.”

“I know you were, you fell asleep when I was taking your hair down.” She ducks her head bashfully, “I don’t mind, cyare. I know how hard you’ve been working these last few months.”

“Last night was the last concert,” She murmurs, “Maybe we can take that vacation?”

Mayday’s fingers wander to his name one more time, and he traces the familiar handwriting, “A vacation?”

“Mm, I know you wanted to go to Pabu. Check on Crosshair.” She murmurs.

“You hate tropical places, cyare.” Mayday reminds her with an adoring smile.

“I might hate it less if I go with you.” She replies, shifting so that she’s sitting up and straddling him. “Besides, I like the beach. I just don’t like the humidity that comes with tropical places.”

Mayday hums thoughtfully, “I would love to see you lounging in a bathing suit.”

She makes a face, “How’s it any different from my normal concert outfits?”

“Well, because I don’t have to share you with thousands of people,” Mayday replies as he settles his hands on her hips. “And, my beautiful, perfect cyare. No one knows what you look like when you’re not wearing your wig and contacts, which means no one will harass you.”

“So, the perfect vacation.” She murmurs.

Mayday reaches over to the bedside table to grab his datapad, and he opens a browser, “Well, I’ll arrange a stay at one of the hotels. And order you some swimsuits.”

She laughs softly, “I can help, May.”

He drops the datapad onto the bed so he’s able to reach up and cup her face with his hands, “You, cyare, need to take a shower. You have glitter on your face. You do more than enough, let me do this.”

She smiles down at him as she rubs her cheek against his hand, “You don’t mind?”

“Not at all.” Mayday encourages her to lay back on his chest so he’s able to catch her lips with his own, “You do plenty.” He kisses her one more time, and then releases her, “Now, off you go. Shower time. I’ll be in the kitchen.”

She pouts dramatically, “You don’t want to join me in the shower?”

Mayday laughs, “I know you, cyar’ika. You basically cook yourself in the shower, and I like my skin uncooked.” His joke is rewarded with a bubbled laugh, “I’m going to make you breakfast, since you didn’t eat last night.”

“Mm, I am hungry.” She murmurs. Then she ducks her head and catches his lips in one more kiss before she slips out of bed and meanders over to the fresher.

Mayday watches her vanish into the bathroom but doesn’t get out of bed until he hears the sound of water running and notices steam escaping from the door that hadn’t been shut all the way.

He doesn’t bother pulling on a shirt as he heads into the kitchen. He flips the power button for the caf machine and adds water to his cyare’s electric kettle for her morning tea.

That done, he pulls eggs and precut veggies out of the fridge to start on the morning omelets.

By this point in their relationship, Mayday and his Cyare have a set post-concert schedule. The day after his cyare has a show, she’s allowed to sleep in as late as she wants. She gets to take as long of a shower as she wants while she uses the hot water to soothe her aching muscles from all of the dancing, and Mayday makes her normal post-concert breakfast, an omelet with onion and pepper, and one piece of toast.

It’s the only time she wants omelets, though Mayday would happily make her omelets every morning if she wanted.

He turns to the kitchen door as he hears light footsteps behind him, and an adoring smile crosses his face as he sees her enter the kitchen. Her soaking wet hair is pulled into a braid to dry, she’s wearing her normal glasses and has pulled on a tank top and some shorts to relax. She’s not wearing makeup and has even removed her nail polish.

His cyare looks nothing like she normally looks when she’s performing.

Of course, Mayday loves her regardless of what she looks like, but he isn’t ashamed of admitting that he prefers it when his cyare looks like this. It means that he gets all of her attention.

She smiles at him, “You’re staring.”

“You’re beautiful.” Mayday replies, “I can’t help it.”

She laughs softly, “Thank you.”

Mayday sets his spatula on the counter, and holds his hands out for her, “Come here, beautiful.” She walks over to him and he folds his arms around her while her arms drape around his neck. “I love you.”

A bright smile crosses her face, “I love you too.”

He leans in and bumps his forehead against hers, “One more kiss, cyar’ika. And then I’ll get back to cooking.”

And she giggles before she leans in and kisses him, slow and deep.

Mayday leans into her, deepening the kiss. He never expected that he would be allowed to find happiness.

He’s never been so happy to be wrong in his life.

[clownbloody]

Go and read the Fic for this piece instantly!!! It can be found here: Pro Memoria By @ledbytheunknown Drawn for @swprequels-big-bang :3

[corrieguards]

Home

Commander Mayday x reader Summary: Mayday gets rescued and reunited with his lover back on Coruscant, who brings him home and helps him get cleaned up. Word count: 1,7k C/W: sexually suggestive themes, but no explicit smut, slight angst, overall fluff. A/N: this man deserved so much more, so this is my way of making myself feel better about it. Also, thinking about a smuttier pt.2? Idk, let me know what you guys think <3

my masterlist

The last few months had been some of the roughest ones in his whole life, and that was saying a lot for a clone. 

He’d lived through a whole war, witnessing countless battles and gruesome deaths. But nothing quite compared to spending endless days on a freezing planet, watching his men, his brothers slowly die off one by one and being completely helpless in doing anything to stop it.

They had spent years fighting for the Republic. They had fought tooth and nail time and again, to save lives, to give the galaxy a chance at a better life, while having no real hope of actually living in said galaxy as recognized citizens. They had done their job, the job that nobody else wanted to do, and yet what did they get in return? 

Left stranded on some planet with no communications or supplies. Completely forgotten and tossed aside. Left to die.

But that was over, he had to keep reminding himself of that fact. He’d survived, and he should be thankful for that.

He’d come across a contact that helped clones who wanted out, right back at the beginning of the empire's start. At first he resisted using it, simply storing it away as a ‘just in case’. He’d held on for as long as he could, telling himself that he was a clone, this is what he was made for and he should be able to deal with it.

But with the death of Hexx and Veetch, the last of his men gone, he finally snapped.

Not even a few hours after he’d sent out the message, he’d been rescued and was in a ship on his way back to Coruscant. 

One of the first things they’d asked him was if he had any contacts, any people he could get in touch with for help. Your name instantly popped into his head. He'd hesitated but, what other option did he have? It's not like he had any other civvies to run too.

So he gave them your comm number, one he could recite by heart, and hoped upon hope that you hadn’t changed it since he’d last seen you all those months ago.

—-

You recognised him instantly. It was like the world stopped, your ears ringing and eyes blurring with tears. Despite his overgrown hair and beard, you would recognise your favourite commander anywhere.

When you first got the comm you had to pinch yourself to make sure you weren't dreaming. Mayday, your sweet handsome Mayday was alive, and back here on Coruscant. 

The comm was quick, hurried, secretive. It was directing you to some place in the lower levels, so naturally your second thought was to think this whole ordeal was a little too sketchy for your liking.

But the possibility of bringing Mayday home won you over the fear. And kriff we're you glad it did.

He was sitting on a crate, quietly sipping from the steaming mug held between his hands. It was really him. He was right there.

“Mayday?”

Immediately his head shot up, eyes searching frantically, the mug being dropped carelessly on the floor when he finally spotted you.

He was already running towards you when you rushed to meet him, his body slamming into you so hard you had to take a couple steps back to avoid falling over. You felt your throat burn as tears of relief ran down your cheeks. His smell, the same smell you had craved on countless lonely nights, was filling your senses as you clutched on to him for dear life.

His arms were squeezing you so hard you were finding it difficult to breathe, but you couldn't care less right now. The only thoughts running through your head were He’s safe. He’s back. He’s home.

Pressing you face into his chest you sobbed as he rocked you gently, pressing a watery kiss to your head and whispering into your hair “I thought I’d never see you again meshla”

You pulled back just enough to press your lips to his, him returning the kiss in earnest, brows furrowed and hand cupping the back of your head. You could taste the salty mix of both your tears. 

Finally pulling back you laid a hand on his cheek stroking his beard and smiling teasingly before letting out a soft giggle

“Well, this is new”

He chuckled, tilting his head and smiling sheepishly “Yeah.. Not my best look I know"

You hummed brushing a thumb over his cheekbone before standing up on your tippy toes and pressing a tender kiss where your thumb had been.

“Actually I kinda like it. It suits you” you admitted, smiling lovingly at him. He huffed out a laugh, ducking down to peck your lips again. Squeezing him one more time you finally separated, hand still firmly clasped in his as you dragged him towards your speeder.

“C’mon trooper, let’s get you home."

—-

He looked extremely out of place in your cosy apartment, standing awkwardly in the middle of your living room. Everything had been happening so fast and he still hadn’t had a chance to clean himself or his armour and he was too scared to touch anything. 

“Hey” you spoke up softly when he still hadn’t settled down “What are you doing silly? Sit down. Make yourself comfortable. You know it’s as much your home as mine”

He hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck before his gaze flicked up to you nervously “Sorry I just don't want to get anything dirty. I’m- well I'm absolutely filthy” he chuckled nervously

Your eyes widened, mentally face palming yourself “Oh kriff I’m so sorry I completely forgot”

“It’s okay-” he started but you were already rushing over and dragging him down the hall way toward the bathroom.

He watched while you rushed about, opening the cupboard and carefully picking out the fluffiest towel, pushing it into his arms.

“Here, you can shower for as long as you want. Just chuck your armour and blacks outside the door and I’ll get them cleaned up for you, okay?”

You pressed a quick kiss to his nose, smiling and stroking his cheek softly before turning and heading out to give him some privacy. But he grabbed your wrist, stopping you and pulling you back around. You gave him a questioning look as he hesitated, glancing around nervously before speaking up.

“I um… I was actually hoping we could shower together?”

"Oh" your lips parted in surprise and he quickly let go of your wrist and hurriedly added

“Unless you don't want to. That’s fine too."

“No, no of course I do. I- I would love to actually” you immediately took a step back into the bathroom and he smiled, pulling you closer to give you a kiss on the forehead.

“Thank you" he whispered against your skin, his beard tickling you and making you giggle

“No need for thank yous Mayday"

"I know" he cups your cheek "But I want to" 

You turn your head slightly, pressing a kiss to his palm “Do you need some help with the armour?‘“

When he nodded in response you immediately set about carefully untying the many knots, eyebrows furrowing in concentration as you unravelled all the cloths surrounding his armour. He watched you carefully, loving eyes following your every move as you dumped the filthy wraps on the floor, kicking them outside the door.

Then you moved onto the armour plates, gently removing them with practised hands. You’d done this so many times before, it was comforting to do your little routine once again.

Mayday was thoroughly enjoying watching you as well. He had seen you do it countless times but it never got old. The concentration and gentle patience you exuded was something that filled him with the urge to pepper kisses all over you.

Gentle and methodical. Just like he remembered.

Putting everything in a neat pile when you finished, you turned and smiled when you saw him watching you.

“What?"

“Nothin’” he lazily lifted a single shoulder in a shrug "Just enjoying the view"

You shook your head affectionately "Smooth as ever I see"

"I try" he grinned. "The fact you're so beautiful helps a lot."

"Oh... I see someone's become quite the charmer while he was away" you tease making him scoff

"I've always been charming. I dunno what you're talkin' about"

Patting his chest gently you chuckled "How 'bout you stop teasing, get those blacks off and we can finally get you cleaned up?”

Smiling but complying, he slowly peeled them off as you started stripping your own clothes. He gave you a slow up and down, stupid smile on his face as he took in your bare body. Damn.

He let out a low whistle, making you scoff and raise an eyebrow at him playfully.

"You missed me that much, huh?"

"You have no idea" he groaned, pulling you into his chest. His hand splayed across the small of your back .

"Thought about you all the time. Especially on the extra lonely nights" he winked cheekily, making you laugh.

"Are you flirting with me, Commander? Or... are you just trying to get in my pants?"

He glanced down at your naked form before looking back up at your face "I'd say I've already got that one guarantied."

You rolled your eyes “Yeah yeah, whatever. There'll be plenty of time for that later”

He smirked, leaning in closer “Oh really?”

“Mhm” you teased him, hand slowly dragging up his chest

"I like the sound of that” he murmured, hand slowly dragging further down and giving your ass a light squeeze, making you giggle, his smile immediately widening at the sound.

"Kriff, you have no idea how much I missed that laugh." 

Blush spreading across your face, you took his hand in your own and dragged him into the shower.

“C'mon, we’re gonna get you cleaned up. Then-" you pointed a finger at him accusingly "and only then, we can have some more… fun”

He chuckled, pressing an adoring kiss to your hairline and purring against your skin “Yes, ma’am”

---

tag-list: @mirshebs-meshla @nekotaetae @softsunburstlove @lucyysthings

join my tag-list

[fandom-friday]

Hello friend Karrde!

I hope that all here have been well and prosperous, or at least not buried in snow like me. I have more offerings again for the rec list! I apologize because this is gonna be a whopper of a list too, totally understand if it doesn't make it in this week.

On the Art side of things:

@pinkiemme has been rocking our world with both Commanders Wolffe and Mayday... such scrumptiousness. But then I saw this panel of Captain Rex and... (crying).

@rexxdjarin again with the thick and healthy series latest Echo and Gregor... the study of muscular anatomy is so on point!

@sunshinesdaydream has given us the adorable duo of Hardcase and Sparks

@spicyclones79s has gifted us Omega & Hunter, Commander Wolffe, and a very sweet Foxio

@ladykagewaki always has my heart with the Bebe batch snuggles But also Ms. Fangirl has shared how to summon Echo (May contain spoilers!)

@cloned-eyes made me smile with Wrecker and his little friends but then sob when I saw Jenot.

Comic Recs!:

@paperback-rascal is back with mercy and co with an interesting neurologic finding on Major 40

Fic Recs!:

@pickleprickle 's Newest fic features an injured Mace Windu in the wake of the Empire's rise in Shattered Sunrise. When I say I binged the first two chapters... go read!

if anyone is in need of a Howzer Fic after @the-rain-on-kamino has just reposted their Exigency series. I didn't get a chance to read it the first time and am making my way through it now and let me tell ya... the love, the longing, the CAPTAIN! oh and the build up to the SMUT!

Hopefully I'll have the other comic pieces gathered together for next week and a few more recs. Till then happy reading!

This is one HECK of a list that's got a little something for every TCW/TBB fan out there! I love all of the artwork, and the fics are phenomenal!!!

(Quick correction: the art of Hardcase and Sparks was a commission done by @cloned-eyes)

As always, THANK YOU for taking the time to pull all these together!!

Participate in Fandom Friday to show your favorite creators from this week some love! :)

[oceansssblue]

hello hello friend, i have a writing request!

can i get a commander mayday x reader? something along the lines of reuniting after him surviving barton 4, just some fluffy fluff (and maybe a little angst sprinkled in if you feel its necessary hehe)

much love <3

Hey there! Interesting request, we don't see much of Mayday round here but I totally get the appeal!

Obviously some changes to the show, but all for us to enjoy ;)

Hope you like it!

Xx,

Sky.

"COLD WITHOUT YOU"

SW REQUESTS –MAYDAY/(GN)READER 📩💔💖

WARNINGS: FROSTBITE&INJURY, OTHERWISE FLUFF.

It is a cold day in Barton IV; and that is saying a lot, considering the ever present freezing air on the almost desolate planet currently ruled by the Galactic Empire. You are somewhat of a nomad, having left the troubles of your past life behind; living a mostly solitary life in the mountains. It isn't the most comfortable of lifes; but you appreciate the peace and quietness that blankets your little home cavern after so much pain and destruction.

You step inside your home, instantly feeling physically better. The cave you live in shields you perfectly from the howling wind; and once you lit up a small fire in your humble living room of sorts, the temperature rises slowly but steadily. Today has been one of those days where the cold seems to slip it's thin fingers inside your clothes; leaving them humid and sticking them to your skin.

You disrobe and change to an entirely new set of clothes. You're shaking while you do so; but soon you're dressed with a dry set and you sigh in relief, sitting down next to the fire and pulling your socks off, smiling at the warming heat inches away from your frozen toes. It feels like heaven, such a small thing.

You stay close to the fire for some minutes, warming up. Once the tingling sensation has reduced and your skin and muscles feels something akin to normal, you reach over to your vault and take a pack of rations out.

"Cheers, Mayday" you joke out loud, and take your first bite into it.

It's not your everyday dinner; not you're favourite. You're pretty self-dependant. You know how to hunt your food –wether it's edible plants and fruits, or a small or large mammals–. Birds are more difficult to catch –unless they're injured–; but you've definitively had them more than once too. Hell, you've even had lizards and other small reptiles for lunch. However, when the temperatures are extremely cold and you aren't as lucky as to find much of a prey, you always have Mayday's extra rations. That's actually how the two of you met; he was scanning the perimeter of his base, once, and you were inmerse on the hunt. He watched you kill a mountain cat; and made a comment about that being a good ammount of food for two. You had been shocked by his presence and his suggestion; but loneliness had started to pull on the strings of your heart back then, and you had nodded dumbly. That night you had shared your first dinner and the warmth of your bodies; and the rest was history.

In present time, you go to sleep with a tired but soft smile on your face.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Hours later, you wake up with shuffling steps and grunts right outside your cave. You instantly frown and grab your blade, standing up quietly and slithering towards the entrance in alert. It sounds human, so your first instint is to think of Mayday; but there's more than one set of wobbly steps, and he would never bring visitors unannounced. No, it's definitively a stranger.

You see him first. He's tall and skinny; you can see that even with his armour on. It's different than those you've seen before as well; almost black, and paiting a dark contrast against the white of the snow behind him. He's got a riffle attached to his back and a visor on his helmet; some sort of sniper. He's covered in snow, shaking visibly; his companion too, who has to be almost dragged inside in order to...

"M-mayday?" You stutter, freezing on the spot and lowering your blade, abandoning your agressive possition instantly.

"W-we're going to n-need some... help..." the stranger grunts, teeth clashing violently against each other, and you spring into action, quickly standing at your partner's other side and holding some of his weight.

The three of you stumble inside; and collapse near the fire.

You're frenetically checking him inmediately. You rip his helmet of; for once having no care where it lands while you cup his face trying to get his attention and then take his pulse when he barely responds. It's faint but it's there.

"What happened?" You question the stranger in pannick.

You quickly work on taking his armour off; piling it up fast and methodically at your side. You feel the stranger studying you, but you don't even glance at him. Mayday is all that matters now.

"Avalanche" he answers, voice raspy "he hit his head. The most worrying thing now is the frostbite, though. I'd take a look at his feet if I were you".

You nod in understanding.

You're both silent for the next handful of minutes; while you leave Mayday in just his underware before covering him with one thick blanket after another. You take up some heating packs of your vault too; breaking the sticks and pushing them under the blankets so he warms up even faster. You throw some other things at the stranger too; hear him change as well in the silence of your home.

Mayday's still shivering half an hour later. His skin still looks dangerously red and blue; body trembling in his unconsciousness. You've already pushed him close to the fire, used some heat sticks, changed his wet clothes and covered him in blankets. There's only so much you can do.

Without worrying on the other soldier seing you half naked, you take your clothes off, and cuddle up close to Mayday inside his refuge of blankets. He's so cold it makes you wince and tremble; but you clench your jaw and stubbornly press your whole body against him. He needs you, and the cold isn't going to stop you. Mayday mumbles and you soothe him with a caress and a Keldabe kiss.

"You better not try anything or you'll end up dead" you warn the soldier, who's still looking at the both of you, either from mistrust or surprise.

"Won't" you hear him grumble, shakily. "You're my best chance of survival. Besides, I owe him".

You only desperately wish Mayday survives the night as well.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

You wake up with your man mumbling incoherent words and pressing further into you, cold –but normal cold– nose hiding on the curve of your neck. You blink sleeply, and scan him instantly; a relieved sigh escaping your lips at the feeling of his no longer alarming body temperature stealing some of yours.

Your hands come up to cup his face; brushing his long disheveled hair aside and staring at him with raw adoration and love. You can't help yourself and kiss him, then; a soft, heartfelt press of lips.

Mayday groans and groggily opens his eyes; scanning the situation –gaze lingering on Crosshair's lying form a pair of meters away– before returning to you. He hums, and hides his face in your neck again, kissing your skin gently.

"Morning, cyare" he whispers, voice hoarse but sounding like a dream to you. "Sorry for stealing your heat tonight".

You sigh in content and wrap your leg around his hips. One of Mayday's strong big hands reaches down to hold your thigh against him.

"Just happy you're safe and sound, May" you whisper back at him, pulling back to look at him in the eyes. "You scared the shit out of me".

Mayday hums and tugs you closer to him. The warmth feels delicious below the blankets. You can't help but feel a slow, unhurried tingle of arousal building inside of you. You don't do anything to chase it.

"Mm. I know. I'm sorry, mesh'la. Yesterday was a mess".

You stay in silence for some time; both of you caressing each other's skin softly.

Your eyes glance back at the other soldier sleeping on your cave.

"Who is he?" You whisper to him.

Mayday takes a moment to answer.

"Imperial sniper. A clone, though obviously different than me. I Think... Think he's starting to get tired of it. Some part of him clinges to the Empire like it's the only thing he has left; but I think it's just a matter of time before he let's go".

You hum distractedly. Your nose brushes against his.

"You trust him?"

Mayday sighs.

"Trust is a powerful word" he carefully answers. "I think he's made some bad choices, like me. But he's a good kid".

You give him a soft smile and kiss his lips once more. His beard and mustache tickles your skin.

"You can't save everyone".

Mayday smiles; a small, nostalgic tug of his lips.

"I know" he whispers, closing his eyes and cupping your cheek with his hand, foreheads pressing together. "I'll just focus on you, then".

THE END.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Boom! This oneshot came up being a mix of fluffy and nostalgic/melancholy angsty! I hope you liked it!

Next work will be a non romantic Echo&Omega angsty/comfort convo. After that we've got a cryptic pregnancy with Hunter, and then some more fun&light oneshots too!

Stay stunned,

Xx,

Sky.

PS. Still not knowing how to link works with just the title. I accept help xD.

Back to my main masterlist here:

[thecoffeelorian]

The Mayday Game (Part 1 of 2)

◾"How come it's always cold on this floor...?"

◾Ensign Kallus asks this question of Ensign Gorn one summer afternoon, the outside temperature measuring almost into the 90-degree range.

◾Inside this dormitory, however...the thermostat appears to be "frozen" around the mid-thirties range, and almost always dropping.

◾Add to that the other strange occurrence of the lights occasionally flickering blue, and a second question is almost posed out loud--why is it just our room? Why do none of the other cadets have the same problem?

◾To his credit, Ensign Gorn doesn't dwell too long on the unfairness of this situation, as it won't exactly fix whatever's wrong with the temperature controls. That is, perhaps, a situation best brought up with their instructors in between classes.

◾In the meantime, though...it's here that he suggests a pause in their studies, because he would like to try playing a little game instead.

◾"What sort of game...?" Kallus asks, not knowing whether to feel interested or nervous.

◾"The Mayday Game," Gorn replies, tugging the regulation blanket a bit tighter around his shoulders.

◾"How do you play it?"

◾"Simple--all you have to do is light a candle, stand in front of a mirror with all the lights off, and say the name 'Mayday' three times. After that, Mayday himself will come and whisper your future to you."

◾"And...who exactly is this...'Mayday'?"

◾Well...I guess you'll just have to play the game to find out, won't you?

◾It's probably just a prank, Kallus tells himself, not wanting to look like a coward in front of his roommate. Just some test to see if I'm brave or not. I can handle pranks--

◾"--I'll do it."

◾"I'll get the candle."

◾And so, about a minute or so later...the two cadets are standing together before their dorm's small mirror, with Gorn holding the candle while Kallus has temporary custody of the blankets.

◾On the count of three, they chant the name of the lost Commander three times exactly as the game requires.

◾"Mayday. Mayday. Mayday."

◾Kallus is staring hard at his own reflection at this point, and naturally assumes that Gorn is doing the same thing...until he happens to turn to his left side, and sees nothing but empty space, endless drifts of snow, and cold.

◾There is very little else here besides this, although he thinks he sees something still and pale lying just out of the corner of his eye. No sounds come to him, other than the slow, shaky sound of his own breathing.

◾And strangest of all, the feeling of the cold is sinking into his clothing within seconds, even before he can do so much as take a step in any direction.

◾Right as he thinks to call out for Ensign Gorn, or the nearest teacher, or anyone else at all, however...that pale something suddenly jolts to life, and now the only thought Ensign Kallus has in his head is this.

◾Hide.

writer's notes: I wrote this as a bit of horror story practice, as well as to turn the most random of SW timeline connections into a somewhat living tale of the past. Also, Kallus' appearance fits his voice actor rather than the tall ginger guy we got in the animation. Finally, the divider was made by @djarrex.

no pressure tags: @nimata-beroya @intrepidmare @ilovecatsandbaking @mayawakening @heart-of-a-rebel16 @mystical-salamander @lost-in-derry @sapphic-loser16 @astralalmighty @archaicsymbols @imabeautifulbutterfly @jamine-boi-124 and anybody else who might like a story today.

[imabeautifulbutterfly]

I never considered myself a Mayday girl but 👀 that last one got me in the fluffy feels so 33 and 47?

@coffeeandbatboys I know what you mean, but once you become a Mayday girl, I don't think there's ever a way to go back. LOL.

I hope you enjoy this one. I certainly did.

Love oo,

My Heart

Warnings: Frostbite, injuries, medical treatment, mistreatment of clones, anxiety, tears, anger, hitting the wall, kisses, innuendo, not feeling worthy enough, appreciation, I think that's it. If I miss anything, please let me know.

Main Master List   |  Star Wars Fic Roulette

You shook your head as. You gently placed Hexx’s hands in warm water, your heart hurt when he winced in pain. “I know, I know it hurts, Hexx. Just bear with it for a little bit, okay? Once we get your fingers defrosted, we can make sure there’s no permanent damage. Alright, sweetie?”

“Yeah. Thanks, vod’ika.”

“Don’t worry I got you. I’m gonna put your feet in warm water too, okay?”

Hexx simply nodded, too tired and cold to really answer. You wrapped his body in a blanket, “We gotta raise your body temperature okay? Your body suit was able to protect most of your body, thankfully, but we still need to bring it up okay. I’m gonna get you something hot to drink. Okay?” You wrapped the blanket around him tighter.

“Vod’ika, in case we don’t say this enough. You’re amazing.”

You gave him a soft smile as you patted his back, “Not that amazing, but I’ll take it. I’ll be back.”

As soon as you were out of his sight and heading to the poor excuse you all called a kitchen, you let the anger you had been holding back unleash itself on the wall, smacking it with your hand over and over again, as tears welled up in your eyes.

You felt the strong arms you have come to know even in your sleep; wrapping around you and holding you close, as you felt him pressing you into his chest, as you felt his heart beat against your back. He closed the door with his foot so you could break down in his arms, “It’s alright, babe. It’s alright.”

“No, it’s not!” You turned in his arms and buried your face in Mayday’s shoulder holding him close as you cried your eyes out. “Another hour and he would’ve lost his fingers and toes. What’s the point of staying here?”

Mayday wrapped his arms tighter around you, pressing kisses to your forehead, “Babe, I know…” he let out a sigh, “I don’t know what to do right now,” he let out a chuckle. “I can either get super angry and pissed with you and we go to the training room, go a couple rounds of sparring or… I just stand here and shower you with kisses, because the fact that you get so upset about one of my men, means more to me than you’ll ever know.”

A soft giggle escaped your lips as you nuzzled into his chest, “Oh, I love you.”

“I know, and you have to know there’s no one I could love like I love you. You’re one in a million cyar’ika.”

“So are you babe” you pulled back to look at him, smiling. “How do you do that?”

“What?”

“Make my anger washaway?”

“Simple, mesh’la. I make sure to keep your needs above my own.” He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your cheek, “What is the prognosis on Hexx though?”

“Well I got him warming up his hands and feet right now. I’m going to take him some warm cocoa. Once he’s warm enough, I’ll dry off his hands and feet, see what sort of damage he’s dealing with and then go from there.”

His hands rubbed your back as he placed another kiss on your forehead, “Thank the force … for whatever that’s worth.”

You let out a sigh as you leaned back and looked into his eyes, “I should get back,” you stood on your toes and leaned in and kissed him, “I’ll see you later, right?”

“Yeah, cyar’ika.” Once he was sure your anger had subsided, he slowly lowered his arms and hands until he held yours as he looked at you, “Cyar’ika, before I go,” his hands gently held yours, lifting them until they pressed into his chest, “I want you to know how much we appreciate you being here. You could’ve left like all the others, be asked to get transferred out, but you didn’t. You’ve stuck by our side from day one since you joined our unit. You are one of the best medics the GAR or the Empire has ever seen, you should be somewhere better than this barren wasteland of a planet. You should have someone better by your side, than me. Someone who can do so much more for you, than what I can. And the fact … the fact you’ve … you’ve taken care of us, supported us, tried to find ways to keep us alive and safe …” He pressed his forehead against yours, and took in a deep breath, “You are my heart, cyar’ika. It doesn’t beat without you.”

You closed your eyes, breathing him in, “You are the air I breathe, and you are exactly where you need to be, by my side. I don’t care about that stuff, all I care about is you, and your men.”

“You can always lean on me, okay? When things get hard, when you get angry and need to smack a wall, or you need to scream your head off, I’m here for you. Alright? That’s what this is all about, you’re there for me, and I’m there for you. Always.”

“Yeah…” you nodded in understanding, “I need to get back to Hexx, but I love you.”

“I love you,” Mayday gave you one last kiss before letting you go, so you could focus on Hexx’s injuries, “and tonight, I’ll wear you out good and proper so you don’t have to be so worried.”

You giggled at his innuendo, “Promise?”

“Try and stop me” he chuckled, pressing one more kiss to your lips, before he headed back to his men.

Main Master List   |  Star Wars Fic Roulette

Tag list:

@liadamerondjarin @badbatch-simp24@spicymcnuggies@lady-ren @firstofficerwiggles @darkangel4121 @discofern @kavecika @monako-jinn-stories @ladykatakuri @avathebestx @theroguesully @furyhellfire66 @carodealmeida @ciramaris @sprout-fics @twinkofthedink @dindjarin-mandalorian @ulchabhangorm @littlemisspascal @tortor-mcgee @vodika-vibes @clonethirstingisreal

[vodika-vibes]

I absolutely loved your regency Rex x reader fic, so I'm gonna request something similar (with the loml commander Mayday) but the roles are reverse hehe.

Reader is the Princess of a snowy kingdom, Mayday is her bodyguard, and she's betrothed to marry a Prince who she's never met, but Reader and Mayday are in love but have kept it a secret.

Congrats on 650 followers btw ^^

Fields Of Snow

Summary: As the first-born Princess of your family’s Kingdom, certain expectations have been laid on your shoulders. You have to be pretty, delicate, kind, and good. Not to mention you have to be reasonable and calm. And you have to marry for the good of your people. The only thing is, you’ve been in a relationship with the head of your guard for over a year now. If your father ever found out, Mayday would lose his career, if not his life.

Pairing: Commander Mayday x F!Reader

Word Count: 1373

Warnings: None

Prompt: Regency/Fairy Tale AU

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: So I'm not sure how close I followed the prompt, but I hope you like it anyway! I admit, I don't often get to write Mayday, people don't request him often. Also, the summary isn't perfect, but summaries are hard.

“Commander,” You don’t bother to look up from your book as Commander Mayday moves from his position near the side doors to stand before your father, “Have all preparations been completed?”

“They have, your majesty.” You glance up at the Commander as he speaks, and a small, hidden, smile lifts your lips. He doesn’t even glance at you, though you don’t expect him to.

After all, if Father ever found out about your relationship with Mayday, it’ll be Mayday who pays for it.

“Very good,” Your father claps his hands together, “Walk me through them.”

Mayday nods once, “As our intelligence has suggested, the threat against the Princess’ life is a viable—” 

You straighten and lower your book, “A threat against my life?” You interrupt, your gaze darting from your Commander to your father, and then back again.

Father lightly pats your hand, “Never you mind, dove. I’m taking care of it.” 

You frown at him, “Father if there is a threat against me, I have a right to know.”

“Nonsense. This isn’t a woman-folk concern.” He pats your hand, condescendingly, one more time and then gestures towards the Commander, “Continue,”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Mayday pauses as if to gather his thoughts, and you feel bad for interrupting him, “As I was saying, we’ve determined that the threat is a viable threat. And so, I have come up with a plan.”

Your Father leans forward, “Go ahead, Commander.”

“In a week, when the Princess is meant to leave the palace to travel to the Kingdom of her Betrothed, her carriage is going to leave from the south gate, with a full procession of guards and carriages carrying her belongings. We are going to make a big show of the Princess’ departure,”

“Forgive me, Captain.” Your father says with a frown, “But won’t this put her in more danger.”

Mayday inclines his head, “If I may, Your Majesty, the Princess will not be a part of the procession. Sister, one of my siblings, will be dressed up like her, and all of the people around her will also be soldiers.”

“Oh, how very clever!”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” Mayday inclines in head slightly, “At the same time, through the North Gate, the Princess and I will leave the city while disguised as peasants.” 

“Everyone’s gaze will be on the procession from the south gate, and no one will notice you leaving through the north.” Your father muses, “Very clever.”

“And it is the best way to keep the Princess safe.” Mayday adds, “The people threatening her will attack the procession and leave us alone. Of course, we will be traveling by foot, so the journey will take much longer. But, the situation being what it is, I feel like we have no other options.”

“I agree,” Your father nods once, “My daughter’s safety is most important. Though, King Reynold will be most displeased when he realizes that Sister isn’t my daughter.”

“Sister will have a missive explaining the situation. As you say, your Majesty, the Princess’ safety is most important.” Mayday pauses, “Of course, this plan does mean that you will not be able to see your daughter off.”

Your father closes his eyes, and then he nods, “If that is what it takes to keep her safe, then so be it.” He opens his eyes and looks around, “You’re all dismissed. Daughter, we are having tea in my sitting room.”

“Of course, Father. I shall go and ensure that tea is brought up.” You stand and offer your father a respectful curtsy, and then leave the room.

The moment you’re alone, though, your hands curl into fists and you have to bite your tongue to keep the ugly thoughts from bursting from your throat.

It’s rather telling that your father thinks that your safety is more important than anything else.

He was the same way with Mother. No wonder Mother ran off with the palace chef.

Slowly, you unclench your fists and plaster the delicate, pretty smile that your father insists you wear back on your face, and you meander through the hall.

You’re about to step into the kitchen, to order tea for your father and yourself when a maid hurries over to you. “Oh, Princess! Thank goodness I caught you. Your father, unfortunately, has to cancel tea.”

You stare at the older woman, “It’s been less than 10 minutes,”

She looks shamefaced, “Yes, Princess. But a sudden petitioner arrived with grave news from the mines. Your father sends his regrets, but says that he won’t be available for the foreseeable future.”

You close your eyes and nod once, “Thank you for informing me.”

The woman curtsies and hurries away just as quickly as she arrived, and you shake your head. If you’re not going to have to listen to your father rant at you about how you need to be more gentle and more demure and more delicate, then you’re going to the garden.

Your father built the garden for your mother and then neglected it when she left. As a result, the greenhouses are overgrown with flowers and plants of all varieties. Frankly, it’s amazing that they’re still alive at all, seeing as the gardener was fired when Mother ran off.

But you’re glad for it. It means that you have a safe place where you can be you.

And, no one knows you come here save for Mayday.

Speaking of which, you follow the overgrown path to the massive willow and duck under the hanging branches. There, hidden from view, is Mayday. Handsome Mayday. Kind Mayday.

Your Mayday.

“Commander,” Your voice is light as you approach him, “I’m surprised that my Father didn’t need you.”

Mayday smiles at you, “Well, I am supposed to be ironing out the final details of our journey.”

“Ah, yes. That.” You frown at him, “Were you going to tell me that someone is threatening me?”

He shrugs, “No.”

“Mayday!” 

“I wasn’t going to tell you, because the threat isn’t real,” Mayday says as he holds his hands out soothingly.

“...what?”

He walks over to you and takes your hands in his, “Oh, cyar’ika,” Mayday murmurs as he leans in and presses his forehead against yours, “You didn’t actually think I was going to let you marry King Reynold, did you?”

You tighten your grip around his hands, “You never said one way or the other, so—”

He releases your hands and brings a hand to cup your cheek, “No, Princess. You won’t make it to Reynold’s kingdom. Neither of us will.” Mayday lowers his hand to brush along your bare shoulder, “Have I ever mentioned how much I love this dress?”

“I know you like dresses that bare my shoulders, yes.” You reply with the smallest smile, “Why do you think I’ve added so many to my wardrobe?”

He hums and lowers his head to press a kiss to your shoulder, and then trails his lips to your neck. Mayday has to be careful to not leave any marks, and you know that he will be.

You wrap your arms around him, tangling your fingers in his hair, “Where will we go?” You ask him, shivering as his beard drags against your sensitive skin.

“I’ve been in contact with your mother and stepfather,”

You pull away and stare at him, “Mother? Really?”

“Really,” He smiles at you, “They’re going to help us charter a ship to cross the ocean. No one is ever going to force you to do anything you don’t want to do, cyare. I won’t let them.”

You beam at him and pull him into a deep kiss, “I love you,” You mumble against his lips.

“I love you too,” He replies before he pulls back, mischief sparkling on his face, “How much time do you have?”

“No one will be looking for me,” You reply immediately, “No one comes out here.”

“Good,” Mayday replies with a grin as his hands move to the tie at the back of your dress, “That gives me time to show you how much I love you.”

You feel your face heat, but you also giggle and eagerly lean into his touch. This is definitely a much better way to end your day.

[cloneshipficquotes]

Crosshair moved, and Mayday felt his spine straighten involuntarily as his back muscles tensed. But Crosshair was merely hoisting himself out of the water and onto the rocks, luminous saltwater sluicing off his dark, translucent skin and fins. But even when it was gone, a glow remained—organs in Crosshair’s fins and side continued to produce shivers of light that waxed and waned as he shuffled closer to Mayday.

Mayday didn’t flinch when Crosshair’s bony chin came to rest on his shoulder, putting his needle-sharp teeth at only a hand-width’s distance from his face. He smiled. “Why, hello. Are we feeling sociable today?”

— InsertSthMeaningful, from The Deep Dark

[gutterandthestars]

This is AMAZING. A group of troopers speculate about staging an Olympic-style games in secret. In realising their self-styled GARlympics, they discover not just the joy of sport, silliness, and Art for Art’s sake, but some darker secrets lurking within the Republic.

This story will warm your heart and make you cry about art and self-expression. And there’s so much silliness. Beautiful.

[morethansky]

By Amphitrite / morethansky

Pairing: Crosshair/Mayday, Past Crosshair/Hunter Rating: Explicit Word count: 7,000 Content warnings: A/B/O, Heat Cycle, Fuck or Die, Masochism, Choking, Past Rough Sex, Hypothermia

With Mayday’s dire condition continuing to deteriorate and his own terribly timed heat fast approaching, Crosshair comes up with a desperate idea during their treacherous journey through Barton IV’s unforgiving tundra: If he mates with Mayday, he might be able to prolong his life just long enough to get him back to the outpost for the medical attention he so urgently needs.

But what Crosshair neglects to take into account is that being with a new alpha might bring back the memories he’s kept carefully locked away while serving the Empire—of the other alpha who already claimed him years ago.

“Who’s your alpha?” Crosshair huffed. “It doesn’t matter.” “Humor me,” Mayday said, and there was that command voice again. This time, it made something sour twist inside Crosshair. “My old sergeant,” he said, curt. “How did he die?” Crosshair shifted, wishing for a toothpick. He had no desire to have this conversation. “He didn’t.” Mayday’s voice spiked in alarm: “You asked me to mate with you when you’ve already been claimed by an alpha who’s still alive?!”

(No better day than today to plug my extremely unexpected deep dive into A/B/O!)

[nahoney22]

Buckle up. Random ask rampage comin your way! 😜 What’s your favorite thing you’ve ever created here and why? 🤓

Oooo this is a hard one.

But I have to say any of my Tech or Echo works but I’d have to go with:

Different Tactics part 1&2 (NSFW) because it’s one I’ve written where it wasn’t a request and I just really loved writing it.

But I also loved my Commander Mayday fic:

Again, it’s one that wasn’t. Requests so I had free range to do as I please and just go all out. Plus, I’ve not seen many fics for him so I just had to dive in.

To be honest, I love ALL my works and picking was genuinely hard to do.

Thanks for the ask 💜✨

[the-stage-manager]

here have this ramshackle of a fanfic 🫴

might have been inspired by Genius Next Door by Regina Spektor, idk

others said it must have been the weather

Summary: Crosshair struggles to adapt to the complexities of civilian life, while grieving the loss of commander Mayday.

Characters: Crosshair, Hunter, Rex

Word Count: 6k+

Warning: This story contains graphic descriptions of depression and an attempted suicide, if you are sensitive to those topics fuck off no story is worth the cost of your mental health, love yourself by steering clear, unclenching your jaw, staying hydrated, and the sensation of suddenly becoming aware of your tongue in your mouth. It's a big muscle you know. The body of it goes away down your throat. Now is also probably the time to mention that Im high. But. Enjoy the story.

ps. I wrote this immediately after The Outpost so everything that happened in the season finale is ignored because fuck that noise

Crosshair shouldn't have been surprised when his brothers turned up to rescue him. He shouldn't have been, but he was. They were brothers after all, right? Wrecker had said it himself in the wreckage of Kamino: "We would have taken you back..."

It hurt anyways, of course, a confusing mixture of anger and guilt. He had warned them to stay away. Rescuing him was foolish, they had put themselves and Omega in harm's way for nothing, completely ignoring the warning he had sent, and he was infuriated by their foolhardiness, incensed by their rejection of his sacrifice. 

They were stiff and guarded—Hunter especially—watching him carefully from the corners of his eyes, as if he was a deactivated roller who might spring to life at any second. Hadn't they grown up together? Had his choice to remain with the Empire really damaged their relationship so severely that he was little more than a stranger to them? It has been a rational decision; a decision millions of other clones had made. They were soldiers, bred to die, purposeless without violence of war. The galaxy wanted nothing to do with them—even when they were war heroes the Republic had seen them as nothing more than droids with skin and bone. With the Empire, there had been a promise of food and shelter and purpose. Tactically, it made the most sense. 

Until it hadn't, and the Empire, as Lt. Nolan had made so perfectly clear, had no use for them. 

But perhaps, what he saw etched in the expressions of his brothers, was nothing more than a projection of what he felt he deserved to see. Perhaps the distance between them was artificial, built up like a wall to shield Crosshair from the burning agony of forgiveness. Perhaps he was afraid that, if they peered at him to closely, they would see everything he had suffered, everything he had lost and, being empathetic to a fault, they would fail to see the responsibility he'd had as the maker of his own suffering. Somebody much wiser than him had told him once, "We make our own decisions. And we have to live with them, too." 

Crosshair had never been a 'plan for the future's sort of person. War rarely ever offered that sort of long-sided perspective on things. He had never truly considered the possibility of having to live with the consequences of his actions. He had never truly considered the possibility of having to live at all, after the war. After all, the notion of a 'glorious death for the sake of the Republic' had been drilled into him as a thing to be celebrated for as long as he could remember. 

So, while Crosshair had been prepared to die on Tantiss, perhaps living was a more suitable punishment.

And Crosshair was more than prepared to wear his decisions, to let them line his pockets like pebbles. 

They brought him to some tropical planet. They had told him the name of the planet, the name of the town, over and over, but he couldn't ever seem to recall it. The information never stuck. It wasn't as if somebody was going to ask him where he lived. It wasn't as if that place was his home. Clones—regs and Clone Force 99 alike—had barracks and ships, places they rested as they waited for deployment. They weren't meant to have homes, to be domesticated. They were soldiers, that was their purpose. 

Was their purpose.

What was their purpose now? Who were they supposed to be? Where did they belong, obedient dogs, bred for battle? They were too vicious for civilian life, they didn't have the skills for it. They didn't know how to live without the structure of an army. Where would they live? How would they make money? What would they eat? Where would they sleep and for how long? Who would be willing to teach them how to function outside of war, how to manage the panic and the sudden fits of rage and the flashbacks and the immense sting of survivor's guilt because if anyone should have survived that avalanche—

What did it matter? Logistically, the clones were abandoned.

Crosshair's recovery had gone smoothly and he had expected, once he felt well enough to feel again, that he would, in fact, feel something—sorrow or regret or relief or even joy. But those feelings never came. Crosshair felt nothing except, perhaps, for the unceasing, insatiable anger that grew without incentive, and a distant ache that came with the realization that his life was, essentially, over.

When he had avenged Commander Mayday's death, under the shadow of the relentless scavenger, he had been prepared to die. He had anticipated his distress call to be his final words. He had been bred to be a soldier, after all. He had been taught, since birth, to prepare to die. 

Living was a much more difficult concept. A fitting punishment.  

Crosshair had only ever been good at one thing. And that one thing had been useful on the rare occasions that the Batch left the planet to assist Echo and Rex and their network of rescued clones, but those sorts of missions were becoming scarcer and scarcer as the rest of the Batch began assimilating into more domestic roles. They made money fishing or repairing machinery or hauling heavy equipment. There was no need to engage in mercenary activities when they had everything they needed at home. Besides, it was what was best for Omega's development to stay away from conflict.

Assimilation came easily for the others. For Crosshair, not so much. He came across as standoffish and rude and his skills as a sniper were worthless to the civilians. He was hostile and short tempered and the civilians, for the most part, gave him a wide berth. As they should.

Crosshair had always been an ass—rude and sarcastic. He said things, cruel things, because he liked to keep an aire of indifference, of superiority, around him. He had never been an angry man, merely cold and condescending. But now? Now, Crosshair felt completely out of control. The civilians and his brothers would do things that made him so angry he felt like his head was going to pop off—loud noises and bright lights were enough to make the sniper furious. He would get angry when the weather outside was too cold, and he couldn't seem to stop himself from making snide remarks about how much Wrecker ate, driven by a bizarre insecurity that there wouldn't be enough food left.

He snapped with people looked at him the wrong way; he snapped when he smelled ozone or heard sparks crackling; he snapped when he felt the texture of rough wool; he snapped when he heard Omega laugh; he snapped whenever a particularly cruel thought whispered, in a voice that was entirely vagal, that his brothers should have shot him on Kamino when they had the chance. 

He felt like he was losing his mind, like the all-too-familiar smell of the ocean had crept beneath his skin and settled into his bloated veins like a fat, indulgent parasite. The long days became plagued with migraines, and the bitter nights became plagued with restless dreams. 

He missed Mayday, wasn't that strange?

He missed having somebody who understood what he had gone through, what he had sacrificed and why. 

"So what made you want to leave?" Echo had asked once. 

Crosshair never answered and Echo never asked again. 

Crosshair never spoke of Mayday, never described the avalanche, or the armor that so many clones had lost their lives to protect. He didn't talk about the thirty-two rotations he had suffered on Kamino, that his body had metabolized all of his muscular tissue by the time that they had found him, that it had taken weeks to eat solid food again, and months before he could return to active duty. He never talked about Cody, or Dr. Hemlock, or Tantiss, or the torture, or Mayday—because wasn't it always fucking Mayday?—because he couldn't  the conversation would end with anything other than an, "I told you so." 

He didn't talk about any of it. Except, just once, to Rex. 

"Have you heard from Commander Cody?" Crosshair had asked, and Rex had responded tersely:

"I have." 

Crosshair had waited in silence for the captain to continue, but Rex said nothing. So Crosshair mentioned that the last time he had spoken to commander Cody was the day before he defected and—

And then he asked, interrupting himself, "Have you ever lost a friend before?" 

Rex had made a face as Crosshair had told the story. The sniper couldn't identify the expression—he assumed it was pity, or contempt. Which was understandable, he supposed. Rex had fought the chip tooth and claw, had made it his life's mission to help clones escape the Empire; Crosshair had fought tooth and claw to stay with the Empire. Expecting any sort of sympathy or brotherhood from Rex was astoundingly stupid, and Crosshair was quick to recognize the mistake and harden once more. 

"Have you told the others?" Rex asked. 

Crosshair pressed his lips into a thin line and responded, coldly, "They wouldn't understand," 

"You might be surprised," Rex had said. 

Crosshair had felt something burn within him, unidentifiable. "I think I know my squad better than you do, captain," he hissed, his voice dripping with venom. 

"They haven't been 'your squad's for a long time," Rex had pointed out, and Crosshair couldn't breathe. 

Still, Rex had been generous enough to offer him advice—sometimes, writing letters to the deceased helped with the process of parsing through one's grief.  

It was stupid, but Crosshair was desperate for relief, so he wrote. It helped, for a little while. It made him feel less alone, less numb. Never once in his letters, did he apologize. He had tried, many times, but the words were always wrong and every attempt ended in unceasing anger, as a little voice in his head whispered, "Remind me not to die on your watch." 

Crosshair was a quick learned, so it wasn't long before he found himself avoiding the subject entirely. Instead, he spoke of useless things in his letters to the dead man. He described the weather, made remarks about the humidity and the tropical storms. He spoke of the locals, the food, his appreciation that somebody was finally able to cook a dish that was spicy enough for him. He talked about the Batch, described them in detail and wrote of their antics—after all, Mayday had pressed, once, about who his squad had been. Surely he'd want to know? 

Crosshair found himself writing about his feelings—as distant and muted as they were. He spoke of the unfair resentment he felt towards Omega, of his unfounded inability to trust his brothers, of his immense shame. He about the gaping chasm of anger that sat in his chest. It was oddly comforting, talking to a dead man he had only known for three rotations. 

Just once, after a particularly frustrating day—the rain and the cold had made him inexplicably furious—he wrote himself a letter, as if he was Mayday—as if Mayday was still alive. He wanted to indulge in the fantasy that his shame was unfounded, that he hadn't failed his friend. 

The letter read only one sentence: 'Great to hear you're doing well out there.'

There, Crosshair froze. 

He deleted the letter almost instantly, as if, with a sharp inhale, reality dawned on him: What was he doing? What was the point? Mayday was dead. He was nothing more than an strewn pile of bones, picked clean by the vultures. What did he even care? They hadn't even been friends. They'd held two stiff conversations in half a rotation before the avalanche, and that was it. If he was alive, he wouldn't care about the weather or Crosshair's love of spicy food. 

They weren't friends. 

They weren't anything. 

Crosshair had nothing. 

There was nothing. Everything was empty.

He never wrote again, after that. The action was pointless. Mayday was dead. Writing letters wouldn't undo the avalanche, they couldn't turn back time. The dead were dead were dead. Crosshair, in a fit of frustration, cast the datapad across the room, hurling it against the wall with all his might. It clattered to the floor, abandoned, and was never touched again. 

It was funny, really; perhaps Mayday liked the letters because as soon as Crosshair stopped writing them, the commander started showing up in his dreams more and more frequently. Or perhaps the letters—the rumination—had appeased the commander in some way, had served as penance of some sort, as the commander's visage in the dreams became more and more cruel, more and more decomposed. 

Unfortunately, it wasn't as if the things Mayday said in his dreams weren't true. 

Everything was empty: even the yawning void where Crosshair's anger use live, festering. But there was nothing anymore, no unceasing rage, no flinching at the wrong smells and sounds and touches, even the nightmares, after some time, eventually faded until he stopped dreaming all together, and he begun to wake up just as exhausted as when he had gone to bed. 

The more time passed, the less real Crosshair felt. The numbness stretched across his skin and sunk deep into his belly. He no longer felt hungry or thirsty or tired. Even physical pain felt far away. He stopped speaking because his voice stopped sounding familiar, and he stopped spending time with his brothers and Omega because he discovered that, if he stared at them for long enough, their faces were no longer recognizable—like how a word repeated too many times becomes a noise without meaning.

Perhaps, he was no longer human. Had he ever been truly human? Or had the entirety of his manufactured life been artificial?

Food lost its appeal, spice no longer enticed him. Eating became a chore, but he never stopped—when hunger tugged at his stomach, his heart would race, gripped with something that might have been panic, if it wasn't so far away. 

Hunger was an interesting thing, Crosshair learned. When the pangs struck, he wasn't on the tropical planet, he was back on Kamino, with it's cold oceans and maelstroms—and the one rogue wave that had slapped the platform and nearly washed him away. The pangs of hunger transported him to a tiny platform in the middle of the sea, curled on his side as the wind howled and the rains fell in relentless sheets. 

Alcohol quieted the racing thoughts. He had never been a heavy drinker (although he certainly had his other vices) because he disliked the way it made him unsteady (and he was also driven away by the taste) but these days, it was the only thing that kept his head afloat. Otherwise, he might just drown in the vast ocean of nothingness that hung beneath him. The pointlessness, like a sea monster, might just consume him if he dared to let go of the bottle. 

On Kamino, there had been whispers of monsters in the water; creatures who could lure their victims out to sea with their voices, before drowning them. It was a stupid scary story that Crosshair had never believed, but perhaps there has been some truth to it: perhaps singing monsters truly did live in the seas. Perhaps it was their songs that had enticed Crosshair, that had called him to the ocean. 

Or, perhaps, he was simply a desperate, cowardly man who was too timid to admit that he didn't actually have the strength to live with his choices. 

Whatever it the reason, the outcome was the same: Crosshair began to stay up late, waiting, locked in his room, for the rest of the world, for his brothers, to sleep. Then, in the cool of the night, he would creep out and make his way to the beach. Despite the horrors of the Kaminoans platform, the ocean didn't frighten him. In fact, they enticed him, welcomed him, and he would wade out into the water, fully dressed, just to see how far he was willing to go. Each night, he got a little braver and swam a little farther. It was a game he played with the ocean—how far out could he swim before the relentless tides swept him away? 

He told himself he didn't want to die, it wasn't about that. He argued with himself that if he really wanted to die, he'd just shoot himself, plain and simple. 

But sometimes, he would fill his pockets with sand and swim out until the ocean floor seemed to drop away and he would let himself sink, just how far he could lose himself. 

It made him feel alive, in a way. 

It ended the same way every night: at some point, he'd lose the urge and return to shore, his chest aching with an emotion he refused to acknowledge. As the sun rose, he'd return home, dawning with a hangover, strip naked, and crawl into bed. 

The days became a blurry mess of salt and sand and alcohol. Any residual anger melted away, numbed by the drink and the sharp, cool tang of the ocean, and the distant awareness that, with the increasing stakes of his game, any day could be his last. It was that thought, truthfully, that brought the numbness, disguised as relief. 

"Crosshair?" 

Crosshair ground his teeth when Hunter's voice cut through the haze. He sounded tentative. "Rex and Echo have been looking for you. We've got intel from Howzer about a dozen clones in prison for deserting. We've got a rescue mission planned but, well, we could use a sniper," He sounded almost hopeful, or like he was pleading. 

"Howzer?" Crosshair asked, licking his cracked lips. He was thirsty. For the first time in weeks, he was aware enough of his body to recognize the heaviness of his tongue, the way it stuck to the roof of his mouth. 

Water wasn't a problem. Luckily, for as hellish as the ocean planet was, the rain was a constant, which meant that fresh water wasn't a big concern. What was concerning, however, was the lack of food. He had nothing. Perhaps he could attempt to fish, but the ocean was cold and the current was strong. He could easily be swept away by the- 

Where was he?

"He was a captain who served on Rhyloth under you and Admiral Rampart,"

"What?" he croaked. 

"He was a captain. He served under you and Rampart on Rhyloth," Hunter said again, more slowly. He looked concerned. His hands was halfway outstretched towards the sniper. 

"And Rex wants me there?" Crosshair  asked, blinking in disbelief. 

Hunter looked expectant or disappointed, Crosshair wasn't sure.

"He and Echo asked for you specifically. He, uh, he says he needs you sober, though," Hunter said with a frown. He sounded uncomfortable. Why did that make Crosshair angry?

"I'll be there," The sniper said simply.

"Crosshair, look. I think we should talk-" Hunter sound urgent, maybe desperate. 

Unfortunately Crosshair wasn't interested in finding out which it was so, instead, he turned his back on the sergeant, signalling the end of the conversation. 

Howzer. He remembered Howzer. He had allowed Clone Force 99 to escape, had defected against the Empire. Crosshair had thought it was such a repulsive thing to do—he had never liked the captain, and cuffing the captain had brought him a sick sense of pleasure. He had been pleased to punish dissidence. 

Would Howzer recognize him? What a stupid question. Crosshair was no reg. His face was- 

Unrecognizable. 

Crosshair was staring into a mirror. How had he gotten there? He didn't remember-

He could see the burn scar carved deep into his scalp. His heart hammered as he dug his fingers into the pits. 

Rex and Echo wanted him on that mission? With Howzer? Why? 

I'll be there. 

He would not.

He was no coward.

He spent the evening strolling the streets, gathering pebbles. When night fell, he swam farther that he ever had before. He fell deeper than ever, his pockets lines with pebbles. When his lungs cried out for oxygen, he surfaced, furious, cowardly. He was angry at Rex, angry at Echo, angry at Hunter, angry at Howzer, angry at Mayday, angry at himself. So he took it out on the ocean, cursing at it, as if he could enrage it enough to incense it to violence, as if it would crush him beneath a furious, rogue wave.  But the tides remained gentle, and the night was calm. 

Crosshair in his anger, dived. 

Usually, when he sank, he simply exhaled and let the water drag his body down. There has never been any intention behind it, no motion of energy. But now? Now there was fury. Still-powerful limbs propelled the sniper into the darkness, too upset to really think about what he was so determined to accomplish. 

The first time his lungs cried out for oxygen, Crosshair, out of spite, pushed himself even deeper. 

The second time his lungs cried out, reality set in and, suddenly, all of the burning grief and desperation and rage, rage had been smothered, leaving only the smouldering ashes of regret, and the charcoal taste of terror. 

What had he done?

He was down so deep that the pressure hurt his ears. He twisted in the total darkness, suddenly away, for the first time, of the possibilities that big, hulking, singing monsters swam in the depths. He felt like prey. As he tried to right himself, he lost his sense of direction. Which was was up? He exhaled sharply, up went the bubbles. Crosshair, scowling, followed them up. He wouldn't die. He wouldn't let himself die. Just like on Bracca and Kamino and Barton-4. He would not die. 

He had no right to die. Commander Cody had said-

He clawed upwards. His eyes stang and his lungs felt like they were going to collapse in on themselves, but still Crosshair persisted. Up and up and up and up- 

The urge to inhale was immense. He refused. It would not happen. Even as black spots began to appear in his blurry vision, as his brain tingled and his limbs ached, the determination persisted. 

His body exhaled and inhaled in spite of himself, hijacked by instinct. Everything burned. He thrashed, attempting to cough and sucking down more water. 

The surface was close. The bubbles lead the way up. At the sight of them, Crosshair's brain produced an image and a voice. 

"Vicious creatures, but you've got to admire them. They find a way to survive."

He was the ice vulture. It was him. He had sacrificed everything to survive, he chose cast his brothers aside like carrion and now he had to live with those choices.

Vaguely, he recalled breeching the surface. He remembered thrashing and and choking. He recalled the itchy feeling creeping up the back of his throat, the way his stomach heaved, and the taste of bile. He recalled gasping, his body convulsing autonomously towards the shore, practically dragging himself against the current, which had grown strong. He recalled he recalled seeing lights beyond the shore and crying out for help, only for his salt-damaged voice to fail.

He continued to gasp and spew water until his toes touched the sandy shore, he heaved himself forwards and collapsed, at last, on the beach. It took all of his energy to roll up onto his knees. He pressed a fist against his stomach and pressed down on it as hard as he could, forcibly expelling the excess water from his lungs. 

It was funny—he remembered gasping for air. He remembered his eyes falling shut. There had been sand beneath him. When he woke, there was grass beneath him. He opened his eyes, blurred with seawater. Despite that, the figure who stood before him, arms crossed and back straight, was unmistakable. 

"Rex," Crosshair sneered, his voice rough. 

"Have a good swim?" Rex asked, his voice was cold. Before the sniper could answer, the former captain cut in sharply, "There better be a damn-fucking good reason why I found you half dead on the beach," he snapped. He almost sounded worried. 

"I don't answer to you," Crosshair growled, forcing himself to his feet. He staggered forward, stumbled and- 

Rex caught him, steadied him. It was a kind gesture. 

"You should have let me fall," Crosshair hissed, petulantly swatting at Rex's hands. He sounded almost... Mournful. It would have felt good to fall. To sink. It would have made him feel alive. 

"Crosshair..." Captain Rex didn't sound so cold anymore. 

Unfortunately, Crosshair was stubborn. Severe and unyielding. He wrenched himself from the reg's arms and staggered forward. "Fuck off," he spat, unable to think of anything more eloquently to say. 

"Don't think I don't understand what you just tried to do! This isn't something you can just walk away from!" Rex argued, reaching out to put a hand on Crosshair's shoulder. "You need help, Crosshair. What happened on Barton-4 wasn't your fault-" 

Crosshair reacted violently, balling up a fist and slamming it right into Rex's face, who reeled backwards. Adrenaline was a hell of a drug and, even in such a physically exhausted state, Crosshair still had a nasty right hook. 

He imagined Rex hitting him, returning the punch, blow for blow. He imagined it might feel good, in a self-vindictive sort of way. Crosshair imagined, just for a moment, that Rex's fist was clad in clone armor and rags, that his hair was dark and long, and his beard was-

It was deserved. 

But Rex never struck Crosshair. The sniper, anticipating the blow, stumbled backwards and landed flat on his ass. His heart was beating so fast, he thought it might just stop. He rolled onto his hands and knees, and vomited saltwater.

"Hey, hey, hey! What the fucking kark is going on!" Hunter shouted, emerging from the darkness. "What the hell are you doing?!" 

"The captain and I were just having a discussion about tomorrow's mission," the sniper said, panting, as if it was an acceptable answer. 

"Rex, what's going on?" Hunter demanded again, and Crosshair grit his teeth. 

"Did you hear what I said?" he spat. His whole body was trembling from the exertion and the cold, as the seawater evaporation from his skin. He shut his eyes tight and breathed harshly against the rising nausea. Hadn't this happened before? The cold and the exhaustion, the position on his knees, even the words were-

"Help him!" Crosshair cried out, gesturing to a body that wasn't there. 

Whatever Hunter or Rex might have said was completely lost on the sniper, who was trapped in a snowy wasteland, watching, barely conscious, as the worthless lieutenant circled around him like a vulture.

'Certainly not. That would be a waste of the Empire's resources.'

Crosshair's expression fell. The shaking worsened. "He'll... He'll die," he croaked. 

And that was the crux of it, really. He'll die. He had never felt so helpless before, pleading for the life of somebody else, at the mercy of somebody else's whims. He had never been so powerless before. 

Clone Force 99 had a 100% mission success rate. Crosshair had never failed his brothers before, he wouldn't fail Mayday now. He wouldn't.  

He'll die. He recalled prying the commander's helmet off, recalled watching his chest sink and his expression relax as the spirit rose up to march alongside Veetch and Hexx. It was horrific. Mayday could have lived. He would have lived if Nolan had just felt like helping. 

Was Crosshair so powerless that his life was at the mercy of—

"It isn't real, Crosshair. Whatever you're seeing isn't real," As Hunter's voice washed over him, Crosshair lifted his eyes. He felt like he was waking up from a dream. 

"Take a deep breath, Crosshair," That was Rex's voice, nasally from the damage the sniper had done to his nose. It was bleeding something fierce. Crosshair felt almost proud. "There you go. One more," 

He was still on his hands and knees, still dripping wet, gripping the grass so tight that his knuckles had gone stiff.

"Good hit," Rex grumbled. "Consider us even," 

Before the Empire, Crosshair would have smirked—he vividly recalled incensing the captain to violence by bitching about his previous ARC trooper. Before the Empire, he used to tease Echo about it: "It's cute how much your captain loves you. Let me guess, you were the Batch Baby?" 

"You should have let me drown," Crosshair blurted out because he wasn't the same person he had been before the Empire; because he couldn't seem to stop the words from tumbling out; because he so badly wanted the help but was so scared to accept it. 

Rex and Hunter were both kneeling beside him, Hunter had a hand resting on the back of his shoulder, while Rex had a firmer hold, as if preparing to catch him. 

"You crawled out of that ocean yourself," Rex pointed out. 

"Then you should have thrown me back in," Crosshair sneered, in a tone that Hunter had come to realize was joking—but the words felt wrong, and a little too intentional. 

"We're all worried about you, Crosshair. What were you doing out there?" Hunter asked, and the younger clone squeezed his eyes shut. 

"Swimming," he said venomously. 

"Cool off, spitfire," Rex chided firmly. "You're not fooling anyone," 

Rex was talking about his tone—Crosshair's thorns were only defensive—but the words hit deeper. A pained groan pulled from Crosshair's chest as he attempted to shift his weight. He realized quickly that if he moved, he'd collapse, and he didn't wait either clone to see him in such a state. He gripped the grass even harder as he drawled, "You know why," 

Crosshair anticipated stunned, humiliating silence, but Hunter offered none. Without missing a beat he asked, "Why?" When Crosshair didn't response, Hunter asked again, more urgently, "Crosshair, why?" 

"You should tell him. Your squad doesn't want to see you at the bottom of the ocean," Rex's voice was kinder than Crosshair deserved. He clamped his jaw shut and said nothing. 

"We're a patient bunch, you know. We can do this all night," Hunter said, irritated and insistent, panicked. "Rex is right. Nobody wants to see you dead,"

Slowly, Crosshair cracked his eyes open. "You wouldn't understand," he croaked. He sounded defeated. 

"I think you'd be surprised," Rex insisted. 

"He wouldn't understand. Neither of you will ever understand," he snarled like a feral animal. 

"Well, just try!" Hunter snapped, all of his self-proclaimed patience dissolving in an instant. "If you kill yourself because you can't be bothered to let anybody help you, none of us would forgive you! Can you imagine how upset Wrecker-"

"Hunter," Rex said sharply. 

The sergeant sucked in a slow breath and then said, "Crosshair, I meant what I said. None of us want to see you dead. I don't want to see you dead,"

"That's a lovely sentiment; where was all that sweet-talk on Kamino?" Crosshair growled, still adamantly refusing to look up. 

"You're right. But we're not on Kamino. I made a lot of shitty mistakes. My biggest regret is not trying harder to go after you immediately after Rex took the chips out. And I'm sorry. You needed up and we weren't there,"

Crosshair didn't answer. There was nothing to say and the silence was stifling—like being buried under snow. 

"Cross..." Hunter said suddenly, and there was a certain desperation in his voice, despite using such a gentle tone. "I really did mean what I said. You're my brother, I don't want to lose you. All of this shit—whatever it is you're carrying—you can't go on like this, and we can't lose you. Not again," He slipped his arm under Crosshair's shoulder. "Let us help you carry this," 

Crosshair expression tightened, his breathing hitched, and he instantly felt enraged. He grit his teeth, fingers digging tight into the dirt, and in his fury he began, silently, to cry. 

Beneath the numbness, beneath the rage, was sorrow and grief and guilt and so much regret. 

"I'm sorry..." he croaked, barely able to push the words past his ruined vocal chords and shuddering breaths. 

Hunter scooted closer, pushing his arm more firmly under Crosshair's shoulder, ready to catch him when he fell. "It's okay. We forgive you. It's okay, Cross," 

The resolute sniper never made a sound, and he turned his scrunched face away, too proud to let Hunter see him cry. His whole body shuddered and his arms, at last, gave out. 

Hunter caught him. 

He tugged Crosshair close. He flicked his head—a signal to give them some space—and Crosshair heard Rex's footsteps as he stepped away. He felt foolish for his inability to stop the steady flow of tears, but Hunter just held him tighter. He didn't deserve it, he tried to hold his breath to force the feelings away, but his battered lungs wouldn't obey. All he could do was slowly drag his arms up to cling to the sergeant. 

"I'm... I'm sorry," he rasped. 

"Crosshair, I forgive you. And I'm sorry too. I'm sorry it got to this point. We all knew you were struggling but we- we didn't know how bad it was. Rex and Echo and I figured you were struggling to adjust to civilian life. We figured a mission would be a good change of environment. I had no idea—" Hunter shook his head and tightened his grip once more. "It's not an excuse. I'm sorry. It's not an excuse,"

Crosshair managed, at last, to steady his breathing. If he wasn't so exhausted, he'd pull away and stalk off. It he wasn't so exhausted, he'd run away and hide behind all of his walls and thorns, and Hunter never would have caught him. He wasn't sure whether it was a blessing or a curse, to be caught before he could sink further. After all, living was so very difficult. 

"I'm kriffing pissed at you, you know," Hunter said softly, voice hardly above a whisper. "You can't do this again. If we lost you..." 

Crosshair scowled. "You already lost me once before, and you seemed fine," 

That must've hit a nerve because Hunter inhaled sharply and his grip stiffened. "You don't know shit, Crosshair. Is that really what you think of us? That we cared for you so little that we celebrated in your absence? When you said you had your chip taken out, you have no idea how hurt and betrayed-" Crosshair tugged away, and Hunter loosened his hold, immediately cutting himself off. 

There was that shame again, burning in the pit of the sniper's stomach. His arms fell. 

"You have every right to be angry," Hunter said with a sigh, as if he, too, struggled to let his feelings go. "I'm sorry. I'm saying all of the wrong things. I don't want to lose you and knowing that you-" he shook his head. "I'm having a hard time controlling my emotions. That's not your fault, it's mine. And I'm sorry. I don't blame you for staying with the Empire. I understand why you did what you did. We didn't get to you before Kamino. We weren't fast enough. But we did try," he insisted. "I don't- I don't want you to think that we never tried," 

Hunter's arms loosened again, and Crosshair steadied his breath, prepared to straighten, to stand up, to be let go. But Hunter didn't let go. After a moment of hesitation his arms tightened once more. 

"I'm not going to leave you again, Crosshair. I'm not going to lose you," Hunter said firmly. "Rex is off to wake the doc. We've got to give you a physical eval, make sure all that seawater didn't fuck you up. And you need to talk to her. Crosshair, listen to me, you need to tell her that when you went out into the water, you intended to end your life. If you don't, I will. You don't have to tell her why, but you have to tell her. I won't lose you, and you need help. None of the others have to know, you can tell them when you're ready, but you have to tell the doc," he said. 

"So... I'm on suicide watch?" Crosshair sneered, simultaneously sagging into Hunter and rolling his eyes. 

"You're on suicide watch," Hunter said firmly. 

'Tell me about your squad,' Mayday had asked, breath wet and raspingv painfully. 

'Hunter is a pain in the ass. Shitty leader, pain in the ass, but he's kind. So.' Crosshair had writen in one of his useless, fucking letters.

"I lost a friend," the sniper said so softly his voice was barely audible. 

"I'm sorry," Hunter said, and it sounded almost genuine. But it was just enough to prompt Crosshair to keep talking. 

By the time Rex had returned with the doc, Crosshair was barely awake, succumbing to the exhaustion. He remained firmly in Hunter's arms and, while nothing was truly fixed, not yet, it was a beginning. For the first time since before the Empire, Crosshair felt safe.