#rare clone fic submission

[rare-clone-fic-exchange]

Blindsided (Hound x reader)

Summary: When you're tackled by a massiff on your morning commute, you never could have predicted it would end in a date.

Pairing: Sgt. Hound x reader

Rating: M but minors DNI

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: Grizzer being the bestest girl; reader nearly gets stood up but it works out in the end; Hound being somehow suave and put together and also a mess; suggestive/fade-to-black; first kisses

A/N: This one is for @idoubleswearimawriter ! Hope you enjoy, babes. This was super fun and I know am an Official™ Hound simp. I hope I did him justice!! 

“Grizzer! Ke’mot!” 

The harsh command shouted across the busy Coruscant square makes heads turn, yours included. Just in time, too—there’s a flash of muted browns and a streak of pink before you’re tackled to the ground. Your belongings scatter, and you just manage to avoid cracking your head on the steel walkway. Dull pain blooms everywhere else, though. For a moment, anger flares inside you. Who let their pet off its leash? 

Then, a warm, sandpapery tongue licks the side of your face. Giggling, you hold your hands up to ward off the obviously dangerous attack, anger fizzling into delight. You push yourself into a sitting position to find yourself face-to-face with a very wiggly massiff who, upon realizing you’re not hurt, turns her entire body to thump her rear against you. The look she gives you over her shoulder seems to be pleading: C’mon, give me scritches! And who are you to deny such a request?

Glancing around, you discover with belated embarrassment that you’re the center of attention. At least bystanders are beginning to lose interest and drift away, resuming their commutes. A single person being knocked prone by a K-9 massiff is barely enough to result in petty gossip on Coruscant. 

Hang on, K-9? You do a double take—sure enough, on the massiff’s harness are the two letters emblazoned in bold white font. 

“Am I in trouble, huh, girl?” you ask the massiff.

“Grizzer!”

Snapping your head up, you locate the source of the gruff voice. Cutting through the crowd like a vibroknife is one of the Coruscant Guard; helmeted, but the design is unlike any of the other troopers you’ve observed from afar. The side plates extend down, painted in the visage of a snarling massiff; a red stripe runs down the center of his visor. He halts a few feet away, fists planted on his hips. 

You clack your jaw shut, realizing you’re staring. “This your dog?”

The massiff, Grizzer you assume, whines quietly. She takes her weight off of you but remains close as she snuffles at your pockets.

“Grizzer,” the trooper repeats, his voice cold and unforgiving through the vocabulator, “gev.”

Reluctantly, Grizzer trots to her handler, her head hanging low, tongue lolling between her teeth. She settles at his feet, her eyes trained on his helmeted face. 

The trooper raises his head so his visor fixes you with a blank, impersonal stare. “Are you alright?”

“Fine,” you say. A groan slips from your throat as you stand, pain flaring in your tailbone, but you wave away the concerned way the trooper takes a step forward. “I’m fine, just took me by surprise.”

“She’s normally well-behaved,” he says. “I don’t know what got into her.”

Chuckling as you rub your sore coccyx, you shrug. “Whatever it is, I promise I’m not carrying anything illegal.”

“I should hope not,” he says, “otherwise I’d have to arrest you.”

Your laugh turns awkward. “It might just be the massiff treats in my pocket.”

“The—what? Why do you have that?” The tone of his voice is incredulous and suspicious, like he’s never met someone else who carries the specially formulated treats.

“I work at an animal rescue,” you explain.

“Right,” he says. “Understood.”

Silence slithers between the two of you for a long, uncomfortable moment. Your skin prickles where you imagine the trooper’s gaze to be trailing over you. 

You clear your throat. “Right. Yes. Well, I should—”

“Of course. I’m sorry—”

“It’s alright,” you assure. Plucking your bag from where it fell from your grasp, you give the trooper a little wave, then glance down at the massiff. Fishing a now-smushed treat from your pocket, you toss it to her. She snaps it out of the air with lightning-quick reflexes. “Keep an eye on her.”

“I will,” he says with a curt nod.

And that’s that. You gather the rest of your belongings and watch as the trooper leads the massiff away without a second glance. Sighing, you turn away, putting the incident from your mind as you hurry to work. 

--- 

A week later, standing in line at your favorite caf shop, you huddle beneath your umbrella as rain cascades from the sky. It’s your day off, the first one you’ve had in weeks, and of course the weather has to be shitty. You’re doing your best to not let it affect your mood. You don’t want to spend the day wallowing. But, you reflect with a sigh, moving with the line, that’s easier said than done.

The wind is cold as it whips through the narrow street, but the rain is colder where it mists onto your exposed face. Shivering, you turn your head away from the breeze—

And catch sight of a familiar duo. Motionless beneath the neighboring shop’s awning, stand Grizzer and her helmeted handler. You glance away, hoping your moment of ogling went unnoticed. By the time you reach the front of the line and order your usual hot drink and pastry, you think you’re in the clear. 

“Five credits,” the barista says. 

Fishing in your pocket for your money, you fail to notice the armored presence sidle up alongside you until he speaks. 

“Bill that to the Chancellor’s office,” he says.

Behind the counter, the barista pops her bubblegum and gives a shrug, while you gape at the trooper. 

“I— What—?”

“I never said sorry last week,” he says, like that explains everything. 

You frown. “You did, though.” 

“Did I?” He rubs the back of his neck, and the gesture makes your stomach squirm pleasantly for some reason. “Hah. Coulda swore I... Well. Grizzer didn’t apologize, now did she?” 

Arching an eyebrow, you fix him with a level, deadpan stare. It’s cute, actually, the way that he’s trying to be nice, and while his technique is certainly interesting, you’re unsure of his actual motivations. He fidgets under your gaze. Fiddling with the loop of Grizzer’s leash, he drops his head. 

“Thank you,” you finally say, putting him out of his misery. 

Cradling the umbrella in the crook of your arm, you accept your items from the barista with a grateful smile. The trooper hurries to get out of your way as you step out of line, not wanting to make yet another scene. At your hip, Grizzer nuzzles you, an intelligent light shining in her eyes.

“Oh, ah.” You fumble for a moment but you manage to get your pastry tucked beneath your arm so that you can lean down awkwardly to give Grizzer a pat on her head. “Hey, girl. I don’t have any treats on me today. You been good? Have you tackled any more strangers?” 

She pants happily and licks your hand. You snort.

You can feel the trooper’s gaze heavy on your face while you lavish affection on the massiff, and you suppress a shiver. While you’ve never really interacted with the clone troopers much, you’ve heard second- and third-hand accounts of how helpful the Coruscant Guard is in particular. Clearly, they train well not only in combat but also in manners, if your mystery man is any indication. 

“What’s your name?” you ask, still keeping your attention on Grizzer. 

“Hound,” he says, and his tone makes you think no one has ever asked him that before. No civilian, anyway. 

“Hound,” you repeat, a smile ghosting your lips. When you give him your name in return, he nods once. 

“I should let you get back to your day,” he says. 

You’re about to agree, about to make some lame joke about how he’s probably got more important duties than babysitting you, but something makes you pause. Maybe it’s the way that Grizzer leans her body against your leg, or maybe it’s the butterflies that continue to beat against the insides of your stomach after Hound’s display of shyness a few moments ago, but you find a giddy kind of warmth well up in your chest. 

So instead, you say, “Do you— I mean, are clones given time off?”

His helmet snaps to you; you have his full attention. “Why do you ask?” 

“I was just thinking that...” You chew at the inside of your cheek, suddenly bashful. “Oh, I dunno. I was hoping maybe I could buy you a drink to say thank you.” 

“You already said it.” His voice sounds reserved, cautious.

Throwing your own caution to the wind, cold as it is, you flutter your eyelashes, ignoring the way your heart pounds in your chest. “Sure, but I didn’t tell Grizzer, did I?”

He seems to get the hint. “Oh. Well. Yes. I mean, no. I mean— Kriff. Yes, clones get time off. I’m off duty tonight, around 7.” 

“Great.” You smile at him, wide and genuine, and he seems to relax. “I’ll meet you at Dex’s at 8, then.” 

---

Eight o’clock comes and goes. You’d arrived to Dex’s early to snag a good booth, not one that would give the impression that this is anything more than a light-hearted get-together with a man whose face you’ve never seen (because no, you don’t count the fact that they’re clones—they’re unique individuals), but also not one so close to the front door as to give the idea that you want an easy escape route.

The server droid had only waited so long before prompting you to order or get out. So you ordered. May as well make the most of the situation, right? At least, that’s what you keep telling yourself as you pick at your meal. Normally, Dex’s is one of your favorites, a guilty pleasure. But tonight, the comfort of the greasy food does little to quell the sting that pulses through you with each beat of your heart. 

Foolish. Stupid, silly, naive of you to hinge any expectations on this meeting. It had been a spur of the moment decision, certainly not one that you’d normally entertain for yourself, so why does his absence leave such a bitter taste in your mouth?

Not wanting to go back to your apartment, though, you sigh and spend a few hours scrolling on your datapad. Grateful you’d thought to bring it with you, you’re able to catch up on the latest holoforums you’re a part of. By the time the clock reads 10, you sigh, locking the device and leaving a handful of credits on the table for the server droid. 

At least the rain has let up. Where the ground is still slick and puddled with rainwater, you trudge through, splashing yourself. The sky remains heavy with pregnant clouds, oppressive in their proximity to the city. 

The bright neon lights of Dex’s sheds illumination for dozens of feet, and you’re still within that radius when a voice calls your name. You pause, frowning. Again, your name echoes to you, and when you turn, your eyes widen at the sight awaiting you.

Hound—because it can only be Hound, being the only clone trooper you’ve ever talked to—jogs through puddles, his heavy boots thudding on the permacrete ground. Gone is his armor; instead, he wears a tight-fitting black tee (is that a tattoo you see peeking out on the inside of his bicep?), muted green combat pants, and, draped over one arm, a black leather jacket. His dark curls coil nearly to his shoulders, bouncing with each step as he stumbles to a halt in front of you. Panting, he peers up at you through his eyelashes, hands on his knees. 

“Hound?” you ask, equal parts confused, bewildered, and hurt. 

“I’m so sorry, mesh’la,” he says. Without the filter of the helmet, his voice is deep and rich, with the barest hint of gruffness, an old engine turning over for the first time in years. “Huge security incident right before my shift ended. I couldn’t get away.” 

You wait until he catches his breath to respond. Once he stands up straight once more, his weathered and lined face pinched with concern, you sigh. 

“S’alright,” you say. 

He shakes his head. “Next time, I’ll need your comm so I can let you know.” 

“Next time?” you say, the barest hint of a grin tugging at your lips. 

“If you want there to be one,” he immediately says. “Kriff, I— I’m not good at this.”

Warmth surges through your fingertips at his admission. Shaking away the funk you’ve been in for the past few hours, you offer him your hand. “C’mon.” 

He blinks at your outstretched palm. “What?”

“Come on,” you say again. “I don’t think I can sit in Dex’s any more tonight, but I’ve got food at home if you’re hungry.” 

Tentatively, like he’s afraid you’ll explode into smoke when he touches you, he reaches for your hand. His skin is rough and hot against yours, his fingers calloused from years of training. Adding to the texture is a massive scar that travels from his palm all the way up to the outside of his forearm near his elbow; he must see the way your eyes widen when you spot it because he chuckles breathlessly. 

“I, uh, got that from a training accident,” he says. “Over-eager massiff puppy.”

Nodding, you can only tug him along with you as you lead the way back to your apartment. If he were anyone else, you’d never even consider bringing him home like this; but he’s a member of the Coruscant Guard. And besides, you’ve already thrown out any expectations for this to be a normal night. 

The air is humid and thick as you walk, both a promise and a reminder of rain. Your skin feels sticky. Next to you, Hound seems lost in thought, impervious and oblivious to the world around him. 

You nudge him gently with your shoulder. “Credit for your thoughts?” 

He blinks at you. “Sorry. Just... can I be honest with you?”

“Sure.” You keep your eyes facing forward, perplexed by his question. 

“I’m glad Grizzer clobbered you.” 

You laugh, loud and genuine, your head thrown back. And once you start, you can’t stop, the giggles bubbling up your chest without end. Tears dew at the corners of your eyes. Hound digs his heels in and stops walking, pulling you to a stop as well. 

“I’m s-sorry,” you gasp out. “That’s a very apt word for what she did. And not at all what I expected you to say.”

His wounded expression softens slightly. “Well, what did you expect?” 

Hiccuping, you shrug. “I dunno. Not that, though. I apologize for laughing. Please, continue.” 

He squints at you like he’s unsure of whether he should believe you, but then he sighs. “Alright. I was saying, that I’m glad she did that, because then I wouldn’t have been able to meet you.”

That sobers you up. Biting at your bottom lip, you smile, but say nothing, sensing there’s more he wants to say. 

“My vod’e—brothers, they teased the hell outta me for letting Grizzer get loose,” he says. He rubs the back of his neck, the same gesture that first endeared him to you earlier today. “But if it means that I got to buy someone as attractive as you their coffee, worth it.”

“Technically, you charged it to the Chancellor’s office,” you remark, smile turning wry. 

“Have you never heard the phrase ‘it’s the thought that counts’?” 

You snort. “Point taken.”

The two of you begin walking again, palms still pressed together. Against your skin, his heat is a comfort, holding at bay any chill the night air seems determined to impart. You sneak a glance at him. In the yellow glow of the streetlights, his tanned skin glows, ethereal, beautiful. 

“Hey,” you say, voice soft, “I’m glad I met you, too.”

The look he gives you makes your breath catch. Swallowing against the sudden lump in your throat, you tug him along, walking faster. Your apartment isn’t far from here, and you want as much time as you can afford getting to know this man.

--- 

You make him a quick dinner, nothing fancy, but he wolfs it down with voracity and gumption, a look of bliss scrawled over his features. As you lean your forearms on your kitchen counter, you can’t help the small spark of attraction that kindles to life deep in your belly. He looks so...at peace in your small apartment, tanned skin glowing in the incandescent lights caged above the kitchen island.

A thought occurs to you, and you startle into action. “Oh! I almost forgot!”

Hound hums his curiosity, mouth still full of food. 

“I promised you a thank-you drink,” you say over your shoulder. Rummaging through your cabinets, you snag two dusty shot glasses and a half-empty bottle of dark whiskey. You rinse the glasses, then, with only a few spilled drops, pour two shots. 

Hound places his empty bowl in the sink. He crooks one eyebrow at you. “When was the last time you drank this?” 

Squinting in thought, you pause with the small glass perched between your fingers. “I...honestly couldn’t tell you.” 

“Well,” he says, a warm, teasing smile ghosting over his features, “suppose I should feel honored.”

Clink. Knocking back the shot, you shudder at the burn of the alcohol as it slides down your throat. It settles with comfortable heat in your stomach. Hound grimaces, sucking his teeth. 

“Kark,” he mutters. “I can see why you don’t drink it often.” 

Chuckling, you shake your head. “C’mon. I’ve got some sweets we can wash it down with.” 

You retrieve an unopened box of chocolates and rip open the packaging as you lead the way to the sofa. You settle into one corner of the plush couch, and Hound curls into the opposite corner; you perch the chocolates on the cushion between you. He looks...good, relaxing into your couch the way he is.

Emboldened by the strong alcohol now coursing in your system, you gesture to the sweets. “Wanna play a game?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“The rules.” 

You snort. “The rules are that you only get to eat a chocolate if you answer a question the other person asks. If you don’t answer, you don’t eat.”

Hound’s eyebrows twitch upward as if in curiosity. “What kinds of questions?” 

Shrugging, you gesture vaguely around the room. “Whatever you want to know.” 

“I already know what your job is and where you live,” he muses. “And what pastry you like. What else is there to know?”

You narrow your eyes at him, trying to decide if he’s being facetious or if he genuinely just has no interest in learning more about you. Kriff, have you misread this entire situation? Your palms begin to sweat. 

Then his face breaks into a sly grin. “I’m kidding. C’mon. Ask me a question.”

“Dick,” you mutter, giving him a playful glance. Then, you sigh. “What’s your favorite color?” 

“Really, that’s what you want to know?” He rolls his eyes, giving an exaggerated head roll to go with it. “Of all the questions you could possibly ask—”

“It’s a perfectly acceptable question!” you interrupt, outraged. “Let’s see you ask something better then!”

He huffs. “Fine. What was the name of your first massiff?”

Suppressing an eye roll of your own, you sigh and pluck a chocolate from the box. “Spike.” 

“How original.” 

“I was a child!”

“So was I.” A grin plays at his lips. 

“Yeah? What did you name yours?” you challenge, then pop the chocolate into your mouth. 

He’s silent for a few seconds too long, his eyes looking everywhere but at you, and a victorious grin curls over your lips. 

“You named yours Spike, too, didn’t you?” 

“Maybe,” he grumbles.

Laughing, you nudge the box of chocolates towards him. “Technically, that was a question.”

He inspects the box. Once he chooses his first sweet and bites into it, his eyes slide shut and he groans in appreciation. Your core pleasantly lurches at the sound. 

And so the game goes. You swap stories about your youth: his training on Kamino, your upbringing in the Coruscanti upper levels. You tell him about your dreams for the future, and he muses, however briefly, on what the end of the war might bring for clones. At some point, the chocolate supply dwindles, until there’s only one left.

Mostly you talk about massiffs. His eyes light up when he recounts memories of Boomer, Tusk, and Spike, and his early days with Grizzer. His enthusiasm and passion for the creatures is infectious; you find yourself entranced by the direct gestures he uses, the sweep of his tongue over his lips when he pauses between sentences, the sparkle in his eye when he recalls a particularly feisty massiff. In your chest, your heart pounds. You’ve never been able to resist a man who is good at his job and passionate about it to boot.

“There’s that look again,” he says softly, drawing you out of your thoughts. 

Heat flushes up your neck to your face. “What look?” 

“The one you just gave me,” he says with a teasing smirk. 

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Which is, of course, a lie. If you had to guess, you were giving him bedroom eyes.

“That so?”

You hum in affirmation. 

His topaz gaze holds your own for a few moments longer than necessary. The uncomfortable, embarrassed heat in your face morphs into something more pleasant, more aroused. Letting your gaze wander, you catch the shallow breaths he takes, the way his tongue darts out to wet his lips yet again, the fist he clenches along the back of the sofa. When you meet his eyes again, they’re darker. 

“Hound?” 

“Yes, mesh’la?” 

A shiver dances up your spine, his voice taking on a rumbling quality. “One more question for you.” 

“Ask away.” His gaze searches your features. 

“Can I kiss you?” 

He blinks at you, full lips parting in surprise. Then, quicker than you can react, he snatches the very last chocolate in the box and stuffs it in his mouth. “Yesth,” he lisps around it.

Heart leaping up into your throat, you carefully set the now empty tray of sweets on the coffee table, then crawl across the couch cushions to him. He watches with half-lidded eyes and shifts to face you, stretching his legs beneath your form. Straddling his hips, you gently, uncertainly, rest your hands on his broad shoulders. His hands find home at your waist—not low enough to touch you anywhere you don’t want, but their solidness and warmth make you shudder with delight. 

“If that’s okay, I mean,” you breathe out. This close, you can see the flecks of darker brown in his golden eyes, and count the freckles on his nose. 

“Please,” he murmurs. 

Tilting your head down, you brush your lips against his, testing. A groan rumbles out of his chest; his arms slide around you in an enveloping embrace, hugging you closer. His mouth moves against yours softly yet no less intensely for it. You whimper, head spinning. 

When you pull away, you don’t move very far, Hound’s arms still wrapped solidly around you. He gives you a soft, timid smile—so unlike the gruff, sarcastic trooper who’s been trading quips with you all night. Rubbing your thumb over his cheek, you return the smile. 

Ignoring the surge of need in your lower belly, you sigh. “I need you to know I don’t normally do this.” 

“I believe you,” he says, tone as quiet as yours. “But I want you to.”

Searching his eyes, you find nothing there but sincerity and the beginnings of lust. Capturing his lips in another kiss, you give yourself to this strong, stolid, snarky man. He carries you to your room, undressing you reverently, lavishing your skin with kisses and praise. His hands are everywhere, grabbing, squeezing, feeling you; in return, your own hands roam his toned body, delighting in the rippling muscle beneath his skin. 

And when he slides home within you, you both sigh, fingers twined together. He draws you, slow and languid and breathless, to the edge again and again, murmuring sweet praises in your ear.

After, pressed to his sweaty skin, chest heaving with exertion, you kiss each of his fingertips. Under your ear, his heart beats loud and steady; slowly, its rate lowers as you both unwind. He trails his hand over the expanse of your back. Rubbing in methodical strokes, his touch lulls you to the brink of sleep. 

You startle yourself awake. “Hound?” 

“Yes, mesh’la?” he murmurs. 

“Remind me to give Grizzer extra treats,” you say, voice thick with sleep. 

He chuckles, the sound rumbly and smoky beneath your ear. “I will, mesh’la. Go to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

“Mmkay.” Yawning, you curl tighter against his side, and drift to sleep, your dreams filled with playful massiff pups and Hound, the steadfast trainer.

---

Mando'a: 

Ke'mot - "halt!" (used as 'heel' for Grizzer)

Gev - Stop it! Pack it in! (more severe a command than ke’mot for Grizzer)

[clone-anon]

Finding a Way

Pairing: Hevy x GN!Reader

Rating: SFW, we’ll say PG-13

Word Count: 2522

Warnings: Explosion at Rishi Station, some angst but plenty of fluff, description of injuries and healing, kissing, cuddling

A/N: This was written for @sinfulsalutations as part of the @rare-clone-fic-exchange. I hope you enjoy this. It's my first time writing Hevy, but I love him.

Summary: This is a Hevy Lives AU. You're a GAR contractor who takes supplies to various outposts, including Rishi Station. You strike up a friendly relationship with Hevy and are devastated to learn of the explosion, doing what you can to reach out to him once he heals, and getting a lot closer along the way.

Other characters mentioned: Domino Squad, 99, and OC clone medic Shots

Hevy did not like Rishi Station. All that training just to get here? The time passed in the usual way.  You connected via comms, bringing a shipment of cargo in for the squad.  He acknowledged when you asked for permission to land.  Your job had you skipping around to various outposts bringing supplies. Sometimes, you were the only outside face they saw for many rotations. 

You landed and Hevy greeted you as you got off the ship.  Echo confirmed the cargo you brought was exactly what they ordered. Ration bars, dehydrated soup mix, standard issue soap and shampoo, and five sets of spare blacks.  The boys all helped you unload the cargo and Hevy decided to walk you back to the ship. He didn’t have to. He wasn’t sure what propelled him forward, but he thought it would be a nice gesture.

“Thanks, Hevy,” you said, just before boarding.

“My pleasure,” he replied.  He smiled slightly and gave a small nod.  You returned the smile and had a feeling this was going to become your favorite stop on this route.

Every two weeks you would stop at Rishi Station with supplies and every two weeks Hevy would be there to greet you. You got to know Domino Squad well and made sure it was your last stop of the day so that you could take your time without having to worry about where you were headed next. You started including a few things that were not standard issue, just so they didn’t feel forgotten out there. They appreciated the fresh fruit, candy, and puzzles.

“You don’t have to do that,” Hevy said, as he watched his brothers immediately start scrutinizing one of the puzzles, excited for something new.

“I know,” you answered, “I just thought you’d like it.”

“I do,” he said with a smile. “I mean, er, we do. We definitely do.”

He walked you to your ship again, but instead of boarding right away, you stood outside long enough to look at the stars. You didn’t want to stay out too long with the local fauna being what they were, but you loved how clear the sky was tonight and you were really starting to like Hevy. He was strong and loyal to his brothers, but there was a gentleness to him too.  You looked at the night sky together and showed him some of the routes you took, your finger tracing a course between dotted planets. Hevy committed them to memory so he could think about you flying around out there, somehow close even if you weren’t there with him.

“If they ever let me off this moon, can I take you on a proper date?”  The question escaped his lips before he even had the chance to stop himself.

“I’d like that very much,” you replied.  “I live on Coruscant. I’m sure we could find something to do.”

“It’s a date then,” he said, reaching for your hand. You softly clasped his hand in your own, giving it a light squeeze and feeling heat fill your cheeks.  You were stuck staring into each others eyes and smiling when your chrono went off, reminding you that you definitely had to leave.

“I’m sorry,” you sighed.

“I understand,” he said, giving your hand a squeeze in return and letting it go. “Until next time.”

You nodded with a grin and got on your shuttle. He watched you fly away before rejoining his brothers.

There was not to be a next time, though.  You’d never go back to Rishi Station.  Several rotations after you left, there was an attack.  You heard about it from some other troopers on your route and your heart dropped to the floor.  It was another rotation before Echo managed to find you through a GAR database and managed to contact you.  They were back on Kamino with Hevy.  He’d nearly died, but somehow, the side panel on the bomb they made managed to stay intact and push him out of the building, protecting him from certain death.  Still, he was badly injured and the Kaminoans weren’t sure he would make it. If several jedi generals hadn’t intervened, he might not have found himself in a bacta tank. He had massive burns all over his body and a massive concussion along with internal bruising.  The recovery would not be easy.  His armor had been mostly destroyed, but it helped save him.

When you received the message, you read it as quickly as you could, hoping against hope that it wasn’t as bad as it sounded. You started crying when you read that Hevy was alive. Although your heart broke every time you got to know a clone and found out the war had taken them, Hevy was special to you. You gave yourself a moment to let the tears flow as relief swept through your being.  Once you were ready, you read the rest of the message. Hevy was doing poorly, but they were trying to keep him alive long enough for him to heal. Echo and Fives had joined the 501st and Hevy was set to join too, as long as he pulled through.  He was stuck on Kamino in the meantime.  He and Fives wanted you to know, but they couldn’t say more than that.  You immediately asked if you could come and see him, but the Kaminoans didn’t want that.  You didn’t really have a reason to be on Kamino and sneaking you in so you could visit had its risks.  Your heart sank again, but in your correspondence, Fives had an idea.  He asked if you could send a voice recording for Hevy and they could play it to him to try to help lift his spirits. They didn’t know if he could even hear it while in the bacta tank, but it was worth a shot.

And so, Echo and Fives found themselves standing outside Hevy’s bacta tank playing your recording multiple times a day. Hi Hevy. It’s me. I heard what you did and what happened. I’m proud of you and you need to get better. You still owe me a date. Promise me you’ll be there.  When Echo and Fives had to ship out with the 501st for their next mission, they gave the recording to 99, who sat there diligently playing your message at least once a day and keeping Hevy company.  After a couple rotations he started to notice Hevy’s hand twitched when he heard the recording.

Hevy heard your voice and his brain was trying to comprehend where he was. Was he alive? How was he alive? He felt himself floating and could hear 99’s voice after yours. He wished more than anything to see his brothers and to see you.  He promised himself he’d find his way back to you. 

It was only one more rotation and he was out of the tank.  He was greeted by 99, a medical droid, and a clone medic named Shots. 

“Glad to have you back, Hevy,” smiled 99, as the droid and Shots helped Hevy dry off and lay down.

“Glad to be back, 99,” he replied.

Shots and the droid started scanning Hevy and he just rolled his eyes.

“I just woke up,” he protested.

“Yes, but the faster we scan you and confirm you’re fine, the sooner you can leave,” Shots retorted with a grin. 

Hevy sighed and waited, keeping a particular eye on the droid.  There wasn’t a single clone he knew who loved the medbay or wanted to spend more time there than they had to.

“Okay, looks like your burns healed, internal bruises are mostly gone, and you have no signs of concussion,” Shots reported. “We’ll get you a training session to see how that goes, but barring any major issues, you should be ready for duty.”

Hevy was pleased with the news.  99 walked him down to his temporary quarters and told him what happened during and after the explosion. Hevy took in the information and accepted that it just wasn’t his time yet. At least they had been successful in defending Rishi Station. 

“99?”

“Yes?” 

“There was another voice. When I was in the tank. I heard your voice and one other.”  He didn’t want to give too much away, but he had to know.

“Oh yes,” 99 replied.  “Echo left this for you. Something about communicating with a supplier?”

Hevy smiled. “Thanks 99.”

A couple rotations later he passed a physical exam, was cleared to join the 501st, and headed out into battle, but not before following the instructions Echo left for how to contact you.  It all seemed to happen so quickly in your mind.  He nearly died and they were already sending him into battle. In his message, he explained what he remembered and promised you he’d be on Coruscant soon.  You wanted to see him before he headed into battle, but knew that’s not how the GAR worked.

You kept yourself busy in the meantime, still delivering supplies to the outposts and adding a new stopping point. Every time you went past the old route that would have taken you to Rishi, you smiled to yourself. You missed that stop. You missed him.  You were thankful you got to have some text correspondence while he was gone so you knew he made it through each day. He wasn’t allowed to say much about where he was or what he was doing as that was on a need-to-know basis and the army certainly didn’t want to risk soldier’s transmissions being intercepted while communicating with a civilian, but you heard from him and that got you through the day.  Your messages started getting more personal, allowing him to know you and asking questions about him. You told him about a cool plant you saw in the market or the new flavor of ration bar which did not taste as good as was advertised.

On his end, Hevy looked for a new message from you every chance he got. They always made him smile.  He loved reading about life on Coruscant, learning about your friends and the places you liked to go. He loved all the little details too.  He had gotten to know you and really liked you before the accident, but he was seriously falling for you now. He would be on Coruscant soon and felt his heart pound as he wrote, “So what about that date?”

On your end, you had to read the words over and over, just to make sure you still weren’t making it up.  You replied, “I’m ready when you are.”

The day came and your mind was only on him. You didn’t pretend to care about work that day, so much as deciding to take the day off so you weren’t distracted while flying.  Hevy wore a new set of fatigues and stood a little awkwardly at your predetermined meet-up location, but he didn’t have to wait long.  As soon as he saw you he ran to embrace you. It felt like the most natural thing. You held on to his back and shoulders, subconsciously trying to make sure he was really here. You breathed deeply and felt tears coming to your eyes. You pulled away from the hug a little, your hands tracing down each arm and resting on his hands.

“You’re here,” you said, looking up into his beautiful brown eyes. “You’re really here.”

He hugged you again. “I finally made it, cyare.”

There was so much you wanted to show him.  You took his hand and led him through that part of town, stopping at one of your favorite places to eat.  He wanted to try more food than he could possibly fit in his stomach and you told him you’d just have to bring him there back again and again.  Now that he was here you could take your time. Even though the war was still going on, you had this moment right now and you weren’t going to waste it.  Hevy loved walking around with you and held your hand the entire time, not wanting to let go. You walked him through a small festival, enjoying the music while lights shown through blown glass art in every color.  It was beautiful, but it was even better that you were sharing the experience. You chatted well into the night until the festival was starting to shut down. 

“I don’t want this night to end,” you admitted.

“I don’t either,” he agreed.

“When do you ship out next?”

“A week. The 501st boys really needed a break. I just joined them, but they’ve been out there fighting for a long time without shore leave.”

“Hevy,” you retorted with a grin, “You are part of them now and you need a break too. Besides, you just got blown up.”

He chuckled. “Fair enough.”

You looked down and thought for a moment.

“What is it,” he asked. “Is something wrong?”

You shook your head. “I was just wondering if maybe you’d like to spend the night at my place. Nothing more than… I don’t know if that would be too much.”

“I’d love to,” he answered. “I’d also love to kiss you.”

You beamed and leaned toward him.  His lips planted firmly on yours made you both smile. As he pulled away you surged forward just a bit to leave one more little kiss for him.

He took your hand and let you lead the way. You were just one level down and it wasn’t long before you let him inside, suddenly wondering why you hadn’t cleaned up more. Hevy didn’t mind though. He didn’t even notice. He liked seeing where you live and seeing your personality in the little items you had around your home.  After you both took your boots off, he grinned and picked you up, kissing you again.

“Oh! Hevy!” You looked down, a little unsure.  He calmly looked up at you, happy to have you in his arms.

“I carry a Z-6 rotary cannon,” he said confidently.  Then, a little softer he added, “I could carry you anywhere. Just say the word.”

You leaned down and rested your forehead to his, placing your arms on his shoulders and smiling down at him.

You whispered, “For tonight, how about you just take me that way.” You tilted your head and looked down the hallway toward your bedroom.

He grinned, “I can do that.”

You found yourselves in bed, snuggling against each other. While the environment was new to him, because it was you and your home, he immediately relaxed. Right now, the war didn’t exist. Right now, he was with you. He was alive and here and happy.  He settled against the pillow and pulled you a little closer.  You kissed him again.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” you said quietly.

“So am I, cyar’ika.”

You listened to his heartbeat and felt his chest rise and fall with each breath. It was comforting.  It wasn’t long before you fell asleep in each other’s arms, wanting nothing more than to steal away any moment with him you could get.

[littlemissmanga]

Maybe Among the Stars

Pairing: Broadside x (gn)Reader

W/C: 2,737

Summary: Broadside was literally built to withstand risk and danger. He’s willing to take the chance this will all end badly. But that was back when the only one at risk was him. How can he face that same danger knowing it’ll roll over onto you now?

Warnings: Angst/comfort, the realities of loving a soldier, slight nod to intimacy but think like PG-13 rating. Lots of longing, but it's got a happy ending.

A/N: Goodness, I had this drafted out so long ago but real life and brain pain made this take forever. I’m terribly sorry @sunshinesdaydream for the slight delay, but here is your Broadside fic for the @rare-clone-fic-exchange! I had a lot of fun researching Broadside, Shadow Squadron, their planes and getting to dive into a starfighter’s mentality. I hope you like what I did with his personality since there isn’t too much in canon to go off of, other than his limited screen time showed me a very confident man. And what’s better than a fic about a man in crisis with himself?

Also, submitting this as an entrance for my @clonexreaderbingo card, the “Hope” square. 😊

Inspiration song, The Word of My Body from Spring Awakening: “Oh, I’m gonna bruise you. Oh, you’re gonna be my bruise.”

dividers by @saradika

It wasn’t fair. To either of you, but he understood the risk and was willing to face it. He knew what could come next and didn’t care if it meant one more chance.

But you …

You put up a great front. It took him too many rotations to see the softness under your steel. Weeks of finding reasons to fuel up at the café you worked at before he was shipped off just to tease you and get under your skin. It was a challenge that gave him a little lightness to his step before he and his brothers were back in the heat of battle, the memory of a cheeky smile on pretty lips settling his battle-tossed nerves.

Eventually, the face behind the smile was the thought that gave him comfort. But he’d never say it. He could keep you at an arm’s length and still get his fix as long as he didn’t cross that line.

And you never backed down from this game you couldn’t have known you were playing, giving as good as you got but never with cruelty. Your responses had even gotten downright flirtatious recently, a taste of normal that he couldn’t resist.

Until the last time.

Right after the Battle of Coruscant. Broadside had been flying high even with his feet solidly on the ground. Shadow Squadron had taken impressively minimal damage as each trooper flew beside General Skywalker bravely and proved integral to the safe retrieval of the Chancellor.

He’d opened the door to your café with a swagger that would make even his General blush, ready to leverage his status as planetary savior for a free slice of meilroon pie.

But instead of the sweetness he was expecting, the salt of your tears was all he could taste for hours after. The relief couldn’t erase the deep worry lines on your face at the sight of him, and while Broadside wasn’t above imagining what you’d feel like in his arms, the reality of your half-choked sobs racking your form as it melded to his when you pushed into him and held him like he would float away weighed on his heart.

“They were showing the dogfights over the holonet. I saw … there were so many … I didn’t know if …”

The realization hit him like a proton canon blast: He had become someone important to you. You felt the same way about him as he did you.

And ever since, elation and dread warred within him.

Since the Battle of Coruscant, Shadow Squadron had been requested to handle more escort missions for the Chancellor, meaning more time on Triple Zero.

More time with you.

But proximity to the Chancellor and by extension the Corrie Guard meant no room for deviation from the regs … including the one about not fraternizing with spunky natborns who’d be brought to tears at the thought of a trooper in danger.

A specific trooper. Him.

A gorgeous soul who kept him on his toes, challenging every truth he thought he knew. Who’d started saving a serving of his favorite meals when they were on special without knowing if he’d be coming in that day. Who’d throw an extra serving in for a customer going through a bad day but feigned ignorance when questioned. Who fought off the thugs and lowlifes that’d crawl in from the lower levels with a broken broom without an ounce of fear but shattered at the sight of his Squadron in danger overhead.

He was going to hurt you.

Maybe, just a little, he understood why the Jedi didn’t allow attachments. Because more and more, Broadside could feel the craving to see you again rise and overshadow the knowledge of just how thoroughly he’ll ruin you.

***

“Is this where you’re gonna murder me?”

Broadside threw an exasperated look over his shoulder. “Why would I drag you all the way here just to murder you?”

You cocked an eyebrow as your head swiveled to take in the narrow, at to be fair rather dingy, ally he was leading you through. “To throw the cops of your trail, duh. It’s like you don’t even listen to those crime holos I send you.”

He heard the smile in your voice and felt its match stretch on his own lips at your macabre humor.

“Those are all full of fluff anyway. It’s all nonsense.”

“No, they’re-”

“Shush.” He turned back and continued leading you on. “We’re almost there.”

“Would be great to know where ‘there’ is. Or what’s gonna happen there.”

Despite your grumbling, Broadside could feel your grip tighten around his hand. All at once, your simple show of trust filled his chest and brought him to his knees.

He didn’t deserve it. But he hoped he’d earn it.

Reaching a nondescript door ­— one of many to line the ally — Broadside stopped in the entranceway, pulling you over to face him.

“You already know the answer, mesh’la. You came up with this idea.”

Confusion covered your face with an aching cuteness. He could see the wheels turning inside, your eyes giving everything away as you searched for an answer.

“Closing time ... I was helping you sweep ... You asked what civvie experience I wanted to have …”

Your eyes sharpened in a playful glare. “And you said, ‘working in a diner’ just to be an ass.”

He leaned in close, towering over you and invading your space just to rile you more. He couldn’t help it. Broadside was addicted to that spark and needed it, needed you, like a hit of spice. “Not just to be an ass. But that’s not the important part. What came next?”

“You … You asked me what I’d want to do …”

Your eyes were wide as moons when you looked back up at him, disbelief filling every inch of your expression. “No …”

“Yup.” He confirmed, entering the access code and opening the door to reveal the back entrance to the hanger where Shadow Squadrons brand-new Y-wings were lined up all nice and pretty.

This time, he didn’t take your hand. Broadside strode through the hanger like he owned it, confidence grounding every step and growing at the sound of your quick footsteps franticly trying to keep up with his.

“Broadside!” You hissed quietly, earning a rich laugh at your idea of stealth. “This can’t be allowed. We’re gonna get caught!”

He stopped next to his new ship, ladder at its side at the ready. “You know, I’m actually insulted. You think I haven’t thought this through.” Turning, Broadside gestures broadly at the hanger. “See? No one around. Maintenance has been reassigned and my squad is grounded right now.”

Your eyes followed his across the cavernous room and you nodded in agreement. But your lip was still caught between your teeth, a telltale sign.

Letting the levity slip away, Broadside brought his hands up to cup your face and pull your gaze to his. Once again, he invaded your space but this time, all teasing was gone. “No one will know we’re here. I’ve got you.”

You gave him that look again. The same one as that day, the one that screamed to him just how unsure you really were underneath all your strength and bluster. The one that broke his heart with how much he wanted to erase it from your face. The same one that told him, just maybe, that you knew how tenuous this all really was.

And then you stepped closer.  

You turned to reach for the ladder, stopping to look at him one more time. He gave you an affirmative nod, fighting every cell that cried out to shatter in relief. Maybe this would go better for you both than he thought.

Following closely, he climbed up the ladder after you, settling behind you in the cockpit.

It was a tight fit, only being designed for one person at a time. Broadside struggled for a moment, trying to get his legs to fit around yours in the narrow space until you took matters into your own hands. A touch was all it took to get him to sit still, your hand holding down firmly on his thigh.

The look you sent him over your shoulder is so soft, Broadside wanted to preserve it somehow. To freeze time so you’d always look at him just like that. To make a galaxy where you’d have no reason to ever look at him any other way.

“May I?” Your voice was steady, but barely a whisper.

“Yeah,” he rasped back.

Lifting yourself up, you moved your legs to straddle his before resting yourself on his lap.

“Sorry, but I think this may be the most comfortable configuration.”

Broadside reached around you to start the operating procedures, reveling in the feel of you so close. It was a mockery of an embrace, but it was enough for now.

“No need to apologize, angel. We’re all good here.”

Once all systems were engaged and optimized, he pressed his comm. “Shadow One to Tower. All systems go, here. Ready for clearance.”

You spun in your seat to level him with an intense glare. “No one will know we’re here?”

And Broadside couldn’t resist stoking your fire, sticking out his tongue like a cadet just to revel in how riled you got. “No one who will say anything. Corkscrew is on tower watch tonight and he owes me a favor or three.”

“Tower to Shadow One. Request for test flight confirmed. You are clear for launch. You have 30 minutes.”

“See? Just a standard test flight for the new fighters,” he said smugly.

With that, Broadside went through the launch procedure without a second thought, focusing instead on every way you shifted on his lap, how your hands fumbled for purchase on the sides of the ship before gripping hard on his knees. His hand curled around your hip, holding you in place for all the good it did. The turbulence had you shaking against him and by the Maker if that friction wasn’t the most sensational thing in the entire galaxy.

But everything settled when they broke the atmosphere, the stillness and quiet covering them and isolating them from the chaos of the city planet below.

He watched with delight as your head moved on a swivel, turning back and forth to take in the vast array of stars in front of you.

“It’s beautiful,” you breathed.

“Yeah, it is.” Broadside’s response was just as quiet as he took in your awe before adding louder, “But we didn’t come up here just to look at it.”

“No?”

Before you could do anything else, he grabbed your hands. Without asking, he brought them to the steering column, molding his over yours.  “No. You’re gonna fly.”

He could see the broad, devious grin overtake your face in the reflection of the transparisteel and for the briefest moment, Broadside second-guessed whether this was a good idea.

Worry quickly gave way as he lost himself fully in the joy you exuded. Playful cheers filled the small Y-wing cockpit as he instructed you through a few of his simpler maneuvers. Eventually, he began taking a bit more control, showing off with several rolls and drops all in hopes of earning just one more delightful shout, one more squeeze of your thighs around his. All while his hand kept you in place on his lap.

Leveling out after his latest round of showing off, you leaned back against him fully, losing all tension in your body to rest soundly against his chest.

“So, what brought this on?”

His pause is palpable, creating a stillness that could rival space itself. He knew it would happen eventually. But he hated that it could ruin everything.

“I … I don’t know when I’ll be able to visit you next.”

His eyes were trained onto every inch of your body, so he saw the moment your shoulders tensed.

“I see. Even though I know Shadow Squadron has been assigned to escort the Chancellor from now on.”

Broadside took a breath, preparing for his practiced spiel, but you wouldn’t give him the chance. “Oh, yes. Don’t think I don’t follow the news. I do. Of course I do, because how else would I know where you were, what you were doing, if you were okay. You don’t tell me these things when you visit. I have to piece together rumors and suspicions. So I know you’ll be around more. But sure, tell me the lie. Tell me you won’t be able to see me. I’ve been dumb enough flirt with you. To start feeling …”

Your voice tapered off. He couldn’t see your reflection anymore, your face cast downward, but he could see how tightly you were holding yourself.

“Maybe I’ll be dumb enough to believe the lie,” you whispered.

He reached forward, snaking his other arm around to encircle your waist and pull you impossibly closer. Like a child clutching a soft toy, he curled around you in the cocoon of the cockpit.

It must have hurt. His armor was hard and unyielding. He could imagine all the ways it dug in to your pliant skin, how your curves arched around its firm plains.

Even his embrace was painful to you.

And yet you didn’t fight. You didn’t pull away or even adjust yourself. No, you pushed yourself closer, folding yourself in to fit into him like a missing piece.

“It’s not a lie,” he whispered, hoping for all the galaxy that you heard his promise. “It’s not safe.”

“For who?”

“For both of us.”

The silence lingered, and he knew you understood. If you really had been following the war, if you’ve been slicing through the holonet for information, then you had known the truth of his words for a while.

Shifting your hips, you turned in his hold, folding your legs under you to sit sideways on his lap. You didn’t look at him, though. Instead, you tucked your head under his chin, staying as close as possible. “Is that why you brought me up here? Show me the stars so I have something pretty to look at when you tell me it’s over?”

His grip tightened. “No.”

“Then why?”

He brought his hand up to cup the back of your head. He needed you as close as possible. “Because I can’t say it’s over. I want to. But I can’t. I will knowingly put you in danger just to see you again, to hear you again.”

He pressed his lips to the crown of your head. His first kiss has the aftertaste of salt and bitterness, but he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

“Bringing you to see the stars like you always wanted is the least I can do. I’ll give you anything within my power ’cause I’m taking so much more.”

You wriggled in his grasp, pulling away just enough to look him in the eye. Your cheeks were stained with tears he didn’t even hear begin to fall. Instinctively, he brought his thumb to swipe it away, but your hand stopped him.

“You’re not taking anything, dumbass. I’m giving it willingly.”

Broadside’s eyes close as relief surged through his body. He relaxed even more at the feel of your forehead pressed against his.

“I don’t care about the danger. And take as much time as you need to make things as safe as possible. But you’re not the only one who can’t call quits, so don’t act like you’re carrying the burden alone.”

He couldn’t help the smile that spread easy as sin across his lips at your declaration. Knowing that you were as far gone as he was. Now that he had your knowing consent, that you could handle all that came with being together, there was nothing holding him back.

“So, I don’t have to plan such extravagant dates?”

You let out a peel of laughter in response, your delight breaking the last remnant of grief. “Oh, you absolutely have to try and top this next time. I’ll accept nothing less.”

Fueled by hope and the fire of his wanting, Broadside pressed his lips to yours, tasting starlight and a hint of the blumfruit juice you had earlier.

“I’ve created a monster,” he murmured into the kiss.

“Indeed, you have.”

Your smile against his lips is all the reassurance he needed to not care.

You can find the rest of my fics on my Masterlist here. And you can sign up for my taglist to be alerted to any new fics here.

[221bshrlocked]

Keep Your Religion

Pairing: Commander Wolffe x Jedi AFAB!Reader

Words: 7630

Warnings: 18+ only. Starts off angsty then gets to the smut. Softer than usual Wolffe because that man would be madly in love when he finds his special someone. Lots of Kissing. Possessive Behavior/Words. Dirty/Sweet Talk..but mostly Sweet. Exhibitionism Kink if you like squint! Oral Sex (female receiving). Penetrative, Unprotected Sex (wrap the shlong before you king kong my dudes). Slight Breeding Kink. Wolffe is insatiable yall!

Summary: You try to end things with Wolffe because you fear your relationship will end badly due to the rules set in place for the Jedi and the Clones. Wolffe convinces you otherwise.

A/N: Can you believe I finished another fic? Neither can I. It was about time for another Wolffe fic so here you go my lovely humans. I hope you enjoy. Comments are always always always appreciated so let me know how I'm doing please and thank you. I do apologize that I'm not tagging, it hasn't been working for some reason since post editor changed permanently to this new looking editor. I'll try to figure it out I swear! P.S. this is the second of hopefully many more submissions for @clonexreaderbingo

Something about seeing him so relaxed and loose tugged at the strings of your heart. It was a rare sight, one you thought he would only grace you with when the two of you are alone together. But here he was, throwing back whatever shit drink the bar offered him and his brothers, all the while smiling at Cody’s remark about the new shinies embarrassing themselves in front of Anakin and Obi-Wan. You’re nursing your own drink in the corner, trying to find the best possible way to approach the booth without making a scene. He’d told you before that almost everyone close to him knew of your relationship, but you felt weird about dropping the pretenses. You were his boss, after all. Well, not completely his boss, but a commanding officer regardless. If you started acting extra friendly, you’re not sure how the rest of the Wolfpack would take it. 

As you swirl the spotchka around, you suddenly feel like someone is watching you, hunting you even. There’s only one man who’s ever made you feel so heated and just as you look up from the glass in your hand towards the group of Clones you were previously studying, you notice Wolffe staring you down, the slightest hint of a smirk flashing at you in an attempt to get you to react to his attention. 

Normally, you’d enjoy the subtle flirtatious expressions, even tease him a little to get a rise out of him before escaping to the nearest room to lure him for a private moment. Or, as private a moment as 79’s can offer a Jedi Master and a Commander of the Grand Republic Army. 

But tonight was different. Tonight, you came out to the Clone bar to decide the best way to end things with Wolffe. It was the last thing you wanted to do, but you didn’t want to push your luck any further. Things were getting worse by the hour, and you couldn’t afford losing Wolffe all because some assholes in the Senate didn’t think he deserved to love or to be loved by someone. Then there was the matter of the Jedi Council, and how strict they were becoming. It was already frowned upon before the war, and it only took a few months into this galactic conflict for them to push their ideologies even harder on everyone at the Temple. 

You would never forgive yourself if they punished him simply because you couldn’t stand being far away from him any longer. You narrow your eyes at Wolffe and down the rest of your drink, disappointed in yourself for not having the guts to tell him earlier. 

And for knowing that you probably wouldn’t be able to do it tonight. 

The smile on his face drops instantly when he notices you avoiding his gaze, and you curse yourself for ruining his night. It was going so well, and one look at you made the worry return to his mind again. 

Clutching your robes tightly, you pay the bartender quickly before excusing yourself and heading towards the bathrooms in the back. You could feel the tears threaten to spill down your cheeks and the last thing you wished for is for someone to see you and make a huge fuss about it. As you push through the crowd, you feel those same pair of eyes hold you down harshly, as if they were refusing you permission to leave without confronting them. 

Quickly wiping your eyes, you push open the doors and turn around to lock them behind you, only to nearly bump into the chest of the man you were hoping to avoid tonight. You gulp nervously, and before you can say anything, Wolffe tilts his head to the side and studies you closely, his eyes roaming down your body to see if anything needs his immediate attention. 

When he finds nothing out of the ordinary, he takes a step closer to you and shuts the door behind him, not bothering to lock it as he continues to back you up until you hit the wall. 

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re trying to avoid me.” His gaze is direct, unfaltering in the haze of lust he was sending you under. You furrow your eyebrows and try to look anywhere else but him, but as always, he doesn’t give you the easy way out. Grabbing the bottom of your chin, he turns you until you have no choice but to look straight into his eyes and respond. 

“What if I was?” You’re not sure what pushes you to say something so defensive, but the chuckle it gets out of him makes you realize you had already lost whatever game he was playing with you. 

“I’d say you should have gone to another bar.” He’s right. You know this, and he definitely knows this too. The ease with which he continues to have an effect on you would normally be welcomed, but you’re pissed at him. Pissed for being so weak for him. For not bothering to put up a fight. 

“But here you are…at the one place you knew I was coming to tonight.” Wolffe leans down and nudges your temple with his nose, breathing in the scent of your sweat and perfume, and forcing you to reach for him so you don’t topple over from the sheer amount of control he has on you. 

“So tell me mesh’la, what have I done to deserve the cold shoulder?” He whispers the question in your ear, slowly sliding his hands down your body until they reach your waist. You’re having a difficult time breathing, and you moan his name as you throw your head back when he squeezes your hips and pushes his chest impossibly closer into your own. 

“I- you didn’t…it,” you can’t form a coherent sentence, let alone a sensical thought, when you’re so overwhelmed by his presence alone. You thought he would laugh at you, but when his breathing becomes nearly as erratic as your own, you understand that he was genuinely trying to figure out if he’s done something wrong. His methods seldom changed, and you weren’t surprised that he was trying to get you to talk by touching you as intimately as possible without tearing your clothes off. 

“Don’t tell me I did nothing wrong…sir. Something must have happened, or else you would be begging me to have my way with you right now. So what is it? What have I done?” Wolffe repeats again, making you feel guilty for your behavior and for what you’ve been thinking of doing since the last time you were together. You remind yourself that he deserves someone better, someone who wouldn’t compromise his position in the GAR all because of their messed-up religion. He deserved so much more than you. 

And the mere mention of your rank made it worse.

“W-Wolffe, I umm, I can’t do this anymore.” You know this was the last thing he expected you to say because in the blink of an eye, he’s removing himself from you completely and putting space between your shaking body and his own wound up chest. When you muster up the courage to look into his eyes, a shiver courses down your spine. 

It has been so long since he’s given you such a look, one that was filled with nothing but suspicion and guardedness. He’s quiet for longer than you like, and when you reach for him in an attempt to console him, his frown deepens and he twitches away from you. You hadn’t expected such a reaction to hurt this much, but it does, and like before, you have no control over the stream of tears rolling down your chin. Again, it’s not what he expects to witness from you, certainly not after what you just declared to him, and when you sniffle to get yourself under control, he closes the space between you more aggressively than before, slamming his hands on both sides of your face and clenching his jaws tightly when he sees you pouting at him. 

“I don’t know what I’ve done, I don’t. But I’m sorry regardless. I am so very sorry. Whatever it is, we can talk it out. It’s not worth throwing away all that we have. Please. Just- krifff…tell me what it is I have done, and I will get down on my knees right now and beg for your forgiveness. But don’t do this, don’t give up on us.” In all your time knowing Wolffe, you’ve never once heard him speak with such a tone. He was always assertive, confident and unwavering in his commanding presence. 

But the only thing you could feel now is his fear. 

“You did nothing wrong, it’s me…it’s all me Wolffe.” You know this won’t be enough for him, but you try to convince him regardless. Then he drops his head against your shoulder and you know you won’t be able to hold out much longer. 

“I wasn’t born yesterday sweetheart. If you’ve ever held an ounce of respect for me, you’ll tell me what I did wrong. You owe me that much. I- I deserve to know.” If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was close to breaking down as well. 

“I do Wolffe, I respect you…more than anyone. You have to know that.” You hope he doesn’t turn away when you reach for him again, and as you cup his cheeks in the palms of your hands to raise his attention to you, you’re met with an expression you never thought you’d see on his features. 

“You haven’t done anything baby, it’s me. It’s…all me.” If you were a better person, you would have been consistent in your tone with him, but seeing him so torn down broke you, and you couldn’t not soothe him the way you always did whenever he comes back from a particularly difficult mission. 

“You deserve someone better Wolffe, someone who would never compromise your safety. Being with me is- it’s getting dangerous. The Council is becoming more strict…the Senate even worse. If they court martial you because you’re with me, I- I don’t know what I would do.” There’s something so gut-wrenching about the way he refuses to look away from your moving lips, and when you stop talking, he doesn’t blink once, his cybernetic eye focusing in and out before slowly blinking along with the other.

“Someone better?” It’s clear that he’s still hurt by the word vomit you threw at him, but whereas his voice showed it earlier, the shakiness and reluctance is gone now, replaced with a menacing, almost angry tone that you were too familiar with, one that you’ve witnessed during battle when his orders weren’t obeyed immediately. 

“I can’t give you what you want Wolffe, not without hurting you eventually…unintentionally. My- my religion, it’s becoming a threat to your well-being. It’s not worth the hassle. I am not worth the hassle. You could do so much better than-” Whatever you’re about to say gets lost in the damp air of the room as soon as Wolffe decides he’s heard enough of what was on your mind. He grips your neck tightly, winding his other arm around your back and violently pulling you into his embrace as he swallows your surprised shrieks. Your frown deepens for another moment before you surrender yourself to the possessive kiss, and Wolffe must feel you melting into his arms because he growls against your lips and claims your tongue without remorse. 

His hold on you only grows stronger when he feels your arms move to wrap around his neck, and when he’s sure you’re trying to get closer to him and not push him away, he tilts his head to the side and deepens the kiss, not caring for how messy or aggressive he’s being with you as he shoves his tongue past your lips and reminds you of what you could be missing if you got what you wanted and left him. 

As the need for air becomes difficult to ignore, Wolffe breaks the kiss and gives the two of you a moment of respite. When he opens his eyes and finds your orbs glistening with unshed tears, he swears beneath his breath and lunges for you again, the hand around your throat loosening for a fraction of a second before tightening around your jugular and forcing you to accept his rejection of your wishes. You moan into the kiss, allowing him to take whatever he wants from you, knowing that he wasn’t going to allow you to go through with whatever it is you thought you could get away with tonight. When he’s content with the reactions of your mind and body to his touch, 

“You nearly broke my heart, ner runi. Don’t ever say that to me again!” Wolffe refuses to let go of you, afraid you’d leave the room thinking that he agreed to the sentiment you dropped on him a second ago. When you say nothing in return, he shakes his head and crushes you into his arms, nuzzling into your neck and breathing you in to attempt and calm his nerves. He prays that you give him some form of an answer that confirms your understanding of what he just said, but when you don’t, Wolffe sighs heavily and pulls back enough to take a better look at you. 

“Wolffe, we need to talk ab-” Again, he doesn’t care for what you have to say and cuts you off, letting you know that this was definitely the end of the conversation. 

“No, we’re done talking. You can keep your religion sweetheart, I couldn’t care less for its consequences…but don’t you fucking dare and ask me to abandon mine.” His voice is firm, the familiar unyielding articulation confirming to you that he’s already made up his mind on the matter. There would be no more on the matter. 

As much as you hate to admit it, it feels like a bantha has lifted one of its feet off your chest. You look into his eyes and find them filled with a more familiar emotion, one that kept you going ever since you confessed your feelings to him. You thought it would be difficult to get him to accept your proposition, but you realize then and there that it was definitely harder for you to come to terms with your initial thoughts. 

You slowly smile at him, and it must be what Wolffe needs to hear to forget the last few minutes because his touches become less crazed and more soothing, a level of intimacy you’re always yearning for when the two of you are away from each other for too long. 

“And what...what is your religion?” You barely find the attention span to ask, the familiarity of his touch and his voice sending you down a spiral of lust-filled thoughts that only increased the longer Wolffe remained in your presence. 

“Your body is my religion cyar’ika, and I’m not planning on losing my faith any time soon.” The confession is lewd, mostly because he’s using your weakness to drive the message home. But as dirty as the admission sounded on his lips, you couldn’t help but sink into his embrace, wanting to hear more of him so you could forget about why you were here in the first place. 

“Is that s-so?” You’re practically shaking in his arms, and Wolffe uses your momentary distraction to tug your robes apart and leave a trail of kisses down your neck to where he wanted to bite you most. 

“Yeah,” he licks at your skin, wishing with all his heart he could have you right then and there. It’s not as if the two of you haven’t fucked at 79’s before. He just knew that you both needed something more, something that he can only accomplish in the privacy of his rooms. 

“Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to excuse myself for the night, tell the boys I have to finish reports for the General.” He slips a hand underneath the edge of your shirt, drawing circles on your waist until you slowly begin to roll your hips into him. 

“Ahuh,” you’re not really paying attention to what he’s saying, your body already frozen with anticipation now that it felt his hands and his tongue leaving marks across it again. 

“Focus,” he squeezes your ass, shaking it twice to get you to open your eyes and look past the haze to obey his next commands. 

“Yes sir.” You bite into your lip and giggle when he narrows his eyes at you and mumbles something about punishing you for being a tease. 

“You’re going to leave shortly after, something about being needed back at the Temple.” Your stomach twists in knots when you realize he’s using his ‘Commander’ voice on you, and you can’t help but wrap your arms around his neck and mold your lips with his own when you remember the last time he used that same tone on you. 

What a night it was. 

“And where w-will I actually be going?” You ask as soon as Wolffe pulls you away and breaks the kiss. 

“My room baby, where you’ll stay for the rest of the night.” He says matter of factly, as if you shouldn’t even be asking his such a question. 

“Pray tell, Commander. What will we be doing that- oh kriff, that will require me to spend the night in your quarters?” You throw your head back when his hand slithers up your body and cups your breast through your Jedi robes. You can almost feel the heat radiating off the palm of his hand, and the harder he gropes you through your clothes, the more you wish he would just push you down on all fours and fuck you into oblivion. 

“Well, I don’t know about you sweetheart, but I’ll be practicing my faith...and worshiping every inch of your body until the only thing you can feel is me.” The smirk on his face would be menacing if you weren’t so used to it by now, and you gasp lightly when he leans down and bites the skin of your shoulder peeking from beneath your cloak. 

“Oh gods-”

“That’s it, moan for me cyar’ika. I want the whole fucking bar to know who makes you feel good.” Wolffe shoves your thighs apart and pushes his leg in between, slowly moving you back and forth on him to give you a preview of what’s to come tonight. 

“Wolffe, please. I need you.” You fall forward against his chest, whining for him as he continues to move you across his thigh and dares you to come from such a simple touch. 

“Oh, now you need me?” You know he’s joking without looking at him, but the question throws you off guard and you snap your gaze up to see if he was hurt by what you said previously. 

“I- I didn’t…I’m sorry.”

“None of that.” Wolffe shakes his head, not wanting to ruin the moment by something so trivial. He slows down his touches but keeps you moving on him, hoping to distract you long enough to make this night a little better for the both of you. 

“Wolffe,” you call for him again, not in warning but in desperation, hoping that he can see how sorry you are for ever doubting what the two of you had. 

“That was cruel of me, forgive me sweetheart.” His voice is soft, so much sweeter than before, and you’re reminded by how quickly his mood changes whenever he senses you’re upset or angry. 

“How could you ask that when I am the one who hurt you?” You should drop it, everything that he’s done is proof that you should let this go and get back to more important matters, but you can’t stop yourself from asking him, wanting to know why he’s always so patient and caring with you when he was the one who deserved better. 

“You didn’t hurt me, cyare.”

“I did, I- I almost…”

“You could never hurt me, little one. Never.” Like before, he doesn’t care for whatever you have to say, not because he doesn’t value your words, but because he knows how difficult your relationship with him probably weighs on your mind. 

Even from the beginning. 

You study him for what feels like hours but is probably only seconds. And you wonder how anyone could ever think him cruel and rude when he was so loving and unbelievably long-suffering. Without warning, you throw yourself at him, mirroring his actions from before and shoving your mouth against his own to feel grounded. He doesn’t waste a second, pushing you harder against the wall and sucking on your tongue until you were a moaning mess in his embrace. 

“F-fuck, if you keep that up, I won’t- kriff, I won’t hold back.” Wolffe rests his forehead against yours, trying to keep himself in check so he doesn’t end up embarrassing the two of you by what his body is willing to do. 

“Then don’t!”

“You want me to fuck you right here, where anyone can walk in and see you getting filled with my cock?” He shouldn’t be surprised by how wanton you are, and although he knows he should step away and put some space between you and him, he can’t help but retort with his own teasing comment. 

“Please Commander.” You lean up and kiss his jugular, nipping at the skin just above his armor and soothing it with another kiss before laying your head back and meeting his intense gaze. 

“Always playing dirty. Just for that, you’ll have to wait.” Wolffe clears his throat and eyes you up and down before taking a few steps back. He barely manages to hold back from laughing when you stumble forward and nearly lose your footing. You’re about to complain when he raises a hand and silences you, furrowing his eyebrows at you in an attempt to look intimidating. 

“Another word, and I won’t give you my cock tonight.” He warns calmly, smirking immediately when you shake your head and tell him you’ll be good.

“No please, I’ll stop. I’ll behave, I swear.” 

“You’ll behave-?” The question trails until the room is silent again and you know instantly what you said wrong. 

“Commander.” You whisper to him as you try to fix your clothes and hair so you don’t look like you were fucked against a wall by the Commander of the 104th Battalion. You don’t dare smile at him, afraid he’d misunderstand the gesture for another one of your teasing expressions and completely throw the night away. 

“Good girl, now do as you’re told and I promise to reward you.” He watches you saunter past him and before you unlock the door, he smacks your ass quite harshly, watching you closely to see if you were going to behave or retort like you usually do. 

“Yes, sir.” You don’t dare give into his tricks, hoping to get through the next hour or so without getting distracted, or worse…caught. 

“Off you go.” He gestures for you to leave before him, and when you’re no longer in sight, he shuts his eyes and sighs in relief. Wolffe is not sure how the two of you got to where you are now, but considering the fact that he expected something like this to happen since you got together, he’s relieved that it was for reasons different from what his mind conjured up all those nights he spent alone in his bed. 

You walk out and move towards the bar again, your eyes roaming across the busy bar and waiting until Wolffe walks out before you make sure that no one noticed the two of you together. He follows you soon after, finding you almost instantly and winking at you before he heads towards his men. You watch as he tells Sinker to give him his helmet, and you assume they all roll their eyes not a second later because he told them he needed to get some paperwork done. 

But as soon as Cody looks at you, he knows what Wolffe is planning on doing, and before you can turn away from him, he raises his glass and smiles at you before downing the rest of his drink. You should be embarrassed at being seen, but something about the way the Commander gestures at you makes you smile, as if he was telling you that he hoped the two of you are okay. You shake your head at him and throw your hood up, walking to the Commander of the 21st Nova Corps to let him know you’ll be leaving earlier tonight. 

“Ah General, I was wondering when you’ll be joining us.” You smile at Commander Bacara and the boys, giving them a few credits to let them know the next two rounds were on you. 

“Sorry Bacara, I’m calling it early tonight. Needed back at the Temple!” You feel bad for lying to him, but as always, he doesn’t ask for an elaboration, telling you that he hopes you don’t have to do too much paperwork while you’re still on break. 

“See you later,” you nod at him and the others when they salute you, and just as you walk out of the bar, you vaguely hear them yell for the droid making its rounds to get them a round of quanya. 

“Hmm, didn’t peg them for the type.” You mutter to yourself as you step out into the chilly Coruscant air, looking around to see if Wolffe was anywhere to be seen or if he has already left. When you don’t sense his Force signature nearby, you make your way towards the speeder bike Anakin lent you and bring it to life, trying your best to contain yourself so you wouldn’t be caught by another Jedi nearby. 

You make your way through the streets as quickly as possible, and when you make it to the Temple, you park the bike nearby and think of the best way to make it through the barracks without being seen by any of the Masters…or Commanders. 

It’s not the first time you entered the barracks, and under normal circumstances, it wouldn’t be strange to see a Jedi making their way through the hallways. But it was nearly midnight, and you weren’t sure you could lie your way through a question if you were caught before you made it to Wolffe’s quarters. You’re about to reach out to the Force to see if anyone is awake when you hear footsteps approaching you from behind. The familiarity of its warmness sets your mind at ease, and you take a deep breath before you turn to face him. 

“Commander.”

“General, is there something I can help you with?” He’s putting on a show for the surveillance cameras, and you clear your throat before you tell him something about wanting to review the plans for the next mission. 

“Very well,” he’s curt in his response, and you get the sense that he may be avoidant because he has about as much control around you as you do whenever you so much as hear the mention of his name. 

“Thank you, Commander Wolffe.” He nearly falters in his steps at hearing you call his name, and he swears beneath his breath as a way of warning. You nearly smile at his reaction, but you remember how closely the guards watch the cameras and you choose to switch your attention to the ground. Not another word passes between the two of you, and as you reach his room, you feel your heart threaten to leap out of your chest at the prospect of finally spending a night with him. 

Up until now, the two of you had to make do with stolen moments and short breaks, whether on missions or back here. Neither of you have ever spent the night alone, and you find it fitting that tonight would be it. It’s comforting and nerve-wrecking all at once, and as soon as you step into his quarters, you allow yourself to take in the calm before the storm. 

Before the door slides completely shut, Wolffe is on you like a moth to a flame, nearly ripping your clothes off of your body as he pushes you down onto his bed. 

“W-Wolffe, I-” You try to ask him why he’s so frantic and crazed all of a sudden but he lets go of you and stands to his height, making quick work of his armor in record time all the while keeping you still with the mere look in his eyes. 

“I can’t do slow tonight, can’t wait another fucking second without having you.” You always admired how much care he puts into his armor whenever he’s taking it off or putting it back on, so seeing him drop each pass to the ground sends a zap of lightning down your spine. 

You mirror his actions without another word, throwing your boots and socks away before struggling to take your pants off. Moments later, you feel the bed dip once Wolffe crawls towards you, his muscles flexing in such a menacing way that makes you fall back into the sheets and wait for him to tell you what to do next. 

But then he says nothing, and you’re torn between asking him what he needs from you and letting you do whatever the fuck he wants. He reaches for the edge of your pants and tugs them right down your legs, not once blinking as he violently takes your sweater off and throws it somewhere behind him. You’re left in nothing but your undergarments, and as you twist your arms to take your bra off, Wolffe shoves your thighs apart and makes space for himself in between. 

“I need you, now.” His voice should terrify you, it should be enough of a warning for what he has in store for you. But you find it exhilarating, knowing that only you could get him to lose this much control. You try to reach for him, wanting to feel his skin beneath the tips of your fingers, but Wolffe shakes his head and grabs both of your wrists in one hand, slamming them above your head and tightening the hold he has on them while he slithers his other hand down your nude body. 

“If it were up to me mesh’la, I’d tie you to this fucking bed and have my way with you whenever I want. I’d- kriff, I’d fill you with my cum every minute of every fucking day…so everyone would know you’re mine…so they know that I’m yours.” He teases you through your panties, rubbing lazy circles across the damp spot quickly becoming larger. 

“Wolffe, please…take me.” You whine his name in desperation, hoping he’d finally give you his cock and end your misery. 

“I swear to the maker sweet girl, I’m going to fuck you all night long…kiss every inch of you, mark you with my teeth and hands until you’re my very own altar. I’m going to worship you baby, but only if you promise me one thing.” Wolffe slips his fingers beneath the flimsy material of your panties, rubbing at your clit furiously to get you to focus on him and him only. 

“A-anything…anything Commander.” You turn to the side and kiss his forearm, hoping he’d see how willing you are to do whatever he asks of you. 

“Pray for me.” As you look bite into his skin, Wolffe pushes his hard dick into your cunt, not bothering to give you a moment to get used to being so full before he starts fucking into you with sharp thrusts. You’re screaming his name instantly, arching your back from the sheer amount of pain and pleasure he was bringing upon you so quickly. 

“FUck, there we go…such a good fucking girl for me, screaming my name so sweetly. Go on ner Jetii’ika, tell everyone who fucks you like the perfect cockdumb whore you are.” He leans down and bites the top of your breasts, letting go of your wrists for a brief second so he can rip the last bit of clothing shielding you from his hungry eyes. 

“Wolffe…f-ffuck, oh gods…Wolffe!” You twist your fingers into his bed sheets, crossing your legs behind his back and whining for him when he descends down on you and sucks on your nipple. His hand seeks out your own, and when he intertwines his fingers with yours, he grunts and growls against your skin, reaching for the other breast and groping you harshly until the only thing you can feel is his tongue, and his hands, and his cock wreaking havoc on you. 

Wolffe knows he should slow down, perhaps be a little less demanding with you. But something about seeing you in his bed when everyone else is asleep makes him more possessive, more needy with your body. And it didn’t help how you were reacting to his advances, how completely you surrendered your body to him without so much as a question. He opens his eyes and roams them over your already bruising skin, and when he finds you wanting for more, he increases his pace and fucks you until you couldn’t even breathe out his name. 

You sense his gaze on you, and as you look through heavy-lidded eyes, you find him completely focused on your dazed expression. 

“Wolffe, I- I love you.” You’re not sure what makes you say those words now, but a voice in your heart told you this was the right moment. You’ve spoken before about what this thing between the two of you was, and you knew, as well as he, that this would be it. There would be no one else, not for him, and definitely not for you. 

But you’ve never actually said those words out loud. You’ve said it in the way you kissed him, in the way you gave yourself to him…and Wolffe had pretty much conveyed them to you with every stolen glance and every quick touch he managed to sneak when the two of you passed each other on the General’s ship. 

Like before, Wolffe hasn’t expected to hear you part with such a confession, now of all times. He falters in his pace for a brief moment before he sinks his cock into you and stills completely, wanting to be as close and connected with you as possible when he finally said what he’s felt for you since you introduced yourself to him. 

“Ni kar’tayli gar darasuum…cyare.” You let out a quiet sob at the intimacy of the moment, and Wolffe wraps his arms around your neck and your waist to feel you against every bit of his skin. His thrusts are shallow, barely leaving you empty out of fear of losing this moment. You throw your arms around his neck and bring him flush against you, crying for him one last time as he seals your lips with his own and sinks into your wet cunt. 

The world comes to a halt around you, and all you can feel is Wolffe’s lips claiming your mouth just as he fills you with his seed. You come with him, shaking softly in his arms as his hot cum shoots into you and coats your walls with proof of his need to mark every fucking inch of you. It’s too much and not enough, and you push your heels into his ass in an attempt to bring him even closer to you. It’s not possible, you know that, but you want nothing more than to have him sink into your body until you weren’t sure where he ended and you began. 

Wolffe is fighting for his life, torn between giving you a second to breathe and quite literally stealing your breath to fill his lungs with your essence. He parts for a brief moment and looks at you, kissing your eyes softly before shoving his lips against yours again. You don’t dare ask him to give you a moment of respite, mostly because you’re sure you would miss him if he were to put space between your skin and his lips. 

Suddenly, the world turns around and you break the kiss unintentionally, gasping in surprise when he turns the two of you around until he’s laying on his back and you on top of him. You smile against his jaw when you feel his hands slide down your back and grab at your ass. As he starts moving your hips back and forth, you nuzzle into his neck and breathe in his scent, licking and kissing his skin the more he fucks his cum deep into your cunt. 

“W-Wolffe…”

“I’m not done with you yet, ner kar’ta.” The promise is both teasing and terrifying, but you can’t find it in yourself to hesitate, not when he was promising you the stars all night long. 

And he does, he brings you the heavens until you can no longer breathe without tasting the cosmos on your tongue. With every touch of his fingers, you beg him for more…more of his sweet words, more of his sinful kisses, more of his needy cock.

He fucks you until you lose your voice, and when he’s sure he’s rung your body of every ounce of pleasure it can offer him, he fucks you some more, filling your pussy until you were nothing but a mess, a mixture of his seed and your juices.

And then he pushes you down and parts your thighs to pull you apart with his tongue, and you feel that familiar heat rise in your chest all over again. You tug on his hair, torn between urging him to make you cum again and pleading for him to stop because you could no longer stand the pleasure. You were so sensitive, and Wolffe knew very well how painful the ecstasy was becoming, but some twisted part of him wanted to mark your cunt with his teeth and tongue as well. He wanted to devour you, body and soul. Your release comes in the form of a silent cry, and Wolffe laps up your mixed cum until you can’t take it anymore, softly pushing his shoulders away so he can slow down.

There is a lazy smile on your features, one that deepens further when you see Wolffe crawling on top of you and leaving a trail of wet kisses across your sweaty skin.

“Satisfied?” He dares to ask, lightly pinching your nipples when you don’t respond right away. You giggle at the touch, pulling him closer to you so he can kiss you some more. He melts into your body, roaming his hands across the tired muscles until he has no choice but to fall beside you.

You hum in response, studying his relaxed expression and laying the softest of kisses on his forehead before pulling him into your neck. Neither of you say anything, and only when your breathing steadies does Wolffe pull away to make sure you’re comfortable and asleep.

He sits up on his elbows and takes in his handiwork, biting his lower lip when he sees the bruises already forming all over your body. The contentment falters for a split second, but his worries evaporate when you sleepily reach for him and bring him back into your arms. He mutters his love for you one last time before surrendering to the comfort of your embrace, falling into a deep sleep almost as soon as he rests his cheek on your shoulder. 

It’s hours later when you wake, and you groan tiredly when the sunbeams hit your eyes and make it difficult to escape them. You turn to the other side and peek through your lashes, only to find Wolffe already wide awake, softly touching the length of your arm with his lips and nose, as if he was tracing every little mark he left on your body from last night. He looks up when he notices your breaths coming in erratically, winking at you and smirking at the sudden spirit of shyness falling over your tired form. 

“I can taste the sunlight on your skin.” He moans against your clavicle, lightly nipping at the skin over the bone when you turn away from him and hide beneath the sheets. 

“Hmm…such a smooth talker.” You groan from underneath the shield you’ve created, giggling like a little girl when Wolffe tugs them away and attacks your face with playful nips and kisses. 

“Only for you cyar’ika.” He whispers into your ear before biting at the space just below it, his touches becoming less playful and more needy as he takes in the way your body is reacting to his advances. 

“Wolffe, your lips feel so good.” You throw your head back and sink your nails into the muscles on his back, gasping for air the longer Wolffe continues to mark you up. It’s almost as if he was looking for spots on your skin he hasn’t left his bite marks or fingerprints on. Not that you were complaining. 

“Just my lips, General?” You can hear the smile on his handsome face, and you nearly push back to edge him on, but you realize it would serve you better to give into him and tell him what he wants to hear. 

“N-no, it’s everything you do to me Wolffe. It’s in your touch…your- your voice…your cock.”

“My little Jedi can’t get enough of me.” He shifts you in his arms until you’re laying on your stomach, and when you try to look back to see what he has in mind, he combs his finger into your hair and pushes you into the pillows until he has access to your back. When he hears whine his name, he descends down on you like a crazed man, sinking his teeth into the skin he wasn’t able to reach last night while pulling on your hair to remind you who was in charge. 

“Oh gods…never, Wolffe. Never. I want you all the kriffing time, even now…I just want you to- to,” you forget what you want to say, the need to commit this moment to memory outweighing whatever information your mind wanted to part with. It must be the reaction Wolffe was wanting for because he chuckles against your heated skin and finishes your thought for you. 

“Claim you?”

“Please.” You try to push the sheets away from you so you can feel him against your back, and Wolffe lets go of you for a split second to let you do whatever you wish, returning flush against you once you’re completely nude to his eyes. He’s on you in the blink of an eye, teasing you with the head of his hard cock while keeping a firm hold on your hips so you don’t move against him.

“Can’t really do that now, can I mesh’la?” He struggles through his words, his hungry eyes picturing all the things he still wants to do to you as you lay there beneath him, willingly submitting your entire self to him without a second thought. 

“You’re already mine, little Jedi. You’re mine, have been since you came here all those months ago and told me you wanted me.” He massages your back with his calloused hands, trying to come to terms with the fact that he will never be close enough to you. He’ll never get tired of this. He’ll never not want to touch you with everything he’s got. 

“But since you plead so sweetly,” you moan into the sheets as you feel him part your thighs and slowly sink his cock into your swollen cunt, keeping you filled to the brim and refusing to move until you begged some more. 

“Wolffe...” You reach back and tug on his hair to bring him closer to you, the need to hear what you do to him igniting a flame in your chest, one that only he could put out by showing you how much he craves you. 

“F-ffuck, you’ve ruined the mornings for me cyare. Now I- I won’t stop thinking of your wet, tight pussy when I…kriff, when I wake up.” Wolffe bites into your shoulder as he rolls his hips into you, no longer able to control his desires from you. He wanted you to know the effect you have on him, the hold you had on his very soul ever since you walked onto his ship and offered your aid all those months ago. 

“I’m yours Commander, always. Y-you can have me whenever you want.” You sigh heavily when he growls against your skin and continues to fuck into you without caring for how rough he’s being. 

“E-even at sunrise, General?” Wolffe chuckles as soon as your cunt clenches tightly around him at the mention of the honorific, letting you know that he enjoys calling you by your rank as much as he does when you moan his. 

“Especially at sunrise-” You barely manage to breathe out, smiling through the assault he was bringing on your body as you surrender yourself completely to him.

“My little tracinya,” Wolffe nuzzles into the crook of your neck, content with the way you seem to melt the harder he fills you with his cock. A part of him knows he should maybe discuss the incident from last night, but he finds it difficult to pay any mind to your words when he already has you so willing and wanting beneath him. 

Later, he would consider the little issue of your religion later. 

But for now, he was adamant on showing you his own.

[the-cantina]

Bliss | Hunter x F!Reader

Pinned post | Masterlist | WIP list | The Bad Batch | Clone Squads | Delta Squad

For @clonexreaderbingo | SQUARE: Hunter | Read in Ao3

Fic | Explicit | Word Count: 5.8k (do not perceive me) SUMMARY: After having fun out in a snowy winter day, you and your husband find a very good way to keep warm. CONTENT SFW: Domestic fluff, married life, playful wrestling, use of “queen”, “princess”, and “ma'am”. Hunter is one incurable cuddle bug. NSFW: Explicit smut, a desperate submissive Hunter, reader is a domme and a bit of a meanie, food play, oral sex (both receiving), rough hair pulling, mild manhandling, begging, edging, unprotected PiV, creampie

18+ themes below the cut. Be responsible about the content you consume, if you're not of adult age in your country, do the both of us a favor and go away.

[Gedet'ye = mando'a for please]

It’s not entirely clear who started it, and honestly, finding culprits would do little to change the course of things now; at least, that was the argument that shut up that annoying, anti-fun voice whining inside your head.

You risk another peek from behind the makeshift cover, your already numb hands turning the ice in your grasp into another snowball from muscle memory alone. Hunter had yet to check near the shrubberies chosen as your base of operations. Perfect. Gathering the stack at your feet, you slink away to the next hiding spot, only to freeze midway.

It can’t be…

You can’t fight the smirk that stretches over your lips at the scene ahead. If your rushed attempt at hiding was bad, Hunter’s was downright pitiful. Of all the places, your lover picked the back of your house to hide behind. It was a passable — if predictable — choice. Or it would be, if he didn’t forget to leave his boots out of view.

Tip-toeing to his hiding spot, you bite your lip to keep in the laughter bubbling in your chest, feeling every bit like a cheesy holomovie villain, sneaking behind the hero to deliver a nefarious attack. But the ‘gotcha!’ on your tongue never makes it past your lips.

Confusion robs your voice as you process what’s in front of your eyes. Where you expected Hunter to stand, there’s only a discarded pair of boots, surrounded by undisturbed, smooth snow — no tracks to be seen. Realization feels like a bucket of cold water washing over you, and adrenaline turns your giddiness into hyperawareness in the space of a heartbeat.

He could be anywhere.

Suddenly too exposed and vulnerable, you quickly backtrack your route. Wide-eyed, you scan the white expanse of the backyard for any signal of Hunter activity, suspicious of every blade of grass, branch, and rock littering the floor.

On the edge as you are, the sudden touch on your back is enough to make you jump a foot in the air. An entirely undignified squawk echoes in the cold as you lose balance, toppling headfirst towards the ground.

Your face never touches the snow. Instead, it presses against the warm, solid — rumbling with laughter — chest of your lover.

Petty irritation over losing the battle before it even starts sparks in your chest. But, just like the half-hearted pout in your face, it fizzles out and dies as Hunter’s joy wraps around you like a blanket.

How could you possibly be annoyed when his joy was so loud, so clear? When he gave in to the laughter usually seen in the more carefree Wrecker — the kind that formed belly-deep, rumbling with enough strength to destabilize you from atop him? When he sported a grin so wide, the corner of his eyes crinkled in the most adorable way, sparkling with joy rarely afforded in his way of life? …

Oh, you were in deep for the sergeant, weren’t you? The realization might cause more worry than you really felt, if the love-struck glint in his warm brown eyes didn’t make it clear as day that he was twice as gone for you.

“Gotcha.” He purrs once he calms down enough to speak, strong arms tugging you closer to deliver a noisy kiss at the crown of your head.

“Yeah, yeah. You got me. Happy?” You snort at his lively nodding, before growing serious, “But I can’t believe you took off your boots just to trick me! Let it be known I will hear no grumble or excuse if you catch a cold because of that.”

“Every sacrifice is worth it when it comes to love and war, mesh’la.” Hunter says, sitting and bending over to pull his boots back on before his hands rest on your waist, squeezing softly. “Even more so when this is my winning prize…” His wink is almost enough to kick your annoyance back to life.

“Winning prize, huh?” You ask, turning to straddle him with a smirk and an idea brewing in your head.

“Oh yeah,” Hunter says, eyes closing with a pleased hum when your hands run down his chest and up his sides, “having you in my lap? All over me? Sure feeling like a winner here, love.”

“I’m sure you do, love.” Your smirk widens to a devilish grin as Hunter leans back on his gloved hands, eager to grant you wandering ones further access to his body, “But you should know better than to count your chickens before they hatch!”

It’s Hunter’s turn to jump when, instead of the touch he expected, you shove a fistful of snow up into his blacks. His startled yelp, the way his eyes go wide, jaw popping open in shock and betrayal. It’s all too much. You’re powerless to fight your own fit of laughter, a half-hearted ‘I’m sorry love’ wheezed amidst your cackling.

“Oh no, you didn’t,” he growls, making a show of picking the melting ice from his shirt.

“Oh, but I did,” you say, arms crossing over your chest “all is fair in love and war-” the taunt dies in your throat as the world blurs, and then Hunter is smirking above you, muscular thighs bracketing your waist. “Hunter, cyar’ika…” you plead in vain, wrists pinned above your head. Whimpering is all what’s left as the same evil grin you sported moments ago now stretches over Hunter’s full lips. His hand — full of snow — crawls menacingly close to the edge of your shirt, and your yelp pierces the air when the ice slides home right under your jacket.

“Ah, so it’s war you want?” you say, his payback igniting the fire of revenge on you. In a move mastered after one too many roughhousing with the boys, up go your hips — and off you falls Hunter. On top once more, you promptly wipe off his smirk with two fistfuls of snow.

You wrestle back and forth for what feels like forever, rolling in the frozen ground like a pair of mischievous tooka, no victor ever rising from the tangle of limbs and laughter.

Until you sneeze, that is.

Like the flip of a switch, all mischief bleeds off Hunter’s eyes; the smirk shifts into a fond smile, and tickling hands pull you off the snow, right into his warm body. Your complaints about getting “carried away from the fun” are both half-hearted and quick to fade as you melt into his embrace, humming contentedly as Hunter’s furnace-like body heat seeps into your now damp layers.

It still surprised you, sometimes, how hot clone’s bodies ran. It probably was intentional engineering from the Kaminoans, but you counted it as a blessing. There was no better way to keep toasty and cozy when the cold seasons came around… Not so much of a blessing during summer, though. By then, every moment felt like standing fully clothed under Tatooine’s twin suns — because if there was one thing Hunter was besides loving, it was awfully cuddly.

Probably the reason he has you tucked halfway inside his jacket, your arms by his neck and legs held around his waist like you’re his personal cuddle toy.

Hunter refuses to let you go as he reaches the door, tightening his hold on you when you try to climb down; content to fumble with punching the door’s code with his non-dominant hand, to hop awkwardly while taking off his boots — as long as you stay right where you are. You chuckle at his antics, but hold on strong; if he thrives on cuddling, far from you to deprive your man of his sustenance!

Hunter’s grip doesn’t ease once you’re both inside, breath not even hitching as he keeps you firmly at his hip (oh, the pros of enhanced strength!) while crossing the expanse of your home to the bedroom to pick your fluffiest towel, and you’re still on his lap as warm water fills the bathtub in your ‘fresher.

So. Cuddly.

“Take your time, love,” he says before giving your forehead a kiss, at last done with fussing over your chilled body. “There’ll be caf and snacks waiting when you’re done.”

Sinking in the tub with a contented sigh, you do just that, letting the water chase off whatever lingering cold your family-sized heating pad of a husband didn’t manage to. The familiar clinks and clangs of Hunter’s kitchen antics fill the air, and a fond smile tugs at your lips. Who would’ve thought? The battle-hardened, serious clone sergeant fate had you stumbling upon years ago, now whistled away in the kitchen. Baking.

How you ‘domesticated’ a man like him was maybe the one mystery of your life, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. Sure, the whole rebelling against the Empire and the many rotations spent apart took some (a lot of) time to adjust to. But all the cuddles, devotion, and the way Hunter strove to make you feel loved more than made up for it. The homemade food was a definite plus, too — blessed be Echo, for teaching his brothers the life outside of ration bars.

It’s refreshing, you think. Being in a relationship with someone who puts as much work in as you do. Just like you, Hunter never stopped wooing and courting you every moment he got to spend by your side, even after he ‘officially’ moved in, or when you said the ‘I do’ years ago, on that tropical planet’s beach. He was everything you could expect from a husband, really.

Well, except for those nights patching up his blaster wounds, and all the time spent apart. But you knew what you were getting into from the start, so complaining would hardly be fair.

Eventually, hunger outweighs the will to stay in the rapidly cooling water, and you walk back to the bedroom. Deciding on comfort, you rummage through Hunter’s — very messy — half of the wardrobe, humming when you spot your target. The once coarse black fabric is faded gray and soft, the colorful image in the middle has long peeled away.

But you still remember, as if it was yesterday, Hunter’s face when you gifted him the tacky souvenir shirt as a joke. How elated he was that you thought, that you liked him enough to get something — silly as it was — for him.

You’d known each other for a while by then; that you’d been slowly falling for the sergeant was the worst kept secret of your life, but it was that smile and then hug he gave you that day sealed your fate. Hunter’s scent is fading from the fabric when you bring it to your face, but it still has enough him to have the butterflies stir in your belly as you approach the kitchen.

The delicious smell of toasted bread, herbs and spiced caf hits you as you enter the room, but it’s not it, or the fruits and steaming food spread atop the table that makes your mouth water.

Hunter stands with his back to you, the stay-at-home gray sweatpants hanging dangerously low at the hips the only thing on his body. You don’t even try to stop from ogling his broad frame, the strong neck – exposed by the messy bun atop his head –, and the delicious back muscles shifting under golden brown skin as he taste-tests whatever else was he was making for the both of you.

A different kind of hunger blooms inside as you lean on the door frame. Your fingertips tingle with the need to trace the designs inked on his skin, to run over the expanse of his back and up his scalp the way you know he loves. The way that makes him look at you with a need mirroring the one steadily growing at the apex of your thighs.

Biting down on your lip is all you can do to keep silent your groan as Hunter stretches; his arms rise up above, giving you a show of his biceps, and your mind’s eye floods with scenes of the last time your nails dug in them. You mentally pat yourself in the back for not jumping your husband’s bones then and there, and keep on watching the little show he unknowingly puts on.

It amused you, how focused Hunter could get with his tasks; how at ease he felt in your home, able to relax instead of having his senses on alert and scanning for danger 24/7. Enough to let all sounds, noises, and scents blend into ‘white noise’, blissfully oblivious to whatever went on outside his immediate bubble, to the point he won’t even notice you.

Not until a soft groan leaves your lips — the throbbing between your legs grown too insistent to be ignored for much longer —, and he turns around with the beginnings of that grin that always sends your heart racing.

“I didn’t hear you come in, cyar'ika, snacks are…” the words fade into silence once he registers what you’re wearing, and how little. The bottom of the shirt barely covered past the top of your thighs, and by the way Hunter breathes in and groans, he’s plenty aware it’s the only thing you got on. Even without enhanced senses, he’s seen you aroused enough times by now to pick on your heaving chest, your lips parting as your thighs squeeze together… On the heavy, hungry gaze pining him into place and heating his own body.

Hunter leans back in the counter with a smirk, arms crossing over his chest. A teasing brow rises when your eyes follow the movement, and the smirk grows into a cocky smile when he flexes, and you involuntarily lick your lower lip.

“May I be of help, cyare?” he asks, not bothering to hide the huskiness on his voice.

Instead of giving a verbal answer, you approach him slowly, enjoying how his heated gaze follows your every move, breath growing shallow as he takes a better look at you. By the time you reach Hunter, he’s already grasping the countertop, both making himself all the more inviting to your gaze and knowing better than to make a move to touch you.

And that was another thing that surprised you in this relationship. When you first got intimate, you fully expected a large man like him, a squad leader, to be full of dominance between the sheets, but that was not the case. Sure, Hunter had his moments of taking the reins when you didn’t feel like leading the show but — unlike some past lovers —, he didn’t complain or huff about your own dominant nature. If anything, he encouraged it.

“Oh, you want to help me?” You purr, grasping his chin to make him look at you, instead of your thighs. He did not earn it, yet. “I can think of some ways…” your opposite hand rakes down his chest, and you watch in delight as goosebumps rise in the wake of your touch.

Hunter shudders when your fingers trace the scar crossing his rib cage, a low moan spilling from his lips as his body arches under your touch, heated skin hungry for more of your caresses. You don’t leave him wanting, moving to squeeze his hips and ass, enjoying the feeling of strong muscles flexing under your palm as Hunter focuses on staying still, so you may explore as you please.

“Aren’t you such a good boy? Taking what I give you without being greedy,” he nods in your grasp, eyes closing under the praise, but snapping back open when you give his cheeks a soft squeeze, “good boys deserve rewards.” You pull him down to the readily reciprocated kiss, humming as the sweetness of what he was tasting coats your tongue. Hunter bucks with a groan when you cup the growing bulge in his pants, “And so willing to please…”

“Any- anything for you, cyare, ah-” he stutters between pants as you kiss and bite down the strong column of his neck.

“Great! So, will you please be a dear and grab the syrup for me? I’m really craving a snack right now, and you’re at the cabinet already!” The disbelief in Hunter’s eyes at your sudden change of subject is a little sad, but you only smile expectantly, tilting your head to the side when he doesn’t move outright.

“Anything for you, love… Which flavor do you want?” when he finally speaks, the strain of lust clear as day, as is the one in the sweatpants. His breath hitches when he adjusts it before reaching for the syrup. 

You pounce as soon as his back is turned. Hands resting on his chest, you kiss each vertebra of his back tattoo, trailing down to close your teeth at the dip of his waist. He rewards you with one of the deep moans you love, trying to turn around before you stop him, nails digging on the meat of his hips.

“No, darling” you tut, breasts pressing against his back, a finger drawing circles at the edge of his cock’s outline, “keep your hands right where they are.” He concedes with a shaky breath, resting his forehead on the cabinet door, forearms resting over his head. “Very good, Sarge.”

You keep teasing him over the sweatpants, fingers running soft paths over his inner thighs, stomach and chest, avoiding the place he needed your touch the most. A flame of wicked satisfaction licks down your back as you watch his hips rut hopelessly against the air whenever you ghost the edges of his bulge.

It’s not until a fine sheen of sweat glazes the skin of his back, knees about to give under the weight of his lust, that Hunter is shown some – cruel – mercy, stepping back and sitting on the countertop.

“I want the chocolate one,” you finally answer his earlier question, a smirk on your lips when Hunter finally glances over his shoulder, lust-glazed eyes blinking a few times before your words truly register. Already so wrecked, and you’ve barely started.

“What will-” words fail when you cross your legs to stave off some of the aching desire in your core, giving him a glimpse of your slicked thighs. “Cyare… What will you…” he takes a deep breath to calm down his mounting frustration, only to regret when the scent of your arousal floods his senses.

“Take your time, darling.” You say, making a show of popping a fruit slice between your lips, then licking the juice off your fingers. He takes a shuddering breath, and you smirk.

“What will you be eating, cyare?” Hunter’s voice is nearly a growl under his need’s weight, one that sends a pleasurable shiver down your back.

“There it is, I knew you could do it!” you coo, kissing his temple and taking the bottle in his hand. “You.” When he blinks in confusion, you weave your hands on the back of his hair, tugging once to get his full attention. “You are the only snack I plan on having, as soon as you sit down on that chair.” You guide his gaze to it, taking the chance to tease that spot under his ear with your lips while he shakily nods. “Now be a good boy for me, yeah?”

The words are barely out of your mouth before Hunter is halfway there, pants flying across the room and chair scrapping over the floor in his eagerness to finally get his reward. Shaking your head with a chuckle, you take your time sauntering your way to him, an extra sway on your hips to tease him one last time.

Once standing between his legs, you open the bottle and let flow a generous stream of chocolate over his chest and stomach. Satisfied with the amount of ‘topping’, you finally give in to the craving that has been killing you since you stepped through the door.

Hunter whines a curse when you take off your top and get on your knees, the softness of your chest on his body threatening to break him even before your tongue can reach him.

The intoxicated groan is not something you can hold back when you give the first lick; the syrup’ sweetness and the salt of Hunter’ skin making for a decadent cocktail that have you immediately diving for more, lips, tongue, and teeth gracing his body with the drive of a beast starved.

By the time your lips finally reach his throbbing bulge, your lover is a sweating, swearing, panting, beautiful mess. His eyes — black with need — stare down at you from behind the thin curtain of curls he tugged free in the need of grounding himself from your touches; sweat-coated chest heaving with the breaths passing from parted lips. And Hunter looks so pretty like that, you almost rise off your knees to tell him that. Almost. Instead, you give in to the demanding fire in your core and rid him of the last barrier keeping you from what you crave the most.

The moment your fingers curl around his cock, Hunter arches off the chair with a shouted moan, hips stuttering in your grasp out of instinct; still, he has the presence of mind to tap your arm twice, and you immediately let go. For a heartbeat, you worry he won’t be able to stop, but with a string of slurred curses falling from his lips, he settles back down. Cheek resting on his trembling thigh, your hand soothes up and down his calves, the other entwined on his own. A squeeze is the signal he’s ready, and you’re quick to pick up from where you stopped.

Holding Hunter’s gaze, you finally bring your mouth to where he needs you the most. A sadistic pleasure licks at the base of your spine as you watch him struggle to keep his eyes open under your tongue’s ministrations. He sucks in a sharp breath when you flatten your tongue against his heavy balls, and it comes out as a whined ‘Gedet'ye’ when you take one inside your mouth before paying attention to the other.

You move to lick the underside of his cock, following the heady trail of pre-cum dripping — flowing — from the neglected head, humming at the warm taste before taking him in your mouth. You’re sure the desperate moan that comes out of his lips is the best sound you’ve heard in your life; as you let him out of your mouth before taking him back as far as you can, you’re gifted with another one.

“Mesh’la!…” Hunter pants, mouth moving but no other words come out. You hum a question, and the vibrations rip a sobbed moan from his chest before a hand tugs at the curls, the other clawing at his own thighs in a brave attempt to ground himself. It seems to work, because Hunter swallows once, twice around his moans before finding his words “Y- You’re killing me, gedet'ye, please, p-”

Hunter’s hips start to buck as you double your efforts, sucking hard on the head as your hands caress his balls and jerk him slow and firm — the way it drives him mad —, his half sentences drown under ragged breaths and growled moans, and when the head of his cock seems to thicken even more on your tongue, you know exactly what to do.

Pure, beautiful music. That’s what Hunter’s needy, broken groan is, as you get back on your feet and leave him dangling at the edge of glory — but with nothing to push him off it. His head falls back, leg bouncing, sweat-slicked chest heaving, breaths huffing against his palms as he brings them to cover his face. Is it…?

You tower over his seated shape, half-caging him in with a hand on the back of the chair, the other holding his jaw. The effect is immediate: Hunter’s attention snaps to you, hands falling away from his face to reveal teary, warm brown eyes under upturned eyebrows. His gaze doesn’t break even as he leans in your touch when your thumb soothes over his tattooed cheek, or when it gently pulls his lower lip from his teeth. 

“Hunter, cyare?” You say, smoothing stray curls off his face and resting your forehead on his, smiling when he softly presses back, “too much, do you need a break? We can always stop if you say the word.”

“Thanks for checking, love,” he says, voice a hoarse whisper — if from affection or moaning so much, you’re not sure —, hand cupping your cheek to bring you to a soft kiss “but I’m good if you are.” He fights the aroused shivers wrecking his body the best he can, keeping his face as clear as possible while you make sure he’s telling the truth. And Hunter knows exactly the moment you’re convinced, your gaze morphing from concerned to sharp, smile melting into a smirk, fingers tugging his head back by the locks now in your fist.

“Oh, I see.” You purr, the gentle grasp on his jaw turning fierce as your nails dig into his tattooed skin, “Are you getting greedy, love? Is this why you weren’t happy with the pleasure I gave, and threw a tantrum, hm?” Hunter hisses when you pull his head to the side by the hair, hips squirming to rut his cock against his body exactly once before your nails dig in, pinning his hip down with your weight, “Is this really what you want right now? To be an ungrateful brat?”

Hunter glances at you from the corner of wide eyes, Adam’s apple bobbing, before shaking his head the best he could from the tight grasp you kept on his hair. But you were not having it, a soft growl rumbling your chest before descending with lips and teeth on the strong column of his neck. Hunter whimpers, the duality of soft lips and sharp teeth making his hips fight your grasp as you bite a fresh claim on his skin. Your lips trail his ear, leaving the bite to sting with no soothing. A promise.

“I asked you a question, ner cyar’ika.” You say, teeth grazing the soft spot right below his ear. A warning. “Now be good for me, and use your big boy words. Will you keep being a brat? Is it a punishment you’re angling for, hm?”

“N– No, ma’am,” Hunter moans, “I want– Please let me be your good boy, please ma’am.”

“Oh, cyare…” you coo, “You know being my good boy is not something you get to beg out of me”. Releasing the grasp on his locks, you chuckle when he briefly tries to follow your retreating touch before catching himself and sitting back again. “Why don’t you show me how much you mean it?”

Hunter is off the chair and hoisting you up the countertop before you can even start to tug off your shirt. You throw him a bone, letting him have a fill of you with nuzzling open your legs and pawing at your thighs to prop them up his shoulders, before his jaw is back on your grasp.

“Oh my, how selfish of me! Feasting on to my heart’s content while you’re so very hungry… Let’s fix that, yeah?” You coo, spreading your legs further and granting him a clear view of how much you want him right now. Hunter’s gaze borders on ravenous as it fixates on your cunt, he barely blinks when you pat his cheek before relaxing back on your back, “Now be a dear and eat all you can ha-”

Your teasing cuts short when Hunter dives in, hands planting near your shoulders as he stands up — rising your lower back clean from the table; your legs tighten on instinct, trapping his head between your thighs. Hunter doesn’t relent, instead rutting the table’s edge with a groan and licking a slow stripe from your entrance to your clit.

The way Hunter is eating you out is a far cry from the gentle, careful way you’re used to. His tattooed cheek glistens with a coating of your slick as he nuzzles your thighs and kisses your pussy lips with abandon. It’s glorious. His moans and groans vibrate deliciously against your center as he uses tongue, lips, and a dash of teeth to suck and tease every spot he knows drives you crazy, before finally moving to your clit.

His lips wrap around your throbbing clit and suck at the same time a thick digit breaches your entrance, and your eyes roll so hard you swear you glimpse at the face of the Maker. You start to roll your hips as a familiar, decadent fire swells in your core, and Hunter’s free hand roves your body. The calloused palms and fingertips only adding to your mounting pleasure as he settles on massaging and squeezing your chest. A second finger breaches you, and you curse, pleasure like a second heart beating to the rhythm of Hunter’s fingers hitting your sweet spot. Then he tweaks one of your nipples, and you’re gone.

You’re vaguely aware of Hunter getting on his knees, giving you a better angle to ride your high on his mouth as pleasure drowns your mind in bliss; or the way his own moans echo yours with the way your thighs squeeze until he’s dazed.

When your high subsides at last, Hunter is quick to catch your wobbly legs as they roll off his shoulders. As you roll your head to the side to check on him — you did put his head in a lock —, a wave of relief and renewed lust wash over you at the sight that greets you. Hunter’s face — chin, mouth, even the bridge of his nose — glistens with your slick, eyes wild, needy gasps falling from his lips. Pre-cum pools under his rutting cock as he mindlessly grinds on the edge of the table — desperate for any kind of relief for his aching.

Scooting to the edge until his length is trapped between your bodies, you pull Hunter in for a kiss. Your taste on his lips makes you moan; the sound spurs him on, hips picking up their rutting in a frantic manner. He groans at the feel of your nails digging on his nape as you deepen the kiss, tongue chasing his and lips swallowing his increasing whimpers.

“Such a good boy, taking care of me so well,” you say, breaking from the kiss for air and holding his face in your hands, gaze locked on his. “Do you know what good boys get? Rewarded. Fuck me, cyare.”

He nods eagerly when you lay back down, face burying in your shoulder as he aligns and sheathes himself to the base in a single motion, ripping a shouted moan from the both of you. His body trembles under your caressing hands with the effort of waiting for you to get used to his girth. You purposefully squeeze your walls around him to signal you’re ready, and he chokes on a moan at the feeling before he starts moving.

Hunter’s moves slow and deep at first, both savoring finally your warmth and making sure you’re truly ready, before he stills again — his length buried as deep as it goes —, both hands gripping your waist hard. Your brows furrow in confusion, and you’re about to ask what’s wrong when he leaves the shelter of your shoulder to face you.

“Mesh’la, I-” Hunter stutters, clearly trying to focus despite his fraying control. “I can’t be gentle I’m- I’m too worked up-” he mumbles, showering kisses all over your chest and kneading the soft of your hips to ground himself against the urge to ravage you.

“Good.” You purr, hands latching on the back of his hair to get his attention back on you. The growl that falls from his lips at that has goosebumps breaking over your skin, am aroused giggle escaping your throat “Because I didn’t ask you to make love to me,” you pull his head down, gracing his neck in another bite, “I told you to fuck me.”

“As you wish, my queen.”

And fuck you he does, beating the breath out of your lungs with every hard stroke of his cock. And even though your legs cross at the ankle and cling to his waist with all you have, or you hold on to his broad shoulders for dear life, Hunter’s hand on your hip was all keeping you in place. The sound of skin on skin, heavy breathing, gasps and half-choked moans make for the debauched symphony of your fucking.

It’s not long before his pace starts faltering, his moans melting into whimpers as his need to fill you up reaches its limit. His rough finger circles your clit with practiced precision, eager to send you over the edge one more time before he can. Hunter clings to you as he feels you come, a hand bruising a grip on your thigh, the other curling tight under your waist to keep you in place; his chest presses yours down, teeth latching on your shoulder.

He thrusts once, twice, and sheathes his cock as far as he can as his climax takes over, a mix of praises and curses of your name falling from his lips like a prayer as his cum fills your cunt.

You barely have the time to catch your breath, to come down from the first round’s haze before you feel Hunter — still buried deep inside you — getting hard once more. You smile down at him, humming as he peppers kisses and nibbles on your chest — maker bless clone stamina. But another kind of hunger overcomes the one flaring back to life between your legs, and your stomach growls a loud refusal to being neglected again.

Hunter snorts a laugh in the valley of your breasts as your cheeks heat up, and leaves a kiss in your forehead before withdrawing from you.

“I hear your orders loud and clear, Princess. Snacks coming up pronto!” he quips, helping you up and off the table to pull your back to his chest, peppering little kisses from your temple to shoulders while you both waddle to the spread of pancakes and fruit Hunter got ready while you bathed.

“Oh, so now I’m only your princess? Minutes ago, I was your queen.” You tease, reaching for a piece of fruit, “I’m appalled at how easily you demote me, Sergeant.”

“My oh my, how could I ever make it up to you?” he rumbles in your ear, snatching your fruit at the last moment and popping it inside his mouth. You gasp, turning around to look at a smirking, unrepentant Hunter. Oh, he is asking for it.

“I do happen to have a few ideas, but we’ll need the whipped cream and a bed this time. Get it ready for us, will you?” You say as you leave his embrace and look for what is needed. “Oh, and Hunter?”

“Hm?”

“That was ten. I do expect to find you waiting and ready when I enter the bedroom.”

“… Yes, ma’am.” You don’t need enhanced eyesight to notice the way he shudders, steps hastening as he practically scampers the rest of the way.

★ And if you got to the bottom of this post, please consider reblogging and/or leaving a comment! It helps me know you like what I share with you, and fuels me to share more ★

[fandom-friday]

Hello! I just discovered your acc, love the idea and thought maybe I could drop some of my fav Star Wars fics!

These are just a few recs that I like (I hope sending multiple in at once is ok, if not, I may have overlooked that in the rules and I apologize!) :)

1.: "Even though you're gone, you're still all around" by super_heroine_addict on AO3 (1.5k), (https://archiveofourown.org/works/23242651) - Post-Order 66 Blyla oneshot where Bly tries to navigate through his grief and guilt. But sometimes he feels Aayla's presence? What's that about? How is he supposed to keep living now that she's gone? Is super angsty but what I love about it is how the author managed to make it hopeful towards the end!

2.: "Let me do it right" by TrickyTricky on AO3 (8.1k), (https://archiveofourown.org/works/16349063) - Just discovered this fic this week! A fix-it (kinda) of the (in-)famous Umbara arc in which Cody decides to go check out what the 501st under Krell is up to. His gut feeling turns out to be right and seeing our beloved Marshall Commander handle Krell like an absolute badass is fantastic!

3.: "Like Real People Do" by Witless_Clown on AO3 (1.8k), (https://archiveofourown.org/works/39326130) - Deals with the constant fear and abuse the clones have to suffer under the Kaminoans and the threat of decomissioning looming over their heads at all times. [CW! for Ableism (tagged) and I would also say that the Kaminoans' views def go into eugenics (For OP: idk if you allow stuff like this or if it's too triggering, if you don't want to post/share, I 100% understand!)] It does have a happy ending though!

4.: "A Way Out for Two" by kj_feybarn on AO3 (3k), (https://archiveofourown.org/works/46805752) - A Cad Bane/Obi-Wan fanfic [I hope that pairing is ok, I didn't see anything against it directly in the rules but I understand that it's a rarepair and might not be for everyone - again, OP, do what makes you comfortable! :) ] that deals with their allyship during the Hardeen/deception arc (and the romantic/sexual tension between them lmao) before going into Obi-Wan's life post-Order 66 where Cad Bane finds him on Tatooine with a strange offer (No smut, only a few ~implied~ things while flirting!)

Man, this is an ANGSTY list with a little bit of everything on it, and I love it! Blyla, Cody being a badass and then breaking my heart, and then a rare pair that I'd never considered but am also moderately onboard with. These are all gut punches in their own way, but you know, sometimes that's what we all crave. Thanks so much for sending them in!

(Also, if you ever are unsure about a submission, you can always DM me to ask questions!)

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

[ironwoman359]

What are all ur side blogs?

My blogs are as follows:

@ironwoman359 - The Main. You are Here!

@ironwoman359-writes - The Writblr. Mostly just pretty pictures that make me want to write things, sometimes writing tips and original work too, but most stuff I write there gets reblogged to my main.

@ironwhumper359 - The Whumpblr. Sometimes, you just gotta torture a character, ya know? I know heavier whump squicks some people out, so the original work that I write there does *not get reblogged to the main, follow me there if you wanna see that stuff.

@ts-replicated-au - A Sanders Sides Clone au that is the newest and most active of my au sideblogs. The entire story is told through the interactive nature of the blog, so it will not be crossposted to AO3 or reblogged in its entirety here (though I do sometimes reblog bits of it to my main to entice new readers, tagged as #ts replicated au if you want to filter it)

@sanders-sanctuary-au - A Sanders Sides Borrower au; the blog is technically not dead, but I haven’t posted there in quite awhile. The story itself is less interactive that Replicated, but the au is still pretty contained to that blog specifically.

@fanders-sanctuary-au - during the Sanctuary AU’s heyday, there were a lot of readers creating ocs who might live in the universe and submitting them to the blog; to keep things more organized, I created this sideblog specifically for oc submissions, making it technically a sideblog of a sideblog!

@ask-agent-sanders - askblog for the characters of my Sanders Sides Marvel AU. The story didn’t start out as 100% interactive like Replicated, and major fic installments are still posted on my main first (and then reblogged to the sideblog), the story has become more interactive as time has gone on. If my marvel au is something you like, following the sideblog will probably let you see more of it sooner than it’d be posted to my main.

@ask-the-tooth-and-claw-clan - askblog for the characters of my Sanders Sides story Tooth and Claw. Used mainly as a fun way to explore the characters and universe, plus it helped me write chapter 2 of the fic. Eventually I’ll probably use it to help me write the rest.

@until-the-sun-rises - This is a Sanders Sides zombie apocalypse au that I cowrite with my friend @buzz-by-bee. It’s a traditional fic style, but we decided to make a separate blog just for it since we’re cowriting it together. It’s been a long time since we updated it because life has been crazy busy, but just like all the other blogs here, it’s technically not a Dead AU, just on pause temporarily.

@paws-and-claws-au - This is another Sanders Sides collab, this time with my friend @thegremlinprince, but this blog is technically Dead. The most recent post there explains it in more detail, but I’m actually going to rewrite the story from the ground up to adjust to the lore changes that have happened in Sanders Sides since Grim and I started writing this story. I’m just leaving the blog up until I do so, so that the story doesn’t disappear.

@the-twisted-ones-au - This is a placeholder blog for an idea I had for a Sanders Sides fantasy au where magic users are either hunted down and killed or forced to serve the crown…I haven’t gotten around to starting it yet, but if that sounds interesting to you give the blog a follow! I’m sure I’ll write it some day…

@bad-at-bullet-journaling - Ah, a non-sanders sides blog! This is my (rarely used but still nice to have) bullet journaling sideblog, built on the philosophy of “It doesn’t matter if the journal is pretty, it just needs to be functional for You.”

@the-muppets-present - So my husband and I think it’s funny to try and do that thing where you replace the entire cast of a movie with muppets except for One Human Guest Star (in the vein of Muppet Christmas Carol or Muppet Treasure Island) and I thought it’d be fun to do that on tumblr. I haven’t actually DONE any of them yet, but when I want to, I at least have a place to! I occasionally reblog muppet stuff there too, but not often.

@music-for-the-kidz - So sometimes I find good music stuff on here that I want my students to see but I don’t want them to see my url or to see some of the comment threads ON said videos, so this is a clean blog where I can reblog those video safely and anonymously. I used it way more last year when I was teaching middle school general music during since the pandemic kept me from having band and choir like normal.

And the last one, I won’t tell you the url for, because the whole point of it is that it’s anonymous. I haven’t used it in like 6 months, but the idea was to have a place to reblog or post stuff that I didn’t want to put on my main because it was just ASKING for trouble and by trouble I mean stupid discourse. So yeah, even though I don’t really use it anymore, still not giving that url out.

So yeah! All 15 of my blogs, more or less in order of how often I use them/what order they’re in on my sidebar. Feel free to check any of them out if you want, I sure would like to post on some of them more this year, but who knows what will happen?

[clonewarslover55]

OK, possible fic prompt? Hound's S/O gets kidnapped (idk slave traders down in the lower levels? Hanging around with clones a lot in public or something? Up to you) and Grizzer has to put those tracking skills to good use

OOOOHHHHH I loved this!!!!! I was so excited to write this!!

Retribution 

+Part one+

My buddy and fellow Hound slut @hounding-around came up with the title!! Go check them out!! 

Notes: I just went with some simple slave traders down on the lower levels. Also I was listening to Slipknot while writing this, so I had to hold back making it really gorey and such. Buuuuttttt it’s still on the more gorey side. 

Warnings: kidnapping, slave traders, beating, fighting, humans being chained up and caged, blood, slight gore, mentions of death, 

*Coruscant* 

You were on a date with Hound when the slavers kidnapped you, beating up your lover terribly. They dragged you off, leaving an unconscious Hound on the street. You were kicking and screaming, but they quickly knocked you out so you wouldn’t draw any attention.  You lived a little below the surface, which should’ve been safe. But in all honesty, nowhere on Coruscant is safe after dark. 

Once he woke up to a Loth Cat trying to eat his hand, he realized you were gone. Hound ran straight to the Coruscant Guard commanders to tell them about the kidnapping. Fox, Thorn, Thire, and Stone all knew about the relationship.  If they didn’t they’d still look for you, it was their job after all. But now? It was personal for all of them, you don’t mess with a brother or his S/O. 

Hound ran into the common room with a blackened eye and bloody mouth and nose. “Holy fuck! Hound what happened!” Thorn ran over, Grizzer hot on his heels. Thorn watched Grizzer whenever Hound went on dates with you, so luckily Grizzer wasn’t there. He may have been killed when they took you. Thorn stared at Hound’s broken nose, “Hound?!” What happened?? Where’s your date?” 

 Stone and Thire were out on the job tonight, so it was only Thorn and Fox with him. Fox sat Hound down, “Brother speak to us.” Hound sighed and coughed slightly, his ribs obviously bruised, “They took them. Slavers, they took them.” Hound said slavers with extreme hate behind the word. Fox frowned, “Oh no.”  

“We’ll look for them-” Hound grabbed Thorn’s arm, “No. I’m coming.” He got up, pushing past his brothers to quickly armor up. All Hound did was wipe the blood from his now broken nose before throwing on his armor. He would take care of himself after you were safe. Fox sighed and quickly downed the rest of his coffee, “I’ll tell the others to be on the lookout.” 

*Later*

Hound jogged down the street where you were taken, Grizzer sniffing the ground for you. His ribs were burning, he felt like some were possibly cracked. He could hardly breathe from his broken nose, but he was too focused on you to care about his bruised and broken body. Grizzer knew your scent very well, so Hound hoped he would be quick to find you. 

Fox walked beside Hound, “Thire and stone are scanning other areas with the other Tracking Massiff’s, while Thorn is monitoring who leaves the world. We’re going to catch these slavers.” Hound nodded, too pissed off to say anything. Fox patted his shoulder, “Hound. I promise, we’ll find them” Hound nodded at his brother.

Hound felt his heart stop when Grizzer paused, sniffing the ground hard. Grizzer looked back at Hound and made an excited noise. “Go Grizzer! Find them!” Hound shouted. It wasn’t his usual order, but he knew Grizzer understood. Grizzer took off into an alleyway, following your scent. 

Fox and the small squad of other Coruscant Guards followed Hound, their boots loud against the scum covered alley ground. Luckily the scent was still relatively fresh, so it was easier for Grizzer to smell you through the garbage and waste. 

 Every so often Grizzer would pause and sniff around, losing your scent temporarily. Grizzer always found your scent again though. Hound felt like the chase was going on for hours, he knew you didn’t have much time left. Slavers always moved quickly. His bruised body protested with every ticking second, his ribs screaming against his lungs. Hound bared his teeth behind his helmet, he would go through hell and back to find you. His broken body was not going to stop him. 

After what felt like forever, they finally came across a landing platform that was bustling with Coruscant underground scum. They were all moving crates onto a large ship, and all the crates had holes in the sides for breathing. They were built specifically for animals that were light sensitive, so they couldn't see into the holes.

Fox walked over first, “Hey!-” Was all he got out before the slavers dropped their crates and panicked. When the crates hit the ground they screamed, they knew they’d found them. Animals and crates don’t scream like that. One slaver pulled out a gun, and the others did as well. 

Hound quickly shot two down before unhooking Grizzer, letting him attack. Grizzer was rarely used for attack, but Hound saw red. He didn’t care about anything but slaughtering all of the dirty slavers who took you away from him. Grizzer obviously felt the same as he tackled the closet slaver, quickly ripping him to a bloody mess.

Fox had never seen Hound shoot down so many people in such a short time, he was obviously beyond pissed. Adrenaline fueled Hound to only act, not think. All Hound felt now was a thirst for revenge on those who took you. Grizzer seemed like a completely different animal as he tackled one man after another, ripping at their throats and faces with his razor sharp claws and teeth.

None of the Coruscant guards got hurt while the slavers shot at them, mainly because Hound and Grizzer killed them too quickly to really fight back. Grizzer made a bloody mess, causing some fleeing men to slip and fall. It was too messy and chaotic for them to escape. 

 Once every slaver was dead, Hound and the others quickly began to open up the crates while Grizzer tore apart the last slaver. Most of the people in the crates were human, and they were all equally battered and bruised. All were naked as well, heavy cuffs keeping their hands together. 

“Hound!! I found them!” Fox yelled out, which made Hound run over to the crate immediately. “Oh honey.” He mumbled as he kneeled beside you, helping you from the crate. You were naked and bruised, they obviously had beaten you into submission. Fox didn’t even look at you as he ran to help the others. 

Grizzer ran over, licking your face even though he was covered in blood. “I feared the worst.” Hound muttered, “M’fine.” You mumbled leaning against his armored chest, your teeth chattering in the cold Coruscant night. Hound held you in his lap, tears flooding his eyes behind his helmet. 

Hound rested his forehead against yours in a Keldabe kiss, “The paramedics are on their way. You’ll be in a hospital in no time.” You nodded, trying to squirm even closer to his warmth. Hound let out a shuddering breath, “You’re safe. You’re safe.” He muttered. 

He removed his helmet and removed your cuffs, pressing a warm kiss to your forehead. You looked at Hound’s bloody and bruised face, “Oh Hound-” He shushed you with a soft kiss, “I’m fine. You need to be fixed up first.” You frowned and nodded, your cold body aching. 

When the adrenaline finally wore off Hound felt just how beat up his body was. He coughed and blinked slowly, growing very dizzy. When he passed out you screamed, alerting the others. All Hound heard was, “Soldier down! Soldier down!” and all he saw was your terrified face. Before the whole world went dark. 

Dun Dun Dun

[kyberphilosopher]

Important Information

Rules:

I am a minor. As such, smut can not be requested and can not be written. As a compromise, smutty themes can be used as overtones or undertones, often vaguely or simply eluded to. But pure smut? Not for a few months, which is when I’ll be 18. Sorry horndogs. 

Please request through the submission inbox, or my direct messages. Further more, be polite. Be clear. If I ask a question to clear something up, answer it. Don’t let it dangle. I will always ask if there’s anything else you so desire (a word count, any details) so please tell me if there’s nothing else or if there is. English is also not my first language. 

Do not request something against canon. I have written like that before and did not enjoy that. This means if something is considered canon, say Star Wars, such as a line of dialogue or something shown on screen, I would refuse to write you into it. I feel that it distorts the fiction so much you wouldn’t really be in it, and the characters wouldn’t be themselves anymore. Allow me to write you into the world as a side character, as something not shown directly but something that could fit into canon. 

Some fictional characters have different versions of them. For example, Movie Anakin Skywalker, and the Clone Wars Anakin Skywalker. Ben Affleck Batman, or Christian Bale Batman? Or even, Comic Accurate Batman? Specify for me. If not specified after asking for it, I will write the character with headcanon information pulled from multiple ‘canon’ sources. This will be referred to as ‘headcanoned canon’.

Reblog my stuff? Absolutely. I see all my reblogs. But take it an post it to a different site? No. Don’t do that. Maybe I’ll spread over to Ao3 one day, but for now, please don’t. 

Last one I can think of for now. But luckily this can be updated over time. I don’t write drabbles. I know! But just imagine all the times you’ve read a fic so good, only for it to end so soon. I like the thought of writing something both high quality and high quantity, which means I won’t be satisfied with anything under 2,000 words. Unfortunately, this may sometimes come at the expense of time. Especially if what you requested doesn’t fit into my current hyperfixation. 

List of Characters I’ve Written, or Am Open to Writing:

Aayla Secura, Star Wars (Clone Wars)

Ahsoka Tano, Star Wars (Clone Wars and Live Action)

Anakin Skywalker, Star Wars (Clone Wars and Live Action)

Asaaj Ventress, Star Wars (Clone Wars and Books)

Boba Fett, Star Wars (Live Action Original Movies and The Mandalorian)

Bodhi Rook, Star Wars (Rogue One)

Bo-Katan Kryze, Star Wars (Clone Wars and The Mandalorian)

Cal Kestis, Star Wars (Jedi: Fallen Order, Beginning and End of Game)

Cassian Andor, Star Wars (Rogue One)

Darth Maul, Star Wars (Clone Wars)

Din Djarin, Star Wars (The Mandalorian)

Finn, Star Wars (Live Action Sequel Trilogy)

Jyn Erso, Star Wars (Rogue One)

Leia Skywalker, Star Wars (Live Action Original Movies)

Obi-Wan “Ben” Kenobi, Star Wars (Clone Wars and Live Action)

Padme Amidala, Star Wars (Clone Wars and Live Action)

Poe Dameron, Star Wars (Live Action Sequel Trilogy)

Rey, Star Wars (Live Action Sequel Trilogy)

Rex, Star Wars (Clone Wars)

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Batman, DC Comics (All Live Action, All Comic, Arkhamverse, All Animated, Headcanoned Canon)

Bane, DC Comics (Games)

Barry Allen/The Flash, DC Comics (All Live Action, Headcanoned Canon)

Black Canary, DC Comics (Birds of Prey Live Action Movie)

Bruce Wayne, DC Comics (All Live Action, Headcanoned Canon)

Catwoman/Selina Kyle, DC Comics (Headcanoned Canon)

Christopher Smith/Peacemaker, DCEU (All Live Action, Headcanoned Canon)

Cleo Cazo/Ratcatcher 2, DCEU (Live Action)

Conner Kent/Superboy, DC Comics (Titans, All Animated)

Damian Wayne, DC Comics (Animated and Injustice)

Dick Grayson, DC Comics (Titans, All Comic, Arkhamverse, All Animated, All Versions)

Harley Quinn, DC Comics (All Live Action, All Comic, Arkhamverse, All Animated Versions)

Jason Todd/Red Hood, DC Comics (Headcanoned Canon, Arkhamverse, All Animated, Titans, All Versions)

Katana, DC Comics (2016 Suicide Squad Live Action Movie)

Poison Ivy, DC Comics (Arkhamverse, All Comic, All Animated, Headcanoned Canon)

Tim Drake/Red Robin, DC Comics (Arkhamverse, All Comic, All Animated, Headcanoned Canon)

Raven, DC Comics (Headcanoned Canon, All Animated, All Comics, All Titans)

Robert Dubois/Bloodsport, DC Comics (DCEU Live Action)

Scarecrow/Johnathon Crane, DC Comics(All Live Action, Arkhamverse, Headcanoned Canon)

Starfire/Koriand’r, DC Comics (Titans, All Comics, All Animated, Headcanoned Canon)

Superman/Clark Kent, DC Comics (Cavill’s Live Action, All Animated, All Comics)

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Annie Leonhardt, Shingeki no Kyojin (Marley Resident, Season 1-3, Season 4, Titan Form)

Bertholdt Hoover, Shingeki no Kyojin (Marley Resident, Season 1-3)

Carla Jaeger, Shingeki no Kyojin (Pre Beginning)

Eren Jaeger, Shingeki no Kyojin (Season 1-3, Season 4, Titan Form)

Hanji Zoe, Shingeki no Kyojin (All Seasons and OVA)

Jean Kirchstein, Shingeki no Kyojin (Season 1-3, Season 4)

Levi Ackerman, Shingeki no Kyojin (All Seasons and OVA)

Marco Bodt, Shingeki no Kyojin (Season 1)

Mikasa Ackerman, Shingeki no Kyojin (Season 1-3, Season 4)

Moblit Berner, Shingeki no Kyojin (All Seasons and OVA)

Sasha Braus, Shingeki no Kyojin (Season 1-3, Season 4)

L Lawliet, Death Note (Season 1)

Ryuk, Death Note (Season 1)

Touta Matsuda, Death Note (Season 1)

Raye Penber and Naomi Matsura (Season 1, Pre Beginning, Throuple Headcanon Canoned)

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

Connor RK800, Detroit: Become Human (Deviant, Android, Mid and Post Game)

Chloe RT600, Detroit: Become Human (Deviant, Android, Pre, Mid, and Post Game)

Gavin Reed, Detroit: Become Human (Mid and Post Game)

Kara AX400, Detroit: Become Human (Post Game)

Luther TR400, Detroit: Become Human (Pre and Post Game)

Markus RK200, Detroit: Become Human (Pre, Mid, and Post Game)

Nines RK900, Detroit: Become Human (Post Game)

North WR400, Detroit: Become Human (Pre, Mid, and Post Game)

Other Worlds and Fandoms Coming Soon. 

.✫*ﾟ･ﾟ｡.★.*｡･ﾟ✫*.

What You Can Expect From Me:

Fanfiction

Headcanons- While I’d consider all of my fanfiction headcanons, I’m referring to those little bullet point things you’ll see writers do. Here’s my deal on that. I won’t do romantic headcanons for the characters listed above. By that I mean you won’t see anything titled, “How Poe Dameron Would Cuddle”, or anything of that sort. But you probably will see just my own little headcanons for fun. Like, little fun facts. You know, “Superman’s favorite food is ____”, “Nines hates rats”.

However, I will write romantic headcanons for my OC’s. But that’s for later.

Further regarding fanfiction, I typically write angst. Not sure why, it’s just what I started with because I thought the plots were strongest and I wanted to see where I could take it. Like I said, no smut, but you’ll find allusions to it. Fluff? Yeah, it’s there. Hard for me to write fluff without a plot, but it does exist on my page. 

Original Stories

Most people ignore this, but if you see that I’ve posted it won’t always be something regarding your favorite character. I write my own little stories that’s basically just glorified, book length headcanons for a few worlds, but mostly the Star Wars galaxy. Don’t worry, there’s no need to pay attention to it if you don’t want. It’s something I do in my spare time besides x readers and oneshots. 

Spontaneous Posting

What I mean by this, is that unlike a lot of writers, I don’t work on a schedule. There’s no “once a week posting”, or anything like that. What I finish and give the okay to, is posted. If you’ve requested something, I’ll let you know that it’s about to go out. So sometimes a burst of fics may be pumped out in a week, or none will for up to a month.

Going by EST, I typically am most active at night and early morning. Especially in the summer. During fall this may change.

I rarely put out a post that is unrelated to my writings. If it is related to my personal life instead, it will be posted, but not saved. Documented and available, but never pinned or anything. 

FAQ:

Do you write queer pairings?

Yes. My earlier works usually elude to a female reader and it’s blaringly obvious, though it’s shifting into androgyny for ease of reader. I would prefer to have an androgynous reader instead of a set in stone male or female one. 

Am I reading a queer fanfic written by a straight person?

You are not. I am androgynous myself in terms of gender and unlabeled in terms of sexuality. 

Do you write for poc?

This question shocks me, though I’ve gotten it twice. Then I realized- it’s because so many writers forget the point of a reader. The reader may be described as blonde, or white, or thin, or female. You will not find that here. There will be no set in stone appearance for the reader except for mentions of whatever hair you may possess (apologies to those without hair). There will be no talk of ‘light skin’, or ‘curvy figure’. The farthest I’ll go is describing you as pale, if say, you were sick. Because any race or skin tone can go pale, you know? The only thing I’d do- rarely- is give you a real age. But only to further the plot if needed.

 My point is, ‘Y/N’ is not just a pretty white person with long hair. It’s inclusive to anyone. I’ll stand by that. 

Do you write headcanons?

Answered in the above section. Long story short, I’m working on it, but on my terms. 

Do you write song fics?

I haven’t before. Why? They make me cringe. I don’t know why. I’ll write a fic based on a song, or with undertones of a song. But those little paragraphs with the lyrics that aren’t even in time with what you’re reading if you were to read and listen at the same time? I don’t think so. 

Do you know what sex is?

I do. 

Will you have e-sex with me in the direct message chatbox?

I will not. 

Why do you write on tumblr?

I started writing just to share an old word document with over 300 pages worth of an Original Star Wars story. I tried my hand at fanfiction because, while I don’t read it often myself, I know a lot of people do. It helps them escape reality. And, I’m a pretty good writer, I think. At least I can only get better. I’m just one more person trying to put something out for people to enjoy, and maybe even rely on. 

Will you ever write for real people?

If I ever wrote a fanfiction about Christian Bale or like Barack Obama I think I would just disappear. I can’t do it. It’s like warping my own reality. 

How often do you post?

I don’t know. 

Do you have a taglist?

I did! But only for Star Wars. If you want to be tagged in something, let me know. But you have to be specific. Just for a certain character? For a certain fandom? A certain plot? Just og stories? Be clear. 

Dynamics I Enjoy Writing:

Man simps for person who almost wants nothing to do with them. 

Hero simps for villain or villain simps for hero despite the obvious consequences.

Two jokesters destroy some area while left alone together. May get along better than they would admit. 

Two people who are not expected to get along, get along well. 

Hero and villain are best friends but won’t admit it.

Basically if I’m left to my own mind most of my fics will fall under one of these dynamics. Not always- definitely not always. But I kinda like them. 

Numbers:

800-273-8255 USA National Suicide Hotline

1 (300) 22 4636 Australia Suicide and Anxiety Line

1 (833) 456 4566  Canada Suicide Hotline

800-810-1117 China Suicide Hotline

0145394000 France Suicide Hotline

08001810771 Germany Suicide Hotline

8888817666  India Suicide Hotline

810352869090 Japan Suicide Hotline

0078202577577 Russia Suicide Hotline

08457909090 UK Suicide Hotline

4408457909090 Ireland Emergency Hotline

1-800-656-4673 US National Sexual Assault Hotline

741-741 National Panic Hotline (for people who prefer to text)

Anything else? 

Nope. Can’t think of anything. We’ll see if anything changes. Thanks for checking it out. 

Header Credits to: @moonknights​

[aijee]

IDOTSC BTS #7: The Impossible Pursuit of Storybook Endings

It’s been a while since I wrote the last dated BTS on “in defense of the side character.” Frankly, I entered a rut on how to finish it. Even with the ending outlined from the start, I wasn’t motivated to write what I’d laid out. I thought it all read too expected and cliché, which isn’t necessarily a bad thing because there’s a comfort there. But it ended up reading vapid, too, and I just didn’t want IDOTSC to end up like a longer clone of “the price of mirrors”; the tonal similarities are already heavy-handed to me. (As of May 6, 2021, it honestly still feels that way.)

I was thinking a lot about the themes touched upon in the story so far. Reality versus fiction. Growing up when you’re already “grown up.” Cultural differences. Struggle with identity. Struggle with your future, your life purpose, your passions and responsibilities in fragile life transitions. (Re)learning intimacy and vulnerability in adulthood. Being scared of both. And that’s not even touching the obvious can of worms that is the (Korea/Asian) entertainment industry.

Most, if not all, of my past works so far have demonstrated an idealism to the relationships involved. 99% of the time, it’s lack of communication (to an almost painful degree at times) that drives those narratives. The characters themselves rarely do anything bad bad. They don’t make big mistakes or super dubious decisions. For lack of a better way of putting it, I can’t immediately recall writing main characters exhibiting “problematic behavior.”

I guess that’s not entirely true. Berating someone else because you’re frustrated and bearing the world on your shoulders. Space bandits who steal shit. Drunk people doing drunk people things. But maybe it’s because none of those examples have really undermined this grand gesture or ideation of romance, or love. In the end, the many of the characters are still just vehicles for cute and healthy romance for simple entertainment. There’s nothing wrong with that. We need that kind of content in a world filled to the fucking brim and overflowing with struggle.

But as I’m working on the final chapter and epilogue, I’ve decided to overhaul my initial plans for the ending. I want WW and MG to make or have made questionable choices in contrast to the idealism typically injected into fiction (like my own). Sans extremes, making a questionable choice shouldn’t make a person irredeemable, or unworthy of love. WW doesn’t have to be falling head over heels after a first kiss. He can still make wrong turns towards an emotional and physical connection he genuinely wants, having not fostered the tools to do so earlier in his life. MG doesn’t have to be a “Prince Charming” or “Angel” or to have intensely pined for a decade (guilty as charged) to pursue someone else. He can still fall submissive to the pressures of work and ignore what he wants in his heart up until he is directly confronted about. Perhaps, in the same way perfection is expected of idols and characters in media, our expectations for decision-making and morals of people, let alone characters, are also lofty.

I understand that that might not be everyone’s cup of tea, seeing as we usually consume fanfiction as a form of escapism. But I think it’s also pretty amazing how flexible of a medium fic can be as a form of self-expression and exploration, too.

Originally written on April 14, 2021.

[rare-clone-fic-exchange]

𝕔𝕙𝕚𝕝𝕕𝕚𝕤𝕙 𝕔𝕙𝕒𝕥𝕥𝕖𝕣 ⋆*･ﾟ 𝕔𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕖 𝕥𝕣𝕠𝕠𝕡𝕖𝕣 𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕕𝕔𝕒𝕤𝕖

➼ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ ☆ ʜᴀʀᴅᴄᴀꜱᴇ x ɢɴ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

➼ ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ ☆ ʜᴀʀᴅᴄᴀꜱᴇ ᴡᴀᴋᴇꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ᴜᴘ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍɪᴅᴅʟᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ɴɪɢʜᴛ ᴛᴏ ᴀꜱᴋ ᴀ Qᴜᴇꜱᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ᴜᴛᴍᴏꜱᴛ ɪᴍᴘᴏʀᴛᴀɴᴄᴇ. ɪᴛ'ꜱ ᴅᴇꜰɪɴɪᴛᴇʟʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀ ꜱɪʟʟʏ ᴘᴜɴ. ᴅᴇꜰɪɴɪᴛᴇʟʏ.

➼ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ☆ ᴛᴏᴏᴛʜ-ʀᴏᴛᴛɪɴɢ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴜᴍᴏʀ, ʟᴏᴛꜱ ᴏꜰ ꜱɪʟʟɪɴᴇꜱꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴅᴀᴅ ᴊᴏᴋᴇꜱ (ɪ'ᴍ ɴᴏᴛ ꜱᴏʀʀʏ), ᴛʜᴇʏ'ʀᴇ ʙᴏᴛʜ ꜱᴏ ꜱᴍɪᴛᴛᴇɴ ꜰᴏʀ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ

➼ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ ☆ 1.4ᴋ

➼ ᴘᴏᴠ ☆ ꜱᴇᴄᴏɴᴅ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴ

➼ ʀᴀᴛɪɴɢ ☆ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀʟ ᴀᴜᴅɪᴇɴᴄᴇꜱ

ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜰɪᴄ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴡʀɪᴛᴛᴇɴ ꜰᴏʀ @ᴄʟᴏɴᴇᴛʜɪʀᴇ ! ɪ ʀᴇᴀʟʟʏ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ, ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ꜰᴏʀ ʜᴀʀᴅᴄᴀꜱᴇ ɪꜱ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ꜱᴏ ꜰᴜɴ.

“Babe. Babe. Babe.”

That’s the first thing you hear when you awake. 

With tired eyes and a heaving chest, you try to stir and fully jolt yourself awake in Hardcase’s arms. There aren’t any lights on, only the soft lumination of passing speeders at this unholy hour. 

“Babe.”

You huff, turn over, and almost immediately collide with Hardcase’s watchful eye above you. Leaning on an elbow, he has an idea-struck face, as if anticipating anyone with willing ears to listen.

“What is it?” you rasp, yelping at how dry your throat feels as you speak. While swallowing down some gathered saliva and clearing your throat, Hardcase hums and leans further, riveting feelings of brilliance in his eyes. “It’s not even 0400 yet.”

He had better woken you up for something good.

Hardcase pouts at your foiling glare and continues without a moment to linger further.

“Do you think if the Jedi ever find out about General Skywalker and his wife, they’ll tell him ‘may divorce be with you’?”

Your jaw slacks, your elbow slowly sliding down, and you plop your head back down on your pillow, incredulously scoffing.

“Maker, `Case,” You groan, biting back a laugh. “You woke me up for this?”

“Yes!” He exclaims, shuffling to lean over you with a speculative eyebrow raise. “It’s genius. Do you think it isn’t?”

“I think it’s silly,” You retort. Hardcase whines and leans down as well, cradling his face with a forearm to keep his stare on you. How he manages to stay so wide-eyed at this hour, you’re unsure.

“Haters gonna hate,” is his only response. You sigh.

“I’m not a hater,” you bite your lip when you feel his breath on your creep closer, body heat radiating toward yours. He’s still got that pensive, mischievous look on his face. But you can feel yourself beginning to drift off. You yawn out, “Just a person who likes their sleep.”

“Hm,” Hardcase hums as though he doesn’t believe you yet.

Silence rushes over the two of you, and your eyelids weigh heavy, just as though you’re about to fall asleep. But then Hardcase talks again.

“How do you unlock doors on Kashyyyk?”

Oh lord.

You try to stay silent so he thinks you’re asleep.

“With a wook-key.”

You’re unsuccessful.

The snicker that lurches in your mouth gets Hardcase smiling all smug and satisfied into your shoulder. 

You slap the back of his head lightly with a whine.

“That wasn’t funny!” You say in a whisper-yell.

“Is that so?” Hardcase mutters against the bare skin of your shoulder, vibrations of his voice sending relaxing yet rousing shivers through your chest. “Then why’d you laugh?”

Your mouth falls ajar, gasping softly as he continues giggling.

“I’m not laughing because it’s funny!” You snap back in your greatest attempt to convince him of your innocence. “I’m only laughing because you’re just so unbelievable.”

“But you love me,” Hardcase says in a cheerful, sing-song voice. With a roll of your eyes, everything softens as you feel a featherlight kiss against your neck, his lips lazily pursed and pressed to your skin.

“Yeah, I do.”

Silence finally rushes between you, but as you suddenly become restless, you decide to give him a taste of his own medicine.

“How do Jedi eat?” 

Hardcase perks up, reverence coating his stare for indulging him so. Your lips curl upwards in a tight, lovely grin.

“They force-feed themself.”

His incessant giggles make you bite your lip and bring him down into the crook of your neck and shoulder again.

“That’s a good one,” he compliments, hand crawling up from his side. As he talks, a cold hand slithers up your stomach, slipping under the fabric of your tank top to trace aimless patterns into your skin. “Where’d you learn it.”

“‘Heard it ‘round the base.”

“Clever.”

You nod. “I know.”

“Makes sense that you didn’t make it yourself then.”

You gasp, flicking his forehead lightly when he erupts into childish giggles again. Despite it, you don’t shush him or urge him to stop. His laughter could fill you with more joy for twenty lifetimes.

He eventually comes up with a new reveling thought, tilting his head and leaning up again so you can look at each other.

“`You ever think about the fact that having sex on a lift is immoral on so many levels?”

Your nose scrunches with a soft chuckle, wincing at the cheesiness of his joke.

“Babe, that means we’re immoral on so many levels.”

Not even a second is spent processing your retort; Hardcase simply shrugs in response with a drifted-away gaze.

“I’m not saying otherwise.”

You purse your lips.

“Hm…”

“Just stating the facts,” he continues, lying down again. “You can come to the conclusions for us.”

“Ah, yes,” you agree, coyly grinning at your next words before they even come out of your mouth. “As always, I’m the brains of this operation.”

Hardcase doesn’t properly respond to you; he only nods softly into your neck as he waits for you to continue.

“Yeah, I think we’re immoral on so many levels.”

Hardcase laughs harder and plants a kiss on your bare shoulder. Then another. He brushes all things obscuring his path to trail more over your collarbone to reach your other shoulder, hands pressed on either side of your arms as he moves. You sigh and smile, the softest laugh leaving your lips. They purse when your mind wanders, trying to devise another joke to continue the conversation.

“...Two clones walk into 79’s,” you begin, voice strained and dwindling with the uncertainty of your joke and where it should lead. “...And one tells the other.” You pause again, eyes drifting away when you feel Hardcase’s perky, awaiting look. “‘You look familiar.’”

Hardcase’s disbelieving cackle is hushed when he presses his face into the pillow, shaking his head.

“Babe, that was so bad,” he says, lifting his chin to speak more clearly. You shrug, eyebrows knitted while you whine out a measly defense.

“I don’t know!” Your response only elicits more laughter. You turn on your side, awaiting for Hardcase to meet your eyes again while you fend for yourself. “It’s too late for this. Just… let me get back to you in the morning.” 

Turning on his side and resting his cheek on his forearm, he nods with a perceptive fix of his lips.

“Fair enough,” he leans in further, resting his forehead on yours and shifting closer to your body. “I mean…”

You raise an eyebrow.

“What?”

Hardcase shrugs, impishly grinning in entire admiration.

“There’s potential there for a good joke,” he says.

You nod with full agreement and a smug crook of your eyebrows.

“‘T’s why I said it instead of just shutting up.” Hardcase chuckles deep in his chest. You shove him lightly, just enough to get the message across but not hard enough so your foreheads disconnect. “We can workshop it in the morning.”

With a nod, he tilts his chin up and presses his pursed lips to the space between your eyebrows.

“Definitely,” he mutters against you. “Y’know what else we can workshop?”

You hum, slowly melting further into his touch. His hands have returned, rubbing circles over your collarbone and shoulders, and you keenly sigh as the caresses get deeper.

“I’ve got a great joke about construction I want to tell you, but I’m still working on it.”

In your state, you become susceptible to his silly jokes, and you snort unwisely. It goes to his head very quickly.

“See? I’m funny!” He argues with a victorious glint.

You sigh loudly and roll your eyes.

“I’m just more susceptible in this state.”

“That’s why I tell you at this time.”

You deadpan, frowning and rubbing your eyes with a yawn.

“Is that why you woke me up? To tell me your dumb jokes when I’m more likely to laugh?”

“Yep,” he answers, making a little pop sound at the end of the word. You scrunch your features.

“You’re a dork,” you tell him, adjusting on the bed and ruffling the sheets to go over your shoulders.

“And you’re still here.”

With the objective statement, you melt and nod, blinking with entirely smitten reverence.

“I am,” you assure.

With a soft smile, he leans in and pulls you by your shoulders, encouraging you to cuddle into him. You do enthusiastically, nuzzling your face into his chest. The sound of his heartbeat and steady breathing fills your eyes and becomes the only important thing you could possibly focus on for the rest of his night, your soothing bedtime lullaby.

But then he speaks again.

“What do Gungans put their food in? Jar jars.”

You tilt up, stare blank and deadly.

“That’s it, time for bed.”

And the sound of his laughter instead becomes the loudest noise to soothe you back to sleep.

[bitchinparty]

Panel Voting is open!

Since we only got 7 more panel submissions than there are slots for panels, we decided not to do two rounds of voting as planned. Instead, voting will be open from now until February 18th. The voting form contains all the panels and descriptions along with mod names--please let me know ASAP if I missed any of the co-mod arrangements flying around! Voting closes at 11:59pm on Sunday, February 18th. VOTE HERE! (Voting instructions are in the form. You must be registered for the con for your vote to count. Side effects may include increased heart rate, shortness of breath, uncontrollable gigglefits, and inability to can. Do not taunt Happy Fun Ball.) Panel Descriptions SINGLE FANDOM Women of the Marvel Cinematic Universe (mod: Minim Calibre) Natasha Romanoff, Peggy & Sharon Carter, Jessica Jones, Shuri, Gamora, Valkyrie, Maria Hill, and many, many more! Let's talk about the wonderful women of the MCU and why we love them. Avengers Reassemble (mods: Lucifuge5, mizface) MCU's been kicking it for 10 years and counting. Where is it going and where would we want it to go next? Captain America: The Star Spangled Man With a Plan* (*for certain values of plan) (mods: Minim Calibre, Gwyneth) From a kid from Brooklyn to a bearded outlaw, come talk about Captain America and Cap fandom as it stands on the eve of Infinity War. Pacific Rim: Uprising - Next Gen Heroes Yay? (mod: Raine Wynd) Pacific Rim Uprising gave us another apocalypse and a set of new heroes to like. Let's talk - and maybe discuss where Raleigh and Herc were doing while this was going on. :-) The Real Bad Place Is The Friends We Made All Along (mods: SDWolfpup, Brynn, Minim Calibre) The Good Place started with a straight-forward premise and became one of the most complicated, delightful, and philosophy-loving shows on TV. Let's talk about why we love it (so many reasons!), how it manages to keep turning its own premise with such skill, and what we hope for next season. The State of Bandom: 2018 (mods: aethel, Lucifuge5) Bandom in 2018 is a different beast from Bandom in 2007. We'll chat about how the fandom has changed (and how it hasn't) and what the musicians are up to now. Come reminisce about your time in Bandom! A short time ago, in a fandom not so far away... (mods: bessyboo, exmanhater) Let’s talk STAR WARS! Originals, Prequels, Sequels, Rogue One, Clone Wars, Rebels, EU—which parts are you really feeling, and why? Which parts that you’re not already into should you check out? What did you think of The Last Jedi? Everything from the galaxy far, far away is on the table! Miss Fisher's Intersectional Feminism (mod: krytella) The adaptation of MFMM from books to the screen aged Phryne up into a rare portrayal of a glamorous heroine over 40 surrounded by a broad range of supporting female characters. The show tackles social issues around gender and class and occasionally attempts to grapple with racism and Australia’s colonial history. What do we love about it, what do we wince at about it, what do we wish we had fanworks about for it? Visit Themyscira (mods: cyborganize, metatxt) Share your Wonder Woman story, whether you're a movie lover, a Lynda Carter devotée, or a long-suffering comics fan. A conversation about the conversation about Wonder Woman: why we feel how we feel about her, what she represents, how she has been represented. Explore Diana's origin in the early 1940s (see: Professor Marston and the Wonder Women) and her fictional origin in the Amazon culture of Paradise Island / Themyscira, and why the character and her worlds are still relevant. Will involve the F word – feminism! (And the other F word – femslash!) META AND MULTIFANDOM Sometimes we pay for it (mod: rivers_bend) come talk about queer romance novels, fannish tropes in pro fiction, and finding the perfect book for you. It's the End of the World As We Know It, And I Feel Fannish (mods: SDWolfpup, cyborganize) Post-apocalypse shows & fic are plentiful, and have plenty of fans, even though they're (usually!) very dark. What draws us to these worlds? What are your favorite post-apocalyptic media and why? What do we learn about ourselves from watching others struggle with the destruction of everything they knew? Where Do We Go From Here? (mods: Minim_Calibre, cyborganize) As the Internet changes and sites rise and fall, how do we stay connected as a community? Can we? Explore the state of fandom in 2018 and how has it changed since the first Bitchin' Party ten years ago! Fandoms That Won't Die (mods: aethel, Lucifuge5) Come talk about the fandoms you love that surprised you with their longevity! Why do some fandoms last and others don't? Fannish Osmosis Fic Exchange (mod: Scribe) Write a stranger the fic of their dreams...for a canon you only know about via hearsay! Other types of fanworks welcome, as long as they can be completed in about fifteen minutes; reading/sharing with the room is encouraged for maximum hilarity, but not mandatory. You Like My Thing Wrong (mod: bessyboo) You know that moment when you’re really into a popular thing, but you hate the popular pairing, or character, or fanon characterization? Or maybe you’ve been into something for a million years and suddenly everyone else is on board too, but everything they’re saying and creating is just…WRONG? Friends, let us get together and discuss strategies for taking a breath, chilling out, and avoiding feeling like horrible fandom hipsters or Bitter Old Fandom Queens when other people just Like Our Thing Wrong. Cest is Best (mods: bessyboo, metatxt) Incest and step/pseudocest have seen a rise in popularity recently in the mainstream, from Game of Throne to Billy & Billie to The Flash, but they've been popular in fandom for over a decade. What's the continued appeal of incest in fandom? And why do you think it's starting to hit more mainstream popularity now? Do you have limits on what you will or won't read--and has that changed? Are you here for the sitcom fluff, the dirtybadwrong angst, or something in between? Let's talk about fandom's fondness for keepin' it in the family! Feelings Are The Worst (mod: jedusaur) Emotions run high when you care a whole lot, and fandom is all about caring a whole lot. Let's talk about different types and contexts of fannish feelings, what sparks and alters our fannish interests, how and why conflicts arise in fandom, what feelings even are (your mod will make a sincere effort not to derail the conversation too far into the intricacies of the ventromedial prefrontal cortex), and what situations lead to fandom obsession, frustration, gradual indifference, and loving everyone in this whole damn bar. Alphas, Omegas, Doms, & Subs: Alternate Gender System Tropes (mods: krytella, keerawa) Why do A/B/O, BDSM AU, and other AUs that play with alternate gender designation have such strong appeal? Do they provide a safer space to eroticize gendered oppression, create a dystopian critique of gendered oppression, or both at once? Are slash gender system AUs an expression of internalized misogyny or badly written female characters or something else entirely? Do slash and femslash uses if this trope serve to straighten the queer relationships they depict? How about alpha/alpha and omega/omega stories, or D/s AUs centering switches? Wait, we only have 50 minutes? Documenting Fandom (mod: aethel) Fans have been writing down the history of fandom since fandom began. Let's discuss the various ways and reasons that fans document fandom! And also Fanlore. Speed Dating Small Fandoms (mods: metatxt, cyborganize) A semi-structured con-game where we share and explore why we love the small fandoms we love. By generating a creative categorization structure, together we will match-make fans with new small fandoms relevant to their interests. Our goal is for everyone to leave with a new fandom to date and a new fan joining one of their small fandom faves. TECH AND WORKSHOP A Song and a Dream: Now What? (mods: SDWolfpup, scribe) You've got the perfect song for your fandom - what's next? How do you get source? What do you do with mkv files? Square pixels? Frame rates?! To outline or not to outline? Do I really need a clip database? Let's talk about it all! Break on Through: Getting Beyond the Block (mods: Minim Calibre, thewightknight) Come share tips and tricks for defeating a creative block. Why We Write: Fandom Needs You! (mod: keerawa) This panel is aimed at aspiring writers, experienced writers dipping their toes into fanfiction, fanfic writers who've been going through a dry patch, or anyone looking to get the creative juices flowing. Topics will vary based on the participants, but might include how to start, where to find cheerleaders and betas, where to post, how to get over that hump and throw ourselves into writing something we and other fans will love. I'm sure the FBI has a file on me: research and fandom (mod: Minim Calibre) Ever find yourself needing to know the marriage requirements in places you'll never live? In-depth information on weaponry? Best ways to hide a body? And, of course, sex tips you may or may not ever need. Come share your tales of research gone wild and/or pick up research tips and tricks from your fellow fans. Oral Not!Fic (mod: bessyboo) In this workshop, we’ll define what oral not!fic is, talk a little about how to create it, and then finish up by creating an oral not!fic before the panel is over! Cosplay 101 (mod: bessyboo) Have you ever wanted to get into cosplay, but weren’t sure how or where to start? This panel is for you! We’ll discuss strategies for choosing/designing a character & outfit, and putting together a costume (for both DIY & “I am 0% crafty” options!) Makeup Fandom 101 (mods: bessyboo, visionshadows) Do you not wear makeup because you find it intimidating, but would like to start? Are you a total makeup pro who loves to talk brands and share your knowledge? Maybe you're somewhere in between, but want to know how that person on tumblr achieved that super sweet eye look or particular nail art you loved. This panel is for all of you, as well as anyone else who wants to come talk everything from skin care to shadow to nail polish. (There may be a makeup swap at the end of the panel!)

[selcier]

Obikin Fanfiction Recommendations

I’ve been thinking about typing this up for a while now. 

This is by no means an extensive or exhaustive list. These are simple a few fics that I remember vividly for various reasons. Many of theme are masterpieces in their own right without the added benefit of being fanfiction. And many are fics that I have read over and over again. These are also fics that have inspired me to to my own writing. 

Please also keep in mind that these recommendations will include some constructive criticism. While I love them all, there are comments that I think need to be said in any recommendation. I’m not going to be adding warnings (those are in the links) but I want to give a larger picture of the piece besides fawning over how much I love it. 

There are many fics that are not on this list that I actively read and love and I’m always looking for more! I have excluded works that I love but are in the beginnings of their development as a cohesive story. This list also does not include any tumblr ficlets. I love those too but they are more difficult to keep track of. If you follow me, I tend to reblog everything I love so you can find more that way. If you have any recommendations to send me, please do! 

I have tried to tag authors when I know them on tumbr. 

In no particular order:

His Face in the Rearview Mirror by starscry

The car breaks down a week and a half into his trip. 

What a beautiful AU. Fast cars, sexual tension and a great retelling of TPM. I’m drawn to this fic for its detail and mood. I can feel the heat of the desert in every scene. I can envision Anakin’s upbringing in the descriptions. I desperately want them to justkissalready the entire time; there is a fantastic level of tension throughout the narrative. This is the type of short but fulfilling read I go back for many times. Its currently on hiatus but I’m crossing my fingers that starscry will finish it soon. 

Fringe Believers and Hopeless Wanders by iiscos

A Jedi falls in love with a kind, but poor mechanic aboard the luxurious, ill-fated R.S.C. Terranova. A Star Wars/Titanic AU 

This fic is definitely an inspiration for my own writing. Its paced fabulously with a steady rise of plot and tension. And while it follows closely to the original plot of Titanic, all the Star Wars details are fleshed out in loving detail. It also has the same feel as Titanic; a romance that doesn’t make any logical sense but that is captivating none the less. Unfortunately, this fic is also on hiatus it seems as the author seems to have moved on to other fandoms. However, keep in mind the original tags were ‘happy ending’ so I’ll go with that. :)

Favorite line:  “ Obi-Wan in his formal Jedi robes, clean and simple against the lavish backdrop, searching for familiar faces in the dining saloon.” For some reason this image keeps with me. I liken it to the line from the RotS novel in which Obi-wan stands in the expanse of carpeting in Padme’s apartment looking lost. The parallels reduce me to a sobbing fool. 

wicked thing by imaginarykat

There are rumours of yet another Sith Lord hiding among the Separatists. The Council sends Anakin to investigate. Anakin has a bad feeling about this.

or,

the story of how Anakin exists in a perpetual state of intense embarrassment, Kenobi is enjoying it a little too much, and everything is, generally speaking, a gigantic mess.

Ah yes. The opus of the Sith!Obi-wan movement. May we be forever blessed. This fic sucks you in from the very first moment. The insight the reader has into Anakin’s mind is a fabulous take on his character and I love the inanity he brings. Oh course, the whole plot is rather contrived; but that’s part of the fun. Fanfiction is for nothing more than indulging our every whim and a myriad of possibilities. I particularly enjoy that we’re meant to not fully understand whether or not Kenobi is using Anakin or not. And whether or not Anakin is already his apprentice or not. Unfortunately, the last few chapters have been lacking direction for me. But I’ve still enjoyed reading them and still look forward to experiencing the story with the characters. Not all obikin needs to be sadness and flames. 

Favorite line: “His mouth opens to speak even though his mind seems empty of all thought; only one word escapes his lips, one that tastes of defiance and submission and fire all at once.“Master.” “ Hot damn yes. This is why I come here!

Ad Verecundiam by DarthSnug

Time Traveling Sith Lords seems like a matter for the Council, so Obi-Wan puts the man’s sudden arrival at the Temple out of mind. He has other things to worry about after all: his Trials, for one, and his former Master’s stubborn insistence that young Anakin Skywalker must be trained.

Then the Council approaches him, saying that their reluctant darkside guest is specifically asking for him, and in standard fashion, Knight Kenobi finds himself getting into all sorts of terrible trouble without much backup at all.

This is probably the least developed fic on this list. Only three chapters in, however, and I’m hooked. So far, it hasn’t gotten caught up in extraneous scenes or pointless divergences to the plot and I’m hoping it continues to do so. I’m enjoying, despite the fantastical nature of the canon divergence, the reality of the narrative. Characters have reasonable and relate-able reactions to outside influences. The Council is appropriately suspicious, Kenobi is appropriately obeying the Council’s orders-but-not-really. I’m excited to see where this is going especially as Vader is clearly not necessarily remorseful about his actions. He hasn’t turned into the good-guy yet. I think we all forget what a Sith is supposed to be canon. They aren’t just dangerous and handsome, they have ugly goals. I’m hoping that this fic explores that option. 

Solider, Poet, King by @glare-gryphon

Second chances are very rarely given, but the Force smiles upon two of its favorite children and returns them to a time before their actions have met their consequences. Anakin Skywalker, also known as Darth Vader, seeks redemption while Obi-Wan “Ben” Kenobi, disillusioned with the Jedi Order and its Code, falls to the Darkness. Trapped out of time, Master and Apprentice must once again work together to stop Sideous’ plans from reaching fruition and bring Balance to the Force—all the while dodging the Jedi, the Sith, and their feelings for each other.

I admit, I’ve re-read this at least ten times. It came with me on the plane to Thailand, comforted me next to the fireplace this holiday season and was there for rainy days this spring. This is a fic I cannot gush about enough. The first time I read Chapter 1, I thought ‘oh this sounds interesting, if cliche.’ But then i was hooked. Glare, in all their writing, adds such a depth to the characters without distracting lines of exposition. As the reader, you’re desperately on Anakin’s side hoping that he finally gets his happy ending. And you feel Ben’s pain on having to live again. You want them to succeed. This is compounded with the spiraling-out-of-control relationship Padawan Obi-wan has with Qui-gon and the ongoing fight against Sideous. 

I am worried that this fic has gotten too large and that there are too many spinning wheels to pull together in the end. But that hasn’t dampened my ability to enjoy it as it is. And I’m not sure if this is intended (although I certainly enjoy it), but there is an underlying strain of ‘wrongness’ about Anakin and Ben’s relationship. This isn’t a happy story, I think. I don’t want it to be happy. 

Favorite line:  “ Vader’s durasteel wrist is pinned to the stone by one of Adelfos’ boots, preventing the younger Sith from moving. His back is to Obi-Wan like this, but the Padawan can see Vader’s face through the man’s legs. Whatever Vader sees when he looks up into the man’s cowl, the shock hits him like a speeder. Blood drains from the Sith’s face and he’s trembling, mouth opening and closing like he’s trying to form words but doesn’t quite know what to say.” This line gives me chills every time. I love feeling Anakin’s surprise though the lens of Padawan Kenobi. Beautiful. 

as good a place to fall as any by @glimmerglanger 

Obi-Wan and Anakin are sent to find a rumored weapon from the Old Republic on a mission directly from the Jedi Council, taking them away from the front lines at a vital time. During the course of the mission, they find far more than trouble than the anticipated and stumble into a series of events that leads to unintended attachments, misunderstandings, a fierce love affair, bloody victories, and an eventual end to the Clone Wars…

I’m a big fan of a/o/b fics done well and this one is fantastic. While the dynamics are certainly part of the story, it is more focused on the emotional relations between characters in the backdrop of a war. Each chapter is almost a mini story with a full plot and satisfying ending. It does have that same feeling of a story arch in the Clone Wars where you know the main conflict will be resolved even as the over-arching conflict (Anakin and Obi-wan’s relationship) continues on. 

And I can’t say enough about the tiny world building elements that glimmer adds. In the first chapter, they focus on the a/o/b dynamics as if it were any physical condition in a modern world. Its not sexualized from the stand point of the characters (until, well, it is sexual). And they way that Obi-wan addresses his crisis is so in character. He really struggles with his decision and is eventually overrun and guilty about his choices. 

Favorite line: ““I don’t remember what that’s like, either,” Anakin said, and he sat up, scrubbing at his face. For a moment they sat, and then he reached out, and tugged on a strand of Obi-Wan’s hair. A cautious smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “I like seeing you like this.”

Obi-Wan snorted, wishing he had not removed his tunic. He could feel the blush on his skin. “Messy?” he asked, abandoning the cot and the intimacy, before it tempted him beyond his ability to bear it. Already his emotions were in a tumult, as they had been since he had thought Anakin would not breathe again. It was best not to think about it.” Urgh the pain and happiness rolled up in these scenes sends me to tears. 

Admire the Foliage by the AngryAssassin 

Anakin is left to his own devices on an unknown planet and naturally, he gets himself into trouble. Obi-Wan helps him out. Porn with a little tiny bit of plot.

I would call this porn with absolutely no plot whatsoever. But I don’t even want to tell you how many times I’ve read it. Be forewarned for plants, vines, tentacle bits, possible non-con, threesomes of a sort, voyeurism, and other nsfw things. 

Thank you and have a great day.

Wake the Storm (part i of the Ouroboros series) by @bedlamsbard 

Considering that he had picked up what was probably a Sith artifact, promptly passed out in the middle of a war zone, and apparently woken up twenty years in the future with Obi-Wan having taken up residence in his head, Anakin thought he was entitled to have a few questions.

This is the first fanfiction I had my husband read. Overall, it is not a full Obikin story but I love the undercurrent of tension. (Both between Old Ben and Jedi Knight Kenobi). And while the plot is based on a slightly outlandish theme, its pulled together tightly across multiple times and space. And when we get to see the interactions between Kenobi and Padme, my heart breaks every time. 

Many times in fic, we take the idea that Obi-wan will leave the Order to be a given. Like it isn’t hard to give up everything you’ve ever known to seek out a different life. Like that isn’t a terrible decision to make. In this story, this idea is treated with the respect it deserves. Its easy for us, as readers, to make these decisions for the characters but it is much more difficult for them to choose. In this fic, we see Obi-wan struggle between being who he really is (in this case, Anakin’s friend), and who he really wants to be (a Jedi Master). 

And we also see another version of that Kenobi who did not make such a decision and the ramifications of that. I’m torn between empathy and hatred of that version. But i fully enjoyed the exploration of one character who underwent such a drastic split. 

Overall, this seems like it would be an exploration of Anakin (and I think it was intended to be one), but I see it more of an exploration of Obi-wan. And, of course, the sequel is every bit as thought provoking and well written. 

Favorite line: “Obi-Wan leaned against the wall beside him, his face hidden behind one hand. “I saw what Vader left behind.”Again, the smell of sulfur and burning flesh, a sound that might have been screaming. Anakin’s stomach heaved again, making him clap a hand to his mouth, but there was nothing left to vomit up. After a moment, the Force impressions vanished.” Well, i have many, many favoirte lines. But this is from the second chapter. Every sentence is so well planned and full of nuanced. Be still my heart. 

The Light You Leave Behind by laventadorn

Ahsoka has left the Jedi Order, and Anakin is haunted by the last words he spoke to her on the steps of the Temple: “I understand, more than you know, wanting to leave the Order.” But perhaps leaving does not mean walking away; perhaps, it means only taking a different path.

For Obi-Wan, things are even less simple. The darkness clouding the Force seems to whisper behind him; with Anakin gone, he feels half-blind. Does his way lie with the Order that has raised him, or with the two Padawans he has lost?

Because Anakin and Ahsoka have set out to learn what they can about the Sith - and to destroy them, once and for all.

This is another rec that is still in it’s infancy. But I’ve been sucked in to the pure feelings of this world in all the relationships and their dynamics. I would consider this, so far, a bit more on the gen side but the sheer stress between Anakin and Obi-wan and Anakin and Ahsoka is captivating. I especially love the way Obi-wan just holds himself back at every turn and how much the reader can feel his distress. 

The last chapters were a bit more plot focused than the first few. I am not really sure at this point what type of direction this story will continue in. We seemed to leave behind the emotional tension to focus on moving the story along. That isn’t the type of story I normally enjoy but I’m hoping it returns to its roots a bit more in the future. 

Favorite line: ““Well,” he said eventually, “that wasn’t what I was expecting you to say.”

Anakin’s forehead crinkled in clear confusion as his eyes cut toward Obi-Wan, as if trying to figure him out. He reached out in the Force, a tentative brush that Obi-Wan couldn’t bring himself to meet. He had to keep his shields shut tight or he might -

“I thought you were going to tell me you’re leaving the Order.”” Kill me know. Obi-wan, just kiss him already!!!

 Finding Balance by moonstone 

The Dark side clouds everything, even to eyes that should see through the murk with ease. Darth Sidious has miscalculated, drastically, and the waiting game for his enemies is now at an end, and Balance is at hand.

Another Sith Obi-wan here. But a bit different. In this, Obi-wan has always been a Sith, even when living with the Jedi Order. He’s been biding his time before creating his own Empire. I love how cold he is in this one. And how all the members of the Rebel Alliance are unsure of what he might do. Will he keep his word? Will he kill us all anyways? 

I think, in this story, the relationship between Obi-wan and Anakin takes a bit of a back seat to to the world-building and overall plot development. In this case, i love that aspect. I want to see Anakin scare the shit out of people when he pulls up in a Destroyer, and I want to see them scramble for words when the Emperor ends up injured in their base. 

Its a simple story and not overly complex. And I love it for that. 

The World Undone by lilyconrad @writegowrite 

Anakin Skywalker, proud symbol of the strength and purity of the Jedi Order, is the target of a strange and handsome Sith named Obi-Wan, whose only goal seems to be pulling Skywalker down into the dark with him.

This is an all-around great read. Very entertaining, a great host of characters, good plot, fun story, sufficient sexy scenes. I had a great time reading it and its a staple for the fandom. 

I especially love the brutal nature of Kenobi in the beginning and the way he plays with Anakin throughout the story. I love seeing how their relationship evolves from enemies to sparring partners to friends to lovers. It is so, so satisfying. And also, Anakin is a joy to read here. You know that something fishy is going on in the background but have no idea what! I was glued to the screen in the scene when Anakin comes back from the Council. I think that this is a great additive to the story. I wanted to learn more about what was going on just as much as I wanted to finally see them make-out. 

However I did miss that brutal quality as the story progressed. This is purely a preference and has no bearing on the quality of the story (because the quality is superb), but I felt it lost its Sith-like edges with the introduction of Anakin and Obi-wan’s back story. Suddenly, we were meant to sympathize with Obi-wan. I feel like that took away from his character as a Sith. Sometimes, I don’t want to apologize for the characters. I want them to be dangerous and awful in their own way; like a first testament god. But like I said, that was a matter of preference. I do feel like it is the prerogative of the writer to create the story they wan to see. After all, that’s why fanfiction exists. And I applaud the author for creating a dynamic piece that covers such a wide variety of topics, characters and stories. 

[rare-clone-fic-exchange]

The Sweetest Constant

Pairing: ARF Trooper Hound x Fem!Reader

Summary: Sergeant Hound comes to your pet store needing supplies for his new K9. Fluff ensues.

Warnings: None. Hound is a perfectly sweet cinnamon roll who does no wrong and I am taking no questions.

Word Count: 2260

A/N: Written for the amazing @the-bad-batch-baroness! Hope you enjoy it lovely!

A few notes/translations before we start:

Centaxday - second day of the Galactic Standard Calendar week

Zhellday - fourth day of the Galactic Standard Calendar week

Besom - ill-mannered lout, unhygienic person, someone with no manners

It was Centaxday the first time you met. The gentle jingle of the bell as the door of your humble shop opened brought you back from your daydream. You rose from your seat to greet the Coruscant Guard ARF trooper who strolled him. His armor was shiny and unblemished. The kit paint looked freshly applied. His kama possessed no blaster burns yet.

“‘Mornin’.” His warm baritone crackled through the vocoder of his helmet. You couldn’t see his face but you could hear a tinge of excitement in his greeting.

“Good morning! What can I do for you, sir?”

“Ahh no sir, please.” He waved a dismissive hand before it came to rest on the back of his neck. “Sergeant Hound. But just Hound is fine. Gettin’ my K9 tomorrow and I want to make sure she’s set.”

“You came to the right place, Hound! Have a look around and let me know if you have any questions.”

He bounced on the balls of his feet before he stepped away from you, his elation palpable. He had the energy of a child receiving their first pet and you loved watching this grown man trying to reel in the abundance of joy bubbling through the shiny white and red armor.

He tried to appear casual as he meandered through your shop eyeing various pet accessories, treats, and food. You watched him curiously as he ran his hands over a fluffy pink puppy sweater, with all the ardor of an expectant father. You’d only ever seen the Corries from a distance and you were slightly awestruck by his presence. Respectful yet commanding, he walked with a confidence that made him incredibly attractive even having not seen his face. And his obvious excitement about his new K9 may have been the most attractive thing you’d seen ever.

You cleared your throat. “I don’t mean to pry but what will your K9 be?”

He glanced over from the shelves of treats. “Massiff. She’s still a pup. We start training tomorrow.”

You circled around the counter, coming to stand to his right. Even through the armor he smelled wonderful, woodsy and fresh.

“These.” You pointed at a large blue box with a cartoon massif on the front. “These are my best selling massiff treats. Everyone who buys them raves about how much their pooches love them!”

He tilted his helmet toward you before taking the box from the shelf. “Thanks. Any other suggestions?” The lightness to his tone betrayed the smile hidden under the helmet.

You nodded and guided him around the store. Soon his arms were stacked high with collars, leashes, dishes, a training clicker, food, a bed, and the pink sweater, just the right size for a wee massiff.

You packed everything for him in a box and he informed you the GAR would be picking up the bill.

You slumped in your chair once he’d left, overwhelmed by how quickly you’d taken to a man whose face you’d never seen. A face, you’d assumed you’d never see.

It was Zhellday when you saw him again.

The park near your shop was the ideal place for you to take your kima pup; minimal crowds, quiet, and slow paced. It allowed for a slow transition into socializing for your excessively anxious puppy. At least that was the case on most days.

“Grizzer! Grizzer! Stop! Heel! Grizzer, you besom!!”

You spun around, hearing the frantic voice accompanied by enthusiastic yelps quickly approaching you. You snatched up your bitty kima as he trembled like a leaf in the wind. The grinning massiff pup donning a familiar pink sweater came skidding to a halt at your feet. Not far behind was the slobbery pup's handler.

“I am so sorry about her! We just started training and she’s still excitable!” He huffed, catching his breath as he bent over to pick up the leash.

You blinked in disbelief at first. You hadn’t seen his face when he’d come to your store a few days prior. He’d been decked out in his entire kit last time. Today he only had on armor from the waist down and his kama. His broad shoulders and chest were accentuated by the skin tight black body glove with the Galactic Roundel emblazoned on it. Behind the warmth of his brown eyes was a spark that threatened to outshine the galaxy. Those same mesmerizing eyes studied you intently while a bashful blush darkened his ears.

His hair was shaved into a tidy undercut with the extra length tied into a bun in the back. He puffed, pushing the dark curls from his sweaty forehead.

“It’s okay. I get it. Puggle is still pretty excitable too. But…” you held up your own pup. “He’s a little smaller than…Grizzer was it?”

He looked away sheepishly as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, Grizzer.”

“And you’re Hound, right?”

He chuckled. “You remember me.”

“I couldn’t forget a Corrie who bought his massiff a pink sweater. Looks great on her by the way.”

Grizzer danced around your feet with happy tippy taps and impatient whines. She looked from you to Hound and gave her butt an excited wiggle.

Hound grinned proudly. “Yeah she’s pretty cute. Pink is definitely her color. She loves those treats by the way.”

You beamed at his praise, delving into a hundred questions about how training was coming along and if he needed more supplies. Eventually you bid each other farewell for the second time and you prayed to the Force it wouldn’t be the last.

Days turned into weeks. Whether it was the Force or something more intentional, you and Hound encountered each other with increasing frequency. Sometimes you’d see him on duty patrolling the park where you walked Puggle. Sometimes he was training Grizzer there, half clad in armor, often drenched in sweat under the exertion of handling his enthusiastic massif. If you managed to catch his attention he always gave you a friendly wave. And sometimes he showed up at your shop unannounced. It was always under the guise of making a purchase (always charged to the GAR). But his visits were becoming more frequent and accompanied by fewer purchases. Not that you were bothered. He was divinely handsome, charming, and sweet as chocolate covered camby berries. To say you were enraptured by him was an understatement.

He’d often spend hours leaning against the counter, his bucket casually resting next to him as he chatted with you about anything and everything under the Coruscant sun. He loved telling you about his brothers. Fox and his caf addiction and inability to decompress. Thorn and his penchant for chaos. Thire and his smart mouth that always got him into trouble. Stone’s endless patience and his refusal to engage in small talk of any kind. You loved seeing his face animate as he talked about them, his love and adoration for his brothers was apparent.

He was funny. You often found yourself laughing until you had tears streaming down your cheeks and both of you were gasping to catch your breath through fits of giggles. He was thoughtful as well, volunteering to help with heavy orders or reaching the top shelves. It was those times that your heart fluttered as if it were a butterfly trying to escape captivity. Especially when your hands would brush in passing or he would press into your back, caging you in as he lifted boxes over your head.

However, it was his love for animals that had bewitched you entirely. You’d watched him carefully tend frighted song sparrows and tookas in the park with no hesitation. He’d rescue cornered pikobis so they wouldn’t shed their tails. He even told you about the time he snuck an injured crown finch back to the Corrie Guard barracks and nursed it back to health during his off-duty time with the help of his brother, Stone.

He’d talk for hours about his precious Grizzer. His animated hands gesticulating wildly as he shared story after story about the trouble his “sweet Grizzy girl”- as he called her - would get into. Including the time the rambunctious pup invaded his brother Fox’s footlocker and chewed a hole in the rear end of his body glove. A hole that was only noticed when Thire made a snarky shebs joke at Fox’s expense when he’d taken his kit off for the evening. He laughed as he recalled Fox putting him on ‘fresher duty as payback.

The more he visited you, the more your conversations flowed, and the more you realized you may be falling for him. And then one evening Hound stayed a little longer than usual. You both had been so consumed in each other’s company that it wasn’t until the beeping of him commlink that you both realized how late it was.

“Stang! It’s 1130! Fox is gonna kill me!”

“Kriff! I’m sorry Hound!”

“S’alright! Any punishment I get will be worth it.” The impish wink he shot you nearly melted you faster than the lava flows of Mustafar. “I’ll escort you home. A pretty lady shouldn’t be walking home in the middle of the night.”

He pulled his helmet on and waited patiently as you completed all of the closing tasks before guiding you out the door with a hand that only just ghosted the small of your back. The late night breeze cooled your cheeks that burned hot by just his presence. You found yourself glancing at him and staring just seconds too long. Long enough for him to catch you. You couldn’t see his expression behind the visor of his helmet but the light bounce to his shoulders had you assuming he was chuckling. The conversation in the shop was easy but now you were the only two walking through the little Coruscant neighborhood. The intimacy of walking so close that your hands brushed each other left you wanting for words. You wanted him to know. To know how you felt. You were dying to paint a masterpiece of your feelings on his very soul. And that thought terrified you.

You were so wrapped up in your thoughts you almost missed your apartment, stumbling clumsily to a stop. “This is me.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, disappointed that you’d wasted your time with him.

“Hmm.” He shifted his weight from leg to leg, tapping the toes of his boots on the ferrocrete.

“I’ll…see you around I guess? Thank you for walking with me. And spending the evening with me. I hope you don’t get in trouble for it.”

He pulled his helmet off, shaking his unkempt curls loose. He pressed a hand to the wall behind you, partially caging you in. His eyes locked on yours, holding your gaze with a cocked eyebrow and a smile that was far too alluring. Your eyes flicked from his eyes to his lips, swallowing thickly.

“Don’t worry ‘bout me, princess. I’m the baby brother. Pretty sure I could shoot the chancellor himself and my brothers would cover for me.”

You giggled, instinctively pressing a hand to his chest plate.

Glancing down at your hand and then back at your lips, he smirked, leaning in and stopping just short of your mouth, allowing his breath to fan across your lips. “There is one more thing though, before I get back to patrol duty. Been on my mind all evening.”

“What’s that?” Your breath was shaky as you instinctively leaned closer.

He closed the space between you, pressing his lips to yours. The kiss was soft and chaste while his hand remained anchored to the wall behind you. As he pulled back he allowed his eyes to travel along every inch of you, unable to conceptualize the euphoria he was wading through. You pulled him back, firmly this time. Your tongue teased his bottom lip, seeking entrance which he happily permitted. You swallowed his moan as his hand drifted to your cheek in soft caressing strokes.

When you finally separated, both awash in the glow of the evening and chests heaving heavy breaths, he spoke again. “I get off duty at 0600. I’ll be back and I’m taking you for caf.”

“Charged to the GAR?”

“If we talk about training Grizzer, I can write it off as a work expense.” He gave a cheeky grin.

“And what if I want to talk about you?” You cooed softly, tracing the outline of his chest plate.

“I can still tell Fox it was a work expense. Like I said, I’m the favorite. I’ll see you in the morning, mesh’la.” He slipped his helmet back on and started to leave.

He paused and spun back on his heel, lifting his helmet once more. He grabbed your hand and pressed one final kiss to it before jogging back toward his patrol route.

You’d never gotten ready for bed so quickly. But the sooner you fell asleep, the sooner you’d be seeing Hound again; an event that couldn’t happen soon enough. He was, after all, the sweetest constant you’d ever known.

[rare-clone-fic-exchange]

Safe & Sound

Pairing: Niner Skirata x Reader (GN)

Giftee: @lucifidious From: @523rdrebel

Rating: SFW

Word Count: 2,033

Warnings: Descriptions of battle, explosions, hurt/comfort, mild descriptions of injury and blood, Kissing and some suggestive language.

Summary: You're stubborn and self sufficient but when you get injured Niner insists on making sure you're taken care of properly. Over a series of dangerous missions, you and Niner become closer hitting a breaking point when you defy direct orders to save him.

You wince as pain shoots up your leg, you suck in a pained breath as you step quickly but gingerly towards your quarters. You were sure you’d been successful at avoiding the eyes of your squad mates and hiding your pained hobble when you entered your quarters.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Kriff. “Sir– Did you need something?”

Niner takes a few long strides towards you, standing before you with a disapproving look in his eyes. He glances pointedly at your injured side.

You huff, “I’m fine.”

He reaches down and presses a hand into your side. You fail to bite back a yelp as sharp pain shoots down your side. Niner crosses his arms and stares at you, expression deadpan, “Yes. You’re completely fine. My mistake.” He holds your gaze, waiting for you to break but you’re too determined and stubborn to be reasonable right now. He growls out a low, “Sit.”

You cross your arms over your chest, feeling audacious and petulant, “Is that an order, sir?”

“That depends on you. And I assure you it will be better for you if it isn’t.”

You sit on the edge of your bed, taking the hit to your pride with all the elegance of a pouting child, and you groan as the sharp, shooting pain is renewed.

“Niner…” You try to placate his worry but the words sound unconvincing even to yourself, “It’s not that bad. A little bacta, a little rest, and I’ll be right as rain. There’s no need to make a fuss.”

He kneels down, gently adjusting your position to get a better view of the injury. He pauses a moment. “You got a problem with asking for help, burc'ya?”

“–I can handle it.”

“I don’t doubt you can manage, stubborn thing that you are, but the point is that you don’t have to.” When you’re silent once again, he continues, “You have two choices: You can allow me to take a look at this and patch you up right now or I can call Fi in here to sedate you and take you over to the Med-station.”

You mumble a few curses under your breath, but you shake your head, “Fine.”

Niner nods and assists you in removing sections of your armor, revealing the impressive gash that had been a result of one unfortunately close explosion. Heavy bits of shrapnel had pinned and crushed your plasteel shin plates through your under suit and into your thigh. The wound had only deepened as it was left untreated through the remainder of the mission.

He proceeds to gently clean the wound, apply the bacta and wrap the wound firmly. All the while he gives you the silent treatment, his brows furrowed and there is a tense weight hovering over you both.

You wait with bated breath for the reprimand you are certain is coming. You’re a liability. You’re stubborn. You lack trust in your squad. If you had just been honest, it wouldn’t have gotten this bad. If you had just paid more attention to your surroundings, you wouldn’t have gotten injured in the first place. You left yourself vulnerable. 

But the reprimand never comes. Niner finishes patching you up, then sighs and you could swear you heard him whisper your name ever so softly. He stands up to hover over you, eyes darting over your face, seemingly searching for something.

“In the future, when you are injured I expect you to be honest. Report to me or Fi immediately for medical care. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You are not made less because you need help. You are part of this squad– You’re no use to me dead. Speak up next time.” With that, Niner exits your quarters, leaving you with a peculiar feeling of warmth and questions you dared not ask.

The Separatist base shook with another explosion, this one much closer than the last, and debris flew down the corridor behind you. You raced after Darman and Atin with the others, everyone limping, bruised and battered from one too many close calls, but were spurred on by the imminent destruction of the Separatist base.

“Now that you’re done rearranging the architecture, Darman– Give me a sitrep.”

“Got some heat on our shebs, but we’re upright and breathing, Sarge.” 

“Get to the extraction point–” the next words were cut out with static, “we’re done here.”

“On our way, sir.”

The squad moves in tandem, eyes darting in every direction and blaster bolts flying to take out the pursuing droid forces. The terrain is rocky, cliffs high on either side dropping loose rocks over your heads. Once both teams neared the extraction point, a clearing surrounded by various rock formations, the droids redoubled their efforts, pulling out higher grade explosives and plasma rockets. Blaster bolts fly in all directions and explosions litter the area behind you, “Things are getting shaky, Sarge!” You shout over comms as you run.

Niner’s voice crackles back in response, “Double-time it, then! Get your shebs to the extraction point!”

Soon after, Niner and the rest of the squad come into view guarding the perimeter, he motions to you directing everyone past him. “Go! I’m right behind you!”

You run, glancing quickly behind you watching as Niner goes to follow after you. Just then a sniper-droid’s shot lands, piercing into a weak point in his armor and causing him to double over. You stop in your tracks and another explosion shakes the ground, followed by the cracking, crumbling sound of falling rocks. You don’t hesitate, ignoring Niner’s order to run, instead you engage the energy shield on your vambrace to its highest setting and run, tackling Niner to the ground, pushing him out of the path of the falling rocks. It works, to a point. You are both out of the direct path of the rocks and don’t get hit directly, but land in a small depression in the ground. The rocks collapse all around you, closing in over top of you leaving little room, and little air. The only thing keeping you from being crushed, is your energy shield. You know it isn’t designed to withstand this level of weight and pressure, so it won’t last forever. You hold your position, angled over Niner, with your arm positioned above you, shield active, with the pressure of tons of rock slowly crushing you. 

 “I told you to run.”

“That was before you got shot and nearly flattened by rocks. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“You disobeyed a direct order.”

“Mission parameters changed. Happens all the time.”

“It was reckless and stupid. You and the rest of the squad would be off planet right now if you’d followed orders.”

“You really think we would’ve left here without you?” You pause, the shock of realization running through you, “Oh– You do. Niner–Sir, our squad is nothing without you. At least, I know I wouldn't be here if it weren’t for you.”

“Heh– You’ve always been too hard on yourself. I’m not the reason you’ve come this far. That’s all you. But if we get out of this– Follow my kriffing orders.”

“Yes, sir…" You roll your eyes and sigh, "Now you should rest, we don’t know how long we’ll be in here and I’d rather not die by suffocation.”

The medbay is bright white and sterile, with constant sounds of monitors beeping, medical droids speaking in their robotic tones, and GAR Medics attending to their myriad of patients. You were laid up in your medical bed, forced to submit to periodical scannings and medical applications as you recovered from your mission. Niner had been cleared only a few days prior, as you had taken the brunt of the damage holding up the crushing weight of rocks that closed you and Niner in. You did not remember how long you’d been stuck there, only the blinding light as your Squad dug you from the rubble and the blessed bliss of darkness as you finally succumbed to exhaustion.

“You’re actually in the Medbay, and I didn’t even have to threaten to sedate you.” Niner leaned against the wall across from your bed, offering you a slight smirk.

You huffed a laugh followed by a wince at the sharp pain it caused, “What can I say, you’re pretty convincing when I’m exhausted and can’t think straight.”

“So getting you exhausted is the key to getting you to actually take care of yourself?” He chuckled, a warm, low rumble that you never tired of hearing.

Your eyes widen and you choke out, “That’s certainly one way…”

A few moments of silence followed, an interesting electric tension hovering between you, and Niner crosses the room to pull up a stool and sit next to your bed. His face softens in a way you’ve rarely seen as he speaks, “You scared me for a while. I wasn’t sure you’d make it–”

“I did make it though. Besides, you would’ve been fine without me.”

“No.” He shakes his head and looks down at the floor, “No I don’t think I would be.”

“I don’t– Niner, I don’t understand.” There was another tense moment before he responds.

“I’ve lost a lot of people, a lot of brothers, and I don’t think I could handle losing you, too.”

“Niner– You didn’t lose me. I’m right here.”

“I–I know. So I need you to promise you’ll be more careful, since I can’t count on you to follow orders.” He glances back up at you, a light playful smile on his lips.

You couldn’t help but smile in return, “The situation changed, Niner!” You sigh, he was right, as much as you hated to admit it, “But I will try to be more careful. Promise.”

“See that you do. Rest up. I need you out there.”

He stands up and makes his way to leave but hesitates and turns to regard you once more. He opens his mouth but seems to think better of it, nods, and leaves the medbay.

You made your way to Niner’s quarters, data pad in hand with proof of your medical clearance to return to duty. You stand at attention at the door waiting for the sensor to approve your entrance, clenching and unclenching your hands against the unexpected nerves you feel. It’s Niner! You shouldn’t be nervous. What was wrong with you?

The door opens with a ‘chk’ and you step inside, “Sir?” You wait for Niner to nod before continuing, “I've recovered and I've been cleared for duty.”

He shakes his head– was that disappointment on his face?- “Hmm. I’m not sure I’m ready to let you back out there yet.”

Your brow furrows in confusion and you resist shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other, “Niner– Here’s my medical report. I’ve been cleared.” You hold out the data pad to him.

He approaches to stand very close, intimately close, takes the data pad from your hand and places it on his desk without more than a glance. “If you’re going back out there then we need to set something straight.” His hand comes up, grabbing your chin between his thumb and forefinger, and tilts your face up.

You suck in a breath, holding it in heated anticipation. Your reply is breathy, “Oh, such as?”

He closes his eyes, as if savoring the moment, “I need you to tell me not to kiss you.” 

“What?”

His voice is low, and the gruff rumble hits you in a wave that leaves you shaky, “I've wanted to kiss you since you came barreling into my life. Problem is, if I do, I don't think I'll be able to stop.”

You sigh, leaning into the touch of his hands, one now on your waist, the other still holding your chin firmly in place, “And what if I want you to kiss me?”

The smirk on his face gave you all the answer you needed, “Then who am I to refuse?”

He leans in and captures your mouth with his own, it’s a hungry, needy kiss and your body responds before you can think. You sigh as he pulls you closer, flush against him, and deepens the kiss. You now understand why he hesitated, because now that he was kissing you, finally, desperately kissing you, you never wanted him to stop.

[rare-clone-fic-exchange]

Double, Double Boil and Trouble - Part 1

It is I, @dystopicjumpsuit, with a fic written especially for my beloved longtime reader @goblininawig!

Pairing: Clone Trooper Boil x Reader (GN; reader practices tasseomancy/reads tea leaves) 

Rating: T but minors DNI as always

Wordcount: 2.2k

Warnings and tags: fluff; minor angst; Star Wars swearing; Boil is canonically a bit of a tool; Boil still has his mustache 

Summary: Boil and his friends visit a fortune-telling shop during a night out on Coruscant.

A/N: There will be at least one more chapter coming soon. Don't worry, it ends happily 🧡

Suggested listening: "Reaching for the Moon," by Ella Fitzgerald

https://open.spotify.com/track/1PSpnTbP2TnstBbSpcGWGb?si=efc74bbdd4c34465

Stak, Razor and Wooley were approaching the raucous stage of inebriation as Boil sipped his iazacal liquor and watched them in stoic silence. By his calculation, they had about thirteen minutes left before they all got eighty-sixed from 79’s. They probably would have made it, except some shiny from the 104th got a little overly familiar with the pretty Twi'lek bartender, raising Wooley's immediate ire. The ensuing confrontation got them all kicked out and banned from the club for a week.

Boil would have happily gone back to the GAR barracks and pretended to sleep, but the others were determined to make the most of their first night of shore leave, and so they ventured out into the frigid, rainy night to explore the district around the clone bar in search of further entertainment. 

They didn't have to look far; the entertainment district was packed with all varieties of businesses eager to separate tourists from their credits. Unfortunately, most of them also had signs proclaiming “NO CLONES ALLOWED” displayed prominently in their windows.

We're good enough to die for them, but not good enough for them to let us have lives, he reflected bitterly.

“Look, that one allows clones,” Stak said, pointing to a small shop illuminated by lurid neon signs.

“A fortune teller?” Boil scoffed. “Might as well just toss your credits into the underworld portal. It'll get you the same result in the end.”

“Don't be such a kriffin’ buzzkill,” Wooley said. “I want to find out if there's a tall, good-looking stranger in my future.”

“If that's how you describe a super-battle droid, I'd say the odds are good,” Boil retorted.

“Well, I’m not going to stand out in the rain,” Stak said, overruling Boil’s objections.

Thus, the troopers soon found themselves in a cramped, stuffy room that reeked of incense and was cluttered with a dizzying array of mystical and occult paraphernalia. Their damp wool uniforms smelled like wet hounds, and condensation fogged the windows, making the neon city outside look blurry and dreamlike. The four fortune tellers who greeted them were dressed in elaborate, flamboyant robes that Boil highly doubted were authentic to any culture in the galaxy, but they were very effective in giving them an otherworldly—almost fantastical—air. 

Stak opted to have his palm read; Razor was intrigued by the card reader; and Wooley opted for runes, leaving Boil alone with the remaining con artist—er, fortune teller. He sized up the civvie before him, trying not to look openly hostile as he searched for the words to politely decline whatever snake oil remained to be peddled. Before he could speak, though, the charlatan—kriff—fortune teller gave him a dazzling smile, and Boil blinked, taken completely off guard.

You weren't particularly surprised when the first three troopers quickly paired up with your partners. Their styles of fortune telling were certainly flashier and more attractive to many customers than your quieter approach. Still, none of them could boast the numbers of loyal repeat customers that flocked to you again and again. The difficulty lay in convincing them to give you a chance in the first place.

The remaining clone did not look like the type to give you a chance. He stared at you and your partners with hard, jaded eyes and a mouth set in a firm line beneath his mustache. As his fellow troopers paired off one at a time with the other mediums, he looked more and more skittish, until it was just the two of you left in the reception room. It was clearly time to break out your secret weapon.

You gave him your patented brilliant smile that walked the perfect line between welcoming and subtly flirtatious. “Welcome. Am I right in thinking that your brothers wanted to have their fortunes read, and they insisted you come with them?”

He blinked at the force of your smile, then gave you the most reluctant half-smile you’d ever seen. “That obvious?”

“I don’t need to be psychic to see that you don’t want to be here,” you replied.

He laughed shortly. “No offense, but I don’t believe in any of this.”

“No offense taken. Perhaps you'd like to join me for a cup of tea while you wait for your brothers. When they're finished, you can pretend I read your tea leaves. No charge, of course.” You gave him a cheeky grin. “I won't tell if you don't.”

Some of the tension eased out of his shoulders at your offer. “Thanks. That’d be… nice.”

You led him into your reading room and invited him to sit wherever he liked. He looked around the room curiously before settling onto the ancient velvet sofa. You began to prepare a pot of tea for the two of you to share.

“Not exactly what I was expecting,” he observed as he looked around the cozy space furnished with soft, somewhat shabby furniture and bathed in the soft light of a few old-fashioned lamps. “Where are all the crystals and tchotchkes?”

“I prefer to minimize distractions during readings,” you replied. “Though as you can see, I do try to make it as comfortable as possible for my guests.”

“‘Guests,’” he snorted. “Is that what you call them?”

You raised your eyebrows at his tone. “Yes. And while I fully accept that you are skeptical of the services we provide, I draw the line at outright rudeness. If you intend to insult me, my colleagues, or our guests, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

He flinched, realizing he’d overstepped. “Apologies.”

You accepted his begrudging apology as you finished brewing the tea and arranged a small plate of sweet pastries. You had plenty of experience with the clone troopers, and you knew they tended to have a sweet tooth. Besides, you’d smelled the unmistakable scent of iazacal wafting off of him, and you hoped that his sullen mood might improve if he sobered up a bit. Hence, tea and pastries.

He tugged his gloves off and laid them neatly on the low table, wrapping his hands around the cup of tea you passed him. It was a cold night, and his uniform was damp from the rain, so it was no surprise to feel the chill of his skin when his fingers brushed against yours as you handed him the drink. You poured a cup for yourself, then curled up with the other at the opposite end of the small sofa, tucking your feet under you and leaving a small gap between yourself and him. His eyes flickered over you briefly as you sat. At least his expression was no longer actively hostile, though you also wouldn’t exactly describe him as friendly. He sniffed the tea curiously. 

“Is this magical tea?” he asked in a faintly mocking tone.

“Certainly not,” you replied with dignity. “I never perform spellwork on someone without their consent. Besides, the magic tea is too expensive to give away for free.”

“I can’t tell if you’re joking,” he said.

You merely gave him a mysterious smile. “I didn’t catch your name earlier.” 

“Don’t you know it already?” he asked with a tiny smirk.

“Never heard that one before,” you said drily.

“You’re right. It was a low-hanging meiloorun,” he admitted. “Name’s Boil.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Boil,” you said.

“Now I know you’re lying,” he said with a self-deprecating chuckle.

“Fine, it’s an… experience to meet you,” you laughed. “What are you boys up to this fine Coruscanti evening?”

He shrugged. “Same as every shore leave. Gettin’ kriffed up. Tryin’ not to think too hard.”

You nodded. It wasn’t the first time a clone trooper had said something similar to you, and it wouldn’t be the last. “Is it working?”

He met your eyes. “Might have if those di’kuts hadn’t gotten us kicked out of the bar.”

“Music is better here.”

He frowned. “I don’t hear any music.”

“Exactly.”

He laughed, a genuine laugh for the first time since he’d walked into your shop. “You’re not wrong. What about you? Busy night?”

“Oh, you know, fleecing innocent tourists, bewitching unsuspecting troopers on shore leave, making pacts with the forces of darkness, eating more pastry than I should.”

“So an average Centaxday, then,” he said with a grin. When he smiled, his entire face transformed. His eyes lit; the lines of stress eased on his forehead; and he looked younger, less hardened.

“Maybe a few less blood sacrifices than usual,” you said with a smile.

“We’ve all had to cut back in this economy,” he replied, deadpan.

“So true. We should protest in front of the Senate building.”

“You’d certainly catch some eyes in that,” he said, gesturing toward your elaborate costume. 

“Then I must be doing it right,” you replied with a tiny smirk.

“So it’s all for show, then?” he asked, his voice neutral, but his eyes speculative.

You took a delicate sip of your tea and sighed with pleasure at the taste. “People have certain… expectations about the way someone in my line of work will look. Who am I to disappoint them?”

“So you exploit their expectations to manipulate them for profit,” he observed without heat.

“You certainly don’t pull your punches,” you said. It was far from the worst accusation you’d had flung at you by a disgruntled customer, but it still stung to learn that you sat so low in his opinion. “Do you feel like I’m swindling you with free tea and pastries?”

His gaze dropped briefly to your lips, then rose back to meet your eyes. “Nothing is free.”

“And you say I’m the cynical one,” you replied with a level stare.

“Just an observation.”

“And what else do you observe about me?” you asked.

He sat back and surveyed you slowly, raking his eyes down your body. You felt your pulse kick up at his scrutiny; you were accustomed to people eyeing you like a piece of meat—so many would-be guests didn’t seem to comprehend the difference between paying for your services and paying for your body—but rarely did you have the sense that someone truly perceived you. You sat calmly with a slight, defiant tilt to your jaw, refusing to let him know he’d rattled you.

“For starters,” he said, “the fortune teller act is just that: an act. You've gotten a little tired of it, but it pays the bills.”

“I prefer ‘medium.’”

He laughed mirthlessly. “But you don’t deny the rest.”

“Would you believe me if I did?”

He didn’t reply, but merely took a long drink of tea. “I can also tell that you're clever, charming, and very good at reading people. How am I doing so far?”

“You should have led with that,” you replied, adjusting the drape of your robes. “The flattery would have made it easier to swallow being called a fraud.”

“Like I said. Just an observation.”

You smiled faintly. “Shall I tell you what I observe about you?”

“Seems fair,” he said with a confident smirk. “I’m just an amateur, after all. Can’t wait to see the master at work.”

You leaned forward slightly and gazed deeply into his eyes. After a few seconds, he glanced away, setting his half-empty cup of tea down on the low table, then he sat back and folded his arms over his chest, staring back at you with his jaw set in a stubborn line.

“You lost someone,” you said softly.

He huffed derisively, looking away. “We’re in a war. Everybody has lost someone.”

“Not just someone,” you replied, unperturbed by his interruption. “A brother.”

His eyes jolted back to yours. “Everyone knows we clones call each other ‘brother.’ We’re bred to die. It’d be more surprising if I hadn’t lost a brother.”

He snatched up his teacup and tossed back the rest of the tepid brew, his eyes hard and angry.

“May I see your cup?” you asked.

His brows snapped together as he eyed you suspiciously, but he handed it over. You gave him a soft, reassuring smile, but he didn’t relax as you peered down into his cup to examine the leaves that clung to the delicate porcelain.

“There’s a word,” you said slowly. “It’s not Basic or Sy Bisti. It could be a name.”

Despite himself, he leaned closer, trying to see what you saw.

“Boil… does ‘Nerra’ mean anything to you?”

Boil shot to his feet, staggering backward. “How do you know that?”

His voice was hoarse and strained. You set down the cup carefully and rose from the sofa.

“How the hell do you know that?” he repeated, his voice a menacing growl as he advanced a step closer to you.

Quite suddenly, he seemed to tower over you, and your heart raced as you realized that you could be in real danger. You subtly reached for the small panic button that you kept concealed in one of your many bracelets, but before you could call for help, he whirled abruptly and stormed out of the shop into the torrential downpour of the dark Coruscant night.

You sagged with relief and closed your eyes as you leaned against the wall, breathing hard. I’m safe. He didn’t hurt me. When you opened your eyes, the first thing you saw was a pair of leather gloves sitting on the low table. You didn’t need to read the leaves in the bottom of your cup to know that he’d be back.