#tbbb writes

[the-bad-batch-baroness]

Alright, and here's request #2

May I ask for Fives and Fox

with Prompt 14: Last Words

Where Fives is haunting Fox after his death. Where "the nightmares are over" is twisted to "the nightmare has just begun".

Girl, you helped me come up with this, you know what to write, lol

❤️ - @vodika-vibes

In Your Head

Fox

Summary: Fox has a hole in his memory that he can't seem to fix, and when he starts hallucinating about the clone he killed, it leads to dire consequences.

Pairing: none

Characters: Fox, Thorn, ghost!Fives

Tags & Warnings: character death, alcohol, drunkenness, hallucinations, paranoia, minor suicidal ideation, violence, whump

Word Count: 6.2k

Author's Note: First of all, I'm going to apologize for how long it's taken me to write one of these requests. Second, all of the requests are still sitting in my ask box. I haven't gotten rid of any of them and I still plan on writing all of them. It's just gonna take me a bit. To be honest, this fic is more Fox whump than Fives whump, but eh, it's still whump and it still includes one of the 501st boys, so that counts, right? As always, please enjoy 💚

Beta: @beating-a-dead-plot

Fox sits hunched over his desk and anxiously raps his stylus against the side of his data-pad. He's read the report five times now and each pass yields the same results. His CC number is littered throughout the paragraphs, but for the life of him, he can't remember any of it. He looks up at the chronometer again and shakes his head. Time has moved, but he hasn't. He's been sitting here at his desk doing flimsi-work since early morning, but the report states otherwise.

It's not just the strange lost time that concerns Fox either, or the fact that his CC number is in a report. That's normal. What bothers him about this report is the fact that it clearly states in paragraph four, line six, that he shot and killed a clone. And no matter how hard he racks his brain, he can't remember it. He hasn't moved from his desk, and yet, the timestamp puts the incident at an hour ago. An hour ago he was at his desk. An hour ago he was doing flimsi-work.

Fox raps his stylus faster and taps his foot to match the rhythm, the nervous energy in his body escaping through the repetitive movements. He wouldn't shoot a clone without a reason, would he? The Coruscant Guard has stunned countless rowdy and reckless, and even dangerous clones, but a brother doesn't shoot another brother with the intent to kill. That's not part of their culture. Even bad clones deserve to explain their actions, but those are few and far between.

It must be a mistake. A typo. There has to be a logical explanation as to why his CC number is in the report even though he wasn't there. Still, he has this odd sinking feeling scratching at the back of his mind that it might not be a mistake. The clone he allegedly shot was from the 501st, from Torrent Company. One of Rex's men. Fox sent a simple comm message to Rex, offering his condolence, but Rex's silence worries him. It's not like Rex to leave a comm unanswered.

Fox drops the data-pad onto his desk with a loud clack and his chair creaks when he leans back. He wipes the sweat off his forehead and brushes the damp curls out of his eyes. It must be a mistake. There is no other explanation. He doesn't have an explanation for the lost time, but there must be a reason for that as well. Maybe he fell asleep. It's not impossible since he doesn't get the best sleep. His caf is cold, so obviously time has passed since he last filled it.

The data-pad dings and Fox leans forward to see what the notification is for. He sighs and taps on the icon to open it, and his brows furrow as he reads the new information. A surveillance holo-recording of the incident is now available and has been attached to the report. Fox huffs. This should clear up everything. He taps the icon to play the recording and watches intently. It was probably some trigger-happy shiny that he'll have a stern talking to later on… but it's not.

Fox's breath hitches and his eyes widen. That's not some random corrie. That's him. That's his armor. He has the fleeting thought that someone stole his armor and impersonated him, but he quickly realizes he's still wearing it. He hasn't taken it off since he put it on this morning. Panic rises in his gut and he continues to watch the recording. He flinches at the moment he pulls the trigger. A blaster bolt leaving the barrel instead of a stun bolt. He killed him. He killed a brother.

That explains why Rex never commed him back. Rex's emotional plea, Fox don't, stabs him in the heart, turning his innocent condolence message into him just rubbing salt into an egregious wound. The report noted the clone killed as ARC-5555 – Fives – one of Rex's best. Fox only remembers the name because Rex sent him a holo-photo of his two new ARC troopers when they graduated. Rex was so proud. Then he lost one on Lola Sayu, and today, he lost the other.

Fox has seen and read enough. It was him, he knows that much, but he still doesn't remember being there. He doesn't remember aiming his blaster, or flicking the safety off, or giving a warning, or pulling the trigger. It's like he was sleep walking, even though not a single clone out of millions has ever been noted to do so on record. He finds it even more odd that he was on scene for the shooting and then left. It's not like him to leave a scene without getting statements or starting his report. Now that he thinks about it, he didn't even write this report. Who did?

Fox yells in frustration and kicks the leg of his desk. Why can't he remember? How could he forget he shot and killed a brother. How could he forget Rex's voice begging him not to? How could he forget leaving his office and coming back? Fox feels sick. Not only did he kill a brother, he killed one of Rex's. A beloved brother. With Rex's radio silence, he probably lost Rex too. Fox doesn't blame him. Not after watching the footage. He would hate himself too, and he does.

Fox pulls a ring of keys from his belt pouch and inserts one into the lock on the bottom desk drawer. It clicks and he pulls it open, revealing a small stash of alcohol resting against the back. The glass bottles clink as he searches for a specific one. Finding it, he pulls it out of the drawer and places it on his desk. He leans down to grab a glass, hesitates, then closes the drawer without taking it. He twists the cap off the bottle, grabs the neck, and tilts the opening to his lips.

"Fox?" Thorn whispers as he peeks into the dark office. "Are you in here?"

Fox groans in response. His torso rests on top of his desk and the side of his face lays on the cool surface with one hand loosely wrapped around an almost empty glass bottle.

Thorn sighs and shakes his head. "What are you doing, Fox?"

"Go away," Fox slurs. His body twitches at the sudden exertion.

Thorn ignores Fox's inebriated order and pulls up a chair to sit opposite Fox's desk.

"Talk to me," Thorn says.

"Nothin'... to talk about," Fox answers.

"You're drunk while on duty," Thorn says. He grabs the bottle out of Fox's loose grip and sets it out of reach. "Why don't we start with that?"

Fox slowly picks his head up to look at Thorn, and he struggles to keep it steady. "Usen'ye," he says, then lays his head back down onto the desk making the room stop spinning.

Thorn taps his fingers against the desk's surface next to Fox's head and Fox flinches at the magnified sound. "I read the report."

Fox groans, but this time with more indignation.

Thorn crosses his arms and sits back in his chair. "I've got all night."

"You're so… annoying," Fox slurs as he slowly picks his head back up to look at Thorn. "You know… that?"

Thorn smirks. "Part of my charm."

"Karking… banthas… have more charm," Fox says, his head swaying as he tries to keep it upright. "You're ugly… too."

Thorn rolls his eyes. "You're getting off topic."

"Why… are you… even here?" Fox asks. He reaches for the bottle and Thorn leans over to move it again.

"You killed a vod," Thorn says.

Fox huffs. "What... do you… know about it?"

"Nothing," Thorn says. "That's why I'm here. To talk to you about it, because clearly it's affecting you."

Fox reaches for the bottle again and Thorn moves it. "I'm… not effective."

"Yeah, I can see that," Thorn raises an eyebrow. "You can't even talk straight."

"Blow it out your… exhaust port," Fox sneers, then reaches for the bottle once more.

"Really?" Thorn asks, as he lifts the bottle up out of Fox's reach. "If I give you the bottle back, will you talk to me?"

Fox smirks through hooded eyes. "Sure."

Thorn places the bottle back down onto the desk and pushes it towards Fox. Fox grabs it, sits back in his chair, and shoots the last burning drops down his throat, then slams the empty bottle down onto the desk.

"Talk," Thorn says. "Why'd you kill a vod?"

Fox chuckles. "I don't know."

Thorn's eyes darken. "This isn't a game, Fox."

"Nah," Fox says with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Games… are fun. This... This isn't..."

Thorn tilts his head to the side and studies Fox for a moment. Even drunk, Fox usually makes some sense, but this particular time he's making zero sense. It's not that hard of a question, but his avoidance in answering it is making Thorn worry. There's something Fox isn't telling him and he needs to know what it is in order to help him get out of this slump and back to normal. Having a drunk Marshall Commander leading the Coruscant Guard is going to get them nowhere fast.

"Fox," Thorn prods.

"Don't Fox me," Fox spits in response. "How'd you… like it… if I said your name? Thorn. Thorn. Thorn. Thorn–"

"Alright, I get it," Thorn interjects. "Just tell me what happened."

"I don't know," Fox lazily shrugs.

"What do you mean you don't know?" Thorn asks.

"I don't remember," Fox says.

"You don't remember shooting a vod?" Thorn asks, narrowing his eyes.

"Nope," Fox says, making a popping sound on the second consonant.

Thorn pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. "You have to remember something? You killed him. Don't you remember that? Were you drunk then, too?"

"No, I wasn't drunk," Fox says, his agitation growing at the continued questioning. "I just don't remember!" He pounds his fists on the desk, making Thorn flinch.

"Easy, vod," Thorns soothes and reaches out a hand to try and calm him down. "It's okay."

"No!" Fox yells with a jerk as he weakly bats Thorn's hand away. "Is not. I shot… a vod. I killed… a vod, and I can't… kriffin' remember!"

Thorn realizes he's not going to get anywhere with Fox being this drunk and worked up, so he decides to cut his losses and try again later. "Get some rest," he says before getting up from his chair. He looks down at Fox's dilapidated state, shakes his head, then turns to leave.

"Bring me… more booze," Fox demands.

Thorn turns around and scoffs. "You don't need any more of that."

Fox grabs the empty bottle and throws it towards Thorn, but it hits the wall by the door instead and shatters into a million pieces. "Shabuir," Fox snarls.

Thorn sighs. "We'll talk again when you're sober." He turns back towards the door and leaves Fox alone in his office.

Fox grumbles and lays his heavy head back down against the cool desk. He's not really angry at Thorn, as annoying as he is. No. He's angry at himself. Angry that he can't remember what his own two hands did. Angry that he can't remember where his own two feet took him. Angry that his brain won't put all of the pieces together or fill in the blanks. Where did his memory go? Did it grow legs and walk away from him? Did it leave him or did he leave it? Is that even possible?

Fox would stay laying against his desk all night if he could, but the ache in his back is beginning to overpower his drunken haze. Part of getting old, he guesses. He needs to try and make it to his couch where he can stretch out and fall asleep. At least while asleep he won't have to think about it. That was the idea behind the alcohol in the first place; drink to forget, but it didn't have the effect he was hoping for. If anything, it only made it worse. Then Thorn butted in and ruined it.

Fox tries to peel himself off of his desk, but his body is heavy. He manages to sit up, but then slumps back into his chair, whacking his head against the back of it. He groans at the pain and rubs the spot. When he opens his eyes, the room is spinning, and it makes him feel sick. Well, sicker than he already felt before he was drunk. He chuckles to himself. The good stuff was really good. He hasn't been this drunk since he was a shiny new commander hot off Kamino.

Trying again, Fox plants his hands squarely on his desk and rocks to push himself out of the chair. He tries once and can't get it. He tries twice and still can't get it. He tries thrice and finally he's on his feet, although he uses a little too much force and falls forward onto the desk. Maybe it's better if he crawls to the couch instead of walking there. He lets the weight of his lower body slide the rest of him off the desk until he's sitting on the ground and leaning against the desk.

He leans past the desk and turns his head to see where the couch is, but he leans a little too far and slumps over onto the ground. He groans. This was a terrible idea. He wishes he could get Thorn to come back and carry him to the couch, but that would bruise his ego into an irreparable state. No, he has to make it on his own. With a little wiggle of his hips, Fox rolls himself onto his stomach and crawls towards the couch. Usually, it's closer, but right now it feels klicks away.

Maker, he's tired. Why did he have to put the couch so far away from his desk? Or better yet, why can't it come to him? You'd think someone would've invented a moving couch by now, but no, the Galactic Republic is too busy making clones to do anything of real use in his lifetime. And yet, Fox continues to crawl towards his couch, cursing it every time he scoots closer. With one final push, he makes it, but accidentally bumps his head against the leg. He curses it again.

Now, it's just a matter of hoisting himself up onto the stupid thing so he can finally go to sleep. Once again, something that used to be so trivial is causing him grief. Why is it so high up? Why is the floor so far down? Why won't the room stop spinning? He wishes he could steady himself long enough to get a grip, but his body is heavy from the alcohol. However, with a little more effort and a lot more cursing, Fox grabs one of the cushions, pulls himself up, and flops onto the couch.

Thank the Maker, he finally made it. Fox rolls off of his stomach and situates himself with his back against the back of the couch so he doesn't suffocate himself within the couch cushions. Although, at this point, that doesn't sound like such a bad idea. He chuckles to himself about the thought. Thorn would kill him. He would find some way into the afterlife and kill him again for being such an idiot. Although, to him, it's a comforting thought; Thorn coming after him like that.

Even if Fox hates to admit it, Thorn is still his best friend. Some days they absolutely can't stand each other, but when push comes to shove, there's no one he'd rather have his back in this war. Perks of growing up together, he figures. Fox releases a wide yawn that makes his stomach churn, but he's happy that his body wants to rest. With a few slow breaths, he lets himself drift off to sleep, wondering if he'll wake up and finally remember or if his memory will still be adrift.

Fox groans as he stirs from his sleep. He slowly opens one eye and sees that it's still dark out, which means either he slept until the next evening or he barely slept at all. He doesn't feel drunk anymore, so maybe he did sleep for a while; an absolute miracle. Even more surprising is the fact that no one bothered him while he slept, which also means Thorn kept everyone away and covered for him. The idiot. He'll need to apologize and thank Thorn the next time he sees him.

Fox carefully shifts to sit himself up, holding the side of his head as it pounds from the hangover. He hasn't had a hangover like this in a very long time. He'll have to look at the label on the bottle and get himself another one of whatever it was. Blinking a few times to get rid of the glaze over his eyes, he looks around the room, but frowns when he sees the broken glass by the door. Oh yeah. I broke it. Guess he won't be buying another one of those anytime soon. What a shame.

With a deep breath, Fox hoists himself up off the couch and grabs the arm to steady his shaky legs. He doesn't feel woozy, but his body still feels heavy, like there are rocks in his head weighing him down. He rolls his neck, then his shoulders, and then arches his back to stretch it out. One of his vertebrae makes a popping sound and he groans. Even though he tried to lie down in a good position, couch-sleep is still not as nice as a bunk. He needs some ibuprofen.

Fox hobbles his way to the refresher connected to his office, and is, once again, thankful for the amenities he has access to as the Marshall Commander of the Coruscant Guard. It would be embarrassing to walk down to the guard barrack's communal refresher to compose himself. Thorn would get a good laugh, though, the jerk. He'd say something stupid just to piss him off. But that's the game they play, because Fox has embarrassed Thorn on multiple occasions too.

Fox steps into the refresher without flipping the light switch on, and twists the faucet knob to run the water cold. He cups the rushing water in his hands and splashes it onto his face. The cool water feels good on his hot skin and soothes his throbbing headache. He does that a few more times, and then one last good splash that he smooths over his unruly curls. He pats his face with the towel and stares at himself in the mirror, except something about his reflection is… off.

Fox rubs the towel across his face again, thinking he has some water stuck in his eyes making his vision blurry, but the reflection still looks odd. He then uses the towel to wipe down the mirror, leaving small streaks of water where he swiped, but that doesn't clear it either. Refusing to play with it any longer, Fox opens the mirror cabinet and grabs the bottle of ibuprofen. He pops a few and swallows them dry, wincing as he feels them go down his throat, then closes the cabinet.

Hi Fox , a voice says.

Fox startles and stumbles back, crashing against the opposite wall with a loud thud. "Kriff, Thorn!" Fox exclaims. He turns his head towards the refresher door to rip Thorn a new one, but he's not there. "Thorn?" he calls, but there's no answer. He peeks his head out of the refresher to see if there's anyone in his office, but it's still dark and empty. It's just him. He's never had a hangover that made him hear things before… he thinks. Fox's heart races with adrenaline.

Fox , the voice says.

Fox flinches at the sound of his name, and whips his head around to try and figure out who's calling him, but there's still no one there. "Thorn," Fox says. "I swear to the Maker, I will kill you."

So, you like to kill, huh? the voice says.

Fox freezes, his blood running cold. He didn't just hear that, did he? The sound of another clone talking to him, but he's still alone in the refresher. His instincts are screaming for him to run and find Thorn, because clearly he's hallucinating, or sick, or dying, or all three at once. He shouldn't be hearing voices, or at least he doesn't think he should be hearing voices. Fox closes his eyes and takes a couple deep breaths to calm himself and just hopes that whatever it is will go away.

It's rude to ignore people, you know , the voice says. Especially dead people.

Yup, he's crazy. He's one hundred percent certified crazy now. Not only is he hearing voices, but he's hearing voices of the dead . What did he do while he was drunk and asleep? Conjure a demon? Summon a spirit? Invite a deity to chat over some caf? How did he even do that? The other option is that he's still plastered and is hallucinating being sober. Honestly, both ideas sound equally as insane, but do they really make any less sense than him hearing voices?

"Whatever you are," Fox begins with a nervous voice, "I'm sorry for bothering you, but I'm going back to bed now."

Fox pushes himself off the wall and walks towards the refresher door to leave, but it slides shut before he can exit. He stares at the closed door and takes another deep breath, then releases it slowly. He slides his hands over his holsters, but the blasters are missing. They must have fallen out while he was sleeping and he didn't notice. He kicks himself for being so absentminded to leave them on the couch, but in his defense there aren't many who'd attack him in his own office.

Fox runs his tongue across his teeth and puffs his chest out before turning around to face whatever it is that's messing with him, but when he does, there's no one else in the refresher besides him. He bites his lip and nods his head. It must be a dream. He's living in a dream and he can't wake up. That has to be the answer. There's no other explanation. Once he wakes up, he's going to find Thorn and make him get rid of all of his liquor, because this isn't worth the trip.

I'm still waiting , the voice says impatiently. Are you gonna answer me or not?

Fox grits his teeth and thinks for a moment. If he answers the voice of the dead, is something bad going to happen to him? It's not like his life could get any worse. He's a dog of the Republic, he's shot and killed a brother, and he's probably the most hated commander in the GAR. There's not much else they can do to him. Fox startles at a sudden realization. The voice of the dead… a dead clone. Voice of the dead… killed. Fox's heartbeat pounds ferociously in his ears.

He takes a few steps towards the sink and peers into the mirror, the same mirror where his reflection didn't look right. He was so groggy when he first came in the refresher that it didn't dawn on him what in the reflection was off, just that it didn't look right. He stares at his reflection, and tilts his head to the side, furrowing his eyebrows as he studies the image, but his eyes grow wide when he realizes that the reflection didn't follow the tilt of his head. He moves in closer.

Boo , the reflection says with a smirk.

"Kriffin' osik!" Fox screams and out of reflex he punches the mirror, cracking it. He heaves in his breaths and pulls his fist back from the mirror, his glove protecting his skin from getting cut by the broken shards.

The reflection sighs and side steps into the part of the mirror that isn't as broken. Really? the reflection asks.

Fox is on the verge of hyperventilating. Fear and adrenaline taking control of every muscle in his body. His reflection is talking to him. It's moving without him. But it's not even him. He can clearly see that now. Fox takes a moment to study the image in the mirror. The armor is white, like a shiny's, their head is shaven, they have a goatee, and an Aurebesh tattoo on their right temple not far from a small linear scar. Fox's jaw drops. It's him. It's the clone he shot and killed.

Figure it out yet? the reflection asks, almost bored.

"You're…" Fox tries to speak, but he's still unsure of what he's actually seeing.

The name's Fives , the reflection says while tapping his Aurebesh tattoo. You should remember, since you killed me.

Fox is speechless and wide-eyed. He feels sick to his stomach. He knows who Fives is, but he still doesn't remember shooting him. He's never met him, and the only images he has are of him in his ARC armor, not whatever it is he's wearing now. Fox thinks back to the recording that was attached to the report, and remembers seeing himself shoot the white-armored clone. He did find it strange at the time, and it made him wonder why, but not enough to hallucinate about him.

"This isn't real," Fox says as he backs away from the mirror. "You're not real! You're dead !"

The reflection snorts. What? No remorse? No, sorry I killed you?

"I don't remember killing you!" Fox yells, half in shock and half in self-defense. His back touches the hard durasteel wall and he slides down it until he's sitting on the floor.

Don't remember? the reflection asks. You shot me! How could you forget that?

Fox pulls his knees to his chest, clasps his hands over his ears, and squeezes his eyes shut. "Just leave me alone!" he yells again, trying to make the voice go away. "I said I don't remember!"

I'm not leaving , the voice says. Not until you remember what you did to me.

"Go away!" Fox practically screams. "Leave me alone!" His breathing becomes labored and he feels like he's going to pass out. "This is… a nightmare."

Oh, Fox , the reflection chuckles, then pushes out of the mirror and folds its arms to lean on the edge of the sink and stare down at Fox. Your nightmare has just begun.

The next rotation has Fox feeling insane. The voice inside the mirror isn't just a voice anymore. It's a full body apparition that follows him around wherever he goes. He can't even take a piss without that thing watching him. He still wonders if it's the actual Fives or if it's just a figment of his imagination; maybe the subconscious part of his brain conjured it up because of the guilt he feels for killing the clone. He wants to tell Thorn about it, but even Thorn has limits on disbelief.

Hour after hour, the apparition asks if he remembers killing it yet, and hour after hour, Fox still has the same answer – no. Maker, he wishes it would just take a hike and go haunt someone else, even if it's just for a couple of minutes. There's nothing worse than trying to work or sleep while it watches him from across the room with its dark, cold, dead eyes and smug expression. If this is the real Fives, then he doesn't understand why Rex liked him so much.

Although, today has been strangely quiet. The apparition is nowhere to be seen, or heard, and Fox is taking the much needed alone time to catch up on the reports he's been neglecting since it first appeared. It must have been a figment of his imagination brought on by stress or something along those lines. There's always a logical explanation for everything, or so he thinks. Fox looks up from his data-pad when he hears a soft knock on his office door frame.

"I brought you some caf," Thorn says with a friendly smile. "Can I come in?"

Fox nods.

Thorn walks into the office, places the cup down in front of Fox, and sits on the corner of his desk.

Fox grabs the cup of hot, black caf and deeply inhales its alluring aroma. "Is this a peace offering?"

Thorn snorts. "You should be bringing me a peace offering for all that name calling."

Fox winces at the vague memory, then takes a sip. "Sorry."

"Apology accepted," Thorn says. "You're still a di'kut, though."

"So are you," Fox smirks.

Is he a friend of yours? the apparition asks as it appears next to Fox.

Fox startles and accidentally drops the cup of caf onto his lap. "Kriff!"

Thorn also startles and jumps off the corner of Fox's desk. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," Fox sighs. "Just grab me a towel, will ya?"

Thorn walks off towards the refresher to grab a towel.

He seems like a nice vod , the apparition says as it watches Thorn with interest. Is he your best friend?

Fox chooses to ignore the question and the ghost.

You know , the apparition continues. It hops up on the desk to sit in front of Fox, its legs dangling over the edge. I had a best friend once – actually two. They're both dead, now… Like me. Must be nice to have yours still alive, huh?

Fox glares at the apparition and snarls. "Don't you touch him!"

The apparition chuckles. I'm a ghost, remember? I can't even touch you. The apparition reaches out to touch Fox, but its hand goes straight through him. See? I'm not going to hurt your friend.

Fox continues to glare, not fully trusting what the apparition says. Thorn is his best friend, but this is his issue to deal with, and he's not going to drag Thorn down this insane hole of guilt and self-loathing with him. Even so, it would be great if Thorn could see the apparition too. Maybe then, he wouldn't feel so crazy about the whole situation. A little validation goes a long way in his mind. He just needs Thorn to see it once, then he can feel safe again, feel normal again.

"Fox?" Thorn asks in concern while handing him the towel. "Are you sure you're alright?"

Fox grabs the towel and pats himself and the chair dry. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Thorn isn't convinced, but doesn't argue.

I'm not fine , the apparition says. I'm dead .

Fox wants to say something in rebuttal, but Thorn's lack of comment about the elephant in the room makes him wonder. He turns his head to the apparition and then to Thorn, and then back again. "You don't see it, do you?"

"See what?" Thorn asks, a confused expression on his face.

"Nothing," Fox sighs and tosses the towel onto the desk before slumping back into his chair. "Nevermind."

"Fox," Thorn begins hesitantly. "I think you should see a medic. You've been acting strange lately and I'm worried."

Yeah, Fox , the apparition adds. You should see a medic for that missing memory issue . Maybe they can tell you why you killed me.

"I don't need a medic!" Fox exclaims. Thorn flinches and Fox bites his tongue. "Sorry. I'm just tired is all."

Thorn still isn't convinced, but he sighs and shakes his head. "Alright, I trust your judgment."

I don't , the apparition says. You shot me .

"Thanks," Fox says. His eye twitches. It's hard enough to keep his thoughts straight, but it's even harder when he has two people talking to him at once and only one of them is actually there.

"I'm here if you need me," Thorn says as he places a hand on Fox's shoulder. "Even if you just want to talk."

You can talk to me too , the apparition says.

"I appreciate that," Fox says, trying to give him his best fake smile.

Thorn throws Fox another look of concern, but turns and leaves his office all the same.

Fox immediately turns his attention to the apparition. "Can you just shut up?!"

No , the apparition says. That's the whole point of haunting. I'm supposed to be annoying.

Fox drops his head onto his desk and yells in frustration.

The apparition hops off the desk and kneels so it's face is on Fox's level. Just tell me why you killed me, Fox, it whispers. And I'll go away .

Fox clutches the sides of his head. "I'm trying," he chokes out. "But I can't remember."

It's been a week and Fox is on the verge of losing himself. He can't sleep. He can't eat. He can't do anything. The reports are piling up and questions are being asked. Thorn continues to check on him, and he appreciates it, but he wishes he'd stay away from him. Every time Thorn comes into his office, the apparition stares at him like he's a piece of meat. Fox knows the apparition can't hurt Thorn, at least, that's what he's been made to believe, but what if he's wrong?

He can't let it get Thorn, too. It can torment him all it wants, actually, it can even kill him if it wants, but he will not let anything happen to Thorn. Thorn is too good for this kind of torturous hell. Thorn hasn't killed any clones. He probably hasn't killed anyone . There's no reason for Thorn to be brought into this. It's him that the apparition wants. Its blood is on his hands, not Thorns. Thorn has nothing to do with any of this and Fox will do anything to protect him.

Hi Fox , the apparition says while leaning against the door frame of the office.

"What do you want?" Fox sneers from where he sits behind his desk.

The truth , the apparition says with a smug grin. You've been keeping it from me.

"Like I've said," Fox says. "I still don't remember."

Not good enough , the apparition says as it pushes itself off the door frame and approaches Fox's desk.

"I won't let you hurt Thorn," Fox says as he stands up.

What are you talking about? the apparition asks.

"Don't play dumb with me!" Fox exclaims. "I know you're going to hurt him to get back at me."

Are you alright, Fox? the apparition taunts. You seem a little off today.

"Get out of my head!" Fox yells as he clutches the sides of his head. "I know what you're doing!"

What's the matter? the apparition taunts. I've never seen you so unhinged before.

"Leave me alone!" Fox yells.

C'mon, Fox, the apparition walks closer. Tell me.

Fox draws one of his blasters and points it towards the ghostly figure. "Get away from me!"

Whoa, there, the apparition says, putting its hands up and taking a single step back. There's no need for that.

Fox breathes heavily. "I'm warning you!"

You won't shoot me, the apparition smirks. You have no reason to shoot me. Put the blaster down, Fox.

"I won't let you hurt him!" Fox yells, then fires a single bolt through the same spot as before, on the apparition's chest, through its heart. He watches as the apparition falls to its knees and clutches at its chest. That'll stop it. That'll shut it up. That'll make it leave him alone. That'll keep it from hurting– Thorn?

Fox pants with exasperation as his senses begin to clear. The vision of the apparition slowly dissipates, leaving behind the image of Thorn grasping at the hole in his chest. A look of pain, shock, horror, and confusion painted on his face as he looks at Fox. No. No, this can't be happening. He didn't. He couldn't. Did he shoot his best friend? It was the ghost. The ghost was right there. It was talking to him. It was taunting him. It was going to hurt Thorn.

"Fox," Thorn gasps. "Why?"

At the sound of Thorn's voice, the gravity of what Fox has done hits him like a ton of bricks. His eyes widen and his voice quivers. "Thorn."

Thorn collapses forward onto the floor and Fox rushes to his side.

"No, no, no, no," Fox rambles as he pulls his brother into his lap and applies pressure to the wound. "I need a medic!" he yells. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I… I didn't know it was you. There was a ghost and it was in my head and I couldn't remember." Tears begin to well in Fox's eyes as he tries desperately to explain.

Thorn reaches up a hand to touch Fox's cheek and Fox grabs it with his own.

"I'm… sorry," Thorn says weakly. "I… wish… I… could've… helped… you…" Thorn's hand drops as his body goes limp and he breathes his last breath.

"Where's my medic!" Fox yells, tears now streaming down his face unabated. "Hang on, vod." He pulls his brother's lifeless body close to his chest and rocks him back and forth. "Please, don't go. Don't leave me."

The apparition appears once again, crouches down in front of Fox, and looks apathetically at Thorn's lifeless body. It shakes its head. And to think all of this could've been avoided if you would've just told me what I wanted to know.

Fox looks at the apparition with murderous intent.

A vod for a vod , the apparition says with a smirk. At least you'll remember this one.

Event Masterlist

Masterlist

AO3

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Queen of Hearts

Vampire!Fox x Fem!Reader

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

Pairing: Vampire!Fox x Fem!Reader

Characters: Fox, Thorn, clone OCs

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

Word Count: 14.5k

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

@clonexreaderbingo Square: "Your eyes sparkle."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Slapstick, sir,” the corrie says.

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

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

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

“Will do, sir,” Slapstick smiles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Get lost clone,” the man slurs.

"You hurt my kih’vod," Fox says.

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

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

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

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

"Disgusting meat droids," the man scoffs.

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

"What’s that?" the man slurs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Confess your sins," Fox says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mesh’la?” Traipse asks in surprise.

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

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

“I’m okay,” you pant.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The door,” he murmurs sleepily.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fox doesn’t move a muscle.

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

Fox remains silent and unmoving.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fox?” you whisper.

“Hmm?” he hums.

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

“Mhm,” he mumbles against the pillow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s life,” Fox laments.

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

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

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

“Yeah,” he whispers.

“But you're not animals,” you retort.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fox clenches his teeth and nods.

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

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

“Fox, I’m scared,” you admit.

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

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

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

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

“How did you do that?” you ask.

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

You raise an eyebrow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink back to reality. “Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fox?” you whisper into his shoulder.

“Hmm?” he mumbles into his pillow.

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

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

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

“What if I do want you to?” you ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod your head in acknowledgment.

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

“I want it Fox,” you answer.

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

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

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

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

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

"Good girl," Fox praises.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It was really really good,” you groan.

Fox smirks. “I’m glad.”

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

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

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

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

“Mhm,” you mumble against his skin.

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

“Fox?” you whisper.

“Yes, mesh’la?” Fox answers.

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

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

Masterlist

AO3

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[sev-on-kamino]

How would the Bad batch (or 501st) react to having a sensitive/ticklish S/O? I love domestic scenes sm ✨🦋🦋

Thank you so much for sending this in 🥰 Y’all are making me make some hard choices though, and I’m sweating lol

Writing this on the assumption that their S/O doesn’t mind being tickled or actively enjoys it because our consent kings wouldn’t do anything their S/O didn’t like on purpose.

Warnings: mentions of kissing and touching, mad fluffy

The Bad Batch reacts to ✨a ticklish S/O✨:

Hunter

He really tries to be mindful of it, because he knows how it feels to have his senses overloaded against his will.

The issue is the sound you make when he tickles you.

Your giggles are fucking cute, and he LOVES them. The sound hits his ears just right. Instant mood boost.

So there are times when he’s weak, and he sees you cleaning, or tinkering with something.

It’s like a predator catching his prey unaware. You look so cute and vulnerable.

He can’t resist letting his fingers dance over your sides, gliding them along your inner thighs, ghosting over your hips.

When he’s rewarded with that laugh he loves so much, he’s going to kiss every bit of you he can reach.

Tech

First and foremost he’s going to explain the reaction to you because it’s Tech.

Then he’s going to figure out all the places that yield that joyful reaction and file them away for later.

He’s very particular about when and where he chooses to tickle you.

Like when you’re being bratty and won’t get out of the pilot’s seat.

Or when you’re not paying attention to something he’s saying. as soon as you look distracted, his fingers are working over your sides to regain your attention

Wrecker

Like Hunter, Wrecker loves your laugh. He lives for it.

Not only does he enjoy your laughter, he likes feeling your muscles tense beneath his fingers, and the way you press closer for more.

(side note HC: I think Wrecker is a very tactile person, and not only does he enjoy touching, but the way things (and people ofc 😏) feel is important to him)

Wrecker is not calculating about when he tickles you.

He might do it when the two of you are playing around or even when you’re making out.

He always tells you how beautiful you look and sound when you laugh

Crosshair

There are times when it seems like Crosshair has forgotten you’re ticklish.

He’s both graceful and deliberate in his motions, including how he touches you.

So when you’re sparring, and you start improve your technique, and are finally able to pin him, he remembers he has a secret weapon.

You’re straddling him, thinking you’ve won, and he rests his hands on your waist like he does all the time…right before he digs his fingers in, and starts tickling you with no mercy.

He’s going to flip the pair of you over, and continue to make you giggle and gasp and beg.

Hearing your laughter is going to earn you one of his rare smiles.

Echo

Echo, like Crosshair, is deliberate in his actions, so if he’s tickling you, you can be sure it’s on purpose.

He’ll do it when you’re being fussy after losing a game.

He’ll do it when you’re being too cocky after winning a game.

He finds it hilarious to ask you questions while you’re laughing uncontrollably.

“What’s that, sweet thing? You want a rematch?”

He can’t help but smile down at you while you try to catch your breath, and he’s definitely going to steal some kisses.

taglist: @secondaryrealm @dystopicjumpsuit @iamburdened

[thecoffeelorian]

Kiss Me, Captain (2)

Title: Kiss Me, Captain

Chapter Title: Interrupted

Word Count: 1,431 words

Brief Description: Captain Howzer x Female Reader, Captain Howzer x Chandrilan Reader (Singular Love Interest)

Tags: @angrypaperearthquake-tbbb-main @afuckinnerfpuncher @anxiouspineapple99 @burningfieldof-clover @freesia-writes

Extra Notes: Yeah, I kinda borrowed a trace of '10 Things I Hate About You' in my introductory chapter...however, my next several installments will hopefully be a lot more original as far as fanworks can go. Also, I've been tending to an injured family member since this past spring, so that should explain my summer-long absence.

"Whoa!"

You catch yourself in time before you walk straight into the man, and automatically start thinking of the best apology to give him. Though there are undoubtedly many people out and about in the streets this time of day, nevertheless, it wouldn't be good of you to forget your basic manners. Not when you're so close to making your escape, and more or less doing your best not to attract too much attention.

However...

Once you've looked up into those dark eyes properly, it's only then that you notice him. That same focused, wary look that you must have seen at least half a hundred times within the last few years. The face of one Mandalorian warrior reflected in the faces and lives of thousands, only this time, it's not just one more Trooper passing you in the street.

"Apologies, ma'am. Afraid I didn't see you zere."

No, this time, that Trooper's focused on nobody else but you...and despite your own stubbornness and bad temper, you feel yourself start to get just the slightest bit warm.

"No, no, the fault is all mine. I'm the one who got distracted."

Warm, and under his scrutiny, and curiously not ready to throw the nearest chair at this Trooper's sudden appearance. Not like you would have done in the presence of a less interesting, more infuriating fellow. How strange it seems that things can change so quickly.

"Well...I guess the both of us should be careful, huh?"

"Most likely!"

Nevertheless, now that you've gone and broken the ice between yourselves, it almost seems wrong for you not to get a full sighting of him before you part ways. To try, if you're able, to figure out what sort of soldier he was on the various battlefields around the galaxy.

Whatever color armor he might have worn before, though, you can't exactly tell.

He seems to have abandoned his usual gear in favor of civilian clothing, for he's got on a set of gray pants and shirt, a simple black belt, and a pair of matching black boots. Hardly the sort of getup that promises, 'Look out, I'm a literal human weapon'...but then again, the war with the Separatists has recently been decided, so maybe all the soldiers involved can move on from this.

Or so you hope.

"Whereabouts are you headed, soldier?"

"The same place everyone else is going, ma'am. Out into the galaxy to seek my fortune."

You and me both, you think to yourself, taking a quick mental note of the telltale scarring upon the right side of his otherwise unmarred face. Though this one seems friendly enough, other people, or droids, or perhaps even wild beasts seemed to have disagreed with his existence entirely, for any one of them could have been responsible in taking their aggression out upon him.

In spite of what he's gone through, however, he seems to be keeping his spirits up. Yes, this appears to be the face of a Trooper who could easily be off to his first real job off the battlefield, if not also a variety of other things, that war itself wouldn't have allowed him otherwise.

A shame you don't have the option of sticking around, though, because unfortunately, along comes the first of three notifications over your commlink to remind you that the early boarding process has begun.

Still...at this same time, it's got to be all for the best.

"So, I...should be going now, I'm afraid. I don't want to miss my shuttle."

He hasn't taken his eyes off of you since you first began to speak. He's making it just a little bit harder for you to pull yourself away, because as soon as you do, there's a very strong chance you'll begin to understand that you're well, and truly, alone.

Or could it be that you haven't been able to take your eyes off of him...?

"Of...of course, Ma'am. You be safe out zere."

He finishes his sentence with a quick salute, after which you feel yourself snap back to reality. It's time for you to go. He might be staying on this planet for some time yet, but you're not, and it's time for you to go. Right now.

"And you as well. Soldier."

Hefting your own bag a bit higher on your arm, you're turning yourself away and very nearly marching the rest of the distance to the space port. You need to leave this planet before you begin to think too much about staying behind, about abandoning the few friends who have already gone ahead of you and are waiting for you, and about giving Briana something to mock you with if she ever found out you might be as weak as she is around members of the opposing gender.

Not that you will, of course.

No, secret meetings are more of her thing, so naturally, she can have them. Whatever it takes for her to keep on being "the good girl" of Chandrilan society, keeping all of its traditions from the cradle to the grave, and more or less feeling safe in that curse of a Binding she seems to love so much.

You, on the other hand, are making your own way in the galaxy.

A way that begins just as soon as you're away from this stifling rock, on course to Naboo, and well out of the atmosphere before Father knows you're gone. It's this way that guides you through various patches of other fellow travelers, a seemingly random mix of humans, Rodians, Trandoshans, and Twi'leks, with a handful of Jawas and Mon Calamari hovering around the edges. There's even two or three Clone Troopers talking heatedly amongst themselves somewhere around the center, though you can't exactly make out their words. Probably debating the politics of the day, or current events, or asking themselves just how that Chancellor Palpatine fell down the stairs, for all that you know.

As for you, you're careful to get into the line for your flight out, all the while keeping your head down. Just in case.

Right on time, you think, patting the side of your bag just to reassure yourself that nothing's been lost or stolen. So far, everything's still there, which is a blessing in itself. Nothing's holding you back in that regard, all right.

The sooner I'm away from this stuffy planet, the better...

Then again...it's not until you just happen to glance to your right that you begin to notice the other travelers around you a bit more. This blue Twi'lek, for one, waves wistfully at a group of her friends before slowly turning and walking to her waiting ship.

That green Rodian, for another, chats away over a commlink to family members, their smaller faces reflecting a bit of his own features even through the blue light.

And third, there just happens to be a Human woman hugging her parents goodbye not twenty feet away from where you stand, their tearful farewells evident solely by their expressions alone.

In other words, they’ve all had someone to see them off on their respective journeys…but because of your own escape, that’s the one thing you’ve had to go without. Nobody’s around to give you a goodbye hug, or wave to you one more time before boarding, or even to ask if you packed an extra poncho for Naboo’s wetter rotations.

Is this a sign, then, that no one will miss you if an accident should befall your ship, or someone steals your holo-pass, or Force forbid, you’re stolen away to an Outer Rim planet to do the bidding of some petty warlord…? Just how angry, or bitter, or apathetic would your family be if the worst happened to you, but they learned about your abandonment of them well in advance and thought your fate a deserving punishment?

There’s no way for you to tell, unfortunately. You never really had so much of an inkling of Force sensitivity, so any hopes of predicting your own future are well out of your reach.

Instead, it seems to be just you, your bag, the line of other passengers ahead of you, and—

“—You there. Traveler.”

…And the sound and sight of a second Clone Trooper standing not six inches away from you, one hand motioning you forward.

Clearly, whatever brought you and that first Trooper to the same spot at the exact same time—the Force, mere chance, or sheer dumb luck—well, it just might not be done with you yet.

“Please step out of the line, ma’am. There’s something we need to discuss.”

[photogirl894]

"IronStar"

Chapter 3

"Pillow Talk"

A "Fairy Tail" fanfic

Pairing: Gajeel x fem OC

A/N: My gosh, it's been forever! My writing motivation has been lacking, but it's been helping a little that I'm still rewatching Fairy Tail, so my inspiration for this is still going strong! I've had the dialogue for this whole chapter written for weeks and my husband even helped me with a couple ideas for this one 😊😊

Hope y'all enjoy the next step of Genna and Gajeel's first adventure! 😊 (As well as the picture of Gajeel below 😉😍)

Taglist: @l-lend , @rosechi , @the-bad-batch-baroness , @angrypaperearthquake-tbbb-main

《 Chapter 2

》 Coming soon!

All chapters

Explanation: After a hard battle, Genna, Gajeel and Lily rest for the night before returning home, where Genna and Gajeel begin to bond in the late hours of the night.

Earlier...

Gajeel and Lily had been walking for a while away from the village on Akane Beach after Genna had told them to go back to Magnolia. Gajeel was briskly trudging along, gritting his teeth as he went in frustration. He'd never asked to be put on this job, so why was the girl giving him crap about it? This wasn't his problem and if she wanted to be a brat about it, then fine. He didn't need that extra baggage to worry about it. She wanted to take on the Shadow Wizard on her own, then that was her choice. He'd made his stance on the matter clear, so if things went wrong, she had no one to blame but herself.

On the other hand, Lily walked a few paces behind Gajeel, his head hung with guilt. He saw the sun was setting and was getting close to disappearing on the horizon before he stopped and looked back in the direction they had come from. He didn't like having to leave Genna behind. They had been entrusted to her and this job and it felt like they were letting both her and Fairy Tail down. No...this was wrong. They had no idea how powerful the Dark Wizard in the forest actually was. If things went south and something happened to Genna when they weren't there to stop it...he would never forgive himself.

"Yo, what's the hold up?" he heard Gajeel call out back to him.

Turning back and walking up to Gajeel, Lily replied, "It doesn't feel right leaving Genna behind. We should go back."

His studded eyebrows furrowed and, with a frown, Gajeel spat, "Hey, she made it pretty clear that she didn't want us around, so this is what she gets."

That was something Lily was not going to accept. "No, you made it clear you didn't want to help and she was done listening to you complaining," he fired back.

"What are ya lecturin' me for? I was just bein' honest," Gajeel argued.

Lily folded his arms across his chest and stated, "You can be honest and still know that there's a time and place to say certain things."

"What are ya talkin' about?" Gajeel asked, irritated.

"You got sent on this job with her because you couldn't stop goading her and couldn't keep your mouth shut. You should have kept your complaints to yourself and just helped Genna with the job," Lily told him sternly.

Rolling his eyes, Gajeel just responded, "So what? She told me to leave, so that's what I'm doin'. It doesn't matter now."

"Yes, it does," Lily countered, taking a couple steps closer. Then he stated in a calm yet unwavering tone, "She's expected to do this job in order to get into Fairy Tail and she shouldn't do it alone. Think about where you used to be before you joined the guild. You were lucky, Gajeel, and didn't have to prove anything. They already knew your potential and accepted you into the guild. Look where it's gotten you. Don't you think your life has been better because of it?"

Gajeel turned away. He didn't think Lily would bring him and his past into the conversation like that, but he knew the Exceed had a point. Not that he would admit it. Yes, his life had become a lot better and more meaningful since joining Fairy Tail. It had made him a better person...not that he always felt that way...like in the situation they were in right then. Deep down, he knew leaving Genna was probably a bad idea, but he had been too frustrated in the moment to care.

Lily continued, "We are potentially depriving Genna of that same chance at a better life if we leave her now. Erza trusted you to come here with Genna and evaluate if she's got what it takes to be in Fairy Tail. Do you really want to break that trust she put in you?"

The Iron Dragon's fists clenched at his sides. Why did Lily have to be right all the time?

Crossing his arms again and smirking up at his friend, Lily said in conclusion, knowing this would be the final blow to bring down Gajeel's pride, "Not only that, but you'll have to suffer Erza's wrath if we return without Genna."

"Tch...I hate when you do that, Lily," Gajeel muttered, annoyed, and still refusing to look at him.

"What, be right?" Lily questioned in return. He then sprouted his wings, flew up and moved himself in front of Gajeel, hovering in front of him so he could see his face. "I know you're better than this, Gajeel," he reassured him. "You don't want to do this to Genna, but you're too stubborn to admit you're wrong and go back. Well, now's not the time for that. She's planning to go up against a Shadow Wizard when the sun goes down and we don't know what she'll be up against. If we don’t go back now, there's no telling what might happen."

Gajeel looked over his shoulder back towards the beach and the forest off in the distance, now being just barely lit up by the disappearing sun. Somewhere back there, Genna was getting ready to face down a force she might or might not be prepared for. There wasn't a whole lot of time left.

"Guess we better get movin' then," he declared.

With a pleased grin, Lily cried, "Hang on!" as he grabbed hold of Gajeel by the shoulders and lifted him into the air. The two of them flew as fast as they could back towards the forest, hoping they would reach Genna in time before it was too late.

Now that the battle against the Shadow Shepherd was over, Genna emerged from the forest with Gajeel helping support her, her good arm draped over his shoulder and his arm wrapped around her waist. Lily, still in his large panther form, trailed behind them, carrying the unconscious body of Darius over his shoulder. They saw that members of the village, including Ike and Marcus, were outside waiting for them.

Ike jogged over to them, concern on his face, and declared, "We saw bright flashes of light. Has the Dark Wizard been vanquished?"

With an encouraging grin, Genna answered, "Yep! He's not gonna be a problem for you anymore."

To further prove the point, Lily unceremoniously dropped Darius' limp body to the ground in front of the villagers. They all gasped in astonishment at seeing the source of the problem now laid before them.

Sighing heavily with relief, Marcus, the leader of the village, stated with joy, "Thank heavens! Thank you, Fairy Tail Wizards! You have no idea how much you've helped us. Darius has been a thorn in our side for many weeks. You've done our village a great service and we're in your debt."

Genna heard Gajeel quietly chuckle and she couldn't help but smile at the sound. It was pleasant to hear and the grin on his face was more genuine than any she'd seen from him before.

"Now, the reward that was promised," stated Marcus.

"Reward?" asked Genna.

"Yes. In the job posting we listed, we promised nine-hundred jewel to whoever could rid us of the Shadow Wizard," he explained.

That information was all news to Genna and Gajeel, realizing it too, said, smirking, "Looks like old man Makarov conveniently left that part out."

Genna chuckled herself in response as she was handed a pouch of the money. "We'll split it between the three of us," she suggested, to which Gajeel agreed with a nod of his head.

"Well, now that the matter has been settled, we should take our leave and return to Magnolia," said Lily.

"Nonsense. You all just had quite a fight and are very run-down," Ike replied. "I insist you stay here for the night and then leave in the morning when you've regained your strength. You can stay in the hut we lent you today. There are extra blankets and pillows, too, for you."

"Nah, we should be fine," Gajeel objected.

"We insist," said Marcus. "It's the least we can do to repay after all you've done."

Genna turned her head to look at Gajeel and told him, "I don't think it'll hurt, Gajeel. Plus, I doubt you'll want to carry me all the way back home."

He looked back at her and furrowed his studded eyebrows as he asked, "What makes you think I'm carryin' you? I was gonna hand you off to Lily."

"Hey!" Lily exclaimed in surprise, making Genna giggle.

She turned back to the village leader and stated, "We accept your offer. Thank you."

Marcus bowed his head to her.

"We have a medic who can assess and tend to your injuries, as well," said Ike. "Unfortunately, we don't have any means of healing, but if we can help you in any way, we'd like to."

Once again, Genna accepted the offer made and she, Gajeel and Lily were led to a medical tent by Ike while Marcus and a few others took Darius to prepare him for the authorities. Both Lily and Gajeel were told by the medic that they just had minor cuts and bruising. Genna was told the same, but she was also informed that her arm that had been hit by Darius' crook had been fractured. The medic took care in setting her arm in a sling until she could get proper healing.

Gajeel watched her from the entrance of the tent, his arms folded across his chest, as she was getting her arm wrapped up. Despite having taken a pretty good beating, she was still smiling and in high spirits. It was peculiar to see yet it was almost endearing. It reminded him a bit of Natsu, Lucy or even Levy, who were always so positive about everything, even after getting their butts handed to them in a fight.

"Yeah...she'll fit right in with Fairy Tail for sure," he thought to himself.

Once the medic was finished with her, the three companions returned to the hut the village had lent to them. They had only spent time in the main room earlier that day, so they were both a bit taken aback when they walked into the bedroom and saw that there was only one bed.

"Well, time to get some shut-eye," Gajeel stated, stretching his arms out and already walking towards the bed.

"Uh, what are you doing?" Genna questioned.

He halted in his tracks and looked back at her. "What's it look like I'm doin'?" he asked back.

Putting her good hand on her hip, she replied, "Taking the only bed when there is a girl present."

"What's you bein' a girl got to do with it?"

"Unless you plan on sharing, you could be a gentleman and let me have the bed, especially since I got my butt handed to me in the forest."

Gajeel smirked deviously. "Hey, you snooze, you lose, Genny."

She rolled her eyes and groaned. "Oh my gosh, you know my name, so why don't you just use it?"

He snickered teasingly and his toothy smirk widened even more. "It bugs ya, doesn't it?"

"Well, it would bug you, too, if I called you by the wrong name," she fired back.

"You gotta toughen up, Princess, or you're not gonna make it long in Fairy Tail if you're so irritated by a name," he taunted her. "Maybe sleeping on the floor will do you some good after all."

"In your dreams, metal head," she replied.

As the two of them stared each other down, Lily suddenly spoke up, "Since you two are busy arguing and not reaching a compromise, I'll come up with one for you." When they turned their attention to him, they were surprised to see the Exceed, now back to his smaller form, already snuggling up under the covers in the bed, a smug smirk on his furry face as he stated, "I'll be taking the bed and you both can sleep on the floor."

"What?!" both Genna and Gajeel cried out at what they saw.

"You can't be serious, Lily!" Gajeel complained.

"Do I look like I'm joking?" Lily asked back with a straight face.

Gajeel growled in frustration. "Dumb cat," he quietly muttered.

"I heard that," Lily replied.

Even though what Lily pulled was a dirty trick, Genna couldn't help but be impressed at his ingenuity. Claiming the bed while she and Gajeel argued was a clever move. Her eyes met Gajeel's and she just shrugged, relenting defeat to the cat and silently suggesting he do the same. With a groan, Gajeel turned his back and started removing his fur mantle and then his shirt. Genna blushed and turned away at seeing his bare back, even though most of it was covered by his long, shaggy hair. She didn’t realize he was going to do that. Though, her curiosity got the best of her and she couldn't help but peek back over her shoulder at him, but it was just as he turned back and he caught her gaze immediately.

"Starin' ain't polite, ya know," he said, smirking knowingly.

Immediately, she flipped her head back, her hand covering her mouth. "Sorry," she said.

Behind her, she just heard him snicker and she gritted her teeth. He was enjoying this.

He walked past her to a smaller room, which appeared to be a closet, and pulled out a pillow and a blanket. "Here, you'll need this. It's probably gonna be a bit chilly tonight," he informed her as he handed them to her.

"Thanks," she said, accepting them.

Then he took out another blanket and pillow for himself and walked back to the other side of the bed, throwing them down and immediately laying himself down on the ground. She did the same and laid down on the hardwood floor, ready for some rest after a long day.

However, sleep wasn't coming so easily to Genna and she was still awake a couple hours later. She wasn't used to sleeping on a hard floor, but it didn't help that the floor was also cold and was making her restless. No matter how hard she tried, she was having a hard time falling asleep. That and it seemed her mind was still plenty awake and was moving a thousand miles an hour, the events of the day replaying over and over in her mind. Why couldn't she just shut her brain off so she could sleep? She quietly groaned to herself in frustration.

"Can't sleep?"

Startled to hear a familiar gruff voice on the other side of the room, she gasped aloud. "Gajeel...! I didn’t know you were awake," she responded, keeping her voice down.

"The floorboards squeak every time you toss and turn," he told her flatly.

"Oh...I'm so sorry," she said, feeling bad for apparently keeping him up with her restlessness.

"It's whatever," he replied.

Genna turned over on her side where she could see under the bed and could see Gajeel on the floor on the other side, also looking her way. Though, she could only see half his face as the floorboards of the bed blocked the other half. She couldn't help but giggle at the sight.

"What are you laughin' about?" he inquired curiously.

She answered, "Laying like this, I can only see half your face under the bed. It's just kinda cute and I think it's funny."

For a second, he wasn't sure why that was funny, but then he realized that she appeared the same way to him, too, and he let out a small, amused huff. "Well, you look the same way to me, so I guess I should be laughin', too," he said.

"That's fair," she said. For a small moment, there was silence and things Genna had been wondering since earlier in the day came back to her mind. "Hey Gajeel...since you're up...and you don't have to say yes...can I ask you a couple questions?" she asked him.

"You can ask, but we'll see if I wanna answer 'em," he replied.

"Don't worry, they're nothing too personal or anything," she clarified.

With a shrug, he then said, "Spit it out, then."

"Well, first of all...Lily can transform into a jacked panther?" she asked, still astonished that Lily could do that.

Chuckling with amusement, he answered, "Yeah. Only a few Exceeds can do that and he's one of 'em. Pretty cool, huh?"

"I'll say. I was not expecting that, but I was impressed. I'll bet that comes in handy a lot."

"Yeah, it does."

Then that begged another question about something Genna had observed: "Also, you ate Darius' crook. What the heck was that about?"

Grinning proudly, Gajeel relayed to her, still looking at her through the underside of the bed, "I'm an Iron Dragonslayer, so iron and metal helps replenish my magic energy. I eat normal food, too, but nothin' satisfies me more than the good, irony taste of metal."

"That's fascinating," she said, intrigued by this newfound fact about him, and he just hummed in response.

However, there was one more question she wanted to know the answer to, but she was afraid to ask it. Mainly because she wasn't sure if he would really be truthful about it. He seemed like the kind of guy that played his cards close to the chest and wouldn't normally let anyone see any kind of vulnerability from him. Guess it was worth a shot anyway.

"Why did you come back?"

There was a brief pause before he asked back, "Would you rather I hadn't?"

"No, that's not it," she said. "I would be a goner for sure if you hadn't shown up and you helped me out a lot in that fight. I just...don't understand why when you didn't want to be here in the first place."

"I told you: Erza would've given me a lot of crap if I showed back up without ya," he said.

Looked like that was the answer he was sticking with. "Was that honestly the only reason: just so you wouldn't get in trouble? Do you really not care about me that much?" she questioned, a sinking feeling growing in her stomach.

"Don't put words in my mouth, kid. I never said that," he said roughly.

Before she could stop herself, she replied abruptly, "You didn't have to."

For some reason, that response gave Gajeel pause and he didn't respond right away. Why did it almost surprise him to know this girl thought he didn't care? Normally, that sort of thing didn't bother him. Maybe it was because Genna was the first to actually point out how he behaved instead of just tolerating it.

He let out a breath and explained calmly, "Look, it's not that I don't care about you specifically. I still don't really know you. I'm not as friendly a guy as a lot of the others in Fairy Tail. I don't warm up to people very fast. That's just how I am."

"Why is that?" she inquired.

"I thought ya said you weren't asking personal questions?" he asked in return.

Feeling embarrassed once again, Genna turned her eyes to the floor. "Sorry," she muttered softly.

Seeing the guilt in her eyes even from where he was made Gajeel feel bad and his teeth clenched together. The damn kid, why did she make him feel this way?

Then he relented and said, "If you really wanna know, I've always been a lone wolf kinda guy. When ya fly solo, it's a lot harder for other people to hurt you."

She was slightly surprised that she actually got an answer from him and she lifted her eyes up again so she could see him. Hearing that he preferred being alone made her feel sorry for him.

"Sounds like a lonely way to live," she commented.

"It's how I survive," he simply said.

Then she posed the question, "If that's so, then why are you in a guild? Or better yet...why do you have Lily?"

That wasn't the sort of thing he expected her to ask and he was silent for a few seconds. It even made him wonder to himself for a small moment what the answer to that question really was. It wasn't something he'd seriously considered before.

Then Genna kept going, "I can already tell the people in Fairy Tail care a lot about each other. They were all so kind to me upon meeting me. You've got good people around you and I get the feeling they care about you, as well, despite how standoffish you may be. I can also tell Lily cares about you, too, and is a pretty loyal companion."

Listening to her was stirring up a foreign feeling in his chest that he wasn't used to and he said, slightly snapping at her, to try and push the feelings away, "Listen, if I wanted a sappy motivational speech from ya, I would've asked."

That, however, didn't quite deter her as she said in conclusion, "I'm just saying, you're lucky and you shouldn't take that for granted." Then the tone in her voice turned low and sad. "Not everyone's fortunate enough to have people who genuinely care about them."

"You talkin' about your old man?" he asked.

"Yeah," she said, nodding against her pillow.

Curious, he asked her, "What'd he do that was so bad ya decided to cut and run?"

She clutched tightly to her blanket. "If you don't mind, I'd rather not go into specifics," she simply said. "Let's just say he wasn't a good man and was an even worse father. My brother wasn't that much better either."

He grunted back and said, "A brother, too, huh? Sounds like you've got a pretty messed up family."

"That's...putting it mildly," she sighed.

Then, to her astonishment, she heard a second voice from up on the bed; Lily's voice speak up, saying, "If you two don't mind, I'm trying to sleep here."

"Oh sorry, Lily," said Genna, now feeling bad that they'd woken him up.

His cute little round ears suddenly appeared over the edge of the bed and his big eyes looked down at her, a smile on his face. "By the way, Genna...we came back for you because we know you're meant to be in Fairy Tail and we don't leave our own behind," Lily told her.

That explanation made Genna smile up at him.

"Also, I was the one who convinced Gajeel to turn back," he added.

"Can it, cat!" Genna heard Gajeel exclaim on the other side, making her snicker.

"Well, you have my gratitude," she said to Lily.

He bowed his head and then suggested, "If you're having trouble sleeping, I'd be willing to let you both come up on the bed now. As you can see, I honestly don't take up much room."

Genna felt her cheeks go hot at the thought of her and Gajeel in a bed together.

Before she could resist, though, Gajeel spoke up first, "I'll be just fine down here. I prefer harder surfaces anyway."

"Suit yourself," said Lily. "Genna?"

"If...if you don't mind," she said shyly, pushing herself up off the ground and to her feet.

"Not at all," said Lily.

Genna got up, grabbed her pillow and moved over to the open side of the bed, which was right by where Gajeel was lying down. She stayed close to the bed so she wouldn't accidentally step on him and then climbed into the bed, pulling the sheets over her. Lily was now snuggled back up under the covers and had his back turned to her. Genna moved to her side and shifted to the edge of the bed so she could look down at Gajeel, who was lying on his back with his hands up behind his head, his bare chest exposed. Seeing her out of the corner of his eye caused him to shift his head a little to the side so he could glance up at her.

With a sweet smile, she told him, "Thank you for coming back, Gajeel."

"Yeah, don't mention it," he said.

"Before we go to sleep...I have one last question," she said.

"What is it?"

"Do you...do you really believe I'm meant to be in Fairy Tail like Lily said? Do you think I proved myself enough to earn a place in the guild?"

"Technically, that's two questions."

She rolled her eyes. "Okay, yes, but they go hand in hand."

He was quiet for a moment, contemplating his response, and then said, "You've got unique magical skills, but you definitely could use some work on your fightin' and your strength. After what I saw tonight...you’ve got exactly what it takes to be in Fairy Tail."

A tiny, elated gasp escaped her lips and she almost felt she could cry in that moment. That was exactly what she had hoped to hear.

He saw her joy and grinned reassuringly. "You'll fit in just fine when we get back," he said to her.

She smiled gratefully. "That's just what I needed to hear. Thank you."

He waved a dismissive hand and replied, "Yeah, yeah, don't get all mushy on me. G'night, Princess."

She smiled to herself. "Good night, metal head."

With that, she rolled back over on to her back and stared up at the ceiling for a few minutes until she felt her eyelids getting heavy and sleep finally took her.

Genna's eyes shot open. Somehow, something didn't feel right. She felt as though she was being watched. Though, when she sat up, she noticed she was still in the bed and nothing seemed out of the ordinary right away. Lily was fast asleep on the other side of the bed and Gajeel was asleep on the floor, snoring softly. Maybe she was just being paranoid.

"What's up, sis?"

Genna's heart nearly leapt from her chest hearing an unexpected snakelike voice from the shadows. Her head whipped around to where it came from and she found the source. Staring at her from by the door and leaning against the wooden doorframe was a young man with long monochrome hair and crimson eyes that flashed brighter in the moonlight coming in through a window. She knew his face well...a little too well.

This was her brother.

"M!" she gasped, looking between Lily and Gajeel, making sure they didn't get woken up. Then anger quickly overtook her as she climbed out of the bed and quietly demanded, "What the hell are you doing here? How did you find me?"

He grinned maliciously as she stormed over to him and answered, "Did you really think there was anywhere in Fiore you could go where I wouldn't find you?"

Her teeth clenched together, helping her keep her calm. "You shouldn't be here," she warned him. "If you or Father or the guild want me back, you can forget it. I'm not going back. Ever."

M simply twirled a lock of his hair around his index finger. "And here I thought you running away was just a phase," he said nonchalantly. "You would really forsake your own family?"

Genna scoffed in disbelief. "Family...that's using the term very loosely. The way you and Father treated me is not how anyone should treat their family."

"You know he was doing it for your own good," said her brother.

She scoffed again, unamused by that excuse. "Oh yes, torturing me was for my own good," she said sarcastically. Then she shook her head in unbelief. "You've always been twisted, M, justifying everything Father's done, even when you know the things he does isn't right."

With a blank stare, he simply responded, "Our goal has always been to create a better world."

"Keep lying to yourself, if that's what helps you sleep at night. Now, get out of here," she snapped, turning away from him and moving back towards the bed.

"I watched your fight with the Shadow Wizard from the sidelines," he stated, causing her to halt in her tracks. "You were only using a fraction of your power."

Her fists tightened. He had been there? He'd seen her fight?

"And you're hanging out with the likes of Fairy Tail now?" he then asked, a tone of disgust when he said the name "Fairy Tail". "My, Genna, how far the mighty have fallen."

Genna's neck snapped back over her shoulder to glare at M. He had some nerve insulting her like that, given the things he and her father had done.

He went on, his voice softening with almost a touch of regret, "When you were with our guild, you were one of the best of us. Father saw great potential in you. You could’ve even led us one day."

Her gaze hardened. "I would never," she fired back at him. Then, turning her body to face him fully, she declared with conviction, "And I wasn't using a fraction of my magic. The amount of power Father saw in me was not the kind of power I wanted. I'm honing and strengthening my magic in my own way; on my own terms. I'll get stronger the way I want to and Fairy Tail is going to help me get there."

Despite her confidence, M seemed completely unfazed by it. He just simply shrugged and said back to her, "Whatever helps you sleep at night."

Genna's locked eye contact with him didn't waver, showing she was serious and set in her ways.

Then he straightened up, coming off the doorframe and informed her, "Father has a job for you."

Her eyes narrowed in astonishment. He couldn't be serious. "What part of me running away and never coming back doesn’t he understand? I'm not doing anything for him."

"That's why he sent me to deliver the message." M's head tilted down slightly and his gaze turned threatening. "Because if you don't do this job...you know the kind of punishment I can inflict."

She wouldn't back down to him. "I'm not afraid of you."

A toothy grin appeared on his face. "You should be."

Her demeanor didn't change, showing no fear at his threats.

"The bargain is simple:" he explained, pulling out a small, folded piece of parchment from within his jacket and holding it out to her, "do this or I'll take you back to the guild...and to Father."

Those last three words were enough to stir a fraction of fear in Genna's heart and her eyes widened slightly. The thought of going back to her old guild and back to her father was not one she found inviting at all. Even still, she wouldn't give M the satisfaction at seeing her afraid. Instead, she snatched the paper from his fingers, crumpled it up with her own hand and threw it to the ground, keeping her eyes locked steadfastly on her brother. He merely watched her do this and hummed in amusement, lightly shaking his head.

Then, cocking his head to the side and grinning once again, he spoke, a touch of darkness in his voice, "See you around...sis."

With another gasp, Genna's eyes opened and she found herself back in the bed and the inside of the hut was a bit brighter than it had been as the morning sun was beginning to peek through the window. It took her a minute to register that it had all been a dream and she was safe. Lily was still in the bed and Gajeel was still on the floor. Even though it was a dream, she still had a feeling her brother still had a hand in it. His magic could infiltrate dreams like that sometimes. She hated that he could do that. It made her feel as though she would never be safe from him no matter where she went. No matter...as long as he wasn't there, she'd be fine.

She sat up, stretched her arms over her head and her gaze fell down to her lap...and she froze in terror.

Resting on top of the covers in her lap was a crumpled piece of parchment.

"No...no, it can't be!" she thought, panicking. It had just been a dream; there's no way M could've actually been there...but the crinkled parchment in her lap told her otherwise and her heartbeat sped up. How was this possible? M could just appear anywhere she was like that? Would she ever be safe from her messed up family?

Her first instinct was to take paper and throw it in the fireplace...but her curiosity got the best of her and instead, she picked it up and carefully unfolded it. She revealed three words that made her gasp loudly in shock and she clamped a hand over her mouth.

"No...!" she whispered.

"Hey, you okay?" she heard Gajeel's voice ask.

She jumped at realizing he was now awake. Luckily, he was still lying down, so he couldn't see the paper now sitting on her thigh. She was quick to slide it off and hide it under her leg so he couldn't see it.

"Nothing. Just thought I heard a noise," she lied.

Gajeel sat up, eyeing her curiously, but then his eyes darted back and forth as he suddenly started sniffing the air. He stood up, sniffed a couple more times and then proclaimed, "Someone was here."

"Oh crap!" Genna thought, stiffening up.

"Was it one of the one of the villagers? Or Darius?" asked Lily, who got out from under the covers and walked on the bed to the end of it to see Gajeel.

Gajeel sniffed again. "No...somebody different...but no idea who. Somethin' doesn't feel right." He looked back to Genna and Lily. "We'd better get the hell outta here."

"I agree," said Lily, hopping down from the bed.

"Then let's get going," Genna said, slipping the paper into the pocket of her skirt once Gajeel and Lily's backs were turned.

They were quick to pack their things, say their quick farewells to the villagers and get back on the road to Magnolia. All the while, the three words on the parchment ran through Genna's nervous mind; three words she didn't want to obey, but was afraid of the consequences she would suffer if she didn't.

Infiltrate Fairy Tail.

[cornbread-but-minecraft]

Cornbread's Texture Fixer Devlog - Beta 2 - November 26th, 2023

guess i'm doing devlogs now :P. like the in the changelogs, i'm going to be going over things in the order i implemented them, just 'cause it's easier.

today will cover all the changes i made since fixing the verbose button (so the last week basically).

first thing first:

i fixed the 'dark' button's hover texture. for whatever reason, the face of the button is a darker shade of green than its shaded bevel when hovered over. the button's pressed texture doesn't have that issue, so i just replaced the colors.

i noticed the pallet was wrong when i made the first version of Thickly Be-Beveled Buttons, but i didn't do anything about it due to my idea of what the pack should be being different at the time. also, i use another resource pack that replaces this texture, so it is of no relevance to me. this fix will also be coming to TBBB.

looks kinda garish now tbh.

a small fix for an interface most people probably never see. if you're not reading the alt text, you probably can't tell what's different between the two images, but basically, because of the way bedrock edition handles UI textures, the right side of these banners appears slightly stretched. so i've fixed it.

side note: why can you even hover over these? like, it's not just a visual thing, so it's outside the realm of this pack, but just... why????

this is the mob effects screen, cropped to focus on this little problem area (it's always bevels with this game, isn't it). not entirely sure what to do with this screen, given how much it's clearly an artifact of the pocket edition alpha, but i can at least fix its textures.

this is one of the few screens that changes slightly depending on whether left hand mode is enabled or not, but the toggle for it seems to currently be missing, so i can't test the changes i've made there. hopefully it works correctly >w<

(these bevel fixes are coming to all of pocket UI as well btw.)

little behind-the-scenes: i usually write the changelog while making changes, but the posts are written after the fact. it's at this point the changelog lists a bunch of things (mostly close buttons) i actually reverted back to how they are in vanilla, since i decided they actually weren't consistency issues after all.

in previous versions of the pack, i changed the close buttons in container screens to all be part of toolbars, regardless of whether there was a help button to go along with them or not. i'll probably be tweaking this reversion next week, but there is one close button that's i'm changing to not be part of a toolbar even though it usually does have a help button, and it's this one:

you probably never noticed this, because who actually uses the how-to-play screen, but the help button doesn't work here. in fact, there just straight-up isn't even a how-to-play entry for the stonecutter at all! so i just removed the button.

next up, a few teeny-tiny changes that i can't be bothered to get screenshots for:

in previous versions of the pack, everything on the horse screen was in its java edition position, but i decided i didn't like that for the inventory label, so i moved it down a pixel.

chest and large chest screens now look the same as in conglomeration, which is to say, identical to java edition except for the text colors and close button.

simplified the JSON for the layering fixes on the HUD so they (now it) should hopefully be less intrusive and / or buggy.

some technical changes to container scroll panels (recipe book, etc.) that should theoretically make them more accommodating to how other resource packs use the texture.

speaking of the recipe book:

made the search bar shorter by a pixel so the things around it align with the pixel grid better. not shown: this also fixes the issue where the bottom of the recipe book's buttons were cut off by a third of a pixel on this tab.

also, the search bar is the correct length in creative mode now.

this thing is set up weird. also wrong. more noticeable when you hover over it. i fixed it.

i kept the outlines overlapping since that's a thing bedrock does sometimes and i think it's intentional, and i think it might be what the devs were going for here.

the pixel where the bevels meet on tabs is now consistently the correct color, that is to say: the same color as the face of the tab. (this bothered no-one but me probably.)

made this texture use an appropriate level of contrast... for a tab. it's a toolbar, but it uses a tab texture for some reason. the texture was messed up, and i fixed that, but i'm on the fence about whether i should swap out the texture entirely for one that looks more like the regular toolbar.

also the close button is a pixel higher.

....

these last few entries have been kinda boring for people that aren't me, haven't they? well that's about to change with this last one.

everyone, i present to you, probably the biggest thing in gaming:

so you know how, on the world select screen, the close button is part of its own tab / panel thing? and how when you use a controller, the button disappears, but not the tab? well....

i fixed it :3

i would like to note that i didn't just remove the tab, this is a dynamic thing that changes based on input method! it reappears when you use a mouse or touch controls, and the servers tab even changes its set of textures dynamically as well!!

this is unironically the most complicated thing in the pack, but still actually pretty simple?? this game's vanilla system has a lot of really robust architecture that just... isn't used. far more than the game's visual issues would have you believe.

[the-bad-batch-baroness]

Rainy Day Dialogue Prompts 🌧

By: @the-bad-batch-baroness

"We should order in."

"Come here. Let's get you out of those wet clothes."

"Does the thunder scare you?"

"I can hold your umbrella for you."

"You're soaked!"

"I'll toss your pajamas in the dryer to warm them up."

"Do you need a towel?"

"Strip. You're gonna catch a cold."

"Puddle!"

"Did you feel that?" "Feel what?" "It's starting to rain."

"I think it's going to rain."

"I am wet, and I am tired."

"There's water in my shoes."

"Do you want me to start you a shower or a bath?"

"Would you like to stand under my umbrella?"

"This towel is so soft."

"I am soaked down to my underwear."

"This umbrella is too small for the both of us."

"I can't find my rain boots."

"I don't like being wet."

"I love the sound of the rain."

"Can we stay here for a while? I want to listen to the rain."

"I don't want to go out. It's raining."

"That's the third time you've sneezed."

"Let me warm you up."

"I really want to kiss you." "Now? In the rain?"

"No one will hear us since it's raining."

"What happened to you?" "I slipped in the rain."

"I feel like a drowned rat." "You look like one too."

"Don't you dare jump in that puddle and get me wet!"

"You look so cute in that rain jacket."

"Can we stay in bed today?"

"The roof is leaking again."

"If you shiver any harder, you'll vibrate right off of the chair."

"Let's play in the rain!"

"Dance with me in the rain."

"Please let me in. It's pouring!"

"I hate thunderstorms." "Don't worry. I'll protect you."

"I'll race you back home!"

"Do you want my wet handkerchief to dry your wet face?"

"So much for our picnic."

"The rain is so relaxing."

"I'll put the kettle on."

"My hair is soaked!" "You still look beautiful."

"I made you a mug of tea."

"Is this tree taken?" "I think it's big enough for the both of us."

"What's the matter?" "I ran out of books to read."

"Will it ever stop raining?"

"Did you know that rainy day cuddles are two times more effective than sunny day cuddles?"

"Can you moan a little louder? I can't hear you over the rain."

[the-bad-batch-baroness]

Suckers

Fives & Echo

Summary: Hilarity ensues when Fives spots a lollipop in the shape of a clone.

Pairing: None

Characters: Fives, Echo, Rex, Fox

Tags & Warnings: humor, crude humor, sexual humor, sexual innuendos, art comic at the end

Word Count: 337

Author's Note: I blame cursed clone wars merchandise on eBay, late-night Discord chats, and @kimiheartblade for this abomination 😂 It's pretty much just dialogue. I don't even know if I want to call this a fic, considering how thrown together it is. But sometimes you just have to write funny stuff. As always, please enjoy 💚

"Hey, Echo, look at this!" Fives yells. He grabs Echo's arm and pulls him towards the candy storefront.

"What?" Echo huffs, then yanks his arm back.

"It's us!" Fives exclaims.

Echo raises an eyebrow. "Huh?"

"They made us into suckers!" Fives smiles. He points to the clone-shaped lollipops nestled in a stand next to the candy store window.

"And you're excited about that, why?" Echo asks.

"We're famous!" Fives grins.

"Right," Echo rolls his eyes, "because minors and middle-aged single women sucking on us is peak fame."

"Aw, come on, Echo," Fives says. "It's a novelty!"

Echo crosses his arms. "It's disgusting."

"I'm gonna buy one," Fives says, then walks towards the door.

"Wait!" Echo yells, trying to stop him, but he can't.

Fives buys the lollipop and returns to Echo, who is waiting for him outside the shop.

Echo sighs. "Happy now?"

Fives smiles and then shoves the lollipop in Echo's face. "Here, have a lick."

Echo cringes away. "Ew, no way!"

"It's just a lollipop," Fives says.

"I don't care," Echo huffs.

"But don't you want to know what flavor they made you?" Fives asks.

"No!" Echo says. "I don't have a flavor."

"But it looks like you," Fives says.

"I'm not sucking on something that looks like me," Echo says.

"Then it looks like me," Fives says.

"I'm not sucking on something that looks like you either!" Echo exclaims.

"It's kriffing sugar!" Fives retorts.

Rex taps his foot against the pavement, his arms crossed, while staring at his two arc troopers who are currently sitting handcuffed on the edge of the curb.

"Does someone want to tell me why the Coruscant Guard got called out here?" Rex asks.

Fives and Echo look away from each other in embarrassment.

Fox clears his throat. "Several passersby complained of two men in an altercation with one of them repeatedly yelling, 'suck on it'."

Rex takes a deep breath and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"We can expl–"

"Don't," Rex interjects with a wave of his hand. "I don't want to know."

Comic by @chiliger

Masterlist

AO3

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[the-bad-batch-baroness]

Dancing Lights

Wolf!Wolffe x Fem!Reader

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

Pairing: Wolf!Wolffe x Fem!Reader

Characters: Wolffe, Plo Koon

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

Word Count: 12.7k

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

@clonexreaderbingo Square: Smile

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

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

“General,” Wolffe shouts over the storm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stir and make a small grunting noise.

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

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

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

“It’s me,” he says.

“You found me!” you exclaim with excitement.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I told you, I can’t!” you argue. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smile. “I know.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Remember what I said?” Wolffe asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Quite the show, the Alpha says.

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

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

Wolffe snorts. Been a time.

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

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

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

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

Not pup, Wolffe growls.

No? the Alpha questions. Then what are you?

Alpha, Wolffe answers. Own pack.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wolffe retakes his defensive stance and bares his fangs.

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

Wolffe’s ears twitch.

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

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

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

Wolffe finishes his howl and waits for the response.

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

Not dumb, Wolffe replies. Protect mine.

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

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

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

Promise, Wolffe says. Mate not hurt.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wolffe nuzzles his nose against your hand as an affirmation.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wolffe touches his nose to your hand in agreement.

“Well, that was easy,” you breathe.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He noses at your face, but gets no reaction.

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

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

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

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

You jerk at the searing pain in your arm.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ow!” you exclaim. “That hurts!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s me,” you giggle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Try me,” you say with folded arms.

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

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

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

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

“Wolffe,” you say knowingly.

“Hm?” he mumbles into your neck.

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

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

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

Wolffe sighs and begins his recount of the events.

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

Your shoulders slump and eyes soften at his words.

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

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

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

You chuckle at Wolffe’s descriptions.

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

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

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

You snort.

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

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

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

“I guess that makes sense,” you say.

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

“Well, yeah,” you answer.

“So, you believe me?” Wolffe asks.

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

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

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

“Hungry?” Wolffe asks.

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

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

“You can have mine,” Wolffe says.

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

“I can wait,” he says.

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

“I have reserves,” he retorts.

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

“I said, no,” he says sternly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Too bad,” he says.

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

Wolffe groans. “Stop fighting me!”

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

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

“Maybe,” you sneer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wolffe nods his head. “Yeah.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” you mumble.

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

“Promise?” you ask.

“Promise,” he answers.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wolffe groans.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Sorry,” he breathes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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[the-bad-batch-baroness]

Roses Are Red and Violets Are... Orange?

Cody x Fem!Reader

Summary: You ask Cody what he wants to do for the Festival of Love this cycle, and he has no idea what you're talking about, but he is for sure going to figure it out.

Pairing: Cody x Fem!Reader

Characters: Cody, Rex

Tags & Warnings: 18+, suggestive themes, fluff, kissing, romance, humor, Valentine's Day

Word Count: 3.5k

Author's Note: Happy Coday!!! I couldn't let the momentous once in a lifetime Cody Day pass by without offering something from my imagination to the archives, so I made this. It's short, sweet, and hilarious. Also, yay! Cody gets his first full-length feature fic! As always, please enjoy 💚

Cody leans over, cups your cheek, and presses his lips against yours. The holo-film playing in the background quickly forgotten about in exchange for something much more sweet. You lean into him, and a small moan escapes your throat when he sucks on your bottom lip. His hands roam the sides of your body as he lays you back against the couch cushions. Your world is devoid of anything and everything that isn't Cody as his weight settles between your legs and–

BEEP BEEP

You groan into Cody's mouth as your alarm blares on the center table to alert you that it's time to get ready for work. With one hand wrapped around the back of Cody's head you keep his lips pressed against yours, and with the other you turn off your alarm. You curse your stupid alarm and you curse your stupid third shift at the medcenter. It always interrupts you right when you're getting to the good part. You just want a couple more minutes, but Cody knows better than to keep you.

Cody breaks the kiss, pushes himself off of you, and plops down onto the opposite end of the couch. "That thing's worse than my vod," Cody sighs.

You sit up and stretch your arms. "At least my alarm can't watch," you muse.

"That's it's only good quality," Cody chuckles. He leans his head against the side of the couch and smiles.

"What?" you ask when you catch him looking.

"Nothing," he says. "Just admiring from afar."

You raise an eyebrow. "Well, can you do that a little farther away? Like outside my apartment farther away?"

"You're kicking me out?" he gasps in fake horror. "How could you?"

You pity him for a moment and crawl across the couch cushions to sit on his lap, wrapping your arms around his neck, and placing a sweet kiss just below his ear. "I only do it because I know you'll come back."

Cody smooths his hands over your back as he nuzzles your neck with the side of his cheek. "Always, cyare."

BEEP BEEP

"Aaargh!" you exclaim angrily as your second alarm goes off.

Cody laughs. "Better do as it says."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," you sigh as you get off of him and make your way towards the kitchen.

Cody gets up from the couch, stretches his arms over his head, and starts putting his armor plates back on.

"Hey Codes?" you yell from the kitchen while staring at your calendar.

He fastens his chest plate and yells back. "Yeah?"

You peak your head around the kitchen corner so you don't have to yell again. "What do you want to do for the Festival of Love next week?"

Cody stiffens, then turns around to look at you. "The what?"

"The Festival of Love," you repeat. "It's on a Taungsday this cycle, which is my rotation off, so I thought maybe we could do something special."

"Uh, sure," Cody says with mild panic, then busies himself with putting on his vambraces. "Whatever you want."

"Cody," you huff and cross your arms. "It's about us, not just me."

"Of course," Cody corrects as he rubs the back of his neck. "I just meant that whatever you want to do on your rotation off is perfectly fine with me. I want to work within your schedule."

"Sure you do…" you say as you narrow your eyes at him with suspicion. You sigh. "Just let me know, okay?"

"Will do," he says with a lazy salute.

You roll your eyes and go back to what you were doing in the kitchen.

Meanwhile, Cody puts his leg braces on the wrong legs as his mind tries to figure out what the Festival of Love is. He's never heard of it, and he's not sure what he's so supposed to do with this information now that he has it. He's also not sure why you want to celebrate it or why you are adamant that you should celebrate it together. It's not uncommon for clones to miss out on galactic holidays or celebrations, but if it means that much to you, he'll figure it out somehow.

Once his armor is situated on the correct body parts, he makes his way to the kitchen to bid you farewell. The late night rendezvous due to your work schedule are exhausting, but he doesn't mind. As long as he's planet side, he'll mess up his sleep schedule to be able to spend quality time with you. It's almost been an entire cycle since the day he first laid eyes on you, and since then he's fallen deeply in love. Besides his brothers, there's no one he loves more than you.

"I'm off," he says as he enters the kitchen.

You also enter the kitchen, now changed into your work clothes, and grab your cooler off the top of the conservator so you can pack your mid-shift meal. "I'll see you tomorrow?" you throw over your shoulder while grabbing food items.

Cody looks down at his chronometer and smirks. "It'll be tomorrow very soon."

You chuckle. "You know what I mean."

Cody walks up behind you and wraps his arms around your stomach. "I'll see you tomorrow."

You crane your neck around to give him a goodbye kiss and he meets you halfway. "Be safe," you say.

"Always," Cody says. He releases you from his grip, gives you one more kiss on the top of your head for good measure, and heads towards the door.

His mind runs wild with thoughts about this Festival of Love you mentioned and he knows it will continue to bug him until he finds out what it is and why you want to celebrate it. Once outside the apartment, he takes a couple steps down the walkway and thinks about the best strategy to use. His thoughts immediately fall to Rex. Him and Rex have known each other since the day they were decanted. If anyone can help him figure out his predicament, he knows it'll be Rex.

Cody stops walking and leans against the wall of the building he stops in front of. The night air is a little chilly, but that doesn't bother him, not when he's got so much on his mind. He pulls out his comm to type a quick message to Rex.

Are you awake?

Cody taps his foot on the ground as he waits for Rex to respond. His comm blinks.

I am now

Cody sighs in relief and types another message.

Meet me at the diner

Cody stares at his comm, waiting for Rex's reply.

Right now? It's 23:30!

Cody rolls his eyes and types another message.

It's important

Cody pushes himself off the wall and heads down the street towards the diner. He knows Rex won't leave him hanging. His comm blinks.

Be there in ten

Cody smiles and puts the comm in his pocket. He knew Rex wouldn't let him down. Of course this is important. This is his cyare they're talking about. Aside from his duty to the GAR as a soldier, you are his most important mission. He needs to understand this Festival of Love thing so he can address it properly and make an effective plan of attack to ensure it's a special day for you, and apparently, for him too. He's not sure how he fits into it, but he's sure Rex will know.

It's only a short walk to the diner and Cody arrives before Rex does. He grabs their usual booth, the one all the way at the end in the corner by the window, orders two mugs of hot caf, and lets the waitress know that he's waiting for someone. Cody rests his chin in the palm of his hand and stares blankly out the large transparisteel window. It's dark out, so there's not much to see, but he's also not looking to see anything either. He's thinking, and sometimes staring helps him think.

"Someone better be dying," Rex groans as he slides into the booth across from Cody.

Cody removes his gaze from the window to acknowledge Rex and smirks. Rex looks like he just rolled out of bed. Half-lidded eyes, an annoyed scowl plastered on his face, a pair of blacks on the bottom, an undershirt, and a half-zipped jacket on top. Cody doesn't blame him for looking so disheveled at this time of night, especially since he woke him up and dragged him out here to meet him, but if he can't depend on his closest batch brother, then who can he depend on?

"I ordered you some caf," Cody says.

"Great," Rex yawns. "Looks like I won't be getting any sleep tonight."

"Sorry," Cody says, but he's not really sorry.

The waitress arrives with the two mugs of caf and she sets them down in front of the two men. She places some sugar packets and cream cartons on the table, then leaves them to it.

Rex tears several packets of sugar and dumps them in his caf, stirring lazily to dissolve it.

"That's gross," Cody chuckles. He brings his mug of black caf up to his lips and takes a tentative sip. "This stuff is much better than what the GAR gives us."

Rex grumbles and takes a sip of his caf. "What was so urgent that I had to leave my warm bed to come meet you in this cold diner?"

"I need to know what the Festival of Love is," Cody says.

Rex spits out his caf and coughs. He grabs a few napkins from the dispenser and wipes his chin, then the mess he made on the table. "Vod, you better be joking."

Cody leans across the table. "I'm serious. You need to tell me."

"That's what couldn't wait until morning?" Rex exclaims.

"I only have a couple of rotations to figure it out," Cody explains. "You know how important it is to have enough time to plan strategic maneuvers."

"Cody," Rex sighs and rubs his face. "It's a holiday, not a frontal assault!"

"Same difference," Cody says with a dismissive wave. "This is my cyare. She wants to do something special for it and I have no idea what to do. I don't even know what it is!"

"Maker, you're worse than my battalion," Rex sighs. "Fine, if I tell you what it is, can I go back to bed?"

"Yes," Cody agrees.

"The Festival of Love is a holiday for couples," Rex explains. "It's a special day where you and your cyare celebrate your relationship, give each other gifts, and appreciate them."

"That's it?" Cody asks.

"Yeah, that's it," Rex retorts and narrows his eyes. "What did you think a Festival of Love was going to be about?"

Cody shrugs.

"Well, my job here is done," Rex says. He downs the rest of his caf and shimmies his way out of the booth.

"Wait," Cody says as he grabs Rex's wrist. "We're not done yet."

Rex sighs and shimmies back into the booth. "What else?"

"How do you celebrate it?" Cody asks.

"How should I know?" Rex retorts. "Does it look like I have a cyare? Because if I did, I wouldn't be here with you, I'd be with her, in my bed, naked, with my–"

"Okay, I get the picture," Cody interrupts. "Come on, vod, give me something to work with."

Rex sighs. "I'll comm Echo. He's into those types of novels. I'm sure he knows."

Cody raises an eyebrow. "What do you mean by those types of novels?"

"You know…" Rex ducks his head and leans over the table to whisper. "Those erotic romance novels where the main characters have lots of crazy sex."

"Oh," Cody whispers, drawing the syllable out. "Those types of novels. You've got some… interesting vod."

Rex shrugs. "At least he's quiet about it. You should see what Fives and Jesse get up to in their spare time. That stuff will make you turn red faster than–"

"I'm good," Cody interrupts. "Anything from Echo?"

"Give him a minute," Rex says. "He should be asleep, like me."

Rex's comm blinks and he looks down at it to read what Echo wrote.

"Beside the long list of expletives…" Rex begins. "He says you can get them anything pink or red that's heart shaped, as well as chocolates, flowers, cards, poetry, jewelry, perfume, stuffed animals, and bedroom stuff. Also, he says that a fancy dinner is always nice too."

"That's a lot of things," Cody says thoughtfully.

"You probably don't need to do everything," Rex adds. "Maybe just dinner, flowers, and something personal."

"Maybe…" Cody trails off in thought.

He has a better idea about what the holiday is, and what he should be doing, but he still needs to plan everything. Reservations this late into the game are going to be difficult, so he might need to pull some connections, or at worst use a bribe. Regardless, the flowers and chocolate should be simple. The jewelry on the other hand might be complicated, and so would the poetry. He's not even sure if he's read any poetry before, let alone know how to write any for his cyare.

"Well," Rex begins when he starts to doze off at the growing silence, "as much fun as this has been, I want to go back to bed."

"Oh, yeah," Cody says as he snaps back to the present. "Thanks. I appreciate the help."

Rex shimmies out of the booth and throws an annoyed look over his shoulder. "If you were anyone else, I would've shot you."

Cody smiles and takes another sip of his caf. "Love you too, vod."

After Cody finishes his caf, he heads back to the barracks, but instead of sleeping, he pulls out his data-pad and starts researching. He received a lot of great leads from Rex's trooper, Echo, and now he needs to put all of his thoughts together to execute the perfect Festival of Love presentation for you. He searches for the right shops, reads through numerous product reviews, browses romantic poetry, and searches for the fanciest restaurants to make a reservation at.

As the days roll by, Cody puts his plan into action. The dinner reservation comes first, and he was correct in his assumption that he needed to pull some strings and call in a few favors to get a good reservation with the holiday so close. It does help that he has a batchmate in the Coruscant Guard. Bribery can get him into trouble, so having Fox on his side is worthwhile. He makes a mental note to prepare for the Festival of Love at least six months in advance for the next cycle.

The list of gift ideas he has is decent, but he can't decide whether he wants to do a few of them or all of them. Considering this is his first Festival of Love, he errs on the side of caution and buys them all. The best initial battle strategies are the ones approached broadly with caution, then tailored down to suit the individual situation. This strategy is no different. He'll watch your reaction to each gift and gauge how well it's received, then adjust his gifting for the next cycle.

It's perfect. Everything is perfect. The gift basket is beautiful, with all of the gifts neatly nestled on top of shredded pink, red, and white paper, and a large velvet red bow tied neatly around the handle. Cody admires his handiwork, then looks at his chronometer. It's a few hours before your dinner reservation, and just about time for Cody to pick up the last of the gifts, the flowers. He visited multiple florists before finally picking one and ordering the flowers he wanted to give you.

Now, with his gift basket and flowers in tow, he heads over to your apartment. He's wearing his best clothes, his officer uniform, and made sure there wasn't a wrinkle on it. Tonight needs to be special for you, so he went overboard with the preparation. It was unfortunate when your work called you in to help with another shift, but you still got the night off, which didn't hinder Cody's plans at all. Although, it did give him plenty of time to overthink and double check everything.

Cody places the gift basket down on the front steps of the apartment, re-situates the flowers in his hands, picks up the box of chocolates, and rings the doorbell. He stands back and straightens himself up as he waits for you to answer, feeling like a scared little shiny going on his first date. He shouldn't feel this anxious. He made sure to plan for every contingency and even made a back-up plan for his back-up plan. All of his bases are covered, but he wants to puke.

You open the door, dressed in the fancy outfit you picked out for dinner. "Cody," you smile with surprise. "You're early."

Cody clears his throat. "Roses are red," he says and hands you the bouquet of red roses.

"Cody!" you exclaim. "These are so–"

"Violets are blue," he interrupts you and hands you another bouquet of flowers.

"Cody," you say. "These are–"

"Sugar is sweet," he interrupts you again and hands you the box of chocolates.

"Cody," you say. "I don't have enough hands."

"And so are you," he says, then grabs your full hand to kiss the back of it.

You grin from ear to ear at the adorable gesture, snort, then start laughing.

Cody's eyes grow wide thinking he did something wrong. "Do you not like the flowers? Or was it the poem?"

"No, no, of course, I love the flowers," you chuckle, trying not to laugh harder. "But Cody. These aren't violets, they're carnations, and they're orange, not blue."

"Oh, yeah," he says sheepishly. "I couldn't find any violets so I got you ones that matched my battalion colors instead."

"You are the sweetest man alive!" you exclaim as you wrap your arms around his neck and kiss his cheek.

Cody smiles and hugs you back. "I've got more for you," he says, then reaches down to grab the gift basket.

Your jaw drops and you look between Cody and the basket. "This is all… for me?"

Cody nods. "I wanted today to be special so I got you everything I could think of."

"I can see that," you exclaim. "Why don't you come inside and I'll open it?"

Cody agrees and enters your apartment. He's been over to your place numerous times, but for some reason he feels like a stranger today. You walk off towards the kitchen to take care of the two bouquets of flowers and put them in some water, leaving Cody at the entrance. He takes a few cautious steps into the living room and places the gift basket on the caf table. Not knowing what else to do with himself, Cody sits on the couch and waits for you to return from the kitchen.

"You look beautiful," he says as you walk into the living room.

You smile. "Well, with those fancy dinner reservations you got us," you begin and then twirl to let him see the whole outfit. "I had to take it up a notch."

Cody bites his lip as his eyes roam from the top of your head all the way down to the bottom of your feet. "Gorgeous."

You sit down next to him on the couch and start looking through the gift basket. You pull out more boxes of chocolates, all in different shapes and flavors, a beautiful hand-written card, a bottle of your favorite perfume you were running out of, and a stunning silver set of earrings and a matching necklace. Your jaw drops and you put them on immediately so you can wear them to dinner tonight. Next you pull out an adorable stuffed tooka holding a heart, which makes you melt.

"What's this?" you ask as you reach the bottom of the basket and find a small bottle of strawberry flavored lube.

Cody rubs the back of his neck. "It was in the same section as everything else, so I thought maybe we could try it out."

"Cody," you laugh. "This stuff is awful."

"Really?" he asks, kicking himself now for buying it. "I didn't want to get anything too risky without talking to you first, so I thought that maybe something small like this would–"

"Did you taste it?" you interrupt to ask.

"They weren't exactly giving out samples," he jokes.

You snort, then hug Cody as tight as you can. "You are the sweetest man in the galaxy, you know that?"

"You're sweeter," he says and seals his words with a kiss.

You smile and take a nibble at his ear. "Why don't I grab the can of whipped cream from the conservator?" you whisper against his skin. "We can be naughty and have our dessert before dinner."

Cody smirks. "Yes ma'am."

Masterlist

AO3

Tag List: @nahoney22 @commander-sunshine @sunshinesdaydream @padawancat97 @verndusk @sun-roach @coraex @lickylickylicky @homemade-clones @523rdrebel @clonemedickix @starrylothcat @moonwrecked @ladyzirkonia @stunkbiggu @cdblake1565 @ladytano420 @moonlightwarriorqueen @anxiouspineapple99 @clonethirstingisreal @dreamie411 @trixie2023 @cw80831 @ca77m3anna @reader6898 @kimiheartblade @dukeoftheblackstar @arc-trooper-8008 @knightprincess @roboticsuccubus83 @totally-not-your-babe @rinwritesfics @t3mpest98 @asyas-daydreaming @codyday2224

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[the-bad-batch-baroness]

Rules, examples, and event masterlist below:

Rules:

Only choose one prompt per request

Word counts will be all over the place depending on my inspiration

Be respectful when sending in requests

I reserve the right to deny any request

If you pick two clones, one MUST be from the 501st

If you choose Echo, it will be pre-tbb, but Skako Minor Echo is fine

If you choose Rex, it will be pre-tbb, but Order 66 events are fine

Post-stasis Kix is also fine

Examples:

Can I request a Rex and Wolffe fic with prompt #7 where Wolffe comforts Rex after he is rescued from Kadavo?

Can I request a Fem!Reader x Jesse fic with prompt #17 where the reader has been kidnapped?

Can I request a GN!Reader x Kix fic with prompt #23 where the reader falls off a cliff during battle and Kix can't find them?

Can I request a Tup and Dogma fic with prompt #2 where Tup confronts Dogma after the events of Umbara?

Event Masterlist:

In Your Head (Fives and Fox --- Prompt #14)

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Event Status: CLOSED

[the-bad-batch-baroness]

Where's Mommy?

Wolffe x Fem!Reader

Part 1

Summary: Wolffe's wife suddenly dies, leaving him a single father in the middle of a war.

Pairing: Wolffe x Fem!Reader

Characters: Wolffe, Plo Koon, Cara (child OFC)

Tags & Warnings: heavy angst, mention of death, off-screen death, spousal death, reader is not the spouse, grief, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 807

Author's Note: I came up with this sad short fic while I was on hiatus. If I have to suffer, then y'all are going to suffer with me. It's sad. It's really sad. I might make this into a full-length reader fic at some point, where Wolffe hires a nanny (reader) for his daughter and they fall in love, or something sappy like that (pssst, I did). As always, please enjoy 💚

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10

Wolffe stands frozen in the medcenter hallway, staring down an endless sterile corridor with a small hand wrapped tightly around his finger. A pulmonary embolism, they said. A blood clot in the lungs, they said. She was so young, they said. Could've happened to anyone, they said. But it didn't happen to anyone. It happened to his wife. Within moments, and by no choice of his own, he's now a single father in a galaxy torn by war. The light of his life, snuffed out like a candle. 

"Daddy?" his daughter says while tugging on his hand. 

Wolffe snaps out of his daze and looks down at her. "Yeah, baby?"

"Where's mommy?" she asks.

"Mommy…" Wolffe pauses, biting his lip as he looks anywhere but his daughter's face. "Mommy had to go."

"Go where?" she asks. 

"Far away," he says.

"But why?" she asks. "I love mommy."

"I love mommy too, baby," he says, barely able to keep his emotions at bay. 

"Then why'd she leave?" she whines. 

"Listen to me, Cara," he kneels on the ground in front of her. "Sometimes… sometimes people have to leave and there's nothing we can do about it."

"When's she coming back?" she asks. 

"She's not," he chokes.

"I want mommy!" she yells.

Wolffe picks up his crying child and holds her against his chest, letting his own tears fall silently out of her view. "I know, baby. I know. I want her too."

"I'm not leaving without mommy!" she wails.

"Please, baby," he soothes as she cries inconsolable.

"Hush little one," a soft voice says from behind Wolffe.

Wolffe turns around and sighs in relief. "General."

"I came as soon as I heard," Plo says. He places a gentle hand on Wolffe's shoulder. "I'm so sorry for your loss."

"Thank you," Wolffe says while bouncing his daughter to try and calm her down. 

"Come here little one," Plo says as he stretches out his arms to take Cara from Wolffe. 

Wolffe peels his distraught daughter off of his chest and hands her to Plo, then collapses down onto the bench against the wall. He hangs head in his hands and sobs quietly. His first real moment to fully process the loss of his wife. 

Plo turns away from Wolffe to give him some privacy and continues to bounce Cara to soothe her. 

The little girl's crying echoes throughout the hallway, sending sharp pains through Wolffe's already broken heart. He wants her to stop crying so he can stop crying. She's just a child, and she doesn't understand what's happening, which is making the situation all the more difficult. How can he console her when he can barely hold it together himself? The last time he felt this helpless was the Malevolence incident, and even then he held it together better than right now.

He doesn't know how to be a mother. He's a soldier, a commander. How is he going to fight in the war and raise a child? It's practically impossible. He can't just quit the war either. No clone can. His wife was a saint. She took care of everything while he was away on campaigns. The only thing he needed to do when he came home was hug his little baby girl and dote on her until he had to leave again. He gave his family everything he had, and everything he didn't have. 

He always knew he was going to be an absent father because of the war, but he didn't in his wildest imagination think his wife would die before him. They had contingency plans for if he died, but they didn't make any plans for if she died. This entire scenario came out of left-field and blindsided him. They were eating dinner like they always did when he goes on shore leave. How in the universe did they go from eating dinner to her being dead? He'll never understand it.

"General," Wolffe says through his tears. "What do I do now?"

Plo studies the devastated commander and softens his eyes. "You take each moment as it comes."

"But what do I do?" Wolffe pleads with a hitch in his throat. "The funeral, my kid, my troops, my–"

"Arrangements are being made as we speak," Plo interrupts. "You are not alone in this despair, Wolffe."

Wolffe looks up at the general and a menial, barely noticeable smile forms at the corner of his mouth, but it's betrayed by the streaks of tears that line his flushed cheeks. He says nothing in response, afraid that if he utters even one more syllable, he'll lose the last bit of composure he's maintaining. However, the words of his general ring true. He's not alone. He's never been alone. He has his general and an entire battalion of brothers to lean on. His family is here for him. 

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10

Masterlist

AO3

Tag List: @nahoney22 @commander-sunshine @sunshinesdaydream  @padawancat97 @verndusk @sun-roach @coraex @lickylickylicky @homemade-clones @523rdrebel   @clonemedickix @starrylothcat @mooncommlink @ladyzirkonia @stunkbiggu @cdblake1565 @ladytano420 @moonlightwarriorqueen @anxiouspineapple99 @clonethirstingisreal @dreamie411 @trixie2023 @cw80831 @ca77m3anna @rinwritesfics @t3mpest98 @novas-daydreaming

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[the-bad-batch-baroness]

Where's Mommy?

Wolffe x Fem!Reader

Part 2

Summary: Wolffe's wife suddenly dies, leaving him a single father in the middle of a war.

Pairing: Wolffe x Fem!Reader

Characters: Wolffe, Plo Koon, Cara (child OFC)

Tags & Warnings: heavy angst, mention of death, off-screen death, spousal death, reader is not the spouse, grief, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 881

Author's Note: Well, I made it into a series based off of the feedback I got from the poll. I also gave Wolffe's daughter a name and updated the previous chapter to include it. Uh, forewarning, it gets worse before it gets better. We still have several parts of angst to get through before we ever start seeing glimpses of happiness, but it will happen eventually!

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10

"CC-3636?" a nurse calls as she enters the hallway carrying a data-pad.

"Yes, I'm CC-3636," Wolffe says as he wipes his face. He stands up from the bench and approaches the nurse.

"I need you to fill out this form so we can alert the next of kin to claim the body," the nurse says.

Wolffe knits his brows together. "I am the next of kin. I'm her husband."

The nurse bites her lip. "I'm sorry, but according to current Republic statutes your marriage is invalid, which makes you a family-friend, not a next of kin."

"Friend?" Wolffe scoffs. "We live together. Have a child together. I'd say that's more than friends."

The nurse sighs. "Cohabitation and bearing a child doesn't constitute a legal binding marriage in the eyes of Republic law."

Wolffe's breath is stolen as he stares blankly at the nurse. She can't be serious. There's no way. They couldn't get a marriage license. It was impossible. He tried and it was futile. Every which way he tried failed. He couldn't get around the fact that he's not a legal citizen. He doesn't even have a legal name that could have been put on the marriage license. They had the ceremony, did everything else that they were supposed to do, but no one would give them an official license.   

"Speaking of which," the nurse adds under her breath, as if her own words pain her to speak. "We'll also need to contact child services since Cara is now considered a legal orphan."

"Orphan?" Wolffe exclaims. "But I'm her father!"

"Is your name on the birth certificate?" the nurse asks, as if she already knows the answer.

A lump forms in Wolffe's throat and he clenches his fist. "No… It's not. But my DNA… I'm still her biological father."

"I'm sorry," the nurse says. "But legally you aren't. She will be placed in a child facility pending a familial investigation, and if no family is found, she will be placed into foster care."

"You can't take my daughter!" Wolffe yells. "I've already lost my wife tonight! And now you want to take my kid from me too? What is wrong with you people!"

The nurse startles at Wolffe's emotional outburst. 

"She needs me!" Wolffe continues to raise his voice. "I'm all she has left!"

"Sir," the nurse says. "I'm so sorry, but there's nothing I can do. We're bound by the laws."

"I swear to the Maker if you lay a single hand on her I'll–"

"If I may," Plo interrupts. He carefully hands the sniffling child back to Wolffe, then ushers the nurse down the hallway. "Perhaps you and I can discuss the details of this form privately."

"Very well, master Jedi," the nurse says and follows him.

Wolffe collapses back onto the bench and squeezes his daughter against him as tight as he can, terrified that at any moment someone will walk through the medcenter doors and rip her out of his arms. He'll never let them take her. He'd rather die than let them take her. She means everything to him, and with his wife gone, Cara is the only piece of her he has left. He didn't think his night could go from bad to worse, but his nightmares are quickly becoming reality.

Wolffe feels Cara squirm in his arms and he loosens his grip. She doesn't say anything between her quiet sniffles, but settles herself onto his lap to get more comfortable. Her face is red and puffy from crying, and she's exhausted herself. Wolffe pulls up the edge of his sleeve and wipes the snot dripping down her face, brushes a small piece of hair away, then leans her against his chest. He tilts his head down and kisses the top of her head while rocking her back and forth.

"It's going to be okay," Wolffe whispers. "I won't let anything happen to you."

After a few more minutes, Plo returns with the nurse. They exchange a few more words that Wolffe can't hear, but the nurse is smiling, so he hopes it's good news. Maker knows he can't handle anything else going wrong. As Plo approaches the bench, Wolffe feels a new knot forming in the pit of his stomach. As tired and emotionally drained as he is, he will find a way to protect his daughter, even if it goes against all of his training and every GAR regulation.

"General," Wolffe says, his own exhaustion seeping through his voice.

"I have taken legal custody of Cara," Plo says. "She will reside at the Jedi Temple for the time being, and your wife will receive proper funeral rights as well."

Wolffe leans his head back against the wall and breathes in relief. "Thank the stars."

The fact that his general would take custody of his daughter, just to keep her from being taken away from him, touches Wolffe's heart deeply. The arrangement is still not ideal, but it's better than what he hoped for, considering the alternatives of foster care and complete strangers. At least at the Jedi Temple, Cara will be safe and cared for, and he can see her unrestricted by laws. It won't be enough when he gets deployed, but for right now, at this moment, it's more than enough.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10

Masterlist

AO3

Tag List: @nahoney22 @commander-sunshine @sunshinesdaydream @padawancat97 @verndusk @sun-roach @coraex @lickylickylicky @homemade-clones @523rdrebel @clonemedickix @starrylothcat @moonwrecked @ladyzirkonia @stunkbiggu @cdblake1565 @ladytano420 @moonlightwarriorqueen @anxiouspineapple99 @clonethirstingisreal @dreamie411 @trixie2023 @cw80831 @ca77m3anna @reader6898 @kimiheartblade @dukeoftheblackstar @rinwritesfics @t3mpest98 @novas-daydreaming

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[the-bad-batch-baroness]

Where's Mommy?

Wolffe x Fem!Reader

Part 7

Summary: Wolffe's wife suddenly dies, leaving him a single father in the middle of a war.

Pairing: Wolffe x Fem!Reader

Characters: Wolffe, Cara (child OFC), Comet

Tags & Warnings: heavy angst, mention of death, off-screen death, spousal death, reader is not the spouse, grief, hurt/comfort, family fluff

Word Count: 1.1k

Author's Note: We are back to the Wolffe angst! (but did we ever really leave?) This part is really sad. I know I keep saying that, but this one actually made me tear up while writing it. I don't usually get emotional when writing emotional scenes, so yeah. Do with that what you will. As always, please enjoy 💚

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10

"Cara," Wolffe says. "I need you to go with Comet and pack some things from your room, okay?"

Cara looks up at him with a puzzled expression. "Why?"

"Because we can't stay here without mommy," he explains.

"Oh," she frowns. "Where are we going?"

"The Jedi Temple," Wolffe says. "We'll be staying with Plo for a while."

"I don't want to go," she pouts.

Wolffe sighs. "I don't want to go either, but we don't have a choice. Please, help daddy and go with Comet to pack."

"No," Cara whines.

"Come on, ad'ika," Comet says. He gets up off of the couch and stretches his arms over his head. "I bet I can pack faster than you."

"Nuh uh," Cara says, then jumps off of Wolffe's lap and runs toward her bedroom.

"Well, that was easy," Comet chuckles. He looks down at Wolffe. "You okay?"

Wolffe sighs. "Do you want a real answer?"

Comet frowns. "I guess that was a dumb question."

"I'm fine," Wolffe says, but his facial expression betrays his words.

Comet decides to change the subject. "How many boxes can she bring?"

"One," Wolffe says. "The Jedi aren't big on things ."

"Understood," Comet nods, then walks off to follow Cara.

"Oh, Comet," Wolffe throws over his shoulder. "Make sure the di'kute in the kitchen clean up their mess."

Comet smirks. "10-4."

Wolffe remains seated on the floor and fidgets with the carpet pieces again. Fine. He doesn't even know what that word means anymore. He used to, back when life was simple and fine just meant he wasn't dead. Now, he's not sure what to feel, how to feel, or how to deal with whatever feelings he's having. Sure, he feels sad when his brothers die, but something about this death feels much different. It's heavier, denser, tighter, and suffocating in a way he can't fully explain.

Unwilling to dwell on his unchecked thoughts, Wolffe grabs whatever box he can find and heads to his bedroom. He scrolls through the mental list he made and collects all of the obvious items he wants to keep. Some things are on the bookshelf, like her favorite holo-novel. Some things are in the dresser, like her nightshirt and a lingerie set he bought her for their first anniversary. And some things are on the bedside table, like the holo-photo album and her half-used chapstick.

He opens the bedside table drawer to check if there's anything hiding in it he wants and his heart sinks. His gold wedding band sits alone in the drawer. He almost forgot about it. He can't wear it most of the time, but usually he'll put it on when he's home. He didn't even get a chance this time around. He picks up the band and admires it fondly, reading the inscription and the date. His wife saved every credit she had to buy those rings for them. He carefully places it in the box.

Wolffe rummages through the closet next, pulling little bits and pieces of his wife out and places the most important items into the box. He only gets one box, so he has to make every spot count. He shifts a stack of clothes to the side and a data-stick falls off the shelf. He bends over to pick it up and studies it for a moment. Wondering what's on it, he plugs it into the holo-projector and sits on the edge of the bed. An image pops up and his breath is stolen as the recording plays.

Hi darling, his wife says with a warm smile while sitting next to Cara at their kitchen table.

Wolffe gasps, then covers his mouth. He remembers when his wife sent him this recording on Cara's third birthday. He was away on a mission, and wasn't able to look at it for a couple of rotations, but it made him so happy to see them both. He'd been on that mission for months and missed them dearly. He completely forgot about it until now, and can't believe his wife kept it all this time. She looked so beautiful that day, and Cara was all dressed up for her special day, too.

Today is Cara's third birthday, she continues, then looks at Cara. Say hi to daddy.

Hi daddy! Cara yells with a big grin.

"Hi baby," Wolffe says. It might seem stupid to say hello to a recording but he doesn't care. 

It's time to sing happy birthday, his wife says. Ready, Cara? Nice and loud so daddy can hear.

Cara nods her head and they both start to sing. Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Cara, happy birthday to you.

Wolffe's eyes turn misty and his body trembles as he tries to contain his emotions.

Now, blow out the candles and make a wish, she says.

Cara blows out the three lit candles and his wife claps.

What'd you wish for? she asks with a big smile.

Daddy come home! Cara yells towards the recorder.

Wolffe can't hold back the tears that roll down his face. He wishes he had more time with her. With both of them, together, as a family. It was too short. He didn't even get the chance to give his wife the life she deserved. She took care of everything while he was deployed, and he vowed to take care of everything when the war was over, but now… Every vow he made with her has turned to ash. Until death do us part was the promise, but now, death has claimed her.

Okay, Wolffe, his wife says. I know this needs to be short, so we're gonna say goodbye now.

"No," Wolffe's voice cracks. "Please, don't say goodbye."

Say goodbye to daddy, she says to Cara while waving towards the recorder.

Bye, daddy! Cara yells and waves.

"Please," Wolffe begs, his entire body shaking. "Cyare. Don't go."

Come home soon, she says, then blows a kiss. I love you, Wolffe.

The recording ends, but the last image stays. Wolffe stands up on shaky legs and approaches the projected image. He stretches out his hand to touch his wife's cheek, but his fingers pass through the pixels. He gasps, then tries again. This time to brush her hair with the palm of his hand, but it also passes through. It's an image. It's not real. She's not real. Why isn't she real? All he wants to do is touch her one more time and hug her one more time. To feel her warmth.

"I love you, too," Wolffe whispers through a shuddered breath.

Wolffe carefully pulls the data-stick out of the holo-projector and cradles it in his hands. Besides his daughter, this is his most prized possession. His wife's voice. He thought he'd never hear it again, and he doesn't know if it helped him feel better or made him feel worse. Regardless, he nestles the special memory into the box and surrounds it with his wife's other things to keep it safe from harm. If anything ever happens to that memory, Wolffe doesn't know what he will do. 

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10

Masterlist

AO3

Tag List: @nahoney22 @commander-sunshine @sunshinesdaydream @padawancat97 @verndusk @sun-roach @coraex @lickylickylicky @homemade-clones @523rdrebel @clonemedickix @starrylothcat @moonwrecked @ladyzirkonia @stunkbiggu @cdblake1565 @ladytano420 @moonlightwarriorqueen @anxiouspineapple99 @clonethirstingisreal @dreamie411 @trixie2023 @cw80831 @ca77m3anna @reader6898 @kimiheartblade @dukeoftheblackstar @arc-trooper-8008 @knightprincess @kell-of-storms @skellymom @grindeeloo @totallyunidentified @roboticsuccubus83 @totally-not-your-babe @rinwritesfics @t3mpest98 @asyas-daydreaming @vithe-potato @haybellewrites @unicorngirl17

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[the-bad-batch-baroness]

Where's Mommy?

Wolffe x Fem!Reader

Part 9

Summary: Wolffe's wife suddenly dies, leaving him a single father in the middle of a war.

Pairing: Wolffe x Fem!Reader

Characters: Wolffe, Cara (child OFC), Comet, Sinker, Boost, Warthog

Tags & Warnings: heavy angst, mention of death, off-screen death, spousal death, reader is not the spouse, grief, hurt/comfort, family fluff

Word Count: 1.5k 1.9k

Author's Note: I'm going to be honest y'all. I'm struggling with my health right now, so I don't think I did this part justice. It's a transitional chapter of mostly Cara just being a little kid and Wolffe having to deal with it. Nothing angsty, but we are headed towards more angst. As always, please enjoy 💚(EDITED 4/16)

Beta: Please meet my new beta reader/editor @beating-a-dead-plot!

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10

Wolffe packs up the rest of his wife's things, or at least, the pieces of her that he finds the most important. The box is almost full, and he knows Cara is going to have a difficult time leaving some of her things behind, so he decides to leave a little room if she needs it. Putting the box aside, he reaches for his duffle to pack his own belongings. At the very least, he can keep his duffle in the barracks. It's great for storing things that he doesn't care about losing or damaging.

With everything packed in either the box or the duffle, Wolffe scans the room one last time to ensure he didn't miss anything. He knows he'll never be back after today, and there is a lot he can't take with him. If he could fold up their entire bed and throw it into his duffle bag he would, but he can't. He snorts at the stupid thought while staring at the bed, then his eyes catch on his wife's pillow. If he squishes it, he can make it fit into his duffle, which is exactly what he does.

Now, Wolffe is sure he has everything that he can take with him. It's still not enough, though. How does one condense years of their life into a single box and a duffle bag? It used to make sense to him, during his time on Kamino. Clones are property, and property can't own other property, so he never had things outside of the standard clone-issued items he carried in his pack. His wife was the one who helped him understand that useless things could be precious.

With a heavy sigh, Wolffe slings the duffle over his shoulder and picks the box up off the bed. He walks to the bedroom door to leave, but stops in the frame, his feet stuck like they're sinking into quicksand. He turns and looks at the room. This is where she slept. This is where they slept. This is where they made Cara. When did he get so attached? It's just a room. When did goodbyes become this hard? He forces his feet to move and flips the light off for the last time.

On his way to the kitchen, his leg gets attacked by a ferocious child.

"Daddy!" Cara yells as she crashes into him and wraps her arms around his leg.

Wolffe steps back with his other foot to steady himself and Sinker quickly grabs the box he's holding before it falls on top of Cara. With the crisis averted, Wolffe releases a slow breath to calm himself as he feels the adrenaline course through his already stressed body. There's nothing that scares him faster than his daughter being in danger, even if he's the one causing the danger. He takes a moment to breathe, then slips his duffle off onto the ground next to him.

He bends down to peel his daughter off his leg and hoists her up onto his hip. "What's the matter baby?" he asks.

She cups her hands around his left ear and whispers loudly. "I need to tell you something."

Wolffe grimaces and tilts his head away. "Yeah? What's that?"

"I love you with my whole carrot," she says and she flings her arm around his neck to hug him.

Wolffe knits his eyebrows together and repeats the word under his breath. "Carrot?" Maybe he just lost his hearing in that ear.

Comet walks by with Cara's box and laughs at Wolffe's obvious confusion. He leans over and whispers in Wolffe's other ear. "Ka'rta."

Wolffe snorts and shakes his head. "I love you with my whole carrot, too, baby."

"Daddy, I'm hungry," she says.

"I knew that was coming," Wolffe sighs. He places her down onto the ground and walks off to find the pancakes he saved for her.

While making his way to the kitchen, Wolffe eyes Cara's box that's filled to the brim and then some. "Was there anything she couldn't fit?" he asks Comet, who is also looking for a snack in the kitchen. "I saved some room in my box just in case."

Comet doesn't turn around from his foraging in the cabinets. "I think she's all set." He pushes a box aside and grabs a cereal bar. "Had to make some adjustments to the baby blanket, but it went over well."

Wolffe nods to himself and sighs, but only because he's half listening and his mind is running in eight different directions. "Then I guess we're all set."

"Not quite," Comet says with his mouth full. Turning on his heels, he walks over to the hook on the wall where the flower print apron hangs and gently pulls it off. "I think Cara will want it someday."

The corner of Wolffe's lip raises in a small, but pained smile as Comet hands the apron to him. Wolffe scrunches the fabric in his hands and touches it to his face. It smells like memories, but not the same memories as her pillow. Different memories. Memories of warm food, cheerful laughter, drinks being snorted out of noses, brothers gathering together to share a meal, and love. So much love that it made the war feel like a fleeting dream that he could forget about.

Before Wolffe can be brought to tears by his thoughts, he pulls the apron away from his face and folds it gently, with reverence. Her memories deserve respect even if it's just a scrap of cloth. Once folded, he squats down next to his box and carefully places the apron in the empty space he left for Cara. She may not care about her mother's pillow or her chapstick like he does, but one day, she'll be able to wear that apron and remember how much her mother loved her.

Wolffe grits his teeth and pushes his emotions back before standing up. He places a hand on Comet's shoulder and squeezes. "Thank you."

Comet places his hand on top of Wolffe's and squeezes back. "You're welcome."

"Daddy!" Cara calls from the other room. "I'm hungry!"

Comet chuckles. "Better get a move on daddy."

Wolffe rolls his eyes and sighs. "Don't make me regret thanking you."

Comet shrugs with a self-satisfied grin as Wolffe walks past him and towards the conservator.

While Wolffe looks for the pancakes in the conservator, the doorbell rings and his heart sinks. It can't be that time already, can it? He knows they have to leave, but that doesn't mean he's ready for it. He wishes he had someone to tell him that everything will be alright, like he can with Cara. He can hold her, soothe her, and make her feel safe, but there's no one to do that for him, not anymore. His wife made him feel invincible during times of uncertainty, and now she's gone.

Boost answers the door and huffs. "It's about time you showed up."

"Well, someone had to take care of the battalion," Warthog retorts. "Not everyone gets to play uncle."

"Auggie!" Cara exclaims and runs to hug his leg.

"Ad'ika!" Warthog smiles and picks her up, rubbing his nose against hers. "How's the youngest member of the Wolfpack?"

"I'm okay," she says.

From the kitchen, Comet watches the exchange with a raised eyebrow. "Auggie?" he asks. "Why Auggie?"

"She doesn't like to say Warthog," Wolffe explains as he pulls out the bag of pancakes. "So, she shortened it... I think."

Comet crosses his arms. "How come we don't get cool nicknames?"

Wolffe rolls his eyes and places the bag of pancakes on the counter. "You really want to be called Come, Sink, and Boo?"

"Nevermind," Comet says. "I'm good."

Wolffe laughs and clasps a hand on Comet's shoulder. "That's what I thought."

Wolffe walks past Comet and over to the door to greet Warthog. He's not happy to see him, but that's not Warthog's problem, it's his. The general commed Wolffe not long after they left the hospital to let him know that he would be sending Warthog to pick them and their things up late morning and bring them to the Jedi Temple so they can get settled before the funeral that evening. The funeral. That's something else Wolffe has been trying not to think about too much.

Warthog bounces Cara in his arms and looks at Wolffe with concern. "You alright, Commander?"

Wolffe sighs. "That obvious?"

Warthog makes a knowing face. "Kinda."

"I've been better," Wolffe breathes.

"Daddy!" she calls while squirming in Warthog's arms.

"I'm right here, baby," Wolffe says. "What's the matter?"

Cara bends backwards in Warthog's arms to see Wolffe. "I'm thirsty," she whines. "And I'm hungry."

A lightbulb goes off in Wolffe's mind. "Cup," he says as he walks back to the kitchen. "I forgot her cup."

Warthog laughs and pulls Cara back upright. "You are a handful, aren't you?"

Cara scrunches her nose and wiggles to get out of Warthog's arms. "Daddy!" she screams.

Wolffe sighs. "Can you–"

"On it," Comet says and he walks over to the struggling pair. "Ad'ika, what happened?"

"Auggie is mean," she whines while pushing away from him.

"Auggie," Comet says with an accusatory tone. "How could you? She's just a kid."

"I didn't do anything!" Warthog exclaims, mildly hurt by the accusation. He grunts. "Here. You take her. I'm going to go pack their things in the speeder."

Comet shrugs. "Suit yourself." He takes Cara from Warthog and she settles down in his arms.

"I'm hungry," she whines again.

Comet sighs and walks them both into the kitchen, quickly finding the bag of pancakes sitting on the kitchen counter where Wolffe left them. He opens the bag with one hand and pulls out a colorful, yet oddly shaped pancake and gives it to Cara. She grabs it from him and starts nibbling on it. Warthog's arrival doesn't bode well just for Wolffe. It puts them all on edge. They all know the transition is going to be tough for Cara, but there are worse things on the horizon.

Cara easily downs the first pancake and Comet gives her another one. She takes a few bites, then gives it back to Comet with the explanation that she's full. He thinks about putting it back in the bag with the others for later, but then he feels his stomach growl and realizes that the little cereal bar was not enough. So, he pops the nibbled pancake into his mouth and eats it himself.

"Hey," Cara says. "That was mine."

Comet raises an eyebrow. "You said you were full."

"But it was mine!" she exclaims. "Daddy!"

Wolffe, with Cara's cup in hand, hears his daughter yell for him once again and decides it's time to take his child back from his overworked men. "Alright," he begins. "Auggie I can understand, but Comet? Now you're just being fussy."

Cara makes a whining noise and Wolffe trades Comet the cup for Cara, then takes the cup and gives it to Cara who drinks it down eagerly.

"See?" Wolffe says while running his hand through her hair. "You were just thirsty. And you probably need a nap, huh?"

Cara yawns and leans her head against Wolffe's shoulder.

"Is everyone ready to go?" Warthog asks as he steps back into the apartment.

The answer gets stuck in Wolffe's throat and he rubs Cara's back nervously.

"It's okay, daddy," she says and nuzzles her face into his neck.

Wolffe takes a deep breath. "Yeah, we're ready."

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10

Masterlist

AO3

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[the-bad-batch-baroness]

Hi ! Congrats on 300 followers !

Can I request :

Crosshair

Romantic

Fem!reader

sfw

300

Prompt #6 : "I'm here. I've got you. You're safe now."

optional : said by reader to Crosshair after he was rescued from Mount Tantiss (maybe after a nightmare)

Thank you so much and congratulations again ! <3 (And you don't have to do it if you don't want to, it's totally fine)

I Won't Leave You

Crosshair x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Crosshair x Fem!Reader

Tags & Warnings: nightmare, angst, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 300

Author's Note: CORA, I AM SO SORRY. I got so carried away trying to complete the bingo fics that I let the last three event requests sit idle in my inbox. However, as promised in my New Years post, I have finally completed it!!! Thank you so much for your patience and putting up with me. I hope you still like it 💚

Crosshair shoots up in his bed, screaming at the top of his lungs as sweat pours down his face. He heaves in his breaths and claws at the duvet to try and find reality, but the images from his nightmare refuse to dissipate from his mind. As he continues to search for safety, he feels a hand grab his arm and he begins to flail wildly, desperately trying to escape his nightmare.

"Easy," you say.

Crosshair tries to remember who the voice belongs to, but the room is dark and his mind is still groggy, so he continues to fight your grip as if you're an attacker.

You turn on the lamp on the bedside table and as his eyes adjust to the brightness, he finally sees who the hand belongs to. It's yours. You're holding his wrist and looking at him with concern in his eyes.

His body trembles as he settles and works to get his breathing under control.

"I'm here," you soothe. "I've got you. You're safe now."

Crosshair swallows hard. "I… I don't know what happened."

"A nightmare?" you ask.

"Yeah," he pants. "A bad one. From my time on Mount Tantiss. They did… things to me."

You suck in a breath. "That place is gone now. They can't hurt you anymore."

"But the memories–"

"Are just memories," you whisper.

"I can't…" he breathes while holding the side of his head. "I can't get rid of them."

"It'll take time," you reassure.

"Time," he says. "The one thing I don't have."

You pull Crosshair into your chest and scoot back against the headboard, wrapping your arms around him.

"You can try to go back to sleep when you're ready," you say. "I won't leave you."

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. "Thank you."

Event Masterlist

Masterlist

A03

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