#thinking of putting him in the wolfpack

[constellation-skirmishes]

everyone say hello to my boy

[rempesluck]

Via Tik-tok @/ellieschley.

[sadistic-sakamaki]

What do you want to be, really?

A Martyr.

Hey, quick question: are you okay? You know you don't have to burn yourself up to keep others warm...? Yes, a flashy end is a great one but have you ever considered living a fulfilling life? Sacrifices show appreciation, yes, but maybe you should take it easy. You don't have to keep showing off to be validated. Words can be loud even when they’re only whispered if you say the right thing.

Tagged by: @perennial-tenacity​  Tagging: Everyone!

[amjustagirl]

title: to rebuild a home pairing: kuroo x f! reader genre: angst / fluff, post timeskip! wc: 6.8k m.list

a/n: companion piece to the original love knows not its depth, from kuroo's perspective.

Kuroo Tetsuro is doing alright. 

He’s deftly juggling the roles life has handed him. His tenth wedding anniversary is coming up. He’s gotten a nice pair of earrings and a reservation at Tokyo’s hottest omakase for you to celebrate. The girls are doing nicely at school - Aiko’s grades are excellent, and Fumiko’s not gotten into any schoolyard fights unlike Bokuto’s trio of sons. His bosses seem happy with him too, paving the way for him to climb the corporate ladder rung by rung. He’s earned each promotion by burning days in the office, nights in the izakayas schmoozing with his bosses, but it’s worth it, even if it admittedly comes at the expense of being with you and the girls. 

It’s a sacrifice he has to make so he can provide you with the fairytale life he’s always promised you. Not that you’ve ever complained about the trade-off.  

“She’s the best wife and mom I could’ve asked for”, he tells Kenma, when the former setter asks about you. “I don’t know how she does it.” 

Kenma frowns. “You make her sound like a video game character.” 

“That’s cos she’s amazing -”

“Kinda sucks that she pretty much has to juggle a full time job and the kids on her own most of the time.”

“She manages perfectly well”, Kuroo enthuses, oblivious to the barb in his friend’s words. “By the time I get home, the girls are in bed, the house is clean, and there’s even a lunch box packed for me each day. She’s a rockstar at work too - should be up for a promotion next financial year.” 

“Huh”, Kenma sniffs. “I wonder when she gets a break.” 

Kuroo’s too distracted by the round of beers that’s delivered to his table to think deeply about his best friend’s apprehension. When he stumbles through the front door that night, he finds you crouched over the coffee table, frantically typing at your laptop. As expected, the girls are in bed, there’s nothing out of place. 

“All good?” he asks you in passing, his mind already filing the tasks on his plate for tomorrow - organising a publicity event jointly held by the JVA and Bouncing Ball Corporation to introduce new national team members, reviewing the proposed budget for this year’s international competitions, popping by the under-19 team to see if there are indeed any promising candidates - he’s already one foot in the bedroom, ready to call it a night. 

He doesn’t notice the violets blooming under your eyes. 

“Mm.” You don’t look up. “Have a good night.”  

Kruoo Tetsuro thinks he’s doing alright. 

Bokuto Kotaro, for some reason, doesn’t think so. “Mitsuki said you’re lucky you’re not married to her cos she’ll skin you alive”, he informs him, as if Kuroo shares his love for women capable of chomping his head off in one bite.

Maybe the Bokutos operate on a different metric - because yes, they’re the model of egalitarianism with Mitsuki the high powered general counsel for Kenma’s Bouncing Ball Corporation (based on his referral, he likes to add, cos’ it’s funny to watch Mitsuki growl) and Kotaro the part time coach, full time stay at home dad to his wolfpack of sons, but that doesn’t mean his marriage is on the rocks. 

As a child, he was the unwitting witness to his parents’ fights, which culminated in his mother walking out of the door, his father crying over a thick stack of divorce papers. His grandparents took him in, gave him stability and love and comfort but he swore to himself he’s never going to put his daughters through that. 

Sure, it’s been a while since you’ve had a night to yourself. The last time he remembers you taking time away from the girls was to go out for dinner with him to celebrate his latest promotion - his conscience stings a little that he can’t remember the last time you’ve taken a break from everything you’ve been doing for him and the girls, but he’ll make it up to you once he has time. You always understand. 

Still, just to be sure, he checks in on you again. 

“You alright?”, he reaches for your hand, when he climbs into bed that night. 

You’re lying in bed. He should find it odd that you’re still awake at this time of the night, staring up at the ceiling as if there’s something to be found there, but he falls asleep in the slow seconds, doesn't hear your response. When he wakes, you’ve already taken the girls to school. He gets himself ready for work, loops his tie around his neck, grabs his briefcase and the bento you’ve so lovingly packed for him, and hops on the train. He runs through his routine like clockwork, but there’s a niggling feeling that he’s missed something important, possibly something to do with you. 

Did you say something to him last night? 

It doesn’t matter. He makes a mental note to purchase a spa day for you - but that’s promptly forgotten when he’s greeted by a flood of emails and an invitation from his boss to go out for drinks that night. 

Kuroo still thinks he’s doing alright. 

“You’re lucky”, his boss toasts him. “Your wife doesn’t complain like mine when I go out drinking, even though I tell her I need to do it for work.” 

“She’s an angel”, Kuroo replies, quietly bursting with pride. “Never complains.” 

“Lucky man”, his boss says. “My wife is such a nag.” 

He misses the last train home that night, drops you a text not to wait up and stumbles around Shibuya trying to find a cab. It must be a busy night because by the time he manages to flag down one, it’s three a.m. and his head is pounding from the excess of alcohol and lack of solid food and water. He fumbles with his keys, almost falls through his front door when the lock gives way. “Tadaima”, he says out of habit, too-loudly, before his stomach lurches and he has to make a mad dash for the kitchen sink. 

“Tetsuro?” 

He wants to respond, but he’s too busy emptying out the contents of his stomach. He shouldn’t have woken you up. He shouldn’t greet you with a mess for you to clean up. He shouldn’t lean so heavily on you that you stagger beneath his weight. 

He shouldn’t do all of that yet he does so anyway. You tuck him, a grown man, into bed.

Tomorrow, he’ll apologise. Tomorrow, he’ll make it up to you. 

Tomorrow comes. He wakes up. 

You’re gone. 

Kuroo Tetsuro is not alright.

He’s ashamed to admit that he doesn’t even notice you’ve taken off until it’s way past lunch when your mother drops him a text to ask if he’s picking up the girls or if he intends to leave them with her overnight. 

“What d’you mean?” he texts her, confused.  

His heart stops when your mother responds to say you dropped off the girls at her place without much of an explanation, an overnight bag slung over your shoulder. You don’t pick up your phones, his calls going straight to voicemail. For the first time in forever, he sheepishly asks his boss for urgent leave from work so he can rush home to figure out what’s going on. 

You always take your laptop with you, but it’s sitting at home. He knows it’s an invasion of privacy, but he types in your password (his birthday), and your web browser reveals a booking for a ryokan in Hakone, where the both of you honeymooned almost a decade ago. It’s an hour away by train, far too much time for him to sit and stew in his thoughts. He wonders if you’ve become sick of your life with him, whether you’ve found someone new, and by the time he’s reached the ryokan and charmed the receptionist to let him into your room, he’s teetering on the edge of giving into his frustration, entertaining thoughts about yelling at you for being so goddamned irresponsible, cos how could you just walk out on him and the girls -

Until you walk in, thankfully alone. 

It strikes him that it’s the most refreshed he’s seen you look in a very, very long time. Your cheeks are glowing, your eyes sparkle, and there’s a spring in your step that he hasn’t seen since you’ve had the girls. 

Still, he can’t help but remain a little peeved. “I’ve been calling you all afternoon”, he informs you. “I was worried.” 

He immediately regrets his words as he watches the light die in your eyes. 

“Were you?”, you ask, as if you were addressing a stranger. “Really?” 

“Of course”, he frowns, slowly getting up to approach you, concerned when you start to sway. “You’re my wife and the mother of our girls, of course I care.” 

Laughter spills from your lips, an undercurrent of bitterness and contempt that’s threatening to drag you under before his very eyes. “If you really cared, you’d have noticed that your wife is broken”, you tell him between gasps, your shoulders caving in. “I tried fixing myself with a break, but you can’t even give me that.”  

He’s starting to realise that things aren’t alright at all. You flinch when he takes a step towards you, an action which stabs him clean through his heart because he’s your husband, your Tetsuro, your person. Tea, then, a neutral offering that manages to calm you down enough to take a seat, even if you’re still shaking, falling to pieces while laughing, laughing -

“Tell me what’s wrong”, he begs. “Tell me what I can do to fix you.” 

You take a sip of tea. It’s hot enough to burn you, but you don’t seem to notice. 

“I can’t do this anymore, Tetsuro.” 

“Don’t say that”, he snaps, his inner child recoiling because he can’t bear to have his girls go through what he went through, wondering if it was his fault, his very existence that caused his parents to split up. “The girls and I need you -” 

You don’t seem to hear him. 

“Princess”, he falls back on his pet name for you, rusty from lack of use. “Come back to me.” 

You’re unmoved, your eyes unseeing, deaf to his pleas. Sip after sip, you gulp down scalding tea, each action jerky, mechanical. Frozen, in an impenetrable placidness that he can’t read. You’re sitting right in front of him but you’re not really there at all.    

“Let’s talk when you’re back home”, he finally says. “Have a good break.” 

The immature little boy that still lives in his psyche is still unconvinced that it’s a bad idea to drag you back home with him posthaste, but you asked for a break, and it’s the least he can give to you.

You allow him to roll out your futon for you, to swaddle you in layers of blankets as if that would keep you from falling apart any further. As he kisses your forehead to bid you goodnight and goodbye, he feels the brittleness of your bones, the thinness of your skin beneath his palms and he spends the hour-long train ride home wondering how he managed to look away long enough for you to turn into a shadow of your past self.   

He goes straight to your mother’s house to retrieve the girls. As penance, he stands at the front door, head bowed, letting your mother yell at him in front of the neighbours for being a useless husband and an irresponsible father. After all, he deserves every word she flings in his face. He’s just thankful that she doesn’t ream him out in front of the girls. 

“Where’s mama?” Fumiko mumbles half asleep into his neck. “Want mama.”

He cradles her closer. “She’ll be home tomorrow”, he tells her, hoping with every fibre of his being that that does not turn out to be a lie. Aiko, older and wiser, just stays quiet, so he forces a smile on his face for her sake.  

Kuroo Tetsuro is far from okay.

The strain of the day wears on him and he’s sure there are burning emails in his inbox for him to firefight, but there’s a long list of chores to be done in your absence. The girls’ school bags need to be packed (in the case of five year old Fumiko) or checked (for ten year old Aiko), their uniforms to be laid out, the laundry sorted and folded. He barely gets any sleep before he has to hop out of bed to throw together a cold breakfast of milk and cereal that makes Fumiko burst into tears and Aiko’s face droops. By the time he shuffles his two cranky children out of the house and into their respective schools, he’s late for work. 

He meets Bokuto and Kenma for lunch since there’s no lunch bento waiting for him in the fridge, though he regrets the decision to leave the refuge of his work desk for the boardroom of Bouncing Ball Corporation when Mitsuki joins them and, sharp-eyed as ever, sinks her talons into him. 

“You look like shit”, she says to him as a greeting. 

“Thanks”, he grounds out. The girls demanded he work their hair into the neat braids they insisted you always do, so bedhead would have to do for him today. 

“I’ve never seen you without hair gel before”, Bokuto marvels. “You look weird.” 

“I had a crap morning, okay”, he snaps, biting the head off the karaage fish in his store bought bento, which he resents for tasting worse than those you usually make for him. “So I’m sorry if I look slightly less than presentable -” 

“You look like a man whose wife just left him - “ 

Mitsuki’s just stepped right on the wound he’s tried to keep hidden, festering and bleeding beneath his skin, so like an animal lashing out when it’s hurt, Kuroo slaps the table with both palms and snarls. 

“Don’t - don’t fucking say that, okay? She’s just taking a break. She’ll come home.”

He can’t stand to see the shock and pity on his closest friends’ faces. “She’s coming home today”, he repeats softly, almost to himself, as if he’s little Fumiko in need of reassurance that the person she needs most in the world hasn’t just abandoned her. “It’s gonna be okay.” 

Perhaps it’s the maturity that comes with fatherhood, because Bokuto is the first to react. “That’s right, you’re gonna be okay”, he soothes, pulling Kuroo into his seat. “Kenma’s gonna call your boss and tell him that you’re gonna spend the rest of the afternoon here to plan some event - “

“Sponsorship for the Under-19 team, done”, Kenma snaps his phone shut.

“Guys, I’m fine - ” 

“Pretending everything’s okay isn’t going to help.” 

Kuroo deflates. “Thanks, Kenma.” 

Shelving his worthless pride to lay bare the situation he’s found himself in, that by neglecting his duties as a husband and father, he’s forced you to the brink of a mental breakdown, bad enough that you’ve left him - temporarily, he hopes. In the span of a few hours, he’s already found himself at his wit’s end, struggling to handle both the demands of the kids and his job, something that he realises he’s left you to bear, alone. 

“But I can’t figure out why she didn’t just tell me she was feeling overwhelmed”, he says, pulling at a fraying thread in his shirt. “I would’ve listened. I would’ve done better.” 

“She shouldn’t have to tell you to do your part”, Mitsuki waves away Bokuto’s desperate gesture for her not to kick a man when he’s already down. 

“But I didn’t know -” 

“Y’know, I really can’t stand men like you. You guys are amazing at work, able to anticipate your bosses’ and clients’ needs. At this point, you don’t even need to be told by your bosses  to jump, you don’t even ask your clients ‘how high’ - yet, for some reason, you manage to turn off your brain the minute you walk in through the front door at home.”

 “Maybe I should ask her for a list of things I can help her with -” 

Bokuto claps his hand over Mitsuki’s mouth. “Ehhh..you might not wanna finish your sentence or Mitsuki might really bite your head off.” 

Kuroo winces, snapping his mouth shut. 

“Maybe you can think of it in a different way”, Bokuto says. “Instead of ‘helping’ her - cos that’s just placing the mental burden on her - at least, I think that’s the term Mitsuki-chan used when she explained it to me -” the affronted lawyer nods begrudgingly, and beaming, he continues - “you gotta do your half of the work!”

“Level up”, Kenma provides, rather unhelpfully.

“Open your eyes and use your brain”, Mitsuki says bluntly, rolling her eyes, though her tone is less sharp.

“Where do I start?” Kuroo asks. 

Step one. 

He picks the girls up from his mother in law’s place, bears with the lecture that’s awaiting him, and sheepishly asks them what their mama usually feeds them for dinner and breakfast, making a mental note of it. Tonight, he’ll cheat by feeding them gyudon at Sukiya, but he drops by the supermarket to procure the ingredients he needs for tomorrow’s breakfast and a bouquet of pink roses, even though he knows it’s probably too little, too late. He counts himself lucky that Fumiko loves bathtime, only needing supervision to wash and dry her hair, and Aiko’s responsible enough to work through her homework without prompting, but he’s still exhausted by the time they both head to bed. 

His job doesn’t end there. Running through the checklist Mitsuki begrudgingly allowed Bokuto to give him, he surveys the apartment, comparing it against the mental image of how everything was before you left it. Toys scattered, to be put back in place. Dust on floor, to be vacuumed up. A heap of laundry in the basket, to be hung, dried, ironed. 

Just as he finishes all these tasks, the front door swing opens. 

“Tadaima”, you call out, voice hushed. 

He nearly trips over his feet in his haste to relieve you of your luggage, usher you into a seat by the kitchen counter. “Okaerie”, he breathes, 

“The girls?” you ask. 

He’ll buy Bokuto lunch next time. “I picked them up from your mom”, he responds. “Don’t wake them up, I just put them to bed.” 

You peek into their rooms nonetheless. “Thanks”, you say, heading next to the fridge. “By the way, I’ll pay you back for the hotel room from my own money, don’t worry.” 

That’s the last thing on his mind. Besides, his sin is being a neglectful husband, not a miser. “It’s fine, I’ll cover it”, he scratches his head, embarrassed that you’re even bringing it up. “I should’ve realised you needed a break.” 

That makes you frown, but you accept anyway. He watches you stack bread, eggs, ham, cheese, and it strikes him that you’re already worrying about the girls’ breakfast when you look as if you haven’t even had your own dinner. 

“You haven’t had dinner?” he asks. 

You reply carelessly that you’ve had a bento on the train back. You don’t even bother to look at him. 

“I’ll take the girls in the mornings from now”, he tells you. “Sleep in and take a break.” 

That gets your attention. 

“Really?”

He plasters a confident smirk on his face to reassure you that he’s got it all in hand. 

“Oh”, you’re adorable when you’re confused, but he hates that he’s given you reason to doubt him. “Wake me up if you need my help?” 

“I won’t”, he promises. 

It’s time for him to level up.  

Step two. 

He’s not going to lie to himself that he finds it difficult to do even half of what you used to do. Taking over the responsibility of wrangling the girls out of bed and into school, coming home early enough for dinner with you, that requires him to have hard conversations with his boss about not being able to go out for drinks or come in early anymore which probably hurts his chances for his next promotion, forces him to give up an hour or two of sleep, but it’s worth it if it allows you to heal. 

“Don’t expect a gold star for your efforts”, Mitsuki warned him. “It’s just what you should’ve been doing before, so it’s time for you to go above and beyond.” 

He takes her words to heart. You deserve to go to work well-rested, to wind down at night with a hot bath. He’ll buy a robot vacuum and pour over its manual that’s thicker than a textbook, do laundry loads while hopping on and off conference calls, wrestle the iron to press down his own shirts. 

You seem baffled by the sudden shift in the winds, but he just pretends everything is normal. Business as usual. Things are just as they should’ve been. 

In his next push to right his wrongs, he organises a Saturday dinner date with you. The girls are packed off with your mother, he makes the reservation, books the cab, compliments your dress. He asks you about your work (tiring), your boss (a micro-manager), the books you’ve read recently (nada, zilch). In the uphill battle to keep the conversation from being stilted, he makes a fatal mistake. 

“We can make it work if you want to quit your job and stay home full time with the children.” 

In his mind, that was a reasonable suggestion to make since you seem to hate your job and boss with a fiery passion. But you stare at him wide-eyed, your initial confusion hardening into anger. 

“Did the guys at work tell you it’s easier to have a housewife instead of a working wife? Are you saying this because you don’t think I’m a good enough mother to our girls?” 

You don’t give him a chance to backpedal, shooting a sarcastic apology for being selfish enough to refuse to be reliant on him, so he just slumps back in his chair in defeat. 

“I just want you to be happy”, he murmurs. “Forget I ever said that.” 

Step three. 

To figure out step three, he schedules an emergency lunch meeting on Monday. The troops convene in Kenma’s boardroom to listen to his sorry tale with Mitsuki in charge of the post–battle analysis. 

“And remind me again, where did you two meet?” 

His face lights up at the memory of his first meeting with you. “Finance 102”, he replies. “We used to be academic rivals turned teammates after I convinced her I was smart enough for her to work with on projects.”

“What made you fall in love with her?” 

“As much as I hate it, I have to admit she’s probably smarter than me”, he says, though the fond smile that creeps onto his face betrays the fact that he loves that about you. “She’s just - her, she’s headstrong and funny. Did I tell you how she tried to stab me with her fork when I stole food off her plate -” 

“Only a million times”, Kenma interjects. 

“She’s always been independent and ambitious, with big dreams and an even bigger heart.” 

“Well”, Mitsuki says, adopting the mildest tone she’s used on him this month. “Does that sound like a woman who’d choose to stay home and depend on her husband? Not that there’s anything wrong with being a stay-at-home parent - Koutaro makes my career possible, and I’m the luckiest woman in the world to have him as my husband.”

“Babyyyyy.” Bokuto bawls, looking at MItsuki as if she hangs the moon in the sky. 

Gross. Kenma seems to agree. “Let’s get back to Kuroo’s failing marriage”,

“So I shouldn’t bring up the suggestion that she quit her job again?” 

His three person council shake their heads in unison. “Just keep what you’re doing”, Bokuto pipes up. “Sounds like you’re already doing the right things! Just gotta keep making sure she’s not holding up the sky herself.” 

He can do that. 

“And maybe talk to her?”, Kenma offers.

That’s the suggestion that he wants to dismiss right off the bat because he’s too much of a coward to even face the possibility that you might leave him. He doesn’t want to become his dad so he resolves to keep his head down and continue pushing ahead with his efforts to prove to you that he can be the husband you deserve, so you won’t wake up one day and decide to walk out on him again. 

But his subconscious fears force his nightmares into overdrive. Dreams of packed bags and stacks of divorce papers makes him yelp loud enough for you to roll over and shake him awake. He’s a terrible husband for disturbing your sleep, but in his sleep-dazed state of confusion he just sinks back into the pillow, exhaling a sigh of relief. 

“Thank the gods you haven’t left.” 

“Why would I leave?”, you mumble, turning away again. “It’s my home, isn’t it.” 

He sits up, rubs the nightmares away from his eyes. “I was afraid you left me.” 

The silence nearly suffocates him. The sudden need to know exactly where you stand eats away at him and he crawls towards you. “Are you going to leave me”, he asks, praying to all the gods in the universe that you’ll reassure him otherwise. 

His heart breaks anew when he hears a small sob, buried in the bedclothes. “I don’t know, Tetsuro”, you finally say. “I’m tired of being alone in a marriage when it’s supposed to be us working together.” 

“I’m sorry.” There’s nothing much he can say. 

A broken whisper. “I’m tired”, you exhale. “I think I deserve better.”

“I’ll make it better”, he promises. 

He will. He will. 

Kuroo Tetsuro is trying his best. 

He takes a cooking class on the weekends to learn how to prepare bento boxes that are nutritious and easy on the wallet. He takes over the ferrying of Fumiko to her swimming lessons, work on Aiko’s art projects with her. He hires a part time cleaner to pick up the deep cleaning, so you and he have time to take the girls out on weekend outings instead of spending all day on a week’s worth of cumulated chores. A dishwasher appears in the house. He makes it a game for he and the girls to load and unload dishware each night. 

“There’s a networking wine night for finance next Wednesday”, he tells you casually. “I’ll make sure to be home so you can go, if you want.” 

You goggle at him. 

“Go schmooze so the world knows you’re as amazing as I know you are.” 

You trust him enough to leave the girls behind in his care and go. He counts that as a win. 

Some nights he still can’t get home in time for dinner, but he always makes sure he’s home in time for a bedtime story and a goodnight kiss. Aiko avers that at the grand old age of ten, she doesn’t need her papa to tuck her to bed anymore, but she sidles into Fumiko’s room everynight and sits in the corner of her little sister’s bed as the littler girl listens to his tall tales. 

“I met a princess when I was eighteen”, he says with a grin when he notices you listening in. “Instead of a crown, she armed herself with a fork, ready to cut down anyone who’d cross her.” 

His heart skips a beat when he hears your voice from the doorway. “Don’t be dramatic”, you interrupt, a small smile growing on your face. “You were trying to steal my food and didn’t stop ‘til I stabbed you.” 

Fumiko huffs, unhappy that her story’s being interrupted, but he can’t seem to tear his gaze away from you. “You left it on the table, princess. I consider that fair game.” 

“Let ‘to-san tell the story, ka’san.” Aiko grumbles. 

He savours your laughter. It tastes better than the finest wine. 

“I can’t believe I have to fly all the way to Italy just to meet Kageyama-kun”, he huffs. “At least Hinata is meeting us there, I’ll revolt if I had to go up to Brazil as well.” 

“You know it can’t be helped”, you reply. “The promotional activities planned need your presence, and it’s only for a week.” 

“Will you be okay when I’m gone?” 

His fears melt away when you hand him his suitcase, a flask of his favourite tea. “I’ve always managed fine. Nothing’s changed.” 

His little monsters, realising that he’s about to leave, decide to launch a synchronised attack on him. Aiko throws herself at him in a bear hug. Fumiko yanks at his sleeve demanding a thousand kisses. 

“Yes, well. I’ll be home soon. Please wait for me” he says to you when the girls finally release him. The expression on your face is unreadable, but you don’t pull away when he takes the liberty of taking your hand in his. 

He feels your heartbeat accelerates. You glance up at him, almost shy. “I’ll see you soon.” 

He’s so tempted to call his boss and pretend that he’s too ill to get on that damned flight, but he’s pretty sure that would get him fired. Instead, he calls you and the girls every day, and brings home a luggage full of presents for all of you. 

When he’s home, he celebrates by putting on the frilliest pink apron he’s ever seen (courtesy of Yaku, who sent it to him all the way from Moscow as a joke) and throwing an elaborate takoyaki party, replete with customised toppings - octopus, cheese and shrimp, which the girls enjoyed even if he burnt the first batch and had to call Fukunaga frantically for tips to rescue the rest. It turns out to be such a success that he makes it a weekly event. Okonomiyaki is next, which he flips with expert confidence on a hot plate to the applause of you and the girls. 

“Itadakimasu”, you clap your hands together. “It tastes good.” 

He nearly melts into his pan. “Thank you”, he replies. “It means a lot, coming from you.” 

His nights are still plagued by nightmares.

Things are better with you, he likes to think. The violets beneath your eyes are replaced by roses in your cheeks. He hears you humming about the house again. You pick up reading again,  the shelves in the house start to groan under the weight of books belonging to the girls and you. You’re as eager as the girls to go on the next adventure, whether it be a summer night out in the park with sparklers, or a nerf gun battle at home on rainy days. 

Still, he doesn’t know for sure what he’s doing is enough for you and he’s too much of a coward to check. So he’ll wake up almost every night, fumble in the dark just to make sure you’re there. 

You’re there, until you aren’t. 

It’s three in the morning. The space beside him is cold and empty. 

He throws off the blankets, trips on his bed slippers. He crashes through into the living room and oh, there you are - sitting at the dining table, typing furiously at your laptop while mouthing off to yourself about the ridiculous demands your client makes. 

“What’s wrong?” you frown. 

He walks towards you, trying to discern that you’re real, you’re there, not some trick of the light.. 

“You’re - you’re still here.” 

You nod slowly, eyeing him strangely. “My boss called and asked me to send out an urgent email. I was just about to go back to bed.” 

He exhales, tries to force his trembling heart back into his chest. He thinks he’s doing a good job trying to act nonchalant, smoothing back his frazzled mane of hair, but you see right through him as you always do. 

“Tetsuro”, you say slowly. “Is everything alright? 

The truth tumbles out of his mouth. “I thought you were gone.” 

Then he hangs his head, looks at his feet, afraid that he’ll only see rejection in your eyes. He’s a pathetic failure of a husband who has a decade’s worth of sins to make up for, and there’s no justification for him to selfishly to seek your absolution. 

It comes anyway, in the form of soft hands pulling him forward. 

“I’m here”, you say, pulling him into your embrace, letting him rest his heavy head in your lap.

He doesn’t allow himself to sink into your warmth. “Are you happier now? Are things better for you?” 

“Yes”, he hears you say. The tension he’s been carrying around these few months lifts. “Thank you, Tetsuro. I appreciate it. I really do. You don’t have to work yourself to death - that’s never what I was asking for. If you’re tired -”

He shakes his head at your suggestion. He’s got a long way yet before he earns any reprieve. 

“Tetsuro -” 

He sits up abruptly, takes your hands in his. 

“Promise you won’t leave me”, he pleads. “I know you’ve had to carry what must’ve felt like the weight of the entire world on your own, and I don’t have any excuse for that.”

“You don’t”, you agree. 

He accepts the blow but he takes comfort that you don’t pull away. “I know that now. I know now how fucking hard it was to do it all alone.”

“It was hard. It was so, so hard, Tetsuro. I became numb to the pain. I don’t think I was functioning, I haven’t been for a while. For a long, long while.” 

“I’m sorry”, his voice cracks. 

“I know.”  You cup his face in your hands, offers him comfort he doesn’t deserve. “That’s a chapter of our marriage that’s past, that can’t be unwritten. But the past few months have been different. You’ve shown me that you’ve changed.” 

The first glimmer of sunlight after a long, dark winter. Hope blooms with your smile. 

“I think”, you say. “I think we can make this work again.” 

He stares at you, dumbstruck. Then the fact that you’re giving him another chance dawns upon him, and he crashes forward to rest his head on your shoulder, unashamed to cry tears of relief. 

“Thank you”, he exhales brokenly. “I won’t fuck this up again, I promise.”

You press a kiss to his forehead, curl up trustingly in his arms. “Don’t thank me”, you laugh. “Thank yourself for making me believe in you.” 

 He drinks up each drop of your affection, falls asleep in the cradle of your arms. 

“Is this what flirting is like?” 

He wakes up to Aiko’s impertinent question, her hands on hips looking distinctly unimpressed at finding her parents asleep on the sofa, entwined together. 

“Who taught you that word?” Kuroo asks, aghast that his ten year old daughter even recognises the existence of the opposite gender. 

Aiko sticks her tongue at him, and he’s too distracted by Fumiko taking a flying leap onto the sofa with them, chattering a thousand miles an hour about what’s for breakfast and whether they can go to the zoo this afternoon - though he pins his suspicions on Bokuto’s trio of sons. 

“Monsters”, he says. “Can’t even give your to-san a break to snuggle up to your pretty ka’san.” 

The girls shriek in dismay - Aiko, at being a witness to further gross displays of affection between her parents, Fumiko, at being called a monster despite being a self-proclaimed princess. You prod at the soft flesh between his ribs. 

“Don’t be mean”, you admonish him. 

He sniffs, taking the chance to draw you closer. “I’m cranky in the mornings unless I get a morning kiss.” 

You snort, swatting at him. “You make it sound as if kisses contain caffeine.” 

The girls giggle, but he protests. 

“Full of nonsense”, you tease, but you kiss him, again and again and again. 

Things settle into a steady, sustainable pace. 

You refuse to allow him to bear the weight of the household on his back alone. There are frank conversations to be had about what each of you can realistically handle without burning out. He leads the charge in the mornings, whipping up breakfast with the aid of his two sous chefs, building an expertise in braiding and french twists that could possibly allow him to moonlight as a hairstylist. You, on the other hand, take charge of evening pick-ups, cooking dinners, supervising homework and art projects until he comes home and tags you out. 

Chores are evenly split. He doesn’t allow you to assume the mental load of organising the household by yourself. “We both have a degree in business management”, he likes to remind you, because he now knows that remembering to run errands, scheduling appointments - all of this is work too. 

You force him to take breaks. If you get to relax with your friends, so should he. “If you get too stressed, you’ll lose your hair and we can’t have that.” He yelps when he imagines himself bald and obediently complies when you call Kenma up, talk him into getting him and Bokuto and Akaashi (when he’s feeling less morose about his singlehood) to go for a round of pick up volleyball. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself”, you note wryly when he returns home crowing about how he stuffed an Olympic player with a kill block. 

“I did”, he replies, catching your hips to pull you in, cheekily ignoring your complaints that he’s sweaty. “But I enjoy coming home to you even more.”

“Gross”, you grumble, but you seem content to remain in his arms. 

It’s another small moment he treasures. Life, he learns, is made of moments, both big and small. He’d made the mistake of only focusing on the big ones - graduation, playing at nationals, the day he was lucky enough to marry you, each of his daughter’s birthdays. Now, though, he cherishes each moment, each second he has with you and the girls, no matter how little, no matter how small. 

He likes to come into the bathroom each night, leaning his elbow on the edge of the bathtub as you chat to him about your day, luxuriating in the bath he drew for you. You and he take turns to complain about life’s inconveniences as you clear emails once the girls have gone off to bed- colleagues who shirk their work, bosses who nitpick overmuch, washing everything down with steaming cups of herbal tea. 

“Are you happy?”, he asks you, night after night. 

“Mm”, you say with an impish grin. “I’d be happier if you let me put my toes on your calves.” 

“They’re freezing”, he groans but scoots over anyway. “Better?” 

“Much better”, you hum, content. “Life is good.”

He’s not remiss in planning the big moments too. 

A year passes quickly to your wedding anniversary. He packs your suitcase, books the train tickets and whisks you back to the ryokan in Hakone, though this time he upgrades you both to their largest suite. “I feel like a princess!” you exclaim, twirling about the room. 

Your happiness is worth every yen he spent. 

You spend the day strolling down avenues lined with cherry blossoms, Mount Fuji looming in the backdrop, the evening exchanging heated kisses in the private onsen he booked. You’re older now, with laughter lines creased into your forehead, grey streaks in your hair, but you’re still the same girl he fell in love with all those years ago. 

“And you couldn’t wait ‘til we got back to our room?” you smack him. 

He also loves how there’s fire burning bright in your eyes, the way it always used to. “You kissed me first!” 

“You kissed me second!” 

“I don’t hear you complaining”, he cackles. 

You try to shush him, to no avail, as he draws the attention of everyone around him.

“What a happy couple”, an obaa-san remarks out loud. “They must be newlyweds.”  

Well, she’s not wrong. You’re as radiant as you were fifteen years ago, his spring bride, but he’s an old man doddering on, hopefully with his edges sanded off with time. “Just your regular old, married couple”, he chortles when you’re safely back in the room. 

“A happily married couple”, you reply, serenely sipping your tea. “That obaa-san definitely got that part right.” 

There’s a lump in his throat that he can’t swallow. “Are you happy?” he manages to ask anyway. 

“With you?” Your smile is warm, bright. Always.”

Both of you are doing alright.

a/n: it's been a while, hasn't it. i've been alright - how are you guys doing?

[crazyk-imagine]

Hi, I was thinking Jacob Black x Reader. Where Jacob was waiting for Reader to come out of school till he heard commotion in front of the school and saw Reader fighting a bully who is a guy. She has a bruised lip and bleeding nose. Jacob hurriedly pick up Reader and take her to Emily’s so she can chill out and so Emily can patch her up. The pack saw her and they started asking questions till Emily started lecturing her.

Jealousy and Pack Scolding's

Pairing: Jacob Black x Uley!reader

Characters: Jacob Black, Uley!reader, Paul Lahote, Jared Cameron, Embry Call, Leah Clearwater, Seth Clearwater, Quil Ateara V, Brady Fuller, Collin Littlesea

Warnings: Angst, fluff, Paul being an idiot, Sam not liking the imprinting, this was actually kind of cute, I think I made Jake a likable character (for me), Emily is an angel, Sam and Emily are my fav, reader has avoided making eye contact with Jake bc she has a crush, Sam knows whats up, Embry just wants his imprint, Paul is such a big brother here, love writing for the wolfpack, it's so much fun, reader knows about imprints

Word Count: 2,431

A/N: Ask and you shall receive... this was fun and totally not inspired by Jake fics where he's a little jealous shit

I've aged probably everyone sooo, Sam is 26, Emily is 25. Leah is 23. Jared and Paul are 19 (in a nearby community college) and just one semester from graduating. Jake, Reader and Embry are 18. Quil, Seth, Brody are 17. Cam and Seth are 16

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He kicks his bike stand up, so it stays upright while he waits for you to exit the school. He crosses his arms, not wanting anyone to talk to him, hoping he looks “menacing” enough for his classmates to get the hint and steer clear of him.

He knows Quil and Embry made their way back to Emily's since Sam wants them to do their patrol shift as soon as they can once they finished with their last class.

He couldn't complain much considering he was able to go home and change before heading back to pick you up so he could successfully switch shifts with Embry, which annoys him since Sam basically ordered him to pick you up.

He’d be more okay with it if you two were friends- or even talking; he doesn’t know why he was put to the job since you two aren’t close- or at least, compared to Jared and Paul.

Jake did recently find out (after complaining to the guys when their alpha wasn’t around) you’re Sam's niece and Emily has taken a light to you, thinking of you as her own daughter.

And the only reason he thinks that is because of how she treats you; it always reminds him of the way his mom took care of him and his sisters when they were younger.

Don't get him wrong, he has no problem with that or the way she treats you, he's more curious than anything since you haven't been talking to him.

It kind of bugs him that you talk to Paul and Jared more than him and isn't sure why. He gets the two shifted before everyone, but you've started talking to Embry and Quil so why not him too? Hell, you’ve even started making small talk with the newest shifters Brady and Collin.

He thinks this is why Sam sent him here, so he'll stop moping around about you and not just because the pack is tired of hearing how sad he is with you not talking to him.

The chanting, "fight, fight, fight," overtakes his sense in waiting for you and he steps closer.

He stops behind the wall of people, checking on who's fighting, curious as to who's stupid enough to fight on school property.

The fist flies to your face and he starts fighting his way to get past the people blocking him from getting to you.

You spit, not wanting the copper taste to remain in your mouth. You turn your head back to David, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of feeling like he won.

You kick his upper thigh, right above his knee and knock him down before pulling your arm back and drive your fist as hard as you can into his cheek.

He falls and cups his cheek, whining about the pain and the fact that he's bleeding.

"Talk about my family again and you'll be bleeding more."

Jacob finally breaks through the crowd and pushes David's friend away before the guy could grab you. "Back off," he growls.

The friend raises his hands in defense and backs away, noticing how buff he'd gotten and knows better to not fight Jacob.

He turns to you, smelling blood on you and cups your face, searching to find the damage, ignoring your eyes as the blood from your lip drips further down your chin. "Come on."

He puts you on the back of his bike and starts it before kicking the kickstand.

-

You unwrap your arms and get off the bike, trying to put distance between you, Jacob, and your home.

He grabs your wrist, "where do you think you're going?"

"Away."

"Just because you want to hide your face from Emily and Sam, doesn't mean you can run away."

"I can still try." You tug on his arm. "Let me go."

"No, you need to go in there and face them."

You stop fighting and he lets go of you, trusting that you won't leave. "I don't want Sam to be disappointed."

"Did you pick a fight with David on purpose?"

You shake your head, "of course not."

"Then he won't be disappointed... as long as you talk to him."

"Says the guy who fights him every chance he gets."

That earns a chuckle from Jake. "Says the mousy niece."

You scoff, shoving his arm. "Hey, I'm not mousy."

"This is the longest conversation we've ever had."

"That's your fault, you're always mopey."

"I am not."

"Are so."

"Am"- You walk through the door.

Emily's voice interrupts yours and everyone else's conversations. "I'm happy to see the two of you are talking." She smiles with a twinkle shining in her eye that quickly dies as soon as she catches sight of your face.

"Oh my- what the hell happened to you?" She grabs your chin, tilting so she can look at your face. "Who did this?"

Paul tenses, Jared tries to see over her shoulder.

Embry and Quil walk through the back door and glance at one another with concern evident on their faces once they realize what’s happened.

"Don't tell, Sam," you reply, staring into her eyes, practically begging her not to tell him.

"Don't tell me what?"

You grimace and then wince because your adrenaline has worn off and the pain has surfaced. "How much I love you?" You say without turning.

"I don't buy it." He wraps an arm around Emily, pecking her cheek. "Did you cut your finger again?" He asks with the scent of blood wafting through the room.

"Uh-" She catches your eye as she glances down at her hands. "Maybe, I don't know."

You attempt to sneak away while he's distracted and fail.

"Turn around."

You pout, keeping your head low as you turn.

"Lift your head."

"I like staring at my shoes while they're clean."

He grumbles your name under his breath.

You lift your head and sigh. "I may have gotten into an altercation at school."

"What the hell happened?"

"That's what I was asking before you got here?" Emily chimes in. "And I was avoiding it then."

"What did you do?"

You scoff, "I didn't do anything, you dick."

"That is no way to talk to your uncle," she tells you.

You stare at her, "I'm going to give him the same respect he gives me," and turn to him. "Which is none."

You exit the room when you realize none of you are going to be able to have a proper conversation and make your way to your room, slamming the door behind you.

-

"What happened while you were waiting for her?" Sam towers over Jacob, attempting to search through his mind to figure out what could have happened.

"I don't- I don't know. I was waiting and then I heard the other kids chanting, fight and then I saw her get hit and then take down David-"

"Wait- she was fighting David?" Jared chimes in with a smile.

"He deserves it," Paul adds.

"Guys a grade A asshole," Embry says before snacking on a muffin.

"So, this fight was valid?" Sam asks, wanting to understand everything he's learned within the last five minutes.

"No, it wasn't valid because fighting isn't the solution, is it boys?" Emily turns to the boys at the table.

"No," everyone answers.

"Good," she smiles.

"But this hasn't happened before? What's happened? This David- or whoever clearly said something for her to act out."

"He was talking about my family," you tell them, leaning against the wall with your arms crossed.

"That doesn't give you enough reason to fight," she tells you.

"It does when they start making fun of your dead parents and uncle who's running a cult."

They purse their lips.

"How do you feel?"

You shrug, "my fist and face are aching, so I'd say I did something right."

She sighs. "Fighting isn't the answer."

"I know that!"

"Then why did you do it?"

Your emotions cause you to snap. "I was tired of him thinking he could still bully me!"

She takes a few steps closer to you. "This has been going on for a while now. Why didn't you tell us?"

"I didn't want either of you to walk into the principal's office thinking you could stop it when it'd only make things worse," you grumble.

"We could have found another way to stop him from making comments."

"I took care of it the only way I could."

"There's always more than one way-"

"I know," you run your fingers through your hair in a frustrated manner. "I wasn't thinking but he wouldn't shut up. He waited a few months, giving me a grievance period but then he started talking shit again and today he wouldn't leave me alone."

"Why didn't you tell us?" Jared asks.

"Yeah," you scoff, "because I wanted you guys to help when the hothead is one fight away from being expelled. Everyone still thinks those two," you point to Embry and Quil. "Are weird because they suddenly got buff and had a haircut. Don't even mention the fact that Jake along with Brody and Cam are the new talk of the pack."

Sam sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. "Just, go clean the blood off as best you can, and Emily will wrap your wounds."

"I already did."

"Then go get the first aid kit and bring it in here."

You walk back into the bathroom throwing everything you’d laid out on the counter back into the bag and aim for the kitchen. "Heal me with your magical powers, Em."

She smiles and wraps an arm around your shoulders as she guides you to the island so she can use the natural light to check over you. "Does this hurt?"

"Not yet."

"Okay, let me know when it-"

You suck in a deep breath through your teeth.

"Hurts. You okay?"

"Peachy, Em."

"I know you had to defend yourself today, but fighting isn't always the answer."

"Yeah, I know," you reply with an attitude.

"I'm just reminding you, so you don't continue hurting yourself. You're not like the others, and I don't like seeing you get hurt."

"Thanks, Emily," you wrap your arms around her and pull her in for a long hug.

She smiles, returning the hug. "Don't go getting into fights again or else I'm going to bubble wrap you."

You chuckle. "As long as you save me from a Sam lecture."

"Deal." She slides the plate with muffins, closer to you. "Eat something first."

The guys shake their heads at your behavior.

"Does this mean I can hang out with you guys?"

"You hang out with us already," Jacob points out.

"Cliff diving." You unwrap your muffin.

"Absolutely not," your uncle tells you.

"Come on."

"No,” Sam shakes his head.

"Guys," you beg, turning around to look at the others.

"We're not getting involved in that," Paul raises his hands, heading towards the couch.

- Extra -

"Wha-"

"I'm with Paul," Embry tells you, pulling Quil with him as they sit beside Jared.

You turn to face your knight in shining armor. “Jake-”

He turns away from the others and glances back at you, the humor falling from his face.

“Oh, shit,” Jared mutters.

“Are you serious?” Embry whines.

You owlishly blink trying to figure out what’s happened when he falls to his knees. You set your muffin down and push yourself off the stool to stand in front of him. You poke his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

“It’s you,” he mutters.

You raise your head and face the others with a scared and confused expression. “Guys, what the hell just happened?”

Paul smirks and looks away.

Jared buries his face with a muffin.

Embry and Quil face the tv, not wanting to see how things plays out.

Brady and Collin walk through the door.

“Holy shit,” the former says.

“Congrats, Jake. You finally got your imprint,” the latter adds.

“What?” You spin around to face Emily. “Imprint? That’s what just happened?”

Sam rubs a hand over his face. This was the last thing they needed.

“Did we- did you not know?” Brady asks you.

“Does this look like the face of someone who’s in the know? Does it. Brady?”

Collin pulls his buddy away before you can rip their heads off.

“I think we need to talk,” Sam says, pulling Jacob off the ground. “Outside.”

You three stand on the porch, trying to wrap your heads around the whole situation.

-

“I don’t know what this means,” you tell them.

“This means, no being alone in your room. No sneaking out after curfew. No-”

“Sam, we’re not dating. This doesn’t apply to us.”

“It could,” he says, finally snapping out of his mind.

“What?”

“It- the imprint bond doesn’t happen by accident, it’s the joining of when two soulmates find each other.”

“So, we’re soulmates?”

He nods.

“I thought you were in love with Bella?”

“I was.”

“And now you’re not? You couldn’t have moved on that fast just because of this bond.”

He sighs, “I know this is going to be a lot of work, but I want to get to know you whether we go out or not… even though dating you-”

The clearing of someone’s throat cuts him off.

He sheepishly smiles, rubbing the back of his head. “We’ll talk more later.”

You can’t help but giggle and wince soon after.

He’s kneeling in front of you in seconds, searching for any sign of pain. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. My lip is going to be the kill joy of my existence for a few days but I’m fine.” You place a hand on his shoulder, “thanks for pulling me out of there when you did.”

He shakes his head, “it was nothing.”

“It was more than you know, and I know you were only there because Uncle Sam made you, but I still wanted to thank you.”

He can’t help the wide smile that stretches across his lips. “I’ll always be there for you.”

-

Sam throws you over his shoulder. “Babe, where’s the extra wood I keep for the winter?”

“Back room, why?” She asks, watching as you beat on his back.

“I’m locking some doors.”

“Sam, no!” You screech. “Boys, help me.”

“He’s the alpha, what he says go,” Paul tells you.

“You suck, Lahote.”

“You’re gonna be swallowing, princess.”

Paul has never shifted and ran out of his alpha’s place as quickly as he did today.

The others lose their minds as he runs all around, nearly bumping into the clearwater siblings as they head towards the place.

-

Tag list (if you'd like to be added or removed, don't hesitate to ask)

@kmc1989 @gilbertgirl13

[kwop-kilawtley]

EVERYTHING we love about bella is stripped away by Edward and vampirism. Her clumsiness, her blush, her brown eyes. The way she loves the sun and Arizona. She loved to cook and now she will never eat again. She hated the cold and now she is cold stone. Edward discards her truck and replaces it with a brand new Mercedes’ she didn’t even like. Which always felt like symbolism to me. Some may see it as an upgrade, as a nice gift… but Bella never wanted it. Think of how EXCITED she was to get that truck and how uncomfortable she was then with the Mercedes. If Bella wanted an upgrade, SHE SHOULDVE PICKED THE CAR. But no.. Edward literally just DISCARDED IT. Bella never liked flashy things or parties but now she’s subjected to that forever.

I think it’s fucking insane that people will say theyre Team Edward cause they’re not “anti-choice.” What did y’all read bc….. what. Just because Bella chooses to be a vampire? To die? She was OBSESSED with the easy way out. She was obsessed with Edward cause they were trauma bonded and she had such horrific self esteem. Just cause Bella chose to be a vampire doesn’t make it a good thing. It is a tragedy and always will be to me. Unless you never gave a fuck about her as a human I suppose. 😗✌️ Bella is an unreliable narrator and was under vampire thrall. Bella was severely traumatized by Edward and felt worthless as a human. Bella had a chance to grow with Jacob and she WOULD HAVE. But she would have PTSD that she could work through. You may be like “she would’ve never gotten over edward.” Yeah she would’ve and she would’ve realized that him haunting her was all Stockholm syndrome.

I’m not “anti choice” for acknowledging Bella’s choice was the wrong one. ExB’s relationship ruined lives, killed people, put the wolfpack through literal HELL and eventually enslaved the wolfpack to them. All for “love” LMAO! It wasn’t love, it was obsession, bloodlust, trauma bonding, low self worth, co dependency.

Anyway. I started a Breaking Dawn rewrite fic where Bella realizes all this shit and heals.

[sadiecoocoo]

Thinking abt an au where Rex and the 501st adopts Boba instead of letting him go to jail… I feel like Rex has a lot of the mando genes urging him to adopt feral children

Fives would tease boba and say that he’s like a little angry tooka

Tup would be happy to not be the youngest anymore and would be really sweet to him

Hardcase and fives would both help him cause chaos

Echo would try to teach him some of the regs but end up letting him do whatever because he has cute little tooka eyes that works very well

Rex would treat him sort of how he treats the domino twins, but would probably be more openly affectionate and would make sure that he’s never on the field (he totally doesn’t steal boba from the barracks and lets him sleep in Rex’s quarters and holds him like a pillow… it’s okay Boba likes it, he missed having a dad)

boba would try to sneak out on campaigns, but the 501st all collectively agreed that clone or not Boba was their baby brother and he is not going to an actual battlefield

they also have a teensy bet on who boba actually listens to the most (it’s echo but Fives refuses to accept it)

Anakin, to Rex’s dismay, would teach him how to be a pilot

Ahsoka would help with any chaos

The 212th would try to get him transferred to them because they want a baby brother too but Cody would just say “we already have a baby brother (Wooley) and they’d probably kill us if we took Boba”

Plo Koon would start trying to get the Wolfpack placed in more campaigns with the 501st and Wolffe also starts helping with a bit of chaos (both Wolffe and Boba are biters and you can’t convince me otherwise)

A lot of them would ask what Jango was like and Rex would storm up and cuff them on the back of the head because “wtf this kid is still grieving give him a god damned minute”

And yes they put him in the center of the clone piles when Rex doesn’t steal him (Rex will join usually anyway)

But the bad thing abt this would be when one clone doesn’t come back… after the citadel Boba would’ve been devastated to hear about Echo. After Umbara he would’ve been crying himself to sleep from all the deaths. When Ahsoka left he would’ve clung to Rex or one of his brothers because what if they leave too?

Boba is a hurt child and needs his brothers to fully heal, but when he’s with his brothers he can still get hurt

[dickarchivist]

Lullaby of the Wolffe

Wolffe × GN!Reader

Word Count: 1087

Playlist: Lullaby of the Wolffe

Rating: PG Fluff, but as always Minors DNI 🔞

Contents and Warnings: Insomnia, growing panic due to Insomnia, service animal (charhound), intrusive thoughts, swear words, soft Wolffe, potentially OOC Wolffe, fluff, hurt/comfort, soft sleepy singing

Summary: plagued by anxiety, you can't sleep. Despite your best efforts, Wolffe wakes up beside you. Instead of being angry, he offers you a Lullaby to try and help calm you down.

Author's Notes: The other night I had really bad panic Insomnia and I wanted a comfort fic tailored to my bullshit. I decided it would be a good idea to make a playlist of songs I felt like Wolffe would sing to me in a soft baritone while rubbing my back and trying to soothe me out of my panic. Now that I've made it through the night, I'm writing the fic to go with the playlist. Please enjoy both! I hope you get some rest.

Taglist: @anxiouspineapple99 @wolffegirlsunite @wizardofrozz @eclec-tech @dystopicjumpsuit @clonethirstingisreal @wings-and-beskar @multi-fan-dom-madness @starrylothcat @n0vqni @sev-on-kamino @mythical-illustrator @523rdrebel @littlemissmanga @atomickidsoul @moonwreckd

You can't sleep.

You went for a run. You hit the gym. You walked your charhound. You read a whole book, from start to finish. Cooked meals for the whole week, cleaned the house top to bottom, The laundry was even folded.

You can't sleep.

It wasn't for lack of trying. You'd lay in your bed, but as soon as you'd turned off the distractions, you were alone, and everything else came rushing in to attack you.

"You left the stove on. No. Not the stove, the oven. What's that smell? Are you burning the house down!?" You jump out of bed, run to the kitchen, and there's nothing wrong. The place is just how you left it. That burning smell was the crisp charcoal smell of your service charhound, Soot. You mentally kick yourself, how could you be so stupid? You know that smell, you've known it since she was a pup...

Back in bed. Okay, you think, okay this time will be it. This time you'll sleep.

"You forgot to feed Soot. Useless stupid owner how could you do that to your own baby?" But Soot is asleep at your bedside, her belly warm with her meal. You lay back down. You try to sleep.

You. Can't. Sleep.

Tears well in your eyes and you scream. You're so tired. You can't believe how exhausted you are and yet not a single moment of rest finds you. Soot gets up and puts herself in your arms to keep you from getting distructive. Her higher temperature keeps you warm, but all you feel is cold. You don't sleep a moment all night.

You feel sick, you're sluggish all the next day, because of course. You couldn't sleep. It's been 52 hours. The first day you could hide it, the second it started to show, but today... today you're with the wolfpack. If Plo Koon doesn't bring it to anyone's attention first, you know that Wolffe won't let it slide when he sees you. You've never wanted to stay away from the steely eyed commander more than today.

"You look like hell." Wolffe actually takes his helmet off to get a look at you, and it makes your stomach hurt when you see the concern on his face.

You sigh, roll your eyes, "Thanks. Go away." and turn away from Wolffe, trying to focus on your own work.

"No." His voice is hard, and you want to lash out, but when he grabs your wrist and turns you around, all your anger dissolves at his orders, "Tell me what's going on. Now."

Tears welling in the corners of your eyes, you try to blink them away, try to act tough, but you break under his gaze. "I can't sleep!"

You sob, hard. Wolffe jumps when you rush forward to close the gap, pressing your face against his chestplate, arms clinging around him, and openly sobbing. He hesitates, but eventually puts his arms around you, rubbing your back. It's so comforting, but it only serves to make you cry harder. It makes you realize just how touch starved you've been...

"Alright Cyar'ika, why can't you sleep?" You didn't know his voice could be so soft...

"I d-dont- dont know!" When you pull back, he holds your cheek, rubbing away tears. You close your eyes, and try to breath a little more evenly, "I h-have Insomnia, a-and it's been a few days since-"

"Days?!" Wolffe barks, now holding your face in both hands, "Kriff- you're coming with me."

He grabs your wrist, hauling you through the hallways of the ship. He opens a door to reveal a vacant sleeping quarters, and your stomach drops. "N-no, Wolffe, you don't get it... nothing is going to help, and especially not without Soot here, I won't be able to fall asleep. It's hard enough with Soot, but alone, I can't-"

"Shut up." You do, looking away bashfully, until the door closes behind the two of you, at which point Wolffe starts to take off his armor, "Get in the bed."

You blush wildly, covering your eyes, "Wolffe I'm sleep deprived, not- not sex deprived, I'm really sorry if I misled you but- s-stop laughing!"

"Cyar'ika, we are not having sex. Just getting my armor off so I'm comfortable too. Get in the damn bed, you'll see." Wolffe takes your hands from your eyes and leads you over to a bunk.

He helps you down, takes off your boots, and guides you to lay down. Your face is still hot when he gets into the bed with you, and he earns a squeak from you when he handles you into a cradled position. Your head rests on a pillow between yourself and his arm, comfortable for both of you. His other arms curls around you and you feel his hand rubbing soothingly up and down your back.

"I could use a rest, and you definitely need one. Get some sleep... that's an order." He chuckles at the last part, and for a moment, you think this might actually work.

Unfortunately, as soothing as it is, Wolffe's presence did nothing to stop the panic Insomnia. As soon as it's quiet, your mind starts racing. Thoughts of guilt, of shame, thoughts that this is all pity, that he didn't want you because you're undesirable, that-

"Cyare, quit squirming. What's going through that head of yours?"

"E-everything..." damn it. You didn't even notice your movements, but they'd been enough to wake Wolffe, "Once it's quiet, I can't sleep... can't stop the thoughts..."

There's a long, painfully quiet moment where you think you've said something wrong, until you hear Wolffe take a very deep breath. He kisses your forehead, whisping on your skin, "If you tell anyone about this I swear..."

It starts as a hum, a familiar tune rumbling in his chest. Eventually it builds, and he's whispering the song to you. You pull away a little, looking at Wolffe in awe, "Are you... singing me to sleep?"

"If it works." He kisses your forehead, encourages you to get comfortable again, and then picks up his song again once you're secured to his chest.

You don't even notice when you fall asleep. And you don't know how long you slept, but it was peaceful. Restful. You don't even remember the dreams you had, if you had then at all.

"Hey there Cyar'ika, sleep well?" Waking up in his arms, that's what really felt like a dream.

"Thanks to you, I did."

[atopvisenyashill]

please please PLEASE elaborate on greywind as robb's husband. i feel like this take unlocked the option to 3d rotate robb within my mind...

Robb the Warg

Something I think is overlooked, largely because we don't get to look into his head (and he never confides in Bran or Catelyn about it) is that robb, like his siblings, starts the series by being given this supposedly divine animal companion that he shares a soul with. during the events of the first few books, all of the other starklings are accidentally warging and we see it affect them - they’re afraid, curious, getting used to eating raw meat in wolf form, and throw themselves into Identifying As An Animal. some quotes here, although none of this is stuff we all don't know-

Gendry nodded. Hot Pie said, "Hoot like an owl when you want us to come." "I'm not an owl," Arya said. "I'm a wolf. I’ll howl."

And later, when she's ready, Arya isn't the one to howl but another wolf-

When he stopped moving, she picked up the coin. Outside the walls of Harrenhal, a wolf howled long and loud. She lifted the bar, set it aside, and pulled open the heavy oak door.

Which leads us to think that perhaps it's Nymeria, that Arya made Nymeria howl, and perhaps Arya can still warg - something that is confirmed in the next book when Arya has dreams of leading a wolfpack and finds her mother's body, with Nymeria guarding it from being eaten by other wolves. Later on, Arya skinchanges into a cat in braavos while she's blind-

The priest winced and snatched his hand back. "And how could a blind girl know that?" I saw you. "I gave you three. I don't need to give you four." Maybe on the morrow she would tell him about the cat that had followed her home last night from Pynto's, the cat that was hiding in the rafters, looking down on them. Or maybe not. If he could have secrets, so could she.

We have several scenes where both Arya and Bran identify as wolves, and even howl alongside wolves. Rickon too howls along with the wolves, and his behavior becomes noticeably more animal like.

And of course we have jon snow, who even despite having visions of opening his third eye, meeting other skinchangers, and being involved in magical plots, is actively ignoring his own abilities. It's basically common knowledge at the Wall at this point, even Stannis comments on it-

“Aye. All that, and more. You are a warg too, they say, a skinchanger who walks at night as a wolf.” King Stannis had a hard smile. “How much of it is true?”

SO ALL OF THAT TO SAY....if Jon, Arya, Bran, and Rickon, all of whom have living wolves, are skinchanging regularly, if all these kids are practically steaming with magic...why isn't Robb? Well....he is! And the thing is, he hints at it to Bran-

"Did you hear Summer howling last night?" "Grey Wind was restless too," Robb said. His auburn hair had grown shaggy and unkempt, and a reddish stubble covered his jaw, making him look older than his fifteen years. "Sometimes I think they know things … sense things …" Robb sighed. "I never know how much to tell you, Bran. I wish you were older."

Like Arya's initial re-settling of her bond with Nymeria in the Riverlands, like Jon's continued refusal to admit how much power he has, Robb doesn't understand what he's doing, can sense something off about the wolves, but can't quite put it into words. Later on, some of the men remark on how Robb was able to find the goat trick around the Golden Tooth-

"How did the king ever take the Tooth?" Ser Perwyn Frey asked his bastard brother. "That's a hard strong keep, and it commands the hill road." "He never took it. He slipped around it in the night. It's said the direwolf showed him the way, that Grey Wind of his. The beast sniffed out a goat track that wound down a defile and up along beneath a ridge, a crooked and stony way, yet wide enough for men riding single file. The Lannisters in their watchtowers got not so much a glimpse of them." 

It's from a Frey, and just a rumor, right? Except later on, Jeyne makes this comment to Catelyn-

"Robb has not eaten all day. I had Rollam bring him a nice supper, boar's ribs and stewed onions and ale, but he never touched a bite of it. He spent all morning writing a letter and told me not to disturb him, but when the letter was done he burned it. Now he is sitting and looking at maps. I asked him what he was looking for, but he never answered. I don't think he ever heard me. He wouldn't even change out of his clothes."

Does that behavior sound familiar? It should because Bran also does this when he's warging - not only does he go still for hours, but he usually forgets to eat because he eats through Summer, something Jojen and Bran even talk about.

But that's the problem - Robb has no Jojen, no wildlings, no Jaqen, no Osha to tell him what the hell he's doing and that magic still exists. He's completely lost in the political story and cut off from any magical ties despite actively doing magic. And I think this weights heavy on him because while Arya and Bran, for example, start to identify more as animals, as wolves, as their warging powers go stronger, Robb shies away from this-

"A hall is no place for a wolf. He gets restless, you've seen. Growling and snapping. I should never have taken him into battle with me. He's killed too many men to fear them now. Jeyne's anxious around him, and he terrifies her mother." And there's the heart of it, Catelyn thought. "He is part of you, Robb. To fear him is to fear you." "I am not a wolf, no matter what they call me." Robb sounded cross. "Grey Wind killed a man at the Crag, another at Ashemark, and six or seven at Oxcross. If you had seen—" "I saw Bran's wolf tear out a man's throat at Winterfell," she said sharply, "and loved him for it."

Why is he so cross? Perhaps because he's losing the ability to differentiate between himself and the wolf he regularly shares a mind with, controls? Perhaps because he's killed inside that wolf's head? Perhaps because he thinks he's going crazy?

And of course, his final moment that echoes Jon's - Robb whispers Grey Wind's name, Jon whispers Ghost. And just like it's guessed that perhaps Jon whispered Ghost's name because he's about to actively slip into Ghost's skin for the first time so his body can heal without his soul inside it, Robb is slipping into Grey Wind in his final moments. As Varamyr points out, this is common with skinchangers - a second, much more simple life when your first is ended.

So all this to say - Robb is actively warging Grey Wind throughout the series and starts losing his own sense of self in Grey Wind.

Grey Wind as Robb's Wife

Okay but what does this have to do with their bond? Well the thing is...Grey Wind does not exist outside of Robb. Nymeria, Summer, and Ghost both go off on their own; Nymeria practically has her own plotline outside of Arya, and Ghost goes on a number of little adventures all by himself. But Grey Wind begins and ends with Robb. Much like how Catelyn refers to Ned as the rock her life was built on, how she died with Ned at the ending of agot, Robb is the rock Grey Wind's life is built on, and Grey Wind follows Robb into the grave just moments later.

Not only this, but Robb the Brother and Robb the Warg as identities start to get subsumed into what Bran calls "Robb the Lord" and eventually Robb the King. Because Robb sees this war as his identity, his reason for being, I think he sees himself as almost a liberator - he owes his existence to the brutal murder of the man who was supposed to be his father and his grandfather, as well as the kidnapping & murder of his aunt that anyone with eyes can see completely upended his father’s ability to Feel Happiness Normally. For robb, this war is about not saving his family, but righting all the wrongs and indignities that have ever been done to the north - and when you factor in how quickly the Riverlands flock to him, I think this adds to his resolve because the riverlands is soooo vulnerable and no one’s ever been able to get a handle on them, to properly protect them, not the Targaryen kings, not the petty kings but maybe HE can. It's as Catelyn says-

There would be no peace, no chance to heal, no safety. She looked at her son, watched him as he listened to the lords debate, frowning, troubled, yet wedded to his war. He had pledged himself to marry a daughter of Walder Frey, but she saw his true bride plain before her now: the sword he had laid on the table.

So he’s struggling with magic and identity just like everyone else, and at the same time being subsumed into this other identity of Robb the Lord, Robb the King. I think for a long stretch of time this means he’s combining these identities of Robb the Warg and Robb the King and viewing Grey Wind as his partner, his soul mate, his other half. AKA….his spouse. His husband. His true bride. All of this while he’s using Grey Wind not as a pet or even a defender (contrast to Jon who sends Ghost away when there’s battle or danger!) but as a weapon! But this isn’t because he sees Grey Wind as non sentient, not important, just an animal, it’s because Robb the King, Robb the Warg, it’s all tied up in his head in confusing & horrifying ways.

And that's the exact dynamic most noble marriages have! Men in most of Terros and especially in Westeros see their wives not as independent people but often as extensions of themselves. It’s why Viserys, Robert, Jon Arryn don’t see the “betrayals” at their wives hands coming, it’s why Catelyn phrases criticism in her head as “Ned would have done this", it's why the Khaleesis are required to go to Vaes Dothrak when their husbands die. And so the more Robb sees Grey Wind as his Partner In War, and the more he’s having these impossible true dreams where he is one with Grey Wind, the more Grey Wind is essentially playing the role of a Westerosi Wife for Robb. Summer, Ghost, and even Nymeria have like, lives of their own but Grey Wind is always in the same place as Robb, feeling the exact same things as Robb. Even moreso than Summer, Ghost, Nymeria, Shaggy, and Lady, Grey Wind seems to pick up on Robb's every emotion. He attacks Tyrion because Robb is angry, he bares his teeth at Catelyn when Robb gets cross with her more than once, and very often there's lines like ~Robb stalked from the room and Grey Wind padded along beside him~ or something to that effect.

What's really interesting is that when Catelyn gets back in ASOS, Robb has sent Grey Wind to the kennels because Grey Wind scares Jeyne - the moment Robb marries, he sends his wolf away. He's lost faith in Grey Wind's magical abilities after the "murders" of Bran and Rickon, the murders which sent him to Jeyne's bed in the first place and he says as much-

"I found them, remember? I know how many there were and where they came from. I used to think the same as you, that the wolves were our guardians, our protectors, until . . ."

And the moment Robb is separated from Jeyne, Grey Wind is back at his side, and Robb seems to not only prefer Grey Wind to his anxious little wife, but Grey Wind seems almost annoyed at the imposition of Jeyne-

The day was damp and grey, a drizzle had begun to fall, and the last thing he wanted was to call a halt to his march so he could stand in the wet and console a tearful young wife in front of half his army. He speaks her gently, she thought as she watched them together, but there is anger underneath. All the time the king and queen were talking, Grey Wind prowled around them, stopping only to shake the water from his coat and bare his teeth at the rain. When at last Robb gave Jeyne one final kiss, dispatched a dozen men to take her back to Riverrun, and mounted his horse once more, the direwolf raced off ahead as swift as an arrow loosed from a longbow.

Catelyn remarks that Grey Wind is at his side ones more - "where he belongs" - and from that point until they get to the Twins, Grey Wind remains at Robb's side. Every single scene afterwards mentions Grey Wind with Robb, whether Grey Wind is growling at someone, scouting ahead, or just receiving some scratches from Robb.

And they remain together until the day they both die.

[the-bad-batch-baroness]

Where's Mommy?

Wolffe x Lilith Sestri (OFC)

Part 11

Summary: Wolffe's wife suddenly dies, leaving him a single father in the middle of a war.

Pairing: Wolffe x Lilith Sestri (OFC)

Characters: Wolffe, Cara (child OFC), Comet, Sinker, Boost, Warthog, Plo Koon

Tags & Warnings: heavy angst, mention of death, off-screen death, spousal death, grief, hurt/comfort, family fluff

Word Count: 1.3k

Author's Note: PLEASE READ! I have made the decision to change this series from a reader fic to an OC fic. I've spent a lot of time thinking about this and it's not something I decided on overnight. I don't believe I can do the narrative justice by staying in the constraints of a reader fic, and my first duty is always to the narrative. I'm sorry if this upsets anyone, but trust me, having to go back and re-write everything into third-person past-tense was not on my to-do list. I realize I do not have an OC option on my taglist sign up form. This has been fixed. If you would no longer like to be tagged in this series, please let me know. All of the parts will be updated along with the corrected tags before the next part is posted in two weeks. I apologize for the inconvenience. As always, please enjoy 💚

Beta: @beating-a-dead-plot

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After the long trek up the Jedi Temple steps, Wolffe placed Cara down onto the ground and let her walk beside him, but he securely held her hand. The Temple still made him feel uneasy, but with a little gentle prodding from Plo, and after passing by several clone troopers, he decided to release Cara's hand and let her walk on her own. He kept one eye on where he was going and the other on her to make sure she didn't wander off on him. She had always been a curious child.

As Plo guided the group through the Temple halls to their new quarters he told Cara a little story that made her giggle and laugh. It warmed Wolffe's heart to hear her laugh and he soaked up as much of it as he could. She had been through so much already, and the funeral was going to ruin any chance of him hearing her laugh in the near future. It wasn't like he laughed much either. His wife was the one who laughed the most, but it was contagious and he always caught it from her.

Along their journey, Wolffe had to stop Cara from touching things that didn't belong to her. She wanted to touch everything within reach and most of it belonged to the Jedi or someone else. The rest of the Wolfpack found it amusing and snickered every time Wolffe veered off from the group to grab his wandering child. He'd never been on babysitting duty before, but his wife made it look easy when they went out together so he thought it wouldn't be an issue for him. He was dead wrong.

"Cara," Wolffe sighed as he sprinted over to her once again. This time it was a cube-shaped shiny-looking object sitting on a table. "If you don't stop walking away from me, I'm gonna have to carry you."

"Look! It's pretty," Cara said as she picked up the cube and admired it.

"It's not yours," Wolffe said. He took the cube from her and placed it back down where she found it.

Cara pouted, turned away from Wolffe, and crossed her arms. "But it was pretty…"

Wolffe's eyes softened and he crouched down to her level. "I know, but just because something is pretty doesn't mean you can take it. That's called stealing."

Cara turned back to face Wolffe, still pouting. "Is stealing bad?"

"Yes, it is," Wolffe said. "The Coruscant Guard can put you in jail for that."

"I don't want to go to jail!" Cara gasped and put her hands behind her back. "I don't like Fox."

Wolffe tried to hide a snort, but failed miserably. "Don't worry, baby, you won't. As long as you stop touching things that don't belong to you."

"Okay," Cara said. She reached her arms up for Wolffe to pick her up and he obliged.

Wolffe fell back into step with the rest of the group as Plo continued to direct them through the Temple. With so many twists, turns, and hallways it wouldn't be easy for Cara to leave the temple, even by accident, which was one of Wolffe's major concerns about getting deployed. Actually, he had a whole list of concerns, but he could only focus on one at a time. He never used to be such a worrier, not with his wife around, but now, so many things could go wrong if he wasn't there with her.

"We have arrived," Plo said as he stopped and turned to face a plain door in the hallway.

Wolffe was pulled away from his thoughts when he heard his general's voice and realized that he'd been walking on autopilot for the last stretch of the journey. He'd have to access the Temple maps later to make sure he knew where all of the entrance and exit routes to and from the room were. He'd memorize the entire Temple layout if he had to. He refused to leave any of this up to chance. There was too much at stake. He couldn't stay focused on a mission if he was thinking about Cara's welfare.

Wolffe placed Cara down and took a hold of her hand. This was new for the both of them, but they'd do it together, even if it was scary. Plo opened the door and Wolffe did an immediate visual scan for threats and initial observations. It was spacious compared to any living quarters the GAR had ever given him, but it looked rather restricting for Cara, who had lived her whole life in a multi-room apartment. It was a simple layout with a bed, a desk, a wardrobe, a window, and, thankfully, no enemies.

Cara grabbed Wolffe's leg and stepped behind him to hide. He could tell she was nervous, but so was he.

"Daddy," her voice trembled. "I want to go home."

Wolffe twisted his neck around to look down at her and sighed. He gave her an encouraging pat on the back and walked forward into the room with her following behind. "This…" he began, but hesitated. "This is home now." The words tasted bitter even for him, but if he was going to convince Cara, he needed to convince himself first. It definitely wasn't home. Not by a longshot. Home was their apartment. Home was pretty curtains and smelly flowers. Home was a warm meal. Home was his wife.

"Out of the way!" Sinker shouted as he barreled past Wolffe and Cara. "Man with a box coming through!"

Cara giggled and Wolffe shook his head as the rest of the Wolfpack filed into the small room.

Boost plopped down onto the bed and bounced on it with exaggerated motions. "This bed is super soft. Softer than any bed I've ever slept on. You should feel it!"

Cara let go of Wolffe's leg and ran over to the bed to try it out for herself.

"Look at this!" Warthog exclaimed over his shoulder. "There's a window too. You can see all of Coruscant from up here!"

Cara hopped off of the bed and ran over to look out the window. She was just a tad bit too short, so Warthog picked her up so she could see.

Comet walked into the room last and pulled open the doors of the wardrobe. "Wow," he said with a big smile. "Lots of space in here, too. You're really staying in luxury, ad'ika."

Wolffe crossed his arms and leaned against the doorframe, shaking his head as a small smile crept onto his face. What was once a terrifying situation was now an exciting adventure thanks to the Wolfpack. They knew he was scared just as much as Cara was, even if he'd never admit it, and their exaggerated display had not only eased her fears, but some of his own as well. She was smiling, giggling, laughing, exploring, and seemed fine right now. They saw her fear and shot it point blank like the good soldiers they were.

"Commander," Plo said, interrupting Wolffe's thoughts. "If you will excuse me, I have a briefing to attend."

Wolffe's small smile turned into a grimace. "Understood," he said. "I'll grab my kit."

"No need," Plo dismissed with a wave of his hand. "I will take the sergeant with me. You are much more needed here."

Wolffe looked at Sinker, who nodded in agreement. "I'll report back when the briefing is over."

"And I will meet you all on the terrace in a couple hours," Plo said, a sadness invading his voice.

Wolffe nodded in response and watched as the two left. He worried his lip and wondered what the briefing was about. Normally a briefing meant they were about to deploy, but he hoped that this time it was the slim case where it wasn't a deployment order, because the thought of leaving Cara so soon burned a hole straight through his gut. They still had the funeral to deal with, and he couldn't abandon her after that. It would make him a deplorable father and human being, but a very good soldier.

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[clu-ven]

The Closet

Summary: The Wolfpack is sick of the constant arguing between you and Wolffe, so they take matters into their own hands. Surely if you and the Commander were accidentally locked into one of the supply closets, you’d come to some sort of middle ground, right?

Well, there’s one thing they’re forgetting… you’re claustrophobic.

TW: small spaces, claustrophobia, panic attack 

Word Count: 4.7k

-> Reader uses she/her pronouns - masterlist can be found here <-

“It’s the perfect plan!” Boost exclaims, slapping the table in front of him for emphasis. 

The mesh hall is relatively crowded today, many hungry troopers finally getting some time to relax after another tough mission. Despite the loud chatter of the room, Sinker keeps his voice low. 

“I’m not sure,” he concludes with the shake of his head “it sounds risky and Wolffe is in a bad mood as it is, I don’t want this to make him worse”.

At the other side of the table, Boost shares a mild look of annoyance with Comet. “C’mon Sarge, this solves all of our problems!” Comet replies with a whine. It took him and Boost the past week to come up with this plan, putting more time into it than they’d like to admit.

With a deadpan voice, Sinker replies “Oh so this will end the war? And kill Dooku? And wash the gunships? Each and every problem we have will be instantly solved if we lock them in a supply closet?”.

Boost shrugs, trying to stay optimistic “You never know”. Sinker scoffs, rolling his eyes at his brother. 

The plan was simple but Comet and Boost couldn’t do it alone. They needed Sinker for this to work. Sighing, Boost leans across the table “Look, all you have to do is get her into the closet on the lower deck, that’s it”. 

Sinker is still unsure. “We’ll get the Commander, shove him in there, lock the door and ta-dah! Job done” Comet adds. 

This doesn’t sound like a good plan. Sinker knows that but it is enticing. He’s not sure if he can handle another mission full of you and Wolffe’s bickering, the two of you proclaiming you can’t stand the other.

Missions would be much easier if you both avoided each other but no, despite the constant arguing you two engage in, you will still insist on being near one another, whether that be sharing the same holomap (which is an absolute nightmare to witness) or standing next to one another in a briefing (which leads to you interrupting him and vice versa for the entire. damn. briefing.).

Sinker wants to say no, to put a stop to his brother’s shenanigans but would this do any harm? Maybe if you both got the opportunity to confront one another and get all of this arguing out of your system once and for all, then you might come to some sort of middle ground and let bygones be bygones.

“If I agree to this…” he begins and Boost impulsively throws his fist in the air “Yes! You're in!”.

“I said if…” Sinker says sternly “if I do this then the two of you have to wash the gunships”.

Boost nearly falls off his seat “H-how many are you expecting us to wash, Sarge?”. 

“I want four done by the end of the next rotation”.

Although Comet has never experienced a heart attack, he’s sure this is how it feels “What?! Four? C’mon Sinker, be reasonable”.

He folds his arms “Boys, if you want my help then that’s what it’ll cost ya”. Exchanging looks to one another, Comet huffs “Fine, we agree”.

***

The sound of your name makes you look up, eyes wide as you scan the corridor. Manoeuvring through some troopers, Sinker comes into view. 

Closing your datapad, you give the Sargeant your full attention, a relaxed smile on your face. 

“Sinker, what can I do for you?” You ask.

A flicker of sympathy crosses Sinker’s face as he answers “Well, I was just wondering if you could help me get some batca patches from the supply closet. There’s a whole box in there but, well, y’know me, I accidentally pushed them behind the shelving unit and now they’re stuck between that and the wall. Do you think you could get them for me?”.

“Yeah, sure,” you reply, so quick to help that it makes the ball of guilt in Sinker’s stomach grow “lead the way”.

While usually you and Sinker always find things to talk about, he’s strangely quiet during your walk to the lower deck. It’s not something that alarms you but instead, it worries you. 

It’s no secret that things have been intense lately. The missions have gotten deadlier, injuries are harder to aid and the Separatist army seems to be growing more and more by the minute.

Even something as simple as accidentally knocking some bacta patches behind a cabinet seems like a dire problem nowadays. 

“It’s that one, just up ahead” Sinker slows his pace, pointing at one of the closets. 

“You’re not coming in?” You quirk an eyebrow, slowing your pace to match his. 

“Hm? Oh… uh, no I have to go help the General with something… sorry, I should’ve said that beforehand” he scratches the back of his neck, preferring to look down at the floor.

“That’s ok, you go on ahead, I’ll take care of this” with a firm nod, you open the door to the closet and disappear inside. Once Sinker’s certain the door has fully closed behind you, he lets out a long sigh. Kriff, that was harder than he thought it would be.

The inside of the closet is dark, the dim lights taking a few seconds to boot up. In your time serving the GAR, you’ve been on a multitude of ships, covered with the most cutting edge technology and yet in each and every ship, the closets are always neglected. 

They’re a second thought in comparison to the other elements of the ship. Cluttered floors, racks that are full of various stock that are probably out of date, a musty smell in the air, dull lights that are incapable of doing their sole purpose. It’s not a place you want to be for a long time.

Trying to look behind the metal shelving units, you mumble a curse. It’s dark behind the cabinets with barely enough space between them and the wall for you to fit your arm through.

Stooping down, you reach into the darkness, trying to find this damn box of bacta patches so you can quickly leave again. 

You’re so invested in finding the box, you pay no attention to the voices outside. “Why would the General want to meet me in there?” A voice says and without missing a beat, another voice replies “I’m not sure, Commander, I thought it was best not to ask”.

Behind you, the door opens but with the position you’re in, it’s hard to turn around and look. “I haven’t found it yet,” you call out “kriff, how far back did it fall?”.

The person doesn’t reply. 

“I know you’re really busy just standing there and all, Sinker,” you huff “but I’d really appreciate some help”.

“Sinker?” the voice scoffs, making you freeze. Clumsily removing your hand from behind the cabinet, you stand up straight and come face to face with Commander Wolffe.

You have to admit, you didn’t think you’d come this close to him, your chest almost bumping against his as you sway backwards to give him some space. “Oh! Commander-“ you start but Wolffe talks over you.

“I know us clones all look the same but the last time I checked, Sergeant Sinker has silver hair and both of his biological eyes”. You can hear the venom in his voice, his tone laced in sarcasm as he continues “Just a tip, so you don’t mix people up next time”.

You can’t help scoff, retorting “Mix people up? I wasn’t even looking at you! Am I just supposed to sense how many biological eyes you have?”.

“You should look whenever someone enters a room,” Wolffe begins to lecture you “that’s protocol 101; always be aware of your surroundings”.

“My apologies, Commander, I didn’t realise I came here to get a lesson in GAR protocol” you snap back. This is a usual occurrence whenever you and Wolffe are near each other, neither of you backing down and arguing until you’re separated by the others.

With the rolls of his eyes, Wolffe gestures towards the door “Just go, I have an important meeting in here”.

“With pleasure” you mumble, trying to move around the Commander without walking straight into him or colliding with the multiple cabinets.

Wolffe leans to the side, huffing loudly just to make sure you know this is a bother to him, giving you space to step over one of his legs and move to the door.

Your fingers brush against the control panel to the door, lighting it up. Nothing happens. You wait a few moments before doing it again but this time you press harder on the panel. Still nothing.

“Huh…” you crease your brow, repeating the action for a third time.

You hear some movement behind you and Wolffe turns his body to face you, peering over your shoulder at the control panel. With his critical gaze on you, you try again but to no avail. 

“Are you pressing it hard enough?” his voice is gruff and surprisingly close to your ear. 

You jerk your head away from him “Jeez, are you trying to make me go deaf? Of course I’m pressing it hard enough!”. With extra force, you press down on the control panel again. 

Nothing. 

Wolffe rolls his eyes, reaching his arm around you and trying it himself “Obviously you’re not if the door isn’t opening”. Stabbing his finger at the control panel, you hear a small “...oh” from behind you when the door still refuses to open. 

“Move over, let me have a proper look at it” Wolffe puts his hands on your shoulders, abruptly guiding you away from the control panel as you both switch places in a shuffling motion.

Now with Wolffe closest to the door, you lean against one of the cabinets, firmly planting your hands on the cool metal. 

You can feel your face becoming flushed, a surge of warmth spreading across your cheeks. The door will open, of course it will. This is just a small malfunction, that’s all. And then you can leave this stupid closet and never come back here again. 

Trying to distract yourself, you decide to subject yourself to small talk with Wolffe. 

“So, why are you here anyway?” you ask, your grip tightening on the shelves as if you’re bracing for impact. 

Wolffe keeps his focus on the control panel, fiddling with it as he answers “The General wants to meet me in here, says it’s something important”. 

Are you hallucinating or did he just say the General? Clarifying, you ask “General Plo wanted to talk to you… in a supply closet?”.

“That’s what I said”.

“And the General said this to you himself?” you pry, trying to ignore the loud thudding of your heart. 

“Not exactly” putting his hands on his hips, Wolffe pauses his investigation of the control panel “hmm, it was Comet and Boost. They said he wanted to meet me here”.

You force out a small laugh “And you believed them? Really?”.

Wolffe says something you don’t quite catch, something in Mando’a. Running his hand down his face, he gives the control panel a death stare for good measure. 

“The bad news is the door is locked from the outside, so I can’t open it from here but the good news is the maintenance droids run on a tight schedule so one of them should be…” glancing over his shoulder at you, his words fail him and for a moment, Wolffe’s taken aback.

The puzzled look on the Commander’s face makes you feel even worse, an overwhelming feeling of dread consuming your senses. “What? What is it?” you question, your tone a little too confrontational but thankfully Wolffe doesn’t bite back (for once).

“Why is your face so red?”.

Your stomach twists in directions you’re not sure it’s meant to, utterly embarrassed by such a question. Averting your gaze, your eyes lock onto the shelves that line the room, so cluttered it feels like they’re swarming you.

If you reach your arm out, you could touch almost any shelf. Could you do that beforehand? Is the room getting smaller?

With the surprisingly gentle call of your name, Wolffe brings your attention back to him, his hands out in front of him as if he’s trying to tame a wild animal. “Just tell me what’s wrong,” he coaxes, moving closer to you “are you hurt? Is that why you're in here?”.

With his hand a mere inch from touching you, you flinch, pressing yourself deeper into the cabinet as you screw your eyes shut. It’s not that you don’t mind being touched but the thoughts of feeling such a dominant presence as well as the cramped aura of the room makes your stomach churn. 

“No, no, I don’t like this room,” you blurt out, voice beginning to shake as you continue “everything feels too tight, it’s all too close, I-I don’t like it”.

Wolffe can handle fighting battle droids, kriff, he can even hold his own against a sith but this? He knows he’s out of his depth but Wolffe also knows this isn’t the time to freeze, not when it’s you. Right now, you need him and he’ll be damned if he doesn't help.

He notices your tight grip on the shelves, your knuckles turning white as if you’re holding on for dear life. “Do you want to sit down?” Wolffe keeps his voice uncharacteristically soft, stooping to the ground in the hopes you’ll follow. 

Hesitantly opening your eyes, you scan the floor below. It’s covered in loose, discarded items that once sat on the shelves but have since been looked over and forgotten.

Is there any part of this closet that’s clean? That doesn’t feel crowded? Your head pangs, pain lingering across your forehead. 

You let out a whine. Wolffe keeps one of his hands stretched out to you, opening his palm wide “Don’t be stupid about this, let me help you”. 

You don’t think he can help, in fact you don’t think anyone can help you right now. But then your gaze meets his. Wolffe looks up at you with calm, hopeful eyes, his rough exterior and brazen nature slowly melting away. 

You try to take a deep breath but the tightness in your throat makes it an impossible task. You don’t want to take his hand, you don’t even want to look at Wolffe right now, the embarrassment of your involuntary actions making you feel worse. But what other choice do you have? It’s not like you can walk away, you can barely take a step forward without face planting a cabinet.

Nervously nodding your head, you take his hand. Wolffe tentatively encloses his hand around yours, watching your reaction closely. At any sign of further discomfort or even the slight jerk of your hand, he would let go, not wanting to accidentally make matters worse. 

“Good… finally, you actually followed an order” he jibes, the subtle smirk on his face letting you know he’s not purposely dissing you. Although this is a comment you’d usually roll your eyes at, you weirdly find comfort in his typical teasing. 

With his hand to steady you, you slowly lower yourself to the ground. “There you go,” Wolffe comments “were you hurt? During the last battle?”. He knows you said it’s the room causing this but he doesn’t see how that’s possible. Not unless this was somehow caused by an injury you sustained in battle, one that’s only rearing its head now.

You shake your head, though that only makes you feel dizzy. “No, no… i-it’s too tight, this room, I need to get out,” you reply through laboured breaths.

Keeping one hand enclosed around yours, Wolffe uses his other hand to reach up and try the control panel again. He sighs when nothing happens. 

Letting out a small whimper, you slip your hand out of Wolffe’s, using both of your hands to pull your knees up against your chest as you hang your head low. 

You’ll never hear the end of this. Out of all the clones aboard, why did it have to be Wolffe in here? The one person you know will bring this up at a later date just to get the upper hand in an argument. 

What makes it worse is that you know he’ll only view you as being weak after this. Wolffe is a man that’s been through so much in his life, surviving a countless number of battles, disasters and attempts on his life. The heavy feeling of shame makes you hold onto your knees tighter. Wolffe is such a strong soldier and here you are, crumbling because of a locked door.

The soft sound of your name drags you away from your internal self-criticism, followed by a poking sensation on your leg.

Barely looking up, you see Wolffe prodding your knee, repeating your name again as he adds “I can’t help unless you give me something to work with, tell me what I can do”.

Wolffe has always had mixed feelings about you but that doesn’t mean he wants to see you upset. Sure, you’re stubborn… and feisty… and a headache to work with but in fairness, you’ve always been there for the Wolfpack. 

After a tough fight, you’ve helped them bandage up. When you don’t have full faith in a plan (usually one of Wolffe’s) you’ll create a backup plan for when things inevitably go off track. Even on those quiet rotations, when memories filled with loss and regret begin to flood his brother’s heads, you’re there, listening to them. You’re a comforting presence in many of their lives, even Wolffe’s.

But don’t even ask him to say that out loud. That’s never going to happen.

He pokes you again “C’mon, it’s not like I’m going anywhere… even if I wanted to”. You huff out a laugh, though that proves harder than you initially thought, your dry mouth making the laugh sound more like a cough.

If you don’t get out of here soon, you think you might get sick, the anxious feelings in your stomach continuing to gnaw away at you. 

“I… I need to get out, I need to leave” with newfound determination, you begin to stand. 

The second you plant your feet on the ground, you know it’s a bad idea, feeling your muscles tremble. It’s as if you can feel each and every one of your nerves twitching, your body involuntarily trembling with panic.

Wolffe is quick to follow suit, trying to stand without knocking into one of the shelves. “Woah, take your time” he says a bit more sharply than he anticipated. 

“No, let me leave, I need to-“ before you can even finish your sentence, your legs go from underneath you. You drop, about to crash back onto the ground when Wolffe catches you, scooping you up in his arms.

“What did I tell you?” He mutters with a huff, fully enclosing his arms around you as he lowers you back down to the ground. “Stay low,” he orders “the last thing either of us need is you fainting and smacking your head against the floor”.

You thought the feeling of someone else near you would make this worse, adding a new layer of suffocation to your mixture of emotions. But it’s actually kinda nice, the warmth radiating from Wolffe acting like a warm, welcoming blanket of comfort. 

Being in the professional setting of the GAR for so long, you’ve forgotten how soothing physical touch can be at times. Although your reaction is subtle, Wolffe notices how you faintly lean into him, your head a mere few inches from resting on his chest. He watches you for a moment, studying your face. 

Thankfully, you have your eyes closed again so he’s not worried you’ll catch him staring at you. Even though you’re in the middle of a panic attack, you look more relaxed than usual. Or at least more relaxed than how you usually are around Wolffe. 

Whenever he sees you, it’s only a matter of time before you both get worked up, the two of you bickering or making not so subtle jabs at one another. But looking at you now, there’s not a single trace of that annoyance he normally associates with you.

“Just relax, take some deep breaths” he encourages you, using his hand that’s resting on your upper back to give you a gentle nudge towards him. Wolffe isn’t sure how else to let you know it’s ok to relax against him, seeing the option of saying it directly being too awkward. 

He gives you a small smile and an approving nod as you do exactly that, letting your body fall against him as you rest your head on his chest.

Your hand comes up to his chest too, clutching onto the firm fabric of his Commander’s uniform, something you’re grateful he’s wearing considering his plastoid armour would be way too uncomfortable to relax against.

With your eyes still closed, you attempt to take some deep breaths, your breathing hitching every now and again. You try to sync your breathing up with Wolffe’s, finding the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest to be a lulling piece of comfort.

The tight sensation that grips your heart doesn’t fade instantaneously but you have to admit, it’s nice having someone close. It gives your mind something else to focus on instead of the cramped room, Wolffe’s presence distracting you from your worries.

The only time Wolffe ever expected you to be this close to him is if you had enough of his shit and decided to swing for him. Never in a million years would he imagine you being so peaceful and close to him.

With your voice coming out as a small whisper, you mumble “Thank you”. 

His heart beats faster at your small piece of gratitude, something Wolffe hopes you can’t hear through his uniform. He’s not used to things like this. Give him a blaster and Wolffe can handle himself just fine but holding someone and trying to comfort them? That’s not his strong suit. 

Taking a deep breath, you speak again, this time projecting your voice a bit more. “Did you really think you were meeting Master Plo here?” you sniffle, your head still aching but thankfully, the pain’s beginning to dull. 

Wolffe has to stop himself from doing another eye roll, not wanting to start a fight or get you worked up again. “That’s what I was told” he grunts.

To his surprise, you let out a small, genuine laugh. It makes his hands twitch, wanting to pull you even closer and relish in your laugh but he resists the urge. 

“And who told you that again? Oh yeah, Comet and Boost, two troopers known for their unwavering seriousness and hatred for pranks” you laugh, something Wolffe is thankful to hear again. 

“Alright you got me there,” he admits, knowing it wasn’t the smartest move to believe his troublesome brothers “but why are you in here? Did they say the same thing to you?”.

“Actually it was Sinker,” you reveal, getting rather comfy leaning against the Commander “he asked if I could get some bacta patches he accidentally dropped behind the cabinets”.

You can feel Wolffe deflate, puffing out a deep breath “Please tell me you didn’t actually believe that”.

“Why?” You crane your head to look up at him, watching as he tries to suppress his annoyed expression. 

Although you’d never say this outloud, he looks nice like this. Looking up at him in this position gives you a great view of his jawline, both of his eyes peering down at you and a genuine smile playing at his soft lips.

Damn, maybe you did actually hit your head. Trying to refocus on what he’s saying, you push any admiration you have for the Commander deep, deep down.

“Because the batca patches are stored on the upper deck,” removing one of his hands from you, he runs it down his face “kriff, you’ve been on this ship for months and you don’t even know where the batca patches are stored”.

While you would normally jeer back a response or scoff at Wolffe’s remark, immediately becoming defensive, you find it hard to do that after everything that’s happened. 

You finally feel relaxed again, a calmness settling in your stomach and putting your heart at ease. You’re in no mood to start a fight and frankly, you don’t think you have the energy for it either.

Instead you laugh again. After all, Wolffe has a point. You should’ve known where the bacta patches are kept and if you did then you wouldn’t be in this predicament. It was a silly mistake and at this moment, you can’t find the energy within you to do anything but laugh. 

Wolffe chuckles too, appreciating your reaction. Shrugging, he admits “Can’t blame you too much, it was only last week I realised the caff machine in the mesh hall has more than one setting”.

“Seriously?” you laugh again “But the default setting on that thing tastes like droid oil”.

“I know that all too well” Wolffe shakes his head, almost tasting the sour caff on his tastebuds from the mere mention of it.

You open your mouth to speak again but before you can, the door slides open, the bright lights from the corridor making you squint. A droid whirls into the room, taking no notice of you and going about it’s own business. 

And just like that, your time with Wolffe is over. 

Giving him a small smile, you climb off of him, getting to your feet. Watching Wolffe stand too, a sudden awkwardness hangs over you. Is that it? What do you say now? Thanks for the help but I’ll still call you out the next time you’re a jerk?

Noticing Wolffe’s expression, it’s clear you’re not the only one feeling this way. “Well, I guess that’s that” he nods, gesturing for you to leave the closet. You do so gratefully, shuffling past the droid and stepping into the wide and spacious hallway. 

When Wolffe steps out, you’re sure you see a flicker of reluctance in his eyes. But you quickly brush past it, blaming it on your vision still adjusting to the bright lights. 

“Are you going to be okay from here?” Wolffe asks, though it takes you a few moments to process his words, Wolffe’s head hanging low and voice just above a whisper. You’re not sure why he’s talking so low, it’s not like there’s many troopers on the lower deck to overhear. 

“Yeah,” you try to sound confident in your answer “I’ll take it easy for the rest of the rotation, just in case”. In an effort to persuade him, you give Wolffe a quick smile. 

“Right, well you know how to contact me if you need me…” he replies before realising how soft that sounds, immediately breaking eye contact with you and clearing his throat “or just go to the medbay, yes, that’s the better option, do that instead of contacting me. I’m very busy today”

“Busy getting stuck in closets?” you playfully tease, trying to brush past this awkward energy. 

He chuckles “Better me than you”. Kriff, that sounds too soft too. Wolffe’s not a tender, warm hearted kinda guy, so he’s not sure why he’s trying to be that around you, even if it’s subconsciously. 

Quickly shoving his feelings to one side, Wolffe chalks it up to your rare vulnerable moment bringing out his protective nature. That’s it. The next time he’ll see you, things will be normal, none of this small talk or softened expressions to one another.

With the curt nod of his head, the Commander walks away. It’s true, he does have a lot to do today but if you were to contact again, he’d be there in a heartbeat… even though he’s not exactly sure why he’d feel so much urgency to be there for you again. 

You blink a few times, surprised by his abrupt exit. But then you remember this is Wolffe so his sudden departure should’ve been expected. After all, he’s “so busy”. Rolling your eyes, you walk in the opposite direction, deciding to track down Sinker and give him a piece of your mind.

[kaminocasey]

25 Days of Life Day: Day 15 - Stuck in the Cold with Wolffe

Summary: You and Wolffe are on your way to a party and you get stuck out in the snow, so you try to find a place to get warm!

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI; Suggestive content, nudity, light angst

A/N: Okay a few things, I'm SO sorry I'm so behind. I'm gonna try to get caught up! We had the Steel City Con and then I had to go back to work and then we got sick... so it's been a rough week lol. Anyway, I had to throw Gregor and my OC Cassia in there for a little fun-sy thing. Lol. Okay back to our regular programming! S/O to @rebelsriley for the Wolffe inspo! <3

“I told you we were going to be late to the party.” You grumble, your teeth chattering violently from the cold. 

You’re normally a generally pretty happy person, but unfortunately, stepping in the freezing cold foot high snow is what’s putting you in a bad mood. Especially dressed for a party, and not for snow. Where the hell did this snow even come from?

“Yeah, well… if you hadn’t taken two hours to get ready...” Wolffe snips back, frozen white flakes getting stuck in his dark lashes. 

The two of you are on your way to a party at Gregor and his partner Cassia’s apartment. Wolffe had suggested that the two of you walk and then the snow started coming down thickly. He had been saying for the last hour or so “Not much farther” but you’re pretty sure that you’re lost. So when you suggested that he comm someone, he went to pull out his comm device and found that it was dead. Then, you went to try to use yours except you left it at home.

So that’s how your night is going.

“It wasn’t two hours.” You snap. 

“Oh, I’m sorry… an hour and fifty minutes.” He grunts. 

“We need to get out of this snow. Now.” You insist, ignoring his snide comment.

“You think I don’t know that?” He’s been surveying your surroundings for the last fifteen minutes trying to find a safe place to stop and get out of the cold. 

At this point, he’s willing to splurge on a hotel, but the closest thing he can see is a sketchy motel. 

“That place is fine.�� You point at the sketchy motel.

“Fine.” He grunts, trying to hide just how cold he is. 

Wolffe also tries to ignore how close you are to him, knowing it’s only because you’re so cold. You weren’t even supposed to be with him right now. Rex had invited you and the look in your eyes was so starry when he asked you. And then Rex had asked Wolffe to pick you up and bring you. He still doesn’t know why.

When you arrive at the dingy motel, the two of you walk into the main office, warm air immediately hitting you in the face so nicely that you both let out a satisfied “Ahhh.” 

The small Aleena man at the desk peers over the counter at you and Wolffe, nervously glancing at Wolffe when he realizes he’s a clone.

You look up at Wolffe, smirking when you realize that he’s thinking of the time that the 104th had to go to Aleen and when he looks down at you, he rolls his eyes. 

“Two rooms.” Wolffe mumbles and you elbow him in the side. “Please.”

You smirk up at him again, going warm in the face from how well he reads you. You have been nursing a crush on the man since the moment you met him, grumpiness and all. You work with the Wolfpack closely as a translator since Wolffe absolutely refused to work with C3-PO ever again. “Only have one available.” He tells Wolffe. 

You and Wolffe share a look and with a sigh, he holds his hand out for the key card. The man gives Wolffe the card and you give the Aleena a polite smile as Wolffe leads you back outside into the cold, and then up some stairs that lead to the rooms. 

When you get up to the room, Wolffe groans and you peer around him, seeing that the room only has one bed. Because of course it does. 

“What a romcom trope.” You laugh, nervously.

“What does that even mean?” He grumbles, going around the room and inspecting it. “Lock the door.”

“Yes sir.” You grumble right back.

He pauses, his shoulders rigid, and looks up at you, his eyes wide. Going hot all over, the cold forgotten, you swallow dryly. Wolffe eyes your form, up and down and you feel like you’re going to combust if he continues to look at you like that.

“What?” You demand, nervously.

“Our clothes are sopping wet…” He turns to crank the heater up and groans, irritated but unsurprised. “Fucking heater doesn’t even work properly…” 

You let out a nervous laugh again and he rolls his eyes, rubbing a hand down his face.

“Glad you think this is funny.” He starts to take his coat off and then his sweater and you turn around. 

“What are you doing?” You ask him.

“You wanna freeze to death in your wet cold clothes? Strip. Now. And then get under the blanket.” He uses his Commander voice and you feel like you’re definitely on fire now. 

You’re absolutely torn because Maker, that commanding tone? But also like… getting naked in the same vicinity as Wolffe? It feels like the universe is playing some cruel prank on you. The man hates you. He makes it well known that he thinks you’re only a burden. 

“I’m… sorry.” He offers, softer, behind you, noticing you pausing. “Just… if you want, I can put a pillow between us… We need to get our body temperatures back up.” 

He’s right. You know he’s right. 

“I won’t look.” He promises you.

But you don’t think you’d mind if he did. Nevertheless, you strip down to nothing and climb under the covers. You’re still shaking under the cover and you can’t tell if it’s from being cold or being near Wolffe. 

“I’m sorry for… earlier.” Wolffe murmurs. 

You shrug, looking over at him. He doesn’t look so big and bad now that he has a blanket pulled up to his chin. You actually can’t help but smile. 

“It’s alright. It’s who you are. I wouldn’t ask you to change.” You shrug. 

“You wouldn’t?” He looks over at you.

“Nah.” You grin.

He gives you a small smile and your chest tightens. 

“Sorry this was a rotten Life Day… I’m sure you’d rather be here with someone more… pleasant.” He murmurs. “Like Rex.” 

You’re still trembling, which Wolffe notices and wants desperately to pull the pillow away so he can pull you to him and warm you up himself. 

“Nope.” You tell him, turning over, scooting closer to the pillow. 

He does the same, so now you’re both cuddling the pillow and your fingers are mere centimeters from each other. 

“No?” 

“Not at all.” 

“I thought when Rex invited you…”

You chuckle. “I think Rex is really nice… but I prefer my men a little grumpy and just over everyone’s shit at all times.” 

He lets out a genuine laugh and it’s probably one of the nicest sounds you’ve ever heard. 

“I honestly thought you hated me…” You admit to him, quietly.

He’s watching your hand and decides to bravely place his over yours. Relief fills his veins when you don’t pull away. Wolffe suddenly realizes why Rex had him bring you to the party. He either owes Rex a handshake or a beating, he isn’t sure yet. 

“I could never.” He tells you, honestly. “Your sunshine demeanor keeps me going most days, if not all days…” 

The breath hitches in your throat at his admission. “Can we…” You pat the pillow and he nods, quickly pulling it away and dropping it on the floor, pulling your body against his immediately, as if he’s been dying to do that. 

He starts to open his mouth to say something, but you clumsily crush your lips to his, making him immediately melt against you. He groans against your lips, enveloping you in his arms, warmth spreading through both of your veins so lightning fast you think you feel warm again.

“I could think of another way to get us warm.” He teases, lightly.

“You read my mind.” You chuckle, tangling your legs with his. 

Somehow, this Life Day turned out to be the best one yet. 

TAGS: @twistedstitcher27 @rebel-finn @rexandechosandwich @madameminor @dumfanting  @corona-one @tecker @ladykatakuri @brynhildrmimi @the-sith-in-the-sky-with-diamond @zoeykallus @maulslittlemeowmeow @littlemousedroid @arctrooper69 @rexxdjarin @padawancat97 @hated-by-me @sleepingsun501 @idledreams @redheadgirl @themcuwriter @ashotofspotchka @sunshinesdaydream @crosshairsimp73 @ariadnes-red-thread @rosmariner @heyitsaloy @starstofillmydream @high-ct5555 @echos-girlfriend @sleepywych @nekotaetae @justanothersadperson93 @aconstructofamind @book-of-baba-fett @chopper-base @palliateclaw @501st-rexster @dead-poolz @nahoney22 @where-is-my-mind-tho @jediknightjana @erishimoon @witching3 @queen-of-many-fandoms @wizardofrozz  @burningfieldof-clover

[stargirlsmooch]

Protector

Alpha!Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

When you change your mind about having sex with your loving boyfriend, it draws out more fears than both of you were expecting. A little smut + angst + fluff! 18+ 1.4k words.

“Good morning, Mr Barnes.” You shouted across the fence, ignoring the disapproving expressions on your parents' faces at your outburst, their features souring even at the mention of your neighbour. 

James Buchanan Barnes tended to have that impact on people- inciting fear that eventually modified itself into hate. And you were the shining sun in that black hole of detestation. Always greeting him when he was otherwise ignored, opening the door for him when others would slam it shut in his face, and offering him comfort when people broke him down.

That’s what mates were supposed to do: protect each other. And the fact that you did it so fiercely would always make Bucky proud to belong to you. 

“Do you need any help with that?” You asked, signalling towards the paintbrush in his hand as he continued on painting his front porch, applying the colour you had told him to buy last week. Of course, the two of you had to go to the hardware store two towns over to avoid the rumour of your relationship from leaking, but it had been worth it. 

Walking through the isles, hand in hand, like an ordinary couple (still receiving the odd few stares, obviously) had been your first taste of what freedom could be like if you just let go of the opinions and ignored the toxicity that was forced down your throat daily, especially by your own parents. 

The two of you were forbidden to be seen together.

His species were never meant to mix with humans- banished to the wilderness years ago, driven away with pitchforks and burning torches, never to return again. For the most part, the wolfpacks had kept to their forests, hiding amongst the greenery, away from human civilisations. But all it took was one whiff of your scent to fill the alpha’s nose, and he was practically on your doorstep, begging.

At one point or another, he questioned whether buying the house right next to yours was going a step too far, maybe forcing the relationship too much. But every insecurity is pushed right out of his head every time he hears your sweet voice. 

You reassured him every chance you could, usually when you were snuggled up in his bed next to him after climbing in through his window, which was most nights. He savoured every instant with you, every touch ending in an endearing embrace or a heated moment until you had no choice but to turn to each other to put out the fire. 

“Sure, if you wouldn’t mind,” Bucky replied, watching you wave your parents off as they left for their weekend away. Waiting until their car had turned the corner at the end of the street, you quickly jumped the fence before sensually strutting over the grass to his porch steps.

“Why don’t we paint something else, Mr Barnes?” You asked, sliding your hands onto your hips as you stood on his path, him hovering above you.

“What did you have in mind, princess?” Bucky was standing only one step above you now, the backs of his knuckles grazing your soft cheeks, before gliding his full hand around your throat. 

“Hmm…” You voiced, pretending to think it over when the sinful thought had been in your head since you woke up, you had dreamt about it. “Maybe my face with your cum, Mr Barnes.”

His hand tightened dangerously around your neck, that immoral glint darkening your lover’s eyes as he pulled you up the steps and pushed through his open front door. Whilst Bucky loved your softness, you loved this- his roughness, his hunger to be in charge. 

“Naked and knelt at the end of the bed.” He ordered, patting you on the ass harshly to get you moving up the stairs. 

You loved obeying his commands, always doing anything you could to get even a hint of praise out of your mate. You fed on his dominance like it was candy, never being able to get enough and coming back for more whenever you could. 

The need to please your mate took over every other instinct until that one seemed the most natural, the only one that you needed to follow. Soon, you were at your destination, stripping out of your shorts and tank top as quickly as you could, discarding them on the floor in every direction.

When Bucky entered the room, you were the picture of perfection, looking so pretty when you were following orders and giving him everything he desired: being his perfect little pet.

But when Bucky started making his way towards you, something inside you stuttered, the horniness quickly dissipating into an unwarranted sentiment of unease. You knew Bucky would never do anything to cause you pain in any way, always doing his best to make your dreams come true. You couldn’t put your finger on what had changed. 

Your alpha watched the shift take place, your shoulders slumping and the excited curve of your lips dropping until you were staring down at your hands in your lap. 

“Hey. What happened, my love?” He asked, sinking onto one knee in front of you. 

“I don’t know if I want to do this anymore, Buck.” You whispered, folding your hands over your breasts to cover your modesty. Everything had happened so suddenly, that an overwhelming dread began growing in the pit of your stomach, shoving out all traces of sexual want. 

“Okay, honey. Let’s get you dressed.” He said as he picked you up, holding you close to his chest, wrapping your legs around his waist and planting a soft kiss on the side of your head. 

“I’m so sorry.” 

“None of that, my darling. You have nothing to be sorry for.” 

Bucky reached into his wardrobe, pulling out a clean t-shirt and dragging it over your head gently before urging you towards your side of his bed, lifting up the covers, slipping in and watching him round it to his side, where he climbed in and hauled you towards him. 

“Tell me why you felt the need to apologise, princess.” 

There was an endless list of more things you adored about your alpha- the comfortability he provided you, the communication he offered, the obligation he had to make everything perfect for you.

“I just…” You started, trying to think of a way to articulate all the explanations floating around in your head, “didn’t wanna disappoint you, I guess.” 

As he nodded his head in thought, trying to make some sense of what you just said, Bucky leaned into you, taking your lips in a charming kiss. Your hand immediately reached up to his face, holding his cheeks softly in your silent plea for more of this softness. With one more peck, he pulled away, leaning over you and keeping your gazes locked together.

“What would’ve really disappointed me, sweetheart, is if you went through with it when you didn’t want to. Do you understand?” Bucky was deadly serious, enveloping his arms around your back to keep you safe. “If you forced yourself to do something you didn’t want to, that would’ve broken my damn heart, princess.”

The tears sprung in your eyes, unwillingly painting your emotions all over your face- not that Bucky wouldn’t have been able to read your expression without them. The pain, embarrassment and sadness seeped through into your complexion. 

“I understand, Bucky…” You said quietly, stroking the tattoos inked on his neck as well as the smooth muscles across his chest, trying not to hold on to the ache of humiliation burning under your ribs.

After a few minutes of silently cuddling together, shrouded in the linen duvet and numerous pillows that made up Bucky’s nest, a question started to niggle in the back of his mind- a fear that he had been holding onto, hoping that he would never have to face. The one person he never wanted to frighten was you. 

“I didn’t scare you, did I?”

Widening eyes and an expression of shock were what met Bucky’s question- how could he think that?

“Bucky… What? No, of course not.” You scrambled, seeing your pain now reflected in his eyes, “you make me feel safe, baby. I could never be scared of you.” 

“You promise?”

“I promise, Buck. You’re my protector.” 

And that much was certain. When the two of you were reading to inform the world of your condemned relationship, you would fight for each other. Nor you or Bucky would ever come to any harm whatsoever.

[vodika-vibes]

Miscommunication pt 2

Summary: You finally get the date that Commander Wolffe promised you.

Pairing: Commander Wolffe x Reader

Word Count: 1692

Warnings: None

Songs: None

A/N: I saw a bunch of people asking for how the date went, and this is what I came up with. Also, how does one end short stories? I always feel like I need to write more, lol.

Divider by saradika

“So, let me see if I understand you correctly. Your Commander is planning on taking you on a date, in spite of the fact that he’s had a whole one conversation with you?” Your older sister asks over the com.

“You know, when you say it like that, it doesn’t sound like the best idea.” You grumble, “And we’ve talked more than just the one conversation.”

“Look, I get that the clones are fine, girl, but-oh, hold on,” Your sister turns away from the com, “Conner James! You might survive jumping off the railing, but you will not survive me!” She glares at someone off screen for a moment, and then turns her gaze back to you, “Where was I? Oh, yeah. I get that you’re lonely, but you can probably do better than someone who couldn’t talk to you.”

“It’s not like that. He was just a little shy. I can understand that.” You reply. “And I’m not lonely. I am literally surrounded by people all the time.”

Your sister sighs, “Look, I’m just worried about you. You’re my baby sister and, well, you don’t exactly have the best taste in men.”

“Not a baby, and also rude.”

“First of all, you’re always going to be a baby. Second of all, your last boyfriend cheated on you with your best friend.”

“Ex-best friend, and also that’s on him, not me.”

Your sister sighs again, “Just…be careful, yeah? I hate seeing you get hurt.” There’s a loud thump and a cry of pain, and she closes her eyes, “Now, I have to go and make sure my son didn’t just break every bone in his body…and then ground him until he’s grey.”

“You know you signed up for this when you married a trapeze-”

“Yeah, yeah. I know. I’ll talk to you later.” The com cut out before you could reply, and you lean back in your chair.

You suppose your sister does have reason to be concerned. After all, the last she knew, Commander Wolffe wouldn’t even look at you. But things are different now. 

Since his injury he’s been much more open with you.

When you’re on the Triumphant, he makes time to visit and talk to you daily. Even if that means that he’s eating a meal in your office while you process paperwork. 

You’ve come to cherish him as a dear friend, and more. Though, in spite of his claim of wooing you, he’s been nothing but respectful. The only hint that he might desire something more than friendship from you comes from the way his fingers linger on your arm or hand or shoulder.

It is infuriating, to put it mildly.

Everytime his fingers linge on your skin, it feels like electricity zips through your body. And he knows it.

Yes, he has an important job. And yes, he doesn’t have a lot of free time. But would it kill him for one kiss? Just a little one?

You release a sigh and pick up your com, absently tossing it from one hand to the other. You’ve been back on Coruscant for a whole week now, and Wolffe still hasn’t come through with his date.

You’re beginning to worry that he forgot. 

You set your com back on your desk, and eye your datapad critically. You have so much work that you need to do before the next deployment. Not to mention, the men in the Wolfpack need their physicals, which is on you to schedule, and you need to catch General Koon for his physical, and yearly inoculations need to be given-

You’re about to grab your datapad to start on all of that, when the doorbell chimes.

You frown and get up. You aren’t expecting any visitors. At least you don’t think you are. You open the door, and a bright smile crosses your face when you see who’s standing on the other side.

“Commander,” You lean against the door frame and fold your arms, “I didn’t know you knew where I live.”

“It’s in your file,” He has a small smile on his face and his mismatched eyes scan you, something you notice that he does whenever he’s in close proximity with you. “Which the General shared with me.” He pauses and his gaze meets yours, and then he lifts one of his hands, “I bring food.”

The scent of something delicious reaches you, and you suddenly remember that you’ve not eaten since lunch the day before.

“And I’m guessing you’ve not eaten since yesterday.” Wolffe continues with a knowing, and slightly exasperated, look on his face.

You laugh sheepishly, and move out of the way, allowing him into your home, “Well…I ate a late lunch yesterday and I wasn’t hungry for dinner.” You try to explain as you take the bags from him and move into the kitchen.

Wolffe follows you once he sets his boots on the shoe rack, “And why didn’t you eat breakfast?”

“Breakfast is for losers.” You reply as you pull plates and cups out of the cabinet. 

“If I said that to you, you’d be reading me the riot act.” Wolffe points out as he starts to pull containers out of the bags, “I got some of the pasta you prefer, with garlic bread.”

“Ooh, you know how to spoil a girl,”

“Well, apparently the way to a woman’s heart is through carbs and cheese,” Wolffe counters very dryly, and you start laughing, which puts a small grin on his face.

“Well,” You say, through your giggles, “You’re not wrong.” You favor him with a bright smile, “There’s drinks in the fridge. You can grab whatever you like.”

He watches you for a moment, something soft and fond crossing his face as you move around the kitchen, and then he walks over to the fridge and grabs two of the sodas in the door. 

Wolffe sets them on the table and starts divvying out the food on the plates you set on the table.

“It smells delicious, Wolffe. Thank you!” You look up at him, in delight, as you slide into your seat.

“You’re welcome,” He replies as he settles into the other chair. He’s quiet for a moment, and then he leans back, “I owe you an apology, mesh’la.”

“For what?” You ask.

“I promised to woo you,” Wolffe says slowly, “Unfortunately, that’s not something that was covered in my training.”

You smile at him, slow and warm, “Wolffe,” You say so gently, “You came to my apartment with my favorite food. This is perfect.”

“You deserve more,” He replies.

“Maybe, maybe not.” You shrug easily, “I like you, Wolffe. Not grand presentations. I’d like you just as much if you showed up with fast food from the place down the street.”

Wolffe is quiet for a long moment, and then he favors you with a warm and soft smile, “You’re amazing, you know that?”

“Well, I was selected to be the medic for the Wolfpack,” You joke.

“Most people wouldn’t think of that as a good thing,”

“I get to spend my days with you, what’s not to like?” A barely noticeable blush crosses Wolffe’s face, and you feel a surge of glee. Before you drop the conversation in favor of the food that Wolffe brought you.

Later, once the meal is finished, and you finished cleaning up, which Wolffe insisted on helping with, you’re tucked on the couch while Wolffe is looking at the pictures on your walls.

“Your family?” He asks, glancing at you from one of the bigger pictures.

“Mm. My older sister, her husband, and their son.” You reply easily, “They’re on…Dantooine, I believe, this month.”

He hums thoughtfully, “You're close to her,” Wolffe notes.

“Oh, yeah. She’s great. You’d like her, I think. She’s very no-nonsense.” You reply as you stand and walk over to him. 

“If she’s anything like you, I’m sure I will.” Wolffe replies, he glances at you, “I like you after all.”

You duck your head, a faint blush crossing your face, “Well, I like you too. So, I guess that’s fair.”

There’s silence for a moment, and then you feel warm fingers against your cheek, and he lightly taps your chin, tilting your face up to meet his, “Do you like me enough to let me kiss you?” He asks, his voice low.

“Yes!” You blurt embarrassingly quickly, and then you blush bright red, “Um…I mean…”

Wolffe laughs, and leans down, his nose brushing yours, “I’ve kept you waiting then?”

“I’m pretty patient,” You whisper in response.

He doesn’t say anything, just closes the distance between your lips, and slowly, tentatively almost, kisses you. You slide your hands up his chest, and wrap your arms around his neck.

He pulls away just for a moment, just long enough to make sure that you are still okay with this, and then he hooks his arm around your waist and he crashes his lips back against yours in a much more passionate kiss.

His lips are warm and soft and so, so inviting. And you can’t help but moan into the kiss as he pulls you flush against his body.

And when he breaks the kiss you let out a whine, which pulls a quiet, breathless, laugh from him. “You’re so…intoxicating,” He breathes against your lips, “But we need to stop for now.”

You pout at him, but slowly release him, and instead you rest your hands on his chest. He keeps you flush against him, his fingers flexing on your hip. “Do you need to leave?” You ask, your voice soft.

“No, I’m on shore leave.” He replies, “but we still need to stop.” His eyes close and he bumps his forehead against yours. “As much as I really, really don’t want to.”

“Well,” You hands slide up his chest and he groans, “If you don’t want to stop, and I don’t want to stop, then we can just not stop.” You point out logically.

He releases another groan, “You’re a terrible influence.” But his grip around your waist tightens, “Be my girlfriend?”

“Yes-” You’re unable to finish your sentence as his lips crash against yours again.

[wanderingmirror]

"Alright, that's it! Square the fuck up!"

A Coruscant Guardsman shouted, causing all attention to fall onto him. Wolffe froze at the venom in the man's voice and the hatred in his eyes.

"What?"

He asked and the Corrie rolled his eyes. He also rolled his shoulders and started bouncing, readying himself for a fight.

"I said, square the fuck up. Are you deaf or is that your ego?"

The Corrie growled. He snarled and Wolffe nearly snarled himself if it still didn't baffle him on why the Corrie was so pissed. The other clone moved into a ready stance, loose and unassuming. But the dark hatred never left the man's eyes.

"You and your boys talk so much shit about us Corries, why don't you prove it? See if you can put me on my fuckin ass. I am so sick of your bullshit. Square up, Commander! Give this pencil pusher a fuckin taste!"

The other Corries didn't seem to care that one of their own was trying to start a fight. The Wolfpack was also quite stunned that a Corrie even wanted to fight. Rule keepers and fun police an all. Master Koon stepped forward and tried to de-escalate the situation.

"Alright, I don't think this is a good way to deal with these issues-"

The Corrie growled low and long, his eyes still fixed on Wolffe with rage.

"With all due respect, Sir, I want this dick to give me a reason to let me beat the ever loving shit out of him. He talks all this bullshit about my fuckin Commander and doesn't expect me to fuckin retaliate!? The only reason I ain't beating the shit out of you now is you haven't given me just cause. So square the fuck up, Commander Shabuir!"

The Corrie was respectful towards Master Koon. But that respect ended when it came to the Wolfpack. The other clones in grey all looked at this pencil pusher in stunned shock. They had never seen a Corrie lose their temper before. And seeing it now was slightly unnerving. The Corrie started to get irritated with the continued shock.

"Oh come on! I'm giving you a fucking opening, you spineless bitch! Square up and prove you're fucking better than me! Maybe if you do, I'll start to think you're more than just a spoiled little brat!"

That set Wolffe off, he growled and charged at the Corrie without further prompting. He tackled the Corrie and tried to get him to the floor for a few punches, but all that did was cause the other man to take a few steps back. He wrapped his arms around Wolffe'e waist and lifted him up upsidedown. The Commander yelped as he was thrown to the left away from Master Koon. He hit the ground outside the Temple with a crack. His right side was throbbing in pain as the Corrie descended upon him with a fury.

He punched the sensitive right side without care for the damage dealt. His face was a snarl as he violently headbutted Wolffe when he tried to sit up and fight back. After some trouble, Wolffe finally got the upper hand. He flipped them over and returned the vicious headbutt to the Corrie, but the other man didn't seem to care that his nose was now bleeding.

"That all you got, you bitch? I've fought stronger assholes than you!"

His voice was nasally from the bleeding nose, but the snarl was still there as the Corrie expertly blocked or parried strikes. He took a few, but like before, he didn't seem to care that Wolffe was beating the shit out of him. Until the tables turned and the Corrie flipped them again, away from the steps and began to punch at the Wolfpack Commander. This continued until eventually the Corrie was pulled off Wolffe after flipping two more times. Wolffe was bleeding from his own nose and the Corrie had a black eye on top of his own bloody nose.

They both had bruises and small cuts lining their faces as they snarled at each other. The Corrie was being held back by a larger Corrie. Wolffe was kept back by Sinker and Boost. The bigger clone was in full armor, helmet and blaster too. He was holding the smaller Corrie around his waist and allowing him to wiggle about.

He was shouting insults and curses left and right, not caring that he was doing this in front of several generals including Shaak-Ti, Plo Koon, and Obi-wan Kenobi. The Generals looked heartbroken and confused at the hatred in the smaller Corrie's eyes. Shocked too, that the other Corries weren't doing anything to really stop their brother from doing this. The larger one was just holding him.

"Talk shit about my Commander behind his back around me again, and I'll make you wish you were never decanted, you fucking prick! I'll beat you so senseless that Prime himself will climb out of Hell just to laugh at you! Don't you ever disrespect my family again! You hear me, you front line bastard!?"

The other Corries ran over to the one shouting and one of them finally put a stop to the cursing and venom. If only because some children were coming over to see what the noise was. The Corrie growled lowly and the larger one just sighed as he lifted the smaller into a more secure hold. The group soon left, all but one. He walked up to Master Koon.

"I won't apologize for my brother's actions or words, but I am sorry you and the other Jetii had to see that. It should have been dealt with in a more private way. I apologize."

The Corrie said and ran off. Tension in his shoulders signalling his obvious discomfort at having to be alone. Wolffe was still trying to calm down from the small fight. Still suffering from the shock at how brutal and vicious the other guy was. His anger cooled into something like awe and wonder at how strong the guy was in order to lift him up like that armor and all.

"Fuck me, I didn't even get his comm number!"

Wolffe finally groaned and Boost snorted. The tension fell away with the laughter and teasing.

~~

Gatz was still fumming when they arrived back to HQ. Bloody nose and black eye all but forgotten as he went straight to his Commander's office, poking his head in. Finding Fox half asleep in his chair, Gatz walked over and sat down on the old couch they had brought into the office. He sighed and texted Dogma that he was in Fox's office. Neither he nor Fox spoke, mostly because Fox could already see and put together what had happened.

"Who?"

The older clone asked and Gatz just huffed quietly.

"Fuckin Wolffe. Bitching about you not being there for the End of the War Drunk fest. Talking about how you had a stick up your ass and how you should really stop being so cold and strict. Really, you'd think by now they'd learn to keep their damn mouths shut!"

Gatz vented and Fox just sighed softly. Nothing pissed the Corrie ARC off more than any form of disrespect towards the Guard. He had nearly been decommed for it. Had been reconned for it twice but the memories always came back after getting a look around HQ. No one really understood how, but they didn't question it. Not wanting it to stop working and risk losing Gatz forever.

The ARC was one of the few really old Corries. That list had grown so short only five people were still on it. Fox, Thorn, Chalk, Thire, and a medic named Word. The only medic the Guard officially claimed due to more and more restrictions and thinly vailed threats to transfer. But now they barely had to worry about it with Chancellor Bail Organa put forth reforms to help with their struggles.

Ritz had to drag Stitches away from the medbay to rest after he had ordered every Guard in for a thorough check up. Having gotten a fully restocked medical bay after three full years. Never had Fox seen the medic so close to his old self. The first CMO of the 501st. Before Kix. But that was the closest they would ever get to seeing the veteran medic. Stress had a way of bringing the darker half of the medic out, and not in a pleasant way.

Dogma entered the room with a scowl that matched his buir's own fierce one. Fox snorted as Gatz flushed in embarrassment.

"The medbay should have been your first destination. Why did Chalk enter the bay alone if you had injuries?"

Dogma growled and Gatz flushed more as he scratched the back of his neck.

"Not used to having a full stocked medbay yet. Was really just given you a heads up since I did remember that the Doc was getting some rest."

Gatz sat still as Dogma healed his wounds. Fox just sighed at the other clone's antics to get the medic's attention. Though the injuries weren't really a part of Gatz' obvious plan to win over the other. He did try to keep his wounds to a minimum. But his temper was a short fused one. Easily triggered. Dogma still helped even when it looked like he wanted to throttle the ARC.

While the rest of the treatment was done in silence, the ARC was quietly watching the medic with this love struck expression. Dogma finished working on his broken nose and Gatz hissed at his poking at the black eye.

"Try to keep out of trouble for a while, Gatz. I don't think Buir would be happy that his new supplies have mostly been used on you."

Gatz nodded and the room lapsed into silence again. But it was broken by a soft snore, pulling both of their attentions over to Fox who looked to have fallen asleep. They smiled, leaving the room quietly after covering the Commander in a blanket.

Gatz parted ways with Dogma along the way to the medbay and then the barracks where he flopped down on his bunk. He grinned and closed his eyes, planning on just going crazy against the GAR the next time they talked shit about his family.

Gatz knew that it would be fun to put them to rights the rough way.

[trumpkinhotboy]

Chronic protective brother syndrome

Pairing: big brother!nick nelson x little sister!reader

Type: Request (thank you so much!!)

Warnings: Mention of fainting, having a chronic illness, but nothing too intense

Word count: 1900

Requests: Open! For Heartstopper, twilight wolfpack, chronicles of narnia and harry potter

A/n: honestly… i dont have much to say except that i love writing for requests and that big brother nick makes me weak in the knees. Hope you enjoy angels xxx

*gif is not mine

Summary: The reader has been living with diabetes her whole life. She's grown quite accustomed to it and manages it well with the help of her supportive family. Although sometimes, support can feel a little suffocating...

Through your 14 years of existence, you have grown quite accustomed to life with type 1 diabetes. As you grew up and became more conscious of what it meant to live with a chronic disease, you learned to accept and care for yourself quite well. 

Your mother, Sarah, was a real trooper and never let you down, always carrying you when you felt exhausted and done with your condition, which did happen more often than you care to admit. Luckily, you also had someone else in your corner: your older brother. 

Nick is known to be quite protective. Especially with the people he cares for. However, that aspect of his personality gained a new high when you were born, and your mother explained why you could never do everything just as he did. Of course, you would still be able to do most of them. You would simply need to be a little more careful. 

Sarah remembers very clearly the look in little Nick’s eyes when she explained why you were always sick. You were resting in bed after a substantial flare-up when his eyes welled up with tears. That's when he finally understood that there was something in your own body that would always try to fight and hurt itself. That’s also when he promised himself he would do everything to protect you. Your mum still tells that story with a few tears welling up in her eyes. 

Nick knew you could have a lot of complications from your disease. To avoid them, he always made sure you had everything you needed at all times. You usually didn't mind, seeing how your ADHD sometimes made it a little harder for you to remember to pack your stuff. Plus, the fatigue diabetes often fogged you with did not help in that department. 

The thing is you were now 14 years old, finally starting to make new friends and explore the jungle that is social life in high school. So when your 16-year-old brother comes over, and all your lady friends swoon over him, or worse, when he comes over to baby you, it gets a little irritating. Luckily, Nick was quite stubborn about that stuff and was not about to let you get hurt just because of the image you wanted to project.

That was until you made quite a scene in front of everyone.

You had been feeling particularly irritated and moody that day. So when you saw your brother walk over to you with a backup diabetes kit, which was his creation, you felt anger boil in your blood.

It did not help to hear some nasty year 10 make jokes from a picnic table near your friends and you. "Oh, would you look at that? Diabetes Nelson still needs her big brother to bring her her little drugs. I don't understand how someone like him could be related to her."

It was stupid. It wasn't even a good insult. Plus, the people who kept making comments were not something to be impressed with. Still, you couldn't help the shame from creeping on your cheeks.

So this time, when your big brother came to check on you and offered you your safety pouch, you refused.

"I already have the normal one. I don't need this one."

"I know, but I don't think you've put the new insulin shots in. I brought you the safety one just in case."

The snickers you heard from the people behind had you gritting your teeth. You couldn't understand their exact words, but you knew it wasn't positive. 

"Don't you have anything better to do than watch over me all day?" you hissed. "I'm not stupid Nick."

Your diabetes also made you prone to mood swings, mostly when your blood sugar levels were too high or low. That's why Nick usually did not make a big deal out of these outbursts, but this time felt different. Hurt flashed in his eyes, and briefly, you regretted the words.

"I never said that. I just want to make sure you have everything you need. You know the risks." His tone was soft, his gaze focused on you. He tried as much as he could not to make a big deal out of this, but your reaction had the exact opposite effect. He knew how the fear of being judged could make a person act in such a terrible way. 

"I don't need you to remind me how weak and useless my body is, okay? I'm the one living with diabetes, Nick. Not you." You whispered angrily.

You grabbed your bag and left him planted there without looking back. Nick and you were usually like two peas in a pod, and to leave him there hurt much more than you would care to admit. 

You got back in class, trying to act normal, but after an hour in, you felt queasy and feeble. You had indulged in some sweets some friends offered after your altercation with Nick, brushing off the risk with your ongoing anger. Subtly, you pricked your finger and couldn't help your eyes from growing two sizes when you saw the little numbers your tracker presented. You were in hyperglycemia and urgently needed to get a shot of insulin. Swiftly, you asked to be excused from the class and headed for the bathroom. The walls seemed to shake around you, and your vision kept warping up. Cursing yourself for being this dumb, you opened your bag with shaking hands, searching for your shots.

"Shit."

There was only one thing worse than fighting with Nick, and it was when you realized he had been right. You mumbled under your breath, trying to stay calm and figure out a quick solution because this was becoming urgent, and you needed the care right now. Calling Nick would do no good since he was at Truham anyway. You decided to head back to class to ask for your teacher's help, but once you tried climbing the stairs, a thousand little dots started dancing around. You were able to mutter an 'I feel kinda dizzy' before everything turned black.

You awoke to a commotion. Distorted sounds and everything around you moved too fast to register. Someone was holding your hand while you felt a pinch in your arm. 

"It's okay, it's okay Y/n. You're going to be okay. I'm here."

You knew that voice. You lifted your gaze with an effort and only saw a flash of red hair before darkness swallowed you once more.

This time, when you woke up, everything was silent and peaceful. You were lying in a bed, a hospital bed, with an IV drip set up in your arm. Nick was resting in the chair next to you, his worried eyes set on his phone as he quickly typed.

"Hey," you croaked. 

His head whipped up in surprise when he heard your voice. He immediately dropped his phone to come by your side. His hand flew to your forehead. The coolness of it felt incredibly refreshing as you leaned into the touch.

"Hey, kid," he whispered. He tried putting a smile on his face, but it couldn't hide the worry he was truly feeling.

"So, I'm guessing I fainted? And someone found me? And they panicked ?"

"Panicked is an understatement."

He explained that Imogen found you at the bottom of the stairs. She didn't know whether you had fallen from them or just fainted at the bottom, so she immediately called for help and texted him.

"I ran to Higgs faster than Charlie ever could," he added with a smirk, his joke stealing a chuckle from your chest.

"I'm sorry for causing such a commotion. I should wear a bracelet that says fainting is normal for me so people won't worry."

His gaze hardened at your comment. "Fainting is not normal for you. It's a bad sign, and you know it."

You sheepishly dropped your gaze. Okay, he wasn't ready to make jokes about it yet. Charlie would have laughed, you secretly thought.

"I don't understand why you pulled that crap. I just wanted to help you." 

You lay back in bed with a sigh and covered your eyes with your forearm. You did know Nick only wanted to help, but still. His kind gestures irritated you so much sometimes.

"It's already hard enough to be the sick kid. That was my only thing when I was in middle school. I thought now I could step away from it, that I could be someone else. Be known for other things than my messed up immune system." 

You noticed Nick's expression softened once you uncovered your eyes. 

"And I know you want to help and trust me, I appreciate it. It's just that sometimes it feels like you don't believe in me. Like you don't think I'm capable of doing stuff. Instead of helping me become stronger, you keep worrying me with your horror scenarios."

It was now Nick's turn to look all sheepish and guilty. You might have been right in saying he tended to get a little paranoid when you wanted to try new things. He only thought about protecting you. He never realized the effect it would have on your self-esteem. 

"I'm tired of being afraid. I've looked it up, and there are so many people with diabetes who are doing amazing things. I can stay healthy and still be a badass kid who tries new stuff."

He looked up, his eyes holding so much uncertainty and fear. Though through it all, love was the strongest thing in his gaze. He grabbed your hand once again with a tight smile.

"I hear you, I'm sorry. I never thought it would make you feel like this, or else I wouldn't have done it."

"Nick." You gave him a knowing look.

"Okay, okay. I might have still done it, but only because you're my baby sister, and I want you to be healthy and have a long, long life, okay?"

You nodded while tightening your grip on his hand. 

"I promise I will be less overbearing, and I will support you in whatever new thing you want to try."

"Thanks, Nick, and for school, could you maybe not come and do your big brother number in front of all my friends? I appreciate the gesture, but I'm over dealing with the dumbasses." 

He sighed heavily but still agreed to your request. "About that, just a piece of advice. I've learned that sometimes the thing we are afraid will show our weakness or vulnerability only does when we allow it to. Once you reclaim your power and own it, it all switches around. Anyone who has something to say about it will suddenly disappear, or you won't care what they have to say anymore."

You nodded sheepishly. You honestly didn't care about your diabetes. I mean, it could be a gigantic pain, and you would have to be careful for the rest of your life. But all in all, you were pretty lucky. You had your condition mostly under control when you weren't a sassy dumbass, and you had the best support system someone could wish for. 

"Look at me. You're going to be okay kiddo." Your brother squeezed your hand tighter in a reassuring motion. 

You lifted your head to meet his supportive gaze and smiled in return. Yes, you would be okay.