#turns out I just needed to draw clone cadets to get out of this weird art block

[chiliger]

Choose your fighter!

Watch out, even the cubs have claws!

[fanfic-obsessed]

Back with the questions!

So Actually Traitors has Dooku getting taken with the Jedi when they leave. What's he doing there? Making trouble, furthering Palps' plan, gradually talking more with the clones and oh no he's attached??

Also. Fox. Is apparently allergic to particular Force acts? It's less that I think this is ridiculous (though it is very funny) and more that I'm wondering what the hell they did? And whether anyone thinks it's weird that they're writing papers on this or if the Archivists/researchers are just like "YES fun none war things to research!"

At first Dooku was supposed to play nice, to gain the confidence of the Jedi, banking on Yoda's love for his lineage. Then his job was to be three fold: 1. to provide Palpatine with information on the Jedi and their movement, so they can plan accordingly, 2. to encourage the idea that the Jedi need to act as the aggressor toward the republic, and 3. to plant the seeds to fracture the Order if necessary.

It never really gets off the ground, primarily because of Obi Wan. Though no one in the Jedi Order ever found out that Dooku was a Sith in this, Obi Wan did make a point of telling Jocasta Nu exactly who vandalized her Archive (in part out of pettiness to head of the Seperatists, in part to direct her attention away from Cody-who had just accidentally broken a data chip with a slightly rare treatise dating from the Old Republic). As a result Madame Nu effectively grounded Dooku- She has restricted his ability to send communications, he is NOT allowed to interact with any Jedi below the level of Knight OR any of the clone cadets or Shinies, and she or a designated guardian would be escorting him everywhere until 'he was mature enough to not destroy other people's knowledge'. No one is really sure that Madame Nu has the authority to ground Dooku (Who is at least nominally still a planetary leader and, strictly speaking, is being held against his will after being abducted by the Jedi Order).

By the time he is no longer grounded he has gotten attached, specifically to Alpha-17. Alpha-17 was one of his more frequent escorts, and the two shared similar opinions on the Senate (In that the application of some generous assassinations' would greatly enhance the atmosphere), Anakin Skywalker (far too too reckless, far too arrogant, and in desperate need to therapy-Dooku never seems to realize the irony of this belief), and a taste for very expensive alcohol. It is Alpha-17 that draws Dooku back to the light.

Dooku eventually goes before the Jedi Council to confess to being a former Sith, to find that no one is surprised. It took precisely two weeks in frequent contact with Dooku for each of the Council to realize he had fallen, but it was decided to see where things would go, and that Dooku's communications would have been monitored (and still would be monitored).

For Fox; he, Ventress, Vos they were experimenting with the use of Jedi mind tricks when compared to Sith mind control in sex. It is all Safe, Sane, and Consenual and heavily discussed beforehand. However it turns out that having both a Mind Trick (Actually three separate mind tricks geared toward increasing Fox's sensitivity and attraction) and Mind Control active at once caused hives for Fox. The baffled healers and medics, who had never hard of that reaction before, also found out that something in Fox's genetic code caused Antihistamine to get him really high.

Th Archivist are ecstatic with the experiments, especially since the Kenobi/Cody Polycule insist on the scientific method. It is the only reason that Madame Nu forgave Cody.

[nevertheless-moving]

Suicidal Misunderstanding XIX

Part I - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Part XVI - - - - Part XVII - - - - XVIII

Star Wars Time Travel AU #27

Author’s Note: This chapter may contain triggering material. Depicts canon-typical violence and deals heavily with themes concerning the aftermath of attempted suicide. 

“Commander- Cody- CODY! Would you wait up.”

Someone was calling his name, but now that the briefing was over Cody was having trouble focusing past the faint ringing in his ears. He worked furiously to move past the white noise and marshal his sluggish thoughts towards overseeing the shuttling of the remaining on-planet 212th back to the Negotiator, and finishing crew complement reports for General Krell and-

He had barely gotten his train of thought back on track when it was derailed by someone grabbing his shoulder. He barely managed to restrain himself from punching the irritant in the visor.

“What is it, Waxer?” he asked impatiently.

“Can we talk? Alone?”

“Fine.” Cody grunted.

Waxer dragged him into the closest small armament room. At a sharp gesture from Waxer, the few milling clones inside quickly shuffled out.

Waxer pulled off his helmet, eyes wide and sad.

“Cody-” he said hesitantly. “I’m not going to pretend that I completely understand what’s going on, but I’m here for you, whatever you need, if you ever want to talk. I never even told Boil about the- the trip to the temple, or any of it, ok? But I’m really worried about you and I want you to know that you can trust me- even if you just need a shoulder to lean on.”

The ringing in Cody’s head got louder.  A beat passed.

“Is that all?” Cody finally asked. “I have work to do.”

“...yeah, that was all.”

Cody made for the door but was stopped by a frantic cry.

“I’m Sorry!” Waxer half-shouted. “I’m sorry- you told us something was wrong and we just laughed and I’m so sorry Commander. And then when you started getting weird and the General wasn’t answering comms I just assumed things were good, but then we found he was sick and I was making jokes about bedrest while he was in sickbay- and then I was remembering the surveillance you put on the Cantina and I made jokes about that at the time but I was right next to him at the bar while you over at the table and now I can stop thinking that he got poisoned while I was right next to him at the bar. And then General Skywalker stepped down from Command this morning and I don’t even want to imagine what would make him do that. And I don’t know what the kark all that was with Krell but I’m so sorry Commander- I feel like everything I say is making things worse but I- I’m sorry.”

It took a while for Cody’s sluggish mind to process all that. He stared blankly at Waxer as he quivered at attention.

“Waxer...” The ringing had stopped, and was now replaced with a growing headache. “None of the General’s injuries or anything are your fault, ok? I- its classified and I don’t- I don’t know what happened this morning but...nothing actually happened in the Cantina. You have to keep this secret- but...” Cody hesitated over how much to say.

His voice dropped to a low whisper. “Practically the only thing I do know for sure is that he wasn’t poisoned. It was just regular alcohol and at most it made him slightly vulnerable... Anyway nothing was your fault so just- focus on the mission. Ok?”

Waxer stared at Cody. He cleared his throat. “You said Injuries.”

“What?” No I- what are you talking about?” Cody asked weakly.

“Commander. You said injuries. Not illness. Are you telling me that the General was attacked?” Waxer asked, voice growing quiet and angry. “Are you telling me that the General was attacked and High Command lied to us about it?”

Cody responded with similar hushed irritation, “No! Waxer- look. I can’t talk about this, it’s-”

“I swear to the force if you say classified I don’t care if you are my commanding officer I will slug you.” Waxer took in a shaky breath, clenching his fists. “Is this why you’ve been wearing your bucket? Because you can’t look your troopers in the face while you lie to us about a threat to the 212th?”

“That’s enough lieutenant- there are things you don’t know-”

“Yeah, because I’m being lied to- I’m supposed to be your lieutenant and even if you couldn’t tell me everything I at least trusted that you wouldn’t lie-”

“We didn’t lie- illness is the best description because even if we don’t understand what caused it, that’s what caused the injuries, and the troops needed to know this isn’t going to be fixed even once he’s technically out of the Bacta tank.”

“What the kriff kind of illness causes injuries you treat with a Bacta tank-”

“Fuck. Waxer, please. I can’t do this-”

Waxer stepped forward as Cody shifted back.

“Cody. Seriously. What kind of illness causes injuries you treat with a Bacta tank? That- that doesn’t even make sense.”

"It’s class-”

“What do you mean the alcohol made him ‘vulnerable’?”

“Lieutenant, I’ve got to back to work-”

Waxer grabbed his arm before he could pull away.

“Commander, was this an attack or not?”

“We- we don’t know. There’s Jedi bantha fodder involved...and, Waxer you can’t discuss this with anyone, I can’t-”

“What the kriff do you mean you don’t know- how could it not be clear if his injuries were caused by an attack or an illness?”

Cody yanked his arm away and shoved Waxer back with his shoulder. The lieutenant quickly regained his balance and charged forward, tackling the commander to the ground, helmet make a hard thud as it made contact with the duracrete floor. They rolled around, each trying to gain leverage over the other.

 Cody managed to get on top, knee driving harshly into Waxer’s back, pinning him down. After that, it only took a few more seconds to twist one of Waxer’s arm behind his back.

“Fine!” Cody sneered, pressing hard on his Lieutenant’s neck with one hand while yanking the trapped arm painfully. “You really want to know?!”

“Obviously, asshole” Waxer grit out.

“The general tried to karking kill himself and we have no idea why.”

“no-”

“Or rather we have too many ideas why. Did you know Jedi can take psychic damage from being around too many violent thoughts? Or that the General got abandoned in a fucking planetary civil war when he was a cadet?”

“that-”

Of course, he could have just had a vision that melted his brain and actually he wanted to wake up by killing himself. And if that’s true than it means he vividly remembers the nightmare shit from the hovercar ride. Remember that stuff? Temple burning? Us firing at him while mind controlled? Yeah, could be he just thinks that’s more real than reality, and he’s never going to be able to move on from stuff we didn’t even do. And he might never believe anything we say or do is real ever again.”

“I-”

“Of course, it could be some sort of crazy dark forbidden Jedi attack from Dooku or Ventress because they’re still running around despite all the times we’ve almost captured them, and if it is that then there’s not a karking thing we can do to defend him!”

“Cody, please-”

Cody breathed heavily for a second, staring uncomprehendingly at the trooper pinned beneath him. After a moment, everything clicked into place and he scrambled back, stopping when his back hit a sealed munitions rack. Waxer gasped for breath.

“Fuck- Waxer, I am so sorry, that was, kriff, you shouldn’t have found out that way- I shouldn’t have told you like that, I’m so sorry. I- are you ok?

"Oh yes, I’m doing great,” Waxer wheezed. “How about you?”

“I’m fine.” Cody replied automatically, wincing immediately at the absurdity of the sentence.

“Wizard, so glad we had this conversation.” Waxer coughed, voice starting to get back to normal. 

The door clicked open and a trooper Cody didn’t recognize stepped in, looked between Cody, who was braced defensively with his knees up, and Waxer who was panting face down, a small distance away. He immediately stepped back into the hall, not saying a word, door clicking swiftly closed again, lock audibly activating. 

Waxer flopped over to lay on his back, head turned to the side to pin his Commander in place. 

“...Thanks for telling me, Cody.” Waxer said quietly.

Cody thunked his head back. “You wish you never asked, fuck off.”

Waxer sat up with a groan, “No...Cody you shouldn’t have to go through this by yourself.”

“...Rex knows. Not- not everything I just said. But the basics.” 

“Good.” Waxer crawled over to sit next to his Commander, sitting back heavily.

“...I’m sorry, Cody. If Boil ever- I’m just...really sorry.”

Cody dropped his head to his knees. “I can’t let myself feel like that, Waxer,” he rasped. “I was already hanging by a thread and then- I thought he was there at the meeting for a second, and I- the men need me, I can’t focus on stuff that’s going to make me go nuts.”

“Um... you mean you thought he was there, when the Jedi were ‘sensing’ him?” the lieutenant asked tentatively.

“...yeah,” Cody sighed.

“That sounds like force stuff.”

Cody hummed in response.

Waxer took a deep breath. “Did- did it seem like he died?”

“I don’t...know,” Cody answered softly. “He- was there. And then he wasn’t.”

There was a long pause before the Lieutenant spoke, deliberately cheerful.

“Well then, I bet he’s alive. He’s obviously not very good at dying.”

Cody choked on a harsh breath, coughing heavily enough that he finally yanked off his helmet to suck in air.

“For- for force sake, Waxer-”

“You said you couldn’t go nuts,” Waxer said, shoving him with his shoulder. “We’re soldiers, right? This is how we deal with horrific shit that no one should ever have to think about, let alone have to keep to himself for fear of demoralizing an entire army, eh?”

“Waxer...”

The trooper climbed to his feet with a groan, ignoring his commanding officer.

“Come on, let’s get those kriffing manifests completed for Master Krell. I’ll make sure you keep going. For our Vode.” He offered a hand down to Cody, who tentatively accepted it. Waxer yanked him to his feet, drawing his Commander in for a quick, crushing hug, before ducking down to pick up the discarded buckets.

They both pulled on their helmets, puffy eyes and swollen lips hidden neatly.

“For our Vode,” Cody repeated.

They unlocked the door, joining the throng, all company marching to the familiar rhythm of a quickly ticking deployment countdown.

Next (Part XX)

[tojakku]

✶ - sugarplums and stardust 

pairing: fpopstar! reader x arc trooper fives                                            summary: you, sugarplum, galaxy-wide adored popstar. fives, galaxy-wide renowned idiot.                                                                                  warnings: rated m for mature! this chapter includes: smut (18+), oral (female receiving), dirty talk, implied rough sex, pee pee in v, the beauty of checking up on your partner, mature language... a hot clone trooper, flirtation... alcohol... etc... fives being a little slut 

THE BARRACKS ARE ALMOST ENTIRELY QUIET. Almost. The centre of Coruscant never quite escaped from the thrum of late-night traffic, or the sing of the planet throbbing right below their feet, through canals and chambers and pipes of sewers crawling with scrap rats. 

Sometimes too much silence wasn’t good for Fives’ brothers. Sometimes it made them more restless, tossing and turning before eventually leaving to the gym, to push weights and punch bags until their tiredness had them collapsing on the mats. It was an uneasy and unpredictable world in the barracks- right where it should be predictable and easy.

The 501st are on shore leave along with a good handful of other battalions, a couple from the Inner Rim, the 13th Battalion from Sullust, even Wolffe and Cody were sticking around somewhere. Fives, although he was meant to be raving and silly and wild, was feeling a little… well, he hadn’t eaten much at dinner.

Something about the last campaign on Bothawui, a second, months after the first, and being soaked through with blood and gunfire, had just dulled him a little. Maybe he just needed sharpening.

He muscles his helmet in his hands, trudging down the main corridor through the barracks. There were separate rooms inside now, the one he shared with the rest of Rex’s squadron far at the end. The lights, although top of the range, working perfectly, were too bright, flickering off the durasteel of the walls, the floors, the ceilings. Fives wrinkles his nose. Too bright.

There’s the slightest shimmer of music, though, and for a brief fleeting moment, Fives is convinced it’s coming from outside, from Coruscant, but when he pushes through into his part of the barracks, his stomping ground, he stops still.

Now, the 501st have always been fans of partying, music, drinks, cantinas, women, but Maker, Fives was not expecting four full-grown men huddled around a datapad, nodding their heads to a silvery voice accompanied by a thrumming beat. He didn’t expect, either, the harsh shushing he receives from an irritated Kix.

The medic holds up a hand and starts rabbiting on to Jesse, perched on his left on the bunk, leaning his hand on his brother’s shoulder. Damn batchmates. 

“See? She’s amazing,” Kix mutters, gesturing at the datapad. “She was on the radio the other day, little Tano said something about her and I looked into it.” Fives tosses his helmet on the opposite bunk and takes a peek at what exactly they’re watching.

Oh.

A popstar. Shimmying. Rather precariously. 

She’s all clad up in pale, pastel lavender, her cheeks dusted in a thin film of shimmering pink, her mouth painted a matching shade. She’s even got this wild, bright yellow hair. Kix takes a wary glance at Fives before angling the screen a little more.

“Sugarplum.” 

“She’s some babe from the Core Worlds, a superstar,” Hardcase supplies, chewing on a bar of some unidentifiable substance with a grin. “Hot,” he comments, when she turns to wink at the camera.

“What is this?” Fives asks, leaning heavily on the bunk. Her shimmering, glittery skin seems to just seep through the datapad with every shift, shimmy and spin. 

“She’s doing concerts all over Coruscant in the next few days. Then Corellia, then the other ecumenopoli.” Echo speaks as if it’s common knowledge. Fives scowls at his twin, shoving his shoulder with a hand. 

Kix swipes left on the datapad and suddenly a rather risque picture flashes up, Sugarplum’s tongue out, her eyes rolled back. A ripple of chaos from the boys as they try to cover the datapad, and a roar of laughter from Hardcase when the pad goes flying over their heads.

“What the fuck?”

“That is not my datapad, I swear-”

“Yeah, it’s Tup’s!” 

“No, no, it’s definitely ‘Case’s.”

Fives snorts, throwing himself onto his bunk, listening, happily, to his brothers bicker.

“Want to bet she wants a piece of clone ass?” A murmur of dissent and discern when Jesse speaks follows- Fives struggles not to burst into a laugh. The cog-faced trooper looks down in embarrassment when he’s knuckled into a headlock. “Come on!”

“Yeah, maybe she does, but we weren’t going to say that!” A pause. “It’s practically gospel truth all of the beautiful ladies want a piece of us.”

The door busts open again, on four troopers in a pile, and Fives, beaming happily away on his bunk. It’s Rex, ole’ Captain, and he looks once at the pile, once at Fives, before moving into the barracks, silent as night- not on Coruscant, silent somewhere else.

Fives wriggles under his Captain’s gaze, uneasy. Sometimes he made him uneasy when he didn’t talk, didn’t even greet them. Sometimes it meant the end of shore leave. Fives swallows, stuffing the panic hard down in his stomach to edge himself along the bunk with a little more formality. Rex catches his gaze.

“You lot looking at Sugarplum again?” There’s an uproar of disagreements, denials and something else, just Jesse relenting with a sigh. Fives stuffs a fist against his mouth, trying to contain his laughter at the four troopers fumbling over each other, even as Rex stares, unimpressed. 

“Yeah,” Fives mutters. “They were, but we saw some of Hardcase’s secret bank and they threw the-” A pillow hits him square in the face. “Hey!” 

“You guys are bad as cadets,” Rex huffs, laughing softly, bringing his datapad up. He looks more tired than usual, rings under his eyes.

“You tired, Rex?” Kix asks, suddenly fluttering into medic-mode. He touches Rex’s forehead with the back of three fingers and draws an amused sigh from the Captain. Fives watches over the edge of his fist. If something’s wrong with Rex, that means no drinking themselves into inhibition later that night. 

“Better not be! We’re out tonight,” Jesse knocks his hand on Rex’s shoulder as he throws himself up from the bunk. “And I’m dreaming of beating Commander Wolffe in a drink-down this time. This time.”

“Don’t you say that every time, vod?” Hardcase levels a gaze back at the now-scowling Jesse. 

“What clubs do you think Sugarplum goes to?”

“Those glitzy ones on the upper levels, probably, the ones suspended in the air,” Rex joins in then, making weird shapes with his hands. “You’ve seen.” A moment of silence. “Okay, well, the General told me they sell sunfruit liquors there for five credits a shot.”

“Is it supposed to be better than the shit they sell us at 79’s?”

“Who fucking knows.”

“The General, apparently-”

“Kenobi was the one who told him.” 

Another round of laughs. Fives sighs, smiling, before wrestling Echo into a headlock.

“Ready to get out-drunk tonight, brother?” A shove, a scoff, then a grin. “You better be. You owe me three drink runs.”

“Three?” 

“Three, vod, three. For the last time I saved you.” Echo shakes his head, pushing a hand through his dark hair- same as them all, deep down. “Three.”

“Two.”

Fives laughs, bumping forearms with his brother. Echo knocks his temple against Fives’ and a moment of softness breaks the twins’ bickering.

“Fine, two.” 

Fives never could refuse his batchmate. 

-

You weren’t, and never will be, completely keen on Coruscant. Too much… difference. No, it’s not that, it’s just the deep tunnels into the ground and the rumours you hear sometimes, through your girls, through… well, anywhere.

‘Disease grows twofold as the lower levels of Coruscant are ignored for a Senate sickness’, or ‘The lower levels of Coruscant- most dangerous place in the galaxy?’. No, of course not. There’s police, you stupid news writer.

You pick idly at your nails, smoothing your thumbs over each metallic-blue painted tip to soothe your nerves. 

Eva and Lirisa had planned for a club outing tonight. The concert earlier had gone perfectly fine, just amazing, really. Everything was on point, the dancing, the singing, the backup vocals, the crowd… it still tingles on your skin like a second skin. The thrill would never hit any different.

You’re hidden away in your dressing room back in your apartment, slumped over a chair like a swooning lady. Lirisa is fixing her hair around her three little head horns, a bright, vivid purple like her skin, frowning in the mirror over your shoulder. She catches your gaze after a moment, face folding into concern.

You stretch out in the plum velvet chair, legs in fluffy slippers spreading when she gets that look. That look meant questions.

“Why are you so down?” You frown, shaking your head, returning your gaze to the datapad in your hands. A news article about you paints the screen. Lirisa looks down, once, twice, realises, and snatches your chin away from it. “Stop reading it if it’s bad.”

“It’s not bad. It’s good.” She pouts, letting you go with a soft pat to the shoulder. You shuffle uncomfortably in your feather-trimmed robe, the sheer material not offering much of a comfort in the face of a wide-open balcony window a few paces away.

Eva appears seconds later, looking plump and perfect in her eye-snatching candyfloss pink minidress, feet hidden in peculiar fur-cuffed ankle boots. She shifts, eyes ducking against the ground, her tattoos across her nose, little black diamonds against pale green skin, vivid and stark. 

“Oh, wow!” You exclaim, turning the spinning chair with a free hand. Lirisa squeals, rushing forward to tug at the hem of the dress, pulling the daring v-neck even lower. Eva hisses, batting away her friend’s hands.

“Don’t pull it down that far!” 

“I wasn’t!” 

A giggle and a sigh, then attention flickers back towards you. Your gut drops when they rush forwards, springing upon your wardrobe like it was their job- well, it was, but that doesn’t matter. There’s two options for dresses and you’ve already made your decision. A deep blue second skin, a dress that shimmered like a starlit night under the right light. The front was a simple scooped neck, low enough that your cleavage could make a gasp for breath, but not low enough you’d be recognised for a sleaze. The back is a square of sheer material until your hips, a little more than daring, a little less than risque, perfect for a night of dancing and drinking. 

There were even little silver stilettos in the corner. 

“No one will recognise me in blue, so stop trying to find other dresses,” you chide. “I’ve already made my decision.” A pout from Lirisa doesn’t move your hard-as-steel expression. Sometimes the Theelin girl had the ability to actually change your mind, but now, you sit there, waiting patiently for her to stop sulking. “Are we still going to that… um, that bar?”

“‘That bar’,” Eva mocks, turning you sharply to the mirror to start fiddling with your hair. It rests, untouched, until she starts pulling it up. “The clone bar.”

“Are we even going to be allowed in?” Eva nods, twisting a coil of hair around her finger. It’s not the same electric yellow it was on stage- the wig was long gone. “Who have you bribed this time?” You grin, glancing at her in the mirror. She shakes her head, disgusted at the pure suggestion of bribery. 

(Wouldn’t be the first time she had… well, Eva had once tried to bribe a club bouncer with a tray of meiloorun fruit.)

“I heard from a reliable source in the GAR offices that a whole bunch of sexy, all-too-willing clones are on shore leave.” You sigh, tugging on a forlorn strand of hair. Eva grabs your shoulder, firmly. “Don’t pull, your hair is almost done.”

“Shouldn’t I get my dress on first?”

“You’ll only spill blumfruit juice on it.” You scowl. “And we’re leaving in twenty minutes, standard. I already called a speeder for us.” 

“No paps?”

“No paps.” A pat on your shoulder and you relax. “Anyway, we’re going to have fun tonight!” Lirisa moves around in the background, now clad head to toe in what looks like skin-tight purple leather. She smiles, fondly, smoothing down a crease at her hip. The neckline plunges low below her sternum, but she acts as if she’s wearing Jedi robes with a swish and a sashay. You redirect your eyes when you get a rather tasteful flash of sideboob. “Looking good, Liri.”

“Thank you!”

“Is it a new suit?” A pause, a shrug. “Is it from my wardrobe?” You ask, eyebrow cocked in question. She nods, coyly smiling. “Fair enough.”

“Huh! If I took that you’d scream at me.”

“No, because I’d never confidently display so much sideboob at a club, Eva,” you mutter. Eva ponders it for a moment, but agrees, nodding. “Exactly.”

“Well, let’s just get to the club first, then we’ll decide how much ‘sideboob’ you’ll display after a few drinks.”

-

If there was one thing Eva was right about, it was the abundancy of rather good-looking men in the same place. Getting in had been easy- just flutter your lashes at the Coruscant guard on the door, he’d step aside and let you straight in with promises of a kiss later. 

Inside was beautiful, purple and blue lights swinging low from a long-greyed ceiling, huge yellow holograms with all manner of languages on them- news, nunaball, flashes of the GAR-droids, the ones that present it. Then, even a flicker of your own face. A familiar beat begins thrumming ten steps into the bar.

Eva barks a laugh, hooking her pale green arm through yours, tugging you closer towards the bartender. She starts ordering shots in a rapid call, smiling politely at the droid behind it. You lean an elbow on the bright, turquoise counter, relishing in the sultry high notes of one of your latest tunes. Lirisa throws her arms around your waist, humming softly.

“Three.” Eva holds up her fingers. “Thank you.”

You flex your hands under the glow of a green-yellow menu. It’s fascinating, being suspended in a place like this and being able to take your eyes off the crowd for just a moment without being scared of being hustled. Eva touches your shoulder momentarily, her usual gesture of reassurance.

Your gaze slips from the bar- it’s fascinating, yes, but more fascinating are the similar faces flashing around you. Each one the same, but slightly different. Silver hair, shaved head, tattooed, long hair, dark hair, pale hair, wider smile, careful gaze. You wet your lips and catch the gaze of a trooper a few seats down.

He’s broad, like the rest of his brothers, but something else settles about him like a halo. Dominance, confidence. He’s got one cybernetic eye, too, but the gruffness of his expression as he moves from his seat has your eyes fixated.

Suddenly, you catch another gaze of another set of troopers some ways away.

Huddled in a booth, an entire squad is staring right at you. With a startled huff, you cross your legs, tugging gently on Lirisa’s leather sleeve.

“I think I’ve been made.”

“Where?” She looks over your shoulder, brown eyes searching against the near-darkness of the club. She raises an eyebrow, slowly. “Oh. Just troopers, it’s okay. They won’t bother you.” You frown, interlocking your fingers and moving, slowly, to lean awkwardly against the counter. Their gazes reside on your back, sticky like syrup, until someone speaks roughly at your side.

“You’re not a clone.” 

You turn, matching the gaze of the gruff man from before. A glance over his armour tells you nothing- great. He’s patched in a pale, unforgiving black, and he moves, tilting his body to rest on the countertop. 

“No,” you murmur. “I suppose I’m not.” Your fingers go immediately to your necklace, a thin chain of silver studded with transparent stones, to tug. It’s a habit. The trooper looks at you for a long moment, dark eye and silver eye roving until he smiles, a little. Something tells you smiling isn’t normally what he’s used to. “Is that a good thing?” A look through your lashes and a splutter of drink from Eva over your shoulder has you struggling to hold in a laugh. 

The man’s eyes flit to the screens, then back to you.

“Is that you?” You purse your lips, glancing at the hologram. “Nice.” Nothing else is added before he prepositions: “Want to dance?”

It’s only a moment after he offers his name, ‘Wolffe’, that you agree, letting him lead you to a writhing pack of men, clones and civvies, a few girls of all species. Your fingers thread through his and with a giggle, you sit your drink- a sunfruit cocktail- now finished, on an empty table. A rivulet of excitement ripples through your stomach when he tugs you firmly to his chest, roving a strong-fingered hand over the small of your back.

He asks a soft ‘this okay?’, but you’re too far flushed with music and finally, relaxation. You throw your arms around his neck and sway to the upbeat bass. A few more moments and your head drops back with a soft sigh, Wolffe’s fingers catching against the thin seam where the sheer material turns back into oil-slick silken fabric. Your breath hitches.

“Never did get your name,” he huffs, nose brushing yours. You sigh, smiling politely.

“They call me Sugarplum,” you murmur, letting his hands on your hips move you a little more vigorously to the disco-beat. Wolffe grins, wolfish, before flipping you around, a hand flattening against your stomach. 

The music continues, and you continue to let Wolffe roam his hands along your midriff until he’s heaving heavy breaths in your ear and becoming slowly less dancer-like. You had to admit, the clones seemed like they were lithe bands of silk ready to snap, but you were dying for a drink.

When the song starts to pulse out in favour of a quicker, sharper tone, you slide your hands against his and softly remove them.

“I need a drink,” you shout over the music. He swipes a hand over his sweat-stricken hair and nods, dropping himself into a booth. “Thanks for the dance.” You brush your lips against his cheek and dart through the crowd, desperately searching for a flicker of pink, or purple. Luckily, Lirisa’s still at the bar, pressed against it by someone in red armour, perhaps, but there nevertheless, and smiling, sober. “Liri and… friend.”

“This is Thire,” she calls, patting his hand. “Coruscant Guard.”

“Fancy.” You stare at him for a moment, trying to decide on his intentions when he gives the brightest, sweetest smile you’ve ever seen. You feel your cheeks rush with heat. “Nice to meet you.”

“Plum,” Lirisa mutters. “How was your dance?”

“Oh, fine… you know me…”

“What, a prude?”

“No!” You bat her arm with a hiss. “Picky.” You flag down for another drink, dumping a pile of credits on the counter. Thire’s brows skyrocket, his face a portrait of shock when the droid picks through and takes only what’s needed. “Oh, I don’t know the prices…”

“That’s a lotta’ credits.”

Lirisa tilts his chin with one long, lavender finger and captures his mouth, eyes settling on you with a meaningful look. You swipe the credits up, dumping them back in the little silver shoulder bag she’s got on the counter. Oops.

You hear yourself in the speakers again.

“Huh. Whoever’s DJ-ing has nice taste.” Lirisa pulls away from Thire after a long moment, her lipstick a little smudged, but with a warm smile, Thire swipes it back into place. “Thank you, baby doll.” Thire darkens. “I’ve always liked ‘Popgloss’.” 

“It’s not my best,” you murmur, eyes fluttering with shyness. 

“This is you?” Thire asks, gesturing at the screen. You look at yourself, bearing a bright, fluorescent blue wig and matching lipstick. “That’s you?” He huffs a laugh of surprise. “Nice lipstick.”

“Thank her,” you reply, jabbing a thumb in the Theelin’s direction.

The droid slides a new drink over. You frown, staring at it. The glass is literally glowing, a white-ish liquid simmering inside. 

“Courtesy of the 501st, ma’am.” The droid trundles away and you stare at the bright blue liquid with a smile. 

“Boys in blue, huh?” Thire looks at the drink, then back at Liri with hooded eyes. “That looks like a mist-cocktail.” He turns, glancing over his shoulder towards where you’d seen the table staring at you. You follow his gaze, but only a few troopers remain. One of them raises a hand in a two-fingered salute, though. You smile coyly, waving in return. 

With a careful touch, you raise the glass to your mouth and take a sip. It’s warm, warm down to your toes, and tastes amazing.

“Tastes great,” you say, a little surprised. “I should go thank them.”

“No, you should leave them waiting, maybe they’ll come up to you!” You scowl, shaking your head. Another sip of your drink and you turn, walking swiftly towards the table where only three troopers remain out of what was a lot more. One with long hair, another with lines tattooed down his face, grinning roguishly, and the last with a buzzed, blonde cut. 

“Um, I just wanted to say thank you for the drink.” You fiddle with the draw, lashes fluttering of their own command. All three troopers are staring, two at your face, and the other quite firmly at your legs. “And, well… thank you for fighting. Your service,” you murmur, suddenly taken aback with shyness. Come on, superstar personality! Make your appearance.

The blonde grins.

“You’re welcome. On both counts.” His demeanour is remarkably similar to that of the Wolffe from earlier. Perhaps a Commander. “We’re quite enjoying your music tonight.” You chew idly on a thumb, smiling bashfully. “And we enjoyed Wolffe’s poor attempt at dancing.”

“Oh!” You snort. “He wasn’t that bad!” Eyes follow your hips as they turn, swaying back and forth as you try to plant yourself firmly and more confidently at one side of the round table. “Um, well, thank you anyway.”

“Thank you, Sugarplum.”

You make a wild getaway before you can embarrass yourself further or faint in the lap of the blonde, who was staring a little too sharply for your taste. The music seems to pulse louder with every step you get back to Lirisa, who is now firmly shoved against the counter and smothered by Thire’s mouth. Eva is nowhere to be seen.

“Where’s Eva?”

“She ran off with a Twi’lek lady.” 

You smile, huffing a chuckle of disbelief, leaning forwards to finish your drink in two more sips, when slowly, you notice a presence approaching you from the side.

Hands, well-defined, lined with veins and a few here-and-there scars, draw your attention like an industrial magnet. His skin is bronze, a dark, deep gold, like his brothers, but he plants his weight on the bar and clears his throat softly before speaking.

“Hey,” he says, voice low, dark. You swallow, hard, turning your head. He’s quite a face. He’s got quite a face- sorry, he’s… got quite a face. Right below his hairline, there’s a little ‘5’ tattoo, nestled there, inked in night-black. You take another sip of your drink for courage.

Alone, it’s easier.

“Hello.” Your voice is a little uneasy, but the trooper smiles, his eyes shining with politeness. Your eyes flutter shut when another one of your songs bursts through the speakers, but the trooper’s grin only grows.

“I’m not boring you, am I?” 

“No! No, sorry, I’m just… I don’t know.” His smile softens at the corners, less devilish, and he shifts his weight, spine arching with the movement. You let your gaze flicker along his lithe body, contained in blue-stained armour. ‘Boys in blue’, Thire had said. “Oh! You sent me the drink… it’s delicious.”

“Yeah? One of my favourites.” He moves a hand back through his dark hair, eyes ducking for a brief second, before meeting yours once more. You feel your chest swoop and you smile, wide, wider than usual. “Fives.” He offers a hand, a handshake, and you accept it, only for him to flip your wrist. His lips ghost your knuckles. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“You can call me Plums,” you supply. “That’s what all my friends call me.”

“Friends?” A coy, cocked brow. Your chest flutters and you nod, drawing your bottom lip between your teeth. You’ve probably got dark lipstick all over your teeth by this point, but the way Fives poses the question has you suddenly not-so-bothered. Lirisa’s knuckles jabs your spine twice, a signal. You’re pretty much alone now. She’d bring Thire back to her apartment, two floors under yours, and Eva was wherever that Twi’lek took her. “We like your music in the barracks.”

“Oh? Thank you,” you murmur, gazing into the bottom of your glass. “I wish you could all come to one of my concerts, that’s the only place I sound good sometimes. My studio stuff is a little-” 

He suddenly tilts your chin with the knuckle of his finger, still grinning brightly.

“Don’t want to lose my beautiful view.” You chew helplessly on your lip, chest releasing a sort-of sigh, more like a swooning hum. “And I like both. All of it. The boys were playing a couple clips of your concert today.”

“Really?” You fiddle with the stem of your glass, not letting your eyes drop from his face, chiselled and kind, warm. 

“Yeah. I like the pink, but if I’m honest, I like this blue on you even better.” He taps your lower arm, where the sleeve ends at your wrist. “We’re matching, see?” He gestures at his blue-painted armour. You suddenly smile, nerves dissipating. 

“Seems like we are.” A smile shared, and Fives shifts forwards. His fingers skim your waist as he signals the droid for another drink. “You want me drunk or something?”

“How many have you had?”

“I can handle another. For you.” He raises a brow, eyes suddenly narrowing with a wild grin. “I suppose.” You rest a hand against his chestplate and he huffs a noise of near-surprise, before taking your fingers in his. He brushes his mouth against them and thanks the droid when he appears with another mist-cocktail, no, two. “What are these even made from?”

“Good question,” he murmurs, taking a long sip of his. You stare at him, unabashedly, for a moment, watching the light flicker through his long lashes, then the twitch of his mouth when he realises you’re staring. “Something you like?”

“You have the most beautiful profile I’ve ever seen,” you gush, turning his head with the tips of your fingers, smiling. His breath comes out in a slow whirl when you slide a fingertip down the bridge of his nose. “Like a statue. One of those ones on Naboo in the big fancy halls.”

“You callin’ me handsome?”

“I’m calling you more than that.” 

He takes another long drink of his cocktail and you follow, letting it warm your stomach. You glance at his blue armour, touching the lines of his arm.

“Boys in blue?”

“501st Legion.” He bows his head. “At your service, I’m certain. In fact, half the GAR will probably fall at your feet, princess.” You smile, sheepish. “Don’t be so unsure of yourself,” he murmurs, touching a curl of fallen hair at your temple.

“Who said I was unsure? Maybe I’m just faltering in the sheer radiance of your beauty.” Fives laughs, a low rumble in his chest, finishing his drink in one swallow. “501st… are you a Commander?”

He shakes his head with a smile.

“ARC-trooper. Advanced Recon Commando.”

“Oh? So… elite of the elite?” Fives’ eyes flutter, sliding over your features in one long, languid sweep. “Am I stroking your ego?”

“I’d much rather you stroke something else.”

You hum, head turning. You want to pretend the crude line has made you suddenly disgusted, but when he fastens a hand around your waist, you’d rather fall into him, onto him, onto him. He radiates energy. 

“Can you kiss me now?”

His eyes widen, at least a little, and he smiles, eyes lidded, gaze smokier than a Sullust sunrise.

“Can I kiss you? That can be arranged.”

Fives leans, capturing your lips in a soft, chaste kiss. He tastes of cocktails and fruit and something else sharper, darker, but you don’t care. It’s suddenly rather hard to care as he brushes a thumb along your ribs and leans you back further. Your chest hisses a content sigh when he tilts your chin, pulls back, then takes your mouth a little harder. 

He’s soft as silk for a soldier with calloused hands, his touch careful, hesitant until you moan quietly into his mouth and he touches his tongue against the seam of your lips. You let your jaw open, and he slides his tongue along your teeth, grins, then groans when your hips cant into his. 

“Fives, do you want… do you want to come to my apartment?” He huffs, almost as if he can’t believe his luck, mouth shining with moisture. His head dips, claiming your lips once more like he’s got unfinished business there. 

His thumbs ripple over the creases in the dress at your hips, his index, middle, ring finger pressing into your ass, pulling you closer. He knows how to work himself, that’s for sure. You shudder, one hand threading into his hair, the other fastening firmly around his bicep like a vice. He slides his tongue into your mouth and sucks at your bottom lip with a chuckle. You muffle a choked whine, desire suddenly starting to yap at the gates like a feral beast. 

“Yeah…” he replies, finally, eyes fluttering to kiss you again, twice, three times.

There’s gazes on you from the boys in the booth, you know, you feel them, but you don’t take a chance at them until you can lean back for a cool breath of fresh air. They all sit there, slack-jawed, wide eyed.

“Your friends are looking at us,” you murmur, fingers digging into his upper arm.

“Let them look. They’re not the ones getting an eyeful of this masterpiece up close,” he hums, nosing along your jaw. “You should be painted.”

“Is that what you say to all the girls?”

“What do you want to hear?”

“The truth.”

“You’re the first one it’s true for.” You feel your heart thrum a little quicker, his fingers pressing hard into your ass, then relaxing. “You wanna call a cab?”

“Yeah. Yeah, come on,” you murmur. You’re more out of breath than you’d like to admit- than your ego would like to admit. Fives steals another cool kiss in the entrance to the club, greeting a few of his brothers in a language you don’t understand, before ushering you in his warm, huge hands, to the cab drop-off.  His arms suddenly hook around your waist and you sigh, softly, contently. 

After dialling in the address to your apartment, the cab takes only another long two minutes to show up, of which consists mainly of Fives drawing his tongue in teasing circles on your neck, and hot, heavy touches along your ribcage.

You step into the cab first, smiling politely to the driver, only to be pinned to the seat by a suddenly ravenous Fives. He pulls you up, over, onto his lap and keeps you there with a hand on your thigh.

“What do you want from me?” He asks, voice low, rough. “I want to be sure you want this.” A finger gestured between your chests and you laugh, threading your fingers through his hair. “What’re you laughin’ at?”

“How could it be possible anyone wouldn’t want you, Fives?” You tug gently at his roots, smoothing kisses on both of his cheeks with a coy smile.

“You haven’t met my brothers,” he whispers, lips brushing your ear. “They don’t want even to bet on me when we spar.” You sigh, stretching. “Do you normally do this?”

“Do what?” You ask, certain your eyes are probably blared with lust and something more primal, more dangerous. Fives smothers his face in your throat, nipping gently at your pulse, breath more of a growl now. “Invite handsome men back to my apartment? You should ask my friends.”

“The Theelin and the Mirialan?” You nod. 

“They think I’m quite picky, so nine out of ten nights end with me alone, eating ice cream and watching limmie.” Fives laughs, stroking a thumb over the crease of your knee. “So, you’re lucky.”

“Oh, yeah,” he growls, thumbing at your bottom lip with a grin. You take the digit into your mouth with a hum. “I’ve hit the jackpot.”

The cab stutters up to the dock at the very bottom of the apartment block, and it takes Fives a moment to stare up at the towering building before you can pay the driver and usher him into the doors. Islair, the Nikto receptionist, raises his hand in a polite wave, before doing a double take at the trooper on your arm. He still smiles, though, when you step into the lift.

“You aren’t afraid of heights?” You ask, when Fives leans against the metal bar on the opposite side of the half-glass lift. It slides smoothly through the building, leaving Coruscant more and more distant with every floor climbed.

“No.”

“Good. We’re going to the fiftieth floor.” You smile, fluttering your lashes, crooking your finger towards him. He crosses the lift, boots thudding against red carpet beneath your heeled feet, before shoving you roughly against the wall. His lips break your resolve as soon as he presses them against yours, tongue sliding through into your mouth with a hard groan. He shifts his hips against yours and hooks your wrists beside your head.

“You… we have to make sure there are boundaries.”

“You’d be surprised how much I can take, Fives.” He huffs, a low, gasp of a breath, fingers running up, below your dress. “How much can you give?” 

“You’re really riling me up, princess,” he whispers, voice sharp. “How long till your floor?” You glance at the numbers, ticking up through thirty.

“Not long, handsome,” you murmur, sliding the tips of your fingers down his stomach, along his codpiece, until he groans, planting two hands hard on either side of you He could almost bend the metal. “Relax.��

“Tell me to relax while you’re doing that?” He grumbles, smothering you in another rushed kiss when the lift pings, and the doors open. In one graceful swoop, he hauls you into his arms and waits for you to flick out your apartment key. You rustle through the black, studded purse in your hands and quickly draw it out, a shimmery, pearlescent card. 

“Apartment Three,” you whisper. Fives hurries along the carpeted hall, lowering you to your feet in front of a rather decadent black door, watching as you flick your card over the scanner. A soft, delirious scent of vanilla hits him right in the face when it opens, and he lets you tug him inside.

There’s a moment of silence.

“So, this is my apartment,” you mumble, feeling his presence creeping behind you. His hands snake around your middle, to the hem of your dress and up once more. He takes his time, like he’s standing in front of a painting at a gallery, pushing himself along your spine. You arch your back, sighing softly when he cups your breasts in his hands and kisses your throat, once, twice. “You don’t care…”

“Nice place.” Is all he manages, rubbing his thumbs over your nipples, hardened against the silk of your underwear, underneath your dress, but he knows- he grins, smoothing his hands down your sides. “Do you want me?”

“Yes.” You turn, fiddling with the latches of his armour pieces, kneeling on the cool wood of the ground. His throats jumps, but you ignore it, finely, too, as you release the rest of his white and blue protection onto the floor. “There. All done.”

“Uh, uh,” he calls, wrapping a hand around your wrist when you try to escape. Your breath hitches. Your back hits against his chest. “Your turn, princess.” His fingers play with the hem of your dress, spreading out along the warmth of your thighs. 

“Zip.” He leans back, moving a hand to slowly drag the zip along your spine. 

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, kissing your shoulder, your throat. “Beautiful girl.” You exhale, sharply, shifting the dress from your arms with a wriggle. “Fuckin’ Maker,” he huffs, reaching forrwards to skim his thumbs over your bare skin. You’re suddenly quite happy you wore the black, slightly sexy underwear rather than the black, completely mismatched pair you were rushing for a few hours earlier. 

“You like it?”

“Who were you planning to snag at the club? Wolffe wouldn’t have lasted five minutes with you. He’s hard on the outside, soft on the inside.” Fives smooths the pads of his thumbs across your breasts, nipples hardened in the cups of your bra, before lowering his mouth to the crevice between them. He runs his tongue, slowly, carefully, along the cool silk of your skin. “Fox, maybe. No… no, he’d finish and kick you out. Rex? My Captain? My brother?” You gasp, cupping his face between your hands. “No. Too soft. Too slow.” 

“What are you trying to say, Fives?”

“That I’m the brother for you.” You giggle, throwing your arms around his neck. “I promise, I promise from the bottom of my heart… I am the clone for you.” He offers a goofy smile.

“I trust you, Fives,” you whisper, brushing his nose with yours. “Do you still want to try it, though?” You stroke a finger down the nape of his neck. “Figure out whether I’m the woman for you?” He tucks an arm below your hips and hauls you up, up into the air. 

“I already know.”

“You don’t even know my favourite colour… my favourite flavour of ice cream, my favourite meal!”

“All in good time. For now,” he busts open a door at random. “Good choice.” It’s the bedroom. A wide bed, perfect for ignoring alarms, and what seems to be, to Fives, a good throwing range. He tosses you onto the mattress, and you bounce, just a little, watching him from the head of the bed. “Comfortable, too.”

“Come here,” you call, springing onto your knees. Fives reaches over his head and tugs in one mighty pull, his shirt off. You swallow, dry-mouthed, when he displays deep bronze skin, six lines of ridged muscle, broad arms, broader shoulders. His grin grows. 

“You like what you-”

“Yes.” You hook an arm around his neck and pull him back onto the bed, hauling him below you. Bare skin against bare skin, you tremble with every hot, silky-smooth touch he ghosts up your legs, over your knees, along the curve of your spine. You shift your hips against him, pressing purposely along the velvet length hidden in his blacks. Your fingers splay against his chest, sliding along his stomach, into the waistband of his trousers.

A husky gasp and a growl when your fingertips fuss through the downy triangle of hair at the very centre of those defined lines of muscle, a perfect V. He thrusts his hips up, planting himself at an angle on his elbows. You grin, wrapping a hand around his cock.

It’s broad, long, big enough to make you wince, and hot to the touch. You sweep a thumb over the tip, wetness pooling there somewhere, a drop, more than that, a rivulet running along the underside of the head. 

“Fuckin’ hell.” You smile, capturing Fives in a hard, rough kiss. His teeth clack against yours, but he doesn’t care, all he seems to care about is keeping that pressure on his dick and keeping you right there, beside him. “Oh, Maker.” 

“That feel good, soldier?”

“Pull rank on me and I’ll cum in your hand right now.” He grins. You sigh, tapping your chin with your free hand. 

“What comes next, I wonder?” Fives growls, tossing you on your back in one hard motion. He kicks off his pants, exposing bulking, heavy thighs corded with muscle and a long, thick cock. You grin, going to crawl forwards, but Fives presses you to the bed with a hand. 

“No, no. Just stay there.” His fingers hook in the waistband of your panties. They’re lace and silk, elegant, and he tugs them down, slowly. “You’re beautiful.” You feel your body flush, Fives’ breath quickening against your stomach, your knees, the apex of your thighs, before he presses his mouth into your heat. 

“Oh, Gods, give a little warning next time-” He squeezes the skin of your right thigh with a sigh, running his tongue up the liquid warmth between your legs, between your folds, along the petal-pink flesh, wet with desire. “Fives.”

“You’re sweeter than sugar, princess. Sweeter than anything.” He taps your hips and pins them into the bed, nose brushing your clit with dangerous precision. “So pretty, soft.” His tongue thrusts into you, gathering your slickness in one long motion. He moves his fingers slowly, carefully, along your skin, rubbing one against your entrance in a wolfish, evil way. 

“You’re an asshole.”

“Hm?” Fives croons, biting softly at the skin of your thigh. “You say something?” He hums, licking his lips before shoving his face back between your legs. With the quick shift of his head, his finger eases into you, slowly, carefully. You groan, pushing your hand through his hair. His tongue is teasing at your clit, his finger shifting delicately inside you, slower than anything, but electrifyingly so. 

“Fives, you tease,” you groan, eyes screwed shut. “Stop playing around.”

“You’re asking me to stop playing around?” He adds a second finger, stretching you to the knuckle. You hiss, a hand latching around his upper bicep like a vice. Fives grins. He pecks you twice on the hipbone, then returns his attention to between your legs. “I’m quite enjoying playing around.”

“You’re being a tease. I’d much rather give you attention- ah, fuck, fuck- too. Please,” you hiss, eyes shuddering back as he coaxes the oncomings of an orgasm out of you. A grin against your skin- you feel it. His teeth graze your skin, then his mouth latches onto you once more. Liquid heat burns through your gut, coiling you tight. “I’m going to…”

“Yes, pretty girl, give it to me.” He flicks his tongue over your clit. “Give it to me, Sugarplum. You got it, baby.” 

You choke on a moan as your orgasm snatches you away. It’s a thrumming feeling, a wheeze that escapes through your lungs and burns you hot inside out. A grin spreads onto your face, your skin is vibrating, shivering under the still-relentless touch of Fives between your legs. He eases up onto the bed, then, smoothing your breasts into his hands.

“Perfect tits,” he whispers.

“How do you want me?” You ask, breathless, eyes still spotty-white from the blinding climax rushing between your legs, rendering you twitching, shaking. 

“Get on your back for me?” He asks, pinching a nipple between two deft fingers. You keen, shuffling beneath him. Your hand snakes between his leg and slowly strokes his cock, carefully, quietly. Fives groans, capturing your mouth with his. A moan is lost into his tongue, wetting your lips then moving against them once more. He’s a battering ram- no mercy, a perfect soldier. 

“Fucking hell, Fives,” you whisper, raking nails over his scalp. He moans. You feel your stomach drop to your feet. “You like that?” He nods, parting your legs with two rough, callused hands. Your fingers pull hard at his hair and he whines, slipping his tongue back into your mouth, sliding his hand between your legs once more. He plays with your clit, your hand around his cock. 

“I’m gonna fuck you now,” he rasps, nipping at your bottom lip. You let go of him, reaching up to slide your arms along the hot, hard planes of his back. Fives stares at you, just for a moment, eyes dark like smoke, before he grips himself and pushes against you. “Slow?”

“Whatever you want,” you whisper, mouth cracking open when he impales you carefully in one liquid thrust. “Oh, shit. Now is probably a good time to tell you I’m on suppressors.” Fives tries to speak, but his words are lost in a broken groan into the hot crook of your neck. Your nails push crescent moons into his shoulders, letting him stretch you carefully along his generous length. “Are you all your brothers… this big?”

Fives huffs a laugh, nose brushing your pulse.

“Weird question.”

“Yeah,” you gasp, fanning your face with a hand. “Yeah, you’re right.” You stifle a moan between your fingers, eyes ducking back into your head. “Fuck, fuck, Fives, just a little quicker.”

“Quicker?” His hips snap against yours with a sharpness you haven’t felt before. Your chest drops out, but he continues, thumbs digging into your hips when he tilts you upwards, finding the best angle. His fingers slide beneath the small of your back to suspend you there, perfect for his ruin, when he brushes his mouth over your nipple and ruts firmly into you. “That, ah- that better?”

“Hm, yeah, yes.” You slide a hand into the hair at the back of his head, eyes fluttering shut, mouth slipping open with every thrust of his hips, every shift of his cock inside you. “Yeah, baby, that’s better.” You scratch gentle nails over his back, admiring his warmth, before tugging carefully at his hair. He groans, pinning you into the bed.

Your eyes slide shut. Stars begin to speck behind them and you think he knows by the breathless laugh against your throat, then the broken moan into your jaw, your mouth. He tongues your mouth gently, bruising your lips swollen with the fervent touches. 

“Fives-”

“Ah, yeah?”

“Touch me, just a little more,” you plead, nose brushes his as he pecks you once more, thumbing your right nipple, then finding your clit beneath a rough finger. “Yeah, yeah.”

“You like that, pretty girl?” He huffs, dragging his tongue along your throat. “Yeah?”

“Yes! Gods, yes, please!” You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him flush against your chest. Fives’ eyes disappear beneath his eyelids, his chest rumbling with soft, persistent groans every other thrust. You whine, pulling at his hair, scratching at his back. 

“You’re a little… fuckin’... ah, keep pullin’.” You giggle, threading your fingers through his hair, kissing him twice on the mouth, once on the jaw, angling his head as you see fit. “Yeah, baby, that’s right. Tight little pussy.”

He squeezes your waist with one hand, still flicking at your clit with the other hand, desperate to chase your orgasm out of you, and it works, he gives you one in moments. You stiffen, back arching, fisting a hand in the sheets, the other smoothing over his neck. Your moan echoes in your bedroom, and Fives eggs you on with gentle praise.

“Good girl, yeah, keep… fuck,” he wheezes, hiding his face in your shoulder. His arms are so tight. “Can I move you?”

“Uh-huh, yeah,” you whisper, letting him shift you into a lower position, where he impales you so suddenly your breath hitches and you shriek, turning into a whimpering mess. “Oh, that’s so good!”

“That’s good?” He breaths, pupils almost completely lost in black-brown irises.

“Yes, Fives, it’s good,” you whisper, smothering your mouth against his with a giggle, a grin, slipping your tongue into his mouth. He grunts, releasing your clit to roll a nipple between finger and thumb. You hiss sharply against him, forcing your heels into his back to push him deeper, harder. “Harder, baby, please.”

He quickens his pace, the bed shaking a little under his force.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” he murmurs against your lips. “Sweet angel,” he reaffirms. “Heaven sent.” His fingers wrap around your free wrist, pinning it against the silken sheets below your head. Your back arches with the pressure, a grin spreading along your face. “Fuckin’ hell, I’m gonna cum.” 

You hiss when he touches your clit, so eager, so painlessly prepared to give you what you want- another orgasm, more pleasure, anything. He coaxes it out of you, another climax, relishing in your writhing against him, your low whine in his ear, the shiver that follows, the sweat that slicks him head to toe. 

“Fuck!” You cry, shuddering back into the sheets.

Fives’ hips falter, his eyes scrunching shut, his groans lower, deeper, until you wind a hand into his hair and kiss him once more, and his thrusts pause.

“Inside?”

“Yeah.”

He finishes, coating you with one hard grunt, a sharp sigh, his eyes finally opening to find yours, a grin eventually appearing on his tired features. You let him fill you, for a moment more, before he pulls away a little.

“Sorry,” he whispers, pulling out. You huff at the cool touch of air against the wetness sinking deep into your skin, and watch him do a quick double-take around the room for the bathroom. With a snort, you point at the door on the left. He punches the release and wanders in, clattering around.

“Under the sink, baby.”

“Yeah! I got it,” he calls, reappearing after the tap runs for a moment. He kneels between your legs and gently, softly, wipes the warm cloth over you until he’s satisfied you’re cleaned up well enough. “There, princess.”

“Thanks.” 

He disappears back into the bathroom, and a wet slap suggests he’s just tossed the rag into the bath tub. An muffled ‘oops’ and there’s another sound of running water. 

You stifle a giggle behind your hand, darting from the bed to snatch up his long-sleeve top. It had the Republic branded right in the middle, grey against the black, and you snuggle into it, sliding your arms into too-big sleeves. Fives reappears after a moment and grins, crooking a finger towards your shrouded form.

“Do you want me to go?” He asks, quietly, sincerely. “I’m assuming ‘no’ since you’ve stolen my shirt,” he hums.

“No, stay, please.” You usher him towards the bed, hands on his ass. You squeeze once with a snort and toss his trousers at him. He eases himself into them and pulls you into his chest. 

“Are you okay?”

“Better than okay.” Fives grins, craning his neck to kiss you softly on the mouth, the nose, the forehead. You stare helplessly at him, your heart suddenly quite warm, and collapse onto the bed. “Come sleep.” You pat the space beside you and watch as he slides himself in. “Never had a double?” His look of confusion is an easy tell.

“Nope.”

“Comfy?”

He turns, half buried in thick duvet and silk sheets. You can barely make out his nod but slide down beside him, tucking your head into the crook of his neck. He’s like a furnace- probably going to irritate you later in the night- but you relax against his chest.

“‘Night.”

“G’night, pretty baby.”

*

for the bbs always: @thegoodbatch @djangofetts​ @jangohshit​ @queenofheavenandhell​ 

[ryder-s-block]

Jaig Eyes (Ch 24)

Jaig Eyes (24/?)

Always available here.

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

Chapter Twenty-Four: Senator’s Betrayal

The droid let out a high pitched whir, throwing Redeye’s body at us. I ducked below it, hearing him crash into the boxes behind us. The droid crawled down the walling, its various spider-like legs helping it move quickly.

“Assassin probe,” I growled, drawing my second pistol. It raced towards us, a few of my blaster shots hitting it to no avail. I rolled away while Anakin swiped at its legs with his blade, taking out two of them. It didn’t slow the droid down, the probe lifting two crates and whipping them at us.

I rolled below the projectiles again, Anakin falling with a grunt behind me. I stood between the assassin probe and the jedi, firing my weapons into its optical sights. My own blasts were joined with those of the approaching clones, the droid finally falling with a defeated hiss.

“The lift!” Anakin yelled as he got to his feet, all of us turning to see a second probe wrenching open the elevator doors and running up the shaft. “Obi-wan,” Anakin called into his wrist comm as we watched the droid escape up the elevator. “There’s assassin probes down here. One made it up the lift. I’ll try to hold the others here.”

The comms beeped in acknowledgement from Kenobi’s side as we turned to the men. “There might be one left,” Anakin said, my eyes still on the downed droid. Something felt wrong. “Let’s spread out and find it.”

Tiny droids began to pour from the probe’s head, Cody’s head lights illuminating them. “Watch it!” the clone commander yelled.

We moved into a circle as the tiny droids only seemed to multiply in masses as we shot them down. Rex let out a grunt of exasperation. “They’re everywhere!”

“Get behind me,” Anakin commanded, easily slicing through the tiny droids with his saber. 

“Get ‘em off!” a clone behind me cried as they droids leapt onto him. He screamed, falling beneath their deadly pincers. I dodged a horde of leaping droids, seeing R2 zapping the assassin probes.

I snatched a droid popper from Rex’s belt, throwing the detonator in the direction opposite the mechadroid. Aiming quickly with my pistol, I detonated it in the air to deactivate the leaping assassin droids before they could reach us. 

Taking yet another from Rex’s belt, earning a frustrated grunt from him while doing so, I rolled beneath the next wave of leaping assassin droids. My thumb pressed down on the pin as I rolled, the popper going off in my grip. It was a weird sensation, but didn’t hurt. My wrist gauntlet and comms was certainly going to need a recharge, though.

After taking out a few last stragglers, our group relaxed, looking to Anakin as he casually sliced through the last of the crawling creatures.

“Good work, men,” he said, giving me a small smirk before looking to his droid. “You too, buddy.”

Rex grunted in thought. “Assassin droid. How did that monster end up in the hold?”

“Question is,” Anakin rectified. “Who smuggled him on board?”

“A manifest would answer that,” I offered, looking around at the endless stacks of crates. The jedi hummed in acknowledgement before leading the way through the dark maze. I glanced around in the darkness, the hairs on my neck standing on edge.

“You alright?” Rex’s quiet words drew my gaze to my side. He was looking forward, rather than at me. Discretion, of course.

“There’s more of them.”

“How can you tell?”

I shrugged, glancing around at the other clones as we came to a stop, Anakin approaching a protocol droid. “I don’t know. Don’t you feel like we’re being watched?”

Rex only hummed as Anakin leaned over the droid that was sitting casually in the light. “I’m looking for the droid that services the cargo bay,” he said, eyebrow raised at the silver machine.

“Uh, yes sir,” it responded, it’s voice deep and automated. I’d become so used to C-3PO’s higher, accented voice, that I almost laughed as it spoke. “Are all those creatures dead?”

It walked over to a crate, lifting a holopad and scrolling through it. I lifted my eyebrow while Anakin replied, frustrated.

“That’s what I’m trying to find out! You’re in charge of the cargo manifest, right?”

“Uh, yes,” it replied, its mechanical finger dragging across the touch screen. “I have it right here.”

“Why do you seem so nervous?” I asked, arms crossed beside the jedi. 

“Nervous?” it repeated, walking over with the manifest. “Those creatures,” it tried to explain.

“Well, where did they come from?” Anakin interrupted, obviously pissed off with the droid’s slow behavior.

“It is right here,” the protocol droid said, making sure to sound more confident. “On the manifest.”

Anakin snatched it, looking through the manifest quickly. “For immediate delivery to Coruscant,” he mumbled, reading aloud. “With container marked medical supplies… there’s no name on this chart! There is no indication of who shipped it!”

“No sir,” the droid replied steadily. “Just the Senate stamp. Always accepted for transport here aboard the Coronet.”

Anakin frowned, but accepted the answer, nodding his head at me. “Come on. We should talk to Obi-wan.” 

“With all due respect, Anakin,” I surprised the room with both my disagreement and my use of his first name. “But we don’t know how many more assassin probes are down here. I need to get my comms back up with your droid and help the men look.”

Anakin gave me a small smile as I walked him to the elevator, manifest still in his hand. “You just don’t want to have to face the duchess again.”

I chuckled. “Or that slimy senator of hers, Merrik.” I thought for a moment. “I wouldn’t even be surprised if all of this was his doing.”

He paused at the door, lifting his brow. “Why do you say that?”

I shrugged. “It had to have been a senator, due to the seal on the crate. But who else would benefit from Satine’s death? Maybe he wants power. Or is with the Death Watch.” I lifted my arms in exasperation. “I mean, they had Vizsla as a governor. He’s the damned leader of the group!” 

Anakin chuckled at me as the doors hissed closed between us. 

“Kida.” I turned to the sound of Rex’s voice again. He was standing alone, having already sent the other clones out looking for the assassin probes. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“Just a second.” I knelt down to the astromech that was waiting patiently by the elevator. “Hey bud. Do you want to wait for Anakin?” He beeped at me. “Okay, that’s fine. Keep your scanners up for us, in case anyone goes missing, alright?” R2 beeped again as I pulled a wire from my wrist gauntlet, offering it to him. “Care to help?”

With a few sassy whistles and whirs, the droid let me connect my gauntlet, sending an electrical pulse to recharge and reset it. I patted his head as I disconnected after a moment, standing. “Thanks, buddy.”

“You can...understand that thing?”

I chuckled as I moved to walk beside the captain, patrolling the cargo hangar. “I’ve been around all sorts of droids over my years, Rex.”

“So have I,” he defended. “But it’s not like I learned how to speak droid.”

I smirked. “Then I think that says more about you than it does me.” Despite his face being covered by his helmet, I knew he was grinning at my teasing.

He hummed, his helmet lights flickering on as we left the lighting of the main area and entered the dark maze. “Maybe it does.”

I hadn’t been with the GAR long, but Jesse, Hardcase, and Fives had been ecstatic when Rex informed them of my joining. Even Kix grinned widely at me. They all seemed to wiggle their eyebrows at me when Rex was around. I had worried for a while that they knew more than they let on. 

Or maybe they knew about Rex’s feelings, rather than my own, since I always played dumb. Maybe clones had a deeper connection…like twins so often did.

Still, even the rather uptight Echo had shown his own version of excitement when I joined. He was the one who brought a can of blue paint to my shuttle I’d docked in the hangar, after all.

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

“My armor has stripes along the leg, like this,” Fives explained, drawing in the air with his finger.

“And mine just has a single stripe down,” Echo cut in. “With an illustration for our brother.”

I hummed in acknowledgment, looking over my Mandalorian steel armor. It had been painted a few times in the past, most of it wearing off with use...and blaster shots. “Hevy, right?” I asked, looking up at the two brothers.

I was sitting with them amongst the crates in the hangar, the boys in their casual blacks, sipping on what they claimed to be caf. It smelled a bit too strong for that. 

“Yeah,” Fives said with a grim smile.

“Can you tell me what happened?”

The clones seemed shocked, but Echo spoke up nonetheless. “He was a cadet with us. In the same squadron...We all struggled to work together in the beginning, but we figured it out.” I nodded for him to continue, knowing the tests the clones had to pass on Kamino. They were intense. Then again, how else would the Kaminoans create an incredible army?

Fives cut in now. “After graduating, we were stationed on a moon outpost that was a defense for Kamino. We were attacked by droids, all of us shinies and not really sure what to do.”

“Captain Rex and Commander Cody were scheduled for an inspection, thank the stars,” Echo butt in again. “And they ended up helping us destroy the outpost, cutting off the all-clear signal to the Republic and warning them of the attack.”

“And Hevy?”

“He sacrificed himself to blow up the outpost manually when the remote detonator didn’t work.” We all looked up at the new voice, seeing Rex clad in armor, his helmet under his arm. His face was grim, his voice low. “He was a good man. A good soldier.”

Fives cleared his throat, shifting his drink to his side. “Captain,” he greeted.

Rex waved his hand at him. “Relax,” he said, surprising our group. “Just don’t let me catch you doing it when you’re on duty. And if you get intoxicated before duty again, I’ll kick your ass.”

“Care for some, Captain?” Fives tested.

“Don’t push your luck.”

I let out a surprised laugh at the captain’s casual demeanor. Part of it was real, another part was just that he was too tired to actually reprimand the boys.

“He sounds very brave,” I commented when I sobered up, looking back at the two brothers as Rex set down his helmet.

“He was,” Fives responded before chuckling. “And a total or’dinii.” I smiled as the two laughed, beginning to share stories of stupid things their deceased brother had done. After a while, they fell into talking to each other more so than me.

I glanced at Rex, giving him a smile. “How do you suggest I paint my armor?”

“Aren’t you technically in Kenobi’s battalion?” I could tell he meant to tease, but it came out as more of a bark. I lifted my eyebrow at him. “Sorry,” he sighed. 

I looked away from him and back at my armor, not particularly upset, but not entirely peachy either. “You know,” I said slowly, my eyes still scanning over my armor. “Even though the Good Captain won’t have any.” I finally looked up, my eyes flickering to Fives and Echo’s cups. “I think I’d like some.”

The grumpy Rex practically seethed above me, making me look up at him. I gave him an innocent look. “What? I’m part of Kenobi’s battalion, remember?”

The other two clones shifted uncomfortably as Rex’s jaw flexed in frustration. Fives cleared his throat. “Echo, didn’t we have some… some...uhhhh…”

“Chores?” Echo tried, shaking his head. “Drills. Yes. We have...drills to run.”

I fought off my smile, pressing my lips into a thin line as they lifted themselves to their feet. Fives downed the rest of his drink in front of us, almost breaking my Sabacc face. Echo, however, shifted uncomfortably before quickly setting the half-drank cup down beside me.

“You can have the rest of mine, Kida.” He gave me a tense smile before practically dragging Fives away.

“Hey, before you go,” I called after them, making the pair pause awkwardly. “Rex used a Mando’a word the other day that I didn’t recognize.” Beside me, the captain tensed. “Could you translate for--”

“Do not ask,” Rex cut in curtly, his jaw tense. I lifted my eyebrow at him, opening my mouth to continue anyways. “That’s an order.”

I was shocked, to say the least, but decided my teasing was pushing the stressed clone a bit too far. “Right,” I mumbled, looking back to Fives and Echo. “Nevermind, guys.”

The pair’s gazes darted between us in curiosity before they finally left, desperate to remove themselves from their Captain’s clearly shit mood. I smirked when they were out of sight, leaving Rex and I hidden between the crates and my shuttle. I shifted quickly to snatch up Echo’s drink, taking a long sip.

I coughed in surprise, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “This tastes like shit.”

“Serves you right.” While Rex’s voice was still harsh, I sensed that he was at least attempting another joke.

I leaned back against the crate, holding the nasty liquor defiantly. “It sounds like you need it more than I do.” I patted the space next to me on the ground. “Come on,” I sighed when he hesitated. “You don’t have to drink. At least sit down and help me decide how to paint my armor.”

Finally, with a grunt, Rex sat beside me, careful to not let our legs touch. I rolled my eyes, lifting my shoulder guard that had the red kyr’bes. I went about painting over it with the paint and brush Echo had given me. The captain was silent, watching me work, his face tired.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked suddenly. I was expecting that question, my brush still moving smoothly over the Mandalorian steel. 

“Do you think I’d be doing it if I wasn’t?” 

The clone hesitated. “N-no. But...a life of war?”

“So? You can choose this life, but I can’t?” I lifted my brow at him, earning another scowl. I sighed finally, returning my attention to the paint, ignoring Rex.

“Why would you want a life like this?”

“You seem to like it just fine.” My tone was steady, but a bit cold, I’d admit.

The captain breathed slowly through his nose. “It’s all I’ve ever known, Kida.”

I took the chance to stop painting and look him in his golden eyes. “You know that my life has been the same. I’ve always been fighting.”

“But you have your club now. A family.”

“Don’t assume, Rex,” I warned, painting angrily now. I didn’t care about design, instead choosing to accent my armor however I wished.

He was silent for a moment while he thought. “Do you believe in the cause of the Republic?”

I smiled gently as I worked. “Maybe? But I also can see where the Separatist Alliance is coming from.” Rex seemed startled, but I only chuckled at him with a shrug. “I mean, think about it. You can’t deny that the Senate is corrupt.”

Rex grunted in response, examining his gloves. “I can’t really comment on that. It’s not my place.”

“Fine,” I growled lowly. “Then I will. Even Padme admits that it’s corrupt. So instead of fighting like Padme does, the Separatists had enough and wanted to be out of the Republic control.”

“Isn’t it more honorable to fight from within?”

“Maybe,” I shrugged. “I couldn’t say. But as much as I admire Padme, she can only do so  much. You can’t put a fire out from inside the house.”

“What?”

“It’s a saying.”

He hummed, doing his best to piece everything together. “I suppose,” he allowed, finally. “But that doesn’t change the fact that the Separatists are bad.”

“From your perspective,” I corrected, giving him a gentle smile. “They see themselves in the right, just as you do. Admittedly,” I sighed. “They are guided by a dark force that they don’t understand. Still…” My teeth teased my lips. “I can’t shake the feeling that there is something missing in this war. A driving force that is keeping itself hidden.”

“The jedi call it the dark side.”

I chuckled. “I know what it’s called.” Rex didn’t respond, giving me a wondering look before looking back at his gloves. “What’s wrong?” I sighed at him, returning to painting.

“I just...I don’t get how you can be so understanding of the Separatists, but still side with the Republic.”

I hummed to myself, smiling gently. “My family is with the Republic.”

“The club?”

“No, Rex. I told you not to assume.”

The clone thought for a moment. “Boba hasn’t sided with anyone. He’s been seen running around with bounty hunters. If anything, he’d more likely lean towards-”

“I’m not talking about Boba,” I bit, before regaining my composure with a long breath. “I love Boba. But right now, my little brother wants nothing to do with me. When he needs me,” I sighed. “I’ll be here for him. But for now, I want to protect what’s left of Jango. What’s left of my family.”

He thought for a moment, regarding me with his golden gaze, before it dawned on him. If I dared to think it, it almost seemed like the captain flushed a slightly darker shade than his usual tan skin. I let it go, giving him a gently smile while brushing my paintbrush across the Mandalorian steel.

“As flattering as that is,” he started, his voice strained. Despite the steps that we’d taken on Saleucami, Rex was still hesitating. Especially now that we were back in the environment of the GAR. Cut’s home had been an escape for us both. Sure, the war had followed us, even there, but amongst all of the discourse and fighting, there was the promise of possibility. Seeing Cut and Suu...it was the definition of hope for a clone...especially one who was in love with a bounty hunter. “We’re just clones,” Rex continued, pulling me out of my thoughts. “We’re made to be expendable.”

I paused in my painting, only halfway through my first piece. Slowly setting the materials down, I looked at the captain straight in the eyes, my gaze hard. “Never let them convince you that that’s true,” I said harshly. “None of you are expendable. Not you. Not your brothers.”

Rex smiled at me gently, his eyes soft. “I appreciate that sentiment, Kida,” he whispered, his gloved hand reaching out to touch my cheek before pulling away a moment later. He was like a child that touched a hot stove and got burned, only to continuously forget and keep touching it. Like an addict knowing that indulging was wrong. “But we are a product. Trained to fight, and to die, if need be.”

I set my jaw, pulling away from him and standing, leaving my armor on the ground. “You’re a man,” I argued firmly, glaring at Rex now. “Maybe a clone, but a man, nonetheless. You’re not just numbers. Even if others see you that way, don’t see yourselves that way, because it isn’t true.”

“Kida,” he sighed. He was flattered, but I could feel that his heart wasn’t moving. He was just as prepared to die as any of his brothers. I wasn’t having that.

“Stop,” I growled, stomping my foot like a toddler. “You’re not expendable. Not to me.” I handed my cup of liquor to him harshly as my voice dropped. “Drink until you start relaxing enough to realize that’s true.”

I turned on my heel, storming away from my own shuttle and leaving the captain to stew in his grumpy, albeit surprised, thoughts.

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

I smiled gently to myself as Rex and I moved through the dark halls of crates. I’d gone back to my shuttle the next morning to find my armor laid out neatly, all of it accented beautifully with 501st blue. A note was beside my chest piece in sloppy handwriting.

Thank you - R

“What has you smiling?” the clone in question asked, drawing me from my memories.

“I was just thinking about your impeccable design skills,” I teased, rounding the next corner with him, pistols held out before me.

He chuckled, his mind likely debating between a deflection and a snarky comment. Finally, with a sigh, he said, “I’m glad you like it.”

I thought for a moment. “How did painting your armor start?”

Rex shrugged. “It’s tradition, I suppose. Maybe stemming back the Jango’s roots?” I hummed. Mandalorians were known for creating matching armor in a family or tribe. “But we’ve always separated battalions and groups by color. Like how Skywalker’s is blue, Kenobi’s being yellow.”

“Sure,” I agreed as we rounded another corner still finding nothing. “But what about individual designs? You all paint them yourselves. Why?”

“Individuality, I suppose,” he sighed, knowing where I’d go with it.

“So Cut was right?”

“Don’t start.”

I chuckled, knowing that with each passing day, he was understanding what Cut had talked about more and more. While he still may not agree with deserting, he did understand an underlying urge for individuality, choice, and something more. My chuckle was cut short as something wavered in the force, my steps slowing.

Rex stopped ahead of me, his visor turning to watch my stilled movements. “What’s wrong?” he asked, already starting to read my tells for my force sensitivity. 

“I’m not sure. Kenobi’s distressed. Something’s happening upstairs.”

Just as I finished talking, Cody turned into our strip of stacked crates, greeting us with a nod. “What’s happening?” he asked at our still stances.

“Kida thought she heard something,” Rex lied smoothly, surprising even me with the ease in which he told it.

The commander nodded, falling into line with us as we walked through the darkening halls. Our comms beeped.

“Cody. Rex. Kida,” Anakin said through the signal, his presence emanating from somewhere nearby. “Have you found anything?”

“All quiet over here, sir,” Rex said, his back turning as he walked beside Cody, myself following their search lamps. 

We heard a skitter, all of us turning abruptly. “Wait a minute,” Cody mumbled, the light on his visor dipping to reveal a clone’s helmet. He picked it up slowly, Rex and him looking inside. Cody let off two shots into the air as he fell backwards, a miniature assassin droid attacking his helmet.

Rex immediately ran to his brother’s side, pulling the droid off only to have it race across his own armor. More began to sprout around us, my pistols aiming as they leapt from the crates above. I took out the ones raining down, away of one crawling its way of my leg, jabbing at the gaps in my armor painfully.

The hum of Anakin’s lightsaber sounded as he raced around the crates, slicing the droids on his men’s visors before taking out the one on my leg. I finished off the remaining ones as they fell through the air, turning to see R2 zap a droid off of Rex’s arm.

“Thanks, little guy,” the captain panted, nodding at the astromech.

“Well, we found the little ones,” Anakin mused, sheathing his lightsaber and watching his men find their feet. “What about the mother?”

“Haven’t seen it,” Rex said easily, my senses flaring up as he spoke. A mechanical screech sounded, all of us barely having time to turn before it lunged at Rex, throwing him across the room.

“Rex!” I cried, running with Anakin and Cody to see the droid try to drive its sharp appendages down into the captain. He caught them, shoving the droid off him with his foot. He turned over to shoot at it as it ran at him again, my own pistols raising to fire at its red ocular sights. It reeled backwards under our fire, rushing to crawl up the wall.

Anakin’s lightsaber flew past me, taking out the droid’s legs and sending it crashing to the ground. Rex, having found his feet and determined to get back at the thing that downed him, hurried to the droid, planted its foot on the top, and let off several rounds of shots into its head.

He looked back and nodded at us, a smirk rising to my face. Admittedly, he was attractive when he was like that. I shook the thought away, both out of internalized embarrassment and the pressing urgency I felt from upstairs through the force.

“Alright,” Anakin said, his commanding voice back. “That should be all of them. Rex, Cody,” he turned to his commanding officers. “Station men at every escape pod and get scouting parties upstairs to search for the duchess.”

“Search for the-” I stopped myself, shaking my head. “Where did she go?”

“Merrik is the traitor,” the jedi explained to me as we hurried towards the lift, Cody and Rex calling their men. “He took Satine hostage.”

I thought as we all rose in the lift towards the higher floors. Despite the situation, I chuckled. “I should have placed a bet on Merrik being the one.”

To everyone’s surprise, Anakin chuckled. “You called it.” When the doors opened, Rex and Cody rushed out to station their men, Anakin starting off in another direction. He stopped when I hesitated. “Are you coming? We need to find Obi-wan.”

“No,” I thought aloud. “I’m going to the bridge. If an attack is coming, they need to be warned and guarded.” Anakin nodded, letting me race my way through the elaborately decorated halls of the Coronet. 

The ship shifted, only slightly. And to anyone else, there was no change at all. But I’d been on many jobs on many ships. I knew when one felt like it had dropped out of hyperspace.

And we were scheduled for arrival for some time.

I knew even before I approached the long hall, the closed door at the end, that the bridge was already compromised. I was prepared for it, my pistols raised. What I wasn’t ready for was the voice I heard behind the door.

“Senator Merrik,” I heard a voice say. It was automated, but more so than a normal hologram. The man was wearing a helmet. Even with all the modulation, I’d know the voice anywhere. “Have you completed your mission?”

“Yes sir,” I heard Merrik responded, coupled by the struggling grunts of Duchess Satine. “I have the duchess, but I’ll need help getting her away.”

“Very good,” the voice said with glee as I approached the door slowly, my nerves aflame with apprehension. The scar along my cheekbone practically ached from the sound of the man’s voice. “Reinforcements are on their way.”

“Kenobi,” I whispered into my comms. “Bridge. Now.”

As my comms beeped in acknowledgement from Obi-wan, I burst through the door, pistols aimed at Merrik. The traitorous senator whirled, holding his pistol to Satine’s head. Behind the two, floated the large blue hologram of Vizsla himself, clad in his Death Watch armor.

“Let the duchess go,” I growled, ignoring the hologram as well as I could under his examining gaze. The bridge crew was dead and I could tell that some tampering had gone on under one of the consoles. Wonderful.

Merrik smirked at me. “You have no leverage,” he taunted.

“I could always shoot you,” I growled in response, fighting against my own urges to cry, vomit, and kill everyone in the room. I hadn’t been that rattled in some time. Then again, Vizsla was on the higher end of the spectrum of ‘people who scarred me.’

Speaking of, the hologram of Vizsla let out a low him, his dark visor lowering to regard me closer. He spoke, my blood turning to ice in my veins at his words.

“Don’t I know you?”

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

MANDO’A

Or’dinii-- moron, fool